Second Sight
Author: Badger (MaryinMarshall@cs.com)
Fandom: Wagon Train
A short Epilogue/Missing scene set at the end of the S7 episode: The Story of Cain
Thanks -- to Nan for her as always terrific beta-she makes every fic better.
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"There are none so blind as those who will not see."
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I looked around me, trying to take it all in at once, drinking in each image like a man who'd been dying of thirst in the desert, and wasn't that ironic, I thought, as I rode down the street away from the doctor's office. Finding a man dying of thirst in the desert was exactly what had gotten me into this whole mess.
For weeks now I'd been listening to this town, hearing the shouts of teamsters, the greetings of business owners to their customers, the hoof beats of horses, the rattle of wagons, the clatter of the arriving stagecoaches, and the barking of dogs, but I had no idea what any of it looked like.
Sure, I'd seen the town before. I'd ridden through the place as part of my ill-fated search for John Cain, but I hadn't taken notice of anything about it. Blackhawk had been just another dusty frontier town scrabbling for survival. Now, as I guided Gambler down Main Street, I could see how very ordinary it was and yet, at that moment, it seemed like the most extraordinary place I'd ever seen.
Every single thing about it was glorious.
The colors had never before seemed so vivid, or so precious, even the drab brown of the town's unpainted buildings was remarkable. Everywhere there was a rainbow of color: the deep blue of the sky, the rich, dark green of the trees, a pretty young girl in a yellow dress standing outside the general store, a golden palomino horse tied up in front of the sheriff's office, a little boy's red shirt, the saloonkeeper's white apron, even a blue gingham tablecloth hanging on a clothesline.
Everything seemed bright and new; even the most mundane, ordinary everyday things caught my eye, drawing my attention like iron to a magnet.
I had, I suddenly realized, never really looked at the world around me, never taken note of the incredible wonder of the kaleidoscope of color and movement.
It was stunning.
Yeah, I'll admit it, it was beautiful.
After days and days of darkness, after fearing I'd never see anything again but the pitch black inside my own head, it was too much, entirely overwhelming. I brushed at my eyes, and then patted my horse's neck, taking note of the way the sun played over the golden highlights in Gambler's red sorrel coat.
I, wagon train scout Cooper Smith, rode out of Blackhawk with a smile on my face, telling myself that my eyes were watering from the unfamiliar brightness of the sun. I knew better, of course, I knew that wasn't the truth. Those were tears running down my cheeks, tears of joy. Of wonder. Amazement. Gratitude. Relief.
Sadness.
Sadness for her.
Sadness for John.
Sadness for what the price of gold had cost us all.
Gold could buy you lots of things, but not everything, not anything that really mattered. I reckon I'd known that before, but it had never been driven home to me in the unmistakable way it had over the past couple of weeks.
I held Gambler to a walk until I reached the edge of town, then set my spurs to his flanks and put the horse into a flat out gallop, racing down the road like a mad man, laughing out loud for the pure joy of all that I had.
~~~~~~~
I caught up with the wagon train a few miles east of town. It wasn't hard to find, the plume of dust raised by its passage was like a signpost leading me right to it. Pulling up on the crest of a low hill, the train was spread out below me, sprawled across the valley like a giant centipede crawling across the land. It was a sight I'd seen hundreds of times and yet had never seen before: the long winding column of prairie schooners, their canvas tops reflecting the sunlight, accompanied by a teeming mass of horses and cattle and people, with the dust of their passage drifting away on the wind.
My home.
A sight for sore eyes.
I grinned at that. That old phrase now held an entirely new meaning.
Fitting for a new man.
That's what I considered myself to be, a new man, born out of darkness. That's what the darkness did to you, seared your soul, made you look deep inside yourself for something you'd never had to search for before; to find a new meaning to who you were and what life was all about, about what was really important to a man.
Just as Chris had told me.
I sat on my horse atop the hill, watching, taking note of a hundred tiny details about the people and the horses and the wagons and the rocks and the ground and the hills and the trees and the way the clouds drifted across the sky.
Things I'd seen so often and never, ever seen before.

I wondered what my welcome would be.
Dreaded it, to be honest.
Would the people on the train blame me, now that their dreams of fortune had vanished?
Could I face up to Chris, after the way I'd treated him? I knew I'd been such a fool, boiling over with a flood of bitterness and self-pity that I'd unleashed on the one man I most respect in the world, and whose respect matters most to me.
Had I lost that forever?
And the others, Bill and Charlie and Duke and Barney, what did they know about what had happened and how I'd acted?
They were my friends, my family in a real way that far surpassed any ties to blood kin. They were the people I cared about and who, in turn, I needed to have care about me. A man alone and adrift in this world, no matter how much gold he carried in his pockets, was a poor man, I reckoned.
And I didn't want to be that kind of poor.
That was one of a whole passel of things I'd learned in these last few dark weeks.
I didn't know how long I just sat there watching the train before someone down below noticed me. A rider stopped and pointed my way, and then another, and then someone galloped up past the lead wagon and pointed me out to the man riding out front. That man reined his black horse out of line, waving the wagons to stay in motion as he stopped and stared up at me.
It was time to face my second new awakening of the day.
Taking a deep breath, I nudged my horse forward, down off the hill at an easy ground-covering lope, angling to intersect the group of people staring up at me.
I wasn't quite all the way to the front of the wagons when I heard the first shout, Bill's voice I recognized it was. "Hey, it's Coop!" and then another voice echoed, "It's Coop!" and the long line of wagons jolted to a ragged halt, people watching me ride in, hands raised to shield their eyes against the sun.
Waving at me.
Smiles on their faces.
Lots of smiles.
I reined in my horse, soaking up the sight of them, my heart swelling at all of their grinning faces, no one saying anything until Charlie broke the silence in his own gruff, inimitable way. "Well, you look pretty darned good for somebody who got hisself blowed up. Huh. It's about time you got back here and got your lazy bones back to work. Uh huh."
I grinned and then I was down off my horse and looking uncertainly up at all of them. For a moment, everyone just stood there staring back at me as if no one knew what to do. Finally it was Bill who dismounted and stepped forward, greeting me with a hearty, "Welcome home, Coop," that ended with a slap on the back that nearly knocked me over. Charlie climbed down from his wagon, slapping me on the shoulder and doing a silly sort of jig, crowing, "I told ya he'd be back, I told ya so," to anyone who would listen. Barney got to me next, the youngster grinning from ear to ear, and I found myself hugging the young man like a long-lost little brother, which is pretty much how I think of the kid.
And then more and more folks came clustering around and I was shaking hands with all sorts of people from up and down the train, yes, even including the ones I'd figured would never speak to me again after the disappointment over their lost fortunes. That pretty Rita Brown even gave me a peck on the cheek and a flirty glance that had me thinking I was mighty glad Duke was out scouting.
Mostly, though, I was glad that I didn't have to say much, that no one asked me any questions, because there was a lump the size of Texas filling my throat and I was pretty darn sure I couldn't have uttered so much as a single word if my life depended on it.
Once I'd waded through the throng of enthusiastic greeters I finally glanced up to see Chris watching me, sitting silently aboard his horse, his face unreadable. I nodded over at him and Chris nodded back and then the wagon master turned his horse and shouted, "C'mon folks. We can celebrate later. We've still got miles to travel before we reach tonight's camp."
People scattered back to their wagons and their horses and I suddenly found myself standing alone next to Barney, whose face still wore that ear to ear grin.
"I'm sure glad you're okay, Coop," the youngster said.
"Me, too," I admitted.
"Everyone missed you. Even Charlie said it wasn't the same without you around to give him a hard time about his cookin'."
I put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I missed all of you, too."
"Mister Chris said that you were hurt bad," Barney paused, his voice dropping low and his smile fading, "that you might not ever be back."
"I'm not gonna worry about what might have been, so don't you either," I answered gruffly, affectionately slapping the boy on the shoulder.
The youngster's smile returned. "Duke is sure gonna be glad to see you. He's about wore the shoes off his horse doing all the scouting by himself these past couple weeks."
I nodded, smiling. "Well, I'm back now. He can quit complaining."
~~~~~~~
The rest of the day passed by in a blur.
Charlie found me an old hat to wear until I could buy myself a new Stetson. I really should have bought myself one back in Blackhawk before I'd ridden out of town, but I hadn't wanted to stay there a single minute longer than I had to. Besides, I didn't want anything that would remind me of the place -- I had enough dark memories from that town to last a lifetime, and by dark I don't just mean the obvious.
The camp that night was loud and boisterous. Charlie outdid himself with the food and old Joe Faraday got out his fiddle and played some lively music that got folks up and dancing. As the guest of honor, I joined in the festivities, but after a couple of spins around the makeshift dance floor, I managed to slip quietly away and walk out beyond the edge of the camp.
I was tired. I'd hardly slept at all the endless night before; this morning and all that had happened since seemed like a lifetime ago now, unreal and nightmarish. And though I didn't want to admit it, after weeks of lying in bed and confined to a single small room, I was plumb wore out. I was exhausted and my body ached but I wasn't ready to sleep, either.
I needed a few minutes alone to think, to take in all that had happened that day and try to sort it all out and make some kind of sense of it. It was a lot to contemplate, a day that had started in darkness and fear, yes, real fear of a kind I've rarely known in my life, those unbearably long hours of wanting desperately to know my fate at the same time I was scared clear down to my boots at the possibilities. And now this long, long day was ending in the familiar soft light of campfires and lanterns amid the camaraderie of the train.
For the second time that day I felt totally overwhelmed by appreciation for simple things that I had always taken for granted.
I'd been alone for only a few minutes when the silence was broken by footsteps coming up behind me and then the sound of a familiar voice. "I thought I might find you out here."
I spun around. The wagon master was standing there, regarding me with his usual steady, assured gaze, a look that inspired confidence in the 300 travelers who trusted their lives to him.
I ducked my head and looked away. "Chris."
For several long moments neither of us said anything, and it was Chris who finally broke the silence. "It has been a long couple of weeks."
"Sure was." I nodded, looking up at the brilliant mass of stars that arched across the heavens, and waving a hand at them. "You know, I never really noticed 'em before."
Chris looked up, too, then glanced over at me with a sort of bemused expression on his face. "I thought you scouts used the stars to guide you."
"Sure. But I never *saw* them before. They were just there."
Like I figured, Chris understood the distinction I was making. "You took them for granted."
"Like most everything else." I couldn't look my boss in the eye but kept my gaze focused upward on the wonder of the night time sky. "Including my friends."
Chris sighed. "Most folks do. Until they see the light."
I took a deep breath. "You were right about that."
The wagon master chuckled. "Of course I was."
"And I was a fool."
"Yes, you were." The words were matter-of-fact, but not damning. There was a kindness in the voice, a deep affection and respect that eased my fears that my actions might have irreparably harmed this friendship Chris and I have built since I started working for him. "You were hurting, Coop, and scared. Hard for a man to be strong at a time like that. You needed to lash out at someone; I'm glad I was there."
That's Chris for you - he's an understanding man. I owed him an apology, and I knew it. "I shouldn't have taken my troubles out on you."
"Oh, it wasn't anything I couldn't handle-- that's what friendship is all about. Taking the good with the bad, keeping only the former and forgetting the latter." He laid a hand on my shoulder. "I knew, given time, you'd think it through, Coop."
I sighed. "I'm glad *you* did."
"You're a smart man, a thinking man. You just needed to give yourself some time to work at it."
I still couldn't look him in the eye. "It wasn't easy," I admitted.
"I didn't expect it would be. But I knew you'd find your way. That's what you do, after all." There was a hint of humor in the old wagonmaster's voice.
"I guess." I finally looked over at Chris, immensely grateful for the friendship that had grown between us. "Did they tell you what happened to John?"
Chris' face turned grim. "Yes."
"I didn't know until today, not until after the bandages came off and the doctor took me to see him." I shuddered as I recalled the awful fate he'd met. "I spent a lot of time hating him for what he'd done to me only to find out that what he'd done to himself was so much worse."
"Hate can be a useful thing, Coop. Keeps a man focused, keeps him alive when there's nothing else left to hold on to. Though it's a mighty poor reason and does as much harm as good in the long run."
"We both learned that." I didn't have to tell Chris who I was talking about. "You know, I hated her for keeping me alive, and then I loved her for it, and it was all for nothing. Not her keeping me alive, I mean, for that I owe her a debt I can't ever repay, her and you, but -- " I paused, not sure how to say the rest.
"But?" Chris prodded.
"She paid as big a price as the rest of us."
"Yes, she did."
"She'll stay there and take care of him as long as he lives."
"She tell you that?" Chris asked.
"She didn't have to. She might have let go of her hatred for me but she won't ever let go of what she felt for him." I looked down, my face pensive, gathering my thoughts before going on. "Before I went to Blackhawk, there was a night you and I talked about the decisions we make, about the roads we chose to travel in life, and the unexpected things that happen to us. I thought a lot about that talk, about the choices we make and how they lead us places we never planned to go. About how they affected him and her and me."
Chris nodded. "That's life, Coop, a chance to learn and grow and when we stop learning and growing, we stop being human. All those unexpected turns we talked about, about the way life surprises us and then gives us the chance to make choices that change us in ways we never anticipated, that's what makes life interesting."
"I think I could do with a little less interesting for a while," I admitted.
"And what about the gold?" Chris asked.
"I never did get to talk to John about it, but it doesn't matter, it was fool's gold after all. Oh, it was real gold sure enough, but gold ain't what folks think it will be. They think of all the things it can buy, all the good living it's gonna bring them, but that's not what living is about. It can't fix your life, can't undo the hand fate deals you. She and John have all that money and it don't mean a thing to either one of them. It can't fix him, or her."
Chris squeezed my shoulder. "For a blind man, you saw a lot these last few weeks."
I looked up again at the stars. "Yeah, I guess I did. In ways I never imagined."
There was another long moment of silence. "I think that's more than enough deep, introspective thinking for one night, Coop." Chris's voice turned cheerful. "C'mon, let's go join in the festivities, huh? Can't be much of a party without the guest of honor."
My gaze met the wagonmaster's eyes for the first time that night. "If you don't mind, Chris, I think I'd rather not. The party's going on just fine without me. I think I'd rather just sit out here and enjoy the darkness for a little bit." My lips twitched into a self-deprecating grin. "It's sort of familiar, you know?"
Chris squeezed my shoulder once more. "Of course." He turned to go but my next words stopped him.
"And Chris, thanks, thanks for everything. What you said -- when I got to the point where I was ready to use my head again, you'd given me a lot to think about." He'd been the rock I needed, and a man couldn't ask for a better friend.
"No thanks needed, Coop. You know I didn't *give* you anything -- I just pointed out what was already right there in front of you. Or rather, what was right there *within* you all along, waiting for you to find it."
"Well, sometimes a man needs a shove in the right direction," I admitted.
"Sometimes," the wagon master agreed softly, "even a scout can get lost."
"Shove me again when I need it, will ya?"
Chris nodded and smiled. "You don't need to ask, Coop. You know I will."
~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~
(9-3-09)

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