Stay out of Trouble
A short ‘Bonanza’ story
By
Jenny Guttridge
As soon as he
emerged from the gloom that was rapidly gathering under the last stand of
trees, Adam Cartwright pulled his horse to the edge of the trail and waited for
his brothers to come alongside. After long days in the saddle, miles of rough
terrain put behind them and nights spent on the cold, hard ground they were
both, to Adam’s way of thinking, a good deal more sprightly than they had any
right to be. As the eldest and, supposedly, the wisest, Adam had already had
second thoughts about this particular plan of action, and, now, he was thinking
again. “I want to make this quite clear,” he said in a firm voice that not only
brooked no disagreement but was also loud enough to reach Little Joe. Joe was
sitting his painted pony on the far side of Hoss, and he wasn’t paying
attention. “I want you two to stay out of trouble.”
Breaking off his cheerful banter with Joe, Hoss turned
towards him with sweet innocence itself shining out of his pale-blue eyes.
“Heck, Adam, you know you don’t have ta worry ‘bout us at-all.”
Adam sighed and wondered again what it was that he was
about to get into. His mind went back ten years or more to the first time he
had ridden this forbidden trail. He had been a very young man, caught out in
bad weather just like today, and a very long way from home. A slight smile came
to his lips when he thought of the trouble he had gotten into, and the pain and
the pleasures he had endured because of it. The lure of the place had drawn him
back many times since. This time it was different. This time he was planning on
taking his younger brothers in with him, and the good Lord alone knew what his
father would say should the old man ever find out.
Spread out in front of them, at the end of the broad,
rutted path that served as a highway was a sprawling, tangled complex of barns
and corrals and lean-to cabins that stood alone with no visible means of
support. There were sway-backed shanties and oilskin covered shelters, sheds, stables
and tumble-down outhouses all clustered in loose association with the larger,
but equally unprepossessing structure know to all and sundry for a hundred
miles around as ‘Mrs. Hennesey’s Trading Post and Whisky Emporium’.
The single storey building huddled close to the
ground. It looked more like something organic that had simply grown in that
dark, dank place close to the riverbank with the swift stream running close by
rather than a thing built by the hand of man. It had been patched and repaired
so many times, parts rebuilt and rooms added on upon so many different
occasions and by so many different pairs of hands, that it was impossible to
tell where the original edifice began or ended, or even what colour it might
once have been. In the fading light of the late afternoon it resembled nothing
so much as an oversized and malevolent spider crouched in the centre of its
tattered feeding web. It was a place whose appearance went all too well with
its reputation. A long-time haunt of outlaws and miscreants and misfits from
all walks of life, it was a point on the map where just about anything could be
bought – or sold – for a price. However,
the roof didn’t leak, there were good fires on the many hearths, and the food
filled the belly if your palate wasn’t too finicky.
Lamplight already showed at some of the windows: pale,
glimmering witch-lights that emphasised the gathering gloom. Smoke rose at an
angle from a stone-built chimney, drifting, like a ragged, dirt-stained banner
on the damp, evening air. The place hadn’t changed much since the last time
Adam had paid a call. Perhaps it was a little shabbier, a little more run down
at heel, a little more slumped back into the landscape than before, but
essentially, it looked much the same. Right there and then Adam wished he were somewhere else – anywhere else, or, at least, that he
was on his own. He shifted himself in the saddle and eased a backside that
ached from fourteen long hours on the back of a horse. He looked at the sky. He
figured there was just about time to get himself and his brothers out of there
before it became too dark to travel the woodlands in safety. He said, “I don’t
think this is such a great idea.”
Joe looked across at him, his young face alarmed.
“Come on, Adam! You can’t change your mind now. Besides, pretty soon it’s gonna
rain. There ain’t no point in campin’ out in the woods an’ getting’ soakin’ wet
all over again. We only just got dried out from last night!”
Adam got the passing impression that, perhaps, his
youngest brother had been listening after all. He worked his jaw and chewed at
his lip, still on the verge of turning back. He would rather have taken his
chances in the woods with the wind and the rain than run the gauntlet of all
the trouble his brothers could get into and then facing up to their father’s
wrath.
Hoss joined in the discussion on Little Joe’s side. “I
want ta git me a meal tonight that I didn’t have ta catch it ‘n’ cook it
myself, an’ I want ta sleep in a bed.”
Adam gave him a cynical smile. “I’m not so sure about
the bed. Last time I was here, beds cost extra, and a man always found he had
company. Could be a better idea to sleep on the floor.”
Impatient, Joe tightened his reins and made the pinto
gelding dance in the trail. “I don’t know what the heck you’re makin’ all this
fuss about. This place can’t be nearly so bad as you say.”
“Joe’s right, Adam,” Hoss decided. “After all, just
how much trouble can a man get into?”
Adam gritted
his teeth and said, “You don’t know the half of it, little brother.”
“Well. Now that I’m here, I’m goin’ on down there ta
take me a closer look.” Hoss’s wide face had taken on a stubborn expression
that Adam knew well. The big man’s mind was made up. “How ‘bout you, Little
Joe?”
Adam decided that it was best to put a stop to this
insurrection before it got properly started. “Not on your own, you don’t.”
Triumphant, Hoss grinned. “Then you’re just gonna have
ta come along with us, big brother.”
Once more, Adam squirmed in the leather. He had to
admit his saddle was becoming a damned uncomfortable seat. He thought about the
inevitable tongue-lashing he would be in for if Ben Cartwright ever got wind of
this visit and cringed inwardly. Already, he could hear the words reverberating
inside his head. He reflected that, were he but a few years younger, it
wouldn’t only be his tongue that Ben used as a lash. He looked across at his
brothers and sighed. They were brim-full of excitement and expectation; it was
shining right out of their faces. “All right. But there’s one thing more: you
don’t say a word about this to anyone, and especially, you don’t tell
His brothers agreed in cheerful unison, “Sure thing,
Adam!”
And, thought Adam with another huge sigh of
resignation, butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Before he could change his
mind yet again, he lifted his hands and kicked his horse into motion. “Come on
then, you two. Let’s get going. Let’s see if we can get a roof over our heads
before it rains again.” He was blissfully unaware that, behind his back as he
rode away, Hoss and Joe exchanged happy, victorious glances.
The floor of the valley might once have been pretty,
with stands of oak and aspen and willow alongside the deep flowing stream.
These days it was best left clothed in darkness and unexplored. The trees were
gone and the grass was poisoned. The hand of man had despoiled the land and
left it barren. The rutted trail that they followed was hock-deep to a big
horse in mud and pitted with potholes. All the potholes were filled up with
water. It was impossible to hurry. A fall could result in a broken leg for one
of the horses or a broken neck for a man. The surfaces of the puddled water
shone like pitted, silvered mirrors and reflected the darkening sky.
As they got closer, more details of the settlement
became apparent. The very best of the buildings were shabby and run-down
hovels; the rest were half collapsed and seemingly deserted, falling back into
the earth from which they had been made. Adam noticed that someone had
partially patched the holes in the largest barn’s roof. This was a place where
horses lived better than men - and their lives were held in higher esteem.
Alongside the road, a huge pile of unidentifiable
rubbish smouldered. The stink of it caught in all three men’s throats and made
their eyes water. None of them chose to look closely enough to see what burned.
The acrid smoke drifted away along the valley, keeping close to the ground.
Adam’s luck continued to run exactly the way he expected.
Long before they arrived at the more or less level but extremely muddy expanse
that served as a yard, the cloud base had lowered just that little bit further,
and it had started to rain. It was a cold, drenching downpour that didn’t last
long, but there was nowhere to shelter. Despite their heavy woollen coats all
three of them were quickly soaked to the skin.
By then, it was almost dark. Adam fished a dry match
out of his pocket and lit the solitary lantern that hung in the barn. They led
the horses inside and found some empty stalls down at the farthest end where it
was dankest and darkest. The barn smelled of horses and mules and manure, of
damp straw and rotting wood and something that had died a while ago and not
been removed. Joe and Hoss exchanged looks again as they unsaddled their
horses, this time with a somewhat greater degree of concern. Hoss gestured and
pulled some expressive faces. Joe returned an elaborate shrug. Adam pretended
not to notice. He lifted the saddle from his bay gelding’s back and used a
couple of handfuls of straw to wipe some of the mud and water from the animal’s
filthy hide.
Somewhat tentatively, sensing his big brother’s mood,
Hoss tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Adam. There ain’t no hay or oats or
nothin’ around here no-place. What ‘re we gonna give the horses ta eat?”
Adam gave him a hard, sideways look, a flash of
amber-brown eyes. “Feed for horses is scarce and expensive here.” he explained
with precise reasonableness. “Tonight, it’s a case of you eat, or the horses
eat. You’d better make up your mind which it’s going to be.”
Hoss put a hand to his belly. His stomach was hollow
and aching. Much as he loved his horse, he didn’t much relish the thought of
going hungry himself. In the meantime, Joe jumped in ahead of him. “What’re you
talking about, Adam? We took nigh on ten thousand dollars for the sale of those
cattle, you can’t pretend that you’re short of money.”
Adam gave him a stony stare. “Don’t you think I
learned my lesson the last time we sold a bunch of cattle?” His voice held an
edge of concentrated patience. He looked from one brother to the other. It was
quite clear that neither of them understood. Adam experienced a sharp
resurgence of exasperation. Sometimes he wondered if he was the only one in his
family born with any brains at all. “You don’t really think I’m carrying all
that money with me? Even less that I’d bring it here? I wired the money home to
Doubtfully, Joe looked at Hoss. “So how much have you
got on you?”
“Three dollars an’ some odd cents, I guess. An’ you?”
“About the same, I reckon. Maybe a little less. Adam…”
“Oh, no!” Adam held up his hands in a defensive
posture, smiling and shaking his head. “I you hadn’t spent all your money
gamblin’ and chasin’ them high-tailed women…”
“Adam,” Hoss said sternly, “You must have
twenty-thirty dollars tucked in the side ‘o your boot.”
Adam glared at him. “And that’s where it’s staying.”
Joe and Hoss traded meaningful looks, and Adam sensed
a conspiracy. He found himself backed up against the wall of the stall with
nowhere to go but over. On the other side was an especially foul smelling pool
of effluent drained from the stalls. He decided on a placatory tone, “Look I’ll
tell you what I’ll do: I’ll buy both of you supper.”
Joe and Hoss thought about the offer and nodded. Both
of them knew that it was as good as they were going to get.
It was dark outside; night had fallen completely and,
mercifully, shrouded the worst of man’s desecration. The crab-like building was
all lit up with yellow lamplight showing from most of the windows. The
Cartwright brothers picked their way across the mud of the yard, trying,
without much success, to avoid the worst of the puddles and, at the same time,
to dodge the rain. Adam hesitated one final time with his hand on the latch of
the door. He knew that this was the point of no return. He turned and looked at
each of his brothers in turn. “Now remember what I told you…”
“We know, Adam.” Hoss said, and Joe joined in the
chorus, “Stay out of trouble.”
Adam opened the door and it was as if he had swung
wide the portals of hell. The low room was huge and steeped in an orangy glow. Distorted man-shapes moved in the smoky lamplight
like the looming shadows of grizzly bears. The noise rolled out in a long, low
rumble: fifty voices all raised at once, talking, arguing, grumbling,
occasionally breaking out in loud, raucous laughter. And then the smell hit
them full in the face – the smell, and the heat generated by a matched pair of
pot-bellied stoves, by the open kitchen at the back of the room and by the mass
of men’s bodies all crowded together. The stench was an unholy combination of
wood-smoke and lamp oil, spent gunpowder, roast meat and stew, rancid bear fat and
stale beer, of sweat and blood and urine and the smells of damp leather and
musty animal fur. Joe and Hoss each took a step backwards, eyes bulging, and
Adam allowed himself a small feeling of satisfaction at their reaction.
Someone yelled at them out of the hellish inferno to,
“Shut that Goddamn door!” His eyes still glinting with amusement, Adam shoved
his brothers inside with a hand on their backs and duly obliged.
Although it was hard to tell for certain, the room
seemed to run along most of the front of the house. The low ceiling was
supported by heavy beams and posts that had once been tree trunks, now stripped
of their bark, split and stained by smoke and grease, the
rub of men’s clothes and, here and there, by something that might have been
blood, and deeply scarred by men’s initials carved into the wood. It was hard to see the room’s
furthest extent through the miasma of tobacco smoke and fumes and the crush of
big bodies that filled it. There were men standing and drinking, men sitting
and drinking and eating and playing cards, men talking and laughing and
fondling women. There were men of all types: big men, frontier’s men in
buckskin and leather and furs. They were the hunters and trappers and loggers and
men who delved in the earth after silver and gold. In amongst them were tough
cowboy types: men who lived hard and played hard and some who were down on
their luck. And there were men in smart suits that had seen better days, silk
shirts and cravats. There was no doubt at all that some of them ran wide of the
law.
There were splashes of colour, here and there: red and
silver and blue, the short, bright dresses of women plying their age-old
profession among the men in the crowd. The dresses revealed bare, creamy
shoulders and white-satin bosoms and considerably too much leg. Adam reckoned
there must be ten men to every woman and then some left over. It seemed that
nothing had changed.
Adam steered his brothers to a relatively secluded
table close to a wall. Oblivious to their resentful looks and hostile
mutterings, he firmly ousted two drunks from their seats and told Joe and Hoss
to sit down. His eyes, dark brown in the smoky-red light, switched from one to
the other. “Stay here,” he said with a hiss. “I’ll go rustle us up something to
eat.”
Wide eyed and slack jawed, the younger men watched him
thread his way, with well practised ease, through the close press of bodies and
disappear in the crowd: one big, dark clad man among half a hundred others.
Still overawed by the sight and the sounds and the smells, Hoss leaned close to
Joe’s ear and whispered beneath the other men’s voices, the chink of thick
glassware, a women’s shrill laughter and the flip-flap of cards onto tables,
“Hey, Joe, what d’you make o’ this place, huh?”
Joe, as ever, was the more confident one of the two,
and his natural cockiness was already coming back to the fore. He looked all
around him with alert, bright-eyed interest, twisting this way and that in his
chair as he surveyed the motley crowd. “I don’t reckon it’s so bad. Adam’s just
got a bee in his bonnet ‘bout what Pa’d say if he ever finds out he brought us
here. Pa’ll reckon we should all have slept out in the woods in the rain.”
Hoss huffed and puffed while he thought about that and
watched the mainly bearded faces with their watchful, hostile eyes and their
discoloured teeth while he made up his mind. “We did kind o’ push Adam inta
bringin’ us,” he said uneasily. “I know Pa would want us ta git inta no…” He
caught the look in Joe’s eye and fell silent.
.
“Heck,” Joe said, “We’ll be gone in the morning. Just
how much trouble can a man get into in a night? Especially with our big brother
along to play nursemaid.” Joe was already sizing up the prettiest of the women,
and she was looking his way. Hoss nudged him hard in the ribs.
“Hey, Joe, you keep your mind off o’ those fillies.
You git yourself all tangled up with one o’ them an ol’ Adam ain’t gonna wait
ta git you home fer Pa ta give you a dressin’ down. He’s likely ta give you a
hidin his-self.”
“Himself,” Joe corrected automatically, still
appraising the lady and oozing with boyish charm. The lady was eyeing him back
with interest. “Anyhow,” Joe went on with a shrug, “We’re here now. Think what
we c’n tell the fellas in town! Not everyone gets ta spend the night at Ma
Hennesey’s.”
A ferocious frown creased Hoss’s broad face. “Little
Joe, you know what Adam said. We wasn’t ta tell no one we come here! Not even
Pa!”
Just for a moment, Joe looked disappointed. Then he
brightened again and winked at the girl. “So what’s to tell?”
Someone nudged Joe hard in the back. “Hey, boy, that’s
a mighty fine gun you got there. You mind iffen I take a look?”
Joe looked up – and up and up some more. The man standing
over him had to be the biggest human being that Joe had ever seen in his life:
a veritable giant, all of seven feet tall with a massive chest that balanced on
tree-trunk legs. Long, dark-red hair hung in tight, greasy coils around
mammoth-sized shoulders, a dark-red beard bristled and dark-red hair sprouted
at unlikely angles from between the straining buttons of a dirty brown shirt.
Seated, the top of Joe’s head came just to the level of the broad, leather belt
that held up the man’s sagging pants.
Joe could smell his animal stench, a long-undiluted
blend of sweat, beer and bear-grease. The big man held out his hand, a palm
shaped slab of gristle and bone, backed by a mat of red hair, and shoved it
under Joe’s nose.
Joe inspected the hand at close quarters: the broad,
blunt fingers, the dirt-encrusted calluses, the well-chewed nails. He didn’t
much like what he saw. He traced the hairy forearm up with his eyes to where it
vanished into the rolled-up sleeve of the shirt, and from there to the broad
spread of the shoulders and to the face. The thick, red beard housed two thick,
fleshy lips and, above, was a bulberous nose. Piercing dark eyes showing no
whites at all glared from beneath heavy brow ridges. Joe swallowed hard. From
the looks of the hand and of the man who owned it, it could easily crush the
ivory-handled pistol that he was so proud of.
Joe was reluctant to hand the gun over. The weapon was
new; Joe had saved a long time for it, and Joe was a man to whom saving came
hard. And besides, Joe was still kind of bristling at the ‘boy’. He’d just
spent a whole lot of time growing out of that particular tag…
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Mister.” To
his dismay, his voice sounded squeaky.
A second, vast hand, exactly matching the first, came
out of nowhere. It fastened itself with a vice-like grip under Joe’s chin and
lifted him into the air. The chair went over backwards,
and Joe found himself a great deal closer to the red-bearded face than
he would ever have desired. He was almost suspended, standing on tiptoe, trying
to take the strain off his neck.
The fleshy lips parted, and
Joe was treated to a gust of foul breath. “Now, lookee here, boy, I asked you real’ nicely…”
Joe was starting to cough and to splutter. He flailed
with both arms and legs. His face was slowly turning purple. Hoss climbed to
his feet, his blue eyes like ice. “Hey, Mister, you put my little brother down,
huh?”
Hoss was a big man. Big Red was bigger. It was not
often that Hoss Cartwright came up against anyone built on a vaster scale than
he was. This was one of those rare occasions. The red-haired titan gazed down
at him from on high, “You give me one good reason why I should.”
Joe was choking, and, by now, he was blue. Hoss looked
at him with concern. Brute force was obviously out of the question; he decided
to try appeasement. “’Cause I asked ya?” he suggested mildly.
Big Red scowled, considering. He continued to hold Joe
up off the floor. Joe was making futile, flapping motions with both hands, and
his eyes were starting to bulge.
Across the room somebody yelled, and a table went over
with a crash of glasses and falling silver. Someone swung a roundhouse punch
and several big men piled into the fight. Distracted by more interesting
amusements, Big Red dropped Joe back onto the floor and headed in that
direction.
Adam discovered that he had been wrong; there had,
indeed, been innovations since his last visit.
At the back of the room, a long, pine-board counter had been constructed,
spanning the entire area. Instead of the free-for-all he had come to expect, he
had to stand in line – more or less – and wait his turn to be served. That, he
supposed, was progress, but it all took time and increased his anxiety about
just what his younger brothers might get up to when he wasn’t there to keep an
eye on their antics. He knew them and their exploits too well to trust them for
long
Beyond the new, but already battle-scarred shelving
was the familiar, devil’s-kitchen that Adam recalled, complete with simmering
cauldrons, pots and kettles and a glowing, red-hot oven. The other new addition
was ‘Old Nick’ himself: a black-haired Frenchman with only one eye and a wicked
knife scar to show how he’d lost the other. He seemed to be in charge of the
place. He shouted and swore at the cooks and assistants and treated his
customers in much the same, cavalier manner.
Adam purchased three bowls of thick stew, a loaf of
coarse bread and three mugs of beer and enlisted the help of a lame-footed boy to
carry it back to the table. He was turning away from the counter with both
hands full and the boy in tow when the scuffle broke out across the room. With
some anxiety, Adam looked in that direction as the Frenchman set off with a
determined expression and a great stave of wood, but the disturbance was a long
way from where he had left Joe and Hoss. Adam relaxed. This time, at least, his
brother’s weren’t in the thick of it.
Balancing the bowls with care and with the lame boy
limping behind with the beer, he picked his way back to the table. He was
relieved to see that Joe and Hoss were still sitting right where he’d left them
– in fact, they looked rather subdued. Adam put the bowls down on the table and
paid the boy off with a coin. He shucked out of his still damp coat and draped
it across the back of his chair before sitting. He picked up his spoon and then
looked up at his brother’s faces. Joe was pale with high points of pink on his
cheekbones, and his eyes had a glazed, distant look. Adam wondered if he was
quite well. “You okay Joe?”
Joe gulped hard and gave him a twisted, half-sincere
grin. “I’m fine, just fine.” His voice sounded high pitched and hoarse.
Adam, already eating, slowed in his chewing and gazed
at him curiously. Joe was looking distinctly peaky and a little green around
the gills. Adam felt a twinge of concern. He hoped his brother wasn’t about the
get sick; he knew for dead certain sure that there wasn’t a proper doctor
within two hundred miles of this Godforsaken place.
Hoss was hungry and was already eating with relish,
shovelling stew from bowl to mouth with a rhythmical motion of his spoon. It
was a fascinating thing to watch. “Little Joe’s okay, Adam,” he said ‘round the
food. “He’s just got his-self overtired, is all?” Neither he nor Joe was about
to tell Adam that they had already fallen foul of one of the tough hard-heads
that Ma Hennesey’s harboured, and a big one at that.
Still studying Joe’s face, Adam spooned up more stew.
He knew his brothers well, and he had an itchy feeling that he wasn’t being
told the truth – not all of it, anyway. Still, whether Joe was sickening or
not, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it right there and then. He
gave an inward shrug and put meat and potatoes into his mouth and followed it
up with a hunk of the bread.
Joe eyed the stew in his bowl dubiously. It had been
boiled in the pot for a very long time and had become an amorphous mixture of
meat and grease with big chunks of vegetables simmered to softness and all
tasting the same no matter what they had started out as. His appetite, so keen
when he had come in through the door, had completely faded away, and he felt rather sick. The sight of his brothers
tucking in with gusto didn’t make him feel any better. His throat still hurt where
Big Red’s hand had squeezed it, and, worse, he was half-afraid that Big Red
himself might come back. Reluctantly he tasted a spoonful. The stew was quite
good. He ate some more and began to feel a little bit better.
Adam and Hoss were engaged in a complicated discussion
concerning the timber yields of high altitude forests and the rate at which the
woodlands could be expected to replenish themselves. It was a favourite topic
since Hoss had taken over the management of the southernmost stretch of the ranch.
As usual, most of what they said went right over Joe’s head. Then, Adam sat
back with his slowly warming mug of beer clasped between his hands and his long
legs stretched out straight underneath the table in the familiar, comfortable
way. He was much more at ease: almost relaxed, now that his forebodings had
proved unfounded. He was warm and dry now, and
his stomach was full. His brothers were behaving, even if Joe was just a little
bit quiet, and he saw no reason why their father should ever find out about
this forbidden visit. The ambience of the room, the close, damp heat, the press
of bodies and the continual grumble of noise combined with the warm stew in his
belly and the mug of strong beer instilled contentment and a sense of security.
He sucked the last shreds of meat from between his teeth and half closed his
eyes. He hardly noticed when Hoss silently exchanged his empty bowl for Joe’s
almost full one and continued to eat. Joe didn’t get the chance to object.
Then Adam spotted someone across the room, and his
eyes lit up with a fresh spark of interest. He finished his beer, put his mug
down on the table and kicked back his chair. “You boys stay here – I gotta see
a man about a horse.” Joe and Hoss watched their brother’s broad back disappear
into the crowd.
Never one to be put down for long, Joe looked around
with reviving interest. At a table not too far away, his eye was soon captured
by a game of poker. Four men were playing for table stakes, and from the way
one man’s luck was running, there would soon be a vacant chair. An idea came to
Joe’s quick mind, and a smile spread over his face. Surely, even big brother
Adam in nursemaid mode couldn’t class a hand or two of poker as ‘trouble’? He
gave Hoss a swift kick under the table. “You still got that three dollars?”
“Uh-huh.” Hoss looked dubious but fished in his in his
vest pocket and extracted the rumpled bills. “What d’you want it for?” Hoss
hadn’t yet seen where Joe was looking.
“Never mind.” Joe tipped him a broad, brotherly wink
and picked the money out of his fingers. There was am impish sparkle in his
green and gold eyes. Pushing his chair back, he got to his feet and arrived at
the poker table at the very same instant that the disgruntled loser threw down
his last hand. Joe slipped into the vacated seat and flashed his famous
Cartwright smile around at the other players. “You don’t mind if I join you?”
The three faces around the table regarded him with
varying degrees of belligerence. The smallest man, sitting directly across the
table – he of the small, glossy moustache and the shifting brown eyes – seemed
almost amused by Joe’s precipitate and uninvited arrival. The man on Joe’s
left, a hulking, bearded brute in smelly brown leather,
was rather less entertained, while the fellow to his right, a
hunch-shouldered frontiersman with long sandy hair, tightly plaited, and the
fringes of his greasy, buckskin shirt finely cut, was almost aggressive in his
instant dislike. Joe treated them all with equanimity and the dazzling,
white-toothed smile. He put his few dollars down on the table and spread them
out to look a lot, then rubbed his hands together in a display of youthful
enthusiasm. “Whose deal is it?”
The frontiersman and the man with the moustache traded
meaningful looks but seemed disinclined to object. The big man shrugged and
started to deal out the cards. With his big hands wedged tightly into his front
pants pockets, Hoss wandered over to watch. Bit by bit, his frown became
deeper, slowly becoming a scowl. He saw Joe lose one hand, and then another and
with them, more than half their pooled dollars, gone on the turn of a card.
Then he couldn’t bear to watch any more. Disgruntled and feeling left out of
things, he turned away, only to find that all the seats at their old table were
taken.
He felt in his pocket. There were only two small coins
left. Not even enough to finance another mug of beer. He looked back at his
brother. Joe was engrossed, his face a mask of fierce concentration. Joe was
never happier than when he was playing cards even when he was losing. Hoss saw
him win the next hand: enough dollars in the low stakes game to keep him
playing at least for another hour. Hoss was all on his own. The big man huffed
a sigh and hitched his gunbelt up ‘round his belly. He turned towards the door.
He figured one of them ought to go check on the horses – perhaps they would
provide some amicable company, someone to talk to when nobody else would
listen.
It wasn’t a man that big brother Adam had wanted to see,
and it wasn’t a horse that he wanted to talk about. Claris Mandarra would be an
attractive woman in any man’s book. Masses of dark curling hair surrounded her
rounded face and tumbled down in untidy ringlets onto her shoulders. Her dark
eyes were constantly laughing, and her lips were painted a rose-petal pink.
Tonight she was wearing a dark-red, satin dress with ruffles around a low and
revealing neckline. The dress disclosed the swell of creamy white bosoms, and if Adam recalled correctly, that soft creamy skin
went all the way down.
Smiling, he drew her ‘round a secluded corner, still
within the main room but out of the line of sight of most inquisitive eyes.
Clary went with him willingly. Reaching up, she wrapped her white arms around
his neck and drew his face down to hers. Without a word being spoken between
them and with the air of an old acquaintance being renewed, he closed his lips
over hers and tasted once more her well remembered sweetness.
Finally, when both had to come up for air, she sighed
against him and rested her hands on his chest. Her tiny white fingers slipped
under his coat and felt, through the cloth of his shirt, the solid wall of
muscle and the steady beat of his heart. “Adam Cartwright,” she breathed his
name like a prayer. “It’s been a very long time since you came a-callin’.”
Adam’s mouth smiled against the perfumed softness of
her hair, and he moved his hands from her waist to her back in a smooth,
sliding motion. His fingers moved lightly over the silky fabric of her dress
and the callused edge of his thumb traced the precisely curved shape of the
whalebone in her corset underneath. “I don’t get to come this way very often.”
It might be an excuse but it was also the truth.
“I thought you’d forgotten me.” Clary’s lips formed a perfect pout, but her dextrous fingers
were already unfastening the buttons of his shirt.
Adam tightened his arms around her and drew her in
closer. “How could I ever forget you?” His mouth sought hers, and he kissed her again. As her perfume rose into his
head, his senses started to reel, and his pulse rate quickened.
The small, white fingers were inside his shirt now,
doing interesting things with the hair that curled on his chest. Her touch made
him sweat. “Perhaps,” she suggested softly, “you’d like to renew our
friendship.”
Adam remembered his responsibilities. He caught her
wandering hands and held them in his. “I’d like that very much, but I have my
brothers with me. I have to watch out for them.”
The laughing eyes, deep pools of wanton seduction in
the smoky light of the lamps, widened with amazement. “Those two you came in
with? They looked like big boys to me: all grown up. I’m sure they can look
after themselves for a bit.” Her fingers escaped his restraint and slid back to
his chest, tracing the line of his ribcage, sliding down to the front of his
pants. She breathed softly into his face, and he caught the scent of her: the
sweet smell of a woman wanting.
He put his arms around her. Breathing quite hard, he
clasped her tight and pressed her back to the wall. Trapped in the heat between
their bodies, his manly interest, already awakened, raised its blunt head. Adam shivered with delicious anticipation, and Clary
smiled in triumph. “I have a room of my own now,” she murmured into his ear. “We
don’t have to share anymore.”
Remembering their previous encounters, Adam thought
that was a real good idea. “I’ll bet you’ve got your room done up real’ pretty,
Clary. Why don’t you show it to me?”
Clary was a woman always prepared to combine pleasure
with business. With a gleam in her eye she took his hand in hers and led him
away.
Outside, the rain was still falling, a cold and
continuous drizzle that fell straight down from a dark and overcast sky. It
stung Hoss’s hot skin in a thousand tiny pinpricks of pain and made his eyes
water. After the dank, stuffy stench of the barroom, the fresh air was like a
wet slap in the face, but it cleared a man’s
head of cobwebs with admirable speed. Hoss shrugged massive shoulders further
into his still-damp coat and set his tall hat more firmly onto his head. There
was nothing else for it, he figured; he was
going to get wet.
The long, low barn was in darkness. Hoss remembered
that there wasn’t a light. He shook off the worst of the water like a dog that
had taken a bath. While not soaked right through to the skin, he was
considerably wetter than he had been before. It would take him a while to steam
dry.
There was a bucket, a rake and several damp piles of straw.
Hoss, in the dark and on unfamiliar territory, managed to trip over them all.
Stumbling and cursing, he made his way to the back of the barn where they had
stables their horses. His sturdy brown gelding snuffled at him loudly, lipping
his hands and his face as he snuffled for the accustomed treats Hoss carried in
his pockets.
“I don’t have nothin’ for you, big fella.” Hoss rubbed
the blaze on the horse’s long face. Now he felt guilty all over again. He could
have saved the gelding some bread. “Don’t you worry none. In two or three days,
we’re gonna be home, an’ I’ll see you get all the oats and sweet hay you c’n
eat.”
The gelding nudged him hard with his head as if he
understood what was said. Hoss checked on the other horses: Joe’s spotted pony
and the leggy chestnut Adam was forking that week. All the animals were fretful
and uncomfortable. Hoss didn’t blame them one bit. No doubt they were hungry,
cold and damp, and he could appreciate the way
that they felt.
Hoss finished his conversation with his horse,
concluding with more reassurance and a hearty pat on the neck. He was preparing
himself for another dash through the rain when he heard the sound of men’s
voices. They were shouting and cheering and urging someone along to greater
feats of endeavour. They were somewhere outside the back of the barn and the
sounds were muffled by the thick board walls. Hoss couldn’t make out what was
going on, but he sure couldn’t help being curious.
He was pleased that the rain had somewhat abated. It
had reduced to a fine, drifting haze that hung suspended on the chilly night
air. The noise from outside had died down – at least, Hoss couldn’t hear it
from where he was but something was happening around behind the horse-shed. He
could see the faint glow of lanterns and men were moving about. H made up his
mind to find out what was going on.
By the time he got there, the excitement seemed to be
over. Men stood around in small groups talking, oblivious to the mud underfoot
and the cold wet mist that blew in their faces. Hoss saw money change hands and
hostile eyes turned in his direction.
Hoss figured he could take a few hard stares. He
tucked his thumbs in his belt and selected the least aggressive looking of
those present to be his informant. “Say, old-timer, what’s goin’ on here?”
The old man was short with bandy, bowed legs and a
short bristled beard on a face that resembled well-tanned leather. He took a
long look around, spat out a stream of dark brown saliva and cocked a
bird-bright eye up at Hoss. “Reckon as we’re havin’ us a mud-wrastlin’ contest
here, young fella.”
“Is that at fact!” Hoss leaned back on his heels as
well as he could in the mud, and his face split into a broad, gap-toothed
smile. There was little he liked better that mud wrestling and he often took
part himself, going for three quick falls on a Saturday night with the boys
from the mines and the lumber camps, and often he took on his brothers, both
men at once, just for the hell of it. Most often, Hoss came out the winner.
Feeling himself something of a connoisseur, he went to inspect the arena
The mud hole was just down hill from the back of the
barn. It was a rich brown, much-churned expanse that glistened wetly. In the
uneven light of the lanterns it was a red and gold version of hell. Hoss
wrinkled his nose. From the stench that came up out of the pit, at least some
of the water drained down from the barn and the brown colour had been imparted
by a substantial admixture of horse manure.
Men were starting to gather around – it appeared that the next bout was
soon to get underway – and Hoss, with men pressing against his back, found
himself in the centre of things. He soon realised that this was mud wrestling
unlike any he had ever encountered before. Three things rapidly became apparent:
these contests were held in earnest, the men fought stark naked and there were
no holds barred.
Joe’s eyes flicked around at the other three faces and
laid his cards on the table. A pair of kings and a pair of aces were enough to
pick up the pot. A big grin split his face as he gathered up the small heap of
cash in the middle of the table and pulled it towards him. The three faces
glowered. The handsome young man had invited himself into their game and then had the temerity to hit a winning streak and
all but clean them out. They didn’t much like it.
The small chap with the shifty brown eyes was somewhat
less amused than he had been an hour before, while the man in the fragrant
brown-leather suit chewed on the end of an unlit cigar and scowled at the cards
he’d been dealt as if, by sheer force of will, he might make the points on the
paste boards add up to more than they did. On Joe’s other side, the man with
the long yellow plaits and the fringed deerskin shirt was all but apoplectic.
He was the one Joe was worried about. His face was the purple and blue colour
of a thundercloud on a hot summer’s day and his blue eyes bulged. He was
grumbling like a terrier somewhere deep down in his throat. There was a
hickory-handled pistol tucked into his belt, alongside a broad-bladed knife.
Joe didn’t doubt for a moment that he knew how to use both.
Joe hadn’t
cheated – he’d just had a rare run of good luck. He had a feeling that no one
around here was going to listen to his point of view. He figured he’d outstayed
his welcome. He flashed them all his bright, boyish smile. “I’d like to thank
you gentlemen for a most enjoyable evening.” He pushed back his chair and
scooped his winnings into his hat. He guessed there was about fifty dollars in
small bills and loose change. He wasn’t about to linger and count it. He stood
up and bobbed his head again. “Real nice to make your acquaintance. Thanks for
letting me sit in on the game. Perhaps we should do it again some time.” He
backed away from the table. Buckskin-clad-man gathered himself and began to
climb out of his seat. His grumble turned into a growl. Joe decided that, upon
this occasion, discretion was by far the better part of valour, and it would be no good to anyone if he ended up
dead. He beat a hasty retreat.
Joe stuffed his
money into various pockets and looked around for Hoss. In a roomful of big men,
his big-built brother was nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it, he couldn’t
see Adam anywhere either; he was all on his own.
Well, Joe
decided, he was a man with a tongue in his head, and
he didn’t mind asking. The third or fourth fellow
he spoke to condescended to answer. He gazed at Joe with a white walleye. “I
saw that fella you’re lookin’ fer a-headin’ on out ta the barn. Reckon he was
after takin’ a look at that bare-skin wrastlin’ match they’re holdin’ tonight.”
“A wrastlin’
match? Whoo-ee!” Joe jammed his hat on his head and pursed his lips in a
whistle. His irrepressible grin came back onto his face. “That’s somethin’ I
gotta see
Tirelessly cheerful, Joe went out to the barn. He was
delighted that it had stopped raining. Although there was no sign of the moon,
the clouds were broken and blowing by fast. They afforded an occasional glimpse
of the sky. It was definitely getting colder; Joe’s breath puffed. It was plain
that something was going on out back of the horse barn. Joe’s could see the
spill of the lamplight and hear voices raised in excitement as he got closer:
the cheers, whistles and catcalls told him a fight was in progress. Joe walked
fast, stretching his legs over the smallest puddles and splashing his way
through the rest.
Behind the barn,
a crowd had collected around the mud pit. A miasmic fog of noise, mist and
steam hung over it. All Joe could see was the living wall of men’s backs. Being
shorter and slighter and on the whole more lithe, Joe slipped in among them and
wormed his way to the front.
Two huge, bare
assed men were grappling shin deep in the mud hole. They were completely coated
in the slick, brown muck; it made it all but impossible to grip arms, legs or
head – their hands kept slipping away. Some of the holds they did get looked
painful. The noise from the crowd almost drowned out the grunts and the groans.
Joe looked along
the line of spectators and spotted his brother. Hoss was excited; he shouted
and yelled with the rest of the men and jumped up and down. Joe’s eyes switched
to the two in the mud hole and then back to his oversized brother. Joe
remembered all that money stuffed in his pockets and had a brilliant idea! There was no time like the
present, he figured, to put the plan into action. He worked his way along the
line of spectators to reach Hoss’s side
Hoss was pleased
to see him, if slightly bemused. “Hey, Joe I thought you was playin’ cards.”
Joe beckoned him
down to his level. “I’ve got a plan to make money.” Hoss leaned down, and Joe
whispered loudly into his ear.
Hoss’s
expression became increasingly doubtful. “Joe, are you real sure that’s a good
idea?”
“Good? It’s
brilliant!” Joe was indignant. “Did I ever steer you wrong? You c’n take either
one o’ those two easy, an’ by the time they’re finished with each other,
they’re gonna be plumb tuckered out.”
Hoss scowled at
him. “How come it’s always me..?”
Joe raised both
eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t expect me..? Look at the size of them!”
“I’m lookin’.”
While Hoss stripped off his clothes, Joe made several substantial bets with the
men around him. When he looked at his brother’s powerful body, it seemed almost
a shame to be taking their money. Almost…
Down in the mud
pit, the grappling match came to an end. The larger man was the victor. He laid
his opponent out in the mud. Four other men hauled the loser away. Joe was
undismayed; he was confident he was on his way to a fortune.
Bootless, Hoss
hopped out of his pants and handed them to Joe along with his gun and his hat.
He was still frowning. “Joe, I don’t think…”
“It’s okay!” Joe
beamed reassurance. “This is the easiest money we’ve ever made.”
Buff naked, Hoss
climbed down into slick, cold, smelly mud. The current king of the mud hole
sluiced off his head with a bucket of water. The water ran down his chest to
his groin. It revealed a forest of sprouting red hair and features that Joe
remembered too well: the bulberous lips and large hooked nose belonged to Big
Red. Not daring to watch what happened next, Joe squeezed his eyes shut.
Adam stepped out
of Clary’s room and closed the door softly behind him. He had always thought it
bad manners to leave with a bang. He carried his hat in his hand and had a very
silly, self satisfied smile stuck to the front of his face. He hadn’t spent the
evening in quite the way he’d expected, but it had been far more pleasurable
than anything else he’s had in mind – and more expensive. Having paid for
supper for three and given Clary an extra dollar for services rendered, He had
a whole lot less money tucked in his boot than before. He regarded it as money
well spent. That Clary sure knew how to how to keep a man entertained, and he’d
kind of
lost track of the time. Now, he supposed, he better catch up with those two
brothers of his before they got into mischief.
The big room was
quieter than he had expected – in fact half of the tables were empty. More to
the point, he couldn’t see either one of his siblings. One thought popped into
his mind: where did everybody go? Followed
closely by another: where in hell were Hoss and little Joe?
Dread dropped like a rock into the pit of his stomach. Where had the
pair of them got to and what were they about? Adam backed up to the makeshift
bar and spoke to a small, black-haired woman wielding a greasy grey cloth.
“Where did everybody go?”
The woman
continued to wipe. “You wanta buy a beer, Señor?”
“I’m looking for a young man with curly brown hair and
a man in a tall white hat.”
The woman blinked at him owlishly; “You wanta buy a
beer?”
Adam sighed and fished in his pocket for a coin: one
of a small and dwindling supply. “I’d kinda like to buy a beer.”
The woman fetched a jug and poured out a mug that was
half warming beer and half froth. “And now,” Adam said. “about the two fellas
I’m looking for.” The woman let loose with a torrent of Spanish that Adam half
understood. He managed to pick out several key words that made his heart sink still
further: ‘barn’ and ‘mud’ and ‘fight’.
Adam made his way out to the barn. It was easy enough
to find where the fighting took place. He pushed his way through to the front
of the crowd and grabbed Joe by the scruff of the neck. “What in hell are you
up to? Didn’t I tell you to…” He saw
Hoss’s tall white hat in his brother’s hand.
Adam caught sight of the two men fighting. Covered in
mud, blood and slime, Hoss was unrecognisable to anyone one who didn’t know him
very, very well. Adam let go of Joe and stepped to the edge of the pit. His jaw
dropped open. No, he wasn’t mistaken. That man out there was his brother and
this was one fight he was losing. Adam had to get him out of there before any
damage was done. “Hoss!”
Over and above the cheers and the stomp of the crowd,
Hoss heard his big brother’s voice, and boy, did Adam sound mad! Hoss turned
his head. Big Red came in with a wide-swinging, haymaking forearm punch. The
blow lifted Hoss clear of the mud and knocked his flat on his back. The crowd
went mad with its cheering and jeering. There was a pained expression on the
big Cartwright’s face.
Adam saw Hoss go down. He wasn’t standing for any more
of this nonsense. He wasn’t about to try to explain to their father how Hoss
got all bloodied up. He rather fancied hanging on to his hide. Adam stepped
down into the mud pit to haul his brother out.
Big Red wasn’t about to be swindled out of his
victory. He jumped on Adam’s back. Adam went down on his face in the mud. A big
grin split Joe’s face. This was better than he had expected. Both Cartwright
men managed to get to their feet. Covered from head to toe in stinking brown
goo, they closed in on Red, one man on either side. The crowd went wild.
Jeers and catcalls filled their ears. Big Red roared
and came in flailing. Adam caught a crack in the face from a swinging elbow and
went down as if he were pole axed. Big Red lifted a mud-booted foot to stomp
him. Hoss let out a bellow and dived at Big Red. He buried his head in the pit
of Big Red’s belly and both men went down in the mud.
The two giants grappled with each other, each trying
to get a hold. Big Red found something squashy and roughly spherical. He
squeezed hard. Hoss’s eyes bulged, and he let out a squeal. The next thing
Big Red was aware of was lying face down in the mud.
Adam was kind of groggy. Gasping, Hoss went to help
him up. Two men climbed down into the pit to stop Red from drowning. They hauled him up by the arms. Red roared and lunged
at them, and they all went down in the mire.
With Hoss’s help, Adam got his legs under him. Hoss
was full of concern. “Adam, ‘re you alright?”
Adam clung to his arm. “I’m not at all sure.” Leaning
one on the other, they started out for the edge of the pit. By now, there were
a dozen men in that mud hole, all grappling with one another in a glorious free
for all. Someone shoved the Cartwright men in the back and sent them sprawling.
Joe had collected his winnings when Hoss knocked Big Red down. Now, he decided,
it was time to beat a strategic retreat before either of his brothers got their
hands on him.
Yelling abuse at the top of his lungs in a language
that no one – except, perhaps, Adam – understood, the one-eyed scar-faced
Frenchman waded in with his wheel-spoke, hitting out right and left. The third
swipe caught Adam Cartwright alongside the head, and for him, someone put out
the lights.
*******
Hoss lowered his stirrup leathers back into place and
settled his tall white hat more firmly onto his head. Hoss had the advantage of
having fought in the mud pit naked; his clothes had been relatively clean when
he’d sluiced the mud off his body and climbed back into them. He wasn’t stained
with mud, and he didn’t stink of manure – unlike
some people he could think of. He was mighty glad he was standing upwind of
Adam. He filled up his lungs with clean, rain-washed air and took a last look
about him. This wasn’t a road a man was likely to travel too often; he had a
feeling it would be a while before he came this way again.
The sky was clear. The rain clouds had mostly drifted
away although some still lingered as a dark, brooding backdrop. Ma Hennesey’s,
in daylight, had lost its brooding air of menace; now it was just an ill kept,
meandering, ramshackle building with smoke rising up from the chimney and a
queue of men awaiting their turns in the outhouse ‘round at the back.
The muddy yard was filled with horses. Now that the
rain was holding off, a lot of men were saddling up and preparing to be on
their way. Many of them were tough looking hombres; men that Adam Cartwright
wanted to ride out ahead of him. He’d rather have them out in front where he
could see them than skulking around at his back.
Right at that moment, Adam looked like a pretty
desperate character himself. He had an angry purple bruise spread over his
cheekbone, a squinty, half closed eye and a lip that was split and swollen; all
features he would have trouble explaining away to his
Hoss chuckled as he caught the mischievous glint in
his brother Joe’s eye. “We know, Adam,” they said in unison. “Stay out of
trouble!”
Potter’s Bar 2002.