In Europe, living is based on custom and tradition. Common law is built upon hundreds of years of living on the same ground in the same way. It was very different on the Western Frontier of the Americas. During the 1800’s the land remained wild. Nothing was ordered or arranged, nor were there any set customs and traditions. Everything was raw and new.

A NEW IDEA

Eleven-year old Adam Cartwright stared at the devastation.

“Oh Pa . . .”

Adam knew it was necessary, but that couldn’t stop what he felt.

The forest was gone. The big ponderosa pines, trees that took decades to grow so tall were gone. Piles of slash loomed higher than he could reach. Great gouges were torn in the earth marking the dragline where the trees once cut, were dragged to the waiting mule teams.

Ben Cartwright had arrived just last year with his two young sons Adam and Hoss. Ben immediately set to work to stake a claim to the new land of the Nevada Territories. The nearest settlement, Mormon Station was booming. Ben and his neighbors were cutting the forest on Mt Davidson to clear the land, provide wood for fuel and the building of new homes.

“But there has to be a better way.” The boy’s voice was choked. His black pony, Star snuffled the torn up ground searching for bits of surviving browse.

“It looks pretty awful, don’t it?”

Startled Adam jerked on the reins and Star whinnied, shaking his head in protest. The boy slewed his pony around in a circle looking for the source of the voice.

“Up here.”

Adam finally saw him. The man had been to the ranch just that morning looking for work. Tall, lean and browned by the sun the fellow was lounging on a pile of rocks behind Adam and to the left.

“I didn’t . . .” Adam flushed, it was against orders for him to be this far into the forest. It was dangerous too, for thieves and cutthroats as well as wild Indians often roamed the open lands and a boy alone on his pony was easy prey. Adam’s hands tightened on his squirrel rifle. The excuse of rabbit hunting wouldn’t hold water with his father, if he got in trouble.

“Don’t be embarrassed boy.” The man grinned as he took out the makings for a smoke. He ignored Adam’s white knuckled grip on his rifle. Adam slowly started to relax; it seemed that this time he was lucky. The man’s black hair was liberally sprinkled with gray but his face was marked with lines of laughter and his pale blue eyes were friendly.

Adam’s observer nodded toward the far edge of the logged off ground. “However, it’d pay you to learn to be a bit more aware of your surroundin’s.” At the edge of the forest loomed a huge furry brown shape. A big silver-backed grizzly ambled out of the trees. Adam gulped and his face paled. A puff of wind rustled the trees and Star’s ears came up. The black pony tossed his head at the message carried on the wind. Beneath his legs Adam could feel Star’s muscles begin to bunch and shift.

“It’s okay kid.” The man said softly, “the wind is from him to us.” He smiled again, “But it’d do for you and yer pony to move off aways with me.” Quick and agile the fellow swung off his perch and ambled over to lay a hand on Star’s bridle. Adam was grateful. If Star had bolted the boy knew that he could have been in real trouble.

Man, boy and pony eased into the forest, leaving the ground to the big grizzly bear. As they left, the big silverback was casually ripping apart a huge pile of slash. Such a disturbed area was ripe pickings for grubs and other tasty tidbits for the bear. The animal paused and reared up to peer nearsightedly across the cleared ground. The grizzly bear snuffled and grumbled but the wind remained against him and the movement, whatever it was--was gone.

The man, his name was Henri Schmidt, kept Adam and Star moving until they were well away from the foraging grizzly. “Where’s your horse?” asked Adam, having regained his wits. “Why didn’t you shoot the bear?”

“First of all,” Schmidt slid his gaze sideways to look at Adam, “My horse is crowbait in the desert. He was killed in a dust up with some Apaches. Second,” Schmidt’s hand rested briefly on the rifle he carried on his back with a sling, “Ole Betsy wouldn’t do against a big ole’ griz’ like that . . .you’d need a buffalo gun.”

Meeting Schmidt’s gaze, Adam looked away, flushing with embarrassment, in the West, questions were frowned upon. A man was judged on his actions. Even an eleven-year old boy knew that.

Adam’s companion smiled tolerantly. “It’s okay kid. I don’t mind you askin’.”

Adam looked up to meet Schmidt’s gentle smile. Encouraged he sat up straighter.

“Did you walk very far after your horse was killed? Most men my father hires would ride a horse from the bunkhouse to the outhouse, if they could.”

Schmidt snorted with laughter and Adam was encouraged. His first memories consisted of living out of a wagon, on the trail west with his father. Thus Adam as a boy had early on, experienced the good and the bad of a wide range of humanity. He had developed a sense about people, who they truly were and what drove them. This man sparked his curiosity. The fellow walked with the ease and grace of a cougar. He talked like everyone else on the frontier and yet. . .

“You really don’t mind me asking questions?” Adam was still wary. Most of the time his father’s men simply told him to go away and to stop being a pest.

“Naw, if’n you don’t ask you’ll never learn anything.” The man smiled again, “Call me Henri boy, if we’re goin’ to get aquainted.” Henri Schmidt walked beside Star, his long legs keeping up easily with the pony.

“Okay then, my name’s Adam.” Adam offered his hand to his new friend. Henri walked beside Adam and Star for a moment before with a grave smile he offered his own hand to shake in greeting. He had seen the boy that morning at the Cartwright ranch. It came to him that this son of Ben Cartwright would grow to a formidable man.

“Pleased ta meet ya Adam.”

Adam smiled, encouraged even more by the twinkle he saw in Henri’s eyes.

“Did you walk all the way from the desert?” Adam asked eagerly.

“I come from a long line of walkers, kid.” Henri responded, “I grew up just outside the great German City of Freiburg, smack dab in the middle of the Black Forest and went to the University of Heidelberg.”

Adam’s eyes grew round. “If you went to university how come you’re out here on the American Frontier?”

Henri laughed, “Adam my lad, you’d be surprised. An education doesn’t mean a man loses the thirst for adventure. Or the need to see and explore new lands.” Adam pondered Henri’s answer in silence.

“But what about your family? What happened to your Pa and Ma?”

“My father was what you would call a Royal Forester.”

“What’s that?”

Henri pondered for a moment how best to explain. “Where I grew up the local ruler, owns miles and miles of land . . .most of it planted in trees. My family have always been foresters, looking after the trees and the land.”

The boy’s eyes sparked with delight as he sorted through the flood of questions he wanted to ask, “But why did you leave?” Adam said, “Weren’t you expected to follow your fathers footsteps?”

“Aye, That I was.” Henri eyed his inquisitive young companion, wondering how much he could really say.

Adam returned the gaze with interest. Star trotted along, obedient to his rider. Early on the boy had learned patience and the value of silence to extract an answer. Adam leaned forward to brush away some flies seeking to land on Star’s neck. The warm afternoon sun patterned the ground. The forest overhead stirred, murmuring in a light breeze as boy, man and pony traveled underneath.

.

“I was the youngest of five brothers.” Henri finally said. “The land and job went to my older brothers. My father never really understood what I wanted and needed. So I went to the University on a scholarship and made my own life.”

Adam listened intently, Henri found himself unsettled at the boy’s complete focus.

“After Heidelberg, I moved to England and studied law at Oxford. Later I enlisted and was sent to India and Northern Africa. When my enlistment was up, I took ship for America.”

Henri could feel the glow of excitement from Adam like a physical thing.

“It wasn’t all high adventure kid.” Henri hastened to explain. “My father cut me off so I had to work my way. At Hiedelberg I was apprenticed to one of the university foresters and there I would have stayed for the land and the trees were in my blood. The Black Forest had shrunk by half since my grandfather’s time. I wanted to find out why. But my teacher died in a logging accident and I was blamed. Friends saw that I got safe to England. In Oxford I lived in a tiny sixth floor walkup that had no heat. I froze in the winter and baked in the summer. I enlisted because I had no other place to go. It was better than being taken by the navy press.”

Adam was silent for a long time. His young face was a study in concentration as he carefully smoothed the hairs of Stars’ mane.

Henri could be patient too. He walked in companionable silence beside the boy and his pony. Their footsteps were silent, cushioned by grass the thick bed of pine needles covering the trail. Far off in the distance could be heard the hunting cry of an eagle.

“What was it like?” Adam finally asked,

Henri cocked an eyebrow.

“Your home I mean . . .” Adam stammered, “Your Pa and Ma and having older brothers?”

“We lived at the edge of the great Black Forest. The trees grew so tall and close together that underneath it was twilight even at midday.” Henri’s voice grew slow with the memories. “You have to understand . . .in Europe things are very different.” Henri continued, “The land has been tended and farmed for centuries, even the forest is tended and treated like a crop. My brothers used to tease me when I started collecting and planting seeds.”

“Tree seeds?” Asked Adam excitedly, “Have you met Johnny Appleseed? Pa was tellin’ me about how this man plants apple trees wherever he goes.”

Henri smiled, “The feller’s name is John Chapman and yes I have met him. He’s a botanist and a scientist.” The old man chuckled, “But Johnny prefers to call himself a ‘tree farmer’”.

Adam grinned at the image. “ A Tree-farmer? Why does he do it?”

“Johnny has a passion.” Henri smiled, “He loves trees—appletrees are his favorites.”

“A passion” Adam wondered what it would be like to be so gripped by a single purpose.

The trail they were on emptied out into a pretty little mountain meadow. Wildflowers nodded in the grass and the great pine trees seemed to glow in the warm sunlight. Henri spotted a scattering of pinecones on the ground. Abruptly he veered off the trail and picked up two fine specimens. Curious, Adam sent Star to follow him.

“Here kid, you’ve seen these before?”

“Sure.” Adam responded, “Pa has Hoss and me collect those all the time. The dry ones burn real easy in the fireplace.”

Henri tapped the vaguely apple shaped brown cone against the heel of his hand. Tiny brown seeds spilled out into his palm. The seeds were protected with a hard brown covering and attached to it was a small lighter brown tiny leaf. Henri gave a cone to Adam. The boy shook some seeds into his own palm. His dark eyes bright Adam looked up at Henri waiting for him to continue.

The old man met his gaze with a fond smile. “Most of the seeds are released while the cone is still up in the tree.” Henri separated the seeds on his palm. “Each scale of the cone grows a seed underneath and when the pinecone opens up the seed is released.”

“Does this little leaf then help it fly on the wind?”

“Yer right,” answered Henri, pleased at his pupil’s quickness. “The leaf acts as a sail helping to distribute the seeds from the tree. I used to collect ‘em and plant the seeds when I was a kid.”

Adam frowned, looking at the pinecone in his hands. “But if there’s so many seeds in each pinecone . . . how come we don’t have more trees?”

Henri reached out to ruffle Adam’s hair. “I dunno kid. Not all a them grow.”

Adam stared down at the little brown seeds. He’d seen the seeds before and knew what they were but he’d never really made a complete connection. He began to wonder—“What if?”

“This kid knows how to think!” Was Henri’s thought as he started the boy and his pony across the meadow and back on the trail home.

“How long does it take for a tree to grow?” The image of the logged off trees on Mt Davidson returned to Adam’s mind.

“Too long kid . . .” Henri smiled, remembering his own impatience as a boy. “My father told me that the forest will grow it’s own replacements.”

“Does it?” Adam demanded.

“In time it will.” Henri answered, not picking up at first on the boy’s intensity.

“But didn’t you say that the Black Forest had shrunk to half its size?” Adam kept after his subject. “So that means that if everyone keeps cutting, the trees don’t have time to grow back.”

“Well I don’t know kid, the forest here in America is pretty big.” Henri replied warily sliding a glance at his companion.

“It’s just that . . .” the boy’s forehead creased in thought as he pursued his idea. “It’s just that even with a forest as big as this.” Adam’s hand still holding the pinecone waved in the air indicating the tall trees surrounding them on the trail. “There’s an end to it.”

“Well now yer right.” Said Henri, “But what are you getting’ at boy?”

Adam sighed in frustration, “I don’t know but there’s something . . .”

“Kid,” Henri set a companionable hand on Adam’s shoulder, “You’re too young to be so worried about things.” Adam flushed ducking his head.

“That’s what my Pa says.”

“Yer Pa’s a smart man.” Henri laughed; thinking also that Ben Cartwright had his hands full with his eldest son. “Come on kid, yer Pa’s probably gittn’ worried about you.” Henri lengthened his stride; “We’d best be headin’ you home.”

“Okay.”

******

Ben Cartwright was making supper and he kept looking anxiously out the window of the kitchen. The great house of the Ponderosa was currently more a dream than reality. Building materials littered the site that Ben had chosen. The foundations were laid, but much work remained. Of necessity, first to be completed had been a kitchen with an attached small family quarters, a barn, corrals and a bunkhouse for the ranch hands.

Ben set the pot of stew over the fire, wishing for the hundredth time that he could afford to hire a cook. Adam wasn’t late, however Ben hadn’t seen the boy all afternoon and Ben knew his eldest. Adam had a penchant for solo wandering. The boy was smart and capable, but he was still only eleven. Ben told his insides to stop worrying—they didn’t listen.

An errant breeze found its way into the kitchen stirring sparks from the fire. Ben hastily put the lid on the iron stewpot to protect the contents. When he turned back to the window he spotted Hoss playing in the front yard. Ben smiled fondly as he watched his youngest son. The boy was absorbed in watching a trail of ants march across the dirt. Hoss would put down sticks and rocks and watch fascinated as the insects single-mindedly found their way over and around the obstacles.

“Boss?” Will Regan, one of Ben’s three ranch hands appeared at the kitchendoor.

“Uncle Will!” Hoss scrambled to his feet.

Will scooped up the boy, giving him an exuberant hug. Unlike the other two hands, Will loved children. Black-haired, tall and lanky, Will Regan was working to make a stake and send for his wife. Ben approved; he had offered Will shares in the Ranch. Ben didn’t intend to lose Will’s services. Will wanted to found a place of his own, but was thinking over the offer.

“Oof!!” Will exclaimed, “I declare this boy gets bigger every time I turn around.” Hoss squealed and giggled, bouncing in Will’s arms.

Ben smiled indulgently, wishing, as always that Inger was still alive to see her big son. “I almost wish that Hoss would slow down.” Ben added a last pinch of salt to the stew and covered it again to simmer on the stone hearth. “It takes over half my food budget to keep this bottomless pit full.” Ben smiled the love in his eyes taking the sting out of his complaint.

Will and Hoss were now seated on the floor engaged in an impromptu tickle contest.

“Oho—Haa” Will struggled for breath, as Hoss shrieked in delight. “As for food, I came to tell you. I spotted Adam coming down the Rocky Ridge Trail. He had a deer carcass strapped to Star’s back.”

Will captured one of Hoss’s flailing feet. “Hoss!!” said Will sternly, “Remember the rules?” The boy’s pale blue eyes went wide at his mistake. Will waited patiently for the boy to figure it out.

“Rules? Umm,” Hoss’s face scrunched as he sought to remember. “Hoss ‘member!” the boy chirped, “No below?” His little hands softly patted the forbidden territory.

Will laughed at Hoss’s exaggerated care. “Ya kid, no hitting or kicking below the belt.”

“Ha-rumph” Ben snorted with amusement. He stepped around the two as they resumed giggling and tickling. Ben wanted to see Adam. He shaded his eyes against the sun. “There’s somebody with him.” Ben said, anxiously.

“Papa, Papa play!” Hoss came scampering out the door and latched onto Ben, trying to climb up his father like he was a tree.

“Ohff!! . . .take it easy son.” Only 5 years old, Hoss was already equal in size to his brother Adam. Recovering from the impact of his son’s affection, Ben knelt down to straighten Hoss’s clothes.

“It’s the feller that was here this morning looking for work.” Will came out to lean against the doorjamb.

“Har---rumph.” Was Ben’s only comment. Too many times in the past few months he’d had to turn away itinerant strangers and fortune hunters.

****

Adam swallowed nervously when he spotted his father out in the yard, waiting for him. The boy knew that Ben wouldn’t approve of where he’d met Henri Schmidt. However Adam had a plan that might divert his father’s anger.

“Henri?”

“Yea?”

“I want to thank you again for helping me get this deer. Pa is always worried about food.” Adam rubbed his shoulder. “But I understand now why Pa wants me to wait before getting a bigger rifle.” Adam grimaced “I never realized a big rifle could kick so hard when you shoot it.” Adam had been so pleased when Henri had offered to let him use ‘Ole Betsy’ as Henri called his rifle.

“You did just fine kid.” Henri was puzzled, as the boy seemed unduly worried and nervous.

Adam scuffled his feet in the pine needles scattered over the trail. “It’s just that Pa gets funny sometimes about guns.” Adam pulled Star to a halt. “Could you tell Pa that you got the deer?”

“You mean lie?” Henri said gravely.

“No! I . . .d. d. don’t.” The boy stuttered. “I mean . . .” Adam took a deep breath to get a handle on his courage. “Do you really want work?” Adam asked, in an abrupt change of the subject. “I think I could get my Pa to hire you on.”

The naked pleading in the boy’s eyes startled the older man. The only truly clear thought young Adam had was that somehow he had to convince Henri Schmidt to stay on. Henri had spent the brief afternoon telling the boy stories of other people and other lands. The old man had woken a burning need within Adam. A need that Adam hadn’t known he possessed.

Henri stared at the boy, at the boy’s white knuckles gripping Star’s reins. The old man was surprised to find a need of his own rising to answer young Adam’s plea. For Herni Schmidt, late of Frieburg, the BlackForest and a lifetime of footloose traveling, it had been too long since he’d felt that way about anything.

“Okay kid.” Henri answered slowly, as he sought to sort out his feelings. “I’ll follow yer lead.”

Adam clenched his teeth over an inadvertent cheer. “Thanks Henri, you won’t regret it, I promise.”

His curiosity rising Henri followed Adam down the trail.

****

Unlike their morning meeting, gratitude for watching over his son prompted Ben invite Henri to stay for a meal and offer him a place in the barn to bed down for the night. Adam stayed out of the conversation for the most part. As he’d hoped, the two men found that they had much in common. Ben Cartwright had been a footloose sailor in his youth. He and Henri had visited many of the same seaports. Very quickly the men were on a first name basis.

“Well Ben,” Henri said as he pushed back from the table. “You set a fine table, but I best be movin’ on.”

“Nonsense!” Ben frowned and poured Henri some coffee. “You’ll stay the night at least.” Ben continued, “I only wish that I could afford to hire you. I have plenty of work, but not enough money to hire hands.”

“Don’t worry Ben.” Replied Henri, “I been thinking a lot about heading for California.”

“Well with the meat you brought I can at least see you well provisioned for the trip.”

“I’ll take that very kindly.” Said Henri as he toasted his host.

“Hsstt!!” Hoss had hid his shyness by being totally absorbed with his food. Now the youngest Cartwright was wearing a peculiarly urgent look—one that Adam recognized.

“Pa?” Adam took his brother’s hand. “Can we be excused?”

Ben recognized that look too. His mouth twitched with a smile. “Of course Adam, you and Hoss are excused.” The boys quickly slid out of their seats.

“I’ll expect you back to help wash up!” Their father’s admonishment followed the boys out the door.

“Those are good boys.” Henri chuckled.

“Thankyou,” Ben sighed, “But it isn’t easy.”

“That’s what makes it worth while.” Tactfully Henri hadn’t inquired about the boys’ mother.

Ben nodded acknowledgement to Henri. The late evening sun slanted through the window, picking out the growing silver in his black hair. “This is a good man” Ben thought, “I wish I could figure out how to get him to stay.”

****

Moonrise gilded the land. Adam was sprawled on his stomach in bed, staring out the window. The night sky was clear of clouds and the moonlight so bright that Adam figured he could probably read without a lamp. The skeletal framework of the unfinished ranch house filled the view from Adam’s window. The big timbers traced huge black shadows in the bright moonlight.

On the bunk below Hoss began to snore. Adam rolled his eyes in amused affection. “There is nothing little, about my little brother!” Adam thought. “And just wait till he grows up!” Young Hoss was growing so fast; he was often awkward and clumsy. Older brother Adam spent a lot of time smoothing the way and bolstering Hoss’s confidence. Hoss repaid his brother with an unquestioning love and affection. The bond between the two brothers would last all their lives.

Adam rolled away from the window and hung his head over the side of the bunk. Upside down, Adam cocked a dark eyebrow at his sleeping brother. Hoss was growing, but he was still little enough to need help at night. Adam figured that Hoss was good for several hours yet before Pa had to wake him up for a trip to the outhouse.

Adam raised his head. The moonlight from the window clearly revealed the empty bed of his father. Until the big house was built, all three Cartwrights were sleeping in the same room. Yellow lamplight spilled under the door to the kitchen. Ben Cartwright was up late, working on the ranch books. Adam chewed on his lower lip, nervously considering. His father liked Henri Schmidt that much was clear to Adam. “Henri just has to stay!”, came the boy’s thought, “Pa will agree—I hope!” The boy’s jaw firmed with resolve. It was time.

Adam slipped out of bed. His bare feet were soundless on the finished plank floor. The door creaked loudly when Adam opened it, but it would take more than that to wake Hoss.

Ben looked up in surprise. “Son? Is everything okay?”

“Sure Pa,” Adam replied, he’d opted for a neutral approach. “I was just thirsty.”

Ben laid down his pen and sat back. He watched as Adam, his thick black hair tousled from the pillow, padded barefoot across the floor to the water bucket. His eldest son had taken to wearing one of his father’s old shirts to bed. At first the tails had almost dragged on the floor. His father noted that that was no longer the case and Adam no longer needed to push the rolled up sleeves out of the way when he used the dipper to pour himself a cup of water. Hoss wasn’t the only growing Cartwright boy. Ben sighed; keeping his sons dressed properly was getting to be more and more of a problem.

“Hmmm,” Ben thought, “New families are coming into Mormon Station all the time. Perhaps I can barter an arrangement-- supplies for seamstress work.”

“Pa?”

“It will have to be barter—I certainly don’t have the cash money.” The countless requirements of building a successful ranch and seeing to the welfare of his two sons crowded the thoughts of Ben Cartwright.

“Pa?” Adam repeated.

“Hmm? Oh . . .” Ben’s thoughts jolted back to his kitchen table.

Ben Cartwright’s eldest son stood facing his father. The boy’s shoulders were straight; his eyes were colored a pale gold in the lamplight. “Pa?” Adam took firm hold of his courage. “I need to tell you something.”

Something was clearly bothering Adam. Ben leaned back in his chair, experience had taught Ben the signs of tension in his eldest. The boy rubbed the bridge of his nose and firmed his jaw. Ben waited, merely cocking an eyebrow in question.

“Pa, I went out past ‘Rocky Run Creek’ today.” Adam flushed at admitting that he’d traveled into the forest beyond the boundaries set by his father.

Ben’s only reaction was to tighten his lips in disapproval—he waited for Adam to finish.

“I had to go Pa.” Adam rushed on, “At the store I heard Mr. Willet taking bets on how many trees he could cut. He and Mr. Polk were making it a game.” Adam clenched his fists. “Pa, one of the first things I can remember coming out West was riding in the wagon and seeing all those miles and miles of trees cut down.”

Ben shifted in his chair; this was taking an unexpected turn.

“I know you explained it to me.” Adam continued, “The land has to be cleared for farming. People need the wood to build their homes, they need the fuel to cook and keep warm.” Adam took careful breaths, striving to keep his thoughts in order.

“Mr. Polk said that he would start logging Coyote Canyon today . . . . Pa the land there is to dry and dusty for farming. I heard you say so.”

Ben started to reply, but Adam rushed on.

“Pa once the trees are gone from that Canyon, they’ll be nothing left. Remember that mudslide our wagon got caught in Pa? You said it was because that too many trees had been cut. What’s gonna happen in the steep ground of that Canyon?”

“Well son I suppose . . .” Ben began to say, but Adam had the bit in his teeth.

“Pa there has to be another way. I don’t want to see that happen on our land, on the Ponderosa.”

Ben raised both eyebrows at his son. “Well boy, what do you have in mind?”

“Pa,” Adam forged ahead, “Henri . . . Mr. Schmidt told me all about how his father worked as a ‘Royal Forester’. And how he went to the University of Heidelberg and learned about forestry and growing trees . . He told me about him meeting Johnny Appleseed--his real name is John Chapman and he’s a botanist.” Adam dug into his shirt pocket and reached out to give something to his father.

Mystified, Ben opened his hand to receive the tiny brown seeds from his son.

“Those are tree seeds Pa . . . from a Ponderosa pine.” Adam stepped close to separate the seeds in his father’s hand. “See the little parts right here Pa? When the cone opens up and the seeds fall out, this part acts like a sail and catches the wind.” Adam raised his eyes to look at his father. “Henri was teaching me all about these kind of seeds today.”

Ben was taken aback at his son’s flame bright focus--for an endless instant Ben saw Elizabeth, Adam’s long lost mother. She had had an intensity; a spark in her eyes that could touch Ben’s heart and soul. “Elizabeth!” Looking at the dark haired boy standing barefoot and bare legged in his kitchen, Ben had a brief vision of the extraordinary man his son would someday become . . . Ben took a breath and told his heart to start beating again.

Adam was oblivious to the effect he was having on his father. The boy plunged ahead with the idea he’d conceived that afternoon.

“Henri told me all about how the great Black Forest of Germany is being cut down so quickly; the trees don’t have a chance to grow back. Pa they are already cutting whole forests back east. I don’t want to see that happen here!” Adam misinterpreted the look on his father’s face.

“You’re so busy with the ranch Pa.” He blurted, “You can’t see it!”

Ben hid his smile. “I agree son, we should protect the land, but the Ranch has to come first.”

“I know that Pa, but what if there was a way that we could grow the forest and the Ranch too?”

Ben cocked an eyebrow; his eldest son was always full of ideas. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well Pa, aren’t we always short of cash money?”

“True.”

“Mr Polk and Mr Willet said that the trees on Mt Davidson are so tall and straight that big business people in San Francisco will pay top dollar for every foot of wood.”

Ben leaned back in his chair, “Also true.” It was also true that Ben was as reluctant as Adam to so ruthlessly exploit the land. He wanted a better way for The Ponderosa.

“Henri . . . I mean Mr. Schmidt, he went the University of Heidelberg, he studied all about forestry and how to plant trees. His family still works today as foresters. What if you hire Mr. Schmidt to cut trees on the Ponderosa?” Adam, watching the surprise on his father’s face, forged ahead. “And for every tree he cuts, Henri can grow and plant new trees. Just like Mr Chapman.”

Ben blinked, his surprise complete, “Plant trees? As well as cut them?”

Adam stared up at his father, willing him to say yes. Ben thought for a moment, his hand rubbing his chin. The kitchen was so quiet that Adam could hear the scratchy sound of the bristles of his father’s beard against his hand. The boy clenched his fists, reminding himself to breathe. “It’s a good idea, Pa just has to say yes!!”

Ben’s deep brown eyes went unfocused as he thought. “The idea is certainly different. The boy is right, we need the money. I could pay Henri and the extra men out of the contract fees—Planting trees as well as cutting? Why not? It could work--and more important it feels right!”

Ben leaned forward, putting his hands on Adam’s young shoulders. “Son, that’s a good idea . . . From now on the Ponderosa will plant a tree for every one we cut!”

“Henri stays!--Yess!!” Adam jerked his thoughts into order and straightened his shoulders, his face glowing under his father’s approval. “Thanks Pa.”

“Son I’m proud of you.” Sitting in his chair Ben was able to see eye to eye with his son. It struck him how fast the boy was growing. The lamp on the table painted Adam’s face in a warm cherry gold light. Ben could see the lively, questing intelligence within his son. “Just like his mother!” was Ben’s bittersweet thought.

Ben leaned over to blow out the lamp. The room plunged into darkness, allowing the pale gleam of the full moon to shine in through the window. “Come on son, it’s late. I’ll tell Henri first thing in the morning.” Arm in arm, father and son headed for bed. But the door to their quarters opened before they reached it.

“Pa?” It was Hoss, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. He too wore one of his father’s cast off shirts, being already too big for hand-me-downs from Adam. “Pa?” Hoss repeated.

“Yes son?”

“Gotta go!”

Adam grimaced and rolled his eyes, assuming the worst.

Hoss was awake enough to catch his brother’s disgust. “No!! Didn’t,” Hoss insisted. The baby of the family pointed back at his bed. “It’s dry!!” Hoss drew himself up, “Papa, better take me ta the outhouse now.” He glared at his brother, “Or won’t be!!”

Ben felt the laughter growing deep in his soul. Yes indeed, he was proud, of both his sons!

**********

Fini

Marcia Lee

June 6th, 2003

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