Night Eagle: Homecoming
by ysone

~~~

The pain in his side was getting worse, but he knew he couldn't stop. Not yet. Not until he was sure. The boy ran as fast as he could, given the darkness and the unfamiliar terrain. Long branches tore at the exposed flesh of his arms and face as he threw himself forcefully into thickets not intended for human passage.

Finally, the combination of pain and overexertion brought the boy to a stop. He forced his laboring lungs to draw in breath, heedless of the pain it elicited. Again and again, he sucked at the air, until at last he felt his heart slow its breakneck pace.

He dropped to his knees, fighting an overwhelming exhaustion that made him want to curl up on the cold, hard ground and seek the solace of sleep. Now was not the time for more than a short break. He didn't hear pursuit, but he was sure it was there and drawing closer with each passing moment.

The thought drove a sliver of panic through his chest, and he pushed himself back to his feet in fear. He couldn't let them catch him. Not again. God knows what they would do this time.

Darkness was waning, a soft glow in the east taking its place, when the boy stumbled once more to his knees. Soft curses, forced through broken, bloody lips damned the weak limbs that refused to lift and carry him any further in his escape. Knowing he could go no further even if the devil himself had been on his heels, the boy curled into the bed of leaves beneath him and hugged himself against the cold and fear and pain.

Let them find him. He could run no more... Let the sorry bastards find him and put an end to it, once and for all.

"Blair!"

Blair slowly became aware of hands firmly, but gently, gripping his shoulders. He jerked his eyes open, still caught in the nightmarish emotions of the dream. It took several deep breaths and another concerned summons from the man kneeling over him before Blair became completely awake and cognizant of his surroundings.

He felt the heat of embarrassment touch his face and hoped it was too dark for his companion to notice.

The man's a Guardian! Blair mentally reminded himself. Of course he noticed!

"I'm all right, Jim," he reassured the shadowed figure above him. "Just a dream."

Jim released his hold on Blair and moved back, allowing Blair to sit up. "You want to talk about it?"

Blair shook his head, confident in Jim's ability to see the gesture in the dark. He could tell Jim was watching him closely, too closely for Blair's comfort. He prayed the man would take the hint and not push him.

"That's the third nightmare in as many days," Jim observed quietly.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Chief..." Jim began.

Blair smiled to himself. He was never going to break Jim from using that nickname. What was the use of trying? Once Blair had determined that the white man didn't mean it as a slur, he didn't really mind, anyhow.

"I'm trying not to take this too personal," Jim continued. "But these nightmares didn't start until you decided to tag along back home with me. I'm beginning to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

Blair's smile faded. "Are you having second thoughts?" Maybe Jim didn't really want Blair going back with him, after all. Not that Blair was all that crazy about the idea himself, but he knew it was necessary. Jim was a Guardian, which set him apart as special, chosen, but the gifts were new, and Jim needed help learning to control and use them to his advantage. Until he gained that control, Jim was vulnerable. Or so Acrocoel, Blair's mentor, had warned. Blair had a hard time seeing this big, tough, white man as vulnerable, but who was he to argue with his tribe's bohiti? So, regardless of his personal feelings, he had every intention of accompanying Jim back to his ranch and staying there for however long it took to help the man understand his abilities. But what would he do if Jim sent him back to the village?

"No, that's not what I'm saying, Chief." Though Blair couldn't see Jim's expression in the dark, he could hear the frown in the man's words. "It's just...well, it's obvious something about this trip has you upset. Acrocoel told me that you had a tough time when you...before you went to live in the village. I can only imagine what it must have been like for you."

Blair caught his breath, hoping Jim wasn't about to ask him about that time -- that was the last thing Blair wanted to discuss with this white man. Especially with the nightmare still so fresh.

"I won't lie to you, Blair," Jim continued. "Things won't be much better now. If anything, with the uprisings to the south, it's going to be worse. I'm not saying it's right, or that I agree with it, but, well..."

"I know, Jim," Blair said softly, halting Jim's fumbling attempt to prepare him for what was to come. "I know how your people will react to me. I've been through it before."

"Is that what's causing the nightmares?"

Blair sucked in his bottom lip, chewing on it as he considered how much he owed Jim by way of an explanation. "Some of the memories aren't so pleasant," he finally admitted. "But it's okay, Jim. I can handle it."

There was silence for a long moment, then Jim said, "I can't quite figure you out, Chief."

"What's to figure out?"

"Why would you leave your village, your people, the life you chose, to follow me back to my ranch, knowing how it will be?"

"You need me, Jim."

"As simple as that, huh?"

Blair smiled into the darkness. "Yeah, as simple as that."

Another long silence followed. Finally, Jim got to his feet and went back to his bedroll beside the now-dead fire. It wasn't until he was settled beneath his blanket that he spoke again. "Thanks, Chief."

~~~

Jim moved quietly around the camp, trying to ignore the stiffness of his still healing leg. It always hurt worse in the mornings, for some reason. He busied himself gathering their belongings and packing them into the saddlebags of the waiting horses while Blair slept on, oblivious to the fact that the sun had been up for almost an hour. That in itself was unusual. He was almost always up before Jim, usually having a light breakfast already prepared by the time Jim stirred in the predawn hours.

The day was slipping away, but Jim had no intention of waking the young bohiti. God knows, the kid hadn't been getting much sleep lately. When he wasn't having nightmares, Blair was laying awake in his bedroll, staring in silent contemplation at the night sky, as though searching for something.

Jim shook his head and returned to his packing. Not for the first time, he wondered what was motivating the kid. The old man, Acrocoel, had been adamant that Blair accompany Jim when he left the village, to teach and "guide" him in the use of his newfound senses; and Blair had agreed, even though Jim had been all too aware of the young man's reluctance. If these nightmares were any indication of Blair's state of mind, then Jim could certainly understand that reluctance. What was he so afraid of? What demons from his past still haunted him?

Jim pushed the thoughts from his mind and went to retrieve the horses. It was none of his business anyway.

~~~

Blair was startled awake by a gunshot. He rolled to a crouching position, his sharp eyes scanning the deserted camp even as his hand went to the knife at his waist. A rustling in the nearby bushes sent his heart rate into a near panic. He swung around to meet it, only to sigh in relief when Jim stepped into the camp clearing.

"What happened?" Blair asked, taking in the gun in Jim's hand, as well as the wariness in the man's bearing.

"I'm not sure," Jim faltered uncertainly. His sharp gaze scanned the area thoroughly. "There was a..." The big man paused, made one last visual sweep, then shook his head and returned his gun to its holster. With a visible effort, he forced the confusion from his expression. "It was nothing," he amended, his voice now sure. "Just my imagination."

"You saw something?" Blair pressed.

"Just a trick of sunlight," Jim said, his tone leaving no room for further questions. "We should get moving. The day's half gone already."

Blair reached for his bedroll, a bit stung by Jim's sharp tone. "You could have woke me earlier."

"Yeah, well if you would actually sleep at night..." Jim muttered, just loud enough for Blair to hear him.

Blair stopped what he was doing and stared at the man. "Is there something you want to say to me, Jim?"

Jim stepped over to the fire and began kicking sand over the smoldering embers. "Just that those nightmares you're trying so hard to pretend you aren't having could be a sign that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

"You having second thoughts?" Blair asked for what seemed like the thousandth time. "Because if you would rather try to handle this on your own, I would appreciate finding out before we get to your ranch."

Blair held his breath as Jim continued to extinguish the fire. Finally, the man stopped and looked up, meeting Blair's gaze. The stoic mask was in place, and Blair found it impossible to see beyond the front Jim presented him. Blair felt his heartbeat increase and forced it back down, knowing Jim could hear it.

Jim released a sigh and turned away again. "No, that's not what I'm saying, Chief. I told you before you're welcome to come back with me, and I'm not going to back down on my word now." He headed for the horses. "If you're ready, we need to get moving."

Blair stared after Jim for several long minutes, confused by Jim's words and actions. Up until now, Blair had felt Jim realized the need for him to be here. They had spent the past few days as they traveled testing the limits of Jim's newly acquired gifts. With Blair's help, Jim was slowly learning how to ease back from the onslaught of sensation which had met his earlier attempts to stretch out his senses. He was learning to work the scales to balance out the storm to a manageable level. Jim even seemed to be relaxing a bit. Blair had hopes he would soon accept his heightened senses as a part of himself and quit fighting them.

But now...

"You coming? Or you going to stand there gaping all day?" Jim called. Not waiting for an answer, he tossed the reins of Blair's horse to him and mounted Soldier.

~~~

As the horses picked their way carefully around the rockslide which covered the main trail, Jim glanced at his companion. Blair hadn't said a word since they had broke camp several hours before, and Jim knew it was his fault. He felt bad for the way he had talked to the kid. He hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, but he had a feeling that he had. Damn. He knew an apology was in order, but that was likely to bring up the questions again about what he had been shooting at this morning, and Jim wasn't about to risk that. It was bad enough to lose your mind without announcing the fact to the world at large in the process. Some things were better kept to yourself, Jim decided.

"I'm sorry, Jim."

The softly spoken words caught Jim by surprise. He glanced back at his companion. "What?"

Blair kept his gaze on the trail ahead of him. "I'm sorry about this morning. Sleeping so late, and getting you riled. And I'm sorry about you getting stuck with me. If it's any consolation, I'm as anxious to finish this up and get back home as you are to be rid of me."

Renewed guilt flashed through Jim at the quiet words. Is that the impression he was giving the kid? That he couldn't wait to be rid of him?

Blair continued before Jim could set him straight. "At the rate you're progressing, I figure it shouldn't take more than a couple of months, at most, for you to get a handle on your senses. You're really doing well with the scale, balancing it all out, and--"

"Wait a minute, Chief," Jim interrupted. "First off, you're not the one that needs to be apologizing here. You haven't done anything wrong. You were right this morning. I could have woke you up if I wanted to get moving. A few extra hours aren't going to make a difference one way or the other, and it's plain you need the sleep." He glanced over his shoulder, catching Blair's gaze briefly. "As for apologizing...well, I think I'm the one that needs to be saying those words."

The rocks cleared, and they moved back onto the trail. Jim drew his horse up to walk beside Blair's. "I was angry this morning, but it had nothing to do with you. You were just a handy target." Jim took a deep breath. He really didn't want to explain this to Blair, but he felt like he owed it to him. "You were right. I did see something, but...well, I'm not too sure what it was."

"What did you see, Jim? Can you describe it?" Curiosity filled his tone.

Jim bit back a smile at his companion's quick about face, but the smile faded as Jim remembered what had happened. "I was saddling the horses down by the creek. There was something moving upstream, a few yards away. Something small. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I was suddenly...seeing it...you know, up close. And everything else began to fade away. I mean, it was like the rest of the world just disappeared. There was only that little bug -- no sounds, no smells, nothing else. I felt like I was falling into a hole or something and there was nothing to grab a hold of." Jim paused, in his mind going back to that moment and the terror which had gripped him as he realized there was nothing that could stop his descent.

"Jim?"

Blair's gentle voice nudged Jim back to the present. Jim shook himself, trying to dislodge the memory.

"There was something else, wasn't there?" Blair guessed.

Jim glanced at him briefly. The kid's eyes seemed to be looking right through him. Jim took a breath and let it out slowly. He had come this far, no point in stopping now. "I don't know how long I stood there like that. I don't remember anything after that feeling of falling, until I heard something that...woke me up, so to speak."

"What did you hear?"

"It was a cat, like a cougar or something. Close by. The sound jarred me out of my stupor, and the next thing I know, I'm shooting at the damned thing."

"So you saw the cat?"

Jim looked inward, trying to recall the fleeting glance he had gotten of the animal. "Yeah, but only a glimpse. It was close, too damned close. I guess my instincts took over. I don't even remember pulling my gun. They don't usually come that close to people, especially in the daytime."

"Jim, was it a cougar?"

Keeping his eyes carefully trained on the trail and away from the blue eyes he could feel on him, Jim said, "I'm not sure. It wasn't like any cougar I've ever seen. The damned thing was black as night."

He heard a sharp intake of breath from the young man beside him. Risking a glance at him, Jim saw the surprise which colored his expression.

"The Shadow Cat," Blair whispered. Louder, he said, "Tell me you didn't hit the cat, Jim."

"No, I don't think so. It moved too fast. I just scared it away."

"Let's hope not."

"What? What are you talking about, Chief?"

Blair was silent for a moment. He seemed to be considering his answer carefully. "I've seen that cat before, Jim."

"What?" Jim was surprised...and relieved. Maybe he wasn't going crazy, after all. "When?"

"The first time, in a dream. It was injured, and the Night Eagle led me to it so I could heal it. The second time was right after I found you. Jim, hear me out, all right? Don't dismiss what I'm about to say just because it's a little strange."

"Spit it out, Chief."

Blair took a breath and boldly met Jim's gaze. "You've heard me speak of the Night Eagle, right? I know the bohiti told you how it led me to the village when I was a boy. My people believe that everyone has a spirit that watches over him, to guide and teach him. The Night Eagle is my spirit guide."

"What are you saying? That the cat I saw is my 'spirit guide'?" Jim shook his head. "I don't know, I don't buy into this...this spiritual nonsense. I'm sure there is a perfectly sensible explanation for what I saw."

"Just because you choose not to accept it, Jim Ellison, does not make it any less valid."

"And just because you choose to believe it does not make it gospel," Jim countered, beginning to lose patience with the conversation.

"All I'm saying is keep your mind open," Blair said, backing off a bit. "If I'm right, and this Shadow Cat is your spirit guide, then he will come to you again. Next time, try not to shoot him, okay? You don't want to have to deal with an angry spirit guide, believe me."

"Forget about the damned cat, Chief. It's probably halfway to the border by now. I'm a bit more worried about what happened to me before the cat showed up. What the hell is that all about?"

"I'm not sure," Blair admitted, not setting Jim's mind at ease one bit. "It sounds like what happened to you before, when the Night Eagle first led me to you." He glanced over at Jim. "This morning...you were concentrating on your sight?"

"Not really concentrating. I mean, I wasn't thinking about it, it just happened. But yeah, it was my sight."

"And before, when you blanked out like that, you were using your hearing."

"You think it was caused by my senses." It wasn't a question. "Is that going to happen every time I use them? What the hell good are they then?"

"Calm down, Jim," Blair soothed, reaching over to rest his hand on Jim's arm. "You've used your senses lots of times in between the two incidents and nothing happened. So something has to be triggering these spells. There has to be a cause. Just give me a chance to think about it. I'll find a solution, I promise."

Jim met the young man's eyes for several long minutes. There was something there that loosened the knot of fear in Jim's chest. "Okay, Chief, I'll leave it in your hands." A sense of calm overtook him as he handed the problem over to the young bohiti.

~~~

By the time Blair had the horses settled for the night, Jim had a fire going. Blair dropped to the ground beside it and accepted the strips of dried meat Jim handed him.

"I'd trade half my breeding stock for a decent cup of coffee right about now," Jim said. "Hell, I'd even settle for a cup of that imported stuff Simon likes."

Simon..."Your neighbor," Blair recalled.

"Yeah," Jim confirmed, settling back against a log and stretching out his sore leg. "Simon Banks. As good a man as they come. You'll like him, but he's got damned funny tastes in coffee. Has this particular brand imported from South America. Pays a fortune for it, but it tastes like mud, to tell you the truth."

Blair chewed absently on the meat as he searched through the information Jim had given him on his friends and neighbors. Simon Banks, Jim's closest neighbor and a friend from way back. The two men had settled in Cascade Valley at the same time, having come west together after the war. Simon had a son, though Blair couldn't immediately recall how old the boy was. Jim hadn't actually said, but Blair gathered that Simon's wife wasn't in the picture anymore.

"Right now, I'd welcome some of that mud."

Blair looked up, catching the wistful look on Jim's face before it was wiped away.

"How much further, you figure?" Blair knew the answer to the question, having asked it before, but felt the need to remind Jim that he would be home soon.

"Day after tomorrow," Jim sighed. He glanced up to meet Blair's gaze. "Of course, we could have already been there by now."

Blair caught the hint of amusement in Jim's eyes as he spoke. "Do you honestly think anyone would believe that I was holding you back? Jim, you're twice my size."

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, but you're twice as stubborn. I think anyone that's around you for more than five minutes would believe that."

Grinning, Blair said, "Not my wounds. Go ahead and rip them open if you want to."

Jim held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, we're taking it slow, aren't we? You've already won this argument."

"Then why are we having it again?"

"I'm not arguing. I'm simply pointing out that we could be sitting around the kitchen table right now, enjoying a cup of hot coffee." He paused, almost wistfully. "And maybe a thick slice of Stebbins' apple pie."

Jim sighed at the image, and the two men settled into a companionable silence that Blair was loathe to break. But there was something he really needed to discuss.

"Jim, I've been thinking--"

"Should I worry, Chief?"

"Very funny." Blair grinned in spite of himself. "About what happened this morning..." He couldn't help but notice as all traces of Jim's humor vanished. Blair suppressed a sigh and plunged onward. "Something had to trigger the spell."

"Blair, we've been over this already. It happened when I used my sight."

"But you've used it before without a problem."

"So you're saying this thing, whatever happened, is unpredictable? It's liable to pop up at any time?" There was an unmistakable note of panic in the older man's voice.

"No, I don't believe that," Blair rushed to assure him. "I think there was a specific cause. It's just a matter of identifying it. Once we know what's happening, we can find a solution."

Jim nodded slowly, though the look in his eyes said he wasn't completely buying it. "And how do we do that?"

"We need to backtrack, go over exactly what you were doing when it happened."

Jim let out a loud sigh. "We've already done that. I told you what I was doing."

"I know," Blair insisted firmly. "But I need to hear it again. Humor me, Jim."

Jim stretched his long legs toward the fire and leaned back. Led by Blair's gentle questions, Jim went back over the details of the morning, step by slow step. By the time Blair was satisfied he had every detail, no matter how small, Jim was exhausted.

"Give it a rest for tonight, Chief," he suggested, spreading out his bedroll beside the fire. "We'll need an early start tomorrow." He stretched out, pulling up a blanket against the chill which had settled with the damp night air. "Home is so close, I can almost smell it."

Sometime later, when the moon had fully risen, a gentle shake awakened Jim. Startled, he bolted upright, reaching for his gun in the same movement.

"Whoa, hang on there, Jim," Blair said, backing away with his hands raised before him in a placating gesture. "It's just me."

Jim relaxed, sinking back down on his bedroll. "You want to explain what you're doing waking me up in the middle of the night, Chief? Something wrong?"

"No. Not really, I was just thinking--"

"When you should be sleeping," Jim interrupted. For some reason he wasn't at all surprised at that.

"Yeah, well, anyway, I was thinking about your, you know...your 'problem'. It seems to me that maybe you're focusing too much on one sense. You described it as feeling like you were falling into a deep hole, right? Well, I think you simply need something to tether yourself to so you don't fall. You know like a rope or something, but not in the physical sense, more like a mental rope, or a sensory anchor of some sort that you can--"

"Chief! Blair...hold up...take a breath before you pass out." Jim waited until the young man complied, amused by the seemingly boundless enthusiasm. "Now start over slowly, you've lost me."

Blair took another breath, then began again. "You need an anchor, Jim...when you use your senses. Something to keep you from focusing too tightly on one sense."

"What kind of anchor, Chief?"

"We'll have to experiment, try different things. I was thinking something sensory...you know, like maybe, if you're listening to something, you might want to use touch at the same time to split your focus so you don't 'fall into' your hearing. Or if you're using sight, anchor your hearing on something."

Jim nodded. Surprisingly, he thought he understood what the young man was saying, and it made a certain amount of sense. "So this'll solve my 'problem'?"

"I can't promise that it will, Jim," Blair admitted. "But it's a start. We'll try this, and if it doesn't work, then we'll try something else, and eventually, we'll hit on the right thing. We will, Jim. That I can promise you."

~~~

Blair stifled a yawn, loosening his hold on the reins to allow the horses to drink from the stream. Jim had been up before daybreak, anxious to resume the journey. Blair easily understood Jim's enthusiasm to get home. He only wished he could share it. Every mile that brought them closer to Jim's world increased Blair's unease. He couldn't help it. He was trying to mask his nervousness from Jim, but had a feeling he wasn't entirely successful.

Memories he had worked for so long to bury were working their way to the surface, invading his waking thoughts, as well as his dreams. He was becoming less sure of the wisdom of his decision to accompany Jim home with each mile that passed beneath their horses' hooves.

Blair quickly forced away the traitorous thoughts. He was ashamed he could even consider, no matter how briefly, leaving Jim to cope with his newly awakened senses alone. Blair could deal with a few nightmares, a few bad memories. It wasn't much of a sacrifice when he considered what Jim was going through.

"Don't move!"

Blair froze as the words were accentuated by the sharp click of a gun hammer being drawn back. He hadn't heard anyone approach, and if the horses had tried to alert him, he had missed it. Silently, he cursed himself for the lapse in attention. Lack of sleep and distracting thoughts were no excuse for carelessness.

"You understand English?" the voice asked, moving closer. Blair felt the cold steel of the revolver press into the soft skin below his right ear. At the same time, he felt his knife being pulled from its sheath at his waist.

He swallowed hard before answering. "Yes."

"Good. Makes this a hell of a lot easier." The pressure of the gun increased. "Before I kill you, I want you to explain to me what a stinkin' redskin is doing with Jim Ellison's horse."

The accusation in the man's voice was plain to hear. Startled by the conclusions being drawn, Blair hesitated a moment too long before answering. A beefy hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly twisted him around. He had only a second to focus on the enraged face before him before a fist caught him hard across the chin. His head snapped back painfully, even as he lost his balance and crashed to his knees. He scarcely had a chance to register the pain when a backhanded blow split his lip and sent him to the ground, black spots driving away his focus. Dimly, he was aware of shouted protests, just as hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. Instinctively, he tensed himself for another blow.

"Easy, Chief." Jim's voice cut through the haze which had clouded his thoughts.

Blair shook his head, clearing his focus. Jim's face, filled with concern, moved into his line of vision. "I'm all right," he hurried to assure the man.

Jim didn't look convinced, but turned to face the stranger just a few steps away. Blair quickly took in the man's appearance. He was a tall man, but on the slender side, with a narrow, tough face which was twisted in an expression that Blair was all too familiar with.

"Fessler," Jim growled, obviously recognizing the man. "You want to tell me why in the hell you were attacking this man?"

"God, Ellison, I thought..." the man hesitated in the face of Jim's fury. "Hell, man, you've been missing for three weeks now, and when I saw this Injun with Soldier, I thought..."

"You jumped to a ridiculous conclusion," Jim finished for him. "And you were wrong."

The man's eyes darted from Jim to Blair and back. "Hell, Jim, you can't blame me none. I mean, what's this redskin doing with Soldier anyhow?" The contempt in Fessler's voice was not missed by Blair.

"This 'redskin'," Jim growled, "is traveling with me. That's all you need to know."

"Sure, Jim," the man agreed quickly. "That's good enough for me." He turned his gaze to Blair. "No hard feelings?"

Blair nodded, swiping his sleeve across the thin trail of blood he could feel trickling down his chin from the split lip. "Sure. Simple misunderstanding."

Fessler immediately switched his attention back to Jim, dismissing Blair. A slow smile played at the corners of the man's thin-lipped mouth. "Good to see you, Jim. I heard tell you dropped off the face of the earth a few weeks back. Taggart even sent a couple of men down to Newcastle to try to track you down."

"I took a little...detour," Jim said, not offering a more in-depth explanation. "Which way are you headed, Fessler?"

The man raised his eyebrows at the question. "Back to the ranch. You got something in mind?"

"We're having to travel a little slower than I would like. How about you taking a little side trip by my place and let my men know I'm all right and headed in?"

"Sure, not a problem." Fessler picked up his hat from where it had fallen when he had jumped Blair. "Any other messages you want to send?" His gaze drifted pointedly to Blair, still standing behind Jim.

"No, that's it," Jim said. "We should make it there by tomorrow afternoon."

The man nodded, cast another contemptuous glance at Blair, then turned into the brush. Jim cocked his head to the side, listening to something only he could hear. After a few seconds, his stance relaxed, and he turned to Blair.

"He's gone." Jim took Blair's chin in his hand and turned his face to the side. "Norman Fessler, one of Simon's men. He's got a big mouth, but he's usually harmless."

Blair pulled away from Jim's scrutiny. He stepped toward the horses, gathering the reins and heading back toward camp. "It was an honest mistake."

"Blair..."

"It's nothing, Jim. Let it go."

~~~

It was almost dark by the time they reached the ranch. The tension which filled the ranch yard was heavy in its intensity. A half-dozen men stood scattered around the corral, each taking silent inventory of the approaching pair. Of me, Blair realized.

Jim spurred his horse into a trot, his relief and pleasure at finally arriving home almost palpable. Blair couldn't bring himself to move any faster, sharing in the anxiousness, but for entirely different reasons. At the corral fence, Jim dismounted and let himself be caught up in the now vocal group. A short moment later, Blair reigned in and followed suit, but hung back, intimidated by the crowd and completely aware of the meaningful glances being thrown his way.

"Damn, Jim!" a large black man exclaimed, clapping Jim soundly on the shoulder. "Damn! What happened? Where you been?"

Joel Taggart. Blair's mind quickly supplied the name based on Jim's description of the guy. Jim's foreman.

"It's a long story," Jim replied. "I'll fill you in later."

"Good thing Fessler came by when he did," Taggart said. "Else you would have come home to an empty ranch. We were getting ready to send out a search party. Simon actually wanted to send it out last week, but I know you, you old son of a jackass! I knew you'd get here eventually. You're too damned stubborn to let anything happen to you."

Blair noticed a few more ranch hands coming out of what he figured to be the bunkhouse. He didn't miss the hostile glares the new arrivals sent him. He dropped his eyes, moving closer to the horse as though to remind himself he could still escape if things got out of hand.

Jim noticed the movement and turned toward Blair. "Come here, kid, meet the guys."

Blair hesitated as every eye turned to him. Finally, he tossed the reins over the corral fence and moved closer to Jim, trying to keep his breathing as calm as he could. The last thing he needed was for these men to pick up on how scared he was.

Jim took his arm as he approached and drew him to his side. "Blair, I want you to meet Joel Taggart, my foreman and right-hand man. This place would fall apart in a week without him."

Blair tentatively met the man's eyes, surprised to see more curiosity than hostility there. He extended his hand and was pleased that there was only a slight hesitation before the big man accepted it, shaking it firmly.

"I don't know about all that," Joel said in response to Jim's compliments, "but it certainly can't hurt for your boss to think you're indispensable, can it?"

Blair allowed the man a half smile. It was the best he could do with his heart threatening to break free of his chest at any moment.

"He's just a wet-behind-the-ears kid," a loud voice from the back of the group declared. "The way Fessler talked, I expected some blood-thirsty savage."

Blair felt himself blush as a chuckle went through the crowd.

"Fessler's an idiot, Quinn," Jim said, addressing the owner of the loud voice. "You ought to know that."

"Still, there ain't much to him, is there?" Quinn moved to the front of the group, and Blair got his first good look at the man Jim had described as 'a fool and an idiot, but hell with a rope and good enough at his job to overlook, for the most part'. Stringy, greasy hair hung almost to the man's collar, framing an angular face that was twisted in open contempt. Wide-set, narrow eyes raked over Blair from head to toe, passing judgment on what they found. "He's nothing but bones. I'll bet a good wind would take him right out of here. What's the matter, boy, couldn't find enough white babies to fill you up?"

"That's enough!" Jim barked, backing up the words with a glare to shut the man up.

Blair sensed an explosion coming, and dropped a calming hand on Jim's arm, hoping to defuse it. "It's okay, Jim," he whispered, loud enough for only the Guardian to hear.

Jim shot him an apologetic look, then turned back to face his men. "Blair's going to be working with us for a while. I expect you to show him the same courtesy you would anyone else."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Blair risked a quick look up, scanning the faces staring in disbelief at Jim. Most of the men seemed confused, even a bit angry at the announcement. Blair had expected that. Some, most notably Quinn and a couple of men beside him, were openly hostile. Blair had expected that, too. One man, a nice looking man only a couple of years older than Blair, was glaring at Blair with unmistakable hatred in his dark eyes. Blair quickly looked away, old memories surfacing unbidden at the expression.

Resisting the urge to get back on his horse and ride out as fast as he could, Blair said softly, "Jim, I'm going to see to the horses." He didn't wait for the man's answer, but grabbed the reins of the two horses and headed for the barn.

~~~

"Damn murderin', rapin', thievin' savages!" Quinn exclaimed loudly. "You can't expect us to work with one of 'em!"

Jim took a calming breath, though it did little to settle his anger at the words he knew Blair could probably hear. "I expect you to not only work with the man, but to treat him with the same respect you would show any man."

"Jim," Joel started hesitantly, "you know how unsettled things are right now with the tribes to the south. Hell, just last week we heard the ranches west of Frye Gap were wiped out, no survivors."

"That had nothing to do with Blair," Jim insisted. He hadn't expected this from Joel. The man was nothing if not fair and honest.

"I know that, Jim, and I don't personally hold it against the boy. I'm just trying to say that the boys here are understandably nervous about an Indian coming on board. You have to admit, it's going to make for a tense situation. I'm just asking how wise is it to expect the men to work efficiently with an Indian under the circumstances?"

Jim unclenched his jaw, forcing his facial muscles to relax. He could understand the point Joel was trying to make, but that didn't change the situation. "I owe Blair my life," he stated after a long, tense moment. "I respect him, and I trust him. I don't expect the same from any of you, at least until you get a chance to get to know him. But Blair will be working with you. My decision is final. If any of you have a problem with that," he turned his glare directly on Quinn, "then draw your wages and ride out now."

Quinn didn't speak, but his expression clearly stated he wasn't happy with the idea. Finally, he broke eye contact. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. Quinn was a bigoted fool, but he was a valuable worker, and Jim hadn't been pleased with the prospect of losing him.

"I'll work with him, as long as he keeps out of my way, but I won't share the bunkhouse with him."

Jim turned toward the voice, surprised at its source. Of all his men, Rafe was the one he had most expected to sympathize with Blair's situation. Rafe was of mixed heritage himself, the product of a Mexican-American union, and as such had been subject to his own share of bigotry. But the hatred tingeing the lightly accented voice was unmistakable.

"The kid's got a point," Quinn quickly put in, obviously trying to save face in the aftermath of Jim's victory. "We're liable to all wake up with out throats slit."

"They got a point, boss."

"That goes fer me, too. I ain't sleepin' next to no Injun. I like my scalp right where it is, thank yuh very much."

Anger once again flooded Jim, prompting his next words. Though he'd had no such plans, he heard himself saying, "That's not a problem. Blair won't be sleeping in the bunkhouse. He's going to be in the main house, in Steven's old room."

Silence met Jim's announcement. He swept his gaze over the men, effectively ending the discussion. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Blair, standing in the door of the barn, holding their packs. Though his face revealed nothing, Jim knew the kid had heard every word.

Slowly, the men turned and headed back to the bunkhouse, some of them mumbling under their breath. Once they were gone, Blair approached Jim.

"I'm sorry--"

"It's no worse than I expected, Jim. Don't worry about it."

Jim studied the young face and was relieved to find no animosity there, though it saddened him to think that Blair had expected no better. Again he found himself wondering about the kid's past. How many times must he have encountered such open hostility from white men, that he could so accept it so casually?

"Come on," Jim said, grabbing the young man and steering him toward the house. "Let's go see what Stebbins can rustle up for us to eat."

Blair fell into step beside him. "You didn't have to say that. About putting me up in your house, I mean. I can deal with them."

"You don't have to. Look, Blair, most of the guys are pretty good men. They're just a little jumpy right now because of the uprisings south of here. They're all talk. Once they get to know you, they'll be fine. You'll see."

"I understand. I can deal with it. But, really, you don't have to put me in the house. In fact, maybe I could just make a camp in the woods nearby. I'm used to sleeping out in the open. I won't have a problem with it, honestly, and--"

"No!" Jim's simple reply effectively shut the young man up. True, he hadn't planned to house Blair in Steven's old room, but now that he'd announced his intentions, he was going to stick to his word. Besides, it was only for a few months, at most.

~~~

Blair hadn't thought he would have an appetite, but he'd surprised himself. Not only had he cleaned his plate, but he had gratefully accepted seconds from the wiry little man Jim had introduced as Stebbins. Blair liked the cook-slash-housekeeper. The man hadn't even seemed to notice Blair's race, immediately pushing the younger man onto the bench at the large table and shoveling food onto his plate, then launching into a rambling commentary of everything that had happened on the ranch while Jim was gone.

Blair let the words wash over him, taking comfort in their neutrality. It felt good to lower his guard for a few minutes. Though he'd expected it, prepared himself for it, he was still hurt by the reception he'd gotten from Jim's ranch hands. He'd told Jim he understood their reactions, and he did, but that hadn't lessened the sting of their attitudes and words. He only hoped he'd convinced Jim that it hadn't bothered him too much. The man had enough on his mind at the moment without having to worry about Blair's troubles, too. It would only be for a few months, at most. He could deal with that.

~~~

Jim dressed slowly, his arm and shoulder still stiff and sore; but it was on the mend, thanks to Blair, and Jim couldn't find it in himself to complain about the stiffness. He finished buttoning his shirt as he descended the stairs and followed his nose to the kitchen.

"Mornin', Boss," Stebbins called, grabbing a cup and filling it with coffee from the stove. "Figured you'd sleep in this mornin'."

"Too glad to be back," Jim admitted, accepting the cup with a grateful smile. "And too much to do. It'll take me a week just to catch up with where I stand. Joel been around yet this morning?"

"Ain't seen 'im. That boy's done come and gone, tho'"

"Blair?" Jim was surprised. He'd figured Blair was still in bed. It was early, even by ranch standards. The sun was scarcely beginning to lighten the eastern sky.

"Yep. Even beat me to it. He was sitting here lacing up those moccasin things he was wearin' when I came in. Said he had work to do. I think he headed fer the barn. Gonna be a hard worker, that one. I think you done good snaggin' him."

Jim was warmed by the man's simple statement. He expected Blair to win over a few others in time, but it would nice to have one man already on his side.

"If you're headed thata way, you might wanna steer the boy back in this direction. Grub'll be ready in about fifteen minutes and if'n he ain't quick, he's apt to miss out altogether, and from the looks of 'im, he don't need to be missing out on meals. Too skinny already. You tell 'im I said to hustle, and I'll see he gets first pickins."

Jim smiled. "I'll do that."

Pausing in the door to the barn, Jim was surprised at the sight which greeted him. The barn was neater than Jim had ever seen it, all of the stalls cleaned and the tack organized and in place. Blair was at the far end of the barn, studiously brushing Soldier. The black stallion stood very still, obviously enjoying the attention. Blair was talking to the animal in low, soft tones. Without being conscious of the effort, Jim rebalanced his hearing until he could distinguish the words. He quickly realized they were in Blair's native language.

"I never thought I'd see Soldier take to anyone like that but you, Jim. He barely tolerates even Rafe."

Jim turned to find Joel standing at his shoulder. The comment brought a quick smile to his lips. "Blair has a way with horses."

"So I see," Joel commented, returning the smile.

The two watched silently as Blair finished with the stallion and returned him to his stall. He approached another stall, stopping a few feet away when the horse inside became agitated at his approach.

"That's one of the new ones," Joel explained to Jim. "She came in with the herd from Montell last week. She's a biter. Had to separate her from the rest of the herd. Rafe worked with her some, but I don't know if we're going to be able to break her from it. The poor kid is black and blue."

"Shame," Jim commented, watching as Blair moved slowly closer to the stall door. The younger man kept up his soft monologue. The mare danced around a bit in the limited confines of her stall before finally settling down, occasionally stamping and snorting to show her continued agitation. She pricked her ears forward, absorbing the gentle tone of the man's words. Blair slowly lifted his arm, extending it inch by inch until his hand was resting on the topmost rail of the stall.

Joel took a step forward, his mouth open to shout a warning, but Jim stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "Wait."

"Jim, that boy's going to lose a finger if he isn't careful." Despite his voiced objection, Joel stood quietly and watched.

The mare backed away, but after a minute more of Blair's soft words, she cautiously ventured forward, extending her neck until she could sniff at the young man's hand. After a moment of this, Blair carefully lifted his hand and stroked the mare's muzzle.

"Well, I'll be damned," Joel exclaimed softly. "Maybe we've just found a place for the boy's talents."

Jim waited until Blair had retracted his hand, then spoke loudly. "Nice job, Chief."

Blair's head jerked up, and Jim was amused to see a flush of embarrassment wash over his features. He bit back his grin and headed across the expanse between them.

"That it was, kid," Joel called out, following Jim as he closed the distance. "That mare has been nothing but trouble for us. I hate to say this about any animal, but in this case I think it's true: She's got a mean spirit."

"There's no such thing in the animal world," Blair said, his voice soft, but firm. "If she's trouble, I'm sure she's got her reasons."

"Maybe so," Joel replied, eyeing the creature, who was once again dancing agitatedly around the stall in response to the men's presence. "But we don't have the time or the manpower to handle her right now."

"Jim?" Blair turned a troubled expression to face Jim, and the older man knew instantly what he was asking.

"Joel wouldn't make that call lightly, Chief, but this is a working ranch. We have limited resources, and even more limited manpower. If Joel says she can't be broken, his word is final."

"I can break her."

The quiet words were spoken with a firm conviction. Hearing them, Jim had no doubt Blair meant it. But that didn't make it so. Jim was inclined to deny the young man his implied request. They had other concerns, after all. Namely, this Guardian business. Besides, Rafe was one of the best horse wranglers Jim had ever seen. If he said the mare was a waste of time, then Jim was prone to believe him. He opened his mouth to issue the denial, then stopped. What would it really hurt? If Blair saw something in this animal, who was Jim to argue?

"Okay, kid. Knock yourself out. You break her, and she's yours."

"No, Jim, that's not what I--"

Jim held up a hand, stopping the kid's rush of words. "She's no good to me like she is. If you can do anything with her, you'll deserve to have her. No arguments." He couldn't stop a smile at the look of confused astonishment that crossed Blair's face. "Now let's go get some breakfast."

The rest of the hands were assembled around the large plank table in the main house by the time the three of them had cleaned up. Their voices, loud and boisterous, could be heard from the doorway even without Jim's "special" ears; but the minute he, Joel and Blair stepped into the room, silence reigned. Jim cast a glare at the few men brave enough to stare openly at Blair, then made his way to his usual place at the head of the table. Joel followed, taking his place to Jim's right. Blair hesitated for a moment in the doorway, uncertainly flashing briefly across his young features.

"You'll sit here," Jim said, gesturing to the end of the bench on his left. "Scoot down, boys, and make room."

Blair crossed the room and took the indicated place, none of the nervousness Jim detected evident to anyone else. Stebbins showed up then, sliding plates in front of the latecomers.

"You'd better hurry, boys, or you're gonna be left with nothin' but cold biscuits."

Slowly, conversation around the table picked back up, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief. He reached for the platters in the middle of the table and began loading his plate. Jim noticed Blair's hesitation to reach for the food and took it on himself to fill the young man's plate. Breakfast, by tradition as well as necessity, was a hearty affair on the ranch. Cold biscuits and a strip or two of dry meat packed in the saddlebag sufficed for lunch most days, and it could be a very long time until supper.

Blair accepted the food without comment, keeping his focus pointedly on the plate before him. Though his expression was the picture of calm, Jim noted with dismay the rapid beat of the young man's heart. He knew this was uncomfortable for Blair. He hoped, with time, at least some of the tensions would ease. Once the men got a chance to get to know Blair, work with him, they would see how ridiculous their attitudes were.

~~~

Joel let the conversations around the table wash over him as he turned his focus onto the young man sitting across from him. He'd noticed the pointed, and in some cases, hostile stares of the men around the table. It was to be expected, he supposed, given the current state of Indian affairs around the territory, but it shamed him nonetheless, and he felt a pang of sympathy for the young man trying to valiantly to ignore it. He held no personal animosity toward the savages, and was more than willing to give this boy a chance to prove himself. Jim seemed impressed with his worth, and that said a lot in Joel's book.

But, still, he could understand most of the men's attitudes -- with the exception of Rafe. Quinn's reaction was no surprise. The man had a mean streak a mile wide. He was a valuable hand, it was true; top notch with a rope, and he knew his way around cattle like few Joel had known. But there were times when he wondered if it was worth the hassles the man caused to keep him on. He'd been tempted on more than one occasion to have a talk with Jim about letting Quinn go. The man was a powder keg, and Joel didn't think it would take much to set him off.

But Rafe, on the other hand, had proven himself to be a level headed, trustworthy young man. Joel couldn't understand his reaction to Blair. Being of mixed heritage himself, and most certainly the subject of his own share of bigotry, Rafe should have been the most sympathetic of them all. But there was no denying that wasn't the case. Open hatred shone from the young man's dark eyes every time they lit on the newcomer.

There was a story there, Joel mused, turning his glance toward the man in question in time to catch another murderous glare being thrown Blair's way -- and he had a feeling it would be in his best interest to get to the bottom of it before he ended up losing a good hand over it.

Joel returned his attention to Blair. The young man was doing his best to ignore the looks being thrown his way. He kept his gaze on his plate, looking up only when Jim asked him a direct question. Joel took pity on his boss, trying to carry on a one-sided conversation, and decided to help him out.

"So, Blair..." He waited until the young man looked up before continuing. "Where did you learn to handle horses like that?"

Surprise flickered through the blue eyes. Surprised I'm talking to him? That I'm interested in him? Joel put as much warmth as he could into his smile in an effort to put the young man at ease.

"I, um...I just have a way with animals."

Joel raised his eyebrows, hoping to prompt Blair to elaborate, but the young man lowered his head, returning his focus to his plate. Joel glanced over at Jim, who shrugged and frowned.

Trying again, Joel said, "You really think you can break that mare?"

Unfortunately, the comment was made into a lull in the conversations around the table, drawing attention Joel hadn't bargained for.

"What mare?" Henri asked. "The biter?"

"No way in hell he'll break that one," Quinn snorted.

"She can't be broke," said Rafe, his dark eyes locking on Blair's blue ones.

"I can break her," Blair answered simply, his voice holding a firm conviction.

"Well, hell, I, for one, would pay good money to see him try," Wade Rooker, one of Quinn's buddies, threw in with a laugh.

"Twenty bucks says he can't do it!"

"Count me in!"

Voices around the table chipped in, adding to the bet. Joel noticed that all of the money was going against Blair. Until Jim chimed in.

"I'll cover all of the bets."

All eyes turned to the boss. Jim met their gazes with confidence. "I'll cover your bets. If Blair says he can break the horse, he'll break her."

Rafe pushed his plate away angrily and stood. "You have money to throw away? Because that's what you'll be doing." His slight accent deepened with his anger. "I know horses, and I say she's a waste of time." The look he directed at Jim held a challenge.

Joel found himself holding his breath waiting for Jim's response. Rafe was right -- he knew horses. He was one of the best Joel had ever seen, especially for someone so young. But from what he'd seen this morning, Blair knew horses, too. If it came down to a choice between the two of them, Joel wasn't sure who Jim would pick. He just knew he didn't want to lose Rafe.

"No one's questioning your judgment, Rafe," Jim said. "I've seen the mare, and I'm inclined to believe you. But Blair asked for a chance with her, and I see no reason not to give it to him. She has the look of a good horse. If there's even the chance he can break her, I say let him try."

Rafe stood fuming for a minute more, his gaze moving from Jim to Blair. Joel opened his mouth to try to diffuse the situation, but Henri beat him to it.

"Let the kid give a shot, Rafe. What's it gonna hurt? At worst, we win a lot of money off of the boss-man."

"And at best, we get to see Injun-boy knocked on his ass a few times," Wade added.

A snicker went up from the men at the table, but Rafe only scowled before turning and leaving the room. Henri threw Jim and Joel an apologetic look and stood. "I'll talk to him," he promised, following his friend outside.

~~~

Blair had met Rafe's angry outburst with an expression of confidence and firm conviction. Only Jim had been aware of the racing heartbeat that belied Blair's calm exterior. Apparently, he was the only one witness to the near panic in the kid's deep blue eyes. Or so he thought until he caught Joel's gaze. The dark man had seen it, and understood it for the embarrassment and anxiety it was.

Blair's heartbeat continued to thunder in Jim's ears, despite the gradual slowing in its cadence. Jim rubbed absently at his temples. Voices around the table rose as the men argued amongst themselves over Blair's chances at breaking the mare. Jim attempted unsuccessfully to tune them out. If anything, the sounds increased, reaching a crescendo that was rapidly becoming painful.

A weight settled on Jim's arm, barely noticeable amidst of the crashing waves of sound that threatened to drown him. The weight tightened, drawing a small part of Jim's attention to its presence. The pressure of noise eased fractionally -- whether in response to Jim's now-divided attention, or the warmth and vibrancy of the touch, he didn't care. All he cared about was dimming the noise, getting the din back to a bearable level.

"Balance it out, Jim." The voice was soft, gentle. Jim shouldn't have been able to hear it above the din in his ears. But he latched onto it like a lifeline, knowing instinctively it offered salvation.

"Picture the scales, Jim. You control it. You can move the weights where they need to be to lower the noise. Keep moving them around until you get them balanced out."

The voice continued, repeating the instructions. Jim obeyed without question, and gradually, as he adjusted the weights, the chaos assaulting him retreated. As it leveled off, he opened his eyes, only just realizing he had closed them, and found Blair's troubled blue eyes studying him.

"You okay now?"

Jim drew in a deep breath, nodding. "Yeah, I'm fine," he assured, though the young man didn't look convinced. "Where's Joel?" He noticed the foreman was no longer seated beside him.

Blair's frown deepened. "He left. Some time ago."

Confused, Jim glanced further down the table, noticing that nearly all the men had finished up and gone. Stebbins had the mess half cleared already. How much time had he lost?

A hand on his arm drew his attention back to the kid. Keeping his voice low in deference to the few men still in the room, Blair said, "It's all right, Jim. It's all still too new, but--"

Jim cut him off with a raised hand. He could feel his temper rising, even as he felt his control slipping. Rather than say something he knew he would be sorry for later, he stood and strode quickly out the door into the early morning air, heading for the barn. He heard Blair scrambling to follow and quickened his pace. He definitely didn't want to discuss this right now.

The kid, it seemed, had other ideas. "Jim! Wait!"

Despite Jim's intentions of ignoring the call, he found himself slowing. Blair caught up and reached out to lay a hand on Jim's arm, something Jim was beginning to notice he did a lot. Jim backed up a step, pulling out of Blair's reach. Momentary hurt flashed through the dark blue eyes, sending a stab of guilt through Jim, but he squashed it. He wasn't in the mood to appease Blair's feelings. He had his own troubles to deal with.

"I don't want to hear it, kid," he barked out angrily, not noticing the way Blair flinched back. "I don't want to hear how 'normal' this is, and how 'wonderful' these gifts are. How the hell am I supposed to function if I can't even get through a meal without falling into some kind of...of...spell? I'm going to end up locked up in some sanitarium somewhere at this rate."

Blair lifted his hand again, then caught himself, letting it fall back to his side. "I know it must seem overwhelming to you right now, Jim, but it's not going to always be like this. It's still new. You haven't learned to control it all yet. But you will. In time, you'll learn to adjust the scales without even thinking about it. That's what I'm here for. I'll walk you though it until you learn to do it on your own."

Jim studied the young face before him for a long minute. "So you're saying that I'll...adjust? That you'll teach me to keep everything balanced all the time so this won't happen again?"

"No." Blair's voice was soft, almost a whisper. "No, Jim, I can't promise it won't happen again. I will teach you how to balance everything out, but until you get the hang of it, you'll probably have more of these spells. You will adjust. You'll learn how to bring everything into focus, keep it all at the level it belongs. You'll have to work at it for a while, but it'll be second nature before you know it. You'll get control over this thing, Jim. I'll help you, and I won't leave until you do. That I can promise you."

~~~

Blair watched as Jim weighed his words, judging their worth. He held his breath as he waited for the verdict. When Jim's gaze finally softened, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, Blair released his breath. Maybe Jim hadn't been completely reassured by Blair's promises, but he was at least willing to accept them for the moment. That was all Blair could ask.

Jim opened his mouth, but rather than say anything, he closed it and tilted his head slightly to the side. "Someone's coming in," he said after a moment.

Blair followed his gaze, seeing nothing, but knowing Jim did.

"Simon," the bigger man announced, "and Daryl." Jim 's eyes lit up as his face split in a wide grin. "I'm surprised it took him this long. I half expected him last night."

Blair's first impulse was to duck into the barn, find something productive to do out of the way. But he knew Jim would want him to meet his best friend, so he reluctantly stood his ground, watching as the two riders drew into view.

"Jim Ellison, you sorry dog! Do you have any idea the grief you caused, slinking off like you did? Joel and I have had men out over half the county trying to track you down. That's a fine way to treat your friends!"

Despite the man's harsh words, his dark face was lit up in a brilliant smile as he dismounted and slapped Jim on the back. But even as he warmly greeted his friend, Simon's eyes tracked over to Blair and quickly lost their warmth.

"It's true, then, huh?" Simon continued, coldly. "You found yourself a savage."

Blair tried not to flinch at the tone of the words. It was clear Simon Banks had no use for "savages" and thought Jim had definitely lost his mind.

"I don't know about that," Jim responded, humor coloring his voice. "Blair's about as savage as a foal. Although, I did see him massacre a trout once." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "It was not a pretty sight. Poor thing didn't stand a chance."

Blair glanced up as he heard a chuckle from Banks' son. The boy shifted his gaze from Jim to Blair and smiled warmly in greeting. Blair found himself smiling back, pleased to have finally found one person who didn't look like he wanted to shoot the "Injun" on sight...even if it was a kid. Daryl looked to be in his early teens, though Blair couldn't remember from what Jim had told him if that was right or not. The boy dismounted and stepped forward, extending his hand to Blair.

"Hi. I'm Daryl."

Blair gratefully accepted the hand, pleased to note the boy appeared sincere.

"Hi, Daryl," he responded quietly, glancing nervously at the boy's father. Banks was openly scowling at the exchange. Blair withdrew his hand and stepped back, distancing himself from the boy in hopes of removing any perceived threat.

"Blair? Strange name for an Indian, isn't it?"

Blair tore his eyes from Banks' glare and returned his attention to the man's son. "I'm only half Indian. My mother was white."

"A breed." The way Banks said it made it sound nasty. Blair took another step back.

"Blair saved my life, Simon," Jim said hastily, probably hoping to diffuse a potentially ugly situation. "And he's earned my trust."

Blair glanced at Jim in surprise. He hadn't heard Jim use that particular word before, and Blair was stunned, and absurdly pleased, to hear it in connection with his name. He had a feeling Jim didn't give trust easily, and it meant something to him to know he had earned it in the man's eyes. He glanced at Banks from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his reaction to the pronouncement, but the dark man had turned his attention solely onto Jim.

"Saved your life? What happened, Jim?"

"It's a long story, Simon. Come on in and have some coffee, and I'll tell you all about it."

Blair watched as the two older men, followed by Daryl, headed for the house. He made no move to join them. It was clear Banks had no use for him. That knowledge disappointed Blair, but didn't really surprise him. He had hoped the man Jim clearly thought so highly of would be more accepting, more open minded. Obviously he was wrong.

He turned toward the bunkhouse, scanning the area for Joel. The day was slipping away. Time to find out where he would be needed for the day.

~~~

"Have you lost your mind?! He's an Indian! A savage!"

"Calm down, Simon."

"Don't tell me to calm down, Jim." Simon took the offered cup of coffee and sank into the soft leather of the large couch. "Are you even aware of the tensions over in Clark County? Do you know what the savages did to the people there?"

"I know, Simon. I know. And if I didn't, there are more than a dozen men around here quite willing to tell me about it. That doesn't have anything to do with Blair."

Simon could see Jim's own temper was beginning to rise, so he softened his voice as he continued. "Maybe not, Jim, but you have to admit, it's a little...strange...don't you think? I mean, a few weeks ago, you would have been on this band wagon right beside me."

"Then I would have been wrong." Jim set his cup on the heavy plank table between the two couches and leaned back. Simon noticed the wince that accompanied the move.

"You said he saved your life. What happened?"

"I was shot. On the way back from Newcastle. I don't know who, or even why. Frankly, I don't really remember it. Blair found me. Though he had no reason to, and probably lots of reasons not to, he took care of me. Cut the bullet out and tended to me until I could be moved, then dragged me to his village to recover. I have no doubt I would have died if it hadn't been for him."

Jim's steady gaze told Simon more than the words had. But he wasn't ready to give in just yet. "You feel like you owe him something, so you, what? Offered him a job punching cows? Excuse me, but I don't buy it, Jim. What were you thinking? A simple thank you wouldn't have sufficed?"

"It was my decision, Simon." Jim's tone held a note of finality to it.

Simon sighed, recognizing the losing battle he was waging. Jim was in no position to see reason at the moment, and Simon was wasting breath trying.

"Look, Simon, I understand where your thinking is on this. Honestly, I do. But you're wrong. Blair can't be judged by the sins of his race any more than you or I can. He's harmless. Take my word for it."

"Like you said, your choice." Simon mentally shook his head, hoping Jim wouldn't regret that choice.

~~~

Joel watched the young man tentatively approach, and sighed. Most of the men had ridden out, but enough remained to give the newcomer a hard time. Most notably, Quinn. The man passed Blair on his way to the corral to retrieve his horse. Joel could see Quinn say something to Blair, and he could see Blair's reaction, though it was quickly masked, but from where he stood, he couldn't catch what had been said. Knowing Quinn, though, it didn't take much imagination to figure out it wasn't particularly nice. Especially considering how the kid's face paled in response. Joel headed over, hoping to forestall any troubles, but by the time he reached them, Quinn had moved off.

"Don't pay those loudmouths any mind, Blair," Joel said, amused by the way the kid jumped in response to his voice. He'd thought Indians were more alert than this one seemed to be. Or maybe it was just that the poor fellow had more important things on his mind -- like trying to survive in a hostile world. Joel's amusement faded at the thought. "They're just a lot of hot air. No substance. Don't let it get to you."

Blair turned grateful eyes toward him, and Joel felt warmed knowing he was able to soften some of the meanness Blair was encountering. This was a good kid -- Joel was convinced of that, and not just because Jim seemed to trust him. There was something in the boy's eyes that spoke of a strong and honest spirit. Joel considered himself a good judge of character, and his instincts were telling him Blair was okay, and that was good enough for Joel. The other hands would come around. Probably sooner, rather than later. It was a wild country, and it took a lot of strength to deal with it on any level. The kind of men that could tame this country were also the kind that could identify and respect the same strength in others. It was there in Blair, and they would see it. It was just a matter of time.

"Where do you want me working today?" Blair asked, breaking through Joel's thoughts.

"Jim didn't say?" Joel was surprised. He figured his boss had a spot in mind for Blair already.

"I figured you were the one that made those decisions," Blair answered, glancing up at Joel shyly. "I didn't want to bother Jim while he's visiting with Mr. Banks."

"Simon's here, huh? I'm surprised it took him this long." Joel chuckled. He'd honestly expected the man to ride over last night, see for himself that Jim was okay.

"They're close, aren't they?"

"They've been through a lot together," Joel explained. "Fought together in the war, then moved west together. They opened up this valley, fought the elements, the land, Indians, rustlers, you name it, side by side. Now they have the two most successful ranches in Cascade Valley. So, yeah, I'd say they were close."

Blair nodded, as though he had already known all of that. "So, where do you want me?"

~~~

Blair was pleased with his assignment from the big foreman. He hadn't been looking forward to working alongside the other hands just yet, though he knew he was capable of it had it been required. He had long ago learned to ignore the hateful remarks made just at the edge of his hearing. He could deal with it if necessary, but he was glad he wouldn't have to. At least for today. He returned to the barn, picking up where he had left off earlier when Jim had called him to breakfast.

Blair enjoyed working with the horses. He understood the animals. With them, he knew where he stood. He knew what to expect. There was a security in that knowledge which he clung to now.

Blair turned the horses out of their stalls and into the corral. He hesitated over the mare's stall, remembering Joel's words. He opened the gate and entered, latching the gate carefully behind him. The mare edged nervously away until she bumped the back wall of her small space. Blair stood his ground, making no move to advance on her. He spoke softly, scarcely more than a whisper. After a minute, the sound of his voice seemed to penetrate and the mare calmed, though her nervousness was still apparent.

She wasn't a particularly pretty animal...her coat was shaggy and she carried the scars of previous battles, old and new. Still, Blair could see something beneath the surface that promised strength and reliability. She would make Jim a valuable work horse. He knew what Jim had said about Blair keeping her if he broke her, but he had no intention of holding Jim to that promise. She was too valuable to give away on a whim.

Blair took a wary step closer, making eye contact with the animal. He didn't believe for a minute the horse had a mean streak. Animals simply weren't mean by nature. He was more inclined to believe she was acting out of a strong sense of self-preservation, and what he saw in the mare's eyes supported his theory. She was scared, her fear almost palpable. Stolen from all that was familiar and friendly, she was out of her element and reacting the only way she knew how. That pain and fear in the animal called to the healer in Blair. He'd spent most of his life healing illnesses and wounds of one sort or another. In his eyes, this was no different. A wounded spirit was as painful as a wounded body.

The staring contest continued as Blair's considered how he would proceed with the mare. She had stopped her nervous stamping and was watching him in open curiosity. Finally, she took a hesitant step forward, extending her neck in his direction. Blair made no move, content to let her sniff warily at him, making her judgments.

The mare snorted loudly and took another step forward. Blair was just about to lift a hand cautiously toward her when a noise behind him startled them both. The mare danced nervously away, shaking her head with angry, jerky movements.

Blair backed slowly to the gate and let himself through, surprised to find the Banks boy standing in the door of the barn watching him.

"I'm sorry I startled her," he apologized quietly.

"It's all right," Blair assured him, a bit unsettled to have been observed unaware. He turned his attention back to his work, hoping the boy wouldn't pursue the questions so obvious on his face.

"What were you doing? With the horse, I mean."

So much for hope. Blair thought about his answer for a moment before speaking. 'Civilized' men didn't believe much in spiritual connections and the like. He wasn't sure how much of a truthful explanation the boy would be open to. Especially considering how closed minded his father seemed.

"We were coming to an understanding." It was as basic as he could get, but he had a feeling it wouldn't satisfy Daryl. He was right.

"I've never see it done like that before," the boy confessed. "Most people just show the horse who's boss."

"Sometimes that's necessary. But with this animal, that wouldn't work. She needs a gentler hand." He could see the boy thinking over his words, and was pleased when Daryl nodded, as though accepting what Blair was saying. He was taken off guard a minute later when the subject suddenly shifted.

"Have you ever killed a white man?"

Blair stopped what he was doing and stared at Daryl, whose face was the picture of innocence. He could see a hint of nervousness in the boy's expression, a fear that was based, no doubt, on rumors and exaggerations. The fear was overshadowed with curiosity, though, and Blair found himself smiling. Curiosity he could understand. He was blessed -- or cursed -- with enough of it himself. The bohiti had lectured him many a time on its benefits, as well as its dangers.

"No, Daryl, I haven't."

"Have you ever seen a white man scalped?"

Blair turned back to his work while he answered. He had a feeling Daryl had a ton of questions, just begging to be asked, and Blair found he really didn't mind. It was kind of nice to have a conversation with someone who didn't have daggers in his eyes.

"My people are harmless," Blair replied. Then, as he thought of Sangwe, the future chief of his village, and his unbridled hatred for Blair, he added, "For the most part. We have very little contact with white men. You have to understand, Daryl, my people are just as nervous about contact with your people as you are about us."

"But you're half-white," the boy observed.

Blair hesitated a moment. He knew what Daryl was hinting at. "Yes, I am, and yes to your next question."

Daryl chuckled and moved closer. "Which is?"

Blair glanced over his shoulder, gracing the kid with a small smile. "You weren't wondering if they were nervous about me living there?"

"Well, yeah," Daryl admitted. "I guess I am. I mean, I know how stupid my people can be sometimes. I guess I was wondering if Indians are the same way."

"People are people. Some are good, and some are bad. Skin color doesn't really change that."

Daryl climbed up on the gate of an empty stall and straddled the top rail. "Is that why you came back with Jim? Because some of the Indians didn't want you there?"

Blair stopped what he was doing and turned to face Daryl. "There were some that didn't want me there, but that's not why I left."

"Why did you leave?"

Blair thought about his answer. He couldn't exactly tell the truth, but he wasn't sure what lie would be appropriate. "I'm not here to stay," he finally replied. "Jim still isn't completely healed and it was a long journey back. He needed some help. I'm only staying a few weeks, then I'm going back to my people." It was sort of evasive, he knew, but he hoped it was enough of an answer for the boy.

"So...Jim told Dad you saved his life. Are you like a doctor or something?"

Blair smiled, happy that the conversation was moving to safer ground. "I'm training to be a bohiti...what you would call a medicine man. I heal when I can."

"That ought to earn you some friends around here," Daryl observed with a smile. "The closest doctor is in Union Grove, a full day's ride. I broke my arm once when I was a little kid, and Boyd had to set it. He's our cook. Do you know how to set broke bones?"

Blair nodded, and turned back to his work. Daryl was quiet for a while, watching Blair move around the barn as he worked.

"So, do Indians really let wolves nurse their babies? Were you nursed by a wolf?"

Blair shook his head at the image which sprang to mind at the boy's words. Daryl's curiosity appeared to rival his own. He had a feeling he was about to single-handedly dispel every stereotype and myth the kid had ever heard about Indians. It wasn't long before the both of them were laughing out loud at the absurdity of some of those notions.

~~~

Simon surveyed the ranch yard, attempting to locate his missing son. "Where did that boy get off to now? I swear, sometimes I'm tempted to put a lasso around him just so I can keep up with him."

"Relax. There's not much around here he can get into," Jim assured his friend. Even as he spoke, he caught the teenager's laughter coming from the barn.

Simon headed in that direction as he picked up the sound himself. The two men stepped into the barn, taking in the scene. Daryl was perched on the top rail of a stall, tears rolling down his face as he laughed uncontrollably. Blair was chuckling as he worked, his face relaxed in a way Jim hadn't seen in days. But the moment was lost as Simon spoke.

"Daryl!"

Startled by his father's angry bellow, Daryl lost his balance. Blair, reacting the quickest, grabbed the boy, preventing him from falling, and helped him to the ground. Simon hurried across the distance, snatching his son from Blair's grasp and shoving the boy behind him.

"Keep your hands off of my son!"

Jim was startled by the vehemence of his friend's reaction, but not as startled as Blair. The young man dropped his hands like he'd been scalded and stumbled back a step as though expecting a blow to accompany the words. Simon at least had the good grace to look chagrined by Blair's unexpected response.

"He was only helping me, Dad," Daryl protested. Turning to Blair, he added, "Thanks, Blair."

Blair gave the boy a shaky smile before dropping his eyes and turning away to resume his work further away.

"That was uncalled for, Simon," Jim said, struggling to keep his anger in rein. "Blair was only trying to help Daryl."

Simon threw Jim a look that clearly said he knew he was in the wrong, but would be cold in the grave before he admitted it aloud. Instead of answering, he turned to face his son. "What were you doing in here? You were supposed to be with me!"

Daryl wilted a bit under his father's glare. "I wanted to talk to Blair."

"You stay away from that savage, you hear me?" Simon had lowered his voice to issue the order, but Jim knew it still carried to where Blair was diligently attacking a pile of tangled ropes. He could tell by the tense set of the young man's shoulders, he was clearly hearing every word.

"Dad, he's not--" Daryl started, only to be interrupted by Simon.

"I said, do you hear me?"

Daryl dropped his gaze. "Yes, sir."

Getting the response he was looking for, Simon turned back to face Jim. "It's your decision to have him here, Jim. And though I think you're going to live to regret it, I won't question it again. But you keep him away from Daryl. I won't have my son threatened by that savage."

"Threatened? What in the hell are you talking about, Simon? Blair just rescued your son from what could have been a nasty fall. You see that as a threat?!"

"His mere presence is a threat to everyone here, and you're just too damned naïve to see it!"

Jim ground his teeth together to stop the flow of angry words that fought for release. He took several deep breaths before he trusted himself enough to speak again. His voice low, he said, "It was your son who came looking for Blair, Simon, by his own admission. Blair has done nothing wrong, and I'll be damned if I'll let you stand here and throw asinine accusations at him because of some bigoted notions that I never knew you harbored. Considering your own dealings with narrow minded bigots in the past, I expected better. You're my friend, Simon, and we've been through a lot together, but I won't let that override my decision to keep Blair on here."

At the end of Jim's speech, both men were silent. Jim saw some of his words hit home with his friend. The angry creases in Simon's forehead softened, along with the cold fury in his eyes. Then the dark man glanced over to where Blair was trying hard to appear as though he was not listening to the argument, and the anger returned.

"Your decision. Just keep him away from my son."

Jim watched in shocked silence his friend grabbed his son's arm and strode rapidly from the barn. A minute later, he could hear the sound of their horses as they rode away.

"I'm sorry, Jim." The voice was whisper soft.

Blair had moved quietly to Jim's side. Jim turned to face him, noting with some chagrin that the younger man's face was dark with some unnamed emotion.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Jim said, hearing the harshness of unspent anger in his own voice. "Simon is upset about the massacre at Frye Gap. He knows how easily something like that can happen here, and he's worried about his son."

"I can understand that," Blair said, and Jim was surprised at the sincerity of the words. There was no anger or animosity in the kid's expression or tone. "Parents aren't always rational where their children are concerned. Still, he's your friend, and I'm sorry I caused this trouble between you."

"You didn't cause anything, Chief. You haven't done anything to apologize for, so stop saying you're sorry. Simon overreacted, and I think he knows it. He'll be okay once he calms down."

"I hope so, Jim." Blair's voice said he didn't believe it for a minute.

~~~

Blair lit the oil lamp on the bedside table and turned the wick down to dim the light, not wanting to alert anyone that he was awake. He seldom fell back to sleep after a nightmare as intense as the one he'd just had, and to tell the truth, he really didn't want to close his eyes in the dark again right now. The images were still too fresh.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Blair pushed himself into a sitting position, and once again surveyed his surroundings. He'd been here three days, and he still couldn't believe this room.

Steven's room. Jim's brother.

He had to keep reminding himself it wasn't his, and therefore the things in it weren't his to plunder and enjoy at will, but it was hard to keep his hands to himself. His eyes flickered longingly over the shelves which ran from floor to ceiling on the far wall. Books. Volume after volume. Books were a rare and precious commodity in this part of the country. How could anyone have accumulated so many?

Blair's fingers itched to touch the leather bound tomes, but they were off limits, by his own decree. This wasn't his room, and these weren't his books to enjoy. Jim had stretched the bounds of expected hospitality by letting him stay in Steven's room to avoid the tensions of the bunkhouse. He wouldn't repay such generosity by pillaging his brother's private possessions.

But it was killing him to keep his hands to himself.

Blair stood and wandered closer to the shelves, his hand reaching out to tenderly trace the gold embossed titles. All of the classics were here, plus many works Blair had never heard of. He longed to explore these new worlds, devour the information and knowledge they promised. Maybe one day he would work up the courage to ask Jim if he could read one or two.

Until then...

Blair opened his pack of possessions and pulled out one of his own books. It was dog-eared and worn, but familiar and well loved. Books in Blair's village had been hard to come by and expensive when they could be secured. Luckily, Blair's skills often brought him payment in a form which was coveted by the few white traders he came across. His stash of furs received for his potions and remedies had bought him the occasional book. Unfortunately, the opportunity for such trade was far too rare.

Settling back against the pillows, Blair pulled his knees up and propped the book against them. He gingerly opened the tome to the first page, careful of the pages that had worked loose from the binding and immersed himself once more in the imaginary world of King Arthur.

~~~

Blair pulled off his heavy gloves and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "That's the last one," he announced, reaching for the canteen hanging from a nearby fence post. He took a long drink then handed it to Jim.

Jim nodded his thanks and accepted it, even as his attention returned to the pair of men working on the fence line on the other side of the ridge. From where he stood, he couldn't see them, but he could hear every word of their conversation as though standing beside them. He'd tried to ignore their words at first, considering it no better than eavesdropping, but as the conversation took a familiar turn, he found himself listening intently.

"You wouldn't actually quit over something like this, would you?" Henri Brown asked. Even though he couldn't see the dark man's expression, Jim could detect the astonishment in the man's tone. "Come on, Rafe, you're not going to find a better man to work for than Jim Ellison."

"Don't you think I know that?" questioned the softly accented voice in return. "But if Joel doesn't stop pairing me up with that murderin' redskin, I may not have a choice."

The words surprised Jim, but not the sentiment. He had noticed Rafe's reactions to working with Blair, he just hadn't realized Rafe would actually quit over it.

"Hell, man. I know how you feel about Indians, and I understand why. In your place, I'd feel the same way, I'm sure. But you can't blame Joel for putting you two together. Damn, even you have to admit, the kid knows horseflesh."

There was a long silence. "Yeah, I know." The admission was made grudgingly, but there was a slight note of reluctant respect in Rafe's tone. "Only other man I ever saw who could charm the horses like that was my padre." The voice broke on the last word.

"Hell, Rafe, I didn't mean to bring that up. I just want you to see that they aren't all alike...Indians, I mean. Blair seems to be a decent enough fellow. You have to admit that, right?"

"I don't have to admit anything!" Rafe's voice was angry now. "They're all alike. Soulless, heartless bastards. Put 'em all in a sack and shake it up, and the first one out is no better than the last one. Any one of 'em'd stab you in the back for no other reason than because they're bored."

Jim heard an exasperated sigh, guessing it came from Brown. "But you're not going to quit over this...right?" Silence met the question. "Rafe? Come on, man, if you're not worried about yourself, then think about me."

"You?"

"You think if you ride out of here, I won't be right behind you? We're partners, aren't we? Been together a long time now. So you remember that before you jump the gun here. You leave, and I'll have no choice but to leave with you, and I really don't want to leave here yet. I kind of like working for Jim."

A long silence followed the words, and Jim found himself holding his breath. Finally, Rafe spoke again, his voice softer, and Jim had to strain to catch the words. "I'm not going to quit, H. You're right, I do like working here, or at least I did before that redskin showed up. Besides, I hear he's not going to be around that long. I can wait it out."

With that assurance, Jim released his breath and pulled his attention away from the two men. He was surprised to find Blair standing close, his hand on Jim's arm.

"You back with me?" Blair asked, removing his hand and stepping back.

Jim rubbed a hand over his face, drawing in a deep breath. "Where else would I be?"

Blair ignored the question in favor of his own. "What were you listening to?"

"What makes you think I was listening to anything?" Jim was a bit embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping, and he wasn't about to admit to the act aloud.

With a chuckle, Blair put the top back on the canteen and headed for where the horses were tied in the shade of a nearby tree. "The way you had your head tilted to the side, the glazed look in your eyes, the foolish expression on your face." He reached the horses and hooked the canteen over the saddle horn before turning back to face Jim. "Actually, I thought you were having one of those spells at first. But your weren't, were you? You were listening to something." He waited for Jim to confirm or deny it.

Jim let out a sigh and followed him, catching up Soldier's reins and swinging into the saddle. "A couple of the men are working over that ridge."

"You were listening to them?" Blair swung into the saddle of his own horse and nudged it to follow Jim back toward the ranch house.

"I was trying not to..." Jim left it at that, hoping Blair wouldn't pursue it.

There was a long silence, and Jim relaxed.

"Who was it?"

Jim sighed. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. "Brown and Rafe."

"Something they were saying caught your attention." It wasn't a question. "Not hard to guess what, I suppose. I'm sorry, Jim."

Jim swung around in the saddle to look at his companion. "You're sorry? What in the hell for, Chief? What did you do?"

"I'm here. That pretty much seems to be enough, as far as your men are concerned."

"Blair, you've been here less than a week. Give it time--"

"You really think that'll make a difference, Jim?"

"Yeah, I do. I think it'll make all the difference. They're basing their opinions on ignorance, for the most part. Myths and rumors that they've picked up in saloons and dance halls. Once they get to know you, Chief, they'll see how foolish those notions are."

"If you say so." Blair didn't sound convinced. After a minute, he said, "Rafe doesn't like working with me. Maybe I should--"

"No!" Jim cut off the words before Blair could speak them. "Not your decision, kid." Jim hated to pull rank, but it would save a lot of arguing in the long run.

"Yeah...okay. Sorry."

Jim glanced back at Blair and was instantly sorry for the brusque response. The kid was too easily unsettled. He took everything so personal. "Look, Chief, you're great with the horses. Rafe's great with the horses. The two of you are just going to have to find a way to work together. That's all there is to it."

Blair nodded, but didn't answer. Jim knew it wasn't the kid's fault that he couldn't get along with Rafe, but he also knew Blair was taking the brunt of the blame for it on his own shoulders. Jim couldn't understand what the problem between them was. Rafe was a good man. He was easy going and got along with everyone. Except Blair. There was something there that Rafe just couldn't get past. Brown knew what it was. That much was obvious from what Jim had overheard. He knew better than to pry -- the "rules" of the West stated that anything beyond a man's name was his own business, and even his name wasn't to be questioned too hard. But if things didn't improve between the two young men, then maybe he'd just have to have a talk with Brown.

~~~

Blair hated the tension. It was so thick he could almost see it. Rafe avoided him as much as possible when they worked together, speaking only when absolutely necessary and ignoring him the rest of the time. Blair, for his part, tried to stay out of the man's way, which was next to impossible, given Joel's tendency to assign them to the same tasks at every opportunity. Blair liked Joel -- the big man was one of the few who didn't treat him as though he had leprosy or something equally as nasty -- but, honest to goodness, the foreman seemed determined to force Rafe and Blair to like one another by making them work together.

And it wasn't working.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Huh?" Blair glanced up, confused by Rafe's outburst. Blair was standing still, hadn't moved a step. So how could he watch where he was going?

Rafe just gave him another in a long line of angry glares as he pushed past him. Blair watched him go with a weary sigh. The tension was getting old, but he honestly had no idea what to do about it. Jim and Joel both kept insisting Rafe was a good guy at heart and that the two of them had a lot in common. Blair didn't see it, but he was willing to try. Trouble was, Rafe didn't want to try. He made it obvious at every opportunity that he merely tolerated Blair's presence and was counting the days until he was rid of the "redskin".

Blair sighed again and turned back to the broken corral rail he was working on.

"Almost finished, Chief?"

Blair jumped at the voice. "Damn, Jim, why do you keep doing that?"

Jim chuckled. "Because I can. You know, for an Indian, you aren't terribly alert."

"Guess it's the white blood in me," Blair teased in return. "Makes me careless."

"Are you almost finished here?"

"Yeah, this is the last one. Why? You need something? Is it your senses? Are you having trouble with the scales?" Blair hadn't had a lot of time in the past few days to work with Jim. Having been away from his ranch for so long, Jim was busy trying to catch up, and Joel had been keeping Blair busy. But they had managed to practice balancing the scales, making it easier for Jim to keep everything at a tolerable level.

"Let's see..." Jim said with a tolerant smile, "...yes...no...and no."

"Jackass!" Blair shot back with a smile. "Which one was yes? You need something?"

"Yeah, our horses, if you're finished here. I need to ride into town, and I want you to go with me."

Blair felt his heartbeat quicken at the words and worked to slow it down. He knew he wasn't fast enough when he saw the frown which replaced Jim's smile. "I have a lot of work here, Jim. I need to finish--"

"It's nothing that won't wait, though, right? Look, I know you aren't really comfortable around a lot of people, and I understand that. I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need you to come with me."

Blair bit back the frown he felt working the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, sure. Just give me a few more minutes to finish this up."

"Great, kid!" Jim's smile was genuine, easing just a bit the knot of apprehension in Blair's stomach.

Jim disappeared into the barn, and Blair went back to his work. He could do this, he told himself, despite the fear that was building at the prospect. It might not be easy, but he could do it. It'd be different this time. He wasn't a kid, at the mercy of the bigger, tougher adults. And he wouldn't be alone this time. Jim would be with him. He'd be all right. He could handle it.

"Just keep telling yourself that," he whispered to himself, not believing the assurances for one minute.

~~~

The closer they got to town, the harder Blair's heart drummed. Jim was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea, after all. Whatever demons the kid was fighting were winning. Jim knew Blair had lived in a town as a kid, before his mother died and he went to live with his father's people. He knew Blair's memories of that time weren't pleasant. And looking at the kid now, Jim had no trouble reading the fear on the expressive face.

"Blair," he started, waiting until the young man looked up. "Maybe you should head back to the ranch."

Blair looked like he wanted nothing more than to accept Jim's offer. "I thought you said you needed me to come with you."

"Yeah, I did, but I can take care of this business myself. I shouldn't have asked you to come along."

Swallowing audibly, Blair shook his head. "No, it's all right. I'm okay."

"Are you sure, buddy? Your heart is racing."

"You're listening to my heart?" The young man's eyebrows lifted.

Jim smiled sheepishly, embarrassed at the idea. "Well, yeah. Not on purpose. It's just there."

"Just there? Now? Or all the time?"

"Pretty much all the time. It's kind of like the wind in the trees, or the call of the birds. I don't really notice them unless I think about it, but they're there."

"What about the others?"

"Others? You mean the other men at the ranch? Do I hear their hearts?" Jim thought about it for a minute, surprised at the answer. "No. No, I've never noticed theirs."

"But you could hear them if you tried, right?"

"I guess. I don't know. I've never really tried."

"Let's try something." Blair shifted in his saddle to face Jim. "Close your eyes for a minute." Once Jim complied, he continued. "Now tell me what you hear."

"Your heartbeat. Birds. Something moving in the bushes...a small animal, I think."

"Okay, you know those sounds. They're familiar to you. I want you to picture the scale, and this time imagine lots of small weights sitting on it. Do you see it?" At Jim's nod, he went on. "Each of the weights represents a different sound. Those that you mentioned, take those off. Tell me what's left."

Jim did as Blair instructed, listing the sounds he heard and eliminating them until he was left with two additional heartbeats besides his and Blair's. He opened his eyes in surprise.

"The horses. I guess that answers that," Blair said. "You just haven't been listening for anyone else's."

"I guess not." Jim wasn't sure what this new information meant, but it did leave him with additional questions. Did this mean he heard Blair's heartbeat because he was listening for it? And if so, why? Why listen for Blair's and no one else's? If Blair's logic was sound, and Jim was hearing it because he was listening for it, then it followed that he was listening for it all the time, because he heard it all the time. During the day, even if they weren't working together. At night, as he was falling asleep. All the time. It had become so "normal" to hear it that Jim didn't even realize he was listening to it most of the time.

Jim didn't voice any of his concerns, although he had a feeling Blair was contemplating some of those same questions himself. Jim had no desire to discuss it any further. He wasn't sure he would be comfortable with what he might learn.

It was time to change the subject. He went back to his original question. "You don't have to do this, if you don't want to. I won't think any less of you if you turn back." He grinned to let the kid know it really was all right, but Blair's heart started pounding again anyhow.

"Thanks, but no."

Jim didn't push the issue, but he spent the remainder of the ride into town trying to keep Blair's mind off his fears. It took only a few well placed observations about different sounds he was picking up to distract Blair. And despite the inevitable tests, Jim was happy for that distraction.

~~~

Blair was aware of Jim's diversionary tactics and was grateful; but as they rode into town, his panic returned full force. He was painfully aware of the open stares of the townsfolk moving about their business on the busy streets. He let his horse drop back to follow Jim's. Blair was working hard to hide his fears, knowing that many of these people would delight in using them as ammunition against him. He'd be damned if he'd give them the opportunity. I'm not alone, he kept reminding himself. He locked his eyes on Jim's broad back, using the man's presence as a physical reminder of the different circumstances this time. I'm not alone.

Jim stopped in front of the general store and dismounted, throwing his reins over the railing that ran along the edge of the oversized porch. After only the slightest hesitation, Blair followed.

"We're going to pick up a few things here first, Chief. Come on."

Jim slapped him on the back and headed up the steps into the building. Blair followed, pointedly ignoring the small groups of men and women gathered to the side, whispering as he passed.

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the store. When they did, he spotted Jim moving between the tables stacked with various merchandise, heading toward the counter which ran across the back of the building and the knot of men standing there.

"Jim Ellison!" A broad-faced man just shorter than Jim detached himself from the group and stepped forward, extending his hand as he moved. Jim took the hand, a welcoming grin gracing his handsome face.

"Morning, Barrett."

Blair stopped behind Jim, using the man's larger size to block the stares that seemed to be boring through him.

"Haven't seen you in a month of Sundays, Jim. Heard you ran into some trouble down Newcastle way. You don't look no worse for wear."

"That's because I'm not," Jim assured with a smile. "Thanks to my friend here." He stepped aside to bring Blair into the conversation.

Blair tried not to notice how Barrett's smile faded and his eyes narrowed as Jim introduced the two men. Blair stuck his hand out in greeting. Barrett eyed it for a moment, then deliberately turned back to face Jim, ignoring the gesture.

"I heard you got yourself a renegade," he said, his tone making his feelings more than obvious. "That injury you had wouldn't have happened to be to your head, would it?"

Blair quickly withdrew his hand and took a step back, once again placing Jim between him and the men at the counter.

Jim's smile disappeared and his eyes turned to ice. "Blair is my friend, Barrett, and I expect you and everyone else," he let his eyes sweep the small crowd of gawkers behind the storekeeper, "to treat him with the same respect you would anyone else. If you don't think you can manage that, then let me know now, while there's still enough daylight for us to make the ride over to Clayton Falls for our supplies." He returned the full force of his glare onto the storekeeper, letting his expression reinforce his words.

Barrett swallowed hard before answering. "Let's not go jumping the gun here, Jim. I didn't mean no harm. I was just taken a little off guard is all. It's not everyday we get Injuns in here, you know."

Jim nodded, accepting the halfhearted apology, but his smile didn't return. He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. "Stebbins' got quite a list this time. I didn't bring the wagon, so there's no hurry in filling it. I'll send a couple of men over in a day or two to pick it up. In the meantime," he handed the list to Barrett, then reached behind him to draw Blair back to his side, "we need to get some gear for Blair. I want everything...pants, shirts, coat, boots...the works."

Blair blanched, caught unaware by the words. "Jim?"

The rancher ignored Blair's whisper and the plea behind it. Blair, his gaze locked on Jim's face, missed the predatory glee which lit the storekeeper's broad face. Sensing a large sale, the man's attitude did a quick about-face.

"Not a problem, Jim, not a problem. We have everything you'll be wanting for your...um, friend. Let's see now..." The man turned his attention to Blair. Jim took a few steps away to lean against the counter as Barrett mentally took stock of Blair's sizes.

Blair stood frozen in place, too stunned to move. As the storekeeper disappeared behind him to begin gathering the requested items, Blair turned to Jim. "What are you doing?" he hissed under his breath.

"Me?" Jim's face was the picture of innocence, though his eyes sparkled in amusement. "I'm just standing here."

"You know what I mean, Ellison. I don't need anything. Tell him to stop."

Jim crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned further into the counter. "You're wrong, Chief. No offense, but that buckskin get up you're wearing isn't really suitable for the kind of work we do. Besides, I thought maybe you'd be more comfortable dressed...you know..."

It hit Blair suddenly what Jim's true intentions were. He frowned at the realization. "You thought I'd look more white in real clothes."

Jim's guilty flush was answer enough. "I just thought you wouldn't draw so much attention if you didn't stand out so much. I just thought that might make things easier for you." He pushed away from the counter and moved back to Blair's side. His voice low, he said, "If I figured wrong, Blair, we'll just skip it. Just tell me now, and I won't give it another thought."

Blair studied the man's face. There was no condescension there, no mockery, only genuine concern. How could Blair take offense at that? And Jim was probably right. As insulting as the idea seemed right this minute, Blair had to admit that it would be easier for the both of them if he didn't look so different, if he didn't draw so much attention.

He was about to tell Jim so when another thought crossed his mind. "I don't have any money."

Jim smiled. "You don't need any."

"But--"

The older man held up a hand, stopping Blair's protest. "We'll talk about it later. We've got an audience at the moment."

Blair glanced around Jim's shoulder at the assembled group, openly staring at the pair. The expressions ranged from curious to angry. Blair swallowed and nodded, letting the question of money go for the moment. He made a mental note to bring it up later, when they had more privacy.

"Here we go," Barrett announced. He handed Jim a couple of pair of dungarees and a couple of cotton shirts. "Now, boots...I figure he's about a size--"

"Wait," Jim said, handing the clothes over to Blair. "He'll need to try these on first."

"Oh, that's not necessary. I'm sure they'll fit," Barrett assured.

"I'd rather he try them on." Jim's expression took on a hard edge. "Is that a problem?"

Barrett glanced at Blair, and the younger man had no trouble reading the expression in his eyes. The storekeeper didn't want the "renegade" ruining the clothes by putting them on, in case they didn't fit, and he had to return them to the shelf.

"It's okay, Jim. I don't need to try them on."

Jim ignored Blair, keeping his gaze pinned on the storekeeper. "Show him where he can change, then we'll need more. This is barely a start."

"Jim--"

"Follow the man, Blair."

Barrett took one more look at Jim's expression and led the way to the back of the store. Blair reluctantly followed.

~~~

Jim's patience was wearing thin. He'd expected a certain amount of ill will from the townspeople, but Barrett's deliberately insulting attitude was more than he was in the mood to deal with. He'd never really considered Barrett a friend, but they'd always gotten on well enough. Hell, the amount of business Jim alone did was enough to keep the store in business. He'd expected to be treated accordingly for that reason if for no other. Maybe it was time to start riding down to Clayton Falls. The store there wasn't as big, but Jim was sure they would welcome his business.

Barrett returned, and Jim turned his attention back to his purpose. "He'll need about five more pairs of work pants, and at least a half dozen more shirts. Then, he'll need some good clothes, Sunday-go-to-meeting type stuff. Something nice."

"You're going to take him to church?" Barrett seemed appalled at the suggestion, further infuriating Jim.

"That's his decision," Jim icily informed the man, "but if he should make his mind up to go, I intend for him to have something decent to wear."

Barrett swallowed back the retort he looked like he wanted to make and turned away, retrieving the requested articles and laying them on the counter beside Jim.

Jim inspected the items and nodded as they met with his approval. "Now, he'll need boots, a hat, bandanas, a belt, socks..."

The list grew. Barrett gathered the items, the pile on the counter growing rapidly. Blair came back to join them, his eyes growing wide at the pile of clothes and personal items which met him. For the next half hour, Jim had the young man going back and forth to the changing room, assuring the fit of each and every item he picked out. Blair's insistence that he didn't need so much diminished, then faded altogether once he figured out that Jim was just ignoring his protests, which suited Jim just fine. Even Barrett seemed to get into the spirit of things once he realized Jim was serious -- though Jim was convinced his sudden acquiescence was due more to the profit he stood to make than any relaxing of his attitude.

Finally satisfied that Blair had most everything he would need, Jim instructed Blair to change into one of the outfits, a pair of heavy denim dungarees and a deep blue cotton shirt which made the blue of the kid's eyes stand out. Jim silenced the voice in his head that pointed out that it was to emphasis the fact that Blair had white blood.

When Blair stepped back into the front room, Jim was amazed at the transformation -- practically no outward sign of the Indian existed. Blair could easily pass for a white man now, all but for the thick, dark braid that hung down his back, and even that wasn't a dead giveaway; many white men wore their hair long. Jim felt a pang of guilt at the necessity of the change, but kept reminding himself they were doing this for Blair's own good.

Satisfied at what he had accomplished, Jim turned to Barrett and indicated they were finished. The storekeeper, happy with the size of the sale, began totaling the purchase.

"Jim..." Blair said, his voice soft. "This is too much. I don't need this much."

"You'll need at least this much, Chief," Jim assured. "Probably more before long."

"I'm not going to be here that long," Blair reminded him. "What's going to happen to all of this when I leave?"

Caught up in the moment, Jim had forgotten Blair's plans were temporary. The reminder that this young man wouldn't be staying around longer than it took to teach Jim control of his senses caught Jim unprepared. He ignored the sudden heaviness in his chest at the words and shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, you need these things, so quit worrying about it."

Barrett finished tallying the items and handed the bill to Jim. Expecting such a large total himself, Jim was amused by Blair's reaction.

The kid blanched, sputtering. "J-Jim--I'll never be able to pay you back."

Jim pointedly glanced at Barrett. "We'll talk about this later."

Blair nodded, dropping his eyes as though he'd been chastised. Jim read the embarrassment in every line of the young man's body and felt another wave of guilt. Once away from here, somewhere a bit more private, they would have to discuss this and put the kid's worries to rest.

Another thought suddenly occurred to Jim. He handed the list back to Barrett. "One more thing. He'll be needing a gun."

It was a toss up as to who was more appalled at the suggestion, Blair or Barrett. Blair's loud, "No!" was almost overridden by Barrett's even louder, "Absolutely not!"

Jim looked from one man to the other, trying to decide which one to respond to first. He chose Blair. The kid's mouth was open, in the process of forming another protest, but Jim raised a hand to stop him.

"You need it, kid. Everyone carries a gun. It's just the way things are."

"Not for me," Blair insisted. "I've managed my whole life without one. I don't see any reason for that to change now."

Jim took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, while he contemplated the best response to make Blair understand what was at stake. "You weren't doing this kind of work before, Chief. Cow punching and range riding is hard, rough, dangerous work. I knew a man one time that got thrown from his horse, only his boot got caught in the stirrup. If he hadn't been able to get to his gun and shoot the horse, he'd've been dragged to death. It's an ugly truth, but there it is. You need a gun. End of discussion."

Seeing that Blair was still set to argue the issue, Jim pointedly turned his back on the young man to deal with the storekeeper. "We'll be needing a gun, Barrett. Let me see that Colt there." He indicated the rack of weapons on the wall behind the counter.

Barrett stubbornly refused to budge. "Sorry, Jim. That's where I draw the line. I'm not selling a gun to a...to a...savage. Bastards are too damned unpredictable. Liable to kill us all in our sleep."

There was a murmur of agreement from the diehard observers that were still hanging around, hoping for some excitement. All but these few had been run off by Jim's earlier glares and unspoken threats. Jim graced the diehards with another of his icy expressions, effectively removing them from the conversation, then turned back to Barrett.

"You aren't selling a gun to Blair, you're selling it to me, Barrett. Is that going to be a problem?" Jim's look said it had better not be.

Barrett swallowed hard, obviously nervous in the face of Jim's anger, but stood his ground anyway. "Yes, it is, Jim. Law says I can't sell a firearm to an Injun. I don't want no trouble with the law."

Jim clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. Barrett had never much worried about where he stood with the law before. After a long moment, Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of coins. "This'll pay for what he's wearing. We won't be needing the rest of this. And don't bother filling Stebbins' order. We'll be riding over to Clayton Falls for our supplies from now on."

Without waiting for a reply, Jim turned on his heel and headed for the door. Mentally, he counted off the steps. When Barrett's voice stopped him on the fourth one, he had to work to hide his smile.

"Jim! Wait! Don't be rash. I'm sure we can work something out."

Jim stopped, but didn't turn. The storekeeper hadn't said what he wanted to hear yet.

"I mean, there's no law says I can't sell you a gun, right? I could do that. You want a new gun, Jim, who am I to dispute it? Right? Not my concern what you do with it after you buy it. Right, boys?"

There was no response that Jim could hear from the now silent observers. As anxious as they were for some excitement, they weren't about to get involved in this particular argument. They didn't have the profit from Jim's purchases at stake like Barrett did, but they did depend on the town's sole storekeeper for supplies themselves.

Wiping the smile of victory from his face, Jim turned back to face Barrett, noticing as he did that Blair had moved with him to the door and was now standing beside it, his head down to shield his expression. Jim didn't have to see his face to read the embarrassment and shame in every line of his posture. Jim felt a flush of guilt wash over him. He hadn't expected this much trouble, or he'd have probably never dragged Blair into town with him. He could have done much of the shopping without the young man, but he hadn't wanted to have to guess at the sizes. He just hadn't realized what he was letting Blair in for. The whole morning had turned into a nightmare.

Jim sighed heavily. No wonder Blair had chosen to live with the Indians. He'd faced his share of prejudice there, too, from what Jim had seen, but nothing like this. Damn. Jim could only imagine the hardships Blair had faced, and continued to face, just because of his heritage. Two worlds, a foot in each, but welcomed in neither. And Jim had just unintentionally added more fuel to the fire. He'd have to find a way to make it up to the kid.

His eyes left the young man and found their way to Barrett. The storekeeper was standing behind the counter, waiting expectantly for Jim to make his decision. As much as he detested doing business with such a small minded man, Jim swallowed his resolve and moved back to the counter. Barrett let out an audible sigh of relief, his face splitting into a wide grin at the renewed prospect of a good day's profit. He handed Jim the gun and stood back to allow his inspection.

Jim ran his eyes expertly over the weapon and bounced it in his hand a few times to test the weight. Finally, he set it down on the counter. "I'll take it, and I'll need a dozen boxes of bullets." He ignored Barrett's wide eyed expression. Blair would need some practice, to get the feel of the weapon, but he wasn't going to explain himself to this man.

While Barrett gathered the order, Jim let his gaze wander back to Blair, who had now found something to draw his attention away from Jim's confrontation. The young man was standing in front of a shelf filled with books. His eyes were wide and full of awe as he studied the titles. Blair had a healthy respect for books, Jim had seen that for himself. He figured the kid was in heaven with all of Steven's books at his fingertips, but the abundance of printed material at the ranch had obviously done nothing to quench the kid's desire. One book in particular seemed to draw Blair's attention. The young man reached out a tentative hand toward it, stopping just short of actually touching it to glance toward the storekeeper. Seeing the man was engaged elsewhere, Blair let his fingertips brush lightly over the gold embossed title stamped prominently on the spine. His movements were almost reverent.

Barrett returned, drawing Jim's attention away. By the time he'd finished giving the man instructions on which of the items they would be taking with them and which to pack up with Stebbins' supplies, Blair had moved away from the shelf of books to the front window, where he was staring out at the busy street.

Jim walked over to the shelf and retrieved the book Blair had been looking at. "I'll take this, too," he told the storekeeper. "Wrap it up with what we're taking now."

Barrett did as he was told, then presented Jim with the final bill. Jim didn't even blink at the total. He paid the man, and without a word of farewell, picked up the bundle and met Blair at the door.

"Ready, Chief?" The question was unnecessary. Jim knew the kid had been ready to leave since before they'd arrived.

~~~

Blair kept his head down as he followed Jim to the horses, hoping no one would notice his shame. Though he knew Jim hadn't intended for it to be, the ordeal had been one of the most humiliating experiences of Blair's life. He had felt like he was on public display from the moment he had ridden into town with Jim; that was no more or less than he had expected and was prepared for. But that scene in the store...Blair clamped down on his emotions, not willing to give them free rein for fear they would embarrass him further.

Blair glanced down at his new clothes. He had to admit, they did make him look...white. He couldn't really fault Jim for the idea. He was sure the rancher hadn't meant for the gesture to be as insulting as Blair had initially taken it. Jim was right in two respects, at least. Blair would draw less attention dressed this way, and the clothes probably were better suited for the type work a ranch hand did. But, Blair decided as he pulled at the collar of the dark blue cotton shirt, they definitely weren't more comfortable. They didn't have the soft, easy give of the buckskin he was used to. These clothes were stiff and unyielding.

"You'll have to 'wear' into them," Jim said.

Blair glanced up in surprise. "You reading my mind now?" Jim chuckled. "No need. You look as uncomfortable as a bull at a barn dance."

Blair dropped his gaze. "Jim...about the clothes..."

"Forget it."

"I can't. Jim, they're bound to have cost a lot. I can't pay you back."

"You don't have to. Look, Chief, this was my idea; I should pay for it."

Blair shook his head firmly. "No, this is too much. I can't let you spend this much money. I was thinking maybe I could do some trapping up on that ridge to the north. I could sell the furs--"

"That's not necessary," Jim interrupted with a frown. He stopped and took a deep breath. "Blair, you saved my life. Consider this a thank you of sorts." Evidently seeing the protest that Blair was preparing to make, he held up a hand and quickly added. "But if you still insist, then you can pay me back out of your first month's wages."

"What are you talking about?" Blair was honestly confused, and it wasn't helped by the strange expression that flashed over Jim's face at the question.

"Your wages. Surely you realized... Come on, Chief, you knew you would draw wages. Right?"

"I don't understand," Blair answered, furrowing his brow as he considered this new revelation. "Wages for what?"

"God, Blair, what do you think?" Exasperation filled Jim's tone. "The work you do around the ranch and with the horses. You work as hard or harder than any of the hands, plus helping me get control of these damned senses. Did you honestly think you weren't going to draw pay for it?"

"You give me a place to sleep, food to eat...what more do I need?"

Jim laughed. "You'd be surprised, Chief. Look, if you don't want to spend it, fine. Put it up and save it. But it's yours. You're earning it."

Blair was prepared to argue further, but a voice from across the street forestalled him.

"Jim!"

Both men turned to see Simon Banks striding rapidly across the street, dodging a fully loaded wagon that kicked up dust in the dry afternoon air.

Blair glanced at Jim, noting the pleased grin which graced the taller man's face. He knew Jim and Simon hadn't parted on the best of terms the last time, thanks to Blair, and he knew that it understandably bothered Jim. Simon was his best friend, and Blair hated to think that a wedge might have been driven between them because of his presence. Especially when Blair wasn't at Jim's ranch to stay. He'd be leaving, heading back to his own world just as soon as his work with Jim was done, so it was important to him that Jim and Simon's friendship not be strained because of him.

As covertly as possible, Blair moved away, hoping that by removing himself he could remove any potential tension his presence might cause.

~~~

"Jim! Good to see you," Simon said, climbing the couple of steps to stand beside his friend on the shaded porch. His words were genuine. The argument with Jim earlier in the week had been weighing heavily on him, and Simon was grateful for the chance to put their friendship back on steady footing. Not that he'd changed his opinion of Jim's decision to take in that...savage. But it was Jim's decision. And be damned if he was going to let that red devil ruin what had been a sound friendship.

Jim accepted Simon's offered hand, shaking it with a grin that told the dark man the feeling was mutual. Jim was just as anxious to get past the hard feelings as Simon was.

"What brings you to town?" Simon inquired. "Here to talk to Tom?" He knew the town's sheriff had already been out to the ranch to get Jim's story about the shooting, but maybe Jim had remembered something new, something which might shed some light on who the shooter could have been -- not that there really was much chance of catching the culprit. The West was a violent place, and those who chose to make it home had a hard life. If the Indians or outlaws didn't get you, the land would. Jim could have been shot for anything, from straying too close to an outlaw's hideout to snoring too loud in his sleep, and there wasn't much Tom Bruck, the local law in these parts, could do about it.

Jim shook his head, "No point, Simon. You know as well as I do Bruck's pretty much got his hands tied. It was out of his jurisdiction anyhow. He said he'd turn the report over to the Marshals, but I doubt anything will ever come of it."

"Yeah, I know," Simon sighed. "Hell of a way to live, ain't it? Tell me again why we chose to come west?"

Jim chuckled. "A new life, remember? Fresh start? The lure of wide open places just begging to be tamed? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Simon joined in the laughter. He knew exactly why they'd decided to come west, leaving the overcrowded, crime ridden cities back east in their dust. He just needed a reminder from time to time.

"So, what brings you to town then?"

"Blair needed a few things."

Simon was surprised at the words. He hadn't noticed the young half-breed. His eyes raked over the area, noting only a few townspeople milling by and a young man standing over at the far edge of the porch. Simon's eyes narrowed as the young man lifted his head and their eyes met.

"Well, I'll be a--"

"Quite a change, huh?"

Simon stared, ignoring Jim's amused comment. He took in the kid's altered appearance without noticing the way Blair shifted uneasily under the intense scrutiny. It was amazing what a simple change of clothing had accomplished. The kid could easily pass for white. There were still clues to his heritage if anyone looked close enough to see, but the initial impression was so drastically different--

Simon stopped his thoughts abruptly. Appearances made no difference. This boy was no different where it counted. Raised by savages to be a savage. A killer. That's what Indians were -- lock, stock and barrel. Cold blooded killers, no respecter of persons. As likely to murder and scalp a woman or child as a man. Clothes couldn't -- wouldn't -- change that.

But looking at the young man bravely meeting his glare, Simon was hard pressed to equate that stereotype to what he saw. There was an innocence in the youthful expression which rocked Simon back on his heels. Despite the fact that Simon had no doubts the kid could stand quite well on his own two feet, there was something almost...vulnerable...about him. No, that wasn't quite the right word, but Simon couldn't think of one better to describe what he was seeing. Before he could give it further thought, the boy turned away.

"Makes no difference!" Simon announced gruffly, attempting to hide the path of his thoughts. "Can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. He's still a redskin."

Jim's gaze hardened at the words. "I'm not trying to make anything out of him but what he is...an intelligent, compassionate, trustworthy human being. Yeah, he's still a redskin, just like you're a 'black-skin' and I'm a 'white-skin'. Colorful bunch, aren't we?"

Simon frowned as Jim's point was driven subtly home. He was reminded suddenly and forcefully of another reason he'd chosen to leave the relative safety of the East -- to escape the stigma of his race in the wilds of the indifferent West -- and here he stood judging another man by the color of his skin.

But, damn it, this was different! Wasn't it? Or was that just an excuse? Was he judging a man by the reputation of his race, just as others had judged him?

Simon shook his head, attempting to dispel the unsettling -- and unflattering -- thoughts. "I don't want to argue this anymore, Jim," Simon declared, hoping to put an end to this topic. He didn't want to fight with his friend, and he didn't want the situation to put a strain on their friendship.

"Just give it some thought, Simon," Jim implored quietly. "You're as fair minded a man as I've ever known. I know you're afraid for your son in light of the massacre over in Clark County, but it's not like you to overreact to this extent. If nothing else, trust me on this. Blair is as honorable a man as you will meet anywhere, regardless of race."

~~~

Jim was aware of the shifting of Blair's heartbeat in response to his plea to Simon Banks and knew the young man had heard the compliments, but he kept his focus on Simon. For some reason, it was important to Jim that his old friend accept his new friend. Maybe if he explained the reason he was so dependent on Blair...Jim stopped the thought as quickly as it formed. No way in hell he was telling anyone about this Guardian business. No one would believe him anyway. He'd end up locked up somewhere. No, this was one secret he definitely wouldn't be sharing with Simon.

"Sure, Jim," Simon said, clearly acquiescing solely in the name of peace. "I'll give it some thought."

Jim nodded, satisfied. Despite Simon's attitude, Jim knew the man would keep his word, and that was all he could ask.

"How's Daryl?" Jim attempted to shift to a safer subject.

"In a heap of trouble," Simon answered with a put-upon smile. "But he doesn't know it yet. I just met with Mrs. Purvis."

"Problems in school?"

Simon scowled. "I think that boy's due for a hide tanning. It's time he stop taking his education for granted."

"Maybe you need to sit him down and explain a few things to him, Simon," Jim suggested. "It might help him understand if he knew the troubles you went through to get your own education."

Simon sighed deeply. "I know. I really do need to tell him, but..."

Though the sentence was left unfinished, Jim knew which direction Simon's thoughts were headed. "But you don't want him to see just how nasty the world can be to someone just because of the color of his skin."

"Exactly," Simon said, innocently stepping into the trap of words. "I hate for my son to see just what men are capable of. Back East it would be different. He'd have grown up knowing it, but here...well, I was hoping to shelter him from it as long as I can. It's not a perfect world here, I know that, but the prejudices are fewer and farther between."

"I know what you mean," Jim said, laying another verbal snare, pleased that Simon was so neatly walking into it. "For all its growth and progress, Oneonta is a pretty tolerant place...for the most part. Pretty diverse population for a cow town, wouldn't you say? And every man accepted for who he is and what he can do, rather than what he looks like. For the most part, that is."

Simon's eyes narrowed as Jim's words finally hit home. Finally, his eyes softened a bit, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You ever thought of running for office? Smooth talking like that is wasted on a bunch of cows."

Jim returned the smile, pleased and relieved that his friend wasn't angered by the verbal snare he'd set. "Just pointing out the facts, Simon."

"Point made and taken. I'll give it some thought, Jim...but no promises."

"That's all I ask," Jim nodded.

~~~

It was a relief when they finally turned their horses toward the ranch. The sun was fast making its way below the horizon. It would be dark when they finally reached home.

Home. That word stuck in Blair's brain. Why had he thought of Jim's place in those terms? He'd seldom associated it with any of the places he stayed. It had taken years before he thought of the village as home. So why was he thinking of Jim's ranch as home? Especially when he knew he'd only be here another couple of months at most.

Blair shook away the confusion that question caused. He shifted his the saddle, frowning at the unfamiliar weight of the gun against his hip. He had argued with Jim about putting it on, but it had been a losing battle. The man was adamant. Blair had finally agreed to give it a try, but he made no vows on its remaining where it now resided. He was uncomfortable with the weapon, and frankly, didn't understand Jim's insistence in the matter. It was one more in a long line of things the two of them were going to have to discuss at length in the very near future.

Blair reached up a hand and pulled at the stiff, unyielding collar of his new shirt. These clothes were also going to take some getting used to. They weren't nearly as comfortable or as soft as the buckskin garments he had dressed in just this morning, though he reluctantly admitted they had served their purpose admirably. As Jim had gone about town, taking care of ranch business and making a few personal calls, scarcely anyone had taken notice of the a nondescript cowhand tagging along beside him...and to be truthful, Blair liked that feeling of invisibility. He hadn't even been questioned as he accompanied Jim into the hotel restaurant for lunch. He had held his breath for several long moments, waiting to be told in no uncertain terms that his "kind" weren't served with decent folk, but the waitress had seated them with nothing more than a warm smile in Blair's direction which had Jim teasing him throughout the meal.

Blair glanced down at himself, wondering what the waitress had seen. Did clothes really make that big a difference? He was still the same person he'd been this morning when he'd rode into town with Jim -- a half-breed the waitress would have had nothing but scorn for had she known -- but because he had been dressed as a "civilized man" he was acceptable in her eyes.

Blair wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he knew he wasn't in the mood to dwell on it any longer. The emotional tension of the day had left him drained. By the time they reached the ranch, Blair was too tired to even eat. He made his apologies to Stebbins, who seemed to take it personal when anyone skipped a meal, and went straight to bed.

It wasn't until the next morning that he got around to unpacking the bundle of clothes Jim had brought from the store. Just a few things -- Jim had said the remainder would be picked up with the rest of the supplies. Blair debated for a minute over where to put the new things. He'd been pretty much living out of his pack, not wanting to spread himself around Jim's brother's room any more than necessary. He already felt like an intruder here.

He finally decided to put the new clothes in the bottom of the high wardrobe, where he wouldn't have to plunder though too many of Steven's things to get to them on a daily basis.

Blair turned back to the bed and carefully untied the string holding the brown paper around the bundle of clothing. The paper fell away to reveal more than just the clothes he'd expected. A book...Iliad. Confused, Blair reached out to the tome, but stopped just short of actually touching it.

"It's not a snake. It won't bite you."

Blair snapped his head around, startled by the voice. Jim was standing in the doorway, a smug expression on his rugged face.

"Why?" Blair said, finding his voice.

"Well, for one thing, it doesn't have any teeth."

"I mean why did you buy the book?"

"Why not?"

Blair smiled. Ellison logic. Nothing if not consistent.

Jim gestured lazily toward the high shelves, filled with Steven's books. "I know you probably haven't made a dent in these yet, but I saw you looking at this one in town, and, well, I wanted you to have it. As a sort of thank you."

"I told you already, Jim, you don't have to--" Blair broke off, his eyes widening in sudden realization as Jim's words sunk in. "You mean...I can read these?"

~~~

Irritation slammed into Jim, twisting his gut uncomfortably as understanding dawned. He had just assumed Blair knew he could help himself to the books. He should have known things were never that simple with the kid. "Why would you think you couldn't?"

"They aren't mine," Blair answered simply.

Jim sighed loudly, straightening and stepping into the room. "Why would you think I would object to your reading them? Your opinion of me that low?"

"I thought...because..." Blair faltered, and Jim could see the evidence of an internal battle. He held his breath, hoping the kid was going to finally open up so they could put this kind of misunderstanding behind them.

Blair dropped his eyes. "Before...when I was little, my mother was a housekeeper. The man we...she worked for," Jim caught the slip and his frown deepened, "had a whole room full of books. Scores of them, maybe even hundreds, on shelves that reached from floor to ceiling. Some of the shelves were so high it took a ladder just to reach the books on them. I think he must have been incredibly rich."

"You must have been in heaven." Jim smiled.

A bitter smile crossed the youthful face as his eyes lifted to meet Jim's. "I wasn't allowed in the room...except to help clean, and I was forbidden to touch the books."

Jim shook his head, easily imagining the torture that must have been for someone who treasured books like this kid did.

"But I did," Blair continued, turning away from Jim. "I did read them. I snuck in at night while everyone was asleep and read them anyway."

Jim's smile returned. "Good for you!"

Blair turned, surprise coloring his face.

"What?" Jim asked, questioning the expression.

"What I did was wrong. I was the maid's son, and I had been strictly forbidden to touch the books..." Blair's voice trailed off.

"Which you did anyhow," Jim finished for him. "And I say, good for you. What's the problem?" At Blair's continued confusion, he went on. "Look, I happen to think education is one of the most important things a person can do for himself. My guess is, you never attended formal school. Am I right?"

Something indefinable flashed through the young man's eyes. "I'm a half-breed," he stated simply, as though that was answer enough.

And it was. Jim knew that as an Indian Blair more than likely wouldn't have been allowed around "normal God-fearing" children.

A hint of defensiveness colored Blair's tone as he hurriedly continued. "But my mother was a very educated woman. She taught me to read and write, and she saw to it I had books when she could manage to--"

"I wasn't questioning your intelligence," Jim interrupted. "It's obvious to me that you're very intelligent. I admire the fact that you found a way to get to those books, despite being forbidden to read them. As hard to come by as books are out here, no one should ever be denied access to them." Blair's eyes tracked around the room, not really focused on any one thing. Jim suspected he wasn't finished with his story. He waited patiently, hoping the kid would decide to continue. Blair rarely spoke of his days before going to live with the Indians, and even then only in the vaguest terms. Jim was curious, but hadn't pushed, knowing the memories of that time weren't all pleasant for Blair.

Finally the young man's gaze settled on the book still sitting on top of the open pack. "I got caught. My mom was fired. It was a long time before we could find another job." With the words, a visible wall dropped between them, closing off the kid's emotions.

Jim sighed, knowing that was all he was going to get for now. Damn. No wonder the kid had been reluctant to touch Steven's books. Jim cursed himself for not making it clear from the start that it was okay. Thankfully, it wasn't too late to rectify the situation now.

"Blair..." He waited until the dark blue eyes lifted to meet his own. "These books," he swept his arm wide, encompassing the entire shelf of tomes, "were written to be read. Help yourself."

Blair studied him for a long moment, and Jim knew his words were being weighed for veracity. Then, slowly, a warm smile lifted the corners of the young man's sun darkened face. Jim's own expression lightened to match it. The wall was still there, but it no longer seemed so impenetrable.

"Thank you." The words were as simple as the heartfelt expression that accompanied them.

Jim nodded. "Good. Now that that's settled, Stebbins' pancakes are calling."

~~~

Blair climbed onto the top rail of the temporary corral, leaning back against the poplar tree that was currently standing duty as a fence post. Once he was comfortable, he relaxed, letting his eyes rake the area. It was nice here, in the hills above Jim's ranch house. The elevation gave him a spectacular view of Cascade Valley. He could almost see as far as Simon's ranch. He knew Jim would have no trouble at all. Blair had spent a lot of time here over the past few weeks, and he'd come to enjoy the solitude. It was peaceful and relaxed here, away from the tensions of the ranch. When he could, Jim rode up with him. Sometimes they worked on the Jim's senses, testing and trying them. Sometimes Jim just watched Blair working with Mak'ha Ma'heo.

Mak'ha Ma'heo...free spirit. It was the name he'd arrived on for the mare after much deliberation. He hadn't felt right about naming her at first, having no intentions of keeping her, but Jim was insistent, and Blair was fast learning that it just didn't pay to argue with Jim Ellison when his mind was set on something. And the name just seemed to fit. She was definitely a free spirit, with a mind of her own. He'd finally broken her of the biting...well, for the most part. At least she didn't bite him anymore. He had yet to test her with anyone else. Even Jim kept his distance, not quite trusting Blair's word that she wouldn't take a chunk out of his arm. Blair chuckled, remembering the one time Jim had approached her, not long after Blair had moved her up here where he could work with her away from the prying eyes at the ranch. Jim had seen the easy way Blair moved around her and had been lulled into thinking she was safe to approach. He quickly learned that she wasn't quite ready to tolerate him, expect from a distance. He hadn't tried to approach her since, despite Blair's assurances.

A questioning snort met Blair's short laugh. He let go of the memory, turning his attention to Mak'ha. "Sorry, girl," he said softly in his native tongue. "I didn't mean to ignore you." He reached out a hand, gently rubbing her muzzle. The mare extended her head closer to allow him access to her ears.

"Not spoiled a bit, are you?" Blair chuckled. "But if you are, I guess I have to take full blame for it." He obligingly scratched between her ears, smiling at the contentment flowing from the animal. "If you were a cat, I think you'd be purring."

Blair jumped down from the rail, landing lightly beside the mare. "Well, girl, I guess you're about as ready as you're ever going to be." He took down the bridle from where he'd hung it by the gate, letting Mak'ha sniff it before placing the bit in her mouth. She didn't like it, but she didn't fight it, either. "We've taken way too long, as it is. Jim is beginning to think I'm stalling. Of course, you and I know better, don't we?"

He idly rubbed her neck as he spoke, giving her a chance to relax before he sprung the rest of the bad news on her, but she must have sensed something, because she pawed at the ground nervously. Blair took a breath, letting it out slowly. "Look," he shifted so he could look her in the eyes as he spoke, "you know I would rather do this bareback, and well, there's no doubt you would, too...but we're going to be on show. Those guys didn't see in you what I saw. They're too blinded by their white man's notions. We both know how crazy white man's notions are, don't we?" The horse snorted, as though in agreement.

Blair led the mare through the gate to where he'd tethered the gelding he'd ridden here from the ranch. He began removing the saddle from the gelding, continuing his monologue as he transferred it to Mak'ha. "They're going to be judging us, both of us, and I want to give them their money's worth." He chuckled again, thinking of the many bets placed against him in this venture. While the idea made him nervous, the thought of all the money Jim was going to win from those bets more than made up for it. Jim had placed his trust in Blair on this. It was only fair the man should be repaid for that trust.

He tightened the cinch around Mak'ha, then rubbed her neck affectionately. "Okay, girl, this is it. Show time. I've just got one request...well, two, actually. One, don't embarrass me, okay? I don't want to give these guys anymore fodder for torment than they already have. So, best behavior, all right?"

Mak'ha snorted. Blair took that as agreement, and moved on to his second request. "If you just feel this overwhelming need to bite someone, and you can't control it...try to aim for Quinn."

~~~

Jim leaned back, letting his chair rest on just the two back legs. He propped his booted feet up on the porch railing, a smile which looked suspiciously like a smirk crossed his handsome face.

"You wanna share?"

Jim looked up to find Joel crossing the porch toward him. "Share what?"

Joel eased his big frame into the chair beside Jim with a weary sigh. "Whatever's got you grinning like you're up to something."

"Oh," Jim clasped his hands behind his head, giving the impression of a man with not a care in the world, "just thinking...planning how I'm gonna spend all that money."

Joel's eyebrows crawled up toward his hairline, but before he could voice his question, the sound of an approaching rider filled the ranch yard. Already knowing the identity of the rider, Jim was content to watch his foreman for a reaction. He wasn't disappointed.

"Well, I'll be damned!" The big man's open-mouthed astonishment was enough to bring a full blown laugh from Jim. "I'll be double damned! The kid did it. He broke the mare!"

Blair rode into the ranch yard astride the mare and leading the gelding he'd ridden off on just a few hours ago. Jim hadn't known the kid planned to bring the horse -- what was Blair calling her...Mak'ha? -- back with him today, but he'd known for some time now that Blair was essentially finished breaking her. He also knew Blair had been delaying bringing her back, not at all looking forward to the reaction he'd known his success would provoke.

Joel stood, moving to the edge of the porch. Jim brought his feet down, allowing his chair to fall forward to all four legs. By now, several of the hands had noticed the arrival as well. Some were loudly cursing the turn of events that would cost them money, but there were some, Jim noticed, that wore expressions of grudging respect. This was something they could understand, something they could appreciate.

As Blair headed for the corral and dismounted, Jim stood and made his way over to him. The mare turned her head at Jim's approach, causing Jim to sidestep, keeping Blair between them and bringing a short chuckle from Blair.

"I honestly think you're safe, Jim," Blair said, patting the mare's neck. "She's already had her dinner."

Jim laughed. "Not taking any chances, Chief."

"Great job, Blair," Joel said, joining them. "Unbelievable, but good job, nonetheless."

Blair colored slightly under the praise. "Thanks."

Jim glanced over at the small knot of men gathered nearby and raised his voice cheerfully. "Well, boys...I think we have some settling up to do."

~~~

Rafe didn't spare a glance as he heard the clatter of hoofs behind him. He didn't have to look to know who it was or where he was headed. It was Sunday morning, the sun scarcely making its debut...reasonable human beings were still sleeping. Rafe almost chuckled at the thought. So what did that make him? He was up and about. Sundays were their only day off. Those few hands who hadn't stayed in town last night were still sleeping off their "fun" for the most part. Henri included.

But Rafe had never been much of a drinker. He enjoyed it on occasion, but didn't care for the aftereffects of an all night binge, especially since he was most definitely a morning person.

As was someone else. Rafe set down his straight razor and grabbed his scrap of toweling to wipe the remainder of the soap from his face. As he did, he let his eyes find the reflection of the retreating figure in the small mirror nailed to the back of the bunkhouse.

It was the same ritual every Sunday morning. Blair rode off at daybreak and didn't return until almost dark. Rafe briefly wondered where the breed went, what he did, but just as quickly dismissed the questions. Some damn savage ritual, most likely, and he was better off not knowing. Damn breed. Probably off praying to some rock or offering sacrifices to a tree or something.

Rafe pointedly ignored the horse the kid rode. He wanted to be angry that Blair had proved him wrong in front of the other men. But...damn it all! How could he deny what the damn breed had accomplished? But it wasn't respect he was feeling. No, sir, definitely not respect. Just...acknowledgment. He knew what had gone into breaking that horse, and well, he could at least acknowledge it to himself. There was no harm in that.

Subdued voices drew Rafe's attention away from the retreating figure. He turned to see Quinn and Rooker round the corner of the bunkhouse, leading their horses. He was surprised to see the men up so early, especially considering the condition the two had been in last night. Hell, he'd been surprised they had even come back at all last night. They usually stayed in town until Sunday night, holed up with some saloon woman or passed out drunk somewhere.

It didn't take him long to figure out their reasons.

"Give 'im a few more minutes," Quinn said, keeping his voice low, though he obviously hadn't noticed Rafe's presence. "Bastard's probably got eyes in the back of his head."

Rooker chuckled. "I doubt that, else he'd wouldn't keep having so many accidents."

Rafe knew about those 'accidents'. Most of the hands did. A few seemed to find amusement in watching Quinn and his men harass the kid behind Jim's back, but most, Rafe included, didn't see the humor when the damn breed refused to fight back. So far, they had turned their collective heads the other way, pretending not to notice.

"That's enough," Quinn declared, bringing Rafe back to the present. "Let's go."

"I don't think so," Rafe heard himself saying. Damn, he hadn't intended to get involved.

The two men started, whirling around to face Rafe. Quinn recovered first.

"Stay out of this, spic."

Rafe bristled at the slur. "Leave him alone, Quinn."

"What's this?" Rooker questioned. "Don't tell me you're going soft on the savage all of a sudden? Hell, kid, you're welcome to ride along with us, if that's what's got you riled up."

Rafe ignored the question, not wanting to explain himself to these two. "Just put your horses up."

"Or what?"

Rafe forced himself to stand his ground as Quinn took a threatening step toward him. "Or I'll have to go have a talk with the boss-man. I'm sure he'd be interested in hearing about all those accidents you were talking about."

"Be careful, boy," Quinn warned, "or you'll end up on the receiving end of a few accidents yourself."

Rafe laughed, not at all intimidated by the man. He had more than a few friends to help watch his back.

Seeing that Rafe was not going to be easily blustered, Quinn backed up a step, laughing as he did. "So, we've got ourselves another Injun lover, Wade."

"Looks that way," the larger man agreed. "What we gonna do 'bout it?"

Quinn glanced toward the trees where Blair had disappeared just moments before. Cold eyes turned back to pin Rafe. The younger man forced himself to stand steady in the face of the hatred he saw there. He'd be damned if he'd let this snake rattle him. Quinn's gaze suddenly shifted to the side even as Rafe heard a soft rustle of movement behind him. He didn't spare a glance, unwilling to let Quinn out of his sight just yet.

Unexpectedly, Quinn smiled, though the iciness never left his eyes. "Another time, Wade. When there ain't so many Injun lovers in our way."

Rafe held his position until the two men had retreated, returning the way they had come without so much as a glance back.

"You sure can pick 'em, man."

Rafe finally turned to face the newcomer. Henri was casually leaning against the back wall of the bunkhouse, his arms crossed over his chest. only the deep concern Rafe saw in the man's dark eyes belied his calm façade.

Taking in Henri's bloodshot eyes, hastily donned clothing and bleary expression, Rafe allowed a smile. "Figured nothing short of an earthquake could rouse you before noon."

Henri shrugged half-heartedly. "Earthquake, Quinn...what's the difference?" He straightened, running a hand over his short cropped hair. "Heard those two as they were dressing in the bunkhouse. Couldn't tell exactly what they were planning, but it sounded like something I needed to look into."

"They were going to follow the breed," Rafe filled him in. "Probably should have let 'em." Rafe didn't mean the words, but his pride demanded the bluster, so he obliged.

Henri snorted in disbelief.

Embarrassed by his partner's perception, Rafe turned away and began gathering his shaving kit, stuffing it back into it's leather carrying case.

"So, what're we going to do about it?"

Rafe spared a quick glance over his shoulder. "They gave up. What's to do?"

"You know what I mean, Rafe. You know those two weren't planning a social call on the boy. They were looking for some fun, and you know damn well what their idea of fun is. You stopped 'em this time, but what about the next time, huh? And what happens when one of their little 'accidents' goes too far?"

Rafe spun angrily to face his friend. "You want to sign up as the breed's bodyguard? You want to follow him around protecting him from that bunch of fools? That savage should have known what he was getting into when he tried to force his way into the civilized world where he's not wanted. If he can't handle it, he can leave, go back to his own kind."

Henri shook his head slowly, but didn't react to Rafe's angry outburst. "I know you don't like the kid, Rafe, and I can even halfway understand your reasons. Who's to say I wouldn't feel the same way in your shoes? But you can't judge them all based on what happened to you. For myself, he's kind of growing on me, you know? Doesn't seem to have a mean bone in his body, and even if he did, I don't think he deserves Quinn's abuse."

Rafe wasn't quite ready to let go of his anger. "If he's not a mind to stand up for himself, why should we worry? He could tell Jim or Joel, and they'd put a stop to it."

"And you'd respect him more if he ran whining to the boss?"

Rafe scowled. "It's none of our business!"

"Then why did you stop them?"

"I'd defend any dog that kept getting the shit kicked out of him, no matter how mangy it was." Despite the harshness of his words and tone, Rafe had a feeling his friend saw right through the bluster.

"You're going to be on Quinn's short list for a while," Henri needlessly pointed out.

"I'm not worried about him," Rafe replied.

"You've got friends around here to help you out," Henri observed. "Not like the kid..."

Rafe turned away from the words and the point behind them. "If he can't handle it, he can leave."

~~~

Blair opened his eyes and straightened his legs, slowly stretching out the stiffness brought on by sitting in one position for much too long. The small fire before him had burned down to just a few glowing coals. He briefly entertained the idea of rekindling it, but decided against it. It would be dark soon and he knew he should be heading home.

Home. There was that word again. He'd found himself thinking in those terms quite often lately, and yet it never failed to surprise him to find that word rolling around in his thoughts. But to be honest, he liked the idea of using it in connection with Jim's ranch. He hadn't been here long, but he was beginning to...well, to fit in, up to a point. There were still hands who resented his presence, and some who actually seemed to be trying to drive him into leaving -- Dawson Quinn and Wade Rooker, to name two. But many of the men were coming to tolerate and even accept Blair. Some had even become a bit...well, friendly wasn't really the right word, but Blair had actually had a civilized conversation on occasion with someone other than Jim, Joel or Stebbins. He had to admit, it was kind of nice.

Rafe...well, that one was a bit harder to pigeonhole. Rafe wasn't as openly hostile as Quinn, but it was obvious the man still wanted as little to do with him as possible. Blair tried to stay out of Rafe's way, but it was difficult when Jim and Joel kept assigning them to the same jobs. Blair couldn't understand their reasoning. What did it really matter if Rafe changed his opinions toward Blair? As long as Blair kept his distance, it shouldn't be a problem for either of them.

Then there was Simon -- another man Blair couldn't quite figure out. As long as Blair stayed away from Daryl, he seemed content to ignore Blair, and that was fine with Blair. He would have liked to have forged a civil relationship with the man -- for Jim's sake, he told himself -- but it just didn't seem possible. So he settled for a word or two of polite greeting before disappearing. It seemed the best way to avoid tension.

That same strategy seemed to work best with almost everyone. Blair was resolved to doing his job the best he could, keeping his mouth shut, and staying out of everyone's way.

Which was why he spent Sundays here, away from everyone and everything "white". The idea of a day off was still somewhat of a novelty to him. It seemed odd to spend a whole day laying around when there was work to be done. But the white men seemed to accept the idea as a God-given right, so who was Blair to argue?

Blair sighed deeply, standing and stretching more thoroughly. These days away from the stresses and tensions of having to watch everything he said and did were good for his spirit anyway, so he wouldn't argue. Working with Jim was great, and Blair had no regrets whatsoever on that front. It was exciting to watch the Guardian discover and explore his gifts and to know that he was playing a role in that exploration. Blair took his role very seriously, knowing the enormous responsibility that went with it. It was that responsibility that made the tensions of the past few weeks tolerable.

Blair caught himself. No, that wasn't right. Certainly there was an awesome responsibility associated with the Guardian, and certainly Blair did take it seriously, but he liked to think that a large part of what made the past month bearable was Jim. Blair thought there was the beginning of a friendship there. He was sure it went beyond Jim's need for help with his gifts. The relationship seemed to have moved past necessary toleration on both sides.

A friend.

A white friend.

Blair shook his head in amazement, as he kicked dirt over the embers and mounted Mak'ha and turned toward the ranch. If someone had told him this just six months ago, he'd have checked for fever.

~~~

Jim caught Joel's eye across the table, easily reading the bigger man's misgivings, but he didn't let that deter him. Jim had discussed his intentions with his foreman and knew the man wasn't exactly enthusiastic about them, but that wasn't going to deter Jim either. He couldn't explain why it was so necessary for Blair to fit in, not even to himself; he only knew it was damned important to him. He also knew he was taking a mighty big risk with this little...well, manipulation seemed too harsh a word, even if that was what he was doing. It could very well backfire, as Joel had been so quick to point out. Forcing Rafe and Blair to work together around the ranch was one thing -- even Joel had thought that might help the two young men find a common ground, but it wasn't working.

So, despite the silent warning his foreman sent him, Jim cleared his throat and spoke to the young man sitting at the far end of the table. "Rafe..." Jim waited until he looked up. "I've made arrangements with Hanners for you to pick up that herd this weekend. You can leave tomorrow morning."

Rafe nodded, prodding Henri with his elbow. "We'll be ready, Jim."

Jim cleared his throat again. "Henri won't be going with you this time." This drew a startled look from both men. Jim was well aware that Henri always accompanied Rafe to pick up new horses. "Blair is going with you."

All conversation at the table stopped. Jim boldly met the gazes that turned toward him at the words, letting none of his doubts show. Most of the looks he got were curious, some even amused, with the notable exception of Rafe. The glare the young wrangler turned on Jim was anything but amused.

Jim forced himself to meet the gaze, resisting the temptation to glance at Blair seated beside him. The ever present heartbeat that played at the edges of Jim's hearing had become a percussion symphony which demanded attention, but Jim ignored it, knowing the kid wouldn't protest his decision in public. In fact, Jim doubted Blair would protest at all. The kid might question the logic of Jim's decision, but he'd do whatever Jim asked of him. Jim stamped down a flare of guilt, knowing he was taking advantage of that unquestioning deference. Instead, he turned all of his attention to the fight he expected from his head wrangler.

"That won't be necessary." There was steel in the Rafe's tone. "There's only the six of 'em. If Henri can't come along, I can handle 'em by myself."

Jim shook his head, not breaking eye contact with the young man. "The stallion is going to be a handful. It'll take the both of you to deal with him."

"Jim--" Rafe started, clearly ready to argue further.

"It's been decided," Jim stated firmly. "I paid a lot for that stallion , and I'm not willing to risk anything happening to him. You and Blair are the two best wranglers on the ranch, and last time I checked, I was still the boss."

Rafe held the eye contact a moment longer, visibly biting back a reply. Finally, he noisily pushed back his chair and rose. He headed for the door, stopping halfway there to call over his shoulder, "I'll be leaving at daylight, breed...don't make me have to wait!"

Jim let out a sigh, that had gone pretty much as he'd expected, which was not well at all. He risked a glance to his left, where Blair was sitting silently. Well, silently all but for the thundering heartbeat. Blair was paying a lot more attention to the stew on his plate than it warranted, seemingly making a concentrated effort to make himself invisible.

Shaking his head in frustration, Jim turned his attention to his own food, though his appetite was long gone. Either the two young men were going to come back at the end of this trip with a new found understanding, perhaps even tolerance, for one another...or one or the other of them would most likely be riding out for good.

~~~

His nervousness demanding action, Blair unnecessarily checked and rechecked the cinch on the gelding he'd chosen for the trip -- he'd decided against bringing Mak'ha, afraid Rafe would think he was showing off his success at breaking her. God knows, this was going to be difficult enough without any added pressures. Blair wasn't exactly looking forward to this trip, knowing it would be awkward and uncomfortable at the very least. Rafe had made his feelings known last night, and Blair...well, Blair didn't exactly return the animosity Rafe had shown him, but neither did he have warm feelings in regard to him.

The approach of a horse behind him drew Blair from his thoughts, and he felt his apprehension grow. Damn Jim, anyhow. But just as quickly as the curse crossed his mind, Blair pushed it away. He understood Jim's reasons for forcing the two of them together on this trip, even if he didn't agree with them. Blair just prayed they wouldn't end up killing one another before they could make it back to the ranch with the horses. Once they returned, they go back to ignoring one another.

"Let's get this over with, breed," Rafe spit out. Without waiting for a reply, he swung his horse around and spurred him to a gallop.

Blair let out a sigh as he climbed into the saddle of his own horse and urged him to follow.

~~~

It was close to sunset when the two finally stopped to make camp. The total silence of the day extended to the laying of the temporary camp. Twice, as Rafe settled the horses for the night, he caught himself about to speak, nothing important or necessary, just casual comments made in the name of conversation. Twice, he stopped himself just short, remembering at the last minute just who it was he was traveling with.

He threw a covert glance over his shoulder at his unwelcomed traveling companion. Blair was busy setting a fire. Anger and resentment flowed through Rafe in equal portions, but he forced them back down. Tomorrow, they would pick up the herd from Hanners, and in three days they would be back at the ranch. Surely, he could survive the savage's presence for that long.

He'd prove to Mr. High-and-Mighty-Jim-Ellison-boss-man that they could survive his little scheme without killing one another -- or becoming best friends.

Rafe's lips curled slightly at the thought of throwing this whole charade back in his boss' face. He'd show the man he wasn't so easily manipulated. They could all be damned for all he cared. There were plenty of jobs out there for men who knew their way around horses like he did. He didn't have to stay with Jim Ellison and let the man humiliate him at every turn. And if Henri preferred to stay with Jim...well, who the hell needed him anyway? Maybe it was time he found a new partner to ride with.

His decision made, Rafe turned back to camp, only to realize the breed was nowhere to be seen. "Probably out looking for a baby to scalp," he muttered irrationally under his breath. He retrieved the canteens from the saddle packs and shook them. Both were nearly empty. He took a step toward the nearby creek, then stopped and tossed one of the canteens back toward the fire. Let the savage fetch his own water.

Drawing an odd kind of comfort from the familiar warmth of anger building in his chest, Rafe made his way silently through the last vestiges of daylight toward the creek. It wasn't until he found himself at his destination that he realized he wasn't alone. A dozen or so yards upstream, kneeling by the water's edge, was the savage. Stripped to the waist, the kid was washing the dust of the day's ride from his arms and neck. A shaft of waning sunlight played across the tanned skin of the breed's back, revealing a crisscross of ragged white tracks that reached from high on the muscled shoulders to below the waistband of the dusty dungarees.

Not quite certain why the sight unsettled him, Rafe moved silently back into the trees and returned to camp. He tossed the canteen aside and dropped down to sit beside the campfire. It didn't take much imagination to fill in the blanks. Few things could have caused scars like he'd seen on the breed's back. They were obviously old, which, given the kid's age, meant he'd most likely gained them as a child. A child...Damn savages! Probably part of some perverted "coming of age" ritual. He'd heard tales of such heathen rituals. Chilling tales. Damn bloodthirsty sons-of-bitches.

Not that he cared. The breed was one of them. Probably asked for it, even welcomed it. None of his business.

Still...

~~~

Simon sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed as the unrelenting cough from the other bedroom began to worry him. He lit the lantern on the bedside table and made his way carefully down the darkened hallway to his son's room.

Daryl was sitting up in the bed, one hand pushed firmly against his chest as he leaned forward to cough. Simon sat down on the edge of the bed and gently rubbed the boy's back until the fit passed.

"Better?"

Daryl nodded, settling back down on the pillow. "Yeah, I think so." His voice was raspy, hoarse.

Simon reached over to lay the back of his hand against the boy's cheek. Damn! A spike of fear wedged in the vicinity of Simon's heart at the heat he felt there. He immediately quashed the fear, dismissing the voice that whispered a warning in the back of his mind. It was probably just a cold. The weather was changing, and Daryl always got a cold when the weather changed. Always. That's all it was.

But the voice got louder, whispering reminders of the recent influenza outbreak up in Motte Creek. No, Simon argued back, there was no way it could have stretched this far south. No way.

Angrily, Simon gave the disturbing thoughts a final shove, sending them back to the dark recesses of his mind. "Be right back," he told his son, and with a gentle pat on the arm, he made his way back to his room, retrieved his own pillow and took it back to Daryl's room. "Here, son, lean up for a moment." Daryl pushed himself up on an elbow, and Simon placed the additional pillow behind the boy's back to prop him up higher. "That should help."

"Thanks, Dad."

Simon settled himself back on the edge of the bed. "Go on back to sleep, son. I'll stay with you for a bit."

Daryl nodded and let his eyes close. Simon watched him until his face finally relaxed into sleep, silently praying all the while that the voice was mistaken. He was just about to head back to bed himself when another coughing fit hit the boy. Simon gently pulled the boy up against his chest and held him, rubbing his back, until the fit passed.

"Dad?" Daryl's voice was soft against Simon's shoulder, scarcely more than a whisper, "I don't feel so good."

Grim determination gripped the large man. He'd lost the boy's mother; he wouldn't lose his son, too. He laid Daryl down, pulling the blankets up close. "It's all right, son. Try to get some sleep. I'm going to send for the doctor, and he'll have you fixed up in no time."

~~~

A light drizzle settled the dust of the trail, neither heavy enough nor cold enough to be much more than a nuisance. Blair shrugged deeper into his slicker and pulled the brim of his hat a bit lower before throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to check the progress of the small herd of horses behind him.

They had left Hanners' place only a few hours before, but already the animals had settled into the drive, the stallion taking up position behind and to the left of Blair's lead. His reluctant traveling companion brought up the rear, urging the herd forward. As Blair turned, he caught Rafe's gaze on him. Their eyes locked briefly, then the older man turned away, a scowl darkening his face.

Blair turned back to face the trail before him. He had no idea what was going on with Rafe, and he was trying hard not to care. They'd scarcely shared a handful of words between them since leaving Jim's ranch two days ago. Blair knew Rafe hated him -- that much had been made clear weeks ago. And though Jim insisted there was more to it than simple racial hatred, Blair knew that was enough for most men. He hadn't really expected this trip to be pleasant, and he hadn't been disappointed. Though, to tell the truth, there hadn't been as many barbs and insults as he had anticipated. While Blair had caught the man openly staring at him on several occasions, for the most part Rafe just seemed...preoccupied or something. Whatever mental bone Rafe was chewing, at least it was keeping his attention from Blair. Trouble was, judging by those pointed stares he kept catching, Blair was beginning to suspect it somehow involved him, and that most certainly couldn't be good.

Camp that night was more of the same -- silent and cold. Oh, there was a fire, and the air was warm enough, but the atmosphere was most definitely cold. Blair helped Rafe settle the horses for the night with barely a word spoken between them, then joined him at the fire for a hastily prepared meal.

Twice Blair glanced at his companion to find the man furtively staring at him. The second time, Rafe held his gaze, the familiar scowl making its appearance. Blair felt himself bristling, despite his resolve that he would do nothing on this trip to provoke the man. He knew it was important to Jim that he get along with Rafe, but damn, he was sick of being the only one to make an effort in that direction.

"What?" he heard himself growl.

"What?" Rafe repeated, irritation evident in his tone.

"You got something to say? Or you just staring at me for entertainment?"

"Don't flatter yourself, breed."

Well, at least the man was talking to him, but Blair was getting sick of Rafe's attitude. Why couldn't anyone just accept him for who he was? His anger deflated suddenly and was replaced by a resignation which left him feeling old and very tired.

"Yeah, man, whatever you say." Maybe silence was the best option, after all. He turned his attention back to his food. Several long moments of silence followed before Blair decided to make one last stab at a civilized conversation...for Jim's sake, he reminded himself. "Sure will be glad to get back to Stebbins' cooking."

"I would have thought you'd prefer your meat raw." The words were spoken with vehemence. "Or is it only babies and women you eat without cooking?"

"What in the hell is the matter with you?" Blair shouted, too angered by the ridiculous accusation to stop himself. "What have I ever done to you?"

"You're an Indian!" Rafe yelled back. "And that's damned sure enough, in my book! The whole lot of you are nothing but thievin', murderin' bastards!"

Blair didn't answer. There were no words to fight idiotic statements like that. How could you argue with a lifetime of ingrained prejudice?

"Nothing to say, breed?" Rafe spit the slur like it was the nastiest of curses. And to him, it probably was. "Guess there's not much to defend when the words are true."

"You know nothing about me or my people," Blair stated, his voice low and cold. "You're an ignorant fool."

"I know what I've seen."

Blair was taken aback by the statement. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't judge men by stereotypes or rumors," Rafe responded acidly. "But I know what I've seen."

Blair was curious now. "And what have you seen?"

Rafe's gaze turned inward briefly. By the time he refocused on Blair, the anger had been replaced by something unreadable. "None of your business." The words were softly spoken, with surprisingly little heat.

Matching the tone, Blair said, "When you judge me by it, that makes it my business."

Rafe turned his attention to his hands. "Let's just say I have reason to...to distrust you, and leave it at that."

"That's hardly fair, is it?" Blair waited until Rafe looked up before continuing. "You throw out accusations and insults which are as ridiculous as they are fantastic, and yet you expect me to just take your word for it that you have your reasons?" Blair took a deep breath. "Look, man, we're at least talking, so let's just take this opportunity to clear the air a bit, okay? You obviously have what you think are very good reasons for hating my guts, though you haven't seen fit to share those reasons with me. Personally, I don't care if you hate me, or if you make my life miserable at every turn. As far as I'm concerned, you can hate me till hell freezes over. What's one more white man's hatred? You stay away from me, and I'll stay away from you. Deal?"

"Ellison has other ideas."

Blair frowned. "I'll talk to him. I think I can convince him it's a lost cause. I'm not going to be around that much longer anyhow. Surely we're both mature enough to make nice for another month or so. So let's just agree to leave each other alone. Deal?"

There was a long moment of silence before Rafe finally nodded. Blair let out a noisy breath and leaned back against a convenient tree. It wasn't much of a truce, but he'd take it. He'd convince Jim that the two of them had made a working peace, and maybe some of the tension around the ranch would ease up.

"Indians killed my family."

The statement caught Blair off guard. He looked up to find Rafe looking into the fire.

"It was Apaches."

Blair held his breath, hardly believing the man was opening up to him, but relieved nonetheless to finally be getting an explanation for all the animosity.

"I was nine. Saw the whole thing." Rafe looked up suddenly, meeting Blair's eyes. "Do you know what Apaches do to their prisoners?" He didn't wait for Blair to answer. "It's not..." His voice broke, and he took a minute to gather himself before continuing. "It's not very pleasant. My madre and my two older sisters...they..." He dropped his eyes, but not before Blair saw the moisture gathering there.

"I'm sorry, Rafe--" Blair started.

"I was hiding," Rafe interrupted, his focus turning inward. It was as though he were speaking to himself, forgetting Blair was even there. "My padre and I were in the barn when they attacked. He hid me, then went out to fight them. My madre and my sisters were in the house...he was just trying to get to them, to protect them."

There was a long silence. Blair had no words to offer, so he waited, knowing there was more.

"They killed my padre first." Rafe looked up, his gaze narrowing in remembered horror. "Slowly. My padre screamed...the strongest, bravest man I even knew, and he screamed. He screamed and he cried and he begged for mercy...and they laughed. I couldn't see from my hiding place, but I could hear the screams...

"My madre and my sisters were next."

Rafe didn't elaborate, but Blair didn't need him to. He could well imagine what the Apaches had done to the women.

An uneasy stillness filled the air. Each man sat quietly, lost in his thoughts.

"That wasn't me, Rafe," he said after several minutes of silence.

There was no response for a moment, and Blair wondered if the man had even heard him. When Rafe did answer, his voice was low, and he didn't meet Blair's eye. "That doesn't stop me from blaming you."

Blair took the opening, somewhat relieved that they were finally talking like rational adults. "The Apache...they're...well, they aren't representative of all Indians, no more than you or Jim or Quinn are representative of all white men."

"But all Indians are savages. They all have murder in their souls." The words had no heart, no heat behind them. Blair was reminded of Simon's son, Daryl, and the ridiculous notions he'd held. The only difference was that Daryl had been open to having those notions dispelled. He wasn't so sure Rafe was.

"My people aren't like the Apache," Blair argued. "They're a peaceful people. They just want to be left alone to live their lives like they always have."

Rafe stared at him for a long moment. He looked at though he was actually considering the words. But when he spoke, his words caught Blair completely off guard.

"So you say, but I've seen your scars."

Blair was surprised by the statement. He seldom thought of the scars anymore. They were reminders of a past he didn't want to remember. It wasn't like he deliberately tried to hide them, but he did feel it was easier to avoid questions than to answer them. He'd even managed, so far, to keep them from Jim. He couldn't remember any opportunity Rafe would have had to see them.

"It wasn't like I was spying or anything," Rafe defended, as though privy to Blair's thoughts. "But I did see them the other night when you were washing up at the creek. If your people are so peaceful, how do you explain those scars?"

Appalled at the implications of the man's words, Blair could only stare mutely. Rafe misunderstood his silence.

"You can't explain them, can you? I didn't think so." He rose and began rolling out his blankets. "Your people aren't so noble, breed. Deep down, where it matters, you redskins are all the same."

The disgust in Rafe's tone broke Blair from his silence, bringing forth an anger he'd worked hard to bury. "You're so quick with your assumptions, white man! Well, far be it from me to shake your perfect little world with the truth!"

Blair stood, disappearing into the darkness before anymore could be said.

~~~

The moon had climbed high into the night sky, attesting to how much time had passed while Rafe laid awake, listening to the night sounds. And thinking. The breed...Blair -- he mentally forced the correction -- hadn't yet returned to camp, and Rafe couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt over that. Not that he was sure exactly what he'd said to send the kid off in a huff. Hell, he'd opened up to the bre-- to Blair, telling him more than he should have. Maybe that made him a fool. He dragged a hand over his face. That definitely made him a fool. He had no idea why he'd done it. He certainly hadn't planned on doing it. But what was done was done. Least the kid could do was appreciate the effort.

But no, the damn fool had taken offense and run off into the darkness like a wounded animal. What in the world had prompted that reaction? And what the hell had the kid meant by his remarks right before doing so? He had a hard time believing he could have hurt the Indian's feelings. They were cold blooded, weren't they? How could you hurt their feelings?

You're so quick with your assumptions...far be it from me to shake your perfect little world with the truth...

What truths was he talking about? What assumptions had Rafe made? Before he could follow the logical paths opened up by those questions, he heard Blair returning. The kid entered the darkened camp, laying out his bedroll and settling quietly atop it.

"What assumptions have I made?" Rafe whispered the words into the darkness before he realized he meant to.

Blair was so long in answering, Rafe was convinced he wasn't going to. Then, at last, he heard the soft reply, "You assume the scars were given to me by my people."

"Who else...?" Even as he asked the question, Rafe's imagination supplied the answer, and it wasn't an answer he fancied entertaining. "White men?"

"I'm going to sleep now. I suggest you do the same. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Irritation flared through Rafe. "You owe me, kid. I didn't spill my guts just for your entertainment. I thought we were clearing the air. Your idea in fact, as I recall." His voice dropped to an angry mutter. "Just like a damned Injun to make the rules, then not abide by 'em."

A soul-weary sigh answered him, but still no answer. Exasperated and more than a little irritated, Rafe rolled over and pulled the blanket up to his chin, praying sleep would claim him and put an end to this sorry excuse for a conversation.

"You're right."

Rafe opened his eyes, but didn't roll back over.

"Not that I think I owe you anything..."

Rafe allowed a small smile at the belligerence in the tone. It was so obviously forced. "It was white men?"

"White man," Blair corrected. "One man...well, for the most part."

Rafe waited, but when no elaboration was forthcoming, he pressed, "What happened?"

"I stole something. I got caught. I was punished."

"The scars are old. You couldn't have been much more than a kid."

"Ten."

Good God! "What'd you steal?"

"Food."

Rafe rolled over and sat up, looking at the breed. Bright moonlight illuminated the camp, casting flickering shadows that moved with the trees in the soft breeze. "What's your story, kid?" Rafe prompted, intrigued.

Blair sat up, crossed his legs and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Rafe heard him take several deep breaths before speaking.

"I've worked very hard to forget most of this," Blair stated softly, "but I guess you would know how tough that can be."

Rafe nodded in the darkness. Yeah, he knew. He knew that no matter how hard you fought to push down the memories, they would lie in wait in the still hours of the darkness to pounce on you when you were most vulnerable. You couldn't forget, no matter how hard you tried. So, yeah, he knew.

"I've only ever told this story to one man..." Blair continued.

"Jim?" Rafe guessed.

Blair lifted his eyes, surprise filling his voice as he replied. "No, not Jim. I could never...No, it was Acrocoel, my 'adopted' grandfather."

"Oh." Rafe was surprised to learn this wasn't something Blair had felt he could discuss with Jim, and yet the young man seemed willing, after a bit of prodding on Rafe's part, to share the story with him. The distinction wasn't lost on him.

"My father was Indian, my mother, white; but their love, she often told me, was strong enough to overcome the differences and make it work. We lived with his people until I was about three. I don't really remember my father." His voice grew quiet, contemplative. "I remember vague images...but I can't recall his face or his voice."

He stopped and cleared his throat. "I don't imagine it was easy for my mom, living with my father's people. She never said, but looking back, I know it had to have been hard for her." He looked up at Rafe, a small smile barely visible in the moonlight. "White men don't hold a monopoly on bigotry, you know.

"We left after my father died and went to live with white people. It was...it was hard...for both of us."

Half Mexican himself, Rafe thought he knew what kind of prejudices Blair might have encountered, though he suspected he only knew the half of it.

"We worked where we could, for those who would hire us. Little better than slave work, mostly. All my mother wanted was to make a home for us, to provide a little food, a place to sleep, but it was so hard for her. It would have been so much easier if she hadn't had me. She should have left me with my father's people, then she might have been accepted back among 'civilized folk'."

Matching the pensive tone, Rafe ventured, "Is that what you wanted?"

Blair chuckled humorlessly. "Life isn't about what you want, is it? I doubt life for me would have been much different, but my mother would have had it a whole lot easier. She'd have made a place for herself, maybe even remarried." There was a short pause, then, "She'd probably still be alive."

Rafe let the silence stretch on for several minutes, content to let the kid sort through his memories. It didn't really matter if he continued or not. Rafe could easily fill in the blanks with his own imagination. He had been victim of enough prejudice in his own life to understand, though he was certain his own complaints were nowhere near as traumatic as it would have been for an Indian half-breed. Not in this day and age. Not given the climate of the country for the past couple of decades. Hell, he'd dished out his own bigotry, and even though he had more reason than most to hate the Indians, he knew in his heart of hearts that one man couldn't be held accountable for the sins of his race.

"She worked so hard," Blair continued. "And there was never enough food. I tried to help. I did what I could, but when she got sick...there wasn't much I could do. There was only one doctor in the town, an old man set in his ways. I don't know if he could have helped her or not, but he refused to even see her. We were the "Injun trash" who scrubbed floors for pennies. She was the white woman who had lain with savages, and I was the bastard product. Not worth the trouble."

"So...she died?"

Blair nodded. He drew his knees up, wrapping his arms tight around them. "After she died, I hung around the town. I didn't really have anywhere to go. I did what work I could, but mostly I survived by stealing food. Managed for a few months...'til I got caught and turned over to the sheriff."

"He the one that beat you?"

"Yes..." came the whispered reply.

"But the scars..."

Blair took a shuddering breath as he drew his knees closer, tightening his hold. "He beat the shit out'a me and threw me in jail so I could 'learn how to act around decent people'. I thought he'd just leave me there for a little while to learn my lesson. He'd shoved me around before...but nothing like this..."

Rafe unconsciously leaned forward. He could hear the effort it was taking Blair to tell his story, and he didn't want to miss even one of the softly spoken words.

"For the first few days, he was content to taunt me, knock me around a bit with his fists. I still thought it was just a matter of waiting it out. I figured he'd get tired of it soon enough and let me go." Blair gave a bitter laugh.

"No one tried to stop him?"

"Who cared?" Blair raised his head, meeting Rafe's eyes in the dim light.

Rafe frowned as he recognized the simple truth of the question. Who would have cared? Would he, if he had been there? Or would he have figured the little Indian thief was getting what he deserved? He was thankful when Blair continued his story, saving him from pursuing the uncomfortable line of thought.

"He came in drunk one night, and this time he wasn't satisfied with taunts and fists. He took off his belt..."

Blair's voice tailed off, but Rafe didn't really need to hear the details. His imagination, fueled by the scars he'd seen, filled in the blanks for him.

"How did you get away?" he asked.

"He eventually passed out," Blair said quietly. "Too much alcohol, I guess. I knew I had to get out of there before he woke up and finished what he'd started. I got his keys and locked him in the cell. I was in no shape go anywhere, so I hid out in town for as long as I could. He came looking for me. I'd humiliated him, and he wanted revenge. He was going to kill me, and there'd be no one to stop him."

"What did you do?" Rafe asked when the silence stretched on too long.

"I ran. I ran until I couldn't run anymore, and then I walked, and when I could no longer walk, I crawled."

"Jesus, Blair, you were a child!"

"I was an Indian bastard, not even human as far as he was concerned." He stopped and cleared his throat before finishing his story. "It took me awhile, but I found my father's people, and they took me in. That's it. End of story."

Rafe took a couple of deep breaths, thinking over the things he'd just learned. "Guess neither one of us has reason to trust the other."

"You're wrong, Rafe. What happened to me has given me no reason to distrust you."

"I didn't mean me specifically," Rafe started. "I know what you meant," Blair interrupted. "But I don't hold all white men responsible for what some have done."

"And I do," Rafe felt compelled to say. "Blame all Indians, I mean. Is that what you're saying?"

Blair shrugged, a gesture Rafe had no trouble seeing in the bright moonlight.

"How do you deal with it?" Rafe genuinely wanted to know. Maybe if he understood how this redskin was able to get around the demons in his past he could figure out how to do the same.

Blair stared into the glowing embers of the fire between them for a long time. "I don't always. I'm not too proud to admit I have trouble with it sometimes. I'm not a saint."

"Is that a fact?" Rafe laughed. "Glad to hear it."

"What's this?" Blair looked up sharply, but Rafe heard the amusement coloring his tone. "You laughing with an Injun, white boy?"

"Good Lord!" Rafe feigned surprise. "I believe you're right! Who could have predicted this?"

"Jim Ellison, evidently."

"Good point."

The two men's laughter faded away into silence.

"Go to sleep, white boy," Blair said, after a few minutes. He stretched back out on his blankets. "It's your turn to cook breakfast, and I intend to get an early start."

~~~

Jim stood in the doorway, gazing across the open field beyond the barn. It was the direction Blair and Rafe would be coming, though he knew it would probably be closer to sunset before he caught sight of them. Two day ride to Hanners' place, closer to three back with the herd slowing them down...barring any complications.

It was the possibility of those complications which made Jim nervous. When he'd made the decision to send his two best wranglers out, he'd truly felt it had better than even odds of working. Now, five days later, he wasn't as convinced.

Sighing deeply, Jim moved out of the doorway and back into the kitchen, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee Stebbins pushed his way.

"It's doubtful they killed each other, yuh know," the cook commented.

"You're so sure of that, are you?" Jim pulled out his customary chair at the table and dropped into it.

"So's you," Stebbins offered, returning to his scrubbing of the noontime dishes, "else you wouldn't'a sent 'em off like you did."

Jim took a deep sip of the coffee, wincing as it slid hotly down his throat. "Maybe I made a mistake."

"Now, Jim Ellison, you don't believe that fer a minute. Them's good boys, both of 'em. They just needed a push in the right direction."

Jim nodded, sipping again at his coffee. "And if they have killed one another?"

Stebbins grinned over his shoulder at Jim. "Then, boss-man, yuh made a mistake."

Jim relaxed a bit, allowing himself a chuckle. Stebbins went back to his work, leaving Jim to his silent contemplation. After a minute, an idea came to him. Setting down his coffee cup, Jim closed his eyes and mentally ran through one of the latest tests Blair had conjured up for him. He envisioned his hearing as a snake, winding its way from the house over the trail to the edge of the woods, and beyond. He'd ridden the trail many a-time and now had no trouble picturing each and every turn of it.

It was amazing how, if he concentrated hard enough, he could almost "hear" each twist around a boulder, each dip across a ravine. Further and further he let the "snake" roam, taking the trail he knew the boys would be returning on, searching for sounds of their progress. Further still, until...

"Jim!"

Jim started at the shout so near his ear, wincing as it reverberated through his skull. He jerked his eyes open to find Stebbins' worried face only inches from his own.

"Dag nab it, Boss! You scared a year off'a my life, and I ain't got it to spare."

"Sorry..." Jim searched for a quick excuse, one the old man would buy, finally just lamely offering, "Just got lost in thought for a minute."

"Hmmp!" the old man snorted. He eyed Jim for a long moment, then turned away, throwing over his shoulder, "Boss, yuh was sleepin', and for a whole lot longer than a minute." His voice dropped to a grumble. "My coffee ain't near strong enough, if'n you can sit there and fall asleep drinkin' it."

Jim took a couple of deep breaths, letting the slow intake of air calm his heartbeat.

It had happened again...that...that thing that happened sometimes when he used his senses. It had been so long since his last spell, he'd forgotten to follow Blair's advice to always use something to anchor one sense if he was extending another. That was easy enough when Blair was around to help him. Just the sound of the kid's voice or the touch of his hand was enough to anchor him. It was harder when he attempted it alone. Too hard. And that worried Jim more than a little. Was he always going to need Blair's help to make this work? Would he ever learn to control his senses by himself? He knew the kid had to be anxious to light out of here and head back to his own people, though Jim had to admit that the thought of Blair leaving worried him a mite. He'd gotten kind of used to having him around, and well...hell, he admitted, he was kind of fond of the kid.

He reached for his coffee, not noticing until he took a mouthful that it had grown cold. Damn, how long had he been..."asleep"? Disgusted with himself, Jim pushed back from the table. He was halfway to the door when he suddenly remembered what he'd found just before Stebbins had "awakened" him. He'd heard...he stopped himself in mid-thought...not hoof beats, though he had heard them, but heartbeats...a heartbeat...Blair's...the familiar rhythm which had become so common place Jim scarcely gave it thought anymore.

So they hadn't killed one another. Jim allowed himself a small smile. Nice to know, though it still left many possibilities short of their having actually made peace. He was tempted to do the snake thing with his hearing once more to listen for any conversation which might give him a hint as to how the trip went, but the threat of triggering another one of those blackout spells stopped him. He'd know soon enough anyhow.

It was another twenty minutes before the visibly trail-worn duo drove the small herd into the corral and settled them in. Jim watched carefully, searching for clues as to how successful the trip had been, but found nothing. The two men spoke sparingly, offering one word answers to his questions about Hanners, the condition of the trails, the prospects of the herd. Jim stopped himself from jumping to conclusions, hoping it was nothing more than simple exhaustion.

Once the horses were settled, Jim led the way into the kitchen, where Stebbins greeted the two with heaping bowls of the soup. Jim poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and joined them, still trying to reach a verdict on the outcome of the trip.

Stebbins stood across the table from the two, his gnarled hands firmly planted on his bony hips as he watched them shovel down the chunky soup as though they hadn't eaten in a month.

Blair glanced up, giving the cook a tired smile. "This is really good, Stebbins. Thanks." He cast a scowl in Rafe's direction. "I can't tell you how much I missed decent cooking the past few days."

Uh oh...this didn't bode well.

"Just 'cause I like my food actually cooked..." Rafe muttered around a spoonful of the thick soup. "Who are you to criticize anyhow, redskin? Your idea of a good meal is a handful of nuts and some roots."

Blair let out an exasperated noise and turned his attention to Jim. "You've been a good friend, Jim, and I really appreciate all you've done for me over the past few weeks." He threw a pointed glance at Rafe. "But if you ever send me on a trip with this man again..." He glanced back at Jim, his expression as unreadable as his tone. "Friend or not, I'll have to shoot you."

Jim looked between the two men, wondering just how serious Blair was. It was the slight tugging at the corner of Rafe's mouth that gave it away. Jim suddenly found himself grinning broadly.

"I don't know what you're laughing at, white man," Blair said. He sat back in his chair, regarding Jim with a straight faced expression, though his eyes betrayed his serious demeanor and tone. "I'm convinced Rafe thinks I'm a god."

Rafe nearly choked on his food. When he'd finished sputtering, he turned his dark eyes to Blair, whose face was a mask of innocence. "I think you're a what?"

"A god." Blair supplied. "How else do you explain the burnt offerings?"

Jim and Stebbins laughed, relief as well as good humor taking the forefront, but Rafe merely scowled. "Yeah, like I said, us civilized folk prefer our food actually cooked, breed."

Jim quickly sobered at the slur though it hadn't sounded like an insult when Rafe said it. Jim relaxed when Blair chuckled and leaned forward again to finish his meal. Sitting back with a small smile of victory, Jim allowed the friendly banter to wash over him.

~~~

Simon paced the floor of his large living room, counting the steps from side to side as he made his trek. He could hear muffled sounds of conversation from the room at the end of the hall, but couldn't distinguish the words. He had just made up his mind to go see what was going on, when he heard the door to the room open. He looked up, tracking the man who exited with concerned eyes.

"Daryl is resting," the rotund man announced with a forced smile. "He's almost asleep. I gave him enough whisky and honey in his tea to make sure of that. It'll ease the cough some, but I gotta tell you, boss, I really wish the doc was coming."

"That makes two of us, Boyd," Simon agreed. "But I don't think we can count on him coming anytime soon. From what Mike said, Doc's got his hands full there in Union Grove right now. He said he'd ride out this way as soon as he could, but it'll probably be closer to the end of the week."

"Well, I can try to make the boy more comfortable, and I can give him what remedies I have," Boyd paused, rubbing at the back of his neck for a minute. "I just don't know if that's going to be enough. Daryl's got a pretty high fever. He's sick, Simon, real sick, and I just don't know what more I can do for him."

Simon sat heavily on the large couch that dominated the living area. "I don't know what else to do, Boyd," he admitted reluctantly. "I'll send Mike back to Union Grove, try to hurry the doc."

"Boss..." Boyd sounded hesitant, causing Simon to look up. Boyd let out a sigh filled with frustration. "Look, boss, I know you ain't going to want to hear this, but, well, this is your son we're talking about, so I'm gonna say it."

Confused, but curious, Simon just nodded for the man to continue.

"All right, I know how you feel about him, and I ain't saying one way or the other how I feel, but well, I've seen it done before a time or two, back when I was prospectin' in the Black Hills country, so I know there's something to it. Hell, I ain't ashamed to admit I even picked up a thing or two from 'em myself. That black gum root, fer instance. I learnt it from a Shoshone back in '63. Best thing in the world for a toothache--"

"Boyd," Simon interrupted, trying to get the man back on track. "Is there a point to this?"

"Well...I've heard tell, boss, just from some talk I've overheard, mind you, that Jim Ellison's Injun is a healer."

Simon felt his temper begin to boil. "Are you suggesting I ask that...that savage to tend to my boy?"

"Yer decision, of course, Boss," the man said, not overtly intimidated by Simon's tone. "But if'n that was my boy in there, sick as all get out, I'd be willing to swallow my pride and take a chance. Way I see it, you ain't got a lot of alternatives right now." With that, the man swung on his heels and left the room.

Simon angrily pushed to his feet. No! Absolutely not! No damn savage was going to lay a hand on his son with backwoods cures-alls and heathen rituals which would probably kill a civilized man. No way in hell!

Simon gently pushed open the door to Daryl's room. Curled up tight under a mound of quilts, the boy was visibly shivering. Simon tiptoed across the room and pulled the blankets tighter around his son, running a soothing hand over the boy's brow. The heat he felt there melted the edges of his anger, leaving only confusion and sadness in its place.

Pride goeth before a fall...

Familiar words. But they had never cut as deep as they did right now.

~~~

Jim waited patiently in the doorway for the kid to register his presence. Tracking Blair down had been the easy part. When the kid wasn't working, he could usually be found in one of three places: with Jim, pushing him to try new things with his senses; up in the meadow in the hills behind the house, enjoying some quiet time alone; or here, in his room, with his nose buried, almost literally, in a book. Since it was close to dark, that let out the meadow, and they were taking a break from working with his senses today, both too exhausted for the concentration it took. So that left Steven's room, with the books.

Jim had found Blair sitting in the room's sole chair with the table lamp pulled as close as possible. Jim frowned suddenly, as he stood in the doorway, taking in the sight he'd found. Blair held the book very close, squinting down at the page as though he was having trouble reading the words. Realization dawned slowly.

With Blair's help and tutelage, Jim was beginning to appreciate the advantages of his enhanced sight. He could count the feathers on an eagle soaring high above the nearby hills. He could spot a birthing heifer as far away as the northern pasture. Hell, he realized, he could even see things that weren't there, thinking of the damn "shadow cat", as Blair referred to the creature, which Jim caught occasional glimpses of, stalking in the distance. And he stood watching Blair, the one person responsible for the ease with which Jim could now use his newly sharpened vision, scarcely able to read the pages of his treasured books because of poor eyesight. How fair was that? Jim made a mental note to take the kid into town at the first opportunity to see if they could get him some spectacles to correct the problem.

But first...

"Blair...?"

The kid looked up, his long hair falling back from his youthful face. He seldom wore it loose from the tight braid that kept it controlled and out of the way. Jim marveled at the length of it. And the curls! Good Lord, the kid had been blessed with curls women folk would die for!

"Hey, kid," Jim continued, moving a few paces into the room. "Busy?"

Blair closed the book, using a finger to mark the page he was reading. "No, of course not. Problem?"

"I guess you could say that." Jim hesitated, not really sure how to approach the topic he needed to discuss with the young man.

"Is it your senses?" Blair asked into the silence. "I knew we should have worked on that filtering exercise this evening. I'm sorry, Jim, I should have--"

Jim stopped him with an upheld hand, chuckling at how quickly the kid could spill the words when he so chose. "No, it's not my senses," he assured. "It's Simon...or more accurately, Daryl." Jim took a seat on the edge of Blair's bed. "I was just talking to Joel. He heard in town this afternoon that Daryl is sick. Really sick."

Blair set the book down on the table beside him, his marked place forgotten. "I'm sorry to hear that. Daryl's a good kid."

Jim nodded. He knew Blair had hit it off with Simon's son, despite Simon's attitude toward the friendship. It was Simon's attitude that was giving Jim pause now. He had a favor to ask Blair, one he knew would be very difficult for the young man to grant in the face of Simon's previous animosity. But it had to be asked.

"Yeah, he is," Jim agreed with Blair's assessment of Simon's son. "Simon sent to Union Grove for the doctor, but the doc can't come right now. Seems like a lot of the folks there are sick, too. There's talk that it might be influenza." Jim mentally winced at the word. It was one which could strike fear into the hearts of them all. Unlike back East, good healthcare and modern medicines were practically nonexistent out here, and influenza was often, though not always, fatal.

"There's not a doctor in Oneonta?" Blair asked.

"Not anymore. Doc Macarthur died last spring. The town's been trying to find a replacement ever since, but...well, there isn't a lot of incentive for doctors to give up their lucrative practices back east in exchange for a wild country where their pay is liable to consist solely of a dozen eggs or a milk cow."

Blair nodded thoughtfully. "I guess not."

"You're a healer," Jim pointed out. "You did a fine job with my shoulder and leg. There're hardly even any scars."

Blair glanced up sharply, evidently seeing where Jim was leading. "That's different."

"How so?"

"You had no other option. I was all there was."

"Daryl has no other option either, Chief."

Blair's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Jim. "Did Mr. Banks ask for my help?"

Jim frowned, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I didn't think so." Blair took a deep breath. "Jim, I know Mr. Banks is basically a good man, and your friend, but we both know how he feels about me. He's not going to let me anywhere near his son."

"Maybe not," Jim admitted. "I just thought maybe we should make the offer. Like you said, Simon's my friend; I can't just stand by and let something happen to his son when you might have the ability to do something about it."

"Who's to say I can?" Blair looked away, chewing his bottom lip as he thought. Jim left him to it, knowing the kid was mulling over the request. "They have a healer of their own. Daryl told me. Um...Boyd, I think, he said."

"Boyd is Simon's cook. He's not a healer any more than Stebbins is. They just fill the role sometimes out of necessity. That's the way it is out here. Doctors are hard to come by and spread too thin when you do. So we pick up what we can on our own, make do when we have to. But that's not always enough, Chief. Daryl needs a doctor from what I hear, and you're the closest thing available. True, Simon has some misgivings about you, but he loves his son, and I don't think he's mule headed enough to let his personal feelings stand in the way of getting Daryl the help he needs. All I'm asking is for you to ride over there with me, make the offer, and let Simon make the decision."

Blair was silent for a long time. Jim said no more, letting the kid reach his own decision. He knew it wouldn't be easy for Blair to make the offer knowing how Simon felt about him. Jim hated to even ask.

"Tonight?"

Jim hid his smile. He'd known Blair would grant the favor. It was in the kid's nature to help if he could. "Yeah, I thought it'd be best to go now, in case Daryl really is as sick as Joel heard."

Blair stood and began gathering his long hair into its customary braid. "Guess you'd better get the horses."

~~~

Simon heard the approaching horses and moved out onto the porch to meet the riders, praying it was the doctor. He was disappointed a few minutes later when Jim rode up to the house, followed closely by the breed. His disappointment slowly gave way to resignation as he watched them dismount. Not a particularly religious man under normal circumstances, Simon knew it had to be a sign, their showing up here like this.

He greeted Jim with a handshake, but couldn't quite bring himself to do much more than nod in greeting at the young man behind Jim. "What brings you out at this time of the night?"

"I heard Daryl's sick," Jim replied, his tone serious.

Simon nodded. "I've sent for the doctor from Union Grove, but he can't get out here until the end of the week."

"That's what I heard. How is he?"

Simon looked away, his dark eyes taking in the stillness of the ranch yard in the dappled moonlight. "Not good. Boyd's done what he can, but Daryl's fever keeps climbing." He looked back at Jim, letting his concern for his boy show in his expression. "I'm worried, Jim, I don't mind telling you."

Jim took a half step to the side, bringing Blair to Simon's attention. "Blair is a healer, Simon, sort of a doctor among his people."

"So I've been told," Simon answered, his voice noncommittal.

"When I was shot, Blair took care of me. Took the bullet out, tended the wounds, nursed me back to health. He did a damn fine job of it, too. I doubt there's a white doctor within a hundred miles could have done any better."

Simon wisely bit back his instinctual response, choosing silence instead.

"You trust me, Simon, I know you do. I trust Blair. I trust him with my life, and I'd trust him with your son's."

Simon was startled by the quiet passion in Jim's declaration. He had known Jim Ellison for a very long time, fought beside him, been over the trail with him. A finer, braver, stronger man he'd never met. One thing he had learned early on was that the man was not one to give his trust lightly. If he was the one sick, Simon might be inclined to take Jim's word on it, but this was his son. How could he just turn the boy's welfare over to this Indian, a stranger with who knew what agenda?

"The doctor from Union Grove will be here in a few days," Simon finally said. "I think I'll wait for him."

Jim's jaw tightened visibly at the words. "Your decision. We had to make the offer for Daryl's sake. And for Daryl's sake, I hope you have a few days. You change your mind, Simon, you know where to find us. Come on, Chief, it's a long ride home."

Simon felt his chest tighten unexpectedly as the two turned and stepped off the porch, catching up the reins to their horses. The breed hadn't said a word, just stood quietly at Jim's side, but the young man's eyes had said plenty. He'd made his silent offer, and Simon had all but thrown it back in his face. Did Daryl have a few days? Could he wait for the doctor from Union Grove? Maybe their arrival really was an omen.

"Wait!"

Jim stopped, his foot already in the stirrup.

Simon spoke quickly, before he could change his mind. "I guess it wouldn't hurt none for the kid to look at Daryl." He let his eyes meet Blair's gaze from the back of his mount. Swallowing his pride and his fear in one distasteful mouthful, Simon added, "If he's willing...?"

Blair glanced over at Jim, then back to Simon, nodding once before dismounting again.

Simon led the way to Daryl's room. He opened it carefully, not wanting to wake the boy if he was sleeping. A fever glazed pair of dark eyes peered from beneath the quilts. Simon saw a spark of light in those eyes as they found the two visitors.

"Jim! Blair!" Daryl's voice was rough, hoarse. He struggled to push himself up a bit in the bed.

Simon quickly moved to hold him in place with a hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, take it easy, son. Just lay still."

The boy looked up at his dad with a smile that did Simon's heart good. "Blair's an Indian doctor, Dad. Did you know that?" He stopped long enough to cough, then swung his gaze around to Blair. "A...what did you call it? A bohiti? Is that why you're here? To make me feel better? Can you do that?"

Blair came around Jim, moving closer to the bed. Simon instinctively placed himself between the two, not missing the tightening of the lines around the breed's eyes as he did.

"I don't know, Daryl," Blair admitted softly. It was the first time he's spoken since he and Jim had arrived. "But if I can, I'd like to try." Blair glanced at Simon, his eyes asking for permission to approach the bed.

Jim, also picking up on the silent request, grasped Simon's arm, gently guiding him back a few paces to allow Blair access to Daryl. Simon grudgingly allowed the movement, but kept his eyes trained on the breed's every move. Blair sat on the side of the bed and spoke softly to the sick boy, asking innocent enough questions about how he felt, where he hurt.

After several long moments, Blair pulled the quilts back up around the boy and patted him on the arm. "Try to sleep, Daryl. That's the best medicine right now. I'll be back." Without another word or a glance at either Jim or Simon, Blair left the room.

~~~

Blair tried to hide his face from Jim as he turned and left the room. Acrocoel had told him many times over the years that he needed to learn to mask his feelings, and that his expression always betrayed him. Blair knew that was true now.

He made his way outside to the porch, knowing Jim would follow. As he heard the creak of the floorboards under the older man's weight, he glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see Jim was alone.

"What's wrong, Blair?"

Blair took a deep breath and leaned against the porch railing, burying his hands in his pockets. He let his gaze shift to take in the wide yard in the bright moonlight. It was the first time he'd been here. It was a nice place. He could see a swing hanging from a nearby tree and could easily imagine Daryl playing there.

"Blair?" Jim prompted.

"I've seen it before," Blair finally stated. "My people call it ehaoho'ta, the hot death. I'm sure your people have their own words for it." He turned then, boldly meeting the gaze of his friend. "The boy will die."

Blair could see the effect his pronouncement had on Jim and felt guilty for stating it so bluntly -- but the truth was the truth.

"There isn't anything you can do?" Jim asked, taking a step closer.

Blair looked away. "I don't know...maybe. But even if I was to try, he might still die."

"At least he would have a chance. Aren't you willing to try?"

Blair hesitated. The white men will not accept your gifts. Do not offer what is not wanted. The bohiti's words played through his mind again and again. Was his gift wanted here? Simon was reluctant to even let Blair in the same room as his son. It was doubtful he would stand by and let Blair offer remedies and medicines that the older man wouldn't recognize or understand.

"I don't understand your reluctance," Jim said, scrubbing at the back of his neck. "If you don't try, Daryl will die, by your own admission. If you do, he might die. Seems to me there isn't much choice."

"I want to help him," Blair admitted softly, his gaze still averted. "I think I can. I know the things to try..."

"But...?"

"If I try and fail, if the boy dies, I will be blamed for killing him." Shame brought heat to his face.

"I won't blame you."

Simon spoke the words softly, but to Blair they were as loud as if they'd been shouted. He turned, locating the man standing in the doorway. Shadows obscured his face, but his arms hung loosely at his sides. His posture radiated defeat and despair.

"Daryl is all I've got," Simon continued, taking a step further into the moonlight, letting Blair see the anguish and fear in his expression. "I can't lose him. If you think you can save him...please, Blair, you've got to try."

Blair hesitated a moment longer, looking deep as he tried to read the bigger man's soul. All he saw was love and worry for his son...no deception, no animosity. "Will you still feel the same way if I try and fail?" he questioned. It didn't really matter. Blair had known from the moment he'd seen Daryl that he would offer his assistance. The only question had been if it would be accepted or not.

"Do your best to save my boy," Simon said, his tone serious, "and I promise not to hold you responsible if...if he...if you fail."

"You won't understand my methods," Blair prodded. He had to be sure the man understood what he was asking from Blair.

"I won't interfere," Simon vowed. "Do what you have to."

Blair studied him for another long moment, then nodded. "All right. I'll be back." With that, he stepped off the porch and into the night.

~~~

Simon was getting impatient. If the man's pacing hadn't given that away, then the quiet muttering under his breath would have. Jim knew he could rebalance his hearing the way Blair had taught him and catch the mutterings, but he didn't have to. He knew Simon well enough to guess at the words. The man was no doubt questioning his decision and Blair's disappearance. It was close to morning. The eastern sky was already brightening in preamble for the coming sunrise, and the young man had yet to return. Jim had already done the snake trick twice with his hearing to assure himself that Blair hadn't wandered far in the dark. Jim settled deeper into the couch cushions and watched his long time friend make yet another circuit of the room.

The pacing was interrupted finally, when Boyd, Simon's portly cook, brought them some coffee. Jim gratefully accepted the steaming mug with a tired smile, but before he could thank the man, there was a soft knock and the front door opened. Blair stepped into the room, his arms full of botanicals Jim couldn't readily identify.

"I had some trouble finding everything I needed," he explained in the face of the questioning looks which greeted him. "But I think I have everything now."

"You need any help, son?" Boyd asked. "I've got a grinding stone out in the kitchen, and jars and bowls and such."

Blair smiled gratefully at the man. "Thanks. That would help."

Boyd nodded and led the way. "Only condition is that I get to watch," he said, "and maybe ask some questions. Wouldn't hurt me none to learn a thing or two."

Jim turned his attention back to Simon in time to see the older man take a step toward his son's room. "He's sleeping," Jim reminded.

Simon stopped short of the door. "I know. I just need to check on him, make sure he's all right."

A man of action himself, Jim recognized the signs of helplessness in his friend and decided it was time to intervene. "Come on." Jim stood and picked up his cup. "Let's take our coffee out on the porch."

"Jim--"

Jim saw the protest coming and interrupted. "I'm sure if they need our help, they'll ask for it. Let's get out the way."

Simon hesitated a moment longer, then let Jim lead him out the front door. Once they were settled in the rockers there, Simon spoke.

"Tell me I'm doing the right thing, Jim."

"You are."

Simon almost smiled at the clipped response. "I was hoping for a bit more reassurance than that."

Jim did smile. "I know."

With a sigh, Simon looked away. "You have the disposition of a jackass, you know that?"

"I've been told."

That actually drew a chuckle from the older man which Jim echoed. "Those wasn't just idle words earlier, Simon. I really do trust Blair. I've seen what he can do. If he can, he'll help Daryl." He stopped short of reminding Simon of his vow not to hold the young man responsible if Blair failed in his attempt.

Simon turned back to face Jim, studying him for a long moment with serious eyes. "What is it with that boy, Jim? Why did you really bring him back with you?"

Jim met the gaze and the question boldly. "He saved my life."

"You could have told him thank you. Or given him a blanket or a horse or something. He's an Indian, what more does he need?"

Jim frowned. "Is that what you think my life is worth?"

"Hell, no, Jim. That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"No, I don't think I do. Maybe you need to spell it out, Simon."

"It's just that...well, you know how most people around here think, Jim. You had to know what you were bringing the boy back to face. I just don't understand how you see that as a way to show appreciation."

Good point, Jim mentally conceded. He had known, or at least suspected, what Blair would have to face stepping into Jim's world. He really hadn't thought it would be so bad, but he had known the kid would have to face some rancor. But what were the alternatives? Could he have dealt with his senses without the kid's help? Jim thought back over the past few weeks, of the myriad of trials Blair had come up with to test and hone his senses. He thought about the...spells...he still occasionally suffered, though Blair's suggestions had helped tremendously in avoiding them. They hadn't been disastrous, and he had come out of them with Blair's help, but they still scared the hell out of him.

So, yeah, Jim could admit, at least to himself, that he'd needed the kid -- still did -- and Blair seemed to be handling the prejudices he'd encountered so far. Jim had heard the sounds of Blair's nightmares those first few nights, but even those seemed to have tapered off -- which was a good sign, wasn't it?

Blair had even made a few friends...Rafe and Henri, finally...Stebbins, Joel, Daryl...Boyd seemed to accept the kid all right...even Simon seemed to be finally coming around. So, life in the 'white man's world' wasn't so bad for the kid, was it?

Besides, Blair wasn't staying forever, just until Jim got a handle on his senses and his "Guardian duties," as Blair called them. Whatever the heck that meant.

"What's the real story, Jim?" Simon's quiet question drew Jim from his thoughts.

"There is no story."

Simon sighed heavily. "Why don't I buy that? I've known you a long time, Jim Ellison. You seldom do anything without a mighty good reason."

Jim heaved his own sigh. When had life become so complicated?

"I hear the kid is pretty good with horses," Simon commented casually.

"Best I've seen in a while," Jim returned, thinking maybe the man was moving on to another subject.

"That could be it, I suppose. Though I don't really see it. You had Rafe, already. And there's always prime hands over at Union Grove looking for work."

"Blair's way with horses was just a bonus," Jim admitted.

"Bonus to what?"

Jim mentally winced, knowing he had just given Simon more fodder. "Blair...is helping me with a problem."

"I see," Simon replied, though his tone clearly said he didn't. "Well, I supposed this verbal dance you're doing is your way of telling me to stay out of your business."

Jim couldn't miss the note of hurt in his friend's tone. "It's not that, Simon. It's..." Jim stopped, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

"Look, Jim, you're right. It isn't any of my business. Forget I asked."

The two men lapsed into silence. Jim knew Simon was put out, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of an explanation that would satisfy the man...short of the truth, and he wasn't ready to share this secret.

Was he?

This was Simon, after all...surely, if anyone could accept and understand this Guardian mess, it would be his longtime friend. But Jim remembered his own reaction when Blair had first explained what was happening to him. He remembered his denial and even anger at the thought of an idea so far fetched as "enhanced senses". And he was the one it was happening to. Surely if he had so much trouble with the notion, Simon, with his sometimes hard headed disposition, would be impossible to convince.

No, Jim decided. He wasn't quite ready to share this secret...not even with Simon.

~~~

"Blair?"

Cracking his eyes the merest slit, Blair struggled to come fully awake. His view confused him, until he remembered where he was. He opened his eyes wider and pushed himself into a sitting position, bemoaning his aching muscles. Sleeping on the ground was one thing, he was used to that, but hardwood floors...that was akin to torture, he decided.

Still sitting on the floor, he looked up, squinting at the light from the open doorway as he tried to make out the dark figure standing there.

"Jim?"

"No. " The figure stepped into the room. "It's Simon. Jim headed back to his place a little while ago. He didn't want to wake you. Said to tell you he'll be back in the morning." He turned to the bed and the sleeping boy there. "How is he?" he whispered.

Blair pushed himself to his feet, biting back a groan as his back protested. "You don't have to whisper. I gave him a draught to help him sleep more comfortably." He stretched, trying to remove some of the kinks the hard floor had instilled in his joints.

Simon tentatively reached over and brushed the back of his hand lightly over his son's brow. "He feels cooler." There was astonishment in his voice.

"Yeah, the fever broke a little while ago. I was going to come tell you, but..." his face colored, "I guess I fell asleep."

Simon glanced up, his expression unreadable. "Is he going to be all right? Can you tell yet?"

Blair allowed himself a small smile. "I think so. His fever is all but gone, the cough is better, and he's resting more comfortably." He paused for a moment. "It's still going to take some time before he's back on his fee. He'll be weak as a newborn foal for a week or so, but I think the worst is behind him."

A broad grin grew on Simon's face with each word. He closed his eyes, mouthing something that Blair couldn't make out. A prayer of gratitude maybe. Blair stepped out of the room, granting the father a bit of privacy with his son. He dearly wanted a cup of coffee, but it was late, and there probably wasn't any made. He headed instead for the porch. Once there, he sank onto the top step with a tired sigh. It had been a long couple of days, tending Daryl, and though he was relieved and pleased that the boy had responded to his ministrations, it had been taxing. Now that Daryl was better and finally sleeping comfortably, Blair needed to find someplace to curl up and get a few hours rest himself. Maybe in the barn...

The door opened behind Blair. He turned to see Simon coming onto the porch.

"My boy's going to be all right...that's what you said, right?"

Blair understood the man's need for reassurance and gladly gave it to him. "Yes, I believe so."

"You saved his life." There was awe in the man's tone.

"I don't know...maybe. Daryl is strong. He's a fighter. Who can say how much of his healing I can take credit for?"

Simon shook his head. "I don't believe that, Blair. And I don't think you do, either. You said yourself, just two days ago, that the boy was...that he was dying." The big man's voice caught on the words, but he pushed on. "Whatever you did, whatever all those strange smells and concoctions were, you saved his life." There was a dramatic pause. "I don't forget my debts. Thank you."

Blair accepted the gratitude with the same grace in which it was offered. "You're welcome, Mr. Banks."

"You can call me Simon...I think you've earned the right." Simon reached a hand down to help Blair to his feet. "Come on, kid. Boyd's holding your supper. I haven't seen you eat a bite in the past couple of days...and then you need to get some sleep. In a real bed."

Blair let himself be lead to the kitchen, where there was not only coffee, hot and strong, but a large bowl of steaming stew. Blair dug in gratefully, finishing off that bowl and half of another before his exhaustion caught up with him. On his third jaw popping yawn, Simon decided to take matters into his own hands. He removed the bowl, muttering something about Blair falling into it face first, then manhandled the half asleep young man to the end of the hall, past Daryl's room and into a large room with an equally large, very inviting bed.

It wasn't until he was sitting on the side of the bed that Blair thought to question where he was. Simon's room, he realized, looking around. Why was he here?

"You need some real sleep," the older man said, as though reading Blair's thoughts. "In a real bed. Nobody sleeps on the floor in my house."

"Mr. Banks--" Simon scowled. "What'd I tell you?"

Blair smiled at the gruff reprimand. "Simon..." he quickly amended. "I'd be fine in the barn. Honest. I think I could sleep might near anywhere at the moment." Another face splitting yawn lent credence to his claim.

Simon's scowl faded, replaced by a grin and a chuckle. "Lay down, kid, before you fall over." At Blair's hesitation, he prodded, "Go ahead. You earned it, Blair."

Too tired to argue, and absurdly pleased by the man's generosity, Blair pulled off his boots and stretched out on the large, wonderfully comfortable mattress. He was asleep within minutes, not aware of the blanket being pulled over him, or of the soft words of gratitude that whispered around him.

~~~

Jim lifted his head from the task at hand, his eyes instinctively seeking the rider he could clearly hear approaching.

"Someone coming?"

Jim didn't spare a glance at the man beside him, merely nodded.

"Who is it?" Blair prodded.

"Don't know. Can't see anyone yet. Joel probably sent one of the hands out to see if we need some help."

"If you can hear him, you can probably see him."

Jim did look at the young man then, barely suppressing a sigh. The kid never missed an opportunity to push Jim to use his senses, and though Jim didn't really resent that, he wasn't overly fond of it, either. He could understand the importance of it, but it could get mighty damn tiresome at times.

As though reading Jim's thoughts, Blair let out his own sigh, releasing the roll of barbed wire they had been working with. "Come on, Jim, stop fighting me at every turn. You know it's for your own good. Think of it this way, wouldn't you like having the upper hand, knowing who's coming before they get here?"

Jim frowned for a minute, mentally conceding the point. As usual. Blair always won these arguments. Jim didn't know why he even bothered protesting anymore. Turning his attention back in the direction of the approaching hoof beats, he let Blair talk him through the familiar exercises.

After several long minutes, Blair said, "Okay, sight clearly isn't going to work. Too much interference." The young man thought for a minute, then said, "Let's try something else. How about smell?"

"Smell?" Jim turned confused eyes Blair's way. "How can I do that?"

"Most people have something distinctive about the way they smell, haven't you notice? Something you associate with them...like Stebbins smells like biscuits and cinnamon; and Henri smells like gun oil, because he's always cleaning that six-shooter of his."

Jim nodded, following what the kid was saying so far. "But how can I focus on just that smell? How do I pin it down?"

"Just like you were trying to with your sight. Close your eyes; I'll talk you through it."

Jim obeyed instinctively, putting himself in Blair's hands without hesitation.

"Okay, start with your hearing...find the rider again. You got it?"

It took only a second to locate the sound again. Jim nodded.

"Great. Now, just like with your sight, imagine your sense of smell as a snake following that same trail. Winding it's way over the terrain, around trees, through the brush, chasing your hearing. The two senses are linked, where your hearing goes, smell is following. Block out everything else along the way, don't get sidetracked. Don't stop until it reaches the rider, then let it take in what it finds there."

Jim followed the soft spoken instructions, unaware that his head was tilting and nodding along the imaginary trail he traced. Suddenly he was there, his sense of smell filling in the picture in his mind, bringing dimension to the shape of the single rider approaching...until the face became as clear to him as if it were before him.

"Simon!" he announced, opening his eyes with a triumphant grin.

Blair returned the grin, sharing in his sense of victory. "Great job, Jim!"

The simple words of praise brought a warm feeling to Jim, widening his grin.

"How did you identify him?" Blair asked, curiosity dancing in his blue eyes.

"Cigars. He's the only one around these parts that smokes those expensive Cuban things."

Blair's smile suddenly faded. "Simon?" he repeated, as though just registering the identity of the approaching rider. "You don't think something's happened to Daryl, do you? He was so much better when I left the other day. Simon said he'd send for me if there was any change. I should have ridden back over there--"

"Chief!" Jim interrupted. "Slow down and take a breath. If Daryl were any worse, I doubt Simon would have left his side. I'm sure the boy's fine."

Blair visibly relaxed at the logic of Jim's words. "Yeah, you're right. He wouldn't have left him, would he?" He looked back at Jim. "So what do you reckon he wants?"

Jim chuckled. "He'll be here soon enough. Why don't we get this wire set while we wait, then we can ask him."

It was almost twenty minutes later when Simon Banks finally rode through the trees, pulling his horse to a halt beside the two men.

Jim spoke without looking up from the wire he was holding for Blair to nail in place. "Morning, Simon."

"How'd you know it was me?"

Jim cursed himself for the lapse. "I...uh...could smell that cigar you're smoking."

"Jim, I finished that up half a mile back."

Blair finished attaching the wire, and Jim released his hold. He briefly met the gaze of the young man, not missing the amused "let's see you climb out of this one" look on his face. He turned to face his friend. "It must still be clinging to your clothes." Hoping Simon would let it go at that, he quickly changed the subject. "What brings you all the way out here, Simon?"

The big man turned his eyes on Blair as he answered. "The doc from Union Grove finally made it out to my place yesterday." Simon dismounted and moved closer, still pinning Blair with a stern expression. "He wants to have a talk with you, young man," Simon continued.

Knowing his friend as well as he did, Jim saw the slight tug at the corners of Simon's mouth, the twinkle in his eyes, but judging from Blair's increased heart rate, the young man hadn't picked up on the subtle signs.

"Did I do something wrong? Daryl's not getting worse, is he?" Blair asked, his tone betraying the same nervousness Jim could hear in his pulse.

Simon's expression finally dissolved into one of deep humility. "Son, you did everything right, from what Doc Pritchard says. In fact, that's what he wants to talk to you about. Boyd told him some of the things you did, and the Doc is curious to know more. He said, and I quote, 'I couldn't have done better myself.'"

Blair grinned at the news. "So, Daryl's still getting better, then?"

Simon laughed, clapping Blair soundly on the shoulder. "Kid, Doc Pritchard assures me Daryl is going to be just fine." Simon sobered abruptly, his gaze reflecting the sincerity of his next words. "He also assures me you most likely saved my boy's life. I owe you, Blair, and I pay my debts. Name your price."

Blair's grin faded. "I don't want money, Mr. Banks. I did what I did for Daryl because I like him and consider him a friend."

Jim noticed the way Blair slipped back to a more formal address for Simon, a sure sign he had taken offence at the offer.

Evidently Simon had noticed the reaction as well. "I meant no harm by my offer, Blair. If Doc Pritchard had done as much for my son I would have expected to pay him. It's just the way things are done around here."

"You got paid for the healing you did for your people, didn't you?" Jim jumped in, hoping to soothe the wounded pride of his friend. "It's the same thing. Simon didn't mean anything by it."

Blair's gaze shifted between the two men as he gave the idea some thought. Finally, he nodded. "On occasion, I accepted tokens of gratitude...when it was appropriate," he conceded. "But that was diff--"

"Good," Simon interrupted. "Then you can accept a token of my gratitude. I think it's definitely appropriate. What do you think, Jim?"

"I would think so, yes," Jim agreed with a smile. "If he won't take your money, Simon, I have another idea."

"Jim--"

Simon's booming voice overrode Blair's intended objection. "What kind of idea?"

"Jim--"

"Well, I told you about that mare Blair's been working with, remember? The biter he broke? She's turning out to be a fine animal, and I've given her to him. With a proper stallion, one who could handle her temperament, she could be the start of a nice little herd of his own."

"Jim--"

Simon's eyes lit up. "And it just so happens that I have the perfect stallion. He's not much to look at, kind of small, and he's as rough they come, but with stamina you wouldn't believe. He'll hold his own with Blair's mare." He shook his head in admiration. "They'll make the start of a damn fine herd, I'd wager."

"Jim!"

Both men turned to the source of that shout, their expressions questioning.

"Yes, Chief?"

"Don't I have any say in any of this?"

Jim exchanged a look with Simon, then turned back to Blair. "Actually...no." He extended his hand to Simon. "Deal?"

Simon laughed heartily, accepting the handshake. "Deal!"

~~~

Digging out the makings, Quinn rolled himself a cigarette. Once it was lit, he leaned lazily against the corral fence, content to watch the goings on in the ranch yard. It was close to dusk, and the hands were beginning to drift in from the range, ready to call it a day. Most of the hands, Quinn mentally corrected himself. The breed was still hard at work.

Quinn took a long drag on the cigarette before snubbing it out against a fence post and stuffing the remains in his shirt pocket for later. He headed to the open doors of the barn. Yep, there he was, still hard at work. Sorry bastard...making them all look bad...which was probably his intention in the first place. The hell of it was, it was working. Ellison and Taggart both were lapping the act up like horses at a desert oasis. And even worse, some of the rest of they guys were starting to fall for the bastard's act. Hell, the redskin was beginning to actually fit in! And that was more than Quinn could stomach. The rest of the world might be losing their collective minds, but Quinn's eyes were wide open. If Ellison wasn't about to throw the kid out, well, maybe the kid would just have to decide to leave on his own.

And besides, messing with the kid was just so damn much fun...especially since they'd found out he wasn't going to run tattling to Ellison.

He stepped into the barn, signaling for Rooker to follow quietly. The kid continued braiding the leather straps, unaware of the approaching men. Quinn smirked to himself. So much for rumors. He'd always been told Injuns had eyes in the back of their heads.

"Lookie, here, Wade," Quinn drawled, snatching the braided leather from Blair's hand, "the boy's made himself a play-pretty." He laughed at the startled jump the breed gave, but his humor faded when he heard a deep sigh of...forbearance?...from the boy. The breed's "here we go again" expression infuriated Quinn. Nope, Quinn definitely didn't like that at all. A cruel smile distorted his lips.

Quinn twisted the braided strap in his hands. "I know...it's a collar. Am I right? For your little pony, no doubt, since you definitely don't need it for the boss-man...I mean with that ring through his nose...you know, the one you lead him around by."

Rooker laughed loudly at the joke, spurring Quinn on. "Well, let's just see if it fits." He took a step toward the stall where Blair kept his mare, only to drawn up short when the boy grabbed his arm roughly. Quinn turned, surprised to see a dark flash of pure anger in the boy's eyes. It was the first time Quinn had managed to get a rise out of him. The realization that this time the breed might just fight back both angered and amused Quinn.

"Don't touch her," the boy spit out from between clenched teeth.

"Well, well," Rooker laughed, "Looks like the boy grew some balls. Who'd'a thought it?"

Quinn snatched his arm away from the boy's grip. "Or maybe we just found us the right provocation. Is that it, breed? We find that burr under yer saddle?" He chuckled at the pure fury taking light in the boy's eyes. It was a lot more fun this way, he decided, with the kid willing to fight back. "Hold 'im, Wade, whilst I see if this here collar fits his pony."

He waited until Rooker had a firm hold of the boy, which wasn't an easy chore, considering how he fought. Rooker took more than one elbow in a vital -- and painful -- area. Quinn turned back toward the stall. He hesitated only a moment at the latched gate when the horse snorted loudly, stamping at the dirt floor. Quinn laughed at his own nervousness and unlatched the gate, swinging it wide. The breed had broken her, that much he was sure of. Hell, he'd been as surprised as the rest of the guys when the boy had come riding up on the mare, but he had to give the boy his due, he'd broke her. Quinn hadn't seen her so much as nip at anyone since that day, either, so there was nothing for him to worry about now. Besides, he wasn't really going to hurt her, just worry the breed a mite.

Smirking at the threats and curses coming from behind him, Quinn approached the mare, swinging the braided leather strap loosely in his hands. The horse was becoming more agitated with every step Quinn took. She backed up until she hit the rear wall of her stall. Quinn ignored it, closing in and reaching out with his right hand to lay the strap across her neck. His hand never made it that far. The mare, feeling cornered and desperate, struck out. It was so quick Quinn scarcely had time to make note of the movement before sharp pain lanced through his hand. He snatched it back with a cry.

"Goddamn horse BIT me!" he shouted in astonishment. "She goddamn bit me!"

He spun on his heels, fury rushing through him when he saw the smug, satisfied grin on the damn Injun's face. "You think this is funny, you goddamn red bastard? She damn near took my finger off!" He took a step toward the breed, but stopped when he noticed the open defiance and animosity in the boy's expression. Kid didn't care. Quinn could beat the shit outa him and the kid would probably stand there and take it. But there'd be no hiding it from Ellison, and he would probably just end up fired. A better idea came to him, one that would give him the satisfaction of getting back at the kid and had the added benefit of being totally justifiable.

"This pony of yours needs to learn some manners," Quinn sneered. "And I think I'm just the one to do the teachin'. Don't you think, Wade?"

Quinn relished the look of fear that crossed the boy's face at his words. Oh, yeah, this was much better, Quinn decided, turning back to the mare and raising the strap he still held. The horse was still backed against the rear of the stall, quivering in fear or anger. Quinn didn't care which. He cautiously stepped forward raising the strap and bringing it down hard across her neck. She jumped away, hitting the wall hard in an effort to escape.

The second blow drew blood, and Quinn, finding a perverse satisfaction in the sight, cautiously closed in for a third blow, heedless of the sounds of cursing and struggling coming from behind him. But before he could bring his arm down, strong fingers closed around his wrist.

~~~

Blair fought for all he was worth, stamping and kicking at Rooker until he felt the man's grasp on his arms loosen just a bit. Taking advantage of the slip, Blair threw all of his strength into a final twist and was rewarded with freedom. Before Rooker could recover his balance, a smashing right took him to the ground.

Blair didn't wait to see if the man was still conscious or not. He launched himself at Quinn, grabbing the man's hand and pulling him out of the stall and away from Mak'ha. A hard left caught Quinn across the chin, spilling him onto his back in the dust. Quinn came up off the ground and rushed, but Blair stepped back in, blocking the right and whipping a fist into the larger man's midsection. Quinn doubled over, and Blair straightened him with a left uppercut.

Quinn recovered much quicker than Blair would have thought possible, coming at him with a shouted curse. Blair took a backhanded blow that split the skin below his right eye and blurred his vision. Momentarily dazed, he swayed on his feet. Quickly, he blinked away the blurriness just as the fist came toward him again. Blair stepped back, but wasn't fast enough to escape a hard fist to the stomach. He scarcely had time to register Quinn coming at him again, and tensed for another blow. It never came.

"What in the hell is going on here?"

Oh, shit! Jim! Blair shook his head to clear it, swallowing hard against the nausea that swelled from his abused stomach.

"I asked a question," Jim's voice snapped angrily.

Blair couldn't quite convince his stomach muscles to relax enough so he could straighten and actually look at the man. He doubted if he could clear the ringing from his head enough to make the effort anyhow.

"The breed and I were just...discussing...things," Quinn answered, sounding a bit winded himself.

With a monumental effort, Blair pulled himself up straight, doing his best to ignore his aching stomach. Jim split his gaze between Quinn and Blair and the slowly rising Rooker, a mixture of concern and anger on his face. Blair wasn't quite sure which of the emotions was aimed at him.

"It's between Quinn and me," Blair said, with more bravado than he felt. He didn't miss the twin looks of surprise both Jim and Quinn shot his way.

"When I catch you brawling like saloon drunks in my barn, that makes it my damn business," Jim growled, annoyance coloring his tone.

Unspent anger surged through Blair, finding a handy source now that the fight was over. "This doesn't concern you, Jim! Stay the hell out of it!" Jim's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Blair didn't care. He was running on pure adrenaline and anger now. "I'm a big boy, Ellison. I can fight my own battles."

Jim's jaw tightened visibly several times. Then, "Get out of here, Quinn. I'll deal with you later." He waited until Quinn and Rooker were gone before continuing. "Clean yourself up." Without another word, he turned and left.

Blair let out a long sigh, wincing as it pulled at sore stomach muscles, then entered Mak'ha's stall. The mare was still stamping nervously, dancing away from his advances. It took almost ten minutes of soft talking before she would allow Blair to approach her. Anger surged through him anew as he examined the welts, remembering the helpless fury he'd felt watching Quinn beat the horse.

Mak'ha pushed at his hands, nuzzling gently until he took the hint and scratched her ears. The action soothed them both, and Blair was finally able to push his anger away. Twenty minutes later, having tended the mare's wounds, as well as his own, he headed for the house, hoping against hope Jim wouldn't insist on interfering.

~~~ Blair quickly took in the faces seated around the table as he entered the kitchen. Two faces were notably absent. His eyes swung around to Jim, his anger rekindling. The older man met his accusing gaze with a look that clearly said, 'let it go', but Blair's anger was too far gone to pay heed to the admonition.

"What did you do, Ellison?" The words were hissed from between clenched teeth, anger dripping from every one of them.

"We'll discuss it later, Chief," Jim returned, his eyes flashing a warning.

Blair ignored it. "I told you to stay out of it. It was none of your business."

The idle chatter at the table stopped. Everyone looked up or around at once, but Blair was oblivious to the attention. His rage had firm control and was showing no mercy.

"It's my ranch," Jim said, slowly rising to meet Blair's rage head on. "What goes on around here is my business."

"It's my life!" Blair seethed. "That takes it out of your jurisdiction. You have no right to interfere!" Blair took a step forward, fury radiating from his frame. There was a collective catching of breath around the room as the hands waited for Ellison to explode. But before he had a chance to, Blair turned on his heel and left the room. Jim stared after him for all of half a minute, then took off after him.

The resulting sighs were a mixture of disappointment and relief. Some were sorry to miss the show. Most were just glad to avoid getting caught in the fallout.

~~~

Jim found Blair leaning on the corral fence, staring off into the setting sun.

"Did you fire him?" Blair didn't turn to face Jim with the question.

"Like I said, this is my ranch. If I choose not to tolerate his attitude, that's my business."

Blair turned, and Jim had no trouble reading the fury in the younger man's flashing eyes, even in the waning light. It was an emotion Jim frankly didn't understand, given the circumstances.

"Did you stop to think about how your decision makes me look, Jim? In the other guys' eyes? 'Sorry breed, can't even fight his own battles -- has to go whining to the boss-man for protection.' I've been working damn hard to earn, if not their respect, than at least their tolerance. I'm not naïve enough to think everyone will come around, but damn it, Jim, some of them were starting to! And now you've undone every bit of that with one blow! How can these guys respect a man who isn't even man enough to fight his own battles? Who has to have someone bigger and stronger do it for him?"

Jim stared at him for a long moment. "I'm sorry, Blair," he said at last. "I never thought about the way it would look to anyone else. Maybe I should have." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Damn! I just...I thought I was taking care of a problem. You know, like...like weeding out a rogue bull or pulling thistle from the wheat field. I didn't think about it from your perspective."

Blair let out a noisy breath, his anger visibly deflating with it. "I guess I know that, Jim. I just wish you hadn't done it. You've got to let me fight my own battles. It's important to me to be able to stand on my own with these guys. I need to prove myself in their eyes in order to be accepted, and I can't do that if you feel the need to fire everyone that gives me a little aggravation."

"Judging by the looks of things," he gestured to Blair's face, "it was more than just 'a little aggravation'."

Blair chuckled, wincing as the movement pulled at the split on his cheek. "Yeah, I guess it was, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Hell, Quinn hasn't got anything on Sangwe."

"You and Sangwe go at it a lot?" Jim asked, genuinely curious. He'd sensed a certain tension between Blair and the future chief when he'd been in the village, but the two hadn't seemed overly antagonistic toward one another.

Blair snorted. "You don't 'go at it' with the son of the chief, Jim. You learn early on to swallow a lot of garbage and smile like everything's fine." He suddenly sighed. "Which is what I was trying to do with Quinn and his gang. I just...well, I lost my temper when they messed with Mak'ha."

"So that's what happened," Jim smiled. "I wondered. Figured it would take a lot to get you riled up enough to fight."

Blair hooked his thumbs in his pockets and leaned back into the fence. "I'm sorry, Jim. I know Quinn and Rooker were good hands."

"Yeah, they were...but there are plenty of good hands around. I won't have any trouble replacing them. Hell, Chief, you can't take all the credit for them getting fired. I've had trouble out of them before. It was past due."

"Maybe, Jim," Blair sighed again. "But I really wish you could have timed it a little better."

~~~

"Injun bass'tard," Wade Rooker slurred, the whisky taking its toll. "Ain't gon' let 'im get away with it, are we, Quinn?"

Quinn took his time replying. He turned up his own drink, downing it in one swig before signaling to the bartender for another. In the end, it hadn't mattered if the Injun had gone crying to Ellison or not. They were just as fired, and that damn red son of a bitch was still there. Quinn downed the new drink, too, then grabbed the bottle from the bartender before he could retreat with it. He refilled his glass.

Not that Quinn had planned on staying around Ellison's forever. But hell, it was a damn good cover. Or had been. Who would ever dare to question one of Ellison's hired hands? But that was over now, so they were going to have to rethink their whole damn operation.

Rage flared through Quinn with the burn of the whiskey. Goddammit! That goddamn red savage had ruined everything! By all rights, Ellison should have been dead, and it was that half-breed bastard they could thank for that, too. Quinn still couldn't believe their incredible good fortune that Ellison had no memory of the shooting itself, or the events leading up to it. It had been an unbelievable stroke of chance which could run out at any minute. He knew they'd been pushing their luck by hanging around the ranch after Ellison returned, but hell, the man had never seen his shooter, Quinn was certain of that. Besides, it was risk that made life exciting.

He slammed his glass down on the bar, drawing a few curious glances from a small group of men crowded around a nearby gaming table. His glare turned them back to their card game.

"Mebbe it's time to move on, Quinn," Rooker murmured drunkenly.

Quinn scowled. Rooker was a terrible drunk, morose and belligerent at the same time. Sometimes, Quinn was hard pressed to remember why he kept the damn fool around.

"Mebbe we ought'a cut out while we're 'head. I mean, we got enough to buy us an easy life for a few years. And when that runs out, hell, we can always run this scheme again. Worked once, it'll work ag'in."

Not liking the idea one bit, Quinn nevertheless was forced to admit it was, perhaps, time to lay down his hand and claim the pot. They'd had a good thing here. Their little rustling operation had been a deep and devious plan...and a profitable one. It was unlike any rustling scheme Quinn had seen before, and he was more than a little proud to be the father of it. It didn't hinge on some rowdy gang suddenly charging out of the night on a wild raid, nor was it merely some restless cowhands who wanted money for a wild night in some saloon. This was a careful covert weeding of the herds. A few here from this ranch, a few more from another. Never enough to do much more than cause the ranchers to scratch their collective heads come round up time. And over time, Quinn and his men had managed to build a few sizable herds up in the hills where few white men ever ventured and discovery was unlikely. Every few months, they would drive them down south of Verde Basin to the railhead. High profit, low risk. Quinn had known it wouldn't go undiscovered forever, but he had been hoping to play it out a mite longer.

But the scheme was a sound one, and it would work elsewhere just as well. They had a good stash of cattle now that would bring a good price, and they would have been driving them down to the railhead in another few weeks anyhow.

Maybe it was time to wrap up the operation and move on. But there was one thing he intended to do first.

Turning to Rooker, he removed the bottle of whiskey from the man's hand just as he was about to pour himself a fresh glass. "You've had enough. Come on. We're riding out."

"Wh're we goin'?"

"We're gonna ride up and get a couple of the boys," Quinn said, a wicked grin twisting his narrow face. "Then we're going to have a little fun and games with Ellison's Injun."

~~~

Blair trusted Mak'ha. It was easy to do once they had been able to establish who was boss -- an honor which he had finally been forced to concede to her. When they had left the ranch a half hour earlier, heading to the upper meadow for his usual Sunday meditations, Blair had given her free rein, trusting her to find the familiar route, leaving him to his thoughts.

It had been close to four months since Blair had ridden back with Jim. Four months...and while he hadn't found complete acceptance by any stretch of the imagination, Blair could easily admit that he was carving out a place for himself here. But more astonishing than that was the realization he had grown comfortable on Jim's ranch. He liked the men he worked with...well, most of them. He liked Jim's friends, especially Simon and Daryl. He liked, no, loved helping Jim work with his senses. In that task, Blair found an excitement and enthusiasm which he'd seldom known in his life. He was comfortable with his role as Jim's...well...as Jim's guide. It was his mentor's term for the responsibility Blair had undertaken, but it was a term that seemed to fit, and it was a role he felt he had been born for.

Most of all, though, Blair liked Jim. He felt comfortable calling Jim 'friend'. He had found a place he was comfortable with, a friend he was comfortable with...and surprisingly, he realized he wanted to stay.

When he had left his village four months ago, he had had no intentions of remaining with Jim this long. He had promised himself and Jim that he would stay long enough for Jim to get his senses under control, then he would return to his people. There was also his grandfather to consider. Blair had trained for almost ten years to one day take Acrocoel's place as Shaman of the tribe. It was his duty. His place.

Blair closed his eyes, torn. Where was his place? What was his duty? To the tribe? To the Guardian? Did Jim even want him to stay? True, Jim hadn't yet mastered use of his senses, but he was well on his way, and Blair felt it was just a matter of time before the man could do it alone, without Blair's guidance, freeing Blair from his promises. Before that happened, Blair had to make some difficult decisions. He hoped his meditations in the solitude of "his" meadow would perhaps bring him to the place of the Night Eagle, a place of visions and, just maybe, answers to these questions.

A soft snort brought Blair from his musings to notice that Mak'ha had stopped. To his surprise, she had wandered from the more familiar route, veering off to a game trail that Blair thought led into a box canyon. Confused and uneasy, Blair reached down to pat the mare's neck, letting his eyes study their surroundings. He noticed the slight twitching of muscle beneath his hand with surprise.

"What is it, girl?" He spoke softly. "What's got you so jumpy?"

He didn't see anything, but that didn't necessarily mean there was nothing there. Something had spooked Mak'ha, and that something was making the back of Blair's neck tingle.

A bear, maybe? Or wildcat? Blair dismissed the idea after a moment's consideration. It just didn't feel right, somehow. Mak'ha wasn't reacting as if she'd scented something wild. She wasn't skittish, though she was at full alert. It was his ending up at the mouth of the box canyon which worried Blair the most. That could be a coincidence -- she could have wandered off on her own, or forgotten the path, but he was inclined to doubt it. This wasn't a direction Mak'ha would have chosen freely. It made more sense that she'd been pushed this way deliberately. Herded...

Damn! Realization slammed into Blair, sudden and hard.

Quinn!

It could be. It had to be! Shit!

Blair forced himself to take a couple of deep, calming breaths to combat the panic beginning to rise in his chest. This was definitely not good. He swung his head around, eyes trying to pierce the shadows around him, but it was useless. Not for the first time, he wished for Jim's vision...or hearing...or better yet, Jim, himself! Doubtful Quinn would try anything with Jim around.

Keeping his eyes moving, Blair searched for options. Whatever Quinn's intentions, they wouldn't be good. Blair had no doubt the man would be blaming him for getting fired. So he would be seeking revenge. Damn! He should have foreseen this and been ready for it. Too late for that now. What he needed now was a plan. Preferably one that left him alive and relatively intact.

Memories from the past forced their way to the surface. Images of the sheriff's face swam before him, almost choking him with fear, but he pushed them aside. He was older. More experienced. It would be different this time.

Blair's eyes followed the game trail Mak'ha had been heading down. It appeared to lead directly into the box canyon. Blair's guess was that Quinn intended to drive him into the canyon, where he'd be trapped and easy pickings. Not a pleasant prospect.

Blair closed his eyes briefly, trying to picture the trail's path, but it was useless. He'd been over this way only a couple of times, and always with Jim leading the way. He hadn't paid much attention to the trail. He opened his eyes again and studied his surroundings. First thing he needed to do was confirm that someone really was herding him into the canyon and his unease wasn't just a paranoid product of his imagination.

He turned the mare into a break in the brush, heading for a steep rise to his right. Mak'ha made easy work of the rise. Once at the top, he reined in and stood in the stirrups, scanning his back trail. At first, there was nothing, then he saw them. Three...no, four of them, working their way through the brush. They were a couple hundred yards apart, but moving in the same general direction, and...they were definitely herding. Blair had no doubt he was the prey. There was no mistaking Quinn's palomino, even from this distance.

With a sinking heart, Blair realized there was no way he could get past the men; they had him completely bottled up at the mouth of the canyon, which left entering the canyon his only option. Maybe he could find another way out, or maybe he could work his way back around--

There was a sudden shout from below. Blair spurred Mak'ha into motion again, knowing he'd been spotted. The chase was on, and Blair had no choice but to head deeper into the canyon and hope he could find another way out.

Despite the situation, Blair still had reason to be optimistic. He had a decent lead and a mount that was well suited for what he knew would be required of her. Blair was familiar with both Quinn's and Rooker's horses. Neither was half the animal Mak'ha was. In an all out race, as this was fast becoming, he was confident in his mare. The other two horses were wild cards, but Blair was still willing to stake Mak'ha against them.

Mak'ha took the terrain with ease, fighting her way through brush Blair wouldn't have thought passable. He ducked low in the saddle, but still the branches tore at him, leaving fiery trails along his arms and face. Behind him, he heard growing signs of pursuit.

A couple of shots rang out, any one of which could have probably easily taken him out, if that had been their intention. He knew Quinn was a more than fair shot. It seemed the man wanted him alive -- and that scared Blair worst of all.

Blair felt Mak'ha jerk beneath him, but couldn't spare much more than a passing notice of it. The men were bearing down on him now, closing the gap between them. Blair spotted a break in the brush leading to a rocky rise. It was littered with broken trees and shale slides. He headed for it. Mak'ha was a mountain bred horse, and took to the trail without hesitation. It was a difficult climb, with rocks and shale sliding around with each step. Once the mare slipped and seemed about to fall, but scrambled and got her feet under her again. Heart stopping minutes later, they were on top, and Blair dug his heels in, urging the mare into a quicker pace. He knew the incline would slow his pursuers, their mounts not as tough as Mak'ha. Blair murmured words of praise to his mare, grateful for the work he'd put into her. He knew she wouldn't let him down, and if there was an advantage to be had in this situation, she was it.

The ground grew rougher as they went, but still Blair wasn't overly worried. Mak'ha was sure footed and quick. Blair's only concern at this point was finding an alternate way out of this trap, or barring that, finding a way around his pursuit and back to the mouth of the canyon.

Mak'ha stumbled beneath him, scarcely regaining her footing before stumbling again. With increasing concern, Blair noted that her breathing had become labored. Fear squeezed Blair's chest. Despite her growing struggles to stay on her feet, Mak'ha continued relentlessly onward. Blair wanted nothing more than to pull up, give her a chance catch her breath, but he knew he couldn't. Not just yet. Escape became even more imperative as he realized that something was wrong with the mare.

An arroyo loomed before them, and Blair turned into it. It was more open, but he needed to find easier footing for the struggling horse. Mak'ha stumbled once more and this time Blair knew with a fearful heart that she was going down. He rolled out of the saddle as she hit the ground, his eyes and hands roaming frantically over her, looking for what he was afraid he'd find. And find it he did. She had taken the bullet low, just in front of the saddle. Blair closed his eyes in silent grief. Despite the deadly wound, she'd pushed on because he's asked it of her. Stubborn to the end. The thought both saddened and humbled Blair.

He opened his eyes and reached a trembling hand to her neck, rubbing softly. "You did good, girl. Better than I had any right to ask. You've done enough now. Rest."

There was nothing he could do for her. By accident or design, the shot had been too ideally placed. There was just too much blood. She was suffering, and though the idea horrified Blair, he knew he had it in his power to help her now, as she had tried to help him. Blair pulled his gun from its holster, and for the first time, gave silent thanks to Jim for insisting on its presence. The shot would bring on Quinn and his men, but that couldn't be helped. There was no way Blair was going to leave Mak'ha here to suffer for however long it took her to breath her last. He'd prefer to take his chances with Quinn.

Blair moved closer to Mak'ha's head, meeting her pain filled eyes as bravely as he could with his insides trembling like they were. He scratched her ears in just the place that she loved so well and was pleased to feel her trembling calm beneath his hand. A prayer came to mind, one that he'd learned as a child. He recited it now, speaking softly in his native tongue, calling on his spirit guide to protect and guide this valiant soul into the promised rest. As he reached the end of the prayer, he placed the gun against her head and, closing his eyes, pulled the trigger.

Blair allowed himself only a moment more, knowing the shot would bring Quinn. He couldn't stay here. This spot was indefensible, too open. He needed to get to higher ground, where he'd have a better chance. He grabbed his canteen from the saddle and, keeping the gun at ready, scrambled up the rocky side of the dry riverbed.

~~~

Quinn drew up at the sound of the gunshot, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. It was too far away to have been aimed at any of them. So what was the little bastard shooting at? His shadow, maybe? Quinn gave a chuckle at the thought and spurred his horse in the direction of the sound, his men right behind him.

Their horses scrambled over a bed of shale, taking much more time with the uneasy footing than Quinn's limited patience wanted to allow. Quinn saw the arroyo ahead and turned into it. Then he saw it, the reason for the gunshot, and it brought a wide grin of triumph to his face.

"Hot damn!" Rooker exclaimed, drawing up beside him. "We got the bastard now! He won't get far on foot."

Quinn nodded his agreement, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. He dug his spurs ruthlessly into the palomino's ribs. As they moved onto more open ground, Quinn slowed his pace, more out of a strong sense of self preservation than from necessity. The kid had a gun, and Quinn had no doubt he'd use it, given the opportunity. He had no intention of giving the breed the chance.

A sudden movement drew Quinn's attention, and he twisted in the saddle. An eager sneer twisted his face. The boy was scrambling up a rocky grade, headed for a grouping of rocks a hundred feet or so up. It would be an ideal spot to make a stand...if the bastard made it. Quinn quickly lifted his gun, taking an extra second to take careful aim. A quick death was not what he wanted for the breed. Quinn had the satisfaction of seeing the bullet find its intended target, but to his surprise, the boy did little more than stumble, continuing his ascent of the slope.

Angry now, Quinn signaled to one of his men. Understanding what was being asked of him, the man holstered his gun and shook out his rope.

"Jes' like ropin' strays," the wiry man muttered with a laugh. His horse sprang forward at the touch of his heel, and he quickly closed the distance between them before letting the lasso fly. It was a nice throw, landing perfectly around the boy's upper arms. The man's horse stopped abruptly, and he pulled hard, locking the rope and bringing the breed to the ground in a cloud of dust.

~~~

Blair rolled as he fell, coming up on his knees, but not quite making it to his feet before the man yanked hard on the rope again. He hit the ground again with a grunt of pain as fire shot down his left arm where Quinn's bullet had gone in. Before he could make another effort, they were on him. Blair struggled futilely against the hands that pulled him to his feet, securing his hands before him with the very rope that had brought him down. Once he was satisfactorily trussed up, the men backed away, and Blair was looking into Quinn's cold, hard gaze. He knew then that he was looking at his death. This man fully intended to kill him. It was what might be coming first that struck terror into Blair.

Quinn's next words justified his fear. "Let the games begin..."

~~~

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 open, 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.

~~~ Home
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