"Where are they? My brother and sister?"
A smirk crossed Isaac's face, settling in his eyes. "Their mother was white. Came from money. But she – she threw in with me; she ran away."
Brandon's gut twisted with disgust. "You used her and left her – same old story."
"She knew I was a gambling man. She thought she could change me."
"Nothing can ever change you," Brandon spat.
"She tried. After she had the children, she tried to leave me, but her parents wouldn't take her or the children. The last I knew, she was in Dodge City. She was taking in laundry – that kind of thing."
"Her name."
"Linda Wheeler. Linda Gabriel."
"The children. My brother and sister. Or can you remember?"
The gambler balked, a cunning light in his eyes for an instant before Brandon gave him a shake.
"Jamie!" he answered hastily. "Jamie and – and Natalie."
Brandon started to get up, but thought of another detail that he might need to know. "Ages. Approximately. I realize you have trouble remembering who your children are and don't give a damn about taking care of them, but search your memory."
"Jamie would be about eleven by now, and Talie…she was two years younger."
Brandon slowly uncocked the pistol and moved it away from Isaac's head. The fight seemed to have left the gambler. Brandon slowly stood, towering over his father.
"Why didn't you kill me?" Isaac asked quietly. "I always figured you would."
"You're going to pay for what you've done, Isaac. But I'm not going to have your death on my conscience – not unless you force it. You stay away from me and my family. That includes my brothers and sister. The next time we meet – I will kill you. I don't ever want to see you again."
Brandon felt the letdown overcoming him. The battle was done. He'd won. But the victory was anything but sweet. He watched as Ben and Sam tied Isaac's hands tightly. Part of him wanted to do the right thing – the noble thing. Turn him over to the new temporary sheriff in Spring Branch Owen had told them about.
The other part of him was struggling with that decision. Jail was too good for Isaac Gabriel. Hangings weren't pretty to watch. But Brandon felt that in Isaac Gabriel's case, it would be more than justified.
Still, he'd never lynched anyone and he didn't intend to start now, with his own father.
Mack's ears pricked, his head swiveling toward the darkness of the trees, just before Brandon heard what the dog did.
Travis and some of the townsmen led by Owen Morris appeared out of the blackness, the light of their lanterns illuminating the small clearing.
Owen hurried over to Brandon. "You okay?"
Brandon nodded, looping an arm over Sam's shoulder as he came to stand beside him. "I'm fine. See about Youngblood here, though. He's hurt – somewhere."
"How'd you know?" Sam asked, lifting his shirt.
Brandon grinned at him. "You told me you were all right, Sam, with your words. But your tone said otherwise." His smile faded. "Let Owen have a look. He'll patch you up quick, just 'til we get home and he can do it up right."
"That hurt?" Owen touched Sam's ribs on the left side where a bruise was already forming.
"Ow!"
"I need your shirt, Sam. I'll tear it up for a bandaging wrap."
"Like hell! This is new!"
Brandon had started to walk away toward where Ben and Travis stood together. They were bursting with news. He turned back, at Sam's protests, seeing the indecision on Owen's face. "Here." He pulled off his own shirt and tossed it to the doctor. "Use mine."
"But—" Sam began, dismayed.
"It's all right, Sam. Let Doc Morris do what he needs to so we can get home." He started toward Ben and Travis again. Ben looked smug – almost as smug as Travis.
"Travis tracked us!" Ben announced as Brandon walked up. "I knew he could do it! I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you at the end, sir, but I heard them coming and went to lead them to where we were."
Brandon gave a low whistle, and Travis' chest swelled even more. "That's a good job of trackin', for sure, Trav."
"Thank you."
Brandon squeezed Travis' shoulder.
"Mr. Gabriel?" Brandon turned at the man's voice behind him. A tall stranger with the weathered face of an outdoorsman put his hand out, and Brandon shook firmly. "I'm Tim Watters. I own a ranch just south of Spring Branch."
The lawman. The temporary lawman. "Good to know you, Tim."
"Likewise. We'll be takin' this man into town, to jail, on charges of kidnapping and attempted murder." He nodded toward Isaac, who was trussed and being prodded to walk forward. "We're headed back now, to your place. Had to leave the horses there."
"We're headed back too," Brandon told him, "as soon as Doc Morris wraps up Sam's ribs."
Sam lifted his head and glanced at Brandon, grimacing as Owen tightened the bandaging.
"May take us a bit longer," Brandon observed thoughtfully. "Don't let us hold you up, Tim."
"We'll head on out, then. If we don't see you back at the house, we'll see you tomorrow."