Jason filled his lungs with the warm, albeit fresh, air. After riding with a handful of cowpunchers behind a herd of cattle, he was mighty thankful for a lungful of clear air. He threw a backward glance over his shoulder at the pack mule and, seeing all was well, returned his gaze to the upcoming town.

Dry Gulch. He grunted and ran his arm across his face. Ready, or not, here I come.

In minutes, Jason was riding into Dry Gulch, its squat buildings lining the roads on every side. Scruffy men walked to and from the saloon, stumbling haphazardly across the road to the brothel. Not a decent, respectable lady could be seen, only those sporting painted faces and revealing dresses.

With every plod of Raven's hooves, a dark thought from the past threatened to lodge itself into Jason's mind. He straightened his back in the saddle, sitting tall. "Not today, Satan," he mumbled under his breath. "Or ever again."

"Howdy, stranger," the grey-haired man greeted from the porch of the sheriff's office. A silver star glimmered on his shirt as he rocked in an old rocking chair. "Welcome to Dry Gulch. I'm Sheriff Reeves."

Jason dismounted with a smile and a dip of his hat. "Thank you, sir. I'm Jason Archer."

"Jason Archer!" Reeves echoed, standing straight up from his seat. "It can't be you! The last time I saw you, you were in that jail cell for the night for. . .what was it?"

"Fightin' in the saloon," Jason answered as Reeves shook his hand. "But I've mended my ways."

Sheriff Reeves boasted a smile from ear to ear. "I can see that! I'm proud of you, young man. Have ya started a family of your own yet?"

"No, sir," Jason grinned. "But I have the most beautiful girl in all of Texas, and we're gettin' hitched the moment I get home."

"Well, son, I wish you the best. And please, call me Jack." He clamped his hand on Jason's shoulder. "What brings you here?"

"I got an urgent telegram from my uncle askin' me to come here, but I have somethin' to report and I hope you'll be able to help."

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it and listened to Jason relate the happenings of Abilene.

"And now our sheriff is one of those crooks from the Crooked M. They call him Rawhide," Jason finished up with a scowl.

Jack shook his head, a steely sharpness edging his leathery features. "That's downright terrible, Jason, and I'm gonna do somethin' to fix it. And to think Thomas's younger brother lives here. Thank the Good Lord he doesn't act like his older brother."

"Thank you. I sincerely appreciate it." Jason shifted, looking to the familiar bars of the empty jail cell standing tall and solid in the corner. He brought his mind away from the memory the sturdy bars held and focused on what Jack had just said. Thomas's younger brother lived here, and wasn't the vile man Thomas was. Maybe he'd have a talk with the younger McGuire.

"Nelson, come here!" Jack called, and a man younger than himself arrived from the back door. "Send word to the Pink near Abilene that he needs to head there as soon as possible. He'll have a coded message waitin' there with instructions."

"Yes, sir!" Nelson acknowledged before heading back outside.

Jason couldn't believe his ears. Sheriff Reeves was sending a Pinkerton detective to Abilene. "Thank you so much, Jack. I can't say that enough to express my gratitude."

"Think nothin' of it. It's the least I can do." Jack waved his hand with a smile, shooing away Jason's appreciation like a fly. "Didn't you say you came to see your uncle?"

Jason gave a slight nod. "I did. You may know him, his name's Shane Archer and he has a wife and two kids the best I remember."

The smile on Jack's face fell into a thin, grim line. "I know him. He passed away almost two weeks ago."

Jason's face was a mask of shock and surprise as he stared at the sheriff in disbelief. "You can't be serious! I just got the telegram from him four days ago."

Jack stroked his mustache, his bushy eyebrows coming together like a giant furry caterpillar. "That's strange. Maybe it got delayed, but I doubt it 'cause I haven't heard of any messed up lines."

"What did he die of?" Jason questioned, at a loss of what to do since his uncle was deceased. "And what of his family?"

"He passed away in his sleep while he was sittin' in his chair. The doctor believed it was from natural causes. As for his family. . . ." Jack gave a perplexed shrug. "We have no clue at all. They were gone, and no one had seen them leave."

"What do you mean, gone?" Jason asked. He knew there had to be some explanation for their disappearance. Or at least, he hoped there was.

"I mean no where to be found. Not in their home, not anyplace in town, not in Dry Gulch anywhere."

"Then how did anyone find out Shane was dead?"

Jack gave a sigh and shook his head. "His house was broken into, but the would-be burglar ran out screamin'. We went over to see what the commotion was about. The man who broke in was on the porch and told us that Shane was dead in a chair. Sure enough, that's where we found him."

Jason rubbed his face. He closed his eyes for a moment. "How do you know it wasn't the burglar? He could've done it."

"I don't believe so. Someone witnessed the man breakin' a window, goin' in, then runnin' out a'hollerin'. He didn't have the time, nor the means to kill Shane. Besides, your uncle had been dead for a day or more when we found him."

"That's just. . . unbelievable." Jason blew out a sigh. He picked up his Stetson and ran his fingers through his hair. "Is there any way I can go to Uncle Shane's house to look around? Maybe he left me a note or somethin'."

Jack gave Jason a pat on the back. "By all means. If you want, you can stay the night there. Unless you're leavin'?"

"I ain't gonna leave right now, not after I just spent three days to get here," Jason declared with a shake of his head. "I'll just stay a few days and do some investigatin'."

Jack narrowed his eyes, cocking his head as he looked at Jason. "Son, I won't stop you from searchin' around, just don't do anythin' to break the law. And please, stay safe. I don't wanna have to tell your folks and your lil' lady that you got killed snoopin'."

"I definitely will," Jason shook the sheriff's hand. "You have my word."

***

After wandering around for a while and leaving his mule and supplies at the local stable, Jason found himself standing at the doorway of what used to be the church. Both doors had been knocked out, and the inside was teeming with Mexicans of all sizes and a few scrawny horses. He took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. The overpowering stench of manure, swear, urine, and heaven knows what else filled his nostrils and he covered his nose at the vile odor.

"Smells pretty bad, huh?" A young man who looked no more than sixteen asked, standing beside Jason with a grin.

"You could say that again," Jason agreed as he shook his head with a scowl. "That's enough to knock out a grown man."

"That it is." The tawny-haired boy gave an easy laugh. He extended his hand. "I'm Micah. Don't believe I've seen you around here before."

"I'm Jason Archer, and I just came from Abilene to visit family."

Micah bit his lip, a questioning look playing across his features as he peered at Jason. "You don't happen to be kin to that Shane fellow who died a week or two ago, do you?"

Jason gave a firm nod. "I am. That was my uncle."

"I'm sorry for your loss. It's gotta be tough, but I wouldn't know. I ain't got no family," Micah confessed with a shrug. "Guess nobody wanted me."

The boy's words and the loneliness hidden in his eyes pulled at Jason's heart. He gripped Micah's shoulder. "Everyone is wanted by God."

A grin replaced the slight frown on Micah's face. "You're right. He's been with me every day, and even created a job for me at the Lazy M."

Jason cocked an eyebrow. "Lazy M?"

"Yes, sir. It's a small cattle ranch owned by Mr. Trent McGuire."

"Could you take me there? I would like to talk to Mr. Trent."

Micah rubbed the back of his neck. "I can, but Mr. Trent is away for business and won't be back for a week or more. But you can talk to the foreman."

Jason shook his head. As much as he wanted to have a talk with Trent McGuire, he wasn't gonna wait that long, nor did he want to talk to the foreman. "No, it's okay. I just wanted to meet him is all. Guess I'll be on my way now."

"Mr. Jason?"

Jason turned around to look at the young man. "Just call me Jason, please. Whatcha need?"

Micah kicked at the small mound of dirt by his boots. "Can I come with you?"

"Why, of course you can! As long as you don't mind stayin' in the house of a dead man," Jason joked. His smile instantly straightened when his gaze fell on a rough-looking Mexican inside the church giving him a death glare. He looked away for a few seconds before looking at the Mexican again. This time the man was calmly cleaning an old pistol. Chills ran up and down Jason's spine. He gently pushed Micah in front of himself and urged him to walk faster.

"What's the matter?" Micah asked as he tromped ahead of Jason. His face paled a shade when he turned back to see the look on Jason's face.

Jason gave a slight shake of his head in response. He hopped into the saddle and grabbed Micah's arm and helped him up. He pulled out of the area with a wary glance at the old church.

After retrieving the mule, and asking directions from Micah, Jason slowed Raven to a stop in front of a dusty home. "Are you sure this is the place?"

Micah grinned as he slid off Raven. He took a few steps up to the porch. "I'm sure. You're the one who didn't know how to get here and took the wrong turn."

Jason chuckled as he tied Raven in the shade. He took off the saddle and saddle blanket and hefted them onto the porch. He faced Micah with a smile. "You got me there."

Micah's face blanched as he pointed a shaking finger toward the window. "T-there's someone in the w-window."

Jason spun around so quick as small cloud of dust took to the air. He stared into the grimy window, but saw nothing. He put his fingers to his lips and signalled Micah to stay put before sliding his revolver from it's holster. Being as quiet as possible, he slipped up the small steps to the porch and into the house.

Micah stared at the door with wide eyes. He listened for the slightest noise, knowing full well he had seen a face in the window. And not just a face, but what looked like a hat on the person's head. He shivered despite it being hot and muggy.

A yell split through the partial silence, and Micah flinched. Before he could even think, he flung open the door. Streaking toward the sound of a scuffle, he entered a dark room and saw two forms struggling on the floor. He had no clue as to which was Jason, so he struck out at the nearest one, landing a kick in what he thought was a stomach.

A loud groan escaped from the man Micah kicked, and he realized he'd just kicked the wrong guy. He bent down to see if Jason was alright, the other man shoving past them and making his escape out the back door.

Micah felt of Jason in the dark, and knew he was curled up on the floor. "Jason! Are you okay? I didn't mean to hurt you!"

Jason mumbled incoherently, groaning as he tried to roll onto his back.

"I'll take that as I hurt you pretty bad. Sorry, buddy," Micah said, more to himself than to Jason as he ran to the window and yanked back the curtains. The sudden appearance of light caused him to cover his face, pain searing behind his eyeballs. He bent down beside Jason, squinting at the brightness. "Lord, please help him."

Jason struggled his way to his knees, fighting against the waves of nausea that hit him like a tsunami. He had to be strong, not for himself, but for Micah. He wiped at the tiny bleeding cut above his eyebrow and gave a painful smile. "Would you help me up?"

"S-sure!" Micah jumped up and grabbed Jason's arm, slowly helping him to his feet. "Are you okay? I honestly didn't mean to kick you in the belly."

"I'll be fine," Jason tried to assure Micah. He swayed a moment before he steadied, holding his lower stomach. "Kid, you didn't kick my belly."

"Oh, goodness!" Micah seemed to turn three shades of grey. If he didn't kick Jason's stomach. . . . He didn't even want to think about it.

"You sure know how to take a brother out," Jason grinned, taking a few slow steps forward and bending over. He moaned in pain, but grabbed his pistol from the floor and stood anyway. He pointed to the opposite corner of the nearly empty room. "Could you grab that knife?"

Micah hurried over to where the knife was stuck in the floorboard. He pulled it out without any trouble and brought it to Jason. "Here you go! I'm sorry about kickin' you."

"No need to apologize," Jason assured before examining the small, plain knife. "Where'd that man go?"

Micah shrugged. "He ran out the back door."

"Let's go look." Jason made his way to the back door with Micah right beside him. Despite how hard he looked, there was no sign of the assailant.

Micah crossed his arms, sending a sideways glance at Jason. "What're we gonna do now?"

Jason chewed on the inside of his cheek. "We report this to Sheriff Reeves."

***

"I'm sure it was just some thief." The sandy-haired man sitting in the sheriff's chair shrugged, a nonchalant look on his face.

"That just some thief attacked me with this knife," Jason retorted as he slid the black handled weapon onto the desk.

Micah crossed his arms. "Jones, I think that guy was waitin' on us. You could at least tell Sheriff Reeves when he comes in tomorrow mornin'."

Jones sighed, his dark eyes flickering between the knife, Micah, and Jason. "I'll tell him."

Jason gave a curt nod. "Thank you. I hope you have a great night."

A few minutes later, the twosome were dismounting in front of Shane Archer's house once again.

Jason silently entered the house, reappearing a few moments later with a grin. "It's all clear in here."

"Good! Don't have to kick you this time," Micah winked, a laugh escaping as he hopped up the steps with the supplies while Jason toted the saddle inside.

"I sure won't miss that." Jason chuckled. After he sat the saddle down on the living room floor, he kicked off his boots. "Man, that Jones guy sure was somethin'."

"That's Deputy Jedidiah Jones. He's very suspicious of strangers and newcomers." Micah laughed as he shed his boots.

"No kiddin'," Jason said as he shook his head. He plopped down on the wooden floor and laid his head on the saddle. "He didn't cut me no slack."

Micah buried his head onto the only pillow Jason brought. He hadn't felt this safe in all his life, despite the fact that they were sleeping on the floor of a dead man's house. "Thanks for lettin' me stay with you."

Jason smiled, the Stetson on his face covering everything but part of his nose and lips. "No problem. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Micah echoed, scooting a little closer to Jason. He wished he could stay with him forever. But he knew that, just like the other people that came into his life, Jason would walk away in time. But for now, he had God and a big brother watching over him.