WHIB – The Last Viking
By: Rona Y.
Panting,
Hoss Cartwright straightened up and drew his gun. With a trembling hand, and
grief in his heart, he aimed it at his uncle, the man who had murdered his
little brother. Though he had intended to shoot Gunnar for causing all this
trouble and grief, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Hoss just wasn’t the
kind of man who could shoot another in cold blood.
“I
cain’t do it,” he panted, and holstered his gun, his shoulders slumping in
defeat.
“Hoss!”
Carrie cried. “Look, Hoss!”
Turning
swiftly, dreading what might be coming next, Hoss could barely believe his eyes
as his younger brother Joe limped heavily into the clearing, stumbled against a
rock out-cropping and fell to his knees. Joe’s shirt was bloodstained on the
right shoulder, and he was obviously in some pain. In his hand, he still
clutched the knife he and Carrie had used to free themselves.
“Joe!
Are you hurt bad?” Carrie asked, throwing herself down to hug him. Joe winced
and shook his head, although that wasn’t the truth.
“Punkin!”
Hoss exclaimed, rushing to his brother’s side to take his head in one massive
hand. “I thought they done killed you, boy!”
“No,
not this time,” Joe said, valiantly giving Hoss a smile. “It was your uncle,
Hoss.” He paused to catch his breath.
“I
know,” Hoss interrupted, glancing down.
Oblivious
of this, Joe went on. “He saved our lives. He helped us get away.”
Hoss’
head jerked up and he looked at Carrie for one anguished second before looking
over to where his uncle lay. “I tried to tell ya, Hoss,” Carrie said, and Hoss
couldn’t deny that. Carrie had indeed tried to tell him something, and he was
so overcome by grief that he hadn’t listened to her.
“Amigos,”
said a new voice, and they all glanced up and froze. On top of a nearby rock
formation was Vaca, one of the commancheros from Gunnar’s band. He had his gun in his hand, aiming it at the
small group below. “I’m gonna kill you, amigos,” he went on. As Hoss made a
move to draw his gun, Vaca lifted his and warned, “Don’t move! I know the old
man pretty well. When I kill you, he will die too.”
“Vaca!”
Gunnar cried, rallying himself from the beating he’d received from Hoss. A
short time before, he and Vaca had also fought and although Gunnar had won, he
was exhausted. He lifted his gun.
“Don’t
move, old man,” Vaca warned. “Don’t move. I will kill them.”
“Take
your choice, them or me,” Gunnar challenged. He wished he’d killed Vaca
earlier, when he had the chance.
Without
hesitating, Vaca changed his aim and shot Gunnar. Hoss’ uncle clutched his
side, his gun discharging harmlessly away from everyone. Moving quickly, Hoss
drew his gun and shot Vaca. The commanchero fell form the rocks, dead. Joe and
Carrie let out the breaths they’d unconsciously been holding, and for a moment,
Joe thought he might pass out.
Then,
Hoss’ warm hand left Joe’s shoulder and he was running over to his uncle.
Gently, Hoss turned the older man over, and cradled him in his arms. “I’m
sorry, Uncle Gunnar,” he whispered. “I didn’t understand.”
“Don’t
go getting stuck in the mud, sonny,” Gunnar said. “Sometimes it is difficult to
get out. I don’t regret anything I done. I ain’t askin’ forgiveness from
anyone. I meant to do all them things I done.” He paused to drag in some
breath.
“Yessir,”
Hoss muttered.
“Forgive
me, Hoss,” Gunnar gasped, and then his grip on Hoss’ arm loosened and Hoss knew
his uncle was gone.
Slowly,
gently, Hoss laid him down and buried his head in his hands. Carrie looked
away, and she saw that Joe’s head was down, a sure sign of distress. Joe wished
he could go over and comfort Hoss, but the thought of moving was too much for
him.
After
a few minutes, Hoss came back over to Joe and looked at him. His grieving for
Gunnar could wait. Joe needed attention now. The bloodstain on Joe’s shirt
hadn’t noticeably grown, but it was big enough already. “Let’s get you home,
Joe,” Hoss suggested. “Can you walk?”
“I
don’t think so,” Joe replied, wincing as he tried to move. “I fell, and hurt my
ankle.” He bit his lip as he stretched his left leg out.
“That
bullet still in ya, too?” Hoss asked, knowing, with a sinking feeling in his
heart, that the answer would be yes.
“Yeah,”
Joe admitted. His breath was panting away from him as he tried to control the
pain. “What’re you going to do?”
Biting
his own lip, Hoss wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure what to do. Joe
needed help, and fast. But Hoss wasn’t sure it was wise for him to carry Joe
back to his horse in case they came across some more commancheros. No way could
Hoss carry Joe and have his gun ready to fire. He briefly thought about giving
the gun to Carrie, but she was exhausted and inclined to be hysterical, and
Hoss didn’t know if she could shoot. What was he going to do?
There
was a sound from behind them, and Hoss whirled around, his gun in his hand,
ready to shoot. “Hoss!” Ben’s voice called, and Hoss could have wept with
relief.
“Here,
Pa! Hurry!” he called, and knelt again by Joe. “Ya hear that, Joe? It’s Pa!”
“Good,”
Joe responded, his head lolling on his shoulders as he tired ever more quickly.
He dragged his eyes back open and saw Ben and Adam rush into the clearing.
Both
men had their guns drawn. “Hoss, are you all right?” Ben demanded, seeing, for
the moment, only his middle son.
“Yes,
sir, I’m fine,” Hoss answered, although it wasn’t sure that that was the truth.
Physically, he was fine, but emotionally, he wasn’t. “But Joe’s hurt bad, pa.”
“Joe?”
Ben muttered, finally seeing the young couple huddle behind Hoss sheltering
bulk. He holstered his gun and rushed forward. “Joe! What happened?”
“It
was Vaca,” Joe said. “He shot me…” His voice trailed off as another pang of
agony shot through his body. He swallowed, and glanced up at Ben, who knelt by
him, gently unbuttoning Joe’s shirt to see the wound. “I hurt my foot, too, Pa,
and…and… I don’t think I can…walk.”
“Are
you all right, Carrie?” Ben asked, glancing at her as he tried to hide his
horror at the severity of Joe’s injury. The girl nodded, and Ben turned his
attention to Joe’s foot.
It
was clear from the moment Ben put his hand on the foot that there was no way
Joe could stand to have to boot pulled off. Yet it had to come off. From what
Joe said, he knew the ankle was unlikely to be broken, simply because Joe had
been walking on it. But it was surely sprained and would be swelling. If he
didn’t get the boot off, the swelling would be impeded, and would creep up his
leg, causing other problems. “Someone give me a knife,” he said, harshly.
As
Adam and Hoss fumbled through their clothes, Joe put his hand down and picked
up the knife he’d dropped. “This do?” he asked. At the expression on Ben’s
face, he went on, explaining, “It was Vaca’s. Gunnar gave it to us, to help us
escape.”
“Its
fine,” Ben answered, taking it in his hand. “Adam, Hoss, you keep a sharp
lookout for the rest of those commancheros. Those shots will have attracted
them. Joe,” he paused until those expressive eyes looked up at him. “I’m going
to cut your boot off. I’ll try not to hurt you.”
“Just
do it,” Joe said, and sagged back against the rocks. Carrie tightened her grip
on him, and Joe tried not to wince at the unintentional pain she caused him. He
failed and at once, she contritely loosened her grip.
Meanwhile,
Ben worked as quickly as he could. The jerking against his injured ankle caused
Joe’s head to swim, and he drifted on a cloud of pain, not quite unconscious, until
at last Ben could ease his boot off round his heel. Next moment, he felt his
sock being cut off, and then, blessedly, for a moment things were still. He
drew in a deep shaky breath, and realised that he’d bitten his lip, trying to
control his pain.
“All
right, son?” Ben asked, softly, looking worriedly at Joe. He was concerned
about the positioning of the bullet. It looked to Ben like it was dangerously
near Joe’s lung, and he’d heard his son panting for breath.
“All
right,” Joe breathed unconvincingly. Ben nodded.
Moving
fast, he ripped the sleeve out of his shirt, and fashioned it into a makeshift
bandage. Even by the moonlight, Joe’s ankle was swollen and discoloured. Ben
knew there’d be no way he’d be walking on it for some time to come. Satisfied
with his handiwork for now, Ben sat back. He glanced all around, feeling
uneasy. Both Adam and Hoss were keeping watch, but every now and then, their
attention strayed to Joe.
Following
Hoss’ glance, Ben saw, for the first time, Gunnar’s body. He stiffened, glanced
to first his middle son, then the younger one, and rose to his feet. Without
saying a word, he went over to look down on Gunnar. It didn’t come as a
surprise that Gunnar had died violently. He had led a fairly violent life. Ben
was glad Inger wasn’t around to see what her little brother had come to. “I
hope you find your ship,” he said, softly, and went back to his sons.
It
was decided that Hoss would carry Joe, and Adam and Ben keep watch for the
commancheros. Ben was surprised that they hadn’t already appeared, drawn by the
shooting, but there was no way to be sure they weren’t watching. The area was
covered in trees and rocks, providing many natural hiding places. Ben just
hoped their horses were still where they had left them. He and Adam had heard
the shots and hurried to where they were coming from, meeting each other on the
way. Each had feared that Hoss had found the camp, but hadn’t waited for them
before trying to rescue Joe and Carrie. Ben was still a bit hazy about how Joe
and Carrie had escaped, but now wasn’t the time to ask about it.
Gently,
Hoss lifted Joe, feeling his younger brother’s head lying trustingly against
his shoulder. Hoss wasn’t sure that trust was totally justified, even though he
knew he wasn’t responsible for Gunnar’s actions. But it somehow seemed wrong to
him that Joe didn’t blame him for what had happened.
It
wasn’t far to where Ben and Adam had left their horses, and Chubb had found his
stable mates. Hoss put Joe down while they decided how they were going to
proceed from there. Three horses and five people meant that at least 2 horses
were going to be riding double. Ben didn’t ponder for long.
“Adam,
you go and send for the doctor. We’ll cut across the hills and come to the
house by the back road. Make sure there’s boiling water and bandages ready for
Paul. Light the fire in Joe’s room, too. He’s cold, and going to be colder by
the time we get home.”
“Are
you sure you don’t want to get a wagon?” Adam asked. “We could bring it to the
meadow down there.”
“No,”
Ben replied, positively. “It would take too long, and Joe needs help now. You
get off, and we’ll bring Joe and Carrie home as quickly as we can. Better alert
The
words were hardly out of his mouth when a bullet whistled past Ben’s ear. He
ducked instinctively, even though the bullet was past. Adam hauled him into
cover as Hoss yanked Carrie down and crouched over Joe. Adam fired back. The
commancheros had found them.
It
was immediately clear that the commancheros were targeting Joe and Carrie
especially. They didn’t know that Abe McLain was still alive and could identify
them; they thought Joe and Carrie were the only eyewitnesses. None of the men
left were leaders. They did their best thinking under the command of others.
Now that both Vaca and Gunnar were dead, there was no one to lead them. They
had attacked the Cartwrights without thinking the situation through, and they
found themselves facing men determined not to let anything more happen to the
young couple.
The
shoot-out was short lived. Adam winged the first man, Ben got a second and Hoss
got a third. By then, the others were clearing off and running for their lives.
It wasn’t worth losing their lives, just to kill two youngsters, one of whom
looked like he might die anyway. As fast as the commancheros had begun the
fight, they gave up and fled.
Cautiously,
Adam rose to his feet and made his way over to check the three men they’d shot.
All of them were dead. He scouted around, but found no further signs of anyone
waiting in ambush for them. He holstered his gun and went back to join the
others. “All gone,” he reported, laconically.
Kneeling
by Joe, Ben forced some water into his son’s mouth. Joe roused from the stupor he’d
been in and gulped the tepid liquid greedily. Hoss offered a canteen to Carrie,
who was no less thirsty than Joe. She was beginning to look teary, reaction
rapidly catching up with her. Ben privately thought a good cry would do her the
world of good.
“Hoss,
I’ll take Joe,” Ben decided, wrapping his bedroll securely round Joe. “Adam,
get going. We’ll be along as fast as we can.” He collected a nod from his
oldest son, who touched Joe’s cheek briefly before mounting and riding away.
“Carrie, you ride with Hoss,” Ben went on. He nodded as Hoss got his own
bedroll for Carrie. The night was cooling rapidly, with a chill wind soughing
through the trees. He had a sudden thought, and smiled at her. “Carrie, your
uncle is still alive,” he told her gently.
“Uncle
Abe?” Carrie breathed. “Oh.” After a second, she began to cry and Ben stroked
her hair gently, thinking that was exactly what she needed.
Leaving
Carrie to compose herself, Ben and Hoss helped Joe onto Buck and Ben mounted up
behind him. At once, Ben started his horse walking back to the Ponderosa. The
route he intended taking wasn’t one to be ridden without thought, for it was
precipitously steep in places, but it was far quicker than going down to the
meadow and around to the house.
“All
right, Joe?” he asked, feeling Joe sigh. He knew that all right was a relative
term.
“It…hurts,”
Joe panted.
“Your
shoulder or your foot?” Ben questioned, suddenly terrified that the bullet had
moved, or they had carelessly bumped Joe’s shoulder when moving him.
“Everything,”
came the answer, and there was a catch in Joe’s voice that told Ben he was on
the verge of tears. Not that Ben blamed him. Joe had as much right to a crying
jag as Carrie, and it would probably do him as much good. “Pa,” Joe went on,
“Gunnar saved our lives.”
Slowly,
with many pauses to catch his breath, Joe told the story of how he and Carrie
came to be kidnapped, starting with their encounter with Vaca at the McLain’s
ranch; meeting Gunnar for the first time; Vaca attempting to ravish Carrie, and
beating Joe, who was tied up at the time; the rattlesnake; the fight between
Gunnar and Vaca; the knife and finally, their escape. By the time Joe’s voice
petered out, Ben was burning with anger.
He
had always known that Gunnar was a bandit at heart. He was appalled that Gunnar
had taken Joe hostage after learning his identity, however. Just that morning,
he, Gunnar, Adam and Hoss had shared a meal. He had known about Joe because
Hoss had several times mentioned his younger brother, and hoped that he and
Gunnar would have the chance to meet. Even though Gunnar had helped Joe and
Carrie escape, Ben found it hard to forget that Gunnar had ordered them
hostages in the first place.
Vaca was different entirely. Ben had
distrusted the man on sight when he had come to the ranch house that first
evening. There was something oily about his manner; he was too obsequious,
while clearly eyeing up the wealth of the house. That Vaca would think nothing
of trying to ravish a young female hostage was not a surprise. But Ben was
sickened that he had laughed while beating up a young man who was bound hand
and foot. It was no surprise to Ben that Joe had tried to protect Carrie, even
in that predicament.
“I’m
proud of you, son,” he whispered.
“Me?”
Joe queried. He coughed painfully. “Why?” Joe’s mind was foggy with pain and he
couldn’t think why his father was proud of him getting into yet another scrape
where he had had to be rescued by his family and had been hurt besides.
“I’m
proud that you kept your head,” Ben answered. “And I’m proud that you tried to
protect Carrie from Vaca.”
That
still didn’t make sense to Joe. He blinked, feeling sweat running into his
eyes. “I couldn’t… let Vaca …hurt her,” he said, sounding puzzled. “I
had…to…do…something.”
“I
know,” Ben soothed. “And that’s why I’m proud of you. Don’t try to talk any
more, Joe. Rest. Sleep if you can.”
“Hurts…too…much,”
Joe panted. He leant his head back onto Ben’s shoulder and sighed deeply. Ben
wanted nothing more at that moment than to get Joe back home and safely into
bed.
For
some time they plodded along, unspeaking. The moon disappeared behind some
clouds and the trail grew dim and indistinct. Several times Buck stumbled and
Joe caught his breath each and every time. He had never felt so ill. His
shoulder throbbed in time to his heartbeat and his ankle dangling, unsupported,
in mid-air was a blazing agony all of its own. One minute he was hot, the next
minute he was cold. He wanted to sleep, but he was afraid that if he let go, he
would slide into darkness so deep that he would never find his way out. He
wanted Ben to talk to him, but his father was silent, concentrating on guiding
the horse safely. It was all Joe could do not to ask Ben to stop the horse and
let him rest, but he knew that if they stopped moving, he would not want to go
on again.
Finally,
fearing he was going to be sick, Joe opened his mouth to ask Ben to stop. At
that very moment, Buck’s feet slid out from underneath him, and Ben and Joe
were falling.
“Pa!”
Hoss shouted and pulled Chubb to a stop. Carrie wakened with a jerk. Hoss
jumped down from Chubb’s back and ran over to where the horse lay groaning on
its side and his father and brother lay in a tangled heap further down the
slope. “Pa, Joe, are ya all right?”
For
a horrible minute, Hoss thought they had both been killed. He felt fearfully
for their pulses, and found them. The moment of relief was overwhelming and
Hoss was trembling faintly as he tried to rouse them.
“Pa,
are ya all right?” Hoss repeated, shaking Ben’s shoulder gently. He tried to
see if there were any obvious injuries, but it was too dark to see clearly. “
“Hoss?”
Ben muttered. He lifted his head, clearly dazed. “What happened?”
“Buck
fell,” Hoss answered, looking over his shoulder at the horse, which had
regained its feet, but was standing with its head down and one foot lifted.
“Are you all right, Pa?”
“Yes,
yes,” Ben assured him. “How’s Joe?”
“He’s
out cold,” Hoss said, worriedly. Ben sat up, groaned at the movement, and bent
over Joe anxiously.
The
moon came out again at that moment, and cast some much need light on the scene.
However, it didn’t bring much reassurance with it. Joe was unconscious and
deathly pale. The bloodstain on his shirt was spreading, and Ben listened
anxiously to his laboured breathing.
“Can
you hear me, Joe?” Ben asked, patting his cheek gently. “Joe, son, open your
eyes for me.” He repeated this a few times before Joe stirred and opened his
eyes. “How do you feel, son?” he asked.
“I
want to go home,” Joe whispered. His voice was thin and weak. “It hurts,
“We’ve
got to get him home,” Ben said, urgently. “Hoss, check Buck for me, please.” He
cradled Joe carefully in his arms, and drew back the thin cotton of Joe’s shirt
to check his wound. The new bleeding made him wince, but he had no way to tell
if the bullet had moved at all. Once more, he left the wound undisturbed,
fearing that too much handling would be worse than none at all.
“Pa,
Buck’s pretty lame,” Hoss reported, coming back over. “He cain’t hardly put
that hoof to the ground at all.”
This
was bad news .Ben bit his lip. He had to get Joe home and handed over to the
doctor’s care. Carrie might need some medical attention too. What was best to
do?
“Mr
Cartwright, you and Joe take Hoss’ horse,” Carrie suggested, having slid down
from Chubb’s back and come over. “Hoss will look after me, and we’ll get back.
Joe needs to get home.”
“Carrie’s
right, Pa,” Hoss agreed. “You send someone with fresh horses when you get back.
Chubb’ll take care of ya both.”
“Thank
you both,” Ben said, feelingly. “I hate to leave you here alone with a lame
horse, but you’re right. We must get Joe home quickly.” He rose stiffly to his
feet, feeling his head throb slightly. Hoss picked Joe up carefully, but for
all his care, his younger brother winced miserably.
They
were soon mounted up, and Ben paused for another moment before heading Chubb in
the direction of home. “Be careful,” he urged Hoss and Carrie and then set off.
*****************
It
was a long journey home. Chubb was sure footed and patient, but still slid and
slipped a little on the treacherous ground. About half an hour after leaving
Hoss and Carrie, it began to rain, a cold, thin rain that slanted in on the
wind. Joe shivered and mumbled. He was beginning to feel hot, and Ben was
concerned. The bullet was starting to cause an infection. He hoped Adam had the
doctor waiting when they got back to the house.
At
last, they came down the final slope and were on the last lap for home. Ben’s
arms ached relentlessly from holding Joe onto the saddle. The urge to make the
horse go faster was almost over whelming, but he knew that it could make things
much worse for Joe if he did that so held the horse to a steady walk.
Finally,
they came into the yard and the house door opened and Adam popped out like a
cork from a bottle. He hurried across to look anxiously at Joe before glancing
at his father. “I thought something had happened to you.” He took in the horse
they were riding and a frown creased his forehead. “Something has happened. Are
you all right? What happened to Buck? Where are Hoss and Carrie?”
“Buck
fell,” Ben said, gently sliding Joe into Adam’s waiting arms. “Send one of the
men with fresh horses to meet them, Adam. They’re walking back.” He dismounted
stiffly, and clutched the saddle horn for a moment while he straightened out
the kink in his back.
“Are
you all right?” Adam asked, over his shoulder, for he knew that Joe needed
attention at once. The heat coming form his youngest brother burned through the
bedroll wrapped around him. Joe’s eyes were shut and he breathed in shallow
gasps.
“Never
mind me,” Ben said, although his head throbbed yet. “Where’s Paul?”
“He’s
inside,” Adam assured him. “We put his buggy into the barn when the rain
started.” Moving carefully, Adam carried Joe across the room and began to mount
the stairs. “Go and get changed and dry, Pa,” he ordered.
“Where’s
Abe?” Ben asked, realising that the sofa was empty. He felt a pang in his gut
as he thought that the man had died. How would he tell Carrie, after assuring
her that her uncle was all right?
“Downstairs
bedroom,” Adam’s voice informed him as he disappeared from sight. “He’s doing
better.”
It
was a relief. Ben went slowly upstairs, and into Joe’s room, despite Adam’s
advice to get dried. He had to see how Joe was first.
“Get
a towel, Adam,” Paul Martin was saying as Ben went in. He was stripping Joe’s
sodden clothes off. He paused as the extent of the bullet wound became evident.
After a moment, he moved on, and as Adam handed him the towel, he had Joe’s
bloody shirt off, and his pants loosened. Paul used the towel to dry some of
the dampness from Joe’s skin before continuing his visual examination and
removing the youth’s sodden pants.
“I’ll
operate at once, Ben,” Paul said, grimly, straightening. “But I have to warn
you. That bullet is in a bad place. It’s very close to the lung. I won’t know
until I’ve opened him up if the lung is damaged. We’ll just have to hope. He’s
lost a lot of blood. I’ll do everything I can for him. Adam can help me. You
get some rest.”
Knowing
that Ben would want to stay, Paul all but pushed him from the room, and Ben
reluctantly went. Before he changed, he went to organise horses for Hoss and
Carrie and checked on Abe McLain, who looked much better. Then he went to get
changed, and after that there was nothing to do but wait.
****************
Sometime
near dawn, Carrie and Hoss returned. They were both soaking and exhausted, but
Carrie went at once to see Abe before being persuaded to have a hot bath and go
to bed. Hoss changed his clothes and joined Ben downstairs. Paul was still
operating.
“Will
he be all right?” Hoss asked in a low voice.
“I
don’t know,” Ben replied, honestly. “The bullet was in him for a long time. Who
knows how much damage that fall did him?”
“Are
you all right?” Hoss went over to Ben and looked more closely at his father’s
face. There was a graze near his hairline, with a bruise spreading around it,
but the injury seemed minor. “You was knocked out, too.”
Impatiently,
Ben brushed away Hoss’ concern. “Its nothing,” he said, for he truthfully had
barely felt either it or the headache he had had since Paul began to operate on
Joe. “I’m fine, son.”
Turning
away, Hoss thrust his hands deep into his pockets. “I thought Uncle Gunnar had
shot Little Joe,” Hoss muttered. “I fought him,
“Then
what, son?” Ben asked gently. When there was no immediate answer, he went over
and took Hoss’ shoulders in his hands. “Tell me.”
“I
pulled ma gun,” Hoss said, his voice so quiet that Ben could barely hear. He
instinctively tightened his hold, giving Hoss support. “I wanted to shoot him,
“Of
course you couldn’t, boy,” Ben soothed. “You couldn’t kill in cold blood like
that.” He rubbed his hand up and down
Hoss’ arm.
“Pa,
d’you understand why I wanted to?” Hoss asked, urgently.
“Yes,
I understand,” Ben said, slowly. “You were so badly hurt that you lashed out.
Did Gunnar deny shooting Joe?”
“I
didn’t rightly ask him,” Hoss admitted. “I jist jumped on him.” He swallowed. “He
asked me to forgive him, Pa. Me! When I shoulda bin beggin’ his forgiveness.”
“Gunnar
had kidnapped the brother he knew meant a lot to you, Hoss. He understood why
you acted as you did. He was asking you to forgive him for hurting you.” Ben
didn’t know if that was true or not, but it was what Hoss needed to hear. “And you did forgive him, didn’t you?”
The
tears in Hoss’ eyes spilled down his cheeks. “I had to, Pa!” he exclaimed
passionately.
“I
know that, Hoss. And I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” Once more, Ben
tightened his grip on his son. “And Joe will understand that, too, son. I can
guarantee that. Gunnar helped them escape. Joe wouldn’t hold a grudge against
him, not when he weighs the good against the bad. He saved their lives, Hoss. He
told you so himself.”
“You
reckon?” Hoss asked, afraid to believe it too easily. He wiped the tears from
his face with his sleeve.
“Joe
told me so,” Ben replied.
Relief
flooded through Hoss, and he felt fresh tears welling in his eyes. He sniffed
hard, and wiped his eyes once more. Ben just stood there, holding Hoss and they
both drew some comfort from the embrace. After a time, their eyes were drawn
back to the stairs, where Joe battled for his life.
****************
The
blood was sickening. Adam swallowed hard many, many times, trying to control
his nausea. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Paul needed his attention on
the job at hand. Adam’s job was to wipe the blood away as Paul cut further and
further into Joe’s body to find that elusive piece of lead.
“There
it is,” Paul muttered, and Adam gave a sigh of relief, until he realised that
Paul hadn’t sounded pleased.
“What
is it?” he asked, his heart suddenly in his throat. “Paul?” he pushed, when
there was no answer forthcoming.
“The
bullet is lodged against his lung,” Paul answered. “I can’t tell if the lung is
damaged or not. There’s a danger that when I take the bullet out, the lung
might collapse.” He bit his lip. “Well, I have to go on.” He glanced at Adam,
and saw the chalk-white face. “Adam? Can you go on?”
“Yes,”
Adam answered. He nodded, too as though to confirm his answer. He took a deep
breath, and grabbed a fresh towel. There were three others lying on the floor,
soaked in his brother’s blood. So much blood.
Adam
scarcely dared to breathe as Paul probed the wound for the bullet. Paul seemed
quite calm, but there was a betraying sweat on his forehead. Seconds dragged
out and became minutes. Adam resolutely wiped away the blood and tried not to
think about how much blood Joe had lost. He prided himself on his logical
approach to life, but his logic betrayed him now, and he could only see his
younger brother’s life blood seeping out of his body.
“Got
it!” Paul exclaimed, holding aloft a squashed bit of something that Adam would’ve
been hard put to recognise as a bullet. “Thank goodness.”
“His
lung?” Adam questioned, anxiously. “Is it…?”
“Intact,”
Paul replied. “There’s some damage to muscles, but nothing major. Joe was
incredibly lucky. There must have been a guardian angel looking out for him
last night.”
Reaction
suddenly set in, and Adam found his hand was trembling. Tears formed in his
eyes. Paul noticed at once and pushed Adam into the nearest chair, gently
forcing his head between his knees. “Breathe deeply,” he advised, and hurried
back to begin the long slow process of stitching Joe back together. After a
couple of minutes, Adam had recovered, and came back over to help.
Finally,
it was done, and Joe was cocooned in bandages, his right arm strapped firmly
across his chest by bandages. Paul and Adam changed the bed linen, and Adam
gathered up the soiled sheets and blankets, vowing that they would be burned,
so as not to be a reminder to them of this dreadful period.
“You
can bring up Ben and Hoss now,” Paul said, wearily. “I’ll just look at Joe’s
ankle.” In the worry over the operation, Adam had forgotten about Joe’s ankle.
It was black and swollen, but as Paul gently manipulated it, Adam could see it
wasn’t broken. He left, his arms full of linen.
******************
As
the footsteps sounded on the stairs, Ben leapt to his feet, his heart racing
anxiously. His eyes widened at the sight of all the blood. “He’s alive,” Adam
said, knowing that they couldn’t bear the waiting any longer. “Paul says you
can go up. I’ll be right back.” He crossed to the kitchen as Ben and Hoss
mounted the stairs two at a time.
The
door to Joe’s room stood ajar, and Ben hesitated momentarily before going in,
as though mentally preparing himself for what he might see. Hoss touched his
shoulder and Ben gave him a slight smile before going in.
Paul
was just finishing arranging Joe’s ankle on a pile of pillows. Joe lay on his
back, his head turned to the door. His eyes were shut and his face was the
palest Ben had ever seen. His anxious eyes sought the rise and fall of Joe’s
chest, which was covered in bandages. He hurried over and took Joe’s hand. His
eyes sought Paul’s. “How is he?”
“I
won’t lie to you, Ben. He’s a pretty sick boy. But I hope he’ll be all right.”
Paul sighed. “He’s lost a lot of blood and he’s running a temperature. That
bullet was in there a long time.” He rested a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “That’s
not a criticism, Ben. You brought him home as fast as you could. His lung was
undamaged, but the muscles took quite a beating. It’ll be quite a while before
he gets over this.”
“Thank
you, Paul,” Ben said. His eyes went inevitably back to Joe’s face. One hand
crept up to stroke the damp curls back from Joe’s forehead.
“I’ll
stay until Joe comes round from the ether,” Paul assured him. “I’ll go and check on Abe McLain while I’m
here.”
Although
Ben made a noise of assent, Paul was pretty sure that he hadn’t heard a word
that he’d said. With a smile, Paul let himself out of the room, patting Hoss
reassuringly on the shoulder as he went. He met Adam on the stairs, and saw
that the oldest Cartwright had taken the opportunity to wash the blood off his
hands. “Why don’t you get some rest, Adam?” Paul suggested.
“Later,”
Adam answered. “Pa could do with the rest too, and I know what he’s like when
Joe is ill. He’ll wear himself to a shadow given half a chance.”
“Just
be sure you don’t wear yourself to a shadow, too,” Paul warned. “You’ll never
cope if you all get sick.”
“Yes,
sir,” Adam responded, but Paul could tell his words had hit home. He wondered
who would go to bed first.
*******************
About
an hour later, Joe stirred. He tried to move, but pain hammered him from all
around, and he couldn’t repress a groan. He had a strange taste in his mouth
and a sick-sweet smell lingered in his nostrils. He lifted his hand to wipe the
smell away, and a familiar voice spoke. “Joe?”
“Pa?”
Joe replied. He forced his eyelids to open. They felt as though they weighed a
ton each, but he eventually managed and saw the worried faces of all his family
peering down at him. He tried a smile, which didn’t quite come off, and sighed
deeply. Once more, pain lanced through him, but settled to localise in his
chest. For a minute, he couldn’t remember what had happened to him. “What
happened?”
“You
were shot,” Ben responded gently, holding Joe’s hand. “And as we brought you
home, Buck fell, and you were knocked out.” He rubbed his other hand up Joe’s
arm, feeling the heat still radiating out of his son’s body. At least Joe was
coherent, he thought. “Paul took the bullet out, Joe. That’s why you can’t use
that arm. It’s all bandaged up.”
Swallowing
with difficultly, Joe whispered, “Where’s Carrie? Is she all right?”
“She’s
downstairs, asleep,” Ben told him. He saw Joe lick his lips and hastily helped
him to drink. Joe gulped the cool liquid, but he was tiring rapidly, the blood
loss telling on his stamina. “Did I tell you her uncle is going to be all
right, too?”
There
was no response. Joe’s eyes were closed and his breathing deepened. Ben sat
back with a sigh. He was bone tired and still desperately worried about Joe.
The youth was paper-white from blood loss, and Ben just hoped he had enough
strength to withstand the infection that was coursing through his body. Paul
seemed hopeful that the infection wouldn’t be too bad, but Ben couldn’t help
worrying nonetheless.
“Why
don’t you get some sleep, Pa?” Adam suggested. “I’ll stay with Joe.”
As
Ben started to protest, Hoss over-rode him. “I’ll stay with Joe,” he said. “You
both need some sleep. I c’n wake ya if’n somethin’ happens.”
“Hoss
is right,” Adam said, swiftly. “We are both tired, and you got that bump on the
head earlier.”
“I’m
fine,” Ben responded stiffly. “I can sit with Joe a while longer.”
“Do
as you’re told, you stubborn man,” interjected a voice from the door, and they
turned to see Paul Martin looking at them all. “Ben, you really are a stubborn
old coot! Take your son’s gracious offer and get some shut-eye. It’s going to
be in short supply over the next few days, I can tell you that!” Despite his
jocular tone, Paul was in deadly earnest. He came over and took Ben by the arm.
“Now, get to bed, or I’ll give you something that will make you sleep for a
week!”
“You’re
supposed to be my friend,” Ben grumbled, as he reluctantly capitulated.
“Believe
me, I am your friend,” Paul said. “If I wasn’t, I’d have just given you the
drugs instead of threatening you with them!” He patted Ben’s shoulder. “Get
going!”
***************
As
the morning went on, Joe’s fever climbed steadily. Hoss kept a cold cloth on
Joe’s head, and whenever the youth opened his eyes, he managed to get some
water into him. Joe’s periods of consciousness were few and far between. They
were also short-lived. His body required rest to heal itself, but the pain and
the fever often disturbed him. However, he was so weak that he couldn’t remain
awake more than about a minute and would drift back into a trouble slumber.
“I’m
sorry, Joe,” Hoss whispered, as he put a fresh cloth onto his brother’s head.
“I didn’ know Uncle Gunnar were with them commancheros. I wanted ya ta meet
him, but he wouldn’ stay. We didn’ guess he were plannin’ somethin’ like that.
I didn’ want ya ta get hurt, Joe. Ya gotta believe me.”
“It…wasn’t…your…fault…Hoss,”
Joe breathed. He couldn’t make the effort to open his eyes this time. His
fingers groped weakly over the cover, looking for Hoss’ hand, and when his
older brother took hold of his hand, he barely had the strength to squeeze
Hoss’ fingers. “You…couldn’t…know.” Exhausted, Joe’s fingers lost their grip
and his hand slipped out of Hoss’.
“Ya
gotta git better,” Hoss cried in an anguished whisper. “I couldn’ bear it if’n
ya didn’.” Tears broke free and ran down Hoss’ face. He made no move to wipe
them away. “I love ya, Joe.” Grief overwhelmed Hoss and he put his head down on
Joe’s bed and sobbed out his heart-break and confusion.
As
his sobs stilled, he became aware of a feather-light touch on his head. Looking
up, he saw Joe had opened his eyes just a slit and was watching Hoss,
compassion in those green orbs. “Don’t…cry,” Joe begged. “Don’t…blame… you.”
“Shh,”
Hoss soothed, contritely. “You rest. I’m all right, Joe. Honest. I didn’ mean
to disturb ya.” He gave Joe a drink, and put another cloth on his head, all the
time reassuring Joe that he was all right.
Battling
his exhaustion and fever, Joe fought to say the words he hoped would give Hoss,
his adored big brother, the peace he needed. “Gunnar…forgive…” he panted. He
was finding it difficult to concentrate his thoughts. “I…forgive…Gunnar.” This
was so difficult. Why were his thoughts so fuzzy? Joe blinked sleep away.
“You…forgive…too.”
Hoss
was gazing intently at Joe, listening closely to that paper-thin voice
whispering it’s all important message of forgiveness. “You mean, you want me to
forgive Gunnar because you have?” Hoss asked, uncertainly.
“Yes,”
came the exhausted reply. “He…saved…our…lives.” Joe was fighting to keep awake.
“For…me.” He tried to move, but his shoulder twinged, and for the first time
since he woke up at home, his ankle hurt. He couldn’t contain a whimper of
pain, and slipped into a noisy void.
Shaken
to his foundations, Hoss could only gaze at Joe. The younger man was
desperately ill, running a high temperature, so weak he could barely turn his
head on the pillow, yet he was counselling his older sibling to forgive his
uncle. Automatically, Hoss changed the cloth on Joe’s head, noticing that his
brother’s temperature had gone up again. Was Joe right? Should he just forgive
Gunnar?
“What
do I mean, should?” Hoss muttered to himself, walking across to the window.
“Joe done it, an’ Gunnar treated him worse than me.” He shook his head. “Gunnar
forgave me,” Hoss went on, finding it easier to sort out his thoughts by
talking aloud. “Dadburnit, I forgave
him, too! Why do I feel so bad?”
“Hoss.”
The whisper was so faint Hoss almost missed it, but he turned and hurried back
to Joe’s side.
“What
is it, Shortshanks?” Hoss asked, yet again changing the cloth.
“Forgive…you.”
Joe gave a twitch that in his fevered state he fondly imagined was a smile, and
drifted off again. His breathing was laboured as his body fought the infection
coursing through it. He drew his legs up slightly as pain lanced through him.
Frowning,
Hoss wondered what on earth Joe meant by that last cryptic comment. What had he
done that Joe had to forgive him? He dipped another cloth into the water and
wrung it out, each action automatic, as his thoughts lingered on what his
brother had said. He drew the cloth gently over Joe’s battered body, seeking to
lower his brother’s fever that way.
As
Joe groaned and whimpered again, Hoss forgot about what Joe had said, and
concentrated on doing what he could to ease Joe’s discomfort. After a few
minutes, Joe relaxed into a slightly deeper sleep, and Hoss sat back, closing
his eyes. And that was the moment he realised that he did know what Joe meant.
He had to forgive himself!
It
was a revelation. Hoss had blamed himself for loving Gunnar, and so took the
blame for Gunnar’s actions. What Joe had been trying to tell him was that he
had to forgive himself for loving Gunnar. Ben had said as much to Hoss when
they discovered the identity of the chief of the commancheros. He said that no
man could really know the soul of another. Inger had suspected that Gunnar was
up to no good, but she had loved him nevertheless because he was her brother.
Hoss, accepting that Gunnar had done a lot of bad things in his life, had loved
him because he was his uncle. And at the last, Gunnar had saved Joe and
Carrie’s life, and had died protecting all three of them.
Understanding
brought acceptance, and Hoss forgave himself for loving Gunnar. He sat down by
Joe and took the youth’s hand. “Thanks,” he said, simply. He knew that Joe was
unlikely to hear him, but he needed to say it.
***************
When
Ben awoke it was the middle of the afternoon. He rose and dressed quickly, and
hurried through to Joe’s room, his heart in his mouth. Logically, he knew that
if there had been a crisis, they would have wakened him, but he couldn’t fight
down the fear that coursed through his belly.
Opening
the door, he paused, taking in the scene. Hoss was sound asleep in the chair,
snoring away merrily. Adam was perched on the side of the bed, replacing the
cloth on Joe’s head with another one. His voice murmured quietly, and Ben
realised that Joe was awake. He quickly went over.
It
was clear that Joe was still very sick, but he was coherent. He glanced at Ben
and although he didn’t try to smile, his eyes shone. “Pa,” he mouthed, and
barely a sound reached Ben’s ears.
“Nice
to see you awake again,” Ben said, gently stroking Joe’s hair. He could feel
the heat there still.
“Paul’s
on his way,” Adam said, in an undertone. Ben glanced at him and nodded. Joe was
obviously in pain, and in desperate need of more rest than his injuries were
allowing him to get. “I’ll get Hoss to bed.” He smiled at Joe, and patted his
brother’s arm.
It
took Adam a few moments to get Hoss sufficiently roused to walk through to bed,
but he succeeded eventually, shepherding his bigger younger brother out of the
sickroom. He was back very quickly and joined Ben by the bed again. “I saw
Carrie and Abe earlier,” he said, his voice soft, for Joe’s eyes were closed
again. “Abe looks like he’ll make a full recovery in time.”
“And
Carrie?” Ben asked, also softly.
“Clucking
over Abe like a mother hen,” Adam said, with a laugh. “I think she’d be up
here, too, if she thought she’d get away with it.” Ben smiled.
A
few minutes later, Paul arrived and let himself in. He could see at once why
Adam had sent for him, and at once began to unwrap the bandages. The wound was
red and shiny, and seeped clear fluid all along the length of it. He shot a
glance at Ben. “I’m going to have to open it up again,” he said. “I must let
this infection drain out.”
“What
do you need?” Ben asked, as calmly as he could manage.
*************
The
second procedure didn’t take as long as the first, but it was more than long
enough for Ben. Paul had worked quickly and thoroughly, opening the wound and
cutting away the infected tissue. When he was sure there was noting else he
could do, he flushed the incision with alcohol and closed it. He bandaged Joe,
removed the ether mask, and they settled back to wait. Paul had already
prepared a syringe with morphine in it.
Gradually,
Joe stirred back to consciousness, moaning and whimpering at regular intervals.
At last, his eyes flickered open, and Paul quickly made him drink some sugar
and salt water he’d had Hop Sing make up. Joe had a lot of blood loss to make
up, and this would help. Joe made a face at the taste, but Paul was gently
insistent that he drink it all. Once it
was down, he fed Joe a few sips of cool soup that had been waiting ready for
him. By then, Joe was exhausted and Paul readily gave him the painkilling
injection that would allow him to sleep.
“He
should begin to rally now, Ben,” Paul said. “It’s been hard 24 hours for all of
you.”
“But
especially for him,” Ben stated. “Paul, he will live, won’t he?”
Hesitating,
Paul bit his lip. Ben looked at him. “I hope so, Ben. But I don’t know for
sure,” he admitted. “The next day should tell us more. I’m sorry, I wish I
could say more, but its touch and go at the moment.”
“Thank
you for your honesty,” Ben replied, not sure he wouldn’t have preferred a lie.
************
For
the next few hours, Joe’s fever raged unchecked, but he was at least asleep, thanks
to the morphine Paul had used. As it drew on towards
Leaning
back, allowing Adam to change the cloth for a moment, Ben closed his eyes. He
had prayed so much, he wasn’t sure he had any right to ask for any more. The
night was warm, and Joe’s window stood open, scorning the tradition that night
air was bad for people. There was a sudden rumble of thunder and then they
heard rain slanting against the roof.
For
a moment, they all paused, looking up as though they could see the rain through
the slate roof. A cool breeze crept into the room, causing the curtains to
flutter wildly.
“Better
close that window,” Hoss muttered, moving in that direction. “Joe’s shiverin’.”
Putting
out his hand, Ben stopped Hoss. He wasn’t looking at his middle son, though, he
was looking at Joe. Frowning, Hoss looked at Joe, too, wondering what was
wrong. Adam’s gaze, too, was drawn to the youth on the bed.
Joe
was shivering.
For
a moment, they couldn’t comprehend what they were seeing. Ben broke the spell
first. He moved closer to the bed and laid his hand flat on Joe’s head. For a
moment, there was no movement, and the family scarcely seemed to breathe.
“He’s
cooler!” Ben declared, relief in his voice. “The fever’s broken!” He glanced at
his other sons, and they all grinned at each other, suddenly not tired at all,
but on a high. “Hoss, better shut that window.”
“Yes,
sir,” Hoss responded, and hurried across to shut out the cold, wet night.
*************
Over
the next few days, Joe slept a great deal, re-building his strength. It seemed
to him that every time he was awake, his family stuffed food and liquid into
him. He was too weak to resist, so obediently took everything he was offered.
Thanks to their persistence, his strength crept back, until almost a week after
the shooting, he was able to stay awake for quite long periods.
“Where
is Gunnar?” he asked one evening. Carrie had been in to spend some time with
him that day. She and Abe were preparing to move back to their ranch. Some of
the Ponderosa hands had been over there making the house habitable again. They
had found small talk difficult, and Joe knew that any budding romance they
might have had was gone, murdered by the ordeal they had shared. Joe looked at
Ben. “I mean, I know he’s dead, but…”
“We
buried him on the ranch,” Ben answered, casually. “Up by that lake that he and
Hoss liked so much.”
“Is
Hoss all right?” Joe asked, resting his head back against the pillows. He was
beginning to be tired.
“Yes,
I think so,” Ben answered, cautiously. “Why do you ask?”
“When
I was ill,” Joe began, hesitantly. “Hoss was talking out loud. I think he thought
I was asleep. He was talking about Gunnar and how he hadn’t wanted Gunnar to
hurt me.” Joe stopped to rest and gather his thoughts. Ben waited expectantly.
“I told him I’d forgiven Gunnar, and he should, too.” Joe reached for the glass
on his bedside table, but Ben beat him to it, helping him to drink. “Thanks,
Pa,” he said, as he finished. “I felt real bad, you know?” He waited for Ben to
nod. “I wanted to sleep, but I couldn’t. I realised that Hoss had forgiven
Gunnar, but he hadn’t forgiven himself for loving Gunnar.”
“How
did you know?” Ben marvelled. He had suspected something similar, but hadn’t
had the chance to talk to Hoss about it. Joe’s sensitivity was often a
revelation to Ben, but never more than at that moment. Desperately ill, hovering
at death’s door, Joe had still realised what was wrong with his brother, and
managed to do something about it. It was a gift that Joe himself was unaware he
had, but shared more than willingly with everyone he knew, not just his family.
“I
don’t know,” Joe admitted. “But I told him to forgive himself.” He paused. “Do
you think he has?”
“The
only person who can answer that for sure is Hoss,” Ben told him. “But I think
he has.”
“Good,”
Joe replied and closed his eyes. “He had nothing to blame himself for.”
“It
were you what made me realise that,” Hoss said, from the doorway. He hesitated, half in and half out. There was
movement out in the hall and Hoss tumbled into the room. Adam, apparently, had
pushed him so he could get in, too.
“You’d
have figgered it out in time,” Joe denied.
“I
dunno about that,” Hoss admitted. “Uncle Gunnar talked about getting’ stuck in
the mud, an’ I reckon I were stuck, until you gave me a shove out, Joe.” He
nodded, clearly embarrassed. “Thanks.”
The
patient was equally embarrassed. Joe mumbled something that no one caught, but
everyone took as some sort of acknowledgement.
It
was Adam who broke the tension. “Well, seeing as how Joe isn’t showing any
signs of getting out of bed yet, I guess that means we get to do his chores
again, brother.”
“Guess
you’re right,” Hoss agreed. “He’s a lazy little cuss, ain’t he?”
“You’re
getting real good a chopping wood, though,” Joe riposted. “And at cleaning
stalls.”
“Don’t
worry,” Adam returned as he and Hoss left. “It’s not something you ever forget
how to do!”
“Pity,”
Joe remarked, as Ben settled him for the night.
“For
the help you gave Hoss, when you were in dire need of all the care and help we
could give you, Joe, I think Hoss might be willing to do your chores for a long,
long time,” Ben said, softly. He leaned down and kissed Joe’s brow. “Good
night, son. Thank you. I love you.”
“G’night,
Pa,” Joe answered.
The
End