The Deadliest Sins

By Rona Y

Riding up to the corral, Adam Cartwright saw his youngest brother, Joe, standing by the rails, drinking from a canteen. The weather had been hot for days, and the area round the corral was a dust basin. In the heat of the sun and in the dust, Joe had been breaking a string of horses now for several days. Adam knew from experience how tiring such work was, and as he drew nearer, he grimaced, for one of the hands helping Joe was Clem French. Clem hadn’t been on the Ponderosa long. He had been at school with Joe, and had come to work for them after trying out several jobs. He was one of the most useless men Adam had ever met. He wouldn’t be much help to Joe, he thought, caustically.

Pulling up beside Joe’s pinto, Cochise, Adam slid gracefully off Sport, his chestnut, and loosened the cinch. Sport plunged his head into the trough of water and drank deeply. Adam slid his hat back and wiped the sweat from his brow. They were all hard at work right now. “Joe!” he hailed.

“Adam. Is everything all right?” Joe looked exhausted. He poured some of the water from his canteen over his head.

“Sure. I just came to see how you were doing.” Adam looked into the corral.

“Only one left, so I figure I might as well get it broke tonight. Can you tell Pa I’ll be a little late for supper?” Joe rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sure, buddy.” Adam lowered his voice. “How’s Clem making out?”

“He knows how to saddle a horse,” Joe replied, in a neutral tone. “He’s a good rider. Once he’s learned how to do things, he’ll be all right.” Joe had never been close friends with Clem, but he felt the youth needed to be given a chance. “Got to get on.” Joe knew that if he stopped moving for too long, he’d never get going again.

Adam watched as Joe climbed the side of the chute. Clem had saddled the last mustang, and stood ready to open the door. Joe eased himself onto the horse, and nodded. “Let him go.”

The mustang catapulted out of the chute, and began to buck, stiff legged, round the corral. Joe hung on with one hand, the other thrown out for balance. Adam smiled. Joe was very good at this. The mustang would give in very soon. As Adam started to turn away, Joe let out a shout. Looking back at his brother, Adam was in time to see the saddle slip sideways. Joe hastily tried to adjust his seat.

Startled by the shout, the mustang threw a bigger buck than it had so far. The saddle was suddenly flying through the air, Joe with it. He sailed across the corral and crashed heavily into the rails. He tumbled to the ground, and didn’t move. Adam let out a shout, but the wranglers in the corral were already riding down the loose horse.

Ignoring them, Adam scrambled through the rails and raced to Joe’s side. He saw at once that Joe was conscious, but winded. “Easy, fella,” he soothed. “Take it easy. Don’t try to move.” Joe’s eyelids fluttered as he gasped for breath. Adam thought he was trying to speak, but he didn’t encourage Joe to try.

With a burst of coughing, Joe’s breath returned. He moved his arms and legs, and Adam could see that he hadn’t broken them. Gently, he helped Joe to sit up. Joe groaned at the movement, and clutched at his ribs. “I think I’ve got bruises on my bruises,” he joked, weakly.

“Let’s get you home,” Adam suggested, not fooled by the joke for an instant. “I’ll get the buckboard….”

“No!” interrupted Joe. “I can ride. I’m fine, Adam.”

Helping Joe to his feet, Adam’s eye fell on Clem. He knew that Clem had put the saddle on the mustang, and thought it wouldn’t be long before he had a reputation for being unlucky. At that point, the other hands wouldn’t want to work with him. “See what happened to the saddle, Clem,” he said, wondering why the youth hadn’t thought of it for himself.

They walked slowly across to their mounts, and Adam tightened the cinches. Joe stood leaning against Cochise, breathing carefully through his mouth. When his saddle was secure, he accepted help to mount, something he would never usually do. Adam turned to mount Sport, and found Clem at his elbow. “Mr Cartwright, the cinch buckle came off,” he said, showing the offending article to Adam.

“Take it back to the bunkhouse for mending,” Adam ordered. “Guess you’re finished for today.” He mounted his horse, and followed Joe slowly home.

                **********

“Where are Adam and Joe?” Ben enquired, shortly. “Its bad enough that Joe is tardy without Adam being, too.”

“I dunno, Pa,” Hoss replied, looking longingly at the table, where Hop Sing was laying out supper. “Maybe they weren’t quite finished. They’ll be along.” The words were hardly out of his mouth when Sport appeared round the corner of the barn. Adam rode to the barn and dismounted, looking over his shoulder. Ben went out of the house. “Adam. Have you seen Joe?”

Glancing at this father, Adam replied, “He’s coming.” He immediately looked back in the direction he’d just come from.  Following his gaze, Ben saw Cochise’s black and white head come into view. Joe was slumped in the saddle, every fibre of his being declaring silently that he hurt.

As the pinto stopped of its own accord outside the barn, Ben crossed to his son’s side. “Joe! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Pa,” Joe replied, producing a shaky grin. He eased his feet from the stirrups, and straightened up gingerly. “Just give me a minute to get down.” With Ben’s help, he slid from the saddle.

“What happened?” Ben demanded, looking at Joe’s pale face.

They walked back to the house, as Adam told the story. Joe’s every movement caused him obvious pain, but he insisted that he was well enough to eat supper. Ben watched him throughout the meal, as he chased the food around his plate, with next to none reaching his mouth, but said nothing. As soon as they left the table, Joe announced he was tired, and was going to bed. He walked slowly and carefully to the stairs, and winced his way upwards.

The remaining family members exchanged glances. “I think we need the doctor,” Ben commented. “If we wait for Joe to admit how sore he is, hell will freeze over. I’m going to talk to him.”

“I’ll send for Paul,” Adam said, and crossed to the door.

Knocking on the door of Joe’s room, Ben went in without waiting for a response. Joe was sitting wearily on the edge of the bed, contemplating his booted feet. He raised his eyes, and for an unguarded moment, his hurt shone out clear. “Could you use a hand?” Ben asked, mildly.

A tired smile crossed Joe’s face. “I guess I could, at that,” he admitted. “I’m a bit stiff.”

Smiling at the admission, Ben knelt and pulled Joe’s boots off as smoothly as he could. Joe caught his breath. Ben, still kneeling on the floor, placed his hand on Joe’s. “Son, its not a crime to admit you’re hurt. Let me help you get ready for bed.”

Joe nodded. “Okay, Pa.” He sat still while his father unbuttoned his shirt, and eased it down his arms.

As Ben got his first glimpse of Joe’s back and chest, he was the one who caught his breath. Joe was covered in angry red blotches and welts that were taking on the hue of bad bruises. The marks made by the corral rails were all too clear. “Joe, son, no wonder you hurt.” Ben gently placed his hand on the back of Joe’s neck, and began to massage it. “I’ve sent for Paul.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Joe remarked, tiredly. “I’m all right, Pa, honest. I’ve just had a few falls from the broncs. That one this afternoon was just a bit harder than the rest.”

“Don’t try to fool me, young man,” Ben said, mock sternly. “That fall this afternoon sounded dreadful. You may have broken ribs. You were lucky not to break anything else.”

“I guess,” Joe agreed, listlessly. He sighed, then winced as pain stabbed through his battered body. “I’m tired, Pa.”

He leaned against his father’s broad shoulder, just as he had done when he was a child. Ben supported him gently. It had always been easier to show affection to Joe than to the other boys, because his very nature made him more inclined to show and return caresses.  Ben felt goose bumps rising on Joe’s bare arm, and rubbed briskly. Joe winced. “I’m sorry, son,” Ben apologised. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He rose and found a nightshirt, and helped Joe into it.

                **********

Joe was in a restless sleep when Paul Martin arrived. Paul had treated Joe from birth, and knew his young patient inside out. He woke Joe with a light touch, and set about examining him. Adam told Paul the story of Joe’s fall. Paul looked with professional detachment at the dark bruises spreading all over Joe’s back and chest. “Broken ribs,” he said. “You’ll be sore for quite some time, Joe. Take it easy for a few days.” He mixed Joe a powder to help with the pain, and bound up his ribs.

“Thanks for coming, Paul,” Ben said, as they went downstairs. “When I saw those bruises, I feared the worst.”

“I’m not surprised, Ben,” Paul replied. “I thought about internal injuries, too, but there was no sign of any. Don’t worry. Joe will be very sore for a few days, but he’ll heal.”

                **********

Next morning, Joe was too stiff to even sit up unaided. His body was black and blue. For once, Joe made no complaint about staying in bed.  He dozed on and off all day, while Ben, Adam and Hoss carried on with the chores of the ranch. It was their busiest season, and they could ill afford to have Joe laid up. Even less could they afford to have someone sit with him all day, so Joe put up with his own company. Hop Sing popped in and out, but he was busy, too, preparing for the big cattle drive. All the Cartwrights were going to go on it, and Hop Sing had elected to go along as cook.

As the week went on, and Joe got better, it became apparent to them all that he wasn’t going to be fit enough to go on the cattle drive. It was already Thursday, and they were due to leave on Monday. Joe became short tempered as he realised that his family were going to be one hand down when they most needed him. He knew that he would be left behind at home.

Finally, Ben cornered Joe alone. “Son, I know you want to come with us, but we have to face facts. You simply aren’t able to do it, are you?”

“I guess not,” Joe said, in a sulky tone.

“I managed to hire two extra men today, so I’m going to leave Clem behind, too, with Charlie and Dave. Clem is learning, but he hasn’t the experience to do a long drive like this. I’m leaving you in charge of the ranch, Joe. Please, take it easy. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“All right, Pa,” Joe said, and tried to smile. He hated to be left alone at the ranch, but he could see there was no point in objecting. At least, he could send his father away with a smile, however forced it might be. Ben had enough to worry about already.

                **********

The ranch house seemed big and echoey to Joe, sitting there alone that first night. He had been in the house alone before, but he was never totally comfortable. He had picked at his meal, but most of it had gone uneaten. Charlie, Dave and Clem were doing the work, because Joe still wasn’t up to more than light duties. Joe had spent the afternoon grooming Cochise, who was restive for lack of exercise.

The family had been gone for 2 days, and Joe had begun to ride gently around the place when Clem came back into the yard at a gallop. “Joe,” he gasped, bursting into the house. “The north pasture fence is down.”

Heaving a sigh, Joe got to his feet. “The fences are often down,” he commented, mildly, smothering his impatience. “There’s no call to panic.”

“There isn’t any sign there were ever fences there,” Clem panted. “The posts are gone and everything.”

For a minute, Joe couldn’t believe his ears. There were miles of fencing around the Ponderosa. Joe knew almost every inch of them. “Gone?” he echoed. “I’d better come out and see. Then we can decide what to do.”

Shouting to Charlie, Joe quickly brought him up to date, while Clem saddled Cochise. Joe threw some food into a bag, and checked his bedroll before mounting up. He knew they would be away at least one night, maybe two. Once he saw the damage, he’d know what equipment he’d need to repair it.

He and Clem set off at an easy lope. Clem rattled on about how he’d found the fencing down, but Joe barely listened. He still found riding uncomfortable, and after a time, had to slow Cochise to a walk. Clem gave Joe a questioning look, and slowed his mount, too. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m still sore,” Joe replied, shortly. Anyone else would have guessed what was wrong, and said nothing. Clem still hadn’t learned tact.

“Joe, what’s it like to be rich?” Clem asked, after a short silence.

Laughing, Joe said, “You’d better ask someone who is rich, Clem.”

“But you are rich,” Clem insisted. “Your Pa owns all this land, so you’ve got to be rich.”

Stifling a sigh, Joe tried to explain. “You just said it, Clem,” he began. “My Pa owns all the land. Not me, Adam or Hoss. Pa. We get our wages, same as you.”

“Yeah, but you get more than just wages,” said Clem. “Your Pa buys you whatever you want. You don’t have to work, do you?”

“Where did you hear that?” Joe asked, frowning. “ We do have to work! Sure, Pa sometimes buys things for us, but usually for our birthday or Christmas. Anything else we want, we have to work and save for, just like everyone else.”

Clem chewed on his lower lip while he thought it through. “But you will be rich, won’t you, when your Pa dies? All this will be yours.”

“Well, no,” Joe replied, beginning to get annoyed. “The land will be split between Hoss, Adam and myself, I suppose. What is this? Do you think we don’t do our share around here?”

From past experience, Clem recognised the signs of Joe’s ill temper, and hastily retracted. “No, of course not. I just wondered, is all. We ain’t never had money. I wondered what it was like not to worry.”

As quickly as that, Joe’s bed temper soothed away. He laughed. “Clem, I don’t know what you’ve been reading, but rich people worry just the same as everybody else. We still have to pay taxes, we still have to eat. It might be that we worry about different things.”

They rode on in silence for a while. Joe’s mind was fixed on the problem with the fencing. He knew it would be tough to get the fence mended. He wasn’t in any condition to mend fences. “Joe,” Clem said. “Did you ever want to go to college?”

For a moment, Joe wondered if he’d heard correctly. Clem’s mind seemed to wander from thing to thing without any reason. He summoned what was left of his tiny store of patience, and said, “No, I never did want to go to college.”

“Your brother Adam did.”

“Yes, I know,” answered Joe. “But neither Hoss nor I wanted to. The kind of things we wanted to learn can’t be taught in a college. It was different for Adam. He’s interested in Shakespeare and them kind of fellas. Me, I just wanted to work the Ponderosa.”

“Oh,” Clem replied, all innocence. “Don’t they teach stuff about ranching in college?”

“I don’t know,” Joe snapped. “I told you I was never interested. Do you want to go to college, or something?”

“I don’t know,” Clem answered. “What would I study?”

By now, Joe was really exasperated. “Clem, you’re the one who brought the subject up! How do I know what you want to study?” He gave Cochise a kick, and quickened the pace a bit.

Not to be put off, Clem persisted, “Joe, it must help to get girls – I mean bein; rich and good lookin’ an all.” He smiled. “Like that there Susie, who works in the Bucket Of Blood. She’s sure sweet on you.” He giggled. “Looked like you’re sweet on her, too, the way you was kissin’ her an’ all.”

“She’s a nice girl,” Joe said, shortly, not wanting to get drawn into this discussion. “I like her fine. Can we just drop this ‘rich’ thing?”


                **********

The fence was indeed gone. Joe looked with disgust at the tracks where the posts had obviously been dragged away. “Come on, let’s see if we can find those posts.”

They didn’t have far to go. The posts were lying about 50 feet inside the tree line. The wire was gone, but that didn’t surprise Joe. At least finding the posts saved them one job. “Give me a hand to drag these posts back to the fence line,” Joe said, pulling on his gloves.

They worked in silence, more or less. Joe found that his ribs still hurt a great deal, as he struggled to help carry posts that normally wouldn’t trouble him at all. He tried not to groan aloud, but Clem noticed how pale his boss had become. “Joe? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Joe snapped, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Look, Clem, you go back to the ranch and tell Charlie to wire my father about this. He knows where they’re stopping. Get Dave to throw some wire and tools into the buckboard and bring them out here. I’ll go on moving the poles.”

“But, Joe, you can hardly manage them poles,” Clem pointed out, truthfully, if tactlessly.

That was the last straw for Joe. “Damn it, Clem, can’t you just do as you’re told for once, without making a big deal out of it?”

The younger man backed off, looking shocked. Joe realised how tired he was, for he wouldn’t normally have cursed like that. Ben didn’t approve of it, and the boys generally stuck to his wishes. But now, Joe was tired, sore, and fed up of the young cowboy’s lack of initiative. Angry, as much with himself as at Clem, Joe turned back to the woods, to get another pole. He heard Clem walking towards him, and half turned, ready to blast him again. From the corner of his eye, Joe saw Clem’s hand raised high, and coming down at speed. The next moment, something crashed onto his head, and he blacked out.

                **********

Someone was groaning. Joe could hear them far away. He wondered who it was. He wished they would be quiet. After a while, he realised that he was doing the groaning, and was able to stop. As consciousness fully returned, he became aware of the merciless thumping of his head, and the queasy sensation in his stomach. Joe tried to raise his hand to his aching head, but his arms wouldn’t move. It took him a moment to realise that they were tightly bound behind his back.

Cranking open his eyelids, Joe gazed blearily round at the inside of one of the line shacks. He was alone, and he felt cold. Gathering his wits, he tried to free himself from the ropes. As he struggled fruitlessly against the knots, Joe’s eyes fell on his feet. To his astonishment, they were bare. Looking round, he spotted his boots sitting across the room. Joe wondered why his boots had been removed, but his feet not tied. He shook his head, bemused, then wished he hadn’t.

The ropes round his arms continued to defy Joe’s efforts to break free. He was desperately uncomfortable, as it wasn’t just his wrists that were tied. The rope was wrapped round his forearms, so his elbows were also touching. The strain this placed on his shoulders and ribs was appalling.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden porch of the shack, and the door opened. Joe wasn’t surprised to see Clem. He gave the young cowboy a scathing look. “What are you playing at, Clem?” Joe demanded.

“I give the orders here, Joe,” Clem replied. “I’m in charge. I’m holdin’ you to ransom.”

Swallowing the totally inappropriate laugh that rose in his throat, Joe realised that Clem was deadly serious. “For ransom?” he repeated. “Haven’t you got the timing a bit wrong? My Pa isn’t due back for a couple of weeks, assuming all goes well.”

“Don’t try an’ be clever with me,” Clem warned. “I know what I’m doin’. I wired your Pa to come home, that you’d taken a turn for the worse. When he gets back, he’ll pay me a lot of money to let you go. Then I’ll be rich.”

Avoiding Clem’s eyes, Joe realised he was in real trouble here. Clem was no great shakes as a thinker. His ineptitude was nearly legendary round the ranch, and Joe feared that things could go wrong. He took a deep calming breath, trying to ignore the stab of pain from his ribs. “Clem, even when you do get the money, you’ll be a wanted man.”

Looking at Joe, Clem sneered. “If’n I get enough money from your Pa, I’ll go to California or somewhere, an’ nobody will bother me.”

“Look, Clem, you’ll be a wanted man wherever you decide to go,” Joe said, patiently. “Let me go, and I’ll give you some money. Enough to tide you over until you get another job. This need go no further.”

“Huh!” Clem said, scornfully. “You’d turn me over to the sheriff the minute I let you out of here. I’m not stupid, Joe, even though you all think I am.”

“We don’t think you’re stupid,” Joe contradicted. “You’re inexperienced; there’s a difference.”

“Not from where I’m standin’,” Clem retorted. “I’m as good a rider as you, Joe! You know that, but you won’t admit it! That’s why you wouldn’t let me try breaking them broncos.”

“You are a good rider,” Joe admitted, “but you aren’t good enough to break horses. Not everyone is.”

“You’re jealous of me!” Clem shouted. “You are! That’s why you kept giving me the dirty jobs! I thought that when I cut the cinch buckle, and you were hurt, that I’d get to finish that horse! But no – Adam did it! You’re all jealous of me!”

Listening to the diatribe, Joe realised that Clem had told him exactly why he was there. Clem was jealous of the Cartwrights. He had some misconceived ideas that the boys didn’t have to work, and that all his problems would go away if he had money. Working his way to riches seemed an alien concept to Clem, and so he had decided on a get-rich-quick scheme, without thinking the consequences through.

Remembering back to their school days, Joe realised that Clem had always been like that. He was a grade lower than Joe, but had tried to be friendly. Joe had tolerated him, but hadn’t liked him much. Clem had assumed that it was because his parents weren’t rich, not seeing that Joe’s friends were from both rich and poor families. Clem just wasn’t terribly likeable.

Knowing there was nothing he could say to make Clem listen and understand, Joe kept silent. He remembered one time, at school, when Clem, provoked by a girl’s thoughtless laughter, had pushed her against the hot stove, causing a bad burn on her hand. He had been unrepentant, despite a beating from his father, and a lecture from the teacher. Clem might be the ranch joke, but he was also potentially dangerous. Joe swallowed against the fear rising in his throat.

Clem ranted on for a few more minutes, before finally falling silent. Joe eyed him covertly. “Clem, please, let me go. I promise I won’t go to the sheriff.”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, Joe. When your Pa pays up, I’ll tell him where to find you.” Clem sniffed, rubbed a hand over his face, and went back towards the door. He hesitated, and then picked up Joe’s boots. “I’ll be takin’ these along with me,” he said. “I don’t want you goin’ anywhere.”

Realising he was going to be left alone, Joe lunged to his feet. Clem looked surprised, but swung his fist at Joe, who ducked. Joe had no fists to punch with, but he threw his shoulder into Clem’s mid section, and drove the startled cowboy backwards out of the door. They both crashed to the ground, and Joe rolled quickly to his feet, panting from the pain in his ribs.

Ignoring Clem, Joe set off running away from the shack. He had no idea exactly where they were, but knew he could find his way back to the ranch if he could only get clear of Clem. Running with his arms bound behind him was extremely difficult. He had barely taken more than a few steps when he saw the reason behind his bare feet. Clem had scattered broken glass all round the cabin. No matter how careful Joe was, he couldn’t avoid standing on it. Within moments, his feet were badly cut, and bleeding.

Stumbling on, Joe tried to tell himself that the pain wasn’t too bad; that he would manage to run far enough and fast enough to escape. He could hear Clem running behind him, getting closer, but didn’t dare look round. Then the footsteps stopped, and Clem hit Joe around the knees in a flying tackle. Joe crashed painfully to the ground, unable to do anything to break his fall. He groaned as the pain hit him.

While Joe’s head was still reeling, Clem grabbed him by the shirt collar, and pulled him half way to his feet. “Damn it, Joe, you are so stupid! Why’d you do that?”

“Did you really think I would just tamely sit there and let you steal money from my father?” Joe wheezed.

“I ain’t stealin’!” Clem bellowed, puce with rage. “I’m holdin’ you to ransom. That ain’t stealin’!”

“Its stealing in my book,” Joe retorted.

With an incoherent shout of rage, Clem let go of Joe and turned away. Joe watched him, wondering what he was going to do. “You Cartwrights! You think you’re so much better than me! Well, you ain’t!” Clem was working himself up into an even worse rage.

Glaring at Joe, Clem lifted his foot in an oddly deliberate gesture, and stamped down hard on Joe’s unprotected left ankle. He stamped again and again and again, grinding the heel of his boot into Joe’s flesh. Joe, stunned by the action at first, was soon unable to prevent himself from yelling in agony. When Clem stumbled away, rage spent, Joe lay on the grass, panting and sobbing, holding on to consciousness by a thread.

How long Joe lay there, he was never to know, but darkness had begun to fall when Clem returned. Joe was chilled, the dampness from the grass soaking into his thin shirt and tan pants. His ankle was black and swollen, and Joe thought it might be broken. He could barely manage to wriggle his toes. He knew he couldn’t walk, and with his arms bound the way they were, he couldn’t crawl, either. He’d dragged his aching body a few feet along the ground, and knew he couldn’t go any further.

Still, he couldn’t quite repress a shudder when he saw Clem approaching, and he tried to squirm away. Clem didn’t even notice. He yanked Joe unceremoniously to his feet, and flung Joe over his shoulder. Back in the shack, he dropped Joe on the bed, careless of the injuries he’s caused. Joe caught his bottom lip between his teeth as his ankle bounced off the frame of the cot. His head swam with the pain, and although he didn’t black out entirely, he was certainly very close. When he was again aware of his surroundings, his hands were tied in front of him, and Clem was offering him a plate of cold beans. Joe was queasy, but reasoned that he would have to eat something, so he was strong enough to escape when his chance came.

There was silence while they ate. Joe glanced frequently at Clem, trying to gauge his mood. The killing rage seemed to have gone completely. Then Joe noticed something odd. Clem’s mouth was swelling. A faint memory stirred, and Joe allowed it to come to the forefront of his mind. It was in school, and Clem had just had his lunch. His mouth had begun swelling, and he’d been very sick. His skin was clammy and pale, and the teacher had sent for the doctor urgently. Clem had been taken home, and no more had been said about it. Next day, he was back in school, still looking a bit puffy, but otherwise back to normal. Joe had buried the memory, as the sight of Clem’s hideously swollen mouth had given him nightmares.

Now, the same thing appeared to be happening. Clem dropped his spoon with a clang, and dashed to the door. Joe could hear him throwing up, and swallowed convulsively, so as not to copy him.  Clem came back in after a few minutes. His mouth was still swollen, and Joe couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Flinching, Clem looked at Joe. “What do you care?” he mumbled.

“I care because I’m trapped out here, and you’re the only person who can get me out of this!” Joe flared.

Shifting his shoulder uncomfortably, Clem grunted. “This happens sometimes,” he said. “It’ll go away. It always does.”

Uneasy, Joe watched Clem for the rest of the evening. The swelling gradually died away, and Joe eventually relaxed. He was bone tired, and he wasn’t sure which bit of him hurt most – his head, his ribs, his feet or his ankle. It was well into the night before sleep claimed him.

                **********

The buckskin horse was well lathered when it galloped into the yard of the Ponderosa. Close behind was the black horse ridden by Hoss Cartwright. It had been 2 days since they received the telegram saying that Joe had taken a turn for the worse, and Ben was needed urgently at home. Adam and Hoss decided that one of them should go with him, and Hoss was elected. They had ridden hard, stopping only when they had to, and they’d made good time.

As they slid wearily out of their saddles, Charlie came into the yard. “Mr Cartwright! Is something wrong? I didn’t expect you for another couple of weeks.”

“What?” Ben said. “I came because of the telegram you sent. About Joe.”

“Joe? He’s up at the North Pasture, mending fences with Clem. Left, oh two-three days ago now. Clem came back to get the tools, and said they’d be back when the job was done.” Charlie scratched his bald head and frowned. “I didn’t send you no telegram, Mr Cartwright.”

“No, I quite believe you, Charlie. But somebody did.” Ben rubbed his face.

“What we gonna do, Pa?” Hoss asked.

“Charlie, go into town and find out who sent that wire. Hoss, we’ll rest and feed the horses, and get something to eat ourselves. Its almost dark, and I don’t think we can do more tonight.” Ben hated to do nothing, but he knew they needed to rest. When Charlie found out who had sent that wire, they might know what to do.

                **********

“They ain’t at the North Pasture now,” Dave reported, “But they had been there. The buckboard was there, but nothin’ had been used outa it. The fence is scattered all over. I followed the tracks a bit, but I lost them on hard ground.”

“Thank you, Dave,” Ben said, his tone grave. Charlie’s report the night before that Clem had sent the wire, confused them.  Surely if something had happened to Joe, Clem should have reported to Charlie, and brought Joe back to the ranch. If something hadn’t happened to Joe, why had Clem sent the wire?

A horse trotted into the yard, and the young son of the storekeeper pulled up beside Ben. “Got a note for you, Sir,” he said, and handed it over, and then turned and left.

Curious, Ben opened it, and looked at the badly spelled note. ‘I got yore boy. Give me $10000 by tonite or he dies. Meet me at the north pasteur fence at 8pm’

Horrified, Ben showed the note to Hoss. For a moment, he couldn’t think what to do. Hoss made some sound of disbelief. “Pa?” he said.

“I’ll go into Virginia City and get the money,” Ben said. “I’ll tell Roy, too. Hoss, maybe you could look at those tracks, and see if you can follow them?”

“Sure, Pa,” Hoss agreed.

They each mounted their horse with a heavy heart.

                **********

The days passed in a blur for Joe. He couldn’t sleep for more than a short time, and his body cried out for rest. His ankle burned without ceasing, and every uncautious move sent a flare of pain from his ribs. Rope burns marked his wrists, but he couldn’t prevent himself from trying the ropes, hoping against hope that there would be slack in them. There never was. Clem’s ineptness didn’t seem to extend to knots.

Despite this, Joe had twice more tried to escape. Each time, Clem had caught him, and taken his anger out on Joe with his feet and fists. Joe still ached from his last assault. He watched Clem pace around the shack, and guessed that he would be trying to collect the ransom soon. But there was no point in trying to talk Clem out of his course of action. He had decided, and Joe hurt enough that he didn’t want to provoke another beating.

About mid-afternoon, Clem shoved another plate of cold beans at Joe. Joe wasn’t a huge fan of beans at the best of times, and he had eaten nothing but beans since Clem took him prisoner. He picked at them listlessly, trying to force himself to eat the unappetising mess.

Suddenly, Clem coughed, and vomited. Joe looked at him, and saw the now-familiar swelling appearing. Clem was gasping for breath, choking and wheezing. Joe was alarmed. Clem clutched at his throat. His skin was pale and clammy. Joe could see the sweat breaking out on his forehead. Clem’s mouth opened, and Joe, to his horror, saw that Clem’s tongue was hugely swollen. It lolled out of his mouth, as though there wasn’t enough room for it inside.

Joe thrust his plate aside, and scrambled to Clem’s side. But there was nothing he could do. Clem was already unconscious. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the floor. His desperate struggle for breath didn’t last long. Within ten minutes, Clem was dead.

                **********

“Where is he?” Ben grated, fiddling impatiently with his rein. “He said 8 pm, and its nearly 9!”

“I dunno, Pa,” Hoss said, helplessly. “Perhaps he ain’t comin’.” He looked round nervously. “What we gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Ben replied. “I just don’t know.”

They stood and waited until darkness blanketed the land. Only then did they acknowledge that Clem was not coming for the money. Roy Coffee, who’d been watching the spot since early in the afternoon, joined them. “Its odd, Ben. We’ll have a posse out lookin’ for them in the mornin’. We’ll find them, I promise.”

Ben just nodded, knowing that Roy couldn’t promise him anything, and keep it. “Hoss, let’s spend the night here, and in the morning, we’ll follow those tracks to the end, and then make a guess as to where they might have gone.”

Nodding agreement, Hoss set about making camp, but his mind was on his missing younger brother.

                **********

Almost one hundred miles away, Adam Cartwright sat by the campfire and stared sightlessly into the flames. Nearby, Hop Sing watched Adam, and both were thinking about Joe. Their next stop at a town was almost two days away. Adam wondered if Joe was still alive. He didn’t yet know that Joe had been kidnapped.

                **********

The shock of seeing Clem die like that had yet to wear off. Joe had seen men die before, but never had he seen anything like that, and he hoped he never would again. The trauma of the last few days paralysed Joe for a while, and it was several hours before his tired brain began to think about what happened next.

It was dark outside. Joe shivered as he looked at the body lying there in the room with him. Fumbling with his bound hands, he took Clem’s blanket and covered the corpse. The shack stank of vomit, but Joe had no way to clean it up. He slid over to the cot and crawled onto it, pulling his blanket up as best he could. He didn’t sleep at all that night, as he lay with his head buried under the rough wool.

As daylight came, Joe took stock of his situation. No one but Clem knew where he was, so it was up to him to get home. With a sudden surge of hope, he wondered if Cochise was outside. If so, his problems would be over. Joe looked round for the things he would need. Reluctantly, he searched the corpse for a knife, and found one inside Clem’s boot. For an instant, Joe thought about taking Clem’s boots, but he decided against it. They were far too big for him, but he reasoned his swollen, blackened ankle wouldn’t fit.

Wedging the knife into a crack in the floor, Joe set about cutting his bonds. It was a slow, tedious, painful job. The knife slipped frequently, and Joe’s hands were soon a mass of bleeding cuts. But he persevered, and eventually, the last strand severed. Joe looked ruefully at his hands. They were now nearly as painful as his feet. However, at least he had the use of them again, and he spent some time sitting rubbing them, helping the circulation return to normal. He slit a couple of strips off the blanket, and wrapped his bleeding hands in them. He did the same for his feet, and felt he at least had a slim chance. His gun belt and canteen were in the corner, along with Clem’s things, and he felt better when the familiar weight of his holster was round his waist.

Feeling he was as prepared as he could be, Joe limped out of the shack. After circling carefully, Joe realised that Cochise was nowhere to be found. He let out several of the piercing whistles he used to call him, but there was no response. The next situation was the glass. Joe had to walk over it. He knew that his current method of travel – sliding along on one hip – wasn’t going to do him any favours on glass. Taking a deep breath, Joe stood warily on his aching feet, and limped off.

Later, he couldn’t tell how many times he fell. But by the time the glass was crossed, he was bleeding from numerous cuts on his feet, hands and legs. Joe had to stop to rest. He felt desperately sick. His ankle was unmitigated misery, and he had no idea how he was going to make it home.

After a short rest, he resolutely lifted his head to get his bearings. It didn’t take him long to figure out where he was, but that gave him no real comfort. He was many miles from his home. Joe took a drink, and checked the wrappings on his feet. He picked a few persistent shards of glass from them, noting that the fabric was already fraying badly. He knew they wouldn’t last long, but resolutely put the thought from his mind.

Checking his bearings again, Joe began to drag himself along the ground in the direction of home. He had to stop and rest frequently, and to brush debris from his hip. His muscles, unused to this form of locomotion, were soon cramping badly. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Joe forced himself to go on. When night fell, he had gone barely a quarter of a mile.

Wrapping himself in what was left of the blanket, Joe huddled beneath a tree and tried to sleep. Despite his exhaustion, the best he could manage was a fitful doze. Nightmares crowded in on him, and adding to his misery was a growing ache in the hip he was constantly dragging over the ground.

Soon enough, he was supine, gazing at the star-filled sky above him. “Please, God, get me out of this,” Joe prayed. “I wish Pa knew where I am right now. I wish I could tell him I’m all right.” After a moment he added wryly, “I wish you would find me, Pa,” and swallowed the sob that rose in his throat.

                **********

“Did you get any sleep, Pa?” Hoss asked, handing Ben a cup of coffee.

“Not much,” Ben replied. “How about you?”

“Naw, me either,” Hoss admitted. “I jist cain’t rest easy until we find Joe.”

Wordlessly, Ben patted Hoss on the shoulder and they ate their breakfast in silence. Packing their gear, they mounted up and rode on. Hoss scanned the ground as they rode, searching for tracks. But the ground was baked hard, and there was nothing to see.

After a brief break to rest the horses, they pushed on. Suddenly, Buck stopped and snorted and pricked his ears. Chubb copied him, and, unurged, they quickened their pace slightly. Hope flared in Ben’s heart. Coming into a glade, they saw Cochise tethered to a tree, on a long rein. The pinto was looking at them, and they saw he was still saddled.

A thorough examination showed Cochise was unhurt. Hoss watered the horses, and joined Ben in searching the area. There was no sign of Joe.

“Make the signal, Hoss,” suggested Ben. “Perhaps Joe will hear it.”

Unshipping his gun, Hoss fired twice into the air. As the echoes died away, father and son stood listening, straining their ears for a response. None came.

“There are a few faint tracks over there, Pa,” Hoss said, pointing. “Should we follow ‘em?”

“Why not?” Ben answered, shrugging. “It’s the only thing we have to go on.”

Once again, they mounted, and Hoss hitched the pinto’s reins to his saddle. He was soon leading them towards the eastern boundary of the ranch.

                ***********

Morning found Joe still awake. His eyes were grainy from lack of sleep and his stomach felt hollow. He wished he’d been able to take some food, but there had been almost nothing in the shack, and he had no way to carry it. Knowing that he couldn’t lie there forever, Joe gritted his teeth and resumed his journey. The sun was hot, and Joe was hatless. He wiped sweat out of his eyes more and more often. Each time he moved, his muscles protested. Within an hour, Joe was slumped, exhausted, on the ground.

After a time, the gentle breeze revived him slightly, and he sat up, taking stock of his situation. He had to accept that he wasn’t going to get home under his own steam. He had no food, limited water, and only the bullets in his gun – 5 in total – so he couldn’t simply fire his gun until someone happened to be near enough to hear. He had to find somewhere to stop, where he could get water, if nothing else. So far, the weather had been kind, but Joe knew it could change in an instant.  He had to find water.

The decision taken, Joe surveyed his surroundings. There was a stream further on, and he made it his goal to get there. He could go without food for a few days, but he had to have water. Joe knew there were big trees there, and he would be able to shelter beneath one of them, and still be within crawling distance of the stream.

Deciding to test his ankle again, Joe attempted to put it to the ground. The pain was agonising, and he abandoned the attempt at once. Taking a deep breath, he began to shuffle his way forward.

                **********

It was almost dark before Joe finally reached the stream. His head thumped painfully from lack of sleep and the heat of the sun, and his mouth was dry. He drank direct from the stream, relishing the cool water, and then splashed his face. He re-filled his canteen. By then, the blanket wrappings on his hands were soaking, and he decided to remove them. They were pretty much stuck on, and he had to soak his hands again and again before they began to come loose.

Examining his hands, Joe noted that some of the cuts showed signs of infection. It was hardly surprising, he supposed. His hands were badly bruised, and the knuckles were almost raw where he had scraped them more than a few times. The rags that had been on his hands were dirty, and Joe decided to remove the ones from his feet, too. He plunged his feet into the stream, crying aloud at the pain in his ankle. After a while, the cold numbed the pain, and he was able to strip away the dirty rags.

His feet were in a dreadful state. Bruised, cut and dirty, they were swelling, too. Joe shook his head, wondering what he could do to help himself, but in the end, decided just to leave well alone. He crawled over to the base of a tree and fell into an exhausted sleep.

                **********

Following the tracks, Ben and Hoss travelled miles. They stopped for the night when the light grew too poor, and both managed to get a little sleep. When dawn came, they were on the move again.

About mid-morning, the tracks faded. Hoss cast around on foot, but couldn’t pick up the trail again. He shook his head, but took out his gun and fired twice.

Again, they held their breath and waited. From far away, two shots came back. Ben looked at Hoss, and the sparkle was back in their eyes. “Joe!” Ben exclaimed. “Come on, Hoss.”

His son needed no urging. He was already mounted.

                **********

Nearly 4 hours passed before they found Joe. He had been too tired to move much that morning, and really didn’t feel all that well. He dozed on and off, following his little patch of shade around the tree as the day went on. He knew help was on the way, and could hardly bear the waiting. But when Hoss and Ben arrived, Joe was asleep, worn out.

Throwing himself from Buck’s back, Ben knelt by his son, horrified by the state he was in. As well as the obvious injuries to his hands, feet and head, Joe was as dirty as Ben had ever seen him. One leg of his pants was torn all the way down, and the flesh underneath was badly abraded.

“Joe,” Ben said, softly, touching his son’s tousled curls. “Joe.” He could feel a slight warmth that might indicate a fever.

Opening his eyes, Joe felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Tears sprang into his eyes. “Oh, Pa, thank goodness you found me.” He sobbed as Ben gathered him carefully in his arms.

                **********

As Hoss made camp, Joe told Ben his story. His voice faltered as he told of Clem’s death, and his own journey to this point.

When supper was ready, Ben gently fed Joe, as Joe had found that his hands were too sore to hold the spoon. He ate next to nothing, and Ben anxiously checked for signs of fever. They were there, but slight.

Next morning, the fever was still low, and Joe brusquely insisted he was able to ride. In actual fact, he wasn’t riding so much as just sitting in the saddle. He couldn’t hold the reins, or put his feet in the stirrups. Hoss rode out in front, leading Cochise, while Ben rode at Joe’s side, keeping a watchful eye on him.

                ***********

Riding at a pace Joe could endure, it was a long journey home. As they finally drew near to the ranch house, 3 days later, Ben sent Hoss for the doctor. “And wire Adam. He’ll be worried sick,” Ben added.

Watching Hoss gallop off, Joe produced a shaky smile for his father. “I can’t wait to get home,” he admitted. He hadn’t told his father how bad he was feeling, but Ben wasn’t fooled.

“It won’t be long now, son,” he comforted. Joe looked dreadful. His face was pale, apart from two patches of hectic colour in his cheeks. His eyes were dulled and sunken with pain. He was at least comparatively clean, now, and no longer unshaven, but he was clearly not himself. Every movement of the horse caused Joe more pain than he was willing to admit to. He was practically at the end of his endurance.

                ************

Back at the ranch, their arrival coincided with that of Paul Martin and Hoss. Moving Joe into the house proved too much for him, and he fainted. When he roused, Ben was washing his face with a soft cloth. “Pa,” Joe whispered.

“You’re going to be fine, son,” Ben assured him.

“I’m so tired, Pa,” he breathed. “Everything hurts.”

“Don’t go back to sleep, yet, Joe,” Paul insisted. He peered into Joe’s eyes and felt all round his head. “No skull fracture. And the concussion is almost gone. I’m going to clean up your hands and feet. You’re not going to be walking anywhere for quite some time, Joe.”

                **********

By the time Paul was through treating the cuts, the patient was nauseated and sweating. Whatever Paul had used to clean the cuts stung unremittingly, and the salve he then put on only made things worse. Up until then, Joe’s hip had given him very little trouble, compared with everything else, but it sure stung now. Paul bandaged Joe’s hands and right foot, until they were like giant snowballs.

“Hey, doc,” Joe protested, weakly. “You haven’t left my thumbs out. How am I gonna manage?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Paul retorted, amiably. “Now, look, your ankle is broken, and I’ve got to re-break it, as its begun to set and its not properly aligned.” Joe went green. “Don’t worry, I’m going to knock you out. Just relax.”

It wasn’t long before Joe succumbed to the ether, and Paul started the tricky operation. Eventually, it was done, and when Joe came round, his ankle was wrapped in many layers of bandage.

“Here, Joe, drink this,” Paul said, holding out a glass.

“Wait,” Joe resisted. “Paul, I want to know what caused Clem to die like he did.” He described what had happened.

Listening intently, Paul searched his memory. “To be honest, Joe, I haven’t a clue. I do remember Clem having a swollen mouth a few times as a child, but I don’t know what caused it, and I don’t have any idea how to treat it. Perhaps if I had been there, I might have saved him, but I don’t know for sure. It must have been awful for you.”

“It was,” Joe replied, his green eyes sober. “I couldn’t help him. Even if I hadn’t been tied up, I couldn’t have done anything.” He shuddered. “It was so quick, but….” He swallowed, and looked away, rubbing a bandaged hand over his eyes.

“Drink this,” Paul insisted, and supported Joe’s head while he drank.

It wasn’t long before the laudanum did its job, and Joe was sound asleep. He looked a defenceless, defeated 16; a broken angel fallen to earth. Ben shook off such fanciful thoughts, and went downstairs with Paul to plan Joe’s recovery.

                **********
By morning, Joe’s temperature was rising. A thin line of red running up Joe’s arm told them that an infection was spreading. Ben, knowing that Paul wasn’t due in until later, wondered what to do, and dredged up a memory of his mother putting bread on a similar injury he’d once had as a child. With nothing to lose, he was soon slapping a piece of bread, soaked in boiling water, on the offending cut. The hot bread on hot, painful flesh, was almost more than Joe could bear. However, it certainly worked. Delighted with his success, Ben proceeded to treat other nasty looking cuts, ignoring Joe’s weak protests.

When Paul arrived, he brought with him a wire from Adam.

TO BEN CARTWRIGHT PONDEROSA NEVADA STOP
SALE WENT WELL STOP
COMING HOME AT ONCE STOP
HOPE JOE IS FINE STOP
ADAM

“Adam’s coming home?” Joe asked. His temperature was still climbing, and he was generally very drowsy. Paul had just given him laudanum, but the pain was still quite bad, and Joe panted as he spoke.

“He’s on his way,” agreed Ben. “But I suppose it will be quite a few days before he gets here.”

“I hope he hurries,” Joe said, and sighed.

Frowning, Ben exchanged a worried glance with Paul. Joe slipped into an uneasy doze. Paul drew Ben out into the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Ben, but it looks as if the worst is yet to come. Joe’s had a week of hell, and it seems to have caught up with him. I’ll go back to town, and get one or two things I might need. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“What can I do?” Ben asked.

“Try and keep his temperature under control. He appears to have a generalised infection, and we need to keep him as cool as possible.” Paul put his hand comfortingly on Ben’s arm. “He’s young and strong, Ben.”

“I know,” Ben replied, but he didn’t look any less worried.

                ***********

As the day went on, Joe condition worsened. He lapsed into a state of semi-consciousness, living in a world peopled by shadows. His fevered brain replayed Clem’s death over and over, and the memory of his own harrowing struggle for survival robbed him of the rest he needed. Ben, Hoss and Paul laboured to bring his temperature down. Finally, they packed him in ice, and his fever lowered slightly.

Worried and exhausted, Ben stayed by Joe’s side, coaxing him to drink sips of water, bathing his hot forehead with cool cloths. Joe seemed a little calmer for a time. But during the night, Joe’s temperature shot up again. Paul asked Ben to bring as many lamps as possible, and he opened all the bandages and checked all the wounds again, one by one. They all were healing, and the inflammation gone.

Finally, reluctantly, Paul unwrapped Joe’s ankle, and there found what he was looking for. Almost invisible amongst the bruising was a deep cut just below Joe’s anklebone, running along the side of his foot. It was red and crusted with pus. “There must be something in there,” Paul said. “Ben, I must probe for it. Can you and Hoss hold him? This is going to hurt him quite a bit.”

                **********

Half an hour later, Paul had extracted a shard of glass and a tiny piece of grit from Joe’s foot. He cut away the infected flesh, and flushed the wound with water several times before putting in a couple of stitches. He then re-bandaged the ankle, and sank down in the nearest seat. Ben and Hoss, looking scarcely less tired, tucked the covers around Joe, and also sat down. “That should sort out the infection,” Paul said. “Its up to Joe now.”

“Will he make it?” Ben asked, fearfully.

“I hope so. We should know more in the next 24 hours.”

                ***********

“Pa,” Joe moaned, tossing his head restlessly. “Tired, Pa.”

“I know, son,” soothed Ben. “I know. You rest now, Joseph. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a sleep.” He wrung out a cloth in cold water, and placed it on Joe’s head.

Another sigh. Joe’s eyes opened a little. “’M I gonna die?” he asked, breathlessly.

“No, Joe! No!” Ben replied, horrified. “You’re a bit better already. Go to sleep, and you’ll feel much better when you wake up again.”

“I hurt,” the youth complained, moving uneasily on the bed, using up precious energy.

“Drink this,” Ben urged, and this time kept the cup at Joe’s mouth until the bitter laudanum was all gone.

For another few minutes, Joe fought the drug, fretting his strength away. Finally, the laudanum worked, and Joe drifted into a deep sleep. Ben continued his ministrations for a while longer. By then, Joe was noticeably cooler. Ben slumped back in the chair, and closed his eyes for a moment. Of course, he fell asleep immediately.

                **********

Opening the door, Hoss smiled briefly at the sight of his sleeping father. Looking at Joe, Hoss saw at once that his brother looked better. He was pale, but that was better than the hectic flush that had ruled for the last few days. Shadows lay under Joe’s eyes, and he looked thinner. If he was truly on the mend, Hoss knew these were things that could be easily rectified.

For such a big man, Hoss could be surprisingly light on his feet. He crossed to the bed without disturbing either of his slumbering relatives. With a gentle, loving hand, Hoss felt his brother’s forehead. Although slightly warm, still, it was much cooler than the previous day.

Lifting an extra blanket, Hoss started tucking it around Ben. Ben stirred and woke, staring at Hoss blankly for a moment, until his mind cleared. His eyes flashed towards the bed. “He’s much cooler,” Hoss whispered. “You get some breakfast, and I’ll sit with him.”

After checking Joe for himself, Ben stretched. “Thanks, Hoss,” he said, quietly, and patted his middle son on the shoulder.

Scraping together a sketchy breakfast, Ben heard a horse gallop into the yard. Weary, despite the sleep, he headed towards the door. Before he got there, it was flung open and Adam stood there. “Adam!” Ben exclaimed.

His oldest son was dressed in his customary black, but was covered in dust, with several days’ growth of dark beard. He had circles under his eyes, and his mouth was taut with tiredness and worry. “Pa. How’s Joe?”

“He seems a little better,” Ben responded. “Come and get some coffee, and then you can go up. Paul should be here fairly soon.”

                **********

Bathed, shaved and changed, Adam let himself into Joe’s room half an hour later. Joe was lying with his eyes closed, his body relaxed. Adam gazed with disbelief at the heavily bandaged hands lying on the counterpane, along Joe’s body to where the covers were pulled back so as not to rest on the injured feet.

As the door clicked gently shut, Joe’s eyes opened, and he slowly turned his head. “Adam!”

“Hey, buddy.” Adam crossed the room and sat onto the edge of the bed. “You didn’t have to go to all this bother to prove you weren’t up to the cattle drive, you know.”

Smiling thinly at Adam’s joking, Joe’s green eyes twinkled for a moment. But that small effort visibly tired him. The mischievous youth vanished, and the broken angel returned. “Adam, it was awful,” Joe said, simply.

“Tell me about it,” Adam invited.

As Joe unburdened himself, Adam listened in silence, hiding his anger and horror. He hadn’t known Clem, except as a ranch hand. He hadn’t thought much of Clem, but he certainly hadn’t thought him capable of dreaming up such a hair-brained scheme. “I wish I’d been here,” Adam said, the anger spilling into his voice, despite his best efforts.

“I wish you had been, too,” Joe said, but his attempt at levity failed. He closed his eyes, briefly.

Looking tenderly at this boy, who frequently drove him to distraction, Adam felt a savage sense of satisfaction that Clem was dead. He hadn’t realised that his thoughts showed so nakedly on his face until Joe said, “Don’t hate him, Adam. He died a way that nobody deserves to.”

“I can’t help it, Joe,” retorted Adam. “Look what he’s done to you! You can’t even lift your head!”

“True,” Joe agreed, because he was too weak to lift his head from the pillow. “But I’m still alive,” he added, softly.

Wordlessly, Adam looked at Joe. Brown eyes met green and locked. In that moment, Adam was forced to re-assess his younger brother again. It seemed to be something he had to do quite frequently.

Lying sick in bed, Joe looked like a child. But he was an adult; a complex, loving, infuriating adult. Joe had just endured an ordeal that Adam knew would have broken many a man, yet he had come through it with his spirit intact. A shudder ran through Adam as he remembered a similar ordeal he had suffered at the hands of a madman named Kane. He wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t had his family’s love and support after it was over. Yet here was Joe, managing to feel pity for the death of the man who had held him captive. Adam hadn’t felt any pity for the death of his captor. Was it that there was such a difference between the two men who had done these things? Kane had been evil, but Clem was simply misguided.

Before he could follow through on that thought, Paul came into the room. He greeted Adam warmly, then turned to smile at Joe. “Well, this is an improvement,” he said, cheerfully.

To Joe’s intense disgust, Paul refused to change the bandages on Joe’s hands. Paul carried on with his examination, while Joe moaned away. “I can’t do anything for myself,” he complained, but both Paul and Adam could hear the tiredness in his voice.

“Joe, you can’t lift your head from the pillow,” Adam observed. “What difference does it make?”

The glare directed at the oldest Cartwright was another indicator that Joe was on the mend. Adam appeared not to notice Joe’s displeasure, which annoyed Joe even more.

Declaring that Joe would make a full recovery, in time, Paul prepared to leave. Joe lifted a weak hand to stop him. “Paul, I have to know. Have you seen Clem’s body?”

Hesitating, Paul looked at Adam. “Tell him,” the older Cartwright suggested, laconically. “I’d like to hear it, too.”

Sitting heavily in the nearest chair, Paul ran a hand over his face. “Clem died of asphyxiation,” he said. “His windpipe was swollen shut, so he couldn’t get enough air. His internal organs had all collapsed, too. I’ve sent wires to a few colleagues, but none of them have ever seen this either. It’s a complete mystery.” Looking at Joe, he added, “Clem was buried yesterday. Only his mother came. Poor fellow.”

Pity rushed through Adam, sweeping away the hate he’d felt. Clem had been jealous of the closeness the Cartwrights had. He’d been angry that he hadn’t had the same affection from his family. Living as they did, the Cartwright boys sometimes forgot how fortunate they were to have such a good strong family. Adam was reminded of their good fortune now, and said a brief prayer of thanks.

Coming back to the present, Adam belatedly realised that Paul had gone. Joe was watching him intently. “What? What are you thinking, Adam?”

Smiling, for Joe always wanted to know what he was thinking, Adam gathered his thoughts. As he started to speak, Ben and Hoss came in. “Tell me!” Joe insisted.

“What are the Seven Deadly Sins, Joe? Do you know?”

Puzzled, Joe replied, “Sloth, lust, envy, gluttony” and he shot a mischievous glance at Hoss, “jealousy – no the Bible calls it covetousness – anger and pride. Why?”

“Well, Clem had several of those sins,” Adam explained. “He coveted a piece of the Ponderosa wealth, and envied us for the privileges we have. And he was angry because he didn’t have any of those things.

“But you know, the deadliest of the sins is often jealousy – covetousness. Jealousy drove Clem to do what he did. He had anger, too, and its just as deadly. Look what he did to your ankle, Joe. Those sins controlled him. Most people have some of those sins, but we control them, not the other way around.”

There was a silence. Joe’s eyes were thoughtful. Hoss was frowning and nodding, and Ben was wondering at his eldest son’s prescience. Joe was often reckoned to be the most sensitive of Ben’s sons, but Adam wasn’t far behind.

“I guess you’re right,” Joe said. “But why?”

“We’ll never know that,” Ben said. “Just like we’ll never know what killed him.”

“It could be simply that we have a loving family to keep our feet on the ground,” Adam concluded, throwing a loving glance at Ben, but adding a wry tone to his voice to lighten the atmosphere.

“Speakin’ o’ keepin’ your feet on the ground,” Hoss interjected, “your share o’ Joe’s chores are waitin’ for you outside!”

“Better hop to it, older brother,” Joe laughed.

“Did I mention pushy in the family description?” Adam asked, mock sourly.

They all laughed.


The end
Oct 2002

Author’s note

The condition Clem died from is called anaphylaxis – potentially fatal allergies. This condition didn’t have a name until 1902, and at the time this story is set, it was almost unheard of. Nowadays, it is becoming more common. There is no cure, and no treatment can guarantee survival. The usual treatment is by adrenaline (epinephrine), and sufferers often carry adrenaline pens. Victims can still die from organ failure, even after receiving prompt treatment. Reactions vary from mild, to fatal. Your health, age, and state of fitness have no bearing on whether you live or die.

This is a terrifying condition. My oldest daughter suffers from this, and her biggest obstacle is the ignorance of others. If you would like more information about this condition, please email me, and I will do my best to explain it, and what it is like to live with.


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