HERITAGE OF HONOR
Book Three
A Dream Imperiled
by
Sharon
Kay Bottoms
CHAPTER
ONE
N |
o fire burned in
the huge stone fireplace that dominated the main room of the Ponderosa ranch
house. Much as Ben Cartwright relished
the idyllic charm of firelight’s warm glow on the faces of his loved ones, the
summer heat wouldn’t permit the fire he kept burning whenever possible. The light from the hanging lamp above him
wasn’t quite as romantic, of course, but it served to light a scene that never
failed to enchant him.
The lamplight fell on the golden head of
his beautiful wife Marie as it bent close to the dark-haired one of
fourteen-year-old Adam. Though Adam had
been slow to accept his father’s third wife, he had come to look upon her as a
friend and, in these last few months, a teacher. Tonight, as they waited for their cook Hop
Sing to call them to supper, she was helping him conjugate French verbs in
preparation for his studies at the academy in
Ben’s second son, chunky six-year-old Hoss
lay sprawled on the striped Indian rug shaking a rattle in the face of Ben’s
third boy, a gift doubly precious because both Joseph and his mother had almost
perished at his birth just seven weeks earlier.
Hoss was grinning because the baby was awake for a change, Hoss’s chief
complaint being that his new brother spent far too much time sleeping. His parents didn’t share that opinion, for
despite his diminutive size, Little Joe could emit the most ear-piercing
shrieks, with which music he generally chose the middle of the night to favor
his mother and father.
Hoss, Ben recalled, had been an
easy-going, sunny-dispositioned baby, happy as long as he was well fed,
sleeping through the night by the time he was a few weeks old. Not so Little Joe. Everything bothered him——a wet diaper, an
empty tummy or too bright a shaft of sunlight falling across his face——and he
had no qualms about letting the world hear his discontent. But the smile Ben flashed as the baby’s tiny
fingers waved at the rattle plainly declared his prideful joy in the newest
member of the family.
As his brown eyes swept the scene, Ben’s
face reflected the satisfaction of a man watching his dreams unfold. For so many years settling in the West had
been just that, a dream. It was a dream
he had shared with three wonderful women:
Adam’s mother Elizabeth, the daughter of a New England sea captain, with
whom the dream had been birthed; Hoss’s mother Inger, the Swedish shopkeeper
whose gentle courage had brought him to the brink of its fulfillment; and,
finally, Marie, the Creole beauty with whom Ben hoped to share the flowering of
all he had dreamed before. With her and
with his three sons, each a cherished gift from one of Ben’s beloved
wives. Ben released a sigh of deep
contentment, and Marie looked up briefly to smile at him, her emerald eyes
shining with quick comprehension of his sentiment.
A loud insistent knocking battered the
front door. Ben started to get up, but
before he could leave his mauve armchair, a soft-slippered shuffling told him
Hop Sing had, as usual, hurried from the kitchen to answer the door. And, as usual, he was chattering complaints in
a mixture of Chinese and broken English.
The little Cantonese cook, whose life Ben had saved and who had, in
gratitude, attached himself permanently to the Cartwright family, took fierce
pride in protecting the areas he considered his exclusive territory, which
included both answering the door as a proper houseboy should and, of course,
the kitchen. As absolute ruler over that
domain, Hop Sing did not welcome interruptions at mealtime, and it was the
unseen caller at the door who was the intended recipient of the expletives
being hurled in its direction.
Hop Sing opened the door and a
fiery-headed, grinning boy of fifteen with a newspaper folded under his arm
sauntered in. “What’s for dinner?” Billy
Thomas snickered in answer to the Chinaman’s grumbling.
“Loast beef,” Hop Sing grunted. “Maybe so, you stay, eat?”
“Why, thanks, Hop Sing,” Billy replied
enthusiastically, “I reckon you talked me into it.”
“Hmph!” Hop Sing snorted and stomped back
to the kitchen, secretly pleased to have another person to savor his food.
“What’s the matter, Billy?” Ben
drawled. “Pantry running so low at your
place you have to sponge a free meal wherever you can find it?”
Billy just grinned. “Why, I figured it was the least you could do
after me riding all this way just to deliver your paper.” He drew the latest issue of the Scorpion from under his arm and tossed
it to Ben.
Ben scowled eloquently. As pleased as he was to get the local news
earlier than usual, he knew better than to credit Billy Thomas with so selfless
a motive. Obviously, the boy was up to
something. Had his mother Nelly been
there, she’d have been sure to point out that the “something” was bound to be
mischief.
While Ben perused the paper, Billy said
hello to Marie and Adam, then wandered over to the cradle. Bending over it, palms on his knees, he
asked, “Well, how’s life treatin’ you, little Wet and Wail?”
Hoss glared up at the older boy. “That ain’t his name!”
“Isn’t, Hoss,” his father corrected
absently.
“Yeah, Pa,” Hoss sighed. He’d done so poorly in school last year that
Pa was making him spend the whole summer doing lessons, but Hoss’s grammar
showed little improvement. “But that
ain’t——I mean, isn’t——his name.”
“It’s what we used to call you,” Adam
laughed.
“No such thing!” Hoss denied vigorously.
“Oh, yeah,” Billy confirmed. “Little Chief Wet and Wail, to be
specific——’cause that’s all you did, just like this one.”
Hoss’s lower lip thrust out. “Little Joe’s a sweet baby,” he announced,
“sweet as pumpkin pie.”
“Pumpkin pie!” Billy hooted.
“Especially when his diaper needs
changing,” Adam commented dryly.
“Pa, make ‘em quit,” Hoss demanded.
“Oh, hush, Hoss,” Ben chided softly. “They’re just teasing, and if you want my
opinion, Wet and Wail’s a far more accurate name than Pumpkin Pie.”
“You are all so cruel, to make sport of my
sweet little François,” Marie said, rising and lifting her baby to her
shoulder.
As she had expected, everyone
groaned. “Pumpkin Pie sounds real fine
next to that!” Billy snorted.
Standing next to Marie, Hoss patted the
baby’s back. “You like that better,
don’t you, Punkin? Sure you do.” Little Joe’s head bobbed back and forth in
what Hoss took as a gesture of agreement.
Marie flashed Ben a triumphant smile that
let him know she’d tossed out the baby’s French middle name just to make peace
by giving everyone something they could join forces against. Ben wagged a playful finger at his wife to
tell her he’d seen through her stratagem.
He was sure he’d seen through Billy’s, as well. “This article about the upcoming dance
wouldn’t have anything to do with giving us the pleasure of your company
tonight, would it, Billy?” he asked with a smirk.
“Dance, what dance?” Adam demanded,
reaching for the paper. Ben handed it to
him, and as Adam read about the grand ball to be held at Lucky Bill’s hotel in
“Sort of interferes with some other plans
we’d made,” his father pointed out.
“The picnic?” Adam asked. “I don’t see why. That was gonna be the Fourth of July, Pa; the
dance isn’t ‘til the fifth.”
“Oh, the energy of youth!” Ben
chuckled. “Two major outings——in
opposite directions, I might add——in two days is more than my poor old bones
want to think about.”
“You are not old, Ben,” Marie scolded,
“only thirty-six.”
Ben smiled. Compared to her mere twenty years, thirty-six
certainly felt old, but he didn’t contradict her. Nor did he mention the true cause of his
reservations. Marie had suffered through
a difficult breech delivery and still seemed to tire easily. Ben hesitated to plan more than her
recovering strength could stand. “Yes, my love,” he said agreeably, “but I
still think—”
“Oh, of course, we should change our
plans,” Marie interrupted.
“No picnic?” Hoss wailed.
“But, Hoss, think what fun a dance will
be,” Marie urged.
“Not as much as a picnic!” Hoss
protested. “I’d rather fish at Tahoe any
day as flounce around a floor with frillies.”
“Here now, I’ve got an idea,” Ben
said. “What if we picnic at
“Tahoe’s a better place,” Hoss muttered,
still disgruntled.
“I know,” Ben said, “but there’ll be other
times.”
A broad grin split Hoss’s face. “My birthday!” he yelled. “Like last year!”
The first response to Hoss’s idea came
from his little brother. Along with wet
diapers, an empty tummy and bright light, Little Joe had little toleration for
loud voices in his ear. He screamed
vociferously and Hoss looked immediately chagrinned. He reached for the baby and when Marie
released him, rubbed the small back until Little Joe began to settle down. “There, there, Punkin Pie,” Hoss
soothed. “Brother’s sorry. Don’t cry, Punkin.”
“Dinnah leady; you come now!” Hop Sing
scolded from the dining room. Everyone
laughed and dutifully filed around the table to the appropriate chair, Hoss
still holding the little brother he obviously adored.
“How about it, Pa?” Hoss ventured more
quietly. “A picnic at Tahoe for my
birthday?”
Ben chuckled. “Sounds fine.
You’ll relate the change in plans to your folks, Billy?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Billy grinned. “Ma and Pa figured you might want the dance
instead of the picnic, so I offered to ride over and ask.”
“And arriving at dinnertime is just a
coincidence,” Ben said with a dubious arch of his blue-black eyebrow.
Billy helped himself to a slice of roast
beef. “That’s right,” he cackled. Then he turned an ominous face toward Adam as
he passed the platter to his friend.
“Real reason I came is to let buddy boy here know I’ve staked my claim
to Miss Sally Martin for the dance.”
“She know that?” Adam taunted.
“I asked and she said she’d come with me,”
Billy replied loftily, “so keep your hands off, boy.”
“Fat chance,” Adam informed him as he
piled his plate full of beef.
* * * * *
Nelly Thomas, seated in a straight chair
in her bedroom, gave a contented sigh.
“Lands, Marie, but you got a gentle hand with hair.” The Cartwrights had taken Sunday dinner with
the Thomases and since they wouldn’t have time to return to the Ponderosa
before the grand ball that evening, had brought their evening clothes
along. The men had long since been
dressed, but the ladies were taking their time, taking as much pain with their
toilet as if tonight’s ball were hosted by President Buchanan instead of hotel
owner William Thorrington.
Standing behind Nelly, Marie gave the
light strands another stroke. “You have
nice hair to work with, Nelly, fine but so thick.”
“Well, I sure never thought it could be
fixed fancy as you’re doing,” Nelly tittered.
“Won’t I be a sight at that ball tonight? Folks won’t know me, all primped up like a
china doll!”
“You will look beautiful,” Marie
purred. “I would like to steal that
gorgeous green gown.”
Nelly gave her head a slight shake. Green would have been the perfect color for
Marie, of course, almost a match for those unusual eyes of hers, but the dress
was much too large for the Creole woman’s slight figure, even this soon after
her pregnancy. Besides, Marie’s blue
satin, crafted by a
“There!” Marie said, stepping back, brush
still in hand. “Take a look, Nelly.”
Nelly stood, approached the mirror over
her washstand and gasped. That couldn’t
be her reflected in its polished surface!
Forget other folks not knowing her; Nelly didn’t know herself. “Lands, I wish I had your talent with hair,”
Nelly cried, turning to hug her young friend in appreciation.
“And I yours in handling children,” Marie
sighed.
Nelly’s hug turned compassionate,
concerned. “What is it, honey lamb? Adam ain’t bein’ fractious again, is he?”
Marie smiled. “No, all is well between us, except that I
shall miss him when he goes to school.”
“Well, you don’t have to cross that bridge
for another couple months,” Nelly said, then smiled. “Now, I know Hoss ain’t givin’ you a lick of
trouble, so it must be our new little darlin’.”
Marie nodded. “Ben keeps talking of how different he is
from Hoss, how much less he eats, how much more he cries. I am sure I’m doing something wrong, but I am
too ignorant to know what.”
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Nelly
soothed. “Children are different, that’s
all, and if anyone ought to know it, it’s Ben Cartwright! Why, the three I birthed were different as
night and day, so how Ben can expect three boys by three different mothers to
be anything alike is beyond me!”
“Little Joe seems all right to you?” Marie
asked anxiously. “He is so small.”
“Started out that way,” Nelly agreed, “and
likely will be all his life. Honey lamb,
he’s you all over, even got your eyes, and you’re small. I reckon his appetite fits his size. You can’t go comparin’ him with Hoss. That boy could eat a side of beef when he was
Little Joe’s age!”
“You are exaggerating,” Marie accused, but
she was smiling again.
“Not by much,” Nelly laughed. “And don’t fret about the cryin’ either. Little Joe’s extra sensitive, that’s all. Likely he’ll grow out of it, but if you ask
me, a baby that hollers about wet diapers is just showin’ good sense.”
Marie laughed. “Then I think I have the most sensible baby
there ever was. Ben teases me about
bathing him every day, but my little boy likes to be clean.”
Nelly bit her lip. A daily bath went beyond her ideas of what
was best, but she didn’t want to make the young mother feel more insecure than
she obviously already did. “Well, let’s
see what the menfolk think of our finery,” she suggested.
“‘Bout time,” Clyde Thomas grumbled as the
bedroom door opened, but the complaint died on his lips when he caught the
first glimpse of his wife. “Nelly, hon,”
he purred, “you look plumb gorgeous.”
“Wow, Ma!” Billy exclaimed. “Never knew you was such a looker.”
Nelly blushed, but she was obviously
pleased. “It’s Marie’s doin’,” she
deprecated.
“She done good work,” Billy agreed, “but
it ain’t all her, Ma. Can’t make a silk
purse out of a sow’s ear, you always said, so she must’ve had somethin’ pretty
fine to work with.”
“Oh, go practice your flatterin’ ways on
that Martin gal,” Nelly laughed. “You
gents ready to go?”
“Thought I was,”
Nelly hooked an arm through his
elbow. “You’re duded up enough for me.”
“And altogether too duded up for fighting
off those miners who are bound to throng your lady tonight,” Ben teased.
“Best worry about your own duds,”
“Pa, do I have to go?” Hoss pleaded
again. Having no interest in dancing, he
had offered to stay at the house and watch the baby.
Five-year-old Inger Thomas, her strawberry
blonde hair set off by her new red calico, answered before Ben could. “‘Course, you have to go, Hoss. You’re my partner.”
Hoss frowned. As girls went, his mother’s namesake was
nice, but he felt clumsy as an ox when it came to dancing.
Sharply dressed in his gray cutaway jacket
and maroon satin vest, Ben offered Marie his arm. As they walked outside, Marie whispered, “I
hope we have made the right decision. What
if the music makes Little Joe cry?”
“If it does, we’ll ask Lucky Bill if we
can’t bed the boy down in a spare room,” Ben said. “I’d rather not leave them home alone, and
Hoss can use a little work on the social graces.”
“Now, Ben, don’t turn a dance into a
lesson,” Marie scolded gently. “Poor
Hoss thinks he has had little else this summer.”
“All right,” Ben laughed as he handed her
up to the seat of their buckboard. “No
lessons tonight. We’ll just dance our
toes sore.”
Strains of lively music greeted the party
as they entered Lucky Bill’s Hotel.
Nelly stroked his short auburn
whiskers. “You don’t hear me
arguin’.” She willingly let herself be
led to the dance floor.
“I’d like to grab you while I have the
chance,” Ben chuckled, “but I see another fellow already has you tied down.”
Marie smiled, knowing he meant the baby in
her arms. “Take the basket over by the
others,” she requested. “I want Laura to
see how our little one is growing before I put him down.” Ben nodded and carried the basket to the side
of the room where two other babies lay snoozing. Ben sent a quick prayer heavenward that
Little Joe would follow their cooperative example.
Seeing no help for it, Hoss took Inger’s
small hand and headed for the dance floor.
Billy spotted Sally Martin dancing with
her father and made a beeline to cut in.
Though, technically, Sally was Billy’s date for the evening, his family
owned only one multi-passenger vehicle.
He hadn’t wanted the whole family along when he picked up Sally and she
hadn’t wanted to ride horseback in her new evening gown of violet silk, so the
young couple had agreed to meet at the dance.
Adam started after Billy, intending to
challenge his friend’s claim to the young beauty, when another pretty face
caught his eye and he veered toward her instead. “Thocmetony!” he cried, grasping her bronze
hand as soon as he reached her. “What a
surprise to see you here!”
“Instead of in my grandfather’s karnee,
you mean?” the Paiute girl asked with a mischievous smile. “I live here in
“Elma?” Adam asked, brow furrowing. “That’s not the name I remember.”
Thocmetony laughed. “We took Christian names while we were in
“I remember,” Adam said with a smile, “but
I still think your Indian name has a prettier meaning, Shellflower.” Shellflower was the English equivalent for
the pink desert flower after which the thirteen-year-old Paiute was named.
Sarah’s deep gold flesh darkened from the
neck up. “And I still think of you as
Red Man, Adam,” she said, “but perhaps it is time to put aside childish
things. The Ormsbys prefer white women’s
names.”
“And white women’s dress I see,” Adam
added, noting the simple yellow gingham his friend wore. “You look real pretty in it, Sarah. Would you like to dance?”
“It is new to me, but if you will be
patient, I would like to learn,” Sarah replied, taking the hand Adam offered.
“Good, and you can tell me all about why
you’re living with the Ormsbys instead of your own folks,” Adam said as he led
her to the dance floor.
“That is simple,” Sarah responded. “My father wishes us to have the white man’s
learning. We will go to
Giving his partner an energetic twirl, Adam
nodded. He knew William Ormsby owned a
local store, which also served as a stage stop for the Carson Valley
Express. “I’ll be taking that stage
before long,” Adam offered, “when I leave for school in
“Ah, I will see you then, at least,” Sarah
said, flushed with the vigor of the dance.
“Maybe more,” Adam said. “Maybe I’ll just”——a hand tapped him on the
shoulder. Adam frowned as he glanced
sideways and caught sight of Billy Thomas.
“What are you doing here?” Adam demanded. “Thought you had a partner.”
“Hard to keep around here,” Billy
shrugged, “with all these miners cuttin’ in.”
“You’re no miner,” Adam grunted.
Billy just grinned. “No, but I’m cuttin’ in, same as they done
me. What’s your name, pretty?”
The Indian girl smiled, pleased as any
other to have two fellows vying for her attention. “Sarah,” she said and took Billy’s hand.
Across the room Laura Ellis was smiling
into the face of Marie’s baby. “Ooh, you
pretty thing, you,” she cooed. “You’re
just the prettiest baby boy I ever saw, yes you are.”
Little Joe evidently appreciated the
compliment, for he smiled cheerily, his little head bobbing as his bright eyes
took in the new surroundings.
Marie giggled. “
Laura laughed. “
“Mais
oui, I will,” Marie began, but she was suddenly aware of a swarm of men
swooping down on her. She wasn’t
surprised. Even in populous
Recognizing the man leading the pack as
James Finney, Marie made a desperate search of the room for Ben, but he had his
back to her, talking to Dr. Martin.
Marie remembered with distaste the last dance she’d shared with the man
everyone called Old Virginny, after his home state. Not only had the miner tromped on her toes,
his breath had reeked of alcohol. But
Marie would have considered herself ill-mannered to turn him down.
Just as Finney was stretching out his
scrawny fingers to claim his prize, another lanky man stepped in front of him
and, sweeping off his black stovepipe hat, announced loudly, “Henry T. P.
Comstock at your service, ma’am.”
Comstock didn’t ask for a dance; he simply assumed it was his for the
taking. He gripped Marie’s elbow and
guided her toward the dance floor.
“But, my baby,” Marie protested.
“I’ll see to him,” Laura called, her lips
twitching with amusement.
Irritated, but not despairing, Old
Virginny and the scruffy miners behind him turned hopeful eyes on Laura, who
merely laughed. “I’m in charge of the
refreshment table tonight, gents; I’m too busy right now to dance, but maybe
later.”
“Maybe, for sure,” called a not unhandsome
miner in his middle twenties, who was far to the rear of the pack.
Laura smiled at the likeable young man
who, like Finney, had come west as a teamster for John Reese in 1851 and stayed
to mine the nearby canyons. “All right,
Finishing his conversation with Paul
Martin, Ben searched the room for Marie.
He spotted her and groaned audibly.
“I should know better,” he explained to the doctor. “I should know better than to expect a dance
with my own wife.”
“I imagine she’d welcome your cutting in,”
Martin chuckled. “Old Pancake’s dance
technique is a mite vigorous for most ladies’ taste.”
Ben smiled at the miner’s nickname. Though Comstock had only been in the
territory about a year, his reputation for laziness had earned him the moniker
of Pancake because he rarely went to the trouble of making sourdough bread,
choosing to drop the batter on a hot griddle instead. “You’re right; it would be an act of
charity,” Ben said, the smile on his lips belying the solemnity of his tone.
“Charity,” Martin scoffed. “On that note, I believe I’ll adjourn to the
punch bowl.”
“If James Finney hasn’t drunk it dry,” Ben
commented saucily.
Ben claimed his wife for a dance, but
couldn’t for long hold off the eager horde seeking the same privilege. Throughout the evening partners changed
regularly as lonely men satisfied their craving for female company. Even Hoss lost his partner, to a
gray-whiskered miner, but he didn’t care.
The boy navigated a straight course to the refreshment table, where Mrs.
Ellis obligingly filled his plate full of sandwiches and cookies. Hoss plunked himself on the floor behind the
table next to three-year-old Jimmy Ellis and settled down to enjoy his favorite
part of any social gathering.
Ben counted himself lucky to have danced
with every woman, young and old, at the dance, so whenever he lost his latest
partner to another eager-faced gentleman, he contented himself with roaming the
room in search of a neighbor with whom he hadn’t chatted in a while. He couldn’t help noticing, however, that many
conversations seemed to break off abruptly when he approached. The occasional snatches he caught were
disturbing, for their tone was almost belligerent. “I stand with Brigham,” one of Ben’s closest
neighbors, Alec Cowan, hissed to another Mormon. “If the
“July’s always warm here,” Ben replied
lightly. “You’ve lived here long enough
to know that.” There wasn’t much else to
say about the weather, though, and Cowan seemed disinclined to discuss anything
more serious, at least until Ben wandered off toward the refreshment
table. As he left, a quick glance over
his shoulder told Ben the heads of his Mormon neighbors were once again bent in
earnest grappling of some problem that evidently wasn’t considered the business
of any gentile in the territory.
Hating to feel shut out by his neighbors,
Ben nonetheless shook off his irritation.
Tonight was a celebration in honor of the birth of their nation and a
rare opportunity to come together for fun and frolic. He didn’t intend to spoil it by worrying over
how other folks acted. Passing the three
baskets of babies, Ben peered into the one nearest the refreshment table,
hoping to see a slumbering son, but Little Joe was wide awake, face smiling,
arms and legs kicking. To Ben’s
imagination, it seemed as if the tiny boy were keeping time to the music,
almost dancing in his basket. “Like
parties, do you, Little Joe?” Ben asked gently.
“Well, Pa’s glad to see that——mighty glad to see that.” He let the baby waggle his finger for a
moment, then headed for a glass of punch.
He was thirsty.
As he stepped toward Laura Ellis, however,
he once again had the unpleasant experience of seeing a conversation broken off
the moment he came within hearing distance.
The two blond-haired, blue-eyed Grosch brothers had been talking
animatedly with Mrs. Ellis, but, spotting Ben, they stopped, and though they
greeted him amiably enough, they soon wandered away in search of dance
partners. “What is going on?” Ben all
but exploded to Laura. He’d gathered
that the Mormons were talking about Brigham Young’s growing controversy with
the new President, but though that couldn’t possibly concern the Grosches, sons
of a Universalist minister, the two brothers were acting equally secretive.
“Oh, you know miners,” Laura laughed
nonchalantly, “always chattering about some big strike they hope to find.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. Perhaps that’s all it was in the case of the
Grosch brothers, but Laura’s answer seemed just a bit evasive. Then he shook his head. No sense imagining slights where none were
intended. “That middle boy of mine left
anything for his famished father?” Ben joked.
From behind the table Hoss looked up and
grinned. “It’s good, Pa; better get some
while you can.”
Ben laughed loudly. “Sound advice, if ever I heard it. Fix me a plateful, would you, Laura?”
“My pleasure,” she said smoothly and began
to cover a plate with sliced meat and cheese, sandwiches and cookies.
In the wee hours of the morning, Ben
lifted the basket containing his, at last, sleeping son and herded his family
toward the door. They paused to express
their appreciation to their host, Bill Thorrington.
“Glad you could come, folks,” the powerful
man with the handsome face and convivial manner said.
“It’s been a real pleasure,” Ben replied
earnestly. “Like to stay longer, but
these youngsters are getting drowsy and we still have a long ride ahead.”
“We’ve got vacant rooms, if you care to
spend the night,” Lucky Bill suggested with a cheerful grin.
Ben chuckled. “Thanks, but I favor my own bed.” He loaded his family into the buckboard,
Marie on the seat beside him and the two older boys in back with the baby
between them. “Did you have a nice
time?” he asked his wife.
Marie snuggled close. “Especially when I was dancing with you.”
Ben laughed. “Didn’t happen often enough for my taste.”
They rode in silence for awhile. Then Hoss asked, “Pa, what’s a monster vein?”
“What?” Ben asked. “Where’d you hear that, Hoss?”
“Them Grosch boys,” Hoss yawned. “They was sayin’ somethin’ about findin’ a
monster vein.”
“Oh,” Ben smiled. “I imagine they were just dreaming of a big
gold strike, son. Not too likely around
here.”
“Somebody’s gonna give ‘em six hundred
dollars,” Hoss reported. “They told
Jimmy’s ma——”
“Hoss, it is not polite to eavesdrop,”
Marie chided.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hoss muttered. “I wasn’t aimin’ to.”
“I’m sure you weren’t,” Ben said. “I feel like I’ve been eavesdropping all
night, too. Something’s going on among
our Mormon friends.”
“It troubles you?” Marie asked, for she’d
heard an edge to his voice.
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know enough to be troubled.”
“I heard some folks talking about leaving
the valley,” Adam said.
“Oh, I hope not,” Marie said. “There are so few of us now.”
Ben laughed. “Few?
Why, there’re more than five hundred people settled this side of the
Sierras, ma’am. The territory’s growing
by leaps and bounds!”
Marie tittered softly, knowing she was
being teased about her cosmopolitan upbringing in
She wasn’t serious, of course, but her
words proved prophetic. Within two weeks
sixty-four of the Cartwrights’ Mormon neighbors had departed for
The repercussions of that exodus by far
exceeded the small drop in population.
The
CHAPTER
TWO
|
S |
ighing, Marie
handed the slate covered with figures back to Hoss, who was sitting
cross-legged on the carpet before the fireplace. “No, Hoss.
Five plus three is not nine. And
two plus four is not five. Try again.”
Hoss groaned. He was tired of sums. He cast an imploring glance at the cradle
near him. If Little Joe would just wake
up, his mother would have to stop his lessons long enough to care for the
baby. But Little Joe showed no signs of
providing the relief his older brother craved more than cookies, heretofore the
first love of his life. Hoss stared at
the printed problems and, hiding his fingers beneath the coffee table, began
tediously to count out the answers.
A rap at the door made the boy’s head jerk
up and drove the total he’d just calculated from his mind. Marie frowned. “Whoever it is does not concern you, Hoss. Do your sums.” Supporting his weary brain on a crooked
elbow, Hoss slumped over his slate once more.
Hop Sing answered the door and waited for
the tall, well-muscled stranger to announce himself. “Is this the Cartwright place?” the man asked
hesitantly.
“Pondelosa,” Hop Sing replied with an air
that indicated everyone should recognize the name of the Cartwright’s ranch.
The man swept an unruly lock of brown hair
from his sun-bronzed face. “Yes, but
what I need to know——”
Smiling, Marie came to his rescue. “I am Mrs. Cartwright,” she said pleasantly
as she walked toward the door.
The stranger’s gray eyes clouded with bewilderment. “Mrs. Cartwright?” he stammered. “I—I’m sorry, ma’am, but it was Ben Cartwright’s place I was looking for. I thought this place matched the directions I was given.”
Marie’s golden head tilted. “Mais oui,”
she replied. “I am Mrs. Ben
Cartwright. My husband is not here now,
but should return shortly.”
“Mrs. Ben Cartwright,” the man mumbled,
shaking his head as if trying to absorb words that made no sense. “Ben’s married again?”
Marie laughed softly. “Ah, I see.
It has been some time since you saw my husband?”
“Six years, ma’am.”
“Then you could not know,” she said. “We have been married just over a year
now. Please come in, Monsieur——”
“John,” the man replied as he entered and
walked toward the furniture grouped before the fireplace.
“Oui,
Monsieur Jean,” Marie repeated. “You are
an old friend of Ben’s? From
An impish smile lifted one corner of
John’s mouth. “Oh, Ben and I go back a
lot further than that,” he commented as he sat in the blue armchair near the
cradle. He stared in amazement at the
sleeping baby. “Ben and I were
boys——and, I hope, friends——together back in
Marie clasped her hands in delight. “Oh, Ben will be so pleased to see you, I know——and
you will, of course, stay with us. We
have plenty of rooms, though not all are furnished yet.”
John’s eyes scanned the large room, taking
in the stairs to the second story. “Yes,
I can see how it might take time to furnish this much house. Ben’s doing well, I take it.”
Marie thought that question a bit
presumptious, even for a boyhood friend, but she nodded politely. She laid a slender hand on Hoss’s head. “Six years ago, you said. Did you meet this boy then?”
John laughed. “We met, but he was a good deal smaller then,
eh, Hoss?”
“I don’t ‘member you, mister,” Hoss said
with a grin, tickled that the man knew his name without being told.
John gestured toward the cradle. “Your boy, ma’am?”
Marie nodded. “And Ben’s, of course. We call him Joseph.”
The stranger’s head rose abruptly. Then he smiled. “A fine name,” he said softly, as if it had
special meaning for him.
Just as Marie sent Hoss to the kitchen to
request Hop Sing to serve coffee and cookies for their guest, the youngest
Cartwright woke, crying, as usual, to have his diaper changed and his stomach
fed. Marie excused herself and took the
baby upstairs to clean and nurse him. In
the meantime Hoss happily munched cookies with John and bemoaned his sad fate
of doing lessons all summer.
“Aye, matey, but how will you learn to
navigate without knowing your numbers?” John asked.
“You a sailor?” Hoss asked. “My Pa was, too.”
“Aye, most
“Was you on the same boat as Pa?”
“No, never that,” the man chuckled.
Little Joe rode downstairs in his mother’s
arms, head almost erect, not bobbing nearly as much as it had at the dance
earlier in the month. When they reached
the first floor, John stood. “Do you
think I might hold the lad?” he asked.
Marie, always overprotective when it came
to her precious Joseph François, immediately felt nervous. She didn’t want to relinquish her boy to a
total stranger, but John’s arms were outstretched and he was, after all, a
guest and an old friend of Ben’s. With a
gracious smile that belied her true feelings, Marie let him take Little Joe.
Far from sharing her qualms, Little Joe
chortled contentedly as the man bounced him playfully. “We’ll get along fine, won’t we, wee Joseph?”
John chuckled.
Hoss snickered. “Little Joe’s what we call him, mister.”
“Suits him,” John said, “like your name
does you.”
Outside, Ben and Adam had just arrived
home from their day’s work. “Looks like
the Thomases are here,” Adam commented, seeing the wagon and horses in the
yard. “I thought they weren’t coming
until tomorrow night.”
“That’s the way I heard it,” Ben
mused. Hoss’s birthday had been the day
before, but the picnic at
Ben sauntered toward the house, running
his fingers through dark brown hair, sprinkled here and there with a few gray
hairs. He opened the front door and
walked in, expecting to see
“Uncle John!” Adam, walking in behind Ben,
cried.
“Uncle John?” Marie asked, totally
perplexed. “But—but you said you and Ben
were friends.”
John chuckled, mischief glinting in his
gray eyes. “I said I hoped we were. We are friends, aren’t we, little brother?”
Marie dropped onto the sofa,
overcome. “Your brother?” she
whispered. “That John?”
Ben laughed. “My brother,” he responded, “and I see I’ll
have to take him to task for playing such a trick on my bride.”
“Take me to task!” John snorted. “What about the trick you played me, keeping
both a new wife and son a secret?”
“Secret?
No,” Ben protested, “I wrote you——about Marie, at least. I’ve been a bit slack in writing about Little
Joe, I confess, but I promise I wrote about my marriage.”
John shrugged. “I never got it. Likely, the letter’s lost at sea.”
“It happens,” Ben admitted, then gave his
brother a chagrinned smile. “Let me
introduce my wife Marie, then, brother.”
John chuckled. “We’ve met.”
He bounced the baby on his arm and Little Joe responded with an excited
gasp. “Her and our father’s
namesake. I always hoped to name a boy
Joseph, but you’ve beat me to that, as you did other things.”
“Easier to name boys if you stay home long
enough to have them,” Ben observed, a trifle self-righteously, it seemed to
John.
John arched an eyebrow in a gesture so
reminiscent of Ben’s characteristic one that their resemblance became
pronounced. “Don’t start that,” the
older brother warned. “I came near disowning
you after you sent a certain letter correcting me for my vagabond ways.”
Hoss edged close and stared into John’s
face. “You really my uncle?”
John ruffled the boy’s straight sandy
hair. “Aye, lad, your wayward uncle
finally on his way home.” He looked back
to Ben. “The letter angered me, Ben, but
I finally saw the wisdom of your words.
I have been too long away from my wife and my boy.”
“You’re not going overland?” Ben asked
anxiously. It was late in the season for
such a journey.
“No, I’ll go back to
“You picked the best time,” Hoss
declared. “You gotta come to Tahoe with
us day after tomorrow, Uncle John. It’s
the purtiest place there is.”
“Wouldn’t think of missing it, lad,” John
smiled. “In fact, I’ve brought along a
contribution for the outing.”
Adam gave a knowing grin. “I bet that’s what’s in that crate outside.”
John uttered a loud laugh. “Always was hard to hide anything from your
sharp eyes, Adam. Come along, then and
help me carry my things inside.” He
offered Marie a repentant smile. “That
is, sister, if I’m still invited to stay after the trick I played.”
“You are most welcome,” Marie said, “but,
please, no more tricks.”
John nodded and raised his right
hand. “Upon my word, no tricks.”
Ben threw an arm around his brother’s
broad shoulders, broader even than his own.
“Let’s get your gear in, matey, and unhitch that team. I notice you stopped by the Thomases first.”
“How else was I to get directions?” John
demanded.
“Aye, but we’ll need to get the rig back
to them tomorrow, for they’re coming on that picnic, too,” Ben laughed.
As they walked outside, John shook his
head, perturbed. “They didn’t tell me
that when they insisted I take the team, and after carrying that load from the
stage depot to their place, I was more than eager to accept the kind offer.”
“I’ll fetch them,” Adam offered. “It’s the least I can do for my favorite uncle.”
“Keep butterin’ me up, lad, and I just
might find a special keepsake for you in that bag of mine,” John laughed.
Trotting behind them, Hoss nibbled his
lower lip, hoping Uncle John would find something for him in that bag, as well.
* * * * *
The picnickers set off early Sunday
morning, August 2nd, as soon as they’d finished the mammoth breakfast Hop Sing
served. Ben and John rode on the seat of
the buckboard, wanting to spend as much time together as possible, since John
planned to leave the next day.
Hoss was put out by the bigger boys’
insistence that they wanted to ride alone, but he consoled himself with the
thought that Little Joe was better company anyway. He, at least, never pushed his big brother
away and always seemed glad to see him.
Hoss’s dog Klamath trotted along beside them, yipping in happy expectation
of exceptional table scraps. Klamath had
been on picnics before and recognized the signs of good things to come.
Billy and Adam were riding behind the
wagon, close enough for everyone in the buckboard to hear Adam’s recital of how
brave Uncle John had fought against pirates while he’d been at sea and had
given Adam the cutlass taken from one of the blackguards. Ben smiled, as he had when John regaled the
boys with his exploits on Friday night.
Having sailed himself, he suspected more than half of the story had
substance only in John’s imagination, but he didn’t say anything.
After everyone was in bed Marie had
whispered that she thought the tale too stimulating for small boys so near
bedtime and the gift too dangerous. Ben
had made light of her worries. “All boys
enjoy tales of adventure,” he’d argued, “and you know Adam will be responsible
with that cutlass. He won’t be out
playing pirates with it at his age, and it’ll spark a lot of interest hanging
on his wall at the boardinghouse in
“All right,” Marie had conceded, “but I am
glad John’s gift to Hoss was better suited to a little boy.” John had brought Hoss a lacquered Chinese
chariot, complete with a driver in a square hat and two red-plumed horses
guided by matching reins of silken cord, a gift which seemed to excite Hop Sing
as much as Hoss. Evidently, the toy
reminded the Cantonese of one he’d had when he was a boy in
John’s other gift,
the crate of juicy
Some of the oranges were in the buckboard
now, to be eaten by the
“You headed for Zephyr Cove, Ben?”
“Best place I’ve found so far,” Ben
commented.
“Yeah, it’s a fine one,”
“Zephyr Cove?”
John asked, lips curving gently upward.
“You’ve taken to naming your new world, eh, brother?”
Ben jerked John’s hat down over his
eyes. “Actually, Adam’s the one who came
up with that name,” he chuckled, “and just wait ‘til you get a feel of that
zephyr that comes across from the opposite bay this afternoon.” Ben looked over his shoulder to wink at
Ben pulled the wagon to a halt near the
shore of a crescent-shaped inlet, well sheltered by tall Jeffrey, ponderosa and
sugar pines. He reached up to clap
John’s shoulder. “Well, brother, what do
you think of our picnic site?”
John said nothing at first. He vaulted over the side of the buckboard and
walked to the water’s edge, Ben ambling along behind him. Staring at the incredibly clear water, its depth
making the lake so blue the sky above seemed pale and washed out by comparison,
the older Cartwright heaved a sigh of contentment. “No wonder you don’t miss the sea, little
brother, with this in your backyard.”
“The fragrance is different, but it gives
me the same feel as the sea,” Ben admitted.
“You ever sail her?” John asked with a
sudden sharp look at his brother.
Ben shook his head. “No boat.”
“We could build one, couldn’t we, Pa?”
Adam queried. He had just swung down
from his horse and trotted over to his father.
“Oh, Adam!” Ben scoffed. “No time for that with you off to school in
three weeks.”
“Next summer then,” Adam suggested, and in
his own mind it was a commitment. “Think
what fishing we could do from out in the middle, Pa!”
“And what exploring,” John chuckled. He knew his inquisitive nephew.
Adam grinned, then shrugged and returned
to his original reason for rushing up to Ben.
“Can we swim before lunch?” he begged.
“There’s time.”
“Now, that sounds fine!” John
declared. “Wouldn’t mind a dip myself.”
“Water’s pretty cold,” Ben informed him.
“Spoken like a true landlubber,” John
jibed.
Ben threw a light punch into his brother’s
ribs. “We’ll see who cries ‘uncle’
first, Uncle John!” He looked over his shoulder. “Marie, we’re gonna take a swim. Need anything before we leave.”
“Just the food box,” Nelly called, “but
“Or any other deeper or colder than a
bathtub,” Inger snickered. Hoss gave the
little girl, whom he usually counted a friend, a hard glare.
“Mind your manners, young lady!” Nelly
ordered brusquely.
“Yes’m,” Inger said quickly. “Could we pick berries, Ma?”
“After lunch,” Nelly replied. “You and Hoss watch Little Joe while Marie
and me set out the food.”
“That what I’m supposed to do?”
“Oh, go on with you!” Nelly
capitulated. She faced Marie, arms
akimbo. “Honestly, men ain’t nothin’ but
babies grown big.”
Marie smiled. She didn’t see anything wrong with the
menfolk carrying on like boys on a summer holiday. Ben worked so hard most days, she couldn’t
begrudge him a little fun, even if her day so far resembled work more than
play.
Ben and John swam side by side, each
taking strong strokes through the sapphire ripples. They easily outdistanced both the two boys
and latecomer Clyde Thomas. Finally
tired, they turned to float on their backs.
“How far across is it?” John asked, hands sculling lightly at his side.
“Oh, ten, twelve miles,” Ben replied. “All the way to
John turned his head. “That’s
“They call it
“Any of them around?”
John queried.
“Might be,” Ben conceded, “but it’s
nothing to worry about. I get on with my
neighbors, brother, red and white.”
“You’re happy here, aren’t you, Ben?”
“Couldn’t be happier,” Ben replied
dreamily. “What more could any man want
than a loving family and land so grand it draws his heart to God?”
“Nothing,” John said quietly. “Time I remembered that, I guess. The loving family, at least, I have, if they
haven’t disowned me by now.”
“They wouldn’t,” Ben assured him. “Every letter I get from Martha speaks of how
she yearns to have you home.”
“Won’t know that boy of mine,” John said
edgily. “When I see how Adam’s grown, I
realize the years I’ve missed with Will.”
Adam’s cousin was a year older than Adam, so John could gage his own
boy’s growth fairly accurately by observing his nephew’s.
Ben didn’t respond. The thing he’d most criticized in his brother
was his separation from his family. It
was outright neglect in Ben’s eyes, but there was no need to chide John now
when he’d plainly seen his own error.
“We’d better head back,” John stated. “We’re getting pretty far from the others.”
“Yeah,” Ben agreed, but made no move to
turn from his back. “John, do you think
there’s any chance of your bringing your family out here.”
“Oh, I’d like that,” John sighed, “but I
doubt Martha would hear of it. Not a
pioneering bone in her body, I fear, but I’ll ask, Ben. I think I could be content in a land like
this, more than on that
“There’s good land here for the asking,”
Ben said. “We lost more than threescore
neighbors last month, so you could pick up a place, improvements and all, for
little or nothing.”
“I’ll ask, Ben,” John repeated, “but don’t
hold your breath. After what I’ve put
her through, Martha deserves the last say, and I’m afraid it won’t be to your
liking——or mine.” He turned to his
stomach. “Beat you back to shore,” he
challenged and began to pull away with smooth strokes.
Ben turned quickly and swam after his
brother. John, of course, had a slight
head start, but Ben suspected his brother would have won the race anyway. John, half a head taller, had arms and legs
to match and had always been a step ahead of his younger brother in any
competition they’d ever waged. The other
three swimmers soon followed the Cartwright brothers to shore.
The picnic cloth was spread, so everyone
gathered around it, appetites whetted by vigorous exercise and brisk mountain
air. John finally flopped back with a
groan. “Haven’t had a feed like that in
years,” he declared. “How do you avoid
growing fat enough to butcher, Ben, with such as this in your feed trough?”
“I work it off, brother,” Ben chuckled.
“Aye, farming’s hard work,” John grunted,
obviously dreading his return to it.
Adam grinned. “We call it ranching out here, Uncle John.”
“Hoss!
Do not feed that chicken leg to your baby brother!” Marie said sharply.
“He’s just playin’ with it,” Hoss
mumbled. He’d been dangling the chicken
just out of Little Joe’s reach and watching the tiny fingers stretch for it.
“Food is to eat, not to play with,” Ben
scolded. “Don’t be teaching your brother
bad habits.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoss muttered and put the
chicken leg to better use between his teeth.
“You ladies goin’ berry pickin’?”
“Sure are,” Nelly replied. “May go up to one of the higher meadows and
see if them Washos left us any strawberries.”
“You clear out if you see injuns!”
“Oh, they are peaceable,” Marie
argued. A year before she’d been
terrified at her first sight of a “wild” Washo, but she’d lost much of her
earlier fear of the tribe of gatherers.
“Might not be if you pilfer their food
supply,” Ben cautioned. “Don’t dispute
them over a few berries, my love.”
Marie sighed. “I cannot go, anyway. I couldn’t pick many berries with Little Joe
on my hands.”
“I’ll see to him,” Ben chuckled. “Might teach him how to bait a hook.”
Everyone laughed at the idea of Little
Joe’s holding a fishing pole in his diminutive hands. “We’ll be expectin’ a fine mess of trout to
fry up for supper,” Nelly challenged.
“Ah, and a brimming pail of strawberries
to nibble for dessert,” Ben threw back at her.
The party split along gender lines, the
ladies taking Inger with them to pick strawberries and the male contingent
electing to angle for trout. Marie had
nursed Little Joe before she left, so the baby was sleeping contentedly on a
pallet in the shade of one of the Ponderosa’s namesake pines. The men and boys enjoyed a couple of hours
uninterrupted fishing and had collected a good supply for supper when Little
Joe woke and threatened to drive away every fish within sound of his earnest
cries for attention.
Ben was pulling in a steel-blue silver
trout, large enough to put up quite a fight, so he hollered to Adam, “See to
him, will you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Adam muttered. He’d had his fill of changing diapers when
Hoss was a baby and never volunteered for the chore, but with nothing on his
hook, he had no good reason to refuse.
He elbowed Billy’s ribs. “Come
on; give me a hand.”
Billy scowled, but came along. One sniff told both boys a dirty diaper was,
as they’d feared, the source of Little Joe’s discomfort. “I ain’t never changed a smelly diaper in my
life, and I ain’t startin’ now,” Billy stated flatly.
Adam gave his friend a hard look. “No one’s asking you to, yellow belly. You want to hold this little stinker or fetch
the diaper?”
“I’ll fetch,” Billy said quickly, holding
his freckled nose between his thumb and index finger.
“Figures,” Adam snorted, picking up the
squalling baby. “Come on, nuisance,” he
grumbled. “Let’s get you cleaned
up.” He followed Billy back to the wagon,
holding the baby while Billy scrounged through the wagon in search of the
basket that held the baby’s things.
“Hey, I got an idea,” Adam called as Billy
returned with the diaper. “Take him a
minute.”
Billy’s nose crinkled, but he took Little
Joe and held the bellowing baby at arm’s length.
Laughing at Billy’s expression, Adam
started to shed his shirt and trousers.
“What you doin’?” Billy demanded.
“I figure the easiest place to clean him
up is out there,” Adam replied, jerking his dark head toward the sapphire lake,
“and I could use another swim.” Stripped
to his underwear, he took Little Joe, pulled off his soiled diaper and started
toward the water. “You comin’?”
“Yeah, I reckon I had my fill of fishin’,”
Billy said, pulling off his own outer clothing and trotting after Adam.
When his naked buttocks hit the chilly
water, Little Joe uttered a loud shriek of protest, his small legs kicking
furiously.
“Hey, none of that,” Adam scolded
softly. “I’m not putting up with another
little brother that’s scared of water.”
He bounced the baby gently and Little Joe slowly settled down. “There, see,” Adam soothed. “Just like a big bathtub, and you know you
like baths.”
Billy reached out to tickle the baby under
his chin. Little Joe grinned and began
to spat the water with his tiny palm.
“He likes it,” Billy cackled.
“Sure, he’s got good sense,” Adam replied
loftily. Supporting Little Joe firmly
with one arm, he used the other hand to wash the baby’s bottom.
“Let’s go out deeper,” Billy suggested.
“Okay, but not too far,” Adam said. “I’d better not get in over my head with this
little squirmer to keep hold of.”
Billy had no similar constraint, of
course, but loyalty kept him close. Adam
finally laid Little Joe on his chest and lay back to float. Billy, assuming a similar position, sighed
contentedly. “Now, this here’s the
life.” Little Joe babbled in apparent agreement.
A sudden shriek of terror ripped the
air. Back amid the rocks where they’d
been fishing, Ben leaped to his feet.
“That’s Marie,” he cried.
“Injuns!”
The two husbands took off with John and
Hoss right behind them. They clattered
down the rugged slope to their picnic area and found Marie screaming
hysterically at the water’s edge. Ben
enfolded her in his arms. “Marie, what
is it?”
Marie couldn’t speak. Sobbing uncontrollably, she pointed out
toward the lake. Ben’s anxious gaze followed
her finger. Then he coughed with
relief. “Oh, sweetheart, he’s all
right,” he soothed, holding her with one arm and waving Adam in with the other.
The gesture was unnecessary. Adam had begun moving shoreward at Marie’s
first shriek. Soon he and Billy were
wading out of the water. Little Joe started
to cry, his fingers fluttering back toward the lake. He liked his new playground and didn’t
appreciate being deprived of it.
Marie snatched Little Joe from Adam’s
arms. “Oh, you horrible boy!” she
fumed. “How could you?”
“Marie, Marie,” Ben chided softly. “No harm done.”
“No harm!” Marie sputtered, her emerald
eyes glinting. “How can you say ‘no
harm’ when the water’s icy, and just feel that wind!” From the glimmering
While Marie cradled her shivering,
shrieking infant, she rounded on Adam once again. “See how you’ve upset this baby!” she spewed
hotly.
“Me?” Adam yelled, his own temper
erupting. “He was just fine ‘til you
made him come out!”
Still perturbed, Marie stalked away and
with Nelly’s help, dried and dressed the baby once again.
“Oh, the joys of family life,” John
chuckled. “Maybe I’ll not be in such a
hurry to go home after all.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed, but he smiled when he
saw he was being teased. “Remember,
brother,” he said saucily, “ladies are made of both sugar and spice.”
“And a little of either goes a long way,”
Ben gave his friend a push as punishment
for his sass. “Hoss, can you go back and
bring all those fish we caught?” he called.
“Sure, Pa,” Hoss grinned. “It’s about time to fry ‘em up, don’t you
reckon?”
“I reckon,” Ben responded with a wink at
Adam. “I reckon Marie needs something to
fry besides your gizzard,” he sniggered.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” Adam alleged,
hanging on, as usual, to his offense, “and I don’t think it did him any.”
Ben put an affectionate arm around his
oldest son. “I don’t think so,
either. All things considered, I’d just
as soon this boy had an early introduction to the water. Less likely to turn out like his other
brother.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Adam said with a
determined nod.
“Don’t tell me you’ve sired a cowardly
landlubber,” John accused gruffly.
“Afraid so,” Ben admitted, obvious
embarrassment in his tone. “I’ve tried
to be patient with Hoss, but he’s terrified in anything over his waist.”
“Toss him in; let him sink or swim,” John
instructed loftily.
“No,” Ben said sharply. “I remember how that method felt, big
brother. I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you
yet for throwing me in the drink.”
“I wouldn’t’ve let you drown,” John
protested.
“I know that now,” Ben replied, “but I’ll
never forget those first few moments of absolute terror. I won’t do that to a boy of mine.”
“Better a moment of fear than a lifetime
of it,” John sputtered defensively.
Seeing Ben bristle,
Suddenly realizing the ridiculous
spectacle they’d been presenting, Ben and John started to laugh, too. “Come on, little brother,” John said. “Let’s see if you remember how I taught you
to clean fish.”
Ben chuckled. “Had more experience lately than you, I’ll
bet.”
John arched an eyebrow and gave his
younger brother a sly smile. “You’re on,
little brother.”
The three boys took charge of gathering
wood and building a fire while the men raced to see who could skin and filet
the most fish. To Ben’s disgruntlement,
John won, as usual. “You forget, little
brother,” John laughed, “that fish are readily had at sea. I’ve had as much experience at cleaning them
as you, my boy——maybe more.”
With a shake of his head, Ben delivered
the trout to the ladies. Nelly was the
expert where frying fish was concerned, Marie’s experience leaning more to gourmet
cuisine, so the older woman dredged the pieces in cornmeal and set them
sizzling while Marie set out the cold items left from the noon meal. Inger sprawled on the pallet alongside Little
Joe and soon fell asleep, having missed her afternoon nap. Klamath curled up at the foot of the pallet
and sniffed the air in anticipation of his share in the feast to come.
While Klamath enjoyed the scraps of the
meal, the human partakers sat dreamily around the fire, reluctant to leave
though each knew they couldn’t afford to stay much longer. Inger cozied up to Ben. “Tell a story, Uncle Ben,” she demanded.
Ben laughed and put an arm around
her. “My stories are likely to seem tame
after the ones John’s been telling my boys.”
“No, I want yours,” Inger insisted. “You tell the best stories.”
Ben gave the strawberry curls a tender
tousle. “I do have one that might fit
the occasion. Learned it from Tuquah
awhile back.” Tuquah was the Washo man
who worked off and on at the Ponderosa.
“It’s about how
“I haven’t heard that one,” Adam said.
“I’ve been saving it,” his father
chuckled. His voice dropped and he
began. “Once upon a time, when the world
was young, a Washo brave was running from the Evil One. He was a strong runner, but the Evil One was
closing in when the Good Spirit appeared and gave the Washo lad the branch of a
magical tree.”
“What made it magic?” Hoss asked, eyes
wide.
“Each leaf had the power to create a body
of water,” his father explained. “If the
Indian boy dropped a leaf when the Evil One drew near, the water would be an
obstacle between them.”
“And he could get away!” Hoss grinned.
“That’s right,” Ben said. “Well, the Washo brave ran harder than ever,
but he was getting tired and the Evil One was catching up. Right here where we’ve been picnicking today
he decided to throw down his first leaf.
He picked one off, but the Evil One was so close, the brave panicked and
instead of dropping the single leaf, he dropped the rest of the branch.”
“Oh, no!” Inger cried. “Did the Evil One get him?”
“No, no,” Ben assured her. “Why, you see what a huge lake that branch
formed, don’t you? It took the Evil One
hours to get around it. The brave ran on
to the west, looking over his shoulder from time to time. Finally, he saw that the Evil One had rounded
the south shore of the new lake and was closing in again.” Ben could feel the little girl shiver against
him, so he hurried to the story’s conclusion.
“The Indian had only one leaf left, so he dropped it. A smaller lake was formed and it took the
Evil One just long enough to go around it that the brave had time to cross the
mountains safely and escape into the valley of the
Inger sighed with relief, but Hoss’s lips
were puckered in thought. “What lake is
that, Pa?” he asked. “The little one, I
mean.”
“It’s called
“I want to go there,” Hoss said eagerly.
“We might sometime,” Ben said. “But now, friends and family, I think it’s
time we packed up and headed for home.”
Everyone groaned, but there was no
argument, not even from the children.
They all knew it would be dark
before they reached the Ponderosa as it was, and everyone except the youngsters
had to be up early Monday morning.
CHAPTER
THREE
|
I |
n the faint light
of dawn’s first rays, Ben and
Adam, on the other hand, was fully alert
as he tossed saddle blanket and saddle on the back of his sorrel mare with
snowy mane and tail. Ben looked up with
surprise when his oldest son led the horse out of the barn. “Where do you think you’re going, young man?”
he demanded, but his voice wasn’t harsh.
Adam generally had a good reason for any actions he took.
“I figured to see Uncle John off,” Adam
replied casually. “That’s all right,
isn’t it?”
Ben smiled. “Yeah, that’s all right. Don’t get many chances, do we, son?”
“No sir, not many,” Adam said, giving his
bulging saddlebag a pat. Not many
chances for what he had in mind once he got to town, either.
Billy leaned close to his friend’s
ear. “What you got planned?” he
whispered. It didn’t seem reasonable to
him for Adam to ride all the way into
“None of your business,” Adam whispered
back, then mounted with a maddening grin.
Billy didn’t have to know everything.
Fortunately, Uncle Clyde could be counted on to keep the mischievous redhead
hard at work at home this morning, so Adam wouldn’t have to put up with any
nosy interference.
Ben, however, remained totally
unsuspecting of Adam’s hidden motive for the early morning ride until they had
separated from the Thomases and gone on to
The girl smiled broadly, her straight,
white teeth gleaming in welcome. “Adam,”
she said. “I did not think you meant to
leave for school so soon.”
Adam shook his head. “No, I’m here a few weeks more. My uncle’s taking the stage back to
“Ah,” the girl responded, then looked demurely at the counter between them. Feminine instinct told her Adam was
deliberately making an opportunity to see her.
“Can you get free?” Adam asked. “I brought something to show you.”
“I will need to stay until the stage
leaves,” Sarah said.
“Me, too,” Adam replied. He’d have to keep up the appearance of being
in town to see Uncle John off, of course.
“Hi, Adam,” giggled a little girl who had
sidled up to him moments before.
Adam gave her a quick glance. “Hi, Lizzie,” he said. Ormsby’s nine-year-old daughter warranted no
great attention in Adam’s eyes. It was clear
from the worshipful gleam in young Lizzie’s brown eyes, however, that Adam
Cartwright was an idol worthy of lasting devotion. She folded her arms on the counter and stared
up at him, hoping he’d throw one more glance her direction.
“We’re in luck,” Ben said to John.
“Aye, only an hour to wait,” John agreed.
“And that’s just about what I’ve got
available,” Ben chuckled.
“You needn’t wait for me, if I’m keeping
you from your work,” John sputtered.
Ben laid a calming hand on his brother’s
shoulder. “Not work exactly. John Reese, who’s sort of a leader
hereabouts, has called a meeting of some of us for ten this morning.”
John raised an eyebrow. “You into government, Ben?”
Ben laughed. “What government? Look, we’ve got time for a cup of
coffee. Why don’t we walk down to Lucky Bill’s
and relax ‘til stage time?”
“So long as we don’t miss it,” John said.
“Not a chance,” Ben chuckled. “We’ll have a front row seat at the
hotel.” He looked around for Adam,
spotting him between two pretty girls, only one of whom seemed to have his
undivided attention. Ben frowned,
suddenly understanding his son’s eagerness to rise early that morning. That
little schemer! Then Ben
shrugged. So what if Adam were attracted
by a pretty face. Normal enough for a
boy his age. Besides, he’d soon be safely
installed in
Adam shot a questioning look at
Sarah. “I’ll ask,” she whispered and
went in search of William Ormsby.
“Naw, I’ll hang around here,” Adam called.
John laughed. “You’re losing him, Ben,” he taunted as the
brothers walked outside.
“Not that way, I’m not,” Ben snorted, “not
at fourteen. Losing him soon in another
way, though. Don’t know how I’ll stand
nine months with him gone.”
John said nothing. Nine months may have seemed long to his
younger brother, but John couldn’t help comparing that short span to the time
he’d been away from his own boy. Not
nine months, but nine years, almost, from the time he’d left home until he’d
get back. Half a lifetime for a
boy. What a fool he’d been to let the
years slide past!
The brothers found a table by the window,
for John felt more anxious than ever to avoid missing the stage, and sipped hot
coffee by the cupful. “Tell me about
this meeting of yours,” John said after the first cup.
Ben shrugged. “Not much to tell. It’s just a preliminary meeting, anyway. We’ve tried for years to establish a real
government for this part of the territory, but everything we’ve worked on has
come to naught.
John laughed. “All right, little brother, we’ll talk of
other things.”
“Like your moving west,” Ben
suggested. “I’m gonna write Martha
myself and add a little brotherly persuasion.”
“A little womanly persuasion might be more
useful,” John mused.
Ben’s head lifted. “Marie?
Yeah, maybe so. I’m sure she’d be
glad to write and give Martha a special invitation to join us out here.”
“Throw in a few words about that grand
house and having your own hired servant,” John suggested, “and maybe Martha
won’t think it’s all uncivilized wilderness out here.”
“Hide the truth, eh?” Ben teased. “Hired servant, indeed! I assure you, brother, it’s Hop Sing who
gives the orders in that house!” The
brothers laughed, for as short as John’s stay had been, he’d had opportunity
enough to understand what Ben meant.
William Ormsby had agreed to Sarah’s
request for a few minutes to talk with Adam, so the boy and girl had walked
across the street to the triangular green area that served as
“Oh, yes,” Sarah cried, eagerly reaching
for the thin volume. She turned it over
in her hands. “Is this all the white man’s
learning?”
Adam laughed. “Not even close, but this book will teach you
the white man’s language——well, English, anyway——then you can read other books
that will teach you anything you want to know.”
“Like those?” Sarah asked, pointing to the
other two volumes in Adam’s hands.
Adam opened the blue-backed speller. “This one goes with the primer,” he
said. “It teaches how to put letters
together in the right order to make words.”
“Ah, good, and the red one?”
“Arithmetic,” Adam explained. “How to count, add and subtract.”
Sarah laughed. “I can count.”
“Yeah, but there’s more,” Adam
insisted. “Anyway, I thought you might
like to borrow the books ‘til school starts.
Then, I’m sure, the Ormsbys will get you your own.”
“I like much,” Sarah said, chocolate eyes
shining. “Thank you, Adam.”
Adam opened the primer to the first page
and began to teach the Indian girl the alphabet. Sarah was a quick learner and before long
could successfully recite the twenty-six letters that would become building
blocks in the white man’s language. Adam
had just started to show her some three-letter words when six horses charged
down
Sarah sprang to her feet. “Oh, I must go!” she cried. “I promised to help if there were
passengers.”
“Yeah, I have to go, too,” Adam said, “to
say good-bye to my uncle.” The two
youngsters joined hands and ran across the street. Adam found his father and uncle standing on
the boardwalk in front of the store and endured a little good-natured ribbing
from both.
“Come give me your farewell, boy,” John
teased, “since that’s why you came to town.”
Adam grinned and willingly wrapped his
arms around his uncle’s broad chest.
Then Ben took his son’s place, holding John in a long embrace. There was mist in both Ben’s brown eyes and
John’s gray ones as they gazed fondly at each other. In each face was mirrored the fear that they
might never meet again, though they hoped differently.
“Write when you’re safely home,” Ben
urged.
“Aye, and you keep the mail service busy,
too, little brother.”
John stepped into the stage, the driver
flicked the six reins, and the horses leaped away. Ben and Adam stood on the street, waving
until the coach faded to a dot in the distance.
Then Ben turned to his son. “Now,
if you have no further business in town, young man, you’ll find your chores
waiting at home.”
“You be home for supper?” Adam asked.
“Should be,” Ben said. “I don’t expect today’s meeting to hold
long. Now, no more dawdling, Adam.. Off with you.”
Adam nodded to show he’d heard and,
gathering the reins of his sorrel, mounted and rode toward the Ponderosa, while
Ben headed toward Gilbert’s Saloon, where the meeting was ready to start.
* * * * *
Later that afternoon Ben walked down to
the garden plot where his two sons were gathering fresh vegetables for the
evening meal. “Adam, come here, son,” he
called from the edge of the garden patch.
Adam carefully made his way across rows of
green beans and around hills of cucumber and squash to meet his father. Hoss hadn’t been called, but he followed
gladly in his brother’s wake, tromping green leaves with almost every step..
“You need me, Pa?” Adam asked.
“Sure do,” Ben said brightly. “Committee wants me to ride up to
“A new territory? That’s exciting, Pa!” Adam exclaimed.
“Me, too, Pa? You want me to go, too?” Hoss pleaded
eagerly.
Ben gave the boy’s chunky shoulder a
consoling pat. “Not this time, Hoss.”
“Aw, Pa,” Hoss wheedled. “I’m as good company as Adam.”
Adam gave his younger brother a hard look,
but Hoss didn’t notice. His imploring
eyes were focused on Ben’s face. The
expression he read there was kinder than
Adam’s, but just as firm. “I said
no, Hoss,” Ben stated. “It’s going to be
a long, hard ride, with little time to spare.”
He reached out to ruffle the boy’s sandy hair. “Besides, I need you to watch out for Mama
and Little Joe while we’re gone.”
Hoss’s lower lip thrust out. He knew perfectly well Pa didn’t really trust
him to take care of his mother and baby brother. That was just the kind of excuse grownups
gave kids to make them feel better about something there was nothing to feel
good about.
The look didn’t escape Ben’s notice. “No pouting,” he ordered gruffly. “Finish picking the vegetables and bring them
up to the house.” He threw an arm around
Adam’s slender shoulders. “You come on
with me. We’ll need to get our gear
ready this evening ‘cause we’re leaving before dawn.”
Leaving Hoss to take out his irritation by
snapping beans off their vine with far more energy than the task required, Ben
and Adam walked toward the house. “Why’d
you want me along, Pa?” the ever curious Adam asked. “You don’t really need me.”
Ben smiled. “Because we don’t have much time left to be
together before you head off for school.
It won’t be much of a trip, I’m afraid.
The mass meeting is scheduled for August 8th, so we’ve got five days to
get there and back.”
“We’ll be pushin’ it,” Adam murmured. “It’s a good ways to
“A good ways,” Ben agreed. “That’s why I couldn’t take Hoss along. He’d slow us down.”
“That’s a fact,” Adam grinned. Hoss was comfortable on a horse now, but he
still preferred a walk to a gallop. “I
guess we’ll be in too much of a hurry to stop by
Ben laughed. “No, no time for a visit with our Paiute
neighbors this time. Why do you care,
though? I thought the only Paiute you
were interested in these days was staying in
The sun was still asleep when Ben and Adam
left the next morning, as was the rest of the household except Hop Sing. Although Ben hadn’t expected it, the
inexhaustible Cantonese had prepared their breakfast and had a substantial
lunch packed, as well.
The two Cartwrights headed north, riding
hard all day, too hard to enjoy much conversation. But when night fell, they made camp and
cooked the beans and bacon they’d packed for the trail. As they sat next to each other, spooning
beans from their tin plates, Ben finally had a chance for the talk he’d been
looking forward to all day. “You getting
excited about leaving, son?”
“Yeah, Pa,” Adam answered. “Not much longer now.”
“Not much longer,” Ben agreed, but his
voice revealed a faint tinge of regret.
“Any qualms, boy?”
Adam looked offended. “I’m not scared, if that’s what you mean.”
Ben chuckled. “Not exactly, but there is a difference
between courage and cockiness, Adam.”
The offense melted from Adam’s
visage. “I know that, Pa,” he said
quietly, “and I think I know the difference.”
“Good,” Ben said. “It’s natural enough for you to see only the
good in going away to school, but there’ll be some rough times, too, son. After all, you’ve never lived away from your
family before, and that can be hard the first time. I remember how lonely I felt when I went to
sea after my parents died. I think
you’ll miss us a bit, as we will you.”
Adam grinned. “I will, Pa; I know that. Especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas and
my birthday, but I’ve already thought it through and decided it’s worth it.”
“I think so, too,” Ben smiled, “and likely
you’ll make new friends who will keep you from pining away from
loneliness. I want you to be sure to
keep in touch with us, however. We can
trust Snowshoe Thompson to get mail to us twice a month, even if the mail stage
can’t get through, so I’ll expect a letter with every post, young man.”
“You’ll get it, Pa,” Adam promised, “and
I’ll be expecting letters from you, too.”
“You’ll get them,” Ben promised in return,
“but I don’t want you to write just to me, Adam.”
Adam’s brow furrowed. “You mean Marie? You want me to write to her separately?”
Ben shook his head, laughing. “Only if you like. I meant your younger brother, Adam.”
“Which one?” Adam teased.
Ben slapped his son’s leg playfully. “I had in mind the one who can read.”
A mischievous glint flashed in Adam’s
black eyes. “Like I said, which one?”
Ben frowned. “Don’t mock your brother, Adam. He’s doing better and will improve even more
quickly if he can look forward to reading mail of his own.”
“I’ll write Hoss, too, Pa,” Adam pledged with
a grin.
Ben smiled then. “You’ll need to keep it simple——and print,
not write——but I think you’ll find it’s worth the effort. You boys have always been close, and writing
to one another will help keep you that way, as it always has you and Jamie Edwards
back in
Adam nodded thoughtfully, then mused, “No
way to keep close to Little Joe, I guess.
You think he’ll even remember me by next spring?”
Ben shook his head. “No, you’ll have to start over with him, I’m
afraid.”
“It’s funny,” Adam yawned, his body
responding to the long day’s ride, “but I never thought I’d want another
brother. Now I think I’m gonna miss
watching him grow. He’ll do a lot of
that this year.”
“Yeah, you’ll miss a lot,” Ben said, but
what he was really thinking was how much he’d miss his oldest son. He took Adam’s plate. “Turn in, son,” he suggested. “We’ve another hard day ahead.”
Through the months he’d spend away Adam
would cherish that trip with his father, the days of steady riding side by side
and the nights of talking around the campfire.
It had been a long time since Adam had spent so many hours alone with
his father. They left him with much to
mull over on lonely days in Sacramento——his father’s hopes and dreams for him,
as well as much advice on handling himself in the new situations he was likely
to encounter. Adam sopped up his
father’s wisdom as thirstily as he had his first lessons in the little primer
he’d loaned the Paiute girl and found it even more useful once that guiding
voice was distant.
The Cartwrights reached
Ben had only one night at home before the
mass meeting began in
Articulate they did, hour upon hour,
grievance upon grievance. No one
disagreed about the problems; the discussions all concerned the best way to
present them to Congress. Even a
visiting Californian, renowned journalist James M. Crane, who was in their area
to collect material for a series of geologic lectures, was asked to address the
meeting. He spoke for over an hour to
rousing applause, for his extensive political experience made him an excellent
orator.
Finally,
the debate culminated with the drafting of a memorial listing their reasons for
requesting separation from the
A vote was taken to determine who would
carry the memorial to Congress. Ben was
pleasantly surprised to find his name suggested, but he politely declined. He didn’t feel he could leave his wife and
young sons alone that long, not when the territory abounded with unattached men
equally qualified. In the end James M.
Crane, who had demonstrated his ability to present their case, was
selected. After that a committee of
twenty-eight was appointed “to manage and superintend all matters necessary and
proper in the premises,” and this time Ben couldn’t talk his way out of
serving, though he suspected the position would carry no real authority unless
and until Congress approved their petition.
* * * * *
Hoss grinned happily as he walked through
the woods beside his brother Adam. Since
Adam was leaving for school in just one week, Ben had made both boys a gift of
that time. “Make some memories,” their
father had said and had released them from all but the most urgent of their
regular chores. For Hoss it was enough
that he’d been set free from the interminable book learning of the summer. Not until school actually started would he
have to do more lessons, his father having finally decided he’d earned a
vacation, however short.
Adam had suggested that they set some
rabbit snares. “I’m in a mood for rabbit
stew,” he’d said, feeling sure no one in
“Yeah, me, too,” Hoss had said agreeably
and had begged Hop Sing to prepare them an extra large lunch to take
along. Hop Sing, as always, had exceeded
even Hoss’s hopes, for the Chinese cook liked to see his family well fed.
Adam stopped to set the first snare. “You watch me close,” he urged Hoss, “so you
can do this yourself once I’m gone.”
Hoss, licking his lips in anticipation of
the tasty rabbits he’d be bringing home, studied Adam’s actions carefully. “I can do that easy,” he said.
Adam stood. “Okay, I’ll let you try setting the next
one.” About ten yards away he stooped to
point out a good spot for Hoss. “Let’s
see you do it, boy.”
Hoss squatted beside his brother and made
the attempt. Adam shook his head. “Close, but he’ll slip that noose easy as a
snake slithers through sand,” he said and showed Hoss how to make his trap cinch
tighter. Hoss tried again at the next
location and won his brother’s smile of approval. “Now you can snare all the rabbits you want
all winter long,” Adam announced.
“Let’s eat,” Hoss suggested.
Adam laughed. “It’s early yet, greedy belly. Let’s set a few more snares.”
“How much rabbit stew you plan on eatin’?”
Hoss scoffed.
Adam laid an instructive hand on his
brother’s shoulder. “You can’t count on
taking one in every snare, little brother.
If we catch more than we need, the men in the bunkhouse will like having
stew, too, and you can always use the pelts.”
Hoss’s face brightened. “Can I have the skin, if we get a rabbit?”
“I don’t have any use for it,” Adam
chuckled. “What do you want one for?”
“To make me a pouch like yours,” Hoss explained
quickly. Adam had made a rabbit skin
pouch in which to store his marbles, and Hoss had eyed it longingly ever since
its creation. “You’d show me how,
wouldn’t you?”
“Sure,” Adam agreed. “The pelt should be good enough for that, but
the best ones for trading can’t be had ‘til later, when the rabbits put on
thicker fur for winter.”
“Tradin’?” Hoss pondered. “What could I trade ‘em for, Adam?”
“Pocket knife, maybe,” Adam suggested, “if
Pa’ll let you have one.”
Hoss shook his head. “Ain’t likely.”
Adam had a different opinion; he figured
Hoss wouldn’t have to bring home many rabbits before Pa decided to teach the
boy to skin them himself and agreed to his having the tool to do it. He’d let Pa and Hoss work that out on their
own, however. In the meantime he offered
an alternative. “Maybe you’d rather keep
them anyway. If you get enough, you
could take them to Aunt Nelly. I bet she
could turn them into a nice Christmas present for Marie or Little Joe.”
Hoss’s toothy grin flashed. “That’d be the best! Somethin’ to keep ‘em good and warm this
winter. That’s a good idea, Adam.”
Adam tousled the youngster’s hair. “You’re welcome to it.”
Hoss’s countenance drooped just a
bit. “I’m gonna miss you, Adam,” he
muttered gruffly.
“You’ve got another brother to take my
place,” Adam laughed.
“He can’t do anything,” Hoss moaned.
Adam chucked the other boy’s pudgy
chin. “Don’t tell me you’re ready to
call him ‘Wet and Wail’ now!”
“No!” Hoss sputtered loyally. “He’s still my Punkin, but I sure wish he’d
take to trottin’.”
Adam shook his head, grinning. “It’ll happen soon enough, take my word, and
then you’ll wish you had a rope to tie him down. I remember how it was with you. Underfoot and into everything.”
Hoss shrugged. He didn’t want to call his older brother a
liar, but he found it hard to believe Little Joe would ever afford the kind of
companionship he enjoyed with Adam. “We
have good times together, you and me,” Hoss said, trying to explain what he was
feeling.
Adam understood. “Yeah, I’ll miss you, too, but I’m gonna be
writing to you and I want you to do the same.”
“Really to me? Just me?” Hoss asked, blue eyes shining.
“Yeah, sometimes just to you,” Adam
promised, genuinely glad his father had made the suggestion when he saw the
pleasure it gave his younger brother.
“You ready for lunch now?”
Hoss was always ready to eat, so he bobbed
his head happily and helped Adam search for the perfect place to spread out the
riches of the basket Hop Sing had packed to overflowing.
CHAPTER
FOUR
|
W |
hen the rap sounded
on the door, Marie, for once, had no desire to race Hop Sing to answer it. She had her hands full——both literally and
figuratively——with her baby son. Nothing
seemed to please Little Joe today.
Hop Sing bustled to the door and opened
it, a warm glow in his almond eyes.
“Missy Laula,” he bubbled. “Missy
Cahtlight be velly happy see you.” He’d
been with the Cartwrights long enough to know their favorite visitors on sight.
Marie came at once to greet her friend,
giving her a soft kiss on the cheek.
“Missy Cahtlight is indeed happy to see you,” she said, “or anyone else
who is not crying.”
Laura Ellis laughed, reaching for Little
Joe. “What’s wrong, little one?” she
cooed, holding him to her shoulder and patting the small, vibrating back.
“Oh, he has been fussy all day,” Marie
sighed. “Hoss and Adam are spending
extra time together this last week, and I think Little Joe misses his
playmates.”
“Acts more like colic to me,” Laura mused,
rubbing Little Joe’s tiny tummy, “but we can try your theory.” She looked down at the dark-eyed
three-year-old standing beside her. “You
want to play with the baby, Jimmy?” she asked sweetly.
Jimmy pulled his finger from his mouth
long enough to mutter “Unh-uh.”
Marie laughed at the embarrassed look on
Laura’s face, then bent over to bring herself to Jimmy’s level. “That’s a good, honest boy,” she said. “How about some of Hop Sing’s cookies,
instead, Jimmy?”
The little boy beamed his response, so
Marie took his hand, led him to the kitchen and delivered him to Hop Sing’s
care. Hop Sing wasn’t overly fond of
little boys in the kitchen and assumed the best way to keep them out of his way
was to give them plenty to eat, so Jimmy soon found himself faced with a pile
of cookies guaranteed to spoil any boy’s dinner.
By the time Marie returned to the front
room, Laura seemed to have soothed Little Joe’s present discomfort. Marie fought down a pang of insecure
jealousy. There were times she felt that
every other woman had better mothering skills than she, but today she was too
grateful for a quiet baby to worry much about whether he was more responsive to
someone else’s touch than to her own.
“I think he’s got a little gas on his
tummy,” Laura said, “but he’s just about cried himself out now.”
Marie nodded and seated herself beside her
friend. “It is so good to see you,” she
said.
“I brought those clothes I’ve been making
for Adam,” Laura replied softly to avoid disturbing the baby, whose eyes were
beginning to blink drowsily.
“You did not need to make a special trip,
or were you in the neighborhood?” Marie giggled.
Laura chuckled. The Ponderosa wasn’t in anyone’s
neighborhood, unless you counted the Mormon ranchers in
Marie looked momentarily puzzled. “The
news was important?” she asked, since her friend didn’t normally deliver the
laundry she did for many of the local miners.
They were always glad to come to her.
Laura nodded gravely as she stood to lay
the sleeping baby in his cradle by the fire.
“I had to tell them of the death of a friend,” she said quietly.
“Oh, I am sorry,” Marie said quickly. “Was it anyone I know?”
“I don’t think so,” Laura answered. “George Brown. He runs——well, ran——the trading post and mail
station at Gravelly Ford on the Humboldt.”
Marie shook her head; neither the man’s
name nor the geographical description had any meaning for her. “Was he a good friend? Are the brothers much grieved?”
Laura gave an almost bitter laugh. “Well, a friend who believes in you when no
one else will is as good a friend as most of us need,” she said cryptically,
“but I’m afraid the Grosch boys were grieving more for the $600 Brown promised
them than for the man himself. Whoever
killed Brown robbed him, too.”
“They need money?” Marie queried. “Perhaps Ben could——”
“No need,” Laura said with a secret
smile. “I’m going to sell some of my
land in
Marie pressed her slender fingers against
her lips to stifle her amused smile, but it just wouldn’t stifle. “You are to be a mine owner? Ah, soon you will no longer be willing to
make clothes for my boys, so rich you will be.”
“Hmph!” Laura snorted with mock
offense. “I might have more chance of
that than you think. The Grosches think
they’ve found——oh, never mind.”
“You are keeping secrets now?” Marie
chided. “Am I not a friend to be
trusted?”
“You are,” Laura smiled, “but I gave my
word to keep this particular secret.”
“Ah, you must, then,” Marie smiled
back. “So I need not worry about the
brothers? You have solved all their
problems?”
Laura sobered quickly. “No, not all, and I’m kind of worried,
Marie. Seems Hosea hit his own foot with
a pick while he was out mining. He was
soaking it in a tub on the porch when I went by, and I didn’t like the look of
it. Looked mighty red to me. I told them they ought to call Dr. Martin,
but they didn’t want to waste money.
Ethan was boiling up a poultice when I left. Hope it does Hosea some good.”
“But you said you would give them money——”
Marie began.
“Ah, my friend, that will be for mining,”
Laura intoned mystically, “and you don’t know the Grosch brothers if you think
they’d touch that.” She stood up. “I’d hoped Adam would be home, so I could
check the fit of his trousers, but it’ll be past dark by the time I get home
now. I spent more time at the Grosches
than I’d planned.”
Marie laid a restraining hand on her
friend’s arm. “You must not think of
leaving now,” she scolded. “Stay the
night, Laura dear. Hoss will be happy to
sleep with Adam, so you and Jimmy may use his bed, and I would like your
opinion on the things I am packing for Adam.”
Laura nodded, easily convinced. “Truth to tell, I’d rather wait ‘til morning
to drive home.”
* * * * *
The day had finally come——the day toward
which Adam had aimed all his yearning hopes, the day his father had dreaded
with equal intensity—the day of Adam’s departure for
From her seat next to him on the
buckboard, Marie turned quizzical eyes to his suddenly merry face, but Ben
didn’t feel required to explain his abrupt change of mood. Adam, who perched, beaming, on his trunk full
of belongs in the back of the wagon, likely wouldn’t appreciate the humor of
his father’s thoughts. No, Ben wouldn’t
spoil the radiance of that countenance with a careless joke.
Hoss’s normally sunny face, however,
looked dismal today. The week he’d spent
making memories with Adam had done them both good, but it seemed to intensify
Hoss’s misery now that he was losing his constant companion of the week before. He was disgruntled, too, that his
hard-hearted father wouldn’t take him along to
The buckboard pulled to a halt along
“See anything you like?” Ben asked, coming
up behind his wife.
Marie smiled and shook her head. Ormsby carried only the most practical of
calicos, and nothing on that table appealed to Marie’s fine sense of
fabric. “Did you get your tickets?”
Ben nodded and, slipping an arm around her
slender waist, drew her out to the porch.
“I wish you were coming,” he whispered in her ear. “You could fill your arms with silks and
satins in
“I have clothes enough,” Marie replied,
“and you know I cannot come with you. I
must see Hoss to school.”
Ben chuckled. “Yeah, he wouldn’t be likely to go without a
shove in the right direction.” He
touched his wife’s smooth cheek with a tender hand. “You’ll be all right,” he assured her. “Enos will handle the men, and you can count
on him for whatever you need at the house.
And there’s always Clyde Thomas.
He’d do anything for you.”
“And you must not forget Hop Sing,” Marie
teased. “He will let no harm come to his
Pondelosa.”
Ben pinched her small nose. Hop Sing’s possessive pretensions weren’t
really a cause for banter; the little Chinese cook took them too seriously
himself for others to discount. But
Marie was probably right. Let anyone so
much as threaten a hair on one of their heads, and he’d have to contend with a
meat-cleaver-wielding Chinaman, a daunting prospect for most felons——or
innocent bystanders, for that matter.
Hoss wandered outside, glum as ever. Seeing the downcast face, Ben stooped and put
his arms around his second son. “Perk up
now,” Ben soothed. “Pa’ll be back before
you know it, and we’ll plan a trip of our own, soon as I can spare the time.”
“Just you and me, honest?” Hoss queried,
excitement edging his voice. Adam had
taken such trips with their father before, but Hoss had always been the
tag-along third when he got to go at all.
If Pa took him by himself, it had to mean Pa thought he was growing up.
“Just you and me,” Ben agreed. “Think about where you’d like to go, son, but
nowhere too far. It’ll have to be on a
weekend, so you won’t miss school.”
Hoss’s chin bobbed up and down quickly,
his mind already running through possible destinations.
Adam joined them, having said his good-byes
to his Paiute friend, just as the stage rolled to a stop at Ormsby’s door. With the help of the stage agent, his trunk
and his father’s carpetbag were soon loaded.
Nothing left then but to say good-bye to those who were staying
behind. Adam took Little Joe and held
him close for a minute. “Gonna miss you,
little fellow,” he whispered, then looked up at Marie. “You, too, ma’am.”
“And I, you,” Marie said softly, placing a
kiss on his cheek as she took Little Joe back.
“I hope the French we learned will be of use to you.”
“It already is,” Adam said. He meant that the lessons had been useful in
drawing him closer to his stepmother, and though he didn’t say that clearly, he
had a feeling she understood. Then Adam
turned to Hoss, who wrapped him in a tight bearhug, holding on as if he meant
to keep his brother there by sheer force.
Adam laughed. “Don’t squeeze me in half, little
brother.” But Hoss didn’t turn loose
until his father spoke his name firmly.
His real name, too——Eric. No
point in either arguing or resisting when Pa went that far. Hoss released his older brother.
As soon as he did, Adam wrapped him in a
return embrace, not as hearty as Hoss’s, of course, because the older boy was
no match for the younger in bodily strength, but Adam’s hug was just as full of
affection. “The first letter’ll be to
you,” Adam promised and felt rewarded by the toothy grin he got in response.
“Best get aboard,” Ben said after giving
Marie a good-bye kiss and planting another on Little Joe’s wispy curls.
“Right,” Adam said brightly and dashed for
the buckboard to get his guitar. Not
trusting it with the rest of the baggage, he planned to carry it all the way to
As the stage pulled out, Hoss turned to
his mother. “Want me to drive home?”
Marie smiled. “Yes, please, but not just yet. First, there is the matter of your pay.”
Hoss cocked his head, not
understanding. He needed no pay for
driving the team. The responsibility was
its own reward.
“Oui,”
Marie replied in answer to his unspoken question, “but I am afraid a penny’s
worth of licorice is all I can afford.
Will that be enough, monsieur driver?”
Hoss gave a happy crow. “Plenty, ma’am. Just the right price for a ticket on my
stage!”
* * * * *
Molly Maguire pushed the door open with a
stout arm, freckled to the elbow beneath her rolled up sleeve. “I’m still sprucin’ up the rooms,” she said,
“but this one’s ready and a fine one for your boy, I’m thinkin’.”
Ben entered, with Adam following, and
looked with satisfaction at the immaculate quarters. Far from being Spartan, snowy curtains framed
the window that looked out on the yard behind and thick comforters graced the
two narrow beds on either side of it.
Next to each bed stood a simple pine chest of drawers and mirrored
washstand and on the wall nearest the door a sturdily crafted desk for each of
the room’s would-be occupants. “This
looks fine,” Ben said, “real homey, even.”
“I try to keep it that way,” Mrs. Maguire
said with a warm smile beneath her freckled nose. “You’re the first one in, school not startin’
for a few days yet, but you’ll soon have company enough, me boy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Adam replied politely. He’d liked Mrs. Maguire on sight; it had been
impossible not to, for she exuded a kind of motherly warmth that made her the
ideal proprietress of a rooming house designed for schoolboys far from home.
“You’re welcome to use the other bed if
you’re stayin’ over a few days,” Molly said to Ben. “No extra charge, unless you take your meals
here.”
“More than fair,” Ben smiled, “and I will
be staying a couple of days, at least.
We may be dining out most of the time, however, a last treat for the
boy, you know.”
Molly Maguire laughed as she flipped her
dark auburn hair across her shoulder. “Most
of the boys think my cookin’s a treat, but your lad will have plenty of time to
sample that. If you’ve no more
questions, I’ll be gettin’ back to me work.
I’ll bring fresh towels soon.”
“No hurry,” Ben assured her. “We’ll be out most of the afternoon.”
As she left, Adam walked across to the
window and looked down into the yard. It
was a small one, but there was a wide swing under a trellis covered with
climbing roses. “Marie’d like that,”
Adam murmured.
Ben gazed over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s real pretty,” he agreed. “I’m glad you have a room at the back of the
house. Should make it quieter for
studying.”
“Yeah, they were right at the school,”
Adam said. “This’ll be a good place to
stay.”
“The best available, they said, and that’s
what I want for my boy.” After enrolling
Adam that morning, Ben had inquired about lodging for his son and been referred
to Molly Maguire, who had opened the rooming house to earn her living after her
husband was killed in a mining dispute two years before.
Adam turned around. “Thanks, Pa,” he said softly.
“For the room?” Ben laughed. “What did you think I’d do, pitch a tent for
you in the schoolyard?”
Adam grinned, picturing the tent in his
mind. “That could get cold, even in
“Well, we have to move our things from the
hotel, of course,” Ben said. “Then
there’s a few errands to be done.”
Adam gave his father an inquiring look,
but Ben just laughed in a way that told Adam he’d get no answer. Pa was a man who liked to spring surprises,
usually good ones, so Adam decided to bide his time and let the day unfold.
They checked out of the hotel they’d
stayed in the night before, brought their things to the boardinghouse, then
went in search of lunch, both ordering vegetable soup and rhubarb pie. “Where to next, Pa?” Adam asked as his father
laid a token tip on the table, the service having been only average.
“Boot store,” Ben said. “I brought a pattern of Hoss’s foot,
remember? And I figure you could use a
new pair to start school with, too.”
Adam gave his father a contented
grin. He knew he’d been right to keep
his mouth shut and just trust the kind of surprises Pa had planned, and the
first one confirmed his decision. After
ordering boots for the boys, Ben turned to Adam on the street. “Don’t even ask where we’re headed next;
you’ll see soon enough.”
Adam grinned and fell into step beside his
father as they walked down
“You, of course,” Ben said. “This is where Marie and Hoss had their
pictures made last year, and I’ve wanted one of you ever since.”
“I’d like having one of you, too, Pa,”
Adam said quietly.
Ben gazed tenderly down at the boy. “Gonna miss your old pa, are you? With all those wonderful new books to
read?” They hadn’t purchased any of
Adam’s required texts yet, but just reading the list had made the boy drool
with anticipation.
“A picture’d help,” Adam pressed, knowing
that he had a good chance of getting his way.
The photographer approached them. “Mr. Beal?” Ben asked and when the man
responded in the affirmative, continued, “A picture of each of us, please, to
remember each other by.”
“I’d never forget you, Pa,” Adam whispered
as the photographer set up the materials needed, “but I’ll treasure the
picture.”
“My pleasure,” Ben smiled, “and I have a
few more tricks up my sleeve, young man.”
Adam knew better than to ask. Take your pleasures one at a time; that was
the way to keep them coming when it was Pa they were coming from. Pa’s tricks that afternoon including a
fitting for a new suit and the purchase of several small items of clothing. The final stop, however, was the biggest
surprise of all.
When Ben first announced that they were
going to the bank, Adam assumed his father needed to draw out some money for
expenses after spending so much on his son, but as they walked toward the
establishment Ben favored, he explained a different purpose. “I’ve tried to provide you with everything
you’ll need while you’re here, Adam, but there may be things I haven’t thought
of or some emergency may arise. If you’re
ill, for instance, I don’t want you to hesitate to call a doctor. I’m going to open an account in your name in
the amount of two hundred dollars.”
Ben smiled as Adam’s mouth gaped in
astonishment. “That should be far in
excess of what you’ll actually need, and I only expect you to use it for
necessities.”
Adam nodded soberly. “I understand, Pa; I won’t touch it unless I
have to.”
Ben rubbed the boy’s neck
affectionately. “I know I can trust you,
Adam, but you should understand that I also consider necessities some things
you might not ordinarily place in that category.”
“Now I don’t understand,” Adam said.
Ben chuckled. “Oh, a night at the theater, perhaps. As long as you choose wisely, I consider that
part of your education and, therefore, necessary.”
“Shakespeare,” Adam chirped happily.
“You can’t go wrong with him,” Ben agreed,
“but I don’t mind your sampling some other playwrights. Just don’t overdo it. About once a month, I’d say, give or take a
play. You’re welcome to dinner out with
your friends once in awhile, too.”
“But don’t overdo it,” Adam grinned. “I won’t have to if Miss Molly’s cooking is
as good as she claims.”
“I’ll be buying you a ledger,” Ben went
on, “and I’ll expect a strict accounting of every penny you spend.”
“It’ll be an honest one,” Adam promised as
they reached the bank.
“Adam,” Ben chided gently, “I wouldn’t
expect anything else from you. Don’t you
think I know my own boy?” Adam flushed
with pleasure at the compliment.
Their banking business completed, the two
Cartwrights again found themselves on the sidewalk. “That should about finish our business for
the day,” Ben said, “unless you can think of something I’ve forgotten.”
“My textbooks?” Adam suggested.
“Oh, no!” Ben hooted. “You’ll get those before I leave, but I will
not have your nose in those books while I’m here. I plan to enjoy you, young man.”
“Dinner, then?” Adam proposed
instead. “I’m getting kind of hungry.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Ben admitted. “Let’s go by a couple of theaters first,
though, and see what’s playing. You
won’t miss those books if you’ve a play to watch, I’ll wager.”
“No sir!” Adam declared, beaming happily.
They headed first for the Forrest Theater
at 2nd and J streets. Adam, always alert
for reading material, found himself glancing in the windows of every store they
passed, reading posted notices of sales and events in the community. Suddenly, he jerked to a stop. “Pa, look!” he cried, staring at a poster
that announced the opening of the California State Agricultural Fair in large
block letters. “Wouldn’t that be a fine
thing to see!”
Ben paused to glance at the notice
attracting his son’s attention. “Not
today,” he laughed. “October 10 through
17, it says.”
“Could——could you call that a necessity?”
Adam asked, a note of wheedling in his tone.
Ben’s eyes brightened. “I’d say so, and maybe not just for you. What would you think if we met you here that
week and went together?”
“Fine,” Adam agreed eagerly, “but who’d
you have in mind?”
“Why, all of us, of course,” Ben
said. “Hoss would have to miss a little
school, but I think the experience would be worth it.”
“But Marie?” Adam queried, his nose
crinkling. “She wouldn’t like it much,
I’m guessing.”
“Oh, I’ll be able to tempt her easily
enough,” Ben chuckled. “She’s been
wanting to get some more things for the house.
And Little Joe’s no problem; Nelly Thomas would gladly look after him
while we’re away.”
“Unh-uh,” Adam declared, head shaking in
vigorous denial. “You don’t know your
own wife if you think she’d leave her precious baby boy with anyone.”
Ben arched an eyebrow, not liking to admit
his son was a sharper judge of character than he. In this instance, however, he had a feeling
Adam was right. Pulling the boy away
from the window, Ben made light of the suggested problem, though. “We’ll just bring him with us then.” The more he mulled the idea, the more he
liked it. Yes, it would be a fine opportunity to let his friends in
Seeing his father lost in thought, Adam grinned, sure he could guess the gist of the thoughts. He was pretty sure, too, that Pa’d have a
harder time convincing Marie than he had any notion as he walked along
CHAPTER
FIVE
|
“P |
a!” Hoss cried
happily as his father rode up to the Ponderosa ranch house. Ben swung down from his bay gelding to accept
his second son’s heartfelt welcome home.
The Ponderosa’s foreman, Enos Montgomery,
who had taken the bay to meet the stage on the evening of Ben’s anticipated
return, grinned and gathered up the gelding’s reins. “I’ll stable your mount, Mr. Cartwright,” he
offered. “You’ll be wanting to see the
missus right away.”
Ben smiled his thanks. “That I will,” he said.
Marie, alerted by the ever vigilant Hop
Sing of her husband’s arrival, glided out the front door as quickly as she
could with a baby in her arms. “Oh,
Ben!” she cried. “I am so glad you are
home again. We have missed you.”
Ben kissed her and took the baby. “And what about you, sweet boy?” he asked,
cuddling the child against his shoulder.
“Did you miss Pa?”
Little Joe responded with a vigorous burp.
Marie giggled. “I just fed him,” she explained.
Ben scowled playfully at his
youngest. “Some welcome you give!” he
snorted, then laughed and held the baby high overhead. “I’m glad to see you, just the same.” Little Joe laughed and kicked his bare feet
energetically.
“Oh, Ben, be careful,” Marie cautioned.
“Marie, my love, you worry too much,” Ben
chided, but he brought the baby down obediently. He needed to stay on Marie’s good side if he
hoped to persuade her to follow his plans for the second week in October. “How’s school?” he asked Hoss as the four
Cartwrights headed inside.
Hoss’s face screwed up piteously. “Plumb awful!” he reported. “Except for recess. I like that fine.”
“Oh, fine!” Ben guffawed.
Hoss frowned. Pa didn’t seem to understand how important it
was that things were going well at recess.
Last year even that brief break had given him no respite from the misery
of school. The taunting of his Mormon
schoolmates had been torture for the boy who, to that time, had considered
everyone his friend——well, everyone except Jewel Larrimore, who remained a safe
distance away in
Hoss trotted to catch his parents and
scooted next to his father on the sofa as soon as Ben sat down. “Pa, I been thinkin’, like you said,” he
began.
“Huh?” Ben responded absently, bending his
face to blow kisses at the baby perched, with support, on his knee.
“I been thinkin’,” Hoss repeated with
strained patience. “About our trip.”
Ben’s large head jerked up. “Oh, yeah, well I’ve had an idea of my own,
Hoss, if you don’t mind Mama and Little Joe coming along, too.”
Hoss’s face fell. “You promised!” he squealed. “Just you and me. You promised, Pa!”
Ben looked genuinely shocked, having never
dreamed that good-natured Hoss would object to a change in plans. “But, son, I think you’d enjoy what I have
planned much more than the little trip I promised you.”
Hoss clearly looked dubious. Marie, certain Ben’s plans were wonderful
before she even heard them, asked the question Hoss wouldn’t. “What have you planned, Benjamin?”
Ben flashed her a grateful——and
hopeful——smile. “A trip to the
California State Agricultural Fair at
Hoss’s face cleared at once, and his blue
eyes brightened. “
“Oh, but no, Ben,” Marie murmured almost
as quickly. “That is not possible, not
for me. I do not even think it wise for
Hoss.”
“Mama,” Hoss whined.
Ben patted his middle boy’s stocky thigh
with a silencing hand and turned his most persuasive smile on his wife. “Why, dearest, there’s no reason in the world
you can’t go.”
“There is this one,” Marie said, brushing
Little Joe’s soft curls.
“No, no,” Ben cooed soothingly. “He won’t be a bit a trouble, though you
could leave him with Nelly Thomas if you’d rather.”
“No!” Marie cried sharply. “He stays with me——always.”
“Fine,” Ben said with a grand attempt at
nonchalance. “We’ll take him with us.”
Marie frowned exquisitely, feeling she had
been tricked and not liking the feeling.
“I have not said I would go,” she declared hotly, “and you may cease
practicing your wiles on me, monsieur.”
Ben shifted Little Joe to his other knee
and took her hand with his now freed one.
“Marie, I would very much like you to come to
“But, Ben, it is such a long journey for a
baby,” Marie protested.
“Not by stage,” Ben argued. “You could ride in comfort, my love, and
cover the distance much more quickly than we have before. Only eighteen hours to
“B—but Little Joe may not be a good
traveler,” she argued, “and you know how loudly he can make his displeasure
known. Would you want to be trapped in
the stage with a screaming baby for eighteen hours?”
It was the one problem Ben hadn’t
foreseen, but he quickly countered her objection. “We won’t know ‘til we try,” he said, “and if
the boy doesn’t do well, you can stay in
For the first time Marie looked as though
she were giving the proposed expedition some thought. “Well, perhaps,” she conceded. “Still, Ben, there is Hoss’s schooling to
consider. He has barely begun, and I
would hate to see him fall behind again.”
Hoss groaned inwardly. School——the one fly in the pudding. Pa’d never let him miss school for anything
as interesting as a trip to
“But what about the
weather?” Marie queried. “Is not
October late to be making a trip to
“It
could be a problem,” Ben admitted. “It
does occasionally snow that early in the Sierras, but the roads aren’t usually
impassible until later. We’ll keep an
eye on the weather, and if there’s the least hint of danger, we won’t go.. I wouldn’t put you or our boys at risk.”
“Well——”
she murmured thoughtfully.
Sure of victory now, Ben beamed
expansively. “Let me tell you what I
thought we could do,” he began. “First,
of course, we’ll stay overnight at
Marie suddenly smiled, clasping her hands
like a happy child. “Oh, yes,” she said
softly. “I would like that.” Then another thought struck her and she
reached eagerly to touch Ben’s cheek. “Mais oui!” she cried.. “We will all be together. Why not a family portrait?”
“Why not, indeed!” Ben enthused. “Then, if the weather seems to be holding, I
thought we might go on down near
“They them folks that gave me the birthday
party that time?” Hoss asked.
Ben pulled him close. “That’s right, son. You’d like to see them again, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Hoss agreed readily,
“especially if they got more ice cream.”
Ben and Marie both laughed. “Oh, Hoss,” Ben chided. “Think of something besides your stomach once
in awhile.”
Hoss gave them a sheepish look. “They’re nice,” he said. “I’d like to see ‘em even without the ice
cream.”
* * * * *
Just two days after Ben arrived home,
breakfast was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. Setting the platter of scrambled eggs on the
table, Hop Sing frowned. Unexpected
guests were not welcome at the breakfast table.
Not by Hop Sing, at least, as he informed the guest in vociferous, and
thoroughly unintelligible, Chinese when he answered the door.
Ben rose quickly to rescue the unknown
caller. “Ethan, come in,” he called when
he saw the tow-headed young man dressed in the traditional red flannel shirt
and denim britches of a miner. “Just in
time for breakfast.”
“Uh, no, thanks,” Ethan Grosch muttered,
twisting his slouch hat between his hands.
“Uh, Mr. Cartwright, I’m looking for work, if you need an extra hand.”
Ben had all the hands he needed, but
something in the young man’s face prevented his making a quick reply. “Mining not going so well, son?” he asked
softly.
Ethan flushed crimson. “Enough to eat on,” he said, “but I’m in need
of extra cash, Mr. Cartwright, enough to pay back what I borrowed to bury my
brother in a decent set of clothes.”
Marie suppressed a shocked outcry, stood
and came quickly toward the two men.
“Oh, Monsieur Grosch, I am most sorry to hear of your loss.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Ethan said quietly,
raising clouded blue eyes to her compassionate face. “Hosea’s beyond the pain of this world, and I
can’t begrudge him the leaving, suffering as he was. I’d like to get my debt paid quickly, though,
Mr. Cartwright. I—I have business in
Ben nodded, appreciating the young man’s
dedication. “I won’t need anyone until
we start roundup in about a week,” Ben confessed. “Be glad to use you then, son, but ranch work
doesn’t pay much. Mind if I ask what you
need?”
“Sixty dollars,” Grosch replied.
“I could loan you that,” Ben offered.
Grosch smiled crookedly. “Wouldn’t that just be trading one debt for
another, sir?”
Ben shrugged and nodded. “Guess so.
Some of the other ranchers in the valley might need help now.”
Ethan shook his head. “I’ve been asking, but it seems no one’s
looking to hire right now. I’ll keep
looking, and if I don’t find anything else, I’ll come back in about a week, if
I may.”
“Glad to have you,” Ben said. “Now, how about that breakfast? I know bachelor cooking, and I’ll wager you
had nothing but biscuits and bacon before you left this morning.”
“Just the biscuits,” Ethan admitted with a
wistful glance at the bountiful breakfast spread for the Cartwrights. “If—if there’s plenty—”
Marie reached to take his hand. “There is plenty; come,” she urged and gently
pulled him toward the table.
After eating, Grosch left to continue his
search for work. “I was sorry to have to
put him off,” Ben said to Marie when the bereaved brother was gone, “but he’d
have quickly realized I didn’t have any real need of him.”
“Of course, he would,” Marie assured him,
then shook her head, frowning. “I do not
understand this need for money, though, Ben.
Surely, he need not work here for money, for Laura Ellis has promised him
some.”
“Just another debt to be paid, my love,”
Ben pointed out with only half a smile.
“No, you do not understand,” Marie
insisted. “The brothers are making Laura
a partner in their claim. I do not know
how much she was to give, but, surely, Ethan is free to use it as his own.”
Ben disagreed. “He’d see that money as an investment, Marie,
and, therefore, off limits to his personal use.
At least, that’s how I’d see it, and I’ve always felt the Grosch
brothers were honorable men.”
“Honor is a fine quality, mon mari,” Marie said, “but I have seen
it cost men their lives.”
Ben took her hand and held it to his
lips. “This isn’t
Marie nodded, saying nothing, but she
continued to feel uneasy about Ethan Grosch and the price he might yet pay for
honor.
* * * * *
The news arrived in
“What occasion?” Ben asked.
Before
“Well, they done quit layin’
at a proper time for celebratin’, anyhow,”
“Celebrating what?” Ben demanded.
“Why, gettin’ shed of another nest of
Mormons,”
“Marie, come help me set the chicken to
fryin’,” Nelly suggested, “and leave these men to their foolishness.” Marie stood readily, taking Nelly’s rare
request for help in the kitchen to mean that she wanted to share the news in
her own way.
Ben had no difficulty finding the article
that had
Ben tossed the paper down. “You think this is a cause for celebration?”
he asked tersely. “If the Mormons answer
this call, it’ll depopulate the valley, man!”
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,”
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “You know better. The man’s a law unto himself, considers
himself governor of the territory by divine appointment and——”
“And every one of them so-called “saints”
follows him around like a feeble-minded sheep,”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “Not quite all, but I agree most of his flock
considers his word a law that supercedes the law of the land.”
“Right!”
Ben pushed the finger away. “You’re not thinking,
“We’ll form our own territory,”
Ben shook his head in disbelief at the
other man’s naiveté. “You can kiss the
That remark effectively dampened
Nelly called everyone to dinner, but
though the chicken was crisp and savory, Ben had no appetite for it. He couldn’t help wondering how many settlers
would return to
* * * * *
Over the next three weeks it became clear
that, as Ben had feared, the settlements on the eastern side of the Sierras
were going to experience a dramatic drop in population. Some of the Mormons, taking Brigham Young’s
order as an urgent call to arms, headed out almost immediately, abandoning
their ranches and taking time only to load a wagon with their families, a few
personal possessions and all the ammunition they had available. Most, however, made more prudent preparation
for the long journey and took more provident care of their possessions. With more sellers than buyers in the
territory, the market was glutted with property for sale, and the prices
dropped far below the previously perceived value of the land. Even so, few of those remaining in
Ben couldn’t resist casting a hungry eye
on the ranches in
Marie looked pensive. “I do not understand, Ben. What sacrifice?”
“No genuine hardship, I promise,” Ben said
firmly. “I won’t stretch our finances
that thin, but it could mean foregoing some of the finer things.”
“Like our trip to
Ben smiled. “No, we’ll still manage that. Adam and Hoss are both looking forward to the
fair, but you might have to be more circumspect in your purchases.”
“Oh, if that is all,” Marie laughed, “it
is no great hardship. I did not marry
you for your money, Benjamin.”
Ben cast a rebuking glance at her teasing
face. Though he’d considered himself
prosperous when he met her in
Marie sobered instantly, fearing she had
given offense. “I don’t quite
understand, Ben,” she said quietly. “If
they are abandoning the land, what need will you have of money?”
Ben took her hand, the gesture a plea for
understanding. “I can’t just take it,
Marie. Call me foolish if you like——I’m
sure I’ll hear it from others——but I can’t take a man’s property, hewn out of a
hard land, and give him nothing in return.
I can’t afford to pay the real value of the land——at least, what it was
before this crisis——but the little that’s being asked now I will pay, even if I
have to pay it out over time. I couldn’t
call the land my own if I didn’t.”
“I understand,” Marie said, pressing his
hand to assure him of her support. “With
you, it is a matter of honor.”
Ben grimaced, recalling her recent remarks
about Ethan Grosch’s sense of honor.
“Marie, my love,” he vowed, “you need never fear that I would place my
honor above either you or our sons.”
Marie snuggled close to him. “I have feared nothing since that morning in
The word spread quickly. Once the Mormon ranchers learned someone was
willing to pay actual cash for their property, Ben found himself besieged with
more offers than he could possibly afford.
True to his word to Marie, he used his available funds cautiously,
refusing to consider any properties that did not border the Ponderosa. Several hopeful sellers left disappointed,
but unable to argue with Ben’s reasons for declining their offers.
Late one afternoon Ben caught his breath
in anticipation when Hop Sing ushered the Cartwrights’ closest neighbor into
the front room. If there was a piece of
property Ben coveted above all others, it was the one belonging to Alex
Cowan. “Alex, good to see you,” Ben
greeted him heartily——a shade too heartily, he scolded himself the minute the
words were out.
“And you, Cartwright,” Cowan responded.
Ben spread a welcoming hand toward the
fireplace. “Have a seat, please.. Getting chilly out these evenings.”
“Aye, it is that,” Cowan replied, taking
the seat nearest the fire.
Ben settled onto the sofa, close to the
other man. “You didn’t bring Eilley with
you?”
“No,” the Mormon answered tersely, almost
biting the word off half-said. “I’ll
come straight to the point, Cartwright.
I’ve heard you’re in the market for land in
“I’m trying to,” Ben said, working saliva
into his suddenly dry mouth. “Are you
planning to leave the valley, then?”
“I am,” Cowan said, his face grim. “No true Saint would refuse our leader’s
call.”
“You’ve been a good neighbor,” Ben said
quietly, “the kind I’ll hate to lose, but I’ll be honest with you. There’s not a piece of property I’d be more
interested in buying than yours.”
“It’s not for sale,” the Mormon muttered.
Ben’s brow furrowed. What on earth had brought the man here if he
didn’t want to sell his property?
“What I was wondering,” Cowan explained
quickly, seeing Ben’s bewilderment, “is whether you’d like to lease my land.”
“Lease?” Ben queried. “You’re planning to return, then?” Ben had heard that some of the Mormons were offering
to rent their land in the hope that, once the immediate crisis ended, they
could come west again. Foolish hope for
most since, if they returned at all, they’d probably find their property
already occupied.
Cowan, however, shook his head. “Not likely,” he said, his face taut with
stubborn pride, “but my wife refuses to return to
Ben pressed his mouth shut, not daring to
make a comment on the Cowans’ marital discord.
“She’ll be staying on at the ranch, then,?”
Cowan nodded. “I can’t, of course, sell the property out
from under her. She’ll need the cabin to
live in, but she won’t be farming or running cattle, so the pastures are
available if you need extra grazing land.
I’d like Eilley to have a little outside income she can count on.”
“I see.”
Ben fought to keep the disappointment from his face. He’d have gladly purchased the property
outright, but with all the cash he’d expended lately, it would be some time
before he could afford to fully stock the pastures he already owned. He had no reason to lease more, but he hated
the thought of anyone else’s using that particular plot of land, so close to
the Ponderosa. And, perhaps, if Cowan
later decided to sell, he’d be in a better position to bargain for the land if
he held it on lease.
Ben made a quick decision. “I’m interested, Alex,” he said, “but I’ve
bought so much this last week or so that I couldn’t afford to pay much to lease
property I may not need for some time to come.”
“I won’t ask much,” Cowan stated
bluntly. “You know as well as I there
aren’t likely to be other offers.”
“No,” Ben replied honestly, “but I have no
desire to hold your feet to the fire just because I know that.”
“I’m sure we can come to terms, then,”
Cowan said, and after brief negotiation Ben found himself in possession of a
lease on his favorite property with an option to buy should Cowan or his wife
later decide to put it on the market.
* * * * *
A haze of purple splashed the sky when Ben
rode into
He rode to the head of the line and paused
at the wagon of each person he knew to give them his best wishes for a safe
trip. He offered his prayers, too,
though he wasn’t sure these “saints” would value the prayers of a mere
“gentile.” No matter. God, Ben was sure, would.
Whatever they may have thought of his
prayers, however, the Mormons seemed to appreciate his gesture in seeing them
off. Few of those remaining in the
valley had thought it worth their time to venture out this morning, though Ben
could see John Reese and his nephew Stephen Kinsey standing opposite him. Kinsey had a notepad in hand and was jotting
down something. Ben smiled. Notes for an article in the Scorpion, of course. After all, this was about the most newsworthy
event the territory had seen in quite some time.
Seeing Kinsey apparently counting the
wagons as they rolled past, Ben began to keep his own tally as he said farewell
to others down the line. When he reached
the last one, he turned and rode back toward Reese and Kinsey. “I count one hundred twenty-three,” he
offered.
“Matches my count,” Kinsey said with a
smile. “Glad of the confirmation,
Cartwright.”
“Welcome,” Ben said. “Any tally on the number of people?”
“Not as precise,” Kinsey admitted, “but
around four hundred fifty.”
Ben whistled. “Big loss to the valley.”
“Huge,” Reese grunted. “Only about two hundred of us left now,
thanks to Brigham Young’s infernal interference, and I suppose you know what
that means, Cartwright.”
“No
“We still have our Committee of
Twenty-eight,” Reese insisted.
Ben shook his head. Reese had to know, as he did himself, that
the Committee couldn’t function effectively without real governmental authority
behind it, but neither man wanted to voice the grim reality. Ben tipped his hat in farewell and rode
northeast. He’d managed to sneak out of
the house before Hop Sing caught him that morning, so he’d had no
breakfast. Hungry now, he knew he could
count on Nelly Thomas to offer him a plate of her best, so he aimed his bay
toward the Thomas cabin on the shores of the
He found, as always, a hearty welcome from
Nelly and a snickering one from
Ben scowled at his friend, who, of course,
knew better than to question Hop Sing’s breakfasts, having eaten that meal at
the Ponderosa himself. “I’ve been seeing
off our Mormon friends,” he admitted and waited for the sparks sure to fly..
“Your friends, maybe,”
“Snakes is what
he calls ‘em,” Billy chuckled, slopping a sizable pool of sausage gravy over
his biscuits.
“Mind your tongue, boy,” his mother
cautioned as she spread plum jam on little Inger’s biscuit. “I never heard your pa speak such language,
even of Mormons.”
“Pa speaks all kinds of language you never
hear, Ma,” Billy snickered and ducked the exasperated cuff she aimed toward his
ear. A good thing, too, for Nelly had
forgotten the jam-smeared knife was still in her hand. She missed his ear, but Billy’s tangled red
tresses sported dollops of sticky purple.
Ben smiled wryly.
“Marie busy gettin’ packed up for your
trip?” Nelly asked, grabbing up a napkin to repair the damage to Billy’s hair.
Ben leaped at the welcome change of
subject. “Yeah, she’s started, although
we don’t leave for two weeks. I didn’t
realize what a major expedition I was suggesting when I mentioned taking Little
Joe along. A whole carpetbag just for
diapers!”
Nelly laughed. “You know you can leave him here, if you’re a
mind.”
“You know I can’t,” he replied with a significant arch of his eyebrow, and they
all laughed at the intended joke at Marie’s expense.
“Tell Marta I’ll be over her way a couple
of days after you pass through,” Billy grinned.
“We got to pick up supplies for the winter.”
“Marta?” Ben chuckled, tossing a wink at
Billy’s father. “I thought it was Sally
Martin you were sparking.”
Billy shrugged. “Yeah, when I’m here, but there’s other
daisies in other fields.”
Ben roared with laughter. “Billy, my boy, we’d send you to sea, except
you’d leave a broken heart in every port.”
Billy figured he knew just how to get back
at Ben. “I reckon Adam’s sniffin’ a few
daisies in
CHAPTER
SIX
|
T |
he sun shone
brightly as Ben turned his team toward the Thomas cabin by the
“I thought we might beg a meal,” Ben
chuckled. “Should be close to
“It will be,” Hoss said. He’d never seen Aunt Nelly turn down a
request for food.
“I’m sure it will be,” Ben smiled, “but
it’s only fair to give the cook some warning.”
“Yeah, maybe she’ll bake a pie,” Hoss
bubbled.
“Oh, Hoss,” Ben laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”
Clyde Thomas exited from his trading post
and gave Ben a wave. “Didn’t expect to
see you here of a weekday. What’s up?”
“Just going in to the sawmill for a load
of lumber,” Ben replied as he climbed off the buckboard. “Gonna build a birthing barn.”
“Should have got it the other day, when
you was seein’ them Mormons off, saved yourself a trip,”
“Didn’t want to be slowed down by a wagon
that day and you know it,” Ben muttered back.
“I just stopped by to ask Nelly if we could take lunch with you.”
“You don’t have to ask that,”
“We was hopin’
Aunt Nelly’d bake a pie, if we gave her warnin’,” Hoss declared.
“Hoss!” Ben exclaimed.
“Yes, sir!” Hoss
cried and ran for the cabin.
“I did not ask for pie,” Ben protested.
“Good.
More for me and Hoss,”
“Reese’ll help load it,” Ben said, “and I
wouldn’t want to take you away from your trade.”
“Provisions getting low,
huh?”
“Yeah, always do this time of year.”
Ben chuckled. “That’s why I buy mine in bulk when they’re
plentiful.”
“Sure did,” Ben agreed.
Although Hoss had been looking forward to
the trip to
They turned off
Ormsby was standing on the wood slat
porch, trying to address the crowd, but Ben couldn’t hear what the merchant was
saying for the noise of those milling the street.
“Looks like trouble,”
“I think we’d better,” Ben replied as he
reined the team to a halt. He and
“Couple of dead bodies found out in the
mountains,” the man said.
Ben’s countenance grew grave. “Have they been identified? Any idea how it happened?”
“Yeah, it’s them traders from east of
here, John McMarlin and James Williams,” the man replied, “and it was injuns
done it; them bodies was full of arrows.”
Pained, Ben closed his eyes. “Paiute or Washo?”
The man shrugged. “Nobody knows. Ormsby’s tryin’ to line up volunteers to go
after the bodies, but I ain’t about to head into them hills if there’s injuns
on the warpath.”
“I ain’t scared of injuns,”
“Think I could borrow Billy’s?” Ben asked.
“What about that load of lumber?”
“Hoss can drive it back to the Ponderosa,”
Ben replied. “If we’ve got Indian
problems, I want to know it sooner, rather than later.”
“Yeah, let’s see Ormsby,”
“Glad to have you,” Ormsby responded to
their offer of help. “Some of these
folks are ready to fly off the handle and charge into Winnemucca’s camp. Maybe you can help calm them down.”
Ben said nothing, but he doubted he could
have much effect on the crowd. He’d had
too many people yell “Indian lover” at him to feel he had enough influence to
counter fear fueled by accusations of Indian attack.
The force of that fear was indicated by
the number of men in the party, thirty in all.
For safety’s sake, Ormsby had refused to leave until the group reached
that size. They came upon the bodies,
just before darkness descended, beside a steep, switch-backed trail. Evidently, McMarlin and Williams had made
their first overnight camp here, and the rescuers did the same, eager to make
an early start back to
“Injuns
wouldn’t have no use for money,”
The summons
itself was an insult and, if improperly framed, might only exacerbate the
conflict. Feeling that he, of them all,
was the most likely to approach the Paiute leader with respect and persuade him
to come to
“Someone’s got to do it,” Ben muttered. “Do you know any man better suited to the job?”
As Ben rode
into the Paiute camp at
As he approached the central karnee, Winnemucca walked out and stood tall in the doorway. “You are welcome, Ben Cartwright,” the Paiute chief stated with dignity.
“It’s good to see you again, Poito,” Ben replied, using the name by which he had first known the Paiute. He wanted to emphasize their long-standing friendship as a preparation for the unpleasant words he would have to speak later. “Have you been in good health, my friend?”
Poito grunted, nodding toward the karnee. Ben nodded in acceptance and entered the Indian’s home, sitting with crossed legs on the ground. “I hope also to visit with Captain Truckee before I leave,” Ben began. “Is he also in good health?”
“He grows weak with the years of his journey,” the Paiute replied, “but he has strength to travel a few moons more. He will be glad you come.”
“Yes, Captain Truckee was always a good friend,” Ben commented, “and I have counted that friendship a privilege.” Unlike his father-in-law, Poito had less trust of the white man, though Ben was an exception, having years before saved the life of the chief’s son.
“I see your people are preparing for winter,” Ben continued. Though the words seemed like idle conversation when he’d come on so grave an errand, he knew it was important that he follow all the courtesies of a visit between friends.
Poito nodded. “It will be a hard time, with so many white men taking the wild game.”
Ben took the thinly veiled hint. “I can spare a few head of cattle to help my friends through the hard time,” he offered. He thought the beef a small price to pay for continued friendship with these potentially violent neighbors.
When Poito dipped his chin in acknowledgement of the gift, Ben took a deep breath, readying himself for the difficult words he must say next. “I have come to you as a friend, Poito, but what I have come to say is most serious. Would it not be well if we smoked together before we have words, so that we may look into each other’s faces and read each other’s hearts?”
Poito grunted his acceptance, then waited for Ben to offer a gift of
tobacco, as he usually did. It was a
breach of courtesy Ben regretted, but he hadn’t taken tobacco with him to
After sharing the pipe, Ben came straight to the point. “Poito, two men have been found dead in the mountains.”
“Many fools cross mountains,” Poito grunted.
“Yes,” Ben agreed, “but it was not the mountains that killed these men. Many arrows pierced their bodies.”
Poito immediately understood the unspoken accusation. “Not Paiute arrows,” he alleged.
“I believe my friend,” Ben said quickly, “but there are those whose fear clouds their reason.”
“Would I make war while my daughters live in the white man’s camp?” Poito asked, the curl of his lip emphasizing the four-inch bone worn through his nose, which made him look ferocious, although Ben knew him to be peace-loving unless provoked.
“No, you would
not,” Ben agreed. “I bring a message
from the man with whom they live.
William Ormsby asks that you come to
Poito drew himself up, holding his spine rigid. “No, I do not go to the white man’s camp.”
Ben leaned
forward, ready to plead for the chief’s cooperation, but Poito held up a
silencing hand. “
“Good,” Ben said, breathing more easily. It was a good compromise: it avoided the possibility of insult to the chief, but provided able representatives in his son and the warrior the whites called the Young Winnemucca.
* * * * *
Hearing hoofbeats thunder into the yard, Marie rushed out the front door. As she had hoped, Ben was vaulting off Billy’s roan, quickly encircling her in his arms. She hadn’t, however, expected the entourage he brought with him and could barely conceal her alarm. “Ben, what——”
Ben held a finger to her lips.
“Pa!” Hoss yelled, running out of the barn. The he stopped abruptly and, like his mother, stared anxiously at the dark-skinned visitors. Hoss was old enough to have picked up the tension when his father and Uncle Clyde came back from town, and though he’d never been fearful of Paiutes before, he regarded them warily now.
Ben smiled persuasively at his wife. “I’ve brought some guests for dinner.”
“Some!” she whispered anxiously. “Ben, there must be a hundred of them!”
“I hadn’t
counted,” Ben said wryly. Evidently
intending to make an impression on the white population, Winnemucca had sent a
hundred warriors with his official envoys.
“
“Do you wish to tell Hop Sing this?” Marie hissed in his ear.
“You’re in charge of the kitchen,” Ben replied slyly. “You tell him.”
“Coward,” Marie accused and, ordering Hoss to come with her, hurried inside.
By the time
the guests entered, Marie had managed to compose both herself and, by some
miracle, the Chinese cook.
“We will have café soon,” Marie said graciously, though she carefully placed herself between the Indians and her children. At her orders, Hoss had already posted himself protectively in front of the cradle, where Little Joe lay sleeping.
“Thank you, my love,” Ben said. When the coffee arrived, the Indians cautiously sipped the unfamiliar brew, then began to drink with noisy, appreciative slurps.
Hop Sing’s eyes flicked this way and that, like a watchful snake, as he placed the food on the table. At Marie’s instruction, he served Hoss in the kitchen, and though he would normally have hovered around the table to make sure everyone was giving proper attention to the meal, Hop Sing seemed content to stay in the kitchen tonight. He absolutely refused to carry the platters of sliced beef outside to the other Indians, so Ben delegated the task to Hoss, an action which earned him a barrage of abuse once Marie had him alone in their bedroom.
After being placated with kisses, Marie huddled close to Ben’s side beneath the covers. “I fear for you, Ben,” she whispered. “If all does not go well, it is you who will be blamed——by both sides.”
“Then you’d better pray that everything goes well,” Ben said lightly, brushing her golden hair with another kiss.
“I am serious, Ben,” she rebuked.
“I know,” he murmured, “and it is a serious matter, but there’s no sense in borrowing trouble. I do think you should keep the children close to the house until everything’s settled, though.”
“Mais oui. There was no need to tell me that, mon amour! When you bring Indians to sleep at our doorstep,
you may be certain that I will keep our children safe inside.” Though Ben had offered
“Yeah, but I meant even after I’m gone,” Ben continued, “until we know which way the wind is blowing.”
Emerald eyes glistening, Marie nodded, then laid her head on his shoulder. She remained in his arms throughout the night, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Ears stretched for the faintest sound of movement that might be a moccasin creeping up the stairs, she herself could not sleep. Like Hop Sing, she eagerly anticipated the unexpected guests’ departure from the Ponderosa, but she dreaded it, as well, for Ben would be riding with them, into dangers her active imagination painted in lurid colors.
* * * * *
Since the
Paiutes had made it clear that they preferred to enter town without an escort,
Ben rode into
“Young Winnemucca, the war chief?” Ormsby asked, black brows meeting. “That doesn’t bode well.”
“It needn’t bode ill,” Ben said stiffly, “but I’d advise you to treat them with respect.”
“I don’t need your advice on handling Indians, Cartwright,” Ormsby declared. “I know the Paiutes as well as you. I have two living in my house, remember?”
Ben thought there was considerable difference between two young Paiute maidens and one hundred stalwart warriors, but he shrugged, unwilling to dispute the point. “They’re not coming alone,” he warned.
“War party?”
Ben shook his head. “A display of strength, perhaps, but they come in peace.”
“Well and good, then,” Ormsby announced. “We’ll get to the bottom of these killings quickly.”
Knowing
“They’re honorable people!” Ben snapped.
“To a point,”
“Well, my parlor is past that point,” Nelly muttered. “Don’t you be expectin’ me to invite ‘em in here for a cup of coffee, Ben Cartwright. I’ll just bet Marie was fit to be tied when you paraded them redskins into her front room!”
“Fit to tie me would be more like it,” Ben chuckled. “I won’t invite the Paiutes in for coffee, Nelly, but you’ll offer me a cup, at least, won’t you?”
“Lands, yes!” Nelly exclaimed. “Should have done that first thing. She poured him a cup, then asked, “Did you have your breakfast ‘fore you left?”
“Yeah, a hurried one,” Ben said. “Don’t really have time to eat now, though.”
“Well, you stop back by here when it’s all over,” Nelly urged.
“Got no more
time for jawin’, woman,”
The two men
reached town shortly before the Paiutes made their entrance. With
Numaga swung gracefully from his paint pony to stand before William Ormsby. Behind the merchant, Sarah and Elma Winnemucca flanked Mrs. Ormsby, the two girls obviously interested in the discussion about to take place. Without any inquiry about the health or welfare of the older Winnemucca or Captain Truckee, without even the courtesy of smoking together, Ormsby displayed an arrow taken from the body of one of the white men and demanded that Numaga identify its origin.
Ben gasped at the abruptness of Ormsby’s behavior and chided himself for not being more specific in his request for respectful treatment of the Paiutes. He’d assumed, with the two Winnemucca girls in his household, Ormsby would know the proper ritual to follow, but the man was obviously either ignorant or unconcerned.
Though Numaga certainly saw Ormsby’s manner as discourteous, he maintained his dignity. “Arrow is not Paiute,” he stated. “Is Washo..”
“I accept your word, Numaga,” Ormsby said, “but to demonstrate to all that the Paiutes bear no guilt in this matter, I ask you to go to the Washo chief and instruct him to turn those responsible over to us for judgement. You may assure the chief the men will be treated fairly, as any white man.”
Ben saw Numaga’s six-foot frame stiffen, his face grow hard, and Ben felt his own muscles tighten. Though Ormsby had claimed to know the Paiutes, this one request revealed how shallow was that knowledge. The Paiute and the Washo were traditional enemies, only at peace now because the harshness of the environment made the war for survival take precedence over tribal rivalry. To ask a Paiute to deliver such a message to a Washo was the grossest insult Ben could imagine, but the damage was done. The words could not be unsaid.
Ben expected Numaga to refuse haughtily, but the Paiute war chief, obviously anxious to preserve peace with the white men, agreed to send five warriors to Captain Jim of the Washo tribe. The rest of the Paiutes would remain in town until the matter was settled Numaga, eagle-like nose raised regally, informed the white merchant.
“Don’t much
cotton to havin’ them savages camp out in town,”
“Yeah,” Ben said. “So long as we don’t make them skittish,” he added, meaning the Paiutes.
“You’re aimin’
to head back to the Ponderosa I reckon,”
It was clear
to Ben that
“Oh,
“I mean it. I’d rather see ‘em dead than squaw to some red devil.”
“You know I’d do all I could to keep them from harm,” Ben assured him, “but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.” If Clyde was asking him to take the lives of Nelly and Inger to prevent their disgrace, that was a promise Ben wasn’t sure he could carry out, but he’d do his best to see Clyde’s wife and daughter were not taken captive.
The Paiutes scattered throughout town, picketing their horses and unpacking supplies on any vacant spot they found. They dug fire pits and sat huddled around them throughout a frosty afternoon. As darkness fell, the fires were visible, even a mile away as a jittery Nelly called her family and Ben to supper. She, however, merely pushed her food around her plate with a fork. “Don’t reckon I’ll sleep a wink tonight,” she muttered, laying the fork aside.
“Me, neither,” Inger whimpered.
“Aw, there ain’t nothin’ to be scared of, Ma,” Billy soothed, shoveling in boiled carrots as though not getting enough were the greatest danger facing him. “You got three men here to protect you.”
“Don’t give
yourself airs, boy,”
Billy jerked his chair back and stood abruptly. “Doggone it, Pa, I’m fifteen. I carry my own weight around the place, and I reckon if it did come to fightin’ injuns, I could shoot as straight as you.” The boy tossed his napkin to the table and stalked out.
“I swear,”
“He’s not a
boy,
“You bein’ an
expert, I reckon,”
“No,” Ben chuckled. “I’ve seen the same symptoms in Adam, that’s all, and he’s a year younger. And I suspect, old friend, if you and I could remember our own feelings at that age, they’d be no different.”
Billy, who rarely stayed angry for long, burst back in. “Hey, there’s somethin’ goin’ on in town,” he reported.
“Injuns?” his father asked, getting up. Nelly’s hand flew to her throat and Inger leaned close to her mother.
“Yeah,” Billy replied. “Looks like they’re building a big fire. Figured you and Uncle Ben might want a look see.”
“Now, Billy, you come back here and finish your dinner,” his mother ordered.
“I ain’t hungry,” Billy said, turning away.
“Billy, you mind what I say!” Nelly protested, voice quavering.
They all headed to the center of town, where residents of
Nelly, holding
tight to Inger’s hand, slipped to
“Maybe,”
Billy looked back over his shoulder and grinned. It was the first time he’d ever heard his pa call him a man and it felt good.
The white spectators watched the dance in almost total silence. Then, as the thudding footsteps ended, the wailing of coyotes accented the eeriness of the night. William Ormsby stepped into the fire’s dwindling light, and said, as a host might at the conclusion of a dress ball, “We will sing the Star-Spangled Banner.”
Ben gave a
short laugh, for it seemed a strange way to conclude an Indian ceremony. As the citizens began to sing, however, he
realized Ormsby had made a wise suggestion.
The patriotic music seemed to remind the men and women of
* * * * *
As Ben stepped out of the cabin early the next morning, the crisp air made his cheeks tingle. Each morning seemed colder than the last, but so far there’d been no bad weather. Ben didn’t want to be caught away from home with a storm on the way, so he was glad to see the clear, almost cloudless, sky.
No one else
was awake yet. He,
When Ben reentered the house, Nelly was in the parlor. “Everything’s quiet,” he assured her.
Nelly
nodded. “
Ben shook his head. “Don’t go to extra trouble; I can wait for them.”
Though she normally would have insisted on serving her guest, Nelly sat on the sofa, seeming satisfied to cook only once. “When you reckon them other injuns’ll get back?”
Ben shrugged. “Hard to say. Depends on how much argument the Washos put up. Should be today, though.”
“Can’t be soon enough for me,” Nelly murmured.
Ben understood
her eagerness to have the Indians out of town and was glad she didn’t have long
to wait. Before
Ben,
Captain Jim spoke slowly, as if measuring every word. “You ask me if these are my people’s arrows. I say yes.” Murmurs began to ripple through the crowd behind Ben. Clearly, they felt the response constituted an admission of guilt.
“You must bring the men responsible——and all the money——and they will not be hurt and all will be right,” Ormsby announced.
“I know my
people have not killed the men,” Captain Jim protested, “because none of my men
have been away. We are all at
Numaga stepped
forward, regarding Captain Jim with unwavering black eyes. “You must bring the men within ten days or
the Paiute will fight at the side of our white friends.” The statement amazed Ben. Was Numaga so fearful of arousing the white
population that he had become their advocate?
From the expressions he saw on their faces, he was sure
In previous battles the Paiute had subjugated the Washo, even denying them the privilege of riding horses, so Ben was not surprised to see Captain Jim give in to the threat. With eyes downcast, the Washo leader agreed to bring in the guilty parties within the time specified.
“Looks like
we’re gonna see justice done after all,”
Ben didn’t respond. He couldn’t get away from the look on Captain Jim’s face when he first denied knowledge of the killings. He’d looked completely believable. Perhaps, however, the chief didn’t really know the whereabouts of all his braves. Ben certainly couldn’t account for the moment-by-moment movements of his hired hands, and they were far fewer in number than the Washos. Perhaps further investigation would produce the guilty men. For the time being, there was nothing Ben could do, so he returned to the Ponderosa to calm the fears of his wife.
* * * * *
On the seventh morning after Ben’s departure, a slight figure slipped out of his house and headed toward the Ponderosa under an ebony sky. The boy rode hard, harder than was wise in the dim light of the waning moon, but the luck of youth rode with him, and he arrived without incident.
Billy flung himself from his roan and ran to the front door, pounding it loudly. When there was no response, he ran to the south side of the house. Grabbing a pine cone, he tossed it at the window he knew was Ben and Marie’s. “With my luck, the only one who’ll wake up is that baby,” Billy muttered, his breath condensing in white puffs. Then he grinned. Waking Little Joe was probably the surest way to get the others out of bed anyway. Should have aimed at his window in the first place, Billy chuckled to himself.
Just as he was about to choose that course of action, the window opened and Ben stared out. “Hey, let me in!” Billy yelled up. “It’s cold out here!”
“What on earth!” Ben ejaculated.
Marie stirred in the bed behind him. “Ben?” she queried. “What is it?”
Ben shut the window and started to put on his robe and slippers. “Billy Thomas,” he said, “though what on earth brings him here this early, I can’t imagine.”
Marie sat up. “More trouble, you think?”
Ben shrugged. “With Billy, who can say? Maybe he just got lonesome for Hop Sing’s cooking. Stay in bed, my love; I’ll see what he wants.”
Shaking her
head, Marie waited until Ben had left, then rose and slipped into her warm
flannel wrapper, thinking how infuriating even the best of men could be. As if she could rest when something was
obviously wrong! With all the tension in
the territory, that something just might be an Indian attack. Perhaps Billy was the sole survivor from
Ben gave her a reproachful look, but explained quickly. “Captain Jim brought in three men last night to answer the charges. They locked them up for the night, but evidently Ormsby intends to question them this morning. Billy knew I’d want to be there, so he came to fetch me.”
“Pa’ll have my hide,” Billy shrugged. “He said not to bother you, but Ma’ll feel better.”
“Mais oui,” Marie replied. She glided over the floor to rest her petite palms on Ben’s chest. You will be careful, mon mari?”
Ben took both slender hands and tenderly kissed her delicate fingertips. “I will be careful. You watch out for our boys; keep them close to the house today.”
Marie smiled. There had been no need for that instruction, as Ben well knew. Citing the cold weather and Hoss’s need for extra time with his books, she had kept the boys inside almost constantly since the first threat of Indian trouble. She started for the kitchen. “I will prepare your breakfast.”
Ben stopped
her with a hand on her elbow. “No time
for that, Marie. We’ll eat in
Billy’s mount
was tired, so he stabled it at the Ponderosa and borrowed Adam’s sorrel for the
return trip. The sun was rising by then,
so the two riders were able to run their horses in the better light. They rode straight to
While Billy led the two horses the livery stable, Ben headed directly for the Ormsby house. “I understand you have three Washo prisoners,” Ben began as he encountered Ormsby.
“That’s right,” Ormsby replied. “Captain Jim brought in the guilty trio last night.”
“We don’t know they’re guilty,” Ben pointed out.
“That’s what trials are for, Cartwright,” Ormsby said stiffly.
Ben’s brow knitted. “You’re going to put them on trial?”
Ormsby drew
himself erect. “I will question the men
to see if there’s sufficient evidence to hold them. If there is, I intend to send them to
“It does,” Ben said at once. He couldn’t have been more pleased to hear that the matter would be heard before a more appropriate legal authority than a vigilance committee. With Indians involved, it seemed paramount to Ben that the highest standard of justice be administered. If the Paiutes and the Washos saw the proceedings as fair, surely an uprising could be avoided. Ben suspected that hope was what had motivated Ormsby.
“If you’re looking for volunteers to escort the prisoners to
Ormsby nodded. “Appreciate it, Cartwright. That will bring our party up to thirty. Should be enough to prevent any attempt to rescue the prisoners.”
“Yeah,” Ben muttered, hoping there’d be no such attempt. Following Ormsby out, he noted the whipped attitude of the Washo men as they were led from the small house in which they’d been held for the night. Their hang-dog expressions made them look guilty, but as he passed some of the Paiutes, Ben heard them debating among themselves whether these were, indeed, the killers of McMartin and Williams. Ben hoped Ormsby’s interrogation would be rigorous enough to remove all doubt that they had the right men.
Almost every resident of Genoa pressed close to hear the questions Ormsby put to the three Washo men, using Numaga as his interpreter, and the mood of many was ugly as they hurled degrading epithets at the Indians. Young boys aped their elders, hooting and jeering at the Indians, repeating the same vile catcalls they heard the men shouting: “Consarned Diggers! Bug eaters! Filthy bastards! Killing sons—of—bitches!”
Ormsby tried in vain to quiet the crowd so the interrogation could proceed in an orderly manner. Hours passed as he asked questions and strained to hear the answers over the ranting of the crowd that met the Indians’ every protestation of innocence. Ben’s stomach started to rumble, for he’d had no breakfast nor lunch, and it was now the middle of the afternoon. The mob showed no signs of dispersing, though, so he couldn’t afford to give attention to his belly.
The cries of the crowd grew more heated. No longer content with name-calling, they began to yell threats, “Hang the red devils right off!” becoming the prevalent theme of their bellows.
“This is pointless,” Ormsby finally muttered and gave orders for the
thirty men who would march the Washos to
When the Washo
women saw the marchers, however, they misunderstood their intent. “Oh, they have come to kill them!” one cried,
and the others joined in her wailing.
Ben’s knowledge of the Washo language was only rudimentary, but he
managed to pick up a word here and there and piece together the gist of what
the women were screaming. Protesting the
innocence of their men, the Washo women accused Captain Jim of picking them
only because they had no fathers to speak up for them or maybe because they had
no children in need of a father and, thus, could be spared. Ben wasn’t sure which. “Something’s not right here,” he told
Ben spotted Sarah Winnemucca standing to one side and made his way toward her. As a Washo woman threw herself at Numaga’s feet, clutching at his buckskin-clad legs, Ben asked Sarah, “What’s she saying?”
Sarah leaned close so Ben could hear her interpretation. “She says, ‘Oh, you are going to have my poor husband killed. We were married this winter, and I have been with him constantly since we were married. Oh, Good Spirit, come! Come into the hearts of this people. Oh, whisper in their hearts that they may not kill my poor husband. Oh, good chief, talk for him. Our cruel chief has given my husband to you because he is afraid all of us will be killed by you.’”
The woman spun to face Captain Jim, her face contorted with the fear and outrage swirling in her heart. Again Sarah interpreted her words for Ben: “You have given my innocent blood to save your people.”
“Dear God, no!” Ben moaned. “That can’t mean what I think it does, can it?”
The other
white guards had now reached the prisoners, and the screams of the women grew
louder.
Suddenly, as
if driven to desperation by the uproar around them, the three accused men
panicked and bolted across an open meadow toward the
The women rushed to the meadow to cradle their dying husbands, rocking the limp bodies and keening over them as hot blood sprayed their bare arms and soaked through their dresses. Still in shock, Ben watched the grisly scene. He hadn’t fired a shot, would have prevented the killings if he could, but he still felt responsible, cursing himself for not seeing soon enough the terror that spurred the Washos’ flight.
Sarah Winnemucca had raced to the meadow at Ben’s heels. Now, as she stood with an arm around her sobbing younger sister Elma, Ben heard her say, “It is enough to make the mountains weep.”
“Save your sympathies, girl, for those more deserving,” Ormsby’s wife muttered, taking tight grip on Sarah’s arm and pulling her back toward town.
“But I am sure the men were innocent,” Sarah murmured.
“How came the Washo arrows there?” Elizabeth Ormsby countered. “The chief himself has brought them to us, and my husband knows what he is doing.” Looking up, she saw Ben staring at her and, lifting her head in defensive pride, marched the two Winnemucca girls back to the store.
Captain Jim looked down in sorrow at the grieving widows. “It is true what the women say,” he said, so softly only a few heard him. “It is I who have killed them; their blood is on my hands. I know their spirits will haunt me and bring me bad luck while I live.”
Ben turned away, no longer hungry. Had there been food in his stomach at that moment, he would have vomited it up. Little Elma Winnemucca did become ill over the events of that afternoon, and her brother Natchez, no longer willing to leave his sisters among the whites, decided to remain in Genoa until she was able to travel. No one objected; no one felt threatened. The white settlers, so rabid with rage before, now passed the Indians with averted eyes.
Ben was glad
the trouble had ended in time for his family to make their anticipated visit to
CHAPTER
SEVEN
|
A |
s the stagecoach
hit another rough spot, Ben glanced apologetically at Marie. “Not much longer now,” he promised, “and they
use a better quality coach between
Marie smiled feebly. “At least, Little Joe does not seem to mind
the bumps.”
“Mind!” Ben hooted. “He’s positively in his element.”
Little Joe, whose traveling capacity had
been the greatest concern to his parents, had embraced the new experience
eagerly. Before they’d traveled ten
miles, Ben knew his real concern would be to keep the curious little lad inside
the coach, for Little Joe insistently stretched toward the open window,
fascinated by the scenery rushing past.
When he grew tired of sight-seeing, the rocking motion of the stagecoach
seemed to lull him to sleep, so the only real problem arose when he needed a
diaper change, no small feat in the fast-moving vehicle, and no welcome
occurrence to any of the other, thankfully tolerant, passengers.
Hoss soon tired of looking out the window,
but he never seemed to weary of reading the letter Adam had sent just to
him. Of course, Adam had written about
boring things like what subjects he was taking at the academy this term: geometry, American history and Greek, in
addition to the reading, writing and elocution he was required to study each
term. Hoss sympathized, though, with
Adam’s disappointment in being refused a place in the French class and shared
his hope that he might be accepted next term if he made a good start with his
Greek.
Hoss had been most interested in reading
about Adam’s roommate Harold Lissome, a boy just one year older than Adam. He sounded nice, and the nicest thing of all
had been Harold’s offer to bunk in with someone else so Hoss could sleep in his
brother’s room. Adam had made it sound
like they should do it to give their parents time alone, but Hoss didn’t think
that made sense. How could they be alone
with Little Joe sleeping in the same room?
No, Hoss understood his brother really wanted to be with him, and he had
begged to be allowed to stay at the rooming house. Eyes twinkling at each other, Ben and Marie
had quickly agreed.
The stage pulled to a stop before the
depot in
“Mercy, yes,” Ben teased, plunking the boy
into Hoss’s outstretched arms. “I’ll
gladly carry the baggage that doesn’t wiggle.”
He collected their assortment of carpetbags and led the way to the
Empire Hotel, where he usually stayed when he had a layover in
Though they were hungry, they took their
time getting situated. Marie wanted
Ludmilla Zuebner and her daughters Katerina and Marta to see Little Joe at his
best, so she fed and changed him into clean clothes, as well as a fresh
diaper. Then she quickly brushed her
gold tweed traveling dress free of the dust it had collected on the road. Ben and Hoss freshened up their own apparel
and washed their faces and hands, and everyone was ready for the evening meal.
Entering the cafe, Hoss licked his lips in
anticipation. Hop Sing cooked really
well, and Mama even better, when the Chinese cook let her in the kitchen, but
Mama Zuebner still reigned supreme in Hoss’s estimation. She didn’t cook fancy things like Mama
sometimes did, but Hoss, who had cut his teeth on Nelly Thomas’s homespun
meals, preferred plain fare anyway.
Both Ben and Hoss, however, began to
wonder if they’d get to eat at all.
Ludmilla, normally so busy she could spare little time to visit with her
old friend Ben, evidently had all the time in the world when there was a new
baby to ogle. Her two flaxen-haired
daughters were just as absorbed in examining his tiny fingers, only laughing
when they took tight hold on one of Katerina’s braids. Little Joe, Ben noted somewhat ruefully, was
responding like a lone rooster in a henhouse.
Being the center of attention suited him just fine.
Ludmilla finally took her eyes off the
baby long enough to notice the hungry-eyed boy standing by. “You look like you need plate of stew right
away,” the buxom German said with a deep, rolling laugh.
“Yes, ma’am!” Hoss crowed. “Oxtail stew, if you got it.”
“I got,” Ludmilla chuckled.
“And—and will you have Hangtown Fry for
breakfast?” Hoss queried quickly. Pa
fixed the combination of scrambled eggs and oysters for breakfast every New
Year’s Day, but here, where the dish had originated, Hoss hoped it might appear
on the menu more regularly.
“Hoss,” Ben chided softly, but Ludmilla
just gave the boy’s sandy hair a light rumple.
“For you, I have,” she whispered conspiratorially. Hoss grinned, content that his needs would be
met, however much distraction Little Joe created.
Marta, evidently, intended he should
create little, at least during the meal.
“I’ll hold the baby while you eat,” she offered and took him from
Marie’s reluctant arms. “Come on, Little
Joe. You want to see the kitchen where
we cook all the good food?”
Little Joe seemed content, but Marie
fluttered into an instant panic. Ben
could read it in her face and quickly put his arms around her. “You’ve got to quit clinging to him, my
love,” he chided gently as he seated her at the table.
“Yes, Ben,” she murmured, “but you know
why.”
Ben nodded. He knew exactly why Marie could barely
tolerate having the baby out of her sight.
Her first child, the one fathered by Jean D’Marigny, had been taken from
her at birth by Jean’s autocratic mother and had died within weeks of yellow
fever. Marie’s intense attachment to
Little Joe had as much to do with that remembered horror as it did love for the
boy himself. “You know I wouldn’t let
anyone take our baby,” Ben whispered very softly to keep Hoss from hearing..
Marie gave him a weak smile, reassured,
but still uneasy. She knew her fears
were irrational; that did not, however, make them less real or less difficult
to discount.
“You have to admit it’s easier to eat
without a baby in your arms,” Ben smiled as the food was served.
Marie laughed lightly. That much, at least, was true. She relaxed a little, then fully when Marta returned
to sit with them at the table and her precious baby boy was once more under her
protective gaze.
After Ludmilla closed the restaurant for
the night, they adjourned to her house for a lengthy visit, sharing news of
mutual friends. “Oh, Marta,” Ben said
suddenly. “I’m supposed to tell you that
Billy Thomas will be through in a few days.”
“As if I cared,” Marta declared, tossing
one long braid over her shoulder, but the sparkle in her blue eyes told Ben she
did care and would be looking forward to seeing her old friend from the
Back at the hotel Marie carefully padded a
dresser drawer for Little Joe’s bed, but the baby would have none of it, making
his displeasure known, as usual, at the top of his lungs. In his nightshirt Ben walked the floor with
the wailing baby, patting the small back consolingly. “Now, what do you want to carry on like this
for?” Ben asked softly, then lowered his voice still more so Marie couldn’t
hear. “Pa won’t take you on any more
trips if you keep this up, and you know how you’d miss that nice swinging
stagecoach.” Probably what I need now, Ben told himself. Probably
put you right to sleep. Since there
was no stagecoach available, however, Ben kept pacing and patting.
“He can sleep in my bed,” Hoss offered.
“No!” Marie cried sharply.
“He’s too young for that, Hoss,” Ben
explained. “You wouldn’t want to roll
over on him and smother him, would you?”
“I wouldn’t!” Hoss protested. “You don’t trust me with nothin’.”
“Of course, we do, son,” Ben soothed, “but
you need to trust my judgement in this.
It can happen so quickly you don’t realize it when a baby’s this
small. He’ll settle down soon and sleep
in his own bed.” Ben hoped he was
telling the truth and was gratified to see that Little Joe did, indeed, settle
down and, once fully asleep, made no further protest over his unfamiliar bed..
After hearty helpings of Hangtown Fry
Monday morning, the Cartwrights boarded the stage for Folsom. Marie moaned softly. “Ride in comfort on the stage, you said,” she
complained, but she smiled gently as she spoke the rebuking words.
“Only twenty miles,” Ben laughed, “then
we’ll switch to the train, and that, you must admit, will be a comfortable
ride.
“I can hardly wait,” Marie sighed. “It seems I am the poor traveler in the
family.”
“And here’s the best one,” Ben replied,
dandling Little Joe on his knee. “You
happy now, baby? Ready for a nice,
bouncy ride?”
Marie groaned. Ben was cruel to remind her again, but this
stagecoach, its body swinging on leather thoroughbraces, rode like a hammock
slung between two trees. Nonetheless,
Marie was grateful to leave the stage and board the infinitely smoother train
for the final twenty-two miles into
“Want to hold your brother?” Ben asked
when they’d taken their places.
“Can I?” Hoss asked eagerly.
“Sure; the train won’t bounce around like
the stage, so I think you can handle him,” Ben replied, handing the baby over
the wooden seat in front of him where Hoss was sitting.
Hoss immediately held his little brother
up to the tiny window beside him. “See,
you got a nice view from here,” he told Little Joe. “You’re gonna like trains even better than stagecoaches.”
Little Joe reached out to pat the glass
with his palm and cocked his head curiously.
There’d been nothing between him and the open air on the stagecoach and
he couldn’t figure out the meaning of this transparent barrier. Then the train started to roll and a look of
near ecstasy sparked in the miniature emerald eyes. No doubt about it: Little Joe liked movement.
Adam was there to meet them when the train
pulled into the station in
Adam
gave his younger brother a stout clap on the back. “That’s good, Hoss. It’s on the way to the hotel, so we’ll drop
your gear off there.”
“And eat!” Hoss cried. “You said the food there was good.”
“It’s good,” Adam said, “but Pa may have
other plans.”
Hoss turned to his father, who had just
walked up, baggage in hand. “How about
it, Pa? Lunch at Adam’s place?”
Ben laughed. “Mrs.. Maguire’s not expecting us, son. There may not be enough for extra guests.”
“There’s always plenty,” Adam assured him,
“and she is expecting you ‘cause she knew the train
would be getting here before
“I would like to see the
cuisine Adam is served,” Marie said, her motherly instinct aroused.
“Dinner at the rooming house it is, then,”
Ben said brightly. “We’ll need to hire a
carriage.”
“I hired a surrey and team,” Adam
said. “I took some money from the bank
for it.”
Ben smiled his appreciation of his son’s
forethought. “I’ll reimburse you,” he
promised. “Now, would you care to
explain what you’re doing out of school at this hour, young man?”
“I got permission,” Adam assured his
father, “but I have to go back after lunch.
I have the whole day off tomorrow, though.”
They loaded the surrey with their
carpetbags and Adam, looking and feeling very manly, drove them to the rooming
house. Mrs. Maguire came from the
kitchen to greet them as they entered.
“Oh, what a darling boy!” she cried, reaching for Little Joe as soon as
she saw him. Marie released him, always
proud to see her handsome boy fawned over.
Molly Maguire fingered the baby’s soft,
dark golden-brown curls. “Oh, you little
beauty, you,” she cooed. “We’ll get
along just fine, won’t we?” She smiled
at Marie. “Now, you mustn’t worry about
a thing. When Adam told me you’d be
bringing a baby along, I told him I’d gladly keep the little one for you
whenever you like.”
Marie’s panicky hands stretched toward her
baby. “Oh, we could not think of
imposing,” she said quickly, taking Little Joe into her arms again. “Adam was presumptuous to suggest it.”
“I didn’t,” Adam inserted
defensively. “She offered.”
“Indeed, I did,” Molly laughed. “It’ll be a pure joy to me to coddle a baby
again. I had none of my own, my husband
dyin’ young as he did, but I helped raise seven younger brothers back in the
old country.”
“Oh, is that why you opened a
boardinghouse for young boys?” Ben chuckled.
“I wondered what had caused you to take such leave of your senses.”
Mrs. Maguire’s blue eyes twinkled. “Aye, boys are what I know best, but I
haven’t had one as young as your babe in a long while. It’ll pleasure me to watch him for you, and
no more talk of imposing, me girl.”
“You are a godsend, Mrs. Maguire,” Ben
said enthusiastically before Marie could counter with another reason for
keeping her baby glued to her breast.
“Now, Marie,” he added quickly as she turned a baleful glance his
direction, “I want to take you to the theater tonight, and you know you can’t
take a baby there.”
“Of course not,” Molly Maguire urged. “Leave him with me. I—I promise you can trust me.” She had evidently noted Marie’s anxious
concern.
Marie took a deep breath. “Yes, yes, I’m sure I can. I’ll keep him with me ‘til tonight,
though. I’ll need to nurse him through
the day.”
Molly smiled. “Aye, he’ll keep happier if his tummy’s
full.” She could not, of course, know
the reasons behind Marie’s near fanatic attachment to her child, but she was
too secure herself to take offense at it.
The little mother just needed reassurance, that’s all, and she was glad
to provide it. “Well, now, it’s about
half an hour ‘til dinner is served, so perhaps you’d like to see Adam’s room.”
“Oh, yes,” Marie murmured.
“I’ll show you,” Adam said.
Hoss hefted his carpetbag under his
arm. “I’m stayin’ with my brother
tonight,” he announced.
“Aye, I know,” Mrs. Maguire chuckled,
smoothing his wind-tousled hair, “and it’s welcome you’ll be, child.”
Hoss grinned happily, obviously feeling
very grown up to be spending a night away from his parents. When Adam ushered his family into his room,
Hoss immediately demanded, “Which bed is mine?”
“Neither one,” Adam replied, a wry smile
lifting one corner of his mouth, “but you can borrow Harold’s.” He pointed to the bed furthest from the door.
Hoss plopped his carpetbag in the middle
of his borrowed bed and looked out the window.
“Ooh, a swing!” he hollered. “Can
I swing in it, can I?”
“I guess so,” Adam said, “if you can catch
it free. The older boys like to sit
there with their girls at night.”
“It’s free now,” Hoss pointed out.
“Go ahead,” Ben laughed. “We’ll call you for lunch.”
“Can I take Little Joe?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Marie worried aloud.
“Sure, he’ll like it fine,” Ben
decided. “Just hold on to him.”
“‘Course, I will,” Hoss declared, hugging
the baby tightly as he hurried out the door.
“What do you think?” Adam asked Marie.
“I think, perhaps, your father is a little
careless with his youngest son,” she said, perturbed.
“I meant my room,” Adam added
quickly. The other boarders would be
hurrying in for the
“I think it is a nice room,” she replied,
distracted momentarily from her motherly concern, “and you are keeping it very
tidy.”
“Yeah, well, Harold’s that kind of
fellow,” Adam responded. “Makes it
easier when you think alike.”
“Two of a kind, are you?” Ben smiled.
Adam shrugged. “In lots of ways. He’s not as good a student as I am, but he
tries hard. I’ve been helping him, and
he says he’s doing better this term because of it.”
“That’s good,” Ben said. “Made any other friends?”
“Oh, sure,” Adam replied as if the answer
should have been obvious. “I especially
like Martin Gallagher. His father’s a
state senator, and he lives at home, so we only see each other at school. We’ve had some great times talking about
assignments and books we’ve read, though.”
“It is good you make friends,” Marie
commented. Responding to a loud whoop
from below, she hurried to the window.
“Oh, Hoss, not so high!” she cried in terror for her baby. Little Joe, of course, with his established
love for motion of any kind, was gurgling happily without a trace of fear.
Peering over her shoulder, Ben added
authoritatively, “It’s not that kind of swing, son——slow and easy.”
Reluctantly, Hoss settled the swing into a
gentle rock. “Sorry, Punkin, but Mama’s
fussin’,” he whispered. “It was fun
while it lasted, huh?” Little Joe
babbled a response Hoss was sure was an affirmative one.
“I
should probably build that boy a swing,” Ben chuckled, “one he can swing high
as the trees in.”
“Without his baby brother,” Marie said
firmly.
“Of course, my love,” Ben soothed. “I agree that Little Joe’s a bit small to fly
so high. See, I’m not as careless as you
thought.”
“Or quite as careful as you ought,” Marie
smiled. Ben chuckled and nodded
acceptance of her rebuke.
“I guess it’s time we went down to lunch,”
Adam suggested. “The other fellows will
be coming in soon. You can meet Harold
then.”
“I’d like that,” Ben said, “but before we
go down, lay out your suit. We’ll take
it to the hotel with us when we check in, and you can meet us there after
school.”
“My suit?” Adam queried. “Oh, for the theater tonight, but you’ll have
to come by here, anyway, to drop off Little Joe.”
“Yeah, but you’ll need to be dressed
earlier,” Ben said. “Marie’s had a
marvelous idea. We want to go by Beal’s
and have a family portrait made, then we’ll have dinner and a night at the
theater.”
“That’s a grand idea!” Adam bubbled. “Could I have an extra copy, to keep here?”
“Mais
oui,” Marie assured him. “Now,
please show us the way to the dining hall.”
“Okay,” Adam agreed. “Then I’ll go out and fetch Hoss. He won’t want to miss dinner.”
“Oh, no!” Ben guffawed. “Or any other meal!”
After a satisfying lunch, at which the
Cartwrights met a number of Adam’s rooming mates, they checked into the Orleans
Hotel. Since Adam would be in school
several more hours, the others elected to spend the afternoon shopping. “I really don’t think we ought, Ben,” Marie
argued as he directed her into a furniture shop. “We have little money to spare, and with Adam
away, his bed is available for guests.”
“Provided they show up during the most
inclement season for travel,” Ben commented wryly. “You know we need another bed. Otherwise, we have to shift the boys around
whenever anyone comes.”
“But the expense, Ben,” she protested
anew.
“We’ll keep to something simple,
inexpensive,” Ben agreed, “but I don’t want you worrying about money,
Marie. That is my concern.”
“Oui,
mon mari,” she whispered meekly.
Both of them were oblivious to the itching
ears listening in or the worried pucker on their middle son’s brow. Hoss made up his mind not to ask for any
candy, but couldn’t help smiling when they bought him a sackful without being
asked. Back at the hotel, while they
waited for Adam, he rubbed a piece of peppermint across Little Joe’s tongue,
careful not to actually put the candy in the baby’s mouth.
When Adam arrived at the hotel, everyone
freshened up and changed into their fanciest clothes. Even Little Joe wore a long, lacy dress with
lace-edged bonnet and new linen booties purchased that very day. It was the sight of that beautifully decked
out baby, though, that caused Mr. Beal the most concern when they stated their
desire for a family portrait. “I don’t
know,” he fretted, stroking his whiskerless chin. “Hard for children of any age to sit still
long enough, and a baby——”
“Oh, we’ll keep him still,” Ben assured
him with his usual foundationless confidence.
Mr. Beal agreed to try and, by the time
the daguerreotype had been taken, everyone felt themselves wrung out. Little Joe saw no reason to sit still in a
room full of unfamiliar and interesting sights, and Ben finally had to clamp
the infant’s arms to his side and forcibly hold him motionless, or as close to
motionless as they were likely to achieve.
Ben considered himself immensely fortunate that Little Joe withheld his
scream of protest until their image had been taken.
“The picture may be somewhat blurred,”
Beal warned, “but if you’re determined to have the entire family in the
picture, I doubt we can do better.”
“We’re determined,” Ben said firmly, “and
if the portrait is less than perfect, we’ll understand, Mr. Beal. Thank you for your patience.”
He gathered his family around him on the
street outside the Daguerrean Gallery.
“That took longer than I expected, thanks to wiggle-worm here, so we’ll
need to eat soon to make the curtain at the theater.”
“Marty says the Alexandria Cafe is the
best in town,” Adam reported.
“The senator’s boy?” Ben asked. “Well, he ought to know, I guess. Can you show us the way, Adam?”
“Yes, sir,” the oldest Cartwright boy
replied, “and we go right past the rooming house, so we could leave wiggle-worm
with Mrs. Maguire.”
“I need to feed and change him first,”
Marie said quickly, “and get the things he’ll need for the evening.”
“Hotel first, then,” Ben said
brightly. “We’ll get our youngest
squared away, then have a night on the town.”
Adam and Hoss beamed their pleased
responses, but Marie just looked resignedly into the eyes of the baby she felt
she was abandoning and snuggled him close.
Her gloom lasted until she read the menu at the Alexandria Cafe. “Oh, Ben!” she squealed with delight. “They have escargot!”
“Huh?” Hoss asked.
“Snails, mon chéri,” his mother translated.
“Would you like some?”
“Ugh, no!” Hoss sputtered.
Ben worked hard to suppress the smile
twittering on his lips. “I understand
it’s considered a delicacy, but I believe I’ll stick to the lamb.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Adam said.
Hoss decided he might as well go along
with his father and brother. He didn’t
read well enough to scan all the choices quickly before they needed to turn in
their order, and lamb, at least, sounded safe.
Safe and good, he concluded as he spooned another dollop of mint sauce
over his meat. Mama could keep her nasty
old snails. “What play we gonna see?” he
asked as he cut another bite. “That old
Shakespeare feller again or something good like Pocahontas?”
“Neither one,” Adam reported. “I looked at all the playbills yesterday and
asked around school. Harold says we
should see “The Lady of Lyons” at the Sacramento Theater. He says it’s kind of sentimental, so we figure
Marie will really like it.”
Marie’s fork paused as she was prying
another snail from its shell. “Oh, but
you must not choose just to please me.”
“And why not?” Ben demanded with a
wink. “You put up with our choices the
last time we were here. It’s your turn,
my love.”
“Well, what do you know about this play,
Adam?” Marie inquired, sipping her white wine.
“Only that it’s a love story and that this
actor, James Stark, is supposed to be the best there is,” the boy replied.
“Let’s give it a try, then,” Ben decided.
Hoss frowned. “A love story? That don’t sound no good at all.”
“May I remind you, young fellow, that
Pocahontas was a kind of love story, too?” Ben said, his eyebrow arching in a
way that told Hoss he’d better watch his tongue.
“Yes, sir,” Hoss mumbled and secretly gave
up all hope of enjoying the evening’s entertainment. As “The Lady of Lyons” began, he was sure his
despair was warranted, for he found the plight of the gardener’s son in love
with the beautiful Pauline, daughter of his employer, both ignorant and
boring. Adam, on the other hand, found
himself identifying with the man in his earnest quest to make himself worthy of
his lady love by learning to paint and write poetry. Obviously, the humble gardener had poetry in
his soul, too, for what could be more poetical than his declaration that “art
became the shadow of the starlight in those haunting eyes”?
Hoss thought that kind of language just
plain sappy, but his tender heart became incensed when Pauline rejected letter
after letter from her ardent admirer.
“She’s mean,” the country boy whispered to his slightly more
sophisticated brother.
“Shh,” Adam hissed.
The plot became more entangled as the
proud Pauline spurned the advances of twenty others who sought her love. Finally, two rejected suitors decided to
wreak revenge on their cruel-hearted mistress.
The agent for their sinister plan was Claude Melnotte, played by the excellent-as-reported
James Stark. The angry suitors pooled
their funds to disguise Claude as a royal prince, who would woo and wed
Pauline, then leave her to languish in a miserable hovel.
When the wedding night took place, even
Hoss began to feel sorry for Pauline.
Then, just when things looked their bleakest, Claude repented of his
evil intent, confessed his true identity and offered to divorce Pauline. Hoss gave a vigorous nod of approval, but he
couldn’t understand why Pauline now refused to leave Melnotte, still
considering him the prince of her heart.
How stupid could a girl get!
Claude rushed off to war, a move Hoss
heartily approved, and became a general, returning home only to find his wife
on the auction block, being sold to pay her father’s debts. But Claude had prospered in his new career
and offered three times the amount owed to buy back the woman he had once
tricked into marrying him. The curtain
fell as the reunited lovers grasped each other in heartfelt embrace. Hoss stood and cheered ‘til his embarrassed
older brother jerked him back into his seat.
Laying her head on Ben’s shoulder, Marie
sighed in contentment. Ben looked into
the shimmering emerald pools of her eyes and smiled. “Enjoy it?”
“Mais
oui,” she murmured. “Claude is so much
like you, mon mari.”
Secretly considering Claude cloyingly sentimental, Ben laughed. “I hope not! But you are a jewel worth any price, my love.”
“Did you not do as much for me as he for
Pauline?” Marie asked. “You know of what
I speak.”
“I don’t,” Hoss piped up. “Did Pa have to buy you, Mama?”
“No!” Ben scoffed. “And now’s not the time for that story. There’ll be a brief intermission before the
afterpiece, so if you boys want to stretch your legs, do it now.”
“Yeah, come on, Hoss,” Adam said.
Hoss willingly followed Adam into the
lobby. “What’s an afterpiece?”
“A piece that comes after the first one,
of course,” Adam answered airily.
“Oh,” Hoss said. “I hope it ain’t got as much kissin’ and
squeezin’ as that last one.”
Adam laughed. “I don’t think so. It’s supposed to be a comedy.”
“Huh?”
“A funny play.”
“Oh, yeah, that’ll be better.”
The boys returned to the theater to watch
“The Irish Tutor.” Hoss didn’t
understand many of the jokes, but the general merriment of the audience was
contagious, and he found himself laughing even when he didn’t know why.
* * * * *
A shaft of glimmering white from the
almost full moon shone through the window between the boys’ beds. Adam had dutifully tucked Hoss in as soon as
their parents dropped them off at the rooming house and picked up the
peacefully slumbering Little Joe. Both
boys, however, were still too keyed up from the evening’s entertainment to go
directly to sleep. They lay on their
sides, facing each other, whispering in the dark. After talking about his new classes and
teachers, Adam inquired how Hoss was doing in school this year.
“Couldn’t be better,” Hoss giggled. “Ain’t no more school!”
Adam propped himself on his right
elbow. “What do you mean, ‘no more
school’?”
“Just what I said,” Hoss bubbled. “Mormons done took off and ain’t no kids left
in Franktown. Lucky Bill even dragged
the log building off to
“That’s too bad,” Adam muttered, easing
down to his pillow again. “I got Pa’s
letter about Brigham Young calling the Mormons back to
“Plenty,” Hoss reported. “Pa went to see ‘em off, and he counted a hundred
twenty-three wagons. The paper said four
hundred fifty people.”
Adam whistled softly. “Can’t be many left. What about
“Don’t think so,” Hoss yawned. “Mama’s gonna start givin’ me lessons when we
get home.”
Adam frowned. Marie could do all right, he supposed, with
reading, writing and simple arithmetic, but Hoss wasn’t likely to learn much
else with her as a teacher. Well, he
didn’t take to book learning like his big brother. Maybe the three R’s were all he could handle.
“Adam,” Hoss asked tentatively, “will that
fair cost much money?”
“What do you care?” Adam snickered. “You’re not paying.”
“I—I was just wonderin’,” Hoss
stammered. “The fair sounds like fun,
but we done spent a bunch on dinner and the play and——”
Adam’s brow furrowed. “Since when are you so all fired worried
about money?” he demanded.
“Well, now that we’re poor——” Hoss
muttered.
Adam sat up abruptly. “What do you mean, ‘we’re poor’?”
Suddenly feeling he’d spoken out of turn,
Hoss pulled the covers over his head and said nothing. Adam got out of bed and shook his brother’s
shoulder roughly. “I asked you a
question, Hoss, and you’d better answer.”
He jerked the covers to reveal his younger brother’s anxious eyes.
“I—I think maybe Pa don’t want you to
know,” Hoss whimpered.
“Well, I want me to know,” Adam
hissed. “You speak up right now.. Who says we’re poor?”
“Well, nobody, exactly,” Hoss replied,
lips trembling. “They mostly quit
talking when I’m around, but Pa bought up a lot of that Mormon land, and Mama
acts like we gotta be real careful.
She—she didn’t buy the bedroom stuff she really wanted. Said it was too expensive. Don’t tell Pa I told, please, Adam.”
Adam tucked his brother under the covers
once more. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t be in trouble, but I have to ask
Pa, Hoss. If things are rough, I have to
know. Else how can I do my part?”
“Don’t let Pa be mad, please,” Hoss
pleaded.
“He won’t be,” Adam assured him. “Now go to sleep.”
Hoss wasn’t completely reassured, but Adam
had protected him on other occasions, so Hoss felt he could trust his
brother. Besides, after the long
journey, a day full of activity and an unusually late evening, he was too tired
not to do as he was told. Soon he was
snoring noisily.
It wasn’t exactly music to Adam’s ears,
but he had little choice but to listen to his brother’s nasal orchestration. He couldn’t sleep, not with Hoss’s
unwittingly planted seeds of concern sprouting in his brain. It would be like Pa to spare his boys worry
over money, but Adam wasn’t a little boy anymore. Pa didn’t need to spare him the way he did
Hoss, and Adam intended to demand an explanation first thing in the morning.
As the boys ate breakfast at the
boardinghouse the next morning, Hoss, having slept away his fears, thoroughly
enjoyed the ham and eggs. Adam, however,
toyed with the small helping he’d taken.
Pa could be stubborn, especially if he thought his sons were out of
line, and while Adam wasn’t really afraid to ask the needed questions, he was
nervous. Wanting to talk to their father
alone, Adam sent Hoss to play on the swing in the backyard. “I’ll call you when they get here,” he
promised.
Expecting to pick up the boys and go, Ben
had left Marie in the carriage with Little Joe.
Adam met him in the foyer and asked him into the parlor. “I need to talk to you,” he said soberly.
Ben’s near-black eyebrows knitted
together, but he waited until he and Adam were alone. “What is it, son?” he asked anxiously. “Where’s Hoss?”
“Outside swinging,” Adam said. “It’s not about him. Pa, are——are we hard up for money?”
“What gave you that idea?” Ben asked
gently.
“Hoss said you’d bought a lot of land
lately, and——well, he thinks we’re poor now.”
Ben laughed. “Not in land, at least.” He sat down on the parlor sofa and patted the
spot next to him. When Adam joined him,
Ben answered his son’s concerns. “Look,
Adam, there’s no need for either of you to worry.”
“I’m not a little boy, Pa,” Adam
insisted. “If you need to take me out of
school, I’ll understand.”
Ben grabbed the boy’s hand and pressed
hard. “Absolutely not.” He stood abruptly and paced across the
room. Then, turning, he eyed Adam with
pain. “Why is it no one in my family
trusts me to take proper care of them?”
“I do, Pa,” Adam said quickly, “but, well,
you didn’t tell me, and Hoss said it was because you didn’t want me to worry.”
Ben frowned. “Hoss has an overactive imagination,” he said
severely. “The only reason I haven’t
told you is that it happened right before that trouble with the Washos I
mentioned at dinner last night, and I was too occupied with that to write. Then, we’ve been busy since we arrived, and I
just haven’t thought to tell you.”
“Then tell me now,” Adam insisted. He could be as stubborn as his father when he
thought himself in the right.
Ben returned to the sofa. “Sure, son; there’s no secret. I bought some land that adjoins the
Ponderosa. It’s good land, a good
investment, but cash is going to be a bit shorter than it’s been the last year
or two. That doesn’t mean there isn’t
enough for our needs——like your schooling.
Besides, silly son, that’s already paid for.”
“But you could get a refund if you needed
it,” Adam choked out.
Ben drew the boy close, knowing what a
sacrifice Adam was offering and feeling proud of his willingness to make
it. “I don’t need it,” he assured his
son. “Despite Hoss’s report, we are not
poor. I’ll be needing to put extra cash
into building up our herd, so we’ll have to watch ourselves. But we’ve got plenty to live on, plenty to
school you with, and plenty to spend on a day at the fair. Now, you relax and enjoy yourself, ‘cause if
you don’t, I may have to blister your britches.”
The teasing words brought a smile to
Adam’s face. “You’re not just making
light of it because of my age, are you?” he asked for extra reassurance.
Ben took his son’s cheeks between his
palms. “I wouldn’t do that, Adam. As you said, you’re not a little boy; you’re
a young man. Sounds like I do have a
little boy who could use some setting straight, though.”
“Yeah, he’s worried,” Adam acknowledged.
“Well, maybe I’ll just have to buy him
something special at the fair,” Ben laughed.
“That ought to do it,” Adam grinned. “I’ll go get him.”
“Yeah, and hurry,” Ben advised, “or Marie
will whip us all for keeping her waiting out in that warm sun.” Adam nodded brusquely and ran to get his
brother.
Ben shook his head in consternation. A father did what he thought was best, tried
to spare his boys needless worry, and somehow they found their way to it like
iron filings to a magnet. Maybe it
didn’t pay to spare them; maybe he ought to just lay out the facts, even with a
boy as young as Hoss. A wry smile
twisted Ben’s mouth. For now, at least,
he could avoid explaining his every move to Little Joe. That was some consolation——some, but precious
small.
Soon the Cartwrights were loaded into the
surrey and on the way to the California State Agricultural Fair. As they drove, Ben tried to reassure Hoss
that they were not paupers and he could feel free to enjoy himself. Hoss welcomed the release, for everywhere he
looked inside the fairgrounds, he saw things to crave. He dutifully followed his parents as they
viewed the exhibits of apples, pears, grapes, peaches, nectarines, figs and
almonds and gladly tasted each.
“We’ll buy some to take home before we
leave,” Ben said, “so decide what you’d like best. We can only carry so much on the stage.”
Next they visited some of the exhibits for
fruits and vegetables of unusual size.
They all gaped open-mouthed at the 93-lb. beet that had taken first
prize, but the winning pumpkin was even more impressive, weighing in at a
whopping two hundred and sixty-four pounds.
“That’s what I want!” Hoss yelled.
“Think of the pies it would make!”
Ben laughed. “I don’t think that one’s for sale, son. Besides, we grow all the pumpkins we need at
home. We’ll save our money for something
a little rarer, I think.”
“Nectarines, then?” Hoss begged. “They were good, and we can’t get them at
home.”
“All right, nectarines,” Ben agreed. “Now, are you boys ready to try your luck at
some of the games?”
The youngsters’ eager shouts said they
were, and soon both Hoss and Adam were testing the strength of their arms and
the accuracy of their aim throwing hard balls at targets. Hoss had the strength, but his aim was wild,
and while Adam’s balls hit dead center, he couldn’t seem to throw hard enough
to knock the soft-bodied targets from the ledge. Finally, with a grimace of determination,
Adam flung his last ball and whooped with triumph when the target flew off
backwards.
“Hurray!
You get a prize!” Hoss hollered.
“No, you do,” Adam grinned. “Pick what you want, Hoss.”
Sheer rapture lighted Hoss’s pale eyes as
he scanned the choices pointed out to him by the man who ran the game. “That one,” he cried, stretching his stubby
finger toward a fuzzy monkey on a stick.
The man nodded and brought the toy down to Hoss’s eager hands. Another hand reached for the monkey almost
immediately, and Hoss held it near so Little Joe could touch the monkey’s
fur. The baby gurgled with delight.
“Anybody hungry?” Ben asked. They all were. The booths lining both sides of their path
wafted enough tantalizing aromas to stimulate hunger in a well-fed man, and
none of them had eaten since breakfast.
Each wanted something different, and Ben indulgently let them have
whatever they wanted and as much as they wanted. A sausage for Hoss, along with a popcorn ball
and some salt water taffy, roast chicken skewered on a stick for Adam and
Marie, and a meat pasty and fried peach pie for Ben.
Everyone except Marie came away stuffed to
overflowing. “They have ruined their
dinners,” she chided Ben softly.
Ben simply laughed as he pulled her
close. “It’s an occasion, my love, and it
won’t hurt them this once.
Marie smiled. “I suppose not, but if we are to stay much
longer, I must find a place to feed our smallest son.”
“No, I think we’re ready to go,” Ben said.
“Fruit, Pa,” Hoss protested. “You promised. Nectarines.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” Ben scolded. “They’re on our way out.”
With the surrey loaded with a crate of
apples and pears, another of almonds and smaller bags of more perishable fruit,
the Cartwrights headed back to town.
Seated in the back with Adam, Hoss dangled the little monkey over the
front seat just out of reach of Little Joe’s waving fingers.
“Can we leave the foodstuff in your room
until we come back from the Paynes?” Ben asked Adam as they pulled up before
the rooming house.
“Sure,” Adam replied. “May I eat some and share some with Harold?”
“Yeah, but don’t try feeding the whole
household,” Ben laughed. “I want some to
take home, young man, and, after all, we’re poor now.”
“Pa!” both boys protested. After a day of being treated to anything they
wanted, neither was now concerned about the family finances, but they didn’t
think their previous worry was a fit subject for teasing.
Only Ben and his two older sons returned
to the fair that afternoon. While they
visited the livestock exhibits, Marie put Little Joe down for his nap and,
after he awoke, went shopping. There
were Christmas gifts to be purchased, best done while the boys were absent, and
she wanted to find something special for Ben, as well.
* * * * *
“There it is,” Ben
said as the Spanish-style ranch house came into view. “That’s Rancho Hermoso.”
“Oh, it is beautiful, as you said,” Marie
murmured and immediately began brushing back the tendrils of golden hair that
had blown loose in the wind as they rode in the hired buggy toward the Payne’s
home. She touched her fingers to her
tongue and wiped a smudge of dust from Little Joe’s cheek.
Ben laughed. “Will you quit worrying? They’ll love you, dust or no dust, and
nothing could hide that baby’s handsome features.”
“They’re nice folks, Mama,” Hoss, tightly
sandwiched between his parents, assured her.
Marie
smiled in weak acknowledgement of their consolation, but it didn’t ease her
tension. When Ben had told her that
Rachel Payne was his wife Inger’s dearest friend on the trail west, he had intended
Marie to understand that the same friendship would be given her. Marie couldn’t help remembering, however,
those early months when Adam’s loyalty to Inger had made him hostile to his new
stepmother. Maybe Inger, whom Marie had
never heard described as less than an angel on earth, had that effect on
everyone. Maybe love for her made people
stingy in their acceptance of the one who tried, not to take her place, but to
fill her function in the Cartwright home.
As they drove into the yard, a slender,
dark-haired woman stood waiting on the porch, flanked by a brown-haired boy on
one side and a girl with blonde hair and her mother’s hazel eyes on the
other. The children were the first to
meet the buggy. “Uncle Ben!” Susan
squealed.
Ben quickly jumped from the carriage to
swoop the little girl skyward. “Susan,
you’re growing prettier all the time.”
He let her down and turned to greet her six-year-old brother, who still
hung close to his mother’s skirts.
“What’s the matter, Samuel?” Ben chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your Uncle
Ben?”
“I ‘member him,” Sammy said, sticking a
tanned finger at Hoss.
“Yeah, we had fun, huh?” Hoss said.
“You youngsters take Hoss inside and ask
Mañuela to give him a glass of lemonade,” Rachel Payne suggested. Then, smiling, she approached the woman still
seated in the buggy. “You must be
Marie,” she said, extending her hand.
“I’m so glad you were able to visit us.
I’ve been dying to meet you since Ben wrote that he’d married again.”
“Thank you most kindly,” Marie said,
nerves making her words somewhat stilted.
Rachel didn’t seem to notice her guest’s
discomfort. “Well, you certainly didn’t
lie, Ben,” she laughed. “She’s an
absolute beauty, just like you wrote.”
“Oh, Ben, you did not,” Marie demurred,
blushing furiously.
“I always speak the truth,” Ben teased.
As he reached to help his wife from the
buggy, Rachel stretched her arms toward the baby Marie was holding. “Let me take him. Ooh, you little doll,” she cooed, snuggling
the sleeping baby close to her breast.
“You’re just about the most beautiful baby I ever saw, yes, you
are.” She smiled down into Marie’s
face. “It’s not hard to see who he takes
after. Why, he’s a perfect picture of
you.”
“That he is,” Ben muttered with chagrin. “Not a trace of his ugly father anywhere.”
“Oh, Ben, you are not ugly,” Marie
protested.
“No, I always thought Ben a fine-looking
man,” Rachel agreed, “but he is right about one thing. I don’t see a trace of him in this baby. He’s you, my dear.”
Marie smiled, pleased, as always, to see
her baby admired. “His hair is a little
darker than mine,” she said. “That, I
think, is from his father.”
“Well, maybe that much,” Rachel
acknowledged with a light-hearted laugh.
“Now, let’s get in out of this heat, and I’ll show you to your
room. I had Sammy’s old crib put in with
you for the baby, so we’ll just put him right in it. Remind me of his name, will you?”
“Joseph,” Marie whispered lovingly.
“We call him Little Joe, though,” Ben,
arms loaded with baggage, added as he followed the two women into the house.
“He surely is, compared to Hoss at this
age,” Rachel chuckled. “Lands, that boy
just keeps growing, Ben!” She showed
them into the guest room and laid Little Joe in the crib. “I’ll have some fresh water drawn for you,”
she said, taking the pitcher from the washstand. “You’ll want to freshen up and change into
something more comfortable, I’m sure.”
“Yes, thank you,” Marie said. When Rachel left, she turned to Ben with a
smile. “You were right. These are fine people. I am sure now I will enjoy our visit.”
“Oh, you will,” Ben declared. “Wait ‘til you get a look at Jonathan’s
horses.”
Marie had her first look at the horses an
hour later when Samuel and Susan each took a hand and led their pretty new
friend down to the pasture. Horses of
every size and color cavorted in the waving grass. Hoss, who’d brought up the rear, climbed onto
the fence and leaned over the top rail to stare at the frolicking animals. “They’re gooduns,” he commented. “Can we ride ‘em?”
“Not today, Hoss,” his mother
answered. “It is too close to
dinnertime.”
“Oh, yeah,” Hoss said, not
disappointed. He’d rather eat than ride
any day.
“We’re having arroz con pollo,” Susan offered.
“Mama said Uncle Ben liked it, and we hope you will, too.”
“I am sure we shall all enjoy the meal
very much,” Marie replied. “Perhaps we
should return now, so you children can wash your hands and faces before
dinner.”
“Yes, we should,” Susan agreed. Tidy by nature, she felt inspired to
immaculacy by Marie’s ladylike appearance.
Both Hoss and Samuel scowled, but only to each other. Hoss knew better than to let his mother see
his reluctance to clean up, and Sammy knew tattletale Susan would carry the
slightest hint of misbehavior straight to their mother.
They arrived with time to spare, a good
thing since Little Joe decided to wake shortly after his mother entered the
house. By the time she had nursed him
and settled him down in the crib with some of Samuel’s old toys to keep him
quiet, dinner was ready and the other three children served and eating in the
kitchen with Mañuela.
“Ah, arroz
con pollo,” Ben enthused, “my favorite of all Mexican dishes.”
“There’s flan, too,” Jonathan Payne laughed.
“As I recall, that was your favorite of all Mexican dishes.”
“Yeah, well, Mañuela does justice to
anything she cooks,” Ben praised, “but I have to admit dessert’s my favorite
part of any meal——Yankee, Mexican, French or Chinese.”
“Chinese?” Rachel sputtered. “You’re not serious!”
“No, he is not,” Marie corrected. “Our cook is Chinese, but his cuisine is
not.”
“Oh, you have a cook now,” Jonathan
teased. “And you thought we were getting
high and mighty when you first saw ours!”
“Not high and mighty,” Ben corrected. “I just saw it as a sign of prosperity.”
“Well, I guess we’ll take it the same way,
then,” Rachel tittered. “Glad you’re
doing so well, Ben.”
Ben shook his head. “We’re doing well enough, but I assure you
Hop Sing is not the best indication of that.
What you have in Mañuela is a dependable household assistant. What we have is a dictatorial tyrant.” Ben threw up his hands. “I never even hired him! He just attached himself to us, unasked.”
“And we are most grateful he did,” Marie
rebuked softly. “You know what a help he
is.”
Ben chuckled. “Yeah, if you don’t mind putting up with the
annoyance.”
“He does not annoy me,” Marie smiled.
“True enough,” Ben accused. “You he treats like a princess. The rest of us are just dust-laden enemies to
his housecleaning.”
“Why didn’t you just say the rest of you
were males?” Rachel offered airily and Marie joined her laughter.
They finished the main course, and Mañuela
cleared the table before serving the flan. While she was dishing it up in the kitchen,
Ben asked if he might request a favor.
“We purchased some Christmas gifts for Adam while we were in
“We certainly will not!” Rachel declared
to Ben’s surprise.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ben stammered,
confused. “I just couldn’t think of any
other way to get them to him.”
“Well, I can,” Rachel contended. “The idea of letting that boy spend Christmas
in a lonely rooming house, Ben! He’ll
come here, of course, and celebrate the holiday with us.”
“Oh, how kind you are!” Marie cried. “That will be so much happier for Adam.”
“Yes, indeed,” Ben murmured
gratefully. “I don’t know how to thank
you.”
Jonathan slapped his friend on the
back. “No need between old trailmates
like us. We don’t forget what a good
friend Adam was to our Johnny.”
“Sharing Christmas with him will be almost
like having our own boy with us again,” Rachel said, hazel eyes
shimmering. Marie’s hand closed in
sympathy over Rachel’s larger one. She,
too, had lost a son, and suddenly the apprehension she’d felt at being compared
to Inger faded into mist. The loss she
shared with Rachel forged a bond between them, a friendship that was their own
and whole, not the fragmented leavings of a relationship remembered by one and
held in awe by the other.
* * * * *
“She’s a fantastic rider, Ben,” Jonathan
observed admiringly. The two men stood
outside the corral fence watching Marie trot the chestnut stallion. Though Ben had been offered a mount of his
own, he’d excused himself, preferring to watch his wife’s enjoyment of a
spirited mount. “I get all the riding I
care for at home,” he’d joked.
Now he laughed. “I never told you how I met her, did I?”
Jonathan leaned back against the corral
rails, anticipating a good story. “Only
that you met her in
Ben’s eyes grew momentarily sober at the
memory of Jean D’Marigny, hearing again his awful screams as the stampeding
cattle he’d just turned away from Ben thundered across his body. Ben shook himself. “Well, that was how I was supposed to meet
her,” he smiled, “but she almost ran me down my first day in
“Rachel would say you were meant to meet,”
Jon chuckled. “Wait’ll I tell her that
story!”
“Just don’t tell her in front of Marie,”
Ben cautioned, “or I won’t hear the end of it.
My beloved wife has no memory of the incident and becomes incensed when
I bring it up.”
Marie rode up to them. “May I take him outside the corral,
Jonathan? He wants a good run as much as
I.”
“I guess you can handle him,” Jonathan
snickered.
Marie cocked her head, wondering why his
mouth was twitching so hard, then, as if to show him she was well capable of
handling any horse, she rode to the opposite side of the corral and jumped the
fence.
Jonathan whistled. “How do you keep that one home in the
kitchen, Ben?”
“Hop Sing rules the kitchen, remember?”
Ben grunted. “It’s our new little son
that keeps her in the house, and, of course, our animals don’t have the mettle
of that stallion, so there’s less temptation.”
Jonathan smiled. “Be glad to sell you that one. Marie likes him, I can tell.”
Ben sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, but I can’t.”
“Make you a good deal,” Jon offered.
“Don’t tempt me,” Ben said. “I told you last night about the land I
bought recently. I’m short of cash now,
and likely to stay that way ‘til we’ve gotten the herd built up, so I’m afraid
my wife will have to content herself with our tame Carson Valley horseflesh for
the time being.”
“Too bad,” Jon sympathized. “A woman who rides like she’s part of the
horse ought to have a fine one.”
“Someday,” Ben said. “She wouldn’t take it now, knowing how things
stand with us, but someday I’m going to buy her the best.”
“You know where to find it,” Jonathan
chuckled.
“I do, for a fact,” Ben laughed. “Now, how about showing me that new bull
you’re so proud of?”
* * * * *
After three
restful days at Rancho Hermoso, the Cartwrights headed home. Though they would have liked to stay longer,
enjoying the company of Marie’s new and Ben’s long-time friends, the calendar
read the 18th of October. The skies
looked pleasant, without foreboding clouds on the horizon, but as they all
knew, snow sometimes fell in the Sierras as early as October.
They returned to a land still shrouded by clouds of dismay. More and more residents of
After the two
actual murderers were found guilty and hanged, Captain Jim pursued
Captain Jim
walked defiantly to
Insulted,
Ben, in town to pick up the mail, was
there when they rode in and he watched with sorrow as the Indians later
departed, heads held high, eyes scornful of the white man’s rush to
judgement.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
|
F |
rom long-standing
habit Ben, with Clyde Thomas as his buying agent, had laid in his winter
supplies early and in abundance. In the
Sierras winter could arrive early and last late, and a wise man left nothing to
chance that concerned his family’s survival.
Ben made more preparation than usual this year, however, not for the
human residents of the Ponderosa, but for the livestock that had to face the
winter in the open. With extra pastures
to stock, he didn’t want to lose any of the new calves to winter kill, so he
built a two-stall birthing barn for cows about to calve. He then placed all the calves seven to ten
months old in a special feed lot, where they could receive the best hay during
this critical stage of their development.
Marie, also, found herself busier than
usual. Little Joe, of course, needed
regular attention, and Hoss’s schooling required close supervision, but the
fruits of the harvest had to be saved for the winter months, as well. Even Hop Sing, tyrannical lord of the kitchen
domain, had to admit he needed help in this crucial season, so he and Marie
became allies in the quest to stock the larder with the preserved products of
the garden. Carrots, turnips, parsnips
and potatoes were stored in the root cellar, while the remaining cucumbers were
turned into pickles and the cabbage into sauerkraut, the final two functions
with the help of Nelly Thomas, for they were new skills to both Hop Sing and
Marie. Pumpkins, squash and onions went
to the dry storeroom, where they’d keep for weeks, along with the fruits and
nuts purchased in
Hoss, whenever he was freed from the
prison of schoolwork, took to the woods to set rabbit snares as Adam had taught
him. Soon the Cartwright table and that
of their ranch hands groaned under his success with fried rabbit, rabbit stew,
rabbit fricassee, rabbit pot pie and rabbit with dumplings. Hop Sing began scolding, in clamorous
Chinese, whenever another harvest of rabbits appeared, and, to keep the peace,
Ben finally had to admonish Hoss about the number he was bringing home. It was a matter of self-preservation: not only was Ben tired of eating rabbit, but
of helping Hoss skin them, as well. “You
don’t have to single-handedly feed the entire ranch, boy,” he scolded, “and you
might consider leaving a few for our Indian neighbors. Rabbitskin blankets are all they have to keep
them warm.”
“I ain’t takin’ that many, Pa,” Hoss
argued, “and I need the skins, too.”
“Whatever for!” Ben snapped, growing
irritated. “We feed and clothe you quite
well, young fellow, and there are plenty of quilts and blankets for your bed..”
“Yes, sir,” Hoss gulped. “They ain’t for me, but it’s a secret, Pa——a
Christmas secret.” He and his father
were alone in the barn or he wouldn’t have felt safe sharing even that
much. The rabbit skins weren’t intended
for his father, after all, so in a pinch Pa could be told. Hoss was definitely feeling a pinch.
Ben’s face softened. “Oh, planning ahead, are you?”
Hoss’s double chin bobbed quickly. “Yes, sir.
Aunt Nelly’s gonna help me make somethin’ nice and warm for Little
Joe——Mama, too, if I get enough skins.”
Ben laughed. “I wondered what you and Nelly had been
consorting about. I saw you whispering
in her ear last Sunday. All right, Hoss,
but let’s take Aunt Nelly what you’ve got so far and see if you need more
before you head into the woods again, all right?”
“All right,” Hoss agreed, “but don’t let
Mama see.” Ben promised he wouldn’t.
Though he hadn’t made the point strongly
to Hoss, Ben was concerned about how their Indian neighbors might fare during
the winter. Since the coming of the
white man, both Paiute and Washo had found it more difficult to follow their
traditional lifestyle of hunting and gathering.
Game was still available, but harder to find, and while Ben no longer
cut the piñon tree for firewood, many white men did, either in ignorance or
apathy, and that staple of the Indian diet was going the way of the wild game.
Ben did what he could, taking a few beef
north to the Paiutes of Captain Truckee and Winnemucca and some southwest to
the Washo, but he couldn’t supply two nations singlehandedly. He took Hoss along on these trips, to the
boy’s delight. While Hoss would have
been delighted with anything that gave him a day off from his books or time
alone with his father, he also gleaned the lessons Ben was trying to teach him,
lessons as important as any found in books.
Hoss understood that the Indians were as much his neighbors as the
Mormons had been and he came to realize he had a responsibility to them, as
well as to people he genuinely loved like the Thomas family and other friends
in the valley. White men had caused part
of the Indians’ troubles, Pa said, so white men ought to help solve them when
they could. To Hoss, it made perfect
sense.
One of the Washo leaders, however, came up
with his own creative method of getting help from the white man in feeding his
people. Tuquah, a Washo who worked
irregularly on the Ponderosa, brought the news to Ben, and Ben shared it with
his family one evening during the second week of November. “Mark your calendar, my love,” he
ordered. “We’re invited to a dance this
Saturday night.”
“Oh, good!” Marie cried. “I haven’t danced in so long.”
Ben’s chin twitched. “You won’t be dancing at this one, either, my
love.”
Marie tilted her head and examined Ben
closely. Definitely a twinkle in his
brown eyes, a decidedly mischievous twinkle.
“What kind of dance is this, where we do not dance?” she demanded, her
lips forming a petulant pout.
Ben laughed, recognizing in her expression
the need to stop his teasing. “It’s a
demonstration of Indian dances, Marie.
Captain Jim of the Washo tribe has invited all white men to observe, so long
as they bring a sack of flour as the price of admission.”
“A sack of flour? That is a strange ticket,” Marie smiled.
“A perfectly logical one for hungry
people,” Ben said soberly.
“Oh, Ben, are they truly hungry?” Marie
murmured sympathetically.
“Shouldn’t be, if this idea works,” Ben
commented. “It’s a wise people who learn
to adapt to changing times and make the best of them. Looks to me like the Washo are doing just
that, and I feel we should support them in the effort.” Though he didn’t say it, he couldn’t help
wishing the proud Paiute would be equally adaptable, but they clung to the old
ways, fast proving unprofitable.
“Oh, yes, we must!” Marie cried.
“Yeah!” Hoss agreed. “We got enough flour, Pa? For all of us to go, even Little Joe?”
Ben guffawed. “They won’t charge for him, Hoss! And, yes, we can afford the ticket. We’ll all go.”
“Hurray!” Hoss yelled, then turned to his
little brother. “How about it, Little
Joe? Want to see Indians dance?” Little Joe, just beginning to respond to the
sound of his own name, turned and babbled something to his brother. “He wants to go,” Hoss reported.
Ben shook his head. Was it possible the two boys actually
communicated? Common sense scoffed at
the idea, but Hoss was convinced, and it was no secret Little Joe responded as
well to his big brother as to either of his parents. A unique bond united Ben’s two younger sons,
so maybe they did understand one another, even without the benefit of language.
The Washo dance was a success. Not only did it provide the Indians with a
supply of flour for the winter, but it offered the white attendees an
interesting display of native dances and games, as well as a deerskin when the
entertainment ended. The hide was valued
at only a dollar, so it wasn’t a good trade for flour worth eight dollars a
sack, unless you counted the gain of a good time into the bargain. That and the satisfaction of helping his
neediest neighbors made Ben feel he’d gotten more than his money’s worth..
A week later Marie and her friend Laura
Ellis were still recalling the Indian festivity fondly. Ben had spoken to Laura at the dance to
request that she assist with the annual Thanksgiving feast for his ranch hands,
and she was at the Ponderosa the following Saturday afternoon to discuss the
arrangements with the lady of the house.
Laura’s help was probably unnecessary, now that Hop Sing was part of the
household, but neither Ben nor Marie wanted to deprive her of the extra income
she needed and undoubtedly depended on.
However tight their own finances, hers were more so, especially since
the Mormon exodus had taken away many of the former customers of her laundry
and baking business.
If Laura guessed the hiring of her
services was an act of charity, she kept her own counsel. She needed the money and wasn’t too proud to
take it, provided she could give something in return for what she
received. Somewhat like the Washos in
that, with their token deerskin in return for the virtually donated flour. She and Marie had worked well together for
two holiday dinners the previous year, so they had no difficulty in determining
what to serve this time and how to divide the work between them.
Business satisfactorily completed, Laura
and Marie sipped tea and nibbled ginger cookies Hop Sing prepared and served in
the front room near the fire. “Oh, I’ve
got some bad news, I’m afraid,” Laura said after they’d laughed together over
some of the white men’s attempts at imitating the Indian dances the previous week. “Ben will want to know that Allen Grosch has
left for
“Oh, dear,” Marie sighed. “Ben tried to tell him it was too late to
start over the mountains.”
“As did we all,” Laura sighed. “You know Allen wouldn’t leave until his
debts were paid. Ben wasn’t the only man
who urged him to wait for spring, but Allen wouldn’t listen. Men and their stubborn pride!”
“Yes,” Marie agreed readily. “It is a great fault with them.”
Laura nodded in agreement with her
friend’s assessment of men. “At least,
the fool had sense enough not to go alone,” she commented. “R. M. Burke went with him.”
“That only means two fools have gone,”
Marie observed, “but they have, perhaps, a better chance to survive together.”
To hear her talk, one would have thought
Marie a veteran pioneer instead of a fledgling westerner. The irony didn’t escape Laura, but she
thought too highly of her friend to point it out. “Grosch is a fool,” she said instead, “and to
prove it, you need only look at who he left in charge of his cabin, books and
papers.”
“Who is that?” Marie asked, taking another
sip of the warm tea.
“Henry Comstock,” Laura sniffed.
“Oh, dear,” Marie sighed. She didn’t know the miner well, only that he
was exactly Ben’s age, but shared nothing of his industry. Ben, she knew, would consider Old Pancake a
poor choice for any responsible position.
Over tea and cookies the two ladies
continued clucking over the foolishness of men late into the afternoon.
* * * * *
The Thomas’s table groaned under the
abundance spread for the annual Thanksgiving feast they were sharing with the
Cartwrights. Ben felt as if he should
groan, too, from the sheer excess of what he’d already stuffed into his
stomach. And dessert yet to come!
Hoss, on the other hand, seemed to have
ample room for whatever was put before him.
“More meat, please,” he requested politely, holding out his plate..
“Lands, you’ve got an appetite for stuffed
grouse, ain’t you, boy?” Nelly chuckled, forking another piece onto his plate,
along with a dollop of sage dressing.
“Or anything else,” Ben muttered, shaking
his head in disbelief. Where did that
boy get his appetite? His mother had
been large-boned, but not a heavy eater, and Ben certainly couldn’t pile food
in with half Hoss’s relish. His
brother-in-law Gunnar, of course, could.
Maybe Hoss took after him.
“It’s good,” Hoss said, delving in
again. “Not as good as that turkey we
had once, but mighty fine, all the same.”
“Yeah, how about that, Billy?” Ben
teased. “Couldn’t bag us a big bird this
year, huh?”
Billy grinned, not in the least
perturbed. He knew——and knew the rest
did, too——that his early success in shooting a Thanksgiving turkey was likely
to go unequaled. The wild birds just
couldn’t be found nearby anymore. Too
many settlers had scared the few there’d been so far into the hills a man would
have to be more than lucky to find one.
“Tell you what, Hoss,” he offered.
“I’ll see if I can’t shoot us a nice, fat goose or two for Christmas.”
“Yeah!” Hoss cried, licking his lips.
Ben arched an eyebrow at the impudent
redhead. “Need I remind you, young
fellow, that you’re taking Christmas with us?”
Billy wrinkled his nose disdainfully. “I ain’t forgot. Dinner and dancin’ at the Ponderosa on
Christmas Eve, but I reckon you won’t turn down a goose if it flies into your
oven.”
Ben laughed. “Oh, no.
All contributions gladly accepted.”
A resounding squall came from the parlor,
where Little Joe had been napping in Inger’s old cradle near the warm
fire. Marie patted her lips with her
blue-checked napkin and slid her chair back.
“Why don’t you let me check on him,
honey?” Nelly offered. “You ain’t
finished eatin’, and I can change a diaper handy as you.”
“I’ve had plenty,” Marie smiled. “Joseph probably wants his Thanksgiving
dinner, and how can I refuse when he is what I am most thankful for this year?”
Nelly nodded. Much as she hated to see a guest leave the
table underfed, she knew nothing but his mother’s breast was likely to satisfy
a hungry baby. As Marie went into the other
room, Nelly found herself thinking of the other missing member of the
family. “It’s a shame Adam couldn’t get
home,” she sighed. “Sure do miss him
here today. Don’t seem natural him off
all alone this time of year.”
“Oh, he’s not alone,” Ben said. “He’ll be spending Christmas with the Paynes,
as I told you before, and we got a letter last week telling how he’d been
invited to take Thanksgiving dinner with that senator’s son he’s friends
with. I’m sure he’s enjoying himself,
maybe even feasting on that turkey we can’t get here.”
“What you mean ‘get’?” Billy cackled. “Adam always was high and mighty!”
“That’s mean!” Inger sputtered. “And him your best friend!”
Billy
calmly reached around Hoss to yank one of his sister’s strawberry blonde
braids.
“Ma! Make him quit!” Inger yelled.
“The both of you mind your manners,” Nelly
ordered, taking their altogether too normal wrangling in stride.
“Adam mention anything of that Mormon
fracas over to Mountain Meadows?”
“Yeah,” Ben said quietly. “Nothing we hadn’t heard already,
though.” He wished
“Happened about the time them Mormons up
and left here,”
“Oh,
“Your opinion,”
Ben shook his head. Sometimes there was just no arguing with
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Nelly
suggested, sensing the tension between the two men she cared for most.
Ben groaned, unable to face the prospect
of another bite, but Hoss piped up cheerfully.
“Me! I want pumpkin pie, a nice
big piece——for starters.” Ben cut him a
hard sideways glance. No, the boy wasn’t
joking. Leaning his head in his palm,
Ben watched his middle son pack away bite after bite of pumpkin pie. Watching from across the table,
* * * * *
From the first of December on, the weather
turned from chilly to outright cold.
Marie, who’d taken to wearing flannel nightgowns at the first hint of
frost, shivered day and night. Hoss
greeted the sight of her sufferings with a gleeful twinkle in his eye, for Aunt
Nelly had assured him he’d brought in enough rabbit pelts to make something
warm for his mother, as well as for Little Joe.
It was too bad, of course, that he couldn’t present his gift right away,
when Mama obviously needed it, but Hoss consoled himself that the weather would
be even colder around Christmas and his mother would be truly grateful for what
he’d worked so hard to provide her. If
only he could think of something equally fine for
Ben and Marie, though many of the gifts
they’d give had been purchased in
In addition to their preparations for
Christmas, the parents were busily engaged in a contest. Feeling that Little Joe’s babbling vowel
sounds were ripe to turn into real words, they vied to see whether his first
one would be “mama” or “papa.” Marie was
certain she had the advantage, for she spent more hours each day with the baby
than Ben could, but Ben demanded his right to cuddle his youngest at night,
whispering the appropriate syllables in his ear. Behind their backs Hoss took every
opportunity to breathe his own name to Little Joe, but so far the youngest
Cartwright had refused to repeat any sound he heard.
Christmas Eve arrived with no clear
victor, so the competition was willingly laid aside as Ben and Marie gave warm
greeting to each arriving friend. Laura
Ellis was there first, of course, because she was again assisting with the
refreshments, and Doctor Martin soon arrived with a blooming Sally on his
arm. Billy Thomas, coming in shortly
after the doctor and his daughter, made a beeline for the first daisy in sight,
thrilled that Adam wasn’t there to vie, as always before, for the pretty girl’s
attention.
Billy soon found, however, that he had an
even more formidable rival for the attention of everyone there in a skirt. Sally and Sarah Winnemucca, who had come with
the Ormsbys, gathered with the other ladies around a single male figure, whose
slightest coo held them enthralled.
Billy drew Hoss aside. “How early
does he bed down?” he hissed in the younger boy’s ear.
“I dunno,” Hoss muttered, pulling away and
heading for the refreshment table for another cookie.
Fortunately for Billy, Little Joe soon
showed signs of needing sleep, and Hoss was commissioned to put his little
brother to bed. Leaning over the crib,
Hoss whispered, “Hoss. Say ‘Hoss.’” Little Joe yawned, but made no sound other
than a weary whimper.
Downstairs, Ben spotted Clyde Thomas by
the punch bowl and ambled over. “You
have something for me?” he queried, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth.
“Done put your present under the tree,
greedy britches,”
“I meant my mail,” Ben chuckled. Snowshoe Thompson had been due in that
afternoon, and since Ben had known he would be busy all day with preparations
for the party, he’d asked his friend to pick up his mail.
“Sorry, Ben,”
“You’re kidding!” Ben exclaimed. “He’s never late.”
“Hardly ever,”
Ben hooted at the idea. “Not Snowshoe! He told me once there was no way for him to
get lost in a narrow range like the Sierras.”
“Narrow!”
“Yeah,
I know what you mean,” Ben chuckled.
“Well, I’d better mingle with my other guests. Don’t drown in that punch bowl.” He clapped
Meanwhile,
Hoss frowned. He didn’t enjoy dancing in the first place,
and Lizzie Ormsby was two years older than he.
“If I gotta dance, I’ll ask Inger,” Hoss grunted.
“They’re both your guests, boy,” Ben
admonished sternly. “Be polite to
both. Lizzie’s older; ask her first.”
Hoss scuffed his shoe against the
floor. He still didn’t want to dance,
but he couldn’t think of any argument that would get him out of it. “Yes, sir,” he muttered glumly and headed
toward Lizzie.
Ben cast an eye around the front room,
from which the furniture had been cleared for dancing, to make sure all his
guests were having a good time and had someone with whom to either dance or
converse. There were more men than
women, of course, though the balance was better here than it would be at the
annual New Year’s Eve frolic a week later.
That inequality couldn’t be helped, but every lady, at least, had a
partner, and the men who didn’t seemed content to wait their turn beside the
punch bowl. One man, in fact, looked as
though he’d rather be taking refreshment than dancing with the lady in his arms. Feeling his duties as host involved rescuing
such men in distress, Ben cut in on Dr. Martin.
Eilley Cowan seemed slightly disturbed by
the change of partners, but she smiled graciously. “Isn’t that Dr. Martin a handsome man?” she
asked Ben. “And so educated!”
“Yes, a fine man,” Ben agreed as he
twirled Eilley away from his grateful friend.
“Such a pretty daughter he has, too,”
Eilley gushed on. “A shame to let her
grow up without a mother, though. A girl
that age needs a woman’s advice. He
really ought to marry again, don’t you think so, Ben?”
Ben worked hard to keep from
laughing. He had a feeling Eilley would
be among the first candidates for the job if Paul should ever decide to marry
again for his girl’s sake. Considering
Eilley’s two prior marriages, all too lightly set aside, Ben didn’t think her a
proper mate for the doctor with his unfading memory of his wife Agatha, who had
died tragically in a fire several years before.
“That’s his decision,” Ben said as they glided smoothly to the fiddle’s
music. “I know better than most men that
you can’t rush the mending of a broken heart.”
“Oh, of course,” Eilley agreed quickly,
“but you also know better than most that it takes a good woman to do the job.”
Ben glanced across the room at Marie, now
dancing with the subject of their conversation.
For him it had been true, yes, that a good woman was the balm for his
healing. Ben wasn’t sure the analogy
held at all for Paul Martin, and he was certain that even if it did, Paul’s
balm was unlikely to be the as-yet undivorced, but husband-hungry Mrs. Cowan..
The hour grew late and the younger guests
sleepy, so Ben and Dr. Martin gathered the children close for the annual
reading of A Christmas Carol by
Charles Dickens. The adults drew near,
as well, remembering, with pleasure, hearing the two men read the story the
previous Christmas. Ben put his heart
into the tale, at least all of his heart he had available. One small corner was reserved for the person
to whom he’d first read this story six years ago on the eve of Christmas,
1851. Tonight of all nights, Ben missed
Adam, but the wide-eyed wonder with which Hoss and the children of dear friends
heard the story, some for the first time, reminded him of his eldest son, who
loved a new story above all things on earth.
Though he knew the Paynes would do everything possible to make Adam’s
Christmas a happy one, Ben had a feeling his boy might be thinking wistfully of
him tonight, as he was of Adam.
The ghost of Christmas Past was just
escorting Ebenezer Scrooge to an isolated schoolroom, where a young student had
been left behind for the holidays, when the reading was interrupted by loud
thumping at the door. Ben paused,
wondering who could be calling so late on a snowy evening, since all his
expected guests had already arrived. He
put his finger in the book while Hop Sing scurried to open the door.
A tall man, wearing only a Mackinaw jacket
against the cold, lumbered in. As he
lifted his wide-brimmed hat, his charcoal-covered face swept the room. Ben smiled broadly and, laying the book on
the mantel, came forward to greet the unexpected guest. “Snowshoe!
Glad you made it in safe. I don’t
know how you heard about our party, but we’re pleased you could come.”
“No, not party,” Snowshoe Thompson
muttered. “I come find doctor.”
Paul Martin came forward. “I’m the doctor. Someone needs me?”
“Yah, need bad. I find trapper——James Sisson——in mountains
thirty miles west of
“I’ll get my bag,” Paul said at once.
“Were you able to get Mr. Sisson into
Thompson shook his head. “No.
Too weak. Twelve days he have no
food, no fire. I chop good pile of wood,
leave some biscuits, dried sausage——all I carry on trip——come for help.”
Ben’s expression grew grave. “Do you need help?”
“Yah,” Thompson admitted. “I figure six men.”
“Yeah,” Ben said. He smiled softly at his young guests. “Sorry, children, but I’m afraid we won’t be
able to finish the story tonight.” His
dark eyes roamed the room. “Anyone else
willing to come with us to help a man in critical need?”
Enos Montgomery stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
No one else volunteered.
“We can pick up a couple of men in
Marie drew Hop Sing aside and told him to
package up sandwiches and cookies for the men to take with them. Heading bobbing rapidly, Hop Sing scurried to
the kitchen to do her bidding.
Hoss scrambled up from his spot by the
tree. “
Ben absently stroked the boy’s sandy
hair. “What is it, son?”
“Pa, it’s Christmas Eve. You ain’t going off tonight, are you?”
Ben squatted down and took both of Hoss’s
shoulders. “Son, there’s a man out
there, maybe dying. I have to go, same
as I’d want someone to do for me if I were the one in a tight spot.”
“Yeah, but it’s Christmas, Pa,” Hoss
whined.
“That’s enough, Hoss,” Ben said gruffly.
Handing Ben his warm jacket, Marie laid a
calming hand on his cheek. “I am sure
Hoss wants you to be here when he opens his gifts, Ben. Perhaps, if you see Santa on the road, you
could collect them, so our son will not be tempted until you return.”
“Huh?”
Ben suddenly saw what she was trying to get across. “Oh, yeah, sure. Bound to run across the old boy tonight. I’ll——uh——have him leave our presents in
Hoss wisely kept his mouth shut, for he
thought the whole conversation ridiculous.
Meet up with Santa, indeed! What
kind of fool kid did they take him for?
A baby like Little Joe?
Snowshoe Thompson’s face split in a wide
grin. “Yah, I chase him down on my
ski-skates,” he added to give the boy extra assurance. Hoss just shook his head and turned away.
Ben laughed as he plunged his arms into
the jacket Marie held for him. “Wish we
all had a pair of those.”
“We make some when we get to
“Good idea. We’ll make better time,” Ben said, giving
Marie a swift kiss and heading for the door when Hop Sing handed him the
package of provisions.
When they left, Sally Martin picked up the
volume they’d been reading. “I can’t
make it as exciting as my father and Mr. Cartwright,” she said, “but would you
like to hear the rest of the story, children?”
“Yes!” a chorus of young voices responded.
Marie
smiled gratefully at the doctor’s daughter.
“Oui, let us continue.”
Along
with the other children, Hoss sat cross-legged on the floor. Sally read the story well, but while he
enjoyed it, it wasn’t the same. Christmas wasn’t likely to seem like Christmas
without Pa, either.
* * * * *
The first few miles after the rescuers
left
As the sun began to climb, a light snow that grew slowly heavier dusted down on the six sooty-faced men. Like Snowshoe, they’d coated their faces with charcoal, to prevent snow blindness. A good thing; otherwise, they’d soon be the blind hauling the lame, Ben mused. Not precisely the problem the Good Book warned against, but still one he’d rather not face.
“Not quite the way I planned on spendin’
Christmas mornin’,” Clyde muttered as Ben helped him to his feet after the older
man hit a small rock and sprawled sideways into a snowdrift.
“Don’t
tell me you’d rather spend Christmas rocking beside your own hearth?” Ben
chuckled.
“Doggone
right, I would!”
Ben
shook his head. No sense denying the
truth. He would rather be home, watching
his boys’ wide-eyed pleasure as they emptied their stockings. Little Joe’s first time. He’d looked forward to that. He’d enjoy the celebration more, however,
knowing he’d done his best to help a fellow creature whose only Christmas wish
was survival. He and Marie could wait
for their Christmas fun. Little Joe,
too, for that matter, since the baby had no notion of what Christmas was
supposed to be like. As he glided
further into the mountains, though, Ben found himself worrying about Hoss. Hard for a boy of seven to put off his
pleasures. Shouldn’t have been so hard on him last night, Ben chided himself
and resolved to make it up to his son when he returned.
* * * * *
Not seeing any point in getting up early, Hoss had slept late that morning. Even Little Joe was awake before him, but the baby had, of course, retired earlier, too. Hoss wasn’t exactly moping as he dragged down the stairs, but he didn’t look happy, either.
“Good morning, Hoss,” his mother called
from the sofa. “Merry Christmas..”
“No, it ain’t,” Hoss mumbled, scuffing his
feet on the bare floor. “Ain’t nothin’
merry about a Christmas without
“Oui,
I understand,” Marie murmured sympathetically.
“That is why our true Christmas must wait until he returns, but we can
make merry, mon chéri.”
“Don’t see how,” Hoss grumbled.
“By choosing to,” his mother said, patting
the seat beside her. “I know it is hard
to wait for your gifts, but——”
“It ain’t that,” Hoss protested. “I ain’t a baby.”
“No,” Marie said firmly. “Our baby is behaving much better.”
Face flushing, Hoss glared at Little Joe,
who was smiling and babbling contentedly in his mother’s lap. “He don’t understand,” Hoss muttered
defensively.
“That is true,” Marie said, “but you are
old enough to.”
Hoss nodded. “Yeah, I know Pa had to help that feller, and
I’m proud he did. It’s just that I had
plans. It was gonna be the most special
Christmas ever.” He’d waited weeks to
surprise his mother and putting it off another day seemed unbearable. “Pa will
be home tomorrow, won’t he?”
“I do not think that is possible, mon chéri. If he is, it will be very late.” Hearing Hoss’s deep sigh, Marie took his
hand. “Is there nothing I can do to make
this day merry for you?”
Hearing the wistful longing in her voice,
Hoss looked up quickly. No wonder folks
treated him like a baby. Here he was
squalling, making his mother unhappy when he’d hoped to give her so much
delight this morning. Time he
straightened up and remembered that behaving himself was what made his parents
happiest of all. “Yeah,” he said at
last. “Could I have pancakes for
breakfast? They’re my favorite.”
Marie kissed his cheek. “Mais
oui. My good boy shall have his
favorite breakfast for Christmas. For
that, at least, we will not wait.”
* * * * *
James Sisson lifted a feeble hand as his
rescuers entered the deserted cabin where he’d taken shelter from the
elements. The fire was flickering low,
but still burning. “You——you made it
back,” Sisson murmured.
“Sure, I make it,” Thompson boomed back,
“and I bring doctor.”
Paul Martin came forward. “I’m the doctor. It’s your feet that are injured?”
“Frostbit,” Sisson grunted. “Don’t think there’s any savin’ ‘em, doc.”
“Let’s have a look,” Paul said and began
gently unwrapping a foot swaddled in strips of gray flannel.
“We should get this fire built up,” Ben
suggested, placing the last log on the hearth.
“Yah, I chop more wood,” Snowshoe stated.
“I’ll tote it in,” Enos offered.
“Find something to boil water in,
Ben unwrapped one of the packages he’d
brought from the party. “Brought you a
taste of Christmas, Mr. Sisson,” he said, showing him the sugar-dusted cookies.
A smile came to James Sisson’s face, and
he stretched scrawny fingers forward.
“Thought I was in heaven when Snowshoe left them biscuits and sausage,”
he said, “but this really is a Christmas blessing.”
“Okay to let him have one?” Ben queried
the doctor.
“The whole pile,” Paul said. “Sugar’s the quickest nourishment there
is.” He finished his examination and
covered the cookie-munching patient gently.
“Bad, ain’t it?” Sisson mumbled.
Paul nodded. “I’m sorry, but they’ll both have to be
amputated.”
Ben looked away, dreading the man’s
despair. This was no country for
cripples.
Sisson, however, faced the prospect with
grim acceptance. “Figured as much. Was gonna do the job myself, but I’d sure
rather have you do it proper, doc.”
Paul walked across the cabin, motioning
Ben to follow. “We’ve got a problem,
Ben.” In answer to Ben’s questioning
look, he continued. “I’m out of
chloroform. I’ve had to do more surgery
than I anticipated since the passes were blocked, and I’ve just run out. If I don’t amputate his feet, Sisson will
die, but without anesthetic, the shock may kill him anyway.”
“None to be found this side of
Paul looked anxiously back at Sisson. “It’s a lot to ask, after all the miles the
man’s traveled already, but the rest of us are too inexperienced with these
ski-skates to make good time.”
“Probably get lost, too,”
“I’ll ask him,” Ben said and, pulling his
jacket tighter, headed out into the wind.
On hearing the need, Snowshoe Thompson
immediately volunteered to ski to
“We’ll get him back,” Ben promised. “Somehow, we’ll get him back.”
Snowshoe left almost immediately, but the
remaining rescuers stayed in the cabin until morning. Being unused to both the ski-skates and the
wintry slopes, none wanted to hazard the trek eastward by night. Dr. Martin bathed Sisson’s frostbitten feet
in warm water and wrapped them in clean bandages. With nothing to ease his pain, the injured
man spent a restless night, even with the doctor’s constant attention. While the others slept, rolled in blankets on
the earthen floor, Sisson’s moans repeatedly
disturbed their slumber. For all of
them, the sun rose too early.
The powder-covered pine boughs were tinted
in tones of rose and lavender as the men set out for
* * * * *
Ben slipped soundlessly into the silent
house, carrying in paper-wrapped bundles previously hidden in the barn and
placing them beneath the tree. Now
they’d be ready to celebrate Christmas, but what Ben was most ready for at that
moment was his down-filled pillow. Not
wanting to waken his family, he pulled off his boots downstairs and tiptoed up
to his room. He stood for a moment,
gazing at the cascade of golden hair shining in the moonlight that caressed his
wife’s pillow.
As beautiful as that view was, however,
Ben was exhausted. He slipped into bed
beside her. Marie stirred slightly, then
her eyes opened. “Oh, Ben, you are
back,” she cried softly, arms reaching for him.
“Shh, yes,” Ben murmured, stroking her
cheek. “Go back to sleep, my love.”
“Monsieur Sisson, you found him?” Marie
murmured.
“Yeah, he’s back in
“Mais oui. You have
earned it,” Marie said, kissing his forehead.
She drew his head onto her shoulder and cradled it until he fell asleep.
* * * * *
Hoss eased the door to his parents’ room open and peered through the crack. A wide grin split his face when he saw two figures mounded beneath the blankets. Pa was home. Now they could celebrate their delayed Christmas. He pattered back down the hall in his bare feet, stopping at his bedroom to pick up a few packages to slip beneath the tree.
Hustling back up the stairs, Hoss opened
the hall door to the nursery. He figured
to do his parents the favor of getting Little Joe up and dressed; then they’d
be ready to open presents.
“Ben, Ben.”
The tone of the summons was urgent, but Ben snored on. He’d been awake the better part of three days and nights before retiring and counted each minute precious. Then he felt himself shaken awake by a slender, but demanding hand.
“Ben, there is someone in the nursery.”
“Bound to be Hoss,” Ben muttered groggily,
rolling over and burrowing deeper into his downy pillow.
Marie pulled the covers back and sat
up. Feeling the movement, Ben finally
opened his eyes. “Where are you
going? It’s early yet.”
“But, Ben,” she whispered, “if he wakes
this early, Little Joe will be fussy all day.”
Ben moaned. All too true, and nothing was likely to spoil
the day quite so much as a cranky baby.
He dutifully pulled back the covers.
“You stay here and keep warm,” he ordered. “I can handle it.”
“No, Ben, you are exhausted,” she
protested.
“Too cold for you ‘til I get the fire
built,” Ben muttered. “Stay in
bed.” Still yawning, he stumbled into
the next room. Sure enough, there stood
Hoss, leaning over his baby brother’s crib, whispering the younger boy’s
name. That tactic having failed, he was
just reaching in to do Little Joe the same dubious service Marie had performed
for Ben.
“Hoss,
what do you think you’re doing, boy?” Ben hissed. He pulled Hoss’s hand back, but in so doing
gave it the final impetus needed to jerk Little Joe from contented slumber into
ear-piercing wakefulness. “Now, look
what you’ve done,” Ben grumbled, trying to pat Little Joe back to sleep.
“It’s Christmas,” Hoss said, as if stating
the obvious. “He wants his presents.”
“He doesn’t know what a present is,” Ben
grunted, “and you’ll be lucky if Santa doesn’t leave a bundle of switches in
your stocking instead of the candy you’re hoping for.”
“Aw, Pa, you wouldn’t, would you?” Hoss
whined as his father continued futilely rubbing Little Joe’s heaving chest..
“Huh?” Ben asked absently as he put a
probing finger into the baby’s diaper.
Drenched. Obviously, there’d be
no getting Little Joe back to sleep until he’d been made more comfortable. “Get me a fresh diaper, boy.”
Hoss scurried across the room and brought
back the requested garment. “You
wouldn’t, would you, Pa?” he asked more plaintively.
“Wouldn’t what?” Ben asked, laying the
diaper on his shoulder while he unfastened the wet one.
“Switch my presents for a bunch of sticks.”
Ben laughed. “That’s Santa’s decision, not mine, but I’d
watch my step if I were you, boy.” He
set aside the soiled diaper and reached for the fresh one.
“Pa, I know about Santa,” Hoss explained
patiently.
“What do you——” Ben’s mouth clamped shut when the stream of
urine struck his cheek, and he pressed the clean diaper quickly over the
erupting fountain.
Hoss laughed. “He got you good, Pa!”
“Yeah,” Ben chuckled in response. He bent his head into the crib and made a
face at his youngest. “Is that a proper
Christmas greeting for your weary father, little one? No, it is not.” Little Joe hiccuped as his whimpers began to
peter out. Ben looked up and grinned at
Hoss. “Another diaper, if you please.”
Hoss scampered across the room and back
again. This time Ben kept the old diaper
over the baby until the new one was in place beneath him, then deftly slid the
first away while bringing the second up.
“Should have remembered that trick,” Ben muttered, “saved myself a
shower.”
“Huh?” Hoss asked.
Ben looked up and smiled. He’d forgotten he had an audience for his
comments. “This is my third son,” he
explained. “I’ve been sprayed before. Haven’t changed this one’s diapers much,
though. You kind of lose the hang of it
if you don’t stay in practice.”
“Oh.”
Hoss grinned.
“I would be glad to give you more
practice,” Marie giggled from the door to the adjoining room, “but I do not
know how to put that in your stocking.”
“Thanks,” Ben said wryly, “but I’d rather
have a bundle of sticks.” He frowned at
her eloquently. “I thought I told you to
stay in bed, young lady.”
Marie shook her head, emerald eyes
twinkling with mischief. “And you will
nurse our son, as well? This I must
see!”
“Yeah, me, too!” Hoss cackled.
Ben dug iron fingers into his second son’s
brawny shoulder and herded him toward the door.
“Now, what’s this you think you know about Santa, boy?” he demanded.
“I knew since last year. Pa, I been to school,” Hoss said dryly,
feeling that should explain everything.
It did, as Ben’s nod indicated. Nothing a schoolboy wouldn’t tell, if he
thought it gave him an inch of exalted authority over another. “Well, don’t tell Little Joe,” Ben urged. “Leave me one boy I can play with for
awhile.”
“I won’t,” Hoss promised, “and you can
still play with me. I know how to
pretend.”
Ben chuckled. Obviously, that was true. Even in the face of the fantasy he and
Snowshoe had concocted about chasing down Santa and having their gifts
delivered to
Busily sucking in his breakfast, Little
Joe stopped crying, but no amount of rocking could soothe him back to
sleep. Marie finally gave up and brought
him, thoroughly awake, downstairs where Hoss was busily pinching and poking
each package labeled with his name. “You
should not start without me,” Marie scolded, a pout on her soft lips.
“We wouldn’t,” Ben assured her, “but how
do you keep a boy from pinching when his Christmas is delayed this long?”
“Pa pinched, too,” Hoss reported, eager to
disperse the guilt.
“That I believe!” Marie laughed. “Now, then, which of you naughty pinchers
shall open the first gift?”
“I want you to open the presents from me
first,” Hoss declared, having evidently concluded, without being directly
taught, that it was more blessed to give than to receive.
“Presents from you?” Marie asked,
pleased. “There are presents from you, mon chéri? Oh, yes, let us see them now, s’il te plait.”
“By all means,” Ben agreed heartily, “though I don’t know how you managed to sneak them under the tree.”
Hoss hooted happily. “Uncle Clyde brought ‘em in right under your
nose the other night, with the ones from them!
I had help,” he explained to Marie as he placed a package in her hand. “I trapped the rabbits, but Aunt Nelly made
the stuff.”
“A gift from two hands is doubly blessed,”
Marie said gently, untying the twine that held the brown paper around the soft
package. As she drew out the short fur
cape, lined with satin, she gave a cry of delight. “But it is beautiful! And how warm I shall be with this around my
shoulders. Oh, thank you, mon chéri.”
“You like it?” Hoss asked eagerly.
“Mais
oui!” his mother declared, pressing a kiss to his cheek to emphasize her
pleasure. She slid the cape over her
shoulders and nuzzled the soft fur with her petite nose.
Little Joe reached up from his perch in
her lap to pat the cape. “Ooh,” he cooed
approvingly.
“This one’s for Little Joe,” Hoss said,
presenting his next gift. “Guess you’ll
have to help him unwrap it.”
“Here, I’ll do it,” Ben said, reaching for
the package. A furry bunting and booties
soon emerged, perfectly sized to keep the smallest Cartwright snug on any
outdoor outing.
“Oh, this is wonderful, Hoss,” Marie said,
rewarding his other cheek with a kiss of its own. “Little Joe does not know how to say thank
you, but he will appreciate the warmth.”
Hoss gave his father a chagrined
shrug. “I thought and thought, but I
never could come up with anything for you, Pa,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Come here, Hoss,” Ben said with a
smile. When Hoss came close, he hefted
the bulky boy onto his knee. “Hoss, you
give to me every day of your life,” he assured his son. “You give me your love and your cheerful
obedience and more help around the place than I have any right to ask of a
seven-year-old boy, even one as strong as you.
No need to fret about putting a present in my hands when you’ve given so
much already. Besides, I had my share of
those rabbits, too.” They all laughed,
remembering how much rabbit meat they had consumed over the last few months.
“Adam sent presents, too,” Hoss
announced. “You want them next?”
Ben laughed. “Well, if you’re going to be that patient
about your own gifts, I have an idea.
Let’s give the baby his first; then we can set him down to play while we
enjoy opening ours.”
That idea seemed agreeable to all, so
Little Joe was presented with his new clothes and blocks and placed on the rug
to examine them to his heart’s content.
“Aunt Nelly sent him something, too,” Hoss
said, “but I don’t know what it is.”
“It’ll keep,” Ben said. “Time you opened your own, boy.”
“Okay,” Hoss agreed readily and plunged
into the pile he’d set aside earlier. He
was happy to find a bag of marbles of his own, although Adam had never been
selfish in letting him play with his.
The treasure box Uncle Clyde had made fascinated Hoss with its numerous
compartments for rocks, bird eggs or whatever else a country boy found worth
collecting. The best gifts of all,
though, were the hunting knife in its own leather sheath and a smaller knife to
carry in his pocket.
“Now, you can skin all the rabbits you
like without borrowing my knife,” Ben teased, “and you can whittle with the
smaller one, maybe learn to make things as fine as Uncle Clyde.”
“Nobody’s that good,” Hoss declared, “but
I aim to work at it. Thanks,
“You’re welcome. Now, where are these gifts from Adam, and how
did they get here? Nothing came in the
mail,” Ben commented.
“I brung ‘em back in my carpetbag,” Hoss
grinned, “when I stayed at Adam’s place.”
He fished the packages from beneath the tree.
“And kept them secret all this time? I’m impressed, son!”
“I put ‘em under the tree this morning
before I went to wake——” Hoss prudently
stopped.
“Don’t remind me!” Ben yawned expansively. “It’s not too late to hunt up a bundle of sticks
for your stocking, boy.”
“Ben, do not tease,” Marie chided.
“Yeah, well, here’s yours, Pa,” Hoss said
hastily. “It’s a book, I reckon.”
Ben laughed as he took the hard,
rectangular package. “Yeah, I’d say so,
knowing Adam. That’s what you’re getting
from your brother, too, you know.”
“I didn’t know!” Hoss declared. “How’d that get here?”
“In my carpetbag. How else?” Ben stated. Adam had thought of everything, even the
small, soft flannel shirt in which Marie had dressed Little Joe that morning.. “Ah, Whitejacket,”
Ben read from the cover of the book.
“I’ll enjoy that these long winter nights.”
“You know the story?” Marie asked.
“I haven’t read it,” Ben admitted, “but
I’ve read Moby Dick, which is another
sea-faring tale by the same author. Adam
probably picked this in memory of my sailing days.”
“Oui,
I am sure,” Marie replied. “Adam would
think of that. Did you see what he sent
me?” she asked, holding up two lace-edged handkerchiefs.
“Very pretty, my lady,” Ben smiled. “Your book’s under the tree, Hoss.”
Unlike his older brother, Hoss placed no
great value in books, but a present was a present, so he dutifully unwrapped
the volume. “Hey!” he yelled, holding up
the thin volume with paper cover. “It’s
about Kit Carson! Remember him, Pa?”
“Not likely to forget him,” Ben stated
emphatically, taking the book and flipping through the pages. “You’d better take what you read with a grain
of salt, though, boy. Most of this is
probably made up out of whole cloth.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoss replied dutifully, but
secretly he couldn’t wait to read the adventures of the hero he’d met as a
young boy. Except for Adam’s copy of Aesop’s Fables, it was the only book
he’d ever thought worth the trouble of reading, which still came hard to Hoss.
Ben and Marie exchanged gifts next, each chiding the other for spending too much in this year of economizing, but privately pleased nonetheless. Finally, only one gift remained. Hoss sat on the rug beside Little Joe, tugged the twine aside and lifted away the paper. “Look what Aunt Nelly made you, Little Joe,” Hoss said, plopping the calico rabbit into his brother’s lap.
“Ooh,” Little Joe murmured, his fingers
closing around the tail made of real rabbit fur.
“Just what we need, another rabbit!” Ben
guffawed.
“But why did she use real fur?” Marie
moaned. “It will go straight into his
mouth.” Not only the tail, but the ears,
as well, were made from scraps of Hoss’s rabbit skins.
Little Joe clutched his new rabbit by one
furry ear, while he picked up a red and blue block and tossed it at his
brother’s nose.
“Here now,” Ben scolded. “I did not give you those to throw at Hoss.”
“HaHa!” Little Joe cried.
“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” Ben
chuckled, wrinkling his nose at the baby.
“Well, Hoss doesn’t.”
“HaHa,” Little Joe said again.
Marie laughed and picked up her baby. “Is that all you can say, mon petit? I had hoped for a gift from you this
Christmas, a gift for Mama. Mama,” she
repeated suggestively.
Ben took the boy from her arms. “None of that,” he chided. “If this boy has a Christmas gift in his
pocket, I’m sure he wants it to go to
“HaHa,” Little Joe said.
Marie sniggered. “You see what he thinks of that idea!”
“Well, it’s close,” Ben said, smiling.
Little Joe leaned away from Ben,
stretching toward the boy still seated on the rug. “HaHa,” he urged.
Marie covered her lips with her
fingers. “Oh, no!” she cried and burst
into uncontrollable giggles.
“What?” Ben asked.
“His first word,” Marie babbled
incoherently.
“Pa,” Ben grinned maddeningly. “His first word will be
“No, Ben,” Marie tittered, her head
wagging from side to side. “He has
already said his first word, and it is not Pa——nor Mama, either. It is Hoss!”
“HaHa,” Little Joe declared in
confirmation, small arms reaching for his brother.
Hoss grinned and scurried to his father’s
side. “Want to come to HaHa, baby?” he
asked, arms outstretched.
Little Joe came readily and snuggled up
against his brother’s neck. “HaHa,” he
cooed contentedly while his flabbergasted parents looked on.
* * * * *
The front page of January’s first issue of
the Scorpion was devoted to an
account of James Sisson’s rescue and successful amputation. While all the volunteers were commended for
their willingness to spend a holiday in assisting a fellow creature in need,
Snowshoe Thompson was credited with saving the trapper’s life. Unable to find chloroform in
CHAPTER
NINE
|
T |
hroughout a frosty
January Marie enjoyed the warmth of her fur cape, and while Little Joe couldn’t
express his feelings, he seemed happy every time he was bundled into his rabbit
skin bunting and carried into the fresh air.
In fact, he seemed to prefer a chilly excursion to a warm spot by the
fire. Not so the rest of the family,
although Ben counted himself blessed by the remarkable mildness of that
winter. Only three quickly disappearing
snows had fallen, and while the mornings were chilly, by
Firewood
was still a constant need, however, and while Ben had men available to chop
down the trees, he didn’t feel right about letting them do all the work while
he sat idly by the fire. He saw to it
that even Hoss did his fair share in providing wood for the kitchen. Splitting kindling was a job for a youngster,
after all, not a full-grown ranch hand, and Hoss did it well. Ben secretly thought his middle son would
have preferred any chore to the task of learning his letters.
The sun set early these short, winter
days, and Ben was glad. He disliked the
cold, but the early darkness meant work had to end sooner than in the lingering
daylight of spring and summer and gave him more time to spend with his
family. Little Joe, just beginning to
pull up and ease his way around the furniture, held everyone’s attention until
he grew drowsy and was carried off to bed each evening. Afterwards, the rest of the family settled
into his or her chosen spot: Ben, in his
mauve armchair, lost himself in Melville’s Whitejacket,
while Hoss sprawled on the sofa to explore the wilderness with Kit Carson. Marie chose the blue chair opposite Ben to
catch up on her mending or stitch a new dress from the green silk she’d been
given for Christmas.
All other activities were set aside,
however, when Snowshoe Thompson arrived with letters from Adam, as well as one
from Ben’s old friend, Josiah Edwards. Ben, who had ridden into
To his parents, Adam confided his pleasure
in being able to promptly post his journal, faithfully kept, to his friend
Jamie back in Saint Joseph and expressed the hope that he might receive the one
Jamie recorded for him much earlier this year.
Then he reported the marks he’d received for his first term’s work. “Top of his class in virtually every
subject,” Ben said, beaming with pride.
“He is such a good student,” Marie agreed.
Hoss grimaced. No one had made any comparison between him
and his scholarly brother, of course, but he couldn’t help feeling they were
thinking what they were too kind to say to his face.
Ben turned next to the letter from
Josiah. His friend had read about
President Buchanan’s request for troops to deal with the Mormon conflict in the
printed text of his annual message to Congress on December 8th and was, of
course, concerned that his friend might be endangered. “Josiah doesn’t seem to realize how far we
are from
“But he is a teacher,” Marie
objected. “Surely so learned a man—”
“Is not always aware of simple
practicalities,” Ben smiled. “The same
distance would seem much closer to an easterner, my love.”
“Oui,
that is true,” Marie conceded with a smile, remembering her own concept of
distance when she lived in
Ben shook his head. “Hard to believe it’ll come to
that——Americans fighting other Americans.
May we never see that day, Marie.”
“Oui,
may we never see that,” she agreed.
Ben waited until the boys were both in bed
before he delivered the other news he’d picked up in town. “Snowshoe Thompson brought word of a friend
of ours, Marie,” he began quietly.
“Oh, who is that?” she inquired.
“Allen Grosch.”
“Oh, Monsieur Thompson has seen him?”
Marie said, her face lighting. “He did
make it to
“No, Marie,” Ben whispered hoarsely. “That is to say, he did, but not out of the
mountains, not alive.”
Marie blanched. “He—he is dead?”
Ben nodded. “I warned him he was leaving too late, and as
I’d feared, he and his friend Bucke were caught in a snowstorm, must’ve
wandered for days——the last five without food or fire, Thompson said. Toes froze, then their feet. By the time they stumbled into the camp of a
Mexican miner, their legs were frozen to the knees.”
“Ah,” Marie moaned. “This is terrible, but they were safe then, oui?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, “but in terrible condition, dearest. Bucke let them amputate one leg and the other foot, so he survived, but Allen refused to let them do what was needed. Gangrene set in and he died——about a week before Christmas.”
Marie brushed a tear from her cheek. “From gangrene, like his brother. And he could have been saved, if only he had
done as Monsieur Bucke and Monsieur Sisson did.
Oh, Ben!”
Ben crossed the room to put his arm around
her. “It’s a hard land, my love, for
those who don’t respect it.”
“As you always shall,” Marie murmured,
slender fingers reaching for his face.
It was more plea than statement.
“As I always shall,” Ben vowed, kissing
the fingers so close to his lips.
* * * * *
On a rare wintertime visit a week later, Laura Ellis fumed at length over Henry Comstock’s usurpation of the Grosch cabin. “Not only does Old Pancake act like the place is his own now,” she ranted, “but the Grosch’s claim papers have mysteriously disappeared! All their books and other papers, too. It’s obvious to me that Comstock intends to jump the claim and search for their monster vein.”
“Monster vein?” Marie asked. “What is that?”
Laura took a deep breath. “It’s what I couldn’t tell you before, dear,
because I’d been sworn to secrecy. Allen
and Hosea were convinced they’d found a huge vein of silver.”
“Silver!” Marie cried. “But I thought they were gold miners.”
“I know.
That’s what everyone else is looking for, but the Grosches seemed to
think the real riches of this territory would be in silver,” Laura elaborated,
then sighed. “We’ll never know now, I
guess. I don’t mind losing my investment
half as much as I do seeing that disreputable old codger claim the place for
his own. This soon after a man’s death,
it’s indecent!”
Henry Comstock was, in truth, no older
than Ben, but his unkempt appearance did seem to warrant calling him an “old
codger,” so Marie didn’t correct her friend.
“Could you not fight him——legally, I mean——to recover your
investment? Ben would help you, I am
sure.”
Laura shook her head. “The only paper I have entitles me to a claim
neighboring that of the Grosch brothers, and without their claim papers, who
can say where that is? Trusting one
another as we did, we never thought to make it more specific. I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in a court
of law, Marie, assuming I thought it worthwhile to take the matter to
“It is a long distance,” Marie agreed.
“And what would I do with a silver claim
if I had it?” Laura chuckled. “I know
nothing of how to operate one. No, I’ll
have to settle for making my living with the work of my hands.”
Marie took her friend’s hands in her own
and pressed them warmly. “Let us be
thankful they are strong ones,” she smiled.
“I am thankful,” Laura said, smiling
back. “It just makes me furious to think
of the foolish waste of those boys’ lives.
It’s a tragedy, Marie, to see young men cut off in the flower of their
days.”
January was a month for tragic news, it
seemed, for the mail Snowshoe Thompson brought toward its end included a
grievous report that struck even closer to home for the Cartwrights than the
death of a one-time neighbor. Ben
returned from
“Yes, one for us and one for Hoss, as
always,” Ben replied absently. He drew
them from inside his vest and handed them to her, wandering aimlessly toward
the warmth of the fireplace.
“Hurray!” Hoss cried. “Can I read mine to Little Joe? He ain’t likely to be asleep yet.” Marie had just taken the baby upstairs for a
nap.
“Oui,
that is fine,” she said, handing the letter to Hoss. Surprised she’d made no objection to disturbing
the baby, Hoss took it and ran up the stairs, while Marie came to place
soothing hands on her husband’s back.
“What is wrong, Ben? Did Adam
send bad news?”
Ben turned around and took his wife in his
arms. “No, not him. There was a letter from John, as well.”
“But that is good,” Marie
remonstrated. There had been one short
letter from John earlier, to let them know he’d arrived home safely, but no
news since, and Marie knew how earnestly Ben had been yearning for word from
his brother.
“Martha’s gone, Marie,” he said quietly.
Marie paled. “John’s wife?
Oh, no, Ben. How sad for him!”
Nodding, Ben closed his eyes. “She was a good woman——a little rigid, maybe,
but she had a kind heart. She treated
Adam like her own when we stayed with them.”
Marie reached up to stroke his cheek
gently. “It is sad for you, as well, mon mari.”
“Yeah,” Ben sighed, “but mostly for John’s sake. You’ll see when you read the letter. My brother’s grief-stricken, can’t quit blaming himself for all the years they spent apart. Says over and over he should have listened to me, gone home when I first urged it to him.”
“Oui,”
Marie agreed, “but he must go on, Ben.
He has a son still to raise.”
“Practically raised now,” Ben
muttered. “Will’s older than Adam, my
love, by about a year. Anyway, that’s
another grief for John. The boy’s taken
offense at the years his mother had to struggle alone to keep that farm going,
feels it weakened her and contributed to her death. He’s full of anger, blames his father.”
“Will they come west now, do you think?”
Marie asked.
Ben’s head lifted. “I don’t know, but I definitely intend to
urge John to come here. Family should be
together in time of sorrow, and the Mormons left plenty of good land.”
“You must write him, too, to be patient
with young Will,” Marie counseled. “It
is grief for his mother’s death he feels, more than anger at his father, I am
sure.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Ben said, guiding
her toward the sofa. “Now, shall we read
Adam’s letter. Pleasanter news, I
trust.”
“You did not read it in town?”
“No.
Wish I had, but I was so anxious for news of John, I opened it first,
then didn’t have the heart to read anything else,” Ben sighed.
Marie opened the envelope. “It is just as well. You have more need for cheery news now.” And as they read together the latest news of
their son, the smile returned to Ben’s face.
* * * * *
Answering the door on the final Saturday
of the month, Hop Sing beamed a warm welcome to one of the Cartwright’s most
cherished friends. “Ah, Doctah Mahtin,
Missy Sally, come in, please. Mistah Ben
away now, but I tell Missy Cahtlight you here.”
Marie came downstairs, carrying Little
Joe, who was immediately confiscated by a doting Sally Martin. “It is good to see you, Doctor Martin,” Marie
said brightly. “You will stay for
dinner, oui?”
“Yes, ma’am, our intention exactly,” Paul
Martin smiled. “I’d hoped for a game of
chess, but Hop Sing tells me Ben is away.”
Marie laughed. “No, not far.
He and Hoss are at the birthing barn, helping one of the mother cows.”
“Sounds like a job for you, Papa,” Sally
giggled.
“Mind your sassy tongue, girl,” her father
said, crinkling his eyes merrily.
However he sounded, it was obvious he doted on the girl, who resembled
her mother more every year. “If Marie
will point the way, I think I will see if Ben needs a hand. I have so few human patients lately, I might
as well concentrate on the animal kind.”
Marie went into the yard with Dr. Martin
and pointed him in the right direction, then returned to the house, a puzzled
look in her eyes. “What did your father
mean when he spoke of few patients, Sally?
He seems too busy to visit here often.”
Sally giggled. “Oh, you know Papa, always teasing. He probably meant that a lot of the miners have moved further north, near Devil’s Gate, but they’ll send for him if they’re really sick.”
“Put Little Joe down,” Marie suggested
proudly, “and see how he gets around now.
The miners think to do better near this Devil’s Gate?”
Sally set the baby on the floor and
watched, fascinated, as he began to crawl.
“From what Billy Thomas tells me, they’re making about ten dollars a day
there, twice what they were bringing in closer to us.”
Marie sniggered. “And what does Billy know of mining?”
Sally grinned. “You know Billy, nose into everything. He’d make a good reporter, if his grammar
were fit to read. He says Mr. Comstock
went prospecting a couple of days ago with John Bishop and Old Virginny and
they made a strike just below the divide.
Yesterday prospectors from Johntown and
“Yesterday? You’ve seen him since then?”
“He came by this morning,” Sally replied.
“You see him often?” Marie asked, womanly
curiosity aroused.
“Pretty regularly,” Sally replied and the
two women sat close, exchanging purely feminine chatter about the relations
between male and female.
Paul Martin, meanwhile, had made his way
to the birthing barn and greeted his friend Ben. “I’m afraid our little mother here’s having a
hard time,” Ben said, worry in his voice.
Hoss, seated beside the cow, was stroking her side consolingly.
“Let me have a look,” Paul offered and Ben
readily accepted. After a cursory
examination, the doctor gave a short laugh.
“Must be something in the air here on the Ponderosa.”
Ben arched a quizzical eyebrow.
“It’s a breech, Ben,” the doctor
explained.
“Like Little Joe, Doc?” Hoss asked, biting
his lip.
“That’s right, Hoss, like Little Joe,” Dr.
Martin replied.
“But that’s bad, ain’t it?”
“Well, we’ll see,” the doctor said gently,
mindful of Hoss’s love for living things.
“We may be able to convince the little fellow to turn around the right
way. There was no persuading your little
brother to do the same; he seemed determined to do things the hard way, but
maybe the calf won’t be as stubborn.”
The calf did prove more tractable than
Ben’s third son. With Dr. Martin’s
assistance, he entered the world face forward, with a healthy bawl and a hearty
appetite for his mother’s milk. “Don’t
know how we’d’ve managed without you,” Ben said as they walked back to the house. “You’ve earned your supper tonight, doctor.”
Paul laughed. “Seems like I always have to pay for my
supper, one way or another, when I come here.”
Ben slapped his back. “Well, at least I can promise you a hefty
fee. Hop Sing tends to outdo himself
when company comes.”
Over dinner they discussed the new mining
field and how it might affect businesses further south. “Miners still have to eat,” Paul said
wryly. “They’ll come where the food is,
but an enterprising man might do well to bring it closer to them.”
“And what about you?” Ben suggested. “Ever think of moving to Franktown? Seems a shame the Mormons had to leave so
suddenly, just when the little town was showing such promise. They’d even begun replacing their log cabins
with frame houses, and there’s a start of lovely
Paul laughed. “Plenty of vacant houses,” he agreed, “but
not an occupied one to be found. I have
to leave Sally alone so much, I’d rather live where she has neighbors to call
on if there’s need.”
“Yeah, I’d probably feel that way if I had
a pretty girl to watch out for,” Ben said, smiling at the doctor’s daughter.
Sally blushed.
“Of course, there’s something to be said
for moving her away from some people,” Ben teased, “like a certain mischievous
redhead.”
“Who buzzes around my bright blossom
altogether too often,” Paul laughed, while Sally’s blush deepened.
“Ignore them,” Marie suggested. “They should not talk about Billy when they
are behaving like mischiefs themselves.”
“I’m used to it,” Sally said with a toss
of her brown hair. “I’ve told Papa time
and again that Billy and I are just friends, but he insists on making more of
it.”
“Just so Billy doesn’t!” Ben chortled.
“Ooh!
Go play chess,” Marie ordered spicily, “and leave us to more sensible
company.”
“She means Little Joe,” Ben confided
naughtily to the doctor, who grinned, but knew better than to rush in where
angels feared to tread. That, as any
acquaintance of the Cartwrights could have affirmed, was exactly the territory
on which a man was trespassing when he made less than worshipful comments about
Marie’s precious baby boy. It was a
wonder even Ben could get away with it.
* * * * *
Pleasant weather continued through
February, so the Cartwrights and the Thomases were able to meet for Sunday
dinner each week. It was the Thomases
turned to play host on the twenty-first, one day following Billy’s birthday,
and the fare was unusually festive.
Although Billy had cut his cake the day before, there was still enough
left to provide everyone a slice for dessert.
“Bet Adam ain’t havin’ as fine a birthday
as me,” Billy bragged.
“Billy, you hush that sass,” his mother
scolded. “Lands, where are your
manners?”
“Just teasin’,” Billy grinned. “Ain’t like the old days when we could share
a cake, though, is it?” Though Billy was
a year older, his birthday fell just two days before Adam’s on the calendar,
and the two had sometimes shared a celebration on the day between.
“Well, it’s nothing to tease about,” Nelly
rebuked, “with Adam’s folks missin’ him like they’re bound to be.”
“Sorry, Uncle Ben,” Billy said, but his
blue eyes were still twinkling.
“I can see how much,” Ben chuckled
tartly. “We miss Adam, of course, but I can
assure you he’ll be having a fine birthday tomorrow. I wrote instructing him to treat himself and
a couple of friends to dinner and a night at the theater or whatever other
celebration they agreed on.”
Billy’s face fell. “Hey, how come I never get a party like
that?”
“Where would you go?”
“And who’d want to go with you?” Inger
added, pointing her pink tongue at her scowling brother.
“It would be a fine thing, Billy, if there
were theaters and fine restaurants this side of the mountains, oui?” Marie inserted, hoping to make
peace.
“Yeah!” Hoss agreed between bites of fried
chicken.
“Well, now, maybe that day ain’t so far away as you think,”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “You look like a man bursting with a secret,”
he accused.
“That’s just what he is,” Nelly
laughed. “Been fit to bust with it for
days. Go ahead and spit it out,
“Reckon you ain’t heard we’re gettin’ us a
new town ‘twixt here and your place,”
Ben’s brow arched even higher. “A whole new town?” he quizzed
skeptically. “Nothing in the Scorpion about it.”
“
“No, don’t recognize the name,” Ben
admitted.
“Well, he’s new hereabouts. Been tryin’ to buy some property in
“I would have thought so, too,” Ben
commented.
Ben whistled. “That’s steep.”
“Too steep for Curry,”
“Oh, yeah? Better be careful, my friend, or he’ll be
taking the lion’s share of your business,” Ben chuckled. “With the mining interests moving north,
“Our thinkin’ exactly,”
Ben cocked his head and gave
“Movin’ closer to our friends, that’s
what!” Nelly piped in gleefully. “Curry
made
Marie clapped her hands. “Oh, that is good news!”
Nelly glowed. “Ain’t it?
Give me a hand with the dishes, honey lamb, and we can talk it over our
own way. You gents are welcome to the parlor.”
“Call me if Little Joe wakes,” Marie said
as Ben followed
“He does that quite well for himself,” Ben
teased and scampered through the doorway as Marie fired a wadded napkin at his
back.
“Race you to the seesaw,” Inger
challenged, swatting Hoss’s arm. Hoss
took his time about following. The
seesaw wasn’t going anywhere, and Inger couldn’t play on it ‘til he got there
anyway. Considering himself a man at the
exalted age of sixteen, Billy followed the men into the parlor, prepared to
make himself take interest in adult topics.
As she retrieved her linen weapon, Marie
frowned thoughtfully. “I am glad you
will be moving closer, Nelly, but one trading post does not make a town, as
“No,” Nelly agreed, carrying a stack of
plates to the sideboard where her dishpan was set up, “but Curry’s got big
plans. There’s two or three cabins near
the post now, but Curry aims to lay out a regular town site, figurin’ the
place’ll grow. Says he’s gonna hire a
regular surveyor to lay it out proper, with wide streets and a big plaza.”
Marie brought another stack of dishes to
set atop the plates. “I did not know we
had any surveyors here.”
Nelly laughed. “Honey, every miner was somethin’ else back
in the States. I ain’t sure we got a
surveyor in the territory, either, but if there’s one to be found, Curry’ll see
to it
Marie smiled. “
“Lands, yes!”
Nelly said, lifting a pail of water to fill the dishpan. “He’s got big dreams, Marie. Like our menfolk, he’s hopin’ to split from
Marie laughed. “There is only one other of any size, and
“True,” Nelly said, lathering up a pan of
suds, “but as mad as Curry is over the high-handed treatment he got there,
he’ll do his dead-level best to drain off all their trade.”
“Your
“I reckon,” Nelly sighed. “Those cabins they got there now ain’t near
so roomy as what we got here, and I’ll sure miss havin’ my parlor. Don’t know what we’ll do with the furnishin’s
‘til we get somethin’ better built.”
Marie took a dishtowel and began drying
the dishes as Nelly drew them from the water.
“You will store them with us, of course,” she said practically. “I still have more rooms than furniture.”
Nelly laughed. “Honey, I was hopin’ you’d offer. Now tell me how that little sugarfoot of
yours is growin’. Talkin’ up a storm
yet?”
Marie smiled, happy, as always, to talk
about her favorite subject. “Only three
words so far——HaHa, Mama and Pa, which he learned in that order, to Ben’s dismay——but
I expect more at any time. Oh, and he
crawls so fast now!”
The ladies chattered on over the dishes,
sharing the excitement of Little Joe’s development and comparing it to that of
the youngsters Nelly had raised, her own three and young Hoss Cartwright.
* * * * *
After a mild winter, March turned suddenly
stormy, with rarely a day when snow didn’t fall. Fortunately, on a Saturday just past the
middle of the month, the very day the prospective residents of the new
“Thank Little Joe for that,” Ben
chuckled. “He decided to make a short
night of it, so we figured we might as well come on. I dropped Marie and the boys off at your new
place.”
“We got things planned out pretty good, I
think,”
“Sure better than loading it twice,” Ben
smiled. “Let’s load those things first,
then I’ll go on over and pick up the Martins’ things and Mrs. Ellis’s while you
finish here.”
Abraham V. Z. Curry, feeling that any
respectable town should boast a physician, had offered the use of one of the
cabins standing near the trading post in
When she heard about the new town, Laura
Ellis had approached Curry and won his approval for transferring her laundry
and bakery to the budding
Working together, the two Thomases and Ben
quickly had the Cartwright buckboard loaded with the parlor furniture, then Ben helped move the few items that were so bulky or
heavy that three men could lift them more easily than two. Leaving
“A very kind thought,” Ben agreed, “and don’t worry; if we don’t fill up at
“With his usual tendency to overstuff it,
I presume,” the doctor smiled.
“Wouldn’t be Hop Sing if he hadn’t,” Ben
laughed. “You have everything packed or
has your mind been too much on your stomach?”
“Very funny,” Paul scowled. “Certainly, we’re ready. Didn’t have that much to pack, after
all. Mostly clothes. I do have that table I rigged up for
examining patients, though; it’s mine to take.”
“Well, let’s load it in,” Ben said
brightly. “Clothes can fit most
anyplace.”
“I suppose,” Paul chuckled, “but you be
careful loading my instruments and medicines, young fellow.”
Ben laughed. Thirty-seven years old and the man referred
to him as a young fellow! “Oh, I will,
grandpa,” he assured the doctor, who Ben figured to be no more than five years
his senior, about the age of his brother John.
Loading the Martins’ goods didn’t take
long, and the distance to the Ellis cabin was short. Young Jimmy, playing in the yard, was the
first to see the wagon drive up.
“They’re here, Mama,” he yelled, running inside.
Laura came out swiftly. “Didn’t expect you quite this soon,” she
said, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I’ve been making sandwiches for the
“Doubt it,” Ben said. “My load’s not too heavy, but yours and the
Thomases is. We’ll probably stop long
enough to eat.”
Ben and Paul hefted the heavy cookstove
into Laura’s buckboard first, then beds, tables and chairs. Though she didn’t have as much furniture as
the Thomases, it was too much for one buckboard. Fortunately, Ben still had a little room left
in his, and they managed to cram everything in one wagon or the other. Ben led the way, with Jimmy and Sally riding
beside him, while Laura rode on her own wagon, with Paul driving.
The little caravan easily overtook the
Thomases’ plodding ox-drawn freight wagon, but Ben was surprised to see only
“Took the buckboard on ahead,”
“Yeah,” Ben said. “Billy’s driving, I suppose.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, let’s get this train underway then,
folks,” Ben called cheerily. “You lead
the way,
Ben acknowledged the comment with a wave
of his hand. Yes, it did remind him of
their trek west. Without the hardships,
though, he realized, chuckling to himself.
No cooking over a fire of buffalo chips, no dry marches across arid
deserts, no churning rivers to ford and no Diggers shooting poisoned
arrows. By comparison, this was a tame
journey. To pass the time, Ben found
himself reminiscing to young Jimmy and Sally about the earlier one, glossing
over the hardships and concentrating on the landmarks they’d passed or the
excitement of his first buffalo hunt.
Jimmy, especially, listened with fascination until the sun rose high and
stomachs began to rumble.
The caravan rested briefly after the
“Mama says Sunday is the day of rest,”
Jimmy confided. “She don’t do no work,
then, except for fixin’ dinner.”
“That’s work enough,” Ben agreed. “Your mama works hard all week and deserves a
day of rest.”
“Yes, sir,” Jimmy agreed, “but I’m gettin’
big enough to help some now.”
“That’s the spirit, son,” Ben said, giving
the boy an approving pat. “Now, let’s
lie back and stretch out a few minutes before we hit the trail again.” Ben eased into a reclining position, laying
his hat over his face. Jimmy flopped
down beside him and stuck his hat over his nose, too, wanting to be as much
like Mr. Cartwright as possible.
Finally, the three wagons pulled into
Nelly and Marie were sitting side by side
on a quilt spread on the grass behind the Thomases’ cabin, with Little Joe
napping between them, when the wagons pulled in. Nelly rose and hurried to the front. “You made good time,” she called. “Howdy Laura, Sally.”
“Hello, Nelly,” Laura called as Dr. Martin
helped her down from her wagon.
“See you waited for us to unload that
wagon,”
“Don’t be criticizin’ the boy,” Nelly
chided. “He’d’ve helped if I’d asked,
but there weren’t much point in just settin’ stuff on the ground. Ain’t nothin’ inside to put it on,
“He took the younguns off for a romp,”
Nelly said. “Ought to be back soon; I
told ‘em not to stay gone long.”
Marie, who’d taken her time to avoid
waking Little Joe by a sudden movement, came around the corner of the house, carrying
him. “Have you had anything to eat?” she
asked. “Hop Sing sent plenty.”
Ben placed a light kiss on her cheek and
brushed the baby’s downy curls. “We’ve
eaten, thanks to Mrs. Cosser and Laura.
We’d better get right to work if we expect to unload three households by
sundown.”
Marie nodded and stepped out of the
way. There was nothing she could do to
help until things were unloaded, and nothing then if Hoss didn’t return to
watch the baby while she worked.
The three men first unloaded the Ellis wagon. Since she owned less than the Thomases, the
job wouldn’t take long, and the ladies could begin arranging things there while
the men moved the other families’ belongings to their respective cabins. They’d just set Laura’s last crate off the
wagon when Billy came striding up with Hoss and Inger in tow.
“‘Bout time you showed up,”
“Hey, I came soon as I saw your dust,”
Billy blurted out defensively. “You got
in earlier than we expected.” Seeing
Sally, he tempered his tone quickly, doffed his hat and said hello.
“Hello, Billy,” Sally smiled. “There’s still plenty of work to be done.”
“Plenty for us ladies, too,” Nelly
said. “Show us where you want things
set, Laura, and we’ll have your place lookin’ homey right quick.”
“Hoss, take Little Joe behind the cabins
and watch him,” Marie said, placing the baby in his big brother’s arms.
“Okay, but I’m hungry, Mama,” Hoss
said. “Ain’t we got somethin’ to eat?”
“We had some sandwiches left,” Laura
said. “Jimmy can get the basket for you. Keep him out from underfoot, too, will you,
Hoss?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hoss said. As the oldest of the four youngsters, he was,
of course, expected to be the responsible one, but Hoss didn’t mind. Little Joe was still asleep, and neither
Inger nor Jimmy was the kind to run off and get into mischief.
Many hands make light work, as the old
proverb states, and sooner than seemed possible, three cabins were in
reasonable order and the weary workers gladly ate every scrap left from three
originally bulging picnic hampers.
They’d made a fire, just to make coffee and keep warm, and while the
sleepy youngsters stretched out on a blanket and Billy and Sally took a stroll
in the moonlight, the adults enjoyed a brief time for conversation as they
sipped a cup of hot brew.
“I think we’ve got the beginnings of a
fine town here,” Paul Martin commented.
“I know I’ll feel safer with good
neighbors close,” Nelly observed.
“Whatever
“Yes, I’ve heard there’s been a real rash
of crime lately,” Dr. Martin said.
“And your consarned committee of
twenty-eight doin’ nothin’ about it,”
Ben shook his head. “What can we do? We have no authority to back us up.”
“Well, got some now, I reckon,”
“You know me better than that!” Ben
scoffed. “I was invited, but when I saw
they were set on forming a vigilance committee, I had no desire to be part of
it. I don’t believe in vigilante
justice.”
“Better than none, I say,”
“Yeah, I know,” Ben muttered, pouring himself a second cup of coffee. “I know all the arguments for taking the law
into your own hands, but I think there has to be a better way.”
“Like lettin’ rustlers drive off that herd
you’re so proud of, I reckon,”
“You know better,” Ben said again. “Sure, a man has to protect his home and
property, if it comes to that; but holding trials and hanging offenders, that’s
a job for legally constituted authority.”
“Of which we have none, Ben,” Paul pointed
out quietly.
“I know,” Ben agreed, “which is why I
don’t condemn those who support the vigilance committee, but it’s not a road I
choose to follow. Too close to mob rule
for my taste, and mobs are hard to control.”
“Ben, should we not start for home?” Marie
suggested. “We still have far to go.”
“I’d invite you to stay the night, but
we’re a mite crowded just now,” Nelly laughed.
Marie smiled. “Thank you, but it is I who will make an
invitation. Please, you must all come to
dinner at the Ponderosa tomorrow. We
have worked so hard today that tomorrow should be a true day of rest.”
“Except for Hop Sing, I take it,” Laura
giggled, “but I accept, gladly.”
The others quickly did also and the
Cartwrights took their leave, arriving late that night and tumbling wearily
into bed, determined to sleep late. All
except Little Joe. Having had his full
complement of naptime the day before, he was ready to rise early and begin a
new day.
CHAPTER
TEN
|
A |
pril began not much
differently than March ended, although the precipitation that fell was more
often rain, rather than snow, at least in the valleys. In the Sierras snow still prevailed; in fact,
the mountains were covered with a thicker blanket than at any time during the
previous winter.
The first of April dawned gray and
cloud-covered, and before
Ben came in early that afternoon, deciding
it was futile to work in a downpour, however softly the droplets fell. He slapped water from his hat, then removed
his slicker, left it just outside the front door and walked in. “Pa!” Little Joe cried happily.
Ben beamed at the boy. Nothing ever sounded as sweet to him as that
one syllable, no matter which of his sons voiced it, but it was still new to
Little Joe’s lips and, therefore, all the more precious. “How’s Pa’s sweet baby boy?” Ben cooed.
“He wants to show you somethin’,” Hoss
announced, taking both the baby’s hands.
“Up, Punkin,” he ordered. “Stand
up.”
Little Joe pushed up to stand beside his
brother. Nothing new in that, of course;
the boy had been able to pull up for some time now. But Ben caught his breath when Hoss held just
one of Little Joe’s hands as the child took one, two, three little steps before
he flopped onto his backside. Swooping
the baby up to the ceiling, Ben crowed with delight. “Ooh, you bright boy! When did you take this up?”
“Today, mostly,” Hoss reported. “I been workin’ with him.”
“And a job well done it was,” Ben said,
giving his middle boy a proud smile, “but unless my eyes deceived me when I put
up my horse, you have some chores that need doing in the barn, too.”
“Just gettin’ to ‘em,” Hoss said. “Can I take Little Joe? He ought to learn how to milk the cow, you
know.”
Ben laughed. “I think he’s still a mite small to take over
your chores, young fellow.”
“That ain’t what I meant!” Hoss
protested. “I just meant he could
watch.”
“Not today,” Ben chuckled. “He doesn’t need to go out in the rain.” He brought his face close to the baby’s and
clucked, “You need to take another step or two for Pa, don’t you, sweet
boy?” Little Joe grinned and willingly
performed again for his father as Hoss hurried into his jacket and ran through
the raindrops for the barn.
Spring
finally tiptoed in, like a guest unsure of her welcome——sunny days interspersed
with snowfalls or thunderstorms until finally the warmth came to stay. With it came the busiest time of year on the
Ponderosa and elsewhere throughout the valley.
Clyde Thomas had new fields to break to the plow, but Ben found himself
so occupied with his own work, he rarely found time to help his old
friend. Fortunately, Billy had grown
into a stalwart young man, able to do his share of the plowing and planting.
Hoss found it harder than ever to keep his
mind on his books when the bright sunshine beckoned so invitingly. As if warm weather were not enough
distraction, the increasingly mobile Little Joe provided still more. How could anyone expect a boy to study his
lessons when a small hand patted his book, demanding attention? Marie would gently lift the baby away,
setting him at the opposite end of the low table from Hoss. For a few minutes Little Joe would play with
his blocks or nibble his bunny’s ear, then he’d remember that what he really
wanted was brother Hoss, pull himself up and make his way, hand over hand along
the table, back to the object of his devotion.
“You are incorrigible,” Marie would scold fondly as she removed him once
more, but the kiss with which she ended her rebuke was unlikely to prevent
repetition of the behavior.
Once
the weather cleared, Hoss took that to mean his little brother could now
accompany him wherever he went, so whenever it was time to milk the cow or
gather the eggs, Little Joe could be seen clinging to his brother’s hand as
they ambled toward the barn. Once they
got there, Hoss expected Little Joe to sit quietly and watch him do the
chores. Sometimes the baby cooperated,
but frequently Little Joe wandered off to explore on his own, and the more
steps he was able to take without Hoss’s guiding hand, the further he wandered,
until Hoss began to think the company wasn’t worth the nuisance. It was hard to milk a cow while keeping one
eye peeled on Little Joe to make sure the toddler didn’t stroll into an
occupied stall.
Another member of the family definitely
considered Little Joe’s new-found ambulatory skill a nuisance, to judge from
the stream of Chinese that erupted whenever Hop Sing heard the clatter of pans
pulled from a cupboard and looked down to find the young culprit smiling
benignly up at him. “I’m sorry, Hop
Sing,” Marie would say each time she ran to rescue her baby. “He is gone before I know it.” She would take Little Joe’s hand and lead him
back through the dining area into the front room, cautioning him against
bothering Hop Sing, but the next day found the baby toddling back into the
kitchen without qualm or conscience. Of
course, since Hop Sing was as likely to reward him with a cookie as a scolding,
Little Joe was slow to learn that he wasn’t wanted in the kitchen. In fact, it was obvious from his demeanor
that the youngster couldn’t conceive that he would be unwelcome anywhere. “Spoiled rotten, that’s what you are,” Ben
regularly told his youngest, most fervently while in the midst of spoiling the
baby himself.
In previous years Adam had taken charge of
the family garden, but he was still in
“That’s right,” Hoss said. “Pat it down firm, Little Joe, so it’ll make
lots of potatoes. You like potatoes,
don’t you?”
“No,” Little Joe said.
“You don’t? Aw, I don’t believe that,” Hoss argued. “Taters taste good, little brother. Onions, too.. Like onions, Little Joe?”
“No,” Little Joe smiled.
Hoss grinned. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’, do you?”
“No,” Little Joe assured him.
“Oh, quit sayin’ that,” Hoss said, wriggling
his finger into the baby’s side. “You
quit sayin’ that.”
“No, no,” Little Joe chortled, squirming
away from the tickling finger.
Hoss shook his head, still grinning. “I better teach you some more words. I know.
You got another brother, Little Joe.
He’ll be comin’ home real soon now, and it’d surprise the punch out of
him if you could say his name. Say
‘Adam’ for me, Punkin.”
“No,” Little Joe giggled, trotting down
the furrow while Hoss clambered up to give chase.
* * * * *
With Little Joe riding on his arm, Ben
paced the boardwalk in front of Ormsby’s store in
Little Joe wriggled, reaching and
stretching, obviously wanting down. “Oh,
all right,” Ben said when he caught sight of Hoss coming out of the store. “Go to Hoss.”
He set the toddler down and watched him trot quickly toward his older
brother. “Hang onto him, Hoss,” Ben
cautioned. Lately, Little Joe had shown
a propensity for vanishing at any and every opportunity, and it would be just
like him to decide to explore the street the exact moment twenty-four galloping
legs stormed into town in front of the stagecoach.
Little Joe obviously didn’t appreciate
being held back in his adventures, even by one hand, but he was willing to
tolerate it as long as Hoss kept on the move.
Up and down the walkway the two brothers paraded until Hoss heard a
rumble coming toward them and knew the stage would soon arrive. He snatched up Little Joe and ran back to the
front of the store.
Adam jumped from the door in the side of the
coach, the first passenger to disembark.
“Pa!” he shouted, flinging his arms around his father.
Ben
returned the embrace with an almost crushing bear hug. “Look at this, will you? I do believe the boy’s missed us, Marie.”
Marie came forward and pressed a gentle
kiss to Adam’s cheek. “As we have
him. Welcome home, Adam.”
“Merci,
Marie,” he said, using the French term in honor of their lessons together. “It’s good to be home.”
“Hey, Adam!” Hoss yelled. “You bring me anything?”
“Yeah, greedy belly, I did,” Adam
laughed. “You got something there for
me?” He reached to take the baby from
Hoss. “Missed you, too——yes, I did,” he
told his youngest brother.
Little Joe took one look at the unfamiliar
face and started to whimper and squirm.
“HaHa,” he pleaded.
“He wants me,” Hoss announced
proudly. “Reckon he don’t ‘member you,
Adam.”
“Reckon not,” Adam said, handing the baby
to Hoss with a touch of disappointment.
“We’ll have to work on that.”
Hoss brightened. “Hey, yeah!
We been workin’ most a month on somethin’, ain’t we, Little Joe? Know who this is?” he asked, pointing at the
other boy. “Your brother Adam. Say it now.”
Little Joe cocked his head back at the
stranger. “Ah-um,” he repeated
dutifully, although, for him, the word had no meaning, just a sound Hoss liked
to hear.
Adam laughed. “Well, aren’t you the smart one!” He ruffled the baby’s soft curls. “Funny, too.
Won’t let me hold you, but you know my name, huh, monkey?” Little Joe grinned, beginning to warm to the
stranger.
“Yeah, and look what else he can do,” Hoss
declared, setting the toddler down.
Little Joe immediately demonstrated his skill by trotting off down the
boardwalk.
“Hoss, I told you to hang onto him,” Ben
chided.
“I’ll get him,” Adam laughed. “He moves fast!”
It was no problem, of course, for Adam’s
longer legs to catch Little Joe’s short ones, so he didn’t bother running. Little Joe halted, anyway, when he ran into a
ruffled skirt. Clutching it, he looked
up and queried, “Mama?”
Bronze hands reached down to lift the
youngster. “No, not Mama, little Running
Deer,” she laughed.
Adam stood grinning at the pretty Paiute
girl. “Hello, Sarah. Nice to see you.”
Sarah smiled, her almond eyes
lighting. “It is good to see you, Adam.”
“I heard you’d gone back to your people,”
Adam said, “after”——he broke off awkwardly, not sure whether to mention last
year’s misunderstanding over the deaths of McMartin and Williams.
“Things better now; I come back,” Sarah
replied. She, too, seemed reluctant to
speak of the painful incident.
Caught between two virtual strangers,
Little Joe wriggled uncomfortably. Adam
took him from Sarah and set him down.
Pointing, he ordered, “Go back to Hoss.”
“HaHa,” Little Joe called, running back
the way he’d come.
“Little brave run good,” Sarah said,
smiling. Then she frowned. “No, that not right. Him run——well?”
“He runs well,” Adam corrected.
Sarah shook her head. “English not easy. Too many rules.”
Adam laughed. “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you. Plenty of the fellows at my school have
trouble with the rules, and they’ve had years more practice than you. You’re doing fine.”
Sarah smiled again. “I study hard, learn much.”
Adam gave her a puzzled look. “But I thought the school here closed when the
Mormons left.”
“Mrs. Ormsby teach me,” Sarah explained.
“Adam,” Ben called, “we need to be
leaving, son.”
Adam waved to show his father he’d heard,
then turned quickly back to Sarah. “I’ll
be seeing you,” he said, brushing a light kiss on her cheek. Beneath the deep bronze of her face, a rosy
gold flush appeared, but Adam didn’t see it.
He’d already turned his back to walk toward his waiting family.
“What’s the hurry?” Adam said as he
climbed into the back of the buckboard, where Ben had already stowed his
luggage and guitar. “Sarah and I haven’t
had a chance to talk in nine months.”
“Talking isn’t all you were doing, young
man,” Ben muttered, flicking the reins.
“You watch your step with that girl, Adam.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
Adam said.
Ben frowned over his shoulder. “I saw you kiss her, young man. You need to remember that she’s Paiute.”
“So what?” Adam asked sharply. “People are people, you always taught us.”
“True enough,” Ben replied, “but cultures
are different. What you intend as
innocent flirting, she might take as something more serious.”
Adam hooted. “Pa, we’re friends, just friends. I’m too young to think about getting
serious——with Sarah or any other girl.”
“She, on the other hand, is exactly the
right age!” Ben snapped.
“Girls mature earlier than boys, mon ami,” Marie said, reaching back to
touch Adam’s hand. “Your father means
only that you should be careful Sarah does not misunderstand your friendship..”
“Precisely,” Ben agreed sharply. “If there’s anyone we don’t need a
misunderstanding with, it’s the Paiutes.”
“All right, Pa, I’ll watch myself,” Adam
promised. “Is that why you hustled me
out of town, to avoid riling the Paiutes?”
Ben chuckled. “No..
We’re expected for lunch at
“Hey, great! I’ve been wanting to see the new town——and
Billy.”
Ben smiled. If seeing Billy Thomas was Adam’s first goal,
he couldn’t be as girl-crazed as Ben had at first feared. Even if he were,
It was past
“May I help?” Marie asked at once.
“Oh, I’ve had plenty of help,” Nelly
laughed, nodding back toward the open doorway, through which Sally Martin had
just exited. “Laura’s bakin’ the bread
at her place. Figured we might as well
have a big celebration, invite the whole town——well, practically.”
Sally moved slowly to where Adam was
talking animatedly with Billy Thomas.
“Nice to have you home, Adam,” she said softly.
Adam turned to grin at her and his mouth
dropped. “Sally, you’re even prettier
than I remember,” he said in open admiration.
“Don’t they have any pretty girls in
“A few,” Adam admitted, “but I’ve been busy with my books, you know.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet!” Billy scoffed. “I’d like to see the day even you’d pick a
book over a pretty girl!”
“Not today, for sure,” Adam said, giving
Sally a swift peck on the cheek, probably more to irritate Billy or his father
than to impress the girl.
Sally didn’t even blush, just smiled and
took Adam’s arm. “Let’s show Adam around
town, Billy,” she called over her shoulder.
Billy’s eyes glinted and at first he
planned to stay behind and sulk. When
Adam gave a glance back, though, he shuffled forward, feeling he had as much
right to his friend’s company as any fickle girl.
“Billy looks jealous,” Adam laughed to
Sally while the other boy was still out of earshot.
“Serves him right,” Sally snickered. “The way he’s been flirting with that German
girl over at
“Marta?
Who told you that?” Adam asked.
“His father,” she whispered as Billy
strode up.
“Well, what do you think of our town?”
Billy demanded. “Looks puny to you after
“Anything but
“
“Oh, not you, too,” Sally protested. “You sound just like your father.”
Billy grinned impishly. “Naw, I ain’t that bad. Just proud of our own town, that’s all, and
you should be, too, Miss Prissy.”
“I am,” Sally declared with a flounce of
her head, “so don’t get uppity with me, Billy Thomas. Just look how we’re growing!”
“Yeah, I can see,” Adam said. “Two more houses going up than what Pa wrote
about.”
“The one to the left is Mr. Ormsby’s,”
Sally reported, “and what’s that other fellow’s name, Billy?”
“Stebbins, Martin Stebbins,” Billy
answered.
“Mr. Ormsby from
“She and her sister will be coming here
with the Ormsbys when the house is finished,” Sally said, “and I’ll surely be
glad to have other girls close to my age in town.”
“Yeah, havin’ other girls around sounds
right good to me, too,” Billy declared, hoping to get a rise out of Sally.
The Martin girl only laughed, easily
seeing through Billy. “Never knew you
were that fond of Lizzie,” she teased, “but she’s a little too grown up for
you, isn’t she?”
Billy’s face flamed and he scowled at both
her and Adam, having seen the winks they exchanged. “Better be gettin’ back. I see ‘em settin’ out the food, and I reckon
neither one of you is so grown up you care to be last at the table.”
“Not with Hoss around,” Adam grinned. “We’d better hurry.”
Earlier that May morning
The men, of course, chose politics. “Hey, Adam,”
“I brought the latest issue of the Bee,” Adam said, buttering one of Mrs.
Ellis’s fluffy yeast rolls. “You’re
welcome to read it, sir, but it’s mostly the same old thing——
“‘Bout time they
let the folks that live there have a say in their own government,”
“I’m sure Stephen Douglas would agree,”
Ben commented. They were all aware of
the continuing battle over statehood for the
The conflict over
* * * * *
“Ah, Mistah Adam, good you be home,” Hop
Sing bubbled, beaming and bowing in eloquent respect to Mr. Cartwright’s number
one son.
“Thanks, Hop Sing. Good to see you,” Adam replied, setting his
carpetbag down just inside the entrance.
“When do I get what you brung me?” Hoss
demanded.
“What he brought you, Hoss,” Marie
corrected as she removed her shawl.
“Yeah, but when?” Hoss persisted, grammar
being much less important to him than an answer to his question.
From the lofty plain of adolescence, Adam
laughed at Hoss’s childish impatience.
“If you’ll carry my bag upstairs, I’ll get it for you now.”
Hoss frowned. “I ain’t carryin’ them heavy books.”
“Those heavy books, Hoss,” Ben reminded
him, setting Little Joe down. “You’re
not carrying those heavy books.”
“That’s right, I ain’t,” Hoss declared
emphatically.
Ben groaned. The boy was hopeless, grammatically hopeless.
“I’ll carry the books,” Adam said. “Wouldn’t trust you with them, anyway. You carry the bag.”
“Okay,” Hoss agreed, picking up the
carpetbag and heading up the stairs.
Adam followed. So, also, did the youngest Cartwright, at
least until he reached the stairs.
Unable to climb, Little Joe whimpered in protest, little palms beating
on the bottom step. “HaHa,” he cried,
arms stretched imploringly upward.
“Not this time, little one,” Ben laughed,
catching the baby up in his arms. “Your
brothers deserve some time alone.”
“And this one needs a nap,” Marie said.
“Good luck,” Ben chuckled. “He doesn’t appear to be in the mood.”
Leaving their parents to deal with that
problem, the two older boys hurried into Adam’s room. “Wait’ll you see this,” Adam enthused,
pulling out a rolled-up sheet of paper from his bag.
Hoss spread it open on Adam’s bed. “A picture of a boat?” he muttered,
disappointed. “I was hopin’ you’d bring
me some candy.”
“I did, greedy belly,” Adam said, “but
this is even better, and it’s for both of us.”
Hoss shook his head, not understanding.
“Look,” Adam explained, pointing to the
drawing, “it’s a plan for a boat we’re gonna build this summer.”
Hoss’s face brightened. “You mean a real one? One we could sail in?”
“That’s right,” Adam said. “Good idea, huh?”
“Yeah, if——”
“What?”
“If you really know how. You ain’t never built a boat, Adam.”
Adam set his lips stubbornly. “Well, I know I can. I’ve been talking to every steamer captain
who’d take the time, and I learned a lot.
Besides, Pa knows boats, and he’ll help, I bet.”
“Pa’s awful busy,” Hoss reported.
“Roundup?” Adam asked.
“Yeah.
They start brandin’ tomorrow.”
Adam nodded. “I’ll need to help with that, but I still
think we could get a boat built by the Fourth of July. Think of the fishing we could do from the middle
of
“Yeah!” Hoss
cried, catching his brother’s enthusiasm.
“Let’s ask Pa right now if he’ll let us do it.”
“Okay, but first things first,” Adam
chuckled, digging into his carpetbag for the package of assorted candy he’d
bought before leaving
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
|
B |
en pulled the
buckboard to a stop before Lucky Bill’s store in
He walked inside and presented Thorrington
with his list, smiling at the youngster standing with his father behind the
counter. He liked to see a father and
son working together. “Oh, and I need
some paint, if you have it,” Ben added.
“Preferably red.” The paint was
for the boat the boys were busily building, and the request for red had come
from Hoss.
Lucky Bill laughed. “Nope.
I’ve got whitewash, but that’s it.”
“No, I’m afraid that won’t do,” Ben
said. “I’d better see if Ormsby has
any.”
“Might,” Bill conceded. “He carries more fancy goods than me. Got something else you ought to have a look
at, though, Cartwright. You won’t find
the like of it at Ormsby’s.”
Ben arched a questioning eyebrow.
“Out back,” Thorrington said, gesturing
with his head. “Just take a minute. Jerome here will load your supplies.”
Ben shrugged and followed the tall
merchant outside. He had time to spare
since the mail stage was running late, and his curiosity was aroused. When he saw the sleek chestnut thoroughbred
in the corral, he gasped. “What a
beautiful animal, Bill! Where’d you find
a racehorse out here?”
“Friend of mine brought him in from
“Ooh, don’t tempt me,” Ben chuckled.
“Knowing livestock like you do, you can
see what quality he is,” Bill urged, “and I’ve heard that wife of yours sits a
fine saddle, too. Of course, this animal
might be too strong for a lady.”
“Not my lady,” Ben boasted. “She could ride anything, and I’d love to
give her a mount like this.” He
sighed. “Can’t do it, though. I bought too much land this year to spare
anything for riding stock. I have to
concentrate on building my herd.”
“Too bad,” Bill said. “Edwards is in a hurry to sell, and at the
price he’s asking, this beauty won’t last.”
Ben shook his head. “Sorry, but I can’t. Thanks for showing him to me, though. It’s a privilege just to look at an animal
this fine.” His head came up as he heard
the sound of galloping hooves. “Must be
the mail. Look, Bill, I’ll be back for
those supplies and pay you then. I’m
hoping for a letter.”
“Who ain’t?” Bill laughed. “Bring back mine, if I get any?”
“Sure, glad to.”
Ben hurried to the post office, but it was
already crowded. Even with the exodus of
the Mormons, on mail day the room was always packed, and it didn’t pay to be
last in line. Ben managed to fall in
only three feet from the window. Looking
up the line, he grinned. Trust Billy
Thomas to elbow his way to the front. As
the young man passed him, eyes glued to the envelope he’d just received, Ben
edged a toe across his path. Billy
walked right into it and stumbled, but Ben caught him, laughing. “You seem mighty interested in that piece of
mail, son. Didn’t know your pa was
expecting such an important letter.”
Billy grinned, pushing his shock of red
hair back from his forehead. “
“Mighty fragrant,” Ben said, taking a deep
whiff. “Who’s sending you that kind of
mail, young fellow?”
Billy turned the envelope so Ben could
read the return address.
“Marta?” Ben asked, incredulous. “I thought she had better sense.”
“Hey!
A girl could do a lot worse,” Billy retorted.
“Don’t see how,” Ben muttered dryly, then
grinned at the boy.
“You expectin’ mail,” Billy asked
sociably, “or just hopin?”
“Hoping, mostly,” Ben admitted, “though if
I don’t get something from that brother of mine soon, I may disown him.”
“Well, here’s your chance,” Billy
cackled. “You’re next.”
Ben stepped to the window and his face
brightened as he was handed a letter with John Cartwright’s name on it. “Anything for Lucky Bill?” he asked. There wasn’t, so Ben turned away, shaking his
head as he saw Billy scanning the lines of his letter from Marta.
He was tempted to read his own letter then
and there, too, but preferred to wait until he had a little more privacy. He peeked over Billy’s shoulder, not really
reading, just teasing the boy. Billy
hastily folded the letter and stuffed it in his vest pocket.
“Might burn a hole in there,” Ben warned
with twitching lips.
Billy shook his head, grinning. “It ain’t that fiery,” he said. “How’s Adam comin’ with that boat?”
“Oh, fine,” Ben replied. “In fact, I’m going over to Ormsby’s now to
see if I can find some paint for it.”
“I’ll walk along with you,” Billy offered.
Ben nodded, then smiled wickedly. “Good thing you hid that letter from Marta if
you’re up to what I think you are.”
Billy laughed. “You know me.”
“Yeah, always sniffing the daisy that’s
closest,” Ben sneered. “I’m gonna tell
you what I told Adam, young man. You
curb your flirting ways with Miss Sarah, or you’ll have Winnemucca and her
whole tribe down your throat.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy grinned. “One little sniff or two won’t hurt, though.”
Ben groaned and walked into Ormsby’s,
shaking his head. Boys the age of Billy
or Adam just didn’t understand how much trouble one little sniff could cause.
Billy took his sniff and Ben bought his
paint, yellow instead of the requested red, but Ben didn’t figure Hoss would be
overly disappointed. As the two emerged
from the store, they became aware of loud voices just down the street. “What’s going on?” Billy wondered.
Ben shook his head and, as curious as Billy,
moved toward the sound of the disturbance.
Suddenly, he thrust the can of paint into the young man’s hands. “Here, hold this,” he ordered and began to
run toward the scuffle in the street in front of Lucky Bill’s store. Screaming in protest, Bill struggled against
the men holding him, arms pinioned behind him.
In front of the store, young Jerome was yelling for the men to let his
pa go.
Ben shoved men aside, trying to reach the
merchant. “What’s this about?” he
demanded.
“Vigilante business,” a man snapped,
shoving Ben back. “No concern of yours,
Cartwright.”
“Wait a minute!” Ben shouted. “What business do the vigilantes have with
Lucky Bill?”
“That horse, Cartwright,” Bill
panted. “They think I stole it, but I
swear I didn’t.”
“Horse
stealing ain’t the half of it,” one of the men holding Bill snorted. “You’re wanted for murder, Thorrington.”
“Murder!” Lucky Bill hollered. “I never killed a man in my life! This is crazy.”
Ben thought so, too. He knew Lucky Bill had a reputation as a sharp
gambler, perhaps a less than honest one, but he’d never heard anything worse of
the man. Even that vice was tempered by
Bill’s tendency to give away almost as much as he gained to anyone with a sad
story to tell, sometimes even to the very man from whom he’d won the money..
Billy Thomas pushed in close to Ben. “Get out of here, boy,” Ben grunted. While he was still concerned about
Thorrington, he felt a more immediate responsibility for his friend’s impetuous
young son.
“What you men gonna do to him?” Billy
demanded, ignoring Ben’s restraining hand.”
“Shut up, boy,” one of the mob
yelled. “Vigilantes ain’t answerable to
no milk-faced pup!”
“That’s not so,” an authoritative voice
rang out. “We vigilantes welcome
scrutiny. Every judgment we make must be
open and above board. Answer the boy!”
Ben turned to see William Ormsby pushing
his way through the crowd. “Now, what’s
the charge against this man?” Ormsby
demanded.
Ben blew out a relieved puff of air. He didn’t approve of vigilante justice, but
Ormsby, at least, was a fair man or had been in all Ben’s dealings with him.
“Murder!” came the accusation, and the
crowd rumbled in agreement.
“Who’s he supposed to have killed?” Ben
demanded.
“Well, not him, exactly,” one of the
accusers admitted. “The murderer is
William Edwards from
Ben glanced sharply at Thorrington. He knew Lucky Bill had been participating in
the sale of the horse, but no one as yet had given him reason to believe the
horse stolen or, if he were, that Bill had known about it. “You got a bill of sale for that racehorse,
Bill?” he asked quietly.
Ormsby lifted a hand. “Wait a minute, Cartwright. No evidence will be taken here on the
street. Charges being duly brought,
we’ll hold this man for trial tomorrow afternoon, with John Cary as judge. Bring him to my store and we’ll lock him in
the storage room.”
Still resisting, Lucky Bill was dragged
down the street. “Where’s Edwards,
Thorrington?” his two main accusers demanded as they trailed him down the
street. “Where you got him hid?”
“I don’t know,” Bill yelled. “I’m not hiding him.”
Most of the crowd followed the procession
to Ormsby’s store, but a group of five closed in, instead, on Thorrington’s
young son, Jerome. “You know where that
killer is, boy, you’d best speak up,” they snarled. “Your pa’s sure to hang if you don’t, and
maybe you alongside him.”
The youngster blanched and turned anxious
eyes toward Ben.
“Don’t threaten the boy!” Ben snapped.
“No threat,” one of the men growled. “Just tellin’ the youngun what’s bound to
happen if Edwards ain’t found.”
“And——and they’ll let my pa go if they got
Edwards instead?” Jerome stammered.
“Sure, son, no reason to hold an innocent
man, is there?”
Jerome bit his lip. “He’s camped out in a canyon back of our
place. Said he didn’t want to make extra
work for Ma.”
“Come on, boys, let’s get him!” the
ringleader shouted and the five took off east toward Thorrington’s Clear Creek
Ranch.
Chin trembling, Jerome looked up. “I did right, didn’t I, Mr. Cartwright?”
Billy Thomas answered instead. “Sure, you did. You had to speak up to save your pa.”
Ben rubbed the youngster’s shivering
shoulders. “Go home to your mother, boy;
she’ll need you.” Jerome nodded and,
wiping the tears from his eyes, went to close up the store.
Billy Thomas turned to Ben. “I better get home,” he said. “Pa’ll want to know about this!”
“Yeah,” Ben muttered absently, wondering
if he should see the Thorrington youngster home. No, the boy was upset, but too old to
appreciate a nursemaid. Better to let
him take the news to his mother by himself.
Ben’s attention jerked suddenly back to Billy. “Where’s that paint I gave you, boy? You just drop it in the street when you came
running, looking for trouble?”
“No, of course not,” Billy growled. “I ain’t a fool kid, even if that is how
you’re treatin’ me. I seen your wagon
there in front of Lucky Bill’s and put the paint in back.”
“Oh,” Ben said, regretting his sharp
words. After all, Billy hadn’t
volunteered to take charge of his goods.
Would’ve served me right if he did
toss that paint in the dirt, Ben thought with chagrin, though “Thanks,
Billy,” was all he said.
“Sure,” Billy shrugged, easily
appeased. “You gonna be comin’ in for
that trial, Uncle Ben?”
“Yeah,” Ben muttered. “Yeah, I’ll be here. You tell your pa.”
Ben walked back to his wagon, jaw
clenching when he saw the supplies loaded inside. He hadn’t had a chance to pay Lucky Bill for
them and didn’t want to delay Jerome with business now. Thorrington would just have to trust him,
though the man probably had more important matters on his mind——like the
preservation of his life and the future of his wife and child if the charges
held up.
Ben drove home slowly, pondering what
would become of the territory if they couldn’t find an effective means of law
enforcement. So far the vigilantes had
only tried and sentenced a few minor offenders, but a charge of murder carried
a heavier penalty. Would they really
sentence a man to hang? And if they did,
what made their so-called justice different from any other mob lynching?
When the wagon pulled into the yard at the
Ponderosa, both Adam and Hoss came running to meet their father. “Did you get the paint?” Adam asked
eagerly. “We’re almost ready for it.”
“Yeah, did they have red?” Hoss queried,
trotting up at Adam’s heels.
“Huh?” Ben asked. “Oh, yeah, the paint. No, I had to buy yellow, Hoss.”
“That’s all right,” Adam said. Seeing Hoss’s disappointment, he put an arm
around the younger boy’s shoulder.
“Yellow’s a good color, Hoss; it’ll look like sunshine on the lake.”
Hoss looked up at his big brother and
smiled. “Yeah! Like sunshine. That’s good.”
Ben handed the reins of the horses to
Adam. “Unload the supplies and unhitch
the team, will you, boys?”
“Sure, Pa,” Adam said, brow
furrowing. “Something wrong?”
“Yeah,” Ben said. Without explaining, he walked toward the
house.
The furrows in Adam’s forehead
deepened. Something really was bothering
Inside, Ben pulled off his hat, hanging it
on one of the pegs to the left of the front door. Marie came to greet him with a kiss, but the
one he returned carried little of his usual passion. The young Creole immediately sensed that
something was wrong. “No mail? No letter from John?” she asked, stroking his
rough cheek.
“What?” Ben asked, pulling himself out of
the cloud in which he’d moved ever since leaving town. “Oh, yeah, there was a letter from John. I’d forgotten.”
Marie’s emerald eyes clouded. “What could make you forget that?” she
pressed.
“Trouble in town,” Ben muttered. “Tell you later. Let’s see what that brother of mine has to
say.”
“Yes, let’s,” Marie urged, hoping the news
would brighten his countenance.
It didn’t.
Ben had waited for months for his brother’s reply to his suggestion to
come west with young Will, and when it finally came, the answer was not the one
he’d hoped for. According to John’s
letter, Will was infuriated by the suggestion that they abandon the place his
mother had slaved to preserve. His
father, he felt, owed it to her memory to spend as much time there as he’d
spent gallivanting around the west and the
“John is wise,” Marie said. “I know the decision saddens you, mon mari, but I am sure it is the right
one.”
Ben nodded soberly. “It is, of course. That boy’s broken-hearted; he’s got to be
given time to heal.” Ben sighed deeply. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea asking them
here, anyway. Maybe they’re better off
in settled territory where——”
“What is it, Ben?”
Ben took a deep breath and exhaled
slowly. Then he began with Lucky Bill’s
offering to sell him that beautiful thoroughbred and ended with his being
dragged off to Ormsby’s storeroom. “Mob
justice,” Ben muttered. “What kind of
place is that to raise a family?”
“You think Lucky Bill will be found
guilty?” Marie asked.
Ben stood abruptly and began to poke at
the fire. “I don’t know; I couldn’t tell
if they had any evidence or not. Maybe
that’ll come out at the trial.”
“You will attend?”
“Yeah,” he said sharply. “For all the good it’ll do. They won’t put me on the jury, not after how
outspoken I’ve been against the vigilance committee, but maybe having people
like me there to scrutinize their so-called justice will make them give
Thorrington at least the semblance of due process.”
* * * * *
It was still well before
“Yeah, lots of folks interested in this
one,” Allen said. “I, for one, can’t
believe Lucky Billy’s involved.”
“Me,
either,” Ben said.
“Well,
it should be starting soon.”
Ben nodded and moved back to his
horse. He wasn’t all that hungry yet,
but now was probably the best time to eat the sandwiches Hop Sing had
packed. Chances were he’d have even less
appetite later. As he pulled a sandwich
from his saddlebag, a young voice called out, “Hey, got any more?”
Looking over his shoulder, Ben saw
The corner of Ben’s mouth quirked
upward. “I know Nelly better than
that! Probably stuffed you to the gills
before she’d let you out the door.”
“I admit it,” Billy joked, “but us growin’
boys need lots of grub.”
Ben gave a short laugh and handed his
sandwich to Billy, taking another from the bag for himself. “I’ve got one more if you’re still growing,
too,” he told
“Don’t mind if I do,”
“You think it’ll be a long trial?” Ben
asked.
Ben glanced sharply at him. “They found Edwards?”
“Yup, brought him in last night and locked
him up with Lucky Bill.”
“Right where Jerome said he’d be,” Billy
added.
“Well, I hope it is a long trial,” Ben
said soberly as he unwrapped his sandwich.
“As serious as the charges are, I hope the jury takes its time.”
“Depends on how strong the evidence is, I
reckon,” Clyde remarked. “Way I heard
it, the men that caught him came all the way from Honey Lake, pretendin’ to be
horse buyers to smoke out who had that thoroughbred.”
Ben shook his head. “Sounds bad, I admit, but it’ll take more
than that to convince me Bill’s guilty.
You’ve got more confidence in this kind of justice than I do. Maybe you’ll get a seat on the jury, get a
chance to make it a fair trial.”
“Naw,” Clyde muttered. “I ain’t that high thought of. It’ll be committee members does the judgin’,
and I ain’t joined.”
That surprised Ben slightly, having heard
Clyde express approval for the committee on a number of occasions. On the other hand, Clyde had always been more
bark than bite, never one to push himself to the front.
The trio had just finished their
sandwiches when William Ormsby, curly black hair blowing in the wind, exited
his store. Behind him, under guard of
acting sheriff W. T. C. Elliott, one of the men who had trailed Edwards from
Honey Lake, walked the two defendants, faces drooping, steps dragging. Ben, Clyde and Billy moved closer. So did the other spectators.
John L. Cary called the proceeding to
order; the eighteen-member jury was selected, all known vigilance committee
members; and the first trial, that of William Edwards, began. Men from Honey Lake Valley gave testimony of
the shooting of rancher Henri Gordier and the theft of his herd of cattle and a
thoroughbred racehorse. The men, each a
neighbor of Gordier, had examined the horse in Lucky Bill’s corral and identified
it as Gordier’s property.
The crowd listened in hushed attention as
the witnesses admitted that a man named Snow had, at first, been accused of the
murder, but after Snow’s hanging, the truth began to leak out and the Honey
Lake Valley citizens realized they’d hung the wrong man. Later evidence all pointed to William
Edwards, whose sudden flight added to the suggestion of his guilt.
When Edwards took the stand in his own
defense, he denied any knowledge of Gordier’s murder, but his inability to produce
a bill of sale for the horse Bill Thorrington had tried to sell on his behalf
weighed heavily against him. Finally,
under the pressure of bombarding questions, Edwards broke down, weeping, and
admitted he had killed the Frenchman, rustled his herd and stolen the
horse. Seeing suspicion mounting against
him, he had ridden into Utah Territory, taking only the horse, and sought
refuge with his old friend Bill Thorrington.
“But Bill never knew what I’d done,” Edwards insisted. “I lied to him, same as to everyone else.”
The jury deliberated only a short time
before returning a verdict of guilty and sentencing Edwards to be returned to
Honey Lake Valley and hanged at the scene of his crime. “Can’t say that weren’t a fair trial,” Clyde
declared, his steely eyes daring Ben to say otherwise.
Ben shook his head. Hard to argue with the verdict when the man
confessed. Hard even to feel sympathy
for someone who had knowingly allowed an innocent man to hang in his place. “His testimony seems to vindicate Thorrington,
though,” he told Clyde.
“If he’s tellin’ the truth,” Clyde said,
“and it ain’t just a case of old friends hangin’ together.”
“Which they’re likely to do if they find
Lucky Bill guilty,” Billy joked.
Ben groaned, and Clyde turned snapping
eyes on his son. “Ain’t no call for that
kind of nonsense,” he sputtered. “You
shame me like that once more, boy, and you’ll be too saddle-sore to mount that
roan of yours.”
Billy took the hint and wiped the saucy
grin off his face. “Yes, sir, I’ll
straighten up,” he vowed.
“See that you do,” Clyde grunted, turning
apologetically to Ben. “Shouldn’t’ve
brought the boy, I reckon, but I figured he’d handle himself better than this.”
“He’s young,” Ben muttered tersely. “Living’s still a game to him.”
Billy flushed and stalked away. He was willing to admit he’d gotten out of
line, but he didn’t see why they’d come down on him so hard, why they kept
treating him like a kid, when he knew himself to be a man. Hadn’t he done a man’s work this spring,
plowing and planting those fields? Sure,
sixteen was young, but it made him a young man,
not a fool kid. He decided he’d view the
second trial from the opposite side of the green.
William Thorrington was not charged with
the murder originally cried against him but with being an accessory after the
fact to the crime. The way the crowd was
rumbling as testimony was taken, however, made Ben fear the penalty would be
the same, although the evidence was shaky, at best. The worst that could be said against Lucky
Bill was that he’d given Edwards shelter.
If he knew of Edwards’ crime, that would make him an accessory to
murder, Ben agreed. But Edwards himself
had said that Bill did not know. In
Ben’s mind, that raised enough doubt that he would have voted against
conviction, had he been on the jury. But
he wasn’t. Bill Thorrington’s fate was
in the hands of eighteen men who had taken it upon themselves to determine
justice. Ben could only hope that the
man’s renowned luck in gambling would deal him a winning hand today.
That reputation as a gambler, though,
seemed to be weighing against the defendant, at least according to the crowd
milling about as they waited for the jury’s deliberation. Ben, of course, had known of Bill’s skill at
the game of thimble-rig, and knew enough to stay away, as he did from most
gambling opportunities. Life itself was
a big enough gamble in Ben’s eyes, and other than a sociable hand of poker with
well-known friends, he never participated in gaming. Thorrington was known as a sharper, however,
by too many people to be dismissed, but the man wasn’t on trial for gambling;
he was being tried for murder, and it didn’t matter what else he was guilty of,
so long as he was innocent of that charge.
Ben was sure he was.
“Jury’s taking a long time,” Ben commented
to Clyde as they waited.
“Reckon that pleases you,” Clyde
muttered. “I didn’t plan on bein’ gone
this long.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “Free to leave anytime you like, I suppose.”
Clyde uttered a harsh laugh. “Reckon I’ll see it through. Don’t understand what’s takin’ so long,
though. Seemed cut and dried to me.”
“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “Just not enough evidence to convict.”
Clyde’s blue eyes narrowed. “I heard plenty! He’d’ve been danglin’ by now if I’d been on
that jury like you was wantin’.”
Ben’s mouth gaped. “You’re kidding! On what evidence?”
Clyde spat a stream of brown tobacco to
his right and turned back to Ben. “Don’t
it strike you suspicious that Edwards was holed up in that canyon behind the ranch? When we got guests, we keep ‘em in the
house.”
“Yeah,” Ben admitted. It was the one thing that had raised
suspicion in his mind. “Does kind of
make it look like Bill knew Edwards needed a hiding place, but who can say what
story the man told?”
Billy ambled up, hands stuffed in his
pocket. “You don’t got anymore of them
sandwiches, do you, Uncle Ben?” he asked.
Ben shook his head. “Sorry, son.”
“Where’d you take off to, boy?” Clyde
demanded.
Billy waved his arm behind him. “Over there, across the green.”
“Huh!
View better over there, I reckon,” his father muttered.
Billy shrugged. “Naw, but they’re sure makin’ interestin’
talk. I never knew Lucky Bill was a
Mormon, Pa.” Billy knew his father’s
ears would perk up at that and his irritation be deflected to a new target.
“He’s not,” Ben growled, seeing through
Billy’s stratagem and not liking it.
“Thorrington’s a gentile, same as we are.”
“I don’t know, Uncle Ben,” Billy
argued. “Folks been sayin’ he’s got a
second wife hid out.”
“Yeah, I’d heard that,” Clyde
grunted. “It had passed my mind, but I
remember now. That Thorrington’s had a
passel of practice at hidin’ things, seems to me.”
“Oh, Clyde,” Ben protested. “For the love of mercy! The minute anyone mentions the word ‘Mormon,’
you lose all sense of objectivity.”
Face flaming, Clyde pulled himself upright
and glared at his old friend. “Who made
you judge and jury over everything under the sun, Ben Cartwright?” he
snorted. “Thorrington’s innocent just
‘cause you say so, ain’t that the way of it?”
“No, but because the facts don’t prove him
guilty,” Ben insisted. “Look, Clyde, I
have no quarrel with you. I think you’re
wrong, and I think you’re letting your feelings color your judgment, but you’re
entitled to your opinion.”
“And you to yours,” Clyde grunted, “wrong
as it is.” Ben chose to keep his mouth
shut.
The ensuing silence made Billy
uncomfortable. Secretly, he leaned to
Ben Cartwright’s opinion, but he didn’t dare say that in front of his
father. He had to go home with Clyde and
didn’t relish meeting the wrong end of a birch branch when he got there. Finally, he noticed the jury filing back into
place and felt he’d found a safe comment to make. “Guess we’ll find out what them men thinks
real soon.”
“Hush up, boy. I want to hear them, not you,” his father
growled.
Billy pressed his back against a nearby
pine, breath held. He’d caught a glimpse
of Jerome, standing near his father, and all of a sudden the trial wasn’t just
a way to pass time anymore. Real folks,
one of them a boy younger than himself, were about to be raised to the peak of
joy or tossed into a gully of despair.
Billy felt his stomach knot up like it was his own pa on trial. Up to that moment he hadn’t really cared
which way the verdict went, but when it was read, an involuntary groan welled
up in his throat.
No one heard it, not even the two men
standing closest, for at the same instant the crowd roared its approval and a
woman’s shriek pierced the shouting. The
sound died down briefly as the judge delivered the sentence. Like Edwards, Thorrington was sentenced to
hang at the scene of his crime——in this case, the ranch where he had hidden the
murderer. As the sheriff came forward to take Thorrington into custody to await
the appointed day of his death, Mrs. Thorrington clutched her husband
possessively, and Ben started forward.
Clyde threw an arm across Ben’s chest.
Irritated, Ben shoved the arm aside and walked boldly toward the weeping
woman. Clyde started after him, then
stopped, satisfied that Ben wasn’t putting himself in danger when he saw him
move toward the woman instead of those guarding the man.
A few others had moved toward the
distraught woman, as well, trying vainly to comfort her. “Mrs. Thorrington,” Ben began, scarcely
knowing what to say, “if there’s anything I can do for you”——he stopped,
uncomfortable under the fixed stare of her glazed eye.
“Do?
You want to do something?” she screamed.
“Stop them! Stop them!” The woman collapsed, crumpling to the grass,
her boy’s arms swiftly encircling her neck.
Another woman leaned over the pair, whispering something into Mrs.
Thorrington’s ear. Feeling useless, Ben
walked away.
He couldn’t get away, however, from the
challenge Mrs. Thorrington had shrieked at him.
Her voice haunted him as he rode home, haunted his dreams throughout a
restless night. Stop them, she had
pleaded, but how could he? One man
against an angry mob. Ben wrestled with
his conscience all night long.
He woke to a soft hand stroking his
whiskered cheek. “Mon mari, what is wrong?” Marie asked tenderly. “You moan so in your sleep.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her
fingertips. “I didn’t mean to disturb
you.”
“Ben, you treat me as a child,” Marie
pouted. “I am your wife, meant to share
your troubles, not to be protected from them.”
Ben pulled her down to his breast and
sighed, running his fingers through her golden hair. “Dearest, there’s nothing you can do.”
“About Monsieur Thorrington? No, and nothing you can do, mon mari.”
Ben gently pushed her away and sat
up. “Maybe not, but I have to try,
Marie.”
“Ben, no!” she whispered, her voice
urgent, but soft, aware of Little Joe’s presence in the next room. “You cannot fight the vigilantes.”
“I’m not talking about fighting,” Ben assured her, taking both cheeks in his weathered palms. “Bill’s not scheduled to hang until tomorrow. That gives me time to talk to some of the vigilante leaders, try to make them see reason.”
“But, Ben, he was tried and convicted,”
Marie argued. “What can you say that
will change that?”
“It wasn’t a legal trial, Marie,” Ben
insisted.
“But you told me you once served on such a
jury.”
Ben nodded. “And argued——successfully, I might add——against
invoking the death penalty. Only the
authorized government should take on that responsibility I contended then and
still do.”
“You think they will listen again, as they
did before?” Marie queried.
Ben took her hands, pleading for
understanding. “I don’t know, my love,
but I have to try. You see that, don’t
you?”
Marie smiled weakly. “Oui,
my love, I understand, but be careful.
Oh, Ben, be careful!”
Ben kissed her. “I will, sweetheart.”
Marie spent the day moving aimlessly from
one room to another, telling herself repeatedly there was no reason for worry,
yet worry stalked her footsteps. Only
the occasional needs of her baby could distract her thoughts for long from her
husband’s quest for justice. Where was
Ben? What response was he receiving? And if it were the one she feared, would Ben
be content to stand by and watch William Thorrington hang at dawn on Saturday? Or would he take foolish action to try to
stop the execution?
Her nervous fidgeting at the noon meal
told the boys something was wrong. Adam,
who tended to feel himself responsible for the ranch in his father’s absence,
demanded an explanation. Marie told him
briefly what his father was trying to accomplish.
“They’ll listen,” Adam assured her. “Folks around here respect Pa.”
“But they seem so sure Monsieur
Thorrington is guilty, Adam,” Marie murmured.
“There are others who feel as your father, I am sure, but there cannot
be many.”
“Don’t worry,” Adam soothed with a boy’s
implicit trust in the wisdom and infallibility of his father. “You through yet, Hoss?”
“Almost,” Hoss muttered. “Don’t rush me.”
Adam laughed. “As if I could, slow poke. I’ll see you outside.” He smiled at Marie. “We should have the boat painted in an hour
or so. Why don’t you come out and take a
look?”
Marie nodded. “I will.”
By the time an hour passed, Little Joe was
awake from his nap and toddled happily at his mother’s side to see the new
boat. “Ooh,” he cooed and reached for
the sunny yellow shape.
Adam pulled his hand back. “Unh-uh.
Don’t touch.”
Little Joe whimpered piteously and
stretched once more for the object of his desire.
“It’s still wet, Punkin,” Hoss explained,
futilely. Little Joe began to wail
stormily.
Marie lifted him and spoke sternly or, at
least, as sternly as she ever spoke to her precious baby boy. “If you are going to start that, Joseph, I
will have to take you back inside.”
Little Joe understood only one word, but
‘inside’ was sufficient threat to make his sobbing subside to a mere
whimper. Marie smiled and patted his
back soothingly. “It is a beautiful
boat, boys, and I am sure you will enjoy it.”
“Yeah,” Adam agreed with
satisfaction. “I wish it was our turn to
have the Thomases here. I’d sure like
Billy to see it this Sunday.”
“A week will make no difference,” Marie
laughed.
Adam grinned. “No, I guess not. It needs another coat anyway, but there’s
plenty of time. We wanted it ready for
the Fourth, you know.”
“Oui,
I know,” Marie said, gazing down the beaten road to the house. No sign of Ben yet, but she hadn’t expected
an early return. She knew Ben wouldn’t
rest until he’d talked to everyone who had the power to overturn the
vigilantes’ decision.
He hadn’t arrived by the time Hop Sing set
supper on the table. “Where Mistah Ben?”
the irascible cook demanded. “Dinnah
leady now!”
“I will wait for Mr. Cartwright,” Marie
said firmly, “but you may prepare a plate for the boys if they are hungry.”
“Not for me,” Adam said, black eyes
glinting. “Perhaps the children should
eat,” he added loftily, daring anyone to relegate him to the classification of
a youngster.
“I should probably feed Little Joe,” Marie
said, “and put him to bed. He’s getting
sleepy. Would you like to eat now, mon chéri, or wait for Pa?”
Recognizing her characteristic name for
him, Hoss jumped up. “I’ll eat now,” he
said. What was the point of putting off
a good meal just ‘cause Pa was late?
Pa’d want him to eat, Hoss figured, following Hop Sing into the kitchen.
The Chinese cook snuffled, his ire only
slightly ameliorated by having one member of the family ready to eat his food
while it was at its best. To Hoss,
however, he smiled benevolently and dished up a heaping plate of roast beef
with roasted potatoes, carrots and green beans seasoned with bits of bacon.
When he finished, Hoss offered to take
Little Joe to bed. The baby looked too
sleepy to keep him company for long, but anything, even turning in early
himself, was better than sitting around downstairs, where everyone was either
angry, worried or too busy playing grownup to be any fun.
The night was dark, the wind chilly, when
Ben rode in and wearily wrapped the reins of his bay around the hitching rail
before the house. “I’ll see to your
horse, Mr. Cartwright,” the ranch foreman offered, coming out of the bunkhouse
when he heard the horse neigh.
“Thanks, Enos,” Ben said and walked into
the house.
He was met practically inside the front
door by a barrage of Chinese, interspersed with rebukes in English. “Why you late?” Hop Sing demanded. “Dinnah all cold, velly bad, you unnahstand?”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Ben muttered,
“but I’m not hungry, Hop Sing.
Hop Sing stomped his slippered foot. “Nobody eat, velly bad!”
“That is enough, Hop Sing,” Marie said,
coming between them to pull Ben toward the sofa. “You can see that Mr. Cartwright is too tired
to eat now, and he is also too tired to listen to your chattering.”
Hop Sing’s cheeks puffed out. “Maybe so, Hop Sing go back China.”
“Feel free,” Ben growled. He’d had his fill of hopeless argument for
the day.
Hop Sing caught his breath, turned and
stalked into the kitchen. He had, of
course, no intention of returning to China.
He owed too great a debt to Mr. Cartwright to ever leave him. But an uneaten meal revealed a disturbed
mind, in Hop Sing’s opinion, so he made the threat to balance the concern he
felt. Mr. Ben had troubles, and Hop Sing
knew no better way to counter them than to offer a warm, filling meal. If Mr. Ben wouldn’t let him do that, there
was nothing left but to feign great displeasure and stomp off, in hopes that
Mr. Ben would remember the next time and submit rather than endure another such
scene. The tactic worked more often than
not, but it was unavailing that night.
Once Ben was seated, Marie sat beside him,
running her fingers through the hair at his temple. “You have had a long day,” she whispered,
“and I think it did not go as you hoped.”
Ben shook his head and lay it against her
shoulder.
“They’re still gonna hang Lucky Bill, Pa?”
Adam, perched on the table before the sofa, quizzed. “I was sure you could talk them out of it.”
Ben sighed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but your father’s
not quite as convincing as you thought.”
“It is sad, Ben,” Marie murmured, “but you
have tried your best. You must take
comfort in that.”
Ben looked at her sharply. “I don’t find that thought very comforting,
Marie, not when it means an innocent man’s death.”
Wisely, she said nothing, merely nodded
and stroked his forehead with a soothing hand.
Ben smiled——a weak, weary smile that conveyed no joy. Then, the words having taken this long to
register, he remembered Hop Sing’s querulous complaint. “Haven’t any of you eaten?” Ben queried.
“Hoss did,” Adam reported, “and Little
Joe, of course. We decided to wait for
you.”
“And I’m still holding you up. I’m sorry,” Ben muttered. “I have no appetite, but you two should
eat. This is my worry.”
Marie closed her small hand over his. “Your worries are mine, Ben.”
“Mine, too,” Adam declared.
Ben uttered a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, Adam; you’re just a boy.”
It was the worst comment he could have
made. “Pa!” Adam protested. “I’m going on sixteen.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “And still have a ways to go to get
there. For mercy’s sake, Adam, be a boy
while you can——and go eat your dinner.”
Adam resented his father’s attitude, but
his stomach told him he really was hungry.
Deciding that ignoring it in no way enhanced his status as an adult, he
went into the kitchen and requested a plate of food from Hop Sing.
“Humph!
‘Bout time somebody make good sense,” the little Cantonese announced,
reaching for a clean plate.
“Shows good sense, Hop Sing,” Adam
corrected.
“Ah, so?
Show good sense,” Hop Sing repeated.
He had early learned that Adam was his best resource for learning
English. “Mistah Ben, Missy Cahtlight
show good sense pletty quick now?”
Adam shrugged. “Maybe Marie.
Pa’s showing no sense at all tonight.”
Though Hop Sing didn’t catch Adam’s real meaning, he shook his head in
vigorous agreement with the boy’s disapproval.
Ben lay as still as possible in his bed
that night. He couldn’t sleep, but he
knew if he tossed the way he had the previous night that Marie’s sleep would
again be disturbed. So he lay staring at
the ceiling, trying to convince himself he’d done his best, that there was
nothing more he could do, but over and over his tired brain hammered a single
theme——“Stop them, stop them”——the words Mrs. Thorrington had screamed at him.
In the gray light of the half moon, he
slipped quietly from his bed and began to dress as noiselessly as
possible. In her sleep Marie’s hand
touched the empty pillow beside her, and her eyes opened as she sensed
something wrong. Sitting up quickly, she
saw Ben pulling on his boots. “Where are
you going?” she whispered.
Ben came to sit beside her. “I’m going to stop that hanging, Marie.”
Marie suppressed a cry of alarm. “Ben, you cannot,” she pleaded. “They will kill you!”
“No, no, I’ll be all right,” he assured
her, though he’d spent the night wondering whether he’d ever see another.. “I’m sorry, dearest, but this is something I
have to do.” He kissed her swiftly,
stood and headed for the door.
Marie sprang out of bed. “No, Ben!” she shrieked, forgetting the
sleeping children in her panic for him.
She ran across the room and threw her arms around him. “I won’t let you go!”
Ben pried her hands away. “Marie, don’t do this,” he begged. “I have to go.” He walked into the dark hall.
Without stopping to throw a peignoir over
her gauzy nightgown, Marie ran after him, bare feet oblivious to the cold,
hardwood floor. “Ben!”
Two more doors opened. Adam ran into the hall, instantly alert,
while Hoss stared, bleary-eyed, from his doorway. “What’s going on?” Adam asked.
“Help me stop him, Adam!” Marie
begged. “He is going to get himself
killed!”
Hoss jerked awake, terrified. “Who’s gonna kill Pa?” he cried.
“Marie, please,” Ben begged. He looked from one son to the other. “There’s nothing here to concern you
boys. Get back to bed,” he ordered
firmly.
“What are you doing, Pa?” Adam demanded.
“Who’s gonna kill my pa?” Hoss yelled.
“Answer them!” Marie ordered hotly. “Tell your sons what a fool they have for a
father!”
“That’s enough,” Ben shouted. “I cannot stand by and watch an innocent man
hang, and nothing you say can make me!”
Marie clutched at him, sliding to the
floor, her cheek pressed to the top of his brown boots. “No, Ben, no,” she sobbed, clinging to his
ankles.
“Marie, let go of me!” Ben commanded
brusquely, grasping her arms and flinging her off. He moved swiftly for the stairs.
Another shriek reverberated down the hall,
not Marie this time. The angry voices
had awakened the youngest Cartwright and he was declaring his indignation to
the heavens. “Take care of our boy,” Ben
said softly from the head of the stairs.
“Take care of all my boys.” His
voice choked and he ran downstairs, stopping only to take his Colt’s Navy 41
from the cabinet beside the door. Though
Ben had rarely carried a firearm until the misunderstanding in Genoa had
strained relations with the Indians, he was competent in its use, and he knew
he’d need it this morning. Mere words
had already failed.
Weeping, Marie stood and headed toward the
nursery, Hoss’s bare feet padding down the hall after her. Adam, face set with determination, went back
into his room to hustle into his clothes.
Grabbing his breech-loading .45 Sharps and ammunition, he moved silently
through the house and trotted across the yard into the barn.
Ben had just finished saddling his bay
when Adam came in and reached for a saddle blanket. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Ben
demanded.
“I’m going with you,” Adam declared. “Two have a better chance than one.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” Ben
snapped. “This is not some adventure out
of a storybook.”
“I know that,” Adam sputtered, “but I know
you’re likely to get yourself killed if you try doing this alone.” He threw the blanket on the back of his
sorrel mare.
Ben snatched it off. “You’re not going,” he said bluntly, “and
that’s an order.”
“Oh, yes, I am,” Adam insisted stubbornly,
arms akimbo. “You can’t stop me anymore
than Marie could stop you. Quit treating
me like a kid, Pa!”
Ben drew his arm back and slapped the boy,
hard, across the face.
Adam’s hand flew to his stinging cheek. He couldn’t ever remember his father’s
striking him, not that way. Hot tears
swam in his eyes. “Pa, let me go,” he
pleaded. “If you can’t stand by and
watch Lucky Bill hang, how do you expect me to stand by and let you be killed?”
Ben grasped him by both arms, his fingers
digging painfully into the boy’s flesh.
“I’m ordering you to stay here, Adam,” he said firmly, then his voice
became tender. “Look after Marie and
your brothers. I’m counting on
you.” Ben led his bay out of the barn,
mounted and galloped toward the valley.
Running outside, Adam watched his father
ride away. Tears coursed unashamedly
down his cheeks. He knew what his father
meant. There was a good chance he
wouldn’t be coming back, and he had to know that Marie and the little boys
would have someone to care for them and provide for them. Adam realized his father had paid him a great
compliment in giving him that responsibility, a man’s responsibility, but he
didn’t want it. Pa had told him last
night to be a boy while he could, and suddenly Adam found himself wishing his
boyhood could go on forever, because that would mean he still had a father to
take care of him.
Ben rode his bay harder than he ever had
before, and the animal, sensing his urgency, galloped past the dark skeletons
of the pines on each side of the mountain trail. Occasionally, Ben slowed where the footing
was uneven or to give the gelding a chance to catch his breath, then urged him
on again. The hanging was scheduled for
dawn, and Ben couldn’t afford to be a minute late. Even seconds might make the difference.
Though it was still too dark to see the
scenery flashing past, the land made its presence known through Ben’s other
senses. The crisp, pine-scented air sent
waves of nostalgia rippling through him, and, drown it out though he tried, Ben
couldn’t silence the fear that he’d never again breathe the air of these hills
he loved so much. As he entered the
valley, it was the pungent fragrance of sage that pierced his nostrils and
whispered to him of home. The feel of
the cool breeze against his unshaven face, the yelp of a distant coyote——every
sight, sound and smell a siren’s voice calling him to stop, to turn his horse
and gallop back to the comfort and peace of home. But another voice blared louder, the voice of
his conscience, sounding surprisingly like that of Thorrington’s wife. Fool’s message though it shouted, Ben had to
respond. He couldn’t live with himself
if he didn’t.
The sun was rising, but a purple haze
still hung in the air when Ben rode onto Bill Thorrington’s Clear Creek
Ranch. Standing in black silhouette
against the lavender sky was a single tree, a wagon pulled beneath it, and
around the wagon hangman and spectators stood, waiting for the designated
hour. There was no sign yet of Lucky
Bill. Probably inside, being given a few
last moments with his family.
Ben charged into the group, and men
scattered in all directions to avoid the bay’s flying hooves. He wheeled and, drawing his Navy revolver,
swept it in an arc before him. “There’ll
be no hanging here today,” he announced loudly.
“Ben!” a familiar voice shouted.
Ben’s head jerked to the right, and his
eyes flew wide with shock as he recognized Clyde Thomas. He hadn’t counted on having to fight his old
friend.
“Cartwright, you’re overstepping
yourself!” Elliott, the vigilantes’ sheriff yelled.
Ben faced front again. “Yeah, I am, but you men are overstepping the
law itself. Now, bring Bill Thorrington
out here, and put him on a horse. I’m
taking him to California for a legal trial.”
“Ben, don’t do this,” Clyde pleaded. His eyes flicked nervously from Ben to the
men closing in on him, and he almost instinctively shouted a warning, clamping
his mouth shut at the last second. Ben
had to be stopped, no two ways about it, but Clyde didn’t want to see his old
friend hurt.
Elliott stepped forward, showing no fear
of Ben’s drawn pistol. “You’re well
respected in this community, Cartwright; don’t jeopardize that position by one
foolish action. I call upon you to step
aside and let us carry out the decision of our duly appointed judge and jury..”
“Step aside and let you hang an innocent
man, you mean!” Ben snapped, eyes flashing.
“Never! Get Bill out here and on
a horse. Now!”
“All right, Cartwright, all right,”
Elliott said, making a calming gesture with his hands. He moved toward the house, as if to obey
Ben’s instructions. Watching Elliott
closely, Ben saw the sheriff nod but realized too late the nod was a signal to
men who’d moved in behind him. Ben felt
himself dragged from his horse, his pistol twisted from his hand. Suddenly, men were grabbing him on all
sides. He threw punches left and right,
finding targets, but doing little damage.
“Ben!
Ben, stop it!” Clyde yelled in his ear.
Glancing to his left, Ben saw Clyde hanging onto his arm, keeping him
from defending himself. “Let me go!” Ben
demanded, wrenching his arm loose. “What
are you doing here?”
“His civic duty, that’s what, Cartwright!”
shouted a man who punctuated his declaration with a blow that opened a cut on
Ben’s lip.
Clyde made another grab for him, and Ben
rounded with a jab to Clyde’s jaw that decked his old friend. Clyde jumped up quickly and sprang at Ben,
Clyde and five or six others. Ben felt
himself knocked to the ground, at least one man holding each of his limbs.
“String him up next to Lucky Bill!” yelled
the man clutching one of Ben’s flailing legs.
“No!” Clyde hollered as he wrestled with
Ben’s left arm. “Ben’s an interferin’
fool, but that ain’t a hangin’ crime.”
“Thomas is right!” Elliott, standing over
them, announced. “Tie him up ‘til our
business is finished. He’ll give no
trouble after that——or suffer the consequences.”
Clyde grabbed a rope and began to wrap
Ben’s wrists. “Clyde, stop!” Ben cried,
struggling to get free. “For the love of
mercy, don’t take part in this! Help me
stop it!”
“Shut up, Ben,” Clyde hissed. “You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”
Ben brought his wrapped wrists up with a
sudden movement and struck Clyde under the chin. The other men holding him quickly subdued
him. One avenged the attack on Thomas by battering his face while the others
held him down. Blood spurted from his
nostrils, dribbling down into his mouth.
Clyde yanked back the arm of the man
inflicting the punishing blows. “That’s
enough! Just tie him up, Elliott said.”
The men holding Ben sat him up and Clyde,
after tightening the bonds on Ben’s wrists, began to wrap the rope about his
arms and torso. “We don’t see eye to eye
on this one, Ben,” Clyde said. “I know
it’s hard, but this is for your own good.”
The others tied Ben’s feet. “Bring him up to the wagon,” Elliott
ordered. “Let him get a good look at
Carson justice. Maybe he won’t be so
quick to go against it the next time.”
A shout of approval met this suggestion,
and Ben was hauled to his feet, trussed so tightly he couldn’t stand, much less
walk, and dragged close to the tree and wagon that would serve as Thorrington’s
gallows. Clyde stepped aside, leaving
Ben to the rough handling of the outraged vigilantes, but he hovered
close——either as protector or guard, depending on whether one viewed his action
through Clyde’s eyes or Ben’s.
The door to Thorrington’s house opened and
Bill walked calmly out, his wife and son remaining inside, probably at his
instruction. Ben licked his lips and
tasted the salt of his own blood. His
left eye had started to close, but he followed each step the condemned man
took. To Ben’s amazement, Bill seemed
almost cheerful as he moved toward the wagon and, as if to control his own
destiny, slipped the noose around his own neck, drawing it tight. Ben tensed, the tightness of his own bindings
making him sense the constriction of Bill’s throat more vividly than any other
man there.
The mob grew quiet in the face of
Thorrington’s courage, and everyone could hear him clearly as he began to sing
“The Last Rose of Summer” at the top of his lungs. Evidently, Bill, his legendary luck run out
at last, intended to enter eternity with a song on his lips.
Ben started to shiver, feeling the
gooseflesh crawl up his arms, as he saw two men approach the team hitched to
the wagon. One on each side slapped the
horses’ rumps and the animals leaped forward, pulling the wagon out from under
Bill’s feet. In the midst of a line,
Bill’s song ended. His six-foot frame
jerked at the end of the rope, his dark eyes rolled back and his tongue flopped
out the corner of his mouth. Then he
hung still, swaying in the breeze that rustled through the leaves of the
cottonwood.
The men holding Ben dragged him directly
beneath Thorrington’s body. “Dump him
like the worthless trash he is,” one ordered, and when Ben fell heavily to the
ground, rammed the toe of his boot into his ribs to get his attention. “Take a good look, Cartwright,” he snorted,
grabbing Ben by the hair and jerking his head upward, “and see what you’ll get
if you interfere in vigilante business a second time.” The man walked off, followed by the others,
who slapped his back in approval of the way he’d handled the headstrong meddler
in their affairs.
Ben closed his eyes, not wanting to see
the body suspended above him. He heard
horses walking away and waited until everything grew silent before he opened
his eyes. He expected to find himself
abandoned, but when he looked up, he saw Clyde Thomas standing above him.
“If you’re ready to ride home peaceable,
I’ll let you loose,” Clyde offered, “but not if you aim to ride after them men
and make more trouble for yourself.”
“Well, I sure couldn’t count on you to
help me, could I?” Ben accused hotly.
Clyde shook his head. “I’m helpin’ you right now, way I see
it. You ride after them men, you’re
gonna get yourself strung up to the nearest tree. Maybe I ought to leave you hog-tied; by the
time you work yourself free, I reckon
you won’t be so anxious to go lookin’ for trouble.”
“Untie me!” Ben demanded.
“Not ‘til I get your promise,” Clyde said,
folding his arms and staring Ben down.
“A man as almighty upright as you won’t lie, even to get free.”
Ben’s jaw hardened. “I won’t go after them,” he said
tersely. “What’s the point now?”
Clyde nodded and began to loosen Ben’s
bonds. Ben rubbed his sore wrists,
flexing his hands; then, when Clyde reached to help him up, he knotted his
right hand into a fist and flattened the older man with a fierce uppercut.
Clyde scrambled up. “What’s the idea?” he demanded.
“How could you?” Ben ranted, clambering
painfully to his feet. “How could you
hold me back, tie me up, make me watch that mockery of justice?”
“Me?” Clyde stormed. “What about you, Ben Cartwright? How could you come crashin’ in here, riskin’
your life on a fool stunt like that? How
could I do what I did? I didn’t see no
other way to keep your ignorant head attached to your stubborn neck, that’s
how!”
“Get out,” Ben snarled.
“You’re hurt; let me help you,” Clyde
offered, reaching a hand forward.
Ben slapped it away. “I don’t need help from the likes of you,” he
sputtered. “Follow your friends into
town and celebrate this man’s murder.”
“I’ll be goin’ home,” Clyde muttered.
“Go where you like,” Ben thundered, “just
get off the property of this grieving family!”
Clyde turned away, then spun around again
to face Ben. “Man needs buryin’,” he
said quietly. “Be glad to help.”
“I’ll tend to it,” Ben growled. “Get away from here! I doubt Mrs. Thorrington would appreciate the
help of a man who helped to kill her husband.”
Clyde bit his lip and limped toward his
horse. Ben didn’t see him ride away; his
eyes were fixed on the dead man.
* * * * *
Hoss tried again to build a tower of
blocks for Little Joe, but once again the baby knocked it over with a petulant
hand. This time Little Joe’s small fist
closed around a block and he tossed it at his older brother, hitting Hoss on
the forehead. “Doggone you!” Hoss
yelled. “I oughta paddle your bottom.”
“You will do no such thing,” Marie
snapped, looking up from her embroidery, on which she’d made precisely ten
stitches in the last half hour.
“He’s actin’ awful,” Hoss complained.
“You’re not much better,” Adam accused,
slamming the book he’d been trying without success to read.
“That is enough,” Marie said, sighing as
she stood and picked up the baby without any hope of soothing him. Little Joe had been peevish all morning, and
who could blame him? Awakened too early
by angry voices in the hall, he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, and he
seemed to absorb the tension of whoever touched him this morning. Everyone was nervous and irritable: Hop Sing, cranky because still another meal
had gone untouched; Marie, frantically worried about Ben; Adam, overwhelmed by
the responsibility he was already trying to assume; and Hoss, terrified that
evil men really might kill his father.
The boys had done a few chores, the ones that had to be done, but after
that they’d all gathered in the front room, not feeling like working or playing
or even talking. Just waiting, each in
his own way, and each minute that passed without the sound of hooves in the yard
added to the edginess everyone felt.
Adam raised his head, listening
intently. “I heard something,” he said
and jumped up from his father’s armchair.
“I didn’t,” Hoss grumbled. “You’re hearin’ things.”
Adam scowled at his brother and ran for
the door. He flung it open and gave a
shocked cry when he saw his father’s battered face. “Pa!”
Ben staggered in, exhausted by the frantic
early morning ride, the beating he’d taken and the labor of burying Bill
Thorrington. Marie set Little Joe down
and ran to Ben. “Oh, Ben, your face,”
she murmured.
“I’m all right,” Ben said, taking her in
his arms. “It’s all over.”
“Come in and lie down,” Marie urged. “You are hurt.”
“It’s nothing,” Ben muttered, but he let
himself be led toward the sofa.
Little Joe pulled up and toddled into his
father’s leg. “Pa,” he whimpered.
Ben instinctively reached to lift the boy.
“Oh, don’t bother with him now,” Marie
said. “He’s been impossible all
morning.”
Ben shook his head, feeling soothed by the
little one’s nearness. But Little Joe,
on getting a close look at his father’s bloodied face, began to wail in
terror. With a sorrowful, almost
apologetic look, Ben gave the boy to his mother. “I didn’t mean to frighten him.”
Marie held her baby, patting the heaving
back, while Adam guided Ben to the sofa.
“Take care of Little Joe,” Adam instructed, taking charge. “I’ll see to Pa.”
Ben smiled and nodded at his wife.
Marie
didn’t want to leave him, but the screaming baby did nothing but strain
everyone’s nerves. “Come with me, Hoss,”
she said, heading for the stairs.
“Perhaps, we can soothe him to sleep.”
“Didn’t work before,” Hoss mumbled, but he
followed obediently. He could tell Pa
was hurting, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. The only thing that mattered to him, anyway,
was that Pa was alive; anything else could be fixed.
As soon as Adam had Ben settled on the
sofa, he hurried into the kitchen to demand a basin of warm water from Hop Sing “Mistah Ben hurt bad?” the Chinese cook asked
anxiously.
“I don’t think so,” Adam said, “but I can
tell more after I get him cleaned up.
Just get that water in fast as you can.”
The little cook nodded and moved swiftly
to the pump.
Adam went back into the front room and sat
on the table beside his father. “I guess
they hanged Lucky Bill,” he said softly.
Head cushioned on the arm of the sofa, Ben
looked sorrowfully at his son. “Yeah,”
he muttered. “I couldn’t stop them.”
“But you had to try,” Adam said.
Ben smiled gratefully. This boy was the only person who seemed to
understand. Not surprising, though. Adam always had been closest to his father,
in both looks and feelings.
Hop Sing arrived with the water, and Adam
began to sponge away the dirt and caked blood from his father’s face. Marie came downstairs just as he was
finishing. Ben stretched out a hand, and
she moved quickly to his side. “Little
Joe settled down now?” he asked.
Marie shook her head. “A little.
Hoss is rocking him. The motion
seems to soothe him.”
“Always did,” Ben smiled, then winced.
“You are in pain,” Marie murmured,
touching him gently.
“No, not real pain,” Ben
contradicted. “My face is sore, my body
aches, but it’s nothing serious.”
“Want me to ride for the doc?” Adam asked.
“No, no,” Ben chuckled bitterly. “He couldn’t do more for me than you have,
and another scolding is not the medicine I need.”
Marie’s mouth tightened. Another scolding was just what she thought
was in order, but she resolved to withhold it, at least until Ben was in better
shape to listen. “You must rest.. No work for you today,” she said instead.
Ben smiled. “Or anyone else, unless my eyes deceive
me.” He looked at Adam. “Not working on the boat today?”
Adam shrugged. “Not in the mood, I guess. Anything you need me to handle?”
Ben touched his son’s shoulder in
gratitude. “Nothing, son; just see to
the cow, the chickens.”
“We did that,” Adam assured him.
“Then take the day off, do something with
Hoss. I’m gonna sleep awhile.” As Ben closed his eyes, Marie motioned for
Adam to come away.
* * * * *
As usual, the family slept late on
Sunday——at least as late as Little Joe would permit. After a leisurely breakfast, they would
normally have loaded everyone into the buckboard and driven to the Thomases for
dinner. This morning, however, Ben
dawdled over his morning coffee; the others, though they’d finished eating,
remained at the table. Finally, Marie
suggested it was time to leave.
“I’m not going,” Ben said, taking another
sip of coffee.
Adam and Hoss exchanged an anxious
look. “You feelin’ bad, Pa?” Hoss asked.
“I’m all right, son,” Ben replied. Little Joe banged happily on the table with
his cereal spoon. Ben smiled at him,
grateful that one person, at least, was oblivious to the unease affecting
everyone else.
“But you don’t feel like riding to the
Thomases today, is that it?” Adam asked.
“Not today, not any other day,” Ben
muttered. “I will not sit to table with
a murderer.”
“Huh?” Hoss asked, his face scrunching up
as he tried to make sense of his father’s comment. While Marie and Adam had heard a full
description of what took place at Lucky Bill’s and understood what Ben meant,
Hoss was completely in the dark.
“He is hardly that,” Marie sputtered. “I know you are angry, Ben, but——”
“You have no idea how angry,” Ben
snapped. “My own wife defending the man
who hog-tied me like a calf for branding!”
Marie stood and came behind Ben’s chair,
laying cool hands against his cheeks. “I
am glad he did, Ben; if he had not, I think you would be dead.”
Ben lurched out of the chair and into the
front room. At the fireplace he turned,
eyes sparking hotter than the wood on the hearth. “I can’t believe you said that, my
hot-blooded Creole wife, raised under a code of honor. I thought you, at least, would understand
me.”
Marie moved toward him. Little Joe whimpered a protest at being left
behind, and Hoss scooted close to pat him consolingly. “I understand, Ben,” Marie said, trying to
curb her temper, though the spots of color in her cheeks betrayed her. “I think you were right in believing Monsieur
Thorrington innocent, but wrong in interfering.
It was foolish.”
“Fine, criticize all you like,” Ben
grunted, folding his arms against his chest and facing the fire. “I don’t need your approval.”
“I think a man with small sons should not
risk leaving them orphans!” she fumed at his rigid spine.
Ben spun to face her, arms still stiffly
folded. “And I think a man with small
sons should set them an example by doing what is right!” he retorted.
Hoss laid his head down and started to
cry. Adam stretched a hand across the
table and ruffled the younger boy’s sandy hair.
“You keep that up and I guarantee one small son’ll start bellowing up a
storm,” he barked at his parents. As if
he’d taken the hint, Little Joe began to cry.
Both Ben and Marie caught their breath,
suddenly realizing the sons they were discussing were hearing every angry
word. Marie laid her head against the
rigidity of Ben’s armored stance. “I
don’t want to quarrel with you, Ben,” she murmured softly.
Slowly, Ben’s arms opened to enfold
her. “Or I with you, so maybe we’d
better not discuss Clyde Thomas.”
Marie nodded. “We do not have to go today.”
“Oh, you can go if you like,” Ben
said. “I have no objection to you or the
boys going, but good as Nelly’s cooking is, it’d stick in my craw today.”
“No, no, I would rather stay with you,”
Marie whispered.
Hoss bounced up from his chair. “We ain’t goin’ to Aunt Nelly’s?” he wailed.
“No, son, we’re not,” Ben said.
“But——but we always go, ‘less they come
here,” Hoss moaned.
“Hoss, I’m sorry,” Ben said. “I know you’re too young to understand,
but”——Ben started to say Uncle Clyde and choked on the familiar title——“Mr.
Thomas and I had some trouble yesterday, and I doubt we’ll be welcome there.”
“If you been fightin’, you oughta go make
up,” Hoss declared. “You always made me
and Adam, when we was fussin’.”
Ben shook his head. “This is a little more serious than a
children’s quarrel, Hoss. Now, it’s
settled; don’t argue with me any more.”
“Wait a minute,” Adam remonstrated. “We can’t just not show up. They’ll think something’s really wrong.”
“There is something really wrong!” Ben
bellowed.
“Ben,” Marie cautioned, “you are shouting
again.”
Ben took a deep breath. “All right; all right. What do you suggest, Adam?”
“Well, I’ll go,” Adam offered reluctantly,
“and tell them why you won’t be there.”
“You don’t have to do that, Adam,” Ben murmured. “It’s not your responsibility, son.”
Adam shrugged. He agreed that the responsibility was really
his father’s, but his father had made it plain he didn’t want to see Clyde
Thomas. “Somebody’s got to tell them,”
he insisted. “It’s ill-mannered not to.”
“He’s right, Ben,” Marie said softly.
“Yeah, fine. You——you go ahead, son,” Ben said.
Adam took his hat from the peg beside the
front door. “You want to come, Hoss?” he
asked.
Hoss looked from his brother to his
father, not sure what he ought to do.
“Naw, I guess not,” he muttered, “but tell Aunt Nelly I ain’t mad at
nobody.”
Adam gave his little brother a sympathetic
smile. “I’ll tell her,” he promised,
“and Uncle Clyde, too.”
* * * * *
Billy met Adam in the yard when he rode
up. “Where’s your folks?” Billy asked.
“Not coming,” Adam mumbled. “I need to talk to your pa, Billy.”
Billy caught the somber tone in his
friend’s voice. “Sure, he’s in the
house. Come on in.”
Adam wrapped his sorrel’s reins around the
hitching post and followed Billy inside.
Nelly looked up from the stove. “Lands, you’re early today,” she said. Seeing Adam nervously twirling his hat in his
hands, she came closer. “What’s wrong,
boy? Where’s the rest of the family?”
“They’re not coming, Aunt Nelly,” Adam
replied uneasily, “and you can send me packing, too, if you want, but I figured
someone ought to tell you that the rest won’t be coming for dinner.”
“Your pa wasn’t hurt that bad, was he?”
Clyde asked, concerned.
“I told you you should’ve sent the doc out
to tend him,” Nelly chided.
“No, Pa’s all right,” Adam assured them,
“except——except he’s—— well——”
“Out with it, boy,” Clyde ordered.
“He’s mad,” Adam said bluntly. “I don’t want to repeat what he said, but
what it comes down to is he’s mad, and he doesn’t want to take dinner here
today.”
“Sorry he feels that way,” Clyde said,
leaning back in his chair. “That all you
came to do, boy, deliver a message?”
Adam shook his head. “No, sir.
I’ve got some questions I’d appreciate your answering about what
happened yesterday.”
“You’ll stay to dinner, won’t you, Adam?”
Nelly asked, her voice almost pleading.
Adam smiled and nodded. “If you’ll have me, ma’am.”
“Why, you’re more than welcome,” she
beamed, “and goodness knows there’s enough food.”
“Can I ask Sally to dinner, seein’ as
how’s there’s extra?” Billy requested.
“Ask anyone you like,” his mother said,
brushing at her eyes as she turned back to the stove.
When Billy had left, Adam moved closer to
Clyde. “I had some questions.”
“So you said,” Clyde muttered. “Ask away, boy; I got nothing to hide.”
“You and my pa have been friends a long
time,” Adam began, “so it’s hard for me to understand how you could watch him
get beaten up like that and not try to help.”
Clyde sighed. “That was hard for me, too, boy. To be honest, some of what your pa got, he
asked for. You can’t expect a man to get
punched without hittin’ back, and your pa was strikin’ out at anything he could
reach, arms and legs flyin’ ever which way.
He even knocked me down a couple of times, though I never struck him.”
Adam gave Clyde a lopsided grin. “Pa didn’t tell us that part, sir.”
“Don’t surprise me none,” Clyde
grunted. “Ben’s got a way of seein’ just
one side of things.”
“The way he looked, well, it just didn’t
look like a fair fight to me,” Adam stated.
Clyde nodded. “Wasn’t.
Like I said, some of them blows Ben asked for, the rest was from men
takin’ out their spite. I didn’t like
seein’ Ben hurt, but there’s two reasons I didn’t step in.”
“I’d like to hear them.”
Clyde gestured to the right and Adam sat
down in the chair next to him. “First,
there was things I couldn’t have stopped.
They happened too fast, over and done with before I could’ve done
anything. No sense fightin’ something
that’s already finished. Some I could
have tried to stop, probably wouldn’t have done any good, but I could’ve
tried.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Clyde laid his callused hand on Adam’s
knee. “Ben interferin’ the way he did
riled some of them men hotter than——”
“Clyde, you watch your language!” Nelly
ordered, spinning around quickly.
Clyde nodded contritely, figuring he had
enough people mad at him without adding Nelly to the list. “Well, the point is when men are heated up,
like they was agin your pa, that fire’s got to go somewhere or it can build up
like steam in a boiler. Better to open a
valve and let some escape before it explodes in ways you can’t control. You get my meaning, boy?”
“I think so,” Adam said thoughtfully.
“Maybe it wasn’t the right decision,”
Clyde conceded, “but I figured it was better to let your pa take a few punches
than have something worse happen. There
was men talkin’ about stringin’ him up alongside Lucky Bill. I’d’ve fought ‘em if they’d tried that, but I
don’t think I could’ve stopped ‘em.”
Adam bit his lip. “Pa never told us that part, either.”
“Likely he didn’t want to worry you,”
Clyde said.
Nelly walked over to rest a hand on Adam’s
shoulder. “How’s the rest of the family
feelin’?” she asked.
“Not like Pa,” Adam assured her. “In fact, I promised Hoss I’d tell you he
isn’t mad at anyone.”
“Bless his sweet heart,” Nelly murmured,
shaking her head. “This must be hard on
him. Thank goodness, Little Joe’s too
young to understand.”
“Trouble is, what he doesn’t understand,
he screeches about,” Adam grinned, “and he’s been doing plenty of that the last
couple of days. Makes me glad I’m eating
here!”
Nelly gave him a hug. “We’re mighty glad, too, Adam.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
|
L |
eaning back against
the nearest pine, Paul Martin patted his protruding belly. “Fine feed, ladies, but if I eat any more,
we’ll have to declare a medical emergency.”
“Wasn’t as good as usual,” Hoss
complained.
“Hoss,” his father muttered in testy
warning.
Hoss shrugged. He knew enough to keep his mouth shut, but he
held to his opinion. The Fourth of July
picnic hadn’t been as tasty as usual.
How could it be without Aunt Nelly’s pie to finish off the meal? And as much as he liked Dr. Martin and his
daughter, he missed the people who’d always spent the holiday with them——even
Billy, teasing pest that he was.
Billy, of course, was the one member of
the Thomas family any of the Cartwrights except Adam had seen since that fatal
Saturday that ended their long-time friendship.
He’d come by the house once, to see Adam’s boat, and had planned to be
here today, when they first tested it on Lake Tahoe, but he hadn’t shown
up. Maybe his pa wouldn’t let him. No way to know, since Billy’s pa and Hoss’s
pa weren’t on speakin’ terms.
Hoss thought the whole thing was stupid,
worse than any kids’ quarrel he’d ever seen.
Pa wouldn’t take Sunday dinner at the Thomases the day after the
hanging; then Uncle Clyde got his feelings hurt over that and wouldn’t come to
the Ponderosa the next Sunday. Now
another week had gone by without seeing them, and Hoss began to wonder if the
feuding would ever end. Not if Pa had
anything to say about it, he suspected.
Why, Pa wouldn’t even buy supplies in Carson City anymore, just ‘cause
he didn’t want to deal with Uncle Clyde!
He drove all those extra miles into Genoa, instead. Stupid, just plain stupid,
Hoss told himself, though he didn’t dare tell Pa.
“You through eating, Hoss?” Adam asked,
the question snapping the younger boy out of his reverie. “Ready to go for a sail?”
“Yeah,” Hoss said, face brightening. He and Adam had worked hard to make this
moment happen, and he didn’t intend to let anything spoil it.
Adam’s next words came close to doing just
that, however. “You’ll go with us, won’t
you, Sally?”
Sally looked longingly at the sapphire
lake. “Oh, I’d like to, but I should
help put the food away first.”
“No, no,” Marie said. “I have nothing else to do. Please go, Sally. I know Adam will enjoy the sail more with you
beside him.”
Hoss frowned. It was supposed to be Billy
in the boat with them, not a girl! He
didn’t consider it a fair trade. Adam,
on the other hand, looked pleased as punch as he took Sally’s hand and ran
toward the shore where they’d left the boat after hauling it up in the wagon
that morning. Not wanting to be left
behind, Hoss trotted after them. Seeing
his brothers headed for the lake, Little Joe pulled up and toddled off, too.
“Uh-oh,” Ben said, getting up and giving
chase.
Little Joe was close to the shore by the
time Ben caught him. “No, you can’t go,
baby,” he laughed, swinging Little Joe up into his arms.
“Go,” Little Joe insisted, squirming.
Ben held him against his chest. “No, Little Joe, you can’t go in the boat.”
“You’re too little, Punkin,” Hoss called
as he climbed in. Adam was busy helping
Sally to her seat.
“Bo’,” Little Joe whined. “Go bo’.”
His hand stretched pleadingly toward the little yellow bark.
Ben looked at Adam. “You’d better get under way or you’ll have a
stowaway on your hands.”
“You hang onto him!” Adam shouted. “That’s one crew member we don’t need!”
As the boat pulled away, Little Joe wailed
piteously. Ben rubbed his back
soothingly. “Oh, it’s hard, I know. Big boys run off and leave you behind, but
you’ll get your turn.”
Little Joe showed no sign of being
comforted by his father’s promise. As a
possible distraction occurred to Ben, he sat down and began to remove the
baby’s clothes. Shedding his own shirt,
shoes and stockings, Ben lifted the baby.
“I’m gonna take him in for awhile,” he called back to his wife and
friend. “You want a dip, Paul?”
Paul waved and shook his head. “No, thanks.
I’ll keep Marie company.”
Marie looked up from the leftovers she was
gathering. “You do not have to.”
Paul scooted closer to her. “I want to.
It’s too soon after eating to swim.”
Marie glanced toward her husband so anxiously he laughed. “Ben’s safe enough. He won’t take the baby in deep, and he can’t
cramp in water that shallow.”
Marie smiled as she packed the pound cake
into a basket. “I worry too much, I
know.”
“Umm,” Paul acknowledged without
rebuke. “Ben’s been giving you more to
worry about lately, too, hasn’t he?”
Marie nodded. “He is being foolish. He thinks it is his quarrel and no one else
is hurt, but how can we not be affected?”
Despite his earlier remarks about
overeating, Paul reached for one of the cookies his daughter had brought as
their contribution to the meal. “It’s
just as bad on the other side of the quarrel,” he commented. “Nelly wanted me to be sure to give you her
love.”
“And I send mine,” Marie said, then
sighed. “I do not know when I shall see
her again——or Laura. I had our foreman
invite her here today, as he did you, but she sent word she had to work.”
“Curry planned a big celebration for the
town,” Paul explained. “Laura agreed to
bake the pies for the pie-eating contest.”
Marie laughed. “Hoss would have liked to enter that.” A cloud covered her face again. “We were so glad when Carson City was built,
so happy our friends would be close. Now
look at us!”
Paul closed his hand over hers. “They’ll work it out, Marie.”
Her troubled emerald eyes peered into his
calm gray ones. “Will they?”
He gave her hand a squeeze and released
it. “They will. They’re both stubborn as mules, so it may
take time, but I’d bet on it. They’ve
shared too much to forget.”
“Look at Ben now,” Marie said, smiling at
the sight of her husband and baby splashing happily in the water. “I have not seen him so at peace in two
weeks.”
“Anger’s an exhausting emotion,” Paul said. “Take it from an expert, and I’m speaking
from personal experience, not as a doctor.
I was an angry man when I first came here. Ben told me then I needed to forgive the men
who’d killed my wife before I could have peace.
Maybe I ought to administer a dose of the same sermon.”
“I have already preached it——too often,
according to Ben,” Marie smiled.
“Maybe it just needs time to soak in,”
Paul observed. “Took me a long time to
respond.”
Marie flicked his nose with a red-checked
napkin. “Ah, but you were not so
stubborn a mule as Ben or Clyde.”
Paul nibbled his cookie. “True, all too true,” he grinned.
* * * * *
Sunday after Sunday went past with the two
families going their separate ways. Adam
took Hoss up to the lake each week to sail and fish from their boat, and that
seemed to somewhat alleviate the younger boy’s misery. Once Billy went with them, but he confided
that he found it hard to go against his father.
Not that Clyde had made any objection to his visit, he quickly assured
Adam, but he’d spoken so sharply when he gave his permission that Billy had
felt guilty, even though he knew he was doing nothing wrong. “It’s the same here,” Adam disclosed. “Pa doesn’t say anything, but he’s easier to
get along with if we don’t mention your folks.”
Consequently, even the youngsters didn’t see each other often.
Marie had been to Carson City once,
ostensibly to visit Laura Ellis, but while she was in town, she’d slipped over
to commiserate with Nelly about the foolishness of their husbands. They’d wept on each other’s shoulders until
Nelly pointed out that they were wasting precious time. Instead, they chatted companionably, coddled
Little Joe and dreamed of the day when they could all be friends again.
Hoss enjoyed that visit. He had a chance to play with Jimmy Ellis and
Inger Thomas and eat a thick slice of Aunt Nelly’s chocolate cake, but he
didn’t get to see Uncle Clyde, who was working at the trading post. Not until they’d left, though, did he share
his disappointment with Marie.
“Oh, Hoss, you could have gone to see
him,” Marie said.
“I was scared Pa would be mad,” Hoss
mumbled.
“No,” Marie said firmly. “Your father will say nothing; I will see to
that. Next time you must speak to
whomever you wish.”
Hoss nodded, pleased, but he found himself
wondering when “next time” might be. He
had a feeling visits would be few and far between, and that thought brought a
fresh worry. His birthday was coming up
at the end of July, and he’d never celebrated one without Uncle Clyde and Aunt
Nelly. “You think Pa and Uncle Clyde
might make up soon?” he asked Marie. “By
my birthday?”
“Oh, Hoss, I don’t know,” she sighed. “I cannot promise, mon chéri, but we will make your birthday a happy one. That I can promise.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hoss said dutifully, but he continued to worry. He missed Aunt Nelly, especially, and not just for her cooking. Lying in bed at night, Hoss came to understand that Nelly Thomas was a lot more special to him than he’d realized before. She was more than a friend of his father’s; she was more than an adopted aunt; she was almost like another mother to him. Though his mother-starved heart had enthusiastically welcomed Marie when she entered his life two years before, most of his early mothering had come from Nelly Thomas, and her absence left a void in him he couldn’t explain, one he was sure he couldn’t endure much longer.
Deciding that his birthday couldn’t
possibly be a happy one unless all his favorite people were there, Hoss
determined to have things his own way.
He thought everything out carefully and began his campaign at supper on
the Monday before his birthday. “I been
wonderin’,” he said tentatively as Hop Sing set a bowl of oxtail stew at each
place.
“What have you been wondering?” Ben asked,
buttering a corn muffin.
“About my birthday,” Hoss said.
Ben arched an eyebrow. “Oh, do you have a birthday coming up?”
Lifting a spoonful of stew, Marie clucked
her tongue. “Do not tease, Ben. What do you wish to say about your birthday,
Hoss?”
“It’s a mite late to be hinting for
presents,” Ben warned him.
Hoss shook his head. Why did they have to keep interrupting and
making this harder for him? “Not presents;
I don’t care about presents.”
“Glad to hear it,” Ben said, amused.
“Ben,” Marie chided.
“What I want is a party,” Hoss blurted
out, “a picnic party, like we always have——only at Washoe Lake this time.” He’d decided that Washoe Lake was neutral
territory and a good meeting place for the people he wanted to attend.
“I thought you liked Tahoe better,” Adam
commented.
Hoss glared at Adam. He hadn’t let his brother in on his plans,
but he sure hadn’t figured on having to argue with him. “No,” he declared firmly. “I—I do like Lake Tahoe best, but we been
there so much this summer, I’d like to go someplace different.”
“Fine with me,” Ben said. “It’s an easier drive, anyway.”
“Saturday, that’d be the best day, don’t
you think?” Hoss pressed. He assumed
that Uncle Clyde could get away from work more easily at the end of the week..
“Boy, you’ve got this all planned out,
don’t you?” Adam teased.
“Somethin’ wrong with that?” Hoss
demanded.
Adam just shrugged. He was beginning to suspect his little
brother was up to something. Then he dismissed
the idea. Hoss was too open to be secretive
about anything. It just wasn’t in his
nature.
“A picnic Saturday at Washoe Lake sounds
most pleasant, mon chéri,” Marie said
quickly. “Oui, Ben?”
“Sure, fine,” he said, attention fixed on
his bowl of stew.
“And——and can I ask Jimmy Ellis to come?”
Hoss suggested. “Maybe Doc, too?”
Ben chuckled, amused by the difference in
age of the people on Hoss’s guest list.
“They’ll be welcome.”
“And can I ask them myself?” Hoss begged.
Ben cocked his head and scrutinized his
middle son carefully. “I guess you’re
old enough to ride to Carson City by yourself, if that’s important to you.”
“It is,” Hoss said happily. Satisfied with the preliminary success of his
plan, he began to spoon in stew like the hungry boy he was.
Ben felt a momentary suspicion that there
was more to Hoss’s request than met the eye, but, like Adam, he quickly
dismissed it. There wasn’t a
surreptitious bone in Hoss’s honest body.
Obviously, he just wanted to demonstrate that he was growing up, and extending
his own invitations undoubtedly represented growth to the boy.
* * * * *
Hoss kept his gray mare at an easy
canter. He was excited enough to gallop,
but he’d learned early to be kind to his mount.
Besides, there was no real need to hurry. Carson City wasn’t going anywhere, and he
needed time to plan his strategy. He
figured he’d ask the Ellises first, then the Martins. Once the easy invitations had been extended,
he could turn his full attention to the harder ones. He’d go to Aunt Nelly first and get her on
his side before approaching Uncle Clyde.
If he was acting like Pa——and Billy said he was——Hoss would have to do
some fancy talking to get him to the party.
The boy was determined, though.
Uncle Clyde had to be there.
As he’d expected, Laura Ellis quickly
agreed to bring Jimmy to the picnic and even promised to bake Hoss’s favorite
cake, chocolate with white boiled icing.
Doctor Martin was out taking care of a patient, but Sally accepted for
them both and told Hoss she’d be looking forward to his party.
Well content with the way things were
going, Hoss headed for the Thomas cabin.
Nelly beamed when she saw him.
“Sunshine! What a nice surprise!” She looked past him into the yard. “You alone?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hoss said, his voice barely
above a whisper. “I came to see you
special.”
“Well, isn’t that nice?” she said, giving
him a big hug. “I’ve missed seein’ you,
boy.”
“Me, too,” Hoss murmured. “I don’t like this fussin’ one bit.”
“Me, neither,” Nelly declared. “Come on in and tell me what you’d like for
lunch.”
“Anything you fix is good,” Hoss said,
“but I didn’t exactly come to eat.”
“Why, it’s nigh on to noon now,” Nelly
argued. “Of course, you’re gonna
eat. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Her words triggered an idea in Hoss’s
brain. “Okay, and I won’t take no for an
answer, either.”
“To what?” Nelly laughed.
“I’m having a birthday picnic Saturday at
Washoe Lake, and I want you and Uncle Clyde there. Billy and Inger, too, of course,” Hoss
hurried to say.
Nelly sat down and pulled him close. “Sunshine, there’s nothin’ I’d like better,
but I just don’t know——about Uncle Clyde, I mean. He’s got his feelin’s hurt real bad.”
“I know.
Pa, too,” Hoss said, “but it’s time they got over it.”
“Truer words was never spoken,” Nelly
agreed, “but how do we convince them?”
“You got to come,” Hoss pleaded. “I ain’t never had a birthday without you.”
“It’ll be up to Clyde,” she said without a
hint of hope.
“I better go ask him then,” Hoss said.
“You do that,” Nelly said. “Go right over to the trading post and put it
to him. And you can bring him back to
dinner.”
Hoss hustled across the street to Curry’s
trading post, where Clyde was working alone.
He caught Hoss in a bear hug as soon as he saw him. “Hey, boy, good to see you,” he said. “Uh, your folks in town?”
“No,” Hoss said. “I’m here on business of my own.”
Clyde chuckled. “Probably should’ve taken it to Genoa. We don’t stock gumdrops, son.”
“I ain’t lookin’ for gumdrops.”
“What are you lookin’ for, then?” Clyde
queried, tousling the boy’s light hair.
“You,” Hoss said, pointing his stubby
finger at Clyde’s belt buckle. “I’m
lookin’ for you to come to my birthday picnic this Saturday at Washoe Lake..”
Clyde’s face hardened. “Your pa know you’re here?”
Hoss shuffled his feet. “Sort of.”
“Sort of,” Clyde repeated. “That answer bears explainin’, boy.”
Hoss bit his lip. “Pa knows I’m in town, and he knows I’m
invitin’ folks to the party; he just don’t know you’re one of ‘em.”
“Well, that’s a pretty important thing to
leave out,” Clyde sputtered, “your pa feelin’ the way he does.”
Hoss put both hands on his hips. “What about you? What are you feelin’?”
“Well, I——uh——I don’t see as how that
matters,” Clyde stammered.
“It matters to me and Adam and Marie and
Little Joe, too,” Hoss declared.
A corner of Clyde’s mouth twitched
up. “Little Joe, too, huh? He express that good and clear, did he?”
“He sure did,” Hoss announced, totally
missing the irony of Clyde’s question.
“And what I want to know is, are you still mad at my pa?”
“Me?” Clyde protested. “Ben’s the one with the head full of steam.”
“You ain’t mad?” Hoss pressed.
“Well, I ain’t mad, exactly,” Clyde
replied. “I think your pa’s been playin’
the fool, but——”
“I think you both been playin’ the fool,”
Hoss interrupted.
“Now, wait a minute, youngun——”
“You’re friends, ain’t you, you and Pa?”
“We were,” Clyde said hesitantly.
“Real friends don’t give up on each
other,” Hoss insisted. “Me and Jimmy
fuss all the time, but we don’t stay mad ‘cause we’re friends. I think it’s high time you and Pa quit
bickerin’ worse than a couple of kids and made it up with each other.”
“You got yourself a wagonload of opinions
today, don’t you, youngun?” Clyde grunted.
“I want you and Aunt Nelly at my party,”
Hoss said bluntly. “That’s my opinion.”
“Yours, not your pa’s,” Clyde pointed
out. “He don’t know nothin’ about this
shenanigan you’re pullin’, and you expect me to just drive up actin’ like
nothin’ passed between us? That’s askin’
a lot, boy.” “It’s all the present I
want for my birthday, you and Pa friends again,” Hoss pleaded. “Say you’ll come.”
“I’ll give it some thought,” Clyde
said. “I ain’t promisin’ nothin’, but
I’ll give it some thought.”
Hoss beamed, confident that his
peacemaking mission had succeeded. “Aunt
Nelly says to bring you home to lunch now,” he stated.
Clyde laid a hand on Hoss’s sturdy
shoulder. “Let’s go, then. Sure will be nice to see you at our table
again, son.”
* * * * *
The sun glinted off the surface of flat, placid
Washoe Lake. Here, on the valley floor,
few trees grew, but some cast refreshing shade at the southern edge of the
lake. Marie had spread the picnic cloth
beneath a towering cottonwood, the shadow of whose dark leaves cast a circle
wide enough for all the picnickers to enjoy its coolness as they ate. The expected guests had already arrived——the
guests Ben, Marie and Adam expected, that is.
Hoss kept nervously looking to the south, straining to see another
buckboard headed their way. No one had
promised, but his hopes had been soaring high ever since his trip to Carson
City four days before.
“What’s bothering that boy?” Ben mumbled
under his breath. Hoss had been so
bubbly yesterday. That was actually his
birthday, and the family had shared a cake and let Hoss open his presents. Ben had remarked, tongue in cheek, that
someone was certainly showing an interest in the gifts he had declared he
didn’t care about, but he couldn’t help noticing that Hoss seemed happier than
he had in——well, over a month.
Now, at the picnic he’d planned for
himself, with all the people he’d wanted surrounding him and wishing him a
happy birthday, Hoss seemed distracted.
Ben cast his eyes south, as he’d seen Hoss do a hundred times, and he
was the first to see the wagon rolling toward them. “What on earth are they doing here?” he
muttered.
Though his voice had been low, Hoss heard
and bounced up from his seat on the grass beside Jimmy Ellis to run to his
father’s side. Ben looked down at his
son’s glowing face and became instantly suspicious. “You have any idea why the Thomases chose
this particular day to visit Washoe Lake, Hoss?” he demanded.
Hoss took a deep breath and turned his
face up to his father’s. “I asked ‘em,”
he declared firmly.
Ben’s eyes hardened. “Sounds like we may need to have a very
necessary little talk, boy.”
Hoss knew that was his father’s favorite
way of announcing a spanking, but he was so sure what he’d done was right that
he didn’t feel intimidated. In fact, he
felt bold as a mountain lion. “Yeah, a
little talk’s real necessary,” he said flatly, “but not with me——with Uncle
Clyde.”
Ben’s lips quirked upward. Nothing he’d like better than to have a
“necessary little talk” with Clyde Thomas, but he had a feeling Clyde wouldn’t
hold still for a spanking.
Adam had always displayed a remarkable
ability to read his father’s mind. Now,
for a change, it was Hoss who instinctively knew what Ben was thinking. “Not that kind,” he frowned. “A real talk.”
“You are out of line, boy,” Ben said,
stiffening as he saw the buckboard pull up close to the cottonwood where the
picnic was spread.
Marie had risen as soon as she saw the
Thomases and gone to envelop the unexpected guests in warm, welcoming
embraces. Adam and Sally had hurried to
greet Billy, while Inger was looking everywhere for Hoss. She spotted him, but her mother held her
back, sensing Hoss had something tougher to deal with than an excited playmate.
Clyde was the only one who hung back as
the others gathered in the shade of the cottonwood. He stood by his buckboard, not daring to look
at Ben, who stood apart from the others, too.
Looking from one to the other, Hoss tugged at his father’s hand. “Come on and say howdy,” he ordered.
“You go say howdy,” Ben said, swatting the
boy’s backside. “They’re your guests.”
Hoss frowned. This was not going quite the way he’d
planned, but he wasn’t ready to give up.
Deciding Uncle Clyde might be more reasonable than Pa, he ran to the
buckboard and grabbed Clyde’s hand. “Come on,” he commanded, pulling with all his
might.
“This ain’t gonna work, boy,” Clyde
muttered, stumbling to maintain his balance.
He’d seen Ben’s reaction when he drove up.
“Yes, it is,” Hoss insisted. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, Clyde let himself be dragged
over to where Ben stood, arms folded tight against his chest. Clyde swallowed a huge lump of pride and
thrust his hand at his former friend.
“Howdy, Ben.”
Ben’s arms remained glued to his chest as
he returned Clyde’s greeting with an icy stare and icy silence.
Hoss was furious. Uncle Clyde had done his part, come more than
halfway to meet Pa, but Pa was being just plain rude. In his anger, he did something Adam could
never have done, but Hoss was strong enough to pull it off. He grabbed his father’s right arm, jerked it
down and brought it out to meet Clyde’s extended hand. “Now, shake hands and make up,” he
demanded. “You been scrappin’ like wolf
pups long enough.”
Ben’s face flamed with embarrassment, but
Clyde grabbed his hand and gave it a quick shake. “He’s right, you know,” Clyde said
softly. “We have been scrappin’ long
enough——and all over nothin’.”
“Nothing!” Ben snapped. “You call what you did to me nothing?”
“No, I call what I did savin’ your life!”
Clyde shouted back.
Hoss gave a satisfied nod and backed
away. They were talking now. That was good. They might do some yelling for awhile, like
friends sometimes did, but now that they were talking, he was sure they’d work
out their differences. Neither man
noticed him slip away.
“You sure got a strange way of going about
it!” Ben hollered back at Clyde.
“Well, you didn’t leave me many options,”
Clyde growled. Then he took a deep
breath. “Whether I went about it the
best way or not, you got to know, in your deepest heart, that I was thinkin’ of
you.”
Ben’s angry retort died in his
throat. He did know that, in his deepest
heart; even while it was happening, he’d understood Clyde’s intentions. He’d just been so frustrated by his own
helplessness that he’d turned his anger against his friend and nursed it every
day since until the anger was all he could see.
After a long silence, Ben said, “I——uh——didn’t give you many options,
did I?”
Clyde gave him a sour smile. “Not that I could see.”
“What were you doing there in the first
place?” Ben demanded. It was the
question he’d pondered through wakeful nights for the past six weeks.
Clyde shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t know. Curious, maybe. I’d never seen a hangin’ before.”
“Well, you got a good eyeful that day,”
Ben snorted.
Clyde nodded. “The last one I care to get, I can tell you
that. It’s an awful thing to watch. It wasn’t all curiosity, though. Partly fear, I reckon.”
That response took Ben off guard. “Fear?
Of what?”
Clyde twisted the toe of his boot in the
grass. “The way folks was splittin’ up
over the whole thing, I guess, feelin’s runnin’ hot. Mormons mostly favorin’ Lucky Bill and
gentiles mostly goin’ agin him. Reckon I
just felt safer if folks knew which side I was on.”
“You had nothing to be afraid of,” Ben
said. “I wouldn’t have let anyone hurt
you.”
“Even if you had to hog-tie me to save
me?” Clyde asked, chin twitching.
Ben laughed and suddenly realized how long
it had been since he had. “Yeah, I guess
I might have done that, if I couldn’t think of any other way.” He wrapped his arms around Clyde in a hearty
embrace. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”
A round of applause from beneath the shade
of the cottonwood made both men break apart, laughing. “Reckon we’re puttin’ on quite a show,” Clyde
grinned.
Ben threw an arm around his shoulders and
herded him back toward the others.
“Yeah, let’s get back to the party.
We haven’t eaten yet, so you’re just in time. Afterwards, maybe you’d like to help me give
Hoss his birthday spanking. I’m gonna
take special pleasure in making it a sound one this year.”
“Just to grow on, of course,” Clyde
snickered.
“Oh, of course,” Ben chuckled. “That conniving, little——I didn’t think he
had it in him.”
They returned to the hugs of their
families and friends, and Ben became aware of how deeply affected everyone had
been by his quarrel with the man who’d been like a brother to him since they’d
come west together in 1850. Everyone was
wiping their eyes, though it was hard to tell whether the tears came from
relief or laughter. Hoss received
innumerable pats on the back (and the backside from Clyde and Ben), while Laura
Ellis expressed what everyone was feeling about him when she whispered to
Marie, “A little child shall lead them.”
There was more food than anyone could eat,
since each of the ladies had brought a well-packed hamper. While the women put the leftovers away for
later, the men lounged and the children romped.
After about an hour Dr. Martin announced enough time had passed for it
to be safe to swim. The suggestion
brought shouts of approval from the children, and the men, of course, felt duty
bound to supervise. They moved a short
distance away and began shedding their outer clothing behind a bush.
“Supervise the younguns, my foot,” Nelly
complained good-naturedly to the other ladies.
“What they want is a chance to cool off themselves.”
“Why don’t you go in with them?” Laura
teased.
“Lands, no!” Nelly squawked. “I ain’t showin’ myself before them overgrown
boys. Ain’t fittin’ when they get the
age of Billy and Adam. Go in yourself,
if you’re so anxious to swim with the menfolk.”
“I’d rather have a nice nap,” Laura
yawned. “I always get sleepy after a big
meal.”
“A nap is just what this one needs,” Marie
said, pulling Little Joe into her lap.
Since it was so hot, she took off everything but his diaper and laid him
on a quilt beside her. She handed him
the calico bunny he carried everywhere.
“You and bun-bun go to sleep now.”
Little Joe gurgled contentedly and hugged
the bunny to his bare chest, sucking on one bedraggled fur ear. Marie smiled.
Little Joe wasn’t always cooperative about naptime, and she was glad he
wasn’t putting up a fuss today. She was
tired. “I think I will rest, too,” she
said and lay down next to her baby.
Laura lay beside Marie and Nelly beside
Laura. Sally, who’d chosen to stay with
the ladies instead of swimming with the boys, lay at the end. For awhile they rested with their eyes shut,
catching up on the gossip they hadn’t had a chance to share because of the
ongoing feud, but slowly all the ladies drifted to sleep.
Billy and Adam struck out for the center
of the lake as soon as they hit the water, while the three younger children,
all non-swimmers, stayed close to the shore.
“I wanna learn to swim, Pa,” Inger pleaded.
“Okay, girl; hang onto me and we’ll go out
a mite deeper,” Clyde said.
“Me, too,” Jimmy insisted. “I wanna go deep.”
“All right, son, you come with me,” Paul
offered.
Hoss continued to wade among tule shoots
and buttercups in ankle-deep water.
“Come on, son,” Ben urged, embarrassed that his boy, oldest of them all,
was the only shore-hugging craven in the bunch.
“You don’t want those youngsters showing you up, do you?”
“Don’t bother me none,” Hoss said, stomping
his feet to make the water splash high.
“Hoss, you have to learn to swim,” Ben
said severely, “and today’s the day, I think.”
“It’s my birthday, Pa,” Hoss whined.
“Wrong,” Ben said severely. “Yesterday was your birthday. Today’s a plain, ordinary Saturday, except
for one thing.”
“What’s that?” Hoss asked suspiciously.
“It’s the day you’re gonna learn to swim,”
Ben declared. “Now, get out here!”
Fearful, but more afraid of making his
father angry, Hoss moved cautiously into waist-deep water. Ben, frowning, waded back to drag him deeper.
At first, Little Joe played contentedly
with his bunny, then, hearing the other children splashing and shouting in the
lake, he rolled over and watched for a minute or two. Smiling, the baby stood up and pattered off,
so quietly that none of the ladies dozing beside him heard him leave. Billy and Adam were too far out and each of
the men too busy teaching one of the younger children to swim to notice Little
Joe, either, as he tugged at his diaper and finally managed to wriggle out of
it.
Chortling happily, Little Joe toddled
straight for the lake and plunged in.
The water closed over his head, and he came up sputtering, but
undaunted. He flapped his tiny arms and
legs, but his movements were so uncoordinated he made little progress in the
water. Once again his head dipped below
the surface. This time he came up
hollering.
His cry was distant, but Ben heard and
jerked around to find its source. Seeing
the baby floundering in the water, Ben shouted out his name and started toward
him. Hoss, now in water over his head,
immediately sank, gurgling and gulping in water. “Pa!” he screamed in terror.
Ben reached back to pull him up and began
to move toward Little Joe, towing Hoss along with him. The added load slowed him down, and Ben felt
panic surge in his throat. He had to
reach Little Joe quickly, but if he turned loose of Hoss, the older boy was
sure to drown.
Marie was screaming, running into the
water, shoes and all. The other ladies
stayed on shore, shouting at her to come back, to let the men handle the
situation.
Suddenly, Clyde was at Ben’s side. “Get the baby,” he yelled. “I’ll see to Hoss.”
Ben released his middle son and began
swimming with powerful strokes toward his youngest, whose head, surprisingly,
still stayed on the surface more than it dipped below. Reaching the boy, Ben pulled him into his
arms. “It’s all right, baby; Pa’s got
you,” he soothed.
But Little Joe needed no soothing. “Wa wa,” he begged, left hand splashing at
the water.
Ben laughed, relieved. “You little fish. You like the water, don’t you? Not scared like your big brother? No, not a bit.” Seeing Marie standing in water to her knees,
Ben held the baby high. “He’s all
right. I’ll keep him with me for awhile.”
As Marie climbed out of the water,
wringing her skirts, Ben smiled at Little Joe.
“So you want to learn to swim, do you?
Let’s show that cowardly brother of yours how to do it, shall we?”
Little Joe grinned as Ben lowered him into
the water and moved back toward Hoss.
“You can go sit on the shore and watch,” he told the older boy. “I have a little lad here who’s not afraid of
the water. I think I’d like to teach a
willing pupil for a change.”
Hoss glowered at Little Joe. How dare that little thing show him up and
bring Pa’s displeasure down on him? For
Inger or Jimmy to outshine him was one thing, but Little Joe! Hoss fumed with indignity as his father towed
him into shallow water and swatted him toward shore.
Ben carried Little Joe back into deeper
water.
“That boy ain’t got a scared bone in his
body!” Clyde cackled.
Ben chuckled. “Nor many cautious ones, either.” He looked over at Clyde. “Thanks, old friend. I don’t know what I’d’ve done if you hadn’t
taken Hoss off my hands.”
“No problem,” Clyde assured him. “Inger’s got floatin’ down pat, so I knew I
could leave her for a minute.”
Ben nodded thoughtfully and laid the baby
on his back. “Let’s see if you can
float, Little Joe,” he suggested and slowly moved his hands away.
Little Joe didn’t float, but only because
he wouldn’t lie still. Almost
immediately he rolled over and began to flap his limbs in rather inaccurate
imitation of the swimmers. Ben put one hand
under the boy’s stomach. “All right, all
right,” he murmured. “Kick your legs,
Little Joe.” He used his free hand to
slap the water with first one little foot, then the other. It took awhile, but Little Joe began to get
the idea. Soon he could kick his legs
while Ben held his hands out in front of him.
Little Joe crowed with pleasure.
Watching from shore, Hoss began to burn
with shame. Little Joe was
swimming! Really swimming——well, almost. And Pa was beaming with pride in his little
boy. It was unbearable. Hoss waded out waist-deep and called, “Pa, I
wanna learn to swim. It’s my turn now.”
Ben looked at him in amazement. Hoss had always screamed when he was forced
into the water. Now he wanted to
learn? Jealous, Ben quickly realized,
but he didn’t care what motivated the boy, so long as he learned. “Like to, Hoss,” he called, “but I’ve got my
hands full now. I don’t think your
little brother’s ready to come out.”
“Ben,” Paul called, “what don’t I see what
I can teach Hoss? Jimmy here’s doing
well enough that Clyde can watch him and Inger.”
“Sure,” Clyde agreed.
“Sounds good,” Ben accepted gratefully.
Paul guided Hoss into deeper water. “You won’t let me drown, will you?” Hoss
pleaded, clinging to his friend.
“I won’t let you drown,” Paul promised
gently. “There’s nothing to be afraid
of, Hoss. Your body’ll float right on
top of the water if you relax and quit fighting it. It’s a scientific fact. Shall we try that first?”
“O—okay,” Hoss said through shivering
lips. He figured Paul, being a doctor,
had his science straight and that gave the boy a measure more confidence than
his father’s repeated assurances.
From time to time Ben glanced over at the
doctor working with his second son. Paul
seemed to be having more success with Hoss than his own father ever had. Ben felt a moment’s envy, but brushed it
aside. Whatever works, he chuckled.
Finally, Little Joe seemed to grow tired, so Ben carried him back to his
mother.
Marie had removed her soaked shoes and
stockings and was sitting on the quilt, bare feet tucked beneath her. “Come here, naughty boy,” she laughed gently
as Ben handed her the baby.
“Now, don’t scold him,” Ben chided. “He’s worked wonders this afternoon. Not only has he made strides in learning to
swim himself, but he’s convinced that milksop brother of his to try again,
too.”
“Don’t you be sayin’ a harsh word about
Hoss,” Nelly chided. “That boy’s worked
a wonder himself today.”
Ben smiled, knowing she meant the
reconciliation between him and Clyde.
“Yeah, he has. Just call me Father
of Wonders.”
Marie
picked up her button shoe and tossed it at him.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
|
A |
ugust was a month
as bright in outlook as it was in the sunniness of its days. Of course, the reconciliation of the two
families was the greatest source of sunshine in their hearts. Once again Sundays were times to share
friendship around a table of happy faces.
The corn had been hilled and laid by until
harvest, and the second planting of the garden completed. Since their major responsibility was well in
hand, and since Adam had only one month until he returned to Sacramento for his
second year at the academy, he and Hoss were given extra free time to spend as
they chose. Adam, feeling he’d soon have
all he wanted of being closed indoors, chose to spend the time in the open air. Often he and Billy, with Hoss struggling to
keep in sight, raced their mounts through Washoe Valley, just to feel the
breeze whistle in their ears.
More often, though, the boys skimmed the
surface of Lake Tahoe in the sunny yellow sailboat. Hoss liked those times best because, usually,
he and Adam were alone. Sometimes Billy
broke free from his chores for a long enough visit to go up to the lake, but
Hoss pretty much had his brother to himself there.
And the memories they stored up against
the coming separation! The small ship
traversed Lake Tahoe from east to west and north to south. Every inch of its sapphire surface seemed
their personal property: every rock,
every cove, every tree. “Let’s name
stuff,” Hoss suggested, “like you did Zephyr Cove.”
“All right,” Adam laughed. To name his own world appealed to his
literary nature, but he supposed, to be fair, he’d have to give Hoss some voice
in what the landmarks were called. “How
about that?” he asked, pointing to a large, volcanic rock about four miles
north of Zephyr Cove.
“That’s easy,” Hoss declared. “That’s Cave Rock.”
Adam frowned at the simple name, but saw
what his brother meant. A tunnel
appeared to go through the rock and probably did form a cave. “I guess it’ll do until we come up with something
better,” he conceded.
They continued sailing north past the
promontory. When they’d passed it, Adam
turned to look at Cave Rock from the opposite side. “Look, Hoss,” he cried, pointing. “Doesn’t that look like a lady’s face? See her little, upturned nose.”
“Yeah!” Hoss yelled. “It is a lady, Adam!”
“Why don’t we call it the Lady of the
Lake,” Adam suggested. “That’s from a
famous poem.”
Hoss’s nose screwed with distaste. “A poem!
Aw, no, Adam. Cave Rock suits me
fine.”
“But it’s so plain, Hoss,” Adam argued.
“I like it plain,” Hoss insisted. “You’re the one all the time wantin’ stuff
fancy.”
Adam took a deep breath and decided, as
the older brother, he’d have to be the mature one. “Okay, we’ll compromise,” he offered. “We’ll call it Cave Rock, and say the Lady of
the Lake lives on this side of it.”
“Well,” Hoss drawled, then smiled. “Yeah, she is a lady, and she does live at
the lake. The Lady of the Lake who lives
at Cave Rock.”
“That’s right,” Adam laughed.
The wind changed and began to blow from
the north. “Let’s see if we can sail all
the way to the south shore,” Adam said, bringing the boat around.
“Yeah!” Hoss agreed. “Bet we’ll find more stuff to name down
there.”
Adam grinned. He was confident they would. Sure enough, an unusual rock formation
greeted them on the southern shore of Lake Tahoe. Adam instantly came up with the perfect name,
and he was determined not to give in so easily this time. “We’ll call this Shakespeare Rock,” he
dictated.
“Shakespeare! That’s plumb awful!” Hoss hollered.
“But, look, Hoss,” Adam pleaded. “You can see his features real plain.”
Hoss pouted. “I can see it looks like a man, all right.”
“It looks like Shakespeare,” Adam
insisted.
“You never seen him,” Hoss accused.
“I’ve seen pictures, and this looks just
like them,” Adam contended. “There’s one
in Pa’s book at home. I’ll show you.”
Hoss squirmed. “Couldn’t we just call it the Man of the
Lake. It’d go with the Lady.”
“No, Hoss,” Adam persisted. “This is Shakespeare Rock. You can name the next place we find.”
“Oh, all right,” Hoss conceded. “Where to next, Adam?”
Adam laughed. “Home, silly.
It’s getting late, and you don’t want to miss supper, do you?”
Hoss grinned and shook his head. “Nope.
Hop Sing’s fixin’ leg of lamb.”
Adam took the oars and began pulling
against the wind. “You’re right; I
wouldn’t want to miss that.” Since the
Cartwrights didn’t raise sheep themselves, mutton didn’t show up on the table
frequently. Tonight’s supper would be a
treat, and tomorrow’s, too, since the left-over meat was likely to turn up in
shepherd pie.
On their next excursion the boys,
accompanied by Billy this time, sailed from Zephyr Cove to the large bay
directly across the lake. “Look at
that!” Billy whooped as they came through the four-hundred-foot wide mouth that
quickly opened into the broader bay beyond.
“This here’s the purtiest spot on the Ponderosa.”
“We’re not on the Ponderosa,” Adam
grinned. “We’re in California now,
buddy.”
Billy grinned. “Close enough. Besides, ain’t nobody else around to claim
it.”
“Or name it,” Hoss added firmly.
“What you wanna call it——Hoss Water?”
Billy jibed.
“No,” Hoss scoffed. “You’re worse than Adam, Billy, when it comes
to names.”
“I told him he could name the next place,”
Adam explained, “so we’re stuck with whatever he comes up with.” His black eyes glinted as he stared Hoss
down. “It had better be something good,
though.”
“It will be,” Hoss promised. “Just give me some time.”
Billy groaned. “This could take all day. Let’s explore that island over there while
slowpoke makes up his mind.”
“Yeah, that’d be a good place for our
picnic,” Adam decided. Hop Sing, working
on the theory that growing boys came equipped with hollow legs, had packed a
bulging hamper.
Hoss was always ready to eat, so the three
were in agreement. They sailed as close
to the small island as the wind would permit, then rowed to its north shore,
tied up the boat and hiked to the topmost point.
“It’s a baby island,” Hoss commented as
Adam spread the checked tablecloth on the ground, “just the right size for a
picnic.”
“We’re not calling it Baby Island!” Adam
ordered.
“Wait a minute,” Billy put in. “Is he namin’ the bay or the island?”
“The bay,” Hoss inserted, quickly claiming
what he felt to be the greater honor.
“You can name the island, Billy,” Adam
offered generously, then frowned, “so long as it’s not something stupid.” He took sandwiches from the hamper and gave
one to each of the other boys. As they
munched, broad-winged bald eagles, snowy white heads gleaming in the sunlight,
glided overhead and slightly smaller brown and white osprey swooped down to
plunge feet first into the bay and snatch fish from the emerald waters.
“We ain’t the only ones havin’ lunch,”
Billy cackled.
“Yeah.
Wish I could catch fish that easy,” Hoss chortled.
“Well, try catching this,” Adam snickered,
tossing a cookie at his brother. Hoss
caught it and bit into the sugar-sprinkled circle with a grin. “Yup, better than fish,” he concluded.
After lunch the boys stretched out beneath
the nearest shade and watched the huge birds fly overhead. “Sure are a bunch of ‘em,” Billy commented.
Hoss sat up quickly. “That’s it!” he cried. “Eagle Bay.”
Adam closed his eyes and considered the
name. “Not bad, Hoss,” he
concluded. “Yeah, Eagle Bay suits this
place.”
Billy pointed to an osprey perched in a
tree above their boat. “I’m gonna call
the island Fish Hawk Roost.”
Adam’s nose wrinkled. He didn’t like the way that sounded, but
couldn’t deny the logic of Billy’s choice.
“Yup, the way them hawks is catchin’ fish,
I bet we could bring home a mess for supper easy,” Hoss suggested.
“We will,” Adam said, “but I think we’ll
do better fishing from the boat.”
“Let’s get at ‘er then,” Billy urged. “My pa’s powerful fond of them cutthroat
trout you catch here.”
“Just ‘cause they’re big,” Adam
laughed. “Come on, boys, let’s pack up
and go to fishing!”
The three hurriedly stuffed whatever was
left back into the picnic hamper. Ben
had taught his boys to leave the wild places the way they found them, so they
made sure nothing remained but a few crusts of bread Hoss crumbled for the
birds. Then they raced down to the boat
and rowed deeper into the bay to fish away the afternoon, coming home with
enough cutthroat and silver trout to satisfy the supper tables of both
families. Between them, Adam and Hoss
caught more than the Cartwrights needed, so Hoss suggested sending some to Dr.
Martin.
“Sure, be glad to drop ‘em by,” Billy
offered with a quick wink at Adam.
Adam scowled, knowing Billy planned to
impress Sally with the catch. “Just make
sure you tell her who caught those fish,” he warned.
“Sure,” Billy said easily. “They’ll taste twice as good if she knows
they came from Hoss.”
Adam shook his head, grinning. He’d lay odds Hoss never got the credit for
those fish.
* * * * *
The last Saturday in August the
Cartwrights and their friends gathered for one last picnic at Lake Tahoe, a
farewell party for Adam, who would leave for Sacramento the following
Monday. Marie, Hoss and Little Joe would
be traveling by stagecoach, while Ben, Adam, Enos Montgomery and two other
hands drove the cattle Ben thought were ready for market. Marie’s party would arrive in Placerville
days before Ben, of course, but she would spend them visiting the Zuebner
family. The family would reunite in
Placerville, where Ben planned to sell what cattle he could before driving the
rest on to Sacramento. Marie and the
younger boys would, of course, take the stage and train into California’s
capital. She would arrive first and be
settled in the Orleans Hotel by the time Ben finished his business. Once Adam was again established in Molly
Maguire’s rooming house, the rest of the family would go on together to San
Francisco and later to Rancho Hermoso.
Nelly sighed as the plans were discussed
over a lunch of fried chicken, potato salad, pickled beets, sauerkraut and
peach pie. “Lands, what a trip that’ll
be! You know, I ain’t never even seen California.” She had planned to go to the neighboring
state once with Clyde, to pick out her parlor furniture, but little Inger had
taken sick and Clyde had been forced to do the choosing himself.
“Ain’t missed much,” Clyde grunted.
“It’s our old friends I miss,” Nelly
elaborated, slapping her husband’s rough hand.
“I ain’t seen none of them folks we come west with since we settled
here.”
“They’d love to see you,” Ben said.
“Huh!” Clyde snorted. “That Camilla’s turned plumb snooty, from
what I hear. Reckon she wouldn’t be
pleasured to see plain folk like us.”
“Maybe not,” Nelly admitted, looking at
her worn calico. She hadn’t worn her
best dress to a picnic, of course, and the everyday dress looked faded and
worn, especially next to Marie’s. The
younger woman had dressed in one of her simplest frocks for the outing, but
Marie managed to look elegant in whatever she wore. Probably
look like a princess even in this old rag of mine, Nelly thought and sighed
again.
An idea flickered across Marie’s
countenance. “But why not come with us,
Nelly?” she suggested eagerly. “I would
love to have a traveling companion.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Nelly protested, but her
brown eyes grew warm considering the idea.
“Oh, Ma, can I go, too?” Inger begged.
“I couldn’t,” Nelly said again, her voice
weaker this time.
“Why, of course, you could,” Ben
said. “In fact, it would be a blessing.”
“Yes,” Marie agreed eagerly. “With Ben busy with the cattle, I could use
help with the boys.”
“You don’t need help with me,” Hoss
protested, “and I’ll help with Little Joe.
I always do.”
“Hush, Hoss,” his mother whispered
urgently. She knew how little it would
take to sway Nelly into saying no.
“How about it, Clyde?” Ben asked. “I know you’re too tied up with the trading post,
but you wouldn’t mind Nelly’s having a grand fling in California, would you?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Clyde mused. “Ain’t never thought of her goin’ off
visitin’ on her own.”
“She wouldn’t be alone,” Ben pointed out.
“I want to go, Pa,” Inger whined.
“Two women travelin’ with three younguns
ain’t much better,” Clyde snorted, glaring at his girl’s interruption. “There’s some rough characters in Californy.”
“I’ll protect ‘em, Uncle Clyde,” Hoss
assured him soberly. He couldn’t
understand the sudden laughter that circled the picnic cloth.
“There now, that ought to ease your mind,”
Paul Martin chuckled, giving Ben a wink.
“Oh, yeah, I’m relieved, all right,” Clyde
said, eyes rolling. “You reckon you can
handle a Californy bad man, Hoss?”
“If he tried to hurt Aunt Nelly or Mama or
Little Joe, I sure would,” Hoss declared stoutly.
“Hey, what about me?” Inger demanded,
knotting her fist and pounding Hoss’s arm.
“You, too,” Hoss said quickly. “I know I ain’t a man, but I’m strong and I
can fight.”
Ben’s lips were twitching almost
uncontrollably. “You have to admit he’s
strong,” he told Clyde and quickly buried his mouth in a napkin.
Clyde shook his head, not convinced, but
too amused to argue further. “It’s up to
Nelly,” he said finally.
Marie caught her hand. “Oh, say you will come, Nelly. Think how glad Ludmilla and Camilla and
Rachel will be to see you after all these years.”
“And the children,” Nelly murmured. “How I’d love to see how they’ve grown.” Then she shook her head. “No, I couldn’t; I just couldn’t leave my
menfolk with no one to see after them——not for that long.”
“I’ll see after them,” Sally offered
impulsively from her place between Billy and Adam. “I’m a good cook, Mrs. Thomas, and I can do
the washing and mending, whatever they need ‘til you return.”
“Hey!” Billy cried. “That’s an idea.” He tossed Sally a conspiratorial smile.
Seeing it, Adam’s jaw hardened. He could read Billy’s mind. That leering Billy was picturing himself
cozying up to the doctor’s daughter night after night, while his rival stewed
two hundred miles to the west. The two
young men took their rivalry pretty lightly, at least to this point. Adam wasn’t sure what his true feelings for
Sally were, and Billy seemed to share pretty much the same feelings for every
girl he came near. Eating at Sally’s
table, however, might give the mischievous redhead an advantage it would be
hard to combat from a distance, improved postal service notwithstanding.
“Why, what a sweet offer,” Nelly said,
smiling at Sally.
“Say yes, Ma; I want to see San
Francisco,” Inger pleaded.
“Well”——Nelly drew the word out to give
herself time to think——“Well, yes, I believe I will.”
Sally clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful!” The girl stood quickly. “Now, Adam, I’m ready for that sail you
promised me.” She wanted to get away
quickly before Nelly had a chance to reconsider. She was a good-hearted girl and wanted the
kindly older woman to have the pleasure of the trip, but even more she found
herself looking forward to the opportunity to show off her domestic skills for
a larger audience than just her father.
Billy jumped up. “Hey, I’m goin’, too.”
“All right,” Sally laughed. “I guess we can put up with you, hmm, Adam?”
Adam nodded, then smiled triumphantly at
Billy when the girl hooked her arm through his for the walk to the
sailboat. Billy stuck his hands in his
pockets and strolled nonchalantly after them.
Let Adam have this afternoon’s victory.
Billy would have plenty of time to make up for taking second place
today.
“I wanted to sail today,” Inger
pouted. “I never have.”
“I’ll take you out later,” Ben
promised. “In fact, we’ll all go sailing
today, turn and turn about. We’ll be
hauling the boat back home this afternoon, so this is our last chance.”
Hoss leaned over to whisper in his baby
brother’s ear. “Hear that; we’re all
goin’ on the boat today.”
“Bo’!” Little Joe shouted with glee.
Ben groaned. “I didn’t mean him, Hoss.”
Paul smiled. “You did say everyone, Ben.”
“Yeah, and after all,” Clyde cackled, “if
Hoss is strong enough to fight off desperados, he ought to be strong enough to
hang onto one squirmin’ youngun.”
Ben grunted his displeasure under his
breath, then turned a stern eye on Hoss.
“You’d better take a firm grip on that boy and don’t let go for nothin’,
you hear me, Hoss?”
Wide-eyed and awed by the responsibility,
Hoss bobbed his head quickly.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
|
T |
he Cartwrights had
purchased their tickets and were waiting on the street in Genoa when Billy
drove up and helped his mother and little sister from the buckboard. “Hey, Aunt Nelly!” Hoss called, waving with
all his might.
“I don’t think she could miss you,” Ben
commented dryly.
“Howdy, Sunshine,” Nelly smiled, walking
down the boardwalk to meet her friends.
She stooped to give the boy a hug.
Close behind, Inger bounced up and down, eager to be off on her first
real journey.
Billy dropped his mother’s carpetbag at
her feet. “I’ll get your ticket, Ma.”
“Thanks, son,” she said, then stared at
the pile of luggage near Ben. “That all
yours?”
Ben laughed. “A lot of it belongs to Adam. Easier to send his things this way than haul
them on a cattle drive.”
Nelly laughed. “Makes sense.
I was afeared Marie was bringin’ her whole wardrobe.”
“Not quite,” Ben observed, a mischievous
twinkle in his eye.
Marie slapped his upper arm. “He thinks I pack too much, but he forgets
how long we will be gone. Besides, much
of what he calls my luggage is filled with this one’s diapers.” She patted Little Joe’s bottom
affectionately.
Nelly leaned over to kiss the baby’s
curly, dark gold locks. “You got more
courage than me, takin’ one this small, but I know how you cherish keepin’ the
little sugarfoot close.”
“Sugarfoot!” Hoss giggled. “Is that gonna be your name for him, like
mine is Sunshine?”
“Maybe, just maybe, Sunshine,” Nelly
smiled.
Billy sauntered out of the store. “Here’s your ticket, Ma.”
“Thanks, Billy,” she said. “Ain’t no need you stayin’ to see us
off. Ben here will see we get boarded
safe.”
“Reckon I’ll head out then,” Billy
said. “Gotta consult with Sally about
dinner, you know.”
“I doubt she needs your help,” Ben
mumbled.
Hearing him, Billy just shrugged and gave
his mother a kiss. “Give my love to
Marta,” he dictated.
Nelly laid an affectionate swat on his
britches. “I’ll warn her to keep clear
of the likes of you, you scamp.”
Billy grinned. “Have yourself a right fine trip, Ma, and
don’t be frettin’ ‘bout me and Pa. We’ll
make out.” He gave Inger’s strawberry-blonde
braid a swift yank as he loped past her.
“Hey!” Inger yelled.
“Behave yourself, little sis,” Billy
called. “Don’t run off with no
Sacramento charmer.”
“Ooh, he makes me so mad!” Inger confided
to Hoss. “Aren’t big brothers just the
biggest pains in the——”
“Inger!” her mother snapped.
“Neck, Ma,” Inger finished quickly. She grinned at Hoss, who shook his head. Not that he disagreed entirely. Big brothers could be a pain in the neck, no
arguing about that, but that academy was about to swallow Hoss’s big brother
again for endless months. Inger, who’d
seen her big brother practically every day of her life, couldn’t understand
that sometimes big brothers could be missed.
The stage rumbled into town and pulled to
a halt. Ben helped the driver load all
the luggage, then assisted Nelly as she stepped into the coach, followed by
Hoss and Inger. He took Little Joe in
his arms for a moment. “Pa’s gonna miss
you,” he cooed in the baby’s ear as he held him close. “Be a good boy now, and don’t give Mama any
trouble.”
He lifted the baby inside to Nelly’s
reaching arms. “Pa?” Little Joe
called. He couldn’t understand why his
father wasn’t getting in, too. Or his
mother. “Mama!” he cried, squirming to
get off Nelly’s lap.
“I’d better go to him,” Marie said.
“Um-hmm,” Ben acknowledged, but he held
her a moment longer. “Have a good trip,”
he said, giving her a lingering kiss.
“I’ll see you in Placerville.”
“Mama!” Little Joe screamed. Marie gave Ben’s cheek a parting stroke and
hurriedly climbed into the stagecoach.
Ben waved until the vehicle was out of
sight, then mounted and rode quickly to join the trail drive already making its
way south to Carson Pass.
Little Joe was still crying as the stage
took off. “Sorry I couldn’t settle him,”
Nelly apologized.
“I think he feared I wasn’t coming,” Marie
murmured, then smiled at her friend.
“Don’t worry; he will soon quiet down.”
“Little Joe likes stagecoaches,” Hoss
explained and Marie nodded.
“Me, too,” Inger said, giving a happy
bounce that brought a disapproving frown from the portly gentleman who, with
Hoss, was making a sandwich of the little girl on the seat opposite the two
mothers.
“Inger, sit still,” Nelly cautioned.
“But I’ve never been on a stagecoach
before, Ma,” Inger whined.
“Well, me neither,” her mother laughed,
“but I ain’t bouncin’ all over the coach.”
“You wanna sit by the window, Inger,” Hoss
offered. “You can see better.”
“Yes!” the girl cried, immediately
standing.
“That’s a sweet thought, Sunshine,” Nelly
complimented as the children switched places.
“Aw, I been on a stagecoach lots of
times,” Hoss said, discounting his chivalrous action. He could count on one hand, with fingers left
over, the number of trips he’d made by stagecoach, but Hoss felt himself a seasoned
traveler compared to Inger, who’d never been west of the Sierras. Since the ladies were keeping Little Joe
occupied, Hoss passed the time by pointing out the sights to Inger.
As the coach jolted over the rough roads,
Marie moaned, then smiled at Nelly. “It
is miserable, I know, but we must take comfort from all those days we will have
in Placerville to rest. And the stage
beyond there is smoother.”
Nelly just laughed. “Lands, girl, this isn’t rough, not compared
to walking from Indiana. And so
fast! It’s a luxury, Marie.”
Marie giggled a little. “I first came here by wagon, too, remember?”
“Buckboard,” Nelly scoffed. “Ridin’ all the way. It ain’t the same, honey lamb.”
“No, I am sure,” Marie agreed
congenially. “I would like to hear of
your trip west, Nelly. Ben has told me
so little. I think he fears to speak too
much of——”
“Inger?” Nelly asked softly.
“What, Ma?” Inger asked, turning from the
window.
“Not you, darlin’,” Nelly laughed, “the
one you’re named for.”
“My mother?” Hoss queried.
“That’s right, Sunshine. Your mama was askin’ about how we all come
west together.”
“I wanna hear, too,” Hoss said.
“Me, too,” Inger pleaded. “There’s nothin’ much to see out this
window. Just more sand and sage. Tell the story, Ma.”
“We certainly have time,” Marie pointed
out.
“Well, if this gent don’t mind listenin’,
I reckon I will,” Nelly said. She smiled
across at the man whose corpulent face was made broader still by his mutton
chop whiskers. “It’ll help keep the
younguns quiet.”
The man nodded, clearly pleased with any
suggestion that would guarantee a peaceful ride.
Nelly
wasn’t the storyteller Ben Cartwright was, but her remembrance of the journey
west included the kind of homey details Marie found fascinating, with enough
excitement thrown in to interest the children and their seatmate, as well. An hour into the story, the children decided
they were hungry, so Marie and Nelly opened the lunch baskets. Since they’d each brought one, there was more
than enough to share, and their fellow traveler became positively chummy as he
munched sandwiches and listened to more of the Larrimore train’s travels along
the California Trail.
Once the stage began to ascend the Sierra
Nevada Mountains, Inger’s interest in the scenery perked up again, and Hoss
impressed her with his ability to name virtually every plant they saw from the
window. “You’re smart,” Inger said, thus
winning Hoss’s undying gratitude. No one
else had ever described him that way!
Night fell and the weary passengers
slumbered as the stage rumbled on. None
slept well, however, with the possible exception of Little Joe, who seemed to
respond to the moving stage as if it were a rocking cradle. Hoss and Inger woke early and irritable, and
the gentleman sharing their seat began to wish he’d gotten off at one of the
miserable way stations they’d passed in the night. Nelly dug out the remaining sandwiches from
her hamper and passed them around. The
rumbling of their tummies stilled, the children settled down once more.
The mountain country was beautiful. Dark evergreens lined the roadway, while here
and there stands of aspen were just beginning to turn vibrant gold or flaming
red. Such views could be seen from the
valleys east of the Sierras, of course, and even more frequently in the hills
surrounding the Ponderosa, but here trees abounded, lacing the air with the
pungent aroma of pine, mingled with the less discernable scents of other trees.
The red clay canyon on whose sides
Placerville sprawled glowed in the deeper crimson of the setting sun as the
stagecoach pulled in and deposited its passengers. “It’s been a pleasure, ladies,” their
gentleman companion said, doffing his gray felt hat, then proved his
congeniality by calmly hoisting several of their carpetbags beneath his hefty
arms.
With his help and that of a man Marie
hired to assist them, the party transported all the baggage to the El Dorado
Hotel and checked into adjoining rooms.
“We’re goin’ over to Mama Zuebner’s for supper, ain’t we?” Hoss asked
eagerly. “I’m half starved.”
“Oh, Hoss, I think we should eat here
tonight,” Marie said.
“But why?
Mama Zuebner’s is the best in town,” Hoss argued.
“I know,” his mother said, “and we will
have breakfast there, mon chéri, but
we are all tired and dusty. We will feel
more like visiting tomorrow.”
“Aw, shucks!” Hoss pouted, plopping down
on the nearest chair.
“Lands, I hate to disappoint the youngun,”
Nelly sympathized, “but I’d sure favor lookin’ a sight less draggled when I see
Ludmilla again.”
“Mais
oui,” Marie said firmly. “Hoss must
be patient and think of others besides himself.”
“Yes, Mama,” Hoss said, but his face still hung with disappointment.
“I’m hungry, too, Ma,” Inger
grumbled. “Can’t we eat now, wherever we
do it?”
“Sure, sugar,” her mother soothed. “Here, you said, Marie? They got a restaurant?”
“Oui,”
Marie said. “Ben has eaten here
before. He says it is acceptable.”
“Let’s try it, then,” Nelly advised. “We ought to get these cranky younguns fed
and bathed and into bed as soon as possible.”
“This one is not so cranky,” Marie smiled as she shifted Little Joe from one arm to the other. “My good little traveler.”
“He certainly is,” Nelly said, giving the
baby an approving pat. Hoss and Inger
exchanged a look of joint discomfort.
Neither of them appreciated having a baby make them look bad. No word passed between them, but both of the
older children decided to work extra hard at behaving well at the supper table.
Nelly took one look at the menu and shook
her head. “A dollar for plain old
sauerkraut!” she hissed to Marie.
“I know,” Marie commiserated. “Prices are terrible, but one must eat, oui?”
“I reckon,” Nelly muttered. “Ludmilla must be makin’ a fortune if her
prices come close to these. Me and Clyde
just may be in the wrong business, in the wrong place.”
“Do not tease,” Marie chided. “How would we survive without you?”
Nelly smiled. “I wasn’t serious, honey lamb. I like our part of the country.” She looked down at Inger. “You know what you want?”
“I can’t read all these words, Ma,” Inger
muttered in frustration.
Nelly sighed. “I wish the girl could have a real
teacher. I try, but I fear she ain’t
learnin’ like she should.”
“My mama’s been teachin’ me real good,”
Hoss bragged. “I can read this whole
menu.”
“That’s good, Sunshine,” Nelly said at the
same moment that Marie rebuked Hoss for bragging.
Hoss quickly glued his eyes to the menu
and looked up to announce his selection.
“I want the hash.”
“Which one, Hoss?” Marie queried. “Low grade or eighteen carat?”
Hoss shrugged. “What’s the difference?”
“About a quarter, the way I read it,”
Nelly giggled. “Reckon the eighteen
carat is supposed to be better.”
Marie nodded. “And for a quarter’s difference, I think you
should choose the better, Hoss.”
Hoss nodded in agreement. “Eighteen carat, then, for me. How ‘bout you, Inger?”
“Does that say ‘rabbit?’” the little girl
asked, pointing to a familiar word.
“Yeah,” Hoss replied. “Jackass rabbit, whole, one dollar,” he read
to demonstrate his skill.
“That’s what I want,” Inger decided.
“Oh, Inger, you won’t eat a whole rabbit,”
her mother objected.
“But it’s what I want,” Inger insisted,
her face forming a pout. Hoss gave her a
swift kick under the table. Inger got
the message. “Please,” she said,
amending her attitude with dizzying alacrity.
“Well, I reckon we could share it,” Nelly
mused. “I ain’t so all fired hungry
myself, and it would cut down on the bill.”
“You can order extra vegetables, I am
sure,” Marie suggested. “I think I will
have hash, like Hoss.”
“We can’t share,” Hoss said quickly. Inger returned the kick he’d given her
earlier. Hoss frowned at her. “Well, I’m hungry.”
“I meant to share mine with Little Joe,”
Marie said, her eyes reproachful, “not you.
I am familiar with your appetite, Hoss.”
Hoss gulped. “Yes, ma’am,” he said in quick
contrition. “Little Joe’ll leave you
plenty; he don’t eat much.”
The others laughed. “No, he does not,” Marie tittered.
“Not near as much as you, anyway,” Inger
said pointedly.
Hoss glared at her. “Nor you, either. Oink, oink.”
“Children, please,” Marie admonished. Their voices had been both sharp and loud.
“See how sweet Little Joe’s behavin’,”
Nelly added.
Little Joe, who’d been happily patting the
linen tablecloth with the flat of his hand, looked up and smiled angelically at
the mention of his name.
Hoss and Inger looked at each other and
sighed. They’d let it happen again. As they returned to their rooms after supper,
Inger took Hoss’s arm and whispered in his ear, “We got to do somethin’ about
that baby.”
Hoss shook his head. He wasn’t any happier with Little Joe at the
moment than she was, but, after all, a brother was a brother, while a friend
was just a friend.
* * * * *
Hoss rapped on the door to Nelly and
Inger’s room. The little girl
answered. “You ready yet?” Hoss queried. “Mama’s just about got Little Joe dressed,
and I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Inger tittered as
she opened the door wide to let Hoss in.
“Almost ready, Sunshine,” Nelly
reported. She was sitting before the
mirror above the dressing table, retying her best silk bonnet. Her fumbling fingers just couldn’t seem to
get the bow right this morning.
“You look mighty fine,” Hoss said, “and
Inger, too.”
Inger gave the wide flounce of her pink
gingham skirt an impatient twitch.
“Ain’t it awful, dressin’ up this fancy just to go to breakfast..”
“I want you lookin’ nice for my old
friends,” Nelly said, nervously smoothing her daughter’s strawberry strands and
perching a bonnet on her head.
“I don’t want to wear a hat,” Inger
complained.
“Hush now,” Nelly scolded as she tied the
pink ribbons under Inger’s chin. “You
don’t see Hoss fussin’.”
“I don’t see him wearin’ no bonnet,
neither,” Inger sputtered. “He ain’t
even dressed fancy.”
“Wait’ll we get to them Larrimores,” Hoss
sighed. “I’ll be decked out fancy enough
to make a dude miserable.”
Nelly bit her lip. Exactly what she’d feared. Looking down at her best dress, years out of
fashion, she sighed. She herded the two
youngsters before her to the Cartwrights’ room.
“Ah, good.
You are ready,” Marie said, reaching for her green muslin bonnet and
tying its black grosgrain ribbons. It
matched her merino skirt, which was topped by a tucked chemise of white linen
with puffed sleeves and cuffs of tiny tucks edged with lace. “How beautiful you look, Nelly!”
Nelly smiled. For once, she didn’t feel tacky standing next
to Marie. That was only because Marie
had chosen such a simple outfit this morning, though. As they walked toward Mama Zuebner’s Cafe,
Nelly mentioned what Hoss had said about the Larrimores. “I been frettin’ that nothin’ I got’s fancy
enough for them,” she said. “Clyde said
I could pick me out some dress goods this trip.
You reckon, maybe, Ludmilla would let us use her scissors and needles to
stitch up a dress?”
“I am sure she would,” Marie assented,
“but you will find a better selection of fabric in Sacramento, Nelly, and we
will have time there as well.”
“But no place to work,” Nelly argued.
“Mrs. Maguire’d let you use her place, I
bet,” Hoss piped up.
“Mais
oui,” Marie agreed quickly. “We must
see Adam’s things safely to the rooming house, so we will ask her then. She is most friendly and helpful.”
“Yes, I remember you tellin’ how she
watched Little Joe for you last trip,” Nelly said.
Arriving at the cafe, Nelly’s fingers
fluttered at her throat. “Lands, I won’t
know those girls,” she murmured.
Marie smiled, understanding her friend’s
nervousness. “Of course, you will, and
they will know you. You will see.”
They entered and a pretty, blonde girl of
eighteen turned to assist them in finding a table in the room crowded with
hungry miners. “Mrs. Cartwright!” she
squealed, hurrying to the party of women and children. “And your beautiful baby——and Hoss.” She stooped to give the chunky boy a hug.
Standing upright again, she cocked her
head to examine Marie’s companion, then, giving a cry of delight, wrapped Nelly
in a warm embrace. “Oh, Mrs. Thomas,
it’s been so long!” the girl exclaimed.
“We see Mr. Thomas and Billy several times a year, but you”——her eyes
fell on the child at Nelly’s side——“and this must be your little girl!”
“This is Inger,” Nelly said, smiling with
pride. Inger fidgeted uncomfortably
under the German girl’s gaze.
“Mama will be so excited to see you after
all these years,” Katerina said. “Let me
find you a table, and I will tell her you have come.”
“Thank you, Katerina,” Marie said.
Katerina managed to find them a table by
the window. As they took their seats,
she asked, “Are your husbands with you?
Will you need more room?”
“No, but Ben will meet us here in a few
days,” Marie explained. “He is driving
some cattle to market.”
“Oh, Mama will be glad to hear that,”
Katerina remarked. “Our customers have
been asking when we might have some of that good Ponderosa beef again.”
“Ben will be glad to hear that,” Marie smiled. Ben took pride in the fine cattle he raised
and would welcome the news of the Ponderosa’s growing reputation for prime
beef.
Katerina started to head for the kitchen,
then turned back to the table.
“Would——would Enos be with the cattle drive this time?” she asked shyly.
“Monsieur Montgomery? Oui,
he will be here.”
Katerina blushed and hurried away to the
kitchen. Nelly leaned close to
Marie. “You don’t reckon?” she
whispered.
“Mmn?” Marie hummed.
“Katerina and your foreman,” Nelly
whispered even more softly.
Marie’s eyes lighted. “Oh!
Wouldn’t that be romantic?”
“I don’t think so,” Hoss sputtered. “I like Enos; I don’t want him runnin’ off to
Placerville after no girl.”
“Hush, Hoss,” his mother ordered abruptly.
Hoss sighed. Breakfast was starting off the same way
dinner had ended, and no blame to Little Joe this time.
Ludmilla bustled out from the kitchen with
seventeen-year-old Marta at her heels.
“Ah, Nelly Thomas, so good you come at last!”
Nelly stood and fell into Ludmilla’s ample
arms. “Oh, it’s been so long,
Ludmilla.” She looked at the tall girl
standing behind her mother and gasped.
“This can’t be Marta, that little tomboy that always wanted to play with
the boys!”
Marta blushed prettily. She’d dropped her hoydenish ways in the last year or so and, following her sister’s example, was developing into an attractive young lady. “It’s me, of course, Mrs. Thomas. How’s that ornery Billy?”
“Ornerier than ever,” Inger declared. She hadn’t forgotten Billy’s farewell yank on
her pigtail.
Marta laughed. “You must be the little sister he’s always
bragging about.”
“Braggin’!” Inger squealed. “Not Billy!
He don’t even like me.”
“He does,” Marta assured her, “but he’d
never let you know. Like I said, he’s
ornery.”
“He sure is,” Inger grinned, seeming
pleased that her big brother had complimented her, even if it was behind her
back and never to her face.
Katerina took everyone’s order, and the
ladies enjoyed a good gossip over scrambled eggs and ham. All the awkwardness Nelly’d felt dropped away
by the end of the meal. That afternoon,
between the noon and evening feeding frenzies of the miners, the ladies
gathered in Ludmilla’s kitchen to master the intricacies of apple strudel,
which Marie had never prepared quite to Adam’s satisfaction, and to exchange
old memories and recent anecdotes.
Marta, still less interested in domestic pursuits than her mother or
sister, took charge of the three children, conducting them on a tour of her
brother Stefán’s new brewery and down to the creek to wade in the cool,
rippling waters.
Over the next few days the women spent
many happy hours in the cafe kitchen, and the menu of Mama Zuebner’s Cafe
expanded as a result. Nelly’s fried
chicken made a hit with the miners, but there was even greater demand for
Marie’s dessert crepes. And when the
miners heard that Ponderosa beef would be available by next week, the dining
room resounded with their shouts of approval.
Ben arrived in time for supper Saturday
evening, treating Enos Montgomery and the other trail hands to the best Mama
Zuebner had to offer. Marie and Nelly
exchanged knowing looks as Katerina neglected regular customers to hover
attentively over the table where the Ponderosa’s foreman sat, obviously more
interested in the pretty waitress than the food she served.
In bed that night, Marie questioned Ben
about Enos’s intentions.
“He hasn’t mentioned any intentions to
me,” Ben chuckled, pulling his wife close, “but I have a few of my own. I’ve missed you.”
“And I you,” Marie murmured, “but do not
change the subject. I think they are in
love, Ben.”
“That’s nice,” Ben said, nuzzling her
lilac-scented neck. “Sure glad Little
Joe’s old enough to sleep with his brothers this trip,” he whispered
suggestively.
Marie pulled demurely away. “You do not want to lose a good foreman, do
you?”
That got Ben’s attention. “No need for that,” he said sharply, raising himself on one elbow. “Katerina would make a lovely addition to the Ponderosa, good company for you.”
“Oui,”
Marie said quickly, her fingers stroking his arm, “if they had a place to
live. You might hint to Enos that we
could fix up your old cabin to please a new bride.”
“Marie!” Ben protested. “I can’t play cupid for those young people.”
“Just a hint,” Marie suggested with her
most inviting smile. “Perhaps all Enos
is waiting for is to know he can provide his bride a good home. I am sure you can be subtle.” Before Ben could protest, she bent over his
bare chest and slipped her cambric nightgown from her shoulders. Nothing subtle about the offer she was
making. Enos would just have to look out
for himself, Ben decided as he buried his face between her fragrant breasts.
* * * * *
The sun was climbing as Ben rode to join
the cattle drive Monday afternoon. Since
the butchers weren’t open on Sunday, they’d had to lay over in Placerville one
day before selling any beef, then Ben had remained behind to see the ladies and
children safely aboard the stage. It had
been a poignant leave-taking: Ben could
still hear the heart-rending sobs of his youngest son, who’d clung tenaciously
to his neck, not wanting Pa to disappear the way he had the last time the boy
boarded a stage. Too young to understand
Ben’s assurances that he’d meet them in Sacramento, Little Joe had wailed
piteously.
Ben’s heart lightened as he rode up
alongside his eldest son. “Everything
going well?” he asked sociably.
“Sure,” Adam said. “You get them all on the stage?”
“Yeah,” his father replied. “Little Joe wasn’t very happy about my riding
off, though.”
Adam laughed. “He’ll get over it.”
Ben chuckled. “I suppose.
Probably the minute the stage starts rolling.”
Father and son rode side by side
throughout the afternoon, and Ben found himself wishing this ride to Sacramento
would go on indefinitely. He’d enjoyed
having his son home this summer and hated the thought of parting again for nine
long months. People talked about a
mother’s needing to cut her apron strings, but Ben, who’d been both father and
mother to Adam for many years, thought no mother could have found it harder to
turn loose than he did. Like Little Joe,
though, he’d just have to get over it, Ben decided. Adam was a fine young man and becoming a
better one for the broadening of his experiences.
They made camp in the lowlands near the
American River that would lead them to Sacramento. It was hard to face beans and bacon again
after the succulent sauerbraten and strudel they’d wolfed down at Mama
Zuebner’s, but no one complained. The
men knew they would have a few days in California’s capital while Ben and his family
went on to San Francisco, and there were restaurants and saloons in abundance
in that thriving city.
Enos Montgomery poured himself a second
cup of coffee after supper and squatted near Ben. Ben took a deep breath and poured himself
another cup, too. If he were going to
keep his promise to Marie, he’d need whatever courage the hot brew could
instill. He began by mentioning the date
he expected to meet Enos and the men at Rancho Hermoso. “Think you’ll have any trouble getting them
there?” Ben asked.
Enos grinned, stirring two heaping spoonsful
of sugar into his coffee. “No, sir. They’ll have spent their pay by then and be
ready to earn some more.”
Ben nodded. That had been his thinking when he’d decided
to pay the men half their salary in Sacramento and the remainder when they returned
to the Ponderosa. “What about you,
Enos? Planning to spend all your pay in
the big city?”
“No, sir,” Enos replied amiably. “I’m saving mine.”
“Yeah, I knew that,” Ben admitted with a
smile. “You’re a fine, frugal young man,
Enos, the kind that plans for his future.
But what is it you’re planning for, exactly?”
Enos took a sip of coffee. “Don’t take your meaning, sir.”
Ben cleared his throat. No more hemming around the subject. It was time to plunge straight in. “I was wondering if you’d ever thought about
settling down, Enos, raising a family.”
Enos sat down, folding his legs Indian
style. “Yes, sir, I’ve thought some
about it.”
“Have to find the right girl, I suppose,”
Ben said, dangling bait.
Hooked, Enos’s dark head came up abruptly. “Oh, no, sir, I’ve found——” He shrugged.
“If she’d have me, that is.”
Ben smiled. Marie was right! “Katerina?” he asked softly.
Enos flushed. “That obvious?”
Ben shook his head. “Not to me, but there were ladies along this
trip.”
“Oh, yeah,” Enos mumbled. He took deep interest in the contents of his
tin mug.
“Have you talked to the girl?”
“Unh-uh,” Enos grunted, then looked
tentatively at his employer. “She’s
mighty young, Mr. Cartwright. Likely not
interested in an old fellow like me.”
Coffee spewed from Ben’s mouth. “Old!” he sputtered. “You’re not thirty yet, boy.”
“Yes, sir, I am,” Enos corrected, “a month
ago.”
“Oh.”
Ben leaned forward. “Twelve years
between you then. What’s that?”
“You don’t think it’s too much?” Enos
probed hopefully.
“I should hope not!” Ben laughed. “I’m some over fifteen years older than my
wife.”
Enos chuckled. “That much?
I guess it can work then. You
think her mother might approve——and her brother? I guess he’s the one to ask for her hand.”
Ben smiled. Stefán must be all of twenty now. Hard to think of a boy that young being the
one to decide whom his sister could marry, but the Zuebner lad had been forced
to grow up early when his father died along the trail.
“I doubt there’s anyone they’d be more
likely to welcome into the family,” Ben assured the earnest suitor. He was sure Ludmilla and Stefán would prefer
an old and trusted acquaintance to any of the miners or merchants Katerina was
likely to meet in Placerville. And life
on a ranch would suit the German girl.
After all, the Zuebners were farm-bred.
“You should ask her on the way home,” Ben suggested.
Enos shook his head. “Got nothing to offer her yet. Been saving up, like I said. Hope to have my own place someday, but——”
“No need to wait,” Ben said quickly. “That old cabin of mine is standing
empty. Needs some repair, of course,
some fancying up for a lady, but you’re welcome to it, and when the time comes,
I’d sell you some land around it. Keep
you on as foreman, of course, so you could have cash coming in while you build
up your spread.”
Enos’s dark eyes began to glow. “You’d do that? I—I could ask her right away then.”
“Ask her,” Ben urged, slapping Enos’s
shoulder as he stood up. “I’ll be
looking forward to having you as neighbors.”
He poured the rest of his coffee on the fire and headed for his bedroll.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
|
“T |
hey’re not here,”
Adam announced after a quick survey of the suite the hotel clerk at the Orleans
Hotel had indicated was occupied by Mrs. Cartwright and sons.
“Probably out shopping,” Ben
commented. He hadn’t expected to find
his wife at the hotel in the middle of the day, but he was disappointed
nonetheless.
“Probably,” Adam grinned. Ladies seemed to have an aptitude for that
activity beyond that even of a country boy who rarely saw the big city. Of course, Mrs. Thomas and Inger had never
seen Sacramento at all, so it was doubly reasonable to assume they were
scouring the stores for some utterly worthless female gewgaw. “Let’s eat,” Adam suggested.
“Yeah, I’m hungry, too,” Ben
admitted. “We’d better clean up first,
though.”
Adam brushed at the trail dust coating his
trousers. “Guess so,” he admitted and
willed his rumbling stomach to quiet down while they washed and changed. A full bath was probably in order, but both
father and son were too hungry for more than cursory attention to their
grooming. They decided to eat lunch in
an unostentatious cafe, where no one would expect, or even appreciate,
sartorial splendor.
“Could we stop by the rooming house to see
if my things are there?” Adam asked as they waited for their food to arrive.
“I’m sure your stepmother got them there
safely,” Ben said bluntly.
Adam shrugged. “Yeah, probably, but I’d kind of like to see
Mrs. Maguire, let her know I made it in, and put in my bid for my old room.”
“Oh, I guess we can,” Ben said. His face brightened as a thought occurred to
him. “You know, that’s a good idea,
Adam. If the ladies are out shopping,
they may have left Little Joe with Mrs. Maguire. I’d like to see my little boy, at least.”
Adam frowned. Little Joe in no way fit in with his plans
for the afternoon. “We can’t take him to
the bookstore,” he complained.
“Why not?” Ben chuckled. “I’d hold him.”
“Easier said than done,” Adam
muttered. “Remember how he was in
Placerville.”
Ben said nothing, for Adam had a
point. Little Joe, as everyone had been
quick to tell him, had made himself quite at home along the boardwalks of
Placerville, cheerfully trotting off to explore any new sight that caught his
eye. The miners, who saw few young
children, had been delighted to watch the game of chase the little lad led with
the bigger boy and girl charging frustratedly after. Little Joe’s mother, however, tended to view with
alarm his propensity for running into a street crowded with horses and wagons.
After lunch Ben and Adam walked to the
rooming house and knocked at the door.
Mrs. Maguire answered. “Oh,
you’ve come, have you?” she said. “It’s
good to have you back, Adam.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” the boy replied
politely.
Ben doffed his hat. “I was wondering if my wife might have left
our baby here while she shopped this afternoon.”
“Come in,” Mrs. Maguire laughed. “They’re all here. Youngsters in the swing out back, ladies in
the dining room.”
Ben smiled broadly and followed her to the
dining room. Across the table pieces of
burgundy silk lay strewn in apparent confusion, but each lady seemed to know
what piece she needed when it came time to fit another to the section of dress
she was sewing. “My, you look busy,” Ben
chuckled.
“Ben!” Marie cried and rose to engulf him
in an ardent embrace. “You have made
good time. And have you sold all our
cattle?”
“Every one,” Ben reported, “and for a good
profit. Just in time, it appears, if I’m
to keep you in finery.”
“The dress is mine,” Nelly laughed,
“something fancy enough to take dinner with the Larrimores.”
“They’d have taken you any way you came,”
Ben chided.
“But Nelly will feel more comfortable in
this,” Marie insisted, holding up the silk skirt to which she’d been sewing a
wide ruffle.
“No doubt,” Ben smiled. “I thought you’d be out on the town,
bankrupting me. I only hoped you’d left
Little Joe here for me to play with.”
“He is here, of course,” Marie laughed,
“and will be glad to play with you, but you insult me, monsieur. Bankrupt you, indeed!”
Ben gave her a saucy wink.
“Did you get me enrolled?” Adam asked.
“Mais
oui,” Marie replied, sitting and taking up her needle once more.
“What classes?” the boy demanded.
“Reading, writing and elocution, of
course,” Marie said.
“I knew that,” Adam muttered
impatiently. Those course were standard
for each term.
“Greek again and French, as you had
hoped,” Marie continued, “and world history and algebra, whatever that is.”
“Mathematics,” Adam explained. “I’d like to get a head start on that.” He looked longingly at his father.
“Adam’s wanting to buy his books this
afternoon,” Ben explained.
“I have already bought them,” Marie said,
snipping the thread at the end of her seam, “from a list the school
supplied. They are in your room, Adam.”
“I’m going up to look them over,” Adam
said, then remembered his manners, “if that’s all right.”
“It’s all right,” his father said. “After all your work on the drive, you’ve earned an afternoon to spend as you like.”
“Same room, Mrs. Maguire?” Adam
asked. At her nod, he raced for the
stairs.
“That boy and his books,” Nelly chuckled,
looking up to rest her eyes. “We won’t
see hide nor hair of him ‘til suppertime.”
“Yeah, which leaves me at loose ends,” Ben
complained good-naturedly. “If you
ladies are sewing and Adam’s reading, what am I to do ‘til time for dinner?”
“Play with your youngest, you said you
wanted,” Marie smiled.
Ben brightened. “Yeah, good idea.” He exited through the back door.
“Pa!” Hoss yelled, charging off the swing.
“Pa!” Little Joe screamed, sliding off in
a heap, but pulling up at once and running for his father.
Ben released Hoss to swoop the baby
skyward, laughing in the sheer joy of being with his sons again.
* * * * *
The party remained in Sacramento another
full day, giving the ladies time to finish Nelly’s new gown, which she
inaugurated that night at the Forrest Theater.
Over her protests Ben insisted on treating her and Inger to dinner and
the dramatic adaptation of Uncle Tom’s
Cabin. It was the first time either
mother or daughter had seen a play and both wept profusely at the poignant
death of little Eva and the mistreatment of Uncle Tom by Simon Legree.
Traveling by steamboat the next day was a
new experience for Inger, though Nelly remembered taking one such trip back
east when she was no older than her daughter.
Hoss, once again acting as guide for his friend, stood at the rail
beside her, pointing out sights he considered interesting.
A mammoth dinner was served at noon. Nothing compared to the fare available on
steamers on the Mississippi, Marie and Ben informed the others, but far from
scanty. Had their stomachs been willing,
they could have sat for hours eating everything from fresh fish and oysters to
roast venison and fine vegetables. Hoss
scanned with delight the table with a wide variety of rich desserts that graced
one side of the dining area until his mother told him he could have only one
kind. He chose a thick slice of
chocolate cake with cherry jam between each layer and an extravagant slathering
of whipped cream as icing.
They arrived in San Francisco late in the
afternoon and checked into the Parker House.
As they had in Sacramento, the Cartwrights stayed in a suite with two
bedrooms and a parlor, while Nelly and Inger shared a single room nearby. Conscious of the price of meals and lodging
in California, as well as the costlier-than-usual purchases she’d made in
Sacramento and intended to make in San Francisco, Nelly wanted to keep expenses
down as much as possible. Besides, the
Thomases didn’t need a parlor of their own when they were spending most of
their time in the Cartwrights’, anyway.
The entire party——except Little Joe, who
was napping in the boys’ room——gathered there after freshening up from their
journey. Ben was sitting at a small
writing table when Nelly and Inger arrived.
“I’m just sending word to the Larrimores of our arrival and asking if we
might call tomorrow afternoon,” he explained.
“Lands, I hope it’ll be all right,” Nelly
fretted, taking a seat by Marie on the sofa.
“Don’t know when I’ll be likely to get this way again.”
“It’ll be fine,” Ben assured her. “Camilla just values these touches of
societal manners.”
“High-falutin’, Clyde calls her,” Nelly
giggled, “but I reckon she was always a mite that way.”
Ben chuckled. “More than a mite now, but Lawrence has
stayed pretty down to earth. As for the
children——”
“Ben,” Marie said, wagging a finger at
him. “Little pitchers.”
“Yeah, guess so,” Ben shrugged, turning
back to his writing table.
Across the room Hoss dug an elbow into
Inger’s ribs. “They mean us,” he hissed,
“but, shucks, I already know what a pain that Jewel Larrimore is. You won’t like her much.”
Inger nodded in complete acceptance of her
friend’s evaluation. She and Hoss
usually saw eye to eye on folks.
“You writin’ the Wentworths, too?” Nelly
asked. “I’d sure favor seein’ them
again. The reverend was a good
man——turned out to be, at least.”
Ben smiled, remembering the rigid religion
Ebenezer Wentworth had espoused when first they met and how the experiences of
the trail had mellowed him into a man more compassionate of his neighbors. “Yeah, I’ll send them a note, too, but
there’s really no need. Ebenezer’s
family doesn’t stand on ceremony. A
stranger off the street would be welcome in their home unannounced, much less a
dear friend like you. I thought we’d see
them in the morning, possibly take them to lunch, and visit the Larrimores afterwards.”
“Sounds good,” Nelly agreed.
“And do dress simply, Nelly,” Marie
urged. “Dear Mary has so little to spend
on herself, and we do not wish to make her ill at ease.”
“Lands, no!” Nelly said, then
frowned. “But we have to dress fancy for
Camilla, don’t we?”
“We’ll change after lunch,” Marie decided,
“but only into our second best dresses.
The Larrimores are likely to invite us to supper, either tomorrow night
or the one following, perhaps to the opera, as well. You will want to save your silk for that.”
“She’s right,” Ben sighed. “I’d better get my suit freshened up for the
occasion, too.”
Hoss groaned at the thought of squeezing
himself into a frilled shirt and fancy suit.
“Dinner at the Larrimores is plumb awful,” he informed Inger, “but the
food’s pretty good. And they got these
Chinaboys that serve it to you.”
“Like Hop Sing,” Inger said.
Hoss shook his head. “Naw, fancy Chinaboys in silk shirts and
pants. And they only bring out one kind
of food at a time, so don’t worry if there ain’t nothing but soup to start
with.”
“What are you younguns whisperin’ about?”
Nelly asked, looking suspicious.
“I can guess,” Ben laughed. “The joys of dining in high society, eh,
boy?”
Hoss shrugged and turned crimson. Sometimes Pa was altogether too good a
guesser.
* * * * *
“Boat!”
Little Joe squealed, pointing ahead.
“That’s right,” Ben laughed, bouncing the
baby on his arm. “The Wentworths live on
a boat.”
“Boat!” Little Joe demanded, struggling
against his father’s confining embrace.
“That’s where we’re going,” Ben chided
softly. “Hold still, you little
squirmer.”
But Little Joe refused to oblige,
wriggling so persistently that Ben set him down as soon as they were on the
deck. “Fine, tell them we’re coming,” he
said dryly, swatting the boy’s bottom.
Needing no urging, Little Joe trotted off
immediately.
“Ben!” Marie scolded, hurrying after her
baby.
“He’s headed straight for the door,” Ben
muttered defensively.
The door to the boat that served both as
the Reverend Wentworth’s church and his home was always open to anyone in need
of help, so Little Joe wandered right in.
A silvery laugh greeted him. “We
don’t get many your size here,” the pale-cheeked girl said, stooping to catch
the little boy. Looking up, she saw the
flustered mother. “Oh, Mrs. Cartwright!”
Mary cried. “Is this your baby?”
“Mine, yes, and a naughty boy he is,”
Marie rebuked lovingly.
“Oh, no, he’s precious,” Mary murmured,
nuzzling the baby’s neck. “Such a
beautiful boy, so like you.”
By now the others had entered. Mary recognized Ben and Hoss right away and
hurried to welcome them. It took a
moment longer for her to realize that the woman standing beside Ben was someone
from the party with which she’d traveled west.
She didn’t, however, recall Nelly’s name, since she’d been only five at
the time. Ben introduced them. “Let me call father,” Mary offered. “He’ll be so glad to see all of you.”
While the adults visited in the parlor,
Mary took Inger, Hoss and Little Joe to her room. “The boys aren’t here?” Ben asked, taking a
seat in the armchair Ebenezer offered him.
The chair’s fabric was threadbare, the padding lumpy, but Ben was glad
to see the room more comfortably furnished than on his last visit, even if the
furniture was obviously second-hand. He
hoped his regular contributions to the Reverend Wentworth’s work were making
life better, especially for fragile Mary.
“They’re at work,” Ebenezer said.
“Don’t neither of ‘em feel called to the
Lord’s work?” Nelly asked.
Ebenezer laughed sharply. “Scarcely.”
A shadow fell across his face.
Seeing it, Ben immediately asked, “The
boys are well? And Mary? She looked pale to me.”
“Mary’s always delicate, of course,”
Ebenezer sighed, “but she’s not ill at present.
The boys are in good health, of course.”
There was more to be told, Ben was sure,
but he didn’t consider this the proper moment to ask. “I’d hoped to take you all to lunch today,”
he said. “You and Mary will come, of course.”
“Well——”
“I won’t take no for an answer,” Ben
urged, “and you don’t want to deny Mary a treat.”
Ebenezer smiled. “No, I never would. The dear girl has so few opportunities.”
“Since we’ll have the baby with us,” Ben
explained, “Delmonico’s is not appropriate.
The Irving, perhaps?”
“Where you took us before? Yes, Mary enjoyed that very much,” Ebenezer
replied.
Little Joe insisted on walking hand in
hand with his new friend Mary, so the procession to the restaurant was
perceptibly slowed. The ladies liked the
pace, for it afforded them the opportunity of scrutinizing shop windows as they
passed. Ben and Ebenezer found
themselves repeatedly pausing to let the ladies and children catch up, and
during one of these intervals alone, Ebenezer told Ben he had a request to
make.
“Anything, old friend, you know that,” Ben
replied.
“Do you remember once, a few years ago,
you offered to let Mary visit your home?
You thought the climate might be better for her,” Ebenezer began.
“Yes,” Ben chuckled, “and I remember you
pointed out that it wasn’t appropriate for an unmarried man to entertain a
young girl in his home.”
“You’re not unmarried now,” Ebenezer
smiled, nodding back at Marie. “Do you
think your wife would mind having a guest for awhile?”
Ben took his hand. “We’d both love to have Mary with us——for as
long as she likes. However, I’m not sure
this is the right time of year, Ebenezer.
Our winters can get very cold, and I doubt that would do Mary much good. Perhaps in the spring?”
Ebenezer sighed. “Spring, yes.
I confess I’d hoped to send her sooner, but, as you say, your winters
are probably harsher than ours. It——it
wasn’t only Mary I’d hoped you might welcome, though, Ben.”
Ben studied his friend’s face. “The boys?
I thought I read some concern there earlier.”
“Mark,” Ebenezer said quietly. “Matthew, of course, hates city life and
would welcome a stay in the country, but he has a good job here and is too
responsible to forsake it. Mark, on the
other hand, worries me.”
“I know he’s fretted about——well, the
frugality of your lives——but I thought that was mostly for Mary’s sake,” Ben
said.
“That’s how it started,” Ebenezer sighed,
“but lately Mark seems bent on tasting all the forbidden pleasures he thinks
he’s been denied as the son of a poor preacher.
He’s taken to nightly excursions to the Barbary Coast, haunting the
melodeons and cheap groggeries, and because he drinks more than he ought, he’s
lost more than one decent job.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ben sympathized. “Of course, Mark is welcome to come to us if
you think a change of scene would help him.
It might simply build his resentment, Ebenezer, if he thinks you’re
sending him away to be corrected.”
“That’s why I thought to combine it with
Mary’s trip,” Ebenezer whispered, for the ladies were drawing near. “Mark would do anything for her, and if he
thinks the visit is for her sake——”
“He’d come willingly,” Ben said. “Do send them this spring, then, Ebenezer,
and we’ll see if we can’t bolster Mary’s health while reminding Mark of his
better instincts.”
“What are you speaking of?” Marie asked,
for she had heard the last few words.
Ben nodded back at Mary, bringing up the
rear with Little Joe still clinging to her hand and Hoss and Inger trailing
behind. “Ebenezer’s gonna let Mary come
to see us next spring. Mark will escort
her and stay also.”
“If that’s acceptable with you, Mrs.
Cartwright,” Ebenezer said quickly.
“Mais
oui,” Marie cried with delight. “It
will be a joy.”
“Lands, it’s about time you put that big
house to use,” Nelly laughed.
“Yeah,” Ben muttered. He cast exasperated eyes at his youngest
son. “Any chance you could talk your son
into letting me carry him?” he groused to his wife. “I’m getting hungry.”
“Your
son,” Marie said, tossing responsibility back at her husband, “cares little for
the growling of your stomach, and if you wish him to move faster, you may speak
to him, not I.”
Ben looked at the little boy toddling
happily beside Mary and shook his head.
Better to leave well enough alone.
This way, when they finally did reach the restaurant, at least they
might hope for a peaceful meal.
* * * * *
Ushered in by a Chinese houseboy in yellow
silk, the Cartwrights and Thomases entered the Larrimore parlor. Camilla’s taffeta skirt rustled as she rose
from a rose brocade settee to greet her female guests with a continental peck
on each cheek. Lawrence gave Ben a quick
wink as they exchanged an old-fashioned American handshake.
“So good of you to call,” Camilla intoned
graciously. “Won’t you sit down, sill
vuse plate?” Her attempt at French was,
as usual, awkward and affected, but Marie responded with a polite, “Merci, Madame” as she took a seat,
giving careful attention to settling her skirts until she could control the
mirthful trembling of her lips.
Once everyone was seated, Camilla nodded
at the houseboy, who disappeared at once.
“I’ve arranged to have tea served here in the parlor, so we may have a
nice chat. You must tell me all the news
from the wilderness.”
“Wilderness?” Nelly asked, puzzled.
“She means Carson Valley, Nelly,” Ben
interpreted, amused.
“Oh, lands!” Nelly laughed. “It’s not a wilderness, Camilla. Why, Carson City’s growin’ to be quite a
little town.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Camilla replied with a
patronizing smile. She felt certain that
“little” was the precisely correct description for Nelly’s hometown. “My, what a pretty child you have, Mrs.
Thomas.”
Nelly’s eyes clouded for a moment. Mrs. Thomas, indeed! After all they’d shared together on the
Overland Trail! Of course, she and the
Larrimores hadn’t seen one another in years.
Perhaps it was only natural that Camilla should feel a little
distant. Nelly appreciated the
compliment to her daughter, however.
“Thank you very much,” she said.
“Inger’s a sweet child, a joy to my heart.”
Camilla smiled at her own daughter, a
miniature copy of her mother in a dress which alternated violet taffeta with
ruffles of violet and green tartan. “You
remember Jewel, of course.”
“My, yes,” Nelly said. “Wouldn’t have recognized her, though.” How could she possibly recognize the little
girl from the trail in this cloyingly sophisticated adolescent?
“Jewel, precious, why don’t you take Inger
to your room and show her your doll collection?” Camilla suggested.
A petulant pout appeared on Jewel’s
painted lips, but she rose at once. “Of
course, Mother.” She extended a hand
toward Inger. “Come with me, little
girl.”
Inger looked at her mother, and Nelly
nodded her permission. As Jewel herded
the younger girl toward the hall, she leaned close to whisper, “We’ll stop by
the necessary so you can wash your hands.
I don’t want you dirtying up my dolls’ silk dresses.” Inger looked at her perfectly clean hands,
then frowned at the older girl. Hoss had
been right; she didn’t like Jewel Larrimore one bit.
“Sorry Stewart couldn’t be here today,”
Nelly commented after they’d chatted for awhile. “Sure would like to have seen how he’s
grown. How old is the boy now?”
“Nineteen,” Camilla answered proudly. “He’s at the Philberg Academy today, of
course, but you’ll see him tomorrow night.
You will be staying long enough to take dinner with us and attend the
opera, won’t you?”
“We’d be pleased, Camilla,” Ben replied
for all of them. “Is Sterling enjoying
his studies? I know Adam is.”
Lawrence laughed, a laugh without
mirth. “Sterling hates every minute he
spends with a book, but his cruel father forces him.”
“Really, Lawrence,” Camilla chided, then
smiled at Ben. “The Philberg Academy is
the most elite in San Francisco. You
should consider transferring Adam, Ben.
Of course, he won’t have the pleasure of Sterling’s company after this
term, but think of the benefit to him socially, the contacts he might make to
further himself in life.”
Ben cleared his throat to give himself
time to weigh his words. Of all his
goals for Adam, making the right social contacts was last on the list, and
Sterling Larrimore was probably the last boy in the world Adam would choose for
a companion. “Adam’s happy where he is,”
he said finally, “and we’re satisfied that he’s getting an excellent
education. As for social contacts, he’s
met some fine young men, one of them the son of a state senator.”
Camilla looked impressed. “Oh, my!
Well, that’s good, then.”
Little Joe squirmed uncomfortably in his
mother’s lap. “Down,” he whimpered.
Marie took one look at the delicate
teacups and dessert plates with which the Chinese houseboy was serving each
guest and gripped her child tighter.
Little Joe just struggled harder.
“Down!” he demanded loudly.
“It’s all right, Marie,” Lawrence assured
her. “He won’t hurt anything.”
Marie looked dubious, but set the boy on
the floor. Little Joe toddled off to
explore the new world around him. “Watch
him,” Marie mouthed silently to Ben and he nodded.
“A beautiful child,” Camilla enthused,
“the image of you, Mrs. Cartwright.”
“Ain’t he, though?” Nelly laughed. “We tease Ben that he’ll have to keep a
shotgun handy, once this one’s of age, to scare off the girls.”
Lawrence gave a hearty laugh, but
Camilla’s sounded merely obligatory.
“Yes, indeed, an attractive child,” she said. Little Joe toddled up to clutch her taffeta
skirt between inquisitive fingers.
“Ooh,” he cooed, liking the sound the material made when he rubbed it
against itself. He pulled it toward his mouth
for a taste. Camilla gently pried her
skirt from his fingers.
Little Joe, never still for long, set off
in search of new sights and sounds.
There weren’t, however, enough interesting ones to keep him occupied
long. Soon he was back patting his father’s
knee. “Boat,” he said solemnly.
Hoss grinned. He and Little Joe were of the same
opinion. He, too, would have preferred
to be on the Wentworths’ boat to sitting in the Larrimores’ stuffy parlor.
“Shh,” Ben whispered, pulling the baby
into his lap.
“Boat, Pa,” Little Joe insisted.
Ben crammed a cookie into the youngster’s
mouth. Though Little Joe didn’t crave
sweets the way Hoss always had, he nonetheless munched away at the cookie. Ben smiled at Marie.
She shook her head. A cookie wasn’t likely to distract Little Joe
for long. Obviously, they would need to
make an abbreviated visit.
Two chimes declared the hour. Hearing them, Nelly looked up at the tall
grandfather’s clock and smiled. “Now,
there’s the voice of an old friend,” she said.
“Yeah,” Ben chuckled in agreement. “Kind of miss the old fellow.”
“You are talking mysteries,” Marie chided.
“You remember me tellin’ how Ben and the boys stayed in a cabin with us that first year, don’t you, honey lamb?” Nelly asked.
“Mais
oui.”
“Well, Camilla’d left her clock behind
when they went on over the mountains,” Nelly began.
“And I hated to see such a fine timepiece
ruined,” Ben added.
“So he up and brung it home one day,”
Nelly finished. “Lands, what a racket
that clock made in our little cabin.”
“But we got used to it,” Ben reminded
her. “Like I said, I kind of miss
hearing those musical chimes through the night.”
“We still appreciate your bringing it to
us,” Lawrence said.
“And my mother’s china,” Camilla
added. “What a surprise you gave me,
Ben, the day you and your brother carried it in!”
“You hear much from John now that he’s
gone back east?” Lawrence inquired.
Ben laughed. “More than when he was at sea, but that’s
about all I can say.” He had just
started to relate the news from John’s last letter when a small hand slapped at
his cheek. “Boat, Pa,” Little Joe
pleaded. “Go boat.”
Ben offered the boy another cookie, but
Little Joe pushed it away. “Go boat,
Pa,” he whined.
“Shh,” Ben murmured, lifting the boy to
his shoulder. “You need bed, not boat,”
he whispered to Little Joe, then gave his wife a resigned look. “I’m afraid we have a tired boy, here. We’d better take him back to the hotel for a
nap.”
Hoss bounced up, eager to leave.
Lawrence stood and shook Ben’s hand in
farewell. “I’ll have our driver take you
back to the hotel,” he offered and Ben thanked him.
Camilla rose, too. “And remember, ladies, I’ll meet you at the
Parker House at ten and show you all the best shops.” Nelly had mentioned earlier that she, Marie
and Mary Wentworth intended to spend most of the next day shopping, and Camilla
had invited herself along.
Marie sighed with resignation. “Oui,
Madame, we will expect you at ten.”
* * * * *
“Reckon Camilla will get offended if we
shop somewhere ‘sides her place?” Nelly asked as she and Marie waited in the
Cartwrights’ parlor at the Parker House for Mrs. Larrimore to arrive.
“You go where you want, Nelly,” Ben said
sharply. “You don’t get enough
opportunities in the big city to let Camilla dictate your plans.”
“Ben is right,” Marie said. “The Larrimore Emporium is one of the best,
though, and we will probably find more——”
“Careful,” Ben cautioned with a smile, for
he was fairly certain Marie’s next word would be ‘toys’. “Those little pitchers are just in the next
room.”
“Now, are you sure you want to be saddled
with all three younguns?” Nelly queried, a worried frown on her face. “Inger could come with us.”
“No, no,” Ben assured her. “She’ll be happier with us, and I’m sure
there are certain items you’d rather buy when she’s not around.”
Nelly smiled. She was looking forward to doing the
Christmas shopping this year, for a fact.
Clyde had always done well by the children, but she was certain she
could make better choices for their girl child, at least.
A messenger arrived at the door,
announcing that the Larrimore carriage had arrived, and the ladies rose
quickly. Ben kissed Marie’s cheek
lightly as she passed him. “You are sure
you’ll be all right?” she asked anxiously.
“Little Joe——”
“Will be fine,” Ben finished. “He’ll love the beach.”
Marie nodded and hurriedly followed Nelly
out the door. Ben went into the boys’
room. “Who’s ready to test the waves?”
“Me!” Inger said, bouncing up from the bed
where she’d been playing with Little Joe’s bare toes.
“Me!” Little Joe chortled, not having the
slightest idea what he was agreeing to.
Hoss said nothing. Although he’d learned to swim, he still
didn’t feel confident in the water, and an ocean represented a powerful lot of
it to him.
Ben
herded his charges downstairs and hired a carriage to take them to the
waterfront.
Little Joe squealed the minute he saw the
waves. “Wa-wer! Wa-wer, Pa!”
Ben laughed. “That’s right. You like water, don’t you?”
Little Joe’s head bobbed and he squirmed
to get out of his father’s arms. “Oh,
no,” Ben scowled playfully. “You stay
right with Pa, baby boy.” He turned to
the other children. “Don’t bother
undressing. Just take your shoes and
stockings off, and you roll up your pant legs, Hoss. I don’t want either of you children going in
deep. Ocean currents can be strong, and
neither of you swims all that well yet.”
A bright smile lighted Hoss’s chubby
countenance. “It’s all right to wade?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Yes, Hoss, for once it’s all right to wade.”
“This is gonna be fun!” Hoss declared to
Inger as he flopped onto the sand to remove his shoes. Sitting beside him, the little girl nodded.
Ben sat down to remove his footwear and
everything except Little Joe’s diaper.
He took the toddler’s hand and moved toward the waves lapping the sandy
shore. Little Joe crowed with delight
and pattered through the sand to splash contentedly in the waves. Ben glanced at the other youngsters from time
to time, of course, but they were both good children, not likely to disobey. In fact, Hoss could probably be counted on to
yelp in terror if either of them ventured more than knee-deep.
Hoss and Inger chased each other, then let
the incoming waves chase them for awhile.
Noticing the shells scattered along the shore, however, Hoss decided
they’d be the perfect things to store in the treasure box Uncle Clyde had made
for him and began to gather them up.
Inger thought collecting shells was a good idea, too, but she was more
discerning in her choices, selecting only the prettiest and only one of each
kind. Hoss picked up everything that
wasn’t badly broken.
The children were having so much fun Ben
had a hard time convincing them it was time to leave. “Little Joe can’t take this much sun,” he
explained.
“He don’t want to go either,” Hoss argued.
“He doesn’t want a good many things that
are good for him,” Ben chuckled.
“But we wanted to build a sand house, like
them other kids is doin’, Uncle Ben,” Inger pleaded.
“Yeah!” Hoss chimed in, although the
thought of playing in the sand hadn’t entered his head until Inger mentioned
it.
“Oh, all right,” Ben gave in, “for a
little while. Just don’t try to
construct the pyramids of Egypt.” Both
Inger and Hoss promised faithfully that they would not build a pyramid, an easy
promise to keep since neither child had the slightest notion of what one
was. Little Joe, of course, whimpered to
play with the others, which practically guaranteed the house built of sand
would have no resemblance to anything ever built in stronger material. No one cared, however. They were there to have fun, and even the
baby’s fumbling fingers couldn’t spoil that.
Afterwards, with Little Joe freshly
diapered and the others redressed as neatly as possible, Ben took them to a
high overlook. “Know what those are,
children?” he asked, pointing to the sleek brown animals sunning themselves on
the rocks below.
Listening to the animals calling to one
another, Little Joe supplied the answer.
“Doggy!” he cried.
Inger and Hoss laughed. They didn’t recognize the animal, either, but
knew it wasn’t a dog. “Does bark like
one,” Hoss admitted with a grin at his baby brother, “but that ain’t a doggy,
Punkin. You know what doggies look
like——like Klamath.”
As the animals continued barking, Little
Joe shook his head. “Doggy,” he
insisted.
“Seal,” his father corrected.
“Doggy,” Little Joe repeated stubbornly,
frowning at his father.
“Fine.
Watch the doggies,” Ben said dryly.
The “doggies” put on a lively performance
for the three children, slipping in and out of the water, shaking themselves
dry and raising their whiskered noses to the sky. When Ben announced it was time to leave, the
response was the same he’d received at the beach. “It’s past noon now,” Ben said. “Aren’t you hungry yet?”
“Hey, yeah,” Hoss agreed quickly. “I sure am.”
“You always are,” Inger giggled, giving
him a teasing grin. “Me, too, though.”
“Me, too,” Little Joe added.
“You, too, what?” Ben chuckled.
Little Joe pointed downward. “Want doggy.”
“Oh, no,” Ben laughed. “Doggy stays here. We have enough animals on the Ponderosa.”
“Doggy,” Little Joe pleaded
piteously. “HaHa doggy.”
“Huh?”
Sometimes Ben found it difficult to interpret his youngest son’s broken
speech. Suddenly, the meaning became
clear, however. “No, I know Hoss has a
dog, but you cannot take home a seal.”
The baby began to cry. “Oh, don’t start that,” Ben chided softly,
holding his little one close to comfort him.
“That doggy has to live in water, son.”
Then Ben shook his head. What had
possessed him to try to explain to a child under two?
But Little Joe understood more than Ben
had thought he could. “Tahoe,” the
little boy suggested.
Ben laughed, surprised the baby even knew
the name of the alpine lake near the Ponderosa.
“No. Lots of water, salt water.”
Not understanding the difference, Little
Joe continued to whimper. “Let’s go,”
Ben said quietly to the other children.
They found a seaside cafe, where no one objected to sand-coated
customers, and once absorbed in a tasty meal, even Little Joe forgot why he was
crying.
* * * * *
Having collected Mary at the Wentworths’
boathouse, the ladies arrived shortly afterward at the Larrimore Emporium. “Oh, my!” Nelly cried when she saw the
stately brick building. “You folks have
done right well for yourselves.”
Camilla beamed proudly. “Yes.
Lawrence was always good at business, of course, but opportunity was lacking
in St. Joseph. I’m so glad I persuaded
him to come west.”
Nelly choked, for no one who had come west
on the Larrimore train could have swallowed Camilla’s statement without
choking. They all knew her for the most
reluctant pioneer in the group, the one who wanted to turn back at every river
crossing.
Marie smiled. Though she only knew what she’d been told
about that trip, she could guess what Nelly was thinking and stored up
Camilla’s remark to repeat later for Ben’s amusement. She turned to Mary Wentworth. “Would you prefer a ready-made dress, mon chérie, or the yardage to make your
own?”
“Oh, ready-made, of course,” Jewel answered
for her friend. “They’re so much more
stylish.”
Mary laughed lightly. “I am not a stylish girl, Jewel; you know
that. I would like to make my own,
please, Mrs. Cartwright.”
Marie smoothed the girl’s fine curls. “I thought that would please you best, but be
sure to choose everything you need to finish your outfit——ribbons and laces,
buttons and thread, to match. We’ll buy
you some new shoes, too.”
“You are so kind!” Mary cried.
“Oh, no, we’re are just having fun, like
little girls dressing a new dolly,” Marie laughed. “You must let us have our way or we will cry
and kick our heels against the floor.”
“We can’t have that!” Mary tittered. “Oh, this will be fun!”
“Well, let’s look at the yard goods,
then,” Jewel sighed, crooking her arm through Mary’s elbow. “At least, we have some fancy ones here.”
Marie and Nelly made their way around the
store with Camilla hovering at their elbows to point out the best buys. Usually their taste tended toward simpler
things, but Marie sighed with longing when Camilla pointed out a pair of gray
linen walking boots with delicate tassels at their fronts. “They’ll look lovely on your dainty feet, my
dear,” Camilla enthused.
Marie nodded. She thought so, too, but she still felt
reluctant to buy things for herself when she was sure Ben needed every spare
penny to purchase ranch stock. “Not
today,” she said, but seeing her yearning eyes, Nelly made a note to mention
those boots to Ben. They’d make a nice
Christmas gift, and he’d appreciate the suggestion.
The ladies made their selections and
brought them to the register for Lawrence to tally and, in Marie’s case, credit
to the account Ben would pay when he came to shop the following day. “You’ll want all these delivered to the
Parker House?” Lawrence asked.
“Well, I am not sure what to do with the
things for Adam,” Marie said. “I think
the Paynes will probably invite him there for Christmas as they did last year,
and——”
“Oh, no,” Camilla interrupted. “You must send the boy to us this year.”
Completely taken off guard, Marie could
say nothing. She was certain Adam would
prefer another trip to Rancho Hermoso to a stay with the Larrimores, but as yet
the Paynes had made no invitation. They
hadn’t had a chance.
“We’ll show the boy a wonderful time,
won’t we, Lawrence?” Camilla rushed on, sensing Marie’s hesitation. “Plenty of parties and nights at the opera to
entertain him. You know Adam would enjoy
that.”
“Oui,
he would,” Marie admitted. “I will have
to speak to Ben, of course.”
“Yes, of course,” Lawrence said quickly,
“but you tell Ben we’d love to see Adam again.
Been quite a while now. Shall I
just keep his gifts here and send the rest on to the hotel?”
“Oui,
I suppose that will be best,” Marie replied.
After all, Ben could collect them tomorrow if he chose to refuse the
Larrimores' invitation. She looked back
up at Lawrence. “There is one more thing
I hoped to purchase, but I have seen none here.
Perhaps you could direct me to a shop that sells clocks such as yours..”
“We have some lovely mantel clocks, my
dear,” Camilla suggested.
“I think she means a grandfather’s clock,
Camilla,” Lawrence said.
“Oui,”
Marie inserted quickly. “It would make a
fine gift for Benjamin since he misses yours so.” Frugal with her own desires, she didn’t mind
spending money on Ben or the boys.
“It would,” Lawrence agreed, “but I doubt
you’ll find one in San Francisco, Marie.
We could order you one, of course, but it wouldn’t arrive in time to
ship it over the mountains——if you were thinking of Christmas, I mean.”
Marie sighed. It was so hard to get used to the
difficulties of shopping in the far west.
In New Orleans one could find practically anything. Here, though San Francisco was growing more
metropolitan all the time, luxury items were still a rarity.
“Why don’t you order a clock for this
spring?” Nelly suggested. “For your
anniversary. Ben’ll like it just as well
then.”
“Mais
oui!” Marie cried. “That will be
perfect.”
Lawrence beamed with pleasure. “Shall I just choose one I think Ben will
like? I’ve got a pretty good idea of his
taste.”
“Oui, s’il vous plait,” Marie said, certain she could trust Lawrence’s judgement, if not his wife’s.
While Lawrence was totaling Nelly’s
purchases, Mary approached, carrying a bolt of lilac calico. “I tried to talk her into the brocade,” Jewel
pouted, “but, as usual, she just won’t listen.”
“Papa will like this better,” Mary said,
her blue eyes shining.
“Is it what you like best?” Marie
probed. Mary nodded with a smile. “Six yards, I think,” Marie decided, quickly
assessing Mary’s figure. “That should
leave enough for a matching bonnet.”
Then, while Lawrence measured the length
of fabric, she took Mary around the store, selecting trim for the dress and
ribbons for the girl’s hair in every color available. Even black would look striking against Mary’s
light tresses. “We’ll buy your shoes
elsewhere,” Marie whispered to her young charge, sensing that Mary would prefer
something simpler and more serviceable than the stylish boots at the
Emporium. Mary smiled gratefully.
Leaving the Larrimore Emporium, the
shoppers made a concerted attack on the shops of San Francisco. They did more looking than purchasing,
however. Clyde had promised to build a
new home from sawed lumber for his family, so Nelly was particularly interested
in getting ideas for furnishing her new home.
The house the Thomases were planning wasn’t nearly as large as the
Ponderosa ranch house, but it would contain a guest room. Nelly did purchase one bed and washstand for
that room, even though she’d have to store it at the Ponderosa until her house
was completed. Anything else could wait
until spring.
Marie stopped in a tobacco store run by a
man named Adolph Sutro to buy a new pipe and imported tobacco for Ben’s
Christmas present. Not as costly as the
grandfather’s clock, of course, but Ben would be pleased. Brown, buttoned boots for Mary and a bag of
Ghirardelli’s chocolates for Hoss completed their purchases.
“Now, for a delightful luncheon,” Camilla
suggested. “Delmonico’s serves the
finest food, of course, but we’ll be eating there before the opera tonight..”
“Something lighter would be better for
luncheon, don’t you think?” Marie suggested.
“Yes,” Camilla agreed, “and I know just
the place, Winn’s Fountain Head. It’s
near here, too, at the corner of Washington and Montgomery.”
“Hope it ain’t too fancy,” Nelly murmured
to Marie as Camilla led the procession down Montgomery Street.
Winn’s Fountain Head, however, turned out
to be the perfect luncheon spot for a group of ladies weary from a morning’s
shopping. After dining on delicate tea
sandwiches, Marie offered to treat everyone to a dish of ice cream. “Could I have the strawberries and cream,
instead, Mrs. Cartwright?” Mary Wentworth asked. “I haven’t had fresh strawberries since we
found them along the trail.”
“Lands, girl, that’s years ago,” Nelly
sympathized.
“You must order exactly what you want,”
Marie added. “Ice cream is a treat for
us because we cannot get it at home as we can strawberries.
Except for Mary, all the ladies enjoyed a
dish of cold ice cream, then each returned to her home or her hotel room to
rest in anticipation of the evening’s activities.
* * * * *
Nelly took one look at the warm adobe
hacienda at Rancho Hermoso and immediately knew she’d feel more welcome there
than she had in the Larrimores’ San Francisco mansion. The Paynes’ home had a quiet grace and beauty
that was inviting. And the fervor of
Rachel’s welcoming embrace confirmed Nelly’s expectations. Within moments the years faded away, and the
companionship they’d felt along the trail returned.
The Payne children immediately seized
their new playmates for rowdy games in the dirt yard, while Rachel ushered the
ladies into the parlor for lemonade and gossip.
Jonathan remained outside with Ben to help carry in the voluminous
luggage. “Which of these do you want us
to store for Adam’s Christmas?” Jonathan asked, laughing at the size of the
pile.
Ben shook his head. “I left those in San Francisco. The Larrimores invited the boy to take
Christmas with them.”
“Oh, too bad,” Jonathan said. “We were counting on having him here
again. I think he really enjoyed himself
last Christmas.”
“I know he did,” Ben assured his friend,
“and I’m sure he’d rather visit you
again. Lawrence and Camilla were awfully
insistent, though, and I wasn’t sure of your plans, so I accepted their
invitation.”
Jonathan laughed as he hoisted carpetbags
and bundles. “Well, we’ll put in our bid
for next year right now. That way you’ll
have no excuse.”
Ben laughed and gathered up an armload to
carry inside.
“Isn’t it wonderful news about Enos?”
Rachel was bubbling as the men came in.
“Oh, did he tell you he intends to ask
Katerina to marry him?” Ben asked.
Rachel laughed. “Not just intends——already has!”
“But how is that possible?” Marie
queried. “We have not been back through
Placerville yet.”
“Maybe you haven’t,” Rachel tittered, “but
once Ben put the spark under him, Enos couldn’t wait. Rode back to Placerville just to ask her
before he came here.”
Chuckling, Ben followed Jonathan down the
hall to the guest room. That foreman of
his always had been a quick worker.
“Land sakes!” Nelly cackled. “And she said yes? I know she did!”
“She did,” Rachel reported, smiling
broadly.
“Oh, we must hurry home, so we can get
their cabin ready,” Marie said, panic flickering in her emerald eyes. “I did not think he would move so quickly.”
“Relax,” Rachel said. “They won’t be marrying ‘til next
spring. That disappointed Enos, I
think.”
“Just like a man,” Nelly clucked, “always
wantin’ their cake before it has time to bake.”
“Katerina needs time to prepare her
trousseau, oui?” Marie asked.
“That’s part of it,” Rachel replied. “And Stefán asked them to wait, to test their
feelings.”
“That youngun always did have a good head
on his shoulders,” Nelly said approvingly.
“And always was protective of his little
sisters, too,” Rachel added.
“I have always thought spring the best
time for a wedding,” Marie sighed contentedly.
The other ladies laughed. “Just ‘cause that’s when you married Ben,”
Nelly teased, and Marie’s demurrals only made the others laugh harder.
They had plenty of time to discuss plans
for making Katerina’s wedding a joyous celebration, for the women and children
stayed on at Rancho Hermoso after Ben and his hired hands started driving the
newly purchased young cattle back east over the Sierras. Finally, the day came for them to return home
if they were to arrive by the time Ben did.
Little Joe wept furiously at being parted from his new friend Sammy
Payne, and the ladies wiped tears from their own eyes, as well as the baby’s. They were bonding tears, though, tears
expressing the pleasure they’d found in each other’s company. And while Nelly and Marie had enjoyed
visiting all their California friends, they could scarcely wait to return home
and begin renovating the old cabin for its spring bride. With that responsibility, in addition to the
building of Nelly’s new home, the next few months would be busy ones.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
|
A |
lthough Clyde and
Nelly hoped to be settled in their new home by Thanksgiving, construction could
not begin until early October. Just as
well, Clyde declared, for it was not until September that Abraham Curry was
able to hire a surveyor, Jerry Long, to lay out the streets and the ten-acre
plaza that would form the new town’s center.
By waiting, Clyde felt he could have a better feel for where the best
lots would be. The weeks during which
Long was working were among the busiest of the year for farmers, anyway, as
gardens yielded their final harvests and food was preserved and stored against
the winter to come. Finally free from
regular responsibilities, Clyde chose a lot on a side street, set the date for
the house-raising for the second Saturday in October and invited his neighbors
in to help.
Ben arrived early with all the ranch hands
he could spare from their regular work.
“Marie’s coming,” he assured Nelly and Laura, who were already at work
preparing food for the noon meal. “She
just needed some extra time to get Little Joe’s things together.”
Nelly nodded. “I figured as much. Clyde and the doc are over at the house
site.”
“Yeah, I’d better get over there, too,”
Ben said. “I figure Clyde’s anxious to
get started.”
“No more than me,” Nelly laughed. “I’m lookin’ forward to havin’ a parlor
again.”
“And a bedroom separate from your
children,” Laura teased.
Nelly blushed and flapped a flour-coated
hand at Laura.
Ben ambled across the plaza to the lot
Clyde had purchased for his new home.
Digging the foundation, Clyde flicked a shovelful of earth over his
shoulder and paused long enough to greet his friend. “‘Bout time you showed up,” he jibed, “or was
you plannin’ on waitin’ ‘til the work was all done?”
“Just so I’m here in time for dinner,” Ben
joked back. “Got another shovel?”
“Go on and take the doc’s for now,” Clyde
suggested. “He ain’t much of a hand at
diggin’.”
“Or hammering, either,” Doctor Martin
acknowledged, giving the shovel to Ben and leaning his hands on his knees to
take a deep breath. “But when my time
comes to build I’ll really need help, so I’d best earn it now by doing what I
can.”
Ben laughed. “That’s the way it works, my friend. I didn’t know you were planning to build,
too.”
“Not soon,” Paul said. “I’m going to set up my office in the
Thomas’s old place, once they move.
That’ll give us more room at home, but I’d like Sally to have something
better than a cabin someday. Maybe next
year.”
“Why don’t you make yourself useful, Doc,
and bring some more shovels from the tradin’ post?” Clyde asked. “I reckon Ben’s men know how to wrestle one.”
“Better than me,” Paul admitted. “Sure, I’ll gladly fetch and carry whatever
you need. Don’t want my unskilled hands
ruining your hard work.”
“Them hands is skilled enough in other
ways,” Clyde said, giving the doctor an encouraging grin. It wasn’t often he felt himself the equal of
educated men like Ben and the doc, but when it came to working with his hands,
Clyde knew he was the acknowledged expert and could afford to be generous, the
way they were with him at other times.
“Howdy, Uncle Ben,” Billy, digging the
foundation for the opposite wall, called.
“Next time you write ole Adam, you tell him I’m building this place
sound as I can without his help.”
“I’ll do it,” Ben promised,
chuckling. Architecturally-inclined
Adam, as Billy knew, had been particularly perturbed at missing this
house-raising, and the freckled-faced mischief couldn’t resist teasing, even if
he had to do it indirectly and by mail.
“Hear anything from the youngun lately?”
Clyde asked as Ben planted the shovel in the ground and pushed with his foot..
“Just the one letter,” Ben said. “No real news to tell, except that everyone
in California’s looking forward to that Butterfield Stage Line coming in.”
“Should be soon, huh?”
“Middle of this month, if reports are
right,” Ben replied. “Think of it,
Clyde——St. Louis to San Francisco in under a month.”
“And that’s goin’ the long way ‘round,”
Clyde added.
“Yeah,” Ben muttered, pitching dirt over
his shoulder. The route chosen for the
new Overland Stage, down through El Paso and Tucson to Los Angeles and up the
coast to San Francisco, was a source of frustration. A central route would have been shorter and
would have brought the stage conveniently close to Carson City, but opponents
argued that winter snows in the Rockies and Sierras could disrupt service. Ben suspected the pressure to choose the
longer route, so circuitous it was called the “oxbow,” had come from southern
politicians. A shame sectional
contentions had to affect ordinary people’s lives that way, but since Ben had
no expectation of traveling east again, he couldn’t complain too much about the
stage’s bypassing western Utah. Adam, of
course, might choose to continue his education back east someday, and it was
good to know transportation was improving enough to make that possible.
When the foundation was dug, the workers
began raising the wooden supports for the house. By the time noon came, the framework was in
place, and the men gathered around the table, proud of the work accomplished
and ready for an hour’s rest. The women and
children would eat later.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Enos Montgomery said
when Nelly offered him his choice of light or dark chicken meat.
“Take another piece, son,” she urged. “You need some meat on your skinny bones.”
“So that little gal of yourn’ll have
somethin’ soft to hold onto,” Clyde cackled.
Enos blushed furiously and the other men
laughed good-naturedly at his discomposure.
“Ignore them, Enos,” Marie soothed,
pausing as she circled the table pouring coffee for each worker.
“They’re just jealous,” Nelly added
stoutly, “wishin’ they had a bride pretty as Katerina.”
“That’s right,” Ben laughed. “All except me, of course. I’m content with my own beautiful
bride.” Marie smiled at him.
“Hey, who says I ain’t?” Clyde
protested. “You tryin’ to get me in
trouble with my woman, Ben?”
“As if you needed help!” Nelly chortled,
pulling her husband’s auburn beard.
“What you think of them Californy
cattlemen bringin’ their herds to winter here, Ben?” Clyde asked, feeling a
change of subject would be prudent, if only to spare his chin whiskers.
Ben ladled gravy over his mashed
potatoes. “Can’t figure it out. Plenty of good grazing in California, but I
suppose we have enough range to share.”
“Not any of ‘em up our way, at least,”
Enos commented. “The herds I’ve seen
were in Carson and Eagle valleys.”
“Any thoughts on the coming elections?”
Paul asked, taking a roasting ear from the platter as it passed.
“Consarned Mormons still tryin’ to run the
show,” Clyde grumbled, slathering butter on an ear of his own. “Reckon that’ll please Ben here, though, him
bein’ of the Mormon party.”
“Now don’t start that!” Nelly chided. “If there’s anything I’ve had an earful of
the last month!”
“I don’t understand why the political
parties here are divided along religious lines,” Paul commented, “especially
after so many Mormons leaving the region.”
“Nothing religious about it,” Ben
muttered. “It all goes back to that
incident with Lucky Bill. Because the
man had two wives, everyone who thinks he was hanged wrongly is lumped in with
the Mormon party, even if they’re gentiles.
Everyone who thinks the hanging was justified belongs to the
anti-Mormons.”
“Mr. Thomas here never did cotton to
Mormons,” Enos commented, “so I figure he’s with the anti-Mormons. You takin’ the opposite side, Mr.
Cartwright?”
“I vote the man, not the party,” Ben
replied irritably, “and Mr. Thomas ought to know that.”
“Reckon I do, Ben,” Clyde said, “but you
always seemed to favor them Mormon candidates.”
“Never had much else to choose from,” Ben
pointed out. “Still that way, though to
a lesser extent.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be voting for every
anti-Mormon I can find on the ballot,” Clyde grinned, “and hopin’ my good
neighbors’ll do the same.”
Ben didn’t want to give Clyde the
satisfaction, but he planned to give the few anti-Mormon candidates his vote,
as well. They seemed like solid men,
especially his Washoe Valley neighbor Richard Sides, who was nominated for
selectman, and Abernethy, who was running for sheriff. Of course, Ben would have been likely to vote
for anyone running against W. T. C.
Elliott. The very name brought bad memories
to mind.
After lunch the men went back to work and
by the time they quit that evening the house was framed in and roofed. There was more work to be done, but now that
the house was safe from the weather, Clyde could take his time about finishing
the interior.
Ben had just loaded his family into the
buckboard for the trip home when he heard someone shout his name. Looking across the Carson City plaza, he saw
William Ormsby waving at him. “Be back
in a minute,” he told Marie and headed toward the hotel owner and merchant..
As soon as he came within reach, Ormsby
clapped him on the shoulder. “Here’s the
man for you, Dodge. No one in these
parts is a better friend to the Paiutes than Ben Cartwright——excepting myself,
that is.”
Ben turned a quizzical gaze on the
dark-headed young man standing beside Ormsby.
“I haven’t had the pleasure, sir.”
“Frederick Dodge,” Ormsby said in
introduction. “Newly appointed Federal
Indian Agent.”
“Oh!
A pleasure, indeed, sir,” Ben said enthusiastically. He’d read about the appointment of the Indian
agent for western Utah, but had not as yet met the young man. “With so many white men encroaching their
lands, the Indians need a voice in their support.”
“My intention, precisely,” Dodge declared
enthusiastically. “However, before I can
be an effective voice I must know the people I represent. I wish to rendezvous with the Indians and
ascertain their needs, but I’m in need of a guide, Mr. Cartwright.”
“He asked me first, of course,” Ormsby
inserted, “because of my relationship with Winnemucca, but business prevents my
leaving here. Then I saw you,
Cartwright, and knew you’d be the perfect solution to our new agent’s problem.”
“You are a friend to the Paiutes, I’ve
been told,” Dodge added.
Ben had to smile. That had been said of him more often as a
criticism than as a quality to admire.
“I count a number of Paiutes, as well as Washos, among my friends,” he
replied, “and I’d be privileged to introduce you to them.”
“Fine,” Dodge beamed. “When can we leave?”
“Tomorrow morning?” Ben suggested. “If you like, you can return to the Ponderosa
with us, spend the night and get an early start.”
“Wouldn’t pass up that opportunity!”
Ormsby enthused. “You wouldn’t believe
the meals their Chinese cook dishes up.”
“I’ll get my things and be down in a few
minutes,” Dodge said.
* * * * *
For the next two weeks Ben showed the new
Federal Indian Agent around the territory, introducing him to leaders of both
the Washo and Paiute tribes. “I’m
surprised to find the Indians in such good condition,” Dodge declared as they
rode toward Honey Lake Valley. “They are
experiencing some changes in their lifestyle, but seem to be adapting well to
white ways.”
“Some more than others,” Ben replied. “The Washos have always seemed more adaptable
to me, but even the Paiutes are beginning to find work on the ranches.”
“It’s encouraging,” Dodge enthused. “Of course, they will require governmental
help, but not nearly as much as I’d feared.”
“What they really need,” Ben suggested,
“is land set aside for their restricted use.
Good land, I mean, like around Pyramid Lake.”
“A reservation?”
Ben frowned. “Not exactly what I had in mind. That word implies keeping the Indians in; I
had in mind keeping white men out.”
Dodge laughed. “Hard to accomplish, but I understand your
point. It’s a valid one. It’s time these Mormons had some
restrictions. The Indians have suffered
enough at their hands.”
Dodge reminded Ben so much of Clyde Thomas
that he chuckled. “Not just
Mormons. The gentiles are just as bad.”
“Yes, but it’s the Mormons who’ve been in
charge, Mr. Cartwright,” Dodge argued.
“You think there’s any chance of their being turned out in the upcoming
election?”
Ben smiled. “About a snowball’s chance. I intend to do what I can, however. That’s why I’ll be leaving you at Honey Lake. I have an obligation to a friend, as well as a
civic one, so I have to be in Carson the last of the month.”
“I understand,” Dodge replied. “This man you mentioned, he knows the Indians
as well as you?”
“Pretty much,” Ben said. “In fact, I believe Warren Wasson speaks
Paiute more fluently than I do. Poito’s
people——well, you’d know him as Winnemucca——have been spending most of their
time along Smoke Creek, so Wasson sees them more than I do nowadays.”
“I hope you’ll be able to attend the
rendezvous,” Dodge said.
“Try my best,” Ben promised.
* * * * *
Since Nelly was anxious to move into her
new home, Clyde worked diligently, and by election day on the thirtieth of
October, everything was ready.
Bringing a buckboard loaded with furniture
the Thomases had stored at the Ponderosa, Ben cast his ballot in Carson City
early that morning, then remained in town to help his friends transfer their
belongings from the cabin to the two-story frame house. Afterwards, Paul enlisted him to help carry
his examining table and medical supplies to the old Thomas cabin, thus
separating his work place from his home.
When the election results were announced
later that evening, Clyde sneered as the usual majority of Mormons candidates
were declared victors. L. Abernethy was
the new sheriff, and Richard Sides, another anti-Mormon, was named one of
several selectmen. Practically everyone
else came from what Clyde Thomas referred to as “the wrong party.”
After the election, as Ben had hoped, he
was able to attend the rendezvous with the Paiutes arranged by Frederick
Dodge. The Indians had an opportunity to
air their grievances and seemed pleased by the hickory shirts, overalls and
tobacco the Indian agent offered in token of future help. The earnest young man was making a good
beginning in his relationship with the natives; if he could be as successful in
dealing with the white authorities in Salt Lake City, Ben foresaw many years of
peaceful relations with the original inhabitants of western Utah.
* * * * *
“Well, it’s not as bad as I was afeared it
might be,” Nelly commented after she and Marie had made an inspection of the
old Cartwright cabin.
“It is bad enough,” Marie moaned. “You can see through those cracks between the
logs.”
Nelly laughed. “Just needs new chinking, honey lamb. The menfolk can take care of that in a
day. Since Ben boarded up the windows,
they’re in good shape. Place needs a
good cleanin’, of course.”
“Our job,” Marie said. She fingered the curtains at the front
window. “These should be replaced.”
“My, yes!” Nelly agreed. “Those were old when you moved in. We’ve got plenty of time to make new curtains,
though, and the bed ticks should be freshened.”
“They will not need two bedrooms,” Marie
said. “Perhaps Katerina would wish to
use the front one as a parlor.”
“Sounds good to me,” Nelly remarked, “but
we’d best ask Enos about that before we go plannin’ their house for them..”
Marie laughed. “Oui,
you are right. It is such fun, like the
day we took Mary shopping, but we must remember this is Katerina’s home, not
our dollhouse.”
“Enos won’t mind a few suggestions,” Nelly
said, “and a parlor’s a good one.”
“We must also tell him to buy a
cookstove,” Marie insisted. “We took
ours with us, and Enos may not realize how important a proper stove will be to
his wife.”
Nelly laughed. “You’re just rememberin’ how it was when you
first came here and found out Ben expected you to cook over an open fire.”
“It was horrible,” Marie declared, “and I
do not want Katerina to find such a welcome.”
Nelly put an arm around the younger
woman. “Don’t you fret, honey lamb. By the time Enos brings Katerina here, this
cabin’ll be everything a new bride could hope for.”
Marie smiled. With all of them working together, she was
sure the Montgomery’s new home would be perfect.
* * * * *
November broke brisk, wind swooping down
the slopes of the Ponderosa hills. Then
an unexpected snowfall gave warning of an early and severe winter, the
temperature dropping so sharply Ben knew he had to lay in a large supply of
firewood, the sooner the better. His
plans to caulk the Montgomery cabin changed quickly as he and his men hurried
into the woods with whipsaws and crosscuts.
The cabin could wait, after all; it was months until the wedding.
After that first snowfall, however, the
weather, although cold, turned pleasant again.
Hoss buckled down to his schoolwork in earnest, but he missed no
opportunity to volunteer for other activities.
Refusing the boy permission to join the woodcutters, Ben relented when
Hoss volunteered to ride into Carson City after the mail the day it was
due. Ben remembered how much he himself
had looked forward to a day away from his books and hadn’t the heart to deprive
his son of a morning’s freedom now and then.
Snowshoe Thompson still only carried the
mail as far as Genoa, but Abe Curry, as a service to residents of his new town
and those who lived on nearby ranches, provided a man to pick up everyone’s
mail and bring it to Carson. The day the
carrier was expected, Hoss rode happily toward town, the only cloud graying his
mood the piteous sobs of his little brother on being left behind. Little Joe’d forget all that by the time Hoss
returned, however. Even if he hadn’t,
Aunt Nelly probably would have cookies baked, and Hoss could appease his
younger brother with a sweet peace offering.
Hoss arrived in town before the mail did,
so he visited with Jimmy Ellis for awhile, then invited himself to dinner at
the Thomases. They were at the table
when the noise outside told them the mail carrier had come. Since nothing was more important than news
from the outside world, Hoss and Inger were excused from the table to collect
their families’ mail.
Clyde
ambled along after them for a chance to garner any news that might have come by
word of mouth. As they walked back home,
he reported what he’d learned. “Less
than ten miles to go on that telegraph linking Placerville to Genoa. Ought to be finished in four, five days. You be sure and tell your pa, Hoss; he’ll be
wantin’ to know.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoss said. “Reckon he’d let me telegraph Adam?”
Clyde laughed. “Telegraph’s for emergencies, boy. Reckon you’ll have to make do with regular
mail.”
Though
he couldn’t have gotten away with it at home, Hoss read his letter from Adam
right at the table between bites of beef and barley soup. As he read, his frown deepened.
Noting the boy’s expression, Billy
chuckled. “What’s the matter? Don’t he have nothin’ to talk about but what
books he’s readin’?”
“Worse than that,” Hoss moaned. “It’s all about some girl he met.”
“Hand it over,” Billy demanded.
“Billy!” his mother scolded. “You mind your manners.”
Hoss, however, saw nothing wrong in
Billy’s request and immediately surrendered the offensive letter. Billy scanned the lines quickly and returned
the letter. “He don’t tell enough to get
excited over,” the older boy remarked.
“What girl’s he talkin’ about?” Nelly
asked, unable to control her feminine curiosity.
“Aw, it’s the sister of that senator’s son
he knows, that Martin Gallagher,” Billy muttered. “Name’s Philippa.”
“Peculiar name for a gal,” Clyde
commented. “That all he says, just her
name?”
“He says she’s pretty,” Hoss reported,
disgusted.
“Might tell more in the letter he wrote
your folks,” Billy suggested. “We
could——”
“We could not!” his mother snapped, easily
reading the mind of her nosy son. She
looked over at Hoss. “Hate to hurry you,
Sunshine, but you’d best get your dinner eaten and get that mail to your folks. Your pa’ll really be tickled to get a letter
from his brother.”
Hoss shrugged. “Pa won’t be back ‘til dark, anyway. Just so I’m home in time to milk and feed the
chickens before supper.”
“Well, take your time then,” Nelly smiled,
“and I’ll bag up some of them gingersnaps to take with you.”
“Little Joe’ll want some, too,” Hoss said,
turning his attention away from Adam’s adolescent mooning over Philippa
Gallagher and back to the pleasanter prospect of his soup.
Billy grinned. He could read Hoss as easily as his mother
read him. Hoss probably would persuade
his Aunt Nelly to send extra cookies for Little Joe, but if that baby saw more
than one of them, Billy’d be mighty surprised.
* * * * *
Hearing the front door open, Little Joe
immediately abandoned his blocks by the fireplace and ran, arms outstretched,
calling, “HaHa!”
Hoss swooped the little boy up. “Hi, Punkin.
You miss me?”
“Very much he did,” Marie replied,
sounding perturbed, “and you have kept him waiting a long time.”
“Pa said I could have the day off,” Hoss
muttered defensively.
“So long as you did your chores,” Marie
reminded him. “You have barely left time
for that before supper.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get right at ‘em,” Hoss promised. He grinned at his baby brother. “Wanna help brother milk the cow, Punkin?”
“Moo moo?” Little Joe inquired.
“Yeah, milk the moo moo,” Hoss giggled,
and Little Joe laughed in response.
“It is too cold, Hoss,” their mother
argued.
“Aw, no, I’ll bundle him up,” Hoss assured
her.
“Well, all right,” Marie conceded.
Not wanting her to have time to
reconsider, Hoss immediately found Little Joe’s wraps and started dressing the
little boy for his brief trip across the yard to the barn. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Hoss?” his
mother smiled as he prepared to leave.
“Don’t think so,” Hoss said. “He’s practically wearin’ everything he
owns.”
Marie laughed. “And what of your other brother? Did he send no letter this time?”
“Oh, yeah!” Hoss chortled. “Him and Uncle John both. Here they are.” He handed over the letters and headed for the
barn.
Marie opened the letter from Adam first. As Billy had suspected, the letter written to
adults did contain a more detailed description of pretty Philippa Gallagher
than the simpler one addressed to Hoss.
Marie’s romantic heart fluttered with interest, reading more between the
lines than Adam himself had intended when he wrote them. Just as she was trying to decide whether to
read John’s letter now or wait and share it with Ben, her husband walked in.
Ben hung his hat and jacket on the pegs by
the door. “I see Hoss managed to dawdle
the day away in Carson City,” he commented, having just delivered his horse to
the barn.
“You told him he could have the day off
from his lessons,” Marie pointed out.
Ben laughed. “And he took me literally, I see. He says there’s a letter from John, as well
as Adam.”
“Yes, I have just read Adam’s,” Marie
said. “It is most interesting.”
“Not John’s?” Ben smiled. “Well, if you haven’t read that one yet,
let’s do it together.” He sat down in
the mauve armchair near the fireplace.
Perching on the arm of the chair, Marie
smiled and handed him the unsealed envelope.
Ben opened it and read his brother’s news aloud, then tossed the letter
down in disgust. “I thought he’d gotten
that nonsense out of his system!” John
had written that he, along with his son Will, had joined the latest gold rush
to Cherry Creek in Colorado.
“You wanted so much for him to come here,”
Marie sympathized.
“Yeah, and he said the only thing holding
him back was Will’s unwillingness to leave that farm. Well, he’s left it now,” Ben fumed, “but only
to stand hours a day waist deep in icy mountain streams swishing mud in a
pan. What kind of life is that?”
“John’s kind,” Marie said quietly. “You said he never wanted to be a
farmer. Perhaps Will wants to try his
father’s way for a time.”
“If he does, the boy’s as big a fool as
his father!” Ben ranted, jumping up to poke at the logs on the grate. “We could have had a wonderful life here
together.”
Marie stood and ran soothing fingers
across Ben’s shoulders. “For you, it
would have been wonderful, but I am not sure that is how John would see
it. He is a Cartwright, Ben.”
Ben spun around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Marie reached up to touch his cheek,
stubbled by this time of day although he shaved closely every morning. “Nelly always says there is nothing so
stubborn——”
“As a mule or a Cartwright,” Ben
muttered. “I’ve heard it before.”
“And I have heard before that when you
wanted to come west, John called you a fool,” Marie said softly. “Then it was he who wanted you to share his
life, but you wanted to build your own.
I think that is what John feels now.
He does not wish to live in the shadow of his little brother, and that
is how it would be here where you are so well established and he just beginning.”
Ben stared at her. “We really have switched places, haven’t we?”
Marie nodded, smiling.
“All right, I can understand that,” Ben
admitted, “but another gold rush! Of all
the”——he shook his head in disbelief.
“John says he has heard good reports,”
Marie pointed out.
“But he hasn’t seen anything yet,” Ben
countered. “The letter says he left
Missouri around the middle of September.
He’d just about have had time to reach Colorado by now.”
“And he promised to write when he did,”
Marie said. “By the next mail, perhaps,
he will have wonderful news to give you.”
“Not that soon,” Ben reminded her. “The letter has to go to California first,
then back over the mountains to us, remember?”
“Oui,”
she agreed, “but by Christmas you should hear.
A special gift.”
“If he’s come to his senses and decided to
head this way, it would be,” Ben muttered.
He looked up hopefully. “Maybe
Will won’t take to mining and be anxious to start up a good farm or ranch.”
“Maybe,” Marie said, holding him
close. She had never met Will, of
course, but all she had heard made him sound like a typical Cartwright,
probably too stubborn to give up easily.
She doubted that Christmastime letter would bring the news her husband
craved.
* * * * *
The Cartwrights arrived in Carson City around ten o’clock on the last Saturday in November. Abe Curry had decided to host a town-wide Thanksgiving celebration, with all rural residents of the outlying region invited, as well. The feast was set for noon, so Ben and his family, by prior arrangement, met at the Thomases to wait until the appointed hour. The Ponderosa ranch hands would be coming along later, probably just in time to sit down to eat.
Marie immediately went to the kitchen to
reheat her contributions to the meal and help Nelly with final preparations on
hers. Ben and Clyde settled comfortably
in the parlor across the narrow hall from the ladies, while Inger escorted Hoss
and Little Joe upstairs to her room.
Billy was over at the Martins, making himself useful (so he said) to
Sally.
The children climbed the stairs and went
to the back bedroom, next to Billy’s and across the hall from the one Clyde and
Nelly occupied.
“What do you think
of my new room?” Inger asked eagerly.
“I seen it before,” Hoss said.
“Not since Ma put up the new curtains,”
Inger insisted.
“Yeah, they’re nice,” Hoss said, just to
be polite, for he had little interest in the pink calico frills at the window.
“Let’s play house,” Inger suggested,
moving toward the toy stove in the corner.
“You can be the pa, and I’ll be the ma, and Little Joe can be our baby.”
Hoss grimaced. At eight years old, he considered himself
beyond such girlish games. “Can’t we do
better than that?”
“Aw, come on, Hoss,” the little girl
pleaded. “I’ll make us a good meal,” she
added in her most persuasive voice.
Hoss grinned. “Rather have that big un Mr. Curry’s got
planned.”
“It’s gonna be good, all right,” Inger
conceded. “Mr. Curry brought in two big
turkeys from California, and with folks bringin’ stuff from all over, it oughta
be the biggest spread you ever saw.
Better than the Fourth of July, even.”
Hoss nodded. He hadn’t been able to attend that
celebration, due to the conflict between his family and Inger’s, but from all
he’d heard it had been a grand one, and today’s feast sounded like it would
have more to choose from than even Hoss’s legendary appetite could handle.
Little Joe, who had followed Inger over to
the toy stove, reached for the tiny cast iron skillet sitting on the imitation
burner. Inger pulled his hand back. “No, baby, hot,” she scolded.
“It ain’t neither,” Hoss scoffed. “You’re just pretendin’.”
“‘Course, I am,” Inger snorted, “but he
shouldn’t touch anyway. It’ll teach him
bad habits, Pa, and we don’t want him gettin’ burnt on a real one, do we?”
Hoss snickered. “Reckon you’re right, Ma. Don’t touch, Punkin. Stoves are hot.”
“Hot?” Little Joe queried with a quizzical
tilt of his curly head.
Hoss touched the little stove and drew his
hand back quickly, yelping and blowing on his fingers. “Hot!” he declared.
“Ooh,” Little Joe said, immediately
stretching to touch the stove.
Hoss pulled him back. “No, don’t touch.” He frowned as Little Joe started to
wail. “Do you want Pa to give you a very
necessary little talk?” he asked, sounding serious.
Little Joe shook his head and buried his
face against his brother’s thigh. Inger
picked the little boy up and sat down to rock him in the small chair her father
had made. “Guess he ain’t much hand at
playin’ house,” she commented.
Hoss sat Indian-style on the hooked rug
near Inger’s feet. “Naw, guess not. You writ Santa what you want for Christmas
yet, Inger?”
“I’m too old for that, Hoss,” Inger
chided.
Hoss laid a finger to his lips and pointed
at Little Joe. “He ain’t.”
“Oh, yeah,” the little girl replied. “Well, I’m hopin’ Santa will build me some
more kitchen stuff, like he did the stove.”
Hoss grinned, knowing she meant Uncle
Clyde. “What kind of stuff?”
“A dining table, maybe, or a sink for
washin’ dishes, one that could hold real water.”
“That don’t sound like much fun,” Hoss
muttered. “Sounds like chores to me.”
“So, what you want Santa to bring you?”
Inger asked.
Hoss shrugged. “Ain’t sure.
A rifle’d be nice, but I reckon I ain’t got a prayer.”
“I guarantee you ain’t!” Inger
snorted. “Your Santa’s got better
sense.” She looked at the toddler in her
lap. “How ‘bout you, baby? What you want Santa to bring you?”
Little Joe just looked puzzled. “Sanna?”
“He don’t ‘member,” Hoss said.
“Well, now’s as good a time as any to
teach him,” Inger declared. “You start,
Pa.”
Hoss narrowed his eyes. It sounded to him as if they were back to
playing house, but he launched into an explanation of Christmas for Little Joe
that the nineteen-month-old seemed to find fascinating.
“Inger!” her mother called up the
stairs. “Time to go, younguns.”
Hoss hefted Little Joe to his shoulder and
headed downstairs. “Come on, Ma,” he
teased. “You don’t want to be late for
that turkey.”
Inger clattered
down the stairs after him, and soon the entire party was headed for the town
plaza, where Laura Ellis was supervising the placement of food on the tables
provided by the town’s founder.
Ben took his youngest son and sat him on
the plank bench beside him, with Marie taking her seat on the baby’s other
side. Typically, Little Joe stood up at
once and began to crane his neck in all directions. “Now, what are you looking for?” Ben asked as
he sat the boy down again.
“Sanna!” Little Joe announced.
“Santa!”
Ben guffawed. “You’ve got the
wrong holiday, little one.”
“We was teachin’ him about Santa Claus
upstairs,” Hoss explained.
Still chuckling, Ben shook his head. “Don’t you think you’d have done better to
teach him about the Pilgrims and how they shared their first bountiful harvest
with the Indians who’d helped them through the winter? Or don’t you remember that much of your
history lessons, young fellow?”
Hoss pouted eloquently. “Sure I do.
Didn’t think of it, that’s all.
This is like that first Thanksgiving, though, ain’t it, Pa? We got Indians and everything.”
“Indians?
Where?” Inger, sitting beside her chubby friend, demanded as she peered
down the table in both directions.
“Right down there,” Hoss responded,
pointing.
Inger laughed. “That’s just Sarah and Elma.”
“They’re Indians,” Hoss insisted. “Paiutes.”
“I guess so,” Inger admitted. “They just seem like other folks to me. They’re my friends.”
“As it should be, Inger,” Ben smiled. “Indians are ‘just folks.’”
“Don’t you go fillin’ my girl’s head with
your injun-lovin’ ways, Ben Cartwright,” Clyde sputtered.
“Aw, Clyde,” Ben growled. “What have you
got against those girls?”
“Nothin’!” the older man snapped. “They’re all right, learnin’ the white man’s
ways and tamin’ down right nice, but I won’t have my little girl thinkin’ she
can walk up to just any injun and expect the same. There’s plenty more wild ones out in the
sagebrush that ain’t to be trusted.”
“Yeah, it’s still an untamed land, with
plenty of wild men, red and white,” Ben admitted, “but I think Inger’s got
sense enough to know a friend from a stranger, whatever his race.”
“Reckon so,” Clyde conceded, irritation
dissipating at Ben’s praise of his girl.
“We done tried to bring her up right.”
“You men shush your nonsense,” Nelly
ordered. “Curry’s about to make a
speech.”
“Hope he keeps it short,” Clyde
muttered. “I like my turkey and stuffing
hot.”
Ben chuckled. He shared Clyde’s opinion, but had already pegged Abraham Curry for the long-winded type. While Curry waxed eloquent in his praise to Almighty God for the development of his new town, Ben glanced across the table at Clyde and Nelly.. Ben numbered those two friends at the top of his list of blessings of the previous year. How nearly that friendship had ended, all because of his own foolish pride! As Curry concluded his speech with a prayer over the meal, Ben bowed his head. It was not for Carson City that he thanked God, however, but for the restoration of a treasured relationship, one to be cherished and guarded against whatever unknown conflicts might imperil it in days to come.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
|
F |
rom his stool
beside the milk cow, Hoss looked across his left shoulder to grin at his
giggling baby brother. Little Joe, hay
sticking out from his tousled golden brown hair, lay in an empty stall with
Klamath poised over him, obligingly washing the toddler’s face with his rough
tongue. “Come here, you silly thing,”
Hoss said. “Klamath, let him up,
boy. Off, Klamath!”
The small brown dog gave Little Joe’s face
a final, affectionate lick and padded toward Hoss. Little Joe followed. “Come here,” Hoss repeated, reaching for the youngster
and setting him between his legs. “High
time you learned to milk a cow.”
“Moo moo?” Little Joe asked, tiny fingers
stretching to touch the cow’s soft flank.
“Yeah, moo moo. You milk her,” Hoss directed, closing his
brother’s fingers around the cow’s udder.
“Now squeeze.”
Little Joe gave the udder a quick
yank. The cow’s hind leg kicked back in
irritation, but nothing came out.
“Guess you still ain’t strong enough,”
Hoss sighed, beginning to think he’d never get any help with his chores. Wrapping his hefty hand over his brother’s
miniature one, he squeezed the udder.
Little Joe crowed with delight, certain he
had produced the frothy milk rattling the sides of the pail. Hoss continued the charade for a few more
squirts, but finally decided he’d never finish his morning chores at that
rate. Setting the baby behind him, he
ordered, “Play with Klamath some more,” a command Little Joe willingly obeyed.
He wasn’t as quick to obey when Hoss told
him it was time to go inside. In fact,
he answered his brother with an emphatic “No!”
“Little Joe, you better mind,” Hoss
warned. “It ain’t good to backtalk your
elders.” He’d learned early that his
father didn’t approve of little boys who did that and figured when it came to
Little Joe, he counted as an elder.
Little Joe just laughed and continued
rolling in the hay, arms around the longsuffering Klamath.
Hoss tried another tactic. “Here, Klamath; here, boy,” he called. More readily obedient to his master’s voice
than Little Joe was to his brother’s, Klamath immediately frisked to Hoss’s
side. Little Joe sat up, looking mad.
Pretty sure a rain of tears was about to
follow, Hoss forestalled it by offering his brother a piggyback ride. Little Joe grinned and stood at once. “HaHa,” he cried, arms raised.
“That’s right, Hoss’ll give you a ride,”
the older boy said, lifting the toddler to his back. “Hold on tight.” He picked up the pail of milk with one hand
while the other closed over the small hands circling his neck.
“Giddiup,” Little Joe commanded.
Hoss laughed. “You think I’m your horse, do you?”
“HaHa,” Little Joe responded. “Giddiup, HaHa.”
“Horse, not Hoss,” the older boy
corrected, though he knew the effort for a futile one. Little Joe used the same sound for both
words. Small chance I got of him sortin’ it out, Hoss thought, when folks bigger than him makes the same
mistake. Hoss acted his part to
perfection, neighing loudly as he carried the youngster and the milk into the
kitchen.
“Bleakfast pletty soon now,” Hop Sing
informed imperiously. “Need eggs light
away.”
“Yeah, that’s where we’re headed,” Hoss
replied, prepared for the admonition he heard every morning. Freed of the need to keep the milk in the
pail, Little Joe’s horse trotted more vigorously to the chicken coop. Hoss took a handful of feed and trickled it
into his brother’s outstretched palm.
“All right, now, feed the chickens, but don’t drop it all in one place
like yesterday. Scatter it, see?”
Little Joe’s small chin bobbed up and
down, and he made an honest effort to scatter the feed as Hoss had
directed. Most of it still landed in one
spot, but Hoss was encouraged by the toddler’s improvement. Maybe the boy would make a hand someday,
after all. He gave Little Joe some more
feed to reward him. Little Joe understood
the gesture as approval of his work and, smiling happily, tossed the feed into
the air, much of it landing in his hair.
Hoss laughed. “Mama’ll have a fit when she sees you,” he
said, brushing feed and hay from his brother’s hair. “I’m gonna gather the eggs now. Wait right here.”
“Me,” Little Joe pleaded.
“No, I ain’t trustin’ you with eggs,” Hoss
chuckled.
A pout formed on Little Joe’s lips. “No,” Hoss said more firmly. “You’re not big enough.” Tears started to form in the little boy’s eyes. “It won’t work,” Hoss informed him. “Hop Sing’ll have my head if I show up with
broken eggs, so you might just as well shut it up.”
One tear slowly trickled down Little Joe’s
cheek, but when Hoss merely turned his back and began to take eggs from the
hen’s deserted nests, the toddler transferred his attention to the chickens.
“Don’t chase ‘em,” Hoss scolded. “You’ll scare ‘em out of layin’. You like eggs, don’t you?” Little Joe’s head bobbed. “Then, leave them chickens alone!”
Somehow, even with Little Joe’s help, Hoss
finished his chores in time for breakfast, a hearty one of scrambled eggs and
bacon with fried potatoes, biscuits and gravy.
Afterwards, Hoss took his place at the low table before the fireplace to
begin a chore he hated far more than milking the cow or tending chickens. Even on a frosty December morning like this
one, he’d much rather be outdoors than hovering over his books near a warm
fire.
As she did every morning, Marie first
moved to the right side of the fireplace to take Little Joe’s toys from the box
Clyde Thomas had made him to match the ones his older brothers had
upstairs. She established a warm play
area for the toddler where she could keep an eye on him while she instructed Hoss. Then the lessons she dreaded almost as much
as Hoss began.
As usual, Little Joe played contentedly
with his blocks and his bunny for a short while, then squirmed his way into
Hoss’s lap to assist with the older boy’s lessons. Hoss grinned, for he knew the youngster would
soon tire of sitting still and begin creating enough distraction that their
mother would be forced to declare a recess.
Sometimes, Marie found herself wondering if the two brothers plotted the
disruption of schoolwork together. A
foolish thought, she chided herself, or would be if Hoss hadn’t seemed to share
an ability to communicate with barely verbal Little Joe that surpassed that of
anyone else.
* * * * *
Ben loaded the last of the supplies he’d
purchased at the general store in Genoa.
Ordinarily he would have taken his business to the closer trading post
in Carson City, but Snowshoe Thompson was due in sometime today. Ben could have waited, of course, and picked
up the mail in Carson City, but when Thompson ran late, sometimes the mail
Curry’s carrier brought wasn’t available until the next day. Since today was Saturday, a late arrival
could mean a delay over the weekend, and Ben wasn’t prepared to wait that
long. Adam’s boyish news would probably
keep, but Ben was also expecting a letter from his brother, a letter he hoped
would bring news of John’s imminent arrival.
Snowshoe Thompson hadn’t arrived by the
time Ben finished his necessary business, but he wasn’t about to leave town
until he had his mail in hand. He had to
find a better place to wait than the street, however, for the temperature this
eighteenth day of December was bitterly cold.
A foot of snow covered the ground, and there’d been ice coating the
Carson River when he’d crossed the toll bridge earlier.
Ben
pulled the collar of his flannel-lined jacket up over his neck, but the icy
wind still managed to snake down his back.
Chilled to the bone, Ben headed for the Stockade Bar down the
street. Though not a heavy drinker,
usually restricting himself to a single beer, Ben ordered a whiskey. Sipping it slowly, he relished the liquor as
it burned his throat, then spread its warmth throughout his body.
Like everyone else in the bar, Ben
automatically turned when he heard a new customer walk in. “Hey, Roop,” he called. “You’re a long way from home. How are things up at Susanville?”
Isaac Roop came to the bar and shook Ben’s
hand. “Cold, same as here,” the
California resident of the eastern slope replied. “How’s the Ponderosa?”
“Doing fine,” Ben said. “Let me buy you a drink.”
Roop responded the way any westerner was
expected to. “Sure. Let me get some food in my belly first,
though. Haven’t had a bite since breakfast,
and I can’t take liquor on an empty stomach.”
“Now you mention it, I’m getting hungry,
too,” Ben said. Both men ordered a
sandwich and beer, then sat down at one of the bar’s few tables to enjoy their
lunch and talk over the latest news of the territory.
Again footsteps sounded at the
entrance. Again every head turned.. Although Ben recognized the two men stomping
snow from their boots, he didn’t know them well. They were better acquainted with Isaac Roop,
obviously, for they came directly to the table to greet him.
“Ben, you know W. L. Jernegan and Alfred
James, don’t you?” Roop asked politely.
Ben shook the men’s hands. “We’ve met.
Haven’t had much chance to get acquainted, though.”
“Well, you’ll be getting acquainted with
us soon enough,” James declared, beaming proudly. “Everyone will. Take a look at this!” He handed the paper first to Isaac Roop, who
held it so Ben could read it, too.
“Territorial
Enterprise,” Roop read. “What’s this
mean, boys?”
“First issue of our newspaper,” Jernegan
replied.
Ben noticed the date line on the front
page. “Carson Valley, Utah
Territory--Published every Saturday morning at the Office on Mill St., Genoa,
Carson Valley,” he read. “You aim to
keep this up regular, then, make a weekly of it.”
“About time this territory had a paper
with a non-Mormon outlook,” James stated.
Ben laughed. “I have a friend who’d agree with you. For that matter, I do, too. You have extra copies for sale?”
“So happens we do,” Jernegan grinned, “or
will as soon as we get back to the office and run them off. This one was hot off the press.”
“I’ll take two,” Ben said, “one for me and
one for that friend I mentioned. If your
paper prospers, the first issue ought to be a real keepsake.”
Jernegan and James both laughed. “Like your attitude, Cartwright. Mind if we quote you in the next issue?”
It was Ben’s turn to laugh. “If you consider my remarks newsworthy,
gentlemen, be my guest.”
A man stuck his head in the door of the
Stockade Bar. “Hey, Thompson’s in!” he
yelled, and the saloon’s population emptied into the snowy street.
Ben joined the general stampede for the
post office. Soon he found an uncrowded
spot and tore into John’s letter. The
letter was longer than usual, for John not only sent news of himself and Will,
but described the development of the new town they considered their home. Temporary home, Ben devoutly hoped, but the
letter gave no indication of that. If
anything, John sounded proud, the way Ben did when he wrote about the
development of Carson City.
“Though our town is less than a month old,
it’s growing fast,” John reported, telling how one hundred and eighty men
living on the west side of Cherry Creek had held a meeting on October 30th to
found the town of Auraria, territory of Kansas.
He and Will, however, had located on the east side of the creek in the
even newer town first called St. Charles and finally Denver in honor of the
territorial governor.
“Quite a rivalry between the two towns,”
John wrote. “Auraria’s bigger, but you’d
like Denver better, Ben. Quieter, more
businesslike. Why, we’ve even had our
first sermon preached here! Methodist
preacher, too, the kind my Martha favored.
So you can quit worryin’ about your big brother. Denver’s rough, but we’ve already got more
religion here than in your God-forsaken western Utah. (Mormons don’t count, little brother!)”
Ben had to laugh at that remark. He’d be sure to share it with Clyde Thomas,
too, who would appreciate it even more than Ben. He read on:
“Will seems to be taking to the miner’s life. Our claim is showing some good color, so
maybe I’ve finally found my El Dorado after all these years. Good to have my boy here to share it when it
comes. For now, though, we’ve got to
leave off mining to build ourselves a solid cabin before winter sets in. Too bad we can’t move that old one of yours
here and save ourselves the trouble!”
Ben smiled. Obviously, he’d
neglected to tell his brother that cabin was already spoken for. He read on, “I’d better close for now. Will has the axes sharpened, and it’s time to
chop down some more cottonwoods. Write
soon, little brother, and try not to scold.”
Ben winced uncomfortably. John knew him too well, knew how much he’d
like to scold his big brother for his endless pursuit of gold. At least, the town of Denver sounded like it
had a promising future, or would if the gold held out. Time would tell. Maybe, like Marie’d said, John could build
himself a future there alongside Cherry Creek.
Maybe, someday, he’d be the one urging Ben to come share his good
fortune, and Ben would be the one disappointing John.
Ben folded the letter, taking out the one
from Adam, instead, and his son’s news brought the smile back to his face. Adam, who had at first bewailed spending the
Christmas holidays in San Francisco, seemed to have had a change of heart. At least, he said he was looking forward to a
good time. Evidently, Lawrence Larrimore
had written the boy, promising to take him to any theater presentation he
chose, as well as arranging a party for Adam and his own youngsters.
The mention of a party reminded Ben of why
he was in town. To buy ranch supplies,
of course, but those were the least important items on his list. Hop Sing and, to a lesser extent, Marie had
been growing frantic about finding everything they needed to make the
Ponderosa’s annual Christmas Eve party memorable. Ben had hoped to do a little duck hunting
near the river on the way back, but Snowshoe hadn’t gotten in as early as he’d
expected. High time he headed for home,
if he didn’t want to listen to a diatribe before the Chinese cook would
condescend to serve supper.
* * * * *
For the next week, as Hop Sing and Marie
combined efforts to prepare refreshments for the upcoming Christmas Eve party,
tempting aromas wafted almost constantly from the kitchen, tempting the two
youngest Cartwrights into forbidden territory.
Both boys received the same high-pitched rebuke from the irate Cantonese
cook, but while Little Joe’s excursions were viewed with tolerance by his
indulgent mother, Hoss’s were soundly scolded.
“You are old enough to know better, Hoss,” Marie reproved, dusting
floury hands on her apron, “and to keep your little brother away, as well. Return to your lessons at once.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hoss sighed. Taking Little Joe’s hand, he returned to the
front room, willing Friday to come quickly so the hated schoolbooks could be
tossed aside for a few days. “Here, play
with bun-bun,” he directed, giving the toddler his toy rabbit. “Brother has to study.”
Little Joe frowned, but sat babbling to
bun-bun for a few minutes before ambling off toward the inviting kitchen once
more. He was in the dining room before
Hoss realized he’d disappeared. “Little
Joe,” he hissed softly, not wanting the two bakers to hear him. When the toddler ignored him, Hoss got up and
tiptoed after his brother.
By the time he caught up, however, Little
Joe was already in the kitchen, pulling on his mother’s skirt. “Tookie?” he requested.
Marie turned just in time to see Hoss
enter the kitchen. “I told you to keep
an eye on him,” she reprimanded.
“I tried,” Hoss protested, “but it’s hard
to watch him and the primer, too. Maybe
I should quit studying for awhile, huh?”
Marie laughed. “That is most generous of you, Hoss, but
perhaps you are right. We will never get
all these gingercakes baked if this one keeps pestering for a cookie.” She patted Little Joe’s curly head..
“Maybe if you gave him one,” Hoss
suggested, tongue flicking involuntarily over his lower lip.
Marie giggled, hiding her lips behind
delicate fingers. “I do not think it is
Little Joe you are thinking of, mon chéri. Nevertheless”——she took two gingercakes from
the cooling rack and presented one to each boy——“Now keep him out of here!”
Hoss grinned. “Come on, Punkin,” he said. “Let’s eat our cookies in the other
room.” Little Joe smiled and followed
obediently, now that he had what he wanted.
* * * * *
To Hoss’s delight, Friday finally arrived
and, with it, the official suspension of all lessons until after the
holidays. Early that morning he went
with his father to select a tall evergreen, and they spent the afternoon, while
Little Joe napped, decorating the tree with their handmade ornaments and small
calico bundles of candy for the younger guests who would attend the party that
evening. Laura Ellis arrived about three
o’clock to help Marie deck the mantel and staircase with pine boughs and cones
and supervise the moving of furniture and the arrangement of the refreshment
table.
When Little Joe woke, Hoss was delegated
the responsibility of keeping the baby away from the tree. First, he sat Indian-style beneath the
branches and, gathering his brother into his lap, explained the purpose of the
tree and how tomorrow morning they would find many presents waiting under
it. “So you mustn’t touch,” Hoss
finished. “Santa won’t like it if you
do.”
Little Joe nodded soberly as he reached
for the wooden bird gracing the limb nearest him. Hoss sighed and pulled the youngster’s hand
back. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
His father, bringing in an armload of
firewood to place in the woodbox beside the massive stone fireplace,
laughed. “You’d be wiser to take him out
of temptation’s reach, Hoss.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Hoss admitted with a
shrug. “Let’s go play with my Noah’s
Ark, Punkin.” Little Joe was fond of the
boat full of animal pairs, so Hoss successfully kept him occupied until time to
dress for the party.
Since Ben finished dressing first, he took
Little Joe downstairs so his mother and Laura could complete their toilettes
without distraction. Setting the baby on
his knee, he asked, “Now, has Hoss told you all about what happens tomorrow?”
“Sanna,” Little Joe replied, smiling in a
way that told Ben his youngest was looking forward to a visit from St. Nick.
“That’s right, and is there something
special my little boy would like Santa to bring him?”
“Doggie,” Little Joe responded
immediately.
Ben laughed. “I’m afraid you’re too young to be
responsible for a pet, baby. You’ll have
to share Klamath with Hoss for now.”
Little Joe shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no, no,” he insisted. “Wa-wer doggie.”
“Water doggie?” Ben asked, puzzled, then
the light, woefully, dawned as Ben realized the gift his son wanted was one he
couldn’t possibly put beneath the tree.
“I thought you’d have forgotten the water doggies by now!”
Little Joe patted his father’s chest with
a pleading palm. “Wa-wer doggie,” he
repeated poignantly.
“Little Joe, Santa cannot bring you a seal
for Christmas,” Ben said, with little hope of the toddler’s understanding. “Seals——uh, water doggies——don’t like snow.”
Little Joe’s face looked so pitiful Ben
cuddled him close. “There, now, you’re
gonna have a nice Christmas.”
“What’s wrong?” Hoss, coming down the
stairs decked out in his best suit, asked on seeing his little brother’s
dejected face.
“He wants a water doggie——a harbor
seal——for Christmas,” Ben lamented.
“Yeah, that’s what he said when me and
Inger talked to him about Santa on Thanksgiving,” Hoss said. “I tried to explain.”
“You failed,” Ben reported glumly.
“Aw, he’ll forget when he sees his
presents,” Hoss assured his father.
“I hope so,” Ben muttered ruefully, “and,
speaking of presents, you will not see yours until suppertime if you dare wake
this baby early, like you did last year.
Furthermore, you will stay home to tend your cranky little brother
instead of watching me win us a fat bird at the turkey shoot tomorrow
afternoon.”
“Aw, Pa!” Hoss protested.
“I mean it,” Ben said firmly. “Let your brother sleep.” Not to
mention your weary parents, he added silently.
Guests, many more than the previous year,
began arriving shortly before sundown.
Though the Cartwrights didn’t feel prosperous enough to invite the
entire population of western Utah, they did expand the guest list to include a
number of prominent families in the area.
Abe Curry was a natural addition, along with a few others from Carson
City. Theodore Winters and his family
from Pleasant Valley, just north of Washoe, came for the first time, as did
James Sturtevant, a newcomer to the territory after the Mormon exodus. The new federal Indian agent, Frederick Dodge,
now making his headquarters in Genoa, came, as well as older acquaintances like
John Reese and Stephen Kinsey. Since
several lived south of Genoa, however, those with young children, like the
Motts, would leave early. Ben had given
a special invitation to Lucky Bill’s widow and her son Jerome, but neither
came, evidently still not up to socializing among people, like Winters,
associated with her husband’s hanging.
The children, as usual, enjoyed Ben
Cartwright and Doctor Martin’s joint reading of A Christmas Carol, and the calico-wrapped candy put an even
brighter sparkle in their eyes. Dancing,
as always, lasted into the wee hours, making Ben doubly glad he’d spoken to
Hoss about waking them early.
* * * * *
Toward evening on the twenty-fourth of
December, Adam leaned over the rail of the steamboat Eclipse, headed for San Francisco.
Despite the brave letter he’d written home, he felt more forlorn, more
homesick this holiday season that at any time since he’d started school in
Sacramento. Not that the outlook was
totally bleak. After all, Mr. Larrimore
had promised to show him a good time, and Adam was looking forward to a night
or two at the theater and maybe a Christmas party at the Larrimore home. He had a full week to spend in San Francisco,
however, and he wasn’t sure he could endure the company of Sterling Larrimore
that long. He’d never liked the boy, who
was four years his senior. Of course,
they were both older, both young men now.
That might make a difference.
Only Lawrence Larrimore met Adam when the
steamer pulled into San Francisco. “Big
party tonight,” Lawrence explained. “The
ladies are adding those last minute touches.”
“Ladies?” Adam asked. Obviously, Mr. Larrimore meant his wife, but
that was only one lady.
“Camilla and Jewel, son,” Lawrence
elaborated, giving the boy a conspiratorial wink. “They’re both quite fashionable tonight, I
can assure you.”
Adam’s dark eyebrows met in a straight
line. Jewel a lady? Why, she was nothing but a little girl. Older now than the six-year-old he remembered
from the trail, of course. How old would
she be? Suddenly, Adam laughed. She was fourteen, just a year younger than he
was, and he considered himself a young man.
Maybe Jewel did qualify as a young lady.
In fact, Adam realized, she was exactly the age of the enchanting
Philippa Gallagher.
Somehow, when he met Jewel later that
evening, however, she managed to look much younger than his friend Martin’s
sister, maybe because Jewel tried too hard to look grown up, while Philippa
kept to simple styles that flattered her youthful face and figure. Jewel, of course, didn’t have a figure to
flatter in the first place; to Adam, she looked like a flour sack tied with
string in the middle. Her looks wouldn’t
have mattered, though, if her manners had been better. She openly snubbed Adam for a country rustic
until her mother insisted she dance with their guest. Not even the harmonious tones of the string
quartet, so much more to Adam’s refined taste than the fiddle music he’d have
danced to back home, could make it an enjoyable experience.
Every other young lady at the party,
however, found him a desirable partner.
Adam had learned to dance from his father, who always glided smoothly to
the music, and had polished his style with the help of his roominghouse
mates. Thanks to them, he knew the
latest steps and could perform them gracefully.
That, added to his handsome face and congenial conversational ability,
sharpened by evenings in the home of Senator Gallagher, made many a girl eager
to spin around the room in his arms and reluctant to relinquish him to the next
eyelash-batting competitor.
It didn’t take Jewel long to realize that
her house guest was the sensation of the evening among her friends, and she
began to look at Adam through new eyes.
He wasn’t the kind of boy her mother had described as eligible,
certainly not well-to-do, but he was good-looking, especially those dark,
magnetic eyes. Finding herself drawn
into their depths, Jewel took action.
She looped her arm through Adam’s and emitted a nervous giggle. “For shame, Melanie Jane!” she said with a
simpering pout. “You silly girls can’t
monopolize all his time, you know.
Adam’s my guest, after all, and I’ve only had one itty bitty dance with
him.”
Sally Jane looked irritated, but since the
song had ended, she curtsied graciously.
“I enjoyed our dance so much, Mr. Cartwright,” she said suavely. “Perhaps I could find room on my card for you
later this evening.”
“Please do,” Adam replied and meant
it. Melanie Jane was slim and graceful,
in addition to being quite pretty. Too
well-mannered to turn Jewel down, he danced with her next, although he would
have preferred the company of almost anyone else. She did dance well, for her mother had paid
exorbitant sums to the city’s finest instructor to ensure the girl’s social
graces, but evidently those skills had been honed at the expense of educational
ones. Adam finally gave up trying to
converse with his young partner, for there was no substantive subject on which
she could make a literate statement.
Despite Jewel’s fawning presence and
Sterling’s languid tolerance of the son of his father’s backwoods friend, Adam
enjoyed the evening. The party lasted
until nearly 3 a.m., however, so he was glad when it finally ended and he could
retire to the richly appointed guest room provided for him. Needing to unwind, he lay awake on his bed,
trying to imagine what gifts would be waiting for him beneath the tree the next
morning. He was pretty sure they would
seem simple and sparse to Sterling and Jewel, but he didn’t care. They’d be treasures to him because they came
from people who loved him, and he intended to hold his head high. As simple, rustic and frugal as his family
might seem to society’s elite, he’d rather be the son of Ben Cartwright than be
sired by the richest nabob in San Francisco.
* * * * *
Hoss dutifully, if impatiently, waited
until his little brother awoke on his own, and the entire family was rewarded
with a more agreeable attitude from the youngest. Little Joe still needed help unwrapping his
gifts, but he seemed delighted with each revelation, from the rubber ball he
rolled across the floor to the carved wooden squirrel on wheels that Hoss
passed down to him. Marie was delighted
with her gray linen walking boots, even though she wouldn’t be able to wear
them until she again visited a town with boardwalks to protect them from the
dust and mud. Ben, of course, professed
complete satisfaction with the fine imported tobacco and new pipe he received,
and Hoss seemed equally thrilled with his new treasures.
Finally, only one gift remained beneath
the tree, one so small it had been overlooked earlier. “It’s for Little Joe,” Hoss said after
retrieving it from the dark corner beside the staircase.
“Oh, from the Thomases, I suppose,” Ben
said. “He doesn’t have one from them
yet.”
“Yep, that’s what it says,” Hoss
grinned. “Here, Punkin, another present
for you.”
Little Joe dropped the rubber ball, which
bounced toward the stairs, and tore a corner of the paper hiding his new gift.
“It’s soft,” Hoss reported. “I bet it’s another animal, like bun-bun.”
“Probably,” Ben chuckled. “Nelly’s handy with a needle.”
Just how handy became evident when Hoss
helped tear away the paper. “Doggie!”
Little Joe cried ecstatically and hugged the leather seal to his heart. “Wa-wer doggie!”
“How on earth!” Ben ejaculated. “How could she possibly have known he wanted
that?”
“Inger, I bet,” Hoss suggested. “She knew.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” his father admitted.
Hop Sing padded in from the kitchen. “Bleakfast almost leady,” he announced. “Velly special Chlistmas bleakfast.”
“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Marie said. “We will be there in a moment.”
Looking satisfied, Hop Sing shuffled back
into the kitchen to put the final touches on an especially abundant holiday
brunch. The other Cartwrights, as well
as one already-stuffed guest, gathered around the table. Little Joe had continued to cling to his
favorite present, and no one had the heart to tell him that water doggies
didn’t belong at the table.
Immediately after eating, Ben and Hoss
loaded the buckboard with generous packages of the leftovers from the party the
night before and a carpetbag of night clothes.
They’d be spending the night with the Thomases in Carson City and
sharing Sunday dinner with them the next day.
Then, bundled in thick winter outerwear, they piled into the wagon for
the long, chilly ride into Genoa. Actually,
the shooting match would be held just outside town, on their side of the Carson
River and would be attended by virtually every man in the vicinity who thought
he had a chance to win one of the prize turkeys brought in from California for
the contest.
The
Thomases were already there when the Cartwrights arrived, as were Dr. Martin
and Sally. “Don’t tell me you’re
entering the contest, too!” Ben exclaimed, pumping the doctor’s hand.
The
doctor laughed. “No, I’m just here for
the show. I doubt I could even win one
of the chickens, much less a turkey.” In
addition to three turkeys, to go to the three best shots, the organizers of the
shooting contest were providing chickens and sage hens as lesser prizes. Almost every man who entered was likely to go
home with something, but each one hoped for something rarer than the sage hen that
appeared on most tables fairly regularly anyway.
“Don’t you be frettin’,” Billy Thomas offered. “I’ll see to it Ma invites you to dinner when she cooks the fat bird I bring home.”
“I’ll be the one bringin’ home the turkey for dinner tomorrow,” Clyde declared, “but the doc and Sally is welcome to share it all the same. Ben’s folks is already comin’.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “I intend to earn the turkey for tomorrow’s
feast, gentlemen, so if you want the honor, I’d advise you to shoot straight.”
“If you wish me to help cook it, I suggest
you help me down from this wagon,” Marie said pertly.
“Yes, my love,” Ben said, turning,
red-faced, back to his neglected duty, “although in a pinch I could probably
bring Hop Sing down to Carson to roast the turkey.” He gave his wife a saucy wink.
“Not
in my kitchen!” Nelly declared. “I don’t
need that yeller’s help when it comes to roastin’ turkey.”
“You
sure don’t!” Hoss shouted in agreement.
“I ‘member how good you done that other time we had turkey.” As he clambered over the side of the wagon,
Nelly reached up to lift Little Joe down.
“Why, what’s this, Sugarfoot?” she cooed, touching the toy clasped
tightly in his hand. “Did Santa bring
you a new playpurty?”
“Wawer doggie,” Little Joe crowed, holding
it out for her to inspect.
“And do you like the water doggie?” Nelly
plied.
“Does he ever!” Hoss cackled. “He won’t turn loose for one minute. We had an awful time gettin’ his leggin’s and
coat on.”
“Well, I bet Santa’s proud to see him
enjoyin’ it so,” Nelly smiled.
“She should be,” Marie said softly. Chuckling together, she and Nelly walked to
the thick pallet Nelly had spread on a cold, but snowfree, patch of ground and
settled down to gossip and watch Little Joe make his seal splash into the
patchwork sea until time for the shooting to start.
Each entrant paid a modest entry fee, then
one by one each man stepped up to fire the weapon of his choice at the
designated target. After the first round
of shooting, half the contestants were eliminated. They would be the recipients of sage hens,
only one for those who shot widest of the target, up to three for the top men
in the group. Clyde Thomas was
disgruntled, not only because both Ben and Billy had aimed truer than he, but because
he’d missed advancing to the next level of competition in the most frustrating
manner possible. He’d been top shooter
among those eliminated.
“Tough luck, Clyde,” Ben said, clapping
him on the back. “I remember all the
times you outshot me along the trail.”
“Out of practice, I reckon,” Clyde
mumbled. “Been buyin’ my meat already
butchered too long.”
“Don’t worry, Pa,” Billy announced, chest
expanding. “I’ll uphold the honor of the
Thomas men.”
Clyde groaned and shook his head. “Part of me wishes he’d get the shellackin’ a
mouth like that ought to earn him, if the Good Book speaks true about pride
goin’ before a fall.”
“And the bigger part of you wants that
Thomas honor upheld,” Ben snorted.
Clyde grinned and with a sheepish shrug
stood back to watch the rest of the contest.
The target was moved back and once again
each man aimed and fired. Ben felt his
muscles tense up when his turn came, then willed himself to relax, aim
carefully and squeeze the trigger. Only
five men would advance beyond this round, and he wanted to be one of them. His bullet struck close to center, but far
enough away that Ben was certain five others would be closer. Yet when every man had taken his shot and the
names of those who would advance were called, Ben grinned happily as he heard
his own.
“Yea, Pa!” Hoss cried, jumping up and down
with excitement. “We’re gonna get us a
turkey!”
Those who were eliminated from the second
round were each awarded a single fryer for their efforts. Ben took advantage of the brief break between
rounds, while the cackling prizes were being passed out, to accept his son’s
hearty hug. “Nothing certain yet, boy,
but I’ll try my best,” he promised. Only
three men who shot in this final round would win turkeys, the others taking
home two plump fryers apiece. Chances
were looking good that they’d dine on turkey for dinner tomorrow, however;
Billy Thomas was still in the running, too, and if he kept shooting as well as
he had been, there was little likelihood of his taking the fall Ben felt
certain the little braggart deserved.
The order of shooters was announced: Richard Sides, Samuel Buckland, Ben
Cartwright, James Sturtevant and, finally, Billy Thomas. Sturtevant took his place in line beside Ben
and leaned on his rifle as he watched Dick Sides aim at the target, which had
been set back further than before.
“Leastways, Washoe Valley is well represented, eh, Cartwright?”
Ben chuckled. Sturtevant had a point, since three of the
final five contestants resided there.
“Something to be said for putting your own meat on the table, I
guess.” It wasn’t really a valid
explanation; like most of his neighbors, Ben raised or bought the majority of
his meat. Hunting was fast becoming
something men did for sport, not to feed their families, but Ben figured he and
his nearest neighbors probably hunted more than men who lived in town.
Sides
fired and the crowd gasped in awe, for the bullet struck just below the black
bull's-eye. Sam Buckland whistled.
“Thought I had a chance, but ain’t nobody gonna beat a shot like that!”
“Speak for yourself,” Billy Thomas
announced. “I aim to try.”
“We all aim to try, boy,” Sturtevant
muttered, “but tryin’ and doin’ is two different things.”
Shaking his head, clearly overawed by
Sides’ performance, Buckland stepped up to take his shot. It struck well left of center. “Dad blamed target’s too far back,” he
muttered as he walked back to join the spectators.
Ben chuckled to himself. It was precisely that distance that was
intended to separate the good shooter from the true marksman, and he figured it
was about to weed him out, as well.
Except for the indignity of losing to smart-mouthed Billy Thomas, he
wouldn’t have minded too much. He’d had
an enjoyable afternoon, even if the only reward he took home was two chickens.
“Come on, Pa! You can do it,” Hoss hollered. “You can win us a turkey!”
“Turkey!” Little Joe whooped in imitation
of his big brother.
Ben laughed and waved at his sons. With inspiration like that, he’d have to try
his best. After all, such fine boys
deserved a father to look up to. He took
his time, aimed for the bull's-eye and fired.
The crowd roared its approval, for the bullet seemed to have struck just
right of center. From this distance it
was impossible to tell whether Sides’ bullet or Cartwright’s had come
closer. That decision would be left to
the official judges.
“Mighty fine shot, Uncle Ben,” Billy
congratulated him.
“But you aim to do better, right, boy?”
Sturtevant snickered.
Billy shrugged. “I aim to try, don’t you?”
Sturtevant bared his teeth in a loud
cackle. “Yeah, boy, I do.”
“Well, just remember,” Billy teased. “Tryin’ and doin’ is two different
things.” Ben took advantage of his
quasi-familial relationship to aim at Billy’s ear the cuff he thought that
remark merited. Billy just grinned and
ducked.
Sturtevant took his shot. It hit just below Sides’ mark, so he stood
clearly in third place, with only one shooter remaining. As Billy advanced to the shooting line, he
held his rifle overhead, pumping his arms to incite the crowd’s applause, and
the bystanders responded with encouraging shouts and hand-clapping. Though he would need a near perfect shot to
win the desired turkey, Billy seemed totally undaunted, his face reflecting
such confidence that Ben couldn’t help laughing. How can
you stay irritated with a youngster as irrepressible as that? he thought..
Whistling cockily, Billy raised his rifle
with a relaxed arm, sighted carefully and let the bullet fly. And fly it did——straight to the bull's-eye! There was no question in anyone’s mind as to
who had won the fattest turkey of the three.
Billy’s bullet had hit dead center.
Ben clapped him on the back, then got out of the way, for the onlookers
were rushing forward to shake the young man’s hand and add their
congratulations. With his game leg,
Clyde had a hard time pushing through the crowd, but he finally reached his
son, and it was clear from the expression on Billy’s face that it was his
father’s approval that meant the most.
Hoss hurried over to Ben. “Did we win one, Pa?” he asked eagerly. “Did we get a turkey?”
Ben rumpled the youngster’s sandy
hair. “Yeah, boy, we got a turkey. Not sure where I placed, though.”
“Who cares?” Hoss yelled. “We got a turkey, Pa!”
Ben bent over to hug the exuberant
boy. Who cared, indeed? When the judges announced that Dick Sides had
come in second and Ben Cartwright third, Ben just gazed into Hoss’s glowing
face and knew that was reward enough for him.
* * * * *
Adam knotted his new cravat, then adjusted
the silk top hat at a jaunty tilt and smiled with satisfaction at his
reflection in the mirror. The hat would
have looked out of place back home, but it suited San Francisco. He felt highly fashionable, thanks to the
gifts he’d received this Christmas.
Among other things, his parents had provided material for a new suit,
and Mrs. Larrimore had escorted him to the best tailor in town for a fitting.. The suit had been delivered just this
morning, so tonight’s New Year’s Eve ball would be the first opportunity the
boy had had to wear it. The hat and
cravat, gifts from the Larrimores, set the outfit off to perfection. Adam was grateful, for his old suit had grown
a pinch tight in the shoulders. Tonight,
though, he’d be able to dance in comfort, as well as style.
Thoughts of the ball reminded him of his
family once more, for, like him, they were probably getting dressed about now
for the traditional dance back home.
He’d thought of them many times during the past week. It was hard not to notice the contrasts
between the Larrimores’ lifestyle and the simpler one Adam was accustomed to on
the Ponderosa. Adam wasn’t sure which he preferred. Having the theater and opera available
whenever you wanted was a luxury not found in western Utah, but neither did San
Francisco have the Ponderosa’s fragrant pine forests or the clear waters of an
alpine lake at its backdoor. Too bad a
fellow couldn’t have both.
Then Adam grinned at his own
foolishness. A fellow could have both,
obviously; he was proof of that. He just
couldn’t have them at the same time, anymore than a boy could eat peach pie and
chocolate cake in the same mouthful. He
might as well enjoy the sophisticated pleasures of San Francisco while he
could, knowing that the simpler joys of home were waiting for him when he
returned.
He joined Sterling and Mr. Larrimore in
the parlor to wait, as usual, for Mrs. Larrimore to finish dressing. She shouldn’t be as late as usual tonight,
however, for she wouldn’t have Jewel’s toilette to supervise. The girl had insisted, against her mother’s
admonition, on stuffing herself with pastries at Delmonico’s after the opera,
which ran especially late last night, and had paid the penalty in a distressed
digestive system. Adam was sorry Jewel
was ill, of course, but he couldn’t help feeling relieved that she wouldn’t be
attending the Young People’s Ball with him and Sterling. Her attentions had become altogether too
leech-like over the past few days, and Adam welcomed the respite.
Mrs. Larrimore breezed in. “Well, now, are we all ready?”
“We are now,” her long-suffering husband
muttered sardonically.
Camilla disdained his comment with a flap
of her hand that reminded Adam of Nelly Thomas’s characteristic gesture. “Are you boys sure you wouldn’t rather attend
the Civic Ball with us?”
“With all those boring political types?”
Sterling scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous,
mother.”
He hadn’t given Adam a chance to respond
for himself, but the young Cartwright would have agreed anyway. Not that he considered mingling with the
mayor and other governmental officials boring.
Since Sterling had confided that all the prettiest young ladies would
elect to attend the Young People’s Ball hosted by a prominent San Francisco
family, however, Adam wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment in making the same
choice.
Once they’d left in a hired carriage, Adam
learned that Sterling had other plans.
“You don’t really want to go to another stuffy dance, do you?” the older
boy inquired.
“I like dances,” Adam replied.
“Oh, I know, but, really, they do get so
dreary when you have them night after night,” Sterling drawled. “Let’s have some fun, instead.”
Adam, who didn’t have the opportunity to
attend dances “night after night” didn’t consider them dreary, but, as
Sterling’s guest, he felt he should accede to the other boy’s wishes. “What kind of fun?” he asked.
“You like shows, don’t you?” Sterling
queried.
“Sure,” Adam agreed readily, “if that’s
what you’d rather do. Opera or theater?”
Sterling gave a disdainful laugh. “You are such a child, Adam! I meant a real eye-stopping show. I don’t suppose you’ve ever even been to a
melodeon?”
“No,” Adam admitted. “What is it?”
“A musical show, sort of,” Sterling
replied with a quizzical smile.
“I like music,” Adam said.
“Good,” the older boy replied. “We’ll have a night on the town, then, just
us fellows. Good thing Jewel took sick,
huh? She’s such a tattletale, we’d have
to have gone to the ball.”
When they entered the melodeon, the first
thing Adam noticed as they took their seats at a round table was the bar along
one side of the room. “This is a
saloon!” he hissed at Sterling.
“Let me guess: you’ve never been in a big, bad saloon
before,” Sterling mocked.
Adam flushed crimson. “Sure, I have,” he declared hotly. He didn’t feel required to explain that he’d
been ushered out within moments of his entry or that both he and Billy Thomas
had had their bottoms blistered as payment for the escapade.
“Why make a fuss then?” Sterling yawned.
“You said we were gonna see a musical show,” Adam objected.
“We are,” Sterling said. “This isn’t a saloon, Adam. They serve drinks, sure, but it’s a melodeon,
like I said. You don’t have to drink unless
you want to.”
When the first act came on stage, Adam
settled back to enjoy the scantily-clad singer’s song. The lyrics, however, were so suggestive that
he found himself blushing with embarrassment.
Seeing his companion’s heightened color, Sterling laughed. “I can see you’re going to get a real
education tonight, school boy,” he snickered.
Adam didn’t say anything. “Is that all?” he asked when the songstress
left the stage.
“Naw, they just take a break between acts
to sell drinks,” Sterling explained.
“Want one?”
“No, thanks,” Adam said tersely.
“Suit yourself,” Sterling replied, raising
a finger to attract the attention of a pretty waiter girl.
The girl who responded couldn’t have been
much older than Adam, but the heavy layer of paint on her face masked her
youth. Her low-cut neckline and the
skirt ruffling barely below her hips masked almost nothing, however, and Adam
felt his neck growing warm as she leaned over to display her charms when she
brought Sterling’s shot of whiskey.
“Quite a looker, huh?” Sterling queried,
watching Adam closely.
“Yeah,” Adam muttered. “When’s the next act?” He hoped it would be soon and of better
quality than the previous song.
A humorous skit soon began on stage. At first Adam laughed, for some of the lines
were hilarious, but as the skit proceeded, its humor became more raunchy, its
actions bawdier. Adam felt disgusted,
and his discomfort accelerated when, during the break between acts, a waiter
girl in beribboned bloomers and hip-high boots perched on his lap and stroked
his cheek. “How ‘bout comin’ up to my
room?” she suggested. “I’m real gentle
with the young ones.”
“Uh, no——thanks,” Adam replied, polite
despite his growing distaste for this establishment and its regular
residents. His pa had taught him to
treat all women with respect, and the habit persisted even though this particular
woman didn’t seem to merit respect.
The waiter girl plastered an eloquent pout
on her lips. “Let me bring you a drink,
then,” she offered. When Adam shook his
head, the pout deepened. “How’s a girl
supposed to make a living, sonny?” she simpered.
“Have a drink,” Sterling muttered, clearly
perturbed. “I’ll pay.”
Adam wasn’t sure afterwards why he gave
in. Maybe just to get the girl off his
lap. Maybe because he didn’t relish
looking like a little boy in front of her and Sterling Larrimore to boot. Maybe because he’d always had a curiosity
about the taste of liquor and the atmosphere of the melodeon already had his
senses reeling enough to make the suggestion enticing. Whatever the reason, Adam ordered a beer.
Sterling laughed. “Not up to whiskey yet, eh?”
“Beer suits me fine,” Adam muttered, dark
eyebrows meeting in a line over his glowering black eyes.
“Bring the kid a beer,” Sterling told the
waiter girl.
She laughed, too, giving Sterling a
knowledgeable wink. “Sure thing, sonny. One beer, coming up.”
Adam sipped his beer tentatively, not sure
he’d like the taste. He did, though,
once he’d gotten past the froth, and when Sterling offered, he accepted a
second drink. The acts on stage were no
more musical than before, but Adam began to laugh at jokes that would have
seemed pointless earlier. His head was
spinning when they left the melodeon following his third beer.
“Let’s go by the Cobweb Palace next,”
Sterling suggested.
“I don’t feel so good,” Adam
muttered. “Maybe we ought to go back to
your place.”
Sterling laughed. “Not yet.
You’ve got to work it off, boy.
My father will lambast me if I bring you home in this condition.”
“What condition?” Adam demanded as he
missed the step into the carriage. He
would have fallen onto the ground had Sterling not been behind him.
“You’re funnier than Mark Wentworth, the
first time I took him around town,” Sterling sniggered. “Never mind.
Just stick close to me. You
haven’t seen anything yet!” At his
instruction the carriage took them to the north end of Meiggs Wharf, where they
entered an ill-lit drinking establishment festooned in all corners with
cobwebs.
“Quite a place, huh?” Sterling
commented. “Abe Warner likes spiders, so
no one’s allowed to bother them.”
The proprietor’s love for spiders was all
too obvious. The light was dim because
cobwebs hung from the chandeliers. They
also covered the bottles of liquor behind the bar, effectively removing
whatever appetite for liquid refreshment Adam had left. Even the nude paintings on the wall were
scarcely visible through the gossamer webs draping them. Evidently, the owner had an appreciation for
other forms of wildlife, too, for beneath the cobwebs a row of cages held
monkeys, parrots and other exotic animals.
“I’ll have a stone fence,” Sterling told
the waiter, then grinned at Adam.
“That’s whiskey watered down with apple juice, for your information,
country boy. Time to slow down if we
plan to arrive home sober. You’d better
lay off altogether, though. You lied
before, Adam; this was your first time.”
“To drink,” Adam admitted.
“Better not have more, then,” Sterling
advised. “Besides, I got something
better than liquor to show you after this.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Wait and see,” Sterling sneered. “Why don’t you ask Warner to show you his
walrus tusks and whale teeth? He’s got
quite a collection.”
The collection was, indeed, interesting,
for into each tusk or tooth was carved a patriotic scene. Adam complimented Warner on the
craftsmanship. “I’d like to give
something like this to my father,” he said, pointing to a tusk with a
square-rigger carved in its side. “He
was an officer on a ship like this before we came west.”
“Might be arranged, for a price,” Warner
said, flattered enough to ignore the fact that the young man wasn’t
drinking. He and Adam quibbled over
price a few minutes before coming to terms.
Adam tried to negotiate for a whale’s tooth to give Hoss, but he hadn’t
brought much money with him that night and couldn’t offer enough to satisfy the
whiskered art dealer.
“Nice piece,” Sterling commented when Adam
returned to the table and showed him the tusk.
“Souvenir of a special night, huh?”
“It’s for my pa,” Adam explained, then
suddenly paled. He had a feeling Pa
wouldn’t approve of where he’d gotten the present, and it was highly unlikely
Pa would consider this a “special night” to be remembered. The thought of having to tell his father what
he’d done that night sickened Adam, but the idea of concealing it tied his
stomach in even tighter knots. “We should
leave,” he told Sterling. “You said you
needed to stop drinking.”
“I said ‘slow down,’” Sterling slurred,
“but I guess it’s time, all right. Got
another stop, remember?”
“Not another saloon,” Adam said firmly.
“Naw, something better.” Sterling lurched out of his chair and
stumbled toward the door with Adam in his wake.
“Chinatown,” he told the driver as he groped for the carriage door. The driver headed for Dupont Street.
As they walked down the narrow alleys of
Chinatown after getting out of the carriage, Adam couldn’t imagine what
Sterling found to attract him in the row of two-room, wooden shacks. Finally, they stopped beside one. “Now, to start the New Year right,” Sterling
announced gleefully. “I’ll buy you a
lookee, first, so you can decide. I
figure that’s about all you can handle, but I’ll be going in.”
Adam’s head had begun to clear, but
evidently his judgement was still impaired by the alcohol he’d consumed
earlier. When Sterling ushered him to a
window and told him to take a good look, he did. He jumped back, appalled. “It’s a girl, and she’s——she’s——”
“Naked?” Sterling suggested, leering.
“More than that,” Adam stammered. “She’s——there’s a man in there, too.”
“Well, watch the show!” Sterling cackled,
clapping Adam on the back. “I paid two
bits for your entertainment. You don’t
want to waste it, do you?”
“I sure do!” Adam sputtered angrily.
Sterling shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you’re not looking while
I’m in there.”
“You’re not!” Adam protested. “What would your folks say?”
Sterling collared the younger boy
roughly. “Not a thing, because you’re
not telling, are you, country boy?”
Adam twisted free. “I wouldn’t dirty my mouth talking about
this!” he yelled and stalked back to the carriage. He flopped down on the cushioned seat,
wishing he could erase the image of the fragile-boned girl with almond-skin and
short, sleek hair. She was just a little
girl, not even as old as the one back at the melodeon, and she’d stared back at
Adam with vacant, coal-black eyes. He’d
never seen a creature more wretched.
Ten minutes later Sterling returned,
stuffing his shirttail back in his trousers.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he ordered Adam loftily. “Yellers are cheap trash. I aim to graduate to the Upper Tenderloin
after I come into Father’s money.
They’ve got class whores up there on Mason and Larkin streets, if you’re
ever interested.”
“I’m not,” Adam snarled.
Sterling just laughed. “Probably couldn’t pay the ticket, anyway,
country boy.”
Adam folded his arms and pressed his back
against the coach seat. He wanted to get
as far away from Sterling Larrimore as possible. He was grateful he’d be heading back to
Sacramento the next morning. The first
thing he’d do once he got there was take a long, hot soak at the Alpha Bath
House to scour off every trace of San Francisco. Then he’d have an unpleasant letter to write
to his father. He dreaded that, but he
knew he’d have to do it before he’d ever feel clean again. There’d be at least one benefit to the
confession: Adam was pretty sure he’d
never have to spend another holiday with the Larrimores.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
|
T |
he weather
throughout January of 1859 was uniformly frosty. Snow drifts piled against the Ponderosa ranch
house, locking its inhabitants indoors, never a pleasing prospect with two
lively boys in the house. Toward the end
of the month, however, a sudden break in the weather brought sunny skies, and
Marie gladly sent her youngsters outdoors to play for an hour or two each
day. Ben welcomed the warm weather as an
opportunity to give closer attention to his cattle.
The first of February arrived with a clear
sky, but the air seemed cooler, a harbinger of returning cold. Though no storm clouds loomed on the horizon,
and though the Ponderosa’s huge stone fireplace kept the front room warm, Marie
shivered, dreading the blizzard she felt sure would arrive within days.
What actually arrived late that morning
was something that brought more warmth to her heart than the fireplace possibly
could. Hoss, taking a break from his
schoolwork to romp outside with a ponderously bundled Little Joe, flung open
the door. “Mama!” he cried from the
doorway. “We got company!”
Marie dropped the mending she was doing in
the mauve chair by the fire and began to pat her hair into place as she
stood. “Oh, who is it, Hoss? The Thomases?” The two families had not been able to meet
for several weeks. Even though the
weather had been warm on Sunday, the roads had still been packed with snow.
“Naw, it’s Mrs. Ellis and Jimmy,” Hoss
reported. “I know recess is ‘bout over,
but we can stay outside and play, can’t we?”
“No, Hoss, it is time to come in,” his
mother said as she hurried to the door.
“Aw, Mama,” Hoss whimpered.
“Bring your brother in at once,” Marie
said firmly, “and take off his wraps.”
She hastened across the yard to welcome her friend. “Oh, Laura, it is so good to see you!” she
cried.
“The way the sky looked, I thought I’d
better take a chance while I could,” Laura laughed. “Of course, if it snows quicker than I think,
you may have two houseguests for a long time to come.”
“They would be most welcome,” Marie
smiled, gently touching Jimmy’s cheek.
“My, you are cold, child! Come in
by the fire at once.” She took the boy’s
hand and led her visitors inside.
Hoss stood sulking in the middle of the
room, his warm jacket still on. “I
reckon it’s long enough for Little Joe to be out, but me and Jimmy can play
outside, can’t we, Mama?” he pleaded.
“I think not, Hoss,” his mother
replied. “Jimmy has had a long, cold
ride and should warm himself.”
“Yes, he must,” Laura added. “You youngsters have plenty of toys to play
with inside, I know.”
“But no lessons, right, Mama?” The pathetic expression on Hoss’s face made
both mothers laugh.
“No, no lessons,” Marie tittered. “You have a guest, Hoss. Please stable Mrs. Ellis’s horse, then you
and Jimmy may play upstairs, if you like.”
Little Joe tugged on Marie’s skirt. “Doggie, Mama?”
“Look in the box by the fireplace, Jimmy,
and get him his seal, s’il te plait.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the Ellis youngster replied,
immediately digging into Little Joe’s toy box while Hoss headed for the barn.
“Come here, you pretty thing,” Laura cooed, scooping Little Joe into her arms.
“You may find him a squirming thing,”
Marie laughed. “He doesn’t sit still for
long.”
“Probably a good thing,” Laura chuckled as
she sat on the maroon-striped sofa with alternating stripes of cream strewn
with blue flowers. “As cold as the
weather’s been, he likely stays warmer that way.”
“It is terrible, no?” Marie said. “I wish this warm weather could last, but I
know better.”
“You and half the miners in the
territory,” Laura smiled. “I doubt
you’ve heard of the new strike.”
“I have heard nothing,” Marie moaned. “So far Ben has managed to ride in for the
mail when it comes, and, of course, he brings a paper then, too, but I have not
left the house since New Year’s Eve.”
“Doggie,” Little Joe whimpered.
“Jimmy, haven’t you found that toy yet?”
Laura asked sharply.
“Yeah.
I was just lookin’ at the other things,” Jimmy said, nose in the carved
box. “It’s all baby stuff.”
“Mais
oui,” Marie laughed. “That is Little
Joe’s box, Jimmy. Hoss’s is
upstairs. The seal, s’il te plait?”
Jimmy handed the stuffed toy to Little
Joe. “Can I go up to Hoss’s room?” he
asked.
“When Hoss returns,” his mother said
sternly, “though if you continue to whine like a baby, Jimmy, perhaps Little
Joe’s toys would make more appropriate playthings for you.”
“No, ma’am! I’ll be good,” the four-year-old declared.
“You mentioned a gold strike?” Marie
probed, bending to pick up the toy seal when Little Joe made it dive off
Laura’s arm into an ocean of air.
“Yes, and this is real news,” Laura
announced. “Hasn’t even appeared in the Territorial Enterprise yet.”
Marie clapped her hands. “Good!
I will have news to share with Ben for a change.”
“Well, you may not know that several of
the miners had planned to winter in Franktown,” Laura began, “squatting in some
of the houses the Mormon settlers left behind.”
“No, but it is good to put the houses to
use,” Marie mused. “That is where Madame
Cowan is living, too, I think.”
“Not anymore,” Laura giggled, “but that’s
getting ahead of my story.”
The door flew open and Hoss rushed
in. “Let’s go upstairs, Hoss,” Jimmy
cried. “Ain’t no good toys down here.”
“That’s for sure,” Hoss agreed. “Okay, Mama.”
“Oui,
and you may take Little Joe, as well,” Marie said.
“Okay,” Hoss muttered. He was always glad to play with his little
brother when no one else was around, but Jimmy was closer to his age, and Hoss
would have preferred not being saddled with the baby while he had company.
Laura gave the top of the toddler’s curly
head a kiss and relinquished him to his brother. “Play nicely, Jimmy,” she cautioned. “Remember, Little Joe is smaller than you.”
“Let’s bring your water doggie,” Hoss
suggested to Little Joe, whispering conspiratorially to Jimmy as they mounted
the stairs, “He’ll stay out of our way better if he has his favorite toy..”
“Yeah,” Jimmy whispered back, quick to
align himself with the bigger boy he admired.
“Good idea.”
“Now we can visit undisturbed,” Marie
said. “Shall I have Hop Sing prepare
tea?”
“Or coffee. Whichever’s easier,” Laura replied. “I could use a hot drink.”
“I should have thought of it earlier,”
Marie apologized, “after your long drive.”
“Had my arms full before now,” Laura
laughed.
When Marie returned from her consultation
with Hop Sing, Laura continued her tale of the new mining strike. “The weather looked so nice last Friday that
several of the miners decided they might as well go back to work,” she began
again. “Let’s see: there was Pancake Comstock, Old Virginny, Big
French John Bishop, Aleck Henderson and Jack Yount. Probably some others, too, but those are the
ones who found the gold. You know any of
them?”
“I have met Messieurs Comstock and
Finney,” Marie replied, “and I think Monsieur Bishop was at the New Year’s
Ball. The others I don’t know.”
“Customers, of course,” Laura
commented. “That’s how I know them. Haven’t seen much of any of them while
they’ve been at Franktown, though.
Eilley’s been running a boardinghouse for the boys, and with the weather
being so cold, none of them have wanted to drive to Carson City for what they
could find a few doors down.”
“It would be worth the ride,” Marie
declared loyally.
“True, she doesn’t serve much besides salt
pork and beans, but her batter biscuits are real good, according to the miners
I’ve talked to. Anyway, like I was
saying, the warm weather convinced these miners to head for Gold Canyon. The melting snow gave them plenty of water to
swish in their pans.”
“And they found gold?” Marie asked.
“On Saturday——a nice-sized pocket of it,”
Laura said, “enough to make everyone down the canyon scramble up to Gold Hill.”
“Gold Hill?” Not recognizing the name, Marie tilted her
golden head inquiringly.
“That’s what they’re calling the new
strike,” Laura explained. “It’s just a
mile or so up the canyon from where the miners left off working when winter
hit.”
Hop Sing entered, bringing a tray with a
china teapot, sugar and creamer, as well as two cups and saucers. “Velly good see you again, Missy Laula,” he
said smoothly.
“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Laura replied, smiling. “You make the best tea in the territory.”
Hop Sing beamed. “You got good sense, like Missy
Cahtlight. Hop Sing like cook for ladies
got good sense. You stay lunch?”
“Of course, she will,” Marie
answered. “Please prepare something
special, Hop Sing.”
“Velly special,” Hop Sing promised and
shuffled quickly back to the kitchen.
“The miners are making Gold Hill their
headquarters now,” Laura said, as she added sugar and cream to her tea, “so
you’ll have to add that name to your list of prominent places in western Utah.”
“Mais
oui,” Marie laughed, stirring her own cup, “but how sad for Madame Cowan
that all her boarders have moved to a new town, despite the fame of her batter
biscuits.”
“Don’t waste your sympathy on Eilley
Orrum!” Laura hooted, using Mrs. Cowan’s maiden name, by which most people knew
her since her separation from her Mormon husband. “That one can take care of herself. I’ll have you know she’s moved to Gold Hill,
too, boardinghouse and all!”
“But how is that possible?” Marie queried.
“Oh, she had help,” Laura laughed. “Some of her boarders——Sandy Bowers, for
one——loaded everything from pots and pans to the boards from her house on pack
mules and carted it to Gold Hill. She’s
sharing a wall with a bar run by a fellow called Old Nick. Between the two of them, they manage to see
most of the new town’s residents every night.”
“So, Madame Cowan has made a wise business
move?” Marie asked. “One which will hurt
you?”
Laura shrugged and took another sip of
tea. “I’m not worried. I get enough business in Carson City to get
by. Besides, if you ask me, it’s gold
Eilley’s chasing, not customers. She
always did have a touch of gold fever, used to pester the Grosch boys to
distraction about their claim.”
Marie smiled. “I think, perhaps, it is not gold fever, but
husband fever, that afflicts Madame Cowan.
Surely you noticed how she eyed with favor every unattached man at our
Christmas Eve party——especially poor Dr. Martin.”
“She won’t snare him,” Laura giggled. “Some of these newer folks may not be as
quick to spot danger as he, however.”
Marie shook her head. “So many new people in the territory, and I
know so few.”
“You know Sandy Bowers,” Laura said. “You couldn’t miss that big Scot. That’s why I mentioned him before.”
“Oui,
him I know,” Marie smiled, “but he is not new to the territory. I have seen him at several New Year’s Eve
balls. He dances most enthusiastically.”
“He surely does, but I’ll take him over
Old Pancake or James Finney any day!” Laura declared.
“Ah, perhaps so will Madame Cowan,” Marie
teased.
“I have a feeling she’d take anything in
pants!” Laura snickered.
“What gossips we have become this
morning,” Marie smiled.
“Comes from lack of opportunity,” Laura
admitted, “but you’re right. We should
mind our tongues a bit better, or we’ll be teaching our boys bad ways. Besides, I like Eilley, even if she is
man-hungry.” Determined to turn the
conversation to safer ground, she asked if Marie had heard from Adam lately.
“Mais
oui, he is always faithful to write,” Marie replied, “and the mail has not
once failed this winter, as you know.”
“So, what’s Adam up to?”
Marie sighed. “I am afraid his last letter brought most
distressing news.” She proceeded to
relate the unpleasant tale of Adam’s sortie into the darker side of San
Francisco society. “Adam, of course,
took all the blame to himself,” she finished hotly, “but Sterling Larrimore is
four years older than our boy! He knew
he was taking Adam where no young boy should go.”
Laura nodded soberly. “And Adam’s at just the age when sampling
so-called grown-up entertainment can be most enticing.”
“Oui,
but we depended on Monsieur Larrimore to provide only appropriate entertainment
for our son,” Marie fumed on, “and Ben is so provoking! I have told him he should write to his friend
at once and tell him what his boy has done to ours, but Ben refuses.”
“Why?” Laura probed.
“Oh, he says it is not a message to be delivered by mail,” Marie sputtered, “that he must talk face to face with Lawrence, so there will be no misunderstanding.”
“Well, I can see Ben’s point,” Laura said
softly. “God forbid I should ever
receive such news about Jimmy, but I know it would come easier if an old friend
spoke with me directly.”
“But when can that be?” Marie cried, throwing up her hands in frustration. “We will not see the Larrimores before spring. Probably not even then, for I do not think they will travel to Placerville for Katerina’s wedding.”
“Is the date set for the wedding?” Laura
asked, deftly changing the subject to one less inflammatory.
The subterfuge worked, for Marie was easy
prey to anything romantic. “Oh, yes,”
she replied, her smile returning.
“Letters have been flying between here and Placerville. Enos tells us they will exchange their vows
the fifteenth of May, just after Little Joe’s birthday.”
Laura laughed. “You’ll celebrate that on the road, then. No birthday cake this year, I take it, but you must promise to let me bake one for the little sweetheart’s third birthday.”
“Mais
oui,” Marie agreed readily. “He will
be old enough then for a small party.”
She clapped her palm to her lips.
“Oh, I forgot to mention that the Reverend Wentworth will come to
Placerville for the ceremony. Ben is
paying his way.”
“How nice!” Laura said, sharing her friend’s
enthusiasm. “It’ll mean a lot to Enos
and his bride to have the minister who traveled west with them witness their
vows.”
“Oui,
and with the Paynes planning to come, as well, it will be almost a reunion of
the Larrimore train,” Marie bubbled on.
“Except for the Larrimores, I take it?”
“No, there is one other family everyone
has lost track of,” Marie replied. “I do
not recall their name, but Ben sometimes wonders about them.”
“It’s a wonder the rest of you have kept in touch,” Laura commented. “Most folks just went their separate ways. Ben must have come west with a good group.”
“Oui,
from all I have heard,” Marie said. She
stood and picked up the tea tray. “You
will meet some of them this spring.
Reverend Wentworths’ two younger children will be visiting us until
fall.”
“You told me. I’ll be looking forward to meeting them,”
Laura replied. “May I help you with
those?”
“No, no, I will be back in a moment,”
Marie said, “then we can”——she paused, hearing a horse trot into the yard. “Oh, that will be Ben, coming home for
lunch. Do not tell him what gossips we
have been this morning.”
“I’m no tattletale,” Laura laughed,
“especially not when I’m as guilty as you!”
* * * * *
Adam scurried up the stairs to his room,
for Mrs. Maguire had told him he had mail waiting. “Sure, and it’s just the usual letters from
your family,” she laughed. “It’s
homesick you are, Adam Cartwright.”
Homesickness was not the malady that made
the boy tear up the stairs, however.
Malaise of the heart came closer to the truth, for Adam had lived in
sick dread of his father’s reaction to his escapade through the back streets of
San Francisco.
Flinging open the door to his room, he saw
two letters propped against the books on his desk. He reached for the one from his father
first. Whatever Hoss had to share could
wait.
Harold Lissome, coming in right after
Adam, halted when he saw the envelope in his roommate’s hand. “Is it from your father?” Adam had shared everything with Harold, and
the older boy knew how anxiously Adam had been awaiting his father’s response.
When Adam nodded solemnly, Harold laid a
compassionate hand on the other boy’s shoulder.
“You’ll want to read it alone,” he said, “so I’ll clear out for awhile.”
“Thanks,” Adam said. “I won’t be long. I know you’ve got a test to study for.”
“Take all the time you need,” Harold
replied softly. “I’ll be downstairs in
the parlor.”
Adam unsealed the letter, took a deep
breath and began to read:
“My
dearest Adam,
How
grieved I was to learn of your difficulties in San Francisco. I must first beg your forgiveness for putting
you in the path of such temptation. I
naturally assumed I could entrust you to Mr. And Mrs. Larrimore, but never
thought of their leaving you unsupervised.
I am most disheartened to learn that my trust was misplaced.
As
to your own behavior, I was, of course, disappointed that you yielded to the
temptation to drink. I know that without
the influence of an older boy you would not have done so, and I am grateful
that even under the influence of liquor, you could not be persuaded to do
worse. Perhaps I am at fault for not
making my feelings on the consumption of alcohol plain to you, but I did not
anticipate the need at your early age.
Again, I ask your forgiveness for my laxity in parenting.
Let
me express to you my sincere hope that you will not again taste liquor until
you are at least eighteen. Even then, I
trust you will be moderate in your consumption, as I have always tried to
be. Excess lowers resistance to other
unsavory behavior, as I think you observed in Sterling Larrimore. I know I can trust you to respect my wishes
in this matter.
Thank
you for the carved walrus tusk. The
scene does indeed remind me of my days on a similar ship with your
grandfather. I will keep it on my desk
beside your picture, two special reminders of the young man I miss so much.
Study
hard, but please stop confining yourself to your quarters. As you have been doing so since the first of
January, I consider that discipline enough.
I order you to spend a night at the theater with your friends, young
man! (Legitimate theater, however——no
more melodeons.)
Your
loving father,
Benjamin
Cartwright”
As Adam folded the letter, he felt his
eyes begin to water. He’d been so afraid
that he had lost his father’s respect, but Pa sounded like he was blaming
himself more than Adam. Adam never
wanted his father to feel that way again, so he determined to evaluate every
decision he made in light of what his father would want him to do. If I do
that, I can’t go far wrong, Adam concluded.
He was ready to read Hoss’s letter now, but in fairness to Harold, he
went downstairs first. “Everything’s all
right,” he said when his friend looked up inquiringly.
“I told you it would be,” Harold
grinned. “You’ve got a good father.”
“The best in the world,” Adam boasted
warmly. “He ordered me to go to the
theater. How about Friday evening?”
“Sounds good,” Harold replied, slamming
his book shut. “Now, upstairs and finish
your homework, my boy, so you can quiz me for my history test.”
Adam grinned and the two boys returned to
their room, each wrapping an arm around the other’s shoulder. The first thing Adam did on reaching the room
was to read Hoss’s short letter:
“Hey,
Adam,
What’s
up? Pa wouldn’t read me your letter to
him, so I know something’s the matter.
You in trouble? Not me, I am
doing good. Little Joe, too, except he
makes his water doggie bark too much.
We
got good and stuffed on them turkeys Pa and Billy shot at the contest. Billy came in first and Pa third. We ate Billy’s bird right off, but saved ours
to butcher for New Year’s. Had Hangtown
Fry for breakfast then, too. Bet you
ain’t had nothing that good at that boardinghouse.
Guess
what. There is gonna be a horse race in
Carson City, the first ever, on February 2.
Pa says him and me will go, if it don’t snow too deep for the horses to
run. You ever seen one?
I
like that walrus tooth you give Pa. I
want one, too. Okay? Don’t study too hard. You know I won’t!
Your
brother,
Hoss”
Adam laughed.
Glancing up, Harold grinned. “Back to your books, boy.”
Adam tipped his desk chair back on two
legs and folded his arms behind his neck.
“I don’t know. My little brother
seems to think I study too much as it is.”
Harold reached over to push Adam’s chair
to the floor. “Yeah, he’s probably
right, but you can’t help me ‘til you finish your own work, and I need help!”
Adam popped his roommate a sharp
salute. “Aye, aye, sir. Back to my books, sir.”
Harold gave a satisfied nod as Adam opened
his algebra text and, propping his forehead with his hand, returned to his
study of the Medes and Persians.
* * * * *
The very night Laura Ellis and Jimmy
headed back to Carson City, the weather turned horrid again, so Hoss wasn’t
able to go into town for the anticipated horserace. A hard wind blew from the southwest, bringing
three inches of snow by morning. Within
ten days a foot covered the valleys and even more fell in the Sierras. The new telegraph to Placerville was knocked
out, but that didn’t matter to Hoss.
Adam couldn’t afford to send an expensive wire, anyway. What mattered to Hoss was that on the
twentieth of the month, for the first time that winter, the mail didn’t
arrive. First it had come by stage, then
as the weather worsened, by sled and later by mule. Now the snows in the mountains were too deep
even for Snowshoe Thompson, a tragedy unknown before. Hoss, who had begged permission to ride in
for the mail, had nothing but that bad news to deliver when he returned to the
Ponderosa.
Though Hoss pleaded every morning, it was
six whole days before his hard-hearted father would let him brave the cold
roads once again, and there still wasn’t any mail. “Can I check again tomorrow?” Hoss pleaded at
supper that evening. “I just know the
mail will get through tomorrow.”
“You can’t go traipsing off every day,
boy,” Ben snorted. “You have chores and
lessons to be done. Do your work well
and you can do whatever you like come Saturday again.”
“Saturday!
Another whole week?” Hoss moaned.
“There is no need, however, to go even
then,” Marie interjected. “We plan to
take dinner with the Thomases the next day, so you can get your mail then,
Hoss.”
“Pa said Saturday,” Hoss squealed.
Ben lifted a silencing hand. “If you’re so impatient you can’t wait one
more day, you may go to Carson on Saturday, Hoss——provided I don’t hear another
word about it until then!”
From the tone of his voice, Pa meant
business, so Hoss quickly agreed to the terms and kept his impatience carefully
checked until the designated day. He
rode into Carson City that morning with a heart full of hope, for while snow
still remained on the valley floor, it was beginning to melt and the last two
days had been warm, without a cloud in the sky.
Hoss
tied his horse to the rail in front of Ormsby’s mercantile and hotel and went
in to see if the mail had arrived. “Sure
did, son,” Mrs. Ormsby told him. “Got in
on Thursday.”
Hoss
groaned. Adam’s letter had been sitting
here two whole days without his getting a chance to read it!
“Reckon
your pa will be wanting a copy of the paper, too,” the storekeeper suggested.
“Yes’m,”
Hoss said. He tucked the latest copy of
the Territorial Enterprise under his
arm, stuffed Pa’s two letters in his jacket pocket and tore open his personal
letter from Adam. Getting his own mail
was fun, and Adam never let him down.
The letter read:
“Dear
Hoss,
You
guessed right. I did get in some trouble
in San Francisco. Sterling Larrimore
took me to some places I shouldn’t have gone.
One of them was the saloon where I bought Pa’s walrus tusk. I had a couple of beers. That was two too many, little brother, so
don’t get any ideas! I doubt I can get
you a walrus tusk, since I don’t ever intend to go back to that saloon or even
to San Francisco anytime soon. Maybe Pa
will buy you one sometime. It came from
the Cobweb Palace. You’d like the place
because it had cages of monkeys and parrots——carved whale’s teeth, too.. Maybe you’d like one of those better. It would fit in your treasure box easier than
a big tusk.
I
will try not to study too hard if you promise to study harder. Judging by your last letter, your grammar
could use some work. Don’t let that
water doggie bite you! I’m guessing his
bark’s worse than his bite, though. Ha!
Yours,
Adam”
Hoss scowled when he began the last
paragraph. Just like Adam to bring up
his grammar, always a sore point with Pa.
Hoss never could figure out what the fuss was all about. He managed to make himself understood——better
than Little Joe, at least. The baby
couldn’t put together even one whole sentence, but nobody complained about his
grammar. Then he grinned at Adam’s
nonsense about the water doggie. He’d be
sure to read that part to Little Joe.
Tucking away his letter, Hoss ambled over
to the Thomases to beg a meal and a bag of cookies, if he was lucky. Since he’d been cautioned about dawdling
today, Hoss left right after lunch, putting the family’s mail and a dozen sugar
cookies carefully in the saddlebags he’d gotten for Christmas.
Later that evening Hoss waited impatiently
for his father to peruse Adam’s letter.
“Can I read this one,” he asked as soon as his father finished, “or is
Adam in more trouble?”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “What do you know about that?”
Hoss gulped. Maybe Adam was supposed to have kept things
secret from his little brother, and here Hoss had gone and spilled the beans..
“I asked you a question, Hoss,” Ben said
sternly.
“Y—yes, sir,” Hoss stammered. “J—just what Adam wrote me. He said he went some places he
shouldn’t——like saloons——and drank beer.”
“Is that all?” Ben probed.
“Yeah.
It’s okay he told me, ain’t it?”
“If he wanted to,” Ben said, relieved that
Adam had omitted the more sordid visit to Chinatown in his letter to his
eight-year-old brother. “There’s nothing
like that this time, if you were hoping for more juicy details.”
“Oh, no,” Hoss assured his father. “I was wantin’ to find out what he got for
his birthday. He didn’t say in my
letter.”
“Oh, Hoss,” Ben chuckled. “His birthday was less than two weeks
ago. This letter was posted before
that. Unless he peeked, he couldn’t have
known what was in those packages I left with Mrs. Maguire.”
“He wouldn’t peek,” Hoss sighed. Straight-laced Adam never did step over the
line. Of course, he had drunk those
beers. Maybe he was easin’ up some,
after all. Then again, maybe not. He had gone and confessed the whole thing, a
really stupid move in Hoss’s eyes. Why
court trouble when you could avoid it just by keeping your mouth shut? “So, can I read the letter or you just wanna
tell me what’s in it?”
“You can’t read it,” Ben said. “It’s in cursive, Hoss.”
“I would like to hear Adam’s news,” Marie
smiled from her chair by the fire.
Ben laughed. “I guess I should have read it out loud to
begin with.” He’d been reluctant to do
that, though, after having to stop suddenly in the midst of Adam’s last epistle
to avoid Hoss’s hearing what it contained.
“Adam just thanked me for forgiving him, and he promises he’ll never
abuse our trust again.”
“It was not our trust in him that was
abused,” Marie muttered.
“Don’t start,” Ben warned. To distract her, he hurried on with the other
details of Adam’s letter. “He also said
his studies were more difficult this term, but he’s still doing well and finds
his lessons interesting.”
“That is good news,” Marie smiled.
Ben sobered. “Yeah, but there was bad news, too, my
love. You remember young Jamie Edwards?”
“Mais
oui. Such a sweet boy.”
“Adam had a letter from him. You know the boy was always frail. Well, he was sick so much in November and
December that he couldn’t complete the first term, and Josiah is making him
take the rest of the year off to recuperate.”
“What a shame,” Marie sympathized. “He loved learning as much as Adam, I think.”
“Don’t sound bad to me,” Hoss
grunted. “I wouldn’t mind takin’ some
time off from school.”
Ben guffawed. “You’re out of luck, you healthy boy!”
“I am sure Adam is more sympathetic with
his friend than Hoss is,” Marie smiled.
“Indeed,” Ben agreed, “although he seems
to relish that he and Jamie will be back on the same level again next year. Jamie started his academy work a year earlier
than Adam, you know.”
“I remember,” Marie said quietly, bending
over her sewing. Though she said nothing
else, Ben knew she was thinking about those troubled early days of their
marriage when Adam had been so confused and hostile. The reason Adam had started school a year
later than planned was his father’s unexpected trip to New Orleans, and Ben’s
bringing home a new bride had only made the boy more miserable at delaying his
education in Sacramento.
“Shall I read the letter from John now?”
Ben asked softly.
“Oui,
s’il te plait.”
Ben cleared his throat and began:
“Dear
Ben, Marie and boys:
Will
and I are in good health and hoping this finds you in the same. We are getting along better now. Will’s really caught up in the excitement of
our booming town of Denver. He was
particularly pleased with the holster and handgun I gave him for Christmas and
is growing proficient in handling it. I
can almost hear you criticizing, little brother, but I beg you to withhold
judgement. You don’t know what it’s like
in a rough mining town. Even a boy needs
to be able to protect himself.”
“But, Ben,” Marie interjected. “Will is only a little older than Adam, is he
not?”
“About six months,” Ben muttered. “Of all the fool notions! Giving a handgun to boy of sixteen.”
“That what you got Adam for his birthday,
Pa?” Hoss queried excitedly.
“No!” Ben shouted.
Little Joe, playing on the rug by the
fire, started to cry. “There, there,
sweet boy,” Marie soothed, gathering him into her lap. “Papa does not mean to frighten you.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, little fellow,” Ben
murmured, “and I’m sorry I yelled at you, Hoss.
Your question was ridiculous, however.
Both your brother and your cousin are too young to be toting
weapons. That just invites trouble.”
“Uncle John says Will needs protectin’,”
Hoss argued. “You wouldn’t want him to
get hurt, would you?”
“No, of course not,” Ben replied with
strained patience, “but I believe that Uncle John should avoid putting his boy
in a position where he needs protection.”
“Like you puttin’ Adam in with that
stinkin’ Sterling?” Hoss asked. “That’s
what got him in trouble, ain’t it?”
Marie giggled at the sudden discomfort on
Ben’s countenance. “Oui, mon chéri, but I believe your father has learned his lesson.”
“If not, I have ample folk to remind me,”
Ben said dryly and returned to his brother’s letter:
“We
have found no big strike yet, but continue to pan enough to get by. Neither Will nor I feel ready to give up, although
I appreciate your offer to help us relocate.
I never was cut out for a farmer, and Will seems to have had his fill of
it, too.”
Ben groaned. The words reminded him of ones once spoken by
his second wife’s brother, Gunnar Borgstrom.
Not thinking himself cut out for a shopkeeper, Gunnar had headed for the
gold fields across the Isthmus of Panama and had never been heard from again..
“Is that all?” Marie queried.
“Umm?” Ben muttered, attention slowly
returning. “Oh, yeah. Just sends his love, requests I write soon,
that sort of thing. No more news.”
“Ben, I think you must give up this dream
of John’s coming here,” Marie said softly.
“I guess so,” Ben sighed, “though if it’s
the thrill of seeking gold he craves, he might as well do it at Gold Hill. Sure seems to be growing since Old Virginny
staked out the first claim.”
“We gonna move to Gold Hill, Pa?” Hoss
asked anxiously.
Ben closed his eyes and shook his
head. Sometimes he despaired of his
middle boy’s ever following a conversation closely enough to understand what
had actually been said. “No, son,” he
replied with as much patience as he could muster. “No, we’re gonna stay right here on the
Ponderosa.”
“Stay here,” Little Joe babbled from his
mother’s lap. Ben laughed. Hoss might miss the point of any
conversation, but not that youngest son of his.
Little Joe didn’t miss a thing.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
|
A |
rms akimbo, Nelly
Thomas stood in the kitchen doorway, looking into the parlor. “Ain’t that Billy back yet?” she
demanded. “Dinner’s nigh on to ready.”
Clyde looked up from the game of checkers
he was playing with Ben Cartwright. “You
serve it up when it’s done,” he ordered brusquely. “No call for that boy holdin’ up the rest of
us. He knows when dinner’s served. Had no business traipsin’ off this mornin’,
anyhow.”
Ben chuckled. “Just where did he traipse off to? Down the street to the Martins?”
“Doc’s got better sense than to let that
scamp chase after his daughter that early of a Sunday morning,” Clyde
muttered. “Naw, he took off for Genoa
right after breakfast.”
Ben looked puzzled. “What’s the attraction at Genoa? Somebody plant a new daisy there?”
Clyde guffawed. “I’d understand him chasin’ a skirt; he’s of
an age for that, but it ain’t nothin’ that sensible. Says he’s just plain sick of the sight of
Carson.”
“Oh, itchy feet.” Ben smiled as he jumped one of Clyde’s red
markers. “He’s of an age for that, too,
Clyde, although I wouldn’t think Genoa rated much as a cure.”
“Fur as he could get and not miss dinner,
I reckon,” Clyde cackled, then frowned in concentration over his next move..
Billy’s devotion to his stomach proved the
inspiration for his return, just as his mother and Marie finished setting out
the food. “High time you got home,” his
father complained.
“I said I’d be back for dinner, and here I
am,” Billy grinned.
“Well, make yourself useful, son,” Nelly
said. “Tell the younguns it’s time to
eat.”
“Sure, Ma,” Billy said. He sauntered into the narrow hall and
hollered up the stairway, “Hey, come and get it!”
“Oh, you scamp!” Nelly scolded. “You know that ain’t what I had in mind.”
Billy shrugged. “It’ll work.
That Hoss has got mighty sharp ears where food’s concerned.” The clatter of feet rushing down the stairs
proved his words.
Everyone gathered around the table and
folded their hands while Ben said grace over the meal. Then, as Clyde carved the roast teal, Ben
asked, “What’s the big news over to Genoa, Billy?”
Billy laughed. “Aw, Uncle Ben, you know there ain’t never
much goin’ on there, any more than here.
Was kind of an interesting poker game at the Stockade, though.”
“The Stockade Bar?” his mother
squealed. “You been drinkin’ and
gamblin’ on the Lord’s Day?”
“No, Ma,” Billy sputtered, “though I don’t
see as it’d be such a sin. John
Herring’s a year younger than me, and he was playin’.”
“Age has nothin’ to do with it,” Nelly
scolded. “It’s a sacrilege, that’s what
it is.”
“No better than I’d expect from a Mormon,”
Clyde snorted. “What you doin’ runnin’ with
such trash?”
“Bein’ Mormon don’t make him trash,” Billy
snapped.
“You been listenin’ to your Uncle Ben too
much, boy,” Clyde grunted.
“That Herring boy’s got a pretty rough
reputation, Billy,” Ben said, ignoring Clyde’s thinly veiled criticism. “Why, I’ve heard he’s been threatening to
shoot people all over the valley.”
Billy shrugged. “Yeah, I heard him do that once, but I
figured it for just talk. Anyway, he was
peaceable enough this morning, even when he lost his bridle to Elzy Knott. You know, the one that runs the sawmill.”
“And the grist mill,” Clyde added. “Knott’s a decent fellow.”
“Not if he’s gamblin’ on the Sabbath,”
Nelly insisted.
“Aw, you’re too strait-laced, Ma,” Billy
muttered as he piled his plate with mashed potatoes and ladled duck gravy over
them. “Ain’t much else to do in a town
the size of Genoa.”
“Well, at least, that Herring boy’ll think
twice about doin’ it again,” Nelly stated.
“Losing his bridle should be a good lesson to him on the dangers of
gambling.”
Billy hooted. “Some lesson!
His uncle waltzed in and said the bet was no good, ‘cause it was his
bridle and John didn’t have permission to gamble it.”
“You mean his stepfather, don’t you?” Ben
asked, a twinkle in his eye. Like
everyone else at the table, except the children, he knew that Herring had
married his brother’s widow, giving him a dual relationship to the boy.
“I hope there was no trouble, no gunplay,”
Marie observed after a brief titter circled the table at Ben’s remark.
“Naw, Elzy just gave up the bridle,” Billy
said. “Told me afterwards he figured Mr.
Herring must have needed it.”
“That Knott boy’s a considerate young
fellow,” Ben commented. “He’s always
impressed me as a hard worker and a fair dealer.”
“Boy!” Billy protested. “Why, he must be twenty-five, twenty-six
years old, Uncle Ben! Just how old does
a fellow have to be before you quit callin’ him a boy?”
“Older than you, boy,” Clyde grinned. “Older than you.”
* * * * *
Two days later, after the sun had dipped
behind the mountains edging the Ponderosa, Billy Thomas rode into the yard,
tied his horse’s reins to the hitching rail and pounded on the front door.
“You’re late,” Ben commented dryly when
Hop Sing had admitted the young man. “We
just finished dinner.”
“Do not be rude, Ben,” Marie chided, then
smiled at Billy. “I am sure Hop Sing can
prepare you a plate if you have not eaten.”
“I haven’t, but I’m not hungry, ma’am,”
Billy said twirling his hat between his hands.
Ben arched an eyebrow. Lack of appetite in Billy Thomas was a sure
sign of trouble, just as it would have been in his own boys. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.
Billy dropped his hat, then leaned over to
snatch it up from the floor and started twirling it again. Marie gently took it from his fingers and
laid it on the cabinet to the left of the front door, then stroked his arm
soothingly. “Have you come to visit or
to bring news, Billy?” she asked.
Billy bit his lip. “I come——uh——I come to invite you to a
funeral.”
As Marie uttered a sharp cry, Billy grabbed
her arms quickly. “Oh, no, ma’am,” he
assured her at once. “Not any of my
folks. Not anyone you know.”
“Who is it?” Ben demanded through tense
jaws. “Quit stammering around and speak
plain, boy.”
Billy jerked a nod at Ben. “Elzy, Elzy Knott, Uncle Ben. You’ve done business with him, but I didn’t
figure Marie knew him.”
“The young man who so kindly returned the
bridle he’d won in the poker game?” Marie asked. “You told us about him Sunday.”
“Yes, ma’am, the same one,” Billy replied.
“Not more trouble over that bridle?” Ben
queried.
“Yeah,” Billy grunted. “Don’t it beat all, Uncle Ben?”
“Sit down and tell us what you know, boy,”
Ben said, pointing toward the sofa.
Billy seemed glad to sit. “Hey, Hoss, how you doin’?” he asked of the
youngster seated by the hearth building blocks with his little brother.
“I’m doin’ good, Billy. How ‘bout you?” Hoss replied.
“It’s scarcely a time for small talk,
Billy,” Ben stated firmly.
“And it is scarcely talk for small ears,”
Marie added. “Hoss, please take Little
Joe to your room to play.”
“Aw, Ma,” Hoss protested. “I wanna hear.” He’d deliberately kept quiet until he was
spoken to in hopes his parents wouldn’t notice he was eavesdropping.
“Do as you’re told,” Ben ordered in a
voice that told Hoss no argument or disobedience would be tolerated.
Once the boys had left Ben turned to
Billy. “All right, son. What started the trouble up again? Knott have second thoughts about that bridle?”
“You might say that,” Billy said. “I can only tell what I heard, Uncle
Ben. I reckon the whole story’ll come
out at the trial.”
“Billy,” Ben said with strained patience.
“Yes, sir,” Billy said. “Well, what I heard was that after giving the bridle back, Elzy saw Herring——the uncle——well, stepfather——”
“Go on,” Ben ordered tersely.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, but this thing’s got me shook to
pieces,” Billy stammered. “I ain’t never
had to testify at a trial before.”
“You? Were you there when it happened, Billy?” Marie asked.
“No, ma’am. It’s what happened Sunday I got to give
witness to,” Billy explained.
“All you need do is tell the truth,” Ben
said. “No need to be so nervous about
that, boy.”
“Yeah, but I counted ‘em both friends,
Uncle Ben,” Billy moaned. “Now one’s
dead and the other likely to hang for shooting him. I don’t want no part of puttin’ that noose
around his neck.”
“Unless you know more than you’ve said so
far, your testimony couldn’t possibly do that,” Ben assured him.
Billy uttered an edgy laugh. “I guess I don’t know enough to do much harm
or good, do I? All I saw was that poker
game and the return of the bridle.”
“Please continue, Billy,” Marie
urged. “You said Monsieur Knott saw
Monsieur Herring.”
“Yeah, and he——the uncle——step——”
“Let’s just use uncle, son,” Ben chuckled,
“or we’ll never get to the end of this tale.”
Billy returned a lop-sided grin. “Yeah, the uncle, he was gamblin’ that bridle
hisself, and when Elzy saw that, he took it away. Said if the bridle was gonna be gambled off,
he’d already won it!”
“Well, he had a point,” Ben admitted, “but
I’m not sure it was wise to contest it.
So Herring shot Elzy over it?”
“Not the way I heard it,” Billy said. “I guess he thought Elzy was right and let
him take the bridle. That was Sunday or
Monday. I ain’t got it straight
which. It was today Elzy got shot and it
was the kid, John Herring, that did it.”
Ben was tempted to throw his hands in the
air. If it was this hard for Billy to
state a few simple facts, maybe he was right to be nervous about testifying in
a trial. “What caused the quarrel
today?” Ben pressed.
“The bridle, like I said,” Billy
declared. “Meanin’ no disrespect, Uncle
Ben, but if you’d quit interruptin’, I might could get this told.”
“I’ll try,” Ben muttered. “Go on.”
“Okay, what I heard was that this morning
John saw a young fellow that works for Elzy puttin’ the bridle on a horse and
took it away from him. Then Elzy went
after John, barged right in his house to get the bridle back and John shot
him.”
“They have young Herring in custody?” Ben
asked.
“Yeah, he took off for the hills, but he’s
been caught.”
“When is the funeral, Billy?” Marie
asked. “If Ben knew this family, we
should pay our respects, oui?”
“Yeah, that’s why I came,” Billy said, “so
you could. Pa says most everybody in the
valley’ll be there. The funeral’s
tomorrow afternoon, at the Knott place.
His pa’s mighty wrought up, said he wouldn’t have his boy buried in the Mormon
Cemetery, since it was a Mormon shot him, so he’s gonna start his own.”
“We’ll be there,” Ben said.
“You will sleep here tonight and go with
us, oui?” Marie asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Billy said, looking relieved
that his errand was accomplished. “I
brung a change of clothes so I could do just that, and, if you don’t mind, I reckon
I’ll take that plate of food now.”
* * * * *
Ben sat beside Clyde in the front row of
benches in the courtroom. The room was
starting to fill up, now that the time for the trial was near, but it had been
almost empty when they arrived. Clyde
had wanted a good seat to see his boy testify, and since the Cartwrights had
spent the night in Carson City after the funeral, it had been possible to get
to Genoa early. “Almost as big a crowd as yesterday,” Ben commented.
“Yeah, Knott was well-liked. Folks are interested in seein’ justice done,”
Clyde said.
“You think it will be?” Billy, sitting on
the other side of his father, asked.
“If they don’t load the jury with
Mormons,” Clyde grunted.
“Or vigilantes,” Ben added wryly. “Mighty hard to get a fair trial in these
parts, with so many opposing factions.”
“The Knotts don’t hold with vigilantes,”
Billy said, “and I never heard of John’s bein’ part of it.”
“His uncle’s connected to ‘em,” Clyde
mumbled. “Now, that’s the last I want to
hear of such talk, at least in public.”
“Yes, sir, Pa,” Billy said quickly. He knew his father was warning him that it
wasn’t safe to voice your opinions too strongly, when the man sitting next to
you might take the opposite side and be all too willing to shoot you for disagreeing
with him. Billy figured he had enough to
be nervous about, just being a witness in this trial, without riling his father
or, worse, some vigilante in the process.
Billy was one of the first witnesses to
testify, and the look of relief as he left the stand was evident to all. Ben clasped the boy’s hand as he moved past
him to take his place beside his father again.
Clyde nudged his son’s leg with his knee and gave him a nod of
approval. Ben couldn’t help thinking,
however, that it was a good thing the prosecutor had kept the questions short
and simple or they might have been listening to Billy’s rambling testimony ‘til
past noon. Even with expert questioning,
the trial hadn’t covered much ground by the time it adjourned for the midday
meal.
“You want to eat at Singleton’s?” Ben
asked as they exited the courtroom. “My
treat.”
“Good as any,” Clyde said, “though with
provisions as short as they’ve been, we’ll be lucky to get more than bread and
beans.” Not many freight wagons had made
it over the Sierras yet, and everyone’s supplies were running low.
“At least, that colored cook of his does a
good job with ‘em,” Billy said with a grin, “and I’m half-starved.”
“The usual result of skipping your
breakfast, young fellow,” Ben teased. Nervous
about his testimony, Billy hadn’t wanted to chance filling his belly with
fatback and biscuits.
The dining room of Singleton’s Hotel was
crowded, so the trio had to wait for a table.
By the time the food arrived, Billy was not the only one ready to wolf
it down. As predicted, the best the menu
had to offer was brown beans and cornbread, but the beans were seasoned
flavorfully and the cornbread was moist and tender.
“You plan to stay for the afternoon
session, Ben?” Clyde asked as he crumbled cornbread into his beans.
Ben chuckled before answering. Ostensibly, his reason for being there this
morning was to lend moral support to his young “nephew.” That reason no longer applied, since Billy’s
testimony had ended, but Ben had to admit he had a certain curiosity to see how
the trial ended. “Oh, I might as well,”
he said casually. “By the time I
collected my family and got back to the Ponderosa, the best part of the working
day would be over. How about you?”
“Well, Billy here wants to stay,” Clyde
said, “seein’ as how he was friends to that Herring boy.”
Ben’s lips twitched. Clyde wasn’t fooling him: he wasn’t staying
just for Billy’s sake; Clyde was curious himself.
“Elzy was my friend, too,” Billy insisted.
“Kind of old for you, wasn’t he?” Ben
twitted. “A man of twenty-six?”
“Well, we weren’t close——and I ain’t tight
with John, either, for that matter——but you know how it is, Uncle Ben. You see someone day in, day out and you feel
like they’re part of you. Then,
suddenly, they’re gone, and even if you weren’t close——”
“I understand, Billy,” Ben smiled. “I think we’d all be better off if we felt
that kind of kinship with our fellow man.”
They finished the meal and hurried back to
the courtroom, just as the trial reconvened.
Though they weren’t back in time to get a good seat, they had no trouble
following the testimony, for the room was small. The prosecutor was slow to elicit the facts,
however, and court adjourned that afternoon with nothing more established than
that Herring had taken the bridle back from Knott’s employee.
“Might as well stay over and see how it
ends,” Clyde suggested as they arrived back at Carson City. “Be dark by the time you got to the
Ponderosa.”
“I should get back,” Ben said. “We need to get our garden in.”
“Ah, it’ll keep,” Clyde urged. “Ain’t hardly warm enough yet to think of
plantin’.”
“You tempter,” Ben laughed. “Are you sure you’re not just using me for an
excuse to get out of work yourself?”
Clyde grinned. “Never claimed otherwise. How ‘bout it?”
“I’ll leave it up to Marie,” Ben said.
“You’ll be stayin’ then,” Billy
predicted. “She don’t get that many
chances to pay long visits.”
Ben guffawed. “Well, we wouldn’t want to deprive the ladies
of their chance to socialize, would we, Billy?”
“Be downright unchivalrous,” Billy
declared with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
Marie was more than willing to extend her
visit to Carson City, while the boys were positively delighted. “I don’t never get enough time to play with
Jimmy,” Hoss declared.
Leaving the others to their chosen
amusements, Ben, Clyde and Billy returned to Genoa the next morning. Again the prosecutor built his case slowly,
questioning first the youngster employed by the Knotts as to what he had told
young Knott about Herring’s actions and the attitude with which Elzy Knott had
received the news.
The most painful testimony of the morning
was given by Thomas Knott, Elzy’s father.
“The reason me and my younger son went to Herring’s house with Elzy was
to see the boys settled their differences peaceably,” Knott stated, “but that
hot-headed Mormon just up and shot my boy!”
The grief-stricken father broke down, weeping, and a recess was called
to give him time to recover his equilibrium.
Back on the stand, Knott described
entering the Herring household and asking to speak with John. “The boy’s mother told us he was in the back
room, armed, threatening to shoot anyone who opened the door,” Knott
testified. “I told Elzy to let it go,
but he said he’d have that bridle or lose his life. And that’s just what he did——over a
bridle!” Again, the elderly Knott broke
down. Again, a brief recess was called.
“Against my advice, Elzy opened that
door,” Knott said when the trial resumed, “and just like he’d threatened,
Herring shot first and asked questions later.
Why, it could have been his own mother opening that door, but Herring
didn’t care! The bullet tore through my
boy’s cheek and he fell down, bleeding out on the floor. My boy died there, before my eyes, before his
younger brother, who’d just got in from back east. Hadn’t had a week together when——when——”
It was obvious to all that Knott had taken
all he could, so the judge suggested dismissing early for lunch and conducting
the cross-examination afterwards. “They
ain’t gonna finish today even, at this rate,” Clyde grumbled as they again
headed for Singleton’s to eat.
“Yeah, we haven’t even heard from
Herring’s family yet,” Ben sighed. “I
don’t think I can give another day to this.
If I hadn’t promised Marie and the boys they could have today to visit,
I’d head home this afternoon.”
“Can’t last much longer,” Billy said. “Not much happened after Elzy was shot.”
Ben laughed gruffly. “Boy, you have no idea how a pair of lawyers
can stretch out ‘not much.’”
The lawyers ably proved Ben’s point that
afternoon. Little new information was
elicited, although several other witnesses were examined, including Elzy
Knott’s wife, although she hadn’t seen the shooting at all. Mrs. Knott had been summoned to the Herring
house immediately after the shooting and had thrown herself on her young
husband’s body, severely lacerating her hand on the bone fragments pushing out
through his cheek. Though it had little
bearing on Herring’s guilt or innocence, her testimony was the kind that
stirred the emotions of the courtroom and made Ben wonder if young Herring
might be found guilty, in spite of the jury box packed with vigilante-friendly
members.
The case finished that afternoon, but as
the hour was late, the jury’s deliberations were held over for the next
morning. Ben decided he’d give them
until noon to reach a decision. “We’re
leaving after lunch,” he told his family, “verdict or no verdict. I’ve neglected the Ponderosa long enough.”
Compared to the trial itself, however, the
jury’s deliberations were strikingly brief.
In little over an hour, fleet-footed young men, Billy among them, were
racing through the streets of Genoa yelling that the jury was in. Everyone interested, and that was almost
everyone in town, ran to the courtroom.
Not everyone managed to squeeze in, but Ben and the two Thomases did.
The foreman of the jury delivered the
verdict and the judge read it: not
guilty. The crowd milling Main Street
afterwards seemed divided in its opinion of whether justice had been done. While Elzy Knott had not appeared to intend
violence against Herring, he had entered the Herring house uninvited, and many
felt that he had incurred the predictable penalty for invading the privacy of
another’s home. Others declared this was
just another case of vigilantes protecting their own, regardless of what was
right.
Not long afterwards a copy of the Valley Tan, a Salt Lake City newspaper
independent of Mormon interest, reached Genoa, and one of its prominent
articles increased the feeling that justice in Utah Territory would always be bridled by special
interests. In it, Judge John
Cradlebaugh, after a futile attempt to indict those he held responsible for the
Mountain Meadows Massacre, charged that it was impossible to mete out justice
to the criminal in Utah and accused the Legislature of enacting laws for the
express purpose of protecting the guilty.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
|
A |
s the days warmed,
the grass aimed its blades at the nourishing sun, and Ben Cartwright decided to
move his herd to better pasture. The
cattle had come through the winter well, and with a few weeks’ fattening, some
should be ready to market. As he rode
through the herd, Ben evaluated the stock according to their readiness for
sale. Though he didn’t plan to take many
over the Sierras this spring, he would, at least, drive a few to Placerville
when his family headed there to attend Enos and Katerina’s wedding and to
escort Mark and Mary Wentworth back to the Ponderosa for a visit.
Ben felt he was keeping faith with his second wife in welcoming the Wentworths to his home, and the thought warmed his heart. Even before their arrival, however, the Ponderosa was to serve as the refuge Inger Borgstrom Cartwright had envisioned. Ironically, the threat was the same one that had sparked her dream back in St. Joseph.
The
Cartwrights first became aware of the trouble in Carson City when Billy Thomas
drove up late one evening in April in a buckboard with his sister Inger. “Howdy, folks. Am I in time for dinner?” the irrepressible
redhead asked, sweeping off his slouch hat when Hop Sing ushered the two
youngsters into the dining room.
Ben and Marie both stood from their places at the table, and Marie greeted the little girl with a hug and a kiss. “Mais oui. Hop Sing was just ready to serve dessert, but we can have him fill plates for you both.”
“Sounds good,” Billy grinned.
“Like Ma didn’t feed us before we left!”
his little sister muttered irritably.
Billy shrugged. “I can always eat.”
“Me, too,” Hoss agreed cheerily.
Ben chuckled, then turned to the Chinese
cook. “Prepare a plate for young Mr.
Thomas, please, Hop Sing.”
“Little girl, too?” Hop Sing asked.
Inger shook her head. “I ain’t hungry.”
“You gotta have dessert, anyway,” Hoss
declared. “We’re havin’ poppy seed
cake.”
“Cake good,” Little Joe added, having had
a piece at noon.
Inger shook her head, but pulled out a
chair and sat down next to her brother.
“It is good to see you children,” Marie
said tentatively, “but it is late for you to come alone. Is something wrong at home?”
“Sort of,” Billy mumbled, reaching for a
yeast roll although he as yet had no plate to put it on.
“Yes!” Inger snapped indignantly.
“What is it, Billy?” Ben demanded. “And no more beating around the bush. You know if your folks need help——”
“They don’t,” Billy said quickly, taking a
plate of roast beef, potatoes and carrots from the Chinese cook. “That is, except for a favor they sent me to
ask.”
“Mais
oui,” Marie said at once. “We will
be most glad to do whatever they ask.”
Billy snickered. “Don’t be so quick to speak up, ma’am. What Ma wants is for you to take care of this
nuisance for a few days.” He hooked a
stubby thumb toward Inger as he shoveled potatoes in with the other hand.
“I’m not a nuisance!” Inger snapped, then
started to cry.
“Of course you are not,” Marie soothed as
she knelt beside the distraught child.
“You are a most welcome guest.”
“Billy, I said no beating around the
bush,” Ben said bluntly.
“Yes, sir,” Billy said, suddenly serious. “Ain’t no real problem yet, at least not for
us, but when Ma heard there was cholera in town, she got to frettin’.”
“Cholera!” Marie cried. “Oh, no!”
“Are you sure?” Ben asked hoarsely.
“Yeah, Sally told me,” Billy replied,
slicing off a piece of beef. “Just a few
cases, her pa says, but you know how Ma is where cholera’s concerned.”
Ben nodded. Having lost one child to the disease, it was
no wonder Nelly wanted to send her precious daughter as far from danger as
possible. “You and your folks are
welcome to stay here, too, ‘til the threat’s past,” Ben suggested.
Billy sopped his meat in the gravy on his
plate. “Naw, Pa’s busy at the trading
post, and Ma says she ain’t afraid for herself.
We figure, her and me, that we ain’t likely to get it since we had it
before.”
“But, Billy, you might as well stay here,”
Ben countered.
“And have somebody jump my claim?” Billy
hooted. “No thanks.”
“Don’t tell me you finally talked your
folks into lettin’ you go minin’,” Hoss cackled.
“Yup, and my claim’s showin’ some good
color, so I reckon I’ll stick close to it,” Billy reported, polishing off the
last bite on his plate. “Now, how ‘bout
that poppy seed cake?”
* * * * *
Ben nuzzled his wife’s cheek as they lay
side by side in their rosewood four-poster, but Marie did not respond with her
usual ready passion. She allowed Ben to
hold her and stroke her, but instead of returning his kisses, she merely lay in
his arms and trembled. “What is it,
dearest?” Ben whispered.
Marie turned an anxious face to him. “B—Ben, you do not think Inger is ill, do
you, that——that she already has the cholera?”
“No, I don’t,” Ben said, perplexed. “Nelly wouldn’t have sent her here if she’d
shown any signs of the disease.”
“She did not act like herself tonight,”
Marie murmured.
“Oh, that,” Ben replied lightly. “She’s upset about being sent away from home,
I suppose——maybe worried about her folks.”
“I hope that is all it is,” Marie
whispered, still trembling.
“Surely, you don’t want to turn the little
girl away,” Ben said, disturbed.
“No, no, we cannot do that,” Marie
replied. “I—I just do not want any harm
to come to—to——”
Ben smiled, at last understanding. “To your baby,” he said.
“To both our sons,” Marie corrected, “but
Little Joe is so small, Ben, that I worry.”
“You shouldn’t,” Ben soothed, holding her
closer. “He’s small, but sturdy. Marie, my love, you have got to get over this
constant concern for that child. It’s
needless.”
“Do not mock my fears, Ben,” Marie begged,
keeping her voice low to avoid waking the baby in the next room. “You have never lost a child.”
The words stabbed Ben’s heart. As if he hadn’t known abundant loss in his
own life! The deaths of his parents,
then Elizabeth and Inger. Still, the
thought of losing one of his boys was agonizing. He took Marie’s slender hand. “This isn’t yellow fever, dearest.”
“Oh, and cholera does not kill?” Marie
asked hotly.
Ben laid his hand across her lips to
remind her to lower her voice. “Yes, of
course, it does, but just because you lost one child to yellow fever does not
mean you will lose another to cholera.
That’s superstition, Marie, and you really must not give in to it.”
“I told you once that death follows me,”
Marie wept, burying her head against his chest.
With his fingertips Ben raised her chin
and gazed consolingly into her shimmering eyes.
“And then I told you that was in the past, that there was life ahead for
us, remember? Have I been wrong?”
Marie smiled weakly. “Oh, no, Ben.
With you I have known only life.”
“Then, relax,” he urged. “I’m sure there’s nothing worse than
homesickness afflicting our little guest, but if Inger’s in any danger, it’ll
show up in the next day or two and we’ll isolate her. I really think you’re worrying over nothing,
though. Try to sleep, my love.” He pulled her head onto his shoulder and
stroked the golden head until her breathing grew more regular.
* * * * *
“How come I gotta do lessons when I got
company?” Hoss whined.
“If you wish to have your summer free, you
must do your work now,” Marie explained patiently. “You know we leave for Placerville next
month, so we cannot afford to miss a day.
Besides, Inger can study with you.”
Inger frowned. If anything, she was less successful with books
than Hoss, for Nelly wasn’t as diligent about regular lesson time as
Marie. She tended to give more attention
to her daughter’s domestic education, feeling that was what a girl child needed
most. “I’m not too good at this,” the
little girl muttered as she knelt next to Hoss at the low table before the
fire.
“Me help,” Little Joe offered, squeezing
in between the other two children and patting the open book they would share..
Marie pulled him away quickly. “No,” she said, with more sharpness than usual. “You play over here.” She placed the toddler a good distance away
from the others. Little Joe started to
protest. “Oh, don’t cry, mon petit,” Marie murmured. “Here is bun-bun and your seal, your blocks
and your ball. Now play quietly while
Hoss and Inger study.”
“Me play HaHa, Inggy,” Little Joe
whimpered.
“No, you play here, with your toys,” Marie
said firmly and walked away to begin teaching her small class.
Little Joe wasn’t used to being denied
what he wanted, however, so he promptly pushed up and headed for the
table. This time he sat beside Inger and
smiled beatifically up at his mother.
Inger giggled.
“It is not funny,” Marie said, picking up
the child once more.
Hoss and Inger exchanged an amused glance
and bit their lips to keep their laughter contained. Anything that interfered with the hated
lessons was funny to them.
That morning Little Joe demonstrated that
he had either inherited or absorbed the characteristic Cartwright stubbornness,
for nothing, not even receiving his first-ever spanking from his doting mother,
discouraged his efforts to join the class.
Marie finally burst into tears and sent the two older children outside
to play, while she held the wailing youngest, who couldn’t understand why he
couldn’t go with the others.
The other children couldn’t understand,
either. “What’s wrong with your ma?”
Inger quizzed as soon as she and Hoss were alone.
“I dunno,” Hoss muttered, brow
creasing. “She always lets Little Joe
come out with me, and I ain’t never seen her swat him.”
Inside, Marie laid her tear-streaked cheek
against the baby’s equally damp one, and rocked her indignant child back and
forth on her lap. “Don’t you understand
I am trying to keep you safe?” she moaned, then shook her head. How could Little Joe possibly
understand? He knew nothing of the
dangers of disease, nothing of how fragile life could be.
Finally, Marie wiped her cheeks dry and
kissed her still-whimpering child.
“There now, mon petit, Mama is
sorry to make you sad. Your papa was
right to scold me last night. I am being
superstitious and making everyone miserable.”
She carried Little Joe outside and handed him to Hoss. “Play,” she said.
Little Joe gave a cry of delight and flung
his arms around Hoss’s neck.
“Okay, Mama,” Hoss said, face screwing up
in thought. “You okay, Mama?”
Marie took a deep breath and lied. “Oui,
I am fine. You may play outside another
half hour, then we will try again with your lessons. If you study hard, I will ask Hop Sing to let
us use the kitchen to bake gingercakes this afternoon.”
“Ooh, that’ll be fun!” Inger cried with
the brightest grin she’d shown since her arrival the night before.
Marie smiled and gently touched the girl’s
soft cheek. This child had more cause to
worry than she, and Marie resolved from that moment to forget her own concerns
by alleviating those of the little girl separated from her family. I wish
I could be more like your namesake, she thought. To that
Inger, all this would come naturally, I know. Though she didn’t realize it, however,
Marie’s heart, wounded by a tortured past, was beginning to open, and as she
matured, she was becoming more like that sacred memory of Hoss’s mother than
she could have imagined.
Though several residents of Carson City
died of cholera that spring, the Thomases were spared. Little Inger remained at the Ponderosa for
three weeks, until her mother was certain no one in town was showing signs of
cholera. When she left, she threw her
arms around Marie. “I want to come back
sometime,” she declared earnestly. “You
bake fancier stuff than Ma, and it’s fun!”
Marie kissed her cheek warmly. “You will be welcome anytime. Perhaps you can stay a week while Mary is
here, and we will have an all-girls’ party.”
“Hey, how ‘bout me?” Hoss protested. “I like makin’ cookies, too.”
“You can be our taster,” Inger
giggled. “That’s the part of bakin’ you
like, Hoss.” Unable to deny the obvious,
Hoss grinned, satisfied that he’d partake of the best part of the fun this
summer.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
|
W |
ith the beginning
of May, Marie marshaled her troops to finish planting the garden. Next to the onions, potatoes and other
vegetables planted late in April, she, Hop Sing and Hoss (with Little Joe’s
dubious help) sowed cucumbers, melons, pumpkins and beans, as well as herbs
such as sage, thyme, mint and mustard.
Everything had to be done by the end of the first week, in preparation
for the family’s departure the next Tuesday.
On Sunday, the eighth of May, the
Cartwrights and Thomases dined in their own homes, rather than sharing a
meal. They would, after all, being
seeing plenty of each other over the next week or so. Marie and Nelly planned to meet the next day
at the Montgomery cabin to give it a final sprucing, then the following day
they would all leave for Placerville.
Although
the Cartwrights were not expecting company that afternoon, a knock sounded at
the door of the Ponderosa ranch house, and Hop Sing scurried to answer it. Ben rose from his armchair at once and strode
to welcome Frederick Dodge with a warm handshake. “Haven’t seen you since Christmas Eve, my
boy,” he said. “That’s much too long.”
“Indeed,” the federal Indian agent
replied, “and I wish this visit could be as pleasant as that evening.”
Ben caught the sober tone in Dodge’s voice
and at once offered him a seat on the sofa.
“Is there a problem? Anything I
can help with?”
“Yes, to both questions,” Dodge said
softly. “Perhaps, the children——”
Marie caught the hint. “Hoss, it is time for Little Joe’s nap. Would you take him upstairs and read him a
nice, long story?”
“Yeah, okay,” Hoss muttered. I may
not be the brightest kid in the world, he sighed, but I know when someone’s tryin’ to get shed of me.”
Once the two boys had disappeared, Dodge
leaned forward. “There’s been a murder,
Cartwright——or a massacre, depending on whom you talk to.”
“Massacre!” Marie cried, growing pale.
“Who’s been killed?” Ben asked.
“I think you know at least one of the
victims,” Dodge replied. “Peter Lassen.”
“Of course,” Ben said, his face
grave. Though he wasn’t well acquainted
with the old Danish settler, everyone had heard of the Lassen Cutoff through
the Black Rock Desert. Many, Ben’s
brother among them, cursed the day they’d decided to take it. Not only did the so-called short-cut add so
many miles to the journey that it was commonly referred to as Lassen’s Horn
Route, it also led through some of the most dry, desolate country the emigrants
had ever encountered. Lassen, however, had
proven himself a friend to the Paiutes, and Ben respected him for that.
“Lassen, Lemericus Wyatt and a young
fellow called Edward Clapper set out from Susanville to take supplies to
William Weatherlow’s party,” Dodge related.
“I know Captain Weatherlow,” Ben
said. “He’s not——”
“I don’t know,” Dodge said, anticipating
Ben’s question. “A relief party was sent
out, but hadn’t returned by the time the message was sent to me. All I know is that Lassen and Clapper are
dead.”
“Wyatt escaped?”
Dodge nodded. “Yes, in bad shape from what I hear. Not injured.
Just the rigors of the ride. A
man of his age——he’s past sixty, I’m told——finds it pretty rough running for
his life on an unsaddled horse with nothing but a picket rope to hang onto.”
Ben grunted his agreement. Though little more than half Wyatt’s reported
age, he knew he’d find such a ride a rugged experience.
“You mentioned a massacre,” Marie
quavered. “Did this Monsieur Wyatt
accuse the Indians?”
“I don’t what he said, ma’am,” Dodge
answered, “or whether he was in any condition to say anything. There are people accusing the Paiutes,
though, so I need to investigate.”
Ben shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. The Paiutes and Lassen got along well. Winnemucca’s nephew Numaga even helped him
and the Honey Lake settlers fight off an invasion by the Pit River Indians.”
“I agree,” Dodge said sharply. “I personally suspect the Mormons.”
“No proof of that, either,” Ben
argued. “As you say, you need to get the
facts.”
Dodge leaned forward, hands on his
knees. “That’s why I’m here.. I need to talk to Wyatt and the relief party
and, of course, Numaga. That’s where you
come in, Cartwright. I may need an
interpreter.”
“Walter Wasson?” Ben suggested. “He lives up that way.”
“True, but he may not be available,” Dodge
said, “and, frankly, as hot as the town is, I’d welcome two sane voices I could
count on.”
“Of course,” Ben agreed at once.
“But, Ben,” Marie protested, laying a
trembling hand on his arm. “We are to
leave for Placerville day after tomorrow.
You cannot possibly return from Honey Lake by then.”
Ben put his arm around her. “No, you’ll have to go on without me.”
“Oh, Ben, no,” she objected.
“I’m sorry if I’m causing a problem,”
Dodge said quietly, “but if the Indians are to blame, or even if they’re only
believed to be, this whole territory could erupt. I consider the situation grave, Mrs. Cartwright.”
“So do I,” Ben said solemnly. “Marie, I will do my best to be in
Placerville by the fifteenth, but this must take precedence. I can scarcely bring Ebenezer’s children here
for the summer if we’re going to be in the midst of an Indian war.”
The suggestion of warfare made Marie
tremble all the more, as she suddenly began to fear for her own children. “Yes, I will take the boys to Placerville, as
planned,” she whispered. “They will be
safe there, and, Ben——you will be careful?”
Ben took her face between his hands. “I will be careful. Don’t fret, my love. Hopefully, we’ll settle this quickly, and
I’ll be standing at your side when Enos and Katerina exchange their vows.”
Marie nodded, giving him a weak
smile. “I will pack your things at
once.”
“My suit, too,” Ben suggested. “I won’t have time to stop by home.”
* * * * *
When he heard horses outside, Little Joe
charged out of what would soon become the Montgomery cabin. “Aunt Nelwy!” he cried happily. “Inggy!”
Marie came storming after him. “Little Joe, come back here,” she demanded,
then whirled on Hoss, who had followed her outside. “I told you to watch him!”
“I am watching him,” Hoss insisted, “but
he’s fast, Mama.”
Nelly scooped the toddler up and planted
kisses on both cheeks. “Now, Marie, he’s
just bein’ friendly.”
“Mama’s in a bad mood,” Hoss whispered to
Inger when she jumped off the wagon.
Marie’s cheeks flamed. “I heard that, Hoss,” she informed him, palms
planted on her hips, “and if you do not wish to see what a truly bad mood I am
in, you will watch your little brother while we work.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hoss muttered. “Come on, Inger.”
“I’m helping in the house,” Inger
announced loftily. “You play with the
baby.”
Nelly laughed at Hoss’s clouded
countenance as she handed Little Joe to him.
“Here you go, Sunshine, though you’re not livin’ up to that name today.”
Hoss broke into a grin then and, hefting
Little Joe over his shoulder, headed toward the creek.
“Hoss, don’t go in the water,” Marie
chided. “It’s chilly for this time of
year, and I don’t want you or Little Joe catching cold.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hoss sighed, wondering what
in the world he was supposed to do to entertain his little brother until the
ladies’ work was done.
“Lands, honey lamb, you are in a mood,”
Nelly commented. “No need to fret
yourself so; we’ll get the cabin ready in time.”
Marie clenched her fists until the
knuckles turned white. “I am not worried
about that. It is Ben that worries me.”
“Men are a bother, all right,” Nelly
chuckled while she unloaded the buckboard.
“What’s Ben up to this time?”
“Riding into an Indian war!” Marie
sputtered.
Nelly dropped the package of curtains and
spun around. “What are you sayin’,
girl? We ain’t had no trouble with
injuns.”
Marie quickly described Frederick Dodge’s
visit the previous day. “Ben left with
him at once, and he expects me to just go on to Placerville without him!”
“You won’t be alone,” Nelly soothed. “You’ll be with us.”
“But not Ben!” Marie ranted, then
choked. “He——he may be in danger,
Nelly.”
Nelly stroked the younger woman’s
arm. “Ben can take care of himself. Besides, we don’t know it was Paiutes
murdered them folks.”
Marie took a deep breath. “Monsieur Dodge thinks it was Mormons.”
Nelly laughed. “Well, my Clyde would be quick to agree with
that! Come on, honey lamb, we got plenty
of work to occupy our minds today. Don’t
the Bible say to think on things that are good and pleasant.”
Marie smiled. Having been reared in a convent, she could
have quoted the verse more accurately, but she didn’t wish to embarrass the
less learned woman. “Oui, something like that,” she said.
“Let’s do it, then,” Nelly advised. “Think about how Katerina’s gonna love her
new home. Now, let’s get to sprucin’!”
Marie laughed then. “I’ve started sweeping. Only the front room remains.”
“Inger can do that,” Nelly said, “while we
hang the curtains. She’s a good hand at
sweepin’, aren’t you, sugar pie?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Inger replied, proud of the
compliment.
Just then Little Joe rounded the corner of
the cabin to clutch at Inger’s skirt.
Hoss came puffing after him. “I’m
tryin’, honest I am,” he panted defensively.
“Well, try harder,” Inger scolded. “We got work to do.”
“Wanna play house, Inggy?” Little Joe
suggested. He pointed to the cabin. “See?
Big house.”
Marie laughed. “He became most fond of that game while Inger
stayed with us.” She removed Inger’s
skirt from the toddler’s clutching fingers.
“We are not playing house today, mon
petit; we are making a real house.”
“Me help,” Little Joe offered with a bright smile.
“Hoss,” Marie pleaded.
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll try,” Hoss said, taking
Little Joe by the hand. “Come on,
Punkin. Let’s see if we can find some
squirrels.”
“Swirwy?
Okay,” Little Joe conceded and began to pull Hoss toward the woods.
“Good thing they distract easy at that
age,” Nelly chuckled. “Let’s get to
work.”
“While we have a chance,” Inger giggled.
When the two boys entered the woods,
Little Joe broke free and trotted ahead.
“Swirwy! Here, swirwy!” he called
to the trees.
Hoss grabbed his hand again. “You stay with me,” he scolded, “and quit
that yellin’. You’ll scare off every
squirrel in twenty miles.”
Little Joe nodded and walked quietly by
his brother for a few minutes. Then he
stooped to scoop a handful of acorns from the ground. “Lookee, HaHa——nuts!”
Hoss laughed. “Them ain’t nuts, they’re acorns. Squirrels eat ‘em, though; Indians, too.”
“Swirwy nuts!” Little Joe insisted.
“Yeah, guess so,” Hoss conceded. “Let’s sit down awhile.” Little Joe seemed agreeable so the two brothers
flopped side by side beneath a towering oak.
“Maybe a squirrel will come by if we’re real quiet,” Hoss suggested.
Little Joe was rarely quiet for long, but
his voice was not the first the break the silence. Above them a sharp trill sounded. Looking up, Hoss pointed at the bird perched
in a nearby pine. “You remember what
kind of bird that is, Little Joe? I told
you last week.”
“Blue jay,” Little Joe chirped readily.
Hoss ruffled the younger boy’s golden
brown hair. “That’s right. You’re a smart little whippersnapper, ain’t
you?”
Little Joe was about to agree when Hoss
clamped a hand over his mouth. “Look,
it’s a squirrel,” he whispered. “Maybe,
if we’re real quiet, I can coax him over.”
Hoss held out a handful of acorns and
whistled softly. The squirrel eyed the
acorns with desire, his dark eyes furtively flickering this way and that. He crept a step closer, then another, and
finally drew near enough for Hoss to pick him up. At first the wild animal reacted with fear,
but gradually his trembling body quieted under the gentle boy’s touch.
Little Joe reached out to stroke the
squirrel’s soft gray back. “Go easy,”
Hoss cautioned.
“Me hold,” Little Joe pleaded.
“Okay, but be real easy.” He handed the squirrel to his little brother.
Little Joe’s arms closed tightly around
the squirrel. The animal reacted with a
sharp cry and slashing claws. Little Joe
turned the animal loose and began to bawl.
“Aw, you ain’t hurt, are you?” Hoss asked,
carefully examining his brother’s arm.
“It’s just a scratch, nothing to cry about. What’d you squeeze him so tight for?”
“Love swirwy,” Little Joe sobbed. “Hug.”
Hoss laughed. “How’d you like me to hug you that tight,
huh?”
“Like!” Little Joe claimed, his lower lip
protruding.
“Oh, yeah?
Well, let’s see,” Hoss snickered, engulfing the little boy in a bear
hug. “You like that, do you?”
Little Joe began to cackle with glee. “More, more!”
Hoss guffawed. “I’ll break you in half if I hug more, you
silly thing.” He looked at the sun
peeking through the trees. “Hey, it’s
gettin’ on toward noon, Little Joe. We
better head back and see if they’re ready to spread out the food yet.”
“Hungwy,” Little Joe agreed. “Eat, HaHa.”
“Hoss,” the older boy corrected as he
helped the younger to his feet. “You’re
talkin’ good enough now to say it right.”
Little Joe shook his head vigorously. “HaHa,” he insisted.
Hoss rolled his eyes. “You learn what you want to learn, don’t you,
Punkin? Well, we’ll work on it.”
The sun stood directly overhead when the
boys reached the cabin. “Hey, Mama,
ain’t it about time to eat?” Hoss asked as they entered.
“Eat, Mama,” Little Joe smiled, certain
she wouldn’t refuse him.
“Now, you younguns can wait a bit,” Nelly
chided. “We’ve just about got things set
to rights.”
“You sure do,” Hoss said. “The old cabin never looked so fancy!”
Marie laughed, remembering her first disheartening
look at this cabin when, as newlyweds, she and Ben had returned from New
Orleans. Though the cabin’s furnishings
were still simple, they were, indeed, “fancy” by comparison. Yellow calico curtains graced the spotless
kitchen windows and elegant, white lace ones the simple parlor, Ben and Marie’s
old bedroom. So far, the parlor held
only a rocking chair and round occasional table, both crafted by Clyde Thomas,
but Enos had sent Katerina the money to purchase any sofa she wanted. She’d written back that Lawrence Larrimore
had refused her money, insisting the sofa be his gift to them. That and a large package addressed to Mrs.
Cartwright were waiting in Placerville.
Marie couldn’t wait to see the expression on Ben’s face when he uncrated
it.
“Hoss,
please bring the bedding from our buckboard,” Marie requested, “then you may
spread the picnic. We will join you
shortly.”
Hoss cheerfully carried the bedding into
the back bedroom, then with an even brighter countenance ran outside to unpack
the picnic basket. Little Joe tagged
behind him like a faithful puppy.
The two women, assisted by Inger, made the
bed with crisp, new muslin sheets and down-filled pillows in snowy cases, then
covered it with a colorful patchwork quilt.
While Marie had sewn the bedding and made the pillows, the quilt was a
gift from the larger community. Though
she had never met Katerina Zuebner, Laura Ellis had insisted they hold a
quilting bee in her home and had invited every woman in Carson City. Young girls like Sally Martin and the
Winnemucca girls had come, as well, and even little Inger had taken a few
stitches.
“Curtains turned out real pretty,” Nelly
said as they stood back to admire the room.
“Making them match the blue band of the quilt pulls everything together,
and that lace you tatted on the edges sure sets ‘em off, Marie.”
“Oui,”
Marie smiled. “The good sisters taught
me well.”
Nelly flinched momentarily. Having been raised to believe that all
Catholics had one foot in hell, she didn’t like being reminded that Marie was a
Papist. Out here, of course, where there
were no churches anyway, there weren’t any idols to bow down to, and Marie
seemed a god-fearing sort, even if she had been reared in a false faith. She was right about one thing, anyway: whatever else those nuns might have been,
they were good teachers.
Nelly hooked an arm through the younger
woman’s elbow. “We’ve done all we can
here. Let’s get on outside. If Little Joe’s helpin’ spread that picnic,
like I figure, we may have to scrape my apple pie off the tablecloth.
“Don’t worry about that,” Inger
giggled. “Hoss ain’t likely to let that
baby near the apple pie!”
The ladies laughed and went out to find a neatly spread lunch waiting for them. After a relaxed meal, they separated, each having a number of last-minute preparations to make for their trip on the morrow. The work and the fun had effectively taken Marie’s mind off the difficulties into which Ben might be riding. As she lay alone in bed that night, however, her fingers tightened on the corner of his pillow slip, and it was late before she fell asleep.
* * * * *
The streets of Susanville roiled with
heated accusations when Ben and the Indian agent rode into town. “What you gonna do about them murdering
savages?” a grizzle-bearded rancher demanded of Dodge moments after they
dismounted.
“We’ll all be slaughtered in our beds!” a
hysterical woman cried.
Dodge raised both hands to gain the
attention of the crowd. “Mr. Cartwright
and I have just come from the Paiute encampment on Smoke River. Numaga, whom you know as Young Winnemucca,
denies having anything to do with the deaths of Lassen and Clapper.”
“What’d you expect him to say?” another
rancher shouted. “That he killed ‘em in
cold blood?”
“Gentlemen, please,” Dodge pleaded. “We’re here to ascertain the facts. I need to speak to anyone who has direct
knowledge of the incident. Is Mr. Wyatt
here? Has the relief party returned?”
A man of imposing stature stepped
forward. “I am William Weatherlow,
sir. With the relief party that came to
my assistance, I investigated the sight of the murders and will be pleased to
offer what testimony I can.”
Dodge nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Weatherlow. If you could assemble any others with pertinent
information, I would like to meet you as soon as possible.”
“We’re all here,” another man said, “and
the saloon’s open.”
Dodge, Cartwright, Weatherlow and five
others entered the saloon, taking seats at adjoining tables. The streetmongers drifted in after them,
settling into chairs around the room.
One aspiring author took out paper and pencil, intending to send a
report to the Territorial Enterprise.
“The men have asked me to act as their
spokesman,” Weatherlow said, “but you’re free to question any of the others if
you need confirmation.”
“I’m sure they’ll speak up if they have
anything to add,” Ben commented, and murmurs of agreement circled the group.
“As I said outside,” Weatherlow began
after introducing the others, “when the relief party told us what had taken
place, we proceeded to Lassen’s campsite.
We found his body and that of Edward Clapper and buried them
immediately.”
“Them bodies was ripe,” another man
muttered.
“Yup, weren’t no stayin’ in camp ‘til they
was planted,” another offered.
Dodge nodded. “Did you examine the scene after the
burials?”
“We did,” Weatherlow replied, “but found
no clues to identify the killers.
Footprints and hoofprints of all kinds——boots and moccasins, horses shod and unshod, but some of the tracks
looked quite old. The supplies were
still there, untouched.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “Indians on a raid wouldn’t leave food or any
other useful gear behind.”
Weatherlow’s eyes narrowed as he glanced
at Ben. “Not their usual way,” he
admitted, almost reluctantly. Ben cocked
his head to examine Weatherlow, trying to figure why so reasonable a man seemed
to want to blame the Indians.
Dodge nodded. “It certainly seems unlike the behavior of
Indians who, basically, live by scavenging.
Mr. Wyatt, you were the only actual witness to this attack. Were the attackers Indians or not?”
Wyatt shook his head. “Can’t say.
Everything happened so fast. I
woke up to the sound of shots and a heap of hootin’ and hollerin’. Couldn’t see clear ‘cause a frosty haze was
hanging low, and I didn’t aim to make myself a target. I ran for the horses fast as my old legs
would carry me, grabbed the picket rope and jumped on back. Hung on like that for a hundred and forty
miles. I never was much of a horseman,
and without a saddle——well, I burned my hands, hanging tight to that rope, but
I didn’t stop for nothin’ ‘til I got here to Susanville.”
“You saw no Indians?” Dodge pressed.
“Some Paiutes came into camp the night
before,” Wyatt recalled, “but they seemed friendly enough. Lassen was good friends with the Paiutes, you
know.”
“That’s what Numaga said,” Ben
commented. “The Paiutes are grieved by
Lassen’s death.”
“I can’t believe the Paiutes had anything
to do with this affair,” Weatherlow concluded.
“None of the local Indians seem to know anything about it, and, after
all, we have a treaty with them. They
fought side by side with us against the Pit River Indians, who, I believe, are
the ones behind this massacre.”
“They wouldn’t have left the supplies
either,” Ben argued. “Did Lassen or
Clapper have any enemies?”
“Look, Cartwright, my men and I were the
only ones out that way,” Weatherlow snapped.
“If you’re accusing me, say so straight out.”
“I’m accusing no one,” Ben said firmly,
“least of all you, Weatherlow. I know
you for an honorable man.”
“Sorry,” Weatherlow muttered, “but there’s
been talk.” He cast a reproachful look
at the silent observers of the meeting.
“To answer your question, though,” Wyatt
inserted, “Lassen had a passel of enemies.
Plenty of folks blamed him for what happened to them along that cutoff
of his.”
“Unless other evidence develops,” Dodge
concluded, “I find that the most logical explanation. Lassen and Clapper were the victims of a
revenge killing, most likely having been trailed for that purpose.”
Rumbles of dissent were heard, some still
accusing the Paiutes, others finding their old foes, the Pit River Indians,
likelier suspects. Only a few nodded
approval of Dodge’s decision, but since the settlers couldn’t determine which
Indians were to blame, neither Ben nor the Federal agent thought they would
seek reprisals against the Paiutes. Satisfied
that the territory was not about to explode into open warfare, Ben pushed his
mount over the Sierras and south toward Placerville. Thankfully, he was a better horseman than Lemericus
Wyatt, for he had a hard ride ahead.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
|
A |
party of four stood waiting when the
Sacramento stage pulled into Placerville late Friday evening. “Hey, Adam!” Hoss hollered as soon as his
brother descended from the coach.
“Hey, yourself,” Adam grinned. He chucked Little Joe under the chin. “And hey and happy birthday to you, little
fellow.”
“Howdy, stwanger,” Little Joe gurgled,
pleasantly parroting the greeting he’d been taught.
Adam arched an eyebrow at Hoss. “That your doing?”
Hoss shook his head in adamant
denial. “Not me, no, sir! I don’t teach him nonsense.”
“Here’s your culprit,” Marta laughed,
swatting a smirking Billy Thomas on the arm.
“If there’s devilment bein’ done, you should know where to look for its
source, Adam.”
Adam chuckled. “I sure should by now. Hello, Marta, good to see you.”
“Hey, how ‘bout me?” Billy demanded.
Adam cocked his head. “Don’t believe we’ve met, stranger.”
Billy scowled and clapped his friend on
the back. “Well, bein’ new in town, you
likely ain’t heard that the best place to eat is Mama Zuebner’s Cafe.”
“Figured to ask the hefty fellow,” Adam
drawled, laying a hand on Hoss’s shoulder.
“He looks like he knows all the best places.” They all laughed, Little Joe loudest of all,
although he had no idea what the joke was.
“We better hurry,” Hoss said.
“Mama is closing early tonight,” Marta
explained, “but she won’t ‘til we’ve eaten.”
“I’m with Hoss,” Billy said. “Since your ma ain’t gonna open at all
tomorrow, I don’t want to miss my last chance for a good meal. All them bags yours?”
“Afraid so,” Adam laughed. “Give me a hand, will you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Billy said. “Hey, Hoss.
Give that boy to Marta. You’re
big enough to tote a bag or two.”
“You bet I am,” Hoss bragged, dumping
Little Joe into Marta’s outstretched arms.
“We’re stayin’ at the El Dorado, Adam,” he said as he hefted a carpetbag
under each arm.
“Always do,” Adam chuckled. “Where’s Pa?
I thought he and Marie would be here to meet me.”
“Oh, Adam, he’s not here,” Marta murmured
sympathetically.
Adam stopped dead still. “What do you mean he’s not here? He wouldn’t miss your sister’s wedding.”
“May have to,” Billy muttered, “if we got
injun trouble.”
“We don’t know that,” Marta said
sharply. “Don’t go worryin’ Adam over
nothing.”
“An injun war ain’t nothin’, missy,” Billy
bit back.
“Would you two quit sniping at each other
and tell me what’s going on?” Adam demanded.
“Yeah, sorry,” Billy muttered. “Your Pa rode off to Honey Lake——”
“With that agent feller,” Hoss added.
“Mr. Dodge?” Adam queried. Though he had never met the Federal Indian
agent, he knew the name from his father’s letters. Hoss nodded.
“Old Peter Lassen got hisself killed,”
Billy continued as they walked toward the hotel, “and some folks think it was
injuns done it.”
“Pa don’t think so,” Hoss inserted.
“Yeah, but he went with Dodge to check it
out,” Billy concluded.
“He’s comin’ here after,” Hoss said.
“Marie here?” Adam asked, nodding at the
hotel entrance.
“No, she’s with Mama,” Marta
answered. She opened the door, holding
it for the others. “Don’t worry about
your pa, Adam. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“Yeah, sure,” Adam said, though his voice
was edged with concern. “Enos here yet?”
“Oh, yeah, he’s over at the cafe, mooning
over Katerina,” Marta laughed. “Billy,
help Adam get his things upstairs. I
know two little boys who are getting hungry, if you aren’t.”
Billy scowled playfully at the girl. “Just like a woman——orderin’ around the first
man she spots.”
“Who spotted one?” Marta giggled. “I don’t see nothin’ but little boys here.”
“Oh, you two,” Adam muttered with a
patronizing shake of his head. “To
listen to you, no one would guess you liked each other at all.”
“Oh, we don’t,” Billy assured him.
“Not a bit,” Marta affirmed with a
mischievous grin.
* * * * *
Throughout the day Saturday the wedding
guests arrived, first the Paynes, then just past noon the Wentworths. The female members of each party immediately
disappeared into the kitchen of Mama Zuebner’s Cafe to help prepare
refreshments for the wedding reception the next day. That evening the former members of the Larrimore
train commandeered several tables in the dining room of the El Dorado Hotel. While the food didn’t compare to what they’d
feast on tomorrow, everyone enjoyed talking over old times and reminding one
another of amusing incidents along the trail.
No one mentioned the sadder memories of that journey, for this was a
time for celebration.
Marie tried to join in the festive mood,
even though the memories they shared were not hers. Her attention repeatedly drifted away from
reminiscences of the Overland Trail, however, to imagined dangers of one nearer
home, the trail to Honey Lake. She toyed
with her food, unable to escape her fears for Ben.
Since the friends spent so much time
talking, they were only half-through their dinners when Ben walked in to
complete the circle. Eight (almost
nine)-year-old Susan Payne was the first to see him. “Uncle Ben!” she cried. “Pa!” soon followed, then “Oh, Ben!” as
friends and family rose to welcome the man for whom they’d all felt concern.
Ben embraced his wife, then each of his
sons. “Ben?” Marie asked, and he
understood the question she hesitated to put into words. “Everything’s all right,” he said. “I’ll give you the details later.” He began moving around the room, greeting
friends he hadn’t seen in months.
“Your injun-lovin’ ways is gonna get you
killed yet,” Clyde scolded. “Why didn’t
you tell me what you was up to?”
“Didn’t have time,” Ben replied, giving
his old friend a hearty clap.
“Ridin’ smack into a Paiute camp,” Clyde
ranted on.
“Do it all the time,” Ben chuckled and
continued greeting his other friends.
Finally, he came to the table the Zuebners
were sharing with the man soon to be a member of their family. “Oh, Mr. Cartwright,” Katerina murmured,
circling his neck with her slender arms, “I am so glad you have come. I wanted so much for you to be at my
wedding.”
Ben tenderly kissed her cheek. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,
Katerina.”
“Sir?” Enos queried.
“No problems,” Ben assured him. “You can feel at ease about bringing your new
bride home.” Enos smiled broadly,
clearly relieved.
* * * * *
The sun shone bright Sunday, as if heaven
itself were smiling on the lovers’ nuptials.
The ceremony was held beneath the towering pines with almost half the
town of Placerville in attendance. Not
all had been specifically invited, but the miners who ate regularly at the cafe
felt as if Katerina were one of their own and they had every right to add their
good wishes to the occasion. The
Zuebners, being simple folk themselves, were flattered, rather than offended.. In fact, the huge baking the day before had
been done in anticipation of a crowd.
Stefán stood tall as he escorted his
sister to the place where her groom waited beside the Reverend Wentworth. Ben found it hard not to picture Frederich
Zuebner as the young man walked past.
Stefán had stepped into his father’s shoes at an early age, and year by
year he looked more like the stalwart farmer they had all been indebted to in
the early days of their journey west.
Katerina had grown taller, but she still
looked the same to Ben, making it hard for him to believe she was actually old
enough to marry. He smiled when he
realized the little girl he remembered from the trail was only three years
younger than his own wife. No wonder
Marie was so excited about having Katerina come to live near them!
The biggest change, to Ben’s eyes, was in
Katerina’s sister. The tomboy of the
trail, though spunky as ever, was blossoming into a young lady as lovely and
graceful as Katerina. And since Marta
was only a year younger, no doubt they’d soon be celebrating another
wedding. The thought jolted Ben for a
moment as he wondered how far his own boy, now sixteen, might be from standing,
red-faced, waiting for his bride as Enos now waited for Katerina.
When the two sweethearts stood together,
the Reverend Wentworth smiled and addressed them directly. “Enos, Katerina, it is a pleasure to witness
the love that blooms between you. Its
seed was planted in fertile soil, the soil of shared struggles and
triumphs. You have each known both
sorrow and happiness in your lives, and you will find your life together no
different. That is why your vows will be
for better and for worse, in sickness and in health. Knowing the fires in which your love was
forged, however, I have no doubt that you will keep your vows and in the
keeping find a love still greater than that which you feel today, when your
hearts seem so full.”
The minister led the couple in a simple
reciting of their vows, and after the glowing pair exchanged a shy kiss, Katerina
enveloped her mother in a warm embrace, then turned to kiss her brother on the
cheek. The miners, growing misty-eyed at
the memory of their own wives and daughters back east, demanded their right to
kiss the blushing bride; then everyone adjourned to the cafe for all the
strudel, crepes (Marie’s contribution), wedding cake and punch they could
possibly hold. Hoss was heard to comment that he wished someone would get
married every day.
The next morning the Cartwrights,
Thomases, and the two younger Wentworth children boarded the stage, while the newly married Montgomerys headed over the
Sierras in a buckboard with two large crates and several smaller boxes. As Ludmilla stood on the boardwalk, tears
streaking her normally cheery cheeks, Marta stepped close to place a bolstering
arm around her mother, as if to remind her that she still had a daughter at
home. When the stage pulled away, Billy
Thomas leaned out the window to flap his hat in farewell. Marta laughed and wagged a flaxen braid at
the redheaded mischief she liked more than she cared to admit.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
|
B |
en looped his
horse’s reins around the hitching rail in front of Ormsby’s Carson City store
and waited for the stage to pull in. He
helped the ladies descend, then, with the help of Clyde, Adam, Billy and Mark,
unloaded the baggage.
“You all come up to my place and rest
yourselves before headin’ on to the Ponderosa,” Nelly invited.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Marie sighed. “That stagecoach always leaves me exhausted.”
“On one condition,” Ben inserted quickly.
“What’s that?” Nelly queried suspiciously.
“That you come with us when we go,” Ben
said.
“Oh, yes, you are much too tired to cook
tonight,” Marie urged.
“Well, now, I don’t know about that,”
Nelly demurred. “It’s a long ride.”
“Easiest way to get your buckboard back,”
Ben smiled. Since the newlyweds were
using the Cartwright’s wagon, he had planned to borrow Clyde and Nelly’s to
return home.
Clyde cackled. “He’s got a point, Nelly girl.”
“Well, if we come back tonight,” Nelly
conceded. “I been lookin’ forward to
sleepin’ in my own bed.”
The men hefted all the bags and the entire
party walked down the street to the Thomases’ sunny yellow frame house. Mary caught her breath when she saw it. “Oh, is this your home, Mrs. Thomas? It’s charming.”
Adam chuckled. “Wait’ll you see the Ponderosa!”
Billy gave him a shove. “Aw, quit braggin’ up your own place.” He gave Mark a wink. “Adam here thinks the Ponderosa’s got the
best house in the world, just ‘cause he helped plan it.” Tossing a smirk at Adam, he added, “After
all, smarty britches, my Pa planned and
built this place, and without the help of no fancy San Francisco architect,
neither.”
“Oh, you two quit scrappin’ at each
other,” Nelly scolded. “Come on in,
folks, and we’ll show you around our mansion.”
She was teasing, of course, but to the Wentworth youngsters, whose home
was the renovated hulk of a beached sailing vessel, even the modest rooms
looked stately. Mary cooed with delight
over Inger’s cozy bedroom, especially the corner where Clyde had constructed a
play kitchen for his little girl.
Watching her, a grim look came into Mark’s
hazel eyes. His little sister had never
had the opportunity to play at being a housewife. Practically from childhood, the motherless
girl had been forced into being the real thing, and Mark, who adored her,
couldn’t help taking up the offense she refused to carry.
As they started downstairs, Nelly told
Inger to run to Mrs. Ellis’s for a loaf of bread. “And tell her Billy’ll be ‘round shortly to
fetch our cow——and say thanks for her keepin’ it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Inger responded, leaving at
once.
“Now, what are you up to, Nelly?” Ben
chided. “You don’t have to feed this
mob. We’ll eat at the Ponderosa..”
“You know these younguns can’t wait that
long,” Nelly argued. “I’m just gonna
slice some bread and cheese to tide ‘em over.”
“Yeah, Pa, I’m hungry,” Hoss added.
“Tell me something I don’t know!” Ben
scoffed. “You stay hungry from sunup to
sundown.”
“Probably dreams about cookies all night,
too,” Adam snickered.
“Naw, his taste runs more to pie,” Billy
cackled.
Hoss scowled. “How come you’re always funnin’ me ‘bout
eatin’ good? Don’t nobody fuss if Little
Joe says he’s hungry.”
“How often does he say it?” Billy
hooted. The youngest Cartwright’s
appetite was, by reputation, as small as Hoss’s was large.
Now, however, Little Joe patted
imperiously at his father’s leg.
“Hungwy, Pa,” he whimpered.
Chuckling, Ben tousled the boy’s curly
hair. “Yeah, I guess we all are.. Give me a knife and I’ll slice that cheese,
Nelly.”
Laughing, everyone entered the kitchen,
sitting or standing around the table while Ben cut slice after slice of
cheese. Inger soon returned with two
loaves of bread. “Mrs. Ellis says you
don’t owe her nothin’ for the bread,” the girl declared, “on account of she’s
been usin’ our milk while we been gone.”
“Fair enough,” Clyde agreed.
Ben snatched the first sandwich. “I’ll take this with me,” he said. “I’d better get out to the Ponderosa and warn
Hop Sing he has guests for dinner.” He
kissed Marie as he passed. “Stay and
rest as long as you like, my love.”
“But not too long,” Hoss added
fretfully. “Hop Sing don’t like folks bein’
late.”
“Who’s Hop Sing?” Mark asked Adam in an
undertone.
“Our cook,” the oldest Cartwright boy
replied, nonchalantly taking a sandwich, quartering it and handing one portion
to his baby brother.
“I didn’t know you had servants,” Mark
muttered.
Adam laughed. “Servant!
Tyrant is more like it.”
“Let me know when you plan to tell him
that,” Billy commented dryly. “I want to
be across the Sierras when the storm breaks out.”
Amid the laughter Marie explained. “Hop Sing is more a part of our family than a
servant, Mark.”
“Yeah, after Pa saved his life, he just
moved in,” Adam snickered, “and we haven’t been able to budge him out of the
kitchen since.”
“Who wants to?” Hoss demanded
seriously. “He cooks good!” Even Mark laughed then.
* * * * *
If the Thomas house looked like a mansion
to the Wentworth children, the Ponderosa ranch house seemed almost a castle,
albeit a rustic one. “Oh!” Mary gasped
with delight. “It’s so——so——”
“Big,” her brother suggested bleakly.
“Well, that, too,” Mary smiled, patting
his arm to soothe the resentment she could see building, “but I was thinking
beautiful.” Mark took her arm tenderly
and escorted her into the house with the others.
Inside, the guests and returning members
of the family were greeted by a beaming Hop Sing. “Welcome to Pondelosa,” the Chinaman
announced, like a king admitting subjects into his realm. “Dinnah leady one hour, maybe less. You sit down, lest flom tlavel,” he ordered
so imperiously no one thought of disobeying——with one exception. Little Joe, instead of heading for the
designated seating area, wrapped small arms around Hop Sing’s leg and rubbed
his cheek against the cook’s blue pantaloons to say how much he’d missed him.
“No, no, go with mother,” Hop Sing
dictated, lightly patting the toddler on the head. “Hop Sing cook now.” Marie came quickly to dislodge her child, but
it was obvious the little Cantonese was pleased by the display of affection.
Watching the scene, Mark had to admit that
Adam had told the truth. Hop Sing was,
indeed, more part of the family than a servant.
Never had the Wentworth boy seen any of the Larrimore servants hugged by
a child or treated with the deference the Cartwrights showed Hop Sing. So far, however, he didn’t see any signs of
the tyrannical behavior their oldest son had credited to the cook.
“Well, let’s show our guests to their
rooms,” Ben said. “You boys each grab a
bag and follow me.”
The procession headed upstairs, stopping
at the first open door. “This will be
your room, Mark,” Ben said.
Mark’s brow knitted quizzically. “I thought I’d be bunking with Adam.”
“Can if you like,” Adam offered, “unless
you snore.”
“This is fine,” Mark replied, secretly
thrilled to have a room to himself for the first time in his life. Setting his carpetbag just inside the door,
he followed the others down the hall. He
wanted to see where his sister would be sleeping.
“This is my room,” Hoss told him as they
passed the next door, “and that one across the hall is Adam’s.”
“Giving him the full tour, are you, Hoss?”
Ben chuckled. As they came to the end of
the hall, which branched both directions, he pointed to the left. “Our room is down there, with the nursery
beside it.” He turned to the right. “And Mary’s room with be at the end of the
hall. It’s the sunniest in the house.”
Mark smiled when he saw windows on two
walls of his sister’s room. The only
window in her bedroom at home was a porthole.
This looked much brighter, the kind of place he wished their father
would provide for the fragile flower of their family.
“You’ll all want to freshen up before
dinner,” Marie suggested, then smiled at the youngster clinging to her
hand. “I will be in the nursery cleaning
this one if you need anything.”
“Oh, may I help you?” Mary asked eagerly.
Marie smiled. “You may bathe him after dinner, if you
like. I’m only going to wash his face
and hands now.”
Mary smiled and nodded. “I can’t wait,” she murmured. “I love babies——especially you, sweetie
pie.” She blew a kiss to Little Joe.
When dinner was served, Hop Sing
effectively demonstrated how he had earned the title of tyrant, for he loudly
castigated anyone he felt did insufficient justice to the food on his
plate. Little Joe, chief culprit, as
always, just smiled and ignored the rebuke, but Mary seemed fearful of giving
offense. “I’m sorry, Hop Sing,” she
murmured. “You’ve worked hard to prepare
a special feast, but I’m not used to seeing so much wonderful food at one
setting.”
Hop Sing’s head tilted quizzically. He’d been specifically ordered by Mr.
Cartwright to keep the meal simple and had reluctantly complied, but the young
lady seemed impressed nonetheless. “Is
nothing,” he alleged. “Hop Sing fix
ploper meal for you ‘morrow. You see.”
“I hope you’ll let me help you in the
kitchen,” Mary suggested softly, and the countenances of both her brother and
the Chinese cook darkened. Bathing a
baby was one thing, but Mark bristled at the thought of his sister working as a
servant in this home, while Hop Sing responded with characteristic defensive of
his domain.
“Hop Sing not need help,” he sputtered.
“Oh, no, it’s I who need help,” Mary said,
smiling sweetly. “I do all the cooking
at home, but Mama died before she could teach me much. I know I could learn a great deal from you.”
Hop Sing, as addicted to praise as a bear
to honey, melted at once. “You come
kitchen anytime, missy,” he said. “You
got good sense.”
Marie giggled into her napkin until the
cook had returned to the kitchen. “It is
a high compliment, Mary,” she said. “Hop
Sing rarely lets even me in his kitchen, and there are few people he admits
have good sense.”
“But I meant it,” Mary protested. “I really don’t cook this well.”
“You do fine with what you have to work
with,” Mark muttered. “Can’t make crown
roast out of tripe.”
“Mark, please,” Mary whispered.
“Better dig in and clean your plates,” Ben
suggested. “Peach pie for dessert.”
“Yes, sir!” Hoss obeyed his father’s command with
relish. Peach pie was among his favorite
foods.
* * * * *
Mary had risen early to help Hop Sing in
the kitchen, and by breakfast’s end, everyone knew the sweet-tempered child had
found a home there. “Missy Maly make
velly nice biscuit,” Hop Sing reported.
“Almost good as Hop Sing.”
“Almost,” Ben agreed tactfully, knowing
Hop Sing to have a touchier ego than Mary.
He winked at the girl, however, to make certain she didn’t think he
found her biscuits in any way lacking.
Then Ben looked at her brother, seated beside Mary. “How well do you sit a horse, Mark?”
The young man flushed. “Not too well, I suppose. I haven’t touched an animal of any kind since
we came to San Francisco.”
“You’d better take Hoss’s mare then,” Ben
suggested. “She’s gentle. I thought we’d ride out and take a look at
the herd.”
Mark sat rigid in his straight-backed
chair. “That your way of telling me I
have to work for our keep?”
Everyone at the table fell silent.
“Oh, Mark,” Mary moaned miserably. Mark bit his lip, suddenly aware of how rude
he had sounded.
“No, son,” Ben said after a moment’s
thought. “You and Mary are our guests,
and you certainly don’t have to do anything to earn that. I thought you might enjoy riding out with us
men, but if you prefer to stay around the house with the women and children,
that’s fine.”
“Children!” Hoss protested. “I ain’t a kid, Pa.”
Ben frowned at his middle son. “I meant Little Joe, Hoss.”
“But you said children, Pa, not just
child,” Hoss argued. “That ain’t good
grammar, Pa.”
Adam laughed and, smirking at Hoss,
mimicked, “‘I ain’t a kid, Pa. That ain’t
good grammar, Pa.’ Since when do you
give a hoot about grammar?” Hoss
winced.
“Since it gives him a chance to rebuke his
father,” Ben remarked dourly. “It’s
rather ridiculous, Hoss, to correct someone else’s grammar while making worse
mistakes yourself; furthermore, if you intend to debate your maturity,
interrupting your elders is not a good way to start.”
“Sorry, Pa,” Hoss muttered and gave quick
attention to his final flapjack.
The Wentworth youngsters had both looked
nervous during the exchange between father and son, but they soon saw that
neither Ben nor Hoss was disturbed. It
gave Mark hope that his own misbehavior might be similarly excused. He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid there was nothing mature about my
surliness, either, sir. I—I’m sorry,
too. I—I would rather ride with the men,
if you’ll still have me.”
Ben smiled. “You’re more than welcome, Mark. Perhaps I should have explained myself better
to begin with. While you’re here, it’s
my intention to treat you as I would one of my own boys. They have chores to do, of course, but I pay
them a salary, and I would expect to do the same for you, if you choose to work
with us. I assumed you would find that
more satisfying than a summer of idleness.”
Mark smiled slightly. “That sounds fine, sir.”
“Pa, Pa,” Little Joe piped up
demandingly. “Pay me, too, Pa.”
Ben guffawed. “For what?
What chores do you do?”
“Feed chickens, Pa,” Little Joe insisted
seriously.
Ben arched an eyebrow at Hoss. “I thought that was your chore.”
Hoss scowled at Little Joe. “It is and I do it. He just scatters a handful or two.”
“Oh, ho ho,” Ben scoffed. “If you’re gonna contract out your chores,
boy, you’ll have to pay your hired help yourself.”
“I don’t get much to start with, Pa,” Hoss
complained, “and he don’t help enough to earn a cent.”
“Then pay him in kind,” Ben chuckled. “One bedtime story should be about right.”
“Yeah,” Adam grinned. “You can read him one of Aesop’s fables, like
I used to do you.”
Hoss shrugged. He’d pay up, since he had to, but he still
thought he was being overcharged.
Mary quickly and Mark slowly began to
settle into life at the Ponderosa.
Mary’s serene spirit seemed to have a calming effect on Hop Sing, and
she spent many hours in his kitchen.
Though Mark was less skilled at the chores Ben assigned him than his
sister in her domestic ones, he began to be more comfortable on horseback and
graduated from Hoss’s gray mare to animals with a bit more spirit. He seemed to grow more at ease around the
Cartwrights, too, though Ben sometimes caught an unhappy look on the boy’s face
that made him think Mark was comparing his own home to the one he and Mary were
sharing this summer. Ben hoped that the
change, while obviously good for both Wentworth youngsters, would not simply
increase Mark’s resentment of the austerity to which he would ultimately
return.
When Paul Martin and his daughter Sally
came to dinner the first Saturday after his arrival, Mark Wentworth clearly
found the Ponderosa an even more appealing place. He almost gasped when he saw the doctor’s
beautiful daughter, and for the first time he earned a scolding from Hop Sing
for neglecting his dinner.
“Just what we need,” Ben chuckled to Paul
later as they sat down to a game of chess, “another fish to snap at that bait
you keep dangling.”
“I’m not dangling it,” Dr. Martin grunted,
“and that boy’s too old for Sally.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. Sally was only sixteen to Mark’s twenty-one,
but having just attended the wedding of a couple separated by more than that
made five years seem a narrow gulf to cross.
Ben could understand his friend’s attitude, though; Adam was the same
age as Sally, and Ben certainly wasn’t ready to see his boy tie the knot with
anyone. Girls tended to marry younger
than boys, however, and Dr. Martin might just have to face up to it.
Everyone was surprised when they heard a
knock at the door. Hop Sing set down the
dishes he was clearing from the dining table and scurried over to answer
it. “Is too late fo’ visitor come,” he
ranted. “Dinnah over.”
“I doubt anyone came to eat at this hour,”
Ben scolded. “It’s probably one of the
men.”
The figure in the doorway was, indeed, one
of Ben’s employees, but the last one he expected to see. “Enos!” Ben cried. “Come in, boy.”
Enos doffed his hat and entered.
“Now, where’s that pretty wife of yours?”
Dr. Martin asked. “I’ve been looking
forward to seeing her again.”
“Me, too,” Sally said. “There aren’t nearly enough young women in
this territory.”
Enos grinned. “My wife is at the cabin, and she loves the
way you and Mrs. Thomas fixed it up, Mrs. Cartwright. She’s unpacking our things, but I wanted to
make that special delivery for you.”
“Oh, Enos, you could have waited until
morning,” Marie rebuked gently.
“What special delivery?” Ben demanded.
Marie laughed lightly. “Well, it is a little early, but I suppose
you will not object to receiving your anniversary gift tonight.”
“Reckon not,” Enos chuckled, “but I need
help bringin’ it in.”
“I’ll help,” Adam offered at once. “Mark?”
“Sure,” Mark agreed.
Mary clapped her hands. “Oh, how romantic! I love presents!” Obviously, the generous-hearted girl didn’t
need to receive a gift herself to take pleasure in the giving.
Dr. Martin joined the three younger men outside
and helped to carry in the long, rectangular crate.
“What on earth could that be?” Ben
muttered to himself.
“One way to find out,” Dr. Martin
chuckled.
Amid everyone’s laughter, Ben removed the
lid from the crate. Almost at once his
youngest son stood on tiptoe to peer over the edge. “Ooh,” he cooed, grabbing a handful of straw.
“It’s not for you,” Adam scolded, lifting
the toddler out of the way.
Ben, meanwhile, was hastily pulling aside
the packing material. When he saw the
rich mahogany case, he stood silent in surprise. “It’s a clock,” he whispered at last.
“No, you don’t say,” Paul scoffed saucily.
“But——but how did you know I’d like——” Ben
sputtered to his wife. “When did you——”
“You ask too many questions,” Marie
smiled. “Do you like your gift or not?”
In answer, Ben enwrapped her slender frame
with his strong arms.
“Enough of that, you two,” Paul
scolded. “There are innocent children
here.”
“Aw, we see that all the time,” Hoss
grinned.
“Tut, tut, shameless display,” Paul twitted. “Decide where you want this monstrosity while
we get it out of the crate.”
“That’s easy,” Ben chuckled. “Right by the front door.”
“To the left. Yes, that is perfect,” Marie agreed.
The four who had carried the grandfather’s
clock inside hefted it from the box and set it in the designated location. Paul positioned the hands and set the long
pendulum swinging.
“It is not quite like the one you enjoyed
your first winter here,” Marie said, her voice tremulous.
Ben squeezed her hand. “It’s better.
It’s ours.”
“They’re gonna start again,” Hoss informed
the doctor soberly.
“One kiss to say thanks,” Dr. Martin
instructed. “Then let’s get on with our
chess game.”
“Yes, let’s,” Ben agreed quickly. “With inspiration like this, I’m bound to
emerge victorious.” He gave his wife a
lingering kiss.
“We’ll see about that!” the doctor hooted.
Hop Sing shuffled in to hand a package of
hurriedly constructed sandwiches to Enos.
“You take you missy,” he ordered.
“Huh?” Enos replied. He didn’t have much experience in deciphering
Hop Sing’s unique phrases.
“He wants you to take them to Katerina,”
Marie interpreted.
“Missy not want cook after long tlavel,”
Hop Sing explained.
“Oh, well, thanks, Hop Sing,” Enos
said. “Reckon I best be gettin’
back. Katerina’s a little edgy about
stayin’ alone in this wild country of ours.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think
Katerina had been listening to Mrs. Larrimore,” Ben chuckled from his seat
across a chessboard from Paul Martin.
“Give her our love.” Promising that
he would, Enos departed.
Marie’s gift must, indeed, have inspired
Ben to great heights, for he easily defeated the more expert Dr. Martin in two
games of chess that night. And he found
even greater cause for glee in the look on Dr. Martin’s face when Mark hooked
his arm through Sally’s elbow to escort her to the buggy at evening’s end.
In the days after that visit, Mark could
be heard humming as he went about even the most mundane chores. Ben was glad to see his young guest happy,
for he had been asked to attend another mass political meeting and had delayed
accepting the invitation, not wanting to leave Marie to cope with a difficult
guest.
The meeting was scheduled for Monday, June
6th. Though the Cartwrights normally
honored the Sabbath, they and their guests had worked the day before so that
Ben might feel secure in leaving the ranch for the meeting. To reward the boys for their extra effort,
Ben gave surprise orders that morning.
“I fancy having fish for supper, boys,” he smiled, “so I’ll expect you
to spend the day dangling a pole in some nearby creek.”
Adam grinned, understanding that his
father was giving them the day off.
“Thanks, Pa.”
“Yeah, thanks!” Hoss bubbled.
Mark looked puzzled for a moment, not
quite able to comprehend the gift of a day’s pleasure, especially on a
weekday. His own father’s strong work
ethic rarely permitted any rest except on Sunday, if you could call spending
all day in church restful. When he
realized Ben was serious, he began to smile.
“Would you have time to stop by the Thomas
place and see if Billy could come, Pa?” Adam asked.
“I’ll ask,” Ben promised, “but he’ll
probably be out at his claim by the time I come by.”
Little Joe plucked at his father’s
sleeve. “Me fish, too, Pa.”
Ben laughed. “I don’t think so, Little Joe.”
Adam tweaked the toddler’s nose. “Couldn’t risk it, wiggleworm. The fish might think you were bait.”
As Little Joe’s face started to pucker,
his mother lifted him onto her lap to console him. “Hoss and Adam will bring back a special
fish, just for you, won’t you, boys?”
“Sure thing,” Hoss promised. “One just your size.”
“Fish that size are too small to keep,”
Mark grinned, getting into the spirit of the banter.
Ben smiled. It was good to see all the boys
content——well, with one pint-sized exception.
Little Joe still looked none too pleased at being left behind.
The toddler, however, was the first to
welcome Ben home, and he did so with a hug and his characteristically bright
smile. “Hop Sing fwying my fish for
supper, Pa,” he declared.
“Is that so?” Ben chuckled. “Will you share with me?” Little Joe’s head bobbed happily.
“Dinnah leady now,” Hop Sing declared
petulantly. “You almost miss.”
“But we’re so glad you came while the fish
is hot,” Mary added, giving Hop Sing’s arm a soft pat.
“Dat light, velly glad,” Hop Sing agreed,
suddenly all smiles. “Sit table now,
please.” Ben tossed Mary a grateful
wink.
The family and their summer visitors filed
into the dining room. Still holding his
youngest, Ben pulled out a chair and sat down.
Marie reached for the boy to lift him into his high chair, but Little
Joe protested vociferously. “No, stay
Pa!”
“Leave him,” Ben conceded. “I rather like the feel of his arms around my
neck.”
“They’re not likely to stay there,” Adam
teased. “I didn’t call him wiggleworm
for nothing.”
“I know that,” Ben chuckled, “but let me
enjoy my baby while I can, before he grows into a great lout like his big
brothers.”
Hop Sing entered with a platter piled high
with fish, rolled in cornmeal and fried crisp.
“Mine, Pa. Eat my fish,” Little
Joe insisted.
“And just which fish is yours, little
one?” Ben asked, lips twitching.
Little Joe couldn’t seem to decide, for
the fried fish looked different from the one Hoss had brought in on the end of
a string and donated to his little brother.
Mary pointed to the largest piece visible. “It must be that one, Little Joe,” she
suggested. “It’s just right for
sharing.”
Little Joe beamed. “Mine!” he chortled.
“And the tastiest of the lot, I’m sure,”
Ben chuckled. Eating with a fidgety
toddler in his lap was awkward, but he managed to fork in a bite here and there
between seeing to his son’s needs.
Marie shook her head at her husband’s
foolish fondness, conveniently overlooking how often she gave in to their
youngest’s whims. As she cut off a bite
of fish, she asked how the meeting had gone.
“I was very encouraged,” Ben replied. “There’ll be an election the fourteenth of
next month to select fifty delegates to a constitutional convention, as well as
one to send to Washington with the document we create.”
“We, Pa?” Adam grinned. “You sound like you plan to be one of those
delegates.”
“I’d sure like to,” Ben admitted,
fingering through a piece of fish to remove the bones for Little Joe. “I always dreamed of being part of the
building of a state. Of course, we’re a
long way from that.”
“Is it important to you, sir, being part
of a state?” Mark asked. “Seems to me
you folks are doing well just like you are.”
“We have a good life,” Ben admitted, “but
I do want the advantages of state government for my family, Mark. There’s no real authority here to deal with
lawbreakers, just vigilante justice. In
fact, I heard there’s been another murder, at Gold Hill this time, and still no
appropriate way to deal with such cases.”
“Anyone
we know, Pa?” Adam asked.
“We
don’t know no miners except Billy,” Hoss declared, then looked worried. “It ain’t Billy, Pa?”
“No,
son,” Ben assured him, then turned to answer Adam’s original question. “The victim was a newcomer, fellow named John
Jessup, but you might know the accused, William Sides. I don’t know him as well as I do his brother
Richard, but we’ve met.”
Adam
whistled. “If Dick’s brother is like
him, he’d have the temper to do murder.”
“That’s
not evidence, Adam,” Ben stated sternly.
“Yes,
sir,” Adam agreed quickly. “Is there
going to be a trial?”
“If
you can call it that,” Ben muttered.
“Since Sides is a vigilante member, the verdict will undoubtedly be not
guilty.” He looked back at Mark.. “That’s why we need a proper state
government, to give some semblance of justice.
And there are other reasons. Now
we have no public education, none of any kind really. Even civil matters have to be taken to Salt
Lake City, and that’s just too far to be practical.”
“California was a state when we got
there,” Mark argued, “and I can’t see that it helps that much. Father would tell you we have a very wicked
city in San Francisco.”
Ben chose to ignore the note of cynicism
in Mark’s voice. “He’d be right, most
likely——about parts of it, at least.
You’ve seen the Barbary Coast.
Think how much worse it would be if there were no control on the vices
there.”
Mark flushed. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected that his
father had told Mr. Cartwright about his adventures on the Barbary Coast,
adventures Mark wasn’t proud of anymore.
He’d gone there the first time to defy his father’s rigid concept of
righteousness, and every other trip had been after some major argument with the
minister, as well. Mark cleared his
throat. “Well, I hope you achieve your
dream, sir,” he said, hoping to divert Ben’s attention from allusions to the
Barbary Coast.
Ben sighed. “I’m afraid we’re destined to failure, as
usual. It’s hard to believe Congress
would ever grant territorial status to such an unpopulated area, but, at least,
we’re doing what we can. Work, hope and
prayer——sometimes they can make dreams come true.”
Ben may have thought western Utah’s small
population would place any hope of a separate territory beyond reach. Looming on the horizon that warm June night,
however, were events that would bring an influx of new residents and give a
value to the sparsely-settled land Congress could not afford to ignore.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
|
T |
he following
Saturday evening, as a buggy was heard rolling into the yard, Mary Wentworth
jumped up from her seat on the sofa beside Marie and clapped her hands. “Oh, that must be Sally and her father!” Mark, warming himself by the fire, kept his
feelings masked as he turned around. Yet
he was, if anything, more delighted than his sister that Sally Martin would be
spending a week at the Ponderosa, his first look at the doctor’s pretty
daughter having only whetted his appetite for further viewing. Both youngsters were surprised, however, when
Hop Sing admitted Billy Thomas, instead of Dr. Martin, with the girl they had
expected. Everyone stood and moved
toward the door to welcome the two young people.
“What’s for supper, Hop Sing?” Billy
demanded as soon as he passed through the doorway.
“You stay eat?” Hop Sing demanded. “Who invite you?”
“I did,” Billy grinned. “You got plenty, ‘cause her pa ain’t gonna
make it.” As Hop Sing stomped back to
the kitchen, ranting in Chinese, Billy lifted Little Joe under the arms and
tossed him in the air. “Hey, there,
short shanks. How’s life treatin’ you?”
Although Little Joe crowed with
exhilarated rapture, Marie gave a cry of terror and snatched her child away.
“Oh, Billy, you’re just awful,” Sally
scolded. “My father says no baby should
be tossed around like that. They’re too
delicate.”
“Mai
oui,” Marie sputtered, wrapping protective arms around her precious boy.
Billy just shrugged. He couldn’t see that the flight had done the
baby any harm.
Ben cleared his throat. “Speaking of the good doctor, where is
he? He was supposed to bring Sally here
tonight, not you, you rapscallion.”
“Oh, that was Billy’s doing, all right,”
Sally tittered.
“Figured as much,” Adam said drolly. He winked at the Wentworth youngsters. “If there’s mischief marching, you can pretty
much expect Billy to be leading the parade.”
“Hey!” Billy protested. “Ain’t my fault that miner decided to do a
belly roll down the side of a hill and break his leg. I just fetched the doc, is all. Seemed only neighborly to bring Sally on,
since her pa was occupied.” Everyone
snickered, knowing it didn’t take neighborliness to inspire Billy to take a
pretty girl for a drive, especially when a good meal waited at the end of the
excursion.
Ben clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that no good
deed goes unpunished, Billy?” he laughed.
“I believe it!” Billy scowled, glaring at
both Sally and Adam, who merely laughed in return.
“Oh, no, Mr. Cartwright, you mustn’t say
so,” Mary inserted seriously. “Father
would say you should never discourage good deeds, for, indeed, they are
rewarded.”
Ben chuckled. “I stand corrected. You’re right, of course. We shouldn’t discourage good deeds, especially
in Billy’s case. They’re so few and far
between.” The remark brought another
round of laughter.
“Keep it up, and I won’t tell you the
latest news from Gold Hill,” Billy threatened.
Ben tweaked the boy’s ear. “Oh, well, if you come bearing news, I guess
we’ll have to feed you.”
“Humph!” Hop Sing fumed from the dining
room. “You not haf feed. Hop Sing haf feed. Dinnah leady now!” He plunked a bowl of mashed potatoes onto the
table and shuffled back to the kitchen, muttering to himself.
No one hesitated, knowing how volatile Hop
Sing could become if they didn’t respond promptly. Billy nonchalantly hooked an elbow through
Sally’s arm, and she, just as nonchalantly pulled free to link arms with Adam,
who grinned saucily and pulled out a chair for the young lady. Billy was so put out he didn’t see Mark sidle
up to take a seat on Sally’s other side.
Ben gave Billy’s freckled neck a consoling
rub. “Looks like you’ve been outflanked,
my boy.”
“You can sit by me,” Hoss offered.
“Thanks all to pieces,” Billy scowled, but
he took the offered chair.
Ben took two smoked pork chops and passed
the platter to Mark on his left. “Now,
what’s this hot news from Gold Hill?” he demanded of Billy.
“Yeah, you hit it big, did you, buddy?”
Adam grinned, taking the platter from Sally and forking a chop into his own
plate.
Having made the mistake of sitting where
Hoss would get first crack at the food as it passed, Billy eyed the diminishing
meat platter with concern. “Not me, not
yet,” he muttered, “but there’s those that have.”
“Billy, Billy,” Ben chuckled. “When are you gonna give up this wild goose
chase?”
“Not such a wild goose chase now, from
what I hear,” Sally smiled.
“O’Riley and McLaughlin sure don’t think
so,” Billy declared, forking the final pork chop, thankful Hoss had left him at
least one. “You know them, Uncle Ben?”
Ben shook his head. “Don’t think so. I don’t get a chance to meet many miners
since I quit running the trading post with your father.”
“Yeah, that’s so,” Billy said. “Well, they took out close to three hundred
dollars yesterday.”
“Three hundred!” Ben exclaimed.
“Aw, he’s joshing,” Adam snorted.
“I ain’t neither,” Billy snapped
back. “If it weren’t so, would Old
Pancake be hornin’ in on the claim?”
“Comstock?” Ben asked, ladling gravy over
his meat and potatoes before passing the bowl.
“I know him, of course. I thought
he’d taken over the Grosch brothers’ old claim.”
Billy sawed his pork chop into bite-sized
pieces and laid them on a slice of bread in anticipation of drowning them in
the gravy when it reached him. “You know
Comstock——always layin’ claim to everything in sight. Now he says the land them other two found the
gold on belongs to him, claims old man Caldwell sold him the spring they was
usin’ and a hundred sixty acres for a ranch.”
“Ranch,” Ben scoffed. “Old Pancake never saw the day he’d work a
ranch.”
“Yeah, that’s what I think,” Billy
agreed. “Wish I could’ve been at that
meeting this afternoon. Bunch of miners
near Gold Hill is gonna organize a new district, laws and all, and I hear
there’s some got words to say about what Comstock done.”
“Well, you missed it in a good cause,”
Sally smiled. “Someone had to get help
for that injured miner, and as Mary says, I’m sure your good deed will be
rewarded.”
“In heaven, maybe,” Billy grunted, looking
as though he’d rather receive his reward on earth.
“Heaven!” Adam hooted. “Since when do they let the likes of you in
heaven?”
“Oh, I’m sure Billy will be in heaven,”
Mary declared, ever the minister’s daughter, “and I know his good deed will be
rewarded there.”
“Better be,” Billy muttered. “Sure ain’t much reward bein’ passed out
around here.”
“What do you want, Billy?” Sally teased.
“Kiss comes to mind,” Billy suggested, but
his cocky grin faded when Sally merely blew one across the table.
“We got chocolate pie for dessert,” Hoss
reported. “That oughta be reward enough
for anyone.”
“Reckon so,” Billy cackled, giving the
youngster’s sandy hair a tousle.
“You will stay the night, oui, Billy?” Marie asked as Hop Sing
cleared the dinner dishes in preparation for serving dessert.
“Figured I would,” Billy concurred. “You know how Ma is about me minin’ on
Sunday, so ain’t much point in goin’ home.”
He moaned slightly. “And all the
best claims’ll be took by Monday, I just know they will.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Ben said
dryly. “Those two miners probably found
the only pocket of gold in all of western Utah.”
Billy shrugged. “Yeah, maybe so.”
“You want to bunk downstairs or with me or
Mark?” Adam asked.
“Or me,” Hoss offered.
Little Joe banged his spoon on the
table. “Me, me!” he cried, not really
sure what he was volunteering for, but anything involving the big boys was
always enticing. They shut him out so
often.
“Anything but that!” Billy hooted. “I’ll take Adam, I reckon. Hey, Adam, how ‘bout haulin’ the old boat up
to Tahoe and doin’ some fishin’ tomorrow?”
“Nope,” Ben answered for his son.
“Aw, Uncle Ben,” Billy wheedled. “Them Washos ain’t gonna miss one mess of
fish.”
“Pa doesn’t let us go up to Lake Tahoe
before July,” Adam explained to Mark and Mary.
The others already knew of Ben Cartwright’s restriction.
“It’s only fair to give the Indians first
rights during their fishing season,” Ben stated firmly. “By July, they’ll start gathering,
instead. Then you can fish.”
“How kind of you to care about the
Indians, Mr. Cartwright,” Mary commented, blue eyes sparkling. “Father says what has happened to the
California Indians since the white man came is a sin black as midnight.”
“A tragedy,” Ben agreed. “Entire nations wiped out. I pray that never happens here, which is why
Tahoe is off limits until July. Understood?”
“Sure, Pa,” Hoss and Adam agreed readily.
“Yeah, sure,” Billy mumbled.
Finishing his pie, Ben patted his lips
with a red-checked napkin. “Well, Billy,
since you’re taking the doctor’s place tonight, I guess that means you’ll be my
chess partner.”
“Unh-uh!” Billy snorted. “I don’t play nothin’ harder than checkers.”
“Why don’t you play, Mark?” Sally
suggested. “My, but you’ve been quiet
this evening!”
Mark flushed, hoping no one guessed that
the reason for his almost total silence had been his absorption in watching the
pretty girl. “I——uh——I’ve never played
chess before, Miss Sally.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be good at it,” Sally
said, “and I’ll be glad to help you.”
“I have to take on two of you, do I?” Ben
chuckled.
“I was going to play you the song I’ve
been learning,” Adam complained to Sally.
The girl laughed lightly. “Play away, Adam. I’ll hear it.” As she started to rise, Mark quickly stood
and pulled out her chair. Sally rewarded
his gentlemanly manners with a gracious smile.
Hoss tapped Billy’s arm. “I’ll play checkers with you, Billy. I ain’t much good at it, but you’ll like that
better than chess with Pa or listenin’ to old Adam strum that guitar of his.”
“Me, me play,” Little Joe demanded.
“You play what?” Ben chuckled. “Chess, checkers or guitar.”
“Bath,” Marie tittered. “He plays bath time.”
Mary reached for the toddler. “Let’s have a nice, warm bath, Little Joe,”
she suggested, “then I’ll read you a story.
Okay?”
“Okay,” Little Joe agreed.
The evening ended quietly as everyone
settled into his or her chosen activity:
Marie and Mary upstairs bathing Little Joe; Ben and Mark (with Sally
perched beside him) concentrating over the chessboard on the cleared dining
table; Hoss and Billy matching wits at checkers at the table before the fire;
and Adam, seated in his father’s mauve armchair, strumming a soft ballad as
background to the idyllic scene.
* * * * *
Having begged his father for a day off to
check out the mining excitement, Adam hurried through his breakfast, for Billy
was anxious to get an early start. Clucking
indulgently, Ben turned to Mark. “You
off with them, my boy?”
Mark felt torn in two directions. The day the boys had planned sounded
interesting, but Sally’s presence at the Ponderosa made staying home with the
ladies a much more inviting proposal than before. Mark was certain he’d be in for hours of
ribbing, though, if he made that choice.
“Yeah, I’ll come along,” he decided, “if the boys don’t mind.”
“No problem,” Billy said. “Maybe you’ll ‘divine’ the best spot for my
claim.”
Ben groaned and Mark scowled, Ben because
he didn’t care for puns and Mark because he didn’t like being connected with
his father’s ministry. “The three of you
get out of here,” Ben grunted, “and don’t show your faces until suppertime.”
“But don’t be late,” Sally urged. “Katerina’s coming over and we’re all going
to spend the day baking marvelous things.”
Mark smiled. If there was going to be that big a hen party
here, he’d obviously made the right choice, but he couldn’t resist the
opportunity to advance his standing with Sally Martin. “That sounds wonderful, Miss Sally,” he said
in a transparent attempt to flatter.
“I’m sure anything you bake will be marvelous.”
Marie exchanged a knowing glance with
Ben. He nodded, accepting her analysis,
for Marie was usually sharp in reading people’s hearts, especially when romance
was in the air. Mark was evidently
attracted to Sally, and the warmth with which she responded to him indicated
the attraction might be mutual.
The exchange of glances, both between Ben
and Marie and between Mark and Sally, didn’t escape Billy’s notice. As he and the other two boys prepared to
leave, he caught Sally in a light embrace and gave her a peck on the
cheek. “Still my best girl, ain’t you?”
he asked, loud enough for Mark to hear.
“‘Course, you are.” He pecked her
again.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Adam teased. “You know Sally prefers me.” He kissed the girl on the opposite cheek.
Sally just shook her head, eyes
dancing. Like most girls, she relished
being the object of contention by multiple suitors. She stole a glance at Mark, secretly hoping
he’d say something flattering and follow it with a kiss, but the Wentworth lad
stood silent, red-faced and flustered, and his farewell kiss was given to his
sister. Sally smiled softly at him,
seeing something touching in his hesitance and in his tenderness with
Mary. No doubt, he’d be the same way
with his future wife.
“Can’t you ride any faster?” Billy
complained as the three young men left the Ponderosa slopes and moved into the
openness of the valley floor.
“Nope,” Adam responded placidly, taking a
long, satisfying whiff of the sage-scented air.
“Mark doesn’t sit a horse well enough to race.”
Mark’s lower lip thrust out. “Sorry to hold you back,” he muttered tautly.
“No problem,” Adam assured him, turning
quickly in his saddle. “You’re getting
to be a pretty good horseman, and, besides, Billy doesn’t need to be in such an
all-fired hurry.”
“Ought to leave the both of you behind,
that’s what I ought to do,” Billy grunted, but made no move to quicken his
roan’s pace.
“Suit yourself,” Adam grinned. “Mark and I are in no hurry, and the
company’s not that congenial.”
“Toss around any more of them big words,”
Billy threatened, “and I’ll take off for sure.”
Adam just snickered, knowing an idle
threat when he heard one. “I never know
when to take the two of you seriously,” Mark said.
“Hardly ever,” Adam said with a wink, “and
Billy, next door to never.”
The three exchanged similar banter
periodically throughout the lengthy ride to Gold Hill. They made their way through Devil’s Gate,
where walls of gray rock towered on both sides of the narrow path of a sinuous
stream. As they approached the bustling
camp, Billy gave a loud groan. “I knew
it; I just knew it.”
“Look at the people!” Adam exclaimed. Tents dotted the barren hillsides in every
direction, and two-legged drones milled in service of a golden queen.
“I told Ma the best claims would be took
if I waited ‘til Monday.” Billy growled.
“Hey, there’s Old Pancake,” Adam said and
ambled his sorrel mare forward. “Howdy,
Mr. Comstock,” he called when he drew close.
“How do, my boy.” The lanky man benevolently scratched his chin
whiskers. “Welcome to the Comstock
Lode.” Riding up behind Adam, Mark grimaced,
for Comstock’s dark clothing and sanctimonious air reminded him of a minister,
making him uneasy with reminders of home.
“The Comstock Lode?” Adam queried with a
grin. “That what they’re calling Gold
Hill now?”
Comstock squared his shoulders. “If they ain’t, they soon will be. Reckon you heard about the strike on my
claim.”
“What I heard is that the claim belonged
to a couple other fellers and you just horned in on it,” Billy asserted boldly
as he reined in next to Adam and Mark.
Adam winced. Sometimes Billy had just about the sense God
gave a goose. Other times, like today,
he didn’t act that well endowed.
“Callin’ me a claim-jumper, are you, boy?”
Comstock drawled. “It’s a good thing for
you I’m an easy-goin’ sort. You’d find
yourself starin’ down a shotgun barrel if you said that to most men.”
“I figure I’m safe,” Billy snorted, “with
a man too lazy to cook more than flapjacks.”
“Billy,” Adam hissed in warning. “You better watch your tongue, boy.”
“Watch your own,” Billy advised. “Thought there was a meetin’ Saturday to
settle who owned that claim, Pancake.”
“Like I said, the claim’s mine,” Comstock
reported with a smile. “Of course,
O’Riley and McLaughlin have their shares——Old Virginny and Manny Penrod and
some others, too. We’re all partners.”
“Just who ain’t got a share in this
claim?” Billy snickered.
Comstock rubbed his hairless upper lip as
if in deep thought. “Well, I’ll tell
you, sonny, who ain’t got a share. You
ain’t, that’s who.”
Billy gave a short laugh, appreciating a
joke, even when he was the butt of it.
“Yeah, and if I stay here jawin’ with you, I ain’t likely to stake one
of my own.” He headed his roan up the
canyon. “You boys comin’?” he asked,
looking back over his shoulder.
“Go ahead,” Adam said. “I’m gonna look around awhile and catch up
with you later.” He glanced over at
Mark. “Go with whichever of us you
like.”
“I’ll stick with you,” Mark replied. He welcomed the chance to be alone with
Adam. He needed to get some things
straight and figured the Cartwright boy was the best source for the information
he wanted.
It was awhile before the Wentworth lad had
a chance to talk, however, for Adam seemed intent on investigating the length
and breadth of the “Comstock Lode,” stopping to chat amiably with practically every
miner whose path they crossed about the worth and extent of his claim. None seemed to have struck color approaching
the value of the original strike, but each felt confident the next shovelful of
earth would reveal shining nuggets of astounding size.
When the sun stood overhead, Adam’s
stomach finally reminded him that his body needed feeding as much as his
brain. “Eilley Orrum’s place is here
somewhere,” he told Mark. “Nothing like
Hop Sing fixes, but we can, at least, get beans and biscuits there. The biscuits are supposed to be first-rate.”
“Back that way,” Mark said, pointing. “About half a mile.” Unlike Adam, he hadn’t been so absorbed in
conversing with miners that he’d lost sight of more basic attractions.
The two young men rode back to the
building Mrs. Cowan shared with Old Nick’s Bar and grabbed one of the few
tables. The proprietress greeted Adam
warmly. “What brings you hill boys up to
the diggings?” she asked jovially.
“Decided to leave ranching for better-paying work?”
“Never,” Adam replied decisively. “We just heard about the excitement and rode
over with a friend of ours to see how the place was booming.”
“Booming it is!” Eilley cackled
gleefully. “More customers than I can
serve comfortably, but there’s beans and bacon left, boys——coffee, too..”
“No biscuits?” Mark asked. “I hear they’re good.”
Eilley leaned over to give his cheek a
soft pinch. “You hear right, sonny, and
you’re in luck. I just set a batch to
bake. Be ready soon.”
“Eilley,” a tall, light-haired fellow
called. “You save me some of those
biscuits, you hear?”
“I hear you, Sandy.” The Scottish lady, who had broken ranks with
the edicts of the Mormon Church to remain near the diggings, gave the miner an
encouraging wink. “Wouldn’t let one of
my regular boarders go hungry, now would I?”
She went after the coffeepot and two tin cups for her newest customers,
stopping to refill Sandy Bowers’ cup first.
Adam leaned close to Mark’s ear. “Looks like Mrs. Cowan’s casting bait.”
“Widow?” Mark whispered back.
Adam grinned and shook his head. “Divorced, I think——twice over, and
man-hungry again. Dangles bait for Doc
Martin every chance she gets. He pays
her no mind, but maybe Sandy will take the bait.”
“Kind of looks like it appeals to him,”
Mark smiled.
The two boys fell silent as Eilley
approached their table, coffeepot in hand.
When she left to dish up their beans and bacon, Mark traced the rim of
his coffee cup with his index finger.
“Speaking of Dr. Martin,” he began.
“Didn’t know we were,” Adam mumbled into
his coffee cup.
“You mentioned him,” Mark said
sharply. “Anyway, there’s something I’ve
been wanting to ask you——about his daughter.”
“Sure, I’ve known her for years,” Adam
replied. “Know about all there is to
know.”
Mark looked uneasy and began to stammer
out his query. “Well——uh—I was just
wondering if——well——”
“Spit it out,” Adam laughed. “It can’t be that bad.” He took a long sip of coffee.
“Well——all this talk Billy does about her
being his girl,” Mark said quickly. “Is——is it just talk or are they really——”
“Billy talks that way about any girl
within ten yards,” Adam snickered. “He
sparks Sarah Winnemucca when Sally’s not around, even Marta, Katerina’s sister,
over to Placerville, when he passes through.”
“Then he’s not serious about Miss Sally?”
Mark asked, sounding relieved.
“Billy’s never serious about anything,”
Adam grinned. “You should know that by
now.”
“What about you?” Mark pressed. “You said this morning that she preferred
you. Were you just teasing Billy or did
you mean it?”
“Aiming to rile Billy, mostly,” Adam
chuckled. “Why?”
“Oh, no reason,” Mark mumbled.
Adam looked up quickly, for something in
Mark’s tone told him exactly why the other young man was so interested in Sally
Martin’s possible attachments. “I used
to be kind of sweet on Sally,” he said more seriously. “She was the first girl I ever took interest
in, but there’ve been others since I went to school in Sacramento. Not sure how I feel about her now. Maybe just friends, maybe more. Don’t mind competition, though, if that’s
what you’re asking.”
Mark flushed. “Am I that obvious?”
“Oh, yeah!” Adam laughed as Mrs. Cowan
brought their plates.
“Now, what’s all the fun?” she demanded
playfully.
“Just killing time ‘til the biscuits
came,” Adam rejoined, smiling impishly, and Eilley wagged a remonstrative
finger under his nose.
* * * * *
Adam and Mark returned to the Ponderosa
late that afternoon. As he swung off his
sorrel, Adam waved to his father, who had just exited from the barn. Wrapping the reins around the hitching rail,
Adam hustled across the yard. “Pa, you
won’t believe the folks crawling all over that mountain!” he exclaimed.
“Wouldn’t I?” Ben snorted. “I can even tell you where some of them came
from!”
“Here?” Adam queried, quick as ever to
read his father’s meaning.
“Yup.
Enos was by earlier to report how many men took off for the gold fields
over the weekend,” Ben muttered. “We’re
mighty short-handed, boy.”
“Aw, the excitement’ll wear off and
they’ll be back,” an unconcerned Adam prophesied. “In the meantime, you can count on us, right,
Mark?”
“Yeah, right,” Mark muttered. He lingered outside, twisting the strands of
his horse’s reins through his fingers, as Adam headed for the house.
Ben gave his guest a long, thoughtful
appraisal. “Something on your mind,
son?”
“Yeah, sort of,” Mark admitted. “I was just thinking. My father sends me out here for you to
straighten out, and it turns out you really need me. Kind of ironic, huh?”
Ben’s brown eyes narrowed. “What makes you think that’s why you’re here,
Mark?”
Mark laughed harshly. “I know my father. He favors steady work too much to smile on a
summer off unless he thought being out here on the backside of the wilderness
would keep me from worse temptations.
Didn’t he tell you I’m the black sheep of his flock?”
“Not quite the way he put it,” Ben said
quietly, “but, yes, he told me you’d had some problems holding a job——and some
in the wise use of what you did earn.”
“And he thought you could turn me around,”
Mark muttered bitterly.
“Any turning around that’s done will be
done by you,” Ben said firmly. “I’ve got
three boys of my own to raise, and you have a father, one who loves you dearly
and is only concerned for your welfare.”
“What he’s concerned about is the
embarrassment to his ministry,” Mark sputtered.
“Quite a joke, don’t you think, if the minister’s son turns into the
town drunk?”
Ben’s visage turned to granite. “I don’t find that amusing, young man,” he
said sternly. “Is that really the goal
of your life, Mark, embarrassing your father, hurting him the way he’s hurt
you?”
Feeling that the older man had seen
straight through to his tortured heart, Mark flushed darkly. “I——I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” he
stammered defensively.
Ben’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows met in a
straight line. “Aren’t you?”
Mark’s flush deepened. “Yeah, all right, maybe.”
Ben touched the boy’s shoulder. “What is it you’re holding against your
father, Mark? His poverty? Surely, you know he does the best he can for
you and Matthew——and Mary.”
At the mention of his sister’s name,
Mark’s hazel eyes shimmered. “It’s
killing her,” he murmured. “That awful
ship.”
“Yeah, I know,” Ben said softly. “She deserves——even needs——a tightly-framed
house.”
“Try convincing our father of that,” Mark
muttered, bitter again.
“Oh, I think he knows,” Ben said
swiftly. “When I think back on all the
years I dragged Adam around from place to place with nothing but a succession
of boardinghouses to call home——well, there’s no greater frustration for a
father than to want more for his child than he can provide. I think that’s what your father feels, Mark.”
“He cares more about the derelicts on the
Barbary Coast than he does about Mary,” Mark accused, jaw tight.
Ben folded his arms and leaned his hips
against the hitching rail. “Evidently,
so do you.”
“What?” Mark demanded, his fists knotting.
Ben jabbed a broad finger at Mark’s
chest. “You’re a grown man, Mark, able
to bring home a man’s wage. Between you
and Matthew, there ought to be plenty to provide for your sister, even without
help from your father. But, no, you
squander your pay in the cesspools of the Barbary Coast, and not even with the
lofty goal that takes your father’s funds.
He, at least, is trying to help the poor wretches trapped there. You’re trying to become one of them! How does that help Mary?”
Mark backed away, his mouth moving, but no
sound emerging. Suddenly, he stopped and
his chin began to tremble. “You’re
right,” he murmured sadly. “I haven’t
been any help at all. All I’ve done is
worry Mary, make her miserable. I meant
to hurt my father, but it’s her I’ve hurt.”
“Both of them,” Ben said softly. “Matthew, too, I imagine.”
Mark nodded, willing now to see good in
everyone except himself. “What do I do,
Mr. Cartwright? How do I turn it
around?”
Ben stepped forward to encircle the young
man’s shaking shoulders. “Wanting to is
half the battle, son. As to the rest,
you’ve got a chance to start fresh here.”
Ben laughed abruptly. “You said
earlier that your father had sent you to the backside of the wilderness.”
“I meant no offense——against you, anyway,”
Mark said quickly. “The Ponderosa’s a
grand place.”
“I wasn’t offended,” Ben smiled. “I was just remembering a sermon your father
preached on the trail, about God sending Moses to the backside of the
wilderness to grow him into the leader he needed to be.”
A half-smile lifted one corner of Mark’s
mouth. “Guess that’s where I picked it
up.”
“Probably,” Ben chuckled. “Well, Mark, why don’t you put your time in
the wilderness to good use, like Moses did?
Of course, he had forty years, while you have only one summer, but I
just bet you could do a lot of growing up in that time——if you choose to..”
Mark’s head lifted at last. “I choose to,” he said.
Ben gave him a hearty clap on the
back. “Good! Now, let’s get inside and sample those
goodies the ladies have been baking this afternoon.”
“You can’t fool me,” Mark laughed. “You’ve already had your samples.”
“Guilty as charged,” Ben chuckled, “but if
you want yours, you’d better hustle.
Hoss was wheedling for more when I left.” Laughing, they walked arm in arm to the
house.
No one remarked on how long Mark had
remained outside after Adam came in, but, looking up to welcome him, Sally
noted a certain somberness in his face that hadn’t been there before. To coax back his smile, she paid him extra
attention that night, even agreeing to a walk in the moonlight, the first of
several during her stay at the Ponderosa.
On her final night, Mark surprised himself
by telling Sally everything: his fears for Mary, his anger with his father, his
days of idleness and nights of drunken rambling through the dark alleys of the
Barbary Coast, and, finally, his confrontation with Mr. Cartwright. He wasn’t sure what made him unburden himself
that way, except that he was beginning to care for the girl and wanted no
secrets cropping up later to shock and disillusion her. Better to know from the start that there was
no hope than to build dreams only to see them shatter when the truth was
revealed.
When he’d talked himself empty, Sally took
both his hands in hers, smiling radiantly.
“I’m honored that you trusted me with your problems, Mark, and so glad
you’ve made the decision to change.”
He looked earnestly into her sapphire
eyes. “You really think I can, then?”
She squeezed his fingers
encouragingly. “Oh, I know you can! I’ve seen it happen, and here’s the best
place, too. It did wonders for my father.”
“Your father?”
Sally nodded. “He’s a changed man since he met Uncle
Ben.” She described for Mark the
terror-filled night when irate miners, convinced of Dr. Martin’s malpractice,
had set fire to the Martin cabin, not realizing a woman and child lived there,
too. “After Mother’s death, Father fell
to pieces,” Sally explained to a sympathetic listener. “He sent me away almost immediately——to
school in Hawaii. I thought then that he
blamed me for Mother’s death——because he’d saved me first and couldn’t get back
to her in time——but I know now that he was afraid to keep me near him, afraid
those miners would harm me to get back at him.”
“Must’ve been rough on you,” Mark
murmured. “I know what it is to lose a
mother, but, at least, I had the rest of my family.”
“Yes, it was hard,” Sally recalled,
glancing up as if seeing those sad memories enacted on the face of the
moon. “Father came here——to the backside
of the wilderness, as you called it——to lose himself. Instead, he found a friend and a new life.”
“That’s what I’m looking for,” Mark said
earnestly, “a new life.”
“You’ll find it,” Sally replied. “And——and you’ve already found a
friend.” She leaned forward to tenderly
kiss his cheek.
Mark took her in his arms. He didn’t kiss her that night. He only gazed deeply into her eyes and found
in them the inspiration he needed to become the man Sally envisioned him to be
as they stood together under the stars.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
|
B |
en lifted his gray
felt hat and wiped his brow. The
longest, hottest day of the year, and he had to spend it doing one of the
chores he liked least. Bringing in a
crop of hay was vital to his cattle’s survival during the winter, but it had to
be done at the time of year the sun made a man’s skin glisten with sweat. Chuckling, he shook his head. Having Adam home must be rubbing off on him,
if he’d taken to that kind of poetical descriptions. His brown shirt was drenched, and the skin
beneath it didn’t glisten; more likely, it trickled his back in muddy tracks
from neck to waist.
Ben
wrinkled his nose. He reeked, too, but
the work had to be done, especially in view of the decimation inflicted by
grasshoppers on Washoe Valley’s crops of both wheat and hay earlier that month. And there was no delegating it to the hands
this year; there weren’t many, and he couldn’t risk offending the ones he had
by taking them away from the cattle for this kind of work. He’d enlisted, instead, the kind of helpers
who put the needs of the ranch above their personal pride. Adam and Mark were spread out to his right,
while Enos and Hoss flanked him on the left.
Seeing the youngster put his back into the
work, Ben smiled. Just short of nine
now, Hoss was almost man-size, and he was doing the work of a man this summer,
in place of men who’d deserted their positions.
Ben felt proud, and he intended to see that the boy was rewarded with a
man’s wage for his efforts. Goodness
only knew what he’d spend it on, though.
After he’d bought up all the candy in the territory——there wasn’t much
to be had——he’d likely still have money left.
Ben crammed his hat back on his head, but
as he did, he caught sight of a rider heading his way. Glad of an excuse to postpone the hated
haying, he moved toward the rider, his brow wrinkling as he recognized his neighbor,
Augustus Harrison. By all rights, a
confirmed rancher like Harrison should have been in his own hay fields,
bringing in his own crop. As Ben raised
a hand in greeting, he wondered what had brought Harrison to the Ponderosa this
sultry first day of summer.
Harrison swung down from a chestnut
gelding. “Howdy, Cartwright. See you’re busy bringing in your hay.”
“Yup, that time of year,” Ben offered
amiably. “Surprised you’re not doing the
same.”
Harrison grunted. “Been to the diggings, tryin’ to hire hands for
the job.”
“Find any?” Ben asked.
Harrison shook his head. “Not a one.
All crazy for gold and not a one interested in an honest day’s work..”
“Yeah, most of my hands took off, too,”
Ben commiserated. “Don’t know what I’d
do without my boys here.” The younger
men had quit working to walk up behind Ben.
Harrison smiled at them. “Looks like you’ve got a fine crew here,
Cartwright. I rode by hopin’ I might
hire ‘em off you for a few days.”
Ben laughed. “Can’t spare them. Like I said, I’m short-handed myself.”
Harrison chuckled. “Yeah, I figured it was a fool’s errand, but
I’m gettin’ desperate enough to try anything.”
He pulled a rock from his pocket.
“Had another reason for stoppin’ by.
I picked this up in Gold Hill this morning. Thought you might know what it is, you bein’
an educated man.”
Ben laughed heartily as he turned the
blue-black clay over in his hand. “When
it comes to minerals, I’m as ignorant as they come.”
Adam stepped to his side and took the ore
sample. “This looks like the blue stuff
the miners claim is gumming up their sluices,” he commented. “Practically every miner I talked to the
other day complained about it.”
Harrison nodded. “Yeah, but I’m wonderin’ if it doesn’t have
some value of its own.”
Ben cocked his head. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up ranching for
a pick and pan.”
“Might have to if I can’t hire any
workers,” Harrison jibed. “Naw, I’m just
the curious sort. Figured I might send
this sample to Nevada City for assay, see what that ‘blue stuff’ is.”
“I’d sure like to see the report,” the
ever inquisitive Adam said.
“You going to Nevada City during haying
season?” Ben asked.
Harrison shook his head. “Naw, J. F. Stone’s headed there for
supplies. You know him, don’t you, Cartwright? Runs the Stone and Gate trading post on the
Truckee River.”
“I’ve met him,” Ben replied, “but I’ve
never traded with him. I do my business
in Carson and Genoa.”
“Fair man,” Harrison commented, “and an
obliging one. He’ll be glad to take the
sample for me.”
“I’d sure like to see the report,” Adam
said again.
Harrison grinned. “Heard you the first time, son. Sure, I’ll be glad to let you see
it——especially if you’ll think over bringin’ in my hay.”
“None of that!” Ben snorted. “The audacity of the man——trying to hire away
my best crew right under my nose.”
Hoss moved close to his father’s
side. “I won’t leave you, Pa, whatever
them others do.”
Smiling, Harrison swung onto his
chestnut. “Loyal hand you got there,
Ben. Reckon I’m wasting my time tryin’
to tempt him away.”
Ben laughed and circled Hoss’s shoulders
with an affectionate arm. “Maybe you’ve
got something in common with those miners after all, Augustus——wasting time, I
mean.”
Harrison tipped his hat. “Won’t waste anymore of yours, at any
rate. I’ll let you get back to your
hayin’.”
As Harrison rode away, Ben gave a low moan
of displeasure. “Back to work, boys,” he
grunted, his own steps dragging as he turned back in begrudging duty.
* * * * *
As Mary struggled to squeeze shoes onto
Little Joe’s reluctant feet, Marie tied her bonnet ribbons in a pert bow to the
left of her chin. The boys were outside
saddling their mounts, but Ben had remained behind for a final cup of coffee
and a farewell kiss for his lady. “Have
a good time,” he said as he bestowed it, “and bring home lots of tasty treats.”
“Oh, but there will be none today,” Marie
advised him.
“I thought that’s what this hen party was
about,” Ben declared, looking puzzled.
“Isn’t Katerina teaching you all to make some of her German
specialties.”
“Just one,” Marie replied. “Lebkuchen, but it is not for now; it is for
Christmas.”
“Christmas!” Ben exclaimed.
Marie started to respond, but before she
could, Hop Sing bustled into the front room.
“This what you want, Missy Cahtlight?” he queried.
Marie took the two clay jars he was
holding. “Oui, those look perfect, Hop Sing.
Thank you.”
“Those had better be full of cookies when
you return,” Ben admonished playfully.
“Do not be perverse, Ben,” Marie
scolded. “They will be full of dough,
not cookies.”
“Dough?” Ben sputtered. “I thought you were doing the baking at
Laura’s, in that big oven of hers. Isn’t
that why you had to wait ‘til Saturday, so she’d have her regular baking done?”
Marie looked at Mary and sighed. “Men——they simply do not listen.”
“Even small ones,” Mary agreed, tweaking
Little Joe’s toes. “Please be still,
baby,” she pleaded, “and let me put on this last shoe.”
“Don’t want shoes,” Little Joe whimpered,
kicking his foot against her knee.
Keeping shoes on his feet, never an easy task, had become an unending
battle with the arrival of warm weather.
Ben had allowed Adam to run barefoot as a toddler, sometimes of necessity when he didn’t have the price of a pair of shoes, but that had been back east. Here, where rattlesnakes could crawl across a baby’s path with little warning, Ben insisted the boys wear shoes. Besides, it was a point of pride with him that he could now afford to keep his children well-clothed and solidly shod, year round. “Sit still,” he ordered, and seeing the look on his father’s face, Little Joe frowned, but quit wiggling.
The minor rebellion curbed, Ben turned to
reason with his wife. “Now, dearest,” he
said slowly, “I know you’re a good enough cook to——”
Marie’s cheeks flamed. “I am an excellent cook, as you should
know. I did not ask you to bring another
into this house!”
Ben grimaced, hoping Hop Sing hadn’t heard
her tirade. In contests between his
virulent Chinese cook and his fiery Creole wife, Ben felt there was no safe
ground. He laid a soothing hand on
Marie’s slender neck. “Your cuisine is
beyond compare, dearest,” he murmured, treading softly, “so surely you realize
that you can’t keep cookie dough fresh for six months. It’ll draw maggots.” Or
worse, he added silently.
Mary giggled. “That’s what I said, too, but Katerina says
not.”
“It is a special process,” Marie declared,
dipping her chin sharply, “and that is what we must learn today.”
“Well, it’s a new one on me,” Ben chuckled. “I’ll be mighty interested in tasting the
results——come Christmas.”
Marie smiled and gave his cheek a
forgiving kiss. Slipping an arm around
her waist, Ben escorted her to the buckboard.
Mary followed, with Little Joe, both feet snugly laced into sturdy brown
shoes, toddling beside her. After
helping both ladies mount the wagon, Ben lifted Little Joe up to Mary and
handed the reins to Marie. “Be sure to
find out what time the celebration starts on the Fourth,” he said. “We don’t want to be late.” Abraham Curry was again planning festivities
in Carson City for Independence Day, and the Cartwrights were planning to
attend.
“I’ll remember,” Marie promised.
When she returned that afternoon, Ben, who
had spent that day doing needed chores close to home, met the buckboard in the
yard and helped both Marie and Mary down.
Mary immediately carried the sleeping baby up to his room, but Marie
stayed outside to fulfill a commission given her by Nelly Thomas. “Nelly hopes we will host a private
celebration at Lake Tahoe instead of attending the one in town,” she told
Ben. “She says Billy is much too
absorbed in this latest mining nonsense and wants to get him as far away from
talk of gold as possible.” Marie smiled
persuasively into her husband’s face. “I
told her I was sure you would agree.
After all, our guests have not yet seen the lake.”
“Fine with me,” Ben chuckled, “if Billy
will go along with it.”
“And why should he not?”
“He’s getting to be a pretty big boy to be
ordered around by his mother,” Ben said.
“Ah, but will you say the same about your
boys when they come to his age?” Marie teased.
Ben wagged a remonstrative finger beneath
her nose. “Only one close to his age is
Adam, and I already give him a fair measure of freedom.”
“Well, but Adam is mature for his age,”
Marie demurred.
“Don’t expect any argument from me when
you’re praising my son!” Ben laughed and kissed her lips firmly. “Now, I suppose you want those crocks of
dough carried inside.”
“S’il
te plait, mon amour,” she said with a gracious smile.
* * * * *
Brilliant sunlight glinted off the surface of the azure lake the Fourth of July as a small vessel, painted a yellow almost as vivid as the sun, skimmed north toward Cave Rock. In the bow Mark Wentworth, eyes closed against the glare, lay sprawled, basking in the warm rays splashing his face, sucking in the pungent pine as if it were the breath of life. For Mary, he was sure it was. His sister was with the other ladies, combing the hills for succulent strawberries. Mrs. Cartwright had promised that if they found enough, she and Mary would make strawberry jam tomorrow and that Mary could take a share home to San Francisco. Mary had babbled happily to her brother about what a wonderful Christmas they would have with both that jam and the lebkuchen. How like Mary to be planning ahead for other people’s pleasure!
A chubby hand shook his shoulder. “Hey, Mark, wake up!” Hoss insisted. “You gotta see the Lady of the Lake.”
“I’m not asleep,” Mark said, obediently
sitting up and shading his eyes to examine the landmark Hoss was so eager to
show. Mark wasn’t really interested, but
he didn’t want to disappoint his young tour guide. He smiled.
Maybe some of Mary’s kind ways were finally rubbing off on him. He bet Sally would be proud, if she could see
him now.
In the stern of the sailboat an animated
conversation was being conducted, although debate or even quarrel might have
been a more apt description. “Why don’t
you mind your own business?” Billy demanded hotly.
“My best friend is my business,” Adam
snapped back, “especially when he’s making a fool of himself.”
“If I’m a fool, I got plenty of company,”
Billy snorted. “Lately, there’s more of
us miners than you ranchers around here.”
That remark hurt, and Adam glowered with
indignation. He, along with Hoss and
Mark, had been carrying a much heavier load than usual since the strike at Gold
Hill, and he was just plain tired. Too
tired, he decided suddenly, to waste his one free day arguing with a hardhead
like Billy. “I just don’t want to see
you turning out like my Uncle John and Cousin Will,” he said in a less
irritated tone.
“Who says they’re doin’ bad?” Billy
countered.
“Aw, you know how it was, Uncle John
traipsing all over the world, leaving his wife and son to get by as best they
could.”
“I ain’t got a wife,” Billy pointed
out. “If I did, sure, I might have to
settle for a regular job, but I’m footloose and fancy free and aim to enjoy it
while I can.”
Adam laughed. “Billy, you’re incorrigible!”
Billy gave his friend a hard push that
sent Adam to his back on the boat’s floor.
“Lay off the big words, smarty britches.”
Adam sat up, waving his hands to make
peace. “Okay, okay. I’m just saying you’d probably make better
wages coming to work with us, and we could sure use the help. How much color are you finding on that claim
of yours, anyway?”
“Some,” Billy muttered defensively. “All right, I admit it ain’t much, but, at
least, I don’t have tons of that blue stuff gumming up my sluices, like some of
them others.”
Had the citizens of Nevada City, across
the Sierras, been able to hear Billy’s boast, they would have laughed him to
scorn. Only three days before, the
results of Augustus Harrison’s assay had been printed in the Nevada Journal. The “blue stuff” the miners bemoaned turned
out to be almost pure silver. With the
trace of gold contained in the sample Harrison had sent in, the assay estimated
the ore’s value at $3,876 a ton.
A
new wave of miners was already headed for western Utah. As journalist J. Ross Browne would later report,
the roads were jammed with a serpentine line of people of every
description: “Irishmen wheeling their
worldly goods on wheelbarrows; Americans, Frenchmen, and Germans on foot
leading horses heavily packed; Mexicans driving long trains of pack mules;
dapper-looking gentlemen riding fancy horses; women dressed in men’s clothes
mounted on mules or burros; organ grinders; drovers; cripples and humpbacks;
and even sick men got up from their beds all stark mad for silver.”
Through
the first two weeks of July the ranchers of Washoe remained in blissful
ignorance of the flashflood roaring toward them. As election day approached, Ben grew
antsy. He wanted to be named a delegate
to the constitutional convention more than he cared to admit. He’d been tied so close to home by the
shortage of workers, however, that he hadn’t had much chance to let his
feelings be known to any but close friends.
He was sure he could count on Clyde’s vote and Dr. Martin’s, but didn’t
know how many others he might secure——or how many might actually get
counted. At last year’s election, the
votes from four out of six precincts had been thrown out, due to alleged
irregularities.
Ben
arrived early in Carson City to cast his ballot, then spent the remainder of
the day either sitting in the Thomas’s parlor, downing gallons of coffee, or
roaming the streets, greeting friends and acquaintances as they arrived to
vote. “Fool notion,” he muttered back in
the parlor as the time drew near when the polls would close. “I’m no politician.”
“Point
in your favor, I’d say,” Clyde chuckled.
“Quit frettin’, Ben. Folks in
these parts know a good man when they see one.”
Ben
arched an eyebrow. “They generally
define ‘a good man’ as one who thinks like them, and I, my friend, have taken
some pretty unpopular stands.”
Clyde
folded his hands behind his neck and leaned against the sofa back. “Don’t remind me,” he grinned. “Might have to change my vote if you keep
bringin’ up what a fool you been.”
Ben knew he was being teased, but he scowled anyway. However lightly Clyde Thomas might take the election, it was serious to him. When the polls officially closed, Ben, along with other hopeful candidates, paced the street outside Curry’s trading post, where the ballots were being tallied. Finally, the door opened and Abraham Curry himself stepped out to announce the results.
A shout of approval met the name of the
man chosen as the representative who would be sent to Washington, D. C., with
the memorial to be drafted by the convention.
James Crane, formerly a journalist from California, was a popular
choice. Ben had voted for him and had
been virtually certain Crane would be elected.
If only I felt that sure about
myself, he moaned inwardly.
Involuntarily, he held his breath as the
delegates’ names were read. They were
listed in alphabetical order, so Ben had a mercifully short wait. As he heard his name read, his mouth dropped
in amazement, but he quickly closed it, sensing the expression an inappropriate
way to respond to such an honor. Clyde
clapped him on the back, and numerous others came to shake his hand.
When all the names had been announced,
Curry shouted to get the crowd’s attention.
“Gentlemen——congratulations to all the fine men elected to represent us
at the constitutional convention. All
delegates are directed to convene in Genoa on the eighteenth of this
month. Come prepared to stay several days.”
Ben’s stomach jumped into his throat. The eighteenth! Only four days away, and a million things to
tend to, especially if he were to be gone several days. He pressed his bay back toward the Ponderosa
to share his good news and elicit the support he’d need to make his dream of
serving the community a reality.
* * * * *
Though Ben rose in darkness, the entire family, except Little Joe, was assembled in the front room when he brought his carpetbag downstairs. He had given the sleeping toddler’s forehead a kiss before descending and now gave Marie and both his older sons a farewell embrace.
“You are not leaving yet,” Marie laughed
gently. “You will not neglect your
breakfast and leave me to deal with Hop Sing, monsieur.”
Ben chuckled. “No, I couldn’t do anything that cruel. Goodness knows, I feel bad enough about
leaving at all, things being the way they are.”
In the four days since the election, the first wave of newcomers had
poured over the Sierras in search of silver, and most of the hands who hadn’t
deserted before were now staking claims on the Comstock Lode.
“Don’t give it a thought, Pa,” Adam
urged. “We’ll manage just fine, and what
you’re doing is important.”
“Mais
oui,” Marie agreed, her face radiant with pride.
“We’ll take good care of them cattle, Pa,” Hoss promised.
“That’s right,” Mark added. “You can trust us, sir.”
Ben gazed gratefully at each reassuring
face. “I know I can, and I thank you all
for making this possible for me.”
“Bleakfast leady,” Hop Sing called
insistently from the dining room. “You
eat now!”
“Yes, sir!” Ben replied, spinning on his
heels and popping a snappy salute at the cook.
Many times during the days that followed,
Ben found himself remembering that final morning at home and drawing sustenance
from the support so freely given. There
were moments during the convention when he doubted that he was making any
contribution worth leaving the burden of his ranch to such young men. Adam and Hoss still seemed little more than
children playing at man’s work, and while Mark was, of course, older, he was
far less experienced with livestock.
Enos Montgomery had promised to send word if problems arose, but to Ben,
who’d first known him as a young fellow along the trail, even the foreman
seemed barely more than a boy, despite his being past thirty.
The opening days of the convention were
frustrating. At first, the delegates
could not even agree on why they were there.
Most felt their purpose was to frame a constitution for a provisional
government, but a vocal minority believed they were only there to provide a
foundation for a later constitutional convention.
Ben
was amused to find himself siding with the majority after so often being the
lone voice in opposition to some widely held position. He favored appealing to Congress for
separation from the Territory of Utah on the basis of need, asking the
legislators to overlook the small population of their area. Others pointed out that their population was
booming, with more people pouring in from California every day in response to the
new silver strike. Ben, personally, didn’t
consider that a stable population base, but hoped Congress would think
otherwise.
As
the discussion turned to grievances against the present territorial government,
Ben began to think Clyde Thomas should have been a delegate in his place. He, at least, would have enjoyed the virulent
attacks upon the Mormons. Ben thought a
number of the charges unfair and said so.
While he agreed that the Mormons themselves adhered too slavishly to the
views of Brigham Young, to say that they exercised absolute spiritual despotism
over the western parts of Utah was, Ben felt, going too far.
“Furthermore,” he declared, “I find no basis for accusing the Mormons of inciting the Indians to attack gentiles. We’ve had no Indian trouble here, and while the Mountain Meadows Massacre was a tragedy that can be laid at the Mormon’s doorstep, it was a single, unrepeated incident.”
“What about Lassen’s murder?” a delegate from Susanville demanded.
Ben shook his head. “The official investigation concluded that was a revenge killing, and there’s no proof otherwise. We cannot base our memorial to Congress on supposition, gentlemen. It must stand solidly on truth.” He took a breath and continued. “I believe, as you do, that this region must separate from the Territory of Utah——not because of unproven allegations, but because geographic distance produces governmental failure. To provide genuine justice for the eastern Sierra, we must have our own territory.” A shout of approval met his last sentence.
* * * * *
Hearing Hop Sing’s irate ranting amid the clatter and clash of pans, Mary Wentworth rose at once from her seat at the breakfast table. Marie lifted a restraining hand as she stood herself. “No, Mary, please finish your breakfast. I will tend to Hop Sing.”
Marie whisked toward the kitchen, her own temper surging to the surface. Whatever problems the Chinese cook thought he was having, he had no more right than any of the rest of them to take it out on innocent pots and pans, and the lady of the house was determined to make that point crystal clear.
In the week since Ben had left for Genoa, everyone’s temper was set on short fuse. The boys’ edginess was understandable. In order to make up for the shortage of workers, they’d been starting their work day at the first crack of dawn and ending it only when they could no longer see what they were doing. Mary had wanted to rise even earlier, to help Hop Sing prepare breakfast before the sun rose, but Marie had firmly insisted the girl remain in bed as long as the rest of them. Mary’s health seemed renewed by the dry climate and crisp air, and Marie thought it unwise to jeopardize the progress the girl had made by overextending herself. Mark agreed, and Mary submitted meekly. Though she wanted to help, she couldn’t argue against them both.
Upstairs, Little Joe awoke to a black sky. Of them all, he was having the most trouble dealing with Ben’s absence. For him, it wasn’t just Ben who’d left in the dark of night, never to return, but Adam, Hoss and Mark, as well. Since the older boys left before he woke and didn’t arrive home until after he went to bed, Little Joe had seen nothing of them for a week, either. Mama and Mary paid him extra attention, but even they were growing weary of repeating explanations the toddler simply couldn’t comprehend and thoroughly exasperated with his insistent question of when Pa was coming home.
Connecting the darkness with the disappearances, Little Joe felt certain he could discover where everyone had gone, if he went looking before the sun came up. So, although he was usually content to stay in his crib and cry until someone answered his summons, on that Monday morning he flung his short leg over the wooden rail and clambered down.
He pattered into his parents’ adjoining bedroom, ready to spring onto the bed and nab Pa before he had a chance to get away, but Pa wasn’t there. Little Joe frowned with frustration, then his emerald eyes flew wide with fear. Mama wasn’t there, either! What if she, too, had disappeared into the night and left him all alone? Little Joe charged pell-mell down the hall.
Heedless by nature, and more so in his panic, the toddler plunged——literally——down the stairs. His bare foot slipped on the well-polished first step, and he tumbled, head over heels, to the landing several feet below.
Marie was still in the kitchen, castigating an equally vociferous Hop Sing, but everyone remaining in the dining room jumped up at the sound of the little body bumping against each step in its descent. Nimble Adam reached the stairs first, just as Little Joe hit bottom with a loud thud. He leaped the four steps to the landing and snatched the baby up. “You okay?” Adam asked anxiously.
Little Joe said nothing, didn’t, in fact, even seemed to be breathing. His little legs kicked furiously, but no sound escaped. Just as Adam began to be really frightened, the toddler finally caught his breath and began to wail.
Laughing in relief, Adam pulled him to his chest. “There, there, you’re okay,” he soothed.
Though Marie hadn’t heard the tumble down the stairs, she was, as always, alert to the sound of her child’s cry. Rushing into the front room, she snatched Little Joe from Adam. “What have you done to him?” she demanded hotly, still smarting from her unfinished quarrel with Hop Sing.
“What have I done to him?” Adam sputtered. “Picked him up off the floor, that’s what I’ve done to him!” He stalked to the front door, jerked it open and turned back toward Marie. “You’ve sure got a long memory, lady!” He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the grandfather clock beside it gave an extra chime.
“Little Joe fell down the stairs, Mrs. Cartwright,” Mary explained, her gentle eyes pained by the exchange of harsh words. “Truly, Adam did nothing but try to help.”
Marie blanched. My temper, my horrible temper, she thought. When shall I ever master it? She tried to soothe her wailing baby, but Little Joe screamed on, whether from fear, pain or just the absorbed tension of those around him, no one could have said. Deciding she couldn’t let Adam leave with such ugliness between them, Marie hastily deposited her baby with Mary, whose soft lullaby eventually quieted the child.
“Adam,” Marie called as she entered the barn. “Adam, I must speak with you.”
“More accusations?” Adam snapped, flinging a striped saddle blanket onto his sorrel mare.
Marie flushed, but, reminding herself that she was the one in the wrong, she spoke softly. “No, Adam, an apology. I should have known you would do nothing to harm your little brother.”
“Ought to by now,” Adam muttered, still offended. “Even at my worst, I wouldn’t have done that. I know you used to think I would, but it was never true.”
“Because you disliked me so much.” Marie closed her eyes to shut out the painful memories. “That is what you meant by my long memory. Oh, Adam, I thought we were past those terrible days.”
“I thought so, too,” Adam mumbled.
Her fingertips touched his arm. “Can we not lay aside ill feelings and begin again, mon ami? Truly, I know what a fine young man you are; I would trust you with my life.”
“But not with your baby,” Adam accused. The wound, though less sharp, still smarted.
Marie sighed. “It is a great fault with me, I know. You cannot imagine what he means to me, after so many hard things in my life.”
Adam didn’t know everything about Marie’s background; in fact, he was sure there were things so awful Pa had deliberately kept them from him and Hoss. He remembered enough, suddenly, to wash away his anger in compassion. He’d faced hard circumstances in his life, too, and, after all, Marie’s clinging to Little Joe was no different than his clinging to his memory of Inger when another woman appeared to take her place. “You——uh——should get back to the little fellow,” Adam said softly. “He probably needs you.”
“Please come back and finish your breakfast,” Marie pleaded.
“No, I’ve had plenty,” Adam assured her. “Honest, I’m not mad; I’m just full. Tell Mark and Hoss I’ll meet them in the north pasture.” To seal their renewed friendship, he brushed her cheek with a light kiss, then led his horse into the yard.
Smiling, Marie returned to the house. Mark and Hoss were back at the table, polishing off the last of the flapjacks. “Where is Little Joe——and Mary?” Marie asked.
“She was afraid he’d take a chill in just that little nightshirt,” Mark explained.. “She took him upstairs to dress him.”
“Without finishing her own meal,” Marie scolded. “I will send her down at once. I can dress my own baby.”
Before she reached the stairway, however, a piercing scream echoed down the hall. Marie ran up the stairs and into the nursery. “Mon petit,” she cried, gathering the weeping boy into her arms. “What is wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Mary replied, looking worried. “I had him settled down nicely, but when I tried to put on his dress, he screamed. I think I hurt him.”
Whispering words of endearment, Marie took the tiny dress and guided Little Joe’s arm toward the sleeve. Again, the child screamed. “That’s just what happened with me,” Mary said. “What can be hurting him?”
“Is your brother still here?” Marie asked quickly.
“I’ll see,” Mary replied at once and immediately hurried out of the nursery. “Mark,” she called from the stair landing, “Mrs. Cartwright wants you.”
Mark wiped his lips with the checked napkin and came toward his sister with long strides. He followed her down the hall, with Hoss at his heels. Although he hadn’t been summoned, the younger boy wasn’t about to be left behind.
“Oh, Mark, I’m glad you have not left yet,” Marie said. “I think Little Joe has hurt himself in his fall. Would you ride to Carson City and ask Dr. Martin to come, s’il vous plait?”
“Sure, ma’am, be glad to,” Mark said.
“Yeah, I’ll go, too,” Hoss offered.
“No, mon chéri, you must go to your brother,” Marie directed. “If no one meets him, he will worry and come looking.”
Hoss didn’t see that as much of a problem. So what if Adam took a day off. He was probably ready for one. Hoss sure was! And nobody was getting one, except Mark. It didn’t seem fair, but Hoss had a feeling he’d get nowhere arguing about it. He did as he was told.
Mark was glad of the opportunity for a trip to Carson City, especially one that took him in close proximity to Miss Sally Martin. He was sorry Little Joe was hurt, of course, but it was hard not to enjoy the prospect before him. Though he had intended to buzz around the doctor’s fragrant flower for awhile after delivering his message, Mark found himself riding back to the Ponderosa at the doctor’s side. Something about Dr. Martin’s quick response, maybe, triggered the boy’s concern, or perhaps his curiosity. He wanted to see Sally’s father at work.
When the doctor arrived, Marie was sitting in the rocker in the nursery holding her child. Little Joe had cried for an hour, first because he was hurt and, then, because his cruel-hearted mother wouldn’t let him down to play. He’d finally cried himself to sleep, but he woke when Dr. Martin lifted him from his mother’s arms and back into his crib.
Marie and Mary stood back, while Mark peeked through the door, as the doctor tenderly examined the baby. When his right arm was moved, Little Joe yelped, though not so loudly as before. “I’m sorry, baby,” Dr. Martin murmured, “but I have to see where you’re hurt.” He probed gently around the toddler’s neck, then raised up, giving Little Joe’s head a soft pat. “It’s his collarbone,” he told Marie.
Marie’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a shriek. “He’s broken his neck?” she whispered.
Dr. Martin’s rested consoling hands on her shoulders. “No, no,” he soothed. “It’s not that serious. It’s what we call a green twig break, Marie. The bones of a child this young are still flexible. They bend, rather than break. It’ll hurt for a few days, but, I assure you, it’s not serious.”
Marie sighed with relief. “Will you give him something for the pain, doctor?” she asked.
Dr. Martin shook his head. “I don’t think he needs it. It’s movement that brings the pain, so what we’ll do is immobilize the arm. A large napkin should do the trick.”
“I’ll get one,” Mary offered.
When she returned, the doctor folded Little Joe’s tiny arm close to his chest and pinned the red-checked napkin around his neck. Then he lifted the little boy and sat in the rocker with him. In words the toddler could understand, he explained the purpose of the sling. “Don’t try to take your arm out, Little Joe,” he concluded. “It will hurt if you do. Okay?”
“Okay,” Little Joe promised solemnly.
Dr. Martin smiled. “That’s probably good for the rest of the day,” he told Marie, “but you’d better watch him. I predict by tomorrow he’ll have forgotten both the pain and my instructions.”
From the doorway, Mark looked on, fascinated. Dr. Martin had a real way with kids. He couldn’t help admiring the man, even wishing he could do something as useful with his own life.
Over the next couple of days, the family seemed to recover their good spirits as they rallied to support Little Joe. Since they’d managed to get all the cattle moved to the upper pastures, where the grass wasn’t over-grazed as it was beginning to be in the valley, the boys shortened their working hours. They all wanted to be home early enough to see how Little Joe was getting along.
Hoss stayed with his little brother both Tuesday and Wednesday. Marie declared that job as essential as herding cattle, for, as Dr. Martin had predicted, Little Joe soon wearied of having his arm in a sling and repeatedly tried to remove it. Having Hoss to play with helped keep him content, and Hoss felt content, too, to take a rest from man’s work and be a boy again.
Near suppertime on Wednesday, July twenty-seventh, Ben finally arrived home after nine days of labor he considered harder than ranch chores. He was glad he’d accepted the responsibility and proud of the memorial the convention had drafted petitioning Congress for redress of their governmental woes. He’d had his fill of politics, though, at least for the time being. What he wanted most was to embrace his family and have a quiet, relaxing smoke on his pipe.
Adam and Mark weren’t home when he arrived, but Hoss immediately engulfed his father in a bear hug, while Marie rose from her mending to welcome her husband home. With one arm, Little Joe pushed himself up from the rug in front of the fire and toddled happily toward Ben. “Pa!” he cried, his face rapturous.
Ben started to kiss his wife, but turned to smile at the baby first. Seeing the checkered napkin confining his son’s arm, he lifted the boy gingerly. “What happened to you, precious?”
“He fell down the stairs,” Hoss reported, “but he’s okay.”
Ben looked reproachfully at his wife. “Why didn’t you send for me?”
“There was no need,” Marie said. “Dr. Martin says he only needs to keep his arm still a few days. We did not want to take you from your important work.”
“Where you been, Pa?” Little Joe demanded.
“Genoa, baby,” Ben said, sitting in his mauve armchair with the boy in his lap. “Did you miss Pa?”
“Yes, and those bad stairs hurt me!”
“I know,” Ben sympathized. “I guess Pa will have to give those stairs a very necessary little talk.”
Little Joe’s head bobbed emphatically. “‘Pank ‘em good, Pa!”
Ben threw his head back and laughed, then cuddled his baby. “Well, they sure deserve a good ‘panking, hurting Pa’s precious like they did.”
“How was the convention?” Marie asked as she settled in the blue armchair across from him. “Did all go as you wished?”
Ben shrugged. “There’s some statements in the memorial I don’t agree with, but it makes a strong case for our own territory. That’s what matters. We did our best; the rest is up to Congress.”
Marie smiled proudly, certain Ben’s best would be more than ample to move the stoniest heart among the nation’s legislators.
* * * * *
Hoss’s birthday fell on the final Saturday of July and was celebrated almost exactly as it had been the previous year. The same group of friends, with the addition of the Wentworths and newly married Montgomerys, met at Washoe Lake for another afternoon of picnicking and swimming. This year Hoss didn’t have to be coaxed into the water. He splashed and cavorted with the rest of the youngsters, not quite as if he’d been born to it, but with far more confidence than before. Even Little Joe, at last released from his confining sling, dog-paddled happily with the older children, Mary hovering over him like a clucking hen with her chick.
Leaving the younger men to watch over the children, Ben lay sprawled on a blanket near the shore, perusing with avid interest the latest Territorial Enterprise, which Clyde had brought to the picnic. The entire issue had been devoted to the convention at Genoa, and Ben was pleasantly surprised to find himself lauded as an oratorically gifted moderate in favor of separation from Utah.
“Look at him soppin’ up the sugar sauce about hisself,” Clyde cackled from a nearby blanket, where he, too, was resting after the huge meal.
Ben flushed crimson, knowing the charge was true. He was enjoying the flattering words of the paper’s editor. But, then, who wouldn’t?
“You’re just jealous.” Dr. Martin, lying next to Ben, yawned and turned to sun his other side.
“No such thing,” Clyde contradicted. “Me, I got no taste for politics, but Ben here has got his appetite whetted for it. Next thing you know, he’ll be runnin’ for governor of the territory.”
“Not ‘til they move the capital from Salt Lake City,” Ben chuckled. He turned his back on Clyde, fearing his thoughts might be as easily read as the newsprint of the Territorial Enterprise. Governor Cartwright. It had a nice ring to it. Ben had little expectation of rising that high in government, but now that he’d had a few days to recuperate from his first plunge into politics, he was looking back on the experience as one he wouldn’t mind repeating.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A Wedding, a Proposal and a Promise
|
T |
he slow, sultry days of August weren’t so slow this year. Normally, August was a time to relax from the rigorous work of the summer. Crops laid by, little to do but let the cattle graze and grow fat, maybe escort a calf or two into the world. This year, due to the shortage of hands and Ben’s prolonged political absence, the ranch was running behind schedule, so August was a time to catch up on work that couldn’t be done before.
Ben had assumed the latest mining craze would subside by now and some of his hands drift back to more regular employment. It wasn’t happening, however. Instead, Californians continued to pour over the Sierras into the new camp, now called Ophir. A four-stamp mill had even been set up on the Carson River to process the ore with equipment hauled by oxen from Sacramento, a sure sign the strike was expected to last. The lure of silver was keeping the mining excitement alive, though few were making much money. Old Pancake Comstock seemed to have done the best so far, having just sold his share in the claim he had finagled from McLaughlin and O’Riley for $11,000. Billy Thomas might arguably be considered to have fared the worst, his miniscule pocket of gold having so little “blue stuff” mixed in that its value was virtually nil.
As in most new mining camps, it was the businesspeople who made the greatest profits. Eilley Orrum, for instance, was making enormous profits, serving meals and washing laundry for the miners, but she had also become a mine owner herself. Espousing great faith in the Comstock Lode, she gladly accepted abandoned claims as payment for unpaid bills. One of those claims adjoined that of Sandy Bowers, a dowry neither seemed able to resist.
Knowing of the geographic motivation, Ben scoffed the day he received the hand-written invitation to Sandy and Eilley’s wedding. “Of all the stupid reasons to tie the knot,” he muttered, “merging claims has got to take the cake.”
“But, Ben, perhaps they are truly in love,” Marie argued.
Ben shook his head, laughing. “My love, only a romantic like you would believe that. Eilley wanted a man, any man. The fact that they can combine their claims and have twenty feet of mining property only adds to Bowers’ allure.”
“I disagree,” Marie said, lifting her chin to proclaim her feminine superiority in affairs of the heart. “Monsieur Bowers has many fine qualities. He is, perhaps, a bit shy for Madame Cowan——”
“Not to mention a bit young,” Ben inserted slyly. Sandy Bowers was fourteen years younger than Eilley Orrum.
Marie tilted her head coyly. “For you to bring up a difference of age is trés drôle, mon mari.”
Ben had the good grace to blush and acknowledge himself outflanked. “Can’t imagine why they invited us, anyway,” he grunted. “We’re neighbors, of course, but not that close.”
“Ah, but you are a man of importance now,” Marie smiled. “Certainement, they would want an esteemed delegate to the constitutional convention to attend their nuptials.” As she breezed into the kitchen to check on how soon supper would be served, Ben sat puffing his pipe and trying to decide if she had been serious or teasing.
A close perusal of the other guests crowding Old Nick’s Bar the day of the wedding shed no light on the reason for their invitation. Ben spotted a few other delegates from the convention, which seemed to suggest a desire to associate with the leaders of the community, certainly not all neighbors like the Cartwrights. Maybe they were friends of Sandy’s, though, Ben conceded. The hearty young man who had first come west as a teamster for John Reese was universally, usually instantaneously, liked. It was conceivable he counted among his friends people Eilley——or Ben himself for that matter—–didn’t even know.
After the brief ceremony the party adjourned to the adjoining boardinghouse for refreshments, which consisted primarily of Eilley’s famous batter biscuits and beans. So much for social pretensions, Ben chuckled to himself, but with so many to feed, the simple fare was probably the most practical, especially since flour was now selling in Genoa for only twenty cents a pound, a sure indication their community was no longer considered a frontier settlement. The miners, some invited, some not, squeezed in for the free meal, then carried their tin plates outside to perch on nearby rocks or squat on the ground when all available seating was taken. As a fiddler grated out melodies on an ancient violin, those who had finished eating began to dance.
Darkness had already fallen when Ben gathered his family for the ride home. “Do we have to go now?” Adam complained.. “There’s gonna be a shivaree, Pa.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “Do you consider that a proper way to fete newlyweds, young man?”
Adam grinned. “Sure do. Mark does, too.”
Ben’s eyebrow arched higher, but his chin quivered with unreleased laughter. “Let Mark speak for himself, Adam.”
“I’d like to stay,” Mark admitted. “I’ve never been to a shivaree.”
“Me, either,” Adam pressed.
“No doubt an essential element of a gentleman’s education,” Ben commented dryly, then laughed. “All right, you can stay. Just remember we have a full day’s work ahead tomorrow, so try to get some sleep tonight.”
Adam nodded. “We will.” He fixed his eyes on a pebble near the toe of his boot. “I——uh——don’t suppose you’d let me borrow your pistol.” Though Ben hadn’t worn his sidearm to the wedding, it was in the wagon in case of trouble along the road, a precaution Ben considered reasonable with so many strangers in the territory.
“You suppose correctly,” Ben stated, eyes growing stern.
“Just for noise-making,” Adam argued. “I don’t plan to shoot anyone, Pa.”
“Fine. This way there won’t be any unplanned shootings, either,” Ben said sharply. “You need a pistol about as much as you needed that tour of the Barbary Coast with Sterling Larrimore.”
Adam’s face, flushing furiously, jerked up. “Pa, it’s not fair to bring that up when you said it was over and done.”
Ben’s countenance softened. “Yeah, you’re right.. I apologize, and I promise I won’t hold it over your head again.” Then he grinned. “But you’re still not getting the pistol.”
Adam sighed and gave the pebble at his foot an irritated kick. “How are we supposed to make noise for the shivaree?”
Ben gave his son’s backside a playful swat. “You’re young; making noise comes natural.” He tossed Mark a wink and turned to help Marie and Mary into the buckboard. “Have fun,” he called over his shoulder as he drove away.
“Honestly, you’d think I was a little kid,” Adam grumbled. “My cousin Will’s only a year older than I am, and he carries a handgun all the time. Haven’t I been pulling a man’s share around the ranch?”
“Sure have,” Mark conceded, “but your pa’s right about the gun. You don’t need it, Adam.”
“You’re a fine one to be giving advice about listening to fathers,” Adam snuffled, then winced. “Sorry, that was a lousy thing to say.”
“Yeah, it was,” Mark muttered, “even if it is true. What was that about a tour of the Barbary Coast? Never figured you for the type to get in that kind of trouble.”
Adam scowled. “I had help. Listen, I don’t mind telling you, but now’s not the time. We got to figure some way to raise a racket.”
Mark snatched up a tin plate some miner had left on the ground while he danced. “I’m gonna find another plate to hit against this one.”
Adam frowned. Banging two plates together was the kind of noise Little Joe might relish, but Adam wasn’t a baby. Compared to the crack of a pistol, he didn’t think it would be loud enough to satisfy him. By the time the miners descended on the recently bedded bride and groom, however, he hadn’t come up with anything else, so he and Mark stood side by side, clanging plates and yelling at the top of their lungs. Miners added to the cacophony with the clamor of drills striking pans and firearms exploding skyward. The newlyweds took it all in good grace and were finally allowed to enjoy their marriage night alone.
As they rode back to the Ponderosa, Mark again brought up the subject of Adam’s excursion to the Barbary Coast. When Adam had freely confessed what happened, Mark shook his head in disgust. “That Sterling! That’s who talked me into my first trip to the Barbary Coast, too, but I didn’t think even he would take a kid like you to Chinatown.”
Adam didn’t appreciate being called a kid, but chose to overlook it in his curiosity about another point. “He ever take you there?”
Mark flushed. “Yeah, just once; about the same thing happened as with you. I went out drinking with him a lot, but I couldn’t stomach the other.”
“Then, you didn’t——”
Mark shook his head. “No, heard too many of my father’s sermons, I guess, or seen too many sailors scraping themselves raw after visiting those girls. Sterling used to laugh and call me ‘preacher boy,’ just to rile me, but I’m glad now I didn’t give in. I could never hope to win a decent girl like Sally if I’d done what he pushed me to.”
Adam nodded. He felt the same way. “You’re serious about Sally, aren’t you?”
Mark smiled dreamily. “Yeah, and I think she likes me, too.”
“I guarantee it!” Adam laughed. “She moons over you.”
“You don’t mind? You said once you weren’t sure how you felt about her.”
Adam looked thoughtful for a moment. “I couldn’t have very deep feelings for Sally ‘cause it doesn’t bother me at all to see you with her. No, you’ve got a clear road where I’m concerned.”
“Hope I’ve got one with her father, too,” Mark murmured. “I’m gonna ask for her hand before I head back to California.”
“Good luck,” Adam laughed. “She’s the apple of his eye.”
Mark moaned softly, suddenly wishing he were on better terms with the Almighty. He had a feeling approaching Sally’s father was a subject for heart-felt, long-winded prayer.
* * * * *
At breakfast a few days after the Bowers’ wedding, Ben was apportioning out the day’s assignments when Marie interrupted. “You must spare Adam today,” she said. “Laura is coming to measure him for his new clothes.”
“I don’t need new clothes,” Adam said quickly.
“Mais oui, you do,” Marie insisted. “You have grown much this last year, Adam, and there is little time left before you return to school.”
Adam laid his fork aside and placed both hands, palms down, on the table. “I’m not going to school,” he stated, dark eyes determined.
“Yes, you are,” Ben, who was sure he knew the reason behind Adam’s decision, said quietly.
“Pa, you know I can’t,” Adam argued. “Mark and Mary will be going home soon, and if I leave, too, what help will you have?”
“Me,” Hoss asserted loudly. “I’m a good hand, ain’t I, Pa?”
“One of my best,” Ben smiled with pride.
“My point, exactly,” Adam said bluntly. “If Hoss is the best you’ve got——”
“Hey!” Hoss hollered.
“Nothing against you, Hoss,” Adam explained quickly, “but you’re just”——he started to say “a kid,” then finished, instead——“one person. Pa needs more help than just you.”
“And I’ll have more,” Ben said. “Tuquah will be coming back to work soon.”
Adam hooted. “Yeah, and stick with you ‘til piñon harvest.”
“True,” Ben admitted, “but I’ll manage, Adam. You are not curtailing your education, young man, even if the whole world goes raving mad for silver.”
“Pa,” Adam protested.
“No argument,” Ben said firmly as he rose from his chair. “You will stay home today for your fitting, and you will begin packing for Sacramento as soon as your things are ready. That’s an order, Adam.”
Mark followed Ben outside. “I’m sorry to leave you short-handed, Mr. Cartwright,” he said. “I’d be glad to stay on longer, but I have to take Mary back before the first storms.”
“Of course, you do,” Ben replied at once. “She mustn’t risk being caught here for the winter. I think it best you return with Adam, as we originally planned. I don’t want your father to be concerned.”
“Nor do I,” Mark said, surprised that he cared about the man he’d felt only bitterness toward when they parted last spring. “You’re sure you’ll be all right.”
Ben wasn’t sure at all. He could probably get by with the help of Tuquah and a few other Washos, and if the mining fever died down, there’d be others to choose from, but neither was a reliable source of help. Ben decided to lie. “I’m sure,” he said.
* * * * *
While the younger men worked with the cattle,
Ben had assigned himself the task of inspecting the grass of Washoe
Valley. Ordinarily, he waited until
September to move his herd back to the lower pastures. By then the grass had had two months to grow
back after the haying season and was ready to support cattle again. He’d hoped the grass might be tall enough to
move them earlier this year so Mark and Adam could help with the roundup. The grass wasn’t ready, though, so the cattle
would have to wait, and Ben would have to find someone else to drive them down
from the hills.
Though
the forage was inadequate, Ben could see a few cattle grazing close to the
lake. Coming toward him from that
direction was a young man on a chestnut gelding. “Hey, Mr. Cartwright!” the fellow called when
he drew near. “Mr. Fowler recognized your
bay. He’d like you to ride over to the
lake. Got a problem he needs your help
with.”
“Sure,” Ben said, turning his horse to the
east. “Anything serious?”
“Yeah, dead serious,” Fowler’s wrangler
muttered. “Think we may have some
rustlers cornered.”
Ben’s brow furrowed. Rustling was a serious crime to cattlemen
like himself and Fowler, the kind that couldn’t be ignored. As he galloped toward Washoe Lake, however,
Ben found himself hoping Fowler was mistaken or, if not, that the evidence
against the men was irrefutable. Law and
order still resided in the hands of vigilantes in Carson County, and if the men
were found guilty, they were likely to pay a painful penalty. Ben didn’t relish the thought of another
futile fight to protect the rights of men he believed innocent. It would just be Lucky Bill all over again.
Ben reined in close to the neighboring
rancher. “You think you’ve caught some
rustlers, Fowler?” he asked.
“Yeah, I get suspicious when anybody
offers me a yoke of oxen for what these fellows were asking,” Fowler grunted,
and when he quoted the price, Ben gasped.
No genuine cattleman would price his stock at the ridiculously low
figure Fowler named. The two buckskin-clad
men tied to a tree beside the lake didn’t look naive enough to be greenhorns
from the east, and once ignorance was ruled out, the logical conclusion was
that the oxen were indeed stolen and the thieves wanted to convert them to cash
quickly.
“You have any proof?” Ben queried.
Fowler shook his head. “Just suspicious, like I said. Wondered if you’d lost any cattle.”
“No,” Ben replied quickly. “I don’t keep oxen anymore, just beef cattle,
and we’re not missing any.”
“Well, I sent riders out to most of the
ranchers in the county,” Fowler went on.
“I think we ought to hold these men ‘til we hear if anyone’s missing a
span of oxen.”
Ben nodded soberly. “Let’s get solid proof, though, before we do
anything more.”
“Never intended otherwise,” Fowler muttered. “Don’t aim to take part in no lynching, even
if they’re guilty, like I think. There’s
better ways.”
Ben didn’t know whether to feel relieved
or not. He was glad to have at least one
man’s support against a hanging, but Fowler’s dark countenance made Ben wonder
what “better ways” the rancher had in mind.
One by one other ranchers drifted in. Some had simply sent word by Fowler’s
messengers that they had no cattle missing, but most were concerned enough
about the threat of rustlers in the territory to come themselves to evaluate
the situation. Ben began to breathe
easier as each man reported no losses from his ranch.
Finally, a rancher from McMarlin’s Station
rode in. “They’re my oxen,” the man
declared, black eyes snapping.
“You sure, Campbell?” Fowler asked.
“I’m sure,” Campbell snarled. “Look at the way the ears are notched. Any of my neighbors can tell you that’s my
mark.”
“That’s right,” another rancher from near
McMarlin’s Station vouched when he had examined the notches. “Seen Campbell’s mark many times. These oxen are his, beyond any doubt.”
Ben’s stomach knotted. With the legal authority in Salt Lake City
four hundred miles away, none of the ranchers would consider delaying
justice. There wasn’t even a place in the
county where suspected criminals could be held while awaiting trial. The trial would take place immediately, under
the scant shade of the big pine on the west side of Washoe Lake. And from the evidence already presented
informally, Ben was certain the verdict would be guilty.
Sick at heart, he walked away, hating
himself for his reluctance to intervene.
He refused to take part in vigilante justice, but couldn’t bring himself
to oppose it, either. Not this
time. Not for guilty men. But while he wouldn’t be a participant, he
couldn’t leave without knowing the men’s fate, however impotent he might be to
change it.
The jury was chosen quickly, the evidence
presented and the decision rendered with even greater dispatch. Determining the sentence took longer. Some ranchers favored stringing the two
defendants, Ruspas and Reise, to the big pine.
Others seemed reluctant to countenance another hanging, dreading the
kind of division that had split the territory after the hanging of Lucky
Bill. One man suggested flogging the two
culprits, another branding their cheeks with the letter T to designate them
thieves to all they came in contact with.
Then an even more severe penalty was suggested by the Washoe rancher
whose suspicions had been originally aroused.
“Where I come from, the standard punishment for rustling is removal of
the left ear,” Fowler decreed. “Gives a
man reason to think twice before he steals again.”
A wave of nausea swept over Ben. “That’s barbaric!” he shouted, striding
forward.
“You haven’t shown any interest in my
problem before, Cartwright,” Campbell snapped.
“Why mix in now?”
“Better keep out, Cartwright, unless you
want more of what happened the last time,” a rancher who had been present at
the hanging of Lucky Bill threatened.
Ben took a deep breath. “Look, I know I’m only one man. I can’t prevent your doing whatever you
decide, and I won’t be foolish enough to try.
But I’m begging you not to do something that may bring reproach on our
territory for decades to come. Campbell
has his oxen back, so why not just banish these men?”
“Yeah, into the desert without a canteen,”
another rancher, Jim Sturtevant, suggested.
“That’s a death sentence, and a more cruel
one than hanging,” Fowler interrupted sharply.
“I say we banish this scum from our territory, sure, but give ‘em
something to remember us by, something to remind them that Carson County don’t
tolerate rustling. Taking an ear’s a lot
less barbaric, to use Cartwright’s word, than taking a life. Gives a man a chance to mend his ways if he’s
so inclined.”
From the murmurs of agreement, Ben knew
the decision had been made, so he wasn’t surprised when the jury, after briefly
conferring, ordered the removal of the left ear of each convicted rustler. He started to stalk away, to distance himself
from the gruesome business. Then he
halted. Undoubtedly, the men would
require medical assistance once the sentence was carried out. If he couldn’t prevent the mutilation,
perhaps he should, at least, remain long enough to see that the rustlers’
wounds were properly tended.
Sturtevant, the chosen executioner, seemed
almost gleeful as he sharpened the straight, double-edged blade of his
“Arkansas toothpick” on a rock. Looking
visibly pale, the older rustler was led forward. Sturtevant pulled back the brown hair that
barely covered Reise’s left ear and with a quick downward slice, severed it
from his head. Reise groaned and
clutched the bleeding surface.
Kneeling beside the older rustler, trying
to stanch the flow of blood, Ben couldn’t understand the grin on Ruspas’s face
as he was led forward for removal of his ear.
When Sturtevant jerked back the greasy, shoulder-length, black hair,
however, Ben and everyone else could see that Ruspas had no left ear to
remove. Obviously, this was not his
first unsuccessful attempt as a cattle thief, and the rustler was hardened
enough to laugh at frustrating the jury’s decree.
The humor of the situation struck the
jury, too, and everyone, even Ben, laughed when they realized there was no way
to carry out the sentence. The jury
quickly reconvened, though, and changed the penalty to removal of the right
ear, a decision which effectively wiped the smug smile from Ruspas’s face.
Sturtevant again stepped forward, grasping
the walnut handle of his sharply pointed blade, and swiftly severed the right
ear of the now sober Ruspas. Tossing the
ear to the jury, Sturtevant laughed.
“Now, you’ve got both rights and lefts, and the ears are properly
mated.”
“So we have,” Fowler chuckled, then his
face darkened as he turned to the two bleeding men. “You men are ordered to depart this territory
at once. Get to your feet and head for
the Sierras, boys, and don’t let Carson County see your faces again.”
“Wait a minute,” Ben protested.
“Mixin’ in again, Cartwright?” Campbell
snarled.
“Only to ask one concession,” Ben said
quickly. “You’re sending injured men
into rugged mountains. If you truly
don’t intend this to be a death sentence, let Dr. Martin tend their wounds
first. I promise I’ll see them out of
the territory myself once the doctor says they’re fit to travel.”
There were murmurs both of approval and
dissent. Then Fowler raised a weathered
hand. “All right. I’ll suggest a compromise: just to prove we’re not barbarians,
Cartwright, we’ll let your doctor friend bind up their wounds, if you’ll see
these men out of our county by sundown tomorrow. Is that agreed?”
Seeing the nods of the other ranchers, Ben
knew he could achieve no further leniency.
“Yeah, that’s agreed,” he said. “I’d
appreciate it if one of you men heading south would stop by Carson City and ask
Dr. Martin to come by my place. I’ll
take these men there.”
“I’m willing,” Campbell said.
As the other ranchers rode away, Ben
helped Ruspas and Reise to their saddles. Moving west, toward the Ponderosa, Ben thought
ironically that these two bloody men were not the kind of guests he had
originally expected when he built all those extra rooms in his home. The rooms were the fulfillment of a promise
to his second wife, who yearned to open their home to souls in need. It was not Inger to whom he’d be bringing
these unsavory guests, however, and at first Ben wasn’t sure how Marie would
react.
Then he rebuked himself for the unworthy
thought. Marie might not share Inger’s all-encompassing
compassion for humanity, but she would not tolerate any man’s suffering alone
when she could ease his pain. No,
Marie’s only concern would be for her children.
The children! Hoss was working away from
the house with the older boys, but Ben suddenly saw a vivid picture of the
effect seeing these mutilated men would have on impressionable Little Joe and
tender-hearted Mary. He’d have to get
them both safely out of the way before letting Ruspas and Reise enter the
Cartwright home.
Though Ben was arriving home earlier than
usual, the hour was late enough that he knew both Mary and Little Joe would be
inside. He told the two rustlers to wait
on the porch. “I need to get my children
out of the way,” he explained. The older
man, Reise, nodded, seeming to understand, but Ruspas merely sneered, shrugging
off Ben’s concern. Not wanting to lose a
free night’s lodging and the promised medical attention, however, he did as he
was told without audible comment.
The minute Ben edged in the door, Little
Joe scampered to meet him, lifting his arms, as he did each evening when his
father returned from work. Ben picked
the child up and gave him the expected hug.
“Mary, take Little Joe up to your room,” he suggested softly, “close the
door and stay there until I call you.”
Mary looked puzzled, but, obedient by
nature, immediately stood.
“Ben?” Marie, coming in from the kitchen
where she and Hop Sing were consulting about dinner, queried.
“Go on, children,” Ben said, handing
Little Joe to Mary. The toddler
whimpered and stretched his thin arms back toward his father. “Later, baby,” Ben promised. “Go with Mary now.”
As the youngsters mounted the stairs,
Marie glided to her husband’s side.
“What is it, Ben?”
“We’ve got guests,” Ben muttered, “not the
kind I relish having the children see.”
Marie frowned. “Why have you invited such people to our
home?” she demanded. As Ben explained
briefly, her face softened. “But, Ben,
you should not leave injured men outside so long. Bring them in at once. We will put them in the downstairs bedroom.”
Ben nodded, relieved. He brought the men into the bedroom, where
Marie was turning down the covers.
“Please help them undress and get into bed, Ben,” she said. “I will have Hop Sing heat some water so we
may dress their wounds.”
“Dr. Martin’s coming,” Ben said.
Marie frowned at him. “And he would prefer to work on clean
patients, I am sure.”
Reise doffed his hat quickly. “Thank you, ma’am. We’re much obliged.” Ruspas flopped on the bed and started to pull
off his boots, revealing a grimy big toe poking through his left sock.
Ben grimaced. The sheets would surely need a good boiling
after these two left. If his beautiful
young wife noticed the filth of her two guests, however, nothing in her expression
revealed her feelings. She sat first on
one side, then the other, of the bed, gently washing away the caked blood,
seemingly undisturbed by the gaping, jagged edges of skin or the sight of
earless men. “I have seen men injured
before,” she later explained to Ben.
“Scarcely a night passed in New Orleans without the flash of dagger or
epee.”
When Dr. Martin arrived, Marie went
upstairs to explain to Mary what was taking place and why Ben had asked her to
leave the room. Ben left the doctor to
his ministrations and wandered outside.
Leaning on the hitching rail, he took a deep breath of the pine-scented
air. Clean, crisp, pure——how Ben wished
he felt as unsullied as the air! He
thought back over everything he’d done that afternoon and kicked the dust in
disgust.
Was there ever a right way to deal with
these situations? He’d tried to do the
right thing in the affair with Lucky Bill, but his effort had been futile. Today he hadn’t really tried, at least not
like he had then. Had he held back
because he knew the effort would again be futile or simply from fear of a
beating? How could a man look deep
enough inside himself to know why he did the things he did? But how could he afford not to when he had
sons looking to him for example?
When Dr. Martin came out, he saw Ben still
leaning over the rail and ambled to his side.
Ben turned to look at his friend.
“Will they be all right?”
Martin nodded. “No giving them back what they’ve lost, of
course, but they’ll live.”
“Can they travel? I gave my word I’d see them out of the county
by sundown tomorrow.”
The doctor frowned. “Well, it wouldn’t be my first
recommendation, but if they have to, they can travel.” He looked closely at Ben. “You all right?”
“Yeah, sure,” Ben muttered. “I didn’t give anyone an excuse to punch me
this time.”
“And that bothers you?” the doctor
chuckled.
Ben turned abruptly, stuffing his hands in
his pants’ pockets and scuffing at the dirt.
“Yeah, it bothers me. Who am I,
Paul?”
“A knight on a white horse?” Paul
suggested.
Ben spun around to find the doctor smiling
at him. “That was your dream, as I
recall,” Ben said. Paul had once
described his reasons for coming west with that idealistic phrase.
Paul nodded, then laid a hand on Ben’s
taller shoulder. “It’s every man’s
dream, one time or another, and most of us fall short of it. You, my friend, attain it far more than any
man I know. Don’t torture yourself over
the times you can’t.”
Ben looked up and smiled. “Good advice, doctor. Any extra charge?”
Paul chuckled. “As a matter of fact, yes. A good meal, to which Marie has already
invited me, and a rousing game of chess.”
“You’re on,” Ben replied as they headed
back inside.
* * * * *
Between work and preparations for the coming departure, the final days of August skittered by. Mark, Mary and Adam would board the Pioneer Stage on Friday, the second of September, but before they did, Mark had one last call to make, one he had both dreaded and anticipated for weeks. Unable to put it off longer, he rode nervously into Carson City Thursday morning and knocked at Dr. Martin’s office.
When he answered the door, Dr. Martin smiled. “Did Little Joe take another tumble down the stairs or has Ben brought home more rustlers that need my attention?” Mark shook his head, but Dr. Martin, noticing the young man’s edginess, grew grave. “Anyone else ill or injured?”
Mark again shook his head. “No, sir. I came to see you, to ask a question.”
“Ah, well, come in, then,” Dr. Martin said, relieved. “Have a seat,” he offered, indicating one of the two he kept for arriving patients in the small area curtained off from his examining room to the back of the cabin.
Mark perched on the edge of the chair, fingers tapping his knees like the keyboard of a piano. Dr. Martin pulled a chair so he could face the young man and sat down. “Now, what’s this question you had? Something regarding your sister’s health?”
“No,” Mark said. “She’s feeling much stronger than when we came.”
“Yes, our dry climate’s proved invigorating for her,” Dr. Martin commented. “I’m glad.” He waited silently.
Mark took a deep breath. “I’ve come to ask, sir, for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Dr. Martin’s face sobered. “I see. I thought you might; but when you delayed so long, I decided the threat was past.”
Mark gulped. “Threat, sir?”
“Hard for me to see it otherwise,” Dr. Martin responded. “Surely, you realize how I treasure my daughter.”
“As do I, sir,” Mark countered.
The doctor sat back, eyeing the young man cautiously. “Perhaps. You must also understand that I want nothing but the best for her.”
“As do I,” Mark repeated.
The doctor’s mouth quirked slightly. “And do you consider yourself ‘the best’?”
Mark bit his lip. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Dr. Martin folded his arms. “I’m referring to your history of carousing, young man. I will not see my daughter married to a drunkard.”
Mark flushed deeply. “I don’t know how much Mr. Cartwright has told you, sir, but——”
“Mr. Cartwright has told me nothing,” Dr. Martin interrupted. “It was Sally herself who told me. Evidently, you felt no shame in telling her..”
“I was——and am——ashamed, sir,” Mark said earnestly. “Sally must have told you how deeply I regret my former behavior and how determined I am to change.”
Dr. Martin nodded perfunctorily. “How determined you are remains to be seen. You’ve been sheltered from temptation out at the Ponderosa. You may find it harder to resist once you’re back in San Francisco, and until you convince me you have changed, you will not gain my permission to wed my daughter.”
“If you mean I need to prove myself,” Mark said slowly, “I’m willing to do that. It’s my intention to return home tomorrow, find a steady job and, with my brother’s help, provide a proper home for my sister. Then I’ll begin to save money for my future with Sally. I plan to be gone almost a year, sir. Is that not time enough to prove the seriousness of my intentions?”
Dr. Martin only delayed his answer a couple of minutes, but to Mark the time dragged past like as many hours. Finally, the doctor said, “A year——yes. If you return home and put yourself under your father’s authority for that time, and if there are no further indiscretions, I will reconsider my answer. Before you ask for Sally’s hand again, however, I want a letter from your father assuring me that your conduct has been above reproach.”
Though his relationship with his father had broken down, Mark knew the Reverend Wentworth for a fair man. His father would not withhold that letter of approval if Mark earned it. Neither, of course, would he hesitate to report unfavorable incidents, but with a prize like Sally to reach for, Mark was certain he’d find the fortitude to meet even his father’s high standards. He stood and reached for the doctor’s hand to seal the bargain. “I’ll see you next spring, sir, shortly after my father’s written that letter. May I write Sally?”
“Provided there is no discussion of love or marriage, you may write,” Dr. Martin agreed. “We’ll both be interested in what you’re doing and the progress you’re making.”
The way he said it told Mark that Sally would not be the only one reading those letters. He’d be sure to keep them circumspect.
* * * * *
Ben hated farewells on principle, but the ones exchanged as the Pioneer Stage prepared for boarding in Carson City were unusually difficult. Having not understood until the last moment that his playmate of the summer was leaving, Little Joe was clinging to Mary Wentworth and weeping inconsolably, and the baby’s grief seemed to set the mood of everyone else’s good-byes. Hoss, with his new aspirations of manliness, was handling himself better, but it was obvious he, too, hated to see Mary go. In fact, he expressed the fervor of his feelings by informing Mary that he intended to marry her when he grew up, so she could stay at the Ponderosa forever. Between gently dealing with his boyish love and wiping Little Joe’s tears, Mary had her hands full.
With the stage depot in full view from Dr. Martin’s office, Mark didn’t dare hold Sally’s hand, much less speak of marriage, nor did she use the forbidden word. Their eyes, however, communicated clear messages of love. Mark’s dark eyes were warm with promise, while Sally’s blue ones shone with confidence the pledge would be kept.
Even Adam, usually dreamy with anticipation of a new school term, seemed reluctant to board the stage this time. He still felt that he was abandoning the Ponderosa in its hour of greatest need. When he’d expressed that a few days earlier, however, his father had opened the Bible and pointed out a verse that advised against thinking of himself more highly than he ought. Adam got the point and said nothing further.
When the time came to board the stage, Little Joe still refused to release his precious Mary, so Nelly Thomas, who with Inger and Billy was there to see everyone off, took the baby from her. “Come on, Sugarfoot. Let’s see if we can’t find some cookies in Aunt Nelly’s kitchen.” Marie smiled, hopeful a tasty distraction would take her child’s attention off his loss. Hoss hadn’t been specifically invited, but cookies sounded like the perfect solace to him, too, so he trotted after Nelly and his brother.
Ben helped Mary into the stage. The girl paused in the doorway to take a clay crock of lebkuchen dough from Marie. “Oh, I’m leaving so much richer than I came,” she enthused. Packed in her carpetbags, one more than when she arrived, were containers of strawberry jam and a number of new dresses she and Marie had made. “Thank you for a wonderful summer.”
“It’s been a pleasure to have you,” Ben said warmly. He turned to shake Mark’s hand. “And you,” he added.
Mark nodded. He knew he’d been anything but a pleasure when he first came, but hoped he’d made up for that by his faithful work later. “I can’t express what this summer has meant to me,” he said.
“Oh, I think I know,” Ben smiled. “Give your father my best.” Contained in that greeting was the certainty that a wonderful reunion awaited father and son in San Francisco.
For Ben and his boy, however, it was months of separation that loomed before them. Seeing that Adam had finished his farewells to Billy and Sally, Ben gave his son a final embrace. “Write all about your studies,” he dictated. “I’ll be real interested in that course on surveying you’re hoping to take.”
“Yes, sir,” Adam replied soberly, “and you write all about the ranch.”
“Everything you need to know,” Ben smiled.
The answer didn’t please Adam, who felt his father meant to hide any worries from him, but he saw no point in protesting. “Tell those ornery little brothers of mine good-bye,” he laughed, instead. “They really know how to make a fellow feel important, running after cookies instead of staying to see me off.”
“They’ll miss you,” Ben chuckled, “despite appearances to the contrary.”
When he’d given Marie a swift peck on the cheek, Adam mounted the stage, wondering whether his father’s parting remark was true. Hoss, he was sure, would miss him, but he’d find consolation in the letters that came with every mail. On the other hand, Adam had been too busy working to see much of Little Joe this summer. The little fellow would probably just forget him again. However, Adam didn’t waste time regretting what he couldn’t change. As the stage pulled out, the oldest Cartwright boy found his thoughts turning toward Sacramento and the nuggets of knowledge waiting to be mined there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Civil Matters
|
B |
en entered, blowing on his fingers, and headed straight for the Ponderosa’s massive stone fireplace. “Brr! Cold out, boy,” he told Hoss, the only member of the family in sight. Ben looked with irritation toward the stairs. “Go see what’s keeping your mother, will you, son?”
Hoss shrugged. “I know what’s keeping her——my little brother. He fights bein’ bundled up tooth and toenail, Pa.”
Ben chuckled. “If he could get a feel of that wind, he wouldn’t.”
“It couldn’t be much colder than it is in here,” Marie complained as she escorted her puckered-lipped toddler down the stairs. “I do hope it will be warmer in Carson City.”
“Maybe a little,” Ben conceded, “but I wouldn’t count on it. I just hope the cold doesn’t affect the turnout for the election.”
Marie came to him, lifting her face for a kiss. “I hate to see you worry about such things on your birthday, mon amour. It should be a time for celebration.”
“Yeah, for picnics and swimmin’ parties,” Hoss grinned, recalling his own birthday with fond remembrance.
Ben tousled the boy’s sandy hair. “In July, maybe! Please spare my aged bones any picnics or swimming today.” Ben’s bones were feeling every minute of his thirty-eight years this frosty morning.
Little Joe patted his father’s leg to get his attention. “Swim, Pa? I wanna swim.”
Ben guffawed as he tossed the little boy up to his shoulder. “You would!” The tiny toddler seemed to relish cold weather. A dip in an icy lake would probably suit Little Joe to a T, even if the teeth of everyone else in the family were chattering loud enough to make music for Adam’s ears in Sacramento.
“It was nice of ‘em to put the election on your birthday, Pa,” Hoss commented as they started toward the door.
Ben gave his middle boy a hearty slap on the back. “Don’t think that was their reason, Hoss, but the only present I want for this birthday is to see that constitution adopted.”
As they exited the house and moved toward the buckboard, Marie shivered under her rabbit skin cape. “I am glad now that Mary left when she did. This cold would be terrible for her.” Since the weather normally didn’t turn chilly until October, there’d been some discussion of the Wentworths’ staying through September. Feeling homesick for her father, however, Mary had decided they, too, should leave when Adam returned to school.
“Mary?” Little Joe asked, head lifting from his father’s shoulder. “Where Mary?” It hadn’t been a week since the Wentworths and Adam had boarded the stage, and Little Joe was just beginning to get over his sense of loss.
“Did you have to mention her name?” Ben chided.
Marie smiled contritely. “You are going to play with Inger and Jimmy today, Little Joe,” she offered as a quick alternative.
“Oh, good,” the toddler crowed, happy again.
The Cartwrights loaded into the buckboard, the boys in the back, and drove through a gray mist that shrouded them in damp cold. Hoss gratefully huddled beneath wool blankets, but Little Joe, seemingly oblivious to the wind and wet, stood behind the wagon seat, chattering to his longsuffering parents.
On arriving in Carson City, Ben went immediately to the polling place, while the rest of the family sought the warmth of the Thomases’ parlor. After casting his ballot, Ben ambled over to the trading post to converse with Clyde and encourage any prospective voters who wandered in to support the constitution. Most agreed that they would, but the main topic of conversation around the pot-bellied stove was the sudden turn in the weather. None of the long-time settlers could remember such an early cold snap, and several fretted that they might be in for a harsh winter. Newer residents, especially those accustomed to the milder weather of California, scoffed.
“I, for one, am going to lay in my winter supplies early——and in quantity,” Ben commented to Clyde, but loudly enough for everyone else to hear.
“Good idea,” Clyde announced to the room, though most tossed off his advice as salesmanship. “Just have time to take down your order before we head to my place for dinner.”
“All right, but I’ll need to check with Marie before we finish,” Ben replied.
“Make more sense to talk to Hop Sing, wouldn’t it?” Clyde cackled. “He still rules the roost at your place, don’t he?” The comment drew laughter from everyone in the room who’d ever been a guest at the Ponderosa.
“He’s right, Ben,” Augustus Harrison jibed. “Doesn’t pay to rile the cook.”
“Cooks,” Ben chuckled. “I’ve got two of them to keep appeased, and neither one shy about expressing his or her opinion.”
Supply list tentatively completed, Clyde herded Ben toward his place, where a surprise awaited the birthday celebrant. The dinner of New England pot roast and Boston-baked beans didn’t surprise Ben; he’d suspected Nelly meant to treat him to his favorite foods when she extended the invitation. He hadn’t, however, expected to find a party of people waiting to share the meal, as well as the huge sponge cake Laura Ellis had baked.
“Surprise, Pa!” Hoss shouted needlessly when Ben entered the house to see Dr. Martin and Sally, in addition to the Thomases and Ellises.
“’Prise, Pa!” Little Joe chortled, jumping and down as he clapped his hands.
Ben scooped him up and shared the laughter. “It sure is!” he declared. “Now, who planned this?”
“We all had a part,” Nelly chuckled. “Just sort of fell together without much plannin’.”
“And if you thought you were going to spend this birthday canvassing for votes, you are much mistaken, my friend,” Paul Martin observed. “Barring the intrusion of patients, you and I will be spending the afternoon over a chessboard.”
“Sounds good,” Ben smiled. “I could use something to take my mind off the election.”
Marie nodded her satisfaction. Just as she’d thought when she’d made the suggestion to Dr. Martin.
By the time two strongly contested chess games had been completed, the polls were closed. Although the final results wouldn’t be known until news of other precincts came in, Ben wanted to stay long enough to get a feel for how the constitution was being received. As would be proven later, the election in Carson City was a fair gauge for how the rest of the proposed territory was voting. The constitution was adopted and Isaac Roop elected provisional governor. Although Ben had received a substantial number of votes for that office in the Carson City balloting, outlying precincts all went for Roop. Ben received an unexpected birthday present a few days later, however, when he learned he’d been elected to the territorial legislature to convene in December.
* * * * *
The temperature continued to drop throughout September. Feeling the frosty air that greeted him each morning, Ben thought it prudent to bring the cattle down from the upper pastures to the warmer valley where grass would survive longer. Hoss was excused from lessons to assist in the roundup, but only escape from the hated schoolwork made up for the icy wind that swept over the Sierras and crept down the neck of his jacket. Snow flurries drifted through the air almost every afternoon, although there was no accumulation, and the snow melted almost as soon as it hit the ground.
Once the cattle had been moved, Ben made a concerted effort to lay in a huge stockpile of firewood. Even if his own intuition had not been sufficient impetus, the warnings of Tuquah and the other Washo herdsmen would have alerted Ben to the severity of the winter to come. He intended to be prepared and hoped his neighbors would take similar precautions. Clyde, he knew, would, but Ben felt concerned about the miners who had poured across the Sierras that summer. He had assumed they would return to California for the winter, as local miners usually had, but as the weeks passed, it seemed evident most intended to stay. Few of them, Ben was sure, had the least idea of the hardships they would face before spring.
* * * * *
Carson County suffered a temporary setback in its quest for self-rule toward the end of September when James Crane, who was to carry the proposed constitution to Congress, died of a sudden heart attack. After the funeral in Carson City, several friends suggested Ben run as his replacement in the special election set for November 12th, but Ben declined, feeling he couldn’t afford to travel to Washington and remain as long as it might take to see the proper legislation through Congress. The Ponderosa and his family came first, so Ben willingly laid aside his political aspirations.
In an attempt to reestablish the authority of Utah’s territorial government, Judge John S. Child, an appointee of non-Mormon governor Alfred Cummings, had convened a session of the probate court on September 12th and set separate elections for October 8th. The court had closed for lack of business, and only three of the ten precincts bothered to open for the election.
Ben abstained from voting for the first time in his civic life, for it seemed to him that Salt Lake City was about as responsive to the needs of western Utah as the British had been to their American colony’s cry against taxation without representation. The situations were similar in Ben’s mind, and while he didn’t advocate revolution, he no longer felt obliged to support the territorial government. Child and Cummings issued commissions to those elected in October, but not one candidate wanted to take the oath of office under such uncertain conditions. Those who cared at all chose to await Congress’s action on their bid for a separate territory.
Most of western Utah’s residents were too caught up in the almost daily changes on the Comstock to be concerned with who governed them. Small settlements were springing up all through the mining region: American Flat, Silver City, Gold Hill, Flowery Ridge and more. According to Billy Thomas, faithful reporter of all activity on the Comstock Lode, the mining district originally called Ophir or Ophir Diggings had earned a more auspicious name. In a typical drunken stupor, James Finney, known as Old Virginny to long-time residents of the area, had stumbled and broken a bottle of whiskey. Not wanting to waste it, Billy said, Finney had used the remaining liquor to baptize the ground as Virginia Town in honor of his home state. Ben and Clyde had a hearty laugh at the foolishness of calling the small congregation of miners a town, but the miners, gambling on a bright future, soon raised the ante by dubbing their town Virginia City.
As the area continued to boom, Ben, too, began to catch the excitement of new developments. Not only was Virginia City being laid out in lots, but on one of them Wells Fargo soon established the first bank in the region. The growth was also affecting Carson City, supply station for the mines. A telegraph, called the grapevine (either affectionately or from maddening frustration with its frequent breakdowns), was strung from tree to tree, linking Carson City with Placerville. Then, in response to the northward population shift, the Territorial Enterprise announced it would print its last issue from Genoa on October 29th, thereafter relocating to Carson City. Finally, when John Musser, who had presided over the constitutional convention, was selected as the new representative to Washington, Ben was sure the region was well on its way to becoming a territory.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Snowed-In Christmas
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ollar turned up against the howling wind, Ben glued his chin to his chest and plowed through the whirling snow to the side of the house where firewood was stacked and covered in an attempt to keep it dry. Gathering an armload, he headed back toward the front door. Entering through the kitchen would have been closer, but Ben preferred to endure the cold a few moments longer rather than listen to the castigation of his Chinese cook. Besides, Marie was in the kitchen now, too, and suffered even more than Hop Sing from the icy gusts that blew white powder across the floor whenever any door was opened.
The first snow had fallen on the twenty-second of November, the second four days later, blanketing the ground to a depth of five to six feet. Since then, scarcely a day had passed without more inches being added to the drifts piled against house and fence post, bunkhouse and barn. Even when the sun condescended to come out, never for longer than three days at a time, its frail beams dispensed no warmth. As November gave way to December, the temperature dropped to freezing on good days and below zero on others.
Little Joe was still giving vent to his displeasure at being left indoors when Ben came in and dumped a load of logs in the wood box by the fireplace. Hoss, usually adept at handling his little brother, was scolding the toddler soundly for the racket he was creating. “Hoss,” Ben chided softly, “you’re not helping the situation.”
“Well, how’s a feller supposed to study with him carryin’ on?” Hoss demanded.
A smile flickered at Ben’s lips. Ordinarily, Hoss would have preferred any chore to sitting at his books, but he didn’t share his younger brother’s delight in winter weather. Even arithmetic seemed more enticing than waltzing through snowdrifts, though Ben’s chunky middle son dutifully did that morning and evening to see to the needs of the animals in the barn. Unlike Little Joe, he was willing to stay in the house between those necessary trips outside, but even good-natured Hoss was showing the effects of too much time indoors. Cabin fever was the only explanation for his impatience with his adored little brother.
Ben lifted the baby and sat down by the fire, gently stroking the heaving back as he whispered soothing syllables. “You have those sums worked yet?” he asked Hoss when Little Joe began to quiet down.
“Yeah, no thanks to squall-bawl there,” Hoss grunted.
“Shh; let me see your slate.”
Frowning, Hoss presented his work, sure he’d done it incorrectly, as usual.
There were mistakes, but Ben corrected them with as gentle a tone as he’d used with the baby. Both boys were irritable, and while Ben normally didn’t tolerate poor attitudes, he understood the tension underlying his sons’ crankiness and made allowances. He wrote out new sums for Hoss to total and suggested the youngster try again. “Supper should be ready by the time you finish,” Ben said encouragingly, then went back to letting Little Joe ride his knee like a bucking bronc. “Ride a little horsey; go to town; buy my baby——”
A loud thumping sounded at the door. Ben waited a moment for Hop Sing to respond, but the Chinese cook was far less defensive about his prerogative to greet all callers now that exercising it meant a blast of cold air in his face. Chuckling to himself, Ben set Little Joe down and went to answer the door, the toddler pattering after him.
Ben had expected the caller to be one of the men from the bunkhouse. Not that he’d known any reason even they would need to see him. He just couldn’t imagine anyone living further away braving the freezing cold. To his surprise, the elderly man who stood outside his door was no one Ben knew, though he recognized the distinctive clothing of the Washo tribe.
Ben held the door wide in invitation to the old Indian, who entered and extended a piece of paper to Ben. Ben scanned the letter quickly, frowning as he read:
This Indian is a damned old thief. He will steal anything he can lay his hands on. If he comes about your camp, break his head. A Friend.
Ben looked sorrowfully at the gaunt old man. The Indian seemed to think Ben had not understood the letter, so he brought his fingers to his mouth repeatedly to simulate eating. Ben nodded. He’d have guessed the Indian’s purpose even without the gesture. A man with skin stretched that tight over his bones had to be hungry. “Yes, I have food for you,” he said, motioning the Washo toward the fire. Little Joe, still at his father’s heels, reached out to stroke the Indian’s frayed rabbit skin blanket. Ben pulled the child back and pushed him toward Hoss, who sat on the hearth with Little Joe between his knees
“You savvy English?” Ben asked as the old man spread his hands eagerly toward the flames.
The Indian shrugged. “English? Maybe so, some.”
Ben held out the letter. “This letter bad. Say bad things of you. Make white men not help you. You savvy?”
When the Indian nodded grimly, Ben wadded the letter up and tossed it toward the fire. The missile fell short, but Hoss scooped up the offending paper and sent it to its destination. “Thank you, son,” Ben said. “Ask your mother to put together a generous packet of food for our friend.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoss said and, taking Little Joe by the hand, shuffled into the kitchen to deliver the message.
While they waited for his return, Ben offered the Washo a draw on his pipe, and the gap-toothed Indian grinned his pleasure in the smoke. Hoss came back, lugging a feed bag heavily loaded with supplies. Marie followed, looking apprehensive until she saw the age and condition of the Indian Ben had invited in. After he left, she moved into Ben’s embrace. “Oh, Ben,” she sighed. “Are they all as hungry as that?”
“Could be,” Ben replied. “Those miners over at Sun Mountain are fools. They cut down the piñon tree for their fires and deplete the wild game for their own stew pots.”
“They are hungry, too, Ben,” Marie murmured.
“I know,” Ben said, “but if they destroy the food supply of the Indians, they just might end up paying for it with their lives. Desperate people sometimes take desperate action.” He led his wife to the sofa and sat on the table before it, facing her. He took her hands between his. “Marie, I know you won’t like this, but I told Poito last spring that I would bring some beef up to his people when the weather turned bad.”
“Ben, it is not safe!” Marie protested. “You have told me there is ill feeling now.” Misunderstanding had piled on misunderstanding, from the killings of McMarlin and Williams back in 1857, to the murders of Lassen and Clapper in the Black Rock Desert that spring of 1859. White men held red ones in suspicion, and the misgivings were mutual.
“All the more reason to assuage it,” Ben pointed out. “I don’t believe I’ll be in any danger, my love, and I may do a great deal of good. I’ve been waiting for the weather to improve, but if the Paiutes are suffering like that old Washo, I don’t think I dare delay any longer. Then, too, there’s that meeting of the legislature coming up the fifteenth. If I’m to be back in time for that, I probably should leave in the morning.”
“You were right to say I would not like this,” Marie sputtered, cheeks growing crimson.
“I’m sorry, but I have to do what I think is right,” Ben said bluntly.
Marie flounced up from the sofa. “No matter what I say?” she demanded hotly.
Ben stood and tried to pull her into an embrace. She resisted him with rigid body, flinging his arms away. “Is this really the way you want to part, Marie?” he asked, grasping her by both wrists.
“I do not wish to part at all!” she snapped. “That is your choice, monsieur.” She struggled, but could not escape his iron hold.
“Marie, you’re behaving like a child,” Ben shouted.
Little Joe, always sensitive to loud noises, bellowed, and Marie broke free to soothe her distressed baby. “Do not cry, mon petit,” she said, looking reproachfully at Ben. “Your father cares nothing for your tears——or mine.”
“Marie!”
“Go to your Indians,” Marie sputtered as she carried Little Joe toward the kitchen. “I will care for our children, as I shall have to do when the Indians take the life of their father!”
As she stormed out, Ben threw his hands in the air.
“Maybe you shouldn’t go, Pa,” Hoss muttered, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.
Ben sat down by the fire and pulled Hoss to his knee. “I have to go, son. I gave Poito my word.”
“Yeah, promises are important,” Hoss conceded, “but I hate it when you fight.”
“Not overly fond of it myself,” Ben said wryly. “Your mother’s worried, and I understand that, but I need understanding, too.”
“I understand you, Pa,” Hoss said loyally, “and if you want me to come with you, I’ll sure do ‘er.”
Ben smiled and gave the boy a hug. “I appreciate the offer, son, but your mother would have my hide if I took you to the Paiute camp. Besides, I need you to look after her and your little brother while I’m away.”
“In case you don’t come back,” Hoss stated, brow creasing.
Ben gave him a tighter squeeze. “I’m coming back, Hoss. Don’t worry, and help them not to, if you can.”
“I’ll try, Pa,” Hoss promised, taking his vow as seriously as his father did the promise to the Paiute leader.
Ben told himself that once Marie’d had time to cool down, he could make her understand. She, however, refused to speak to him throughout an unpleasant dinner. Not wanting to upset the children, Ben waited until they were asleep to reason with his wife. Nothing he said, however, changed Marie’s opinion that he was risking his life needlessly, and for one of the few times in their marriage, they went to sleep with their backs to each other.
* * * * *
Ben had never before driven cattle through such appalling weather. Fortunately, the snowfall was light, but even so his progress was slow as he herded several beeves toward Pyramid Lake, where the Paiutes were camped for the winter. He’d chosen animals that were in top physical condition to ensure their surviving the drive, and though the cattle were suffering, they’d make it. Pyramid Lake lay just ahead.
The atmosphere of the Paiute camp seemed different as he rode in. Usually, young children ran to greet him, but today they hung back, or perhaps were held back by vigilant mothers. Ben and the cattle reached the middle of the encampment before anyone approached him. Ben recognized Sarah Winnemucca hurrying toward him, a wool blanket——no doubt a gift from the Ormsbys, with whom she’d lived until the increased tensions had driven her home——protecting her dark braids from the drifting snowflakes. “Mr. Cartwright,” she cried. “You have brought us beef!”
“As I promised your father,” Ben said, raising his voice to be heard above the wind. “Is he here?”
“Not in camp,” Sarah replied, “but my grandfather will wish to thank you.”
“And I wish to see him,” Ben said. “I brought him some tobacco.”
“He will be pleased,” Sarah said. She motioned for some older boys to take charge of the cattle, then led the way to Captain Truckee’s karnee. Ben found the old man looking frail, but in reasonably good health, considering the cold, and they enjoyed a pleasant conversation, though each expressed sorrow for the strained relations between white man and red. Captain Truckee had always looked upon white men as brothers and had frequently argued against his own people when they blamed the white men for such calamities as decimating disease or this year’s unusually harsh winter.
Ben rode away from Pyramid Lake, satisfied with the success of his expedition. If he could have spoken with Poito or Numaga, a better understanding might have been reached, but the gift of cattle would express his good intentions and, hopefully, make the Paiutes think more favorably of their white neighbors. Even if no good came of this trip, Ben was glad he’d made it. He couldn’t feed two tribes single-handed, of course, but what he could spare, he would, if only to make amends for what other white men had taken. As Marie had said, they probably had hungry white neighbors, as well, but Ben’s sympathies lay with the Indians, whose food supply those white neighbors had usurped.
The thought of Marie reminded Ben that he had another peace conference awaiting him. Marie had said little the morning he left, evidently feeling words were futile. She’d let him kiss her on the cheek in parting, but had said nothing other than a whispered admonition to be careful.
It was a different woman who greeted him when he rode in. Marie, oblivious of the snowflakes splattering her bare head, rushed outside to fall into his arms. “Oh, Ben, I am so sorry,” she cried.
“Dearest, you’re freezing,” Ben scolded. “Go back inside. I’ll be in as soon as I stable my mount.”
Marie shook her head. “Kiss me,” she demanded.
Laughing, Ben wrapped sturdy arms around her shivering ones and forcefully pressed her lips. She returned the kiss with passion that warmed him better than the hottest fire, and that night in bed she more than made up for the rigid back she’d turned the last night they’d spent together.
* * * * *
An article in the next issue of the Territorial Enterprise made Ben feel even more gratified that he’d done what he could to assist the neighboring tribes. Isaac Roop, newly elected governor of their unrecognized territory, had made his way from Susanville to Carson City, no doubt in anticipation of the following week’s convening of the territorial legislature. On the way Roop had passed through Truckee Meadows and through the paper reported on the condition of the Washos camped there. “The Indians in Truckee Meadows are freezing and starving to death by scores,” Roop reported in the newspaper’s columns, telling how he had found three children dead and dying in one cabin.. “The whites are doing all they can to alleviate the miseries of the poor Washos,” the article continued. “They have sent out and built fires for them, and offered them bread and other provisions. But in many instances the starving Indians refuse to eat, fearing that the food is poisoned. They attribute the severity of the winter to the whites.”
“White folks don’t like the cold no better than Indians,” Hoss protested when his father had finished reading the article aloud. “Besides, we don’t tell it when to snow. God does that.”
“I know, son,” Ben explained, “but when things happen that people don’t understand, they often look for someone to blame.”
“I’m glad you took them beeves up to the Paiutes,” Hoss declared. “At least, they won’t be blamin’ us if they’re hungry.”
“They will blame whom they please,” Marie said curtly, then dipped her chin in apology. “Still, I, too, am glad you took the cattle, mon mari.”
“How about you?” Ben chuckled, bouncing Little Joe from his lap to his shoulder. Little Joe chortled with delight. “That’s a consensus, then,” Ben laughed, “and may all we legislators come to one as easily next week.”
When the provisional legislature met the following Thursday in the home of J. B. Blake of Genoa, however, Ben discovered that his prayer should have been for a quorum, not a consensus, for only four legislators showed up. Governor Roop delivered a message, a few resolutions were passed and a committee was appointed to draw up a memorial to Congress. Then the legislature adjourned to the first Monday in July, when, hopefully, the weather would favor a higher attendance.
Ben spent that night in Genoa and the following one in Carson City. Marie wasn’t expecting him home for several days anyway, so Ben decided to lay over for a visit with Clyde and Nelly, an infrequent luxury due to the increasingly bitter weather. As soon as the Territorial Enterprise was available that Saturday, however, Ben tucked a copy in his saddle bag and headed for home. He pushed his mount, for another storm seemed to be brewing.
Marie was surprised to see her husband home so early, for he had expected the legislature to be in session about a week. As she pulled off his boots so he could warm his feet at the fire, Ben explained about the poor attendance. “Well, it is terribly cold,” Marie empathized. “Perhaps it was to be expected.”
“Roop made it all the way from Susanville,” Ben said gruffly. “If anyone had reason to stay home by the fire, he did.”
Marie smiled. “But he is the governor, Ben. How could he not come?”
“Would look bad, wouldn’t it?” Ben chuckled. He unfolded the newspaper and began to read while Marie massaged his bare soles. “One year today,” he murmured. “Hardly seems possible.”
“What?” Marie asked, looking up.
“The Enterprise,” he replied. “Been in publication a year now. And what a year it’s been! Never dreamed the little paper would have so much news to report.”
After placing slippers on his feet, Marie perched on his knee to view the paper with him, her attention drawn more to the advertisements than to the news. “So many new businesses,” she said.
“Mostly hotels,” Ben smiled. “We don’t have much use for them, unless we go to Genoa.”
“No, but I am interested in this one in Carson City,” Marie giggled, pointing to the ad for the Pioneer Hotel.
“Ah, yes, the one with the bakery attached,” Ben chuckled. “Good move for Laura to join her business with the hotel. Should bring in more customers.”
“And help her keep the business separate from her home,” Marie added. “That is her real reason.”
“Now, here’s a notice that might interest Dr. Martin,” Ben said. “Looks like he’ll have some competition.”
“What you mean, Pa?” Hoss, doing his lessons at the table before the fire, asked. Uninterested in the conversation around him, Little Joe just continued to build fragile towers with his blocks.
“Captain Anton Tjader, late of U. S. Marine Hospital, Chelsea, Massachusetts, offers professional services,” Ben read. “Gunshot wounds a specialty.”
“But we’ll stick with Doc, won’t we?” Hoss asked. “He’s the best.”
“In my book, he is,” Ben smiled. “Yeah, Hoss, we’ll stick with him.”
Hoss scrambled up and came to lean on the arm of his father’s chair. “Anything else interestin’ in that paper?” he asked.
Ben chucked the boy’s chin. “Any excuse to shirk your lessons, eh?”
“Aw, Pa,” Hoss scowled. “I ain’t so all-fired lazy as you make out.”
“No, you’re a good worker——in all ways but that,” Ben admitted. “Well, here’s something you might find interesting. Seems a Mr. F. Horn is offering a twenty-five dollar reward for the return of three boxes of assaying equipment lost in the recent snowstorm somewhere on the King’s Canyon Grade.”
“I know where that is!” Hoss said. “Could I go look for it, Pa?”
“Absolutely not,” Ben answered firmly.
“I could sure use that money,” Hoss grumbled.
Ben guffawed. “Hoss, use your head! Or better yet, stick it outdoors and take a look at the weather. The last place you need to be is further up the mountains. For that matter, you’d have a hard time getting to town to collect that reward.”
“Don’t know what I’m gonna do for Christmas presents,” Hoss mumbled as he went back to his lessons. “I got a good sum of money saved, thanks to you payin’ me so good this summer, but I ain’t been to town for weeks.”
Marie reached across Ben to stroke the youngster’s pudgy cheek. “You do not need to buy presents, mon chéri. That is Santa’s job, and he is well prepared.”
“Sanna?” Little Joe piped up, finally hearing a subject that interested him. “Sanna come back?”
Ben chuckled. “Oh, you remember Santa, do you, my bright little boy?”
Little Joe, dragging his bunny by one ear, toddled over and squiggled beneath the paper into his father’s lap. “Hey, it’s getting kind of crowded in this chair,” Ben protested, but his velvet eyes were twinkling.
“Pa, we’re gonna have that party, like we do every Christmas, ain’t we?” Hoss asked, face puckered with sudden worry.
Ben shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hoss, but no one’s gonna want to come up here with the kind of weather we’ve been having.”
“Aw, doggone it!” Hoss muttered, pulling away. “No Thanksgiving and now no Christmas.”
Ben and Marie exchanged a commiserating look. They, too, had been disappointed when they couldn’t celebrate their traditional Thanksgiving meal with the Thomases. Marie had done her best to prepare a special meal, and the hired hands, at least, had seemed appreciative. Hoss had obviously missed seeing his friends and had looked forward to the annual Christmas Eve party as a chance to make up for the omission.
“We will have a fine Christmas,” Marie promised, “even if we must celebrate it alone.”
“A real old-fashioned one,” Ben added brightly, “like we used to have when it was just you and me and Adam. Won’t that be fun?”
“Stinkin’ snow,” Hoss muttered and flopped down at the table to return to his studies.
Little Joe squirmed out of his father’s lap and into Hoss’s. He patted his brother’s face to get his attention. “Snow not stink, HaHa,” he soothed. “Snow pwitty.”
“Yeah, well, if you don’t quit callin’ me HaHa, I’m gonna toss you out in that pretty snow,” Hoss grumbled.
Little Joe clapped his tiny hands. “Fun!” he cried. “Go play!” The others moaned. Even Ben and Marie had lost their appreciation for the beauty of snow. There’d been just too much of it lately.
And still the snow descended. Day by day the drifts piled higher, and three days before Christmas a ferocious blizzard blew in. Ben dug a path from the kitchen door to the barn, so he and Hoss could get to the animals stabled there. Through chattering teeth Hop Sing loudly protested when Ben burst back in, wind howling after him. “Hop Sing, for the umpteenth time, it’s our house!” Ben shouted, “and you’d better make up your mind that it’s our kitchen, too, because we’re all gonna be in here today.”
Leaving Hop Sing to grumble to himself, Ben hurried through the chilly front room and up the stairs. “Get the baby dressed and bring him to the kitchen,” he ordered Marie, sticking his head into their bedroom. Marie, shivering beneath the covers, sensed something wrong. “What is it, Ben?”
“Snow and more snow,” he grunted. “Looks like a real siege of it, so I think we’d better conserve our wood supply, just heat the one room.”
“Oui, that sounds wise. I will wrap Little Joe in his blankets and dress him by the fire,” Marie said, getting up. She gave a cry of dismay as her bare feet touched the icy floor and hurried into her clothes.
Ben hustled down the hall to wake Hoss, and together father and son plunged through the wintry blast to the barn. When they returned to the kitchen, Marie was sitting by the fire in a straight-backed chair, rocking a still drowsy Little Joe back and forth on her lap. “I’ll bring down the rocker,” Ben offered and Marie nodded her appreciation.
He carried the rocking chair from the nursery to the kitchen, as well as some extra blankets to tuck around his wife and over her knees. “Thank you, Ben,” she whispered, folding a blanket around the now sleeping baby. “The cold is so bitter this morning. Do you think it will last long?”
“Could,” Ben said. He sat in one of the chairs Hoss had dragged in from the dining room and held his hands to the fire.
“Will we lose many cattle, do you think?”
Ben nodded soberly. “Quite a few, I imagine. There’s no getting to them ‘til the blizzard dies down.”
“Too many people in this kitchen,” Hop Sing grumbled. “Hop Sing cannot do his work.”
“Just fix some breakfast, would you?” Ben snapped.
“Gentlemen,” Marie pleaded, “if you quarrel, this kitchen will seem even smaller and more crowded.”
“Yeah, I know,” Ben conceded. “You do the best you can, Hop Sing, and we’ll try to stay out from underfoot.”
“Humph!” Hop Sing snorted, but he dutifully began to fry flapjacks and sausage.
Little Joe woke just as Hoss was polishing off the final flapjack and began to whimper.
“No, no cly,” the cook pleaded. “Hop Sing make mo’ light away.”
“Okay,” Little Joe lisped, flashing his ready smile. The toddler slid from his mother’s lap and, trotting to the door, stretched for the handle. Unable to reach it, he patted the door with his open palm.
Ben came behind the baby to scoop him up and hold him to the window. “It’s too cold, Little Joe. See all that nasty snow.”
Little Joe nodded happily. “I like snow.”
“It’s over your head, silly son,” Ben chuckled. “Come back to the table and have your breakfast.”
Breakfast proved a satisfactory distraction from the enticing snow. Pulling a chair up to Hop Sing’s work table, Ben held the boy in his lap and cut his pancake. Little Joe was still awkward with a fork, but he insisted on feeding himself. After the youngster had eaten half of what Hop Sing had cooked for him, Marie washed the effects of his independence from his cheeks with water heated on the stove.
To Ben, that day seemed like one of the longest of his life. Being cooped up in a kitchen with two restless children and one crotchety Chinaman was not his idea of a pleasant way to idle away several hours. Marie and Hop Sing were keeping themselves occupied with cooking and washing the dirty dishes, so Ben delegated himself the responsibility of entertaining the children. Lessons took up the morning hours for Hoss, and having nothing else to do with the younger boy, Ben made Little Joe part of the class, the brighter part if the truth be told. When the lessons ended just before lunch, Little Joe proudly recited the numbers from one to ten for his mother and identified several letters of the alphabet when his father pointed to them.
No one had worked up much of an appetite, but Marie and Hop Sing, during a morning in which they’d had nothing to do but cook, had prepared a meal fit for field hands. Even sharing it with the three men in bunkhouse didn’t make the huge roast disappear, though most of the vegetables were gone. “For mercy’s sake, keep it light tonight,” Ben pleaded, “or we’ll all have nightmares.”
“Oui, a soup, perhaps,” Marie mused. “We could add potatoes and carrots to the beef, Hop Sing.”
“Hop Sing not need Missy tell him how cook,” Hop Sing grunted.
“Hey, I know something better,” Hoss inserted eagerly, “something we ain’t had in a long time.”
“What’s that, Hoss?” Ben asked, pleased with any idea that might add interest to this interminable day, especially for the youngsters.
“Remember how you used to put leftover beef in gravy and pour it over biscuits?” Hoss asked, face glowing with nostalgia.
“Oh, Hoss,” Ben laughed. “That was because Pa didn’t know how to cook well enough to do better by you.”
“I liked it!” Hoss declared, his face forming a pout.
That was so rare an expression for even-tempered Hoss that Ben knew the boy really needed a silver lining in this cloudy day. “All right,” he soothed, “that’s what we’ll have for supper. Beef in gravy over biscuits, Hop Sing.”
Hop Sing frowned. “Not sound like velly good suppah, Mistah Cahtlight.”
“It is, too, good,” Hoss shouted, “and Pa said I could have it!”
“Allight, allight,” Hop Sing muttered. He, too, could read the signs in Hoss’s unaccustomed crankiness and judged it wise to give in to him. The way the snow was coming down, everyone would be camping in his kitchen again tomorrow, and the one thing that would make that worse was crying children. Since he had plenty of time, though, Hop Sing decided to make the beef and vegetable soup, too. Missy, at least, would show sense and choose the better meal——maybe Mistah Cahtlight, too.
As the snow fell in ever larger clumps, the afternoon dragged on. Ben played patty cake with Little Joe, then turned him over to his brother while he went to look for a book the boys and Marie might enjoy. When he returned, Hoss was all fours with Little Joe riding his back. The toddler was squealing with joy, though the squeals that poured from the diminutive cook when horse and rider passed between his feet were less jubilant.
“Ride over here, boys,” Ben suggested. “Stable your mount, Little Joe, and come listen to the nice story Pa’s picked out to read.”
Hoss crawled to his father’s feet, where his younger brother dismounted and began to rub his sides. “Hey! What are you doin’?” Hoss demanded.
“Stable HaHa,” Little Joe replied smoothly. “Always give HaHa rubdown after ride, huh, Pa?”
Ben chuckled. “Yeah, that’s right, but a boy who’s bright enough to learn his letters and numbers shouldn’t cling to baby talk, Little Joe. Say your brother’s name properly or no story.”
“Hoss,” Little Joe said obligingly. “Gotta give Hoss rubdown.”
Hoss clambered up from the floor. “I’m rubbed enough. What’s the story, Pa?”
Ben showed him the book he’d chosen, Ivanhoe. “It’s about knights in armor and damsels in distress.”
Marie looked up with interest at the final phrase, though it made Hoss scowl. “Can’t we skip that damsel in distress part,” he suggested.
“No,” Ben laughed. “If we do, there’s no one for the brave knight to rescue.”
Hoss cackled. “Yeah, I guess that’s right. Okay, Pa, we’re ready.” He sat on a folded blanket near Ben’s chair and put Little Joe between his legs.
Ben began to read to an enrapt Hoss. Little Joe had more trouble following the story and soon became bored. Seeing his wide yawns, Marie made him a pallet to nap on, then sat down by Ben, listening with sentimental ecstasy to the story of Winfred of Ivanhoe and the two women who loved him. Even Hop Sing drew ever closer to the family circle and eventually gave up all pretense of work as he leaned on the table, mouth open, eyes excited. When the time came to cook dinner, he and Marie worked together, grateful to be preparing simple dishes so they could keep most of their attention on the words Ben read.
Seeing that dinner was ready, Ben stopped reading at a particularly exciting point in story. “Aw, Pa, what happens next?” Hoss pleaded.
“Dinnertime, boy,” Ben chuckled, “and if you’re not hungry, I am.”
“I’m hungry,” Hoss admitted, “but will you finish the story after we eat?”
Ben shook his head. “The light’s fading, son, but looks like we’ll be spending tomorrow in this kitchen, too. I’ll read some more tomorrow afternoon.”
Hoss looked disappointed at having to wait that long, but he was easily appeased by a heaping platter of beef gravy over biscuits. Little Joe woke up, rubbing his eyes, in time to join the family at supper and while he couldn’t consume nearly as much as his big brother, his smile declared his satisfaction with the simple fare, especially the chocolate cake that followed the meal.
“What we gonna do now?” Hoss asked once dinner was over.
“Why don’t we tell stories?” Marie suggested. “I will begin so your father may rest his voice.”
“What kind of stories?” Hoss asked suspiciously, feeling certain ladies were inclined to sappy love stories.
“Ah, I think I shall tell you of the duel your father fought for my honor,” Marie said with a sly look at Ben. “Truly, he was as gallant as Sir Ivanhoe.”
“Well, I think that’s stretching it a bit,” Ben sputtered.
“But I, monsieur, do not,” Marie said, head lifting proudly. “We will let our sons decide if you did not, indeed, play the part of a noble knight that morning.”
Hoss pulled his chair close, so as not to miss a word. When Marie had finished the tale, he stood to pat his father on the head. “Sir Pa,” he declared, “a noble knight.”
“Pa night?” Little Joe queried, looking through the window at the dark sky.
“Not that kind,” Hoss scoffed, “a knight in armor——well, except he didn’t have none.”
“Give it up, Hoss,” Ben chuckled. “It’s all the same to him.”
“It’s still too early for bed,” Hoss pointed out. “You tell a story now, Pa.”
“All right,” Ben agreed and launched into a yarn from one of his sailing trips.
When the story ended, Hoss begged for another, but Marie objected. “Little Joe is getting very sleepy. I think I should take him to bed before any more stories are told.”
“No more stories tonight,” Ben said. “Let me build a fire in our room; then I think we’d all better hit the hay. It’s been a long day.”
“The fire will not keep the nursery warm,” Marie worried.
“He can sleep with us tonight,” Ben replied.
“What about me, Pa?” Hoss asked. “You gonna build a fire in my room?”
“No, I’d rather save the wood, son,” Ben explained. “You can either sleep here in the kitchen or up in our room.”
“With you,” Hoss decided, “but it’s gonna get awful crowded in that bed.”
Ben laughed. “Get a spare mattress from the bunkhouse, boy. We’ll bed you down right by the fire.”
“Okay,” Hoss grinned. “I’ll get it now.” He passed through the hands’ dining room that adjoined the kitchen and into the bunkhouse to retrieve his bed.
Ben returned shortly and carried his drowsy youngest upstairs, putting him in the middle of the large rosewood bed. Hoss lugged in the narrow bunk mattress and stretched it before the fire. Marie brought Hoss’s nightshirt from his room, and Hoss hustled into it and under the covers in record time. Ben and Marie both knelt to kiss him good-night. “Keep toasty,” Ben smiled.
“You, too,” Hoss grinned. “Night-night, Little Joe.”
“Night-night,” Little Joe yawned and burrowed into his mother’s pillow.
The parents crawled in, one on each side of the little boy and reached across him to stroke each other’s cheek, the closest good-night embrace they could manage under the circumstances.
Friday’s activities followed much the same pattern as the day before: lessons in the morning, Ivanhoe after lunch and stories after supper. Little Joe was awake more that afternoon and, uninterested in the book Ben was reading, set about exploring the kitchen cupboards, much to Hop Sing’s vocalized ire. “I don’t know how we’re gonna keep these boys occupied tomorrow,” Ben whispered to his wife after they’d gone to bed. “They need to move around more.”
“Oui,” Marie agreed. “I will think of something, mon amour. You have done so much already.” She lay awake, trying to imagine some activity the boys might enjoy which could be done in a kitchen. If only they were having their usual Christmas Eve party. There’d be almost more to do than they had time for. Slowly, a smile touched her lips as she made a decision.
She shared it with Ben and the boys after breakfast the next morning. “I have decided we will have our Christmas party this evening after all.”
“Hurray!” Hoss shouted. “Who’s coming?”
“No one,” Ben muttered, casting a reproachful look at his wife. “You know no one can get here. It’s still coming down as if the heavens were a factory for snow.”
“The people who are coming will not have to come through the snow,” Marie said. “They are not our usual guests, but we have three men in the bunkhouse who would enjoy a party, I am sure. We have been thinking only of ourselves, Ben, and that is not the true spirit of Christmas.”
“Indeed not!” Ben smiled. “Yes, we must have a party, for our boys and for our men.”
“You think we have enough wood to heat the front room?”
“We do,” Ben assured her. “I was just taking extra precautions in case the storm lasted several days, as it still may, but we can spare enough for one evening, even if we spend another week in this kitchen.”
“And can we put up a big tree, like before?” Hoss asked enthusiastically.
Ben rolled his eyes, but declined to comment when he saw his son’s dejected face. Ben had never had a Christmas tree when he was a boy, but to his sons it was an important symbol of the season. He didn’t think he could provide one this year, but, at least, he wouldn’t mock the boys’ desire for it.
“Now, I think you must excuse Hoss from his lessons this morning,” Marie began, “for there is much to be done.”
“Double hurray!” Hoss sang with glee.
“Yes,” Marie smiled, “I want to make the lebkuchen and gingercakes, as well, so I will need my two boys to help.”
“Not good idea, Missy,” Hop Sing objected. “Little boys not good help in kitchen.”
“I want their help,” Marie said firmly. Ben nodded, understanding that she meant the boys needed to be kept busy and playing with scraps of cookie dough was as good an option as she’d been able to imagine..
“Good idea,” Ben said. “I’ll take charge of setting up the front room for tonight. You boys help your mother now.”
“You bet, Pa,” Hoss grinned, “and we’ll sample all the goodies for you, in case you don’t get back in time.”
“That’s very thoughtful, son,” Ben replied wryly. He went into the front room and hurried into his coat, for without a fire the room was chilly. “Let’s see,” he mused, his breath condensing in white puffs before his face, “four Cartwrights, three men from the bunkhouse and Hop Sing. That’s eight. Might as well leave the chairs around the table and all eat together. No fiddler, so no need to clear space for dancing.”
Ben smiled as his thoughts turned to his eldest son. If Adam were here, they could dance to his strumming on the guitar. Adam was the lucky one this Christmas, spending his holiday with the Paynes at Rancho Hermoso, nothing worse than rain to dampen his spirits——probably not even that. It was too cold to stand around missing his boy, however. Ben decided to pull the sofa and chairs closer to the fireplace, so everyone could sit near its warmth after they’d eaten. He started to move the low table out of the way, then decided the men might like to play chess or checkers. He set out the game board and pieces, then made a final inspection of the room. “Doesn’t look too festive,” he muttered.
He crossed to the alcove where his desk stood and looked out the window. The snow was still falling, though it appeared to be slowing down. Maybe he’d get lucky and be able to gather a few boughs before the party. Satisfied he’d done all he could for now, Ben removed his coat and returned to the kitchen.
Little Joe was standing in a chair by the work table, dish cloth tied around his neck, patting a wad of dough into a distinctly lumpy shape. “Lookee, Pa, I’m cooking,” he announced.
“Tasty looking treat,” Ben said, “but it’s kind of big, son.”
“Big cookie, just for Pa,” Little Joe declared.
“We will have others for the guests, won’t we?” Ben whispered as he drew near his wife’s ear.
She smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry, we won’t touch your special cookie,” she promised, then tittered at the expression on Ben’s face.
The noon meal consisted only of soup, for Marie and Hop Sing wanted to concentrate their efforts on refreshments for the party. The snow finally stopped while they were eating, so Ben bundled up, determined to provide a little festive greenery. He didn’t plan to go far, though, merely to strip a few limbs from nearby pines.
Just south of the house he found what he was looking for, and gathered an armload. As he started back, he spied a small pine, not as large as the tree they usually chopped down for Christmas Eve, but Ben though it might suffice today. He piled the branches by the front door, then got his axe and went back to attack the trunk.
Dragging it inside, Ben called out, “Hoss, get in here.”
Hoss hustled in. “You need me, Pa?” He stopped when he saw the tree. “You got one!” he cried.
“Sure did,” Ben said brightly, “and I need your help if we’re to get it set up and decorated in time. Put on your coat first, boy; I’ll light the fire, but it’ll take the room awhile to warm up.”
While Ben laid a fire, Hoss, bundled in his coat, started to drag the tree to its usual spot between the fireplace and the stairs. “No, Hoss, let’s put it closer to the dining room this year,” Ben suggested. The smaller tree was dwarfed by the large space it had to fill near the stairs. It looked better standing against the wall near the table. “It’ll give extra light at dinner, too,” Ben said.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Hoss agreed.
“I’ll get the decorations,” Ben said, “and it’s probably warm enough in here now for Little Joe, if he wants to help.”
“He’s asleep,” Hoss reported.
“Just as well,” Ben chuckled.
Between cooking and decorating and setting the table with their finest linen and crystal, the afternoon passed quickly for the Cartwrights. When everything was ready, Marie had the boys dress in their best suits and she donned her favorite coral satin and jewels to make the occasion seem even more special for the men. The three hands trooped in to supper decked out in their best, as well, obviously delighted to be the boss’s special guests.
Only Hop Sing refused to take a seat at the table. The little Cantonese, with his strict ideas of propriety, would not yield to anyone his right to serve the meal. He and Marie had tried to make it a gala one. The ham had been baked with a brown sugar glaze and was served with a sauce made from dried peaches. There were candied sweet potatoes and white ones, too, layered and fried in a buttered skillet, then inverted on the serving platter, as well as boiled carrots in a creamy cheese sauce. Mountains of yeast rolls waited to be slathered with butter and jam, and pickled beets and cucumbers rounded out the meal.
When they’d all eaten their fill, Hop Sing brought in a chafing dish filled with rolled pancakes swimming in sauce. To everyone’s amazement and the youngsters’ awestruck delight, Marie took a candle from the candelabra and touched the flame to the sauce. The sauce, made with brandy, caught fire and burned for a few moments, then went out. “Maybe we’d better not give the boys any of that!” Ben laughed.
“Don’t be foolish,” Marie scolded. “The alcohol burns out.”
“Ain’t that, ma’am,” one of the hands joked. “Them pancakes just look so delicious Mr. Cartwright wants ‘em all to hisself.”
“You are right,” Marie smiled, “but you shall have the first crepes, Monsieur Johnson.” The ranch hand smirked at his good fortune, knowing Ben could take a joke, while the other guests wished they had been quicker on the trigger with a jibe to earn first crack at those intriguing pancakes. The two remaining hands didn’t have long to wait, however, for Marie served them next, then her two little boys and, lastly, the head of the house, who feigned great displeasure at having to wait.
After dinner they adjourned to the sofa and chairs near the fire, where Hop Sing served coffee and cookies. No one had room for anything else to eat then, but as the evening passed, the plate of cookies diminished visibly. The men politely turned down Ben’s invitation to play checkers or chess. “Ain’t had much to do in the bunkhouse except play checkers these last few days,” Lafe Johnson explained.
“How about a songfest, then?” Ben suggested. “Some good, old-fashioned Christmas carols to mark the occasion.”
When the men nodded their approval, Marie smiled at Ben. “You must lead us, mon mari.”
“All right,” Ben chuckled, “but you tell me if I pitch it wrong. Let’s start with——”
“Joy to the World!” Hoss shouted.
“His favorite,” Ben explained. “Yes, son; we’ll start with that.”
For nearly an hour voices, more or less tuneful, rang in songs remembered from happy years at childhood hearths. The songs made everyone nostalgic, so Ben suggested they each share a favorite Christmas memory. He began by describing the last Christmas he’d shared with his parents. “It didn’t differ from previous Christmases in any particular way,” Ben said, “but I cherish the memory because my parents died a couple of months later, and that Christmas was my last special memory of them.”
“I have no memories of my parents,” Marie said. “They died when I was very young, but the sisters at the orphanage always made Christmas a special time for us. I remember most vividly being sent to bed right after supper on Christmas Eve, so that we might have a few hours sleep before being awakened to go to midnight mass.”
“What’s that?” Hoss asked.
“A service to welcome the birth of the Christ Child, mon chéri,” his mother explained. “We would go to the church and sing an advent hymn at the very stroke of midnight. We wanted our voices to be the first thing Christ heard on his birthday.”
“Let’s do that tonight!” Hoss cried.
His father arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’d like to go to bed right away?”
Hoss’s face fell. “Aw, no, Pa. I just want to get up at midnight, and so does Little Joe.”
“Does he?” Ben laughed. “Well, I’m afraid you boys can’t have it both ways. Late to bed and early to rise makes boys too cranky to open a surprise.”
“Surprise?” Little Joe queried, eyes brightening.
“Tomorrow,” his mother whispered, snuggling him. “What Christmas memory do you treasure, Monsieur Johnson?”
“Reckon the last one, ma’am,” Lafe Johnson replied. “Like Mr. Cartwright said, weren’t nothin’ real special about it, except I spent it with my wife.”
“Where is she?” Ben asked. “Back east?”
“Naw, not that far,” Johnson cackled, “but might as well be. She’s in California, and I been missin’ her a heap this Christmas season.”
“Mais oui,” Marie murmured sympathetically. “Do you have children, too?”
“No, ma’am, ain’t been so blessed yet. Seein’ your sweet younguns, though, makes me want to get back to my missus soon as the snow melts and start up a family.”
Ben smiled fondly at his sons. “Well, they’re on their best behavior tonight, of course, in expectation of Santa’s arrival.”
“Sanna?” Little Joe lisped and looked at Hoss. “Now?”
“In the morning,” Hoss promised, then glanced significantly at his parents. “Real early in the morning.”
“Don’t you dare,” Ben warned with that significant arch of his eyebrow. Then he chuckled. No sense tryin’ to sleep in tomorrow. Both boys were still sleeping in their parents’ room, so when they woke, Ben and Marie would, without fail, be awakened, as well.
“I wanna share my favorite Christmas then,” Hoss announced. “Can I go next?”
“Wait for your elders, boy,” Ben said.
“Oh, no, Señor,” Diego, their off-and-on Mexican ranch hand, remonstrated. “We like to hear what the muchacho say.”
“Sure,” Lafe Johnson agreed. “Christmas is for younguns, Mr. Cartwright.”
“All right,” Ben conceded, then
chuckled. “Which of your many Christmas
memories is your favorite, Hoss?”
“That first one in the old place,” Hoss
replied quickly. “I ‘member how you
popped a big bowl of popcorn and read that ghost story to us.”
“Story!” Little Joe cried.
“What I remember,” Ben smiled, “is that
you fell asleep with your hand in the popcorn and didn’t hear much of the
story.”
“Story!” Little Joe demanded.
“Yeah, let’s hear that story, if you still
got it,” the third hand suggested shyly.
“Popcorn and all!” Hoss insisted.
Ben looked at Marie and she nodded, so Ben
found his copy of A Christmas Carol
while she and Mr. Johnson popped huge quantities of the fluffy treat. As Hoss had when Ben first read Dicken’s
tale, Little Joe fell asleep before it was done, but the men and Hoss sat
enthralled to the end. Then, while Marie
took the youngsters up to bed, Ben gave each of the men the small gift he’d
purchased long before, as well as some hard candy, originally intended for
young guests at the annual Christmas Eve party.
After banking the fire and building one upstairs to keep them warm through the night, Ben brought gifts for the boys and Marie and put them under the tree. Then he crawled into bed, knowing he’d get little sleep that night, but content that he’d made that Christmas a happy one for his men and his family. With their help, what he’d thought would be a miserable day had turned into a memory he’d always cherish.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
|
T |
he sun finally came
out after an absence of two months on the first day of February. There’d been a few clear days during that
time, of course, but the sky remained overcast and threatening. Ben always took advantage of the brief
reprieves to ride out and inspect the herd, usually coming home
discouraged. Rarely did one of these trips
not reveal the frozen carcass of at least one beef. Between the animals lost to winter kill and
those given to starving natives, the ranch was likely to show no profit
whatsoever for the winter of 1859-1860.
The losses would have been even greater
but for the efforts of Ben’s foreman.
When Ben had finally gotten out of the house during the week between
Christmas and New Year’s Day, he’d been surprised to find how well the cattle
had fared. Pushing on to the Montgomery
cabin, he learned why. Enos, with little
regard for his own health, had gone out into the storm to make sure the cattle
had sufficient feed. The weakest ones
he’d brought home on a rope, housed in his own barn and gone out to feed every
day.
As a result, the foreman lay in bed with a
racking cough. Though the sky looked
menacing, Ben had volunteered to ride to Carson City for the doctor, but
Katerina had insisted there was no need.
She trusted her mother’s folk remedies, and with their aid Enos
eventually recovered, having suffered enough to heed his employer’s stern
admonition to remember that people were more important than cattle.
Marie took advantage of the first sunny
day to boot both boys outdoors, and Little Joe happily constructed his first
snowman with Hoss’s help. The days
continued fair, many of them almost as warm as summer, so the snowman didn’t
survive its third day. Soon the ground
around the house was slushy, but Marie considered muddy floors a small price to
pay for having the rowdy youngsters out from under foot. Much as she loved her children, she’d seen
too much of them this winter.
With the return of warmer weather, both
boys were banished from their parents’ bedroom.
Hoss went gladly, but Little Joe had grown fond of sleeping between them
in the big bed and protested at the top of his lungs the return to his
crib. Hating to hear him cry, Marie
almost relented, but Ben stood firm, even when he had to direct a “very
necessary little talk” to his son’s buttocks.
The spanking softened the cries to a whimper, and Little Joe finally
fell asleep. Unfortunately, the “little
talk” had to be repeated nightly for almost a week before the youngster seemed
to retain its message.
The Cartwrights eagerly began exchanging
weekly visits with the Thomases, the first Sunday in Carson City and the second
at the Ponderosa. The nineteenth of
February would have been Nelly’s turn to play hostess again, but the two
families met the day before, instead, to celebrate Billy’s eighteenth birthday.
Billy swooped a squealing Little Joe into
the air when the toddler trotted into the house. “Howdy, Short Shanks,” Billy teased.
“Happy birthday,” Little Joe repeated by
rote, having been schooled by Hoss on the trip into town.
“Thanks, Short Shanks,” Billy
chuckled. “You aimin’ to help me eat my
birthday cake, are you?”
Little
Joe grinned. “I’ll help you, Billy, and
Hoss will, too.”
“I reckon I could count on that!” Billy cackled, “seein’ as how we’re havin’ his favorite cake.”
“Chocolate with white icing?” Hoss asked,
blue eyes gleaming in anticipation.
Little Joe tugged at Billy’s sleeve. “My favorite, too, Billy.”
“Is it now?” Billy laughed. “Well, I’ll see to it you get the first
slice, Short Shanks, else Big Boy here’ll likely eat it all up from you.”
From the shelter of Billy’s arms, Little
Joe glared ominously at his brother.
“Aw, I wouldn’t do that,” Hoss
muttered. “Quit pickin’ on me, Billy.”
“I’m entitled,” Billy grinned. “It’s my birthday.”
“Which may just entitle you to a birthday
paddling,” Ben said with an upraised eyebrow, “if you don’t set that boy down
and give your Uncle Ben a proper greeting.”
Giving Little Joe’s backside a light swat, Billy let him down. “Go upstairs and pester Inger awhile,” he suggested, and Little Joe, with Hoss tagging after, ran off in search of a new playmate.
Ben gave Billy a bear hug and rubbed his knuckles across the boy’s scalp.
“Ouch!” Billy yelped. “Doggone it, Uncle Ben; that ain’t no way to tell a man ‘happy birthday.’ I reckon I’ll take the younguns back if that’s the best you can do.”
“Man,” Nelly scoffed from the kitchen doorway. “Just turned eighteen and full of himself today.”
“As he should be, Nelly, as he should be,” Ben laughed.
“Happy birthday, Billy,” Marie said, placing a gentle kiss on the boy’s cheek. Billy flushed and offered to unhitch the Cartwright’s team.
“On your birthday?” Ben chuckled. “Hoss can see to that.”
“Don’t seem to be around,” Billy grinned. “Man has to work, even on his birthday, I reckon. Seen you and Pa do it many a time.”
Ben shook his head as the young man left. “Billy sure seems to be emphasizing his manhood today,” he commented as he sat next to Clyde on the parlor sofa. Marie hurried into the kitchen to help Nelly put the finishing touches on the meal.
“What you fussin’ about?” Clyde snorted. “I been listenin’ to such as that all mornin’.”
“You have the latest issue of the Enterprise?” Ben asked.
“Yeah,” Clyde grunted, “but you’d be better off waitin’ ‘til after dinner to read it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Might spoil your appetite,” Clyde muttered sourly. “Looks like we’re in for more injun trouble.”
“Oh, no,” Ben groaned. “Now what?”
“Trouble up Susanville way,” Clyde replied. “Might as well read it, I reckon. Half the tale really will twist you in knots.”
“That it will,” Ben said, taking the paper from his friend. He scanned the front page articles quickly, then went back to read in greater detail the account of the murder of Dexter Demming, a settler in Honey Lake Valley and the subsequent manhunt for the Indians believed responsible.
He tossed the paper aside in disgust. “Why do they always assume the Paiutes are to blame?” Ben demanded, more of the air than of the man beside him. On learning of the murder, Governor Roop had sent two men as emissaries to Numaga, war chief of the Paiutes, to demand an explanation and to ask why his people were not keeping the treaty made with the Honey Lakers.
“Why do you always assume they ain’t?” Clyde asked pointedly.
“Aw, Clyde, don’t start that,” Ben growled.
“Look, Ben, I ain’t sayin’ that your friend Winnemucca had anything to do with it,” Clyde argued, “but the way I read that paper, Smoke River Sam’s bunch has turned renegade, broken away from Winnemucca’s control. They’re the ones I think did the killin’.”
Ben nodded gravely. “Yeah, looks that way, since the tracks led to their camp, and some of the stolen supplies were found near there. But Numaga’s the one Roop tried to hold responsible.”
“And he weren’t none too cooperative, either,” Clyde asserted, “tellin’ Roop he wouldn’t bring the other chiefs to Susanville to talk it over.”
Ben’s head came up quickly. “How cooperative would you be, if you were accused of a crime you knew nothing about? A crime committed by people not under your control? Remember what happened when the Paiutes “cooperated” back in ’57. I can understand Numaga’s wanting to avoid that kind of catastrophe, but it’s this demand he’s reported to have made for $16,000 to pay for the Honey Lakers’ land that seems out of character.”
“You think it ain’t so?”
Ben shook his head. “No, Weatherlow’s a reliable man. I have to accept his word, but it just doesn’t make sense. What would the Paiutes do with that kind of money?”
“Buy guns, maybe?” Clyde asked, his brow wrinkling. “Roop seems to think the Paiutes are plannin’ war——Weatherlow, too.”
Shaking his head, Ben picked up the paper and read again the words of Governor Roop, stating that the settlers of Honey Lake were “about to be plunged into a bloody and protracted war.” Dear God, no, he prayed. Spare us that. Spare our red brothers that.
Primarily for Billy’s sake, Ben managed to set aside his concerns when Nelly called them to dinner. He didn’t want to see the boy’s birthday tarnished with words of war. Instead, he asked Billy how things were going up at the mines. “Have they started prospecting again with this break in the weather?”
“Probably,” Billy said, “but I ain’t been up there for a couple of months. I think I’m through with mining, Uncle Ben.”
“Finally come to his senses,” Clyde cackled.
“Looking for a job?” Ben asked. “I’m short of hands.”
“Naw, I reckon I’ll stay here and help put in the crops,” Billy answered. “Then, come spring, I may do some haulin’ for Mr. Curry.”
“You’d be good at that,” Ben smiled, “and there should be a tremendous demand for supplies, the way the territory’s booming.”
“Yeah, and the sooner the passes clear, the better,” Clyde commented. “I expect there’s folks goin’ hungry up to Gold Hill. Most of ‘em didn’t lay in supplies like we warned ‘em to.”
“Fools,” Ben muttered. “I didn’t tell you, but I spotted a couple of rustlers butchering a beef on the Ponderosa.”
“You lynch ‘em?” Clyde asked mischievously.
“Clyde!” Nelly screeched. “You know better.”
“Sure do,” Clyde grinned. “Knowin’ old Ben, he probably made them rustlers a gift of the meat.”
“Well, almost,” Ben admitted. “The cow was already dead, and scrawny to boot, but it wasn’t an outright gift. I took a few feet of their claim in exchange.”
Clyde tipped back his chair and guffawed. “Like I said, you made a gift of that meat!”
Ben chuckled. “Probably, but you never know. They just might hit a rich vein and make me a millionaire, my friend.”
“Oh, Ben, what nonsense,” Marie chided. “You know you did it because you could not see men go hungry.”
“Been hungry too many times myself, I guess,” Ben smiled. “I’ll deal with any man in need of food, but I won’t tolerate rustling.”
Billy couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Just think, Uncle Ben. After all the times you made fun of me minin’, you end up in the business yourself!”
Ben wagged a finger at Billy from across the table. “You, young man, are just asking for that birthday paddling I offered you earlier.”
Over the next few weeks, however, Ben found himself more involved in the mining business that he’d dreamed possible. Hearing of his generosity with those first rustlers, other miners made their way to the Ponderosa, hat in hand, to ask for similar consideration. Those who could, paid cash, but Ben couldn’t turn away a hungry man, even if all he received in return was a worthless stock certificate. After all, he told himself, he was investing in the future of a man and in the future of the territory. Before the passes through the Sierra Nevadas opened, Ben found himself the owner of a few feet in a good many claims on Sun Mountain. Most would never amount to much, but Ben held on to the stock and, over the years, earned enough in dividends to justify his investment of trust in his fellow man.
* * * * *
Even before the passes were open, thousands of Californians, responding to Washoe fever, tried to break a trail through the snow. Few succeeded. The wise ones turned back when they found the way impassable; others, mad for silver, pressed on and paid for their obstinacy with the loss of legs and feet. Broken wagons, discarded packs, and dead animals littered the route, telling a grim tale of devastated dreams.
When the road finally opened, it quickly became so clogged with travelers coming east that almost nothing headed the other direction could get through. In Sacramento, Adam Cartwright couldn’t understand why no mail arrived from his heretofore faithful family and began to fear the recent rumors of an Indian uprising were perilously true. A news article in the Sacramento Bee explained the situation just in time to prevent his joining the serpentine line writhing its way across the Sierras.
Billy headed a team toward Placerville, intending to bring back a wagonload of supplies, but he got no further than Strawberry before he found himself fighting a losing battle. Even freighters headed with the general flow of traffic were finding the going rough, and the hungry miners of Sun Mountain had to tighten their belts another notch because food simply couldn’t reach them. Ben began to wonder if his own supplies would hold out until fresh ones arrived. He’d bought more than usual, in expectation of a hard winter, but if this craziness continued, even that might not be enough.
At last a wagon made it through the melee to Virginia City, and miners rushed from all directions, determined to purchase at any price whatever food it held. To their disappointment, that first wagon contained nothing but blankets, tin plates and a consignment of liquor. Even whiskey would warm their empty bellies, however, and Moore, the man who owned it, took in two hundred dollars the first night, as well as renting blankets and sleeping space in his hastily erected saloon to forty men for a dollar apiece.
Fortunately, the second wagon brought flour, quickly auctioned off for five dollars a pound. Some of the miners were so hungry they mixed the flour with snow and ate it raw. The Cartwrights didn’t barter for any of it. They had enough food to wait, in hope of better prices, for Billy’s wagon to return. When the young man finally arrived, however, they discovered that even a fair price was higher than they were accustomed to paying. Flour now went for seventy-five cents a pound, bacon for forty and coffee was a luxury at fifty. As for hay and lumber, their prices made Ben deeply thankful that he grew his own on the Ponderosa.
Curiosity sent Ben, with Hoss as companion, on an exploration of Virginia City one Saturday morning. Hoss found the growing town exciting, although to Ben’s more experienced eye, the place looked like a hodgepodge thrown together by a committee who hadn’t consulted each other in the planning. Here and there a frame shanty had been tossed onto the side of the mountain, but most of the miners lived in, at best, tents of varied construction. The better ones were made of canvas, but blankets, brush, potato sacks, and even old shirts made acceptable building material, in lieu of expensive lumber. Empty whiskey bottles served as makeshift chimneys. Down the social scale from these more fortunate residents were the miners who simply usurped a coyote’s hole or dug one similar and called it home.
“Hey, Pa, they got hotels,” Hoss cried excitedly. “Look at that one!”
Ben followed his son’s pointing finger and snorted at the one-story building of planks whipsawed from local timber. It couldn’t have held more than a dozen rooms, but it boasted a prestigious name, painted by a rough hand on its signboard. “International Hotel, my eye! Well, at least, they’ve got ambition, giving it a name like that.” Ambition that would ultimately develop from that simple beginning to a hotel truly deserving of its name, though only its owners could see that bright future when the International Hotel first opened its doors in March.
“Three streets worth of shanties,” Ben reported to his wife upon their return. “It’ll never amount to anything.”
Marie just laughed. “You said that about the silver strikes, too, mon mari, and yet people continue to come. You are not establishing much reputation as a prophet!”
Ben grinned. “I’m not, am I? Well, maybe good will come of it yet. I hope so.” As spring progressed, however, the only benefit Ben saw to the thousands flooding into the area was the improvement of the Old Emigrant Road made by the freighters and stage line owners. Avalanches and the neglect of time had virtually destroyed the old road to Placerville, but if things continued as they were, by summer it should easily accommodate four-horse teams.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Mochila Mail
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pril was a month of contrasts, comprising highs of exhilaration and lows of loss. Even the weather had its ups and downs, for after three weeks of beautiful, sunny, spring-like days, snow fell again on the fourth day of the month. It melted quickly as the day warmed, but before the moisture could evaporate, night came with temperatures cold enough to refreeze the melting snow. The next morning the ground was again white with fresh snow over the ice, and the pattern repeated itself day after day: ground icy in the morning, muddy by noon and slick with ice again by nightfall. Miserable, Marie lost her temper and demanded of the heavens when spring would ever come, then wished she had a priest to whom to confess.
Ben and Hoss took the weather with better grace, perhaps because they were able to work outside while Marie was confined indoors with a petulant Little Joe. Or it might have been the anticipation of the arrival of the first Pony Express rider that consumed their thoughts and made them forget the cruel weather. The rider was supposed to have left St. Joseph, Missouri, on the third of April and planned to reach the West Coast in ten days. “News from the East in ten days! Just imagine,” Ben had enthused when he first heard of the new postal service. “We won’t feel cut off from the world anymore——not with news traveling that fast!”
Three of the pockets in the Pony rider’s mochila would remain locked until he reached Sacramento, but one, Ben had heard, would carry mail to be dropped off or picked up in transit. He hoped that his Missouri friend, Josiah Edwards, or his brother John would send him a letter by the very first Pony, but even if he didn’t get any personal mail, the rider was bound to have news from back east. Hoss begged to come along, and Little Joe took up the cry, too. He didn’t really understand what the commotion was all about, but he always hated being left out and, besides, he’d have been in favor of anything that let him escape his mother’s protective confinement in the house.
In the end, everyone went, for Marie wanted a chance to visit with her friends, if nothing else. The men lounged on the street or in the plaza, feeling the occasion momentous enough to warrant the suspension of work. Ben kept the boys with him to free his wife to visit her friend Laura Ellis at the bakery.
Just before 2:30 that afternoon, Billy Thomas, who’d stationed himself outside town as lookout, charged down the main street, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Pony’s comin’!” The loud announcement and the commotion that ensued brought his mother running to the porch. Marie and Laura dashed out from the bakery.
Billy spotted his father and swung off his roan next to him. “Any minute now,” he grinned.
Ben, standing beside Clyde, swung Little Joe up to sit on his shoulders. “Get a good look at history in the making, boy,” he said, then looked down at his side. “You, too, Hoss.”
“Yes, sir, I aim to!” Hoss whooped back.
As Billy’d promised, they didn’t have long to wait. A bugle sounded, and at near blinding speed a wiry mustang raced down the street to the relay station. A young man dressed in the Pony Express company uniform of red shirt and blue britches swung off his horse and threw the locked moquila full of letters onto a new mount. The only mail dropped in Carson City was an eastern newspaper. Within two minutes the rider was off again, headed for Genoa.
The men and women of Carson City crowded around the stationmaster, hoping for a crumb of news from the outside world. “Best news there could be,” the stationmaster hollered to make sure everyone heard him. “Congress has introduced a bill to create Nevada Territory!” He held the newspaper up for all to see the bold headline. A shout of exultation went up from the crowd.
Still carrying his youngest on his back, Ben turned away, satisfied with the fruit of his long ride into town. He smiled down at Hoss, walking at his side as they headed back to Clyde and Nelly’s place to pick up their buckboard and team. “Well, what did you think, boy?” he asked.
“I wanna be a Pony Rider, Pa!” Hoss declared. “They ride like the wind!”
Ben laughed. “You’re a mite young, son.”
“And a mite hefty,” Billy teased. “Me, on the other hand, I’m just the right size and age. I got me a notion to sign up straight away.”
“You’d better get a notion not to,” his mother scolded.
“Aw, Ma,” Billy groaned. “You’re always frettin’ over nothin’.”
“Wouldn’t say nothin’, boy,” Clyde inserted. “It’s a dangerous job, especially for them that rides through Paiute country.”
“Yeah, there’s a reason their advertisements say, ‘Orphans preferred,’ Billy,” Ben added soberly. Then he grinned. “Still, if I were your age, I think I’d want to be part of something this exciting, too, so I can’t fault you.”
“Well, I can!” Nelly snorted. “Put it right out of your head, boy.”
Little Joe tugged at his father’s ear. “Pa, Pa,” he uttered insistently.
Ben pulled the boy’s fingers from his aching lobe. “You’ve got my attention, son,” he muttered wryly.
“Pa, I wanna ride, too,” Little Joe declared urgently.
Ben guffawed. “For the Pony Express? I know they don’t take riders that young!”
“I be good rider, Pa, please,” Little Joe pleaded. “You get me horse?”
“Well, let’s see how well you stay on a real bucking bronc,” Ben laughed and started toward the Thomas house at a trot. Little Joe, squealing with delight, kicked his pony’s flanks. “Ouch! Cut that out!” the pony yelled.
Billy came running up behind them. “Time to change mounts, like a real Pony rider, Little Joe.”
Ben chuckled and swung his son over to Billy’s shoulders. “Take him, by all means,” he said, “while his old mount takes a well-deserved rest.” While Billy, not much more than an overgrown youngster himself, romped with the little boy, Ben slowed his steps to give the rest of the party a chance to catch up.
“You folks are stayin’ to dinner, ain’t you?” Nelly queried.
“Now, Nelly, we already took lunch here,” Marie chided.
“Yeah, we need to get home,” Ben said, sitting on his friends’ porch step, “but I need a brief rest first. This old horse isn’t used to that kind of exercise.”
Clyde flopped beside him on the step, grinning. “Pretty good little rider you got there, though. Hung on right good.”
“Yeah, he’ll make a good one, when the time comes,” Ben responded proudly.
Clyde cackled. “It’s gonna come quicker than you think, I bet. You better be on the lookout for a mount for that youngun.”
Ben scoffed. “He’s not three years old yet.”
“Almost,” Marie smiled. “Just one more month. Laura wants to bake him a cake and make a little party at her house.”
“Sounds fine, but he is not getting a horse for a birthday present,” Ben said firmly.
“Mais non!” Marie agreed quickly. “He is much too young.”
“You better get set to listen to some bawlin’, then,” Hoss warned. “He don’t like bein’ told no.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “In that case, what he’s likely to get for his birthday is a ‘very necessary little talk.’”
“Pa, you wouldn’t!” Hoss protested.
Ben chuckled. “Probably not. No, he’d have to be pretty naughty to earn a spanking on his birthday.” Before Little Joe’s birthday arrived, however, events in the territory would ensure that there’d be no birthday celebration at all for the toddler that year.
* * * * *
“You boys had best be comin’ down from there,” Molly Maguire called up toward the roof, “else you’ll not be feedin’ at me table tonight!”
“Who needs food tonight, Miss Molly!” Adam Cartwright called down from his lofty perch.
“Be an angel and save us a plate,” another boy pleaded. “You know we can’t miss a sight like this!”
“I’m promisin’ nothing,” Molly said as she headed back toward the kitchen, feeling disgruntled because she had no acceptable way to see what the boys were so earnestly expecting. Other ladies in town had strategically placed themselves on balconies to await the arrival, but the boardinghouse had none.
Deciding no one was coming to supper on time anyway, Molly set the food off the stove and headed up to the top floor, hoping she could see something from a window. “Wish I was a man,” she muttered. “I’d climb up with the lads, I would.”
“Hope she does feed us after,” Harold Lissome, Adam’s roommate, said. “My stomach’s rumbling.”
“She will,” Adam assured his friend. “Miss Molly has a heart as big as all Erin.”
“Yeah, she does,” Harold agreed. “She won’t let her boys go hungry.”
“Wish I’d had my horse here,” Adam sighed. “I’d sure like to have ridden out to meet the Pony rider.” About eighty people, in addition to the Sacramento Hussars, had met at Old Fort Sutter and lined both sides of the road the Pony rider would follow.
“Look!” Harold yelled, leaning forward to point at a cloud of dust moving toward them down J Street.
In his excitement Adam almost lost his footing. “It’s them!” he cried as a horseman carrying a small flag dashed past, followed by about thirty other riders, leading the way for the long-awaited Pony. Bells from church steeples and fire stations rang all around the city. A cannon from the square on Tenth Street boomed nine times, signifying the number of days they’d waited for the Pony rider, and was echoed by the discharge of other firearms from the roofs lining the street where the Pony would pass. Men without guns waved their hats and ladies their handkerchiefs, and the boys on the roof of the boardinghouse, having no other way to express their enthusiasm, stood and waved their arms and shouted as only boys could. Amid the roar of the crowd, the red-shirted rider galloped up to the Pony Express office, having brought the mail through from St. Joseph in one hour less than the ten days promised.
“Let’s get down to the Post Office,” Adam suggested.
“Not me,” Harold laughed. “I’m starving, and I’m not expecting mail from back east.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I am,” Adam declared. “My friend Jamie’s at school in St. Louis, and I’ll bet he wrote me!”
“Wouldn’t that be something?” Harold grinned. “One of the first letters to come by Pony Express! Yeah, that’d be worth seeing. I’ll go with you, but let’s snatch a couple of rolls from the kitchen first.”
“Good idea,” Adam agreed.
Each taking two rolls, the two boys raced from the kitchen down J Street. The sidewalk in front of the express office was crowded, but Adam and Harold pressed through, squeezing into spaces too small for adult bodies, and soon Adam was asking if there were a letter for him.
“Not likely, son,” the postal clerk laughed. “Only six letters in the pouch. Now, who’d be paying five dollars to write a young lad like you?”
Adam gulped. He hadn’t realized the rates were that high. Unless Jamie had a lot more pocket money than Adam did, he wasn’t likely to squander five dollars on a letter.
Seeing him turn away, Harold grabbed his arm. “You’re not giving up, are you?” Then he stared the postal clerk down. “You check, mister; the name’s Adam Cartwright.”
“All right, all right,” the clerk conceded, flipping through the thin envelopes. “Well, I’ll be,” he mumbled, then held out a letter. “Looks like someone thinks a powerful lot of you, son. Got a girl back east, have you?”
Adam just grinned and shook his head. He didn’t figure it was any of the clerk’s business who was writing him. As he and Harold walked back toward the boardinghouse, Adam broke open the seal on the letter and gobbled up its contents.
Dear Adam,
I hope your father won’t be too disappointed. Father and I could only afford to send one letter by express, and he was kind enough to let me be the one. Isn’t it exciting to think how much closer you and I are becoming, in terms of time, at least? I am enjoying my studies this term, much more so than last, perhaps because my health has been better. It always is once winter is past. Have you thought about coming back east to further your education once you graduate from the academy? I am thinking about either Harvard or Princeton. Wouldn’t it be grand if we could attend the same university? We always studied well together. Do think about it and write me your thoughts. I always enjoy your letters, especially the ones you write from the Ponderosa. I guess you’ll be going there within a few weeks of receiving this letter. Write me from there and tell me all the adventures of those little brothers of yours. Having no siblings myself, I always find your tales of their antics amusing.
Your friend,
Jamie Edwards
“You’d better keep that in a safe place, Adam,” Harold suggested. “It’s a piece of history.”
Adam laughed. “I always keep Jamie’s letters in a safe place. His journals, too. They’re special to me, even without the history attached. Say, why don’t I treat you to dinner out, to celebrate the occasion?”
“Good idea,” Harold said. “I have a feeling we won’t be in Miss Molly’s good graces tonight.”
“I have the same feeling,” Adam chuckled. “Good thing for us she’s a forgiving woman.” Arm in arm, the two friends headed for one of the less expensive restaurants of Sacramento.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Last Sane Voice
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op Sing’s eyes flew wide when he answered the loud thump at the door late one afternoon and saw the tall Indian standing there. “Wh—what you want?” the Chinese cook stammered.
“Where Ben Cartwright?” the native asked. “I speak him.”
Hop Sing raised a trembling finger and pointed behind the Indian. “In b—barn.”
When the Indian grunted, turned and walked away, Hop Sing slammed the door shut and ran screaming up the stairs. “Missy! Missy! Many Indians come! You run, hide.”
Marie, who had been lying down in her room, nursing a headache, rose with alarm. “The children——where are they?”
“In barn with Mistah Cahtlight,” Hop Sing chattered. “Oh, they be dead by now, Missy. You run.”
Marie ran, but toward the barn, not away from it, her first instinct being the protection of her family. She stopped abruptly when she saw the single Indian conversing with Ben. Hoss was beyond them, milking the cow, with Little Joe and Klamath lying in the straw next to him. “Oh,” Marie cried sharply. “Hop Sing said——”
“Don’t repeat it,” Ben cautioned. “I can just imagine what Hop Sing said.”
Marie forced a smile to her lips as she faced the Paiute Natchez, whom she recognized from the time he had dined with them three years earlier. Hop Sing, who’d kept as far away from the Paiutes as possible that evening, evidently hadn’t. “I——I thought there were more of you. Will——will you be staying to dinner, Monsieur Natchez?” she asked hesitantly.
Ben answered for the Paiute. “No, I’ll be going with him.”
Marie couldn’t hide her concern. “Oh, Ben.”
“It’s Captain Truckee,” Ben explained quickly. “He’s dying and has asked me to come. There’s no time to lose, Marie.”
Marie gazed at the ground, afraid her eyes would betray her concern. Of course, there was no way Ben could refuse such a summons. The request of a dying friend must be honored, especially when to refuse would insult a people with whom relations were already strained. “I will have Hop Sing prepare food for your journey,” she said.
“Thank you,” Ben said, giving her an encouraging smile. He knew what it was costing her to keep her demeanor calm and wanted her to know he was proud. “I’ll be in to say good-bye before we leave.”
“Hoss, Little Joe, come with me, s’il te plait,” Marie said, her hand stretching toward the children.
“Cow ain’t finished givin’ milk, Mama,” Hoss argued.
“She’s given enough,” Marie said sharply, then bit her lip and glanced nervously at Natchez. Had he heard the fear in her voice?
“It’s all right,” Ben assured her. “I’ll see they don’t dawdle.”
Marie wanted desperately to take Little Joe, at least, with her, but she saw Ben’s dark eyes flick a negating message at her. He was right, she knew. If Little Joe were forced to leave before his brother, he would be certain to protest the unfairness vociferously, and that would shame Ben before his friend. “Well, as you say,” Marie said finally, “they must not dawdle. Hop Sing will need the milk.”
“Tell him he’ll have it soon,” Ben said, the smile returning to his face. She’d understood and behaved just as she should. Oh, what a woman I married, Ben exulted within.
* * * * *
Long before reaching the Paiute encampment, Ben could see bonfires blazing against the darkness of the distant hills. Natchez explained that they had been lit to transmit the news of Captain Truckee’s impending death. The old chief was an important man in the tribe, and many would want to comfort him by their presence in his final hours. Ben felt honored that he would be there, too, but concerned for what the old man’s passing might mean for relations between red man and white. Captain Truckee had always been a friend to the men he considered his white brothers, but his views were shared by few other Paiutes.
Riding into the camp, Ben immediately noticed another white man there, as well, and struggled to remember the man’s name. Snyder——that was it——a man who, like Ben, had often had the epithet of “Indian-lover” thrown in his face, a man who, like him, was evidently a personal friend of Captain Truckee.
As Ben dismounted, Snyder came forward and extended his hand. “Cartwright, isn’t it? They told me you’d been sent for, too.”
“Yes,” Ben said quietly. “A sad occasion.”
Snyder nodded. “I take it the old chief’s very weak, so I’ve been waiting for your arrival to see him.”
“Thank you,” Ben said. “I don’t know what Captain Truckee wants to say to us, but you were wise not to overtax his strength. Let him say what he will once and then seek his rest.”
“Shall we go in now?” Snyder suggested.
“Yes,” Ben agreed, then turned to the young man who had been his guide to the encampment. “Natchez, would you see if your grandfather is awake and strong enough to see us now?”
Natchez nodded and went into Captain Truckee’s karnee. He emerged moments later and indicated that the two white men were to come in. They entered together.
The karnee was dark, as it always was, but they located the old man’s bed by using their noses. A putrid stench permeated the dwelling, the kind of stench that drew buzzards to a rotting carcass. It was the smell of death, and Ben felt his gorge rise, though not in mere physical nausea. He’d been in the presence of death before: his parents, his wives. Those deaths had been more painful personal losses, yet there was something awesome about Captain Truckee’s approaching demise. The moment Ben entered the karnee he knew he was there to witness the departure of a truly great man, one this territory, in particular, could ill afford to lose. It was not the smell that sickened Ben; it was the dread of what might follow this good man’s death.
As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, Ben made out the faces of the others gathered near the old chief: Poito and his wife, along with their children, as well as other family members Ben knew less well. Poito lifted his father-in-law to a sitting position and supported him as he addressed the white man Snyder.. “I am now going to die,” Truckee stated calmly. “I have always loved you as if you were my dear son; and one thing I want you to do for me.”
“Anything,” Snyder promised. “Anything I can.”
Captain Truckee glanced to his right, at his two granddaughters, Sarah and Elma. “You see, there are my two little girls. I want you to take them to California, to Mr. Bonsal and Mr. Scott. They will send them to school to the sisters at San Jose. Tell them this is my last request to them. Will you promise to do this for me?”
“I will do this,” Snyder said solemnly. “I will do all in my power to see these girls have the education you desire for them.”
“It is good,” Truckee said and took a deep, labored breath. He stretched his hand toward Ben. “And you, my friend, you who have given so much to my people, to you I give the Indian name that white men know best, the name they give to Poito and Numaga.”
“Winnemucca?” Ben asked.
Truckee nodded. “To me, you have always been the white Winnemucca. By this name I speak of you when I speak with my people. You know what this name means?”
“The giver,” Ben whispered. He didn’t know the Paiute language well, but this was one of the words he recognized.
“More,” Captain Truckee said. “It mean ‘he who cares for the Numa, the people.’ You have cared for the people: you have fed them; you have lived among them as a brother.”
“As all men are brothers,” Ben said.
“Now I ask you to do for me what a brother would among your people,” Truckee continued after pausing for another long breath. “Soon I will sleep with those who have gone before.”
“I pray that will not be for many moons,” Ben said, his voice growing hoarse.
Truckee shook his head. “Not many moons, not many journeys of the sun. Soon. You will help my people to bury me in the white man’s fashion?”
Ben cut a sharp glance at Poito, uncertain how the proud Paiute would react. Then he looked solemnly back at Truckee. “If that is your wish and the wish of your people.”
“My wish,” Truckee declared with sudden energy. “Those who respect me will respect my wish.” He gave his son-in-law a significant gaze, and Poito nodded almost indiscernibly. With his remaining strength the dying man told Ben exactly how he wished to be buried, and Ben promised to follow the instructions to the letter.
“Now, will you both stay with me, as part of my family, until the darkness comes?” Truckee whispered.
Snyder and Ben exchanged an awestruck glance, then Snyder answered for them both. “We will stay.”
Captain Truckee fell asleep while the others kept a virtually silent watch. Late the next morning the tribe’s medicine man tried to rouse the old chief, but could not. Truckee slept all that day and into the night. Finally, shortly before midnight, he twisted on his pallet and his eyes opened. “Son, where are you?” he called feebly. “Come and raise me up; let me sit up.”
Poito, the man the whites called Winnemucca, raised his father-in-law, whose eyes suddenly glowed with a brightness Ben had not seen for many years. Calling for his daughter Tuboitonie and the children, Captain Truckee murmured, “I am tired, but I will soon be happy.” He turned to Tuboitonie’s husband, Poito. “Now, son, I hope you will live to see as much as I have, and to know as much as I do. And if you live as I have, you will some day come to me. Do your duty as I have done to your people and to your white brothers.”
Truckee’s eyes fell on Ben. “Bury me as you have promised,” he whispered.
Unable to speak, Ben nodded.
Truckee’s lips moved again, but no sound emerged.
“It was his cry as he entered the Spirit land,” his daughter Tuboitonie declared. “We could not hear it, but he cried out when he saw his mother and father in the Spirit land.”
Young Sarah Winnemucca crept close to kneel beside her grandfather, taking his weathered face in her slim, supple hands. She just looked at him, unable to speak, until finally her mother pulled her gently away.
The white men left the karnee, feeling the family should be alone. Sarah was the first to emerge. “A great light has gone out,” she murmured, eyes shimmering. “The world grows cold and dark.”
Ben——and probably Snyder, too,——longed to take the girl in his arms. Had she been a white girl, no doubt he would have, but Ben couldn’t risk offending the Paiute maiden. What seemed a natural gesture of comfort to him might be perceived as an affront by people of a different culture.
As soon as the body was prepared and the mourners assembled, Ben conducted the funeral as Captain Truckee had instructed. The old chief wanted to be buried with his “white rag friend,” the letter given him years before by Charles Frémont, so Ben folded the dead hands upon the man chest with the rolled letter and similar documents from other white men, beneath them. He placed the Bible Frémont had given the chief over his heart.
Truckee’s body was lowered into the six-foot trough and earth piled over him. A cross with the chief’s name carved on it was hammered into the ground at the grave’s head.
Ben had told Poito that it was customary among white men to have a eulogy at the funeral. “Words spoken in honor of the deceased,” he explained and asked that a family member do Captain Truckee this honor.
Ben had expected Poito himself to make the speech, since he was an acknowledged leader among his people. Perhaps Poito’s dislike of white ways was too great a barrier for him to overcome, however, for the man chosen was Captain John, another of Truckee’s sons-in-law. “A good man is gone,” Captain John began. “The white man knows he was good, for he guided him ‘round deserts and led him in paths where there was grass and good water. His people knew he was good, for he loved them and cared for them and came home to them to die. All know that Truckee was a good man——Paiute and Americans. He is dead; the good man is gone. All of our people cry, for they loved Truckee.”
Captain John diverged from his eulogy to speak to his people of how he would spread the news of Truckee’s death and how a new leader would be found for the Paiutes. Then the Indian returned to his discourse on the life of the dead chief. “Not many are fit to lead in the path where Truckee walked. Truckee was much with the white men; he liked their way and learned much of them that we don’t understand. He wished to be buried as the white men bury their dead, and the white Winnemucca and the white men his friends have seen it done. I thank him and I thank them——I thank all for Truckee and Truckee’s people.”
Ben thanked Captain John for his good words and announced that the funeral was now ended. The statement was incorrect, for while the other Paiutes respected Truckee’s wishes and let him be buried in the white man’s fashion, they were determined to follow Indian custom, as well. Six of their best ponies were led to the side of the grave and killed. “Grandfather must have good ponies to ride on his journey to the Spirit land,” Sarah explained quietly to Ben and Snyder.
Ben nodded. Though he hated to see the waste of good horseflesh, he understood and accepted the Indians’ right to follow their own customs. Another custom was set in motion immediately after the slaying of the horses. Truckee’s karnee was burned to the ground, and all his people packed and headed north, leaving Sarah and Elma with the two white men.
“You’ll be taking the stage to California,” Ben said. “Come and stay with me at the Ponderosa until it leaves.”
“I need to return home to settle some affairs before I leave,” Snyder said, “but I would appreciate it if the girls could go with you. Then I’ll pick them up when it’s time to leave.”
“That’ll be fine,” Ben said. “Get your things together, girls.”
As the two Paiute maidens went to gather their few belongings, Snyder shook Ben’s hand in farewell. “It’s a terrible loss,” he said, “the last sane voice we could count on among the Paiutes.” Ben nodded solemnly. Snyder had put into words the thoughts of his own heart. Truckee was, indeed, the last sane voice in a world gone mad with fear and distrust. Where would they find another?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“No Longer Any Use for Counsel”
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hile Ben thought the last sane voice among the Paiutes had been silenced, there was one more. Discontent had been rising among the Indians, and from March onwards they had been slowly filtering away from the white settlements. Now they met in council at the edge of Pyramid Lake, not just the Paiutes with whom Ben was acquainted, but tribesmen from the four directions of the compass. From the south, near Walker Lake, came Chief Wahe, the brother of Winnemucca, and from the east the Shoshoni chief Qudazoboeat, who was married to a Paiute woman. Smoke Creek Sam, Winnemucca’s renegade brother-in-law, was there, with chiefs representing tribes from Honey Lake, the Big Bend of the Carson and Antelope Valley, among others. From the Black Rock Desert of the north came Chief Sequinata and from the northeastern Humboldt Meadows, Chief Moguannoga. Men from all sections, all in favor of war with the whites, all but one.
As the council began, Winnemucca called for a spiritual leader to offer prayer to the Great Spirit; then he filled a pipe, tamping the tobacco with his index finger, lit it, smoked and passed the pipe to his right. Five times the pipe made the circle of chiefs, then five songs were sung, for among the Paiutes the number five was considered to have great power.
Only when these important rituals had been completed did the talk turn to words of war. One by one the chiefs listed their grievances against the white men. They had cut the piñon tree, robbing Paiute children of food. They had grazed their cattle on grass where Paiute ponies used to feed. “They accuse us of rustling when it is they who steal grass and ponies,” the chief from Honey Lake complained.
“They killed one of our elders while he was out hunting rabbits,” Chief Wahe declared, his visage dark as he recounted the tale of an old man bound and dragged until no skin remained on his bones. “Then, while they laughed and drank whiskey in celebration, one of them scalped the dead man.” Grunts of outrage rippled from man to man.
The charges continued. A chief’s son had been killed, a woman raped, then sent back to her tribe in shame when she became infected with the disease that makes men’s loins burn. As the accusations piled one on another, Winnemucca listened silently. His feelings were well known; all men there knew he favored war with the whites, but he spoke no word, either for or against.
Every man there favored war——with one exception. Numaga, the one the whites called the Young Winnemucca to distinguish him from his older uncle, was the only one whose voice was raised against war. But his was an important voice.. The Paiutes did not want to wage war without complete unanimity, especially when the one dissenting voice was that of their war chief, the man they expected to lead them in battle.
“Your skin is red, but your heart is white,” Winnemucca taunted his nephew. “Go away and live among the palefaces.” But even this did not dissuade Numaga, and the council broke up late that night with no agreement reached. Each chief returned to his own encampment about the shores of Pyramid Lake, and Numaga rode from camp to camp, speaking to each chief, pleading with each man to give the white men one more chance.
* * * * *
Ben, Marie and Hoss were at the breakfast table. “We’re goin’ to town today, ain’t we, Pa?” Hoss asked between mouthfuls of scrambled egg.
Ben took a slow sip of coffee. “Hadn’t planned on it. There’s a lot of work to be done, boy.”
Hoss’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, but, Pa, it’s Pony day!”
Ben laughed. “You’ve been keeping up, have you? Well, I’m glad to see your arithmetic skills are working well, at least.”
Hoss scowled. “It don’t take much learnin’ to count to twelve, Pa. Even Little Joe can do that! Twelve days since the last Pony, so it’s time again.”
“It’s time,” Ben acknowledged, “but I guess I’m getting jaded. I don’t feel the need to watch him ride in this week.”
“Aw, Pa,” Hoss grumbled. “Wouldn’t it be a fine thing to see Billy come dashin’ into town with the mail pouch?” After hours of wheedling, Billy Thomas had managed to talk his reluctant parents into letting him sign on with the Pony Express.
“I imagine he’d look about the same as Pony Bob,” Ben chuckled. “They all wear the same uniform.” Billy’s leg of the Express route stopped at Buckland Station, east of them, and didn’t bring him through Carson City. The section from Buckland’s through Carson City to Friday’s Station near Lake Tahoe was regularly run by Robert Haslem, a Pony rider so adept and dedicated to his job that he’d already earned the nickname of “Pony Bob.”
Hoss bit his lip. “Well, how ‘bout just me, then?” he suggested tentatively. “Could I go?”
“To Buckland’s? By yourself?” Ben snorted. “Certainly not!”
“Just to Carson, then?” Hoss amended hopefully.
“Oh, I guess you’ve earned a day off,” Ben said, giving the boy an indulgent smile. Since the first of May Hoss had been excused from his lessons and had been working at his father’s side, putting in a full day’s work, as handily as any grown man.
Hoss’s grin split his face from ear to ear. “And can I take Little Joe?” he asked eagerly.
Ben arched an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
Hoss’s grin twisted sheepishly. “I’m guessin’ no.”
Ben chuckled. “You’re guessing right. The last thing I need is for you to put the subject of horses back in that boy’s head.”
“It ain’t never left,” Hoss laughed.
“It is true,” Marie giggled. “Every time he sees you or Hoss ride out, he asks when Pa will get him a horse.”
Ben wiped his lips with a checked napkin and pushed his chair back. “In that case, son, let’s get out of here before he wakes up.” He laid an affectionate arm on Hoss’s shoulder as they walked out. “Have a good time,” he said, “and bring home all the news.”
But Hoss brought home no news that night. The Pony rider hadn’t arrived, though the boy had waited all day. He wasn’t the only one disappointed, either. The miners of the region had hoped the rider would shout to them the results of the championship boxing match between British champ Tom Sayers and their own “Benecia Boy” Heenan from San Francisco. Local pride was at stake, and no news was more important. No news at all arrived that sixth day of May, though, and the miners were destined to be disappointed again the next day, for still no Pony rider charged down the trail.
“Do you think anything is wrong?” Marie asked. “The Pony has not been late before.”
“It’s only run twice before,” Ben pointed out. “No, I don’t think there’s reason to assume the worse, although I’m sure that’s what’s going through our friend Nelly’s head.”
“As it would through yours if Hoss were an Express rider,” Marie countered with a slight smile.
Ben knew how to silence her teasing. “Or Little Joe,” he added with a maddening twinkle in his eye. “Now, there’s an Express rider you’d worry about!”
Marie laughed lightly. “So long as his cruel father refuses to give him a horse, I have few worries of his riding for the Pony Express.”
* * * * *
While the miners of Virginia City were absorbed in waiting for news of a sporting event, at Pyramid Lake a man lay stretched full length on the cold ground, his face to the dust. Unable with mere words to convince the assembled chiefs of the wisdom of peace, Numaga had begun to fast on the fifth of May. All through that day and night he lay prostrate before his people, refusing both food and water. When the sun rose the next morning, he still lay there, shaming the Paiutes with his resolute determination in the face of their pleas to stop this foolishness and take nourishment. Yet all that day he again lay on the ground and no food or water passed his lips.
That same day two young Paiute sisters disappeared. They had gone out to gather roots and not returned, so their parents, searching for them, followed a trail that led to Williams’ Station, some sixty miles northeast of Virginia City. James Williams, who owned and operated the station in partnership with his two brothers, was not himself at the station, but his brothers Oscar and Calvin, whom he’d left in charge, denied seeing the girls, even inviting the parents into the log house to see for themselves. The frantic parents returned to Pyramid Lake, where friends comforted them and promised to help them search for their daughters again the next day..
When the sun rose on the seventh of May, it again revealed the figure of a prostrate man. For two days and nights Numaga had denied himself food and water in a last desperate attempt to persuade his people that war was not the solution to their problems with the white settlers. “Stop him,” the people begged his uncle. “Do not let him die before our faces, in front of our karnees.”
With determination Winnemucca strode across the camp to stand, legs spread, before the supine man. He waved his hand toward the white birds nesting on the rocks of Pyramid Lake. “Your skin is colored by the glance of the sun, but your heart is white like the underfeathers of a pelican,” he declared. “Go! Go away and live with your white friends!”
Numaga made no response. Later in the day others walked past him, their taunts turning to threats. “Get up or we will kill you,” they warned.
Numaga twisted his head and stared upward, gazing past them. “Do it if you wish, for I don’t care to live,” he replied, then turned his face to the dust again.
The other Paiutes mumbled among themselves and finally one said, “Perhaps we should have another council.” From man to man the suggestion spread, but no council was held that day, and Numaga continued to lie fasting upon the ground.
The sun had also risen that morning on a small party of Paiutes in search of two young girls. Though not part of their group, another Paiute, a member of Wahe’s Walker Lake tribe, went out hunting, as well, and stopped that morning at Williams’ Station, as the parents had the day before. The men there liked the look of his pony and offered to trade a gun, five cans of powder, five boxes of caps and five bars of lead for the animal. The Indian accepted, but when it came time to make the exchange, the five bars of lead were omitted.
When the Paiute objected, the men of Williams’ Station set a dog on him. Yelling in his native tongue as the dog bit and clawed him, the Indian heard muffled cries, also in Paiute, coming from the barn. He’d heard of the missing girls and was sure it was them, crying for help, his own screams having told them one of their own people was nearby. Unable to rescue them alone, the Walker Lake Indian sprinted past the laughing white men, flung himself on his pony and rode swiftly toward the Paiute camp.
Meeting the search party on the way back, he breathlessly described what he had heard. The girls’ father immediately went to Chief Natchez, who was with Moguannoga, chief of the Humboldt Meadows Paiutes. The two chiefs listened with granite faces to this latest outrage by the whites. “It gains nothing to take this to the council,” Moguannoga stated bluntly. “Numaga has bled the spirit from them. We must act to save the daughters of our people.”
Soberly, Natchez nodded. Numaga was his uncle and he respected him, but so long as the war chief maintained this fast, the council would be unable to move against him. The lives and virtue of two Paiute maidens were at stake; there was no time for delay. “I ride with you,” Natchez declared.
“I go, too,” the girls’ father announced. The others nodded. They had expected no less.. Nine men volunteered and, without informing the other leaders, rode toward Williams’ Station. It was just past noon.
The sun hovered low on the western horizon when the raiding party reached the eastern end of the Carson River. Feeling wary, they picketed their ponies among the cottonwoods and walked the half-mile to Williams’ Station. A wagon stood in the yard, and four white men exited the log house to meet the Indians.
“We have come for the Paiute maidens,” Natchez announced regally.
One of the white men evidently recognized the girls’ parents, for he pointed to them. “Like I told these redskins t’other day, we ain’t seen them girls. Check the house if you don’t believe me.”
“The barn,” the Walker Lake Indian who had heard the girls’ cries growled. “We will search the barn.”
“You keep your filthy red hide out of our barn,” the white man snarled, then, seeing the Indian’s visage darken, added testily, “Can’t trust your kind among the stock. We know your thievin’ ways.”
Chief Moguannoga drew himself haughtily erect. “You dare to speak of ‘thievin’ ways’ when it is you who steal, no more just Paiute grass and Paiute ponies, but now Paiute maidens.” The Indians began to close a circle around the whites.
One of the Williams brothers, whose eyes had been flicking from face to red face, panicked, broke around the circle before it fully formed and began to run in the direction of Buckland’s Station, the nearest help. Moguannoga dispatched two warriors after him and their lithe limbs quickly overtook the man and dragged him back to stand, eyes wide with terror, beside the other frightened men.
“Look, it’s all a misunderstanding,” one of them pleaded, while another managed to burst away and run toward a nearby bluff. Though the Indians pursued him, he jumped before they reached him. Falling short of the river, he tumbled the rest of the way down to it and fell in. Unable to swim, he sputtered and coughed, gulping in muddy water while the Paiutes watched his struggle with grim pleasure. When his body began to float, face down, on the surface, the Paiutes pulled it from the river and, rather than drag it up the bluff, left it to bloat and burst in the sun.
When the Paiutes returned from the river alone, one of the three remaining whites decided he, too, would try to escape. He pulled a long-bladed hunting knife from the scabbard at his side and tried to fight his way into the open. A Paiute warrior grabbed his arm from behind, yanking it so hard that the bone snapped. The man screamed from the wrenching pain and fell to his knees, vomiting his courage into the dust. Sobbing, he begged the Indian to spare his life, but the Paiute placed strong hands about the man’s neck and squeezed until the white face turned blue and the pale eyes began to bulge. Suddenly, the white man’s body went limp and with a satisfied sneer the Paiute let him fall to the ground.
The last two white men, the Williams brothers, gave each other a final, fearful glance, for they knew they wouldn’t long survive the men who’d gone before. Their deaths came quickly, as if the Paiutes felt they had wasted enough time exterminating vermin. The warriors then rushed to the barn, calling the names of the missing Paiute maidens. From beneath them came cries for help and, locating the door to the cellar, the Indians descended to find the two young girls lying on a narrow cot, their mouths and hands tied with grimy rags. Blood spattered dresses torn to expose their bronze breasts. “We were too easy on the accursed whites,” their father fumed. “They died too quickly.” Grunts of agreement met his statement.
The Paiutes dragged the three bodies from the yard into the cabin and set it ablaze. The men were dead, beyond pain, but their carcasses, at least, could be shown disrespect. Even this was not enough to assuage the Indians’ rage, however. They camped on the bottom land around the station for hours, discussing further revenge. Finally, someone reminded the others how badly the stationmaster at Buckland’s had always treated the Paiutes. The self-appointed Indian vigilance committee decided quickly that Samuel Buckland deserved to die, and dispatching one man to Pyramid Lake to tell the tribe what had occurred, the others rode east about two the next morning in search of other whites upon whom to vent their fury.
They bypassed the ranch of C. M. Davis, for he had a reputation for never abusing Indians, and as dawn pinked the eastern sky, the Paiutes approached the farm of W. H. Bloomfield. Since the growing daylight made attack more risky, the Indians settled for driving off Bloomfield’s stock and returning to Pyramid Lake. Miles away, Sam Buckland slept peacefully, never realizing that only the rising sun had saved his life.
* * * * *
In the early morning hours of May 8th, even before the sun showed its face, a council, brought on by Numaga’s three-day fast, convened. Numaga stood before a semi-circle of nine chiefs seated around a fire, only Moguannoga and Natchez being absent. “While I belonged to the ground, I heard angry voices,” Numaga began, “voices that called for war. I heard no man speak out for peace. I heard no man say, ‘Let us try one more time to talk to our white brothers about the wrongs we have felt.’”
The war chief, who, ironically, was the only man who favored peace, spread his hands in a gesture of appeal. “I have heard all of you, my brothers, and you speak as young boys at play. You say you would make war on the whites, that you would drive them from our meadows, that you would send them running back across the tall, western mountains.” He paused for a moment to give his next words greater impact. “Have you thought of what this war would mean? Do you know how many of our people would die in such a way?”
Numaga turned his back, walked a few paces away, then turned to face the chiefs once more. “My brothers, you would make war upon the whites. I ask you to pause and think of what this war would mean to our people. The white men are like the stars over your head.” He swept his hand to the still black sky, then toward the western Sierras. “You have wrongs, great wrongs that rise up like those mountains before you; but can you, from the mountaintops, reach out and blot out those stars? Your enemies are like the sands in the bed of your rivers; when taken away, they only give place for more to come and settle there. Could you defeat the whites in our own home, from over the mountains in California would come to help them an army of white men that would cover your country like a blanket.”
Numaga’s voice dropped and he stepped closer as he reasoned with his people. “What hope is there for the Paiute?” he asked. “From where is to come your guns, your powder, your lead, your dried meats to live upon, and grass to feed your ponies while you carry on this war? Your enemies have all of these things, more than they can use.” Numaga stooped to gather a handful of dust. “They will come like the sand in a whirlwind and drive you from your homes,” he said, letting the wind blow the loose dirt from his open palm. “You will be forced among the barren rocks of the earth, where your ponies will die, where you will see the women and old men starve and listen to the cries of your children for food.”
Numaga noticed the attention the other chiefs were giving his words and saw several among them begin to nod. He was beginning to win them over. Sensing that, he made his plea more personal, his voice almost breaking with emotion. “I love my people; let them live,” he pleaded poignantly, “and when their spirits shall be called to the Great Camp in the southern sky, let their bones rest where their fathers were buried.”
As the war chief concluded, the other chiefs began to discuss his arguments. One after another declared the wisdom of Numaga’s words. One by one they spoke of waiting, of giving the white men another chance to redress the wrongs that had been committed. A few remained unconvinced, but the tide was turning.
Suddenly, into the midst of their deliberations, rode a single warrior. Raising his rifle triumphantly over his head, the Indian shouted that the whites had had their first taste of Paiute justice. As the chiefs demanded explanation, the man quickly described the slaughter that had taken place at Williams’ Station.
Numaga’s heart dropped into his stomach as he heard the news. The other chiefs began to argue what to do, some still for peace, others burning anew with thoughts of revenge. The war chief stepped forward and again commanded their attention. “There is no longer any use for counsel,” he said, his voice grave with foreboding. “We must prepare for war, for the soldiers will now come here to fight us.”
The chiefs responded in grim silence, then each rose to return to his respective camp and assemble the warriors of his band. The war they had at first wanted, then were on the verge of rejecting, was now inevitable. Numaga sought the solitude of his tent, for upon the man who had pleaded for peace with such moving words now fell the responsibility of devising the strategy for war.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“The Paiutes Are Coming!”
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obert Haslem whipped the end of his reins against his horse’s foam-flecked neck to urge him on. The grain-fed mounts of the Pony Express were built and nourished for speed, and the rider had needed all his horse could provide that day as he’d tried to outrun the pursuing Paiutes. They hadn’t caught him, though their arrows had. One protruded from his face, having broken his jaw in two places; another pierced his arm, but Pony Bob hadn’t taken time to remove either. His full attention was focused on getting to the safety of a white settlement.
The nearest one of any size was Virginia City, so although that wasn’t on his normal express route, Haslem swung off through Gold Canyon and charged down Six-Mile Canyon. He wasn’t alone. Behind him rode two other expressmen. The three arrived almost simultaneously at the Wells Fargo office on C Street and flung themselves off their exhausted mounts. Haslem grabbed for the hitching rail to support himself.
Miners and merchants gathered quickly around the three men. For the Pony rider to come their way at all was unusual, and the arrows jutting out of Haslem’s jaw and arm added urgency to their curiosity. None of the three men, however, could satisfy that curiosity. They could barely breathe, much less talk. Miners began thumping their backs.
Finally, all three started at once, each man’s words overlapping the others’. “The Paiutes——the Paiutes are coming! Yesterday they attacked Williams’ Station . . .. killed five men . . . a woman . . . a child . . . burned the station to the ground . . . shot an arrow into the ribs of William’s dog. Five thousand of ‘em are riding on Six Mile. Arm yourselves——quick!”
They were delivering second-hand reports, and several of the details were wrong, but the miners believed every word. Five thousand Paiutes headed their way! How could they withstand a force like that? They had to have help! No one considered sending word to Salt Lake City. Even had the territorial government not been hundreds of miles away, that path led through the heart of Paiute country, and they had only to look at Pony Bob to see the folly of expecting a courier to get through that direction. Instead, they sent one to Carson City, the eastern terminus of the telegraph to California, to request men and arms from Governor Downie of that state.
The citizens of Carson City were terror-stricken when the courier told them of the massacre at Williams’ Station. When Nelly Thomas heard the news, she threw her apron over her face and collapsed on the grass of the plaza. “My boy, my boy,” she wailed, swaying back and forth from the waist.
Laura Ellis knelt swiftly beside her. “Now, don’t you fret over Billy,” she urged. “He knows how to look out for himself.”
“But he’s at Buckland’s,” Nelly moaned. “Ain’t enough men there to hold out long, and it’s between here and there they say the Paiutes shot Pony Bob.”
Laura held her tighter, for she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She was grateful when Clyde lifted his wife to her feet and helped her back to the house.
“You gotta settle down, Nelly gal,” he said as he seated her in the rocker. “I can’t leave ‘til you do.”
“Leave? What you mean, ‘leave’?” Nelly demanded, rising from the chair. “You ain’t goin’ no place, Clyde!”
Inger, blue eyes anxious, stood at Nelly’s side. “You ain’t leavin’ us, are you, Pa?”
Clyde laid a gentle hand on the girl’s strawberry blonde curls. “Got to, honey girl. Got to find your brother and bring him safe home. There’s men enough in town to keep you safe ‘til I get back. Don’t be afraid, girl.”
“Clyde, no!” Nelly cried, falling against his shoulder. “I won’t risk losin’ the both of you. Ain’t nothin’ you can do to help our boy. You’ll just get yourself killed!”
“I’m goin’, Nelly,” he said firmly. “Now, slap some bacon on a biscuit, okay? I’ll eat on the run.”
“I’ll fry you up some fresh bacon, Pa,” Inger offered. “There’s biscuits left from dinner.”
Clyde smiled at her. “That’s my girl.” He settled Nelly back in the rocker again, giving her weathered cheek a soothing stroke.
While Inger went to the kitchen, Clyde got his rifle and began loading it with fresh ammunition. Before the bacon was fried, however, a horse clattered into the yard and Billy stumbled through the front door.
“Oh, son!” Nelly shrieked, flying from her rocker to engulf him in her arms. “Are you all right, boy?”
Billy took his mother’s face in his hands. “Are you?” he asked nervously, then uttered a short laugh. “Well, I can see you are. No Paiutes been here yet, huh?”
“None here,” his father said. “You seen any?”
“Far off,” Billy muttered, lurching toward his father.
Clyde caught the young man before he collapsed. “You sure you ain’t hurt?” he asked apprehensively.
“Just give out,” Billy panted. “Need to sit down.”
“You sit right here,” Nelly ordered, pulling him toward the rocker. Then, seating him, she pressed a kiss to his dust-covered forehead. “You had us worried, boy.”
Billy started to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of fists pounding on the door. Clyde went to answer it and found William Ormsby on the porch with a number of other men flanking him. “Saw your boy ride in,” Ormsby said.
“Come on in,” Clyde said, opening the door. “Boy’s plumb tuckered, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t question him too hard..”
Ormsby motioned for the others to wait outside and walked over to Billy. “You got any news, son?” he asked, looking worried.
Billy gave him a lopsided grin. “Disremember who won that prize fight, if that’s what you mean.”
“Billy!” Inger, who’d run in from the kitchen as soon as she heard Billy’s voice, scolded. “You know that ain’t what he means.”
“I know, little sis,” Billy smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. He looked up at William Ormsby. “I can’t add to what you already know,” he said. “I didn’t have any trouble gettin’ to Buckland’s. Heard there about what happened at Williams’ Station and some other places between there and Buckland’s. Would have come on right then, but my pony was wore down. Pony Bob took the fresh one and came on with the mail. He make it?”
“Not here,” Ormsby said. “Rode up to Virginia City. Took a couple of arrows, I heard, but got through all right.”
Billy shook his head, concerned. “Like I was tellin’ my folks, I saw some Indians at a distance, but they didn’t give chase. Probably realized I had too long a lead on ‘em. Don’t think they were headed here.”
“But you’re not sure?” Ormsby pressed.
Billy shrugged, as if to say he couldn’t read Indian minds.
“How many?” Ormsby demanded then.
“Four, I think. Not more than half a dozen..” Then Billy flashed that lopsided grin of his again. “I didn’t take time to count. Not enough to attack the town, Mr. Ormsby, but that ain’t to say they won’t round up some others and try it later.”
Ormsby laid a hand on the young Pony rider’s shoulder. “Thanks for the information, son.” He looked at Clyde. “We’ll be getting some men together, in case of trouble. Can we count on you and your boy?”
“You know you can,” Clyde assured him. “We got womenfolk to protect, same as you.”
Ormsby nodded. “Some of us may ride up to Virginia City and meet with the men there later this evening.”
“Let me know,” Clyde said. “I might go along.”
“I’ll see myself out,” Ormsby said.
When he left, Inger headed back for the kitchen. “Guess I best finish fryin’ that bacon,” she said. “Billy looks half famished.”
“Lands, it’s a wonder the place ain’t afire by now,” her mother fretted.
Inger turned to give her mother a reproachful look. “I got sense enough to set a pan off the stove before I leave it, Ma,” she chided.
“‘Course you do, gal,” Clyde soothed. “You’re a mighty grown up young lady. Bring your brother some of that grub. Bet his stomach’s a rumblin’.”
“I ate at Buckland’s, while I was waitin’ on my horse to rest a mite,” Billy said, “but even Inger’s cookin’ beats that stationmaster’s.”
“Thanks a lot!” Inger laughed, turned and flounced out of the room.
“Wish I had me a turkey,” Nelly smiled, pausing on her way to the kitchen. “I’m so glad to see you here safe, son, that it feels like Thanksgiving to me.”
“I can’t stay long,” Billy told his father once his mother and sister were out of earshot.
“You ain’t goin’ back to Buckland’s,” his father said bluntly. “Let the Pony Express go hang.”
“No, not Buckland’s,” Billy explained quickly, “but someone’s got to get word to Uncle Ben, Pa. He may not have heard anything yet.”
“Probably ain’t,” Clyde agreed with a scowl, “and ain’t likely to believe it when he does. Your Uncle Ben’s powerful fond of them Paiutes, won’t never stand to hear a word said agin ‘em.”
“I know all that,” Billy argued, “but he needs to know, all the same, Pa, for the sake of Marie and them younguns, if nothin’ else.”
“I reckon,” Clyde conceded, “but you’re tired. I’ll ride up to the Ponderosa.”
“No, Pa,” Billy insisted. “I ride faster, and I make a smaller target, if there are Paiutes out that way. It’s better if I go. Saddle my roan for me, huh?”
Clyde rubbed the back of his son’s neck to express the pride he found hard to put in words. “Yeah, get yourself some bacon and biscuits and I’ll saddle your horse. Tell your Ma I said no argument.”
Billy grinned. “I got better sense than to say that to Ma, but I’ll make her understand.”
* * * * *
“Do you see your father?” Ben yelled.
Billy stretched tall in his stirrups and craned his neck, trying to see over the mass of men swarming B Street in Virginia City. “Not yet,” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. The demands for vengeance against the marauding Paiutes and verbalized fear of the five thousand said to be marching on them were so loud he had to shout to be heard.
Ben shook his head in amazement. He knew the new town had been growing at a prodigious rate, but he still hadn’t expected this many men when he and Billy had ridden here directly from the Ponderosa. Considering the hour, they had assumed that Clyde would have already left for Virginia City, so there’d been no point in taking extra time to go to Carson City first. Of course, more than just the residents of Virginia City and Carson crowded the streets tonight. Ben recognized men he knew from Genoa, among them Snowshoe Thompson, and figured other nearby settlements like Gold Hill and Silver City were also represented.
Finally, he spotted William Ormsby and pointed him out to Billy. “If your father came, we’ll probably find him there, too,” he shouted as he moved his horse in that direction. Billy didn’t try to respond verbally. He just nodded and fell in behind Ben.
Though the distance to be covered was relatively short, it took them several minutes to make their way to Ormsby. Clyde Thomas saw them coming and gave a shout. Ben waved to let his friend know he’d seen him and kept moving his horse slowly through the crowd. As he dismounted, Clyde took the reins of his bay and wrapped them around the hitching rail. “Glad you made it, Ben. Wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“I need to know what’s being planned, Clyde,” Ben said soberly. “I’m not promising to be part of it.”
“What’s that, Cartwright?” William Ormsby demanded, blue eyes narrowing. “Are you saying you’re unwilling to help defend this territory in time of war?”
“Hold on, Ormsby,” John Cradlebaugh, a judge appointed by the territorial government, interrupted. “I don’t believe Mr. Cartwright is expressing anything different than what I’ve been saying. I’ll say it again: I believe our first responsibility is to ascertain the reliability of the reports we’ve received.”
Ben nodded. “I absolutely concur, your honor. There’s no clear evidence the Paiutes were involved, and even if they were, I believe the reports are greatly exaggerated. Why, there aren’t five thousand Paiutes within two hundred miles!”
Ormsby pointed to Billy Thomas. “This boy was out there. Ask him if it wasn’t Paiutes he saw. And those were Paiute arrows in Pony Bob’s jaw!”
“They were Paiutes, for sure, Uncle Ben,” Billy stated earnestly. “I ain’t been around ‘em as much as you, but I know Paiutes when I see ‘em.”
“I’m sure you do, son,” Ben conceded, “but what you saw may have been nothing more than a hunting party. You weren’t close enough to tell.”
“Hunting party!” a nearby miner scoffed. “Yeah, they was out huntin’, all right——huntin’ for scalps!”
Ben ignored the man and faced Ormsby. “What are your plans? Surely you agree with Judge Cradlebaugh that we must be certain the Paiutes are guilty.”
“A party of men left for Williams’ Station within an hour of the first report,” Ormsby replied. “We’ll soon have proof of the Paiutes' guilt.”
“Or innocence,” Ben suggested, his voice soft, but firm.
“If the Paiutes are guilty or if they’re planning all-out war,” Cradlebaugh inserted, “I’ll gladly march with the other Carson City Rangers, but if the killings were justified or if it is an isolated incident, I feel the matter should be put to a vote before we take action.”
Ben’s heart sank. Guilty or not, the Paiutes would be the losers in an election like that. There had to be at least two thousand angry men in the street, and only a handful among them who even considered the possibility that the Indians might be innocent victims of false reports. Ben tried to argue against an immediate attack, but his voice was in the minority. The men of Virginia City were determined to fight and confident of victory.
“The Paiutes won’t fight,” yelled one man, voicing the general consensus. “We’ll get plenty of hair.”
“An Indian for breakfast and a pony to ride,” another hollered back and the crowd roared its approval.
Ben finally quit debating the issue. No one was listening anyway. He watched in silence as three companies of Virginia City volunteers were formed and saw the leaders appointed, most of them mere names to Ben, men new to the territory, men without hope of understanding the delicate diplomacy needed to deal with the Paiutes.
He did know the man appointed captain of the Silver City Guards, one-legged R. G. Watkins, who at first refused the appointment, citing his handicap. The miners refused to listen. They’d heard he lost that leg while serving with William Walker’s filibustering expedition to Nicaragua and, therefore, considered him an experienced soldier. It wasn’t true. Watkins had actually lost his leg in a street brawl in San Diego some nine years earlier and had sent the amputated limb to his opponent as a trophy of war.
William Ormsby, on the other hand, really had fought with Walker in Nicaragua, although when men called him Major Ormsby, the title was largely honorary. He would serve as leader of the Carson City contingent, while the Genoa Rangers would be led by Captain Thomas F. Condon, Jr. They were by far the smallest group, but Ben knew most of them and knew what stalwart men they were. However, although Ormsby argued for a commander-in-chief to be appointed, none was.
“Well, Cartwright, are you with us or not?” Ormsby demanded as the meeting broke up.
“I’ll go as far as Williams’ Station,” Ben said. “I’ll decide there, based on what I see, whether to continue with you.”
“My intentions, too,” Judge Cradlebaugh announced. “Until the day after tomorrow, gentlemen.” Though the men would have liked to ride out the next morning, they knew that wasn’t practical.
“The hour’s late now,” Ormsby had pointed out. “We’ll need most of tomorrow to assemble our men, gather supplies and provide for the safety of our wives and children.”
Henry Meredith, a young lawyer who had been appointed a captain of the Virginia City volunteers, had agreed. “We don’t have many women, even less children, but we’ll need to make provision for them. Yes, a day’s delay is for the best.”
Clyde clapped Ben on the back as the younger man prepared to return to the Ponderosa. “Glad you’re ridin’ with us——well, part-way, anyhow. You bring Marie and the boys down to stay with Nelly, you hear? Safer that way. There’ll be some stayin’ behind to guard the womenfolk there, same as here in Virginia City.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Ben admitted. “I’d better get back and let Marie know what’s happening. I’m sure she’s worried.”
“Nelly, too,” Clyde agreed. “A woman’s right, I guess.”
Ben gave a short laugh. A woman’s right? Then, why did he and Clyde look so concerned? Worry, Ben concluded, knew no gender.
Hoping Marie had gone to bed, Ben took his time. He couldn’t ride fast, anyway. Darkness had fallen, and he wouldn’t risk galloping his horse down the steep trail from Virginia City to the valley floor. Once on the flatlands he could have ridden faster, at least until he started to climb the foothills that led to the Ponderosa, but he chose to trot the horse easily, enjoying the fragrance of sage as it drifted in the cool breeze.
It was unusually cool for this time of year, but then the weather had been no friend to man this year. Ben remembered the hard winter, the long days huddled near the kitchen fire. The winter had been harder, though, on the miners of Virginia City, shivering in their tents and coyote holes, cut off from fresh supplies. Harder still on the Indians after the white men virtually wiped out their usual sources of winter food.
Was it possible, Ben wondered, that the strain had proven too much, that the Paiutes had finally decided their only chance for survival was to wipe out the pale-faced intruders? Had they ridden on Williams’ Station to announce the beginning of war? Unanswerable questions, at least for now. Ben pulled the collar of his coat up to shield his neck from the stiffening wind and pushed his mount a little harder. Suddenly, he wanted to be home.
The house was dark when he walked from the barn after stabling his horse. Ben opened the door and stepped inside, unbuckling his gunbelt to lay it on the cabinet to his left. His hand froze on the buckle, however, as he saw the epee-wielding figure silhouetted against the flickering flames of the fire. Ben smiled. “I’d feel more welcome if you’d put that down,” he said.
The fencing blade clattered to the floor and Marie rushed toward him, ruffled muslin nightgown rustling against her legs as she moved. "Oh, Ben!” she cried, casting herself into his arms.
Ben held her trembling figure close to his breast, then lifted her face to his, stroking back a strand of golden hair that trailed across her forehead. “Defending the ranch, are you?” he asked lightly to disarm her fears.
“If I had to,” Marie whispered. “They will not take our children, Ben——not without taking me first.”
Ben pressed her closer. “My love,” he whispered and brushed the golden strands with a kiss.
Marie looked intently into his face. “Is it war?” she murmured. “Was it the Paiutes?”
“I don’t know yet,” Ben said. “I’m gonna ride out to Williams’ Station with the others on Thursday and see what I can learn. I’ll take you and the boys in to stay with Nelly, maybe tomorrow night, so you won’t have to get them up so early.”
“And Katerina,” Marie suggested. “We will take her, as well, oui?”
“Oui,” Ben whispered. “I’ll speak to Enos tomorrow. Come on to bed now, my love, and I’ll tell you what I know so far.”
Marie nodded and, laying her head on his shoulder, ascended the stairs at his side.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Distant Alarm
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A |
dam leaned his chair back on two legs and perused the ceiling while he conjugated Latin verbs in his head. Bringing the chair down, he checked the open text on his desk and smiled. Perfect. Final exams for the term were scheduled to begin on Monday, and perfection was his goal. His roommate, whom Adam had self-righteously reproved for lack of attention to his own studies, had scoffed at Adam’s diligence. “You’re at the head of practically every class you’re in,” Harold Lissome had argued. “Why keep studying? Get out and enjoy the sunshine and fresh air, boy. It’ll clear your head of those old Romans.”
But Adam didn’t want his head clear of the Romans or their language. He wanted it packed full of verbs and nouns and every other part of speech that might appear on the exam. The Latin professor was noted for making his tests hard, and Adam didn’t want to lose his standing in that class. He wanted to carry home a report that would make his father proud.
Harold, on the other hand, hadn’t felt he could better the average marks he already had, no matter how hard he studied, so he’d volunteered to run a few errands for Mrs. Maguire. Just to get out in that sunshine and fresh air, Adam suspected, fighting down the temptation to join his friend. He secretly planned to invite Harold to an evening at the theater his final night in Sacramento, to celebrate the successful completion of their exams. What Adam wanted to celebrate, though, was ranking first in every class, and if he didn’t study, he might not achieve that goal. Let Harold roam the streets of Sacramento, if he really felt he had nothing better to do. Adam knew his duty, if his roommate did not. Feeling decidedly superior, he leaned back to conjugate the next verb.
“Adam! Adam!”
The chair hit the floor with a thud and Adam sprang from it, for the cry reverberating up the stairs had been one of alarm. Dashing out, Adam collided with Harold at the head of the stairs. “What is it?” he asked, grabbing his panting friend by the shoulders.
Too out of breath to speak plainly, Harold slapped the newspaper he was carrying against Adam’s chest. Adam took the paper. Concerned for his friend, he hooked an elbow under Harold’s arm and helped him into their bedroom. “What is it?” he asked again as he pushed the other boy into a chair.
“Indians,” Harold croaked. “East of the Sierras.”
Adam snapped the paper open and his eyes raced to the headline. “MASSACRE AT WASHOE” the bold print declared. Face white as the paper he held, Adam scanned the article quickly. “Last night a most horrid massacre was perpetrated by the Indians below the Great Bend of the Carson. J. Williams arrived at Buckland’s near the bend, and gave information of the murder of his two brothers and five other men, at the same hour, and the burning of the house after or during the perpetration of this shocking butchery. On his way up, Williams called at two other houses on the opposite side of the river, and the doors were open, but loud calling at a short distance failed to induce any signs of life about the premises. He supposes all are murdered; they number some twelve or thirteen others. The Indians are about five hundred strong, and all mounted. They pursued him to within six miles of Buckland’s and gave up the chase.”
The report was highly inaccurate. The reporter had not even interviewed so-called survivor James Williams, but he evidently had a flare for invention, creating a harrowing tale of how the stationmaster had found one brother dead, the other only living long enough to accuse the Pah-Utes. According to the newspaper account, Williams had then ridden down one horse and jumped on another in his mad flight toward Buckland’s Station. The tale was almost pure fiction, but everyone who read it believed it for gospel, none with greater concern than the two boys in Molly Maguire’s boardinghouse.
“That’s near your folks, isn’t it?” Harold asked anxiously, having caught his breath.
Adam nodded grimly. “Buckland’s is east of them. Williams’ Station, too, but it’s too close for comfort.” He stood abruptly and, walking to his bureau, pulled a carpetbag from the bottom drawer.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Harold asked as Adam tossed the bag onto the bed and began pulling shirts and socks from the top drawer.
Adam didn’t bother to look up as he responded. “What do you think I’m doing? My family’s in danger. I’m going to them.”
Harold lunged across the room to grab his friend’s arm. “Adam, you can’t!” he protested. “What about your exams?”
Adam shook his arm free and fixed a look of scorn on the older boy. “What about them?” he asked airily.
Harold bit his lip. He understood what Adam had left unsaid and knew the boy well enough to realize he couldn’t outargue Adam once his mind was made up. “You can’t go tonight,” he pointed out logically.
Adam sighed and flopped onto the bed. “No, not tonight,” he admitted. “No need to rush packing, I guess, but don’t try to talk me out of going. What would you do if it were your family?”
“Same as you, probably,” Harold said, “but maybe you should wire your father and ask if he needs you to come home. The telegraph’s through to Carson City now, you said.”
Adam blew out a disdainful blast of air. “That’s the one thing I won’t do!” He leaned on one elbow to stare at his friend. “I already know what Pa’d say: ‘Stay safe in Sacramento.’ He’d treat me just like a little kid, which I’m not! I know how to fire a gun, and I’m man enough to do it when my family’s under attack.”
“Look, you ought to see the headmaster in the morning, though,” Harold reasoned. “Once this trouble’s settled, you’ll want to come back and finish your work, won’t you? That’ll be easier if you get permission to leave.”
Adam raked a nervous hand through his straight, black hair. “Yeah, I guess. Hardly seems important now, but maybe things aren’t as bad as they sound. I’ll get permission to put off my exams, then head for Carson on the earliest stage.”
* * * * *
Mark Wentworth read the article in the Daily Evening Bulletin, jaw muscles tightening with each sentence. The description of the massacre at Williams’ Station was gruesome and more personally alarming to Mark than to most readers of the San Francisco newspaper. He not only had a better understanding of the geography of the region than most Californians, including how short the distances were from Williams’ Station to Carson City or the Ponderosa; he also had someone over the Sierras whose life meant more to him than his own.
Sally! Why on earth had he not gone to claim her as his bride as soon as the passes were open? Mark knew the answer, of course. It had been a point of pride with him to remain away the full year he’d promised Dr. Martin. More than just pride, really. The young man hadn’t wanted to give the doctor the slightest pretext for withholding consent for the wedding.
Mark had done well the previous nine months. The same period of time it takes a woman to give birth, Mark mused, feeling he was participating in a new birth of his own. He’d made peace with his father, found a good job and held it faithfully. Not once had he visited the Barbary Coast, unless he was accompanying the Reverend Wentworth on one of his charitable missions. With the help of his brother Matthew, who had secretly been saving funds for the same purpose, he’d purchased property and lumber and built a solid little cottage away from the wind and dampness of the bay, and the change had made a world of difference in their sister’s health. Though the house had taken most of his money, Mark had started to set aside funds for his own future, and while his nest egg wasn’t large yet, three more months’ salary would augment it. That had seemed a short time to wait, but now he chided himself for the delay. If he’d gone earlier, he’d be in Washoe now, where he could protect the woman he loved.
Mark folded the paper and, thrusting it under his arm, hastened home. Flinging open the front door of the yellow house, painted to match the one in Carson City Mary had so admired, Mark called out, “Father!”
“He’s not here,” Mary called from the dining room, where she was setting the table for supper.
Mark charged through the doorway into the next room. “Where is he?” he demanded. “I have to talk to him.”
“Visiting some sick parishioners,” Mary replied, her blue eyes lighting with sudden concern. “What is it, Mark? What’s wrong?”
Mark started to hand her the paper, then drew it back. “No, it’s too cruel for your eyes, dear heart, but I must speak with Father at once. Do you know who he’s visiting?”
Mary set the plates and silverware down and moved quickly to her brother. Her slender hand reached up to stroke the curly beard he’d sported since Christmas. “I don’t know,” she answered softly. “He only said he had several stops to make, but would be home by supper. Please, Mark, tell me what troubles you.”
Mark took her hand and led her into the small, simply furnished parlor. “It’s Sally,” he said hoarsely as he sat on the worn sofa.
Seeing the newspaper in his hand, Mary tilted her head in bemusement. “There’s something about Sally in the newspaper?” she teased, sitting beside her brother.
“Yes. No, not about her, but it concerns her,” Mark sputtered. “She may even be dead, Mary.”
“Mark!” Mary cried, grasping his hand and pulling it to her lips to kiss his fingertips. “What has happened?”
“Indians,” Mark explained hurriedly. “They attacked a station near Carson City.”
The bloom fled from Mary’s cheeks, and she suddenly looked as pale as in the old days of fragile health. “The Cartwrights!” she cried. “Are they in danger, too?”
“They could be,” Mark said. “Look, I don’t want you worrying, Mary.”
“But you are,” she murmured, almost sobbing.
Mark took her in his arms. “I’m a brute to worry you so,” he said. “It happened at Williams’ Station, Mary. That’s probably a hundred miles from the Ponderosa. Most likely, the Cartwrights——and everyone in Carson City, too——are just fine. But I have to go there, to make sure. You understand, don’t you?”
Mary took his face in her hands. “Oh, of course, I do, and Father will, too, Mark.”
“I hope so,” Mark whispered. He didn’t want to ruin the relationship he’d rebuilt with his father by leaving without his consent; however, he would if he had to, for he felt his duty to Sally was clear.
Ebenezer Wentworth walked in moments later to find two of his children taking comfort in each other’s arms. Mark handed his father the Daily Evening Bulletin, so he could read for himself the danger threatening their friends. “This seems very serious,” Ebenezer said. “We will certainly remember the people of western Utah in our prayers.”
“Prayers! Oh, Father,” Mark protested bitterly. “You can’t expect me to just pray about this and do nothing else.”
Ebenezer looked sorrowfully at his son. As much improvement as the boy had made in other ways, he hadn’t reestablished his commitment to God, and that troubled the minister more than the drinking and carousing ever had. “I can’t imagine any action that would do more good,” he said quietly, then added quickly, “but, no, son, I don’t expect you to do nothing else. You want to go to her, don’t you?”
“Father, I must!” Mark pleaded. “I know you don’t approve of violence——”
“I approve even less of leaving women and children defenseless,” Ebenezer said soberly. “There are times when violence merits a violent response. Remember, the Scripture says, ‘The Kingdom of God suffers violence, and the violent take it by force.’”
Mark gulped hard. “Then, I have your permission to go, to stand by Sally in this time of need?”
“Not yet,” Ebenezer said. Seeing Mark about to raise an argument, he lifted a silencing hand. “I only ask that you not go alone. Others will respond to the appeal for help. Wait and go with them.”
“Oh, yes,” Mary beseeched. “There is safety in numbers, dear brother.”
Mark looked from one to the other. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll wait.” They were the hardest words he’d ever said. His whole heart yearned to hold Sally safe in his arms, and even a moment’s delay seemed unbearable. If there was one thing he’d learned in these long months apart, however, it was to trust his father’s wisdom. He wouldn’t go against it now, however much his youthful ardor chafed under its yoke.
* * * * *
Headmaster Sydney Thompson listened without comment until Adam had explained his reasons for leaving school prior to the completion of his final exams. “I’m sorry, Adam,” he said when the boy had finished, “but I cannot accede to your request. I, too, have read the newspaper reports and I understand your concern for your family. I’m certain, however, that your parents would prefer you remain here in California until all danger from the savages is past. If lodging after the term ends is a problem, I will gladly open my home to you, my boy.”
Adam took a deep breath. “I appreciate that, sir, but I will be going home, with or without your permission. I only wanted to be certain I could return and complete my exams later, but if you refuse, I’m willing to take a failing grade rather than leave my family to handle this situation without my help.”
The headmaster leaned forward, hands folded on the desk before him. “How much help do you realistically think you can be, Adam?”
Adam sat up straighter. “I may look young to you, sir, but I learned to use a rifle at an early age, and I’m an excellent shot.”
“Of men?” the educator asked with a rueful smile. “I’m not skilled with firearms personally, but I would imagine a target that shoots back is considerably harder to face than a squirrel or a deer. Have you ever fired at another man, Adam?”
Adam flushed. “No, sir, and I don’t look forward to it, but I know I’d rather do that than see that man shoot my father or my stepmother or those two innocent little brothers of mine.”
The headmaster nodded. “You are determined, then, to make the attempt to cross the mountains?”
Adam sat forward. “Not just attempt, sir; I’ll make it. I plan to leave on the stage this morning.”
Thompson laughed. “My boy, you show your youth and inexperience. No stage is likely to travel past Placerville, conditions being what they are, and I certainly can’t countenance your traveling alone into hostile territory. That involves great risk to you and provides no assistance to your family.”
For the first time Adam’s iron resolve showed signs of cracking. He hadn’t taken other people’s reaction to the massacre into consideration. The headmaster was right: he was showing a kid’s thoughtlessness about practical matters. Adam quickly thought through the new problem, however. “I’ll buy a horse here then. My father left me sufficient funds to do that.”
Thompson shook his head. “No, no, my boy. You’d still be alone, and therein lies great danger. There’s a better way.”
“Yes, sir?”
“The people of Washoe have telegraphed Governor Downie, requesting military aid,” the educator began.
“I read that in the paper,” Adam said.
“I’m certain that request will be honored,” Thompson continued, ignoring Adam’s interruption. “Most of the miners of your territory were Californians, after all. A rescue party will surely be sent, but it may require several days to assemble the men and arms. I know it’s difficult to wait when you feel your family needs your immediate help, Adam, but you can do more as part of an organized relief effort than you can alone.. You’re an intelligent young man; surely you see that.”
Adam nodded slowly. The headmaster was right, on two counts: it was better if he waited and went with other men, and it did stick in his craw to admit it. But Adam was too sensible not to face such plain facts. “Yes, sir, I’ll do as you suggest,” he said quietly.
Thompson stood and walked around the desk to lay a supportive hand on the young man’s shoulder. “In the meantime, I suggest you continue preparing for your exams. In fact, the rescue party may be delayed long enough to permit you to complete them.”
The resolve returned to Adam’s countenance. “Yes, that would be better, to leave with nothing hanging over my head.”
The headmaster coughed into his fist to cover the smile fluttering at his mouth. The boy had misconstrued his intent, but no matter. Hopefully, continuing his studies would take young Adam’s mind off the threat to his family.
Suddenly, Adam looked up eagerly. “Could I take them early?”
“Now, there’s no need of that,” Thompson said, patting the boy’s shoulder before returning to his desk. He hadn’t intended for Adam to actually take the exams while so concerned for his family’s welfare. It wouldn’t be fair to the lad or to the fine record he’d built for himself thus far this term.
“No, I’d like to,” Adam pressed. “I’ve been studying hard, and I’m sure I’m ready. I could take them today.”
The educator smiled, openly this time. “I doubt your instructors have compiled the questions as yet, my boy, but I’ll speak with them. You may begin by taking the exam for my class tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Yes, sir,” Adam said, his countenance bright for the first time since he’d read the fatal news from Washoe. He left, determined to set aside his anxieties for the night and concentrate on his text in ancient history.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Place of Decision
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A |
t eight o’clock on the morning of May 10th, Ben left Eagle Valley with the rest of the Carson City Rangers, including Clyde and Billy Thomas. Ben had suggested leaving the boy at home to protect the women, but Clyde had spit a disdainful stream of tobacco and said, “It’s his decision; he’s a man now.”
Billy’s decision had been predictable. Anxious to prove his manhood, he wasn’t about to hide at home behind a woman’s skirts. Let men like Dr. Martin, who wasn’t handy with a rifle anyway, and Enos Montgomery, still so newly married he didn’t dare cross his wife, stay behind. Billy didn’t figure his mother and the other women and children were in much danger, so they didn’t need real men to protect them. His pa, on the other hand, was heading into Paiute country, and that’s where Billy planned to be, right at his pa’s side.
Like most of the other young fellows riding with the expedition, Billy was light-hearted as a lark, his spirits not even dampened by the depressing weather. The wind had blown violently all night long and was still whipping at upturned coat collars and hat brims tied snug with bandannas under the chin. It was a miserable day to be out riding, and Ben could tell by the ache in his bones that he wasn’t young enough to consider this an adventure, like Billy and his contemporaries. To him, the long ride to Williams’ Station was an unsought necessity and, on this cold, bitter morning, an unpleasant one, as well.
Although their destination lay northeast, the riders headed south first to get around the mountains that separated Carson City from Williams’ Station. Skirting the edge of the cottonwood-lined Carson River, they kept a constant eye out for Indian signs, but saw none. The only indication of trouble came from a rider headed west. He claimed to have come from the edge of the Forty-Mile Desert, where Indians were said to be forting up at Ragtown.
Some of the younger men hollered that they should immediately ride to Ragtown and roust out the murdering Paiutes, but Major Ormsby insisted they continue to Williams’ Station first. “We know the Indians attacked there,” he declared, “and that’s where the men of Virginia City will meet us. We can’t afford to split up and chase wild reports at this point.”
Still moving along the river, the Rangers came to Buckland’s Station, where they decided to refresh themselves and rest the animals, letting them feed on the newly sprouted meadow grass. Nelly had packed provisions for her two men and Ben that morning, including a jug of cider, so they didn’t bother visiting the log store and saloon. Billy wanted to, as most of his friends were doing, but Clyde put his foot down. “It ain’t a time to get liquored up,” he lectured. “Man needs his wits about him for a business like this.”
Catching the somber mood of both Ben and his father, Billy nodded in acquiescence. They were right. The time to drink was when the job was done. “I’ll buy you both a beer when we get back to Carson City,” he announced, and even Ben smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm, although he saw little to celebrate in the likely conclusion on this journey’s business.
After an hour’s rest and the fortification of liquid courage, the riders pressed on the final ten miles and were the first contingent of volunteers to reach the Big Bend of the Carson and inspect what remained of Williams’ Station. The sun hung low on the horizon, but the shrouding shadows only heightened the men’s horror as they viewed the grisly scene. Silhouetted starkly against the purple and auburn sky were the blackened logs of the trading post. In front of it stood a charred wagon, probably that of a visitor to the station. “Might be Sam Sullivan’s,” one man offered. “He traded here a lot, and he ain’t been seen since this fracas took place.”
Ormsby appointed W. F. Mason as coroner and a few men to set up camp while others set out to scour the area for bodies. They found three bodies in the remains of the trading post: two obviously male, the other burned so badly no identification was possible.
“Not many Indian signs,” Ben commented as he walked beside Clyde Thomas to examine the surrounding area.
Clyde stooped and pointed to hoofprints in the bare, hard dirt. “Looks like they run off the stock,” he said.
“Yeah, but that could be anyone’s work,” Ben argued.
“Hey, Pa!” Billy, who had ranged ahead of them, called. He ran back, holding out a sharp knife. “Paiute, ain’t it, Uncle Ben?”
“Looks Paiute to me,” Clyde grunted, his eyes daring Ben to say otherwise.
Ben nodded reluctantly. “Could still be white men masquerading as Indians, though.”
Clyde scoffed. “You don’t believe that, do you, Ben?”
Ben took off his hat and wiped his forehead. Though the weather wasn’t warm, he was sweating as if a midsummer sun were basting his brains. “I don’t know, Clyde,” he admitted, putting the hat back on. “We’ve seen it before, more than once, and it is odd for Indians to leave a full stockroom untouched, especially one stocked with liquor.”
“There’s blood all over where I found the knife,” Billy offered.
“We’d better check it out,” Ben said. Billy guided them to a spot about half a mile from the station, where traces of blood spattered the ground. Not as much as Ben had pictured from Billy’s description, but then Billy was a young, excitable boy. Older heads than his had given exaggerated reports concerning this crisis. Young or not, excitable or not, Billy came closer to the truth than those who reported five thousand Paiutes on the march.
Shadows were growing long when the volunteers from Virginia City arrived, far fewer in number than had enlisted in the excitement of that first night. Most of the miners had suddenly remembered pressing concerns in California and slipped out in the covering darkness. Captain Archie McDonald, the designated over-all leader of those who remained, met with William Ormsby to discuss what evidence had been found of Indian warfare. While the leaders talked, however, the men in the ranks held discussions of their own, less formal, but perhaps more significant since the leaders could do nothing to oppose the will of more than a hundred men.
Around the several campfires men retold old horror stories of Indian outrages. Ben heard them repeated again and again as he made his way from campfire to campfire to plead for further investigation before any action was taken against the Paiutes. A few men appeared to be listening, but most simply used Ben’s interruption as an opportunity to clear their throats before launching back into more terrifying tales of the depredations of the savages on white emigrants.
Ben finally found himself squatting next to Judge Cradlebaugh. “What do you think?” he asked.
Cradlebaugh shook his head. “I see no signs of a general uprising. From what I hear of these Williams brothers, they probably deserved killing.”
“No one deserves to die that way,” Ben said with a shudder, “although I agree they probably brought it on themselves.” He’d also heard the rumors of the traders’ shady dealings with both white and Indian customers and considered it likely a trade disagreement had sparked reprisals.
“At any rate,” the judge concluded, “I see no need to pursue the Indians, but I’ll leave the decision up to each man.”
“You’re an influential man, your honor,” Ben began. “Perhaps if you spoke strongly against this action, the men would listen.”
The judge gave a short laugh. “I’ve expressed myself as strongly as I dare, Cartwright, and I’ve been about as effective as if I’d been yelling into this accursed wind that’s been lashing us all day.”
Ben coughed and pulled his collar tighter in involuntary reaction to the reminder of that wind, which had finally died down. “Yeah, that’s about how I feel,” he admitted, standing to return to his own place in camp.
Clyde Thomas poured him a cup of coffee. “You look half-froze,” he said. “This’ll warm you up.”
Ben took the cup. “Thanks.” His lips curled. The coffee was stronger than he liked, although Marie would have declared it too weak for her taste. Remembering his wife, Ben stared dreamy-eyed into the flickering firelight.
“Made your decision yet?” Clyde asked.
“Yeah,” Ben said, taking another sip of the hot brew. “I told Ormsby I’d stay if we went under a flag of truce to talk with Winnemucca, even volunteered to be the man to carry it, but no one’s interested in settling our differences peaceably. All I hear around these campfires is talk of war, so I’m heading home in the morning.”
Clyde sighed and shook his head. It was what he’d expected, but it still bothered him, as it likely bothered Ben, too, that they didn’t see eye to eye. Billy looked from one to the other. “What about us, Pa?” he finally asked.
“You’re a man; make your own decision,” Clyde said, tossing out the rest of the coffee in his cup. “I think clearin’ the territory of them murderin’ savages is long overdue.”
Feeling torn, Billy bit his lip. He knew his pa had a long-held grudge against the Paiutes, blaming them for the poisoned arrow that had left him with a game leg he’d limp on the rest of his life. Billy didn’t share that animosity. What relations he’d had with the Paiutes had been friendly enough. Of course, the only ones he’d had much contact with had been the Winnemucca girls, and, being females, they were no threat. Secretly, Billy sort of sided with his “uncle” Ben on this, but he said nothing to contradict his father. That lame leg could cause problems, Billy feared, so if it came to choices, Billy would stand by his pa, if only to see that the older man came out of the battle alive.
* * * * *
In the meager light of early dawn, Ben fumbled at the cinch on his saddle, then slapped his gloved hands against his leg to bring some feeling back into them. The air, as he breathed in, felt like pieces of ice stabbing at his throat. The middle of May and cold as winter, Ben thought, glad that he, at least, was headed toward the warmth of home.
Clyde came up behind him, brown gunny sack in hand. “You’ll be needin’ some grub for the trip back,” he said, extending the sack.
“Keep it,” Ben said as he pulled the cinch snug. “You’ll be needing it more than me.”
Clyde didn’t argue, realizing that the expedition was already running low on supplies. Most of the men hadn’t really come prepared for an extended march, and while the Thomases had, they couldn’t refuse to share with hungry men. What they’d brought, however, wouldn’t go far, especially if they couldn’t track down and deal with the Paiutes swiftly.
Ben turned and reached out to shake Clyde’s hand. “You watch yourself,” he muttered, a lump rising in his throat.
“Yeah, you, too,” Clyde said. “And, Ben, if worse should come to worst——”
“Don’t say it,” Ben pleaded. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, old friend.”
“Got to say it,” Clyde insisted. “You’ll look after my girls?”
Ben blinked back the moisture in his eyes. “You know I will. I figured to take them back to the Ponderosa with me, until this is all settled, unless you’d feel better having them stay in town, where there are more men to protect them.”
“I’d rather they was with you,” Clyde said, “but I’ll leave it up to Nelly. Whatever she feels most comfortable with. Gotta give the women their way in times like these, I reckon.”
Ben gave a perfunctory chuckle. “Yeah, I reckon. I may leave them in town ‘til I get back tomorrow, though.”
Clyde rubbed his auburn beard, a puzzled expression in his blue eyes. “Tomorrow? Won’t take you that long to ride back to Carson, Ben.”
“No,” Ben conceded, “but I promised Ormsby I’d meet you at the Big Bend of the Truckee with fresh supplies. It’ll save time if I go straight to the Ponderosa from here.”
“Mighty good of you, considerin’ how you feel about what we’re doin’,” Clyde said wryly.
“What you’re doing doesn’t change how I feel about you——or other friends,” Ben said quietly. “I won’t stand by and see men I care about go hungry.”
“Hey, Pa!”
Ben and Clyde looked up to see Billy racing toward them. “What lit a fire under you, boy?” Clyde asked, his face wrinkling with concern he tried to belie with the rough tone.
“There’s some horses gone missin’,” Billy explained hurriedly, “and Mr. Ormsby wants me and Charles Forman to go look for ‘em.”
“Which way you headed, son?”
“Back down the Carson,” Billy replied, jerking his head southward. “That’s the way the tracks lead.”
Ben noticed the breath of relief Clyde puffed out. No Paiutes back the way they’d come. Clyde knew that and was clearly pleased to know his boy was riding away from danger, at least for awhile.
“We’ll be camping at the Big Bend of the Truckee,” Clyde said.
“Yeah, Pa, I know,” Billy said. “Mr. Ormsby said you’d all wait for us there.”
“See you there then,” Clyde muttered gruffly. “Say good-bye to your Uncle Ben and be on your way.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy grinned, thrusting out an energetic hand. “See you——well, sometime.”
Ben gave the boy’s hand a firm shake, praying his words would prove true.
For a time, Ben’s path would parallel that of the rest of the riders, but he left before they did and traveled more quickly, since he was alone. He needed to. It was a long ride to the Ponderosa and back again with a load of supplies. He’d have to push hard to make it to the Big Bend of the Truckee by the next morning.
The weather didn’t see fit to cooperate. As Ben rode, snow began to dust the crown of his hat. Snow! In the middle of May! What kind of year was this? If I were as superstitious as my Paiute friends, I’d sure consider this an ill omen, Ben thought, then shivered. A man didn’t need to be superstitious to know that snow boded no good for men facing a battle.
* * * * *
“Sure hope we find them horses quick.” Billy grinned at his companion, a young man just older than himself, as they trotted their horses back toward the Carson River.
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to miss the action,” Forman chuckled back, “though it looks like there may not be any ‘til tomorrow. Maybe we ought to go downstream a ways first, you think?”
“Might as well,” Billy agreed. “Won’t take long to check that direction. Grass gives out pretty quick. I’m bettin’ they’re upstream, though.”
“Probably,” Forman conceded. “I’m just hoping for a shorter ride. Cold as it is, I’d like to get back to a warm fire quick as we can.”
“Well, ‘if wishes was horses, beggars would ride,’ Uncle Ben——Mr. Cartwright——always says,” Billy laughed. “Reckon it holds true for hopes, too.”
Forman scowled. “Cartwright? That turnback? He your kin?”
“Not real kin,” Billy explained, “but near close as. I won’t hear ill spoke of him. He’s doin’ what he thinks is right, and I ain’t so sure but what he is.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Forman conceded. “Best get our minds back to the job at hand, I guess.”
Billy cackled. “Don’t take no mind, old buddy, just a good set of eyes.”
Neither mental nor visual acuity, however, revealed the lost horses downstream, so the two young men turned back to the west and began following the river upstream. Here luck favored them with better success, for they didn’t have to search far in that direction before they spotted the missing animals, feeding in a meadow near the river’s edge. They roped the horses and, dividing the animals between them, started leading them back toward the campsite of the previous night. No one was there except the owner of the horses, who took them without a word of thanks and hightailed down the trail back toward the Carson.
“Now, why did we need to chase down his horses, if he was headed back that way anyhow?” Billy chafed.
“Lazy and a coward to boot. Got no use for a man like that,” Forman grunted. “At least, men like Cartwright are following their principles, not their own self-interest.”
“Yeah, well, we’d best push on to the rendezvous on the Truckee,” Billy said. Forman nodded and they rode out after the other volunteers.
At first the trail was easy to follow, altogether too easy, in fact. Strewn along the path were articles that must have come from the trading post at Williams’ Station. “Almost like trail markers,” Forman muttered.
“Like the Indians wanted us to follow, you mean?” Billy asked, feeling a shiver run up his spine that wasn’t entirely due to the continuing drop in temperature.
“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” Forman said, hunching his shoulders as if he felt the same shuddering in his own flesh.
“Maybe some of our own men took ‘em,” Billy suggested hopefully.
“Yeah, maybe,” Forman agreed, but he didn’t sound convinced.
Once the snow began, the trail was harder to follow. No longer able to see the tracks of the riders ahead of them, the two young men were glad to see an occasional household item by the side of the road to point the way. Because they’d been able to find the horses so quickly, however, not even the ever-increasing snow kept them from reaching the camp at the Big Bend of the Truckee by mid-afternoon.
Clyde greeted his son warmly. “I’ll tend to your horse,” he said. “Get over by the fire and help yourself to some coffee.”
“Thanks, Pa,” Billy said. He took Forman’s elbow and steered him toward the fire. “Pa makes his coffee pretty strong,” he advised his companion.
“Just so it’s hot,” Forman grinned, hugging his arms to his chest.
By nightfall, scouts who’d been sent out to check neighboring ranches had returned to report that no more settlers had been raided, while several had, like Ben, promised to bring supplies to the volunteer companies by morning. The news was met with a shout of approval, for many of the men had had no supper, and coffee only warmed them and filled their bellies temporarily.
The men bedded down for the night, pulling their blankets over their heads, as the snow continued to fall. Throughout the night the storm grew worse, wind blowing fiercer by the hour, snow coming down faster, harder. By morning, three inches covered the ground, and each man found himself sleeping under a blanket of snow.
Clyde was frying up a skillet of bacon for breakfast when Charles Forman walked up. “Sure smells good,” the young man hinted.
“Take my plate,” Clyde offered. “I’ll make more.”
“Won’t turn you down,” Forman grinned. “Can’t stay long, though. Wanted to see if Billy here’d like to join the scouting party.”
“What scouting party?” Billy asked, holding out his tin plate for his father to fill with bacon.
“Major Ormsby wants some of us to go ahead, find out where those Paiutes are lurking. You’d make the fifth man,” Charles explained.
“Yeah, I’ll go,” Billy said at once, then hesitated. “If that’s okay with you, Pa,” he added.
Slicing more sowbelly into the pan, Clyde shook his head. “You ain’t been listening, boy. I keep tellin’ you a man has to make his own decisions. Don’t much like you puttin’ yourself at risk, but maybe there ain’t gonna be no safe ground today.”
Billy reached over to touch his father’s hand. “I’ll be careful, Pa,” he promised, “and you do the same.” He ate the bacon quickly, then sopped up the rest of the grease in his plate with one of the flapjacks Clyde had fried up for bread and stood. “I’m ready. Who else is going?” he asked.
Forman stood and handed Clyde back his empty plate. “Ormsby asked William Marley to be in charge, but I don’t know the other two fellows. Friends of Marley’s, maybe.”
“Well, five’s a good number,” Billy commented as they went to saddle their horses. “Small enough to keep out of sight, and large enough for protection if we do get spotted.”
Billy was beginning to think of Charles Forman as a friend, although they hadn’t been well acquainted before. Danger faced together had a way of drawing men close, Billy figured, but he didn’t think any amount of shared experience would make him consider the other members of the scouting party friends. The jokes they kept tossing out about finding some good-looking Paiute women bothered him. Mostly due to Ben Cartwright’s influence, Billy saw Indian women as deserving respect, just like white ones, and he was glad that the Winnemucca girls, at least, were safe at school in San Jose, so they wouldn’t be there for the white men to take in the heat of passion.
* * * * *
It was approaching noon on Saturday, May 12th, when Ben Cartwright pulled his wagonload of supplies into the camp by the Truckee River. Major Ormsby greeted him warmly, thanking him for the flour and beans.
“Sorry it took so long,” Ben apologized, “but the roads are pure muck with this melting snow.
Ormsby lifted his boot to show mud up to his ankle. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’re still waiting on other settlers to bring more supplies. Guess the weather’s holding them up, too.”
“I put everything in small packages,” Ben said, “so you can carry it on mule or horseback.”
“Good thinking,” Ormsby replied. “I’ll get some men to unload. Thanks again for your help.”
Ordinarily, Ben would have offered to help unload the supplies, but he was anxious to have a word with Clyde Thomas. Leaving Ormsby to superintend the job, Ben made his way from campfire to campfire until he found Clyde. “I want to talk to you,” he said.
Seeing the sober look on his friend’s face, Clyde frowned. “Got a feelin’ I ain’t gonna like what you got to say.”
“You may not,” Ben agreed, “but let me say it, Clyde. Won’t you rethink being a party to this attack? Look around you, man. These are terrible conditions for a forced march.”
“If you mean the mud, I couldn’t agree more,” Clyde muttered. “It’ll be hard on the horses.”
“More than hard,” Ben said grimly. “Have you taken a good look at some of the horses these men are riding? They’re bone-thin and exhausted, and that’s after a couple of days of relatively easy riding.”
Clyde scowled. “Ain’t in good shape, that’s for sure. Hay was in short supply in Virginia City this winter, and the cold weather we’ve had this spring delayed the start of spring grass. You know that, Ben. My mount’s good, though, fed all winter on good Ponderosa hay.”
Ben nodded his acknowledgement. “And Billy’s, too, but most of these other mounts aren’t fit for battle. It comes close to suicide to ride with a group like this, Clyde.”
“You sayin’ I should turn tail and run ‘cause the goin’ gets rough?” Clyde grunted.
“Not run, just leave,” Ben pleaded. “It won’t make you any less a man. Plenty of men from Carson went back with Judge Cradlebaugh yesterday.”
“I know, but I can’t do it, Ben,” Clyde said, his voice edged with concern. “I got a boy out there.” He jerked his head toward the nearby plateau, up which Billy and the scouting party had ridden.
Ben’s face grew grave. “Billy’s gone ahead?”
Clyde nodded, face taut. “Ormsby sent him and four others out as scouts. I can’t leave without my boy, Ben. What would you do if it was Adam?”
Ben caught his breath. “Thank God, that’s one worry I don’t have! At least, Adam’s safe in Sacramento.” His brow furrowed. Why on earth hadn’t he realized before, since they now had telegraph connection to California, that Adam would have heard reports of what was happening here and was probably frantic with worry, perhaps to the point of doing something foolish? Ben decided he’d send a wire as soon as he reached Carson City to let Adam know that they were all right and that he should stay put until he got word that it was safe to come home.
Ben reached for Clyde’s hand, and there was a new softness in his voice as he said, “You bring yourself and that young rapscallion of yours home safe, you hear?”
Clyde clasped his friend’s hand firmly. “You hack us off some good thick beefsteaks and have ‘em waitin’, Ben. We’ll be by to collect them and the girls soon as we”——he’d started to say “teach those Paiutes a lesson,” but quickly revised the sentence, not wanting to offend Ben——“soon as we get back.”
A hard knot tightened in Ben’s throat, making it hard to talk, but he forced a light tone into his voice. “We’ll roast you a whole side of beef, old trailmate.”
Clyde laughed. “Got a feelin’ we’ll be hungry enough to eat one before this is finished. Thanks for bringin’ the supplies.”
Ben shrugged. “Least I could do. I’ll, uh, see you back at the Ponderosa.”
“Keep us in your prayers,” Clyde murmured.
Not trusting himself to respond verbally, Ben gave his friend a clap on the back and walked back to his wagon. Just before he pulled out, he looked at the high plateau up which Billy had ridden. Ben knew that old Paiute trail well. He’d traveled it many times, always as a friend. The men who rode that trail today, though, would come as enemies, and Ben couldn’t help fearing the welcome they’d receive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ambush!
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T |
he sun stood directly overhead when the combined forces of the Comstock headed north up the narrow ridge overlooking the Truckee River. The melting snow made the steep trail slippery, and the men had to pay close attention to each footstep of their mounts. Clyde Thomas couldn’t resist a frequent glance up the trail ahead, however. Straining his eyeballs for sight of his son, he was one of the first to sight the five scouts and give a whoop.
Billy waved back and galloped to meet his father, leaving William Marley to report to Major Ormsby. “Seen any Paiutes?” Clyde asked anxiously.
Billy shook his head. “Not a one, but there’s pony tracks all over.”
“Fresh?”
“Yeah, Pa,” Billy replied quietly. “They’re up there somewhere, maybe close now.” Seeing Ormsby motion them on, the young man wheeled his roan to ride beside his father as the trail threaded up a sagebrush-covered slope slicing through the plateau.
They were still about ten miles south of Pyramid Lake when Ormsby ordered six men, under command of C. T. Lake, to stay behind, to be a rear guard in case sudden retreat became necessary. Both Billy and his father rode on, moving down toward the wider part of the river gorge.
Another hour brought them near bottomland, where open meadows stretched on both sides of the river beyond the strip of large cottonwoods and thick underbrush that edged its entire length. In common with most of the men marching along the trail, Clyde had never been as far as Pyramid Lake, but he reasoned from descriptions he’d heard from Ben that they must be within five miles of it.
Seeing Charles Forman wave to him, Billy rode forward. “Ormsby wants us to scout ahead again,” Forman explained.
“Let’s go,” Billy said. He and Forman fell in behind William Marley and the other scouts and soon left the main body a good distance behind.
Marley dismounted abruptly, and the younger men flung themselves to the ground, too, inching up to peer over the ridge. “Paiutes!” Forman hissed as he saw two mounted Indians on the trail ahead.
Billy swallowed hard as he felt his stomach lurch. This was no time to get queasy. Just two Paiutes. The five scouts could handle them, if it came to a fight. For now, though, their job was to stay out of sight.
“Thomas,” Marley hissed. “Ride back and report to Ormsby what we’ve seen. Keep low ‘til you’re sure those Paiutes can’t see you.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy said. That was one order he’d be sure to follow——to the letter! Snaking his way back to his roan, Billy mounted and rode with the speed he usually reserved for carrying the mail. “Major Ormsby!” he yelled as he reached the main body.
Ormsby rode ahead to meet him, with only one question on his mind. “Did you spot the Paiutes?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir. Just two, though,” Billy reported.
“Ride back up there,” Ormsby ordered. “Tell Marley to capture them! They can tell us where the rest are.”
“Yes, sir!” Billy replied, turned and raced back up the hill.
The scouts had pulled back slightly, to avoid being seen. As Billy galloped swiftly toward them, they all mounted, to be ready for whatever action Ormsby had ordered. “The Major says to take ‘em,” Billy told Marley. “He wants ‘em alive——for questioning.”
“Let’s get them, men,” Marley ordered and the riders took off. The Paiutes saw them and turned to flee northward, toward the lake. Although the scouts whipped their mounts with their reins, the spent animals didn’t respond to the urging. The Indian ponies had suffered the same disadvantage of poor winter feed and late spring grass, but they, at least, had not been marching three days through miserable weather. They easily outran the exhausted mounts of the white men. Billy’s roan, while in good condition, had just burned the road to the main force and back, so he couldn’t keep up either.
The scouts rode on, determined to overtake the two Paiutes. Then, suddenly, Marley yelled for them to stop. From out of nowhere a band of warriors closed around the two being chased. With a high-pitched cry they descended on the five scouts. “Retreat! Retreat!” Marley screamed, for his men were badly outnumbered.
The men needed no urging. The intimidating yells behind them were incentive enough. Again they pushed their horses down the trail, racing for their lives this time.
From the main body’s vantage point, five hundred feet above the river, Clyde had a good view of the riders coming in and determined that this time he wouldn’t miss the chance to hear straight from Billy’s mouth what lay ahead. He wove his mare through the ranks, close to Ormsby’s side. From where he waited, he had a beautiful view of both the river and the lake, but Clyde had eyes only for one of the five riders tearing down the road toward safety.
Billy pulled up beside his father. “Paiutes!” he croaked. “Dozens of ‘em.” William Marley was making a similar report to Major Ormsby, while the other scouts chattered to whatever men were nearby, as if they needed to release their tension in talk.
Rifles in hand, everyone looked nervously down the trail the scouts had just covered. For long minutes they stood at attention, but no Paiutes rode into sight. Finally, Ormsby ordered the men to mount and move forward as a body. The men obeyed, but there was no more light-hearted talk of “getting plenty of hair” or “an Indian for breakfast and a pony to ride.” Now, feeling the battle could begin at any moment, the men marched in silence.
As they moved down into the valley, Clyde found himself examining the terrain with a critical eye. To the west high bluffs bordered the wide curve of the Truckee. There could be no escape that direction, nor directly south, for the river was high from the spring thaw and its swift waters impossible to ford. To the east high tableland hemmed the valley in. No exit that way. Ahead, of course, the riding was easy, for the valley widened as the river snaked toward the lake. An open invitation——too open, perhaps. The trail they’d just ridden from the southeast was steep and narrow. It would be a hard climb for battle-weary horses, but, once the militia reached the flatlands, there would be no other way out. They’d had one last chance to turn back, and Ormsby hadn’t taken it.
Clyde glanced toward his son, wishing now he’d urged the boy to stay behind and protect the women, for he wasn’t sure either of them would make it out of this corral alive. Clyde frowned as that image took root in his brain. What if this was a corral, and the Paiutes were herding them into it like a band of wild mustangs? He shook the idea from his head. There weren’t any Indians behind them. Couldn’t be. They could always retreat.
* * * * *
From the thick underbrush just east of the river came the cry of a sea gull as the Comstock men rode past. It was no bird that made that sound, however. Positioned over the next ridge, Numaga heard the signal and it told him exactly where the white men were. They had just passed the place where Chief Sequinata and his rugged men from the Black Rock Desert lay waiting, watching.
Numaga pinched the nostrils of his horse, and the one hundred warriors with him on the ridge did the same. The horses of the white men would soon be close enough to smell, and the Paiutes had been instructed to keep their own mounts from neighing in response. A pelican’s cry rang through the air, not an unusual sound around the shores of Pyramid Lake, but this pelican wore war paint and lay crouched in the sagebrush along the trail the white men were riding. Numaga knew his enemy was close now, just at the bottom of the hill.
“We must make the white men climb to us now, before they can rest,” Numaga dictated to the warriors gathered around him. He knew the white men’s horses would be tired already, and climbing that long slope through loose, slippery soil would ensure they entered the battle too weak to move effectively. “We will show ourselves, but stay too far for their rifles to reach,” he ordered. “Do not fire on the whites or remain to be fired on. Ride into the draw behind us and wait until you hear the rest of our warriors in battle.”
Just before riding into the open, Numaga looked at the ridge to the south. The white men had seen no Indians there, but Numaga had them in position to close the trail behind the enemy. These warriors had been ordered to remain out of sight until the whites charged the war chief. Now was the time to incite that attack.
Below, in the valley, Ormsby ordered his men to dismount and tighten the girths of their horses in preparation for the climb to the plateau.
Numaga rode to the edge of the ridge, where the white men could not fail to see him. The Paiutes on the other ridge saw him even before the whites and began to curve around the southern end of the trap.
“Look!” a man from Virginia City yelled, pointing at the ridge to their right. All eyes looked up and hearts sank as the white men saw a long line of Paiutes watching them from above. In front of the Indians rode an impressive figure on a jet black horse.
“That’s Numaga, ain’t it?” Billy whispered to his father.
“Think so,” his father grunted, squinting. It was about four o’clock now, and the fading light made it hard to pick out facial features. “Sure looks to be rigged out fancier than when he come to Genoa that time we had trouble with the Washos. Maybe he ain’t expectin’ a fight.”
“Maybe he wants to parley,” Billy suggested, for the chief really was clothed magnificently for a man about to enter battle, with a red and white sash over his broad shoulders and a white cap with a long, trailing plume.
Captain McDonald noticed the attire, too, but he was more concerned with what the war chief held in his hand. “Is that a battle-ax or a flag?” he demanded of those nearest him. No one could answer with certainty. Then McDonald spotted an acquaintance from Clear Lake, California, who was riding with Virginia City Company No. 1. “Elliott,” he called. “Use that telescopic sight on your rifle and tell me what that chief’s carrying. Battle-ax or flag of truce?”
A. K. Elliott raised the sight to his eye and peered intently through it. “Looks like a battle-ax to me,” he cried.
“Fire on him!” McDonald ordered.
Elliott obeyed the order instantly, but even aimed by telescopic sight, the shot missed. It was the signal the Indians had been waiting for. Numaga turned and galloped back to his men, leading them to the brow of the hill, where they dismounted and began to fire on the men below.
Ormsby ordered the men to charge.
“No, wait!” McDonald shouted. Riding over to Ormsby, he argued that they should retreat to a better position. “In that grove of cottonwoods we’d be protected on one side by the river and by open plain on the other,” he suggested, pointing.
Ormsby, who’d felt all along that he should have had supreme command, looked scornfully at the Virginia City leader. “Charge!” he yelled, and started up the slope. Thirty to forty men followed, Billy Thomas among them.
“Billy!” Clyde yelled, but there was already too much gunfire for his son to hear. “Consarned fool kid,” Clyde growled and began to climb up the same way. His horse struggled for footing in the damp, sandy soil of the slope up to the ridge, but other men found themselves headed against their will in the opposite direction, their mounts terrified by the explosive sounds of battle. The panicking horses ran toward the timber along the river. “Showin’ more sense than us,” Clyde muttered to himself and kicked his heels against his horse’s flanks. She responded with a lurch upwards.
Billy crossed the crest of the hill right behind Major Ormsby, heart in his throat at the thought of encountering the Paiutes, but the Indians had completely vanished. Billy stretched tall in his saddle, trying to figure out where the Indians had gone. Then, suddenly, they were all around him, firing from all directions, but they weren’t the mounted Indians he’d seen before. These Indians were on foot, and Billy realized they must have been hiding in the sagebrush, just waiting for the white men to come to them.
Like the rest of the volunteers, Billy kept trying to move forward, but it was hard to make progress through the rain of bullets and arrows. As near as Billy could tell in the smoke and dust of that battlefield, no man had yet been lost, but on every side he heard the strident screams of horses as bullets pierced their flesh. As animals went down, their riders were forced into hand-to-hand combat with the Indians. Animals that were only nicked became more unmanageable than before, bucking so hard that their riders’ revolvers were thrown out of their holsters, while many of those who had guns in hand were forced to drop them to try to bring their mounts under control. Steadying his roan, Billy took tight grip on his gun, then looked back, hoping to see his father. He couldn’t spot him, and he couldn’t take more than a moment to look. He had problems of his own.
Farther down the hill, Clyde kept trying to climb through the slippery soil. He couldn’t see his son, but he knew the boy was ahead of him, and he felt a terror he hadn’t known since those days long ago when Billy had cut himself playing Indian, and had lain delirious with fever and in danger of losing his leg. With horses falling all around him, Clyde couldn’t figure how his mount managed to escape, but he sent a swift prayer heavenwards——two prayers, actually: one of thanks for the fact that he was still mounted and one of petition that Billy was, too. The odds of getting out of this Indian corral alive were sharply reduced for a man on foot, and would have been still worse for a man like Clyde, whose game leg would prevent his outrunning the enemy.
Major Ormsby came streaking past him. “Retreat! Fall back!” he cried over and over as he rode. Some men responded; others seemed too confused by the general commotion to make an orderly retreat. The ones on foot ran from rock to rock. Clyde knew retreat was the only wise course, but he didn’t want to leave that slope without his son, so he kept moving upward.
A man who’d lost his horse grabbed Clyde’s bridle. “Help! Help me!” he cried.
In his urgent desire to get to Billy, Clyde tried to jerk free, but the young man held on tenaciously. “Help me, please!” he screamed.
Looking into that intent, pleading face, Clyde felt genuine shame. This young fellow wasn’t more than five years older than his own boy, and Clyde had come close to abandoning him to certain death. What kind of man would that make him? Not liking the answer, Clyde thrust out an arm and helped the man swing up behind him, hoping, praying that someone would do as much for his own boy. He turned and urged his horse into a stumbling gallop downhill, riding through a gauntlet of armed Paiutes.
Like most of the volunteers, Clyde raced toward the grove of cottonwoods where McDonald had wanted to make a stand. About three hundred yards short of that goal, however, he saw Major Ormsby dismount and drop into a deep gulch formed by some previous course of the Truckee. Ormsby yelled for the others to join him. The place he’d taken shelter looked defensible, so Clyde headed for it.
A cry of pain pierced his ear and the young man seated on his horse’s rump slid off. Clyde dismounted immediately and dragged the wounded boy into the fortunately nearby gulch. “Th—thanks, mister,” the boy murmured.
Clyde ripped the tail off his shirt and pressed it against the hole in the boy’s shoulder. He took the young man’s hand and pushed it down hard on the cloth. “Hold it tight ‘til the bleedin’ stops,” he said. He doubted the instruction would be followed, but there was no time to do more. The Paiutes were coming straight at them, shooting rifles and muskets they’d obtained from white traders. Most of the Virginia City men had nothing but pistols and shotguns, weapons that didn’t have the range of the Indians’ firearms. “Ain’t enough they outnumber us and outsmart us. They got to outgun us, too?” Clyde demanded of the heavens, then took careful aim. He was one of the few men with a rifle, so his shot reached the target. “Well, that’s one less,” he grunted.
But what was one among so many? They just kept coming. The volunteers managed to hold the Indians back for about ten minutes, then a bad situation suddenly became worse. Bullets and arrows now flew, not only from in front of them, but from the rear, as well. The Paiutes had circled around and now were firing from the shelter of the cottonwoods by the river. Others had moved south on the tableland to the east began shooting down on the survivors, as well. With bullets coming from three directions, the gulch had become a trap, a far narrower one than the corral into which they’d earlier marched so naively.
Henry Meredith, the young lawyer who was one of the captains of the Virginia City volunteers, had reached the river and tied his horse to one of the cottonwoods. When Ormsby had called everyone back to the gulch, though, he’d left the animal and run for what seemed to promise better shelter. Now, seeing nothing but certain death for those who remained in that gulch, he ran toward the timber and reached his horse. Before he could untie it, however, a Paiute arrow struck him down.
Despite his lack of success, most of the men trapped in the gulch started to follow Meredith’s example. “Stay where you are!” the wounded Ormsby yelled. “We’ll make our stand in the gulch.”
Some of the men obeyed; most ran for the river, just as the Paiutes charged. Clyde stayed where he was, mostly because he didn’t feel right about leaving that wounded young man he’d taken under his wing. Although Clyde couldn’t see him, Billy was in that gulch, too, at that moment clinging with iron fingers to the arm of Charles Forman, who was trying to climb out.
“Let me go,” Forman shouted. “Meredith’s still alive; I’m sure he is.”
“It’s suicide,” Billy yelled. “Nobody could get through that!”
“I mean to try,” Forman snapped. “Either help me or get out of the way!”
“Aw, doggone it!” Billy sputtered, tossing his hat to the ground. “If we’re gonna do this fool thing, let’s get at it. Better clear it with Major Ormsby first, though.”
“All right,” Forman said and, keeping low, ran down the gulch to the major.
Ormsby did more than grant permission for the rescue attempt. He, along with two other men, agreed to help retrieve Meredith’s body, in hopes the young lawyer was still alive. The five men made a quick dash into the open ground between the gulch and the river, and for the first time since the boy had charged up the plateau, Clyde spotted his son. There was no missing that red hair. “Consarned fool kid,” he grunted, as he had earlier, but he was proud of his boy, too. It took a brave man to rush through that hailstorm of bullets and arrows to save another man’s life.
The rescue attempt was doomed from the start, though. The rescuers never reached Henry Meredith. Too many Indians, too much unprotected ground to be covered. Ormsby took an arrow through the cheek. Thinking quickly, he pushed the arrowhead out his open mouth and broke it off, then jerked the shaft out, a fountain of red showering his shoulder and side. Charles Forman and Billy supported the wounded leader back into the gulch, and Clyde sent another prayer heavenward as his boy regained that marginal safety without injury. “Either you’re mighty lucky, boy, or the angels is watchin’ over you,” he scolded beneath his breath, practicing the irate parental lecture he hoped he’d get a chance to deliver in person.
“Headly,” Ormsby cried, clutching at one of the Carson City Rangers bending over him. “Take over. See if they can cut their way through and get away.” William Headly nodded and gave the order, and the men in the gulch grabbed the nearest horse or mule for a wild ride to the Truckee River.
Clyde helped his wounded companion out of the gulch and onto a gray gelding with white socks on three feet. It wasn’t his own horse; that one had either wandered out of reach or been taken by some fortunate miner for his own escape. The gray was a poor animal, but better than nothing. Clyde kicked the horse’s flanks to urge him to a run, pitying the men still on foot. He’d seen Billy mounted on his own roan and breathed a sigh of relief. At least, his son would have a good chance of running the gauntlet. The fact that the sun was sinking would help, too, making it harder for the Paiutes to see their targets.
As the white men began to retreat, Numaga circled around the southeast side, where the trail was blocked by Chief Sequinata’s Black River band. Other warriors, thinking he intended to finish off the accursed intruders, fell in behind, but Numaga waved them back and galloped straight for Sequinata. “Let them go,” he commanded. “It is senseless slaughter; it is not good; their deaths will haunt the warriors who kill them now that they run from us.”
Chief Sequinata, however, lifted his nose in arrogance and galloped past the war chief to kill as many whites as he could before darkness or the brush near the river hid them from his sight.
Under William Headly’s command, the white men fought through to the river and headed upstream along the east bank, but many died as they fought hand-to-hand with the Paiutes blocking their way. Amazingly, William Ormsby, supported by friends who wouldn’t obey his orders to leave him behind, made it to the river and disappeared inside a grove of cottonwoods. So did Clyde and Billy Thomas, although neither knew exactly where the other was.
Headly himself did not survive the run for the river. When he ran out of ammunition, he turned to face Sequinata’s braves, holding his empty pistol by the barrel, so he could use the butt to club his attackers. It was a brave gesture, one the Indians admired, but a futile one. While Sequinata at first appeared to flee from the white man, he was actually luring Headly through the enemy lines, where another Indian shot him through the head from behind. He died quickly, and the wounded Ormsby once again was in command.
Feeling their only chance for escape was that trail over the plateau to the southeast through which they’d originally marched, Ormsby called Thomas Condon of the Genoa Rangers and Richard Watkins of his own Carson City Rangers to his side. “That trail head must be held open,” he ordered. “It’s our only way of escape. I left Lake and six men to guard it, so it should still be open.”
“We’ll get through,” Condon assured him. Using the cottonwoods for cover, he and Watkins led a small group of volunteers, Billy Thomas among them, to the spot where there was the least open ground to cover between them and the trail head. Mounting, the riders made a mad dash across the meadow, but they hadn’t gone a quarter of a mile before every rifle or bow within range was aiming straight for them. The Indians, too, realized the importance of that pass and were determined no white man should reach it.
Amazingly, none of those riding with Condon and Watkins were hit, but almost all of them failed to stop at the trail head, choosing instead to continue up the steep grade and over the plateau without regard for the men still trapped below. There was no sign of C. T. Lake and the six men under his command, either. They, too, must have put personal safety above the responsibility delegated to them. Left virtually alone, Condon pointed to the top of the slope. “Get up there and hold the pass,” he ordered Watkins. “I’ll go back to tell Ormsby to come ahead.”
Billy scrambled up the steep, fifty-foot grade behind Watkins. On reaching the top, he dismounted and threw himself behind the biggest boulder he could see. He loaded fresh ammunition into his Sharps rifle, noting with dismay how few shells he had left. He’d have to make every shot count.
The guardian angels of Thomas Condon did their job effectively once more, for he made it back across the meadow without injury. “The pass is open,” he told Ormsby hurriedly.
“Let’s get these men out of here!” Ormsby exclaimed. Condon helped him stand. “To your horses, men!” Ormsby shouted. “Ride for the pass!”
No more welcome command could have been issued. The volunteers poured out of the grove of cottonwoods, once again grabbing whatever horse or mule was closest. Clyde’s wounded companion was no longer conscious, so the older man hefted the younger across the saddle of a frazzled brown mare. As he started to mount, however, he felt a knife slice into his shoulder and spun around to see the weapon raised for a second blow. Clyde grabbed the Indian’s arm and they wrestled for control of the knife. Clyde was no match for the young buck, and he thought his luck had finally run out, when the Indian uttered a sharp cry and dropped at Clyde’s feet.
Clyde didn’t take time to determine the identity of the man who’d fired the shot that saved his life. He just threw himself up on the mare and rode as fast as the tired animal could run. Indians were everywhere. Knowing himself to be low on ammunition and having his hands full just keeping himself and the wounded boy on the horse, Clyde didn’t shoot at any of them. He just lowered his head and prayed that God would be with him and help him run the gauntlet one more time.
William Ormsby was hit twice more, but managed to hang on to his mule as he rode through the burst of bullets and arrows. He reached the plateau safely, but others were not so fortunate. The narrow pass was a bottleneck, which the retreating men had to scale virtually single-file. Men and horses piled up at the trailhead, waiting their chance to climb. But the Indians didn’t wait. They swooped down on the beleaguered men, who fought them off in fierce hand-to-hand combat. One horse, fatally wounded, charged west, carrying the rider to certain death in the timber beside the river. Two other men, hoping to avoid the bottleneck, tried to climb a more gradual ascent to the right of the pass. Their horses shot from under them, they rolled down to the Paiutes’ fierce welcome.
Amazingly, only eight men had died thus far. From his position behind the boulder, Billy saw his father racing toward the pass and raised his rifle. Determined to spend his last bullet to ensure his father’s safety, he rained fire on every Indian close enough to take a shot at Clyde. He wasn’t close enough for the bullets to inflict the damage he’d hoped, but, at least, his fire kept the Paiutes’ attention off his father.
Billy gave a whoop as he saw his father scramble past him. Clyde had been moving too fast to see his son, but Billy, at least, had the satisfaction of knowing that his father was still alive and had a good chance of escaping. Bullets were flying his direction now, though, so the young man turned his attention back to saving his own skin.
Almost all the survivors were through the pass now. Major Ormsby was still there, for his mule had been wounded and could not possibly live much longer. One-legged R. G. Watkins of Silver City, who’d had himself strapped onto his horse to prevent his falling off in the mad flight, refused to leave the commander and tried to rally the remaining volunteers for a final stand. The volunteers refused to listen and continued to retreat over the plateau. Feeling relatively safe behind the shelter of that boulder, Billy stayed, though he counted himself a fool for doing it. He was out of ammunition now, so he couldn’t make much contribution to a “final stand.”
“Don’t be fools,” Ormsby said to those still with him. “Get yourselves to safety, and that’s an order! I’ll be right behind you.” The others knew he no real chance of keeping up on that dying mule, but none of their chances looked good in that moment. Although no one wanted to abandon their leader, they mounted and began to gallop across the plateau.
Those who, through the weakness of their mounts or the lack of one, fell behind were picked off one by one. They were such easy prey, in fact, that the Paiutes began to make a sport of killing them. Rather than shooting from afar, the Indians drew alongside the white victims, grabbed them by their necks and jerked them out of their saddles before finally finishing the game with a rifle shot to the head or the slash of an obsidian knife across the throat. In order to kill even more white men, the Indians in the lead would hit their horses over the head, leaving the dismounted riders for trailing Paiutes to finish off while they rode ahead in search of still more prey.
Ormsby followed the retreating volunteers for a short distance, reaching a small valley alongside the river, and started up a short grade. Halfway up the trail, however, the cinch on his mule’s saddle came loose, the saddle slid sideways and Ormsby tumbled to the ground. The leader pulled himself painfully to his feet and began walking up the hill, but each step seemed more futile than the last. Weakened by his wounds, he had no chance of outrunning the Paiutes. His only hope lay in surrender. Abruptly, he turned and started walking back toward the oncoming charge. He waved his hands wildly, trying to communicate that he wanted to talk.
Seeing him, Numaga rushed forward to intercept him. The white man called Ormsby had not always been wise, but he had treated the Paiutes more fairly than most, and Numaga wanted to spare his life.
Eyes frantic, Ormsby pleaded with the Paiute not to kill him. “We will leave your people in peace, I promise. Let there be no more killing.”
Numaga notched an arrow on his bow string.
“No, please!” Ormsby cried.
“Drop down as if dead when I shoot,” Numaga ordered, “and I will fire over you.”
But Ormsby, overcome by the shock of his wounds, failed to understand the war chief’s intention. He stared, vacant-eyed, tears streaming down his face, and when Numaga loosed his bow string, the white man stood rigid. Another warrior, dashing past Numaga, shot Ormsby, first in the stomach, then riddled his face with arrows. Jumping off his pony, the Paiute rolled the white man’s body off the ridge and watched it roll to the bottom of the ravine.
From a distance Billy Thomas saw the leader die. His own horse had finally been shot from under him, and he knew if the Paiutes caught up to him, he’d suffer the same fate. It was growing darker by the minute now, though, and that gave Billy hope. If he could just find a place where the sagebrush grew thick enough to hide him, he might yet get out of this alive. He turned and ran along the plateau. Hearing the clatter of horses behind him, he stopped at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Truckee River and looked back.
Within moments the Paiutes would be on him, and he had no means to defend himself. Tossing aside his now useless rifle, Billy made a desperate leap off the cliff toward the river below. If he missed the water, he’d die, maybe instantly, but Billy figured that was preferable to what he’d seen happen to Major Ormsby. He’d checked the distance before jumping, feet first, off the cliff, however, and knew he had a chance of striking water, rather than land.
He landed just offshore from the sandy bank, sank, then surfaced and swam, arms pumping powerfully, for a thicket of willows near the river’s edge. Dark as it was, he knew he could hide there unseen, if he could get there before the Indians spotted him. He swam swiftly, grateful for all the muscle-hardening practice he’d gotten up at Lake Tahoe. He reached cover just in time.
Four or five Indians stopped at the top of the cliff and peered over, searching for him, but, seeing nothing, they turned their horses and rode away. Perhaps the young white had died in the fall or drowned in the river. It was too dark to tell, and there were other targets easier to chase down and kill.
Billy didn’t dare stray from that thicket of willows until the sun was completely down. Even then he waited, for the moon was half full, and the Paiutes would be able to see him, if any were around. Billy didn’t intend to budge until he felt certain the Indians had given up the chase, so he crouched beneath the willows until the night grew quiet. It was after midnight when he ventured forth and slowly made his way from willow to cottonwood to sagebrush, step by furtive step, taking two looks behind for every one ahead.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“They Also Serve”
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elly Thomas came downstairs to find all the other adults in the Ponderosa dining room. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized. “I hope you didn’t wait breakfast on me.”
From his seat at the head of the table, Ben laughed. “You’re not late, Nelly. Even the sun hasn’t shown his face yet. Did you sleep well?”
“Not very,” Nelly admitted. With both her husband and son marching into Paiute territory, she’d tossed and turned all night. Those terrifying silhouettes jumping up and down in front of distant signal fires last night hadn’t been conducive to restful sleep, either. Along with Ben, Marie and the Montgomerys, she’d stood in the yard, watching in fearful fascination. To her, the shadows looked like men celebrating a victory, but it was the kind of celebration Indians, not white men, were reputed to conduct. The others had tried to discount her fears, but she’d read the same apprehension in their own eyes.
“At least the children are sleeping soundly,” Marie commented with a smile across the table at Katerina, seated beside her husband. Wrapped up in their own worries, both Nelly and Marie had let the children’s normal bedtime slip by unnoticed, and had berated themselves for this neglect when they finally realized how late it was. It had been childless Katerina who’d pointed out that the late bedtime meant the children would undoubtedly sleep late the next morning, which might prove more convenient for everyone.
“Yes, that’s one less worry,” Nelly agreed, taking the seat next to Marie.
“Is bad Mistah Clyde and Billy not back yet,” Hop Sing observed ominously as he poured coffee into Nelly’s cup.
“You’ve expressed your opinions quite sufficiently, Hop Sing!” Ben snapped. “We don’t want to hear them again. Is that clear?”
“Why you alla time gotta yell?” Hop Sing demanded. His grasp of English was still too tenuous to recognize words like “sufficiently,” but he knew an attack when he heard one, and, as always, assumed the best defense was a counterattack.
“Ben,” Marie chided softly as the cook stomped back to the kitchen, mumbling beneath his breath. “He is only trying to show his concern.”
Ben rubbed the back of his stiff neck. He hadn’t slept well, either. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Nelly. It doesn’t help you much for us all to be showing our own anxieties, does it?”
“Don’t help nor hurt, either one,” Nelly said softly. “It’s not knowin’ and havin’ nothin’ to do but wait that gets to us, I reckon.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had my fill of it,” Ben said with quick decisiveness. “I’m gonna find out what’s going on.”
“Oh, Ben, what do you mean?” Marie asked, fingers tightening on the edge of the tablecloth. “Surely, you do not mean to go to the Paiutes. I will not allow it this time!”
“It’d be a fool’s mission, Mr. Cartwright,” Enos Montgomery added softly.
“Do I strike everyone as a fool?” Ben asked, perturbed. “What I intend to do is ride into Virginia City. Since most of the volunteers are from there, that’s undoubtedly where any couriers would be sent.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Enos agreed. “The best place to get what news there is. I’ll stay here to look after the women and children.”
“There’ll be one less woman to look after,” Nelly declared, scooting her chair back. “I’m goin’ with you, Ben.”
“Oh, Nelly, do not be foolish,” Marie scolded. “Ben will bring you word, as soon as he hears anything, mais oui?” She cocked her head inquiringly at her husband.
“Yes, of course,” Ben assured both her and Nelly.
“I know that,” Nelly pleaded, “but it’ll settle my mind sooner if I go with you. Please, Ben. I know I ain’t the horsewoman Marie is, but I can sit a saddle, and I promise I won’t hold you back.”
Ben knew she couldn’t possibly keep that promise, but he couldn’t say no when he thought of how he’d feel if it were his boy out there in danger. “Sure, I’ll saddle Marie’s horse for you,” he said gently. “Do you want the side saddle?”
Nelly chuckled. “Wouldn’t have the slightest notion how to sit one. I’ll ride astraddle, Ben, if you think you can stand the sight of my ugly old legs.”
“Adam’s saddle would probably be the best fit,” Enos suggested and Ben nodded just before wiping his mouth on a napkin and standing.
By the time Nelly had bundled into the warmest clothes she’d brought with her, the horses were saddled, and she and Ben set out for Virginia City, just as the sun began to tint the sky in shades of lavender and rose. Ben could have made the trip in a couple of hours, but having Nelly along added an extra thirty minutes. Even so, it was still early when they arrived in Virginia City.
Early as it was, however, the streets were teeming, and everyone was talking about one thing, those awful signal fires. The people of Virginia City had had an even better view than those at the Ponderosa, for they were closer. “Did you see the way them flames flared up, then died down, flared up and died down, over and over?” was a favorite comment.
“Like fresh fuel was being put on,” one man suggested.
“Yeah, body fuel,” another surmised.
Ben pulled Nelly close to his side and felt her shivering flesh against his. “It’s just talk,” he said. “No one knows anything.”
“I know,” she murmured back, but her shuddering body denied what her tongue declared.
They hadn’t been in town fifteen minutes before seven men came racing up Six-Mile Canyon on foam-flecked horses. “Hey, it’s Lake!” someone shouted. “He was with the volunteers!”
The entire populace surged toward the riders, who dismounted on C Street.
“Hey, Lake!” the miner who had first recognized him called. “What’s the word?”
“You ain’t all that’s alive, are you?” another hollered.
Ben took firm hold of Nelly’s waist and steered her through the crowd. They were not the only ones straining for a front position, however. A young man just ahead of them was almost brazen in the way he pushed men aside. “Make way!” he shouted at length. “Reporter for the Territorial Enterprise here.” Surprisingly, the miners parted to let the young reporter through. Not such a bad idea, Ben decided, as he heard the man begin to interview C. T. Lake. A reporter was trained to ask questions, and this young fellow seemed to be asking all the right ones to get the story out of Lake quickly and concisely. Lake, of course, had been left with the rear guard and had seen almost nothing, but that didn’t prevent his answering readily each question put to him.
Notepad in hand, the reporter asked, “How many Indians?”
Lake scratched his head, as if in thought. “I’d say about two thousand strong.”
“What happened?” the reporter asked.
“Major Ormsby gave orders to charge,” Lake said, getting this detail, at least, correct as he related his largely fictitious account of the battle.
“And then?”
“The Indians filed to the right and the left,” Lake went on, “surrounding the troops and commenced to fire.”
“What happened to our troops?”
“The ammunition of the forces soon became exhausted, and the Indians, seeing this, closed in and poured volley after volley upon them,” Lake replied.
“What about the others?” a miner yelled. “What about Henry Meredith or Little Joe Baldwin? They alive?”
“Probably dead. Almost all dead,” Lake said, burying his alkali-caked face in his hands. If the gesture was not a result of shame, it should have been, for Lake and his six companions had deserted their post and his analysis of the battle was based more on fear than fact. They’d heard the continuing discharge of firearms, however, and guessed correctly that casualties would be high in such a fight.
“Are you sure there are no more survivors?” Ben called. “Just seven men left out of more than a hundred?”
One of the other survivors spoke up this time. “Look, there might be another one or two out there somewhere,” he said, to cover himself if anyone else did survive, “but we can’t say. It was every man for himself, and I’ll tell you what: instead of worrying about the dead and dying, you ought to be thinkin’ of your own lives. Them redskins was riding hard and fast after us. They could be here any time!” That statement was enough to make most of the crowd scatter, either to make tracks for California or to assemble their available arms and ammunition.
“Oh, Ben,” Nelly wept, hiding her face in his vest. “They just can’t be gone, not the both of them.”
Ben held her close. “I can’t believe it,” he croaked. “I won’t believe it! Look, I’m gonna ride on to Buckland’s Station. If anyone else got through, I should run into them by the time I get that far.”
Nelly looked up, hope sparking in her brown eyes. “Oh, Ben, that’s good thinking. You think there’s still a chance, then?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, with more conviction than he felt. “Look, Nelly, you’re tired, and the risks are higher from here on.. They’ve got the women forted up at O’Riley’s unfinished stone hotel. You’d be safe there, if——”
“I’m going with you,” Nelly said with a stubborn jut of her chin.
Ben nodded. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that. Do you need some time to rest first?”
“No, let’s get goin’.”
* * * * *
Perched on a corral rail at Buckland’s Station, Clyde rubbed his hand across his eyes. They felt like they were full of sand. Not surprising. They probably were. Add to that the fact that Clyde hadn’t slept in better than thirty hours, and the only wonder was that he could keep them open at all. He had to, though——had to keep peeling his tired eyeballs toward the northwest, in hopes that one more man would make it in and that that man would be his son.
Hope was waning, however. It had been close to two hours since the last survivor reached Buckland’s. It was noon now, and Clyde knew he’d soon have to admit that Billy was one of the seventy-five or so who hadn’t made it. Fool kid, he’d probably risked his life in some heroic, but hopeless effort like the one to rescue Henry Meredith. Still, Clyde would rather his boy die that way than to survive the way that Sam Brown fellow had, by hoisting himself up on the rump of Little Joe Baldwin’s mule and tossing the wounded man off to save his own hide.
It was the wrong thought to let past the barrier he’d fought hard to keep up. His eyes began to water, sending dust-laden rivulets down his alkali-coated face. Clyde didn’t bother trying to stop the tears. There wasn’t anyone around to see the unmanly loss of his emotions, and, at least, his weary eyes would get a good washing. “Face could probably use it, too,” he muttered as he climbed down from the rail and walked slowly toward the log cabin. Although he’d had plenty of time, he hadn’t bothered cleaning up before. His time had been taken up, either as a lookout for incoming men or helping the wounded when they did arrive, for most of those who’d shown up had bullet or arrow wounds that needed tending.
As Clyde splashed water on his cheeks at the single wash basin in the station, he knew he was fast running out of reasons to stay here at Buckland’s, but he dreaded the thought of facing Nelly and telling her their boy was dead. He’d hoped against hope all through the long night after he dragged into the station himself, one of the first survivors to reach it. That worn-out brown mare had been wounded during the retreat, but Clyde had kept pushing her, knowing his life and that of the young man he carried depended on getting as far as they could before they were left on foot. It was an unkind way to treat an animal, but he didn’t have a bullet left to put her out of her misery anyway. The horse had finally collapsed under him, and Clyde had hefted the boy up on his shoulders and carried him in to safety. Too late, though. The young man had died within an hour of their reaching Buckland’s.
Clyde wandered outside for one last look. No sign of Billy. Time to face the truth. Even if he’d been on foot, he’d had time to walk here by now. The boy wasn’t going to make it. Hearing horses riding in from the opposite direction, Clyde turned and his face fell. Not Nelly, not here! He needed time to find the right words, time to deal with his own grief before he had to deal with hers. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ben Cartwright. Ben was always good with words. He’d know how to comfort Nelly, if Clyde couldn’t.
Nelly saw her husband and literally fell out of the saddle. Picking herself up, she stumbled into his arms. “Oh, Clyde!” she cried. “You’re all right!”
“I’m fine, gal,” he soothed, wincing a little from the knife wound in his back as he pulled her close to his chest. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Fool question,” Nelly sputtered, coughing up her emotion, along with a throat full of dust. “If you ain’t got sense enough to come home, what’s a woman to do but come fetch you?”
Ben had dismounted slowly, standing back to let them have a moment alone. He couldn’t help noticing, however, that Billy was nowhere in sight. That could mean only one of two things, neither of them good: either Billy was badly wounded or he was dead. If he’d been able to stand, he’d have been outside the minute he heard his mother’s voice.
Nelly finally looked into her husband’s face, her eyes searching his, her lips trembling as she asked, “Billy inside?”
Closing his eyes, Clyde shook his head. “He didn’t make it, Nelly gal.”
Nelly started backing away, shaking her head in disbelief. Ben stepped swiftly behind her, fearful she was going to swoon. Nelly was pioneer stock, however, and had never been given to the fashionable vapors. She kept her feet, tired as she was from the long ride. Backing into Ben, she turned and stared at him, in shock. Ben instinctively reached out to take her in his arms and once she was secure, stretched a hand toward Clyde. His friend walked to him and unashamedly clasped that supportive hand. It was all Clyde could do not to weep himself dry on Ben’s shoulder, like Nelly was doing, but that was a comfort reserved for women.
“He was a gallant young man,” Ben said softly. “We’ll miss him.” Simple words, but they were the right ones. They told Clyde and Nelly that their boy hadn’t lived in vain. He’d made a good name for himself and had earned the love of those who knew him.
“We’d best get back to the Ponderosa,” Nelly said, wiping her eyes.
“That’s such a long ride,” Ben said. “Why don’t we just take you home. I can bring Inger to Carson tomorrow.”
Nelly shook her head vigorously. “I want my girl in my arms,” she cried. Ben looked to Clyde for guidance, and the older man slowly nodded. Like Nelly, he wanted to ease his grief over the death of one child by holding the surviving one close to his heart.
* * * * *
While the sorrowful trio was riding toward the Ponderosa, Adam Cartwright was pacing the street in front of the Orleans Hotel, where his family usually stayed when they were in Sacramento.
“Quit fidgeting,” Harold chided.
“Why don’t they get this meeting started?” Adam demanded.
“Because we’re early,” Harold stated flatly. “You couldn’t be persuaded to wait, remember?”
“I was persuaded to wait! That’s the whole problem,” Adam fumed. The contradictory telegram he’d received from his father had alleviated his fears only slightly. On the one hand, the wire assured him his loved ones were all well and safe; on the other, it ordered him to remain in Sacramento until all danger was past. If Carson Valley was dangerous for him, it was dangerous for the others, too, so Adam felt justified in disobeying his father’s order. His family needed him.
The message had made it easier to do as his headmaster suggested, though, to wait for a rescue party to be organized and to use the intervening time to study for his final exams. He’d even had time to take them all, finishing the final one the evening before, and still no rescue force had formed. Here it was Sunday afternoon, and word had just come over the wire that the Virginia City militia had suffered a devastating defeat. The Paiutes were said to be riding on the town, and Adam’s fears for his family and others he loved had intensified. In fact, it would be just like Pa to ride straight into Winnemucca’s camp for a parley! Adam had had all the waiting he could tolerate. “If they don’t do something soon, I’ll go by myself, no matter what anyone says!” he’d told Harold shortly before leaving the boardinghouse for this meeting.
So he paced, unable to release his nervous energy in any other way. Closer to the hour appointed for the meeting, other men began to gather in the street, and finally Senator James Wood Coffroth came out on an upstairs balcony to address the crowd. To Adam’s dismay, the proceedings seemed like a club meeting with nominations and election of officers and the appointment of a committee on finance. “When are they gonna get to it?” Adam hissed to Harold.
“They passed a resolution to send supplies and ammunition,” Harold pointed out.
“Men, they need to send men,” Adam ranted.
“Shh. Maybe they’re getting to that,” Harold replied.
Senator Coffroth stood to make a final address. “Mr. Chairman and fellow citizens: It was once said by a most distinguished citizen that there was no Sunday in the Revolutionary times. So it is now. There is no Sunday in Sacramento today. That tyrant who a short time since was arrayed in traitorous rebellion against our Government, has again united with fifteen hundred Indians to murder our citizens. Today is the time for energetic action. One man has stated what he will give. He is one of our merchant princes. How many are there, like me, who will give their five dollars? We do not want men, but arms and ammunition. Remember, this is not only a war against savages, but against that despot Brigham Young. I ask, then, that every man here give something, no matter how small; but give us the widow’s mite. Contribute something to avenge the blood and murder on the Great Bend of the Truckee.”
“What do you mean, ‘we do not want men’?” Adam screamed. “Who’s supposed to use those arms you’re sending?”
Harold grabbed his friend’s arm and dragged him back through the crowd. “You are losing control, boy,” he said when Adam protested. “I’m getting you out of here before you make a complete fool of yourself.”
“You heard them!” Adam stormed, shaking Harold’s hand off his elbow and, planting both palms on his hips, faced him with irate visage.
“Adam, there will be men,” Harold argued, “you know there will. I heard the Sutter Rifles are going, and the Independent City Guards, too.”
“You think that’s enough?” Adam railed.
“With what’s coming from San Francisco, it should be,” Harold declared. “They’re supposed to be here day after tomorrow, Adam.”
“Day after tomorrow! More waiting,” Adam groaned. Wait, wait, wait——when his family could be dying!
Harold laid a calming hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Remember that line from Milton?” he said. “‘They also serve who only stand and wait.’”
Adam gave him a rueful smile and began walking toward the boardinghouse.
“What was all that about Brigham Young?” Harold queried. “You think he has anything to do with this?”
“No,” Adam scoffed. “Reminding folks of the Mountain Meadows Massacre is just a way of stirring them up, but I doubt the Mormons had anything to do with what happened at Williams’ Station. The Paiutes have enough grievances of their own without taking up someone else’s.”
Harold nodded, satisfied that he’d found something to take Adam’s mind, at least temporarily, off the frustration of waiting.
* * * * *
The ride back to the Ponderosa was agonizingly slow. Clyde was feeling weak from loss of blood, and they were all exhausted, including the horses. Clyde was riding double with Nelly and didn’t want to push Marie’s mare. No sense in being cruel to the animal. Nobody’s life was at stake this time. They’d stopped in Carson City long enough for Dr. Martin to tend Clyde’s wound and, with the doctor’s grudging permission, had ridden on.
The sun had already set when the sorrowful party finally reached the Ponderosa and tied their horses to the hitching rail out front. “I’ll ask Enos to stable our mounts,” Ben told his friends, knowing they’d want to get inside to Inger as quickly as they could.
Clyde took a moment to thank Ben, but Nelly rushed for the door and flung it open without knocking. Her face lit up as she saw Inger sitting beside Hoss on the floor at Katerina’s feet. A very sleepy Little Joe was in the German girl’s lap.
“Inger, sugar!” Nelly cried, kneeling to take the girl in her arms and cover her face with kisses.
“Pa!” Hoss shouted and scrambled up from the floor. “Hey, Uncle Clyde!”
Little Joe’s drowsy head jerked and he squirmed out of Katerina’s lap to run to his father, crying “Pa!” in imitation of his big brother.
Ben swooped the little boy up and held him close. “My baby,” he whispered, choked with emotion, as he reached out to tousle Hoss’s sandy hair with an affectionate hand. His friends’ loss made him all the more appreciative of his own blessings, and how blessed he was to have three sons, alive and well, when the Thomases had lost both of theirs!
Marie came to kiss him, but after that quick greeting her attention was focussed on their emotional friends. “Ben?” she queried softly.
“Billy’s gone,” he whispered, not wanting the youngsters to hear yet.
Marie shook her head. “Mais non. Billy is here.”
Nelly’s head came up at once. “What did you say, girl?”
Marie glided across the floor toward Nelly. “I said, ‘Billy is here.’”
“Here?” Clyde croaked, disbelief in his eyes. “Our boy’s here?”
“Mais oui,” Marie smiled. “He has been here for hours.”
Nelly fell to the floor and, if she hadn’t come from pioneer stock, would surely have swooned this time from the sudden rush of blood to her head.
“What on earth possessed him to come here?” Clyde pondered, still having trouble taking in the good news.
“Please sit down,” Marie urged. “You are all so tired.”
“Where is that scamp of mine?” Nelly asked. “I don’t think I’ll know for sure he’s all right ‘til I lay eyes on him.”
“He’s in Adam’s room——asleep,” Marie replied. “He has been asleep almost since he arrived. That is why we’ve kept the children downstairs, so their noise would not disturb him. Please sit, rest. You look as tired as Billy.”
Clyde lifted Nelly to her feet and helped her to the sofa. Marie sat on the table before it, chafing her friend’s hands, while Ben settled into the blue armchair across from Katerina with both boys in his lap. As Enos went outside to tend to the horses, Hop Sing scurried in from the kitchen and, seeing there were more mouths to feed, hustled back to lay more places at the table.
“I never thought of the boy comin’ here,” Clyde muttered, pushing back a lock of auburn hair so dusty it looked drab brown. “Orders was to fall back to Buckland’s. Might be he didn’t hear ‘em, though.”
“Billy said that he had seen you come through the pass safely,” Marie explained, “so his first thought was for his mother. He wanted you to know that he was safe, Nelly, and that, to the best of his knowledge, Clyde was, too.”
“The dear!” Nelly cooed. “Always so thoughtful.”
Ben stifled a smile. “Thoughtful” was not a word he’d ever heard used to describe scapegrace Billy Thomas before, but it was obvious the boy could do no wrong in his mother’s eyes, at least not this night.
“Billy wanted to ride to Buckland’s when he heard you’d left,” Marie continued, “but I insisted he go to bed, instead, and with Enos’s help, we saw that he did. The poor boy is exhausted, as you can see by how long he has slept.”
“My poor lamb,” Nelly murmured.
“Is the boy hurt?” Clyde asked anxiously. “He was all right when I last saw him, but I lost him in the retreat.”
“He is not wounded,” Marie assured the concerned parents. “He did twist his ankle, and it was, of course, difficult for him to walk.”
“But he’s all right, beyond that?” Nelly asked. When Marie nodded, she stood. “I—I think I’ll just look in on him for a minute. I won’t wake him, if he’s still sleepin’.”
“Mais oui,” Marie said. She understood a mother’s need to see her child, especially one she had feared lost.
Inger edged close to Katerina’s chair. “Will you finish that story now, before that Chinaman makes us come to the table?”
Ben laughed. “He won’t have to make me! Suddenly, I’m famished.”
Clyde, who’d had no appetite all day, chuckled. “You know, I am, too. How about that side of beef you promised me?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Carson Valley Expedition
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P |
ale glimmers of starlight filtered through the dense fog hanging over the river. On the dock, waiting for the last call to board the steamship Eclipse, stood Mark Wentworth, making his final farewells to his family.
“You look so handsome in your uniform,” Mary said, standing on tiptoe to give her brother a kiss. She fingered the blue cord and tassels of his coat and her voice quavered as she added, “Try to bring it home looking just as grand.”
Mark saw her glistening face and, not sure whether the dampness came from tears or the prevailing mist, he kissed her cheek tenderly. “I’ll try, little sister. I assure you, I’ll try.” In order to join the expedition, Mark had enlisted with Company H of the Sixth Infantry from Benecia Barracks under 2nd Lieutenant John McCleary and now wore the short blue frock coat and light blue trousers of that unit.
Their older brother Matthew had always been a man of few words, and he had little to say now. Mark, however, understood that the firm handclasp meant he had his brother’s approval and support. Even more importantly, he had his father’s. Though it was an unfamiliar gesture for Mark, he put his arms around his father and rested for a moment in the strength of that embrace. Then he set his black Kossuth hat on his head at a jaunty angle and thrust his hand out for his father to shake.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Ebenezer smiled.
“I don’t think so,” Mark said. “I have the Bible you gave me and the sandwiches Mary made.”
Ebenezer took a small, sealed white envelope from his coat pocket. “You’ll want this, as well, my boy,” he said. “It’s my report to your sweetheart’s father on your behavior this last year. You said he would require one.”
It had been almost a year since Mark had told his father of the doctor’s requirements for marrying Sally, and the boy felt deeply touched that his father had remembered. He himself hadn’t given a thought to the promised letter of evaluation. His mind had been taken up with finding a way to get to Sally. It was her life he was concerned with at that point, not their future together.
Seeing his son’s trembling lips, Ebenezer put the envelope in Mark’s hand and squeezed the young man’s arm. “It’s a fair report, son.”
“Of course it is,” Mark stammered. “You couldn’t be any other way.”
As a whistle blew, Matthew clapped his younger brother on the back. “You’d better get on board, if you don’t want them to think you’ve deserted.”
“Not this soon after enlisting,” Mark laughed. He gave his father one more quick embrace and ran for the gangplank, the fog soon hiding him from sight.
* * * * *
Adam slipped out of bed as soundlessly as he could, to avoid waking Harold in the next bed. He’d laid out his clothes the night before, so he had no trouble finding them, even in the dark of the pre-dawn. He picked up the gear he’d left on his desk and started to tiptoe out, but Harold had left his desk chair jutting out and Adam stumbled into it.
Beneath a thick, patchwork quilt, Harold stirred and asked groggily, “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Adam whispered. “Well, nothing but me.”
Harold sat up. “You leaving now, without telling me good-bye?” He yawned expansively.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” Adam said. “You’ve got exams this morning.” He sat on the end of Harold’s bed.
Harold yawned. “Yeah, well if you can pass yours with flying colors with all you’ve had on your mind, I guess I can pass mine, even if I do lose a little sleep.”
“I’ve got my things all packed up for Miss Molly to store,” Adam said, “except my guitar. I was hoping you’d keep that for me.” He’d taught his roommate a few basic chords and, since he couldn’t pack the instrument on a military expedition, he thought the other boy would have more use for it in the near future than he was likely to find himself. “I’ll keep it for you,” Harold promised, “but you have to remember it’s only a loan. I’ll be expecting you to pick it up before school starts next term.” Beneath the casual meaning of those words was a prayer that Adam would come through the next few months alive.
Adam understood and responded, “Yeah, I’ll do that, and I’ll be expecting you to put on a grand performance for me.”
Harold laughed under his breath. “Oh, sure. You could put on a better performance, even after a summer without touching that guitar.” He swallowed hard and quickly thrust out his hand. “Take care, Adam.”
Adam clasped his roommate’s hand firmly. “You, too,” he whispered. “Indians aren’t the only dangers in this world.” He stood and shoved Harold back onto his pillow. “Now, back to sleep. You want to do well your final term, don’t you?”
Harold grinned. “Be a lot easier if you’d take my tests for me.” He yawned. “Of course, then I’d have to fight the Paiutes for you. Not a good idea, since I’ve never fired a gun.” He yawned again, turned onto his side and closed his eyes, primarily for Adam’s sake. He didn’t sleep for awhile, though. After Adam left, he lay awake, wondering whether he’d ever see his friend again. Compared to that, of what importance were a schoolboy’s exams?
Adam tiptoed down the stairs and through the hall to the front door. Once he was outside, he ran through the dark streets. The report he’d heard yesterday said the Eclipse, carrying rescue forces bound for Washoe, would sail the night before and arrive early this morning. Adam was determined to be there when the ship steamed in. He failed in that resolve, however, for when he arrived at the dock, he saw the steamer anchored just off the levee.
The question now was how to get to the ship. Adam was a good swimmer and the distance wasn’t far, but he couldn’t swim carrying the rifle he’d purchased the day before. Adam winced slightly as he thought of that gun. His father probably wouldn’t view that as the kind of purchase he’d intended Adam to make with the funds left at his disposal, but Adam’s rifle was at home and the boy feared he might need one before arriving there. Spotting a small rowboat nearby, he decided to borrow it. Another act his father would frown on, but Adam felt desperate. He had to get to the commanding officer and secure permission to travel with the rescue expedition. If he waited until the soldiers disembarked, they’d likely be too busy to talk to him, so Adam made up his mind to board that ship any way he could.
“Permission to come aboard,” he shouted when a sentry on the Eclipse asked his business. “I have a message for the commanding officer.” He tried to make his voice sound official, and the ruse worked. He was permitted to board the steamer and Captain Joseph Stewart of the Third U.S. Artillery, overall commander of the Carson Valley Expedition, was called.
Captain Stewart came from the opposite side of the ship. “You bring a message from the rescue forces at Sacramento?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” Adam murmured, feeling suddenly cowed when he saw the official-looking uniform. Then he looked up defiantly. “I’m my own message.” He popped a shaky salute at the officer. “Adam Cartwright, reporting for duty, sir,” he stated loudly.
Stewart laughed. “Looking for adventure, are you, lad?”
“No, sir!” Adam declared, offended at being taken for a boy playing soldier. “I’m going to Washoe, one way or another. I was told the best way was to sign up with you.”
“Adam? Adam!” a voice called out, and a figure ran toward the officer and the boy.
Adam turned and his face lighted as he saw Mark Wentworth rushing forward.
Mark saluted the captain. “Sir, may I be of help?” he asked. “I know this boy.”
“Boy!” Adam protested. Mark motioned for him to be still.
“The lad’s offering himself as a recruit,” Stewart said, a tinge of mirth in his tone. “In fact, he says he’s going to Washoe, with or without my permission.”
“He means it, sir,” Mark said quickly. “Adam’s family lives there, and, of course, he’s concerned for their safety.”
Stewart’s face took on a kinder appearance. “Ah, I see. Commendable, my boy, but we’re not looking for new recruits, especially not lads your age.”
“Then I’ll go alone,” Adam said and turned to leave.
“No,” Mark said sharply. He turned to Captain Stewart. “Sir, please let him travel with us. I’ll be responsible for him, and, to tell the truth, sir, he’s a greater asset to the party than I am. He’s a better marksman, and he knows every inch of the country we’ll be traveling through.”
Stewart stroked his beard in thought. “That would be an advantage.” He looked at Adam. “You know the territory well?”
“Like the back of my hand,” Adam boasted. “I’ve lived there since I was seven.”
Stewart nodded. “Very well, then. You may travel with us, not as an official recruit, but we’ll make you a sort of scout.”
“Yes, sir!” Adam cried and popped another salute.
Stewart shook his head, chuckling. “If you’re going to do it that poorly, I’d just as soon you didn’t salute, son. And you are a civilian, after all.” Still chuckling, he walked away.
Mark grabbed the younger boy’s hand and pumped it. “Good to see you, Adam.”
“You, too,” Adam said. “Thanks for putting in a word for me.”
“Sure.”
“I’ve got to return a boat I borrowed to row out here,” Adam explained.
“You’ve got plenty of time,” Mark said. “I heard we’re not leaving the boat ‘til around eight-thirty. That’s when we board the train for Folsom. Why don’t you return the boat, get yourself some breakfast and meet us at the station.”
“Yeah, good idea. I’m starving,” Adam admitted. “See you there, then.” As he left the steamer and began rowing for shore, Mark stood at the boat’s rail to watch him until he was out of sight.
Adam ate a hurried breakfast, then jogged to the train station. He didn’t intend to be left behind, and the safest way to ensure that was to arrive early. He heard the troops coming before he saw them, marching in double file down the street. The Artillery came first, impressive in their blue frock coats and dark pants. Captain Stewart and the other officers looked even flashier, with a red stripe running down each pants leg. The Infantry, all in blue except for their black Kossuth hats with the left brim turned up, marched behind them. Adam spotted Mark and waved. Mark nodded, but gave no further sign of recognition. As a new soldier, determined to prove himself a good one, he kept marching steadily. Adam fell in behind the Infantry, boarding the train last, but counting himself lucky to be included in the expedition.
The ride to Folsom, which Adam had made many times, took an hour and ten minutes. Adam and Mark found seats together, and each shared what he’d heard about the situation east of the Sierras. “I appreciate your coming,” Adam commented.
“It’s for Sally,” Mark said softly.
“Well, I figured that,” Adam chuckled, “but I’m glad you’re with us, anyway.”
At Folsom, stagecoaches and wagons were waiting to transport the forces to Placerville. Again, Mark and Adam finagled seats together. “Do you think we’ll be in Placerville long enough to see the Zuebners?” Adam asked.
“We’ll have to eat somewhere in Placerville,” Mark said. “I don’t know what arrangements have been made for the military, but you’re not under orders.”
“Don’t let them leave without me,” Adam said and Mark assured him he would not.
Not certain how much time he had, Adam hustled down to Mama Zuebner’s Café. Marta was serving in the dining hall when Adam entered and immediately enwrapped him in an embrace. “Oh, Adam,” the flaxen-haired girl cried. “Have you heard? Isn’t it awful?”
“Just what’s come over the wire,” Adam replied. “You know anything specific about our people?”
Marta shook her head. “No, and Mama is frantic with worry about Katerina.”
“I’m sure she’s all right,” Adam assured the girl. “Pa telegraphed after the first attack that everyone was fine. I’m sure he meant her, too.”
“You haven’t heard anything since the big battle, then?”
Adam took Marta’s hand. “No, but Pyramid Lake is a long way from Katerina’s place, and there’s been no word of female casualties.”
“Well, I’d care about Enos, too!” Marta declared fiercely, then with lowered head and softer voice, “and even that ornery Billy, for that matter.”
Adam bit his lip, knowing his fiery-headed friend was impetuous enough to get caught up in an Indian battle. “Billy’s too ornery, even for Indians,” he quipped to alleviate Marta’s fears and disguise his own.
Marta laughed. “That’s the truth! Are you hungry, Adam? Can I bring you something?”
“Whatever you can fix quickly,” Adam replied, taking the seat she pointed out. “I’m with the Carson Valley Expedition, and I don’t know how long I have.”
“Oxtail stew, bubbling hot,” Marta promised and hurried to the kitchen.
It was her mother, however, who brought the stew to Adam. “You go help my girl?” Ludmilla asked, her German accent still thick even after all her years in America.
Adam nodded. “My family, and her, too, Mama Zuebner, but you know my Pa wouldn’t let anything happen to your girl. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Yah, Ben protect, I know,” Ludmilla sighed, “and Enos good man, too. You eat up now, need warm food for go to Washoe, yah?”
“I sure do, and yours is the best,” Adam said and turned his attention to the stew. Before he finished it, however, another Zuebner had rushed in to sit at his table.
“You are going with the rescue party?” Stefán asked. “I, too, wish to go.”
“Well, I don’t mind asking Captain Stewart,” Adam replied, “but I don’t have any influence with him. I’m kind of unofficial myself.”
“I will go unofficial, too,” Stefán insisted.
“Better grab some of this good grub first,” Adam suggested. “Who knows when you’ll see its like again.”
“Yah, you speak truth,” Stefán said. He hurried to the kitchen and dished up his own stew to save time.
While he was eating, Marta came back in, carrying a bedroll, rifle and canteen. “There’s a change of clothes in the bedroll,” she explained. “I think that’s all you’ll need.”
“Thank you, my sister,” Stefán said, giving her soft cheek a tender stroke. “It is for you, now, to look after our mother. Be a comfort to her.”
Marta kissed him on the forehead. “I will, of course. Keep yourself safe.” She moved close to Adam and gave him an identical kiss. “You, too, Adam,” she whispered, “and keep that fool Billy out of trouble, if you can.”
“That’s a big job,” Adam jibed, “but I’ll try.”
Stefán polished off his stew, and both boys ran to find Captain Stewart. Adam started to salute, then remembering the officer’s opinion of his technique, let his hand drop to his side. “Captain Stewart,” he said, rushing his words, “This is Stefán Zuebner, a long time friend. He wants to go with the rescue forces, too.”
“Ah, young Cartwright,” Stewart chuckled. “I thought I told you we weren’t looking for new recruits.” He gave a Stefán a closer perusal. “Well, at least, this one is a man.”
Adam felt his teeth clinch at the slur on his own age, but determined to put his pride aside. “He’s a good man,” Adam said, “and he has family in the valley, too——a sister.”
“Ah, a point in his favor, to be sure,” Captain Stewart mused. “Less likely to desert when there’s a personal interest. You’d be willing to obey orders, young man?”
“Yes, sir,” Stefán promised immediately.
“As it happens, we’ve had two men desert already, somewhere between Folsom and here, so I have two mules available. One I’d already designated for young Cartwright. You may use the other, young man, provided you remember that it is the property of the United States Army.”
“I do not take what is not mine,” Stefán declared with upraised chin.
“Yes, I think you’re a man worth having,” the captain said, shaking Stefán’s hand. He pointed down the street. “See that officer and have him assign you an animal. You, too, Cartwright.”
“Yes, sir,” Adam said. He couldn’t help frowning a bit as he walked down the street beside Stefán. He’d never ridden a mule in his life, had, in fact, been contemptuous of the lesser steed. Mules were supposed to be sure-footed on mountain passes, though, and that was undoubtedly why they’d been chosen.
The wisdom of using mules quickly became apparent as the Carson Valley Expedition began to climb the Sierras. The trail was muddy from thawing snow and the footing for the animals treacherously slippery. By the time the party made camp that evening, Adam had developed a new appreciation for the lowly mule.
The second day was worse. As they moved further into the mountains, where the temperature was colder, the mud mingled with still-melting snow. No one had time to enjoy the scenic view of the sugar pine and ponderosa forest or, far below, the swift waters of the South Fork of the American River. Each man’s attention was on the mud beneath his mule’s feet as they slid and slithered down the canyon to the river.
After a brief rest, the party crossed the river on the recently built Brockliss’ Bridge, then headed back up. Mark told Adam he’d overheard the officers saying that they would try to reach the Strawberry Valley House before nightfall.
“I wish we could,” Adam said. “It’s a good place to stop, but fighting this mud, we’ll never get that far before sundown.”
“Think you should tell Captain Stewart?” Mark suggested.
Adam shrugged. “No point, really. He’ll see it soon enough for himself.”
Adam was right. When the sun started to set, Captain Stewart needed no one to tell him it was time to make camp, even though they were still four miles from Strawberry Valley. The terrain didn’t invite night travel, especially when, to everyone’s dismay, it began to snow.
The snow continued the next day, the sharp wind blowing it in the faces of the men as they passed the southeast end of Lake Tahoe and turned east to begin their descent of the Kingsbury Grade. The road now turned away from the Ponderosa, so Adam rode forward to request permission for him and Stefán to leave the party and go directly to his home.
“We’ll get the mules back to you,” Adam promised.
“Very well,” Captain Stewart agreed. “We’ll be going to Genoa, then on to Carson City.” He extended his hand and, counting himself privileged, Adam shook it. “Your knowledge of the back country has been very helpful, young man. I trust you’ll find your family unharmed.”
“Yes, sir,” Adam said, fighting down the sudden lump in his throat. Now that he was so close to knowing how his family was, the emotions he’d struggled to control threatened to surge past the protective barriers he’d erected. He wanted——no, needed——to get home as soon as possible. He and Stefán said good-bye to Mark, assuring him they’d see him in Carson City, and headed northeast as the rest of the party rode away.
“Where is the Montgomery cabin?” Stefán asked once they were alone.
“It’s toward Genoa,” Adam said, “but the Ponderosa is closer.”
“I must go to Katerina,” Stefán declared.
“No, it’s getting late,” Adam insisted. “Pa will know if Enos and Katerina are all right, so you’ll know sooner if we go to our ranch first. Then I’ll show you the way tomorrow.”
“It is a good plan,” Stefán admitted, although he was disappointed to have to put off seeing his sister another day. Although they had left Placerville only three days earlier, the trip had seemed interminable.
Adam understood. To him, as well, the journey had lasted an eternity. He kicked his heels against the mule’s flanks to urge the animal on. Stefán smiled and followed suit. If only they could have changed the plodding mules for swift steeds!
Even before they reached the house, Adam felt relieved, for he saw smoke wafting above the pines and smelled the aroma of roasting meat. It was almost supper time, and there were obviously people in the house to eat the meal. That didn’t prove everything was all right, that no one was hurt or worse, but it was a good indication.
Riding into the Ponderosa yard, Adam slid off the mule, wrapped the reins quickly around the hitching rail and ran for the front door. He didn’t knock, for this was his home. Flinging open the door, he rushed inside and all his questions, all his fears evaporated. Sitting before the fireplace, as he’d seen them so many times, were all the people he loved best.
“Pa!” he cried, rushing forward.
Ben stood at once. “Adam?” Then he moved swiftly to embrace his son. “Adam, what are you doing here?” he asked. “I told you to stay in Sacramento.”
“And leave you to face a Paiute war?” Adam demanded hotly. “Did you really think I’d obey an order like that?”
“Son——”
“You gonna give him ‘a very necessary little talk,’ Pa?” Hoss queried, looking up from the hearth, where he was playing Noah’s Ark with Little Joe.
Ben laughed. “I just might. He’s been a naughty boy, disobeying his pa this way, but I’m so glad to see him, I may just let him get away with it.”
“Excuse me. I do not like to interrupt,” Stefán said from the doorway, “but I must know if Katerina and her husband are well.”
Ben moved toward him and clasped his hand warmly. “Stefán, forgive me! Here I stand making jokes while you’re worrying about your family. They’re fine. None of us were involved in the hostilities, and I assure you, your sister is safe and in good health.”
Stefán breathed a sigh of relief. “Ah! That is good news. If only Mama could know.”
“We’ll wire her from Carson City tomorrow,” Ben promised, closing the front door.
Hop Sing bustled in from the kitchen. “Mr. Adam!” he cried. “Why you not come sooner?”
Adam laughed. “You mean soon enough so you’d know how many to cook for?”
“That what I mean,” Hop Sing grumbled. “How I s’posed make dinnah for four feed six, huh?”
“We have every confidence in you, Hop Sing,” Ben said. “Surely, you’re glad to see Adam, aren’t you?”
“Velly glad,” Hop Sing said, “but must return to kitchen now, make more food. More mouths make more work.” He departed, mumbling to himself.
“Don’t worry,” Adam told Stefán. “He really thrives on this kind of challenge.”
“That he does,” Ben laughed, then clapped Stefán on the back. “Come sit down by the fire and tell us all the news of your family.”
Little Joe toddled over to his oldest brother and stared up at the tall young man. Adam, chuckling, picked him up. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he teased.
Little Joe nodded seriously. “I ‘member, Adam,” he said.
“Do you?” Adam asked, pleased. “That’s the boy!” He looked over at Hoss. “As for you, I may just disown you for putting that ‘very necessary little talk’ idea into Pa’s head!”
“Sorry,” Hoss said, looking sheepish. Adam just laughed and came close enough to tousle his chunky brother’s straight, sandy hair. It was good to be home.
* * * * *
Mark took a moment to steady his hand, then raised it to rap sharply on the door to Dr. Martin’s office. “Come in,” a voice called, and Mark entered.
“Be with you in a minute,” the doctor said from behind the curtain that separated the waiting area from the examining room.
Within minutes Dr. Martin pulled the curtain aside and escorted his previous patient out. His eyes widened with surprise as he recognized his next visitor. He smiled. “Sally’s at home, young man.”
“I thought she would be,” Mark replied, reaching to shake the doctor’s hand, “but I wanted to see you first, to ask your permission to see her.”
“You can see her, of course,” the doctor said. “Or did you have something more in mind?”
“Just to see her for now,” Mark said, reaching into his uniform pocket. “This is the letter from my father you requested. I don’t know what it says, but I believe it’s a favorable report. I’m hoping that after you read it, you’ll consent to my courting Sally.”
“Just courting?” A smile lifted one corner of the doctor’s mouth.
Mark nodded soberly. “For now. I’m not free to marry her yet, sir. I was concerned for her safety——and yours——so I joined the army to come here.”
Dr. Martin nodded. “I noticed the uniform.”
“You understand I have a commitment to fulfill, then, before I’m free to marry Sally?” Mark asked anxiously. “It won’t influence your decision?”
“That you’re a man who honors his commitments?” the doctor laughed. “Oh, yes, that will influence my decision, young man. I would scarcely commit my daughter to your care if you weren’t a man who honors commitments.”
Mark smiled, relieved.
“Go on, off with you,” the doctor ordered, flinging his hand toward the door. “This office is for sick people, and while lovesick boys may qualify for medical help, the only prescription that seems to give much relief is better filled elsewhere. Sally has the tonic you need, my boy; go to her.”
Mark’s smile widened to a grin and he shook the doctor’s hand firmly in farewell. Then he hurried down the street and knocked on the door to the Martin home.
In the kitchen, Sally laid down the spoon with which she’d been stirring the pot of soup and came to answer the door. At first she was surprised to see an uniformed officer standing outside, but when he removed his black Kossuth hat, she uttered a cry of joy and threw her arms around the young private. “Oh, Mark!” she cried. “You’ve come. I knew you would; I just knew you would!” She pulled him into the house and, once safe from prying eyes, pressed an impassioned kiss to his lips.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Farewell At Fort O’Riley
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A |
dam threw up his hands and walked away from the rest of the family, gathered around the fire after a filling dinner. “I just don’t understand you, Pa!” he flared.
Ben strode past the sofa and, grabbing Adam’s shoulder, spun him around. “Well, if you’d try listening, young man, you just might have a better chance of understanding!”
“Ben, please!” Marie pleaded, turning to face them from the mauve armchair. “Please do not quarrel.”
Ben gave her a curt nod. “I’m not trying to quarrel. I’m trying to explain my position to our hard-headed son.”
Color flamed into Adam’s cheeks. “You’d have a better chance if you didn’t keep changing it! You said you didn’t think the Paiutes wanted war. You refused to ride against them the first time, but now you’re planning to fight.” Adam, of course, had been prepared to fight, too, when he first came home, but now that he understood the situation more fully and knew his own family was in no immediate danger, he saw no reason to march against the Paiutes. His father, however, in what seemed to Adam a complete turnabout from the principles by which he’d been raised, was planning to join the volunteer forces assembling in Carson City.
“I have to, Adam,” Ben argued.
Adam folded his arms across his chest and demanded, “Why?”
Ben faced his son, palms planted on his hips. “Have you been listening at all, boy?”
Adam bristled at being called “boy,” a sure sign of his father’s displeasure. “Yes, I have,” he said hotly. “You said you thought the Paiutes had every right to defend themselves when the settlers attacked them.”
“I do believe that,” Ben said. “I think all those killings could have been avoided if our people had simply gone searching for truth instead of vengeance.”
“So it was their own fault they died.”
“Yes, that’s tragically true.” Feeling something brush against his leg, Ben looked down and patted Little Joe’s curly head absently, his attention on his oldest son.
“And now you’re making the same mistake,” Adam fumed, “by going out to avenge them.”
“Vengeance? No!” Ben protested, his face fiery. “I fight for the safety of my family, boy! Don’t you understand that we’re at war now?”
“Other people, not us,” Adam insisted. “We’ve always gotten along with the Paiutes.”
“Ugh!” Ben sputtered and stormed a few paces away. “What difference does that make now? You expect the Paiutes to pick and choose their targets?” Little Joe pattered after him, pulling his father’s pants leg demandingly. He was used to being picked up and held whenever he wanted and didn’t understand why tonight should be any different.
Again Ben touched the soft, brown curls. “Later, baby,” he said, but, determined to get what he wanted, Little Joe didn’t move. Ben turned to his oldest son. “Don’t you see, Adam, in a war people lose sight of past friendships, even of right and wrong. It’s a matter of survival.”
“But if a thing’s wrong on principle——” Adam argued.
“Principle!” Ben shouted, then hearing the insistent whimper at his feet, finally picked up his youngest. He didn’t, however, give the boy the cuddles he craved. Instead, he held him out to his older brother. “Look into this innocent little face, and explain to him why he has to die for your principles, you idealistic schoolboy!”
“Ben!” Marie shrieked, rushing to snatch her child away. “Oh, Ben, how could you? How could you use our baby as a pawn in your quarrel? How could you speak of death in front of him?” She hurried back to her chair to soothe the unhappy little boy.
Ben took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Marie,” he said. “I got carried away.”
“It is inexcusable!” she declared hotly, cradling the brown curls against her breast.
“Now you’re fighting, too!” Hoss protested. “I hate war! It makes everyone fight!”
Ben stepped back to the fire and pulled Hoss close. “Yeah, that’s what I was trying to say, son. You hate war; I hate war; I’m sure Winnemucca hates war, too. No one except a few fools wants this war, but it’s come to us, against our wills, and if we don’t get this issue settled, it’s the innocent, on both sides, who will suffer.”
“But fighting, Pa? Do you really think that’s the only way?” Adam pressed.
Ben looked across at the boy, who no longer seemed angry, but genuinely asking. “I do now,” he said quietly. “It became too late to parley when the Indians had their first taste of victory. Now there are fools among them, too, who believe they really can drive the white men from this territory, and they’ll fight until they’re soundly defeated. It really is them or us at this point.”
Marie’s face paled to the color of freshly laundered linen, and she clutched her youngster even closer. Seeing her distress, Ben moved swiftly toward her and knelt at her feet. “Don’t worry,” he soothed. “I won’t let anyone harm our baby.” When Marie turned her face away, he reached out to stroke her golden hair.
Lower lip outthrust, Little Joe looked up at his father. Ben smiled contritely, patting the little back. “Everything’s all right, baby,” he soothed, then glanced at Adam. “Would you take your little brother to bed, son?”
Marie roused quickly. “No, I will take him.”
“We need to talk,” Ben said. “Adam, please?”
“Yeah, sure.” Adam took Little Joe from his mother and started toward the stairs.
“What about me?” Hoss demanded. “You wanna talk to me, too, Pa? I listen better than Adam.”
Ben shook his head. “No, I need to talk to Mama alone, son. You go on to bed.”
“It ain’t my bedtime!” Hoss protested.
“Then read in your room!” Ben hollered. “I’ve had enough argument for one night, boy.”
Hoss took one look at his father’s irate face and beat Adam to the stairs.
Adam entered the nursery through the hall door and, carrying Little Joe to the bureau, set him on top. “Which drawer is your nightshirt in?” he asked.
“That one,” Little Joe said, leaning over to pat the top drawer.
“Sit still,” Adam ordered, pushing him back. He opened the drawer and pulled out a tiny, pale green garment. Laying it aside temporarily, he began to unbutton his little brother’s dress.
“Adam, why you make Mama cry?” Little Joe asked, his face puzzled.
“I didn’t,” Adam replied, drawing a sleeve from the boy’s arm.
Little Joe’s head bobbed emphatically. “Unh huh, Adam. Mama did cry.”
“But I didn’t make her,” Adam insisted. “That was Pa’s doing.”
“Pa’s mad,” Little Joe murmured, lower lip trembling.
Adam slipped the nightshirt over the small head. “Not really. We were arguing, but that doesn’t mean Pa’s mad.”
“Why you argue?”
Adam tweaked his brother’s nose. “You ask too many questions.” He started untying Little Joe’s sturdy, brown shoes. Then, pulling off the Lilliputian socks, he tickled the tiny toes. Little Joe squealed and jerked his feet back so abruptly he almost toppled from his high perch. “I’d better get you down from there,” Adam said, lifting the child into his crib. “I forgot what a little wiggleworm you are.”
“No, no,” Little Joe protested, clinging to the rail of his bed. “Story first.” He pointed to the rocking chair by the window.
“Used to getting your own way, aren’t you?” Adam muttered, but he carried the boy to the rocker, as ordered, and settled him comfortably in his lap. Seeing the book on the small table by the rocker, he smiled. “Aesop’s Fables. I used to read this to Hoss when he was small like you.”
“Hoss never small,” Little Joe said, green eyes wide and incredulous. “Always big.”
Adam laughed. “You’re right; he was big from the start.” He began to read, and the very action brought back memories of those early days when he’d been chief caretaker to motherless Hoss. He’d taken that responsibility seriously, although on most days the most critical decision he’d faced was which fable to read. Adam had been ready, though, to stand between his younger brother and any danger that threatened back then, and he found that same protectiveness welling up within him now, toward the child in his arms.
Looking into Little Joe’s placid face, free from the concerns of his elders, Adam knew he couldn’t ask a baby to pay the price for a man’s principles. Little ones like this were meant to live carefree and lighthearted. It was what Adam had come home to ensure——for Little Joe and the rest of his family——but the peacefulness of the two days he’d been here had made him forget the impulse that had driven him across the Sierras.
The situation hadn’t changed, though; the threat to his family still existed. The Paiutes weren’t to blame, and it was wrong to ride against them, wrong except for one thing: the little innocent, now sleeping in his lap, wouldn’t be safe in his home until the matter was settled. That was what his father had tried to explain, but holding the baby had persuaded Adam in a way no amount of argument could. As he placed his brother in the crib and gently covered him, he knew, when the time came, he’d be riding at his father’s side.
Downstairs, Ben kissed his wife’s slender fingers. “We need to discuss how best to provide for your safety while I’m gone,” he said softly.
“Oh, Ben,” Marie cried, then forced her trembling lips to smile bravely. “Oui, we must talk of this.”
Ben rose from his knees and sat on the low table, facing her. “You’d probably be safe enough here at the Ponderosa,” he said. “I doubt the Paiutes would come this far, unless things go very badly for us, but with only Adam here to protect you, I’d feel better if you forted up with the other women at the Penrod House in Carson City. I’ve spoken to Enos, and that’s where Katerina will be, and, of course, Nelly and Laura.”
“No,” Marie said firmly.
Ben reached for her hand. “Marie, I really must insist.”
She pulled back. “No, it is I who will insist. I will not stay here or go to Carson City. I will take our children to Virginia City.”
Ben drew back and stared at her, puzzled. “But why? There’d be men to protect you in Carson, men you know and trust, and it would be more enjoyable for you to stay with friends.”
“Enjoyable!” Marie erupted from her chair. “Do you think I am concerned with my enjoyment, mon mari?”
Ben stood and tried to take her in his arms, but, thrusting him away, she walked toward the fire and turned to face him. “Virginia City is on a mountain,” she said, “harder for the Indians to reach.”
“Well, perhaps,” Ben conceded. “I really don’t think they’ll come either place, my love. I don’t think the Paiutes have a chance of withstanding the forces we’re mounting against them.”
Marie glared at him, arms akimbo. “So thought the men who rode to Pyramid Lake. And they were wrong!”
Ben couldn’t deny it. “Yes, but these are trained, military personnel,” he insisted, “not a ragtag bunch of volunteers.” Seeing Marie cock her head dubiously, Ben shrugged. “Well, all right, some of us are untrained volunteers, but this really is a more organized campaign, my love. I’m sure you’ll be perfectly safe in Carson.”
“I will be perfectly safe in Virginia City!” Marie declared with a flounce of her head. “You have made your decision, and I will not argue with it. But I have decided where I feel safest, and that is where I will take our children!”
There was a knock at the door, and Ben went to answer it. “Ah, Stefán,” he said. “I thought that might be you. Come in, my boy.”
Marie composed herself quickly. “I thought you might have decided to stay the night with Katerina.”
“No, I am sorry to be late,” Stefán apologized, “but there was much to discuss.”
Ben glanced over his shoulder at his wife. “Yes, much.”
“I offered to take Katerina home, until this trouble is past,” Stefán said, “but she will not leave, so I feel I, too, must fight these savages.”
“We’ll be glad to have you, Stefán. Katerina is still planning to stay in Carson City?” When Stefán said she was, Ben looked at Marie. Seeing her still adamant, he turned back to their guest and said, “My family will be forting up at Virginia City. We have a couple of days to gather supplies and get the ladies situated.”
“They will be busy ones,” Stefán commented. “Please tell me how I can help.”
Ben extended his hand in appreciation, and Stefán clasped it resolutely.
* * * * *
The next two days were, as Stefán had predicted, busy ones at the Ponderosa. While Marie packed for the children and herself and gathered supplies to be taken to Virginia City, the men, Hoss helping, moved the herd down to the better grass of Washoe Valley. There’d be no one left to watch the stock while they were gone, and Ben had already reconciled himself to the loss of a few head. Captain Joe of the Washo tribe had surrendered nine guns to the authorities at Carson City to demonstrate his people’s peaceful intent. Since then the Washos had kept to the hills, perhaps afraid of being mistaken by people new to the territory for the hostile Paiutes, but, scavengers by heritage, they certainly weren’t above appropriating any stray cattle they found. Ben hoped by moving the cattle further away to suffer fewer losses.
On the twenty-fourth of May, Ben and his sons hitched the buckboard and loaded it with pillows, sheets, blankets and carpetbags, as well as staple foods. “Adam, tie that steer and the milk cow to the back,” he ordered as he headed toward the house.
“Sure, Pa,” Adam called, then laid a hand on Hoss’s shoulder. “Give me a hand?” He didn’t really need help, but decided to keep Hoss with him in case his father wanted a private word with Marie.
“Yeah, sure,” Hoss said. As he walked with his brother toward the corral, his face screwed with worry. “What about Hop Sing, Adam? How come he ain’t goin’ with us?”
“He’s gonna stay with some of his own people, over at Chinatown,” Adam explained. “He’ll be all right.”
Ben entered the front room, where Marie sat by the cold hearth with Little Joe in her lap. “You ready?” he asked.
“As soon as I get his shoes on,” Marie sighed. “You know how he fights wearing shoes.”
Ben cupped his youngest son’s chin in his broad palm. “Sit still, Little Joe, and let Mama put your shoes on. It’s too cold to go barefoot.”
“Always too cold,” Little Joe grumbled.
Ben chuckled. “This spring it is.” He shook his head. The overcast sky outside certainly didn’t look like spring, more like the gray haze of a winter day. Ben found himself remembering the horrible weather that had attended the first assault on the Paiutes and prayed this expedition would see nothing like it. The task before them was daunting enough without fighting through mud..
“There, done,” Marie announced, patting the sole of her son’s small shoe. Standing, she cast sorrowful eyes around the huge front room. “I feel as if I were abandoning a child,” she murmured.
Ben quickly put his arm around her shoulders. “The Ponderosa will be here waiting when we return,” he promised.
“Are you sure?” she asked, emerald eyes misty.
Ben gave her an encouraging squeeze. “No one’s ever a hundred percent sure of the future,” he admitted, “but I don’t think the Indians will bother the house. Most of the raids were east of Virginia City.”
“The Washo?”
Ben shook his head. “It’s food they’d want. They may take a steer or two, and I even set some flour and cornmeal outside the kitchen door. I think they’re awed enough of the army that they won’t loot our home, Marie, but if we have to, we can start from scratch——as long as we have each other——and the boys.”
Marie gave him a brave, though not totally relieved, smile. “We should leave now.” Nodding, Ben took the little boy and carried him outside.
As they entered the yard, Marie looked up at the sky and frowned. “Do you think it will rain?”
“Might, but I’m hoping we’ll reach Virginia City before it does,” Ben said.
Hoss was already in the buckboard, seated among the supplies, the dog Klamath between his legs.
“Hoss, I told you you couldn’t take that dog,” Ben said sternly.
“But we can’t leave him, Pa,” Hoss pleaded. “He’ll starve.”
“Now, Hoss,” Ben comforted. “Klamath knows how to scavenge for himself. He’ll probably get fat on rabbits.”
“If them Washos don’t eat him,” Hoss grumbled. “They’ll eat anything.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ben scoffed. “No self-respecting Washo is going to eat dog when he can have beef.” He lifted Little Joe into the back of the buckboard. “Here, I’ll make you a trade,” he chuckled, picking up the dog and setting it on the ground.
“Some trade,” Hoss grumbled, scowling at his little brother.
“Hang onto him,” Ben ordered the older boy, “and keep his shoes on.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll try,” Hoss said and shook his finger firmly at Little Joe. “You be good, you hear?”
“Always good,” Little Joe assured him, plopping down between his brother’s legs and favoring the world with his characteristically angelic smile.
Knowing the mischief that could hide behind that innocent countenance, Ben chuckled as he helped Marie to the buckboard’s seat and climbed up beside her. “All set?” he called.
“All set,” Adam, already mounted on his sorrel with Ben’s bay on a lead rope, replied. “I’ll follow, so I can keep an eye on the boys.”
“You do that.” Ben looked across the yard, where Stefán was tying a steer by a lead rope to his saddle horn. “God speed, boy,” he called.
Stefán acknowledged the farewell with a wave and mounted. For a while he rode beside Adam, but when the Cartwrights turned toward Virginia City, he headed for Carson, towing the steer Ben was donating to the women and children there. Better them than the Washos, Ben had said, so Stefán willingly pulled the animal behind him, satisfied that, along with the load of supplies Enos was bringing, his sister and the others barricaded in the Penrod Hotel would have plenty to eat.
It was past noon when Ben pulled up before Peter O’Riley’s unfinished hotel, one of the few stone buildings in town. He noted that the windows had been bricked up since he’d last visited Virginia City. That would make the fortress safer in case of attack, but it would also make the interior very dark. “The boys won’t like that,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?” Marie asked.
“Uh, nothing,” Ben said. “This is where the women and children are staying, Marie.”
“A good, solid building,” Marie remarked. “Yes, we will be safe here.”
“Of course, you will,” Ben said, mostly to encourage her. “Well, we’d better get these supplies unloaded.” He lifted his wife to the ground, then reached for Little Joe.
“I want down, Pa,” Little Joe said, wrestling against his father’s hold. He’d never been to Virginia City and it looked like a fine place to explore.
“Oh, no,” Ben chuckled. “You’ll take off if I set you down. You go to Mama.” He plunked the youngster into his mother’s outstretched arms.
“Why, Mrs. Cartwright!” a voice called from the open doorway. “I didnae expect to see you here.”
Marie turned and smiled to see a familiar face. “Ah, Madame Bowers. Oui, I convinced Ben this was the safest place for us.”
“To be sure, to be sure,” Mrs. Bowers cooed, “but it’s just Eilley, dearie.” She reached for Little Joe. “May I hold the baby?” she asked, her voice almost pleading.
Little Joe went to her willingly, for he was the kind of child who never met a stranger..
“Ooh, what a fine, big boy,” Eilley gushed.
Little Joe beamed, liking his new friend better by the minute. No one had ever called him big before, and it sounded good.
Looking at Marie, Eilley giggled. “I know I take on over bairns, but I’ve always loved them and wished I had some of me ain.”
“Perhaps you will, now that you and Monsieur Bowers have married,” Marie said sympathetically.
“God willing,” Eilley said. “Well, come in, dearie, and let me show you around Ft. O’Riley.”
Seeing that his wife was in good hands, Ben turned his attention to unloading the wagon. Adam, having already dismounted and tied the horses up, was ready to help him. Hoss, strong enough to lift all but the 100-lb. sack of flour, stayed to help, too.
“I know it’s dark in here,” Eilley was explaining to Marie inside the hotel, “but I, for one, welcome solid walls between me and those murdering savages.”
“Oui,” Marie murmured, shivering.
A thin woman with sharp, angular features, came forward. “Howdy doo,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Tilton, Mrs. J. H. Tilton,” she added with a proud uptilting of her chin.
“Madame Tilton? It is a pleasure to meet you,” Marie smiled. “I am Madame Cartwright.”
“Madame?” Mrs. Tilton repeated, obviously unfamiliar with that term of address.
Eilley laughed. “You’ll have to get used to Marie’s French ways, Mrs. Tilton. She’s from New Orleans.”
Even in the dim light, Marie could see Mrs. Tilton stiffen.
“I see,” Mrs. Tilton murmured. “Another one of them.” An infant’s cry resounded through the room. “Excuse me,” Mrs. Tilton said pointedly. “I must see to my daughter.”
“Oh, you have a——” Marie began, but the woman was gone, drawing her skirts close to her body. Marie turned puzzled eyes on Eilley Orrum Bowers. “Did I offend in some way?”
Eilley set Little Joe down and took Marie’s arm. “You didn’t do a thing, dearie. That Tilton woman is a little high on herself, is all.” She leaned close to Marie’s ear. “There’s another Frenchwoman here. I fear Mrs. High-and-Mighty Tilton takes a dim view of French folk, thanks to her. She’s a——well, a woman men visit of an evening. Name’s Julia Bulette.”
“Oh,” Marie said, her voice gentle, uncondemning.
Meanwhile, Little Joe, freed of the restraint of watchful women, had ambled across the room in search of whatever was making that crying sound. He came up to the cradle and peeked inside. “It’s little,” he murmured in wonderment, having never before seen a child smaller than himself.
“Of course, she’s little, child. She’s a baby, just seven and a half weeks old,” Mrs. Tilton said, lifting her daughter from the small bed.
“Oh. I’m three,” Little Joe said sociably.
“I’m sure you are. Go back to your mother now, child,” Mrs. Tilton said brusquely. “I have to feed my daughter.”
“We brought food,” Little Joe offered.
“Not the kind she eats. Run along, child.”
Seeing nothing more to explore in this corner, Little Joe decided to comply. He spotted Hoss, carrying a sack of dried beans, and trotted up to him. “There’s a baby here, Hoss——a real baby,” he informed his brother earnestly.
“Well, that’s good,” Hoss said, dumping the beans in the corner with all the other supplies. “You’ll have someone to play with.”
Little Joe shook his head. “Too little. You want me help you?”
Hoss just laughed and tousled Little Joe’s curly hair before heading outside for another load.
After a few minutes Ben came up to Marie. “The supplies are unloaded. If you’ll tell me where you plan to bed down, I’ll have the boys bring the bedding.”
“You can have your pick of rooms,” Eilley Bowers laughed. “No doors on ‘em and no beds, either, but there’s plenty of rooms for each family to have their own. You dinnae have to sleep on the bare floor, though. Some of the miners that hightailed it for California left their mattresses behind, and we confiscated them.”
Ben chuckled. “I hear it’s done in time of war, ladies, and I’m sure those miners wouldn’t begrudge you the use of them.”
Eilley giggled back. “Well, they looked pretty disreputable when we first got them, but we’ve aired them out good and stuffed them full of fresh straw. You shouldn’t find any lice, at least.”
Marie shuddered. Seeing that, Ben leaned close to her ear. “I can still take you to Carson; just say the word.”
Marie shook her head. “I’ll take the first empty room I find, if you wish to follow me with the sheets and blankets.” Suddenly, she spun around. “Where is Little Joe?” she cried sharply.
“Getting under Hoss’s feet,” Ben responded dryly. “Don’t worry; Hoss will watch him.” He turned to Mrs. Bowers. “I haven’t officially volunteered yet. Do you know who I need to see, Eilley?”
“Jack Hays, who used to be with the Texas Rangers, is overall leader,” Eilley replied, “but the Virginia Rifles report to Captain Storey.”
“That’s probably who I should see,” Ben said.
“Oh, you will be back, won’t you?” Marie asked shakily.
“I won’t leave without saying good-bye,” he promised, placing a light kiss on her cheek.
As he went to get the bedding, Eilley gave the younger woman a reassuring smile. “Dinnae fret, dearie. I dinnae think anyone’s marching out until tomorrow.”
“Oui, it would make no sense to leave so late in the day,” Marie conceded. “I am being foolish.”
“Easy to do when you’re worried,” Eilley offered generously. “Let’s get you and these youngsters settled in.” She took a lantern and headed down the dark hallway. “This room do?” she asked, holding the light so Marie could see inside. “It’s right next to mine.”
“Oui, it will be good to be near a friend,” Marie smiled. “Oh, but there are only two mattresses.”
“No problem,” Eilley laughed. “We can haul another one or two in.” She smiled at Hoss, who was coming up the hall with a pillow under each arm and a small boy at his heels. “Maybe this hefty lad would help me do that.”
“Sure,” Hoss said. “How many you want, Mama?”
“Just one, I suppose,” Marie mused. “Only——are there any men here, Madame Bowers?”
“Eilley, dearie,” the older woman reminded, handing her the lantern. “Sandy’s staying the night with me. I’m sure it’s fine if your menfolk do the same. Just Ben and the oldest boy, right, besides these two?” When Marie nodded, Eilley held her hand toward Hoss. “Let’s see what we can find, shall we, boy?”
“Yes’m,” Hoss agreed readily.
“I cannae quite recall your name,” she said as they went down the hall to another room, “but I remember it being something unusual.”
“It’s Hoss,” her companion replied, “and my baby brother is Little Joe.”
“I’m not a baby,” a petulant voice right behind Hoss declared.
Hoss spun around. “What you doin’ here? You should stay with Mama.”
“I wanna help,” Little Joe pouted.
“You aren’t big enough to help,” Hoss said emphatically.
“It’s all right,” Eilley said. “He’ll not be any trouble.”
“‘Course, he will,” Hoss grumbled. “He always is.”
“Well, not to me,” Eilley laughed. “Come here, sweetie.”
Little Joe gave his brother a triumphant grin and sidled up to Mrs. Bowers.
The trio returned, Hoss and Eilley each dragging a narrow mattress, while Little Joe wove in and out between their legs. “I told you he’d be trouble,” Hoss observed dourly.
When they reached the Cartwright chamber, Ben and Adam quickly moved to take the bulky load from the smaller bearers. As soon as the mattresses were laid on the floor, Little Joe pounced on one. “Mine,” he declared.
“Little Joe, get up from there,” Ben scolded.
Eilley laughed. “In a mining community it pays to stake your claim early. You know that, Ben.”
“I’m not raising miners,” Ben stated bluntly. “Move, Little Joe.”
Little Joe cocked his head in a beseeching attitude. “I’m sleepy, Pa.”
“Oh, by all means, put him to bed,” Adam chuckled. “He’ll get into less mischief that way.”
“It’s a point,” Ben admitted. “Let Mama put the sheets on first, son.” Little Joe obligingly rolled off into the floor.
“I’d better get our horses down to the livery,” Adam suggested. “You tell Captain Storey I’m joining up, too, okay, Pa?”
“Yeah, okay,” Ben mumbled. He still felt disgruntled about Adam’s decision to ride with the volunteer militia. Ben had assumed his son would stay behind to protect Marie and the boys, but Adam had countered that he’d do a better job of that by keeping the Paiutes away from town. It was an argument Ben found hard to dispute, since it was the reason he himself was volunteering. He could, of course, have ordered Adam to remain in town, where he’d be safer, but that would have been treating him like a child when Adam, like his friend Billy, obviously considered himself a man.
* * * * *
Ben yawned and rolled to his side, then after a few moments sat up and began to pull on his boots. In the windowless hotel room, he couldn’t tell whether it was still night or if morning had finally come, but it was pointless to try to sleep. Not only were the straw mattresses lumpy, but that baby down the hall was crying again, as she had, off and on, throughout the night. As a result, his own baby boy had wakened repeatedly and made his dissatisfaction known with pitiable whimpers. Little Joe was sleeping soundly between his parents now, however, so Ben moved cautiously, not wanting to disturb him or anyone else.
“Ben? Ben, is it morning?” a groggy voice whispered.
Ben leaned across the little boy and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I don’t know. Can’t tell in here. I’m gonna step outside and get my bearings.”
“All right,” Marie murmured and sank sleepily into her pillow.
Suspecting he could have seen his own breath, had the light been better, Ben shivered as he felt his way down the dark hall. It had been an unseasonably cold spring, and the only heat in the hotel came from the cookstove installed in the lobby. Ben didn’t envy Marie her stay in these accommodations. Dark, cold, poor bedding and noisy youngsters. Those were the kind of conditions that could grow old fast.
Ben quickly forgot his wife’s problems as he stepped outside and felt the frosty air bite his cheeks. The sun was just beginning to come up, and against the pale golden glow in the east he could see flutters of white crystal floating earthward. He groaned and cast suppliant eyes heavenward, wondering if God was so opposed to what the white men were planning that He’d once again sent intolerable weather to hinder them.
Alone on the
street, Ben prayed. Dear God, punish me if You must, but not my wife, not my boys. If it was a mistake to settle here, the
mistake was mine, not theirs. They only
followed where I led. If there’s a price
to be paid, let me pay it——not Adam, even though he marches with me, and, dear
God, especially not these innocents who stay behind.
Ben sighed deeply and felt peace settle in his bosom. Confident his prayer had been heard and would be answered as a loving God saw fit, he turned and walked back to the room where his family slept.
Adam stirred as he came in. “Pa, is it time?” he asked anxiously.
“Just about,” Ben said softly. “You might as well get up——and dress warm, son; it’s snowing.”
Understanding the problems bad weather could create, Adam moaned. “Bad?” he asked, throwing the covers back.
“Not yet,” Ben replied. “Just enough to muddy things up.”
After an early breakfast Adam hurried down to the livery and sloshed back through the mud, leading the two horses. The rest of the family stepped outside just as he arrived to say their good-byes. Ben had scooped Little Joe up at the last minute, hopeful of keeping him, at least, out of the mud. “Good-bye, little son,” Ben whispered, poi-gnantly hugging the child close. “Be a good boy; mind Mama and brother Hoss.”
“I wanna go with you, Pa,” Little Joe lisped.
“No, you’re too small for a soldier,” Ben said and kissed the boy’s cheek before handing him to his oldest brother.
“Bye, Adam,” Little Joe said, pouting. It seemed to him that Adam always got to ride off with Pa, while he never did.
“Bye, baby.” Adam stroked the little one’s soft curls, wondering if he’d ever see him again.
“I’m not a baby,” Little Joe declared, kicking Adam’s ribs. He’d seen what a real baby looked like——and sounded like——and didn’t appreciate being put in the same category with noisy little Miss Tilton.
“Ouch!” Adam said. “You behave yourself or I’ll drop you in the mud.”
“Okay,” Little Joe said, all smiles again, and Adam had to laugh at himself for threatening a little boy with a mud puddle. Mud puddles, he remembered from his years of tending Hoss, were the natural habitat of youngsters this size.
Ben had turned next to his second son, giving him a hearty hug. “I’m counting on you to watch over Mama and your little brother, Hoss.”
Hoss squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir, Pa. I’ll look after ‘em real good. Ain’t no Paiutes gonna touch ‘em.”
“Or you, either,” Ben said. “You’re safe here, son, but it’ll be hard to stay cooped up in that hotel. Not much to do, so you help keep Little Joe amused, all right? That’ll be the biggest help you could be.”
“I brung my Noah’s Ark for him,” Hoss said.
Ben smiled. “Yeah, I know. That was a good idea. Say good-bye to your brother now, while I have a word with Mama.”
Marie came at once into his outstretched arms. “Oh, mon mari, I wish you did not have to go,” she murmured, leaning against his breast.
“I wish that, too, my love, but you know I must.”
Marie blinked back the mist in her eyes. “Oui. If it were not for the children, I would ride at your side.”
“You would not,” Ben stated firmly. “I wouldn’t allow it.”
Marie lowered her eyes in demure submission, but when she looked up again, a spark of mischief glittered in the emerald orbs. “Well, this, at least, you shall take to remember me by.” She circled his chest with her arms, lifted her lips and kissed him with lingering fervor.
A few feet away, Mrs. Tilton saw the kiss and sniffed haughtily. “Of all the unladylike displays,” she ranted, “exhibiting her lust like that on a public street. She’s no better than that Bulette woman!”
J. H. Tilton nodded, for he knew better than to argue with his strongly opinioned wife. As he watched the Cartwrights’ farewell, however, he couldn’t help wishing his own wife’s cold kiss on the cheek had held a little more of the passion he saw expressed between Ben and Marie.
Standing apart from the others was Julia Bulette, oblivious to the snowflakes, laughing and waving as the miners marched past. The civilian soldiers, many of whom had sampled the entertainment she provided for a price, blew back kisses in return and promised to defend her to the last man. When the last one passed, however, Julia walked back toward the hotel, knowing that no man could defend her from the hostility within those walls. Among men, she was in her element, but there were no men at Ft. O’Riley. God preserve me from the righteous indignation of decent women, she thought, then laughed bitterly. Since when had God taken note of the likes of her?
CHAPTER FORTY
Long Days, Restless Nights
|
L |
ittle Joe made the final pair of animals climb the ramp into Noah’s Ark, then frowned. It seemed to him that everyone at Ft. O’Riley was paired off like the animals——everyone except him. Mama and the ladies were in one corner of the lobby talking recipes and dress patterns. Hoss had found a boy nearer his own age to play with, and that left Little Joe with no one but that squalling Tilton baby, who let loose her annoying bellows at any time of the day or night she chose. Little Joe considered playing by himself better than keeping company with her, but he was not a child who liked being alone.
For a moment he considered plopping himself in Miss Eilley’s lap. Miss Eilley liked children and always seemed ready to pet and pat him, but she was busy talking lady talk now, so he probably couldn’t get a story out of her. Scanning the room for possibilities, the little boy’s sharp eyes fell on the one other person not paired off. Being alone wasn’t good, he concluded. Even Noah’s animals knew that, but there were two people sitting by themselves in this room. Little Joe decided, with his characteristic impulsiveness, to correct the situation.
The youngster ambled over to the lady seated by herself in one corner of the lobby and, putting on his most charming smile, said, “My name’s Little Joe. What’s yours?”
The woman laughed lightly. “I am Julia, petit garVon.”
Little Joe’s smile broadened. “You talk like Mama. You know any stories?”
“Perhaps,” Julia said softly, tenderly touching the golden brown curl on the boy’s forehead.
Little Joe promptly appropriated her lap. “Tell one,” he demanded and flashed his endearing smile once more. With a tinkling laugh, Julia complied.
From across the room Mrs. Tilton saw the little boy climb into the harlot’s lap, and immediately her spine stiffened. “Well, really!” she declared. The other ladies in the circle raised questioning eyes to her face. “Of course, it’s no concern of mine,” Mrs. Tilton observed haughtily, “but I certainly wouldn’t allow a child of mine to consort with that hussy.”
Though her back was to the open room, Marie knew instinctively whose child was meant. She turned and saw Little Joe cuddling up to Julia Bulette. “I am sure she means him no harm,” she said softly. “The long hours in the dark are hard on the little ones. It is kind of her to amuse him.”
“Well, really,” Mrs. Tilton huffed. “Of course, if you want him to develop a taste for her kind of amusement——”
Marie flushed deeply, and fire sparked in her eyes as she stood. “I do not, of course, wish him to disturb Mademoiselle Bulette.” With a flounce of her skirt in Mrs. Tilton’s direction, she headed across the room.
Little Joe smiled happily when he saw his mother. “Miss Julie’s telling me a story, Mama. Wanna hear it?”
Marie touched the top of his head lovingly, but her eyes turned with concern to Julia Bulette. “Is my little boy bothering you?”
“No!” Little Joe protested indignantly.
“Little Joe, do not interrupt when your elders are speaking,” his mother admonished.
Little Joe stuck out his lower lip. He’d heard that instruction before, and it seemed to him a most unfair one. Everybody was his elder, and if he couldn’t ever interrupt one, he might as well give up talking altogether.
“No, he is no bother,” Julia said quickly. “I am glad of his company, Madame.”
“But you need not sit here alone. Come join us nearer the fire,” Marie suggested.
Julia gave her a bittersweet smile. “Merci, Madame, but I do not think I would find a warm welcome there.”
Marie nodded. “May I join you then?” When Julia did not respond, she sat on the floor beside her. “Parlez-vous franVais?” Marie asked, tilting her head to examine the other woman’s face.
“Oui. Je suis de New Orleans, Madame.”
Marie’s silvery laugh rang out. “You are not French, Mademoiselle Bulette——at least, not by birth.”
Julia raised questioning eyes to her companion’s face. “But why do you say this, Madame?”
“Because I am French, Mademoiselle Julie. Vous parlez trés bien, mais l’accent”——lifting fingers to her lips, Marie giggled. “I have heard worse,” she said, thinking of Camilla Larrimore’s appalling accent, “but it is not that of a true Frenchwoman.”
Julia laughed, too, then. “I see there’s no fooling the genuine article. No, I’m English by birth, a Londoner, but I did live a long time in New Orleans, and using the language adds allure to my——uh, my——”
“Profession?” Marie suggested.
“I am sorry, Madame,” Julia said with genuine contrition. “I should not speak of that to a woman of your class——and certainly not before an innocent child.”
The “innocent child” had refrained from interrupting as long as he could. Now he pulled urgently at Julia’s sleeve. “Finish the story, please,” he urged, alternating his pleading looks between his mother and his new friend.
Marie laughed. “Perhaps you should. Then we will be able to speak in peace.”
“But, Madame,” Julia protested. “You should give thought to your reputation.”
Marie laid a gentle hand on Julia’s arm. “I, too, know what it is to feel the scorn of women, and those whose respect I value will not think less of me because I speak with you. Please finish your story.”
“Please,” Little Joe begged. Both women laughed and, giving the little boy a squeeze, Julia launched back into her tale.
Across the room Mrs. Tilton sniffed. “Gone back to her own kind, I see.”
“No, she’s a good woman, to my knowledge, and her husband is quite prominent, one of our oldest settlers,” Eilley defended. “But she’s young and evidently doesn’t understand the value of proper social connections.”
“Indeed not!” Mrs. Tilton affirmed.
* * * * *
Adam filled two tin cups with coffee and handed one to his father.
“Thanks, son,” Ben said. He took a sip and his lip curled. “Well, I’ve had better, but it’s hot.”
Squatting beside him, Adam grinned. “You could say the same for the food, Pa.”
Ben laughed. “Lost your taste for trail food, have you?”
Adam sneered eloquently. “Lost that back in ’50, coming across the plains. Too bad we couldn’t bring Hop Sing along, huh? Now, that would be good trail grub!”
Ben nodded, smiling. “We’re camped close to him tonight.” The volunteers had marched all day, cheered by citizens lining the road down Gold Canyon, and finally had set up camp at Miller’s Ranch. “Why don’t you trot over to Chinatown and suggest he sign on as cook?”
Adam took a long draught of coffee. “Not anxious to end up in the stewpot for meat, that’s why.” Tired of squatting, he finally gave up and sat down in the chilly mud. “You think this rotten weather will ever end, Pa?” All day, as they’d marched down the steep slope from Virginia City, a light snow had fallen, melting into slick, slippery mud as soon as it touched the ground.
Ben shook his head ruefully. “I’d bet against it.”
Adam looked west. “Make it hard for the others to catch up, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Ben admitted, then smiled. “Don’t worry. Billy’ll be here in time for the action. That’s a surer bet than the weather.”
Adam laughed. “Yeah, I was thinking of him. Stefán and Mark, too. They’ll all come together, don’t you think?”
“It’d make for safer travel,” Ben said, “but I’m not sure.”
“Slower travel, that’s for sure,” Adam sighed. Both with the Carson Valley Expedition and with the militia today, he’d seen how much more slowly a body of men moved than a man alone. Why, an Express rider like Billy could cover the ground they’d crossed today in a couple of hours, but with more than five hundred men marching, the twelve miles had taken the entire day.
Hearing commotion somewhere down the camp, Adam’s head jerked up. “Wonder what that is.”
Ben’s brow furrowed. “Sounds like someone’s angry.”
“I’m gonna check it out,” Adam said.
“You be careful,” Ben cautioned. “Don’t get caught in the middle of someone else’s quarrel.”
Adam stood and slapped the mud from his britches. “Sort of why we’re here, isn’t it?” He hadn’t been able to resist the jab, but the hard look his father gave him made him wish he’d kept the thought to himself. Though Adam had finally decided to join the militia, he still couldn’t help thinking that he and his father were mixing in with other men’s quarrels with the Paiutes.
He walked toward the sound of the angry voices and before long saw Colonel Hays standing between a group of settlers on one side and a company of volunteers from Sacramento on the other. “Bring it back,” Hays shouted to the volunteers. “Every last blanket, gun and animal. We’re here to protect these people, not steal from them!”
“What’s up?” Adam whispered to a man maybe three years older than himself.
“That Sacramento company’s been gatherin’ up supplies from the settlers all along the road,” the youth replied. “Settlers showed up and raised a huff about it.”
“Can’t blame them,” Adam grunted. “You don’t take a man’s goods without leave in these parts. Vigilantes have been called out for less.”
The other fellow nodded. “True enough. We might need more supplies before this is over, but most of us brought our own gear.”
Piece by piece, the Sacramento company brought rifles, pistols, food and blankets and piled them at Hays’ feet. Horses and mules, too, were led up and ropes and reins handed to the citizens of the territory. “Is that all?” Hays demanded.
“Some of the food was et already,” a Sacramento man admitted, “but what’s left is all there.”
Hays turned to the citizens’ representatives. “My apologies, gentlemen. If you’ll tell me the value of the missing food, I’ll pay for it.”
“No need,” one of the leaders replied. “We won’t begrudge them a little food. Could have had that for the asking, but when you start taking a man’s livestock and the weapons he needs to protect his family, it’s another story.”
“Yes, sir,” Hays said. “Again, you have my apologies.” He turned to the men from Sacramento. “You, sirs, have my contempt. We don’t need volunteers of your caliber. Your company is dismissed. I suggest you start back to Sacramento at first light.” The men from Sacramento erupted with loud protests.
Shaking his head, Adam walked back toward his bedroll. It seemed incongruous to him to be marching against Indians when the white men couldn’t keep peace among themselves for even one day. He agreed with Hays’ decision to dismiss the pillagers, but if the militia kept losing men at this rate, there’d be no one left to fight by the time they reached Pyramid Lake.
Ben scoffed at the concern when Adam expressed it. “We have fifteen separate companies of volunteers,” he said, “not to mention the regular army. Spy Company, Sierra Guards, Nevada Rifles, Truckee Rangers, Carson Rifles and more, not to mention our own Virginia Rifles. Oh, there’s plenty of men for an outright massacre, but I pray God that’s not what it turns out to be.”
* * * * *
Marie stepped through the front door of the hotel and took a deep breath. After the close confinement all day, the evening air was refreshingly cool on her cheeks.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a man’s voice called from across the street, “but you folks are supposed to stay inside.”
“Monsieur, s’il vous plait,” Marie implored.
A slender hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “Let me handle him,” Julia Bulette offered. Sauntering across the street, she spoke cajolingly to the miner, then motioned Marie forward. “I promised him we’d stay in sight,” she told Marie, “but we’ll stretch our legs a bit.”
“Merci,” Marie whispered. “I could not tolerate those four walls a moment longer. I do not think there is danger, do you? The Paiutes would not attack at night, would they?”
Julia laughed. “I wouldn’t know, but I figure there’s enough men between them and us that we’d get a little warning. Enough to risk a moonlight stroll, I think.” She hooked her arm through the crook of Marie’s elbow.
Marie smiled. “There is not much moon to light our path tonight.”
Julia laughed again. “Oui, that is true. Still, it’s more light than we’ve seen all day.”
Thinking of the dark hotel, Marie shook her head. “I should have listened to my husband. He wanted us to go to Carson City, where we would be among friends, but I let my fears rule my head.” She looked quickly up at Julia. “Oh, I did not mean to say you are not a friend.”
“Madame, you need not apologize,” Julia replied. “I’m not the right kind of friend for a woman like you. Surely, you’ve seen the way the others are looking at you since you started talking to me.”
Marie shrugged. “I have seen such looks before. They hurt, of course, but not so much as when I faced them alone.”
“You said something about knowing the scorn of women before,” Julia said. “In New Orleans?”
Marie nodded and began to relate the history of her first marriage to Jean D’Marigny, his mother’s plot to brand her, without justification, an adulteress and Ben’s defense of her honor in a duel beneath the oaks outside New Orleans. She was surprised to find herself speaking so freely of those painful days. Even to her closest friends, she had not disclosed the full story, sensing that it lay too far outside their experience for them to understand. With this woman, however, who had also known the contempt of decent women, she found herself opening at once.
“Ah,” Julia sighed as Marie described Ben’s proposal and their subsequent marriage, “it is the kind of fairy tale ending all women such as I yearn for.”
Marie touched her new friend’s arm gently. “There are not many like my Ben,” she said, “but perhaps for you, too, there is somewhere a handsome prince out of a fairy tale.”
Julia’s laugh was bitter. “I have met no princes in Virginia City——or elsewhere. No, Madame, I suspect my life will have a far less romantic ending.”
“Well, I shall pray you do find such a prince,” Marie vowed sincerely. “I do not know what brought you to the kind of life you now live, but I think you deserve better, mon amie. You have a kind and loving heart.”
Julia flushed with an emotion she had felt certain could no longer touch her hardened defenses. “You are too generous, Madame,” she murmured, then tossed her head as if to shake loose unwelcome thoughts. “We should return. We are straying a bit far.”
“Oui,” Marie agreed with a sigh. She and Julia turned and began retracing their steps. Neither was eager to rejoin the polite society of Ft. O’Riley. To those under its judgement, that society felt as much like a battleground as any to which the men were marching.
* * * * *
Friday was spent in camp receiving commissary stores and complaining about their quality. The next morning Ben, Adam and the other volunteers woke at daybreak and before they’d traveled a mile felt their faces pelted with a mixture of rain and sleet that slowed their progress even more than their first day’s march. After going only eight miles, they made camp near Reed’s Station. Hays refused to waste the remaining daylight, however. He sent one man, Michael Bushy, out as scout to see if there were any sign of Paiutes between there and Williams’ Station, then began to drill the other “soldiers” of the Washoe Regiment on the sagebrush flat near the Carson River.
Though he hated marching in the mud, Ben welcomed the training, both for himself and for Adam. Ben had done some fighting against other men in his years at sea, but none like what they’d face soon; Adam, of course, had no experience whatever; and while some of the other men boasted loudly, Ben suspected they were as untried as he and his son. “Frankly, I’ll rest easier when the regular army joins us,” he whispered to Adam when they broke ranks for the evening meal at the camp the men had affectionately dubbed Fort Hays after their commander-in-chief.
Adam nodded. He’d had a chance to watch the Carson Valley Expedition on their march across the mountains and hadn’t been able to ignore the difference between them and the volunteers struggling to act like soldiers here. The sooner they had trained men among them to lead the way, the better.
* * * * *
Sitting on her straw mattress in their cubicle at the hotel, Marie rocked Little Joe to soothe him back to sleep. The drumming of raindrops and pellets of sleet on the roof had kept everyone on edge throughout the day and made impossible the youngster’s regular nap. As she crooned a soft lullaby, Marie found her thoughts straying to Ben and Adam, who had no shelter from this icy downpour. “God keep them,” she prayed in her heart, “from the Paiutes and from catching their deaths of cold in this dampness.”
* * * * *
Adam dragged his hand across his nose. The rain had finally stopped sometime during the night, but the wind was still so cold, so laden with moisture, that it made his eyes water and his nose drip. Looking across at his father, he saw Ben, too, bring his hand to his nose. To pass the time and keep his mind off other worries, Adam began to count men wiping their noses. He and Pa weren’t alone; in fact, most of the men seemed to be suffering the same symptoms.
A dripping nose was nothing to complain about, however, not when one considered the likely fate of Michael Bushy. The scout hadn’t returned to Camp Hays and the further the volunteers rode, the less likely it seemed that they’d run across anything but a dead body. Hays had sent out Warren Wasson as their new scout, and Adam didn’t envy the man his job. Riding alone into hostile country was a good way to demonstrate your bravery; it was also a good way to get yourself killed, as Michael Bushy evidently had. By the time they made camp that evening, they’d still seen no trace of the scout.
The Washoe Regiment broke camp before dawn the next morning. It wasn’t raining, but the air was cold and damp. Eyes still watered, noses still ran, and misery prevailed as the men marched through Carson Canyon, barren bluffs above them and stands of cottonwood, aspen and willow at their sides.
The forces kept up a steady march throughout the day, pressing on even after the sun began to set. As they moved past Buckland’s Station, Ben remembered watching Clyde and Nelly sadly embrace each other there, grieving over the son they were sure they’d lost. Fear gripped his heart as he thought that he might be the one straining his eyes for sight of a son this time. He’d have to keep an eye out for Billy, too, since Clyde was still too hampered by his shoulder injury to ride with the Carson Rifles this time. Then there were Stefán and Mark, sons of dear friends. All in all, there were just too many people to fear for on this expedition, and in the midst of a battle a man had little control over any of their fates. As they crossed Big Meadows and forded the Carson River, Ben did the only thing he knew that would help: he commended the lives of all his friends and loved ones into the hands of God.
Thinking of the young men made Ben’s turn in the saddle almost automatic, but he hadn’t expected to see anything. In the distance, however, another group of men was moving toward them. “Looks like we’ll have company by nightfall,” he commented to Adam, riding at his side.
Adam immediately swiveled in his saddle. “Yeah, if they push they can catch us,” he said with satisfaction.
Within an hour Billy Thomas, riding ahead, loped up to his friend’s side. “Howdy,” he drawled. “Bet you thought we’d never get here.”
“No, I’ve never been that lucky,” Adam quipped, then laughed at the look on Billy’s face. “I’m glad to see you, you know that. Where’s the rest and who gave you permission to break ranks?”
“Aw, they’ll be comin’ along——Carson Rifles, that is,” Billy said. “Regular military’s movin’ too slow to catch up today. Tomorrow, maybe. Stefán stayed with them, and Mark, of course. I’m supposed to talk to your commander, see where you aim to make camp.”
“I’m pretty sure we’ll be camping at Williams’ Station,” Ben said, “but you’d better check with Colonel Hays. He’s up ahead.”
“See you later then,” Billy said and urged his horse forward.
The Washoe Regiment, with the Carson Rifles constantly gaining ground, climbed a plateau and saw there the remains of Williams’ Station, the blackened buildings and the grave dug by Major Ormsby’s men before that first battle at Pyramid Lake. At the grave’s head someone had carved a rough pine board with these words: “Sacred to the remains of the persons murdered on the night of May 7th, 1860, at Williams’ Station, on the Carson River. It being the partial remains of three bodies.”
As camp was being made, Colonel Hays called the names of two trusted men. He ordered Captain Fleeson of Spy Company to select ten of the best men and ride two or three miles ahead to establish a camp to serve as a warning base. Then he sent a message back to Captain Blackburn of the Carson Rifles to take two men, locate the Paiutes and try to lure them to the main camp in the morning.
Over hot coffee, Billy boasted to Ben and Adam about being chosen for the mission. “Blackburn knows I got experience scoutin’,” he bragged, “and bein’ a rider for the Pony Express, I can ride fast if them injuns does come after us.”
Ben reached over to rumple the boy’s flame-colored hair. “If he knew you as well as we do, he’d put you at the back, guarding the cattle.” Not knowing how long they’d be gone, the volunteers had brought their four-footed commissary with them.
“Naw,” Adam drawled. “Too much chance of the whole regiment going hungry that way. It’s safer sending him ahead. That way he only gets his own fool head blown off. Must be what Blackburn was thinking.”
“You’re just jealous,” Billy taunted.
“No, I’m not,” Adam said, suddenly sober. “You be careful. Remember Michael Bushy.”
“Aw, he probably just high-tailed it,” Billy scoffed, but it was obvious to anyone who saw his face that he didn’t believe his own words.
When Billy rode out the next morning, huge thunderheads loomed over the Sierras and the wind off the mountains sent chills down his back. “Doggone weather ain’t no better than last time,” he muttered as he set off with J. L. Blackburn and one other man. “Least it ain’t rainin’——yet.”
* * * * *
Little Joe peeked into the cradle and nodded with satisfaction at the sleeping baby.
“Don’t bother her, child,” Mrs. Tilton said sharply.
Unperturbed, Little Joe smiled at the woman. “I wouldn’t wake her up,” he assured Virginia’s mother. “I like her better when she’s sleepin’.”
Marie, who was taking the noon meal with the main group of ladies, steeled herself for an icy retort from Mrs. Tilton. Instead, a smile twitched at the older woman’s mouth. “Some might say the same of you,” she teased the three-year-old boy. Even she couldn’t resist Little Joe’s disarming charm. Marie relaxed as the other ladies tittered.
Hoss, polishing off his second plate of stew, threw back his head and guffawed loudly. “They do say the same about him,” he announced. “Uncle Clyde says the only time he’s good is when he’s asleep and not havin’ bad dreams.”
The ladies laughed louder this time. Across the room Julia Bulette looked up from her solitary plate of stew. She could hear the laughter, but not the remarks that inspired it.
“He says it about you, too,” Marie teased.
“I suppose we all be at our best when we’re dreaming,” Eilley Bowers giggled.
“My dreams are all nightmares lately,” one of the other ladies sighed, and almost everyone responded with commiserating murmurs.
“I go to sleep praying,” Marie whispered. “It helps.”
“Aye, I do that, too,” Eilley offered.
“I’ll try that,” the other woman said. “Can’t hurt.”
“Indeed not,” Mrs. Tilton said didactically. “The Lord is an ever-present help in time of trouble.”
Marie smiled at her. Truth was truth, from whatever vessel it poured.
* * * * *
Billy glanced toward the mountains. Dark clouds still hung over the tops, but they weren’t moving eastward. In fact, judging by the gray lines slanting earthward, they were dumping their load somewhere near Lake Tahoe. Good, Billy concluded. If it had to rain, the lake was as good a place as any for the water, definitely better than on the heads of men marching into battle. He pulled his attention back to the road ahead. Neither he nor the other two members of Blackburn’s scouting party had seen any sign of Indians so far, but Billy knew from recent experience that Paiutes could pop up when least expected. It was no time for cloud-gazing.
He and the other two men took turns in the lead, riding single file to make themselves less visible. Billy was riding second when Blackburn suddenly reined up. “Down there,” he hissed, pointing.
Billy rode up beside the captain, the third man close behind. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “Well, if we’re gonna lure ‘em back to the main camp, we might as well let ‘em see us.”
“Right,” Captain Blackburn said. “As soon as I give the word, you two head back, fast as you can. Warn the advance camp and get word to Colonel Hays.”
The three men moved along the trail, watching the Paiutes’ actions carefully. The Indians had posted lookouts, so they soon saw the three men and raised the alarm. As the warriors ran for their horses, Blackburn yelled, “Ride!” and the two younger men spurred their horses back down the trail. Blackburn held back a few moments to make sure the Paiutes were following, then galloped after the others.
With a hundred yowling Paiutes close behind, the scouts approached Captain Fleeson’s advance camp. In the lead, Billy hollered, “Paiutes!” and charged past, determined to be the first to reach Colonel Hays. Fleeson’s men threw saddles on their horses. Most barely had time to mount before the Indians were on them. They galloped across Big Meadows for the cover of cottonwoods and aspens along the river, hoping they could hold off the Paiutes until the main body was alerted. Each man had but two rounds of cartridges, so they would only be able to resist attack for ten to fifteen minutes.
Colonel Hays and Major Hungerford, the Washoe Regiment’s two main commanders, were together when Billy charged into camp to report the Paiutes’ position. Hungerford acted quickly, sending some his Downieville Sierra Guards to relieve the advance party and stop the Indians along the sand ridges beside the river. In a short, indecisive battle, one white man was wounded, as well as a few Paiutes, and both sides retreated.
Hays and Hungerford ordered their men to regroup back near the Big Bend of the Carson. When the forces seemed in order, Hays sent a small party, which included Ben, forward to lure the Paiutes into the open. The Paiutes evidently had developed the same strategy, for a few of them showed themselves. Each advance party waited on the other to act, but neither did. Sensing their opponents were prepared this time, the Indians retreated into the hills, and the white men galloped back to report to Colonel Hays.
Hays lined the infantry between and behind the cavalry, which included both Cartwrights, as well as Billy Thomas. Ben lined up in position and anxiously scanned the forces behind him. When he finally spotted Adam and Billy, he smiled. Being in two separate companies, they weren’t together, of course, but so close Ben knew they’d planned their positions. Adam was in the last line of cavalrymen from Company K, and Billy at the head of Company L. Not that any position was safe in a battle, but Ben was glad his untried son would not, at least, be in the forefront of the conflict.
Hays was now addressing the men on foot. “You infantrymen hold your position unless we’re attacked,” the ex-Texas Ranger ordered. “Then come out at the last minute.” He rode down the line to Major Hungerford’s position. “Hungerford, have your men placed where they can move left or right easily. We’ll count on you to protect our flanks.”
“They will be protected, sir,” Hungerford replied with authority and dignity. He still chafed at being compelled to yield command to the other man, but, knowing lives depended on instant obedience to the leader’s orders, he would brook no insubordination——in either himself or the old friends under his command.
Slowly the assembled troops moved forward. On the first sand hill overlooking Big Meadows, they encountered the Indians, but fought only a brief skirmish before the Paiutes, having lost seven men, again retreated. Three white men had been wounded, but the only casualty was one of Captain Blackburn’s horses.
Late that afternoon Captain Joseph Stewart arrived with two hundred and twelve army regulars and set up camp two miles from the five hundred and ninety volunteers of the Washoe Regiment, three hundred of whom were mounted as cavalry. After the evening meal Adam and Billy walked over to the army camp to see Mark and Stefán and hurried back to tell Ben that the body of the fourth victim at Williams’ Station had finally been found and identified as James S. Herring of Virginia City. The name meant nothing to Ben, but he was glad, for the sake of whatever friends and family the man had, that he wouldn’t have to lie in an unmarked grave.
* * * * *
Little Joe took deliberate aim and struck his brother’s broad forehead with a wooden elephant.
“Ouch!” Hoss yelped. “You dad-blamed nuisance! What’d you do that for?”
“You’re mean!” Little Joe yelled, tossing the elephant’s mate, which hit Hoss in the ear.
With a large paw Hoss pushed the little boy’s shoulder, and Little Joe toppled over, screaming. He came up kicking and clawing, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Marie came running over to separate the two boys. “Hoss, what are you doing?” she snapped, pulling him off Little Joe.
“Me?” Hoss protested, then pointed an accusing finger at his little brother. “He hit me in the head with two elephants!”
Marie gave the younger boy a reproachful look. “That is not a nice way to play, Little Joe.”
Little Joe’s lower lip pushed out. “He won’t play with me at all!” he whined.
“Oui, I know,” his mother said, brushing his curly hair with a soft touch. “Go and ask Miss Julia if she will tell you another story, mon petit.”
When the red-faced three-year-old ambled over to Julia Bulette, Marie turned a stern face on Hoss. “I am most disappointed in you, mon chéri.”
“But he’s the one——”
“No,” Marie interrupted sharply. “He is not the one who made promises to your father. You said that you would help to amuse your little brother, Hoss, but once you found an older friend to play with, you left Little Joe to play alone, and there is no one his size here.”
Hoss hung his head, knowing the accusation was true. He had made Pa a promise and he hadn’t kept it. “I’m sorry, Mama,” he said. “I’ll play with him more.”
Marie gave him a hug and kiss. “Thank you, Hoss. I know it is hard for you, being shut up in this dark place, but you must remember that Little Joe is not a big boy like you. You can understand why we are here; he does not.”
“I wish we could go outside,” Hoss muttered.
Marie smiled weakly. No one wished more than she and the other mothers that they could let the children play outside. The rain and snow had transformed the streets into mires of mud, however, and they had no good way to bathe the youngsters if they got that dirty. Besides, the air was cold, and the one thing calculated to make the children crankier than they already were was a set of stuffed-up noses. “I’m sorry, Hoss,” she said finally. “You know that is impossible, but please be kinder to your little brother. He, too, longs to leave this place.”
“I’ll be better, Mama,” Hoss assured her and earned another kiss.
* * * * *
For both the Washoe Regiment and the Carson Valley Expedition Wednesday, May 30, was a day of preparation. Other than those stationed on guard duty, the enlisted men and volunteers did nothing but make their weapons battle-ready and rest in anticipation of action on the following day. The leaders, on the other hand, had no time for relaxation as they met in counsel to plan the strategy of the campaign.
Although representing the United States Army, Captain Joseph Stewart agreed that only one man should be in command and stepped aside to allow Hays, the leader in whom the volunteers had greatest confidence, to take the lead. After talking over their options, Hays, Hungerford and Stewart determined to move forward the next day in an orderly manner, intended to impress the savages with their strength in number.
First, Colonel Hays would lead out with fifteen men of Spy Company No. 2 from Virginia City. The cavalry would form one or two miles behind them, followed by the Washoe Regiment infantry. In the center, in a protected position would be the drovers with fifty head of cattle and thirty supply wagons. Behind the supply wagons the main body of the regular army would march and after them the remaining volunteers. At the end of the line would be a rear guard of fifty men.
When the news filtered down to the men themselves, Ben found himself impressed by the orderliness of the plan and thanked God again that experienced men were in charge. Billy and Adam, who’d been over to visit their friends at the army encampment again, told Ben that Stefán would be among the drovers herding the cattle. “Best place for him,” Ben commented. “He’s a good hand with cattle, but I’m not sure he’s had much experience with a rifle.”
“He’ll be safe enough——the rest of us, too,” Billy Thomas commented over a final cup of coffee before retiring. “Ain’t gonna be like last time. These fellers know what they’re doin’; they’re not just marchin’ in like they own the place and expectin’ the injuns to say, ‘Why, come on in and set awhile, folks.’”
Adam laughed. “Is that what you did last time, Billy?”
Billy shuddered. “Ran around like chickens with our heads cut off. No idea which way to go. Thank your lucky stars, boy, that you weren’t there.”
“Quit calling me a boy,” Adam said with a scowl.
Before Billy could respond, Ben spoke up. “Both of you boys better turn in or you’ll be so sleepy you’ll still run around like chickens with your heads cut off, in spite of our fine leadership.”
Both young men laughed and nodded their agreement. Along with the rest of the troops, they soon rolled up in their blankets and were asleep before the fires died down and stars provided the only light..
The volunteers woke the next morning to a slate-gray sky with still darker clouds looming to the west. As they broke camp and began marching in a line that stretched three miles or more, the main topic of conversation was the weather, not the possibility of engaging the Paiutes. The most frequently expressed opinion was that the weather would slow their progress so much that they wouldn’t have to face that encounter today.
The rumors proved true, for by four o’clock that afternoon, the column had only reached the Big Bend of the Truckee. As the sky had grown steadily darker throughout the day, there was no point in going further. Men scurried around, trying to set up camp before the gray billows loosed the inevitable rain, but no one had managed to start a fire before zigzags of lightning streaked earthward and thunder boomed in their ears.
For a few minutes the rainfall was light, but it steadily grew heavier amid deafening cracks of thunder. “It’s gonna be a real blow!” Ben shouted at Adam.
Beneath a dripping hat, Adam nodded grimly. Raising his face to the sky, he felt the icy drops pelt his face and quickly turned his gaze downward to the deepening mud. He shook his head. The way the camp was filling up with water, they’d be lucky if they didn’t have to stretch their bedrolls in a virtual lake. Obviously, too, they’d be eating a cold supper and sleeping without benefit of a fire. The schoolmates who’d envied his opportunity to taste the glories of combat should get a look at this, Adam thought. It would cure them forever of a romantic outlook on war.
It rained all night and was still raining Friday morning. Although there was no point in advancing the entire body, Warren Wasson and a few volunteers headed for the southwest pass to Pyramid Lake to make certain the Paiutes didn’t circle back and approach them from the rear.
* * * * *
“I wanna go outside!” Little Joe whimpered petulantly.
“No, mon petit,” his mother sighed wearily, for she’d answered that fretful cry more times than she cared to remember. “It is still raining.”
“Come on, Little Joe,” Hoss said, reaching for the younger boy’s hand. “Let’s play with Noah’s Ark.”
“No!” Little Joe declared vehemently, pulling away. “Don’t want any games about rain!”
“Okay, we’ll play the rain’s all over and the animals can get off the boat and run around,” Hoss said. “Come on, Punkin.”
Little Joe was still pouting, but he took his brother’s hand and allowed himself to be led off. Marie smiled and nodded her appreciation at Hoss.
* * * * *
Not until three o’clock that afternoon did the rest of the troops start toward Pyramid Lake. Following the same trail as the earlier expedition against the Paiutes, they moved down from the ridge into the flat land beside the Truckee River. They moved slowly, though. No horse could take more than a few steps before bogging down in the slushy ground, and most of the men gave up trying to ride and dismounted to clomp through the mud, leading their animals. Icy blasts swooped through the river canyon and storm clouds again darkened the sky. After going only seven or eight miles toward Pyramid Lake, the order came to make camp. However, no sooner had the site been chosen, in a boggy meadow beside the river, than the rain began again.
The foot scouts returned and reported sighting only a few Indians, scouts like themselves, and apparently in retreat. They also told of finding three more bodies from William Ormsby’s volunteers. Captain Edward Farris Storey, leader of the Virginia Rifles, agreed to ride out to identify the dead and retrieve their bodies.
“I’ll go with you,” Silas Fletcher, one of the volunteers in Storey’s command, offered. As he unstacked a load of weapons to get his own rifle, however, his hand slipped on the damp stock of his gun. Before Fletcher could catch the weapon, it struck a rock and discharged, sending a ball through his throat.
Waves of shock rippled through the command. They’d all known death was possible on this mission, but the sudden, unexpected nature of Fletcher’s demise hit hard. Captain Storey seemed to recover quickest, for he still felt a responsibility to those dead men lying outside the camp. Not wanting to see the leader go alone, Ben stepped quietly to his side and offered to accompany him. Storey noted the rifle held steadily in Ben’s hand and nodded.
Together they rode to the spot described by the scouts and viewed the remains of the three white men, a sight so grisly Ben knew he’d never forget it. Though none of the three had been scalped, each was stripped naked; each man’s throat was savagely cut and his private parts mutilated. One man’s body showed still more ghastly desecration, for he was cut open from neck to hips along the spine. A circular path had been beaten into the earth surrounding the bodies, as if the Paiutes had held a victory dance around them. Ben suddenly remembered the prancing silhouettes around distant signal fires, visible as far away as the Ponderosa, and felt certain it was the jubilation over these men’s deaths he’d seen that night.
“Do you recognize any of them, sir?” he asked Storey.
Storey nodded grimly. “All of them.” He pointed first to the most mutilated corpse, then to the others. “Charles McCloud, James McCarthy, Abe Elliott. Good, brave men; they deserved better.”
“Yes, sir,” Ben agreed softly. “They deserve and shall receive a decent burial.”
“A burial with honors,” Storey said, head held high. “That’s why we’re here, Cartwright. Load their remains carefully.”
“Yes, sir.” Ben placed the bodies of McCarthy and Elliott on his bay and led the horse, while Captain Storey, with a touch as tender as a mother’s, held the remains of Charles McCloud in his arms as he rode back to camp. It was dark when they returned, so there was no time to bury the men that night. The bodies were laid side by side and covered reverently. They looked no different from the hundreds lying about them, huddled in their blankets, except that these three blankets didn’t rise and sink with the breath of life. Nor did the bodies beneath them tremble with fear of the coming day, the day on which a battle whose stakes were nothing less than life or death would finally be joined.
* * * * *
Marie held the tears back until Hoss and Little Joe’s even breathing told her they were asleep. Then her cheeks grew damp with descending drops. The earlier conflict at Pyramid Lake had been over in less than a week, but Ben had been gone eight days now, eight days without word of any kind. The other ladies insisted that no news was good news, that no matter how the battle had gone, some survivors would have reached town if it were over. Marie acknowledged the logic of their reasoning, but logic couldn’t still the pounding of her heart. Lips trembling, she made the sign of the cross over her breast, seeking comfort in the only Power that could.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Battle of Pinnacle Mount
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B |
en glanced at the bedroll to his right and smiled at the steady rise and fall of the blanketed figure of his son. Adam was sleeping the sleep of youth, seemingly not even disturbed by the steady downpour that had deluged them throughout the night, but Ben was ready to give up the futile attempt at rest. Though the sky was still obsidian, he threw off his soggy blanket and trudged through mud toward the bank of the river, concern for whose continuing rise had troubled his sleep.
Staring at the churning current, Ben shook his head glumly. If the rain didn’t stop soon, the entire camp would float away, for the Truckee was almost ready to overflow its banks. The sun was just peaking over the mountains to the east when he started back to his campsite to wake Adam and tell him to get his gear together in case the river spilled over. He never delivered the message, however, for before he reached his son, the heavy rain slackened to a light drizzle, and by the time the sun had risen, stopped.
While the men, volunteers and military alike, wrung streams of muddy water from their blankets and spread them to dry, the officers met in conference to determine the course of the day. First on their agenda was the burial of the dead. Silas Fletcher, they all agreed, should be buried with military honors, for he had died in the line of duty as surely as any who might meet their demise in the attack on the Paiutes planned for later that day. To facilitate that attack, it was decided that a party would be sent out to determine the location of the Paiutes and the number of their forces.
An eighty-man detail was formed, forty each from the companies of Captains Van Hagan and Storey. Billy Thomas chafed because both Ben and Adam were chosen, while he had to stay behind, away from the action. “Everybody knows the Carson Rifles is the best outfit in this whole blamed militia,” he grumbled, “and we’re left out entire.”
“You’ve done your share,” Ben pointed out. “Don’t be so eager to seek out danger, boy. More than enough to go around this day.”
“Yeah,” Billy muttered, kicking at the treacherous mud underfoot. “Just don’t go seekin’ any out yourself.” He turned to Adam, who was tightening the cinch on his mare. “Keep an eye on the old man, if you can, boy.”
“Old man, indeed!” Ben hooted.
“Boy, indeed!” Adam added, giving Billy a wink as he said it. The two young friends clasped hands.
“Take care,” Billy said, just above a whisper.
“You, too,” Adam returned. “You’ll be in this before the day’s out——boy.”
Billy swatted Adam’s backside with his limp felt hat and watched the two Cartwrights ride out before returning to his own unit. It was just before noon. Like the others left behind, Billy ate a cold meal of hardtack and jerky, then began to clean his gun, as ordered. Some of the greener recruits decided to clean their weapons by firing them and earned themselves an extra turn at guard duty for their careless noise-making. Billy had no sympathy to spare for such foolishness, especially when it might alert the Paiutes and endanger the lives of his friends.
Ben and Adam rode side by side, but while they had always enjoyed times together under an open sky, there was nothing to enjoy about this grim, body-strewn trail with buzzards circling overhead, swooping to the feast provided by Major Ormsby’s luckless men. The bodies were unrecognizable, for the carrion creatures had plucked out tender eyeballs and torn the flesh from mutilated faces.
Seeing a buzzard lift a delicate entrail from the stomach cavity of one poor wretch, Adam felt the acidic residue of his breakfast heave into his throat and turned away. There was no turning from the awful stench of rotting flesh, however, and more than one citizen soldier leaned across his horse’s neck to retch in the dirt.
As the combined forces of Van Hagen and Storey reached the point where the trail led abruptly into bottomland, they halted. After a brief consultation, some men were dispatched into the valley, while the remaining force remained on the higher ground.
Unlike most of the men riding with the valley contingent, Ben and Adam were familiar with this terrain, for they’d traveled it many times on visits to Pyramid Lake. For Ben, particularly, the journey was painful, for while he did not consider himself the Paiutes’ enemy, he knew he would more than likely kill some of them before the day ended. And each rotting carcass he passed reminded him that men he counted friends, both white and red, might well provide the next feast for the scavengers of the sage.
Pyramid Lake came into view just past two o’clock, but the Paiute camp there seemed abandoned and quiet——too quiet, Ben thought, remembering all the times he’d ridden in to the yipping of dogs and the shouts of children at play. The only sound here was the nervous neighing of their own horses, spooked by buzzards swooping too close for equine comfort——or for that of man.
As the white men rode closer, they could see about a dozen men squatting in the sand before their karnees. When the Paiutes stood, however, they had rifles in their hands——and they weren’t alone. Like a mirage coming to life, warriors appeared from the surrounding sand, and from a deep ravine at the rear of the camp three hundred mounted braves charged forward in a pointed wedge as professional looking as that of any well-drilled cavalry. Three hundred more were running up the valley on foot to attack the white men.
“Retreat at trot march,” Storey ordered briskly. “Keep ranks and do not fire unless ordered.”
The men wheeled their horses and urged them to a trot, but some, Adam among them, couldn’t resist looking over their shoulders at the oncoming force. “Watch where you’re going,” Ben hissed, and Adam, embarrassed as a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, jerked back to the front. There was no need to look behind anyway; the increasing volume of the Paiutes’ war whoops told him the Indians were gaining ground fast.
As the civilian soldiers approached the steep, narrow path to the plateau, rifle balls began whistling in their ears. Taken by surprise, Adam again looked to the rear. “They aren’t that close yet, are they?” he yelled to his father, puzzlement stamped on his young face. From years of hunting, he had a good idea of how far a rifle ball could carry.
“Long-range rifle,” Ben hollered back. “Probably took it off one of Ormsby’s men. Ride, boy!”
At the foot of the pass, Captain Storey turned to face the approaching enemy and provide cover for his men’s withdrawal. Motioning Adam on, Ben wheeled and raised his rifle to help Storey. Adam resented being sent ahead like a small child, but years of ready obedience to his father’s orders had formed a habit he didn’t break in that moment of urgency. He charged up the plateau, one of the first men to reach the upper ground, where he stopped to train a rifle on the force streaming toward his father. Since Adam didn’t possess a long-range rifle, the Indians were still too far away to hit, but, orders or no orders, he intended to hold that position until he saw his father head for safety. If worse came to worst, his rifle’s range was likely to be the least of his problems.
Along with the others who’d remained at Captain Storey’s side, Ben rained rapid rifle fire at the galloping Paiutes, but it soon became obvious that their small force could not hold back the wave of warriors. “Cease fire!” Storey commanded. “Get through the pass and back to the regiment. Retreat!”
The order was instantly obeyed. As quickly as the terrain allowed, the men inched up the narrow path, their progress as bottle-necked as that of Ormsby’s men had been——and their trail as dangerous. From the ledge above them, known as Pinnacle Rock, Paiute gunmen showered the path of retreat with bullets, concentrating their fire on the horses. Rider after rider spilled to the ground and was picked up to ride double with another man.
Adam waited until his father had almost reached the top of the pass before mounting himself. Seeing Ben scowl at him in passing, Adam knew he’d catch an earful when they were finally back in camp, but he didn’t care. Pa could be as mad as he liked once they were both safe.
Suddenly, the boy’s horse screamed and reared wildly, her hip pierced by a bullet. Adam tried to hang on, but he felt himself fly through the air, felt his face scrape the sandy gravel at the side of the trail. “Pa!” he called instinctively, not really expecting Ben to hear him.
Whether by auditory acuity or parental instinct, Ben turned and saw Adam’s horse bolt past him. Acting from a terror he’d never known before, Ben forced his own mount back against the flow of retreating men to where Adam was struggling to regain his feet. Holding the reins with one hand, Ben reached for Adam with the other. Adam clasped the outstretched palm and swung up on the rump of Ben’s horse.
Ben gave his horse’s flanks a fierce kick. The bay bucked once, then took off, with Adam holding for dear life to his father’s waist. Along with the rest of Storey’s men, they crossed the rough, gullied land beside the Truckee River and had almost reached the previous night’s camp when they saw Colonel Hays and two hundred cavalrymen coming to their rescue.
“Halt!” Captain Storey shouted. “Form a line and prepare to face the enemy.”
Adam slid off the back of Ben’s horse and Ben dismounted, immediately reaching for his son. “Adam, you’re hit!” he cried.
“No,” Adam protested.
Then Ben laughed abruptly, brushing away the tiny red rivulet trickling down Adam’s smooth cheek. “It’s just a cut.”
Adam grinned at his red-tipped fingers as he quickly repeated his father’s motions. “I hit that gravel pretty hard,” he admitted. But there was no time for further conversation. Father and son ran to join the line forming to face the onrushing Paiutes.
Colonel Hays, who had ridden ahead with the cavalry units to rescue the advance party, arrived, and, taking heart from the reinforcements, Van Hagen’s men and Captain Storey’s Virginia Rifles riddled the Indians with a barrage of bullets. Seeing themselves outnumbered, the Paiutes disappeared into the scrub cover under the cottonwoods by the river and into a ravine formed by one of its previous courses.
The commanders took advantage of the brief respite to relay the battle plan they had determined before leaving Ft. Storey that afternoon. Colonel Hays ordered his men to form a walking line of riflemen, while the infantry under Captain Stewart joined them to form one continuous line a mile long. Captain Flint of the Sixth Infantry had the challenge of leading the artillery to the high, rocky ridge above the battlefield and positioning the howitzers to fire down upon the Indians. Major Hungerford was in charge of the rear guard, which would either protect the path of retreat or advance, according to how the battle went.
The cavalry was ordered to the front and told to dismount and advance on foot, every fifth or sixth man holding the horses. Adam no longer had a horse, but Ben set out with the other mounted troops, firing as he went. The Indians returned fire, but now they were the ones forced to retreat, falling back into the next ravine formed by the river’s ever-changing course.
Bullets continued to pour from Pinnacle Mount, where three-quarters of the way up the mountain a round, rocky butte rose two hundred feet high, a perfect shelter for the Indians firing from above. “We’ve got to secure that position,” Captain Storey told Colonel Hays. “Van Hagen and I will accept that responsibility.” When Colonel Hays nodded crisply, Storey hurried back and began designating men to make the assault on Rocky Butte. He chose mostly young, agile men, especially those who had lost their mounts in the previous engagement. Adam’s name was called, and he fell in beside Andrew Hasey, a young volunteer with whom he had become acquainted in camp.
As they ran up the steep side of that mountain, however, Hasey, previously noted for his fleetness, uncharacteristically began to fall behind. “What’s wrong?” Adam called back.
“Go on!” Hasey yelled, waving Adam away.
Adam rushed back, bending anxiously over his friend of short, but respected, acquaintance. “What is it?” he asked again.
“Got shot in the hip back before Hays’ men got here,” Hasey panted. “Figured I could keep goin’, but I reckon I lost too much blood.” As a bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock, he pushed Adam away. “Go on; get the job done.”
Glancing quickly around, Adam spotted a nearby boulder just large enough to shelter a man. “Come on,” he ordered, throwing Hasey’s arm over his shoulder and lifting him up. Practically dragging the wounded man, Adam pushed him behind the rock, then said, “Cover me,” as he ran to rejoin the main assault force. Hasey pulled himself painfully erect and let loose a barrage of bullets over the boulder at the Indians firing down on the gallant forces of Captains Storey and Van Hagen.
Amidst harassing fire from above and flank fire from the river, the young men gained the rocky butte and held it while the cavalry and infantry advanced in the valley below. From his position at the butte, Adam had a perfect view of the battle, but, try as he might, he couldn’t spot his father. He recognized Ben’s bay at one point, but the man leading it and four other horses was too short to be Ben Cartwright.
The smoke of firing weapons and the dust thrown into the air when cannonballs hit the sandy soil obscured Adam’s sight as the battle grew fiercer, but the signs of panic were easy to recognize: men firing recklessly in all directions, running around, as Billy had said, like chickens with their heads cut off. Others, excited to distraction when one of their bullets felled a Paiute, stopped their advance in the midst of the battle to scalp the Indian. Adam watched, horrified, as one man tied a hank of black, braided hair to his belt and paid for his trophy with his life.
For Ben, below, the battle was an inch-by-inch struggle, for the Paiutes were no sooner driven from one ravine than they retreated and reformed in the next water-cut gully to the north. Ben didn’t have time to count, of course, but he estimated that the Paiutes had lost about seventy warriors. White losses were fewer, but another of Storey’s privates marching next to Ben fell with a rifle ball through his head. As Ben bent to help his comrade, he quickly saw that the young man was beyond help, for a clump of his brains the size of a hen’s egg was protruding from the broken fragments of his skull. Ben left the boy where he lay and marched on.
The late afternoon sun broke through the clouds, its light so glaring, the troops were momentarily blinded. When his eyes adjusted, Adam again peered down at the battle below. He caught a glint of sunshine flashing off a thatch of red hair and grinned. Billy’d lost his hat, but seemed undamaged otherwise and was progressing steadily forward, ignoring the bodies that fell to concentrate on the danger ahead. Then, as another volley of rifle fire sent a shower of gravel onto his head, Adam ducked, raised his rifle and turned his attention back to dangers of his own.
The battle had been going on for three hours when the Paiutes were forced from the last ravine. The white men gave chase, for the sunlight was fading fast, and darkness would favor the Indians’ retreat as it had that of Ormsby’s men after the previous battle. The final skirmish proved a costly one, however, for Captain Storey, revered by the men of his command, took a bullet through the lungs and fell back into the arms of some of his men, but refused to leave the field of battle until the fighting ended.
Several members of the Virginia Rifles vied with one another for the opportunity to serve their fallen leader. One man rushed to the river to bring back water in his hat. Another wiped the blood running from Storey’s mouth with a grimy handkerchief, while still another screened the wounded man from the glare of the setting sun.
Finally, a man rushed forward, triumphantly holding out a bloody scalp. “Look, Captain, look!” the man announced. “Here’s the injun that shot you; three of us killed him.”
Weak from loss of blood, his breathing ragged, Storey looked with revulsion at the dripping hair. “Take it away,” he murmured. “Why should I want to see it? Tell me about the Rifles. How are my men faring?”
The Virginia Rifles were at that moment retiring from the field of battle. The Paiutes had retreated north, under cover of growing darkness, and the white men let them go. Colonel Hays and Major Hungerford rode to the place where Storey lay, each removing his hat. Hayes ordered Storey and the other wounded carried back to Ft. Storey..
One by one the other men returned and began to search the camp for friends or family they’d lost track of in the battle. Ben was one of the men who carried Captain Storey to the area designated for the wounded, and as soon as he had the commander settled comfortably, he began to search the torn bodies around him. There was no sign of Adam, but Mark Wentworth was one of the four Army regulars wounded.
“Mark, boy,” Ben said, kneeling beside the young soldier. “Are you hit bad?”
Rubbing his bandaged left thigh, Mark grunted. “Burns like fire, but the surgeon says it’s just a flesh wound.”
“Have you seen Adam——or Billy or Stefán?”
Mark shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Cartwright. I haven’t seen any of them since morning.”
Ben clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Well, you rest easy, young fellow. I’m sure your friends are just fine. We didn’t lose many men.” As he turned away, however, Ben couldn’t help thinking that it didn’t require the loss of many men for one of them to be someone whose life meant more to him than his own.
Adam had stayed to help Andrew Hasey down the side of the mountain. His hip joint shattered, Hasey could barely walk, so they were among the last men to stumble in. Just as they entered the camp, Adam heard his name called.
“Looks like you could use a hand, ole buddy,” Billy Thomas drawled, laying Hasey’s free arm across his shoulder.
“I sure could,” Adam said. He’d pushed himself to keep going, not wanting Hasey to know how exhausted he was. “You seen my Pa?” he asked anxiously.
“Sorry, no,” Billy replied, pulling as much of Hasey’s weight as possible toward himself. “Saw Stefán. He was in the rear guard, didn’t see much action at all.”
Adam grimaced, wishing the same could be said of him. That one afternoon had shown him enough fighting to last a lifetime——and no knowing yet whether the whole bloody business would have to be repeated the next day.
As he and Billy reached the area established for the wounded, a hand reached to ease Hasey to the ground. His attention on his injured friend, Adam didn’t recognize that hand until it grasped his arm, and he looked up into the glowing eyes of his father. “Pa!” he cried and fell against Ben’s shoulder, more spent by emotion and worry than he’d realized until that moment.
“I’m here, boy,” Ben said softly, arms circling his son. “I’m here and so are you, thank God. That’s all that matters.”
The next day was Sunday, and it was spent quietly by most of the men. Adam, along with several others who’d lost their horses in the retreat, walked back to the battlefield to retrieve his saddle and give a farewell stroke to the white mane of his sorrel mare. Ben stayed in camp, meeting that morning with a group of men who wanted to thank Almighty God for the safe deliverance of almost all who’d gone into battle the day before. The day wasn’t given entirely to Sabbath rest, however. A detail was formed to raise the previously dug earthworks higher for the protection of the wounded and the supplies. Neither Ben nor Adam was in that group of laborers, but they both helped move the wounded into the shelter once it was erected to the height Colonel Hays specified.
Billy had ridden out with two other scouts early that morning, under orders to see if the Paiutes were preparing for another battle. He returned early that afternoon and sought out his friends immediately.
“Any sign of trouble?” Adam asked.
“Not an injun in sight,” Billy reported. “I think they’ve pulled out.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “A little soon to assume that, I’m afraid, but I pray you’re right.”
“I’m going down to the river to soak my feet,” Billy said. “You want to come, Adam?”
Adam chuckled. “Thought you rode a horse, Billy. Ought to be her hooves in need of a soak.”
Billy grinned. “Too scared to pull my boots off last night. Feet are sweatin’ somethin’ fierce.”
“By all means, wash them,” Ben muttered dryly. “I’d stay upwind if I were you, Adam.”
“Good advice,” Adam laughed.
“Don’t stay long, though,” Ben cautioned. “You’ve got about half an hour before the funeral.”
“Who they buryin’?” Billy asked as he and Adam headed for the river. “Not Captain Storey?”
“No, he’s still holding on,” Adam said. “Privates Cameron and Phelps of the Virginia Rifles, and they found Major Ormsby’s body. They’ll bury him.”
“Here?” Billy queried, flopping down on the river bank to pull off the boots that felt permanently attached. “He’s got folks in Carson.”
Adam squatted beside him. “Just temporarily,” he said. “His folks’ll want what’s left of him buried closer to home, I’m sure, but that body’s been exposed too long as it is.”
“Yeah, must be ripe by now,” Billy said grimly, then plunged his bare feet into the cold waters of the Truckee. “Ah, that’s better,” he sighed and lay back on the grass. “Hey, did you get your gear back?”
“Yeah, the Paiutes didn’t have time to take it, and Stefán said he’d see I got a fresh horse from the remuda,” Adam answered. “He’s been helping groom the horses in his spare time, so he’s got some sway with the officer in charge.”
“That’s good,” Billy said. “Ridin’ beats walkin’ any day of the year.”
Nearly seven hundred men assembled a short time later to pay their last respects to those who had died in the battle and to Major Ormsby. Captain Joseph Stewart of the United States Army read the burial service of the Protestant Episcopal Church. “Beautiful words, sir,” Ben commented, shaking the captain’s hand afterwards. “A long time since most of us in the valley have had opportunity to hear such a moving reading.”
“It was my privilege,” Stewart said. “To honor brave men is always a privilege, although I hope there’ll be no further need of such services during this campaign.”
“Amen to that, sir,” Ben said quietly, shook the captain’s hand once again and took his leave.
The next day, the fourth of June, the weather finally displayed the appearance of spring. Fluffy white clouds billowed in a cornflower sky, and the sun shone with bright warmth. Leaving ten men behind to guard the wounded and forty to look after the cattle and supply wagons, the rest of the Washoe Regiment marched north, reaching Pyramid Lake, eight miles away, in three hours.
The Paiute camp there was truly abandoned this time; indeed, not one Indian had been seen all day. More bodies had been found, however, and most were buried where they’d fallen. Three of the dead, recognized as residents of California, were carefully wrapped for transport back to their home state. Then camp was set up for the night one mile south of the lake.
“Looks like it’s about over,” Billy commented, spreading his bedroll next to Adam’s. Now that the danger seemed past, discipline was becoming lax, so he no longer felt the need to stay with his company, at least not at night.
“Hope so,” Adam, already stretched on his bedroll, commented. “What do you think, Pa?”
Ben looked soberly at the two young men. “I think the worst is over,” he said. “The tribe appears to be in hiding, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be some young bucks out to prove themselves by shooting one last white man. Today was an easy day, but that doesn’t mean tomorrow will be. Don’t you two let down your guard.”
Billy flopped onto his bedroll. “Acts like we’re a couple of blame kids, don’t he?” he mumbled to Adam.
Ben grinned. “Well, aren’t you?” he laughed and, turning his back, rolled up in his blankets.
Irked by the teasing, Billy started to pop back a smart answer. When he looked across at Ben, however, he saw Adam, between them, give a gape-mouthed yawn and suddenly felt so exhausted himself that he couldn’t remember what he’d intended to say. It was time to sleep, he decided. Tomorrow was soon enough to pay Uncle Ben back for mocking their manhood.
The next morning the men of Washoe again headed north in search of the Paiutes. The Indians’ tracks led to the Little Truckee and turned northeast into the mountains along the east bank of Pyramid Lake. The men crossed the narrow mountain chain and continued up its east base, then along the western shore of Mud Lake.
By noon the regiment had traveled twelve miles, but they halted when the tracks suddenly veered away from the shoreline, heading west into a deep canyon that led up into the rocky mountain range once again.
When Colonel Hays ordered the scouts to check out the canyon, however, several of them balked. “Looks like a prime spot for an ambush to me,” one said. “We’ve risked our lives enough. Let someone else go first for a change..” Rumbles of agreement from the other scouts met his words.
Billy Thomas started to step forward, but Ben Cartwright clenched his shoulder. “Not alone,” he said sharply. “That’s too foolhardy a venture even for you.”
“I won’t have the colonel thinkin’ I’m a coward,” Billy hissed, pulling against Ben’s iron grip.
“Better a living dog than a dead lion,” Ben growled, quoting from the Bible. “Keep still!”
Billy glowered with offense, but he stood still, waiting to see how Colonel Hayes would handle the scout’s rebellion.
Instead of forcing the issue, Colonel Hays faced the entire force. “Men, we cannot proceed until we know what’s ahead, but our scouts, who have served faithfully to this point, have requested relief from this mission, and I am inclined to grant that request. I will not order anyone into that canyon, but I am asking for five volunteers.”
Five men stepped forward: Lieutenant Robert Lyon of the Highland Rangers, William S. Allen from Virginia City, S. C. Springer of Silver City, Samuel Buckland and, after pushing the Thomas boy aside, Ben Cartwright of the Ponderosa.
“Scoutin’s my job,” Billy protested, facing his father’s friend with fiery face and arms akimbo after Colonel Hayes had expressed his appreciation to the volunteers.
“Like the man said, you’ve risked your life enough,” Ben replied. “Don’t push your chances.”
“But why you, Pa?” Adam demanded. “Why push your chances? It’s dangerous.”
“Now who’s being treated like a child?” Ben smiled. “I’m a logical choice, Adam; I know this part of the country better than most, certainly better than Billy here, who’s never seen this side of the mountains before.”
“Well, I have,” Adam argued, “and I duck faster.”
Ben laid a consoling hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’ll duck fast enough if the need arises, never you fear.”
The five volunteer scouts mounted and, with the designated commander Robert Lyon and William Allen in the lead, rode up into the canyon. Each man trained his eyes on the high crags on both sides, searching for a telltale flash of sunlight on metal that would tell them a rifleman waited above. There were no such indications, but at one point Samuel Buckland stopped to point out a set of tracks. “Them’s fresh,” he said. “We oughta go back and get the rest of the men.”
“That’s not reason enough,” William Allen argued. “We should go on, see more sign before we bring the others up to look at nothing.”
“We’ll continue on,” Lyon decided and the others fell into line behind him.
As they neared the summit of the mountain, a massive boulder split the trail into two paths, one leading below, the other above it. There appeared to be tracks on both, but it was impossible to tell which were freshest. “Any choice between the two trails, Cartwright?” Lyon asked.
Ben shook his head. “Long time since I was up this way, but I think both cross the mountains. It’s a coin toss as to which the Indians took, though the upper trail is the harder climb.”
“Allen and I will explore the lower trail,” Lyon ordered. “The rest of you take the upper one. Fire one shot if you find signs indicating your trail is the right one.”
Ben saluted smartly. “Yes, sir, Lieutenant Lyon.” He led the way around the boulder and climbed the steep, rocky trail toward the summit. Before they’d gone half a mile, however, a single rifle shot was heard.
“There’s the signal! They’ve found the Paiutes,” Sam Buckland shouted, wheeling his horse at once. Then the single shot was followed by a rash of others.
“That’s not a signal!” Ben cried. “They’re being attacked. Come on!” He charged back down the path and had just rounded the boulder when Lieutenant Lyon bolted past him.
“Allen’s killed!” Lyon screamed over his shoulder. “Retreat! Retreat!”
The other three men, Ben taking the rear position, turned and ran their horses down the canyon with a swarm of Paiutes in close pursuit. Sam Buckland, just ahead of Ben, gave a loud grunt and glanced down at his leg, but he rode on, seemingly unhurt. Ben emptied his revolver and saw one Paiute drop from the saddle; then, not wanting to take time to reload, he holstered the gun, whipped the reins across his horse’s neck and yelled for him to run. The bay responded, careening recklessly down the canyon.
Suddenly, something slammed into Ben’s shoulder. He fell forward, clenching a handful of mane in one hand and the reins in the other, and continued to ride. He could still hear the Indians’ war whoops, but he could tell by their diminishing volume that he was putting distance between himself and the Paiutes. If his horse could just maintain this pace, Ben knew he had a chance of getting out of that canyon with his scalp intact.
When the canyon opened into flatland, Ben thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight than the bleak, sage-sprinkled landscape that skirted Mud Lake. Moments later, he revised that opinion when he saw the rest of the Washoe Regiment riding toward them. Now, that was a sight to gladden the eyes!
Paiute eyes viewed it differently. Seeing themselves vastly outnumbered, the Indians disappeared back into the mountains as the returning scouts were surrounded by other volunteers. When Ben slid from his horse, he stumbled into the arms of his son. “Pa, you’re hit!” Adam cried.
Ben gave him a lop-sided grin. “I guess I didn’t duck fast enough.”
“I knew I should have gone,” Billy Thomas chafed as he helped to support Ben.
Colonel Hays strode swiftly to Lieutenant Lyon. “Where is your fifth man, Lyon?” he demanded.
Lyon saluted. “Allen took a bullet through the mouth into his brain, sir. I tried to save him, but I was alone and surrounded, so I was forced to abandon him.”
“While he was still alive?” Hays demanded.
“No, sir!” Lyon declared indignantly. “I would not have left a living man behind. No, I saw his hat fly off; then his head spouted blood like a whale blowing water, and brains and bone fragments spewed out the blowhole——an awful sight. He was dead, sir.”
In frustration, Hayes slammed his right fist into his left palm. “What about you other men?
“I’m unhurt, sir,” Springer replied, saluting.
“Felt something hit my leg,” Buckland announced, “but I reckon I must have been shot from far off, ‘cause the bullet didn’t even break the skin.”
“Cartwright, you obviously need the surgeon’s attention,” Hays said.
“I’ll see he gets it, sir,” Adam said.
Appreciating a son’s devotion to his father, Hays gave the young man a slight smile. “You do that, son,” he said softly.
As Adam and Billy led Ben away, Lieutenant Lyon asked permission to take his Highland Rangers to recover Allen’s body.
Furious at losing another man, Hays declared, “We will all go!”
Every tenth man was ordered to remain behind to hold and guard the horses, and Adam asked permission to be one of those guards. Knowing the concern that motivated the request, his commanding officer readily agreed. Later, Adam and Ben, shoulder bandaged and arm in a sling, stood side by side to watch the other volunteers ride out.
“You seem mighty concerned for the safety of our horses,” Ben commented wryly.
“A wise man I know once said, ‘Why push your chances?’” Adam muttered.
Ben chuckled. “Not such a wise one, after all, considering that he pushed himself one chance too far.”
“Come over here and sit down,” Adam ordered. “The surgeon said you should rest. You lost a lot of blood.”
“Yes, sir,” Ben said, saluting awkwardly with his left hand, and let himself be led meekly away.
Billy rode out with the rest of the volunteers under Colonel Hays. When the rescue party reached the huge boulder in the path, Lieutenant Lyon led them around it by the lower path, and they soon came upon William Allen’s naked body. His horse and gear were gone, as well, but in their haste the Indians had committed no further depredations on the dead man.
While his men wrapped the body in a blanket and tied it to one of the horses, Colonel Hays walked further up the trail, his boots slipping on the loose shale that covered the trail. Once he lost his footing and fell against a large, sharp rock, cutting his hand deeply. “It is pointless to continue,” he announced when he returned. “It’s not long ‘til nightfall, and we dare not climb such a treacherous trail after dark.”
“The savages have most likely escaped into the desert by now,” Lieutenant Lyon suggested and Hays nodded.
No man seemed reluctant to get off that mountain. By the time they made their way back down the narrow canyon, the sun had set. The temperature dropped markedly, and the cool breeze just beginning to rise made the night seem even colder.
As soon as the regiment rejoined those left behind, Billy hustled over to where Ben dozed on his bedroll under the watchful gaze of his son. “Better get him up and ready to ride,” Billy informed Adam. “The colonel says we’re goin’ back to Pyramid Lake tonight.”
“In the dark?” Adam asked.
“Moon ain’t much past full,” Billy said, “and I reckon we’ll all feel safer once we’ve put these mountains between us and them Paiutes.”
Adam had to admit that prospect pleased him, too. He was only reluctant because of the added strain night travel would put on his father. He knew he could count on Billy to help, though, if Ben grew weak, so he roused his father and helped him mount the horse Billy saddled for him. Despite Adam’s concern, Ben sat that saddle steadily enough, though he willingly tumbled into his bedroll when the troops finally arrived back at Pyramid Lake at 2 a.m. the next morning. Exhausted, Ben slept late. Not until he woke later that day did he learn that Captain Edward F. Storey had passed away in his absence.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Homecoming
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hile the commanders met to decide how to proceed, the men of the Washoe Regiment wandered through the abandoned Paiute encampment at Pyramid Lake, collecting souvenirs. Adam had picked up a beaded knife case and a long, clay pipe in one karnee and was surprised to see his father when he exited——surprised and perturbed. “What are you doing here?” Adam demanded.
Ben arched an eyebrow. “I might ask you the same thing. I’d have thought you were above this plunder.” His scornful eyes took in the white men scavenging through the camp for Indian artifacts.
Adam flushed. “Maybe I should be. I thought I’d take something to the boys, but I won’t if you think it’s wrong.”
Ben sighed. “No, go ahead. The Paiutes aren’t likely to come back for anything, and I’d like the boys to have some remembrance of that proud people.”
Adam’s brow wrinkled. “You talk like the Paiutes were gone forever.”
Ben took the pipe, his finger tracing the broken edge that was, no doubt, the reason it had been abandoned. “Their way of life is, I’m afraid, and it pains me that I helped destroy it.”
“You did all you could to help them,” Adam said, rubbing his father’s uninjured arm.
Ben shook his head. “Not enough. Not enough.”
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Adam chided gently. “You should be resting, getting your strength back.”
Ben smiled ruefully. “I think you enjoy ordering me around.”
Adam shrugged. “Just following the example that’s been set before me, I suppose. Come on; I’ll walk you back.”
Ben handed the pipe to Adam. “I shouldn’t have come out in the first place. This isn’t really the way I want to remember this camp.”
Adam fell into step beside him. “You don’t think we’ll go out after the Paiutes again, do you?”
Ben glanced back over his shoulder, then looked at his son. “I’d say the fight’s gone out of those men.”
“I know how they feel,” Adam said softly. “I hope I never see a battlefield again.”
Ben affectionately clasped his son’s neck with his good hand. “It was a hard fight, and one your heart——and mine——wasn’t in to begin with, but you’ve acquitted yourself honorably, son. You’ve done what you had to do to defend your home and family.”
Adam looked up quickly. “And I’d do it again——for my home and family——but not for anything else, Pa.”
“Nor would I, son,” Ben replied. “Nor would I.”
Ignoring Adam’s admonitions to rest, Ben stood at attention with the rest of the regiment when they were ordered to assemble later that morning. Colonel Hays stood before them. “Men, in conference this morning the other officers and I have determined that we will not pursue the Indians into the desert. In hopes that they will return to Pyramid Lake, Captain Stewart and his men will remain here at the camp we have named Ft. Haven in honor of General Haven, who, despite his high rank elsewhere, volunteered in our regiment as a private. The volunteers known as the Washoe Regiment will leave this afternoon for Virginia City, there to be disbanded and return to civilian status.”
Shouts of triumph rang out, hats flew skyward and backs were patted in congratulation.
Hays raised his arms to regain the men’s attention. “We will also be escorting the body of Captain Storey back to Virginia City, where fitting tribute can be paid to this great man. The funeral will tentatively be held this Sunday afternoon. As you will all be expected to march in the procession, the troops will not be officially disbanded until after the service. Those of you who have family in the area, however, may consider yourselves on furlough immediately after our return.” Hays lifted his right hand to his brow. “Gentlemen, I salute you for your service to the citizens of Washoe. Dismissed.”
Like the others, Ben and Adam milled around awhile, sharing the relief of a task completed and the joy of going home with men they’d come to admire and respect in the last two weeks. Two weeks! Just thinking about how long it had been since he’d seen his wife and little boys made Ben homesick. Anxious to be ready the moment the order came to move out, he started to pack his gear.
“I’ll do that,” Adam said sharply. “You’re supposed——”
“To be resting,” Ben finished. “I’ve heard it before, boy.”
Adam said no more. If his father had taken to calling him ‘boy’ again, that meant he was thoroughly aggravated, and it was time to back off. He began rolling up his own blankets.
Billy Thomas came trotting up. “Hey, good news about the troops disbandin’, huh? You as ready to see home as me?”
“Readier,” Ben muttered, wrestling to roll up his blankets one-handed.
“Yeah, well, Colonel Hays is sendin’ me with a dispatch to the men back at Ft. Storey, so they’ll be ready to march when we get there,” Billy said. “I thought maybe you’d like to ride out with me, Adam——see how Mark and Stefán are makin’ out——unless you figure your pa needs tendin’.”
“I don’t need tendin’,” Ben growled. “You two are worse than any two old biddies I ever met.”
“Considering how long it’s been since he had chicken,” Adam drawled, “maybe this old biddy should get out of hatchet range.” He grinned at the characteristic arch of his father’s eyebrow. “Yeah, I’ll ride with you, Billy. I like my riding companions easy to get along with.”
“I’ll show you hard to get along with if you don’t give me a hand with this bedroll and get out of here,” Ben quipped. Both young men laughed and had Ben’s gear ready to load in record time.
Feeling he should get the dispatch delivered as quickly as possible, Billy set a harder pace than Adam would have liked, and the two friends covered the eight miles back to Ft. Storey in under ninety minutes. “Hope you appreciate me slackin’ off for your sake,” Billy boasted as they ambled through the camp in search of Mark and Stefán. “As a Pony rider, I’m used to burnin’ up the road.”
Adam hooted. “You’re not a Pony rider now, remember? You quit.”
“Just for the duration of the hostilities,” Billy insisted. “Pony ain’t been runnin’, anyway, with all this trouble, but now that we got it settled, the Express’ll be startin’ up again, and I reckon they’ll welcome me back with open arms.”
“If you can get your mother to let you out of hers,” Adam jibed, poking Billy in the ribs. “Hey! There’s Mark.”
“Hey, Mark!” Billy yelled at the young soldier on makeshift crutches.
“Adam, Billy,” Mark shouted, waving a crutch in greeting. “Good to see you! Mr. Cartwright all right, too?”
“He took a bullet in the shoulder,” Adam said, “but he’s doing all right. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Mark assured them. “Leg’s still weak, but the fire’s gone out of it. Did you find the Paiutes?”
“Naw, they skedaddled,” Billy said, “and that’s what we’re about to do, too. Just brought a message tellin’ the officers here to break camp. The civilian troops are movin’ out for Virginia City.”
“The Carson Valley Expedition will be staying at Pyramid Lake awhile,” Adam added.
Billy thumped Mark’s chest with his knuckles. “That don’t mean you, though. Wounded is bein’ taken to Carson City, I hear.”
Mark flushed deeply. “No place on earth I’d rather be,” he admitted. “These army surgeons are great, but I’d like Dr. Martin to take a look at my leg.”
Billy hooted. “Doc Martin, huh? Sure it ain’t that pretty nurse of his you want lookin’ you over?”
Adam gave Billy a playful shove. “Doc Martin’s the best,” he told Mark, but couldn’t resist concluding his remark with a wink.
Adam and Billy next sought out Stefán Zuebner, whom they found guarding the stock. The three young men exchanged greetings and answered the usual questions about how everyone had fared during the campaign. “I am sorry to hear your father is injured,” Stefán said. “I came here to protect my sister, but it is men like you and your father who have paid the price for her safety.”
“Hey, you done your part,” Billy assured him quickly. “Without this moving commissary, none of us would’ve had strength to fight.”
“That’s right,” Adam agreed. “You may not reap the honors some of the others do, Stefán, but without men like you the job couldn’t have been done. The same goes for those like your brother-in-law Enos and Billy’s pa, who stayed behind to guard the women and children. They won’t get many pats on the back, either, but you’ve all earned a share in the victory. My pa always says the important thing in any effort is for each man to pull his own weight by doing the work he’s best suited to.”
Stefán smiled. “Yah. My father used to say something very much like that. My father would have been proud of my place in this army, I think. Thank you, my friend, for reminding me of that.”
The Washoe Regiment reached Ft. Storey, and the troops that had remained there fell in with their original companies. The four young friends——and Ben, as well——slept together in camp that night, then separated for the next day’s march. Adam didn’t see Billy again, except at a distance, until they parted at the entrance to Gold Canyon. “Me and Stefán volunteered to escort the wounded on in to Carson,” Billy said. “Since we got family there, we was on furlough anyway.”
Adam nodded. “See you in Virginia City tomorrow, I guess.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Billy replied. “Captain Storey wasn’t my commander, but he was a good man. I aim to pay my respects. See you then.”
* * * * *
The sound of loud shouting brought the women at Ft. O’Riley running to the door. “What is it?” Eilley Bowers demanded of the first miner she saw.
“Troops is back!” the man yelled. “Pushed them Paiutes clean into the northeast desert!”
“They’re back, ladies!” Eilley screamed. “The men are back!” She ran into the street, followed by every woman and child in the hotel.
“Come on, Little Joe!” Hoss cried, snatching his younger brother under the arms and swinging him in a circle. “Pa’s back!” He looked with irritation at Little Joe’s bare feet. “Where’s your shoes?” he demanded.
“Don’t know,” Little Joe said, struggling to get down. “Where’s Pa?”
Hoss tossed the smaller boy on his back. “Let’s find him, Punkin. I’ll carry you, since you’re barefoot; we can find them ornery shoes later.”
“Yeah! Find Pa,” Little Joe chortled with glee.
Marie had run into the street with the other women, then suddenly remembering her children, had turned back to find them. Seeing Hoss with Little Joe, she called, “Oh, you have him. Thank you, Hoss.”
“Yes’m. You see Pa yet?” Hoss replied.
“No, not yet,” Marie said, standing on tiptoe and craning her neck.
“Find Pa, Mama,” Little Joe pleaded.
“Oui, mon petit,” his mother said, tenderly smoothing his tousled hair. “As soon as——”
“There he is!” Hoss shouted and took off a trot, Little Joe bouncing on his back. “Pa!”
Ben stopped his horse the minute he spotted Hoss. “Help me down,” he ordered Adam urgently. Adam dismounted quickly and helped his father to the ground.
Hoss rushed up to him, throwing his arms about his father’s waist, and Little Joe stretched his arms for Ben to take him. Ben caught the boy as he started to slide down his brother’s back and lifted him, burrowing his face in a head full of brown curls. Then, looking up, he saw his wife, and his eyes glowed.
“Oh, Ben!” Marie cried, her eyes on the arm in a sling.
“I’m all right,” he assured her.
Little Joe bent over to pluck the white sling, like one he’d once worn himself after a tumble down the stairs. “You got a hurt, Pa?” he asked, small face sympathetic.
Ben pressed his cheek against Little Joe’s soft one. “Yeah, baby, Pa’s got a little hurt, and one of your sweet hugs is just the medicine he needs.” Little Joe smiled and put his arms around Ben’s neck to provide the requested treatment.
Seeing the strain on his father’s face, Adam reached for Little Joe. “Come here, monkey, and I’ll show you what I brought you.”
“A present?” Little Joe asked, readily releasing his father’s neck and circling Adam’s, instead.
“Yes, a present,” Adam laughed. “A present from the Paiutes.”
“Me, too?” Hoss asked eagerly.
“Yes, you, too. Let’s look in my saddlebags.”
As Adam led the younger boys aside, Ben opened his arms, and Marie immediately came to press her face against his chest. “Oh, Ben,” she murmured. “I have been sick with worry; it’s been so long.”
Ben lifted her chin and kissed her lips. “That’s the only medicine I have to offer,” he said with a smile.
She smiled back. “It is the perfect one.” She touched his injured arm gently. “Are you sure you are all right? The wound is not serious?”
“No, I’ve had good care,” he assured her. “The surgeon assures me it’ll heal well.”
He tilted his head to examine her worn face, then chuckled. “You look like you’ve fought a fiercer battle than I, my love.”
Marie laughed. “It has seemed that way at times. I cannot wait to see the Ponderosa again.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Ben said, but before he could explain, the boys were back.
“Lookee, Pa,” Little Joe said, holding out the Paiute pipe. “See what Adam gave me.”
“Oh, Adam,” Marie chided. “A pipe? That is not a proper child’s toy.”
“Just a keepsake,” Ben said, holding her close. “We can hang it on his wall——to remember a time gone by.”
“It is not a wall hanging I would favor,” Marie murmured, “but I can see he does.”
“And see this neat knife case, Mama,” Hoss exulted. “Ain’t it somethin’?”
“Oui, that is most attractive and useful, Hoss. You must thank your brother..”
“Already did,” Hoss said, then looked eagerly up at his father. “You want me to hitch up the wagon, Pa, so we can get started for home right away?”
“Right away,” Little Joe echoed happily from Adam’s arms.
Ben groaned. “We can’t, boys. I know you’d like to get home, and I would, too, but we’ll have to stay here one more night.”
“Why?” Hoss whined. “We got time to get home before dark.”
Ben explained quickly about the funeral the next day. “Captain Storey was my commanding officer——and Adam’s. We owe him this respect.”
“Mais oui,” Marie said at once. “We can survive Ft. O’Riley one more night. I can endure anything, now that you are at my side.”
“My love,” Ben whispered and kissed her long and passionately.
As they walked back to the hotel, Marie noticed Julia Bulette surrounded by miners eager to escort her back to her own house in the red-light district. Marie sighed, grieved to see her friend return to such a sordid way of life, and pressed closer to the man who had rescued her from a destiny as cruel as the one that surely awaited Julia.
* * * * *
At 2:00 Sunday afternoon Marie and the two younger boys stood among the throng that lined C Street in Virginia City to watch Captain Storey’s funeral procession pass by. Though the citizens were quietly respectful, the atmosphere was more charged with celebration than sorrow, for everyone wanted to pay tribute to the brave soldiers of Washoe marching in the cortege. Leading the procession was Colonel John Hays, followed by Captain Stewart with most of the army regulars, some having remained on guard at Pyramid Lake.
“How come Mark ain’t with ‘em?” Hoss queried.
“He has a leg wound, your father said,” Marie whispered. “He’s in Carson City.”
A shout went up when Major Hungerford led the volunteers down C Street. “There’s Pa——and Adam!” Hoss yelled.
“Pa!” Little Joe screamed, waving his arms wildly.
“Shh,” Marie cautioned.
“Aw, Mama, everybody’s yellin’,” Hoss protested. “Hey, look! There’s Billy, too.”
“And Stefán,” Marie said. “Oh, I am so glad they all came back safely.”
The crowd quieted as the volunteers passed and Captain Storey’s horse, covered with a pall of black crepe, came into view. The empty saddle and the boots turned backwards in the stirrups spoke more eloquently than words that the horse’s owner would ride him no more. Captain Storey had been a member of the Masons, so that society, in blue satin aprons, marched next, immediately before the body of the revered leader himself on a beplumed catafalque drawn by six horses.
The crowd fell in behind and followed the procession to Cemetery Ridge northeast of Virginia City, where amid Masonic farewells and the throwing of evergreens, Captain Edward F. Storey was laid to rest. A final salute was fired, and Ben made his way to his family.
“Where is Adam?” Marie asked at once.
“Returning the horse he borrowed from the remuda after his was shot,” Ben explained. “Hoss, is that offer to hitch our wagon still good?”
“Yes, sir!” Hoss shouted.
“Then, let’s get loaded and head for home, boy.”
Hoss grinned ear to ear and took off at a trot, Little Joe stumbling after, yelling for him to wait. Hoss tossed the little boy on his shoulders and took off. “We’re goin’ home, Little Joe,” he exclaimed. “Hurray!”
“Hurray!” Little Joe yelled, expressing the sentiments of the entire family.
* * * * *
The sun was beginning to set as the Cartwrights’ wagon approached the Ponderosa. The foodstuffs they’d carried with them to Virginia City had been eaten, so the wagon was practically empty, and Ben agreed to stretch out on pillows in the back while Hoss drove. He was supposed to be resting, but that was an impossible feat with feisty Little Joe clambering all over him. Ben didn’t once rebuke him, though; those little hands and feet pressing him here and there felt wonderful.
As the road began to climb up into the foothills near their home, Marie looked anxiously back at her husband. “Oh, I do hope the house is all right.”
“It had better be!” Ben chuckled. “I have no desire to spend another night sleeping on hard ground under an open sky. What about you, Adam?”
“Second the opinion,” Adam called from behind the wagon, where he was riding Ben’s bay. Then, seeing gray wisps wafting over the pines on the ridge above him, he stopped abruptly and pointed. “Pa, look!” he cried. “Smoke!”
“Oh, no!” Marie shrieked, throwing her hands to her cheeks. “The Washo! They are burning our house!”
“I doubt they’d wait ‘til now, if they intended that kind of behavior,” Ben said. “Still, I can’t explain the smoke. We’d better——”
“Roast beef!” Hoss announced, sniffing the air appreciatively.
“Your nose isn’t that good,” Adam scoffed.
“Is too!” Hoss insisted. “That’s beef cookin’.”
“Well, that’s a possibility,” Ben muttered. “Those Washo might have helped themselves to one of our steers——maybe all of them by now. Wouldn’t’ve thought they’d cook it right in the yard, though.”
“I’ll ride ahead,” Adam offered, “and see if there’s trouble.”
“You be careful,” Ben ordered sharply.
Adam rolled his eyes. He’d just come from battling hundreds of Paiutes, but Pa still treated him like a youngster at the first hint of danger. Feeling he had no time to take offense, however, Adam just said, “Yes, Pa,” and rode on.
When he reached the front yard, he halted, more puzzled than ever. There were no Indians in sight, and the house wasn’t on fire. The smoke was coming from the chimney, and now that he was closer, Adam could definitely recognize the aroma of beef being roasted. He took another sniff. Onions, too. Someone had moved in and made themselves at home in their house!
Irritated beyond the reach of common sense, Adam burst angrily through the front door. A warm fire burned on the hearth, but the room was empty. “Where are you?” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Soft slippers pattered in from the kitchen. “Mistah Adam!” Hop Sing cried. “You home!”
Adam’s heart thudded to the floor. “Hop Sing!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Soldier men come
Adam laughed out his relief. “They’re coming, and you’re gonna be the happiest sight they could hope for. What have you got to go with that roast beef?”
Hop Sing beamed. “Oh, velly fine meal. Potato, carrot, gleen bean, biscuit. Dlied apple pie. You like?”
“Oh, yeah,” Adam said, remembering all the cold meals he’d eaten in rain-soaked camps. When Hop Sing bustled back into the kitchen, Adam ambled outside to await his family’s arrival. As the wagon drove into the yard, everyone looked at the smoke rising from the chimney, then at the grinning oldest Cartwright son. “It’s all right,” Adam chuckled after making them wait a moment for an explanation. “It’s Hop Sing, cooking up a feast you won’t believe, just in hopes we’d get back tonight.”
Ben laughed heartily. “Now I know I’m home!”
Moments later, as they all climbed down from the wagon, Hoss heard a yipping sound and turned to see a small brown dog charge around the corner of the house and jump up on his leg. “Klamath!” Hoss cried. “You’re alive, boy! Now I know we’re home! We’re all home.”
While Adam and Hoss, with Klamath nipping playfully at his heels, stayed outside to unhitch and care for the animals, the others went inside. Marie ran her fingers across the cabinet beside the door. “Not even dusty,” she whispered. “I was just hoping I’d have a house, and it’s just like I left it.” She turned to kiss Ben’s cheek. “We really are home, my love.”
Ben laughed and bounced Little Joe on his good arm. “Well, it’s your turn now. Say ‘we’re home,’ baby.”
“I’m not a baby,” Little Joe declared.
Ben just laughed again and snuggled him close.
Later that
evening, after they’d all eaten enough to satisfy even Hop Sing and had each
had a warm bath, the Cartwrights, dressed in nightclothes and robes, sat around
that mammoth fireplace which, to each of them, symbolized home. Little Joe was asleep on his father’s lap and
Hoss was yawning prodigiously, but Ben didn’t have the heart to send them to
bed. He was enjoying too much the
picture of his entire family, together again.
To him, it was a beautiful portrait of a dream come to life——a dream
almost lost, imperiled by the conflicts of the community. Like gold refined in a furnace, however, that
dream had come forth shining brighter than before——and more precious than all
the silver of the
The End