Westward, Ho-Boy
Installment 5
by Polgana



“Gary!  C’mon, fella.  You’ve got to drink this.”  

Gary stirred feebly as a strong arm slid around his shoulders, eliciting a pained protest.  As his mouth opened just the tiniest bit, the rim of a plastic cup was pressed against his lips.  Warm, bitter liquid slid down his throat, almost making him gag, it was so bitter.  

“That’s a good boy,” the oddly familiar voice murmured.  “Drink it all.”

When he had apparently satisfied this command, the cup was taken away, and Gary was allowed to lie back.  It took another moment for him to place the voice.

“P-Peter?” he gasped.  “What . . . what’re you doin’ here?”  Feeling strangely weak, he tried to summon the energy to open his eyes.  The simple act took a lot more effort than he thought necessary.  Turning his head to look around took even more.  “Wh-where . . .?”

“Our Lady Of Sorrows,” Peter Cain told him as he perched on the edge of the bed.  “A little hospital a few miles outside of San Antonio.  How’re you feeling?”

Gary took a moment to consider the innocent question.  His perceptions were oddly skewed for some reason.  The bizarre image of a wild-eyed, manic Toni Brigatti kept intruding on his thoughts.  

“I-I’m okay,” he murmured.  “I think.  Feel really . . . D-did I, um, go . . . anywhere?  I mean . . . was I always . . . here?  Ph-physically, that is.”

“Twenty-four/seven,” Peter assured him.  “Why?  Do you think you went somewhere . . . else?”

“More like some . . . some when, if you get my drift,” Gary sighed.  He tried to push himself upright, only to fall back with a choked cry as pain flashed across his back and shoulders.  Not to mention his poor, battered ribs.  “Oh, man!  Forgot about that.”  He fumbled for the bed controls until Peter pushed his hand back down.  

The Shaolin raised the head of Gary’s bed until the younger man motioned for him to stop.  He then slid a chair up closer to the bed and sat back down.

“So,” he sighed.  “You think that you’ve been . . . ‘traveling?’  Again?”

“S-sorta,” Gary murmured.  He looked around for a familiar face that was conspicuous by its absence.  “Where’s Polly?  And the others?  I woulda thought . . .”

“If Polly’s the woman who’s been camped at your bedside for the last three days,” Peter replied with a dry chuckle, “Dad had to practically give her the Vulcan nerve pinch to get her to lie down for a few hours.  As for the ‘others’. . . Where the hell did you find those guys?  Even Dad’s never seen anything like this!  Four guys, apparently unrelated, who look enough alike to be clones.  Talk about weird!”

“Weird is more your field than mine,” Gary sighed.  His forehead creased as something else Peter had said sank in.  “Three days?  I’ve been out of it for three days?”

“Pretty much,” Peter nodded.  “Dad and I just found out you were here last night.  He saw right away that you weren’t, exactly . . . all there, if you, um . . .”

“Yeah,” Gary sighed.  He laid his head back as his meager store of strength threatened to fail him.  Three days!  These little ‘trips’ didn’t usually follow real time so closely.  The last few times, he had lived days in mere minutes.  He mentioned that fact to Peter, wondering aloud why this time was so different.  “Another thing,” he mused.  “The other times, I knew who I was, but not who I was, i-if you know what I mean.  God!  This is nuts!  Things like this . . . They just don’t . . . I mean . . . Not to . . .”

“Ordinary guys like you?” Cain snorted with wry amusement.  “Gary, when are you gonna get it through your thick head that you are far from ‘ordinary?’  You get a fortune-telling newspaper, delivered by an, apparently, immortal, omniscient cat.  You use it to help people where any other man might use it to make himself rich.  Or powerful.  You are the most responsible, self-effacing person I’ve ever met outside of a religious order.  And even most of them couldn’t be trusted with something of this . . . this magnitude.  You refuse to cut yourself any slack when things go wrong, taking full responsibility, even when you know you can‘t be everywhere at once.  You seriously believe that it’s your mission to save the world in secret.  Like an undercover Messiah.”

“That’s a little strong,” Gary murmured sleepily.  He was already feeling the strength drain out of him.  “Undercover Messiah?  Jesus in a trench coat?  D-do I get a snazzy sports car?  The one with the, um, the smoke screen, anointing oil slick, and holy water?”  His voice was starting to slur as his eyes drifted shut.

“Nah,” Peter chuckled.  “That’s reserved for the Big Guy,” he added as he watched the younger man slip back to sleep.  “You just get a newspaper and a cat.”

************

When Gary next awakened, it was to hear familiar voices murmuring just a few feet away.  

“You should’ve woke me up,” Polly was grumbling.  “I wanted to be here.”

“Your loyalty does you credit,” Kwai Chang Cain’s soft voice replied, “but you do our friend no service if you collapse from exhaustion.  You needed rest.”

A third voice chuckled dryly.  “Polly thinks she’s ‘Superwoman,’ or something,” Jake told them.  “If we let her, she’d kill herself mothering every one of us.  It’s just been Gary’s luck to actually need it.”

“I heard that,” Gary mumbled thickly.  Fumbling for the controls, he raised the head of his bed a little more.  That was when he noticed the IV taped to his left arm.  Frowning at the clear tubing, he decided that he really didn’t like having needles stuck in him every time he turned around.  The act of raising up sent a dull pain along his wounded back, causing him to close his eyes as he sucked in a pained hiss.  “Um, I really gotta get me a new hobby.  My collection of hospital pitchers is g-getting . . . expensive.”

He opened his eyes again as something was pressed against his lips.  The senior Shaolin, make that Shambala Master, had another cup of what looked like green soup ready for him to drink.  Gary sniffed at the brew suspiciously.  “If there’s ground beetles in there,” he murmured, “forget it.”

“I used no insect or animal parts in this remedy,” Cain assured him with a tolerant smile.  “Only the herbs needed to . . . balance your chi.”

Taking the cup in one hand, Gary glanced from the murky contents, to the herbalist, then back at the green concoction.  “Well,” he sighed, “if anybody’s ‘chi’ needs balancing, it’s mine, I guess.  ‘Over the lips and through the gums,’” he quoted.  “‘Look out stomach.  Here it comes.’”  With that, he tilted his head back and drained the plastic cup.  It was just as bitter as he remembered.  His face scrunched up in a pained expression as he handed the cup back to the priest-cum-mystic.  “God help!  How many more of those do I have to take?”

“That’s the last one,” Peter chuckled.  “How do you feel?”

Gary took a moment to take stock before answering the innocent question.  He did feel better, more clear-headed than he had since that awful beating he had taken in ‘Vegas.  Not to mention that his ribs and leg seemed to hurt a lot less.

“Better,” he conceded.  “A lot better, except for this God-awful taste in my mouth.  Thanks.”  He looked around at the crowded room.  Everyone was there.  Polly, the twins, Jake, Peter and his father.  All watching him anxiously.  “I’m fine, really,” he assured them.  “S-so, what’re our plans, now?”

“That depends on you,” Clay told him.  “Or on how quick we can get the docs to turn you loose.”

“You gave us one hell of a scare, cuz,” Buddy spoke up.  “When you started mumbling in your sleep, and Jake couldn’t wake you up, well . . .”

“You were hot as a pistol, too,” Jake added, concern still strong in his voice.  “Polly said your temperature was up to 103°.  We couldn’t get you to the hospital fast enough to suit her.  Or us.”

Their genuine concern touched Gary in a way that he had not been sure he could ever feel again.  For so long, he’d felt that the burden of the Paper was his alone.  Then Marissa had reminded him that he had friends and family willing and eager to shoulder some of the weight.  Here, again, he was being shown that he was not alone.  That here were people who knew little or nothing of his bizarre ‘occupation,’ who knew only that his life was troubled and chaotic.  Yet, they openly cared enough about his safety and well-being to put their own lives on hold so that he could at least have a chance to lead a normal life.  If only for a little while.

“Th-thanks,” he murmured.  “Sorry to’ve scared ya’ll so bad.  I-I had the weirdest dream, though.  A-about some gang that Ellie was telling me about, and a U.S. Marshal named, um, Canfield. Peter Canfield.  He looked just like you, Peter.  A-and . . . and Toni Brigatti was there.  Sykes and Hicks were . . . And I was some drifter named Chandler who was . . . who was looking for . . . God!  Chandler.  Th-that’s Dusty’s last . . . and, um,  Kyle.  A-are they . . . ?  It’s . . . I can’t remember all of it, but I . . . I died.  Man, it was so weird!”

Polly pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down.  “I thought we’d already had this discussion,” she teased him.  “Weird is normal for you, darlin’.  Why don’t you tell us about your dream?”

Gary didn’t need much urging.  The dream had disturbed him so much, he was almost eager to get their input.  He told them everything he could recall, even to feeling the bullet tear into his chest; of the chill kiss of death as the life drained from his body.

“I-it was so real!” he insisted.  “I mean, I can still f-feel th-the whip a-and the . . . the burns.  B-but none o-of that was in Ellie’s story!  I-it was . . . twisted!”

Clay looked thoughtful as he perched on the foot of the bed.  “That may be because your version is closer to the truth,” he murmured.  “There was a writer fella nosin’ around a few years ago who was sure that the story bein’ taught as local legend was a pack of lies.”  He twisted his hat around in his hands, much the same as he was running ideas through his mind.  “I think he lives around here, somewhere.”

Peter clapped the young cowboy on the shoulder as he turned for the door.  “How about you and I go see if we can find him?” he suggested.  “We can start with that bookstore down the street.”

The words and action caught Clay by surprise, so lost in thought as he was.  “Wha . . .?  Oh!  Sure thing, Mr. Cain.”  He turned to his bed-ridden cousin.  “It sure is good to see you alive and awake, Gary,” he said, before turning to follow Peter.  “Let’s see what we can do about keepin’ you that way.”

“Which way?” Gary chuckled dryly.  “Alive or awake?”

“Both, preferably,” Clay grinned, “but, at this point, I’ll settle for what I can get.  Catch ya later, cuz.”  The young wrangler flipped him a wave and disappeared through the door, close on Peter’s heels.

As the door swung shut, they could hear the younger Cain tell him, “The name is Peter.  Even my father doesn’t like to be called ‘mister.’”

“Great,” Gary sighed, looking at Buddy.  “If he’s gonna start calling me ‘Cuz,’ too, I’ll never be able to tell you two apart.”

“How ‘bout if I start callin’ you Lazarus,” Buddy chuckled.  “Polly says you’ve beat his record for comin’ back from the dead.  Came awful close to addin’ to the list, cuz.”

Gary shot Polly a speculative look.  “It was that bad?” he asked.

His friend nodded grimly.  “Over 103° when we first checked,” she told him.  “By the time we got you to the ER, it had risen another three points.  They had to reopen the wound and clean out some deep pockets of infection.  What worried the docs most was how fast it took you down.  You weren’t out quite three days, but pretty close.”

“And you sat here the whole time?” he asked, touched by her concern.

She just smiled and shrugged.  “It’s a small town,” she told him.   “Not much else to do.”

Returning her smile, Gary turned his head to look at the elder Cain.  “Did you really do the Vulcan Nerve Pinch on her, or was Peter pullin’ my leg?”

“Nothing so drastic,” Cain replied with a shrug.  “I merely suggested she could do you little good if she were a patient, herself.  Then I, how do you . . . ah!  I slipped her a ‘Mickey.’  She was no trouble after that.”

Polly made a face as she related how easily she had been snookered.  “I was drinkin’ coffee like a caffeine addict,” she told him.  “After a while, he brings me a cup that doesn’t taste quite right.  Next thing I know, I’m in a room down the hall, and Jake is telling’ me you’re awake.  That was this mornin’.  I guess it knocked me out for about six hours.”

The idea of someone putting anything over on Polly tickled Gary for some reason.  He could just picture her chagrined, and vocal, reaction when she woke up.  She probably blistered the wallpaper in places!  His shoulders shook with the effort to stifle his amusement, but the tears welling up in his eyes, and his tight-lipped expression betrayed him.

“Go ahead and laugh it up,” Polly told him, her own lips twitching.  “Just remember that I’m the closest thing we have to a nurse on this little odyssey, and that makes me the one who gets to say when you’re fit to drive.”

“Th-that’s cruel, Polly,” Gary chuckled.  “Besides, we both know I can’t handle that rig in the shape I’m in.  I was just w-wondering if you left any paper on the walls.”

“Not much,” she admitted, her grin finally breaking through.  “I don’t think Momma would’ve approved of my language, but it helped release some tension.”

“I can imagine,” Gary replied, wiping the tears from his cheeks with his right hand.  The movement tugged at the stitches in his back, but brought no real pain.  

“We didn’t have to imagine,” Jake chortled.  “We could hear her all the way down the hall.”

“You could not!” Polly insisted indignantly, her face coloring in embarrassment.  “Could you?”

“He’s yankin’ your chain, Polly,” Buddy sniggered.  “You weren’t that loud.  The nurses had to put their ears to the door to make out what you were sayin’.”

Polly buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.  At first, Gary thought she was crying.  A thought which quickly sobered him.  A little good natured teasing was one thing, but he hadn’t meant to upset her!  Then she wiped her face on her sleeve and he could see her biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“You guys are gonna pay for that one,” she chuckled.  “Just wait ‘til the next time it’s my turn to cook.  You’d better load up on antacids.”

************

It was sometime late that afternoon when Peter and Clay returned from their investigation.  They had finally learned the name of the author from the bookstore, where his latest anthology was on display.

“He’s a teacher at the local high school,” Peter informed them.  “Legends and myths of the old west are his hobby.”

“He pads his salary with a book now an’ then,” Clay added.  He handed Gary a small plastic sack.  “Thought you might like a copy of his latest.  It’s on the local ‘Best Seller’ list.”

Curious, Gary slid the hardback book out of the bag and looked closely at the picture on the back of the dustcover.  The author, David Taggart, smiled back at him from a lean, weather beaten face topped with a thick shock of sandy hair.  Mr. Taggart seemed to be in his late fifties or early sixties, but still in excellent shape.

“Look at the front,” Clay suggested.

Puzzled by the odd tone in his cousin’s voice, Gary turned the book over.  What he saw almost startled him into dropping it.  There, underneath the title, was a reproduction of a faded black and white photograph.  It had been much handled in its time, showing a deep crease down the middle.  To Gary, the placement of the fold was almost symbolic.  It separated the shyly smiling young man wearing the dress uniform of a Union cavalry officer and one of the children from the woman that stood next to him.  Two more children stood before her, and two babies filled her arms.  Somehow, Gary wasn’t surprised to find himself gazing at an image of . . . himself . . . almost exactly as he had looked only a few years ago.  It seemed . . . right somehow.  What had shaken him so was the existence of the picture itself.

“That’s it,” he whispered numbly.  “Th-that’s the picture from . . . from my dream.   Wh-where did he . . .?  I mean . . . it was just . . . just a dream!  Wasn’t it?”  He finally looked at the title.  ‘Lost Heroes:  The Truth Behind The Legends.’  

“It mentions an ancestor of mine on my grandmother’s side,” Peter told them.  “He was a U. S. Marshal working out of Abilene at the time.  I was named after him, wasn’t I, Dad?”

“Yes,” Kwai Chang replied thoughtfully.  “As I was named for my grandfather.  I have not thought of them in . . . many years.  His name was . . .”

“Canfield,” Gary murmured softly.  “Peter Canfield.  H-he was . . . was in my dream, too.  And a Ranger named . . . Taggart.  Th-this is . . . I can’t believe . . . There’s no way this . . . this can be real.”  But there it was.  Solid evidence that he had not merely dreamed the events.  That they may have unfolded exactly as he had seen them.  “God!” he murmured with a shuddery sigh.  “This is getting spooky!”

“We called Mr. Taggart,” Peter went on to say.  “I just told him that I had an interest in that one story because of my great grandfather, but I didn’t mention anything about you guys.”  His lips twitched mischievously.  “He’s anxious to meet another descendant of the posse.  Little does he know.”

“I-is he coming here?” Gary asked hesitantly.  “Is he . . . is he bringing the . . . the picture?  I need to see that picture.”

“He’s going home to pick it up as soon as school lets out,” Clay assured his cousin.  “This may answer a lot of questions.  For all of us.”

Gary couldn’t take his eyes from the cover photo.  A family portrait.  Two boys, ages about six and eight at the time of the sitting, stood in front of the woman.  A little girl of about twelve stood next to her father, his left hand holding her close.  The two babies, Gary was certain, were twin girls less than a year old.  He felt that he even knew their names.  His hand trembling, Gary traced the tip of an index finger along the angle of the smiling woman’s jaw.  A feeling of such longing came over him at the sight of her, it was almost like a physical pain.  

“Her name was Amanda,” he whispered, unable to look away.  “Amanda Beaumont.  She . . . she was a-afraid of . . . of s-something.  It scared her so bad, she abandoned her husband and daughter to . . . protect?  Yeah, to protect the . . .”  A dark shadow passed over his mind, and a chill shivered through his weakened frame.  Suddenly feeling a little frightened himself, Gary let the book drop into his lap as his head fell back onto the pillow.  His chest felt tight with emotions that weren’t entirely his.  ‘What’s happening to me?’ he wondered in alarm.

“I’m getting a bad feelin’ o’ déjà vu, here” Polly spoke up with a shudder.  “Remember that fella in Chicago?  Tony Greco?  I think you’ve run into some more unfinished business, hon.”

Gary squeezed his eyes shut at her words.  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he sighed.

“Tony who?” Peter asked, puzzled.  “Did we miss something?”

“Did you ever,” Clay replied with a grim chuckle.  He and Buddy quickly brought Peter up to date on the events since he and his father had last been in Chicago.  Up to, and including, the most recent assault on Gary at the Treyton ranch.  Jake listened attentively, as a lot of the story was new to him as well.

As they went through the events at the auditorium, Peter shot Gary a speculative look, mixed with a tinge of amusement.  No wonder his young friend looked so worn down!  Whenever they spoke of Tony Greco’s  ‘possession’ of Gary, Kwai Chang listened attentively, a worried frown creasing his timeworn features.

“This has never happened to you before?” he asked when they had finished.

“N-no,” Gary murmured, his voice tired and husky.  “I-I’ve seen . . . things . . . b-but they’ve never  . . . u-until . . . I don’t understand any of this,” he sighed, turning his head to look out the window.  “Things were weird enough to begin with.”

“You have a gift, Gary Hobson,” the elder Shaolin shrugged.  “It can no longer be denied, and will not stay hidden.  I believe it is separate from other . . . influences . . . in your life.  Yet, perhaps these . . . other influences . . . triggered the growth of this gift.”

“So far this ‘gift’ has almost killed me twice,” was Gary’s grim reply.  “I think I’d like to exchange it for a sweater.”  He turned his head to look at the older man.  The look on Gary’s face was as grim as his tone.  “I’ve got people running around in my head, for Christ’s sake!” he hissed angrily.  “My own nightmares weren’t bad enough?  Now I have to live someone else’s?  No, thank you.”  Biting his lower lip, he looked away again.  Polly was sure she had seen a gleam of moisture in his eyes.  “I-I don‘t know if I can handle this,” he added in a tight, strained voice.  “I just . . . don’t know.”

The others exchanged troubled glances.  The three look-alikes seemed embarrassed at having to bear witness to this emotional display.  It troubled them that, yet again, Gary was having to deal with a situation where they were powerless to help.

***************

They tried to distract Gary from his dismal frame of mind by questioning Peter and his father about their abrupt disappearance after the party.  At first, it didn’t seem to be working.  As the Shaolin related what they could of their recent activities, however, Gary’s natural curiosity won out.  He began to ask questions, hesitantly, at first.  Then with more confidence as they led him through a tale of mystery, intrigue, and mysticism.  He soon decided they were making most of it up, but it made a fascinating diversion, nonetheless.

Just as Peter was wrapping up his account of their escape from an enemy he refused to name, there came a tentative knock on the door.  The portal eased open until a familiar head could peek around the edge.

“Excuse me,” David Taggart said with a hesitant smile.  “They told me I could . . . Oh, my lord!”  His jaw dropped as he stared at one after another of the four ‘clones.’  “This is . . . Well, no wonder you were so interested in that picture!”  He quickly stepped the rest of the way into the crowded room.  “Absolutely incredible!  Are you guys quadruplets?”  

“No,” Jake replied with a shake of his head.  “Would you believe that, until a few weeks ago, I never even knew any of these guys existed?  Yet, Gary and I,” he added, “lived in the same city for years.”  

“The rest of us hooked up for the first time a coupla months ago,” Clay spoke up.

“I’m Peter Cain,” the younger Shaolin grinned, extending his hand.  “I’m the one that called.”  He quickly introduced the others, running over a brief explanation as to how they had met.  

“Absolutely incredible,” the school teacher repeated.  “I, um, I actually met your great grandfather shortly before he died,” Taggart said to Peter.  “It was at a reunion of some kind,” he explained.  “I was about six, and he must’ve been close to a hundred.  He could barely move, but his mind was as sharp as a tack.  He was the one who first told me about the Uvalde Gang.  May I?”  He reached out and took the book from Gary’s lap where it had lain, untouched, since he had dropped it earlier.  “After that, I pestered my grandfather to tell me that story . . . oh, must’ve been a thousand times.  Here we go,” he added, having turned to the middle of the book.  He handed it back to Gary.  “As I grew older, I found that the people of Uvalde recalled it differently.  So, I dug out the official reports, local newspapers and what have you, and tried to piece together something close to the truth.”

Still feeling a little . . . numb, Gary began to read.  It was essentially as it had unfolded in his dream, except that it was told from the perspective of the two lawmen.  The names of the gang members were a little different than he recalled.  The woman had been named Teresa, not Toni.  Marley had been Malone, but really had been the woman’s illegitimate father.  Most important, Gary Chandler had been right on the money.  Little was mentioned about the mysterious young stranger.  Only that Marshal Canfield had recruited him in Abilene, to help lure out the gang.  He seemed to trust the younger man implicitly.  It also mentioned that he had been badly injured, and had died bravely. Before he died, however, Chandler had charged Canfield with a mission.

“It wasn’t until the book was published that I was able to dig up any more on Chandler,” Taggart sighed.  “Which was . . . a pity.  He was the real hero of the story.  My great grandfather was the one who caught him as he stumbled his way to Canfield’s tent.  The man had been . . . tortured . . . horribly.  Still, he insisted on bein’ there when the gang was rounded up.  Which,” he sighed, “is where he died.  The last thing he said was . . .”

“‘I’ll be watching,’” Gary murmured softly.  He was still staring at the page, but he was seeing a bloody hand clasped upon the arm of a desperately pleading man.  

Shocked anew, the schoolteacher stared at the man in the bed.  “Exactly,” he whispered.  “How did . . . How could you know that?”

“He wanted his family to know,” Gary continued in a husky monotone, “that he loved them.  That he’d always be watching over them.  Even from the grave.”

Wordlessly, Taggart opened a manila envelope, withdrawing the all too familiar photograph and handing it to Gary.

“H-he was a captain in the Union Army during the Civil War,” Taggart told them, seeming to be a little unsure of himself, suddenly.  “Chandler went behind enemy lines many times, gathering valuable information.  He was twice caught and imprisoned, escaping both times in less than a week.  He was reputed to have been a highly resourceful man.”  

“What happened to his family?” Polly asked soberly.  “Why was he havin’ to search for ‘em?”

“There was an outbreak of small pox,” Taggart sighed.  “The oldest girl caught it.  Chandler had survived it as a child, himself, and recognized the symptoms.  He sent his wife and the other children to stay with her parents in Kentucky.  They never got there.  No one knows why, but she up and decided to head for Texas.  Well, the little girl survived unscarred, which was a miracle in itself.  Chandler left her with his folks in Ohio while he went to fetch the rest of his family.”

“That was when he found out they’d vanished,” Gary murmured.  He was staring, unfocused, at a point somewhere near the foot of the bed.  “He was devastated.”

“Um, yes,” Taggart nodded.  “He questioned everyone he could find along the route they would’ve had to take, and finally found someone who told him that she and the other children had been on the road to St Louis. From there, he eventually tracked them to Abilene, Texas, where he lost the trail.  It had taken him over a year, by that time, and he was getting real discouraged.  According to Granddad, that is.  No one ever said why Canfield approached him in that bar, or exactly what was said.  The gist of it was that Chandler agreed to help Canfield, if the marshal would lend his resources to finding Chandler’s missing family.  Chandler died keeping his word,” he added with a sigh.  “It always rankled Canfield that he wasn’t able to reunite the man with his children.”

The older man rubbed a hand through his hair as he began to pace the tiny room.  “His wife, Amanda, for whatever reason, took the children and went to live with a friend on a farm outside of Lubbock, Texas.  She died a few months later, no one knows how.  The friend was a woman who was unable to have children of her own.  Whenever she had seen Chandler coming, she’d tricked the children into hiding from him, telling them it was someone bad coming to hurt them.  When Canfield tracked them down, he was furious.  Chandler had been only yards from his children on two occasions and never known it.  She wouldn’t even tell him that the woman he loved had died.  It was . . . tragic.  So far as he knew, she had run off with another man.”

“So what did Canfield do when he found out?” Clay asked.  “Did he leave the children with her?”

“Hell, no,” Taggart snorted.  “He tried to get those kids back to their grandmother in Ohio.  Trouble was, she had also passed away.  The little girl she was taking care of had been taken in by a family that had moved just a month before.  By the time he found her, she was grown up and married to a man named Metcalf.  The other children had been living with his family while he tried to find her.  He saw no reason to turn them out.”

“So they all have families here in Texas?” Buddy mused, starting to see a lot of things fall in place.  He looked over at his twin.  Metcalf, the teacher had said.  And Evans.  ‘Oh, my Lord!’ he thought.  ‘We’re even related to that Blessing guy!  How far does this family tree branch out?’

“The oldest boy put down roots here,” Taggart replied with a shake of his head.  “The younger one went back east somewhere.  He took the two youngest girls with him.”  He grinned ruefully.  “The families of the boys were the easiest to trace, but the hardest, so far to catch up with.  Tracing through the female bloodline is harder because of name changes and such.  Anyway, the little ones stayed with the oldest sister for a while, ‘til they both got married themselves.  One to an Evans in Kentucky, the other to a man named Blessing who moved somewhere out west.  Colorado, I think.  I’ve been trying to track down their descendants, but . . .”  He looked around at four identical faces.  “I have an idea my search is over.”

************

After another hour, and a dozen more questions, Taggart had to take his leave.  He had to prepare a test for his class the next day.  “If everyone aces it,” he joked, “I’ll have the whole class write you a ‘thank you’ note.  Take care.  Especially you, young man,” he added with a pointed look at Gary.  “You seem to be cut from the same mold as your ancestor.  Don’t follow his footsteps too closely, you hear?”

“Try not to,” Gary replied with a wan smile.  He held up the book.  “Thanks for the autograph.  And the picture.”  The faded photo was once again safely tucked into its envelope.

Taggart nodded sadly.  “It was among your great-great granddaddy’s things,” he told Gary.  “I reckon ya’ll would know who it should go to better than I do.  Canfield meant to give it to the oldest girl, but she was too angry at her daddy for not comin’ back. and didn’t want anything to do with him.  Or his memory.  Sad.  None of them forgave him for not finding them, believing the lies their momma’s friend had fed them.  They never knew that his every waking thought was about them.  How badly he wanted them to be a family again.”  He heaved a loud sigh as his hand reached for the door.  “Tragic.  When Canfield died, he left everything to do with Chandler to my great granddaddy.  As the last living member of the posse, it fell to him to let Chandler‘s descendants know the truth. A truly tragic tale all the way around,” he added as he stepped from the room.

“You have no idea,” Gary sighed, peering at the images on the book cover as the door swung shut.  “It was killing him by inches, having his family torn apart like that.  Never knowing what had happened to them.  If they were even still alive.  No wonder he couldn’t . . . couldn’t rest.  God!  My . . .our great-great grandfather.  I still can‘t seem t-to get my mind to a-accept . . .”  Gary rubbed a hand over his face as another shadow flitted across his eyes.  “Um!  Whoa!  What was that?”  He blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

“What is it, Gary?” Polly asked anxiously.  “Talk to me!”

“I-I’m . . . I’m okay,” he assured her.  “Just . . . this weird . . . feeling . . .”

“Describe it,” Peter told him.  “What kind of feeling?”

“Like a-a weight,” Gary replied.  “A huge weight . . . just . . . vanished.  First everything . . . sorta . . . flickered, then this . . . pressure was . . . gone.”

Kwai Chang stepped up to the bed, taking Gary’s chin in a gentle grasp and tilting his face up to the light.  “I believe your ‘visitor’ has gotten his answers,” the elder Shaolin advised him.  “You no longer appear to be carrying his chi.”

Gary sank back, letting his breath out with a loud ‘Whoosh!’  “Thank you, God!” he sighed.  “I wasn’t sure I had room enough for my own.”  Knowing that he was alone, once more, within his own mind was a great relief to Gary.  ‘So why,’ he wondered, ‘do I feel so . . . empty?’

*************

Things settled down after a while, and the twins and Jake retreated to the RV to let Gary get some rest.  The elder Cain accompanied them, overtly to ‘check out’ their accommodations.  In reality, it was his intent to assure their safety.  Few could get close without the Shambala master being aware of their presence.

“They couldn’t be in better hands,” Peter assured Gary and Polly as he settled into an armchair near the window.  “He’ll see to it that no harm comes to them.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” Polly murmured.  She was squirming around in a recliner placed just inside the door.  “So far as I’m concerned, these boys are my responsibility.  I intend to see them safely home.”

Gary gave a startled grunt in response to her bold statement, while Peter just chuckled.  

“Boys!” the Shaolin snorted.  “These are grown men!  They seem to do a pretty good job of looking after themselves.”  He shot Gary an amused glance.  “Most of them, anyway.”

“Ha-ha,” Gary grumbled.  “Very cute.  Would you two like to step outside and talk about me in private?”

“Just shut your eyes and get some rest, hon,” Polly chuckled.  “We hope to be springin’ you from this place in the morning.”

“You sound more like my mom everyday,” Gary mumbled sleepily.  If forced to admit it, he was tired.  In spite of spending the last few days in and out of consciousness, even when he wasn’t aware of it, Gary felt as if he had run a marathon.  Puzzled he asked Peter why that was.

“It takes a lot of energy to ‘channel’ another soul,” Peter shrugged.  “What little they bring to the table isn’t enough.  They have to use some of yours.”

“Great great granddad used a lot,” Gary sighed.  “Almost as much as Tony.  God!  I still can‘t get my head wrapped around that.”  He looked drowsily around at his two friends.  “Why don’t you two go find some beds?  I’ll be okay.”

“Sorry, Gary,” Polly replied with a tired shake of her head.  “Until those two clowns are caught and back behind bars, I ain’t lettin’ you outta my sight.  For some reason, those idiot’s keep homin’ in on you, instead of any of the others.  It may be simply that, like the predators they are, they tend to single out the one least able to fight back.  Regardless, I’m not lettin’ those goons get another shot at you.”

Peter chuckled dryly as he propped his feet on the windowsill.  “So far I’ve heard you call those guys ‘clowns, bozos, predators, thugs, and goons,” he said, his lips curved in a sly smile.  “From what Jake had to say, you’ve toned down a little since ‘Vegas.”

“Really?” Gary murmured, more than happy to shift the focus of this conversation.  “Did she get a little . . .”

“A little!”  Peter snorted.  “What was it you called them?”

Red-faced Polly squirmed uncomfortably.  “Nothin’,” she mumbled, casting Gary a pained glance.  “I was just blowin’ off some steam.”

“Well, remind me not to get you royally PO’d, then,” Cain replied.  “According to the others, she called them something really colorful.  ‘Scum-sucking dogs?’  Or some . . .”

“Yella bellied, lily-livered, scum-sucking dawgs,” Polly growled.  “If yer gonna poke fun at me, at least get it right.  And, yes, I did ask that officer if breaking every bone in their bodies with a brick bat could be considered self defense.  They’d just beat the crap out of a friend of mine who was barely in any shape to defend himself!  I was not in a charitable mood.”

“Polly gets a li’l . . . intense where her friends are concerned,” Gary chuckled softly.  His voice was growing sleepier by the second as his medication kicked in.  “So, we’re outta here tomorrow?”

“As soon as the doctor turns you loose,” Peter assured him.  “We can be in Ft. Worth by tomorrow evening.  So, do as Polly says and get some rest.  I have some friends I want you to meet, and it may take us a while to track ‘em down.”

“Frens?” Gary murmured faintly.  “Wh-wha kinda frens?”

“The kind that royally kick butt,” Peter replied.  “Now, go to sleep.”

**************

Early the next morning, Jake and the twins awoke to find Kwai Chang fixing breakfast for them.  After which, they crossed the parking lot to the hospital entrance.  Inside, they found Peter and Polly standing around outside of Gary’s door.  

“Doctor’s in with him, now,” Polly told them with an impatient sigh.  “Once he’s finished, they just take out the IV, he gets dressed, and we can go.”

“What are they doin’?” Buddy asked, rocking impatiently back and forth on his heels.  

“Just making sure he’s well enough to leave,” Peter smiled.  “He was a pretty sick man there, for a while.  It’s not like he’s ready to run a marathon, or anything.”

“What’s with the change in plans?” Jake asked.  “I thought we were going to Houston to see Buddy’s folks?”

“This friend I want you to meet lives in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, now,” Peter explained.  “He has resources that we’re gonna need.  Until Sykes and Hicks are locked up, it‘s not safe to get anymore innocent people involved.”

“Shoulda thought o’ that myself,” Clay admitted.  He looked toward the door for the tenth time.  “How much longer . . .?”

Clay’s question was interrupted by the opening of the door.  A tall, dark haired man in his thirties and wearing a white lab coat stepped out, almost running over Buddy.  

“Excuse me,” he said, startled.  “You must be the friends Mr. Hobson was telling me about.  Either that or I need to have my eyes checked.” He held his hand out to the man he had almost collided with.  “Dr. Walls.  He’s . . . he’s looking remarkably well this morning, all things considered.”

“So he’s able to leave?” Clay asked anxiously.  “He’s okay?”

“The nurse is taking his IV out as we speak,” the physician replied, giving Clay an indulgent smile. “He needs to keep those stitches clean and dry, and his left ribs are still a little tender, otherwise he’s fine.  You might want to keep him on a soft diet for a few more days.  Soups, stews, maybe even some salads.  Nothing spicy.  That means a lot of the local cuisine is off limits, I’m afraid.”  He looked around at the three younger men, an incredulous look on his face, before shaking his head and turning toward Polly.  “He tells me that you’ve had some medical experience, Ms. Gannon, so I imagine most of his care has fallen on your shoulders.”

“The others do most of the heavy work,” Polly shrugged.  “I’m more or less the ‘den mother’ on this little field trip.  I’ll see that he sticks to the diet, though, and tend to those sutures.  What about internal injuries?  Any complications to watch out for there?”

“His CT scan came back normal,” Dr. Walls assured her.  “None of his internal repairs have been compromised.  Mr. Hobson is well on his way to a full recovery.”  He closed the chart he had been reading from, giving the ‘triplets’ one more speculative look, before shaking his head and turning to leave.  “If you’ll excuse me, I have other patients.  None as interesting as this, but important nonetheless.  Good day.”

As the doctor stepped down the hall and into another room, Polly turned to the three cousins.  “Jake,” she said, “you and Buddy help him get dressed.  His back is still a little stiff, I’m sure.  Clay, you go ahead and pull the RV up as close as you can.  Gary was lookin’ ‘n’ talkin’ a lot better this mornin’, but he’s still a little wobbly.”  She turned to Peter and his father, for once looking uncertain.  “Do you two have a car, or did you wanna ride with us?” she asked.  “We have plenty of room.”

 “I left the rental parked at the hotel,” Peter told her.  “If you don’t mind swinging by there, we can pick up our things and turn it in.”

“No problem,” Clay answered for her.  “The sooner we hit the road, the better.”

**************

Gary insisted on sitting up for the entire drive to Dallas, stating that he was tired of feeling like an invalid.

“You guys ‘ve been treating me with kid gloves since we left Las Vegas,” he muttered irritably.  “How about I at least help with the cooking, okay?  Anything but lying strapped to that sofa for one more minute!”

“No cooking while we’re in motion,” Clay reminded his cousin with a wry grin.  “Maybe you can help Jake teach Polly how to play chess.”

“Oh, please!” the tech snorted.  “Haven’t I suffered enough humiliation?  I’ll never even make Junior League in that game. “  She helped Gary get settled on the sofa, sitting upright, before taking her seat in the recliner.  “I’m even lousy at checkers.  Now, when you get ready to break out a deck of cards, there’s still a thing or two you can teach me about poker.”

As soon as everyone was fastened in, they proceeded to pick up the bags Peter and Kwai Chang had left at their motel, and take the rental back to the agency.  Gary took one look at the name of the motel and felt instant sympathy for the two Shaolin.  The Casa Diablo must be a chain!

A few hours later, they pulled into an RV camp on the outskirts of Dallas.  A quick phone call to the rental agency and a van was delivered shortly after lunch.  Once again, they chose to cook out, preferring to avoid gawking on-lookers.  

“That’s probably how they’re able to track you so easy,” Peter suggested.  “You guys do sorta stand out in a crowd.  Hell, you are a crowd.!”  He took a bite of his steak, glancing over at Gary.  “You okay?”

The semi-invalid member of their party was glaring at his salad and baked potato with a sour look on his face.  “Fine,” he grumbled.  “I finally feel like eating something, and this is what I get.”  He stabbed at the lettuce with his fork.  “Like I need to lose any more weight.”

“It’s just for a few more days,” Polly reminded him, attending to her own salad.  “Besides, it beats Jell-O.”  She made a sour face as she bit into a crouton.  “I’m gonna be on short rations for another thirty pounds.  How soon can you hook up with these friends of yours, Peter?”

“I’ll make some calls tonight,” the younger Shaolin replied.  “We can probably drive out to his place tomorrow.  You know, the martial arts are a good cardiovascular workout, and a great way to stay in shape.  Have you considered that for losing weight?”

“No time for regular classes with my schedule,” the tech replied.  “Long walks and lots of fiber is all I’ve got going for me at the moment.”

“Come see me when we get back home,” he told her.  “You, too, Gary.  It wouldn’t hurt you to learn how to defend yourself a little better.”  

“Now, gee,” Gary grumbled. “Why didn’t I think of that?  My schedule’s even worse than hers.  Can you work around that?”

“Private lessons anytime one of us is available,” Cain promised.  “What could it hurt?”

Gary paused with a forkful of potato halfway to his mouth.  He gave Peter a look that clearly asked ‘Where the heck have you been?’

“Seriously,” Clay murmured.  “You could use somethin’ like that, Gary.  The way you’ve been dumped on lately, you need to learn, just to stay alive.”

“Yeah,” Buddy grinned.  “Gives a whole new meanin’ to ‘kickin’ back.’  From what you’ve told us, Peter’s dad could’ve taken those two yahoos in his sleep.  It took, what, both of us, that Blessing fella, two wranglers and four cops to take ‘em down last time.”

Jake nodded at that reminder.  “And that was after Polly and I’d tangled with ‘em,” he said.  “Yet, I’ve seen little bitty guys take goons like that down like bowling pins.  You know, I wouldn’t mind a few lessons, myself.  I’m sure the three of us . . .”

“Would anyone mind if I at least wait ‘til the stitches come out?” Gary asked.  He set his fork down with a sigh.  “I know you guys are just looking out for me, but . . . give it a rest.  Please?”  He looked up to find everyone staring at him, a variety of expressions on their faces.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.  “Th-that was . . .”

“Nothing of consequence,” Kwai Chang replied in his quiet tones.  “Of late, you have . . . redefined the meaning of the word . . . ‘pressure.’  What you are most in need of . . . is time.”

That statement seemed to puzzle everyone but Peter.

“T-time?” Gary asked.  “Time to . . . to what?”

“To understand yourself,” Peter told him.  “You’ve had so many changes thrown at you in such a short time, you haven’t had time to adjust.  This time last year, you were still in a wheelchair.  Since then, you’ve had your life threatened more times than the President, been chased all over the city, literally met yourself going and coming,” he added, casting a significant look at the twins, “been possessed . . . twice now, even had the chicken pox.  Face it, this isn’t exactly what you guys planned when you left Chicago, is it?  When you get home, you need to take a vacation to recover from your vacation.”

“Now there’s an understatement,” Clay chuckled.  “I’ve been hurt less during the entire rodeo season than Gary has in the past ten days.”

Gary had picked up his fork and was poking at his salad in a desultory fashion.  Without raising his head, he glanced at the Shaolin.  “Y-you really think that’s all I need?” he asked hesitantly.  “Just . . . time?”

“That and a bulldozer to get those two guys off your back,” Peter dead-panned.  “Whoa!  Did you see that?  He almost . . . yes!  He actually smiled!  It’s a miracle!”

“Okay!  Okay!”  Gary chuckled.  “I get the message.  Enough with ‘Gloomy Gus.’  I’ll behave.  So, um, this . . . this friend of yours.  You never said what he does for a living.”

“I didn’t?” Peter asked in exaggerated innocence.  “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

The four look-alikes exchanged questioning glances.  Gary had a sneaking hunch that Peter was up to something.  And why did the younger priest have that strange smile on his face every time he looked at Buddy?

************

They spent the early part of the next day showing Gary some of the more impressive sights of Dallas, starting with Fair Park.  Polly enjoyed the Natural History Museum, while Gary was more interested in the nearby aquarium.  Later that afternoon, they took him to tour downtown Dallas.  

Gary almost panicked when the twins decided to check out the Sixth Floor Museum.  Just standing across the street, looking over at the ‘grassy knoll,’ sent shivers down his spine.  Long buried memories of a ‘dream,’ of a desperate race against time and the weakness of his own battered frame caused him to break out in a chill sweat.  He found that he couldn’t even look up at the empty window without feeling a tightness in his chest.  Just the idea of going through that door broke him out in a cold sweat!  Reluctantly, at the urging of the others, he finally agreed to take the tour rather than try to explain why he couldn‘t.

Just stepping through the front door set his heart to racing.  For the briefest second, he could feel the texture of the wooden handgrips on the crutches, the way his sweat-slick palms tightened around them.  There was a moment of panic at the thought of trying to struggle up six flights of stairs!  Gary kept his fists clenched as he stepped into the elevator, recalling the laughing faces of workmen stepping out, lunch pails in hand, excited about the chance to see the President in person.

“You okay, Gary?” Polly asked in concern.  “You’re lookin’ a little pale.”

“I-I’m fine,” he lied.  “J-just nerves, I guess.”

Tracing the actions of the assassin prior to, and after, the shooting presented no problems for him.  These were areas where he had never set foot, in any sense.  The sixth floor, however, was an altogether different matter.  So, of course, that was where they had to go first.

The moment Gary stepped into the recreated scene, his mouth became as dry as dust.  He stopped before getting within arms reach of the ‘stacks.’  Once more he heard the smooth, silken voice crooning words of reassurance to a man desperately seeking help . . . from the wrong source.  Felt the surge of adrenaline as he swung the crutch to knock the gun out of Marley’s hand.  Felt those same hands grasping at his throat . . .!

“Gary?  Are you okay?”

“Huh? Wh-what?”  Gary could barely get the words out past the dryness in his mouth and throat.  Yanking himself back to the present, he looked around at the six anxious faces.  Swallowing hard, he bobbed his head up and down to indicate that he was, indeed, ‘okay.’  “I-it’s just . . . I-I mean I thought . . . S’cuse me.”  Without another word, he turned and practically ran back to the elevator.  Reaching it, he frantically punched the call button several times before stepping back to wait for its return.  A second later, he punched it again.

Peter and his father found him pacing frenetically between the elevator and the door to the stairs, wiping at the sweat beading his pale brow with equally moist palms.  His breath was coming in a harsh rasp as he fought to regain control.

“I’m sorry!” he rasped.  “I’m so sorry!  I tried.  I really tried but . . . but I can’t go in there.  I can’t . . . can’t stay . . . in this place.  I can’t.”  He stopped pacing long enough to hit the button again.  Hard.  “What is wrong with this thing?”

“Take it easy, Hobson,” Peter advised, easing up to the distraught man.  “You want out, we’ll go.  It’s not that big a deal.  We told the others to finish the tour, and to take their time, so the three of us can talk privately.  If the elevator is too slow, we can take the stairs.”

“No!”  The look Gary shot him bordered on sheer, animal panic!  “N-no,” he continued, still fighting for control.  “I-it’s okay.  I-I’ll wait.  S-see?  Here it comes.  I’m okay.  I’m okay.”  He sounded as if he were still trying to convince himself.  

The doors finally slid open to disgorge another tour group.  Gary was practically dancing with impatience by that time, rubbing his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans as he waited for the last rider to disembark.  He grabbed the door as it started to close, flinging himself inside and punching the button for the ground floor before the Cains were all the way in.

“Talk to us, Gary,” Kwai Chang said.  “We can do nothing to help, if you do not let us.”

“Not here,” Gary murmured, his voice still tight, strained.  “I have to get out of here.”

It wasn’t until they were seated at a coffee shop, across the street from the museum, that Gary was able to talk.  He sat with his back to the window, unable to even look at the building that housed the grim exhibit.  Both hands were wrapped around a Styrofoam cup that he had yet to take a sip from.  He was turning the cup back and forth, trying to still the trembling in his hands.  Even though he was facing away from the Book Depository, he could still feel it, looming menacingly behind him.  

“I never . . . never told you about . . . about last year,” he murmured, his voice still dry and husky.  “There w-was this . . . this accident.  I, um, I f-fell down the stairs a-at my loft.”  He haltingly related the events that led up to his being confined to a wheelchair for the better part of a year.  And the ‘dream’ where he was sent back in time . . . in stages . . . to rescue the man who would have to rescue him more than twelve years later.

“It was so real,” he rasped.  “So real.  Later, when Mom found that letter I wrote . . . the one I wrote i-in the . . . that dream . . . I don’t know what’s real anymore!  I guess I put it out of my mind because i-it scared me so bad.  Just now . . . just now it all came back.  All of it.  Everything I thought, or felt, or even thought I felt.”  Head bowed, he clasped both hands to the back of his neck.  “Oh, God!” he moaned.  “How do I explain this to the others?  They already think I’m a basket case.  They’ll be looking up ‘Rubber Rooms’ in the Yellow Pages after this.”

“Leave that to me,” Peter told him.  “Right now, we need to figure out something to get your mind off of this.  How does the zoo grab you?”

When they rejoined the others at the van, Peter told them that Gary had become overly ‘sensitive’ to psychic impressions left in the building.  That he had ‘tuned in’ on the strong emotional imprint left behind by all the people who had witnessed, or been involved in the actual event.  

“That’s been known to happen to people who’ve had Near Death Experiences,” he told them.  “Their minds become more receptive to the ‘residual energy’ left behind by traumatic events.  From what he’s told us, Gary went through a number of NDEs last year.  After that many, he’s probably super sensitive.  It’s kinda freaked him out a little because he wasn’t expecting it.  It’s also a pretty good bet that this is why all these . . . ‘others’ keep hitching a ride in his psyche.”

“Gary needs something . . . relaxing,” Kwai Chang told them.  “A distraction.  Peter tells me that there is a wonderful zoo nearby.  Perhaps he will find it more soothing to embrace the natural, rather than the supernatural.”

The others quickly agreed, apologizing to Gary about overriding his objections to the tour.  He, in turn, asked their forgiveness for ruining their outing.  Polly, ever the pragmatist, suggested they have a hot meal before doing anything else, having noted that Gary was still shivering.  

After a while, as they strolled slowly through the enclosures, Gary could finally feel the tension start to ease. As he watched the antics of the Tamarind monkeys, he even managed to forget about the Paper, the cat, and the fact that two myopic thugs had twice tried to kill him.  By mistake.  It still worried him that they might catch one of the others alone, as they had him.  True, with his wrists already injured as they had been, as they still were, he had been unable to strike back effectively, even if the opportunity had arisen.  Would one of the others have been able to defend themselves more effectively, he wondered?

At one point, Gary asked Peter if their was anything that he could have done to defend himself, given the circumstances.

“Not without training,” Peter told him truthfully.  “You were already weakened from previous injuries, then mentally traumatized by that near miss with the bull.  You were so off balance, the only things you had going for you were endurance and stubbornness.  That and pure luck.  If Polly and Jake hadn’t come along when they did . . .”

“That wasn’t by chance,” Gary told him.  He repeated what Polly had told him about the dream she’d had the night before he was attacked.  The one that had driven her to hop the first airliner headed for the gambling Mecca.  Jake’s presence, apparently, was the only coincidence.

“Weirder and weirder,” Peter murmured.  “Sounds like you two are linked somehow.  Have there been any other incidents like that?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Gary shrugged.  They were trailing a couple of yards behind the others as they toured the Gardens.  “She did show up in the nick of time once before, right after the . . . that concert,” he stammered.  “I’d still like to know where she got that . . . What’s so funny?”

“I’d ‘ve paid double to see that concert,” Peter chuckled.  “Did you really get up in front of all those people and sing?”

“Yeah,” Gary grumbled.  “Everyone keeps making jokes about record deals, and telling me what a ‘wonderful voice’ I have.  I-I wish they’d let it drop.  They even got Dusty Wyatt to go along with it.  He came by the hospital the next day with some guy claiming he worked for a record label.”

Buddy had chosen that moment to stop and see what was holding them up.  He grinned when he overheard his cousin’s complaint.

“That was no put on, cuz,” he told them.  “I’ve got my agent workin’ on the best deal, right now.  By the time we get back, you could have a whole new career choice open to ya.”

“You see what I mean?” Gary sighed.  “It never ends.  It’s one big joke to . . .”  Buddy and Clay both were looking at him, both wearing sympathetic smiles.  “You’re not joking?  They really want me to . . .?  Please tell me you’re joking!”  

“You want Jake to be your manager?” Clay grinned.

Gary buried his face in his hands.  “I wanna go home,” he whimpered.

**********

Clay and Buddy were still busy comparing notes as they walked back to the van later.  While they had been waiting for Gary to recover from his latest setback, Treyton had revealed that his family had lived on the outskirts of Houston before moving to Uvalde.  Buddy had been stunned, at first, then excited as he recalled a number of times when he must have been mistaken for his twin.

“You got me in a lot of trouble,” he complained good-naturedly.  “For the life of me, I couldn’t figure why they were so sure I broke that store window.”

“Now ya know,” Clay chuckled.  “Just think of the stuff we coulda gotten away with if we’d known.”  His eyes widened as he recalled an incident that had puzzled him for years.  “Is Buddy your Christian name or a nickname?”

“Nickname,” Buddy answered.  “Why?”  His smile faded, to be replaced by a look of dawning horror, as he realized what his brother was grinning about.  “No.  Please don’t.  Tell me you don’t know my real name.”  When Clay just grinned and nodded, Buddy covered his face with both hands to hide his embarrassment.  “Don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded earnestly.  “You never heard that name!  Even my parents aren’t allowed to call me . . .”

“What’s the holdup, Beauregard?” Peter asked as the rest of the party caught up with them.

Buddy turned a peculiar shade of green as the others stopped in their tracks to stare at the young songwriter.

“Beauregard?” they chorused.

“You told ‘em,” Buddy groaned, his face twisted in dismay.  “Man!  I can’t believe you’d do that to your own twin!”

“Not me!” Clay chuckled, raising both hands in protest.  “I just now recollected bein’ called that a time or two.  I just thought those people ‘d lost their minds.  It never occurred to me that someone would actually do somethin’ like that to their own son!”

“Beauregard?” Polly snickered.  “You poor baby!”

Gary rubbed one hand over his mouth as he fought not to laugh out loud.  “B-Beauregard, huh?” he finally managed with an almost-straight face.  He bit his lip and looked away, unable to meet his cousin’s pained look.  Suddenly, his own problems seemed minor, by comparison.  “Beauregard.  I-I thought you said they loved you,” he commented in a tightly controlled voice.  

“They do!” Buddy grumbled indignantly.  “My adoptive parents are from a very old, southern family.  I was named after a paternal ancestor who fought in the civil war.  No relation to ol’ Stonewall, so far as I know.  Anyway, they didn’t want people callin’ me ‘Beau’ an’ comparin’ me with that football player, so they started callin’ me ‘Buddy’ by the time I was six.  It stuck, thank you, God!”

“Sounds like the best thing that ever happened to you,” Jake chuckled.  “I’ll bet you caught hell in school.”

“You have no idea,” Buddy sighed.  “By the time I got to high school, I was scheming ways to get out on my own and away from that God-awful name!”  He gave Peter a baleful look.  “Where’d you hear it?”

“From the guy we’re gonna meet in a few hours,” the young Shaolin replied, still grinning.  “When we came through town on our way to . . . our recent . . . diversion, I ran into him and we got to catching up on latest happenings.  Anyway, I showed him that article with your picture in it, Gary.  The one where you saved little Teresa Han.  One thing led to another, and he mentioned how much you looked like a young man he used to know.  Seems this kid was one of his ‘projects‘ when he lived in Houston for a while.  But, my friend’s fiancée only knew this kid by his given name.  The rest . . .”  He held both hands up in an apologetic gesture.  “It’s been running through my mind ever since I saw the four of you together.  Sorry it slipped out.”

“Not half as sorry as I am,” Buddy grumbled as he climbed into the van.  “I think I know who yer friend is.  And his fiancée.  I also think it’s time to have my name legally changed.”

**********

It was a little after four when Peter guided the van up to a two-story ranch house beyond the outskirts of the city.  The roof of a barn could be seen through a screening of trees. As the van pulled past the front walk, they caught sight of a corral adjoining the stables.  A petit, slender woman with short blonde hair was seated on the top rail of the corral.  She turned at the sound of their tires crunching on the gravel drive, tossing them a cheerful wave as she spied them.  The jeans-clad figure said something they couldn’t hear to the bearded man leading a tan and white ‘painted’ horse around the enclosure.  When he spied his visitors, he nodded before taking the horse back into the stables, closely followed by the woman.  A few minutes later, the couple emerged from the front of the building.

“Good to see you again, Peter,” the woman said, giving him a quick hug.  She looked over his shoulder as the others disembarked from the van.  “Oh my,” she murmured.  “Is this what you meant by a little problem?”

“Not exactly,” the younger Shaolin chuckled.  “Alex Cahill, Assistant DA, and Cordell Walker of the Texas Rangers, allow me to introduce my traveling companions.  You know my dad, of course.”

Kwai Chang took Alex’s hand and gave her a courtly bow.  “It has been much too long,” he told her.

“Likewise,” she replied, favoring him with an impish smile.  “How did your, what did you call it, a ‘Dragon’s Wing?’  How did that go?  Did you . . . accomplish whatever you . . .?”

“It was a ‘smashing’ success,” Peter assured her quickly.  “Next we have the self-appointed den mother of this group, Pauline Gannon.”

“Look’s like you have your hands full,” Walker commented, taking her hand in a firm grip.  Polly did not strike him as the ‘touchy-feely’ type.  He was right.

“These boys have been perfect gentlemen,” she assured him.  “To tell you the truth, I’ve been more of a nurse than anything,” she added with a pointed look at Gary.  “And I answer to Polly.”

“Now, this next part is a little tricky,” Peter remarked dryly.  “You guys will just have to step up as I say your name, okay?  You may recall this first one.  Mr. Jackson?”

As Buddy stepped forward, Alex’s smile brightened.  “Beauregard?” she cried.  “Oh my God, it is you!  I haven’t seen you since . . . since you went on the road with Wyatt Chandler.  How have you been?”

“I’d be a lot better,” he murmured with a pained look, “if you’d forget you ever heard that name.  It’s Buddy.”

“Oh, dear,” the future Mrs. Walker giggled.  “I’d forgotten how much you hated that name.  I’m so sorry . . . Buddy.”  She looked behind him at the others.  “You did it.  You found your family.  Oh, I’m so happy for you!  I always hoped you would.  But this must have been such a shock!  Imagine finding out that you’re a quadruplet!”

“Actually,” Buddy grinned, “I’m a twin.  The other two are cousins.  You may ‘ve heard of Clay Treyton.”

“All Around Cowboy,” Walker smiled, taking the younger man’s hand.  “Three years in a row, wasn’t it?”

“Yessir,” Clay grinned, as he shook the Ranger’s hand.  “This isn’t the first time we’ve met, though.  You might recall chasing after a kid down an alley on the north side of Houston about twenty-two years ago.  You, um, you shouted out a name,” he added, glancing sideways at Buddy.  “I thought you were really mad at me!”

The Ranger looked from one to the other as he tried to recall the incident.  “Both of you lived in Houston?” he murmured in amazement.  “And you never knew?”

Both men just smiled and shook their heads, then stepped aside as Peter introduced Jake.  Finally, he turned to Gary.

“And this is the fella I told you about the last time I was here,” he said.  “Gary Hobson.  He and Clay are the ones with the big problem.”  He quickly explained about the two attempts on Gary’s life, as well as the fact that the two thugs were actually after Clay.

Cordell Walker looked Gary up and down appraisingly.  Although his resemblance was just as uncanny as the other three, there were now unmistakable differences.  Gary had a more drawn, almost haggard look.  He was also thinner and paler than the other three, and he still favored his right leg a little.  There was also just the faintest trace of a scar on his left cheek.  While the others had ready smiles and wisecracks, Gary was more cautious.  As if he were uncertain exactly where he stood.  If even half of what Peter had told the Ranger was true, it was no wonder.  He took the younger man by the elbow and started leading him toward the house.

“Why don’t we all sit down and hash this out over supper,” he said.  “We have a mutual friend whipping up a Chinese dinner for us.  Hope you like it hot.”

“W-within reason,” Gary replied hesitantly.  “But I’m on a bland diet for a while,” he hastened to add at a sharp look from Polly.  “M-maybe some noodles?”

“Fried rice should be okay,” Polly relented.  “I’ll see if we can’t fix you up somethin’ special.”

Alex plied the twins with questions about their families, asking if Buddy had gone back to Houston to see his parents since finding his brother.

“Not yet,” he told her.  “We wanna get this mess cleared up, first.  There’s no tellin’ what those two mighta done to Ellie if Gary hadn’t drawn ‘em off.  I don’t want to put my folks in that kinda danger.  There’ll be plenty o’ time to see ‘em later, when it’s safe.”

“Sound thinking,” Walker nodded.  “Gary, I’ve heard good things about you.  My friend tells me you have an unusual gift.”

Startled, Gary shot Peter a look that bordered on panic.  Puzzled, the young Shaolin just shrugged and shook his head.  He hadn’t mentioned anything about the Paper, or any ‘gift.’  So, what had the lawman meant?

“I-I’m not . . . not sure what you mean,” Gary stammered.

At that moment, a short, stocky oriental man with dark ‘salt and pepper’ gray hair stuck his head out the front door.  “You are here,” he said.  “Good.  We can eat now, talk later.”  He started to duck back inside, then shot the four look-alikes a startled look.  “Gary Hobson?”

“S-Sammo?”  Walker’s cryptic statement suddenly made sense.  Sammo Law had been in Chicago on the trail of antique smugglers a couple of years before.  The stocky Chinese had saved Gary on two occasions when he had crossed paths with those same criminals.  He had, at first, thought Gary was involved with the smugglers.  Later, he had decided that Gary was just clairvoyant.  “Wh-what’re you doing in Dallas?”

“I am on vacation,” Sammo shrugged.  He peered closely at the four younger men.  “You have found new ways to confuse me.”

“N-not intentionally,” Gary stammered.  As they entered the house, he quickly made introductions, promising details for later.  “I-it’s a little complicated,” he murmured as they were led onto a lighted patio.  “A-are you still with the LAPD?  I-I haven’t heard anything from Steve Sloan and his dad in a while.  How’re they doing?”

“They are well,” the stocky detective assured him.  “He told me of your difficulties last May.  Are you fully recovered from your wounds?” he asked, noting how stiffly the younger man was moving.

“Those, yeah,” Gary murmured, ducking his head to escape the older man’s searching gaze.  “These are more . . . recent.”

Watching him try to steer the conversation away from himself, Alex felt her heart go out to this reticent young man.  Where the others seemed outgoing, even exuberant at having found each other, Gary Hobson appeared . . .wary.  As if constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop.  As they all took their seats around the table she could see the others casting him the occasional watchful look.  Their concern for him was strongly evident, and touching.

Polly checked over the selection of dishes Sammo had prepared, and quickly helped Gary load his plate.  During the meal, she and the others carefully steered the conversation away from touchy subjects, trying to keep the atmosphere relaxed and open.  Even Peter, who was usually itching to get down to business, managed to restrained himself.  After awhile, the tension lines around Gary’s eyes and mouth began to ease, and he was able to join in with some confidence, even so far as to laughing at some of Clay’s off color jokes.

Glancing over at her fiancé and his friend, Alex could tell that they had noticed it, too.  There had to be a lot more going on than just a pair of escaped convicts on a ‘head hunt.’  The others were much too protective of a certain barkeep.  It wasn’t until they had moved their conversation into the den, however, that they were able to get to the reason for this visit.

Clay quickly told of how he had first encountered Jaggs, and the trouble that had led to his being placed on Death Row.  It then fell to Gary to tell of the beating that had landed him in a Las Vegas hospital, and the wild chase on the Treyton ranch in Uvalde.  He spoke in low, subdued tones, downplaying his own role in leading the chase away from the innocent witness.  A glance at Clay and Buddy’s guarded expressions made Alex pretty sure there was more to the story.  She decided that she would have to work on them later, in private.

“Tell him the rest,” Peter quietly urged the younger man.  “About the dream.  His great grandfather was in the posse, too.”

“What posse?” Walker asked.  “He was a Ranger.  Great granddad was in a lot of posses.”

“This one left some unfinished business,” Peter told him solemnly.  “A dying man’s last request.  Tell him, Gary.  It‘s your story more than anyone else’s.”

Hesitantly, feeling oddly . . . exposed, Gary related the dream and what they had subsequently learned from Taggart, grandson of the last surviving member of the posse.  He then showed them the picture he still carried in his jacket.  Gary had been reluctant to part with it for some reason.  It was as if some part of Chandler still lingered within him, longing for what he had lost.

“I-I kinda thought that . . . that I should make copies,” he stammered.  “Give ‘em out at the family reunion this coming May.”  He looked at his cousins before continuing.  “If no one minds, I’d like to have the original framed and hang it in the bar.  M-maybe put it out on the internet to see if anyone else . . . any other ‘lost’ Chandlers are out there.  I-I think, maybe, that’s what he wants.  That and to know what really happened to his wife.  H-how she died, why she ran, things like that.”

“You are a man of many facets, Gary,” Sammo murmured.  “And many gifts.  Perhaps you should try to get in touch with the spirit that may still dwell within you.”

A look of alarm crossed Gary’s pale features as he turned to the two Shaolin.  “Y-you said he was gone!” he said, his tone almost accusing.  “That . . . that his ‘chi,’ or whatever, h-had left!”

“I said only that it appeared so,”  Kwai Chang gently reminded him.  “Things that you have said and done since then have made me question this.  At the very least, some part of him still seeks answers to the questions you, yourself have posed.”

This was not what Gary had wanted to hear.  He pushed himself to his feet with obvious effort and began pacing anxiously in front on the fireplace.  One hand at his waist, while the other rubbed the back of his neck, he tried to make sense of his predicament.

“I don’t need this,” he sighed.  “I really don’t need this.”  Gary looked over at Polly.  “I don’t know if I can go through that again.  I almost died last time.”

“Last time?” Walker asked, frowning in puzzlement.  “What happened last time?”

“That was different,” Polly tried to reason with her friend, ignoring the Ranger for the moment.  “Tony was still alive.  This guy has been gone a hundred and thirty years.  He’s just . . .just looking for answers”

“Then why can’t he look somewhere else?” Gary demanded.  “Why do these . . . these ‘restless spirits’ keep picking on me?  Like my life isn’t complicated enough.  I wasn’t just having to deal w-with hitmen, and those NSA guys, a collapsed lung, and a broken arm!  I had to have some guy crawlin’ around in my head who was in love with the woman trying to kill me!  He didn’t wanna die, so he almost takes me with him!  Now . . . now I’ve got s-some ancestor who wants me to find out what happened to his missing wife!  Where does it end?  Wh-where do I even begin to look?”  

This last was said in such a despairing tone, Alex feared that he was on the edge of a complete breakdown.  She glanced over at Cordell to see the same worries reflected in his eyes.

Gary stopped his frenetic pacing, leaning both hands on the mantel.  With a weary sigh, he shook his head and stepped away from the fireplace.  “I need some air,” he murmured.  “Excuse me.”  

Polly moved to block his way as he turned to go back out to the patio.  “You don’t need to be goin’ anywhere alone,” she told him.  “It’s not safe.”

“Safe?” he repeated with an incredulous chuckle.  “Polly, I’m not even safe inside my own head!  How can I be safe anywhere else?  Now, please?  I-I need to be alone . . . to think.”

Polly held his troubled gaze a moment longer, then, reluctantly, she stepped aside to let him pass.  When Clay made as if to follow him, she shook her head.

“Let him be,” she told him.  “All this has been worse on Gary than any of ya’ll.”

“Ya think?” Jake snorted.  “I can’t even imagine what he’s going through, right now.  Th-this is totally outside my experience!  I mean, I’ve studied law, and business.  I know you have to get inside the heads of the . . . the opposition.  How do you deal with an opposition that is literally inside yours?  He has to be scared to death that he’s losing his mind!  Especially after what happened today.  He’s got a ton of questions and nowhere to turn for answers.  As he said: Where do you begin?”

“By looking within,” Kwai Chang shrugged.  “We must speak with the soul of his . . . your ancestor.  Learn exactly what he needs.  He may be able to guide us to the answers he seeks.”

“That’ll mean putting him under again,” Buddy sighed.  “He wasn’t real crazy about that the last time.”

“I’m . . . I’m feeling a little lost,” Walker commented.  “Would anyone like to step in here and fill us in?  Please?”

*********

Later, after she figured that Gary had been given enough time to settle down, Polly went looking for her young friend.  She found him sitting in the shadows, his back against a retaining wall.  He had his legs drawn up, his chin resting on his knees.  

“Ready for company?” she asked him.  

“I guess so,” he murmured.  He was staring at the moonlight reflected on the water in the pool.  All he could see was blurred patterns of light and darkness.  “What do I do, Polly?  How do I deal with something I can’t even touch or see?  I mean . . . I’m already up to my eyebrows in weirdness.  Have been for a long time, now.  This . . . this is beyond weird.  It’s insanity.”

Polly settled down within arm’s reach of him with a muffled grunt.  “It’s not that much weirder than knowing where to find trouble before it happens,” she shrugged.  “Kwai Chang thinks we need to put you under again.  Try to talk with this Chandler fella.  He . . . he also think it needs to be done at the grave of Amanda Chandler.”

That got his attention.  Gary looked at her like she was the one in need of help.  “That’s all the way back in Lubbock,” he said.  “Over three hundred miles west of here!  Do we even know where she was buried?”

“Not yet,” Polly replied honestly.  “We’re hoping Mr. Taggart can help us there.  We have to go back to San Antonio and look him up.  Peter wants us to go through all his notes, see if we can narrow the search area a little.”

“That’s an awful lot of driving.  Wh-what about . . .you know . . . the not-so-dynamic duo?” he asked hesitantly.  “They’ll be after us all the way.”

“I know,” the tech sighed.  “Walker and Cahill think they might be able to help us, there.  It’ll be a running battle, more or less.  They’re in there brainstorming, now.  Ideas are bouncin’ around like ping pong balls.  Sooner or later, someone will get hit with a good one.”

Leaning his forehead against his knees, Gary couldn’t suppress a choked laugh at her picturesque analogy.  A moment later, he leaned back against the wall, wiping unseen tears from his cheeks.  “You, um, you sure have a way with words,” he remarked with a muffled sniff.  “Tell me what you think, Polly.  What should I do?”

“You do what anyone else would do in your shoes, sweetie,” she told him.  “The best you can.”

************

When Gary finally felt ready, they went back inside to find things pretty much as they’d left them.  The twins and Jake were huddled in one half of the room, while the Cains, Sammo, and Walker were pouring over a road atlas spread open on the coffee table.  Alex Cahill was conspicuous by her absence.  

“Did we drive her out?” Polly asked.  

“She had to make a few phone calls,” Walker told her.  “We need to get a little more on these two, figure out what they’re likely to do next.”

“We already know what they want,” Gary murmured.  “Clay’s head.  Or mine.  I don’t think they care which, at this point.”

“They’re probably following the Winnebago,” Clay spoke up.  He and the others broke up their huddle at the sound of Gary’s voice.  “How ya feelin’, Gary?”

“I-I’m okay, now,” he assured them.  His face had taken on a reddish hue, and he was having trouble meeting their eyes..  “Sorry about . . . you know.”

“S’okay, cuz,” Buddy told him.  Carefully putting his arm around Gary’s shoulders, he guided his cousin to a seat.  “As Peter said, this hasn’t exactly been the vacation we had in mind for you.  Our only concern, right now, is to get you and Clay out o’ this mess.”  Looking at the other two, he added, “Hell, we’re all in this boat, together.  It was all fun and games, at first, us lookin’ so much alike.  We even managed to put it to some use, to catch that hit squad.  Now, it’s sorta turned sour on us.  The same thing that saved your butt in Chicago, is likely to get one of us killed here.”

“I know,” Gary sighed.  “I just can’t help but feel it’s my fault.  You guys would still be back in Chicago if you hadn’t . . .”

“That’s not true, Gary,” Clay told him.  “I was supposed to be in the National Finals, remember?  And that benefit rodeo before that.  I woulda been the one lyin’ on the floor of that stable, not you.  Only I wouldn’t ‘ve had anyone there who cared enough to come lookin’ for me when I turned up missin’.  That beatin’ you took, and that bullet, they were meant for me.  And those buzzards won’t stop until someone is dead.”

“As for this other thing,” Jake spoke up, “I’m still a little . . . I mean, I wasn’t part of this group when . . . were you really possessed?”

“The way Mr. Cain explains it,” Gary murmured, “it’s more like what they call ‘channeling.’  The chi, spirit, whatever of another man who . . . he was Italian!  I don’t see how he could be related to us, at all.  A-anyway, he was dying and he, um, he had some . . . unfinished business.  The problem was, he didn’t want to . . . to let go.  In the end, he almost waited too long.  By the time we’d . . . I didn’t have any strength left to fight him.  They’d put me under once to find out what was going on.  Why all my tests kept coming back so screwy.  Why I kept having these dreams about the people who were . . . were trying to kill me.  The next time, it was to get him to . . . to pass on.  The hold he had on me was so . . . strong!  H-he was dying, and he was taking me with him.”

“So, how did you get him to let go?” Jake asked.  Buddy and Clay were listening intently.  They had also been curious about that, but had never found the right time to ask.

“I don’t really know,” Gary admitted.  He was seated on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers intertwined.  “They put us in the same room,” he murmured, “and I-I sorta  remember someone, Claire, I think it was, talking to me.  ‘Guiding me under,’ might be the proper term.  I was barely conscious, anyway, so it didn’t take much.  Then, I was in this . . . other room, and we were talking.  T-Tony Greco and me.  I don’t re-remember what we said, o-or if we did anything.  I-it seems like there was someone else there, but I can’t quite . . . I-it’s fuzzy.  When I came out of it, I was told that Greco had come out of his coma.  He, um, he said a few things to his mom . . . then he was . . . gone.”

This was the most he had spoken of the incident since leaving the hospital.  It still haunted him, to some extent.  He would occasionally walk down a street he had never been down before, finding things that seemed familiar.  Stood in front of a door, knowing exactly what he would find inside if he ever had the courage to step through it.  It frightened him to think that some part of the young ‘soldier’ lingered within him.  Would the same prove true of Captain Chandler?  Would Gary find himself driving down some back road and seeing things as they had looked almost a century and a half ago?  Would a picture in a museum trigger some long forgotten memory?  A memory of something that had had happened to a man long dead?

Alex Cahill came back into the den as he was finishing his narrative, her face grim.

“We have more problems,” she told them.  “Jaggs was smuggled out of prison sometime today.”

Clay jumped up with a choked, angry cry.  “H-how could that happen?” he sputtered.  “The man was on Death Row!”

“He still has contacts on the outside,” Alex explained.  “You remember how easy it was for him to keep in touch with his suppliers?  Well, one of his guards was found dead . . . two miles from the prison.  When they went to break the news to his wife, they found that his home had been broken into and . . . I don’t think you want to know the details.  We believe that Jaggs put out the order to use the woman and their child to force the guard to smuggle Jaggs out of Death Row and out of the compound.  He couldn’t have done it alone.  Not with all the security measures they have.  They have their eye on a likely suspect, but the damage is done.  Jaggs Neff is loose.”

“Oh man!” Clay murmured as he paced nervously before the fireplace.  “Oh sh--!  Sorry, ma’am.  That . . . I’m sorry.  It’s just . . . no one is safe with that animal on the prowl.  When it comes to killin’, he don’t need a reason.  He killed my friend, Littrel, because I crossed him!  All Littrel did was introduce us, and he was forced to do that.  He did it himself, just to show that he could.  He likes to kill!  The uglier he can make someone die, the better he likes it.”

Walker stepped in front of the frantically pacing man, taking him by the arm.  “Okay!  We get the message,” he said evenly.  “He’s dangerous.  We also know he’s not playing with a full deck.  So let’s sit down and figure out some way to stop him.”  He gently, but firmly led Clay back to the sofa, sitting him down beside Gary.  “So far, the only real advantage we have, is that he wants your head on a plate,” he told Clay.  “Trouble is, his goons keep going after Hobson, here.  What if he makes the same mistake again?”

“Now there’s a cheery thought,” Gary mumbled.  “Thank you so much for reminding me.”

“Sorry,” the Ranger chuckled softly.  “I only meant that, so long as we keep all four of you under close watch, he has to come to us.  And so do the others.  It also means you’re gonna have more company on this little ‘hayride’ of yours.”

***********

It was quickly decided that everyone would stay at Walker’s place that night and they would start their preparations early the next morning.  As soon as the sleeping arrangements were made, Polly broke out one of the clean dressings provided by the hospital and took Gary into one of the spare rooms to redress his wound.

“Lookin’ good,” she told him as she swabbed it with antiseptic.  “No busted stitches, or signs of infection.  Your bruises are clearing’ up nicely, too.  How do those ribs feel?”

“Touchy,” he grudgingly admitted.  “My health insurance premiums are gonna shoot through the roof.”  He sat as still as he could while she taped the new dressing in place.  “This is crazy, you know that?  Going all the way back to San Antonio, then up to Lubbock, to try to find the grave of this poor woman who died over a hundred and thirty years ago.  Just so her equally dead husband, can know what happened to her.  I-I know they‘re my great-great-grandparents, and I should . . . should feel . . . something.  All I feel is . . . numb.  Tired.  I-it‘s just so . . . weird!”

“And this differs from your routine . . . how?” Polly teased as she smoothed down the last piece of tape.  “Seriously, Gary, I’m not sure how much of this I really believe in.  Or how much the others believe.  I do know that there are forces out there that I can’t explain, and they all seem to be focused on you, right now.”

“Lucky me,” Gary snorted, carefully slipping his t-shirt back on. “I wouldn’t mind if these ‘forces’ looked somewhere else for a while.  All I wanted was a little time off.  I mean, the last year or so has been . . . rough.  I’m tired, Polly.  Really, really tired.  I need to get a little balance back in my life.  Just a little.  Is that so much to ask?”

Polly shook her head sadly as she packed away her supplies.  “If it were mine to give, hon,” she sighed, “you’d have a month doin’ nothing but basking in warm sunlight on a sandy beach.  Or hiking in the mountains, fishing, skiing . . . whatever does the trick for you.  But it’s not.  And it kills me that I don’t know how to fix this.  All I can do is help you with the problem at hand.  Right now, that means getting you to take these pain meds so you can sleep.  Tomorrow we go pick up the RV and hit the road.  Again.  Who’s idea was it to drive all over the country, anyway?”

“A mutual decision by the others,” Gary chuckled.  “They wanted to give the bruises time to fade before we went home.  I think they’re afraid of Mom.”

“Well,” the tech grumbled, “they better hope nothin’ else happens, or they’re gonna have to start bein’ afraid of me.  I’m like you.  Enough of this crap.  Let’s get off this merry-go-round and go home.”

Gary shook his head with a rueful smile.  “First we have to get those killers back where they belong,” he told her.  “While we’re at it, we need to lay a few ghosts to rest.  Who knows?  We might even clear up the mystery of Amanda Beaumont Chandler.”

***********

Early the next morning, Cordell and Sammo retrieved the RV while the others took the opportunity for a real shower.  Although Gary still had to settle for a tub bath, and having Jake wash his back.  Later, after Polly had once again checked his sutures, Gary joined the others at the breakfast table as they were deciding how to divide the passenger load between the two vehicles.  It was soon decided that the original party and Kwai Chang Cain should remain with the RV, to avoid suspicion.  Peter, Cordell, and Sammo would be about a mile or so behind them in Walker‘s truck.  

Alex would remain in Ft. Worth to help keep things coordinated.  They tried to persuade Polly to remain behind, also, for her own safety.  They quickly gave it up as a lost cause after she told them exactly what they could do with that idea.  As her ‘suggestion’ sounded physically impossible, not to mention extremely painful, they decided not to press the issue.

“Maybe we should stay behind and turn her loose on Jaggs,” Cordell commented with a shiver.  “Give her the right tool, and I think she could take him.”

“Her favorite is a large pipe wrench,” Buddy told them.  “Usually wrapped in a towel to ‘minimize fatalities,’ I think she said.  And, did you notice?  She didn‘t even raise her voice.”

By the time they had set up a radio in the RV, and tracking devices on each of the four ‘doubles,’ it was too late to start the first leg of their journey.  Once again, they found themselves imposing on Walker’s hospitality.  As before, Gary opted for the sofa in the den, while Polly stretched out on a cot in the same room.  The others were divvied up between the Ranger’s three guestrooms and the sleeper in the living room.  At one point, Cordell commented that he hadn’t slept with so many under the same roof since the academy.

As they sat together, waiting for night to fall, Clay dug a large cardboard box out of the back of the van.  One by one, he laid out his mother’s journals.  Many of the covers were faded or water stained, the pages yellowed and frayed with age.  Some were much newer.  They covered the life of Virginia Metcalf Treyton from the age of fifteen, when she had first met the man who would become their father, to the time of her death at age fifty.

“She named me Clayton Henry,” Clay said, opening one of the books and handing it to Buddy.  “She had an uncle named Henry, and a crush on the fella who played the Lone Ranger,” he added with a wistful grin.  “You were supposed to be Jeffrey Steven.  After her dad and granddad.  Momma . . . she, um, she never really gave up hope of findin’ you, y’ know.  I think it made her a-a little . . . crazy, the not knowin’, for sure, if you were alive or . . . It scared her that someone might do the same thing, take another one of her babies.  She wouldn’t let them keep the others in the nursery.  Wouldn’t let ‘em out of her sight ‘til they were safely home.  She lived the rest of her life in hope, and fear.”

Buddy looked at the stack of thin, faded journals, his expressive face showing mixed emotions.  He stroked the pages of the one he held, as if he could feel her touch through the patina left by the years.  

“Jeffery Steven,” Buddy murmured thoughtfully.  “Why ‘re you showin’ these to me now?” he asked in hushed tones.  “Why not earlier?  H-how long ‘ve you had ‘em with you?”

“Just picked ‘em up from the storage locker yesterday,” Clay replied with a shrug.  “Right before we went to that museum. where Gary had that . . . attack, or whatever.  I almost forgot about ‘em.  I thought we could have ‘em copied.  I’d keep half the originals, you’d keep the other half.  We’d each have copies of the ones the other has.  Don’t ask me to repeat that, ‘cause I barely got it straight this time.  That way, we’d both have a full set.  As for why now,” he added in a more somber tone, “I don’t know how this business is gonna end up.  I felt you had a right to get to know her.  Your real momma.  Not the one that raised you, but the one that gave birth to you and grieved over your loss as if the heart had been cut outta her.”

Buddy didn’t say anything more, at first, as he leafed through the book.  “God,” he finally murmured.  “She was just a baby, herself, when she had us!  Barely a week past sixteen.  Y-you mind if I read a few of these tonight?” he asked.  “Just the first couple or so.”

“Read all you want, brother,” Clay told him.  “When you’re ready, we can talk over anything you like.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Buddy murmured as he turned to the first page.  “Don’t plan on gettin’ much sleep tonight.”

***************


Continue to Installment 6

Email the author: Polgana54@cs.com
 
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