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Lucas was finishing up his errands in town when he stepped into the marshal's office to meet up with his friend. It had been a while since he had been in town, constant rain had made it almost impossible for the needed buckboard to make the three miles to town. The rain had finally let up, and for the past two days there was nothing but sunshine. Except for the last hour.
Lucas had to admit, visiting Micah wasn't just a friendly call, it was a way to get out of the rain and hope it would stop before he had to make the trip home. The buckboard was protected at the livery, so he let himself have a moment of peace. That is until Freddy, Mark's friend he was supposed to be fishing with that afternoon, came running into the building.
He was drenched from the rain, and most likely the river. Lucas was half expecting him to start complaining about how Mark pushed him into the river. He was also expecting Mark to come in soon after his friend, but he didn’t show.
Freddy froze where he stood, the door open, letting in the rain and wind. He looked absolutely terrified, not as if he was running away from Mark.
“Mark,” he gasped. “There was a flash flood. Mark, he, he.” He broke down into sobs that racked his whole body.
Lucas didn’t wait for anymore, he grabbed his rifle and rushed out of the office, towards the livery. He didn’t even take Razor, as the horse was unsaddled and attached to the buck board. He climbed on top of the first horse he saw saddled, and with a promise to the boy working the stable that he would return it, left in a gallop.
The place that Mark said he would spend the day fishing was thankfully close to town. Lucas got there in record time, as if the weather was not fighting against his mere presence.
The riverbank was engulfed in the fast flowing water of the usually peaceful river. Mark was not there. Lucas’s fears were made into truth, he had fallen in.
Lucas led the horse down the river, calling out his son's name every couple feet. He scanned the bank as well as the water, looking for something, anything to signal Mark had reached safety.
“Lucas!”
“Micah,” Lucas returned the call. “He fell into the water.”
“We’ll find him, Lucas-boy, we’ll find him.”
Lucas prayed that his friend was telling the truth.
A mile along the river, the wind calmed down and the rain lessened. The river still rushed along as if nothing had changed.
Lucas could tell that Micah was giving up, that he was going to recommend that they stop to regain their strength. His horse was slowing down and had stopped calling out Mark’s name. Lucas was about to curse at him to keep on going, when he noticed a shape at the edge of the bank. It was brown, the same shade as Mark’s shirt that he had worn that morning.
“Mark!” A new found energy entered into Lucas as he rushed his horse to the shape. He unmounted before the horse fully stopped, before Micah could even realize what was happening.
It was a person.
They had been caught by a rock and the bank itself, making it easy for Lucas to pull them out of the river. He wasted no time in turning the person over to see who it was.
“Lucas,” Micah breathed. “Oh Lucas. I’m so sorry.”
It was Mark.
He was bruised all over his face, a thin line of blood ran down his forehead, and he wasn’t breathing.
“Help me, Micah,” Lucas pleaded as he gathered Mark into his arms and tried to get the water out of his lungs. “Help me, please.” Tears were running down his face. His body quickly ran out of energy, leaving him empty. Despite this, he tried all that he could, trying to get his son to breathe again.
“Lucas, stop. Please, for Heaven’s sake, stop.” Micah knelt down by his friend, putting his arms around him.
Lucas threw off his arms, and pulled Mark’s body closer to himself. “Please God, please give me back my son.
--
The funeral was the next day.
It wasn’t raining, but if it was, Lucas doubted that the crowd would be any smaller. Almost the whole town was there to give their respects. Mark was a special boy who loved many and was loved back.
Seeing everyone crowded in the graveyard filled Lucas with guilt. All these people would have done anything to come and he, the boy's father, had to be dragged to attend.
He hadn’t left the body from finding it to riding into town to the doctor’s. Even then he hadn’t wanted to leave his son. Micah had to force him out of the room as the undertaker and the doctor made preparations.
Leaving Mark meant that he was really gone. It meant there was no chance of him sitting up and proclaiming everything was all right to comfort his anxious father. And as soon as Lucas left he didn’t want to see the body again. To see the reminder that his son had died. And he wasn’t there to protect him. He had failed as a father.
Hattie had to get Mark’s Sunday best for the burial. She and Micah were the ones planning the funeral and making sure that everything went right. Hattie later told Lucas that she had put a bag of candies in Mark’s pocket. She broke down then and Lucas could do nothing to comfort her.
The funeral was harder than Margret’s. When she died, Lucas’s whole world was rocked but he had Mark. He had to be strong for his son. He would only allow himself to be sad at night when the boy was already in bed. Perhaps that's why he never really felt over Margret, he had not given himself enough time to grieve. And Mark grew up with his mother as a forbidden topic because Lucas didn’t want to grieve in front of him. He grew up without reminders of her, without stories because his father was weak. And now he would never learn anything more about her. Perhaps he would run into her in Heaven, there was no doubt in Lucas’s mind that they both ended up there. She would be able to tell him stories herself. But here Lucas was, without both of them. Without someone to be strong for.
He broke down. He broke down hard.
Micah practically had to dress him for the funeral. He had to pull him out of the hotel room he was staying in, unable to be home without his son, and down to the carriage that would take the two to the cemetery.
Lucas stood ramrod straight, staring off into the distance the whole service. He wasn’t sure he heard a single word spoken.
He was able to tell it was done when people came up to him and gave their condolences. His body moved on its own then, shaking hands and even giving out hugs. Micah stood by him the whole time. He stayed by him even once everyone was gone and Lucas watched the gravedigger pile dirt onto his boy.
“What am I going to do, Micah?”
The marshal sighed. “You’re gonna keep on going”
“How?”
“I don’t know. But remember, you are not alone. You got the whole town willing to help.”
Lucas shook his head. “I can’t say I agree with you Micah.” He gave one final look to his son’s grave and climbed into the carriage.
Once they got back to town, Lucas gathered all his things and went back to the farm.
Knowing that someone from town had already fed the cows and horses, Lucas skipped dinner and went into the bedroom to go to bed early. He wasn’t able to, the empty bed in the room kept calling to him.
With barely a thought, Lucas left the house, went into the barn to retrieve an ax and returned. The bed didn’t last long under his swings. It was soon a pile of scrap wood and cloth. But the job was not finished yet.
Lucas gathered up all the debris, took it outside and placed it into a pile. It caught fire quickly but it lasted long. The fire kept on throughout the night, fed by all of Mark’s things. It only died when it started raining that morning.
---
Life had gone back as normal as it could for Lucas. There were no more debates on if it was worth going to school that day but there were still tons of cows and things to do around the farm. It kept him busy.
What was also constant were the visitors that brought their troubles to North Fork. They kept Lucas busy as well. Almost every week ended with a gun fight, Lucas being a part of the majority of them. It was easy for him to fall back into the role as protector for the town. He failed as one for his son but perhaps he could do something right for everyone else.
Soon, though, the strangers in town stopped coming. North Fork fell into a semblance of peace, trouble only coming from drunk farmhands that lost too much money at the tables. The town had no need for a peacekeeper other than Micah and Lucas understood that clearly.
He would only go into town for supplies. He stopped visiting Micah, even stopped going to church every Sunday. He only found purpose on his farm, keeping up the buildings and tending to the cows. It would be in bad taste to leave an unkempt farm for the unlucky sod who would later own the land.
It would have been Mark’s birthday when Lucas went into town apart from his supply run.
It was late at night, the saloon was bustling and the streets were empty. It was exactly how Lucas wanted it to be.
His first and only stop was the saloon. No one looked up as he entered, nor as he sat at the bar and ordered himself a whiskey.
After two glasses, Lucas wasn’t contempt with being ignored.
He stood up and headed towards the entrance, not moving aside for a man coming in. They ran into each other, something the other man did not appreciate.
“What was that for?” the man asked.
Lucas didn’t respond, he started going towards the door once again. He was stopped once the man grabbed his shoulder.
“I asked you a question, sodbuster.”
Lucas shrugged off his hand. With that, the man threw a punch at Lucas’s jaw. It landed and it wasn’t long before it started an all out brawl.
The bar fell into chaos and Lucas was right in the middle of it.
Lucas was thrown onto a table, the sharp side digging into his ribs. He braced himself against it, to push himself back into the fray when a gunshot ran throughout the air.
The bar patrons froze.
Micah stood at the saloon’s entrance, gun raised up in the air, the tip still smoking from the shot.
“Who started this?” he asked.
“Lucas McCain,” said the man who had thrown the first punch. Lucas realized then that the man was the driver of the mail carriage.
Micah looked shocked at this response. He stepped more into the saloon, lowering the gun into his holster as he went. He looked around until his eyes landed on Lucas who was at one of the corner tables. Micah walked over to him.
“Is he telling the truth?” he asked his friend.
Lucas couldn’t look him in the eye.
The saloon was silent as Micah waited for a response. When it was evident that he would not be given one, he turned around to face the rest of the room.
“ I won’t be arresting anyone right now, so it is in your best interest to quiet down or I will have to. Leave if you can’t.” Before leaving Micah looked at Lucas. “I recommend that you leave.”
Micah didn’t leave then, he waited patiently as Lucas picked up his hat and paid his tab and followed him outside.
“What was that, Lucas?” he asked once they were alone.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” Lucas grunted. He got on his horse and started off.
“You’ve changed, and I'm not quite sure I like that.”
Micah’s words rang throughout the night.
--
It wasn’t long before Lucas went back to town. It was for supplies this time, but he didn’t leave before stopping at the saloon for a drink. The fight was fresh in each patrons’ minds, giving Lucas space wherever he went so as to not rile him up again.
Not everyone avoided Lucas though. A cattle drive found its way to North Fork and the men working there had taken a much needed rest in the town.
One of those cowboys had recognized Lucas as the Rifleman.
The cowboy sauntered up to Lucas, hand inching towards his holstered gun.
“Why isn’t it Lucas McCain,” he greeted. “Why I never thought I would see you. You have become a legend in these parts. It isn’t everyday you meet a legend.”
Lucas sat up straighter and reached for his rifle that lay on his lap.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Oh nothing much, just want to clear something up. You ever kill a man named Floyd Taylor?”
“And what is it to you?”
“Well, I didn’t care for him much but my sister did. Enough to marry and have some kids with him. Hearing about his death nearly broke her heart.”
Lucas glared at the cowboy.
“Now, as a good brother I want to help my sister. And you know what she said? She said she wanted to see the man who killed Floyd dead. And here I am, by his killer and with a gun in my hand.”
The drink had slowed Lucas’s hand. The cowboy had fired a shot before he could get his rifle cocked.
There was another gunshot and the cowboy went down. Lucas didn’t fire it. He couldn’t feel his shooting arm at all. The first bullet had hit his shoulder, perhaps shattered the bone. Lucas fell out of his chair and brought his good hand up to the wound.
He didn’t register much after that. Someone had picked him up and led him towards the doctor. He was pushed onto a cot. This is where he woke to Micah looking down at him.
Pain erupted in his shoulder. He could hear himself scream.
When he came back, it was dark outside. A lone lamp lit up the room, its harsh light burning into Lucas’s head.
He couldn’t move one of his arms, it was wrapped tightly to his chest with gauze. Light pain emanated from his shoulder, dulled by medicine Lucas could still feel inside of him.
“Lucas.”
Lucas turned to the voice. Micah was sitting on a stool by the edge of the bed.
“What in the world were you thinking?”
Lucas cleared his throat. Before he had the chance to answer, Micah kept on talking.
“What have you been thinking for the past year? It seems you only come into town to get supplies and to get drunk and to pick a fight with anyone you see. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Lucas looked away. That was the only answer Micah needed.
“Heavens,” Micah gasped.
“Just get out,” Lucas commanded. “Don’t you see I want to be alone? What have I done recently that tells you I want your help?”
“Lucas,” there was a worried tone in Micah’s voice, one that hadn’t been there before. “Do you want to die? Please tell me.”
“Against all odds I have lived this long. I should have died during the war, but God protected me for Margaret. I should have died in the desert when Mark and I got stranded. With as many gun fights I got into, I should have died many times over. But God was again protecting me, for Mark. But now he’s gone and I still won’t die. I should have today.” Lucas’s voice was raised in anger, the quiet night being cut by his words. It would have had the same effect if he was whispering.
“What if God is still protecting you for something? Something to live for?”
“What could that be, Micah? My family is gone. What else is in this world for me?”
Micah settled a hand on Lucas’s uninjured shoulder. He looked right into Lucas’s eyes.
“I’m not going to say you’ll get over Mark’s death. There is nothing harder to bear than the death of your child,” Micah spoke clearly. He took a deep breath. “Life is still worth living, even without him. I shouldn’t have to list everyone who cares for you, but I can if you need me to. Those are the people you should keep living for. Keep living for me.”
Lucas shook his head. “I don’t know if I can,” he breathed. “I don’t know.” Tears ran down his face.
“We’ll work on this together,” Micah promised.