Three days later found him topping the dry rock rim of a steep ridge, looking down over a wide flat land dotted with cholla, palm, and coyote willow. Here and there a thin stream sparkled in the sunlight. He'd passed the massive, twisted cactus shaped rock early yesterday and Riddick turned his eyes east, searching the horizon. Aguascalientes was out there, close by. He started the gelding down the ridge, the horse taking it like a wild born mountain goat, reaching the bottom easily, nearly dancing on his two front hooves. Riddick chuckled, patting the sorrel's shoulder.

"Okay, if you're a mind to, let's put some miles behind us, huh?" he put heels to the gelding's flank and the horse leapt eagerly forward.

They travelled quickly along the flatland, the warm summer air blowing by, flapping his shirt against his body. Riddick sorely missed having a hat but he could do nothing about that. He caught sight of what looked to be a low rising clay wall some seven miles distant and slowed the horse to a trot, fixing his eyes on the place. Why did that look familiar? With a start he realized it was Don Francisco's mansion and yard. What the Devil? Riddick scowled and slowed the gelding to a walk, uneasy. Francisco Santiago's mansion was a good seven days from Aguascalientes, at least the way they had come the last time. Was there a closer trail to the mission? If so, why use the longer one? He drew up in the meager shade of a dwarf palm tree and studied the place, wishing he had his field glasses with him, but they had been on his own horse. There seemed to be little movement, which was strange, for Santiago had many guards always on duty, watching for bandits. Perhaps he was not home? Deciding to take a closer look Riddick started the sorrel forward again, moving slowly and keeping to the brush and trees where ever possible.

He reached the low back wall surrounding the cultivated back garden with no trouble and stepped from the saddle, ground hitching the horse in the shade of the wall itself. Easing forward he looked around over the top of the dusty stone, his eyes roving the garden and veranda, seeing no one. He took the rifle from the bucket and moving along the wall Riddick worked his way around the corner of the wall to the small gate that opened up to an outdoor hallway between the small covered patio and the garden. The gate was unlocked and he slipped through, closing it quietly behind him, his eyes searching for any movement. There was none.

His boots made little sound as he moved down the tiled hallway to the back door of the house, slipping inside. He instantly dropped into the shadow behind the door, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light within the walls of the mansion. It was deathly still and Riddick paused, wary. Why had he thought that? The silence surrounding death was peculiar to itself, a heavy, thick stillness that made the hair on his arms stand up, as it was doing now. Abruptly Riddick realized that was what had been bothering him. The feel of death was everywhere, a household of servants and sentinels silenced, the master gone.

He pushed off the wall, the rifle ready in his hands, his eyes sharp for any movement. The kitchen was empty, as were the three servant's quarters he passed, and the dining room, though two chairs were missing. The library was a mess, papers and books scattered everywhere, and a dark stain of blood on the carpet caught his eyes. Riddick was sweating, not from fear or nerves, but suspense. There would be bodies, somewhere and he hated finding them days after death had taken them. The guest bedrooms and master suite were also empty so he moved on toward the front of the house, knowing only the large front parlor and ballroom were left.

He found the servants in the parlor. They'd been executed, shot at close range, bound and blindfolded. Riddick swore quietly, disgusted at the mind at work behind such a thing, but they were beyond what help he could offer, so he moved on. The guards were in the ballroom and Riddick instantly jerked back outside, bile in his throat, stomach churning. The very thought of staying in the room long enough to cut them down was out of the question, for the smell was enough to choke him. They'd been tortured, and by someone who wanted answers and who got them by whatever means necessary. One man made him look again, for he was not a guard, but by his dress he looked to be a bandit.

He too had been tortured, and instead of hung from the ceiling rafters he was tied to a chair set halfway inside the large fireplace. Riddick could see that at the time there had been flames alive and burning inside the hearth. He could not begin to guess why they had turned on one of their own, but he chose not to care. The man's face, though twisted and disfigured in death, was familiar. It was one of the banditos he'd caught rustling all those months ago, one of them who had taken time and pleasure in Riddick's capture and torment. Closing the door again, careful to avert his eyes Riddick backed away, moving back outside the way he'd come in. Whoever had done this madness was no longer here, and Santiago's body was not here so he was alive, escaped and away, or he was a prisoner.

Back in the saddle again Riddick skirted the house and across the yard, searching the ground for tracks. There were plenty to be found, jumbled together and overlapping, a dozen horses and men. One made his heart leapt into his throat, for it was a print he knew. Tracking it toward the house he dismounted and knelt in the dirt, looking at the print in the dust. Magdaline! She'd been here then! The track looked old, older than many of the others and he cast about looking for the hoof print of the bay stallion she rode. He found them leading away, surrounded by a party of some eleven others, and superimposed over them were five more, and those five were moving quickly.

Fear washed through him at the thought of what would happen to Magdaline if she were caught by these men, for they'd shown themselves without compassion or mercy. Keeping his rifle across his saddle Riddick urged the sorrel into a gallop and took after them like the Devil was on his heels. He rode hard, pushing the gelding to keep up a fast pace until he was lathered in sweat, slowing the horse down only to spare his life. He stopped briefly to let the horse blow, watering him a little, then covered another three miles at a walk before moving up to a canter. Alternating paces Riddick kept moving even after the sun set and shadows swept over the land, driving color from the summer night, leaving only black and gray in its wake. He didn't need to follow the trail, he knew where it led. Magdaline was heading straight for Aguascalientes by a new trail, and the group chasing her followed, some days behind.

He stopped in a dry arroyo late that night, stripping the sorrel and rubbing him down. There was plenty of grass and a small trickle of water nearby so picketing the gelding nearby Riddick pushed into a stand of brush and bedded down, using the saddle as a pillow. The rifle was in his hands his ears tuned for any noise, and he fell into an uneasy and fitful sleep. Dawn found him back in the saddle, driven, angry with worry, sorely wanting some coffee but not having any. He ate jerky and tortillas and drank cool water in the saddle. Twilight on the third day found him above a small camp, watching. He'd found the banditos.

There were four of them, though they had five horses with them. Riddick recognized Jose Cantua, Pedro Lopez, and Benito Castro. The fourth man was a stranger. He was close enough to hear them talking, and he put together a clear picture of what taken place. Castro was speaking, discontented and annoyed.

"We should have kept him alive Jose! He would have been a ransom for the old man!"

"He lied to me Benito!" Cantua snapped harshly. "No man who rides for me can lie to my face and remain unpunished! He should have told me his father was Don Francisco!"

Riddick scowled faintly, thinking of Olivia. Her brother Luis would never be coming back.

"Who is this woman that rides along with Santiago?" this was from Pedro and Cantua glanced at him, grinning.

"She is a nun amigo." The tone of his voice sent chills along Riddick's spine, for he knew what Cantua implied and the three men with him grinned.

"She is the one who rode with the white man, the one who escaped us." This was from the fourth man and Cantua spat.

"Not for long! Once we have Santiago, we'll take the woman and burn the mission down! Then this man, this Riddick, will come out of hiding and I'll put an end to him this time!" The look on Jose Cantua's eyes was near to madness, and the watching man felt a shudder. The bandit king was loosely controlled insanity paired with a vicious streak of sadism and vengeance.

"Do you think he is still alive? Alfonse swears he shot him, and there was much blood on the ground." The quiet man spoke around the butt of his smoke.

"If he is dead, I want his body as a prize! Those cattle would have made me a rich man, and he put his nose into my business. The gringo will be a warning to my enemies, and serve as an example to those who would cross me."

"If we had known the gold they carried came from Santiago, we could have been living like kings right now." Benito spoke quietly, his eyes flicking to the horses and Riddick sharpened.

"We'll take every penny the old man has." Pedro spoke with confidence as Cantua moved back from the flames, rolling into his blankets.

Pedro and Benito looked after him, the fourth man smoking quietly.

"Why does Cantua hate the Don so much?" Pedro asked the quiet one and the man flicked the end of his cigarette free of ash before he spoke.

"Santiago has a daughter, Illiana, and Jose wanted her to be his woman and the Don turned him down, refused. Jose offered to pay, trade, or work for her, but the answer was always no, a very pointed, insulting refusal. Jose does not like to be told no, and he swore to make the old man pay, though at the time the girl was only fourteen. She disappeared after that, no one knew where, or how, and then Jose found out Luis was her brother." The man shook his head. "He was a fool to hide that from Jose. He should have known better."

Riddick lay absolutely still, his features set in a frown. Illiana was Olivia, and she was in hiding from Jose Cantua, and Luis had been protecting her until he'd been found out. Why ride with Cantua then? Had he been trying to keep an eye on the bandit king, feed information to his father? There was no way to know, so Riddick watched the men draw back from the fire, settling down to sleep a thought building in the back of his mind. Why keep an extra horse? Why was Benito complaining about unused riches? Well after dark, the fire burned down to glowing embers, Riddick slid noiselessly from his place. Each foot placed with deliberate care he worked around the four sleeping men toward the picket string. The nearest horse looked up as he approached but Riddick spoke softly and the animal let him come close. The gear was piled up beneath a blanket and he went to it, grinning as he pulled away the cloth. Keeping an eye on the slumbering men, he loaded one of the horses with a pack saddle and cargo he'd found then starting off, Riddick led all five horses away from the camp.

He tied them about a quarter mile away, screened from sight by scrub brush and twisted desert palms. He crept back to the fire, noiseless, angry, but calm. Riddick slithered from the shadows and made it to the fire itself undetected, taking the coffee pot off the flames and pouring himself a cup. Then he dumped the rest out onto the coals, the flames, the hot sizzle of the liquid sputtering loudly as smoke rose in a thick cloud. Rising smoothly he took a long swallow of the coffee and swinging the Spencer up with one hand, pulling the trigger in a loose shot. The gun bellowed with a thunderous roar, the four sleeping men leapt from their beds, clawing at their guns only to come face to face with the black barrel of the .56.

"That's far enough!" Riddick's voice cut like a knife in the darkness, his gray eyes flaring. "I've got a score to settle with you boys, and I take it seriously."

Dawn found him some thirty miles away, heading toward Aguascalientes in a fine mood, a cheery whistle on his lips. The sorrel warned him of their coming and Riddick pulled the rifle from its place and laid it across the saddle, sitting smack in the middle of the trail. When the riders topped the knoll in front of him they jerked to a startled stop, drawing tightly about the man in the middle of them.

"Buenos Dias!" he greeted cheerfully. "You are well I see. That is good!"

"Who is that?" a man pushed his horse from the middle and Riddick looked into the startled face of Don Francisco Santiago. "Senor Riddick! You live?!"

"I do," Riddick was not amused by the man's tone but he smiled anyway. "And I am on my way to Aguascalientes. You have come from there?" he fixed gray eyes to the old Don. "How does Sister Magdaline fare?"

"She is well..." the Don was puzzled, looking past Riddick to the five horses behind him. It was not lost on the old man that the gray shirt was stained heavily with blood, or that Riddick carried his rifle across his lap. "You have had trouble, senor?"

"Aye, I have." Riddick shifted a little in the saddle, wondering what to say to the old man about his children. He cleared his throat. "Forgive me any offense, but, may I speak with you privately?"

The Don frowned, uncertain, but Riddick spoke still more quietly.

"It is about your son, senor, and your daughter."

"What?" the old man's voice was sharp, filled with suspicion and worry. "What news have you about them?

"Please, may we?" Riddick gestured a little off the trail and the Don and he stepped from their horses and moved away to speak in private.

The armed men were watching with dark suspicion but the Don waved them back. Riddick spoke plainly but gently, sparing the man the details but not the reality. He told Santiago of his daughter, telling him how to find her and that she was now alone and in danger of discovery. Riddick gestured to the horses he led.

"Those belong to four men that killed your son."

"Where are they now?" the Don's eyes were hard, glittering with anger.

"I assume they are not far from where I left them." He shrugged bleakly "I will not advise you how to handle them, but you would do well to put them under guard until you have returned home. Such men are not fit to remain free, in my opinion."

The Don was pale, sweat on his brow, trickling down his cheeks but his features were stiff. He put cold brown eyes on Riddick.

"How is it I am assured of your innocence in this, Senor Riddick?" he was shaking with grief and fury.

"You have only my word senor, but where I am from, my word is enough. I can only swear that what I said to you is true."

Don Francisco contemplated that for a moment then nodded putting out his hand, and Riddick took it.

"I am indebted to you, Senor Riddick. Mark my words, I will make those responsible pay for their crimes."

Riddick watched the old man walk stiffly back to his horse and mount up, speaking quietly to his men. They rode off in a loosely strung group and it was not lost on Riddick that they took their rifles from their buckets and held them ready. Feeling it was wisest to ride on he wasted no time in getting back in the saddle. He rode hard and fast, switching out the horses so he could travel the distance faster. It was not quite two days later he saw the outline of the mission on the horizon and urged the grulla he was currently riding faster. The church bells were ringing loudly and it seemed like everyone in the village was packed into the church.

Hitching the horses outside Riddick pulled the bags off the packhorse and lifted them to his shoulders. Glancing down at himself he shrugged, noting the stained and dirty clothing, the dust covered boots, feeling the itch of thick stubble on his jaw.

"Well," he muttered softly "Too late to change anything now."

He pushed through the doors and found the church packed to the last row with people, the long narrow aisle covered with flower petals. Startled he thought he'd interrupted a wedding, but only a woman was at the alter kneeling before a strange Bishop, Father Fuentes off to one side. Riddick realized with a start this was a perpetual vows ceremony, where a novice nun is questioned as to her resolve to make a permanent commitment to vowed life inside the mission. All present pray the Litany of the Saints for her then she professes perpetual vows of chastity, poverty and obedience in the hands of the presiding Bishop or priest.

Her vows are written out and placed on the altar where the Sister signs them, joining the sacrifice of her life offered to the Father with Son's perfect Sacrifice of the Mass. Those vows are then placed under the corporal for the Liturgy of the Eucharist. She receives her white gold wedding band which is worn on the ring finger of the right hand from that day on. The profession rite ends with the solemn consecration from the Bishop. At his entrance every head had turned and Riddick felt himself flush, embarrassed to interrupt. Then the woman stood and turned around, lifting the veil from her face.

"Magdaline!" the word burst from him without warning and she went white, her eyes wide and shocked.

"Senor, please, this is an important ceremony-" the Bishop started to object but Father Fuentes stepped forward and murmured something quietly into his ear.

Riddick moved up the aisle, his eyes on her face, his heart beating almost too fast to breathe. She looked stunning, dressed as a virgin bride waiting for him to come near, and as he did color returned to her cheeks and Magdaline slowly moved from the platform to meet him, unbelieving, shaken. They stopped two feet apart and Riddick dropped the bags he'd carried, the sacks hitting the floor and splitting apart. The watching crowd gave a collective gasp as the sea of gold coins spread out, gathering around the bride's feet. Magdaline never took her eyes off his.

"You're here..." it was a heartbroken sound, strained and he nodded.

"I told the padre I would bring the donation back with me, and I'm a man of my word Sister." He reached out to her, the back of his fingers barely touching her cheek, only his eyes miserable.

"It was a dream Logan, a wonderful, impossible dream," she took his hand in both of hers. "We have to wake now, to go back to our lives, to live them fully and without regret. But that doesn't mean we have to forget..."

To the stunned silence of everyone present the dust covered gringo took the newly appointed nun in his arms and kissed her. He kissed her long and tenderly before finally stepping back, half smiling.

"I don't believe in regrets normally, but I'll always have at least one,"

Riddick turned on his heel and walked away leaving the church full of people talking excitedly about the man who brought such gold to them, and kissed a nun without reproach. The Bishop looked at Father Fuentes with a disbelieving look and the padre smiled.

"We have generous donations brought to us from time to time, and occasionally, the men that bring them express their...appreciation, in unexpected ways." He smiled ambiguously, being deliberately vague.

Magdaline watched Riddick take the sorrel gelding and step into the saddle, pausing for just a moment as if he would look back, but he did not. The last she saw of him, Logan Riddick was riding north, the packhorse in tow. Only those closest to her heard Magdaline's whispered words, and saw the tears that briefly appeared in her eyes.

"It is said; 'for of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ''It might have been!'''" *

*John Greenleaf Whittier (December 17, 1807 – September 7, 1892)