Standard fanfic disclaimer: Jim and Blair belong to Pet Fly and are really a detective and student in modern time. I just scrambled them to see what would happen.<G> This is for fun, not profit.

Much thanks to the betaing talents of The Devine Ms. M, Ms. P, and Tip!

All remaining boo-boos are mine. Feedback is appreciated at: Klair@postmark.net

Also, my apologies to all who have written wondering when my next story would be out and have been waiting for it. While this is a story, it's not the one I was working on. That one is *still* coming. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

By Klair

Wyoming Territory, Cascade, September 1875

"No fair, Blair! It's my spyglass, give it back!" Darryl Banks, newly turned seven, shouted to the older boy.

"Okay, okay. I was just lookin'," the ten-year-old replied peevishly, as he tossed Darryl's birthday present back.

Darryl hadn't let the prize out of his hands since his father gave it to him over a week ago. Simon had sent all the way to New York City for it. It wasn't the fanciest or most expensive model, but Darryl treasured it, and loved to sit and just run his fingers over the fine grain of the birch casing.

"Thanks," Darryl said a bit sheepishly, smiling shyly at his friend. "Daddy said I gotta be real careful with it."

Blair nodded, knowing that was as close to an apology as he was going to get. The ten-year-old looked longingly at the instrument. He felt mildly ashamed of coveting his friend's possession, but only mildly.

The two continued down the dusty side street toward the town newspaper's office to round up their friend Richie MacLeod before heading off for an afternoon of serious make-believe. They strolled along the boardwalk in amiable silence, Darryl totally absorbed in looking at everything through his spyglass and Blair lost in thoughts of what he would do with one if he had one.

"Well, lookie what we have here," a familiar, taunting voice sneered.

"Hey, Quinn! GIVE THAT BACK!" Darryl bellowed indignantly as the teen grabbed the spyglass and tossed it to one of his cohorts. The spyglass got lobbed from one bully to another, always just out of reach of Darryl and Blair. After a few rounds of the taunting, Blair'd had enough.

Planting himself in front of Quinn he said coldly, doing his best imitation of his father he could, "If you don't give it back now, I'm tellin' the Sheriff."

A nervous panic crossed the bully's face, but the cockiness soon returned.

"You want it?" He winked at his friends. "Go get it!" he said, throwing it with all his might into a neighboring house's yard. The older boys laughed loudly, clapping their leader on the back when the prize landed high in a tall oak tree.

Blair and Darryl tried to see up through the branches, the receding laughter of their tormentors ignored as they focused on how to get the spyglass out of its trap in the tree's limbs.

Standing outside the yard's freshly whitewashed picket fence, Blair picked up a rock. "Maybe I can hit it and make it fall."

"No!" Darryl cried, holding his friend's arm. "You might break it."

"Well, how else are we gonna get it?" Blair asked. He gave a quick nod to the house's door, saying, "You know how 'she' is about her yard."

The younger boy nodded solemnly, remembering an all too recent occasion of being chased out of the meticulously kept garden with a broom. Darryl gazed around to see who might be nearby then back up to Blair with a pleading expression.

"You could climb up and get it while I stand watch." When Blair snorted and shook his head, Darryl pressed, "Please, Blair, please! I gotta get it back. Daddy'll be real mad that I lost it."

Blair sighed. Darryl had him. He didn't want his friend in trouble. "Oh, okay, but I get a turn with it then. Deal?"

"Deal!" the younger boy said happily.

They both spat in their right hands and shook on it.

"Okay, go stand over there so you can see her door...and whistle if you see her. Got it?"

"Got it! Thanks, Blair."

"Yeah," Blair mumbled, watching Darryl take up his position further down the fence. "How do I get into these things," he mumbled as he hopped over the fence into the carefully manicured yard.

After a quick look at Darryl, who gave him a thumbs-up sign, Blair began to shimmy up the tree. He deftly stepped from branch to branch, nimbly climbing higher towards the spyglass. Taking a short rest to look around, he enjoyed the unique view of seeing the rooftops of neighboring buildings.

He chuckled to himself as he could see into the yard of one of the bullies from earlier. Apparently his father had issues with the young rowdy's behavior as well and was making that very clear out by their woodshed. Feeling a little guilty about watching he looked in the opposite direction.

Blair made a mental note to tell Mrs. Pendergrast that there were three pie tins on her roof by her sons' room. Then again, he thought instead he'd better tell David and George, the two middle sons of the Pendergrasts, to move the possibly incriminating evidence.

Rest over; Blair continued on until he reached the limb where the spyglass rested in the fork between two small branches about two-thirds down.

Very carefully, Blair straddled the limb and slowly scooted out, noting how the wood gave the further he got from the trunk, but not worried. He'd climbed trees all his life. He stretched and reached for Darryl's spyglass as far as he could.

He grinned as his fingers grazed the smooth surface of the prize, very pleased with himself. A frantic whistle startled him, breaking his concentration and almost dislodging him from the branch. Struggling to stay upright, his quick movements caused the narrow branch to bounce up and down, a terrible cracking sound emanating. A deep sinking feeling in his gut, his heart beat wildly as he looked for a way out of this predicament. Blair tried to reach for something firm to grab onto as he felt the branch give way beneath him. A loud snap signaled he was too late and the boy's heart lodged in his throat as he fell through the branches. He yelled out in terror as his body was bounced off of branches, scraped by rough bark and twigs. The site of the ground rushing up to meet him sent him into a blind panic. In some quirk of fate, a small mercy was sent his way when the last bump against a branch helped turn him face up. Hitting the ground with a thud, his last thought was how upset his father would be that his clothes were torn when darkness enveloped him.

"BLAIR!!" Darryl screamed, fear holding him in place, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. He'd whistled when he saw Ol' Lady Danbush heading for her prized rosebushes near the oak. Now the woman stood over his fallen friend, her roses forgotten, and looking mighty angry.

Darryl did what most seven-year-old would do -- he turned and ran for his father's office, shouting, "Help!" as he ran pell-mell down the boardwalk. He never made it. Strong arms picked him up and he tried to focus on the face the familiar voice belonged to.

"Where's Blair, Darryl?" the voice asked anxiously.

"Darryl, answer Mr. Ellison."

Hearing his father, Darryl broke into tears, reaching out of Jim Ellison's grasp for the security of his father's arms.

"M-Mzzzzzz Danbush's! He's hurt!" the near hysterical boy managed to bawl out.

He sobbed against his father's shoulder as the elder Banks barked out, "I'll get the doctor, Jim," and felt them move swiftly away. Darryl quieted some. His father was in charge so everything would be all right now.

~~~~

The rancher only gave a curt nod to the Sheriff as he continued on to where his son lay hurt. He'd been over at Simon's office discussing politics, mostly that damn fool Custer, recently sent to quell the unrest to the east, when the heartbeat that so regularly played in the back of his mind became a wild, thundering storm in his head. A scream that sent chills through him like a blizzard closely followed. Shocking his friend, Jim sped out of the office without a word and down the boardwalk, almost mowing down Darryl as he rushed in his direction.

Reaching the Danbush home, Jim saw that a small crowd had gathered at the fence - only a few brave souls ventured into the yard. Jim hopped the fence and knelt by Blair's side seconds later, the onlookers giving him a wide berth. No one wanted to be near James Ellison when that granite countenance set over him.

"Blair? Blair? Answer me, son," Jim whispered calmly to his semiconscious child. Jim checked over the boy, noting with dismay that his left arm wasn't angled naturally, but the heartbeat was getting stronger. Besides the mild concussion, and some scrapes and bruises, there didn't seem to be any other damage.

"Papa?" Blair said weakly.

"Just lay still, Little Bit. The doctor's coming. Can you wiggle your fingers and toes for me?" Jim asked, smiling when the boy complied after a moments struggle. "That's good, Blair."

While relieved that Blair didn't seem to have a serious head injury, Jim wished he'd set the boy's obviously broken arm before Blair regained consciousness. Unfortunately, Jim knew this would get worse before getting better.

Simon and the doctor arrived within minutes. Jim, with Simon's help, carefully lifted and carried Blair to Dr. McKay's office.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Darryl asked in a tiny voice from the examining room doorway.

Simon wiped a tear from his son's face, picking him up, more to comfort himself than Darryl. How close had it been for his and Jim's positions to be reversed, he wondered.

"Jim? I'm going to take Darryl home and try to find out what happened."

"Good idea, Simon. Thanks for your help." Jim turned back to Blair and the doctor, the two men ready to set the break.

Blair looked up at his father with worried eyes. "Is this gonna hurt?"

Holding out a spoonful of laudanum, Jim propped the boy's head up so he could take the medicine. "It may some. This medicine will help, but you need to brave, son."

Nodding weakly, clearly not liking what was coming, Blair's heart began racing when his father bade him put a piece of wood in his mouth to bite on.

"It's just a precaution, Little Bit." Although, Jim's heart beat as frantically, while he fought to retain a calm demeanor. It would serve no purpose to show fear. Staying calm himself would insure Blair of doing the same. At least, he hoped so.

The laudanum had begun to take effect and Jim insisted on being the one to set the arm, not trusting the doctor to do it right. In a few moments it was over with only a whimper from the medicated boy. Jim let the doctor splint the arm to keep it immobile for the next six weeks and began cleaning the small scraps and cuts on Blair's face and hands.

Jim talked to Blair the whole time, keeping the boy's attention drawn away from his arm, and more importantly, keeping Blair awake. He removed the wood from the boy's mouth, noting the deep bite marks.

"You did real well, Little Bit. Very brave." Jim brushed back the sweaty curls from Blair's forehead. His smile warmed the frightened child. "I'm real proud of you."

Those words were a balm even better than the laudanum. Blair grinned back at his father as the man gently stroked his hair.

"Well, it looks like we'll be staying another day or so in town."

"We are? How come?" Blair asked, innocently. He fought to keep his eyes open, but he was so tired. He wanted to forget how he got there, but the fall kept playing over and over in the back of his mind. Maybe if he slept it would go away.

"You should rest a day or two just to make sure before we head back home."

"But Darryl said I get a turn with his spyglass," Blair said around a huge yawn, eyes drooping.

"And I know he'll keep his promise, when you get better." Jim patted the boy's chest and pulled up the blanket now that the doctor was done.

Deciding it was safe to let the boy nap for a bit, Jim sat next to the cot watching the little chest rise and fall while listening to the soothingly familiar, strong heartbeat.

~~~

"Blair? Hey, Blair, wake up."

The ten-year-old reluctantly let go of sleep, eyes fluttering open to take in the sight of Darryl leaning worriedly over him.

"Did you get the spyglass?" Blair asked. He tried to sit up, but the splinted arm and assorted aches and pains made it too hard. He lay back down in frustration.

"Yeah," Darryl replied, sounding disappointed. "One of the lenses got busted in the fall, but Daddy's gonna see if he can send it back to New York to get it fixed."

The seven-year-old grinned wickedly as he made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed. "Daddy and your daddy went to see Quinn's folks and the others who were bulling us. After I told 'em what happened, Daddy and Mr. Ellison were plenty mad. Daddy's gonna have them pay for it and the doctor bill, too, for fixin' your arm. That's where they are now. I got to stay with you and wake you up after you sleeped until the big hand was on the seven." Darryl sat up proudly. He'd been surprised when Mr. Ellison had asked him to perform this very responsible task of waking Blair in thirty minutes.

"So, we're not in trouble?" Blair asked cautiously.

"Nope!" Darryl beamed and grabbed a small plate off the bedstand. "And Mrs. Danbush even brought you some cookies!"

Both boys eyed the sugar-sprinkled, golden-baked treats, vanilla wafting off the still warm cookies. While they looked as good as any cookies Chu Wa, the Choate's cook, had baked, Blair just wasn't very hungry. He watched his young friend eye them hungrily.

"I better wait for Papa to get back before trying any. Why don't you test them, Darryl? Okay?"

"Well, they're for you, but if you're sure." Darryl popped on in his mouth before the older boy could speak. "Ummm, these are as good as Miss Rhonda's!"

"Just don't let Miss Rhonda know that," Simon said, coming into the office, followed by Jim. "She and Mrs. Danbush have quite a rivalry at the church baking contest each year."

He patted his son's head and helped himself to a cookie.

"How do you feel, Little Bit?" Jim asked, sitting on the edge of the cot Darryl had vacated.

"Okay. My arm don't hurt much, but it's hard to move with it."

"Well, get used to it because it will be on for about six weeks."

"That long!? That stinks. How'm I gonna ride? How am I gonna play?"

"Very carefully, and you'll have to take it easy. Look at it this way, you'll have more time to study your lessons."

Both men chuckled at the forthcoming groan, and had another cookie.

6 weeks later, fall of 1875

"Sit still, Little Bit, I don't want to cut you by mistake."

"Hurry, Papa, I got a itch."

Jim cut through the last bandage and the splint fell away.

Ruffling his son's tousled curls, Jim said, "Just bundle up before you go climbing trees."

Blair blushed slightly at how easily his father saw through him. He wanted to go climb to his 'thinking spot' high in his favorite oak tree to prove to himself he could still do it. The truth was Blair felt uncomfortable at the idea of being high up on his usual thinking branch. He'd had bad dreams about falling, but was too embarrassed to talk to his father about them. He hoped getting his splint off and climbing his favorite tree would send the bad dreams, and sweating palms, packing.

Blair put on his heavy jacket and boots.

"I'll be careful," he said, slamming his fur cap on his head.

"Have fun and be home in time for lunch," Jim replied as he gathered up the old splint and bandages.

"I will."

Blair shut the door behind him, took a deep breath, and headed off towards his tree.

~~

"This is silly," Blair said after almost an hour of standing at the base of his favorite thinking tree and peering up through the leafless limbs. The oak's branches didn't seem inviting as they always had before. Now they looked foreboding. He gathered his courage and began to climb. Stopping about half way there, about twelve and a half feet off the ground, Blair looked down and froze. The queasy feeling of falling consumed him. He dug his fingernails into the bark as the memory of falling played in his mind, over and over again.

~~

"What's keeping that boy," Jim wondered. Lunch was about ready, he'd shouted out the door to come and get it, but Blair was nowhere to be seen.

Stepping out to the porch, Jim loosened the knot on his extraordinary hearing and focused it in the direction of Blair's tree. As he'd suspected, the faint sound of a familiar heartbeat sang to him. He frowned as a whimpering sound reached his ears, as well.

Not bothering to saddle Sentry, Jim swung up on the horse's back and galloped for the tree.

He could see Blair not very far up in the branches as he approached the oak. Since falling from Danbush's tree three months ago Blair hadn't been himself, but the bad dreams had all but vanished, so Jim figured he'd worked through it. The little figure sitting stock still barely twelve feet off the ground told him he'd been wrong.

"Little Bit? It's time to come home. Come on down," Jim called up, using his calm tone reserved for frightened horses and children.

"No!" came the panicked response. "I can't. I'll fall."

Jim heard his son's heart beat like war drums. Sliding from his horse, he climbed up the tree to the branch just below Blair's.

The rancher tried to be reassuring. "You've climbed this tree hundreds of times and you've never fallen, Blair. You're sure-footed. Just put your leg over–"

"NO!"

With a heavy sigh, Jim climbed so he sat above and to the right of Blair. The boy's eyes were full of fear with sweat beading up on his forehead. Jim'd never seen Blair so shaken in so ordinary an activity. Not totally sure it was the right thing to do, Jim decided on a course of action, hoping it would work.

"We're going home now, Blair," he said firmly, but calmly.

Jim saw the boy try to clamp on the branch and moved with lightening speed to snatch Blair up and into his lap. The boy clung to his father, breathing hard and fighting back tears. They sat there for a few minutes, Jim rubbing Blair's back in soothing circles and murmuring reassurances to him.

Once the boy seemed calmer, Jim said, "I'm going to turn and you can get on my back. I'll carry you down."

"'Kay," Blair said, shakily.

When they'd reached a couple limbs from the ground, Jim stopped and sat Blair down on a stout branch.

"You are going the rest of the way yourself, Blair."

Blair clutched his father's coat, shaking his head. "No! I'll fall!"

Gently, Jim pried they boy's hands from their death grip on his clothing. "Maybe, but I doubt it. And if you do, I'll be right there to catch you."

Jim swung down to the next branch then jumped to the ground. He clapped his hands together and spread them wide.

"You need to do this, son. It's like getting back up on the horse that threw you. You can do this."

Nodding stiffly, Blair took a deep breath and cautiously made his way to the next branch, and with encouragement from his father, to the next. On the last one, he leaned over to put his hands on his father's shoulders and the man swung him around proudly, proclaiming, "You did it! You did it!"

Blair smiled back. "Yeah, I did!" He hugged his father's neck tightly, thinking, 'and I never have to do it again.'

The end