THE GUNFIGHTER
This story is a sequel to False Witness and although it would be possible to read on it’s own, you will need to know the background about the character Butch Thomas and how he and the Cartwright family came to know of each other.
I have changed my mind slightly for this story and it will take place only 3 years after Thomas was sent to prison for the attempted murder and kidnapping of Little Joe Cartwright. That makes Joe 19 years old for this story and suits the theme of the story a little better. I was originally going to have it five years afterwards at the age of 21 years.
Hope you enjoy this one as much as False Witness:
Three years earlier these few words echoed in Joe Cartwright’s memory:
“SOMEDAY I WILL COME BACK. YOU AND I WILL MEET AGAIN
– I PROMISE”
and now the story turns another page and continues:
It wasn’t until late into the next day that Joe awoke from his drug induced sleep. His awakening was slow and he felt incredibly groggy and unfocused.
Hop Sing came into the room and offered some food. Joe choked down what he could, but then just resolved to sipping the hot coffee and hoping it would give allow some sort of feeling back into his body.
“Where is everyone, Hop Sing?” Joe asked, as he tried to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position against the back of the bed. He thought it odd that he hadn’t seen his father come into the room yet that morning or his brothers for that matter. They may have come in while he was still sleeping, but it was unusual that he hadn’t seen any of them during the time that he was awake.
“Very busy, Lil Joe,” Hop Sing replied. “Getting ready for big drive in couple of days. Many things to pack in wagon.”
Joe nodded his head in acknowledgement. Seemed like a plausible excuse for why everyone was preoccupied. Joe couldn’t help but feel that Hop Sing wasn’t telling him everything that they were doing. He leaned his head back against the head board and allowed his eyes to drift close.
Without even realising it, Joe had fallen asleep again, the residual effects of the strong sedative still trying to work out of his body. His arms and legs still felt incredibly heavy, though there was no pain in his hand that he had been able to detect. Joe had guessed that the reason he had slept so late was due to Doc Martin giving him something to help sleep. He could vaguely recall Hoss’s voice in the back of his mind and drinking from a cup, but every after that was a blank. The medication was a least allowing him a little relief in that area.
Joe didn’t quite know how much time has lapsed between him sipping his coffee and falling back to sleep sitting up. The next thing that he knew was Ben gently waking him, a little concerned that Joe still seemed so tired.
“Hello son,” Ben said with a warm smile. “Tired?”
“I was before, Pa,” Joe admitted as he now tried to pull himself out of the cloud of sleepiness. “I still feel kind of strange.”
“Well that’s to be expected I suppose. How is your hand today?” Ben asked, eyeing the bandages resting on the top of the covers.
“I
don’t feel any pain at the moment, but that will soon change,” Joe said.
“I don’t know why I hit the barn door like that
“Joe, if you feel up to it, there is something we need to discuss,” Ben said in a more serious tone. He pulled the chair up closer to the bed, wanting to approach the topic of Tom’s funeral as subtly as he could.
“Alright,” Joe replied in a non-committing tone. He could see his father was struggling with how to bring up whatever the topic of discussion was going to be about. It must be something about Tom Withers.
“Tom’s funeral is tomorrow,” Ben said and paused, allowing his son as much time as he needed to accept that little bit of information. “There will be a memorial service at the church that I have arranged and then there will be a small gathering at the churchyard for the burial.”
“And your question is?” Joe said, his voice becoming a little harsher than Ben was at first expecting. Hostility was not how he thought his son would react. Tears and grief like yesterday, but not anger.
“Well I wanted to let you know that I can arrange for the buggy to be hitched up if you felt like attending the church and if you still were not feeling up to riding your own horse,” Ben started to explain, but that was as far as he got.
Despite the heaviness he had felt a few minutes ago, the mention of attending a church service for Tom’s funeral, gave Joe renewed energy through adrenaline. He retreated from the comforting hand of his father and now stood on the opposite side of the bed, his face reddening with anger by the minute. Ben was unsure if the anger was directed at him or at something else.
“And you want me to go there and pretend like God has all of the answers,” Joe stammered, barely able to get the words out for the anger he felt.
Ben frowned a little at first. He thought Joe might be possibly mad at him, or about Tom’s death or the accident or a million other things at this moment. But being angry at God and the church seemed a little out of the ordinary.
“Nobody is going make you go Joseph if you don’t need to. But part of the healing process is to face these things and try to cope the best we can. It may not seem fair at the moment, but it is things such as death that makes us stronger within ourselves,” Ben said gently, not wanting to add to Joe’s heightened temper.
“Good, because I am not going and that’s final,” Joe shouted. “And another thing, this isn’t just about Tom’s funeral. I mean I am not going to set another foot back in that church as long as I live.”
“What have you got against the church Joe?” Ben asked, curious to know why his son felt so let down by an institution that had long had strong support from this family.
“Pa, you have always taught me that people go to church to believe and have find faith in God and his teachings,” Joe said, forcing himself to take the time to explain. “Where is he now, Pa?” He couldn’t help though but show his frustration by clenching his fists until the knuckles were almost white.
“God is always here Joseph, though he doesn’t always stand before us in a visual way. He comes to us in prayers and when he go to church and read of all the good things he has done,” Ben said, trying to put into a few sentences, the essence of what the Christian faith had come to mean to him.
“Yeah, well Pa, I am sorry, but I don’t see it that way. And I think it will take a great deal of convincing before I do,” Joe said, turning his face away, he didn’t want to be having this conversation at all, nor see his father watching him so torn up on a subject that was so difficult to deal with or put into words.
Ben wasn’t to be deterred by his son’s despondent attitude though, walking up behind him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, not as a father, but as a friend. “Sometimes, Joseph, we tend to lose sight of the things most important to us in life. Family, friends, things that really matter. But then something like this comes along and tears at our very soul.”
Joe wanted so much to lean into that hand resting on his shoulder and find some sort of respite from all of the mixed emotions that were plaguing him. But to do that would cause him to want to hide away from things such as death and pain. Instead, he turned to face his father so that the contact of the hand was lost.
“I don’t understand any of this Pa, maybe I don’t want to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You have to find your faith son. That spark within us that shows us the way home when the road ahead is at its darkest and there is nobody there to guide us on the journey,” Ben said, his voice gentle and soothing.
“Maybe it isn’t there to find, Pa,” Joe said, looking up into his father’s warm gaze. He was surprised not to see anger or hurt reflecting back at him for the words that he had said.
“It’s there Joseph, believe me. But I think for the moment, it is hidden so deep inside you that it makes you doubt yourself and those around you,” Ben said, brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down Joe’s face.
Joe had turned his face downwards again, until he felt his father’s hand gentle under his chin and tilting his face up towards the voice that was speaking to him.
“I will always be there to help you when you need it Joseph. Your brothers too. We will be the ones to guide you when you feel vulnerable and alone. We will be there to help you find your faith and help you overcome this torment and grief that you insist on dishing out on yourself.
“I know what you’re asking me to do, and something tells me that I should be going to farewell Tom. Another part keeps reminding me of every moment I spent in that shed alone with him, unable to do anything, until it makes me physically sick to my stomach,” Joe admitted.
“Sometimes the only way to deal with those sort of emotions and memories is to face them,” Ben offered. “I know it’s hard Joseph and you have faced more in your young years than I ever wanted you to. Just think it over and do what your heart tells you. That’s all I ask.”
“Alright, Pa, I will. But I can’t make any solemn promises,” Joe said. The young man now walked the short distance back to his bed and sat down on the far end, holding onto the bed banister with his good hand. He looked deep in thought and an array of expressions played out on his youthful, handsome face.
“And Joseph……,” Ben said finally as he went to the door and prepared to leave.
Joe looked at his father and waited.
“I will be here to talk about what happened to Tom whenever you feel you are ready.”
Joe swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat at that point. He nodded his head in acknowledgement, not trusting his voice to speak. He didn’t know exactly how long that would be. Maybe he would never be able to face up to what happened or ready to talk about it with anyone.
Ben closed the door behind him and left Joe to himself and his thoughts for a while. He would no doubt be up in a little while, ready with a tray of food and to see how Joe was fairing.
For the longest time after his father left, or at least it seemed like a long time, Joe didn’t move from his seated position on the bed. He tried to block out the images of Tom and the accident that had returned as soon as his father had left him alone. In his mind, he went over the harsh words he had spoken to his father about the church and attending Tom’s funeral.
Had he meant everything he said about loosing his faith in God and the church and its teachings? On the surface, his wounded feelings said he did mean those things. As he thought about everything that had happened to him over the past 19 years of his life. The most important events anyway. His mother’s tragic and premature death. Those doubts in God and the church only resonated out all the louder.
Joe pulled himself awkwardly up from the bed, noticing that the twinge in his hand had become increasingly harder to ignore. The pain was now a consistent and undeniable throb. He opened up the window to his room, allowing the thin curtain to dance about in the strong breeze.
He sat down in a chair in front of that, looking out of the roof of the kitchen towards the barn and the adjoining bunk-house. He thought back to a time not so long ago where he had stood in front of this very window, deep in thought. The decision at that time had been whether or not he was going to testify against Danny Griffiths and what had happened to him at the hands of Butch Thomas.
Where the circumstances different this time? Perhaps. The consideration of what to do, no less daunting. The choice then had been to help the courts decide if a man should go to jail for his crimes. His decision today canvassed around his ability to attend Tom Withers funeral and say goodbye one last time. No, the choices were worlds apart he finally decided. And perhaps the pain this time was even harder than it was back then.
The breeze was cool and mild, ruffling the soft curls that lay beside his ears. Almost as if the wind was whispering softly to him. The young man had slipped into a deep sleep though whilst sitting in the chair and was unaware of the gentle kiss being delivered by Mother Nature.
Ben appeared at the doorway and quietly opening the door. He had suspected that Joe might be asleep, but assumed it would be in his bed, rather than in a chair by the window. The emotional toll on Joe over the past week had been insurmountable and was probably going to get worse with Tom’s funeral mere hours away.
Ben set the tray of food down on the bedside table, careful not to disturb Joe’s photograph of his mother, Marie. No doubt his most treasured possession aside from Cochise. He had been concerned about how much of the food Joe might eat before entering the room. Now that he saw his son asleep in the chair, the tray would be returned to the kitchen untouched.
Joe had not moved since Ben had entered the room and showed no sign of hearing his father’s footsteps upon the wooden floor as he approached the window and chair. Ben had no intentions of waking his son. Respite of any kind had been scarce of late and any sleep that Joe had been able to gain from exhaustion and medication, was often marred by dark dreams.
Ben walked to stand in front of the chair and gaze down at his sleeping son. “Don’t build barricades around yourself that I can’t get through. I want to help you. Let me in Joe, you don’t have to do this all alone. Please son, don’t shut me out.”
Ben found himself feeling much as he had done a few years ago when Joe had closed himself off to the rest of the family. He refused to let them help him back then, just like he was doing now. Withdrawing into himself until there was nothing of the Joe Cartwright left that they recognized. Those series of events had taken his son to the brink of mental and physical exhaustion.
“I swear that isn’t going to let that happen to again Joseph,” gently rubbing his son’s limp hand between his own.
At that moment, Joe stirred in his sleep, “What did you say, Pa?” came the sleepy response, not opening his eyes, but recognizing his father’s voice. He had not heard any of his father’s comments, but rather reacted to the deep, soothing tones of Ben’s voice that had always been a source of comfort and warmth to him.
“Come on sleepy-head, let’s get you settled into a bed. You look very uncomfortable sleeping like that and more than likely you will have a kink in your neck by morning if you stay there much longer,” Ben said with a smile.
Ben assisted his drowsy, mostly unco-operating son to his feet, the young man swaying unsteadily in a drunken pose. His father looped a supporting arm around his slim waist and allowed Joe to lean heavily against his shoulder as they made the short distance to the bed.
He used one hand to throw the bed covers back from the mattress and quickly laid his son down, feeling Joe becoming more and more lax in his grasp and beginning to sag. Ben held Joe’s head gently up and placed two thick and soft pillows beneath his crown of curls, laying him back down and rearranging the bed clothes once more.
Joe must have been truly and deeply asleep not to comprehend any of this happening to him. As his head rested on the fresh softness of the pillow, he let out a loud contented sigh and then turned over on his side, burrowing further into the warmth of the covers.
He momentarily grimaced and gasped out in pain, obviously catching his injured hand whilst moving about. The pain brought him back to a semi-conscious state and he opened his eyes blearily to see a concerned figure standing beside the bed.
“Can I have a drink of water please?” Joe asked, pulling himself up a little on his right elbow and gratefully accepting the glass of water handed to him. He offered his thanks with a small grunt before touching the rim of the glass to his lips and letting the cool refreshing liquid run down his throat. It felt incredibly good and he savoured the taste and the coolness.
Ben accepted the glass back when his son was finished, happy to note that Joe didn’t seem to register the cloudiness of the water. He had diluted a satchel of pain killer into the water that Paul had prescribed and let at the house the day before. There was no need to let Joe feel pain if he didn’t have to. The relief from the pain in his hand might allow the sleep to be more restful and undisturbed as well.
Joe now lay back down on the bed and sank once more into the pillows. Ben watched his son fall back asleep and prayed that he would be left in peace for a time. Retrieving the tray, but leaving the glass of orange juice and the cup of hot coffee in case Joe woke later, Ben left the room, this time allowing the door to be slightly ajar. He wanted to be alerted if Joe had anymore unwelcome bad dreams.
That is where Joe remained for a great deal of the afternoon. Hoss had come in twice to check on his younger brother, on both occasions he had been sleeping peacefully and deeply. The covers had ended up twisted and down around the young man’s waist, leaving his bare chest exposed. The day was mild enough, even warm so the bigger man didn’t risk waking his brother by trying to ostracise the tangled covers from his brother’s slumbering form.
“He might sleep through most of the evening, Pa,” Hoss said to his father as he descended the staircase on the second occasion. “Won’t do him any harm though, he looks plum worn out.”
“Thanks for checking up on him for me, Hoss,” Ben said knowing that he didn’t really have to say it. “Just makes a change from me all day, in case he was already awake,” he added with a chuckle.
Joe did finally wake, an hour after supper time, but passed on the opportunity to dine with his family at the table downstairs. Instead he chose to eat sparsely from a plate in his room prepared by Hop Sing. His clumsiness in attempting to use the cutlery more heightened by the injury to his left hand.
Adam had been approaching his younger brother’s door with a basin of warm, salty water to soak his injured hand in when he heard a number of curses coming from within. Whilst not approving of Joe’s choice in words, the frustration causing them was evident in Joe’s tired voice.
Adam had entered the room just in time to see Joe drop a piece of meat from a fork grasped awkwardly in his right hand for the four time in a row.
“I can’t do this!” Joe said dejectedly.
The young man’s anger peaked and he threw the laden fork down onto the china plate, wincing at the sound that resulted, giving a silent prayer in thanks that the plate had not shattered into pieces. By now, Joe had lost his appetite and had no intention of consuming any more from the tray Hop Sing had provided.
“Need some help?” Adam’s voice asked from the doorway.
From the sudden and startled look on Joe’s face as he turned towards his older brother, it was clear that he hadn’t heard or seen his brother come into the room. His defences were immediately marshalled together against admitting that he might need assistance of any kind from his family or anyone else.
“No thanks!” came the curt reply. A little more harshly than originally intended, but once spoken, the words couldn’t be undone.
With a frowned look on his face and almost at the point of having something sharp to say in return, Adam ignored the comments and walked over to place the basin of water on the bedside table on the opposite side of the bed. Joe was already placing the tray on the one closest to the door.
Adam could see the curious, but still wary look from his brother towards the bowl of water. He wanted to know if there was another reason for the water, or just away of approaching a difficult topic of conversation he wanted to brooch.
“Hop Sing sent it up, with orders from Doc Martin that you had to soak your hand in his for at least half an hour,” Adam said before Joe got a chance to voice any objections.
“What’s in it?” Joe asked, leaning over it and noticing the steam permeating from the top of the water.
“It is just hot water with some salt to help clean out the marks on your knuckles and hand,” Adam replied. “Nothing more, I promise. Just meant to ease the pain in your hand.” Adam wished he had something so easily that would ease the other hurts within his brother. He doubted any such remedy existed except time and maybe a whole lot of understanding.
“Set it down on that small stool over there next to the chair by the window, please,” Joe asked politely. “I have had enough of lying in this bed for the time being. I might sit for a while and enjoy the breeze through the window.”
“Sure thing,” Adam said with a smile, glad to have his brother being a little more social about the whole situation. “Need anything else while you are sitting there?” he asked.
“No thanks, the coffee Pa left has gone cold, but it might give me an excuse to make it downstairs for a fresh cup in a little while,” Joe returned.
“If you do, I would be willing to share a cup with you out on the verandah,” Adam offered, hoping it might open up the way for Joe to talk to him. About anything, but mostly the funeral tomorrow and Tom Withers.
“I’ll think about it Adam,” Joe said, the walls of defensiveness quickly regrouping and beginning to build in around him again. He knew his family meant well and were only trying to help out as best they could without coming right out and saying so. He just wasn’t ready to talk and he didn’t have a good enough reason to explain why. It was just a cold hard feeling down inside that prevented him from doing so.
Joe sat down in the chair and started to unravel the bandages from his injured hand. The bruising now stood out in stark contrast against the paler skin. Deep rivers of blue-black mixed together to form a motley coloured array of discoloured tissue from wrist to the first joint of each finger. The colour was darkest at the knuckles which had suffered the harsh impact of the hard wooden door.
“Still a little bit of swelling there, Joe,” Adam said softly as he examined the hand without his brother jerking it away to conceal the extent of the damage. He was surprised when Joe allowed him to help with the remaining bandaging. “The water should help soothe that and alleviate the throbbing,” he said, knowing that was what Joe had been experiencing.
“Stupid, huh?” Joe said with a grin, knowing that his brother would think his actions foolish at best.
“I am not here to judge you, Joe,” Adam said, his eyes warm and caring. “I bet that door was rather hard, though,” he added, trying to infuse some light heartedness to the memory of it all.
“You have no idea,” Joe said, laughing softly and appreciating his brother’s reserved decision about what he had done. What he didn’t need right now was a long lecture about doing the right thing and using common sense. In a moment of unrestrained grief like that, there was no rationality to it.
“Let your hand soak, I will come back and collect the basin later if you haven’t already come downstairs for that cup of coffee,” Adam stated as he left the room.
Joe never did go back downstairs that evening. Not even to share the cup of coffee with Adam. Sitting there in the chair, thinking about the funeral that was to occur the next day and whether or not he should attend. The stinging sensation from his hand in the salty water and recalling in his mind the exact moment when he had struck out in grief at the barn door.
Adam returned for the basin of water, deciding to bring the coffee to Joe. His brother was still awake, if not drowsing in the chair. He was grateful for the hot liquid and the silent company. Very little words were exchanged between them. Adam was astute enough to realise his brother’s silent need for company without comment or suggestions and promises that he understood.
Adam left the room once the coffee was drained. They would talk more in the morning, if Joe was of a mind to. He bid his brother good night. Joe had promised that he would stay where he was by the window for a little while longer before retiring to bed.
Joe didn’t want to admit to his brother that he didn’t think sleep would be achievable that night. He didn’t want to cause his family any further heartache or concern, so he kept such thoughts to himself.
As twilight turned into darkness, the shadows in the yard where not the only ones to torment Joe. He dozed in the chair only to find the memory of Tom and the accident coming back to haunt him for yet another night. He didn’t want to sleep. Sleep meant he had to relive and remember. To remember meant he couldn’t forget.
********************************************************
By dawn’s early light the next morning, Ben knocked lightly upon Joe’s door, surprised to hear a soft ‘Come in’ from the other side. He had thought Joe to be still asleep and had no intention of waking him unless Joe had changed his mind about attending Tom Withers funeral.
Ben was dismayed to see the dark circles of fatigue under his son’s eyes and the tired lines etched in his face, signalling just how much sleep Joe hadn’t had. Obviously he had been avoiding it again.
“How are you today son?” Ben asked gently, knowing how silly the question sounded.
“Not good, Pa,” Joe admitted, he had been silently shedding tears for Tom Withers and he couldn’t hide it any longer. The pain was just too much. He had lost a friend and he had no idea of how to express that grief and anguish.
Joe rose from the chair he had occupied, feeling all the stiffness in his protesting muscles from so long with little movement or circulation. He waited until the pins and needles sensation decreased in his legs. His father stood in the room, ready to offer what support or comfort he could. Joe just didn’t know what he should be feeling like.
“I
just feel so lost as to what to do,” Joe said slowly,
letting his first true feelings from within come out to his family. He
certainly wasn’t ready to share everything yet. “Tell me what to
do,
With this admission, it seemed an impossible thing now to stop the tears that had been welling up inside since he heard of Tom’s death. Ben saw his son’s face begin to crumple into grief. He guessed at what was to come.
Ben opened his arms and allowed Joe to bury his face into his broad shoulder and take whatever strength he sought from his strong embrace. As Joe cried hard against his father’s leather vest, Ben wrapped his arms tighter around his son, his own tears beginning to come forth in mourning for Tom Withers but mostly for the utter sense of loss in friendship that Joe was going through.
Joe blamed himself for Tom’s accident and the fact that the man had fallen to the temptation of taking his own life had been the last straw for his son’s guilt and self reproach. Of course nobody believed that Joe could have done anything different that day at the timber yard. Hopefully as time healed the wounds and scars, Joe would come to realise than within himself. They seemed to be a long way from that day on this morning.
“Don’t be shamed by your tears son. They are what cleanses our soul and makes us whole. We all need to cry once in a while, even men. Those who say they have never cried before cannot truly appreciate the loss of someone close or the pain of the empty void left when they are gone,” Ben said.
Ben led an unprotesting Joe over towards the bed and sat down, his arm still securely and protectively wrapped around his son. He wanted to say all the right words to make his son feel better, but to be truthful he didn’t know all of the answers himself. He had lost a friend in Tom Withers too. He had a sense of loss as did the rest of the family, just not on the same level as Joseph.
“I don’t know how long it takes to make the pain go away, Joe,” Ben said very gently. “I can tell you that the pain does ease. It might not always go away forever. Death is something different for everyone of us. There are no clear directions or time lines set.”
“I still feel the pain of your mother’s death every day. Sometimes it will be just by walking into a room and a brief scent of her perfume will fill the room. Other times I look at the photographs down on the mantel piece and remember each of your mother’s and the wonderful moments I have shared with each of them,” he continued, giving what little advise he deemed himself able to give.
As he spoke, he soothingly began rubbing his son’s back in a circular motion. Trying to bring him relief from his taunt muscles and comfort in his touch.
Joe’s head was resting against Ben’s shoulder and from sound of his rhythmic breathing and silence, he assumed the fatigue and tiredness had one out against the young man. The emotional stress was just so overwhelming and that coupled with a sleepless night had seen him drift off into an exhausted slumber.
Now looking down at his son’s sleeping face and brushing away the curly locks from his forehead, he placed a gentle kiss on Joe’s forehead. “And sometimes, I pray to God so hard for every moment that he allows me to cherish what I have left of them. Adam, Hoss and you Joseph.”
Ben laid Joe’s slumbering form down, hoping that by the time he woke, the funeral would be over and the time for healing could begin. Adam, Hoss and himself would go and represent the family. They had offered to pay for the funeral, seeing as how Tom had no living family that they knew of. There would be few people in attendance, but every man deserved at least one kind word said over his grave. To say that his life wasn’t in vain and had meant something to others.
The
three Cartwrights left about mid-morning to head into
**************************************************
The funeral service was to be a simple grave side one, conducted with a few witnesses and the minister from the church. Ben had brief discussions upon his arrival with the priest and the reason for Joe’s non-appearance.
Roy Coffee had attended, because he had known Tom Withers for a long time and his friendship with the Cartwrights. There was Sam from the Bucket of Blood saloon where Tom had been coming regularly for years, but more recently had been coming more and more frequently. Often late at night when there was no one else about to stare at his disability or his missing limb.
A
cold, grey day greeted the mourners and the casket as it was laid over the open
hole in the
Premature to a lot of people who deemed him still to have a lot more to offer society. But now when everything was set aside and the gossiping about his death was forgotten, all that remained was what accomplishments the man had made throughout that life. In Tom’s life, there had been many.
Perhaps not from a point of view of more famous people or others who had achieved great feats in their own lives. But certainly none the less important. Tom had always helped others, and accepted very little in return, including reward or praise. He just saw things as they were and knew there were jobs to be done and that was that. Nothing complicated about it or demanding any more recognition than that.
Adam had offered to say the eulogy on behalf of his family, and more importantly his brother. Hoss was helping the pall-bearers lower Tom’s coffin into the grave. With there attention drawn to other things at the moment, they did not see what Ben saw a little further away.
Standing
a good distance away so that others would not notice, but close enough to hear
the sermon being delivered, was Joseph. Beside his
Joe was dressed in his black suit, with a string tie around his collar. Obviously he had gotten ready as soon as his family had left the Ponderosa. Ben was worried about the tug-of-war that would have ensued within his son at having made such a decision. From here he couldn’t see Joe’s face clearly, but the body language conveyed the very image of tiredness and fatigue that he had seen on his face earlier.
When he returned to the Ponderosa, Ben silently promised himself that he would make sure Joe got some rest and sleep. Even if he had to be deceptive to do it. Joe couldn’t physically beat himself up much longer before he collapsed. They had a cattle drive in two days and he still hadn’t asked if Joe was intending to go or not.
At one point, just as Joe reached for the pommel of his saddle, ready to mount and ride away before being seen by anyone, he looked up, locking eyes with his father for a brief second. There was an unspoken pact made between them that Ben keep his presence a secret, even from Adam and Hoss.
Words of thanks were shared amongst the mourners once the funeral service had concluded. Handshakes were exchanged and the Cartwrights headed back towards the Ponderosa and Joe. Ben had told his son’s of his intention to make Joe get some proper rest. He made no mention of what he had seen.
In his heart, Ben was proud of his son for attending Tom’s Funeral and hoped it would go towards Joe coming to terms with what happened. The fact that Joe had tried to see Tom the afternoon of his death showed courage beyond his years, but also left a sense of non-closure to the idea that he never got to say goodbye face to face.
When Ben entered the house after putting Buck away, Hop Sing was quick to tell them that Joe had already returned and was asleep again in his room. Thankfully it looked like he wouldn’t have to resort to extreme measures to get Joe to sleep. Paul had left some extra sleeping powders in case they were required, but if Joe’s sleep was a natural one, then the better for it.
It seemed that the events between father and son that morning, together with the visiting the funeral had been enough to allow Joe to rest without artificial aids.
While Joe slept upstairs, the rest of the Cartwright family together with the head foreman planned out the last few items for the cattle drive.
“I still have the task of asking Joe if he wanted to be involved,” Ben spoke to Charlie.
“We have enough hands to cover for him if he decides to or if he stays behind,” the foreman replied.
“If Joe does go with us, you and I know that he will work twice as hard as anybody else on the drive. He will use the physical exhaustion and concentration on the herd to try and forget,” Ben stated.
“To act as if nothing happened back here at home,” Adam added, knowing just how accurate his father’s assumption was.
“What do you want me to tell the rest of the men, Mr Cartwright?” Charlie asked, holding his battered old hat in front of him.
“Just tell them to let Joe have some space. I know that sounds strange when we will have nothing but miles of open grassland under our feet. But if Joe decides to tag alone, whatever his motive, the last thing he’ll want is to feel stifled. Or have one of us hovering over his shoulder,” Ben answered.
This particular cattle drive wasn’t on the usual large scale that occurred at other times during the year. The purpose of this drive was to move a herd from a neighbouring Property to the Ponderosa.
The weather was steadily growing warmer. The animals needed lush grazing land and plenty of water to sustain them through the summer months. The main difference, and probably the most concerning one, was the size of the herd they had to move.
The herd was much bigger in number for this time of year. And it was possible without the proper knowledge or experience to over or under calculate the number of hands required to control the animals.
If the numbers were too few, the problems that could arise spoke for themselves and might have appeared obvious, even to the untrained eye. On the other hand, too many eager cowboys and horses could prove an equally bad disadvantage. Or sometimes the recipe for accidents to happen.
Too many hands meant competition against each other for ranking within the group.
Instructions came from more than the trail boss and might be misunderstood or ignored altogether.
Thankfully on this drive, Ben could be reassured of a little more common sense prevailing. All of the hands picked hand taken part in at least one drive in the past, working for the Cartwrights.
Charlie would remain head foreman for the duration of the drive. Adam and Hoss would be the other two men in charge to direct orders to the men.
Ben would be present and on hand should his advice be sought at any stage. For the most part though, Ben would be along just to ensure everything ran smoothly and according to plan.
Hop Sing would be in charge of the chuck wagon and do the majority of the cooking.
A few skeleton man would remain behind at the Ponderosa to care for the homestead, horses and other livestock.
Hop Sing had packed crates and barrels with all of the food stuffs and ingredients the men would need on the trail. There was copious amount of salted meats, bread, coffee and beans. Rice and seasonings.
The camp food wasn’t always as good as Hop Sing’s meals served in the dining room of the Ponderosa. But it was always hot and plenty of it to go around and with fresh strong coffee to wash it down with.
While the wagon was being meticulously packed according to Hop Sing’s instructions, Ben went about climbing the staircase to the bedroom of his youngest son. If they were going to get an early enough start in the morning, he couldn’t postpone this task any longer.
Much to Ben’s surprise, and relief, Joe wasn’t asleep when he knocked on the door and entered the room. Instead, Joe was fully awake and dressed, and just finished closing up the bag he intended to take with him on the cattle drive.
“I know what you came here to ask, Pa,” Joe said before Ben had a chance to say a word.
“Then I won’t bother asking if you had made up your mind about coming with me and your brothers. You seemed to have come to the right choice on your own,” Ben returned, walking over and standing beside the bed and Joe.
“I
don’t know if it will help, but I need to try,
“Just take it one day at a time, Joseph. And don’t do anything that is going to cause more damage to your hand,” Ben suggested.
With his father’s comment, an interesting and puzzling notion came to Joe. How good was he at throwing a rope over a steer with his right hand? He had never tried to rope with his right hand before. No doubt he would find out after tomorrow.
By dawn’s first light the next day, the yard of the Ponderosa was alive with activity.
Men were making sure their cinches were buckled properly, and the saddle girths were tight enough around the belly of their horses.
With the amount of riding both horses and men were going to have to endure over the next couple of days; it was essential that each rider maintain their own tack and check on it regularly.
Wear and tear were inevitable with all equipment, but an ounce of preparations was worth a hell of a lot when you pitted your strength and horse against beast. To have the cinch come loose at the wrong time or the girth strap snap because of carelessness, could lead to a nasty accident and a lot of pain.
Ben had taught all of his boys from a very early age how to carry out rigorous checks, and look for signs of fraying or cracking in the leather, or bending or buckling of any metal based components. Each of them had been confident at these skills for many years and Ben had enough faith and trust that his sons did these tests before heading out on any day of riding.
With Hop Sing aboard the chuck wagon and snapping the reins on the two hitched Horses, the riders were all ready to set out on the full-day journey ahead to meet up with the herd.
If the weather help up and there were no unexpected complications along the way, Ben and his boys could be hoping that they would be coming back into the yard, very late the day after tomorrow. If fate twisted their luck, it might turn out to be a very long few days indeed.
With hope in their hearts of a good drive, the group began to settle into a few smaller parties, the men content to share a tale or two between friends. Hoss and Charlie travelled either side of the chuck wagon. It wouldn’t take much to have the horses spooked and suddenly take off towards diaster.
Most of the hands had given their horses a little more speed and were quite a way in front. They would reach the herd first and start setting up camp before the others arrived. Ben and Adam kept a careful eye on happenings from behind the wagon, and Joe lagged further behind still.
Partially wanting it that way, Joe was content enough to ride along at a slow pace.
He took in the surrounding scenery and landscape. He had ridden this way innumerable times before, but today felt as though everything was foreign and different to him. His eyes were unfocused and barely took note of rock or blade of grass that he and Cochise passed.
Ben fought hard against his strong desire to slow down or stop until Joe caught up. He was continually glancing behind to try and catch a glimpse of his son. When Joe finally rounded a bend in the road and came within view, his slouched shoulders and stooped posture in the saddle spoke a thousand words.
Joe had told his father that he saw coming on this drive as a way of evading the accusing voices in his head. Looking at his son now, Ben couldn’t help but think that Joe was going to find it just as difficult to ignore the emptiness and guilty out there.
Joe saw Ben and Adam deliberately slow their own pace as if to wait for him to catch up. Although he appreciated their concern, he wasn’t about to admit to wanting their help this early in the drive.
With a gentle nudge of Cochise’s flanks and a jiggle of the reins, Joe showed off his riding skills by spurring his horse onwards and galloped past his father and brother.
Adam didn’t see any harm in trying to keep Joe’s spirits raised. Soon, the two brothers could be seen trying to out ride each other and enjoying the breeze flying back into their faces.
Lunch was taken by a small stream and under the shade of a few trees. Sandwiches were the order of the day, not wanting to lose any time by lighting a fire. A hot meal and a cup of coffee would be all the more welcome at the camp tonight.
Joe had led Cochise a little further down stream and watched her take her fill of the crystal clear water. The water was cool, but soothing and refreshing. Joe took this opportunity of solitude to unwrap the bandages from his injured hand. He sat down on the embankment and allowed the cool water to flow over his bruised hand and scraped knuckles.
Joe tried to relax his mind and allow his thoughts to drift away on the wind. The longer his hand was submerged, the more the water eased the ache and soothed the taunt skin and muscles.
Joe was startled from his moment of peace when someone stepped on a twig behind him. The resulting snap caused him to jump slightly, and get to is feet, turning to find his brother Adam standing a few metres away.
“Sorry Joe, I didn’t intend to sneak up on you like that,” Adam apologized.
“It’s alright, I was just sitting here thinking to myself, that’s all,” Joe said, visibly relaxing and trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He had learned to dislike people coming up behind him unannounced.
“Something wrong with your hand, Joe?” Adam asked, trying to get a look at the injury. He had seen holding it in the water of the stream. It must have been bothering him before they stopped for lunch.
“Nothing that you or Pa should be worried about,” Joe stated firmly. “A little stiff from holding onto the reins too tightly I suspect.”
“Water helping much?” Adam asking, knowing that Joe would admit to as little discomfort as possible, unless absolutely necessary.
“Yeah, some,” Joe said bringing the hand out from underneath his jacket. “It will be alright. Go back and join the others. I will be there in a minute.”
“See you then,” Adam said and began to walk back to where the other men were stopped around the wagon. He knew his brother only too well to try and back him into a corner.
Adam wouldn’t inform his father of anything that he deemed irrelevant. He would just say that Joe would be back in a moment. Inwardly he promised himself to be more vigilant for the next few hours over Joe’s stubbornness and efforts to try and hide his pain. He wasn’t about to baby his brother in front of his family or the other men. However, nor was he about to stand idly by and allow Joe to suffer in silence or discomfort.
The few riders who had opted to stay behind with the Cartwrights and the wagon now led the rest of the group away from the shaded trees and the stream. A good deal of the distance was already behind them.
Joe chose to ride in company with his father and brother for the second half of the journey. The conversation was light-hearted enough and kept Joe’s thoughts and attention focused somewhere else for a time.
It wasn’t until the herd came into view that the signs of withdrawal became noticeable. The men didn’t seem to recognize any dramatic change in Joe’s demeanour. But his family certainly noted an abrupt about face and onset of a darker and sombre mood.
Joe got off Cochise and led her over to the makeshift corral that had been constructed our of rope. He remained distant and spoke to no-one, seemingly concerning himself with currying the pinto’s coat.
When Ben walked over, he saw that Joe had been brushing the same area of Cochise’s coat for more than a minute now. Joe gazed out over the herd of cattle but by the fading hue of twilight, he appeared more apart than ever. Upon hearing his father’s footsteps, Joe brought himself back to the present. Setting aside the curry comb and giving Cochise an affectionate pat along her slender neck.
“Ready to have something to eat, Joe?” Ben asked casually. It was as he asked the question that he noticed Joe curling and flexing the fingers of his left hand. No doubt cramping up and still causing some stiffness after hitting the barn door.
Hoss walked over to the pair. He had seen Joe doing a similar action when they first arrived at the camp. He mentioned his concerns to Adam who in turn had told his younger brother about Joe needing to soak his hand back at the stream.
Joe grabbed a plate of food and a tin cup of strong coffee and headed to the rear of the wagon where he joined Hop Sing in a quiet meal and silent company.
Joe took a great deal of comfort in the little man’s companionship. No words had been spoken yet, but both of them knew that they didn’t need to. There was an invisible connections between the two unlikeliest of friends. It had been there for a long time, based on trust, understanding and tolerance.
The older three Cartwrights sat together on the other side of the wagon. Waiting to see if Joe was willing to confide in someone considered as family, but separate enough for Joe to turn to when his father or brothers were deemed too close to talk to.
Ben would be surprised to learn how deep that trust and confidante had run over the years. There were many subjects that they had discussed in secret or problems that they had solved away from the scrutiny or involvement of Joe’s family.
Then again, there were times Ben could recall from the past where he had secretly overheard or witnessed Hop Sing offering words of wisdom and advice. Some of those times had been when Joe had felt the most vulnerable and confused or threatened.
“Hand giving Lil’ Joe trouble,” Hop Sing commented. Obviously Joe’s attempts to conceal his discomfort had been noticed more than he would have liked them to.
“Could never fool you, Hop Sing,” Joe smirked as he brought the coffee cup to his lips. He knew his efforts to deny the pain were futile. He just didn’t want everyone worrying about him when there was a great deal of hard work before them all. He didn’t want to be considered a burden, but at the moment, that is exactly how he saw himself.
“Come into back of wagon. Hop Sing have old-fashioned remedy to help,” the little man said.
“Thanks, Hop Sing,” Joe answered in Cantonese.
“Welcome Little Joe,” Hop Sing returned in his native tongue with a smile.
Joe had stripped off his shirt and washed briefly in a bucket of water to clean some of the trail dust from his neck and shoulders. As he climbed into the back of Hop Sing’s chuck wagon, he remained only clad in his trousers and hat.
From somewhere amidst the chaos and supplies, Hop Sing produced two plump and relatively soft cushions. He placed them against the sideboard of the wagon and gestured for Joe to sit and lean back against them.
Hop Sing now showed Joe a small jar containing a crimson coloured rubbing balm or ointment. Joe recoiled slightly at first from the acrid aroma that assaulted his nostrils. Upon being encouraged to try a second time, the infusion wasn’t quite as overwhelming.
The mixture of spices gave off an intoxicating and distinctive smell. Joe forced himself to relax and give into Hop Sing’s caring touch as the ointment was applied. Only a small amount to begin with, but a generous enough daub to massage over his entire hand and rub gently and deeply into the skin.
Joe shifted the weight of his shoulders against the cushions, feeling himself growing drowsy but unable to do anything about it.
“My
father teach me to make in
Joe’s only response to Hop Sing’s speech about the origins of the balm was to sigh contently while his upper body drifted down towards the floor of the wagon. A few more minutes of rubbing the balm over Joe’s hand and Hop Sing saw that his young charge was now asleep. Very quietly Hop Sing moved to put the small jar back in its proper place amongst his array of pots and glass bottles.
With all the touch of an experienced parent, Hop Sing carefully placed a supporting hand behind Joe’s back. He then lifted the young man slightly and readjusted the cushions so he could lay Joe down.
When the little Cantonese man was satisfied that Joe was comfortable enough and sleeping quite soundly, he draped a warm blanket over the young man. Making sure that his whole body was covered, especially his bare chest and shoulders.
“Lil’ Joe stay here tonight,” Hop Sing said softly. “Take very good care of him,” he added.
“Hop Sing need to attend to fire, but you stay here and rest. Make sure no-one wake you til morning,” he continued. As he exited the wagon, he darkened the covered area with the canvas flap on the outside.
It wouldn’t be long until the night would turn pitch black. There were very few stars visible tonight and the moon had yet to rise.
Ben, Hoss and Adam saw Hop Sing leave the wagon and head towards the cooking fire. They had overheard muffled voices coming from him and Joe from underneath the canvas roof, but nothing specific.
Curiosity now got the better of all three of them when Joe failed to follow shortly.
While Hop Sing was momentarily distracted, they stole a look inside the wagon.
“Well don’t that just plum beat it all,” Hoss said as his gaze came to rest on the sleeping form of Little Joe.
“Shssh,” Ben motioned to his larger son, but doing exactly the same at looking at the heart-warming state of Joe.
“He looks more relaxed than he had in days,” Adam commented, genuinely pleased to see his brother resting.
Ben went to reach out and adjust the blanket around his son’s shoulders when he was quickly chastised from Hop Sing coming back to the wagon.
“You go let Little Joe sleep,” he berated, in as loud a voice as he dared. “You no wake him, leave alone.”
“I was only going to say good night to him, Hop Sing,” Ben said in his own defense, but pleased that the little man shed so much caring on his son when he needed it most.
“Say good night in morning. Little Joe tired. Need rest and quiet. Stay here tonight and Hop Sing look after.”
“I know you will, Hop Sing,” Ben said with gratitude in his voice.
“You go now,” Hop Sing said glancing briefly at Joe to make sure his sleep remained undisturbed.
Hoss looked towards Adam and decided to voice his opinion of the favourable treatment that Joe was being lavished with. Normally on any other cattle drive, Joe would have to sleep on the hard rocky ground along with everyone else. There wasn’t a man on this trail with enough guts to come right out and ask the little oriental man to sleep in the covered wagon.
“Hey, Hop Sing, its not fair. I am just as tired as Little Joe from all of that riding. How about letting me share the wagon with him?” Hoss asked. He didn’t really think Joe was getting preferential treatment. He just wanted to have a joke and poke in fun at the situation.
“You never sleep in there. Too big, make too much noise and big mess,” Hop Sing retorted, happy to join in the amusement.
“How come Joe’s your favourite?” Hoss asked hurriedly as Hop Sing pushed him from behind and made sure Ben and Adam were leaving with him.
“Hop Sing no have favourite Cartwright. Treat all the same,” he answered, knowing the statement to be only partly true. While he did treat each of the family members with equal respect. There was no denying that Joe would always hold a special place in his heart.
Joe would always get the first cookie on bake day or the best piece of steak on Saturday nights. Hop Sing Had watched the young man come into this world and continued to have a silent input into his upbringing for the best part of eighteen years.
Hop Sing had seen smiles and sadness, anger and hurt. Had tended Joe through childhood illnesses and soothed hurts from all forms of injuries. He had been a friend when Joe declared he didn’t need anybody. He had been a mentor when there was much to learn or some harsher lessons to be taught about the ways of others. When the cold cruelty of life made it unbearable to see the road ahead or Joe said simply that he didn’t understand.
The Cantonese man was no poet and had no education to claim to be smarter than others socially above him. He couldn’t stop Joe dead in his tracks with the booming voice that Ben possessed.
All that he could hope for was that the little extra things he did; those things that often went unnoticed or perhaps were not always commented upon, went a long way in helping and nurturing Joe to allow him to become a better person within himself.
Looking back briefly, he could be assured that his efforts were not in vain and were indeed silently appreciated.
Ben and his two eldest sons certainly retired to their own beds that night knowing that the youngest member of the family was in perfectly capable hands.
**************************************************
The next morning started wen a glorious sunrise. The temperature was mild and the day looked like it could be an enjoyable one.
Hop Sing had been bustling about the cook fire well before any of the man stirred, ensuring that coffee was already settled on the coals. Breakfast was well underway, with plenty of bacon, grits and toast on offer.
Today the work would be hard, dusty and probably hot by later in the afternoon. The men needed to keep up their strength and begin the day with a hearty breakfast. They would also need to drink lots of water to help them stay hydrated throughout the rest of the day.
Hoss and Adam were dressed and ready to start work very early. Ben had just joined them by the fire for his first cup of coffee.
“No sign of Joe yet?” Ben asked, not worried that his youngest son had been afforded the luxury of extra sleep. He wanted to make this trip as easy as possible on Joe and let him find his feet again in his own time.
The thing Ben was hoping Joe would discover again out here with a lung full of fresh air was his smile. It had been too long. Far too long even though he understood the reasons why.
“I wanted to go and get him out of that warm wagon there, Pa,” Hoss replied. “But I was threatened if I did.”
Ben chuckled slightly, already guessing at the identity of the person who had Hoss scared.
“You wake Lil’ Joe and you no eat, Mr Hoss,” Hop Sing warned, wielding a large heavy fry pan for emphasis.
“See, you know how much I love him Pa, but I ain’t willing to give up my breakfast because of him,” Hoss declared.
“Doesn’t look like you have to worry any longer about your breakfast brother,” Adam said looking from his own cup of coffee and seeing Joe climb out of the chuck wagon.
Ben smiled broadly as he watched his son amble casually towards them for his morning coffee.
“Morning, Little Joe,” Ben greeted him cheerfully. “Sleep alright?”
Joe rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, trying to ease the stiffness that was present. “To tell you the truth, Pa, I don’t remember falling asleep at all last night,” he admitted while pouring coffee into a tin cup.
“Well, you look rested enough,” Ben remarked, glad to see the absence of lines and shadows from his vibrant green eyes.
“I feel good too, Pa,” Joe offered with a small smile and then went back to drinking his coffee and thinking about the tasks ahead of him that day.
Hoss and Adam were definitely pleased at seeing Joe being a little more talkative this morning. Exchanging sly glances, neither one of them could resist the temptation of commenting playfully about the previous night’s sleeping arrangements.
“Tell me Hoss, how was your comfortable warm bed last night? Adam asked, beginning the jibe towards Joe.
“Now that you mention it, Adam, that mattress I had last night was a might bit hard under my back,” Hoss replied.
“You mean you had a rocky hard place just like me,” Adam said in mock surprise. “Just goes to show you that not all of us were cosy and warm, snuggled under a nice soft blanket,” he said looking directly at Joe as he spoke.
“Maybe if you two did a little more work around here,” Joe shot back, but was quickly getting to his feet and escaping before his brothers had a chance to retaliate.
“You are so gonna get it for saying things like that, little brother,” Hoss taunted.
Hoss and Adam made as if to chase after Joe, still threatening to tackle their younger brother for the comments he had made. Joe paused for a moment, allowing the older two to catch up. He made a few more candid remarks about having to wait for them and how they were always holding him back. The three of them walked off together, ready to saddle their horses for today’s work.
Ben watched on in amusement and relief at the light-hearted banter and comical exchange between his three sons. Although not normally approving of rough-house play this early, this morning he couldn’t help but realise that it was just what Joe needed right now.
For that whole day, Adam, Hoss and Ben had an unspoken pact between themselves to always know where Joe was in the round up. They all knew that Joe had a lot of distraction on his mind. A split second miscalculation and something could go dreadfully wrong.
The first few hours went by quickly and without incident. The men worked together as a team, making everyone’s job a little easier. It was in the hour directly after lunch that the Cartwright family began to notice a change in Joe’s focused concentration.
At a time when he didn’t really need to, Joe seemed to be pushing himself both physically and mentally.
Joe expected nothing less than perfection from his own riding and roping skills, but this afternoon it appeared that nothing he did was turning out right in his eyes. The trail was already hot and dusty. Joe paused on a few occasions to wipe the stinging sweat from his brow.
A grimace on his face and the manner, in which he was holding his left hand protectively against his chest, signalled that he was hurting. He was wearing a pair
of thick leather gloves to avoid the rope chafing the skin on his hands. But they were not helping a great deal to shield against the pain.
Whistles and instructions were coming from all around as Joe found himself riding precariously on the fringes of the mob of steers. Cochise was already showing signs of fear and nervousness, tossing her head wildly to demonstrate her unease. It was only her experienced rider’s gentle and reassuring caresses that calmed her.
Ben had shouted “Get out of there” to Joe as his own concerns for his son’s safety increased alarmingly. But due to the noise of the herd and the voices of the other men drowning out his words, Joe couldn’t hear anybody speaking directly to him.
“Charlie, I’ll rope this one, you pull a few of those others away from me and back towards the rear of the herd,” Joe shouted to the foreman. One of the larger animals was causing distress to the rest of the mob. For the safety of man, horse and beast, it’s cantankerous ways would have to be subdued.
Joe momentarily forgot in his haste to rope the animal, that his left hand was still injured. He had looped the rope and was getting ready to cast it over the head of the troublesome steer.
As soon as he curled his knuckles around the length of rope, he was barely able to suppress an anguished cry of pain. A half-strangulated sound erupted from his throat as he tried to over correct his mistake.
By now, the steer had become aware of what was going to happen. Joe hurriedly tried to swap the rope over to his right hand. His hand’s clumsiness and awkwardness caused the rope to fall from his grasp altogether into the middle of the herd.
Seizing upon Joe’s mistake, the steer now tried to barge it’s way past. The animal bent its head low and rammed it against the softer rump of Cochise.
Ben and his boys watched on in bemused horror as Cochise whinnied with fright. She tried to bolt away from the herd, her rider barely able to maintain his balance on her back or his control over the reins with only one good hand.
Joe hung on for dear life and carefully urged his frightened horse as far away from the cattle as possible. If he lost his grip on the reins and Cochise tried to bolt again, he would find himself beneath a number of hooves and legs.
The frightened horse and rider narrowly missed being struck by another animal, determined to make a nuisance of itself. The whole herd was now on alert and the animals moved about skittishly, waiting for one or more of the larger steers to dictate the direction in which they would all stampede.
The hands worked together feverishly to contain the animals in a roughly formed circular corral, using their own horses the keep the herd together. They flanked the mob on all sides and in pairs were the steers were greater in number. To have the animals stampede now, many animals could cause injury to each other, or to the hands themselves.
It was determined that the use of gunfire would only cause the steers to become more unsettled. Firing into the air was a common enough practice, and indeed the Cartwrights had used such tactics on innumerable musters in the past. With Joe and Cochise in such a perilous position so close to the herd, such a risk wasn’t worth taking.
Finally, the steers began to quieten. Joe managed to urge Cochise far enough away to prevent him falling amidst the cattle. His tenuous grip on the reins caused the tendons in his wrist to become taunt and ache, especially his injured left hand. His face wore a grimace as he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t hold on any longer.
Joe reined in Cochise as much as possible, causing her to slow down to a walk. He wasn’t able to get her to stop altogether due to her muscles still trembling with fright. Joe let the reins go and fell with an unceremonious thud to the ground, landing on his behind.
Cochise still showed her uneasiness about the closeness to the herd, but she had been taught a long time ago to stop as soon as her rider let go of the reins. This has saved Joe from a few close scrapes in the past.
Ben’s frustration was clearly evident as he tried to urge Buck around the herd towards his son as quickly as possible. Although an experienced mount around a shifting herd of cattle, the beige horse showing the respect deserved.
The dust was choking, coating the back of their throats and almost making them gag until it was washed away with a drink of water from their canteens. The haze that resulted in a swirling cloud, making seeing difficult as the animals churned up the soil with the hooves.
Hoss and Adam found getting around the herd of steers just as difficult as their father.
Each attempt was time consuming and a delay in getting to Joe. When they did finally navigate their way clear, they were relieved to see that Ben was already helping their brother to his feet. He was conscious and appeared to be talking coherently, which was an encouraging sign.
“Joe………Joe, are you alright son?” Ben said as he jumped from the saddle, barely giving Buck enough time to stop. He could see his son moving freely enough, perhaps a little stiffly at the most.
“Yeah, I am alright, Pa!” Joe said tersely to himself. “Blasted cows!” he added getting to his knees, and then be assisted into a standing position from his father. A couple of the hands had come to see if the youngest Cartwright had suffered any injury, but a cold hard glance from his eyes and a scowl on his face to match, they decided it best to let Ben handle the situation. This only added to his sense of humiliation.
Ben was already dusting the copious amount of dust from Joe’s shirt and trousers, determined to make a judgment for himself since his son wasn’t as co-operative. There was no blood, or torn clothes. It appeared Joe had tipped the luck of fortune and came out of the fall relatively unscathed.
“Would you stop that, Pa,” Joe said crossly, slapping his father’s hands away, and then regretting taking his frustrations and embarrassment out on Ben. He was acting like a child and knew his family were only showing their concern. At the moment though, it all seemed like smothering to him, even a little bit fussing and he was in no mood for such comforts out here.
“Sorry son,” Ben said, noting the annoyance in Joe’s voice and his deliberate attempts to avoid any physical contact. “You don’t look any the worse for the fall,” he found himself saying, carefully looking at his son’s facial expression as he made the comment.
“I will be fine, Pa,” Joe said and without offering any more than that, angrily replaced his hat on his hat and grabbed the reins of Cochise, ready to mount and forget the whole thing even happened. They had a herd of cattle to move. He had taken a tumble out of the saddle, time to get back on it and get back to work.
Joe was mounted and ready to ride back around the herd to where a few of the other men where still keeping the herd in check. Ben forced Cochise to stop by holding onto her bridle. He wanted to talk to Joe and knew that the direction approach was the only method at the moment while Joe’s temper was so close to the surface. His son’s pride and self-esteem had taken a fall along with him out of the saddle, and he couldn’t let that cloud Joe’s judgment around the cattle.
“Why don’t you ride up along the ridge up there and keep an eye out for trouble or strays,” Ben stated. His voice was gentle enough and the volume low, but there was something in the words that told Joe it was a direction, not a request.
Joe was about to open his mouth and protest at being taken away from the herd. When he couldn’t think of anything to say in return, he quickly snapped Cochise’s reins and rode away from the ground towards his appointed post for the remainder of the afternoon.
Ben sighed audibly as he watched Joe ride away. Even his manner of riding spoke volumes about how he felt at the moment. His strained upright position in the saddle suggested that he was fighting with himself on the inside.
“He alright, Pa?” Hoss asked as he pulled his horse Chubb up alongside Ben. He had heard Ben’s suggestion about riding away from the herd, and he had seen the reaction it had caused in his younger brother. Joe saw it as a way of keeping him out of the action in case he was distracted again and his concentration wavered.
“One minute he seems like the old Joe, the next he is moody and depressed again,” Adam commented, noting similar characteristics as his father in Joe’s posture and body language.
“I don’t think he really knows what he should be doing himself, Adam,” Ben explained. “You saw how he was when we rode out here, didn’t want to be apart of the group very much. Understandable, given the circumstances. He works with the cattle like there is no tomorrow, using it to take his mind off his troubles. Now he has slumped back into that sullen mood again. Just when he seems to rise above it.
“It’s like he doesn’t know how he should be feeling, privately, or in front of others, like us and the other ranch hands. He hasn’t dealt with grief in a long time and it is consuming him,” Adam offered. “He doesn’t know, so he shuts us out and keeps his distance.”
“Grief is a very personal thing Adam. There is no right and wrong way, everyone is different in how they cope and react. It changes depending on how close you are to the one that has been lost. When Joe lost his mother, his grief was that for a little boy who had just lost his mother. This past week has been for a friend that he has known for a long time, together with his own guilt over the accident. It’s difficult to say how long he will continue like this,” Ben said, still watching his son as he reached the ridge and sent the other rider back to the herd.
“I hope he finds some peace soon, even if it is just within himself. He is tearing himself up inside over Tom. He is not eating like he should be and sleep has been erratic or non-existent,” said Hoss.
“Maybe Paul will have some other suggestions when we get back home,” Adam remarked hopefully. For the next few hours they would need to focus their attentions back on the herd and finishing this brief muster. Once home, they could discuss with or without Joe how best to help him come to terms with what had happened.
The food around the campfire tonight would be hot and there would be lots of laughter and stories to share. Once the herd was secured, most of them could relax in each other’s company until morning and the return trip home.
***********************************************
Joe sat upon his horse, resting on the ridge as he surveyed the area below. He took a drink from his canteen to clear some of the dust from his lungs. The water was no longer cool, but it was wet and he would have to make do until they finished for the day.
All of the anger and annoyance had left him the moment he began riding away from his father and the herd. He couldn’t explain why he was so frustrated. He didn’t know why. There was just a deep burning desire within him to show some sort of emotion. Which one though; white hot anger, or tears of sorrow and grief.
Life seemed to have the same old mundane feel to it that it always had done. Just another day. But how could that be. A man was dead and life seemed to go on as if Tom Withers had never existed.
With all of this time to himself, Joe had all the time in the world to think. Think back to the accident. To the trip out here yesterday. To the group of rustlers he had caught at the fence line a few days ago.
Of course Joe remembered bits and pieces of the grief he had felt at the loss of his mother. Maybe he had been too young at the time to fully understand the impact such a tragic event would have on the rest of life. He still thought about her and felt a sense of loss, even after fourteen years.
How long was he going to feel the loss of Tom? Fourteen years was a long time. He was barely managing from day to day and that sort of time span seemed insurmountable right now. Was he destined to remember what happened until he would go mad with the images constantly plaguing his wakeful and sleeping hours.
In the grand scheme of things, who got to decide to lived and died? Who got to make the ultimate choice? Most would probably say God himself, bringing back to subject of discussion that he had had with his father before the cattle drive. The deeper he explored such a question, the further away from finding the truth he felt.
If God was the one to choose who joined his realm, what factors did he look for in the living? Did he look for the old and frail first? Mostly likely not, Joe had known a lot of people during his young life to pass away well before their time. Whether by sickness or at the hands of a killer. Or through an accident, like the one that had befallen Tom Withers.
Joe doubted that colour, creed or race determined who gained entry to heaven and who did not. There seemed to be unexplained or premature deaths to all cultures. The Indians often lost babies when they were very young due to the harsh conditions of their lifestyle. The Mexican children were often brought up in poor communities where hunger and a lack of the basic necessities was a daily struggle.
Normally Joe wasn’t one to question the decisions or actions of God. He was just another person in his flock of many. Day by day though, Joe found himself saying that he just didn’t understand God’s ways and methods. He doubted he ever would completely. Maybe in time he could learn to accept certain things happening.
It was people like Tom Withers that Joe wanted to ask God about. Why he had been taken and not another. Perhaps some looked upon it as a blessing. Tom had no family to leave behind or had left behind vast assets or wealth. Did the fact that he had led a relatively simplistic and humble, hard working life, deem him eligible to go before others who were guilty of more.
By the time the sun was beginning to set in the sky and the clouds had taken on a reddish hue over the horizon, Joe let the subject alone. He had battled it sitting up on this ridge for far too long and for all his hours of contemplation and thinking, he was no closer to the right answer.
The terrain they were in now was mostly a large flat expanse of land. It was an ideal area for the cattle, being able to see for quite good distances all around. They would need to be watchful for wild animals such as mountain lions and wolves, the openness of the landscape would enable to see any that would try to approach.
There was very little shrubby for any predators to hide behind and the air was calm and still enough to be a pleasant night. Far off to the left was the beginning of a wooded area. A large acreage of Ponderosa pines led to the borders of the neighbouring property to the west. They would have very little to fear from that side tonight.
“I’ll take your horse for you, Joe,” Hoss said as he ambled over to his brother as he walked into camp. He was expecting a bit of resistance or at least a sharp reply, but when he didn’t receive either one, that only caused him to worry more over his brother’s state of depression.
Joe handed Cochise’s reins to his larger brother almost without a word. The youngest Cartwright grabbed a small towel and poured some water into a basin behind the chuck wagon, trying to clean some of the dust off him. He rubbed the cloth over his tanned face and neck and savoured the small amount of soothing that resulted.
“You had better let me take a look at that hand too,” Ben said as he approached from behind. Joe jumped slightly at his father’s voice, and tried to turn away and pretend he hadn’t heard the suggestion.
“Joe,” Ben said gently, placing a strong hand on the young man’s shoulder, urging him to turn around and share whatever problem was eating away at him. He was about to ask if Joe wanted to talk, but somehow that seemed to be the wrong thing to ask at the moment. Instead he compromised. “Would you like some coffee?”
Joe did turn around and smile, completing aware of the cat and mouse game that his father was playing. He wasn’t upset or angry at this. He just wanted the world to close in around him and let him forget everything, even for a few hours. “Coffee sounds real good, Pa,” was the response he offered.
Later that same evening, Joe was sitting with his father and brothers around the campfire. Supper had been eaten and now the men were talking idly about the happenings of the day and generally catching up with one another to pass the time away.
No matter how hard Joe tried, he just couldn't get himself interested in the conversation. Something else was attracting his attention and he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense that somebody was watching him. He knew how silly it sounded, being out here in the middle of a vast open plain with a herd of cattle. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling.
Joe got up to refill his coffee cup from the pot resting near the fire. He was about to pour the hot liquid into his tin cup when his hands began to tremble so badly, it dropped from his hand. He could feel the beads of sweat running down the back of his shirt at the apprehensiveness that continued to grow within him. He didn’t have a rational explanation for it, but it was there all the same.
Ben had been talking seriously with Hoss and Adam about what tasks needed to be carried out the next day. He had yet to see the fearful expression written on his youngest son’s face.
It was the sound of the tin cup falling on the ground that caught Ben's attention. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Joe standing near the fire. As he turned his head to get a better view, he could see Joe had his eyes squeezed shut tight as though he were in pain.
Ben immediately got up and went to his son, trying to put a hand on his shoulder and see what the trouble was. He was alarmed at the amount of trembling he felt running through his son's body.
The temperature of the night was mild and so it was less likely that his son shivered from the cold. "What is wrong, Joe?" Ben asked in a gentle voice, seeing the obvious distress that his son was displaying. By now, Hoss and Adam had become aware of a problem presenting itself.
Joe forced himself to open his eyes and look at his father. When he did so, Ben saw something reflecting in those emerald green eyes that he had not seen in his youngest son for a long time: absolute fear.
Joe himself could feel the muscles in his chest tightening from the sense of fear that wanted to consume him. He couldn't put what he was feeling into words. Joe now took two steps backwards away from his family and in an instant had drawn his gun and held it ready to shoot.
“Son, what is wrong?” Ben asked, trying not to agitate the situation more. His son was confused and scared all at the same time. As though he knew he had to do something, but couldn’t quite work out what. His reflexes were on high alert and it would only take a brief second of distraction to make a fatal mistake
‘Don’t you feel it, Pa?” Joe asked incredulously, not comprehending that he was the only one to feel this way. ‘There is something out there, Pa’ he wanted to say, but the words never left his lips.
Ben paused a second and tried his best to try and work out what had Joe so tense and afraid, but for the life of him, he couldn’t see or hear anything except the herd of cattle.
Hoss and Adam listened intently and gazed out into the pitch blackness, noting the almost urgent tone of Joe’s voice.
Joe looked away from his father and brothers towards the trees in the distance. Something was out there, he could feel it. Almost taste it. It was too dark to make anything out but the outline of the trees but somewhere in there he felt as though he was being watched. No watched wasn't the right word he told himself: stalked he corrected.
TO BE CONTINUED ………………….
Okay, there isn’t much action happening in this chapter, but I added a lot more content than I originally planned. I have to include all of this background information to make the story flow further down the track. It all has an intended purpose, so please keep reading.
The comments about God and Joe’s views of the church are just for this story, they are not intended to offend or make a statement either way. I am just writing Joe’s initial reactions to a tragic event and how I portray him coping.
By now you will probably all note who the figure in the trees is. Butch Thomas is about to make a come back in the next chapter. A little at first, but by the end of that chapter, his influence on the story will be fully put into place.
We haven’t heard the last of Joe’s relationship with Tom Withers. Yes he is dead, but there will be things happening in later chapters that will remind Joe of certain times they shared together. A flashback if you like, at a most critical time. Something that Ben and his two boys are not aware about that occurred after the last time Butch Thomas visited.
Also, we haven’t seen the last of the stranger from the fence line or the saloon. He will take on a more meatier role in future chapters. And he has been christened with a name to avoid referring to him continually as “the stranger”.
There will still be little references back to False Witness – that is deliberate and sometimes they will be subtle enough to miss if you are not paying attention. Other times they will be more obvious and Joe will be reliving certain parts of that torment and time in captivity.
The scene with Hop Sing in the wagon was added in at the last minute, sounds a little lame in parts, but just there to add a little fluff to the story before the real action gets underway. It also cements a little more the relationship between Joe and the little Cantonese man which will also have a part to play much later in the story.
As you can probably tell, this story has a very long way to go. We are not even up to the good parts yet. Lots more planned so I hope you all stick around to read and let me know how I am doing. It will rival False Witness in length and I hope in plot and complexity as I introduce a whole new cast of characters.
There will be 10 new characters introduced into the next chapter – that will make 12 all together including Butch Thomas and Joe but excluding Ben, Hoss and Adam. The reasons will be explained as I go. Each character has a different name, back ground and role to play in the story so bear with me as I take the time to tell you about each one.
Enjoy
JULES