Lost and Found




Clark's Landing, January 1919

"You sure you want to leave today?" Brisco County Jr. asked his son. "If the ache in my leg is any indication, it's gonna rain soon."

"Make up your mind, Dad," Will said half-jokingly as he tossed his saddlebags over the back of his horse. "First you kick me out of the house, then you tell me to stay?"

"I didn't kick you out of the house," Brisco protested. "I only suggested that you spend some time alone. Get your act together. Figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life." Tension between Will and his mother had reached the boiling point, forcing Brisco to send his son away until Will could control his anger. Will had returned from the war an angry and bitter man, and his mother's refusal to accept the fact that he'd been a soldier put them at constant odds.

Will lashed down the saddlebags. "I suppose I'd better go say goodbye to Mom," he sighed. He headed towards the house.

Brisco picked up the mare's reins and led her from the barn towards the house. "Don't let him do anything stupid, Dixie," he told the horse. "I'm holding you responsible."
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"I hate it when he's right," Will grumbled as he led the mare under a rock overhang. He loosened the girth and pulled the dripping saddle from Dixie's back, dumping it on the ground at the back of the cave. He pulled off his oilskin slicker and folded it into a pad, dry side up. Will untied his bedroll, wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and plopped down cross-legged on the oilskin. He hung his dripping hat over the saddlehorn and stared out at the rain.

Will must have dozed off, because he was startled awake by a crack of thunder. He and the mare flinched as lightning and thunder struck again, almost simultaneously. The storm must be right overhead, Will thought. Another flash made him sit upright. Something was out there. Something with large glowing eyes. Will's heart drummed in his chest as squinted into the dark, waiting for the next lightning strike.

When the sky lit up, Will saw the glowing eyes again. He felt for the rifle on the saddle, keeping his eyes on the thing out there. He was distracted by the mare's reaction; she was looking out at the thing but was totally unperturbed. Let her guide you, Will's father had said when he'd given the mare to him. She's smart and damn near fearless for a horse. Will relaxed slightly, but kept the rifle on his lap.

The next thing he knew, it was dawn. Will was stiff and sore, but at least the thing with the glowing eyes hadn't attacked him. Dixie had wandered out from under the overhang and was grazing on ferns growing around the rocks. She raised her head and gave Will a placid whinny.

Will stood, stretched, and walked over to where he thought he'd seen the thing. He scanned the ground: no tracks, only a gouge where the deluge had washed pebbles and dirt down the hillside. He took a deep breath, feeling some of the bands of tension in his chest ease. His dad was right. The clean, pine-scented air was exactly what Will needed.

The rays of the rising sun peeked over the rocks behind him and lit up the glowing eyes. Will started, swearing in surprise. Then he knelt, brushing his hand across the rock face in wonder. The deluge had washed away the dirt, partially revealing a vein of silver. The vein, lit by the lightning and now the sun, looked like two large eyes. Will whooped with joy. He pulled a trench knife from his saddlebags and used it to scrape away the soil. The vein was as long and as wide as his arm, and there was a good possibility that it ran further into the rock.

Will finally stopped when his stomach started growling. He built a fire and made himself breakfast, pausing now and then to look at the vein and shake his head in wonder. Will knew that he'd better stake a claim on the area, but how could he leave and not worry that someone else would jump his claim? He figured that as soon as he left the assay office, every claim jumper in the county would beat him back here. His dad might have an idea how to stake a claim, but Will wasn't about to go home this soon. Who else could he trust?

"Bowler," Will said out loud.
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"Ma'am? Would it be possible to speak to Lord Bowler?" Will inquired.

"Lord Bowler, sir?" The secretary looked confused.

"Uh, Mr. Lonefeather?" Will corrected himself.

"Let me ask him," the secretary rose from her seat. "And who may I say is calling?"

Will caught himself before he said 'his nephew Will', knowing that the secretary would not believe him. "Will County," he answered.

The secretary quietly opened the office door and leaned in. Will heard Bowler's surprised answer to the woman's soft question. The secretary looked back at him. "Yes, he'll see you."

Bowler rounded his desk as Will entered. "Will!" Bowler exclaimed, shaking the younger man's hand and clapping him on the back. "Glad you made it back alive, kid. What brings you to San Francisco?"

"Uh," Will hadn't thought of a suitable lie, so he blurted the truth. "I got into an argument with Mom and Dad threw me out of the house," he said uncomfortably.

"What?" Bowler leaned over the younger man menacingly, causing Will to back up a step. "You been disrespectful to your momma?"

Will gulped. His father's best friend was three times his age, but Will knew he'd lose if they came to blows. "Dammit, Uncle Bowler!" he snapped. "She was pretending I was away at college instead of standing in ankle-deep mud getting shot at."

"Oh." Bowler backed down. "Sorry, kid. That's gotta be tough." Bowler still had trouble with the fact that Brisco had kicked Will out of the house. His old partner loved his family more that anything. "So, what you doin' here?"

"Do you know anything about staking a claim?" Will asked.

"Huh?"

"Couple of days ago," County went on to explain. "I found a vein of silver up in the foothills. I couldn't find any claim markers. I haven't the faintest clue how to stake a claim without every prospector for miles beating me to it." He told Bowler how he'd covered the vein with rocks and brush to hide it.

"I can see how you'd be worried," Bowler said. "The price of silver is pretty high right now, and most of the mines here in the West are played out. Nowadays, most of it comes from Mexico. You don't mind havin' an old man taggin' along, I'll watch your stake while you go and claim it."

"Nothing I'd like better," Will said. "But can you be gone for a week?"

"Yeah," Bowler replied. "Lenore can look after things while I'm gone. You oughta come to dinner tonight. Lenore'd be upset if you didn't."

"Thanks," Will said. "I'd like that."
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Will and Bowler headed east the next morning. At noon, they ate in a small town saloon. Bowler washed down his meal with a beer. He was a bit surprised when Will asked for coffee instead of a beer, but shrugged it off as nothing.

"So whatcha gonna do wit' yo'self now you home?" Bowler asked. "Go to law school?"

"I dunno," Will shrugged. "The reason I joined the army in the first place was because I couldn't decide what I wanted to do." He smiled ruefully. "I don't think law school's for me. I just can't picture myself working indoors for the rest of my life." Will shrugged again. "I figure I've got until the fall term to make up my mind."

"You know you can always work for me," Bowler offered. "If you need money for school."

"Thanks," Will said, surprised at the offer. "I just might take you up on it."

Bowler gave him a long look. "You got any qualifications?"

"I raised mules the first two years I was in the Army. The government shipped them to the Allied Forces in Europe."

"Mules?" Bowler said. "I got a fella workin' for me who buys hoof stock for my company. You could help him. Or you could work as a drover. Either way, I'd pay you well."

"You oughta get with the times," Will suggested. "Start replacing horses with trucks."

"You sound like yo' daddy," Bowler scowled. "Maybe when the damn things can haul as much as a team of horses, I'll consider it." He grinned proudly. "I got me a fine motorcar at home." Then Bowler's face fell. "Lenore won't let me drive it, though."

"Why not?"

"She says I'm too impatient. Says that until I can control my road rage, I gotta let one of the servants drive." Bowler cocked his head. "You wouldn't wanna be my chauffeur?"

"I don't think so," Will laughed mirthlessly. "I couldn't see past the damn hood ornament." He scowled. "But at least working for you would get me out of Mom's hair for a while."

"So what you two buttin' heads about?"

Will sighed. "Other than her pretending that I was in college, not in a war? The day I left for the Army, Mom gave me a little Bible that fit in my shirt pocket. The very first week in the trenches, I got shot in the chest. The bullet lodged in that Bible. Ever since I've been home, Mom's been asking to see it. I'm grateful that that missal saved my life, but I wasn't about to show her what had happened to it." Will appealed to his uncle. "You know how she is about unpleasant things."

Bowler nodded. The kid was right not to show the Bible to Kate. "What happened?"

"She kept after me to show it to her." Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I kept putting her off, telling her that it was somewhere in my stuff and that I'd come across it eventually."

"Why didn't you just tell her you lost it?"

Will grimaced. "She would have been disappointed in me. That book was a gift from her mother. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her it was gone."

Bowler tucked into his food. "I'm guessin' your momma found out about the slug?"

"Yeah," Will replied. "Mom was mad at me. She knew that I was lying to her. Look," he snapped angrily. "I'm not proud of what I did, but she started in on me when James was home for a visit. 'James would have taken better care of my missal'," Will said, mimicking his mother.

"Damn," Bowler murmured. He'd always felt sorry for the younger County children; it was hard for Will, Birdie and Daniel when everything always seemed to go right for eldest son James.

"I just snapped," Will continued. "I threw the damn book in the middle of the dinner table."

"Ain't it over now?"

"No sir," Will looked weary beyond his years. "Far from it. Now she's afraid of me. She's barely said ten words to me since then."
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They stopped for the night near a lake and made a fire. Bowler shot a rabbit and gutted it while Will brushed the horses down and pegged them out for the night.

Will's cough bothered Bowler. County had nasty, chest-rupturing coughing spells that, once started, seemed hard to stop.

"You have a doctor look at you?" Bowler asked in concern after one bout.

Will nodded, and once he was able to breathe, rasped, "He told me that the drier air out here would help."

"Well, has it?"

"It's better than it was," Will shrugged, rubbing his sore chest. "Not great, but better. The medicine the doc gave me seemed to make it worse, so I stopped taking it."

Bowler couldn't even imagine was worse was like. "You know," he said thoughtfully. "The Plains tribes build sweat lodges to purify themselves for ceremonies. Don't know why it wouldn't work to loosen up yo' chest."

"D'you know where to find one of these lodges?"

"No," his uncle said. "But it prob'ly wouldn't be hard to build one. Mebbe when we get to your claim, we could try it."

"I'm game."

As Will pulled a frying pan from a saddlebag, Bowler asked, "They still serve shit-on-a-shingle in the army?"

"Yup."

Bowler shook his head and laughed. "More things change, the more they stay the same."

"'Course, now they've got tinned stuff in the army," Will said. "They hand you a trench knife and a tin can."

"Taste any better?"

"No sir. You know," Will added. "You and Dad made me a celebrity in the army. Seems everyone's read those dime novels about you two."

His uncle grunted in disgust. "Figured the damn things would disappear, but I think they's breedin' instead."

"I had trouble convincing them at first that my dad was the famous Brisco County, Jr.," Will said. "Had to show them one of Dad's letters. The fellows in the British regiment next to us in the trenches were disappointed that you two never fought Red Indians. I told them you were part Indian yourself; you'd have had a problem with it."

"They know about me and Brisco clear over there?" Bowler was amazed.

"Uh-huh. The British especially are crazy about anything concerning the Wild West."

Bowler shook his head in amazement. "Huh," was his only reply.
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"You okay, kid?" Bowler asked later as they sat watching the fire.

Will looked up. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"That's the third time you've rubbed your eyes in fifteen minutes. Thought maybe you was comin' down with something."

"Ever since I got hurt," Will said wearily. "My eyes have been chronically dry. Drives me nuts."

"Try puttin' a couple of drops of glycerin in them. See if that helps. If you don't mind talkin' 'bout it," Bowler asked cautiously. "How did you get hurt?"

"You know what a phosphorus bomb is?" Will asked. Bowler nodded. "Well, usually they shoot them high in the air to light up an area. For some reason, the Germans shot one that bounced along the ground and exploded right above us." Will waved a hand towards his face. "I got peppered with shrapnel."

"How far can you see?"

"With or without my glasses?"

"Both."

Will pointed to a small pine tree about 50 yards away. "With my glasses, I can see that tree. Without," he held his hand just beyond his nose.

"Damn." Bowler digested what he'd been told. "What kinda rifle you got?"

"A .22 Winchester," Will answered, surprised at the question.

"Might as well sell it," Bowler suggested. "And buy a shotgun. That way, you don't need to sight."

"I don't want a damn shotgun," Will snapped in disgust.

"Face it, kid," Bowler growled. "You cain't see well enough to fire that rifle nomore. Hell, I've carried a shotgun for over thirty years. Mind you, I sawed the barrels down, so's I could wear it in a holster. But it's served me well over the years." He patted the shotgun stock peeking over his right shoulder.

"If I shoot a rabbit with a shotgun, there won't be anything left to eat," Will countered.

Bowler shrugged. "Cain't eat it if you cain't hit it. 'Sides, you don't need a gun to catch game. Tell you what, kid. If I show you how to trap game, would you think about gettin' a shotgun?"

"I'll believe it when I see it," Will grumbled.

His uncle grinned. "Fair enough."

Will's question wiped the smile off Bowler's face. "So what's Clara been doin' with herself?"

"Don't know, kid," Bowler grumbled, poking at the fire with a stick. "She ran away."

"She what?"

"She ran away," Bowler repeated crossly.

"Couldn't you track her?" Will asked cautiously.

"I tried, but I lost her trail north of Seattle," Bowler said irritably. "I wasted a day, thinkin' she'd run to your folks. She went north instead."

Things suddenly made sense to Will. When he dined with Bowler and Lenore, he noticed the tension between them. He'd almost asked them about their daughter, but something told him it would've been a bad idea.

"Lenore thinks Clara wanted to be like me," Bowler continued. "The old me. An' I sure as hell can't convince her otherwise. She thinks Clara ran so she could live the kinda life I led."

"What do you think?" Will asked softly.

"Lenore's probably right. I know Clara hated havin' to act like a lady all the time. And as much as I wanted to take all you kids with us when Brisco and me went on our fishin' trips, I respected Lenore's wishes and never took Clara. Now I wonder if we'd let her go and get it out of her system, she'd have stayed." Bowler stared into the fire for a moment. "I think she went where you went," he muttered.

Will was confused. "Where I went?"

"To France. I'm afraid Clara got some notion in her head to do somethin' dangerous. I think she went to Canada so's she could go to war."

"Bowler. . ."

"What if she got killed over there?" his uncle went on, oblivious to anything but his pain. "If she used an alias an' got herself killed, I'd never know she was dead. It's the not knowin' that gets me."

"She'll show up someday," Will said. "Safe and sound."

"That's what your daddy keeps sayin'," Bowler grumbled. "But I have trouble believin' it."

They reached the claim late the next afternoon. Bowler pointed at the pile of brush masking the silver and said, "That where it is?"

Will's face fell. "It's that easy to tell? I thought I hid it pretty well."

"Don't worry 'bout it, kid," Bowler grinned. "Most folks wouldn't be able to tell. I'm just better'n most."

"Don't call me 'kid'," Will snapped. "I'm not a child any more."

"You get to be my age," Bowler grumped. "Everybody under fifty's a kid to you."

Will stared at him a moment. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. "So, if I let you call me 'kid', can I call you 'old man'?" he asked slyly.

Bowler bristled instantly. "Why you disrespectful---." Then he stopped, realized what he said, and began to chuckle. "I 'spose it's only fair," he sighed, shaking his head. "Jus' don't make a habit of it," he said darkly. He started towards the brush. "Let's get this stuff pulled away an' see what you got."

Bowler whistled appreciatively when he saw the vein. "You got any idea how deep it goes?"

"No sir," Will replied. "I didn't want to mess with it until I was sure I had a claim on it. I'm not even sure how to get it out."

His uncle looked at the sky and guessed the time. "You gotta have a sample, get it assayed. I 'spose we oughta stake this out first so's you can go down and claim it first thing tomorrow."

Will and Bowler tramped around the boulder, looking for other's claim markers. At the same time, they looked for topological features to use for Will's claim markers. They settled on a couple of pines, a large pointed boulder, and the tiny creek on the southern edge of the claim. Will drew a map on a piece of paper while Bowler measured the area by stepping it off and calling out the measurements. Will pried out a small piece of silver for an assay and estimated how much silver the vein contained.

As he was measuring, Bowler would stop periodically and pick up flat rocks, tossing them in the direction of the rock overhang as he passed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Will finally asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Need rocks for the sweat lodge," his uncle replied. "I think I can block off the back of that overhang, make it like a little cave."

Will finished his figures and carefully put the folded paper in his coat pocket. "Show me what you intend to do and I'll help."

Bowler motioned him to the overhang and showed Will how they could build a small triangular room by creating a wall where the two rock walls splayed out in a "V". They layered flat rocks, cementing them with mud, to build the third wall. There was enough room inside for the both of them to lay down with a fire between them. They left an entry hole that would be covered by a large piece of bark that Bowler had located. Bowler tossed the remaining flat rocks into the campfire, explaining that they needed to be red hot for the sweat lodge to work. Will stopped to fix dinner, and Bowler wandered out into the woods. He returned carrying an armload of pungent sage.

"Still too early for the sage to leaf out, but I found some dried," Bowler said as he dumped the armload next to the door. He got down on all fours and scattered the sage over the sweat lodge floor.

After dinner, they stripped off their shirts, socks and boots. Bowler carefully pushed some of the hot rocks onto the slab of bark and carried it to the lodge. Will crawled in first, then took the bark slab from Bowler so the older man could enter. Using sticks, the two men pushed the rocks into a pile. Bowler crumbled dried sage over the rocks. Then Will poured his canteen over the pile. The warm steam made them both lie back and sigh. Bowler pulled their makeshift door over the opening.

I'm gettin' too old to do this, Bowler thought later as he tried to find a comfortable position in the sweat lodge. Least we ain't high enough for it to snow. He rolled over to face the warmth of the rocks. The heat and the sage fumes felt good, but it had been a long time since the ex-bounty hunter had slept on the ground. His back pained him just enough to keep him awake. Unlike Will, who'd dozed off quickly.

They'd only been in the trenches a few days when the orders went out to take the enemy line. At the shrill whistle, the group crawled up the muddy walls, screaming like banshees. Will slipped as he climbed; the fall put him at the back of the group. As he successfully scaled the trench wall the second try, he heard an Englishman behind him mutter quite clearly, "Bloody stupid Yank." As Will cleared the trench, time slowed. Everything seemed muted, except the beating of his heart. He ran with his unit, yelling at the top of his lungs. He wasn't aware that his compatriots were dropping around him. Something slammed into his chest, knocking him off his feet. Will lay stunned, gasping like a fish out of water. He rolled over and tried to stand, only to flatten against the mud when a bullet whined past his ear. He suddenly realized where he was: no man's land. Any movement would put him in a German's crosshairs. Will had no choice but to wait until nightfall and hope that he could make it back to the trenches without being bayoneted by a German or shot by his own side.

A murmur from Will caught Bowler's attention. The younger man was tossing in his sleep, deep in the throes of a nightmare. Bowler rose carefully and, mindful of the pile of steaming rocks between them, put a hand on Will's shoulder to wake him. Will flinched and opened his eyes. He sat up, completely disoriented, and thought a German was trying to kill him. He lashed out with his foot and caught his attacker square in the chest. The man stumbled back and then bellowed a curse. Will scuttled back like a crab and crashed into the makeshift wall. As it collapsed around him, one rock caught him square on the top of the head. The pain brought him to his senses, and he suddenly realized where he was.

Will's kick had set Bowler hard on his rump. When he tried to push himself up, he put his hand on one of the hot rocks and scalded the palm of his hand. Bellowing with pain, he pushed his way outside and stumbled over to the creek.

So that's why he don't drink, Bowler realized as he plunged his hand into the creek. Booze prob'ly makes it worse. Bowler remembered decades ago when he was in the army, fighting in the border war with Mexico. The Mexicans captured one of their army scouts. They pegged the man out just beyond the fort and tortured him while he screamed for mercy. Bowler pleaded with his superiors to be allowed to take a small group out of the fort to rescue the man, only to be told that the scout was expendable. After hours of hearing the anguished cries, Bowler finally borrowed one of the sharpshooter's rifles and put the man out of his misery. The scout's screams echoed in Bowler's dreams for months afterwards. They eventually faded, but at the time, Bowler felt as though he was going mad.

Will felt around the outside of the sweat lodge until he located his pile of clothes. He fished his glasses from his boot and put them on. Then he pulled on his boots and shirt, but left the shirt unbuttoned. He went to check on Bowler, and found his uncle soaking his burned hand in the creek. "You okay?" he asked.

"I'll live," Bowler grumbled.

"Bowler--"

"Aw, don't worry 'bout it, kid," Bowler said. He extended his good hand. "Gimme a hand up, will ya? My knees are 'bout shot. I'm too old to be crawlin' around like that." Will grasped his arm and pulled the big man to his feet. They walked back to the fire and plopped down on their respective bedrolls.

"Sorry about that," Will apologized. "I should've warned you about tryin' to wake me."

In reply, Bowler started to chuckle. Then he began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Will asked.

"Ain't we a pair," his uncle said. "Brisco and I done some pretty dumb ass things when we was ridin' together, but this one takes the cake."

Will laughed, and to his surprise, he didn't cough. "If it's any consolation," he said. "My chest does feel better."

When it was dark, Will crawled back to the Allied trenches. All those men dead, and they hadn't even taken the German trench. As Will examined himself for injuries, he found that the bullet that downed him was embedded in the missal his mother had tucked into his breast pocket the day he left home.
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"What the---?" Bowler got to his feet. He'd been sitting under the rock overhang, guarding the claim. Will had ridden down at dawn to the nearest town to register his stake in the assay office.

Someone was coming up the hill, singing loudly. Bowler peered over a boulder, carefully pulling his shotgun out of the shoulder holster. He sighted along the barrel in the direction of the voice, but then stopped when Will County rode into view.

"What the hell you tryin' to do?" Bowler groused when Will pulled up beside him. "Bring the whole world wit'cha?"

Will grinned as he dismounted. "Didn't want you to plug me by mistake, old man. 'Sides," he added. "The two fellas following me aren't even trying to be inconspicuous. C'mere," Will waved his uncle over and pointed downhill. Bowler watched as two men urged their horses up the hill.

"Either they's the dumbest fellas alive," he growled. "Or the ballsiest. Didn't you even try to lose them?"

"Several times," Will replied in frustration. "They're good. I backtracked through a stream a couple of times, cut across the rocks, and I still couldn't shake 'em. What do we do now?"

"I got an idea," Bowler said. "You game?"

Will grinned. "That's why I asked you for help."

Will hummed as he scraped the face of the rock, exposing more silver. Bowler had taken the horses away so they wouldn't make any noise. Will wasn't too surprised when a gun muzzle poked him between the shoulder blades. He dropped the trench knife and lifted his hands.

"Jus' take it slow, son," a voice above him said. Will stood carefully and turned to face his captors. An older man held a rifle on him, while a younger man grinned smugly beside him, sporting a pair of pistols in cross-slung holsters on his chest. The two looked enough alike to be father and son.

"Hooey, Dad!" the younger man crowed. "Wouldja look at that! That's pure-D silver!"

"I see it, Trevor," the father growled. "We jus' gotta convince this feller to sign over his claim to us."

If Will County had learned one thing from wearing glasses, it was that other people tended to see him as really dumb or really smart. He decided to make these two think the former.

"Huh? Sign over---?" he gaped stupidly. Will was pleased to see both men relax their stance. "But I staked this claim!" he protested.

"Way I see it," the father sneered. "You ain't gotta choice." He pointed the gun at Will's right knee. "Maybe we jus' need to be a little more---," the father grinned wickedly. "Persuasive."

"Even if you get me to sign the claim over to you," Will said cautiously. "The claim's still no good to you unless you get my partner's signature on it."

"Partner!" Trevor spat in contempt. "He's lyin', Dad! He's here all by hisself. There ain't no partner!"

"Guess again," Bowler sneered as he spun the younger man around and drove his fist into Trevor's face.

Will took advantage of the older man's divided attention to grab the rifle. He pushed the barrel down and punched his elbow into the claim jumper's chest. The older man went "oof", fired the gun in surprise and then dropped it. Will hooked his foot behind his attacker's ankle and yanked the man's feet out from under him. Will snatched the trench knife from the ground, but as he turned, Bowler stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"Neat trick with the foot," Bowler commented as he leveled his shotgun at the would-be claim jumpers. He kept his hand on Will's chest until the soldier faded from the younger man's eyes. "You learn that in the Army?"

"Birdie," Will answered. He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He realized in horror that had Bowler not stopped him, the trench knife would now be sticking out of the claim jumper's chest. "She used to do that to us boys. Get us on the ground so she could pound on us."

"Heh, heh," Bowler chuckled. He could just picture Will's tiny sister doing that to her tall foster brothers. "That Red. Sounds like somethin' she'd do."

Will wasn't amused. "D'you know how humiliating it was to get beat up by a girl? Especially one her size?" He pulled a rope from their pile of supplies and began to tie the claim jumpers together.

"So why didn't you fight back?" Bowler wanted to know.

"You kiddin'?" Will answered in disbelief. "Dad would've thrashed us if he'd caught us."

When Bowler returned from town, he was grinning from ear to ear. "Seems our claim jumpers had bounties on they heads. Two hundred for the both of them."

"Keep it," Will said, wiping sweat and rock chips from his face. "You've earned it."

"Nah," Bowler said. "We'll split it, fifty-fifty." He laughed in delight. "Man, that felt good. I ain't collected a bounty in years." Bowler looked over Will's shoulder. "How's it comin'?"

"The face came loose pretty easy," Will replied. "But I'm having trouble prying out the silver deeper in the vein." He poured water from his canteen into his cupped hand and splashed his face to remove the rock dust.

"Hmm," Bowler scratched his chin. "You ought to ask yo' daddy to help you. Brisco's got a way with a stick of dynamite."

Will paused, a canteen halfway to his lips. "It'd mean I have to go home," he said warily.

"That a problem?" Bowler growled.

Will looked at his feet a moment then met his uncle's eyes. "No sir," he smiled slowly. "No problem."
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Brisco County, Jr. sat on the porch of the sheriff's office, reading the newspaper. The sound of hoofbeats made him look up to see Bowler and Will riding into town. Brisco brought the front legs of his chair down with a thump and stood. "Bowler?" he called in amazement.

"Lookee what I found," his friend grinned. Bowler wore his old battered coat and trademark hat.

"Hi, Dad," Will said, sliding off his mare.

"Will!" Brisco hugged his son. "What in the world are you doin' with Bowler?"

Will and Bowler exchanged conspiratorial grins. "I, um, sort of kidnapped him," Will explained.

"Kidnapped?" Brisco looked from one to the other in confusion.

"It ain't what you think, Brisco," Bowler grinned. "The kid here found hisself some paydirt. Needed someone to look after his stake while he went and claimed it."

"Actually," Will interjected before his father got his feelings hurt. "I asked the old man if he knew anything about staking a claim, and he offered to help."

"What's this about paydirt?" Brisco was amazed that Bowler wasn't upset about being called an old man. "What did you find?"

"This." Will pulled a pouch from his saddlebag and tossed it to his dad.

Brisco swore when he almost dropped the pouch; it was heavier than it looked. Curious, he opened it and looked inside. "Silver?"

"Found a vein up in the mountains," Will said. "I think we got most of it, but I'm gonna go back there again to see if I can pry any more out."

"You oughta go wit' him, Brisco," Bowler said as he dismounted. "Use that dynamite you's so fond of. Kid," he said to Will. "You'd best get that pouch to a safe-deposit box before you lose it."

Will took the pouch from his father's outstretched hand and led his horse towards the bank. Brisco was amazed at the change in his son; Will didn't bristle at Bowler calling him "kid". In fact, Brisco thought Will seemed more like his old self again.

Bowler plopped down in Brisco's chair with a grunt. "He's a good kid, Brisco. A little messed up in the head, but considerin' what he's been through, he's doin' okay. Jus' needs some time."

"You probably think I was wrong, kicking him out like that." Brisco sighed as he watched his son's retreating figure. "But I just didn't know what else to do, Bowler. He and Kate were at each other's throats constantly. He was having nightmares every night, and crashing into the furniture trying to get outside to smoke. I just didn't know how to help him."

"Don't beat yourself up," Bowler rumbled. "If it helps, you done the right thing. Will's got a plan now. Been talkin' about going to mining school. An' I offered him a job 'til school starts."

"Really?" Brisco straightened, his face hopeful.

"Yeah. 'Sides, if you hadn't kicked him out, I'dve never got the chance to pound some sense into him."

"You didn't."

"I sure as hell did. Just like I did you a time or two. You two're so much alike it ain't even funny." Bowler grinned. "Do me a favor, though. Don't mess up all my hard work. Just say, 'thank you, Bowler', and leave it at that."

Brisco grinned. "Thank you, Bowler."
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Colorado, 1922

"Hell money," Brisco's voice sounded tinny in the telephone.

"Did you say money?" Will put his finger in his other ear so he could hear better. "That seems strange."

"Not real money," his father said. "Symbolic money. The Chinese burn paper symbols of things they'd want the dead to have in the afterlife. Money, houses, clothes, things like that. Take them to a Buddhist temple and burn them on the altar. I'm sure your friend's family will help you. Will," Brisco sounded concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Will replied, although he didn't feel so. "I'm going back to Vancouver with Hsing Gao's body. It's the least I could do." He'd met the young Chinese man at mine engineering school; the two had quickly become friends when Will attempted to speak to Hsing Gao in what little Mandarin he knew. Hsing Gao, surprised at first, started laughing. He then explained to Will that instead of saying, 'Hello, how are you? Will had said, 'Hello, my knee is green.' And now Hsing Gao was dead, killed with three others in a tunnel collapse.

"Well," Brisco knew his son better. "You know you can always come home for a few days. I'll send you money for a ticket."

"Thanks, Dad," Will replied. "I'll be all right." He dreaded the long train ride from Colorado to Vancouver, but he felt, as Hsing Gao's friend, that he should go.
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Although Hsing Gao's parents were extremely polite, Will felt like an outsider. A cousin told Will where to buy hell money, surprised that a white man would know their funeral customs and be able to ask politely in Mandarin. By the end of the day, Will wanted nothing but dinner and a hotel bed. He decided to postpone burning the symbolic money until the next day, when he could do it in private.

He passed a diner on the way to his hotel. The smell emanating from the restaurant made Will turn back. As he reached for the door handle, the door opened towards him. Will held it as a tall black woman and a small boy exited the diner. As the woman turned to thank Will, her eyes widened.

"Clara!" Will gasped.

Clara Lonefeather paused, looking as if she would take flight at any moment. Will gently took her arm.

"We need to talk," he said, leading her back into the diner. They sat at a table, Will stalling the waitress a moment with a raised hand.

"I'm not going back, Will," Clara hissed. "No matter what you say."

"Your dad's worried that you're dead." Will said, trying to reason with her. "He's an old man, Clara. Don't let him die not knowing."

"So tell him that you've seen me," Clara snapped. "Just don't tell him where." She paused a moment, then curiosity got the better of her. "How are they?" she asked tentatively.

Will put a hand over hers. "Clara, your mother passed away last year."

Clara gasped in surprise then began to cry softly. "How?" she asked, sniffling.

Will loaned her his handkerchief. "She had a bad heart. I guess she'd known about it for years and never told anyone. She just collapsed one day, and passed on the next."

"You're a bad man!" The small boy with Clara said angrily, startling Will. He'd completely forgotten the boy was there. "You made my mama cry!"

Mama? "I'm sorry, son," Will said as gently as he could. "But I had to tell your mom some back news. Clara," he repeated. "You've got to go home. Your dad needs you."

"But my job. I can't leave."

"Tell them your mother died," Will said reasonably. "I'm sure your boss will understand and let you have some time off."

Clara scowled at the tabletop. "I don't have the money for the train fare."

"I do," Will said. "Stop making excuses, Clara. Just go."

She finally met his eyes. "Will you go with us?"

"I don't trust you not to hop off at the next stop and disappear again," Will told her, matter-of-fact. "Yeah, I'll go with you."

"How do you know my mama?" Jamie asked Will as they waited in the station for the train.

Will winked at Clara. "We're cousins."

"Cousins!" The boy looked at him skeptically. "How could you be Mama's cousin? You a white fella!"

"Your mom's father and my father are best friends," Will answered. "Why, they're closer than most brothers are. I've always considered your mom my cousin."

"So why'd you run away?" Will asked cautiously once they got settled on the train.

Clara looked at her hands in her lap. "I'd been sneaking out of the house to see a boy. When I found out I was pregnant, I was so afraid of what Momma and Daddy would do that I ran." She smiled wistfully. "I'm surprised Daddy didn't find me."

"He waited a day, thinking that you'd go to my folks'. He lost you somewhere around Seattle."

"What are you doing in Vancouver anyway?" she asked.

Will sighed. "I came up here for a friend's funeral."

"Will, I'm sorry."

"Thank you. So what do you do for a living?"

Clara looked embarrassed. "I work as a maid in a hotel. Not very glamorous, I'm afraid." She tilted her head back against the headrest and sighed. "Momma's probably turning over in her grave. All the training I went through to be a sophisticated woman, and I make beds in a hotel."

"You gotta eat," Will said reasonably. He nodded at Jamie, who was sitting across from them, swinging his feet as he looked out the window. "And you gotta look after your son. You do what you have to do."
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"Go on," Will urged. He stood further down the stoop, holding Jamie's hand "Knock on the door. He gives the servants Sundays off, so he should be the only one home."

Clara threw him an apprehensive look and rapped on the door. Both were startled when Bowler threw open the door, grumbling about his nap being disturbed.

"Clara!" Bowler gasped, not quite believing his eyes. He threw his arms around his daughter and lifted her completely off the step. "Oh, baby. You're alive."

"Daddy," Clara cried, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry I hurt you. So sorry."

Will and Jamie followed the Lonefeathers into the house. Bowler suddenly registered their presence. "Who's this?" he asked Will.

"This is my son Jamie," Clara said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Jamie, realizing that he was the center of attention, backed up against Will's legs. Will put both hands on the boy's shoulders to reassure him. "Jamie," Clara said, holding out her hand to the boy. "Come meet your grandfather."

"Hi, kid," Bowler rumbled as he bent to look at the boy.

"Wow," Jamie said in wonder. "You're big."

"Wanna see the view from up here?" his grandfather asked.

"Yes, sir!" Jamie held out his arms and Bowler scooped him off his feet. As the boy marveled at the crystals dangling from the chandelier, Bowler looked at Will.

"I owe you big time," he said, his eyes glistening with emotion.

The younger man shrugged. "I figure we're even. You helped me out a couple of years ago. I'm just repaying the favor. Listen," Will added, smiling. "I've got to get a train back to school. Do you think you can manage without me?"

Bowler looked at Clara, who nodded. "I think so," she said, smiling at her father and her son.

Outside, Will hailed a cab. When he checked his pocket for his wallet, he realized that he still had the hell money that he was going to burn for Hsing Gao. He leaned over the seat and asked the cabbie to take him to Chinatown instead of the train station.