Part Six

Henri watched in amazement as Jim vaulted into the saddle and rode over to a small stand of trees. The travois was unhitched, an extra blanket soon covered the injured man, a canteen of water and a pouch of pemmican was placed near Blair’s hands. The poncho had slipped down and Jim gently moved it to cover Blair’s head. He hesitated, torn between leaving this man alone and heading straight to the herd that was in danger. Blair smiled up at him and ordered, “Get moving Ellison. Now!”

Clods of dirt flew through the air as the two horses raced toward trouble. Jim had offered no further information, but Henri knew from the grim look on Ellison’s face that it was bad. They topped a small ridge and looked down on chaos. The supply wagon was overturned, the stampeding herd racing around it like floodwaters around a boulder. Several riders were firing in the air and Jim saw their men scattered behind sparse cover and on top of the supply wagon firing at them. Jim spurred ’Buck’ forward, knowing there was little time to reach the head of the stampeding herd and get the cattle turned.

Henri raced along behind Jim realizing his intentions and knowing he’d need help. The noise, the dirt, the shouts of anger and pain, gunshots all battered at Jim’s wide-open senses. He ignored the intense headache growing behind his eyes as he and Henri neared the head of the stampede. He urged ‘Buck’ on and the horse responded, giving all from his splendid heart. They flew through the boiling cloud of dust and soon galloped alongside the lead steer. Jim began firing his gun in the air and slowly, inexorably the cattle turned. Henri watched to ensure none splintered and start another stampede. Rafe and the horse wrangler, Rafael, joined them. Once satisfied the cattle were too exhausted to bolt again, they left Rafael to guard the cattle and headed for the overturned wagon.

Simon, Joel and three others were in a heated gun battle with the cattle thieves. Jim pulled his rifle from the scabbard and taking aim, shot two of the rustlers before they were aware of them. Henri and Rafe exchanged astonished looks; it was next to impossible to hit anything from the back of a moving horse. And Jim had only fired twice. The rustlers fired a few more shots, turned their horses and fled.

Simon looked in amazement as the rustlers galloped away. He had thought for sure the herd was lost to them and that he and the others would be dead soon. A shout from behind had him whirling around in time to see Ellison, Brown and Rafe thunder past. He stared at the men disappearing into a cloud of dust, then over at Joel Taggert who had a dumbfounded look on his face. Grins slowly spread across their faces and they let out whoops of glee.

“Stay here with the wagon, Joel. You’ll probably have your hands full taking care of the wounded. I’m heading off after those three. You’re in charge until we get back.” He ran to the nearest horse and headed after his men and the cattle thieves.

He found them in a heated gun battle less than a mile away. The rustlers had taken refuge in a jumble of boulders. Simon joined Brown and Rafe and asked, “Where’s Jim?” Brown pointed to a dry stream bed just ahead and Simon spotted Jim lying behind an old tree stump. Jim waited and waited and when the rustlers stopped firing to reload he calmly sighted and picked one off.

Rafe looked at Simon and shook his head. “That’s the third outlaw he’s hit since they pinned us down here. And he’s only fired that rifle of his a dozen times. I’ve never seen shooting like it. Except for those snipers during the war, and they had Sharpes carbines. Not a Winchester like Jim has.”

They watched as Jim waited out another volley of shots, aimed and barely missed one of the rustlers’ head. They heard the yelp of pain when the man was hit by splinters of rock from the ricochet. Jim lay back down and looked back at the other three. They saw the smile split his dusty face. “Glad you could join us Simon. Why don’t you three pick a direction and while I keep these idiots pinned down, you work your way behind them and we’ll get this over with.”

Simon signaled his understanding and after a terse discussion he yelled, “All right Ellison. Let’s get this done!”

Jim checked his rifle, making sure it was fully loaded. He lifted his hat into the air about two inches and ducked as the lead flew past. When the volley ended, he stood and raced forward, firing with incredible accuracy. Simon, Rafe and Henri took off, working their way behind the outlaws while Jim moved to whatever meager cover he could find. Whenever a head popped up from behind the boulders, a bullet zinged unnervingly close when it didn’t hit the chosen target. The rustlers found it near impossible to get off a shot.

Jim could hear their leader screaming invectives at the outlaws, cursing them for their cowardice, shouting at them to fire, that there was only one man out there. It made no difference as far as Jim could tell. The leader’s voice sounded familiar and Jim searched his memory trying to place it. As he moved closer, the voice rang out again and Jim remembered. Movement to his right caught his attention; he smiled to himself as he watched Henri sneak up on an unsuspecting rustler who had mustered the courage to try for another shot. The man froze as the hammer on Henri’s Colt clicked back next to his ear. Before the others knew what was happening, they found themselves flanked and most surrendered with hardly a complaint.

Not their leader. No, not Mr. Arthur Sturges! He found most of his men disarmed with hands in the air and he was furious! He turned the air blue for a minute until he found himself staring down the barrel of Jim’s rifle into a pair of the coldest blue eyes he’d ever seen. “I think you’ve said enough for one day, Sturges. I suggest you shut up until we get you to the nearest sheriff.” Sturges had sense enough to realize the man holding the rifle on him was angry, tired and ready to shoot. And snapped his mouth shut.

Disarmed, hogtied, then tied to their saddles, the rustlers were escorted back to the herd. Joel and Rafael had the wagon back on its wheels and were tending the wounded. The herd was still milling around, but the threat of stampede was gone. Simon looked around, still wondering how they had been so lucky to still have control of the herd. Joel was staring at the captives and turned to Simon, “Is that Captain Sturges, Simon? I mean, why is he tied up?”

“It seems that Mr. Sturges is the leader of this little band of thieves, Joel.”

“Leader? But, but, he’s the majority owner of the herd. I mean, over half the cattle came from his spread.”

“Yeah, I know, Joel. But seems Mr. Sturges wasn’t satisfied with that. Seems he figured he’d rustle the entire herd, sell it and pocket all the profits, then cry foul when we rode home with empty pockets. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, but we’ll let a judge and the other cattle owners decide on Mr. Sturges’ future.”

Sturges’ face turner redder with every word Simon spoke and especially when he referred to the former Captain as Mr. Sturges. And Simon knew the pompous man would be furious. He had ridden his short army career laurels far too long and most folks were fed up with him. Because he owned the biggest spread, he assumed the role of leader for their community. “Enough about Sturges, Joel. How are the men?”

“We lost one man, Simmons. He was trampled by the cattle when his horse was shot out from under him. Three others have flesh wounds and Williams has a broken leg.” Simon frowned at the report. Simmons was one of the youngest men working for him. He turned and spat at the outlaws, “Now you’re looking at murder, not just cattle rustling. Simmons was only nineteen. Nineteen! Get these piles of shit out of my sight!”

The captives were hobbled together and left with two drovers guarding them. Both men fingered the triggers on their guns longingly; most of the drovers had liked Simmons and taken him ‘under their wing’. The outlaws didn’t protest their restraints at all, figuring it wouldn’t take much to provoke the angry men.

Simon and Jim took their time and checked the whole herd. Reports came in and they realized just how lucky they were. Only two hundred were missing and they figured they’d pick most of them up in the next day or so as they moved on toward Cheyenne.

“You must have one heck of a guardian angel, Simon. I’d of figured almost half would be gone missing from the looks of things when Henri and I rode over that ridge.”

“It’s a damn good thing you got here when you did, Jim. You and Brown showing up when you did made all the difference. And just where the hell have you been that’s taken you so long to get back?”

He watched, astounded, as Jim Ellison cursed, whirled ‘Buck’ around and galloped away. “Ellison!!! Where do you think you’re going? It’s almost nightfall! You get your sorry ass back here!! Right now!!!”

Blair shifted again; wincing as the movement ratcheted the pain of his pain up another notch. It had been hours since Jim and Henri had ridden away and night had fallen. He had gathered a few sticks together and after countless failed attempts, managed to start a small fire. It didn’t begin to warm him, but the faint light made him feel a tiny bit safer. He had worked to find every twig near the travois and fed them slowly to the greedy flames. He made sure he drank sparingly from the canteen. He’d managed to eat a small portion of the pemmican Jim left him, but really had no appetite. What he was, was worried. He knew there was trouble, that Jim had heard something and that something was bad. And he worried that Jim needed help, maybe had been hurt, or worse and Blair had no way of helping Jim, no way of getting to him. And he wondered how the man had come to mean so much to him in such a short time. Blair made friends easily, but his nomadic lifestyle meant that they were simply friends. Other than his mother, he’d had no one he was close to most of his life. Until Morning Star. But she was dead. And he was alone.

Disheartened by his turn of thoughts, Blair impatiently brushed away tears and tried to concentrate of keeping his little fire going. But once opened, the floodgate of memories continued to wash over him. The first time he’d seen her. The way she said his name. The patience she had while teaching him their language. He shifted uneasily and his thoughts turned to Jim Ellison. The man had heightened senses, at least his hearing and sight were. He had complained too about his clothes at times, so Blair figured touch was heightened too. He wondered about smell and taste. He’d have to ask about those when.....

Frustrated, in pain and not a little afraid, Blair rolled over and regretted that action immediately. His breath caught as the pain wiped away any other thought. When he could breathe again, it was in short pants as he waited for the pain to recede. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What are you gonna try next, Sandburg? Chopping wood or carrying water? He worked himself up on his hands and knees, then climbed shakily to his feet. He leaned gingerly against the tree, trembling from the exertion. I should be doing better than this by now. I am so pathetic! All right Sandburg. Enough with the self-pity. You need to fend for yourself, so get with it.

With tremendous effort and concentration, he managed to gather a dozen pieces of wood before his legs gave out and he fell heavily onto the travois. Sweat streamed down his face but he mentally patted himself on the back. Small steps, baby steps, but it was more than he’d done since Jim found him and he now knew he would survive. With that decision, he fed a few small pieces to his fire and fell asleep.

He was dreaming. She moved in his arms and kissed him softly. He looked up into the blue sky and rejoiced in the love he had found. He looked back into warm brown eyes, alight with love and joy and prayed that whatever power governed men’s lives, that he was home, never to move on, not alone. He lowered his head to kiss her when the first rumble of thunder reached his ears. He jerked his head up and frowned at the same blue sky. Thunder? There’s a storm? What?

Thunder sounded again and again, closer and closer and he couldn’t find her. Where? Where was she? God, no. Bring her back. Oh, please God, bring her back.

He woke with a sob, more from loss than pain as he jerked upright. Thunder still sounded as his confused mind cleared and he looked around, looking for a weapon, anything. It wasn’t thunder. Might be a buffalo, or a horse. A horse usually meant man and Blair was suddenly afraid the soldiers had found him and would finish the job. Blair would’ve welcomed that just days ago, but now he had a purpose, a reason to keep on. He knew he could help Jim and he owed the man so much. There wasn’t anything, except the largest piece of wood and that was laughable. Blair climbed painfully to his feet once more and waited.

The rider jumped from the saddle before the horse had fully stopped and ran toward Blair. His tiny fire was almost extinguished and Blair could only make out shadows, but as the man ran toward him, he knew. He dropped his pitiful club as he clung to the tree for support.

“Hey partner. You ready to head out?” Blair nodded as Jim helped him back to the travois. Jim found, to his amazement, that his headache was rapidly disappearing as his senses cleared. What is it about this kid?

The next day found Blair riding in the supply wagon with the drover who had broken his leg jumping from his horse as it was shot out from under him. Joel had taken over care of his back and had stuffed more food down him in one morning than he’d eaten all week. And as Joel drove the wagon, he filled Blair in on all that had happened. And Blair had thought he could talk non-stop. With a captive audience, Joel had a great time telling Blair all about the round-up, the cattle owners, the land in the Pacific Northwest that he, Simon, Jim, Brown and Rafe hoped to buy with their portion from the cattle sale. Fertile land, green and uncrowded. Land where they could build good lives, start and raise families, a new start for them all. Blair lay there with his belly full, listening to Joel’s warm, friendly voice and learned about Jim Ellison. About Sturges and his plan to steal his own cattle, a plan that ended the life of one young man and had wounded others. Like the affable Roy Williams, who had never complained about the rough wagon ride jostling his broken leg. Roy grinned at Joel when the older man admonished him for not joining them in their grand plan to head west. Roy told Blair how he was heading back to North Carolina, find his mother, grandmother and brother, then buy a small farm and take care of them. Of course, Roy had gone on with a shy smile, if a certain young lady was still of a mind to get married, she’d be joining his family on that venture.

Blair was almost asleep when a warm, amused voice spoke, “You been asleep all day, Sandburg?”

Blair looked up to find Jim’s sweaty, dusty face at the back of the wagon, smile spreading across his face. “Sleep? Who could sleep when Joel here has such a talent for finding every rut and every gopher hole this side of St. Louis?”

“I heard that Sandburg! You just wait! Lemme see you drive this goshdurned wagon and see how well you do!”

Jim’s face disappeared, his laughter trailing behind.

Blair, with Jim and Joel on either side, managed to get out of the wagon and prop up to eat dinner with the drovers. Roy was content to watch and listen from the supply wagon. The food was plain but Joel had a knack with what spices he had and Blair soon found himself scraping the bottom of his plate. Stomach happily stuffed, he leaned against the blanket-padded saddle and did what he did best. Observe and listen.

Their progress had been slowed, what with having to guard their prisoners and taking it easy on the cattle, exhausted from their panicked flight the day before. Simon groused about the weight the herd had lost from the stampede. Jim and Henri tried to reassure him that taking it easy the next few days before hitting Cheyenne would take care of that. Talk turned to what to do with all the money they were earning, with some bragging about the women they planned to impress, while most talked about how to make life better for their families. Blair already knew the special plans Simon, Joel, Henri, Rafe and Jim had made and wondered how soon they would head west. As if reading his mind, Rafe spoke up. “Do you think we’ll have enough time to get to Oregon or Washington before the snows begin, Jim?”

“Well, after we get the herd sold and get the money back to Livingston, we should have about six weeks of travel time. We’d have to travel light and push hard, but we can make it. Or, we can wait, work through the winter here and head out late spring. It’s something we should think on these next few days and decide together. What do you think, Simon?”

“I think we should get some rest and get this herd to market. I’m not making any definite plans before that.”

The next few days passed peacefully enough, and Blair felt better with each new day. He soon began helping Joel, as much as the big man would allow. He helped with meal preparation, a huge undertaking twice a day for the hard-working, always hungry drovers. Breakfast included enough left over for hurried passes to the supply wagon for left over biscuits, dried fruit and whatever breakfast meat was available. The wagon outdistanced the herd by a few miles so Joel could set up camp no less than an hour before the herd was settled for the night. Another large meal was readied for the ravenous men, but since they had to feed the rustlers, Jim and a couple of men would range out, not only to scout, but to find game to augment the dwindling supplies. The prisoners soon began complaining when they figured they weren’t going to be strung up by the drovers, but Blair thought a couple times they had pushed their luck too far.

Sturges was exceptional at stirring up the thwarted rustlers; then just sat back, watching and listening as they caused trouble. One afternoon, a couple managed to get loose and made a break. Rafe and Henri caught them before they got a hundred yards, but Rafe’s favorite mount pulled up lame. The normally even-tempered young man had to be pulled off one outlaw before he strangled the man.

The men were more tired than usual because the prisoners had to be guarded constantly along with riding herd and then their turn at night herd. Joel made sure the men were fed and fed as well as he possibly could and as Blair’s health and stamina returned, little by little, Joel relied on him more. Blair had learned much from the Indians he had studied, lived and traveled with and put that knowledge to good use. He made a liniment for sore muscles, brewed teas from bark, roots and wild herbs, and entertained the men with tales from his travels, but mostly he spent any spare time he could talking, questioning, working with Jim. He knew the man had suffered when his heightened senses had flared up and overwhelmed him, causing bad headaches, severe bouts of nausea and more. He knew there had to be a way to help the man control his senses and begin to really use them to his advantage. At first, Jim seemed leery of so many questions, some of them very personal, but came to understand Blair wasn’t trying to be nosy, that he was genuinely concerned and working to help Jim.

Jim didn’t like the idea of opening up so much to one person; he didn’t talk much to anyone other than Simon, Joel, Rafe and Henri. And only Simon and Joel knew most of what had happened to him. They knew about his problem with his eyes and the resulting headaches, but not about the fact that he could see as far as a hawk, nor how his other senses would spike or go the opposite direction when everything would be muffled like it was blanketed in cotton batting. It was during those times he was almost helpless and he hated everything about it, hated being a freak.

The first time he referred to himself that way, Blair practically told him off. He had no idea the kid could get so riled up. After the very lengthy lecture, he hastily agreed that yes, of course, his senses were natural, a gift many would envy, and others would greedily exploit. Jim thought about that and decided Sandburg had it right, although he wished the senses would just go away or back to normal, anything, but Blair had happily informed him it just didn’t work that way. Jim hated the tests the kid thought up to help Jim gain a small amount of control, but he was determined to control the senses, not be controlled by them.

Simon knew they were getting close to the railhead and he was getting nervous. Jim ranged out every day, bringing back favorable scouting reports, but something was not right and Jim grew antsy and Simon became more nervous. But Jim found nothing wrong as he scouted further and further ahead of the herd. They were about three days out from Cheyenne and a few of the men were becoming careless. And the more laidback they became the more Simon barked. He finally got their attention when he dragged one drover from his saddle. Fifty head of cattle had wandered off while the drover had been bragging about his future conquests in Cheyenne. That night Simon told them in no uncertain terms that anyone caught slacking on the job again would be fired on the spot and that meant no pay! It was the ironclad agreement that all the men who signed on for the drive was for the duration and if at any time they left or got fired, all monies were forfeited. That little speech woke them up good and fast and the next day the drovers were all business. Simon grinned around the pipe jammed in the corner of his mouth.

“Well, Jim. If we keep up this pace, we’re sure to be in Cheyenne by the first of the week. What do you think?”

“I think you told us to wait until we actually get there before we ‘think’ about anything concerning this drive.”

He rode off chuckling as he listened to Simon’s grumbling about know- it-all scouts.

Blair walked carefully as he carried a pot of coffee and the smaller kettle of stew over to the prisoners. Rafe was on guard duty and when he saw Blair bringing food to the outlaws, he hurried to help. Blair smiled his thanks and quietly went about feeding the rustlers. Joel always made sure the drovers were fed first, then the outlaws. Blair filled up their plates and handed out johnnycakes, still warm. Most of the prisoners nodded their thanks, but when he came to Sturges, the man’s steely gray gaze unnerved him. The hard eyes slowly inspected Blair from head to toe and after his perusal, Sturges smiled a nasty smile.

“So, just why are Ellison and Banks keeping you with them? I guess it has been a long, lonely drive and you really are a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

Ellison stopped unsaddling ‘Buck’ and turned quickly. He heard a familiar heartbeat speed up, then start racing. He threw his reins at Rafael, then ran toward the source. He rounded the wagon just in time to hear Sturges’ remark.

Blair backed away quickly, almost dropping the kettle. He bumped into a solid chest and Jim’s hands dropped onto his shoulders, steadying him. “Take it easy, Sandburg. You’re okay. Why don’t you go and give Joel a hand. I’ll finish up here.” He gave Blair a little push toward the wagon. Blair looked over his shoulder at Sturges, then straightened his shoulders as much as his healing back would allow and walked away.

Ellison stepped in front of Sturges, forcing the man to lean back in order to look him in the eye. “I don’t know what game you’re playing here Sturges, and I don’t care. That kid who just brought you your food? He shouldn’t be on his feet right now, but he thinks even the likes of you needs to eat. Me? I wouldn’t give you a piece of hardtack. Why bother? You’re gonna swing from a gallows soon enough. But if I hear you bothering him again, you’ll be wishing a judge or lawman was around right then. Do I make myself clear?”

Sturges sneered, but Jim could see the sweat that had popped out on his face and see his pupils contract with apprehension. Jim knew he could be intimidating when angered and right now he was glad he had mastered that ability. He gave the man one last cold warning look before hurrying to catch up to Sandburg.

“I heard what he said, Blair. Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s just trying to start trouble, hoping he can get away.”

“It’s okay, Jim. Really.” Blair shook his head at Jim’s skeptic expression. “I’ve heard worse, believe me. I have far more important things to occupy my time than what he has to say. Like, how to get you to agree to a couple more tests.” A small grin twitched the corners of his mouth. Jim heaved a put upon sigh, more for show than anything. The grin widened and Jim smiled in return.

Sturges watched the two men walk away and bit back angry expletives. He would wait a while longer, but he knew he had found the right man and that very soon he would put Ellison in his place, Hopefully before the night was out.

Jim didn’t mind riding night herd; the quiet suited him, soothed away the heat, dust and noise from the day. A half moon bathed the herd in silver and the slight breeze brought in the sweet scent of junipers from the hills. He caught another scent and frowned. What in the world does he think he’s doing? He turned in the saddle and watched Blair ride up to join him. Blair shrugged, “I couldn’t sleep and I’m really feeling lots better, so I thought I’d try and see how I did on horseback. Trust me. Rafael gave me ‘Satan’, said I might could handle him.”

Jim huffed a laugh. The standing joke the entire trail drive had been naming the placid, mild tempered gelding ‘Satan’. The horse had a gait that would put you to sleep, but seldom, make that rarely, was he coaxed into anything past a fast trot. They saved the horse for wranglers recuperating from injuries inherent to the day to day hazards of a trail drive. “Oh, yeah, partner. Reckon you might stay on that horse for a few minutes.” They sat side by side for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of a contented herd before Blair whispered, “What do you hear, Jim?”

Jim knew what the kid meant and took a few moments to do just that, extend his hearing and listen. “I hear the cattle.” Blair rolled his eyes. “I hear Joel snoring, Simon talking in his sleep, again. I hear an owl flying over that small hill.”

“What hill? I don’t see any hill? How far away are you talking about?”

“It’s due west of us, about 500 yards from here.”

“500 yards? You can hear an owl flying that far away? We really need to work on your senses Jim. Can you see the owl? Just think about what you could do....!”

Jim halted the excited flow of words with a hand over Blair’s mouth for a second. He had pulled back from the owl’s flight, back to the herd. He raised a hand to halt Blair’s question as he shifted his attention to the camp and the sudden noises he had caught as he cast his hearing about. He listened for a few seconds, anger tightening his features.

“Ride out and find Henri, tell him to circle around to the south. There’s trouble. Sturges and his men are loose.”

Jim slipped from the saddle, grabbing his rifle before Blair could answer. He moved swiftly and silently through the outer edges of the herd, effectively masking his approach. Blair watched for a second before heading to search for Henri.

Jim eased around the edge of the wagon and groaned as he took in the scene. Sturges and his men were freed and in the process of tying Simon and Joel. Jim looked around, dismayed to find the drovers had been attacked in their sleep and most were unconscious. Sturges straightened up, arrogant, smug expression firmly in place. “Banks, I’ll be sure to express my extreme displeasure on how badly you bungled this job when I’m back in Livingston. It’ll be a hardship when myself and the other owners find out you’ve lost the herd; many will probably lose their little spreads, what with having put everything on the line with this endeavor. But I’m sure someone will come forward, someone who can offer a decent price for their land. Say at least 20 cents on the dollar.”

Simon glared at Sturges, “I’ve met some sorry people in my time, but they don’t hold a candle to you. Rich, greedy, heartless bastard. You’ll rot in hell one day for this Sturges.”

A booted foot swung out and caught Simon in the ribs. A grunt of pain escaped as Simon doubled forward, trying to catch his breath. Sturges

laughed, “Be careful what you say Banks. My men know to take care of the goose with the golden eggs.”

Jim watched as Sturges shoved Simon over to the ground and turned to his men. “We’ll push the herd hard and get them sold. You’ll get your shares as soon as I’ve cleared the bank draft. And we have a new member, the man who set us free tonight.” Dawson Quinn smirked as Simon looked up to see one of his drovers shaking Sturges’ hand. “Mistake was made at the beginning, hiring the likes of Banks here as trail boss over his betters. Seems you boys would’ve learned your lesson during the war when your kind weren’t allowed in the white man’s army.” Jim ground his teeth as he listened; Quinn had been one of those bitterly opposed to having a black man as trail boss. But he had shut up once the drive started, keeping his mouth shut for the most part and Jim had ignored him when he did his work and caused no problems.

Simon didn’t let the insult pass, “You stupid fool! If you think for one minute Sturges has any intention of giving even one of you the first penny....” Sturges fired and the bullet barely missed Simon’s face. Simon froze in place; aware Sturges was more than capable of killing a bound, unarmed man. Quinn was suddenly yanking him upright, right hand bunched in the front of his shirt. “Don’t you ever....speak to me....like that....again....boy!” Each pause was punctuated with a fist pounding into Simon’s already abused ribs. Simon thought he heard Joel yelling, the sound barely making it past the roar in his ears as his vision grayed out.

Jim watched the scene, cold rage replacing the hot anger of moments before. He noted the placement of each outlaw as he moved out, paralleling the men at the edge of the campfire’s light. The outermost outlaw made no sound as Jim’s chokehold put him down. He moved to his next victim, the butt of his gun ending any chance of interfering. One by one the outlaws succumbed to the stealthily moving man. The rustlers had invaded, then injured his men, his friends and Jim Ellison meant for them to pay for those mistakes.

Sturges decided he had tormented Simon long enough and barked out orders for his men to take control of the herd. He waited impatiently for acknowledgement before realization set in that only a handful had answered his commands.

“Quinn, Roberts, Sanderson! Check the men!” He turned to Simon who was smiling at Sturges’ agitation. A backhanded blow whipped Simon’s head to the side, “I see a grin on your face again and I’ll shoot you right between the eyes!” Simon blinked against tears of pain, shook his head slightly then defiantly raised his head, mouth bloody and stretched wide in a cold, wicked smile. “What’s the matter Sturges? You betrayed the other owners. You plan to double cross these men too. What other outcome did you expect?”

Sturges brought his gun up and aimed it at Simon’s forehead. Simon’s unblinking gaze, macabre bloody grin fixed in place had Sturges suddenly suspicious. “Where’s Ellison?” he bellowed. Simon’s gaze shifted to the side for a split second, then focused back on Sturges. Joel joined in; “You’ll never find him Sturges, never even see him before it’s too late!” Quinn stomped over to Joel then savagely kicked him in the lower back. Joel gasped as pain shot up his back and down his left leg. Joel heard Quinn walk around him, saw the booted foot swing back and braced for it to slam into his head. Eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in short pants, anticipating the pain.....that never came.

Blair raced around the herd, heedless of the pain flaring up. His horse actually reared a bit he pulled back so hard on the reins when he found Henri, who had no chance to ask what the devil Blair was up to. “Jim heard something back at camp. Something bad, about Sturges and then he took off on foot with his rifle and he told me to hurry and find you and send you back to help him. He said for you to come in from the south.” Henri opened his mouth to answer, but Blair had already whipped his horse around and was heading back. Henri muttered as he urged his horse into a gallop, “Just what the devil is going on around here? And how did that kid say so much without ever drawing a breath?”

They rode in silence in a tense race back to the flickering fire in the distance. Henri knew they couldn’t keep up the pace for long; one gopher hole and one misplaced hoof would mean a broken leg at worst, bowed tendon at best with the rider eating dirt while gathering bruises or a busted arm or leg. He reached over finally and caught Blair’s reins, easing both horses to a halt. He felt rather than saw Blair glaring at him, “If we go riding in like we were, they’ll hear us long before we see them and be ready for us.”

“I wasn’t thinking, sorry Henri.” The contritely whispered words brought a faint smile to Henri’s face. “No need to apologize kid, just wanted us to have the edge, not the other way ‘round.” They stopped the horses and slid to the ground. Henri checked his handgun, then turned to Blair. “You stay here with the horses and if any of the others ride in, stop them, tell them what you know and have them come in on foot. Okay?” Blair wanted to argue, but knew he could best help by following Henri’s orders. “Okay, I’ll wait here. But only for a while.”

Henri patted his shoulder then blended into the shadows cast by the moon sinking behind the hills.

Blair waited, mentally counting off minutes, foot tapping with nervous impatience. Ten minutes passed, ten minutes that seemed more like an hour. He couldn’t hear anything other than the horses breathing and his own heart pounding louder and louder as his imagination kicked in. Another fifteen minutes went by and he could stand it no longer. He unsaddled the horses, removed the reins and left the horses to their own devices. He didn’t have any way of hobbling them but hated the thought of them stepping on the reins and getting hurt, and he had to go help, now.

He wanted to run, but couldn’t because that would make too much noise, so he settled for a swift, crouching walk. He didn’t have a gun, had no idea what he’d do, but that was a bridge he’d cross later.

He slipped beneath the wagon and crawled forward. He slapped a hand across his mouth as he watched Sturges aim his gun at Simon’s head. He looked around, squinting, searching for Jim or Henri or any one of the drovers. He caught a movement and turned, but couldn’t tell who the man was slipping up behind Sturges. He heard Joel yell at Sturges and scooted back until he spotted Joel, watched as Quinn kicked Joel in the back. The big man’s arms and legs pulled the ropes binding him as his lower back spasmed with pain.

Blair rolled out from under the wagon, hand tightening around a rounded rock. He hissed with pain as his back protested the rough treatment, but didn’t stop until he was on his knees. His arm moved forward, releasing the rock that flew through the air toward Quinn’s head. As the sadistic man’s foot swung back for another vicious kick, Blair’s rock struck his temple. A surprised look crossed Quinn’s face before falling to the ground unconscious. Sturges swung around, searching for this latest participant just as Jim’s fist came out of the darkness, smashing into the middle of his face. Sturges had been aiming at Blair’s back when the blow sent him stumbling backwards into the campfire, his gun discharging harmlessly overhead.

Jim had had his vision extended to see every movement from the shadows and as the flames flared high and sparks flew in all directions, his eyes were overwhelmed and he dropped to his knees. Touch flared like the flames and the heat seemed to scorch his skin. Taste joined in and he swore he tasted the hot ashes at the back of his throat. Sturges saw the big man stagger, then sink to his knees, hands covering his eyes and knew this was his best chance. He gained his feet, spotted his gun and dove for it.

Joel tugged frantically at this bonds, as did Simon, both shouting at Jim, yelling for help. Blair ran to Jim, talking low and soft to the big man, hopeless and hopeful to get his senses back to a normal level, placing himself between Jim and Sturges who came up with his pistol. Blair wrapped himself around his rescuer as he continued his whispered directives. Sturges smiled in triumph as he pulled the trigger. The bullet whipped past the kneeling men and thudded into the wagon. Sturges crumpled to the ground, bleeding from three chest wounds.

Henri lowered his rifle and moved to Joel’s side. Rafe urged his horse in closer, holstering his gun before heading to help Simon. Slumping down into the wagon to his pallet, Roy Williams let go his death grip on the old Sharpes rifle. He’d been knocked unconscious by Quinn, then forgotten as the rustlers taunted and injured others. His leg hurt but it couldn’t erase the smile of satisfaction from his face.

Blair flinched as the shots rang out and covered Jim’s ears with his hands, continuing his soothing litany. The big man was still kneeling, muscles bunched rigidly. Blair was peripherally aware of Rafe and Henri helping Simon and Joel as he spoke to Jim, rubbing his hands lightly up and down Jim’s arms and shoulders.

Simon barked at Rafe who was trying to convince his boss he should lie still. “I’m not hurt that bad, damnit! Now give me a hand up!” Rafe sighed but gave the big man the ordered hand. Henri was losing a similar battle with Joel who insisted he had injured to check on, “My back is bruised, not broken. I need to check on Roy and Simon and the others.” Joel managed to walk over to Simon to check his face and ribs. Simon protested and Joel ignored him as usual. “When I say you’re okay, then you can go back to bossing, boss.” Simon rolled his eyes heavenward and wished he had his favorite pipe right then.

“Jim, come on, you need to come back. You need to concentrate on my voice, my heartbeat and use that as an anchor. Break the pattern of your other senses rising higher into the sky like smoke. Slowly put the fire out and lower your sense of touch then we’ll work on your eyes. Please, Jim. Sturges is dead; the others are not a threat. You can relax, come back to us, okay?”

A shudder ran through the big man’s body and he painfully cracked his eyes open. That quiet, rich voice had worked its way through the agony of his out of control senses, the steady heartbeat, the drumbeat of life drawing him back. He looked into Blair’s deep blue eyes, eyes full on concern and hope, those eyes widening as he saw Jim looking at him. A tentative smile crossed his face, “I’m back, partner. I’m back. Thanks.”

Henri came over as Blair and Jim rose, Blair’s arm around Jim’s waist for support. “He gonna be okay, Hairboy?” Blair’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. “Hairboy? Did you just call me...

Hairboy?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you got more hair than most women I know, so the name just kinda came out, but it suits you.” An exaggerated groan was covered by Jim’s laughter as he ruffled the brown curls.