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."