Out-of-the-way towns across rural California are beginning to see evidence of gang activity. So far, the response has been punitive, as in the big cities, but in rural areas the human cost is perhaps a little easier to see. PNS correspondent Leslie A. Layton is a free-lance writer who has reported from both Mexico City and Northern California.

CHICO -- Ramon Moreno's hands are rough and strong. For 37 years, he has hoed and harvested beans and beets, and worked in the sprawling rice fields of California's Northern Sacramento Valley, sowing what he thought was a better life for two sons and two daughters.

But one recent morning, a state van whisked his youngest child from Butte County Jail to prison. Oscar Moreno, 19, will serve up to seven years for a drive-by shooting that prosecutors say involved rival youth gangs. His father will serve that time wondering what he should have done differently.

Gang membership has dropped in most large cities, but climbed in rural areas, according to the U.S. Department of Justice. Indeed, in many California towns -- particularly rural areas marked by poverty, cultural isolation and a vacuum in services -- residents and police departments say they face a growing problem.

Last week, newspaper accounts of a murder in Willows, a farm town a dozen miles from here, used the term "gang-related." A year ago, six young people were injured in a confrontation between rival gangs in the town of Napa.

In towns like Napa and Chico, there is little consensus about how to prevent the growth of gangs or how to rescue young adults like Oscar. Like California's large cities, these towns turn to police and prosecutors rather than prevention and rehabilitation.

Incarceration is expensive -- and heartbreaking.

"I'm sad. That is what I feel -- sadness," said Moreno, shortly before his son was taken to prison.

Ramon Moreno immigrated from Mexico at age 21. In most ways he is a success story -- a man who often toils 12 hours a day, six days a week.

Moreno says his son made a grave error, but nevertheless views Oscar as a victim -- a victim of his father's busy work life, of a punitive court system, of a youth culture "contaminated" by negative influences.

"I have never asked anything of the government," says Moreno, "but I think the authorities should do something else with a 14 or 15-year-old kid instead of sending him to jail. They should try to help them."

As a teenager, Oscar was sent to county juvenile hall twice on misdemeanor convictions. In June 1997, while serving time for assault, he told this reporter that he planned to distance himself from his "Barrio South Side" gang and remove his tattoos. He was articulate and polished.

By November of 1998, Oscar had successfully completed juvenile probation, and was working two jobs in Sacramento with one less tattoo. Then, on a Thanksgiving visit to his family, he fired once at a car after what he said was "harassment" by acquaintances who kept swerving toward his car. The bullet lodged in the car door and no one was injured.

A Butte County judge agreed the shot was probably a "warning," but Oscar was convicted of felony assault.

His attorney, David Eyster, contends that Oscar might have won adult probation in a larger city, but it's difficult to shake a gangster reputation in a small or mid-sized city like Chico.

Prosecuting attorney Clare Keithley says it's her job to keep people like Oscar off the streets -- she says he has failed to sever his gang ties, wanted to prove his "bravado," and didn't take responsibility for his actions.

Keithley -- a one-woman gang unit in a half-time position for the County DA's office -- credits aggressive prosecution with keeping a lid on gang-related crime. There hasn't been a fatal gang shooting in the county in several years.

But gangs, say law enforcement officers, continue to grow and scrutiny has only driven them underground. The Butte County Sheriff's Department claims the county, with a population of about 200,000, has close to 1,000 young people who are gang members or associates.

Ron Reed, a juvenile court public defender, agrees that there's not enough effort at rehabilitation. Furthermore, Reed says, existing programs fail to recognize diverse cultural factors drawing kids to gangs.

He says many Hmong youths have been subjected to "prejudice and physical threats," and some see gangs and crime as a way of "getting back." He recently searched the state for a rehabilitative program appropriate for a Hmong client -- without success.

In rural Glenn County, Latino parents complain that while they work long hours at field and factory jobs, their children are unoccupied. Glenn County is one of four sites in the country to receive a U.S. Department of Justice grant to document needs for services.

Farmworker Moreno now questions the work ethic and the fear of losing jobs that drove him. and his wife. "I thought I was doing the right thing by working hard," he says. "But while I continued working my kids did what they wanted. You think your work is important -- but your kids are so much more."

When there is talk of gangs, he shakes his head, baffled.

School counselor Librado Lascano recalls meeting with the family several years ago, and pleading with Oscar to be forthright with his father about his gang affiliation. Moreno's hands, he says, reminded him of his own Mexican immigrant father.

"He (Moreno) came up here with the American Dream in his heart," Lascano says. "He is genuinely perplexed, looking for answers."

Moreno and his wife agree they are perplexed. But they say they are sure their son should have had one more chance at freedom, their family deserves one more chance at healing.