A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY

Kerry Lindemann-Schaefer




I'm not sure I want to tell you about what happened at the Circle 5 Ranch because you'll probably just figure I've gone off the deep end at last. And who knows? Maybe you'd be right. Let me back up a little first and get a running start, before I bring up the weird stuff, okay?

It all began not long after Kwai Chang Caine left Chinatown, ostensibly in search of his long-lost wife. That had been a rough winter for me, and spring wasn't looking like it would be any better. I think I once said something to the effect that Caine was the light I held against the darkness. Well, the darkness had come back, but now Caine was gone, and with him had gone all my joy and hope. My tenuous peace had evaporated, and my harmony with anything was nonexistent.

Okay, so maybe I'm being melodramatic, but that's how it felt. I tried hard to remind myself that I'd fought a running battle with depression for much of my life. This was just another one of those bad times, and sooner or later, it would pass. But that didn't help much. Everything had fallen apart for me after Caine took off. Despite the herbal concoctions the Ancient had given me to take, I just couldn't pull myself together. That scared me.

A couple of times before in my 50+ years of life, things had gotten so bad that I had attempted to kill myself. I didn't intend to do that again.

Figuring I needed a change of scene, I put in for a couple of weeks vacation time from County General Hospital, where I work as an MRI technologist, and called my friends at the Circle 5 Ranch to find out if they were open for business this early in the season.

Remember the Circle 5? That dude ranch run by Cora Stefanchik and her four partners where Caine and I had spent a few days during our cross-country drive a number of years ago, before he'd been reunited with his son? Back then they'd been just getting ready to open and weren't too sure a dude ranch emphasizing women's place in the Old West would make it as a tourist attraction. Well, I had kept in touch with them over the intervening years and they were doing just fine.

(Those of you who recall what happened back then might be interested in knowing that things didn't work out between Montana and Waylon, but at least they parted as friends.)

Jodie Franks answered the phone. I recognized her voice right off. She had been wondering if she was gay back when we'd first met. We'd had a lot to talk about, since she knew next to nothing about being gay, whereas I've known what I was and have been comfortable with my sexual preference for most of my adult life.

"Hi, kiddo," I said, attempting to sound reasonably cheerful. "Bet you'll never guess who this is."

"Jeremy?" she hazarded.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Her laughter came over the phone line.

"Not many men call me 'kiddo'," she replied. "What's up?"

(Yeah, I have this bad habit of calling the young folks that. I even did it to Bobbie, my late lover. Oh well.)

"Is my invitation to come visit still good?"

"Of course! When can we expect you?"

"How about next week?"

"There's not much going on around here just yet," she replied doubtfully. "Summer would be more exciting."

"I'm not looking for excitement, just a break from my usual routine. Besides, I seem to remember you promised me riding lessons if I ever came back. That will keep me busy enough."

"Okay. Which day next week? Shall I pick you up at the airport or are you driving?"

We arranged the mundane details easily enough. Three days later, I was in Wyoming, surrounded by breath-taking scenery, old friends with a lot of catching up to do, and huge, mean, vicious, contrary horses.

So okay, I'm exaggerating. The horses only seemed that way when I was trying to ride them. I did get the hang of it after a while, but I spent most of the first few days of my vacation walking and sitting rather gingerly. I had aches where I didn't even know I had muscles.

By now I suppose you're wondering when I'm going to get to the weird part of my story. So far it's been pretty ordinary, right? Bear with me. We're almost there. I won't dwell on the delicious meals cooked old-style over an open hearth, or the long evenings we spent talking in front of the fire, or Jodie's fine hammer dulcimer playing, or any of that other boring stuff.

Jodie eventually pronounced me ready to go for my first solo ride on the trails. She picked out a gentle, reliable mare and sent me off with a canteen of water, a picnic lunch, and a map of the ranch. In honor of this momentous occasion, I had even donned the tie-dyed purple and gold bandanna she had given me as a parting gift last time I'd been there.

I started out doing pretty good, following the trails, admiring the scenery, and trying not to be intimidated by my horse. (I'm sorry to say that I intimidate real easy, if something's significantly bigger than I am.)

When I got as far as the small river that crossed the far end of the Circle 5's property, I noticed on my map that there was a waterfall just a short way downstream. Figuring to take a quick look at that and then head home, I kicked my mount into a brisk trot along the path following the riverbank.

It wasn't much of a waterfall, just a thirty foot drop over a fairly steep hillside studded with boulders, but it was pleasant to watch the water foam and dash itself into spray, sending a moist breeze through the surrounding trees and bushes. Letting my horse crop some grass at the edge of the trail, I sat peacefully enjoying the scenery and reflecting with a certain amount of smug satisfaction on the success of my impromptu vacation. If nothing else, all the activity had diverted my mind from the endless litany of depression and hopelessness that had been running ever since Caine had left town.

As I stared downstream at the bright rays of sunshine glittering on the tumbling water, I fell into a kind of peaceful reverie. I even blinked a couple of times, as an almost hypnotic drowsiness threatened to overtake me. An occasional bird twittered in the trees, insects droned their songs, the water splashed and gurgled. If I hadn't still been sitting on my horse, I'd have been about ready to fall asleep, it was that soothing.

The peace was abruptly shattered by a sharp clang. I saw a bright flash coming from somewhere downstream, as if sunlight had reflected off a metal surface.

Startled, I did exactly the wrong thing. I jerked back on the reins, at the same time clamping my legs around the horse and digging my heels into her sides. Confused by my contradictory instructions, the poor beast reared up on her hind legs. As you may have guessed, I fell off, landing flat on my back on the rocky ground and striking my head sharply. I must have lost consciousness for a moment, because I came to with this sickening swirling sensation, almost as if I were still falling. I closed my eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass before I opened them again and sat up.

My horse was nowhere in sight. I would have worried more about that except that the clanging noise sounded again and distracted me. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the river, perhaps downstream from the waterfall, but I knew there was nothing there. My head hurt a bit and I felt a small cut where I had hit the ground, but not enough to seriously bother me or to dampen my curiosity. On hands and knees, I crept cautiously closer to the riverbank, parting the bushes and peering over the edge.

There were a couple of tents in a clear spot of ground a little ways down and across the water. But they were like no tents I had ever seen, since they were solid black except for some white squiggly designs. They looked more like something you'd see in medieval Europe than in the American West, except for one thing: a large black banner with a distinctly Chinese-looking winged dragon emblazoned in gold.

I was absolutely certain those tents hadn't been there just a moment ago, nor had there been the grouping of men I could see in front of the tents, in the midst of what appeared to be a pitched battle between a black-clad figure armed only with a long metal staff that ended in a wicked-looking blade and six other men wielding a variety of equally exotic weapons. At first I couldn't be sure if this was a real fight or a practice bout, but one thing was certain: the man with the staff was getting the better of the contest. He fought with an easy grace and skill that allowed him to disarm his opponents one by one, even though they too seemed very good at what they were doing.

I concluded it was a practice session when I realized no one was being hurt, but only symbolically defeated by a touch of the glittering blade.

I wasn't close enough to make out the face of the Grand Dragon, as I had dubbed him in consideration of the pennant that stirred in the slight breeze over the camp, but he struck me as a somewhat older man, as opposed to the younger men who were attacking him. They were all Chinese. As I watched the black-robed figure, a sense of impending menace came over me. (Well, actually, I got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.) Maybe these folks wouldn't take kindly to my spying on them. Somehow, they didn't look to be the friendly type.

I backed away from the riverbank, mightily puzzled over what I had seen. What in blazes would a bunch of exotic martial artists be doing on a dude ranch? I knew they weren't guests, since I had already met the two families who were the only other folks staying here at present.

Once I'd gotten far enough away, I rose shakily to my feet. My horse was nowhere around. Perhaps she had run away, frightened by the metallic clangor of the fight?

Okay, then I was on foot. Not the worst problem. I knew roughly where I was from the maps I'd had, so I figured if I backtracked about a quarter of a mile down the trail and then headed directly to my right for a little ways, I'd come to the highway that formed one border of the ranch. From there I could probably flag down a car and get a ride to the Circle 5 or into the nearby town of Taylor's Junction.

Everything went according to plan until I got clear of the woods and came out alongside of what should have been a two-lane road. It wasn't quite the highway I had expected, being only a rutted dirt track. Had I made a wrong turn somewhere, or had my memory been playing tricks on me? I didn't think I'd hit my head all that hard.

At any rate, there was a horse-drawn wagon coming towards me on this poor excuse for a road, heading in the direction of town. As it got closer, I could make out the driver to be an elderly man with grey whiskers, dressed in faded jeans and a denim shirt with a tattered straw hat shading his face.

I waved hopefully as the wagon came abreast of me.

"Need a ride, stranger?" the old man asked. There was a wariness in his eyes as he looked me up and down, and I noticed a holstered six-gun on his right hip.

"I sure would be obliged."

He gestured at the seat, so I climbed up next to him. With a slap of the reins on the horse's rump, we were in motion again.

"What'cha doin' on foot away out here?"

"My horse threw me and I hit my head. When I came to, the darn beast was gone," I explained, not mentioning the rest of what I'd seen. "So I started walking."

"Lucky fer you I came along. This here road ain't too well-traveled. You'd have hiked a good ten miles before you came to town."

The distance pretty well matched the map in my head, but my companion's estimate of the likely traffic flow seemed wrong. The highway had been reasonably busy, if I remembered correctly. But then again, this obviously wasn't the highway.

Or was it? As we continued along, I spotted the river crossing the road up ahead. That seemed right -- except the bridge was made of wood, instead of concrete.

After that, I kept a sharp eye out as we jounced slowly along. My vigilance was eventually rewarded by a crude signpost where a smaller dirt track branched off from the road we were following. My initial assumption proved correct: we were heading toward Taylor's Junction.

But the hand-painted roadsign wasn't exactly the latest design used by the Department of Transportation, and the ramshackle grouping of wooden buildings that soon came into sight looked nothing like the modern town I knew. Where the hell was I, then?

That's when it struck me that I had the location right, but the time period wrong. Consider: an unpaved road instead of a highway, a horse-drawn wagon instead of a pickup truck, a grizzled old man sitting next to me wearing a six-gun. When else could I be but sometime during the latter part of the last century?

You may think this realization would have shocked me, but everything looked so perfectly ordinary and natural that I just kind of went along and accepted what had happened, without trying to reason it out.

What else could I do, under the circumstances? If I had started asking all kinds of questions and raved about being from some other time, I'd doubtless have been ordered off the wagon by my so-far sociable although taciturn companion. I had no idea how I'd gotten into the past, but I knew full well my best chance of survival lay in acting as if I belonged there. Any other course of action would have landed me in the local equivalent of the looney bin.

Fortunately, my clothes weren't such as to give me away, since I was wearing fairly old jeans and a plain denim shirt, with my bandanna knotted around my neck. A beat-up cowboy hat borrowed from Jodie completed the outfit. Even my eyeglasses weren't obviously wrong, since they were old-style wireframes. If anyone looked closely and noticed the modern additions, like plastic nosepieces, I figured I could say I'd ordered them from someplace back East and they were the latest style.

At least Taylor's Junction wasn't entirely unknown to me. I'd seen it in the present and I'd once spent a few hours with Caine in the town's historical museum. That gave me a clue as to what to expect as we plodded past a few out-lying homesteads and then headed into the cluster of wooden buildings up ahead. The road quickly became the town's main street.

Yep. Taylor's Junction looked pretty much like the set for a Western movie, with a bank, general store, and saloon, surrounded by a good number of weather-beaten stores and houses.

As we passed through one section of town, I was momentarily surprised to find that the signs were in Chinese, not to mention the fact that the scattering of pedestrians were clearly oriental. Then I recalled that there had been a fairly good-sized population of Chinese at one time, mostly railroad workers who had settled down to steady employment in a coal mine not far away.

At the edge of this local Chinatown, I caught a glimpse of a "Help Wanted" sign in front of a stable. That little bit of practical reality turned my thoughts from historical reflection to economic necessity. By whatever means and for whatever reasons, I was undoubtedly here and would have to find a way to survive. The money in my wallet was of no more value here than my credit cards would be.

The wagon pulled up in front of the general store.

"This here's as far as I go, friend," the driver told me laconically, clearly indicating I was to get off.

"Thanks for the ride," I said as I climbed down. Then I added as an afterthought, "I'll be needing some work. Got any ideas where I should look?"

The old man gave me another one of his appraising glances and rubbed his whiskery chin with one hand as he considered. "Might try the saloon," he suggested at last. "Harry was lookin' for another bartender last time I was in there. Last one got hisself shot for waterin' down the drinks."

Well, that would beat shoveling horseshit at the stable.

"Thanks, I may just do that," I replied brightly. "Come in sometime and I'll buy you a drink."

He gave me the barest hint of a smile and a brief wave as I started down the street towards the Black Nugget Saloon. (This is a coal town, remember.)

To make a long story short, I got the job. Not only that, but it even included a place to stay, at least for the time being. The Black Nugget also served as the local whorehouse, and one of the ladies had recently quit, running off with a footloose gambler. She'd left her room in a total mess, so Harry told me I could use it until he hired a replacement, if I'd clean it up.

When I went through the closet, I found several suits of clothes, perhaps the gambler's cast-offs. Apparently, he hadn't been a whole lot taller than I am, because a bit of tucking and sewing made most everything fit me fairly well. I liked the white shirts with their fancy collars and cuffs. The gaudy, if somewhat faded, silk vests weren't bad either. Inspecting myself in the cracked mirror over the dresser, I figured I looked like a pretty good approximation of a frontier bartender.

I was good at the job too. The ladies liked the sweet concoctions I knew how to whip up, and I made sure the men never had cause to accuse me of watering down their whiskey. Harry was glad to see that I never sampled the merchandise while I was working. Although I've been known to drink to excess when I get depressed, the absolute necessity of being completely sober for my job at the hospital had trained me well. Under normal circumstances, I'm basically a social drinker, not an alcoholic. Harry liked that idea. After all, you don't want a drunk for a bartender, do you?

All went well for the first couple of days. I fit in, made enough money to get by, and didn't spend a lot of time trying to figure out how I had gotten here, since I hadn't a clue.

Then everything fell apart in one night, when a bunch of rather obnoxious drifters wandered into the Black Nugget.

There were four of them, none very young, and all quite dirty. They proceeded to get drunk on the cheapest liquor I could offer and then began pestering the ladies for free samples of what they had for sale. I tried kidding around with them at first, hoping they'd leave peacefully. I saw Harry watching them from the corner table, where he usually sat to keep an eye on things. He was pretty tall and very muscular and usually took care of rowdy customers without too many wasted motions, but I'd have preferred to show him I could handle the situation myself.

I was doing pretty well too, until they waved me over to their table and ordered another round of drinks that I was reasonably certain they didn't have the money to pay for. Rather than refusing outright to serve them, I attempted to convince them they'd had enough and really wanted to go away and sleep it off. I thought they were buying it when the one with the loudest mouth and most obnoxious manners stood up. He was right next to me, so I had to look up to see his face.

He ran a hand over my frilly shirtfront and then on up across my cheek.

"Pretty fancy dude, ain't he now?" he announced to his friends. He grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling me close enough to smell his whiskey-sodden breath as he asked scornfully, "Maybe you'd be willing to give us what these other fine ladies seem so reluctant to provide? Or have I figured you wrong?"

Damn! People always seem to know I'm gay, even though I do my level best not to appear particularly effeminate. I never have known how they do it, but they do.

"You've figured me wrong if you think I'd even consider the likes of you," I hissed furiously, preferring not to actually deny being gay if I could avoid it.

I grabbed the fingers in my hair, simultaneously ducking down, twisting around, and digging my thumb into a tender spot on the back of his hand. (Thank you, Kwai Chang Caine, for teaching me that little trick!) He yelped and let me go, stumbling back into the table and tipping it sideways in the process.

"You little son-of-a-bitch!" Loudmouth said as he got up. "I'll teach you a lesson you'll never --"

He cut off all of a sudden and tumbled gracelessly back to the floor as Harry cold-cocked him with the butt of his pistol.

"Okay," the big man ordered laconically. "You three pick him up and haul your sorry asses out of here, before I get really pissed."

I beat a hasty retreat behind the bar while they did as they were told. Harry watched until they were gone, then sauntered over to me.

"Thanks, boss," I said, hoping he wasn't about to fire me for being a pervert.

"Pour yourself a drink, Jeremy. You look as if you could use it." He went back to the corner table. I still had my job. That was a relief.

Nevertheless, I was pretty shaken up over the incident. Ignoring Harry's offer of free liquor, I busied myself polishing and re-stacking the glasses, just to have something to do with my hands so they wouldn't shake. My back was to the bar when a soft voice behind me asked, "May I have -- some water, please?"

I looked around at the unusual request. My mind had already half-processed the familiar voice or I probably wouldn't have been able to hide my surprise as well as I did.

Just across the stained surface of the bar, there stood a total stranger that I nevertheless knew very well. He looked like Caine, but about twenty years younger and quite a bit thinner. Since the Kwai Chang Caine I knew couldn't possibly be here, this had to be the famous grandfather whose name he bore.

"Uh -- yeah," I managed to say, fumbling for a glass and filling it from the water pitcher without even watching what I was doing. I literally couldn't take my eyes off of the man. He wore a black and white Chinese outfit, fairly new-looking underneath a layer of dust. His hair was long, dark brown, and hanging well below his shoulders. He had the prettiest eyes, and lips that just begged to be kissed. On the whole, he was, as they say, to die for. Or at least that's how he seemed to me.

I held out the glass. "Here you go, friend. Anything else I can do for you?" I added, hoping to keep him standing there for a while just so I could look at him.

Taking a small pouch out of his shoulderbag -- which could easily have been the same one the present-day Caine still carried -- he added some gray powder to the water and drank a mouthful before replying, "I need -- work. And a place to stay."

This was said with some hesitation, as if he were unsure of a favorable reaction. No one else in the bar seemed to be paying much attention to him, so I concluded it wasn't unusual for Chinese, or half-Chinese in his case, to frequent this establishment.

I recalled the sign I'd seen as I'd come into town. "Try the livery stable, down the end of the street to the right. I think they're looking for help. That is, if you don't mind taking care of horses."

Caine smiled slightly and shrugged. "I -- like horses. I will go there." Draining the glass, he replaced it carefully on the counter. "Thank you," he said softly.

"You're welcome," I replied.

Nodding to me in what was almost a bow, he turned and walked out through the swinging doors.

"Bartender! More drinks down here!"

I tore my unwilling eyes off Caine's departing figure and hastened to attend to my other customers, while my mind tried hard to assimilate the incredible coincidence of running into this one particular person out of all the others who lived in this time period.

Or maybe it was no coincidence after all, but some strange quirk of destiny?


Later on that evening, things got even worse. Two Chinese types came in, but they didn't order drinks. Instead, I saw them going from table to table, bowing obsequiously and holding out a large paper, obviously showing it to people and asking questions. I glanced at Harry, inclining my head towards the Chinamen and raising an eyebrow. Problem? Harry shook his head and shrugged.

Okay. Let them be and see what happens.

Eventually they got around to me. They were dressed in fairly typical oriental clothes, nothing fancy, no visible weapons. When the shorter of the two spoke, it was with a thick accent.

"Excuse me. You have seen this man?"

He laid the paper on the bar and I saw that it was a Wanted poster.

As you've doubtless guessed, it was the one for Kwai Chang Caine. The picture wasn't a great likeness: he was totally bald and looked pretty mean. If I hadn't known him already, I'm not sure I'd have recognized him just from that, considering the long hair he now wore.

The reward offered was $5,000 dead or $10,000 alive, which meant someone wanted him alive pretty badly. (Five or ten grand may not sound like much today, but it was one heck of a lot of money back then, as I now knew from personal experience.)

Stalling for time, I made a show of examining the poster carefully, while watching the two Chinamen out of the corner of my eye. I caught sight of an all-too-familiar design stitched into the collar of the otherwise nondescript gray jackets they wore: a winged dragon, identical to the one on the pennant that flew over those strange tents I'd seen beside the river a couple of days ago. These were definitely not people I wanted to help find Caine.

Trying to look as if I regretted not being able to earn that tempting reward money, I shook my head. "Sorry. I don't know where he is."

Well, I hadn't exactly lied, had I? After all, I didn't know where he was at that precise moment. He might have gone to the stable, as I'd suggested, or he might not. Or he might not have gotten the job. They didn't have to know I was being so literal. (Not that I wouldn't have lied flat out to protect Caine, but I'm not very good at it. I'm far more convincing if I just bend the truth a little.)

With another sketchy bow, the two Dragon Boys, as I promptly dubbed them, moved on to Harry's table. I saw Harry shake his head also. Apparently, no one else recognized Caine from the poster, or perhaps they simply hadn't been in the saloon earlier, when he had been there.


As soon as we closed down for the night, I headed for the stable where I'd sent Caine, planning to warn him about the Dragon folks. Of course, I had no way of knowing if he'd actually be there, but I figured "Come to Chinatown. Ask for Caine" wouldn't have worked, under the present circumstances.

I wondered briefly if I would somehow change the past by warning him. Was that even possible? In much of our popular fiction, you can go back and try to make things right, but is this what I'm doing? Or am I just acting out what was fated to happen, one way or the other?

In the final analysis, it really didn't matter. On a practical basis, I knew full well I'd do whatever it took to keep Caine safe, just on general principles.

When I reached the stable, no one was around. Not surprising, as it was almost dawn by then. However, the "Help Wanted" sign was gone, so there was a chance Caine had been hired and was somewhere in the vicinity. The high wooden door stood slightly ajar and a faint light shone from inside. I slid quietly through the opening and into a distinctly horsey smell.

"Hello? Caine? You here?" I called softly. If he was asleep, I didn't want to startle him. Startled martial artists can be dangerous.

No answer. In the dim light of a lantern, I could see a rough bunk in an alcove along the far wall. Otherwise, it looked pretty much like a fairly empty stable. A wagon with a broken seat occupied one of the stalls and a horse snorted curiously somewhere in the further darkness, but business obviously wasn't booming.

I walked over to the lighted area. A white shirt and black jacket lay spread carefully over the bunk, with Caine's suede shoulderbag on the pillow. Surely he couldn't be too far away.

"Caine?" I said again, figuring he might be somewhere in the shadows, watching the intruder. "It's me. The bartender. I need to talk to you."

I heard scuffling noises behind me and turned around, still hopeful. "Caine?"

"Guess again, pretty boy," said a voice I recognized as the obnoxious loudmouth from earlier in the evening. In the lantern light, I could make out the four drunks who had hassled me standing just inside the door.

Oh, shit! I thought as they came over to me.

"I'm not a pretty boy," I objected. "And you have no business here."

"Waal," one of the others drawled, "maybe you ain't no boy, but I'd say you're kind of purty, if'n I squint my eyes a bit."

Before I could react, he grabbed me and pulled me against his body, his hands exploring my ass.

Maybe you think this sort of thing didn't happen in the old days, just because it isn't in the John Wayne movies? Think again. This is a mining town: there are almost no women. Homosexual behavior shows up in virtually every all male environment. The men don't even have to be gay, just horny. There aren't too many other possibilities, except for the local prostitutes, and we've already established these fellows had no money left.

I brought my knee up between his legs. He let me go, but the others wasted little time in joining the fray. Although I got in a few good kicks and punches, I was badly outclassed and I knew it, but I was determined to go down fighting.

"Okay, bartender, hold it right there."

I felt the cold metal of a gun barrel against the side of my face and heard the click as the hammer was drawn back and cocked. As ordered, I held it right there.

"Waal now, that's much better," drawled the one I had dubbed Loudmouth. "You may not be too interested in giving it away, pretty boy, but we're going to have us some fun tonight, one way or another. And you're going to cooperate, or Phil here is going to put a bullet through your brain. You understand?"

Oh yeah, I understood real well, although I was far from happy about it.

In fact, I was pretty damn mad as Loudmouth shoved me facedown over the tailgate of the wagon and I felt someone pull down my trousers.

Angry or not, I resigned myself to enduring what was going to be an uncomfortable experience at best. While it's certainly not a case of relax and enjoy it, it is a case of relax and it won't hurt as much. The only consolation was that I didn't have to worry about AIDS. And I didn't really think they'd kill me, as long as they got what they wanted.

I suppose I could have kept trying to resist, but if it comes to a choice of being raped or having my head blown off, I'll take rape any day. Perhaps I'd have felt differently if I were straight, but, while there are some things I might be willing to die for, the inviolability of my asshole isn't one of them. I knew it wouldn't be very pleasant -- after all, we had no such modern amenities as KY jelly at hand and I sincerely doubted my drunken assailants would bother to be considerate of my comfort -- but I can handle rough sex. I don't honestly consider rape to be a fate worse than death.

(Don't get me wrong: there are fates worse than death. It's just that, to me at least, this isn't one of them. There are a whole lot of much worse things that can be done to people. Besides, there are children not even old enough to walk being raped by their fathers and other relatives all the time. Save your sympathy for them.)

The third SOB had his prick up my ass when he was rather rudely interrupted. I heard someone crash into a wall, then the gun disappeared from next to my face. I turned to see what was going on.

As you may well have guessed, Kwai Chang Caine had returned and decided he didn't like what he found taking place in his humble abode. I watched as he sent my erstwhile tormentors flying in several different directions. Like the Caine I knew in modern times, he made it seem so easy, almost as if he were dancing instead of fighting.

For my part, I enjoyed simply looking at him, despite what had just happened to me. He wore nothing but his black trousers, while his long hair was soaking wet, dripping runnels of water down his bare chest. At a guess, I'd have said he'd recently come from washing up in the river that ran by the town.

When the last drunken oaf had finally picked himself up off the floor and fled, belatedly deciding any further attempts to subdue this particular Chinaman would be unsuccessful, Caine turned his attention to me. I looked away real fast, hoping he wouldn't see the desire in my eyes.

Although I had pulled up my pants as rapidly as I could, you'd have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind, not to mention totally naive, not to realize what those guys had been doing. I didn't think Caine was any of those things.

Busying myself with tucking my shirttails into my trousers, I dared not glance directly at Caine as he walked over closer to me and rested a hand on my shoulder. I was afraid I'd see disgust or censure in his eyes, even though I certainly hadn't been a willing participant in the proceedings. He could hardly have missed seeing the gun at my head.

It's always been my opinion that you needn't be ashamed of what other people do to you against your will. Your own freely-chosen actions are all that can truly shame you. Dishonor belongs to the rapist, not the victim. Often enough, it isn't the rape itself that destroys a person's self-esteem: it's the silence afterwards, if you don't speak out, or the subtle censure of society, if you do.

"Are you -- all right?" Caine asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry. This kind of thing happens to me all the time."

He looked at me strangely. Well, why not? I'd just said I got raped on a routine basis, hadn't I? I tried again.

"Uh -- I mean, not exactly like this but --"

I realized I was only getting in deeper. Now what? I doubted that "gay" would mean anything to him, in this day and age.

I shrugged. "I'm not hurt much. Nothing I can't deal with." Caine didn't pursue the subject any further, much to my relief. "Thanks for getting rid of those creeps."

"Creeps?" he asked, sounding about as perplexed at the modern slang as his grandson often did.

"Yeah. Creeps. Like, creatures so low they crawled out from under a rock somewhere."

He digested that one, hopefully not planning to add it to his vocabulary. "You are -- welcome," he responded gravely, harking back to my previous remark.

He took his hand off my shoulder. Going over to the bunk, he picked up his white shirt and pulled it on, then began drying his hair on a ragged bit of toweling.

"You are the -- bartender, are you not? Why -- are you here?"

Damn! In all the excitement, I had entirely forgotten my original reason for coming to the stable. Now I had something definite to talk about, and a reason to be with him.

"Some Chinese folks came into the saloon looking for you. They had a Wanted poster." He blinked and a look came into his lovely hazel eyes that was somewhere between anger and sorrow. "I wanted to warn you to get out of town. I wasn't real sure I'd find you here, but I figured it was as good a place as any to start."

"Why would you warn me? You do not even know me."

"I didn't like their looks?"

He wasn't buying that, I could see it in his face.

"Caine, you've got to get out of here! I've seen these people before. They work for a scary guy in a black robe. If he's out to get you, you're in trouble. Please --"

"You said -- they showed you a -- poster?"

I nodded.

"Why would you wish to help -- someone who is sought for murder?" he persisted. Despite the coldness in his voice, I didn't think his anger was directed at me.

"Because I know why you killed the Emperor's nephew and I know you're not a murderer," I said without thinking. "I'd have done the same thing, if someone had shot my Master."

He took a step backwards, looking as if he were about ready to fall into one of his defensive postures. Great. Now I had spooked him for sure.

"Look, you've got to believe me! I just want you to get the hell out of Taylor's Junction before these people catch up with you. I know you're a great fighter and all, but this Dragon guy is dangerous and I --"

He cut off my torrent of words with a quick gesture. "How -- do you know me?"

Good question. I answered as honestly as I could. "I know one of your relatives. He told me about you."

"My brother, Daniel Caine?"

There was an urgent eagerness in his voice that I hated to disappoint, but I had no choice. If I'd said yes, he'd have wanted to know where his brother was.

"Uh -- no."

"Who then?"

I had to think fast to avoid a flat-out lie, and yet not tell the entire truth. "Someone who isn't alive now."

This answer appeared to satisfy him, although I didn't know why. How many dead relatives could he have in this country, if he couldn't even get up with his own brother? At least he wasn't looking at me quite so distrustfully anymore.

"Forgive me. I have -- learned -- to be wary."

He sat down cross-legged at the foot of his bunk, waving me to a seat at the other end.

"Uh -- thanks, but I think I'll stand. Sitting isn't real comfortable right now."

He didn't reply to that, saying only, "You mentioned a -- dragon?"

I nodded, glad he was finally willing to listen. I described in detail what I'd seen outside of town, and the two Dragon Boys who had come into the saloon searching for him.

He heard me out without the slightest flicker of emotion crossing his face. Then he leaned forward, smoothed a patch of the dusty dirt floor in front of his bunk, and sketched a quick design with one finger.

"The dragon on the pennant -- did it look like this?" he asked when he was done.

I leaned over, squinting through my bifocals in the dim light. "Yeah. Exactly like that."

He sighed unhappily as he straightened up. "I know these people," he said. "I have met some of them before."

Yeah, and he hadn't come out entirely on top that last time, either. He didn't say that, but I could see it in the slight slump of his shoulders. His body language was so much like the Caine I knew that it was relatively easy for me to read his unspoken feelings.

My insatiable curiosity asserted itself full strength. "Then maybe you'll tell me who they are?" I prompted hopefully. I was dying to know what kind of shit I had stepped in this time.

"The Order of the Avenging Dragon," he explained slowly. "The Imperial Guard, who were -- greatly dishonored when they failed to protect the Emperor's nephew from a lowly Shaolin priest. They have been hunting me -- for several years."

Uh-oh. Deep shit. The slight hint of irony in his words was overpowered by the sadness in his voice. This made me even more certain that when he'd tangled with these folks in the past, it had cost him dearly.

"You are right," he concluded. "They are -- very dangerous."

"So you'll take my advice and clear out of here?"

"No. I -- must stay."

"But I just told you --"

He cut off my objection with a raised palm, saying only, "As they are honor-bound to come, I am honor-bound to stay."

The phrase had the sound of something he'd said once before. There was this real faint smile on his lips and his eyes were focussed somewhere beyond me.

"What has honor got to do with this?" I objected, trying to recall him to reality. We had more to worry about just now than memories. "You've got to get away before they find you."

"It is perhaps not something you would understand."

I knew enough about intercultural differences not to be insulted by this, even if it might have sounded as if he were impugning my sense of honor.

Besides, what did I really know about honor? I'd have sold my soul to keep Caine from harm. It was that simple. Some abstract principle didn't seem sufficient justification for him to risk his life.

"I understand they're coming to kill you, -- and you usually try to avoid such confrontations," I pointed out.

He looked up at me as if he were just now seeing me for the first time, despite all that had gone before.

"Who -- are -- you?" he asked at last.

"Jeremy Joseph Langsten," I answered, deliberately avoiding the true meaning of his question. "Look, it doesn't matter who I am. I just don't want to see you killed or taken captive by these Dragon people."

He shrugged, as if it didn't really matter. "I must face them. They wish only to redeem their own honor, -- since I committed such a -- grievous wrong against the Imperial Family."

I wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Are you really so fond of that Emperor of yours?" I demanded. "After all, you've lived in this country for quite some time now. That's got to have given you a different perspective on things. The world has changed a lot in the last couple of hundred years. Who knows what may happen next? Even China may not always be governed by emperors."

He only smiled a little as he countered, "How well do you know China, Jeremy Langsten?"

I knew the last Emperor of the Qing Dynasty fell from power in the early 20th Century, but I could hardly try to tell him that. But then again, how often have I heard Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping referred to as "Red Emperors"? Is there really such a big difference? An Emperor by any other name is an Emperor still.

"The killing of any man would dishonor me, even had he not been the Royal Nephew," Caine said into my silence.

"Maybe so. But would anyone bother to chase you across an ocean and all over a foreign country to avenge the death of an ordinary man? Not to mention putting such a generous price on your head?"

That careless shrug again. "What might have been -- does not matter. What I have done, I have done. The Order of the Avenging Dragon will not cease to pursue me as long as I live. Whether I face them now or later -- is of little importance."

Even apart from your own life, I thought, it's of some importance whether or not you live long enough to have a son, not to mention a grandson. But I couldn't exactly say that, could I?

Besides, he was looking off into the distance again and I doubted he'd hear me even if I spoke. I touched his shoulder, trying to pull him back into the present. Instead, I saw in my mind the robed and hooded form of the Grand Dragon and heard a harsh, whispery, slightly accented voice saying sardonically, "What have you won, priest? Respite? Time? For surely, you know the heart of the beast still lives, grows, reaches out. Where will you go to escape it, except to the heart of the heart, where you and I must meet."

The voice faded into silence. And the stable was back around us once again.

"That's the one I've been calling the Grand Dragon," I said softly, still somewhat shaken by the weird vision.

Caine just nodded. No explanation. No surprise that I had apparently seen and heard the same thing he had.

"So I take it you're not going to run away?" I asked.

"No, I -- am not. But I thank you for the warning, Jeremy. Especially since it cost you --" he hesitated longer than usual before he chose a word "-- much -- to deliver it."

I still had my hand on his shoulder. This would have been a perfect opening, if I had wanted to come on to him. He was just so gorgeous, with the long hair and all. But I figured this Caine was no gayer than the one I knew, so I'd probably be wasting my time. Or worse, I'd destroy the tentative trust and friendship we had established.

Not worth it, no matter how tempted I might be. With a mental sigh, I dropped my hand and took a step backwards.

"Don't worry about what happened to me," I told him. "Just be careful, huh? I meant what I said about not wanting to see you get hurt."

"I -- do not understand your concern, -- since you barely know me."

I smiled my most gracious smile, hoping to win him over. "Let's just say I'm a friend of the family, okay? If there's anything I can do, you know where to find me."

"I will -- remember that," he replied very seriously.

I left quickly, before I could have second thoughts.


The following night, the Dragon's minions returned to the saloon with their poster and set about questioning a fresh batch of customers. If nothing else, that at least let me know they hadn't yet found Caine. I was beginning to hope they never would when Loudmouth and his scurvy friends sauntered in the door and lined up along the bar, calling loudly for drinks.

Acting as if last night hadn't happened, I set them up as quickly and casually as I could. One of them leered at me, but I ignored it. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to these louts. In fact, part of the reason I hadn't gone to the sheriff and charged them with assault -- above and beyond not being particularly interested in publicizing the fact that I'd been raped -- was that I'd have had to explain about Caine. Not a good idea, considering his relationship with the law.

I even put double shots of whiskey in their glasses, hoping that the Dragon Boys wouldn't bother with a bunch of soused cowhands.

No such luck. When I saw the two gray-clad men coming our way, I moved to the other end of the bar. Maybe Loudmouth and his cronies wouldn't recognize Caine from that awful likeness, or maybe they wouldn't be willing to admit that a Chinaman beat the shit out of them.

No luck on that score either. No sooner did Loudmouth lay eyes on the poster than he announced cheerfully, "Yeah, sure, we know this fucker. Why?"

"We wish to find him. Where is he?"

"What's it worth to you?"

This drew blank looks from the two Orientals, so Loudmouth elaborated. "How much will you pay to know?"

"Ah!" the taller of the two said in sudden comprehension. Taking out a small leather sack, he placed it on the bar, inviting Loudmouth to look inside.

When he did, he was apparently impressed with what he saw. "Chinaman, you got yourself a deal. Try the livery stable down the other end of the street." He reached for the sack, but the other man put a hand around his wrist.

"If the one we seek is there, then the money will be yours," the Head Dragon Boy said, no longer sounding quite so obsequious.

I thought Loudmouth was going to object, but his wrist was still clamped firmly and I saw him wince.

"Okay. That's fair enough. But how do I know I can trust you, now that I've given you the information?"

"I will remain here. Chow Fong will go to the stable." Releasing the other man's wrist, he placed a coin on the bar. "Let us all have a drink, while we wait."

That was my cue. Chow hurried out the door as I hastened to serve more liquor, trying to keep calm. Caine could surely take out one guy. Or maybe he wouldn't be there. Maybe he'd even left town, despite what he'd said. Maybe he'd -- what? I was fresh out of possibilities.

Chow Fong returned all too soon. "No one is there," he reported. His partner picked up the leather sack.

"Now hold on a minute, friend," Loudmouth objected. "Let's not be hasty. Maybe he just wasn't at home when you called."

"I spoke with the owner of the stable. He said the priest no longer worked for him," Chow elaborated.

Loudmouth and his cronies all looked over at me. I busied myself polishing glasses. Phil started to say something but Loudmouth overrode him. "Well, what if we locate your man? How can we find you to claim the reward?"

"We are camped south of town, by the small waterfall. Come there, if you have information of value," the Head Boy said haughtily. He turned on his heel and left the saloon, followed closely by his cohort.


The rest of the evening seemed to drag on interminably, as I worried about what might be happening if the Dragon folks had returned to the stable with reinforcements and found Caine. Chow Fong had said only that he'd been told the priest didn't work there anymore. Mightn't that imply the owner realized what Caine was and he'd been lying to protect a Shaolin priest? It was at least a remote possibility. Caine had been pretty definite about not running away when I'd seen him last night, so I didn't truly think he'd left town.

But then again, he could have had second thoughts and decided to make himself scarce. I had no real way of knowing where Caine was or what he might be doing. What if I went to the stable myself later on that night? If Caine were in truth still there, would he reveal himself to me? Or would Loudmouth and his friends be keeping watch, hoping to find him there? In that case, I'd do no good by getting involved.

Still torn and undecided at closing time, I climbed the stairs to my room, intending to wash up a bit while mulling over my possible courses of action.

Somewhat refreshed by the tepid water in my washbasin, I put on my old shirt and jeans. As I tied my bandanna around my neck, I realized I had made up my mind. Try as I might to convince myself otherwise, I knew I was going to the stable. I couldn't just sit around waiting and wondering. Whatever was going to happen, I felt strongly that I had to be part of it.

And besides, -- Come on, Jeremy, admit the truth! -- I wanted to see Caine again.

I glanced into the cracked piece of mirror above the washstand and straightened the knot on the bandanna. With any kind of luck, Loudmouth and his friends would be sound asleep somewhere by now.

I slipped quietly down the back stairs and out of the saloon. The town of Taylor's Junction lay peacefully asleep beneath a bright, almost-full moon as I picked my way along the side of a street made muddy by the thunderstorm we'd had earlier in the evening. Unfortunately, I paid too much attention to avoiding the puddles and not enough attention to my surroundings. Loudmouth stepped out of the shadows as I passed the general store.

"Going somewhere, bartender?" he asked, motioning me toward the alley alongside the store with the six-gun he held in his hand.

I backed away a few steps, but bumped into someone else, who promptly grabbed my right arm and jerked it painfully up behind my back, while simultaneously holding a knife under my chin.

"Uh -- just getting a little fresh air," I quipped lamely, cursing myself for a careless fool.

"Ha, Ha," Loudmouth said, not laughing. "Now lead us to this Caine person, or you'll have plenty of fresh air comin' in through a slit in your throat."

"What makes you think I even know where he is?"

"Waal, let's just say I got the idea you and him might be a little more'n friends, considerin' how he lit into us last night in your defense. Me an' the boys figure you can find him, if'n you really wanted to."

"And if I don't want to?"

"Oh, Harry's pretty good with that pig-sticker of his. He'd be glad to mess up your face a mite, for starters. Reckon you wouldn't be such a pretty boy anymore, once he got through with you."

I had nothing to tell them but the truth.

"I don't know where he is."

"Try again, bartender," Harry said with barely controlled menace, digging the tip of his knife into my neck.

"You can't make me tell you something that I don't know," I pointed out, justifiably terrified of what they might do to me while at the same time almost glad that I couldn't possibly be forced to betray Caine. At least I didn't have to rely on my own meager supply of courage in that regard.

However, that consideration didn't go far towards getting me out of this mess.

"I was only going to the stable to look around," I temporized. "See if he left me a note or something."

They might buy that last part, since Loudmouth had already insinuated that he thought Caine and I were lovers. I might even get them to take me to the stable. If nothing else, it would delay things for a while and give me a chance to come up with something else.

Loudmouth grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head back.

"Don't give me that crap. You were with him last night after he threw us out. You an' him had plenty of time to make plans. I think you were fixin' to meet him somewheres else, and I intend to find out where that was," he sneered. "You like them China boys, bartender? They got somethin' we ain't got?"

"Yeah," I said. "Or at least, this one does. But you wouldn't even begin to understand what it is."

Loudmouth scowled at this. I clenched my teeth and steeled myself for something nasty and painful.

Nothing happened. Instead, Loudmouth's eyes went wide with surprise. He looked down at his shoulder, where the shaft of a metal dart protruded from the fabric of his shirt.

"What in hell --?" he began. Then his knees gave way and he crumpled to the ground, followed quickly by the rest of his gang.

I looked around the alley, but saw no one. Kneeling beside Loudmouth, I felt his neck for a pulse. No, he wasn't dead, at least not yet. Must have been some kind of drug on the darts, hopefully not lethal. But who and why --?

"Stand up."

I recognized the voice of the Head Dragon Boy behind me. That settled the who, but I still needed to know the why. I rose to my feet, turned, and found myself confronting six of the now-familiar gray-clad folks.

Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire! I wasn't sure I wouldn't have preferred Loudmouth and his buddies.

"You will come with us. My Master wishes to speak with you."

"Hey, look, I'm real glad you got me out of that fix, but I can't help you anymore than I could help them." I held out my hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't know where Caine is. That's the truth."

"You will come with us," he repeated impassively and gave a quick nod of his head.

Something sharp stabbed the back of my neck, something that could have been the tip of a dart. I collapsed next to Loudmouth.


When I came to I discovered that I was a prisoner in the camp of the Grand Dragon. I also discovered that I was not in a real comfortable position, since I was pretty much hanging from my wrists, which were tied to a pole up above my head. As consciousness filtered back into my fog-infested brain, I found I could take some of the weight off my aching arms, but only by standing virtually on tiptoe, since my feet didn't quite touch the ground. It was still dark, but the sky was brightening through the trees across the river, so dawn couldn't be too far off. Judging by the pain in my shoulders and arms, I had been hanging here for some time already. This didn't look as if it was going to be much fun at all, especially when the Grand Dragon came out of one of the tents, noticed I was awake and started over in my direction.

He wore a long black robe and hood, but from up close I could see that he also had a large gold medallion with the shape of that familiar winged dragon around his neck.

"I can't tell you where he is," I said yet again.

"You will not need to," came the smug answer in the same harsh voice I had "heard" in Caine's mind the other day.

This threw me for a moment. I stared at him, trying to make out the details of his face within the shadows of the cowl. If he didn't want to know Caine's whereabouts, then what did he want me for?

"It is really very simple," he said in reply to my puzzled silence. "I have let it be known that you are my prisoner and that, unless Kwai Chang Caine comes to confront me, his friend will die a horrible death. He has until noon to appear. After that, you have until nightfall to die very slowly, so you had best hope that he gets my message quickly and decides to come."

"Son-of-a-bitch," I muttered through my teeth. This time I wasn't even going to have the chance to be a hero and refuse to betray Caine. Instead, I'd been used as bait to lure him into a trap.

And he'd come. I was sure of that. Even though he didn't know me all that well, Caine would nevertheless feel it his duty to appear. Besides, he meant to face this guy anyway, so why shouldn't he show up?

Of course, it might take some time for the ultimatum to reach him, and then more time while he made his way out here. I'd probably be stuck hanging around (no pun intended) for a while yet. I shifted my weight uneasily. Now my feet and legs were starting to hurt. It was going to be a long wait.

The Grand Dragon turned away and headed back toward his tent.

"How about letting me down from here?" I said. (Can't hurt to ask, right?)

The black-robed figure stopped and turned slowly back to me. I still couldn't make out his face.

"If you become a nuisance," he said softly, "we can make you much less comfortable."

"Uh -- that's okay. I'm fine like this."

He gave a short laugh before striding away.

So I shifted the pain back and forth from my legs to my arms as I waited for whatever was going to happen. The sun rose. Birds sang. The river gurgled and splashed over the nearby falls. A fly landed on my nose and I shook my head to chase it away. A soft breeze smelling of moisture and dampness came my way every so often.

I closed my eyes and focussed my mind on all these sounds and sensations. When the sun rose above the trees and crept slowly up my body, I was able to add heat and thirst to my list of uncomfortable stimuli. And yet, I couldn't in good conscience wish for Caine to get here. I knew they'd do some seriously nasty things to him, if he fell into their hands. Of course, I could always hope he'd be able to defeat the Grand Dragon, if it came to a conflict between the two of them. But what about all the other men in the camp? In the time I'd been here, I'd seen at least twelve different people engaged in various activities. Caine was good, but was he good enough to take on so many others, not to mention the various weapons I knew they had available to them??

Come to think of it, would he even have the chance, or would he feel compelled to surrender simply to free me? And might I not just as easily be slaughtered, either way? From where I was sitting, it didn't look good for the home team.

When Caine appeared at the far edge of the clearing, it was mid-morning. He was dressed in a gold-colored outfit that shimmered like satin, with a wide red sash tied in an elaborate bow. He looked so absolutely drop-dead gorgeous that, under other circumstances, I'd have been sorely tempted to try to untie that bow around his waist.

I watched him walk slowly out of the woods and into the clear area around the tents. There was a strange look on his face, and a banked fire in his eyes. Oh yes, as I've said, he was beautiful. But it wasn't your classical sort of beauty. Alter his expression a little and he would seem sullen, hard, and maybe even just plain mean. This was normally held at bay by his mild expression and gentle mannerisms, but I could see it now, as if he was pretty angry and was momentarily unguarded.

In rare moments, I had seen this same thing in the Caine I knew also, but it was somewhat muted, maybe because of his age and greater experience with life. In this younger man, it showed up much clearer. Funny thing though: Peter was about the same age, and I didn't get that feeling from him. No, not even when I'd seen the boy with a gun in his hand. Peter was often reckless, but I had never felt the sense of potential evil held in check that I got from Caine. Was that a fault in Caine, or a greater strength? As I've learned from my study of Taoism, all things balance. The darker the shadow, the brighter the light. For all his gentleness, Caine, both in the present and in the past, had a shadow that was dark indeed. I'm not saying either of them would ever act on that evil, but the potential was there, as it is in all of us. Most people don't have his skill and strength, though. If Caine ever allowed his self-discipline and control to falter, his Shaolin training would make him incredibly dangerous.

Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind too much if he'd try being rather dangerous just now, considering the fix I was in.

Somehow, the Grand Dragon knew his quarry had taken the bait. He opened the flap of this tent and stood motionless in the entrance.

"So you have come," the Grand Dragon said calmly.

Caine just stood there, still not looking terribly pleased about things.

"When you killed the Royal Nephew," the other man went on, "I was already head of the Order of the Avenging Dragon. Your action resulted in great disgrace, for the Order and for me. I swore an oath to the Emperor that I would have you captured and returned to China, to suffer the consequences of your deed. Instead, you have eluded me time and again, defeating those I have sent against you. This time I have come myself, and you shall not escape."

Now, I make no claim to understand human nature. It's all I can do to figure out my own motives, and I'm not even sure I've got them right half the time. But I'd be damned if I didn't think this dude really was acting from a sense of honor, not from sheer cussedness. Trouble was, his idea of honor was not informed by any sense of compassion or mercy, justice or truth. It was the honor of the sincere and faithful Nazi, diligently following his society's orders.

"The Royal Nephew was responsible for the killing of my Master Po," Caine said quietly.

"Bah! Naught but a worthless priest!"

Caine's eyes narrowed at that insult, but he said nothing.

"If you had any honor, you would return to China and surrender yourself to the Emperor, in proper repentance for what you have done."

"I am here," Caine pointed out.

"Are you here to become my prisoner?"

Caine shook his head.

"What then?" demanded the Grand Dragon.

"I am here to face you. If you can take me prisoner, you may. Meanwhile, --" he waved in my direction "-- you may release the one you hold. I have come, as required. You have no further need of him."

"I merely said he would die if you did not come. I did not say what would become of him if you did."

"You play a game unworthy of you," was Caine's scornful retort, "and yet you say -- I -- have no honor?"

"I could demand that you surrender yourself to me, in return for freeing your friend."

This was too much for me.

"No," I said with as much conviction as I could muster. "Caine, don't!"

The Grand Dragon looked in my direction and gave a slight nod. One of his men came over and backhanded me across the face.

"You will be silent," the Grand Dragon said, as I licked blood off my split lip and glared at him. Fortunately, the blow hadn't knocked my glasses off or the rest of what happened would have been nothing but a blur to me.

"You and I will face each other alone, priest," the Grand Dragon decided. "No one will interfere. I have commanded it. If you win, you are free. If you lose, and yet live, you will return with me to China."

No mention of what happens to me. I guess I really didn't count in that equation.

Caine bowed his agreement to the other man's proposal.

The Grand Dragon removed his voluminous robe. He wore an outfit much like Caine's but in black and with a winged dragon on the back. They squared off opposite each other in the clear space in front of the tents. Both men bowed solemnly and the contest began. I could do nothing but watch with bated breath.

This was clearly a battle between masters. There was no chance of the bloodless easy victory I'm so used to seeing when "my" Caine confronts other far less skillful adversaries. Most of the blows and kicks never reached their target, being deftly blocked or avoided, but the few that landed were punishing in the extreme. Indeed, to a lesser opponent, they might well have been fatal. As it was, before very long Caine had blood running down his face from a cut on his scalp, while the Dragon's cheek was lacerated and bleeding. And that was just what I could see. They were doubtless both bruised badly from several vicious body blows.

Finally, the Grand Dragon stepped back, as if to call a halt to the proceedings. Caine stopped also, holding his defensive posture but tilting his head questioningly.

"Let us continue," the black-clad figure suggested, "with weapons."

Caine nodded his assent to this suggestion. They walked over to a long rack of exotic weapons that stood just outside the entrance to the largest tent.

The Grand Dragon took a shiny metal staff from the rack. It was the same thing I had seen him using for practice so I knew his deadly expertise.

With its butt resting on the ground, the staff was a little taller than a man. The blade was flat and curved slightly, about the width of a hand and perhaps two feet long. Even my untrained mind could come up with several ways to use such an item to slice an opponent to pieces.

Sunlight glinted on the blade as the Dragon motioned for Caine to also choose a weapon. Somewhat to my surprise, Caine picked out the same thing, weighing it carefully in his hands and taking a few experimental swings.

Perhaps it was disloyal of me to fear for Caine's life, but I had seen the Grand Dragon take on six opponents at once and come out victorious using that particular weapon, so I figured it might take more expertise than even a Shaolin priest would have to use it to the same effect.

The brief respite over, Caine and the Grand Dragon squared off once again, treating me to a spectacular exhibition of jabs, swings, spins, and near misses as they fought back and forth across the open space. Much of the action seemed like the sort of staff fighting I had seen in martial arts demonstrations, with the addition of that lethal blade to make things just that much more interesting. Since some parts of the battle took place uncomfortably close to me, I watched the glittering metal with more than a little fear for my own safety added to my concern for Caine.

At first, Caine seemed a bit unsure of himself, staying mostly on the defensive and parrying a couple of thrusts with so little margin for error that my heart caught in my chest. However, once he got the feel of the weapon, he matched the Grand Dragon blow for blow, but neither seemed able to mount a lethal attack, although both had been sliced in a couple of places.

Finally, they stood facing each other, crouched defensively and gasping for breath.

"We are too well matched, Shaolin," the Grand Dragon said at last.

Caine nodded his head respectfully, not taking his eyes off his opponent.

Casting his staff to the ground, the Grand Dragon announced, "We will fight on another plane, where the skills of the body are not so important as those of the mind."

Caine nodded once more and also dropped his weapon.

Now what? I wondered. Would there be fancy displays of pyrotechnics as they each cast bolts of energy, as is done in the rather unimaginative fantasy novels that are so popular?

No, apparently not. All they did was continue to face each other, the Grand Dragon on his feet while Caine sank fluidly down into a full lotus, hands resting on his knees. Both men had their eyes closed. Absolutely nothing seemed to be happening, and yet I knew the conflict had to be going on -- somewhere.

I closed my eyes also, trying to allow my mind to center and drift into the sort of emptiness I had (rarely!) been able to reach in my own feeble attempts at meditation.

Suddenly, something shifted. (That's the only way I can describe it.) The quality of the light beyond my eyelids changed. I blinked -- and found myself looking out on a strange and alien landscape. From high up on a mountainside, I faced a vista of sharp-edged peaks and valleys. Everything was clear and crisp, black on white, stylized like a Chinese painting. The mountains, rocks, trees, all consisted only of lines like brushstrokes, varied in width and texture according to the design of the artist.

It wasn't real, and yet it hinted at a reality beyond the reach of any merely photographic image of the world. It was as if the inner spirit of the landscape were being depicted, rather than merely its outward seeming.

Turning my gaze from this surreal yet breath-taking view, I noted that I was standing on a rather narrow path along the side of one of those precipitous brushstroke mountains. A single gnarled and twisted pine grew from a crevice a short way up the cliff face that rose to my left, while nothing but an abrupt drop-off bordered the path on the other side.

I barely had time to wonder what I was doing here, not to mention worry about exactly where "here" was, when I caught sight of Caine and the Grand Dragon just ahead of me on the path.

In comparison to the rest of the sketchy surroundings, they were both solidly substantial, much to my relief. They stood facing each other. Although they had assumed defensive postures, neither seemed in a hurry to attack.

Staying as near to the cliff face as I could, I moved closer, until I wasn't very far behind Caine. Neither man acknowledged my presence in any way, so I wasn't sure if they could see me at all.

With a triumphant laugh, the Grand Dragon clutched his gold medallion in one fist while his other arm described a sweeping arc through the air. In a bright flash of light, a huge golden dragon materialized above his head. It was at least four times the size of a man and looked pretty much like the avenging dragon on the pennant. Claws like razors glistened on each foot, reaching toward Caine, while immense scaly wings buffeted him backwards, in the direction of the edge of the cliff.

Somehow I knew that, unreal though this world might appear, anyone who went over that edge and tumbled into the abyss below would be dead in the real world also. If I knew that, it was a pretty sure bet that Caine knew it too, especially judging by the attempt he was making to counter the dragon's attack while not retreating any further.

All of a sudden he held still. From where I stood cringing against the not-nearly solid enough mountainside, I could see him in profile. He seemed to be just looking at the fierce golden beast, yet it faltered in its attack.

"You are not -- real," he declared firmly, waving one hand in a gesture much like the one I've seen "my" Caine use to extinguish a candle from all the way across a room.

And, just like the flame of the above-mentioned candle, the menacing dragon blinked out of existence.

The Grand Dragon frowned briefly, then gestured again.

A lovely young Chinese girl in a long dark brown cape stood at the very edge of the cliff. Her glistening black hair was pulled severely back from her face, then fell half way down to her waist over the sumptuous red satin lining the hood of her cloak. Large dark eyes framed by delicate features gazed at Caine in terrified appeal. She seemed frozen by fear in her precarious position next to the abyss.

Caine exclaimed softly, "Po Li!"

She raised her arms, reaching out towards him. As she did so, her cape fell back to reveal red-orange pants and tunic, stretched over a very-pregnant belly.

"Help me, Kwai Chang," she begged frantically. "I carry your son. Save us!"

I had no time to even wonder who Po Li might be before I found myself caught up in what could only be one of Caine's memories, since I seemed to be watching the scene from his point of view.

It was many years ago, in China, and they were in a forest beside a slow-moving river. Po Li, dressed exactly as I had just seen her but not pregnant, knelt before him. Caine uncrossed his legs from the half-lotus he had been in as he said, "You may die."

Po Li replied, "This much I know: I will not die easily."

She rose gracefully to her feet, then sat next to Caine on the huge fallen treetrunk. Spreading her cloak, she wrapped one arm around behind him and went on, "And I will have much to remember."

Her other arm reached out to encircle him, as her long fingernails touched his head and drew him closer. As she lay back on the ground, pulling him down on top of her, her eyes sparkled like the sunlight on the river behind them.

I didn't just see all this. Rather, I felt it, as Caine must have. And that got very embarrassing very quickly! Po Li was a beautiful young woman, who looked and felt every bit as delectable with her clothes off as she had with them on. Although I'm basically gay, sex with a woman isn't totally outside my experience. (After all, I was married once.) But Po Li, especially through the filter of Caine's perception, was a whole lot more exciting than my wife had ever been. Even so, I was able to separate myself from the overwhelming sensual memory, perhaps simply because women, however lovely, are not the chief focus of my desires.

Nevertheless, it was a very interesting experience, which was abruptly shattered by Po Li's pleading voice bringing us back to our present surreal version of reality.

"Help me!" she begged pitifully, as she teetered over the edge. "I love you, Kwai Chang. Help me."

Still entangled in his memories, Caine moved toward the pregnant woman. As I watched in horror, she lost her balance and began to fall backwards. Caine dove forward and was able to grab her hands just as she slid over the edge. But with nothing to hold onto, her weight pulled him slowly but inexorably after her.

I ran over and grabbed his legs, but I wasn't quite as "solid" in this strange plane as he was. My hands passed through him with a feeling like I was trying to clutch heavy layers of rotten gauze.

Barely a yard away, the Grand Dragon stood watching all this, an abstract smile fixed on his lips and a glazed look in his eyes. I don't think he saw me at all.

This was all wrong somehow. I knew that, but didn't know exactly why.

"Caine!" I warned, shouting in the hopes that he might hear me, even if I wasn't solidly present. "This isn't what it seems! Look at it! Figure it out!"

I don't know if my warning got through, but at that same moment, he glanced around at the Grand Dragon.

"This -- cannot be," he said. His face was contorted with the effort to hold the woman's weight and his voice came only with great strain. "It was -- many years ago. Even if Po Li became pregnant -- she would have -- borne the child by now."

The Grand Dragon still showed no indication of seeing me, but he now appeared distinctly annoyed.

"Are you so sure of this, priest?" he asked.

"Yes," came Caine's now-confident reply as he released Po Li's hands. Instead of falling, she evaporated into mist and sunlight, like the illusion she had been.

Caine rose to his feet, still close to the cliff but on solid ground.

"Very good," the Grand Dragon said mockingly. "Few men can see through the illusion of their external fears, and fewer still through the illusion of their desires. But what of your inner fears, priest? What do they look like? And how real are they to you?"

So saying, he stepped back. Where he had been, there now stood an old monk in orange robes, whose clouded eyes gazed sightlessly from his kindly face.

Caine reacted to the monk's presence with an expression of delight totally out of keeping with his usual stoicism. "Master Po," he said, his voice rapt with wonder.

"Grasshopper," the old man replied with a frown, "why are you here? Why have you fled your country, rather than paying for your rash actions? You have brought disgrace and dishonor upon yourself, and upon the Shaolin."

Stricken, Caine went to his knees before his Master.

"I did not mean --"

"What you meant is not important," the other man continued implacably. "What you have done speaks louder than your words. You acted in anger, without regard for all I have taught you about the value of life. You have made a powerful enemy of the Emperor, an enemy who will one day destroy our Temple and murder the Masters."

"No," Caine objected wretchedly. "Not -- because of me. It -- must not be."

"It will be, and worse, if you do not atone for what has been done," Master Po insisted. "You are without honor. Your life is worth nothing. You deserve only death."

Caine bowed lower, until his forehead touched the ground.

Could it actually be that he believed what the old monk was telling him? Did he see himself in truth as the person depicted on the Wanted poster, the murderer with the hard face and vicious coldness in his eyes? Was that the true specter that haunted this gentle soul? Not the horror of being hounded forever for his supposed crime, but the idea that he deserved no better of life, if indeed he deserved to live at all?

"What must I do to atone for my actions, Master?" I heard him ask, still face down at the feet of the old monk.

"You must die, Grasshopper," Master Po answered him, pointing toward the abyss with one wide-sleeved arm.

Caine rose to his feet and nodded once. Almost as if he were in a trance, he started walking toward the edge of the cliff.

As an outsider, I could clearly see the deception in this illusion, but Caine couldn't, perhaps because it was playing on guilt that was so deeply buried in his psyche that he wasn't even aware of it on a rational level.

I ran in front of him, trying to block his way, but he walked right through me.

"No!" I screamed. "No! It's not the truth! This is not what you are!"

That did no good. If he heard me at all, he ignored it, attending only to the words of his beloved Master echoing the hidden terrors of his heart.

With nothing else to do, I ran at the elderly monk, my hands up as if I could push him out of existence by sheer force. "Stop it, stop it!" I cried. "You are not Master Po! He would not do this! Damn you, stop!"

I expected to careen right through the figure of the old man, but I didn't. I hit him with a solid thump and we both fell to the ground. Far be it from me to beat up on an old, blind monk, but this guy was strong as an ox and seemed to be doing his level best to strangle me, so I fought back as well as I could. It occurred to me that this was stupid. No way could I even be holding my own against a real Shaolin priest, blind or otherwise.

"You -- are -- not -- real," I choked out. His deathgrip on my neck weakened.

The old man literally exploded in smoke and flames.

Caine glanced around at the noise. Perhaps he caught a glimpse of me, or perhaps not, but he couldn't have missed the sight of his supposed Master going up in smoke. Either way, he no longer seemed particularly anxious to walk off the cliff, so I was satisfied.

Unfortunately, I was also utterly exhausted. My struggle with the image of Master Po had drained me completely. I lay on the ground, with barely enough energy to breathe, much less get up. All I could do was watch as Caine walked over to face the Grand Dragon.

I don't know what I expected him to do, but it certainly wasn't what he did. With a gesture that took in the surrounding mountains, he said softly, "As this landscape is an -- abstraction of reality, -- so also is this battle between us abstract. It is a conflict of ideas, not fists. You have done nothing but summon illusions. I will summon truth."

Suddenly, another elderly monk appeared. This one wore black and his eyes were brilliantly clear in a sharp-featured face. He stood squarely facing the Grand Dragon, a small smile on his lips. And I knew from what "my" Caine had once told me that this had to be the famous Master Kan, head of the Shaolin Temple where this Caine had spent his youth. Here stood no illusion, but rather the embodiment of an actual memory.

I watched the two old Masters face each other, so much alike in so many ways, and yet so very different. One ruler of a militant Order, one a monk. One arrogant and strong in his pride, the other humble despite his many accomplishments.

I almost expected to see Master Kan attack the Grand Dragon, and yet he didn't. He merely spoke, in a calm and educated voice as if lecturing to his students.

"Each man must start with himself, within himself, by slowly forging his chi, the bond between the finite and the infinite, the inner essence of his spirit and the limitless power of the universe. Only thus can you conquer the power and the presence of evil."

"The murdering priest is evil, not me," the Grand Dragon retorted. "Away with you."

He gestured grandly, but Master Kan remained where he was. The Grand Dragon stepped forward, throwing a powerful punch at the other man. His fist went through Master Kan with no effect.

"You have dealt with illusion for so many years that you can no longer touch the truth," the monk said. "Your power is illusion. Your honor is illusion. Look inside your heart and you will see the truth of what you are."

"I know all the truth I need to know. It is not for you to judge me," the Grand Dragon declared.

Master Kan shook his head, saying gently, "I do not judge you. No one may approve or condemn another man save only that man himself. What lies within your heart? Is it compassion, or cruelty? Have you sought harmony with all things, or merely your own power and prestige? What are your motives? What your passions and desires? Only you yourself may truly see, and truly judge."

There was pity in Master Kan's eyes as he raised one hand and placed his palm against the other man's chest.

The Grand Dragon winced, as if the Shaolin Master's shadowy touch were causing him genuine pain. He drew in a breath and his eyes went wide. Then his face twisted into the most dreadful grimace of horror and dismay that I have ever had the misfortune to behold. Despite my usually insatiable curiosity, I found I had absolutely no desire to find out what the Grand Dragon saw when he looked at his own soul.

"No!" he gasped brokenly. "No! It cannot be!"

"It is," Master Kan replied sadly.

With a wordless scream, the Grand Dragon pulled back from Master Kan. He turned towards the cliff.

"No," Master Kan began as he reached out to the other man, "it is not necessary --"

He wasn't fast enough. With a final agonized shriek, the Grand Dragon threw himself over the edge.

In the sudden silence following that dreadful scream, I could do nothing but stare at Caine and his Master. The old monk glanced briefly in my direction and nodded, as if he at least could see me. Then he smiled at Caine, bowed gracefully, and disappeared.

Caine bowed gravely back, then everything else disappeared also and we were in the real world once again.

I saw the Grand Dragon totter and then fall full length to the ground. Before any of the others had even begun to figure out what had happened, Caine rose to his feet. Picking up the metal staff that still lay beside him, he ran over to me. With one clean swipe of the blade, he cut the rope that held my wrists without so much as nicking my skin. I crumpled to the ground, unable to move due to the pain in my legs and the numbness in my arms and hands. Caine threw me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of rice and sprinted for the river. The cold water hit me with a shock, clearing away the last lingering vestiges of the surreal world we'd been in.

Now, this river wasn't much to speak of, almost more of an overgrown stream. Still, just below the small waterfall, it slowed down and spread out a ways, becoming deep enough that a man had to swim to get across. There wasn't much of a current, which was just as well, since I was only partly functional. Between Caine towing me and my own feeble efforts to swim, we made it to the far bank well ahead of any pursuers.

As the water grew shallow, Caine dragged me to my feet, which were at last beginning to obey my brain's frantic commands to move. The sharp crack of gunshots from the other side of the water spurred me on to greater efforts as we struggled ashore and tried to climb the slick mud along the bank. We had almost made it into the woods when a sledge hammer hit me in the back of the head and I pitched forward into the prickly embrace of a small bush.

Once more, Caine pulled me to my feet. Grabbing me around my waist and draping one limp arm over his shoulder, he dragged me a short way along the riverbank. I was no more than half conscious, unable to help him very much and feeling sick and dizzy. A fire burned along the back of my skull and I figured I'd been hit by a bullet. How bad the wound might be, I had no idea. I wanted nothing more than to lie down and quietly pass out, but I couldn't very well do that.

We weren't making much progress through the woods, due to my limp condition. At this rate, the Dragon Boys would have no trouble catching up with us, once they got across the river. I tried to tell Caine to leave me here and run, since it was him they mostly wanted. Unfortunately, my tongue was no more willing to obey my brain than my legs had been, so no words came out. The dizziness increased and I felt my stomach contract sickeningly. I doubled over, retching.

Caine eased me down to the ground. My sight was fading to black and I couldn't see him, but I felt his fingers exploring the back of my head and his voice came to me through the gathering darkness.

"Jeremy, can you hear me?"

I tried to answer, wanting to tell him to leave me and get the hell away, but my tongue still wouldn't move and the world seemed to be spinning around even faster than before.

Run! I thought, hoping he'd pick up on the words I was unable to say aloud. Save yourself! I'm probably dead already. Go! Caine, in the name of heaven, go!

Instead of getting worse, the dizziness began to fade. I heard a voice still calling my name, but it wasn't Caine's. In fact, it wasn't even a man's voice. Now what was going on?

Cautiously, I slitted my eyes open. My head still hurt like hell and I was lying on the ground, but instead of Caine leaning over me, I saw Cora Stefanchik, with Jodie next to her.

I blinked a few times.

"Thank the Goddess, he's conscious," Cora said, relief clear in her voice.

I sat up carefully and looked around, bemused. No Caine. No Dragon Boys. Just my friends from the Circle 5.

"Back of his head's bleeding," Jodie noted calmly. "I'll get the first aid kit."

She went over to where her horse stood by the side of the trail and started pulling things out of the saddlebag.

"What happened?" Cora asked, one arm supporting my shoulders. "You were trying to say something. I thought I heard you mention Caine."

"I was trying to tell him to run away --" I began.

"Jeremy, he's not even here."

"I know. I wasn't here either. I was --"

By now Jodie was kneeling by my side, pressing a wad of gauze pads against the cut on the back of my head. I started over. "I mean, I was here, I just wasn't --"

No, that wouldn't work either.

"I guess I fell off my horse and hit my head, didn't I?"

Cora nodded, looking much relieved that I was no longer talking nonsense. "When your horse came in without you, we backtracked, figuring to find you on foot somewhere. Feeling better now?"

"Yeah. I guess." I was getting used to the idea that I was back in present time. But what had happened in the past? Had I simply disappeared? If so, Caine wouldn't have wasted any more time getting away from the Dragon Boys, I was sure of that. Fine with me. Just as long as he survived, I didn't care how it came about.

"I was talking to Caine?" I asked, hoping to validate his continued existence in this time frame.

"Yeah," Jodie put in. "But he's in Europe, searching for his wife, according to what you told us."

Good. Then nothing had changed.

Cora helped me to my feet. "Come on, let's get you back to the ranch. You must have been imagining things while you were unconscious," she added, coming to the only logical conclusion.

Well, perhaps she was right, but it sure didn't feel that way to me. Still doesn't. Now that I've told you about it, what do you think?

BACK TO STORY INDEX