Survival
By Susan G.
The horses moved nervously in the corral, bright sun gleaming off their
shiny coats. Eight prime fillies were being offered for sale, and their owner
had made sure each animal looked its best. Six men lounged around the fence
surrounding the horses. One wore the uniform of an Army sergeant; the others
wore the familiar clothes of working ranchers. Each man was admiring the
fine horses and, at the same time, trying not to show the depth of the interest.
A man in his early forties sat on top of the fence rail, watching the others.
He noted their interest, and was pleased that his horses had attracted such
attention. He looked around slowly.
“I’ll give it twenty more minutes, then start the auction,” the owner of
the horses announced. “I’m expecting Ben Cartwright or one of his boys. But
if they ain’t here within twenty minutes, we’ll start without them.”
The men around the corral nodded their agreement.
A lone rider atop a black horse became visible in the distance. As the rider
neared the corral, the men watched him idly. They saw a young man, in his
early twenties, wearing a green jacket and tan hat. The young man rode a powerful
black stallion, but he easily controlled the animal as he rode. The rider
halted his horse near the shack next to the corral, and dismounted. He quickly
tied his reins around a nearby hitching post.
“Sorry to be late, Mr. Watson,” Joe Cartwright said as he walked toward
the corral. “I hope you haven’t started the auction yet.”
“Nope, we were going to give it a few more minutes,” Watson answered with
a smile. “Didn’t want to miss out getting a piece of the Cartwright money.”
Joe grinned back at the man. “Well, I’m here,” he replied. “You can start
any time.”
Watson looked around. “We’ll wait,” he said. “Might be another buyer coming.”
Giving a nod, Joe walked to the fence. He carefully studied the horses milling
around in the corral.
“Some nice looking horses,” a voice said from Joe’s left. Joe turned and
looked at the soldier standing next to him. The sergeant was in his late thirties,
with a weather-beaten face, and the look of a veteran. A few gray hairs were
visible in the soldier’s black hair, another testament to the hard times
he had endured.
“Not bad,” Joe answered, glancing quickly at Watson sitting atop the fence.
“I’ve seen better.”
The soldier grinned. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Watson knows what they’re
worth. You’re not going to get the price to come down by pretending not to
be interested.”
Smiling ruefully, Joe nodded his head in agreement. “I guess you’re right,”
he admitted. Joe stuck out his hand. “Joe Cartwright,” he said to the soldier.
“John Milligan,” the soldier replied. “But most people just call me Sarge.”
“Nice to meet you, Sarge,” Joe said.
“That’s a nice looking horse you’re riding,” Sarge commented.
“Thanks,” replied Joe, puffing up a bit with pride. “I caught him myself.
He’s still pretty green. I’ve been schooling him for the past couple of months.
I rode him instead of my usual horse to give him some more work.”
“Looks like you’ve done a pretty good job with him,” Sarge agreed. “You
figure to buy some mares to breed with him.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah, “ he said. “My family’s got a ranch over near Virginia
City. I want to get two or three mares to go with the stallion and improve
the bloodlines of our horses.”
“I’ve heard of the Cartwrights,” Sarge observed. “You have some pretty good
stock already.”
“Well, it can always be improved,” Joe replied. “This is kind of my own
little project. My Pa is letting me see what I can do to better our herd.”
Sarge leaned comfortably against the fence post. “Thought I’d try and do
the same thing. The colonel is letting me buy a couple of mares to breed at
the fort.”
“Hope there’s enough to go around,” Joe said, looking at the other men standing
around the corral. He wiped his hand across his forehead, then slipped his
jacket off, and put it over the fence post. “Sure is hot, “ he remarked. Sarge
nodded in agreement.
Closing the pocket watch he had been studying, Watson jumped down from the
fence. He put the watch in his pocket and walked over to the small knot of
men.
“Don’t look like anyone else is coming,” he announced. “Might as well get
started.”
Joe looked around as Watson entered the corral to select the first horse.
The corral and shack were being used as a temporary site for the auction.
Usually, the place was just a line shack. A wide meadow surrounded most of
the area, but to the right of the shack was a hill covered with dense woods
and brush. Joe thought he saw something moving up in the trees. He stared
at the woods for a minute, but saw no further movement. With a shrug, he turned
back to corral.
Watson was leading a roan mare out of the corral. Her coat had been brushed
to a shine, and her fine conformation drew admiring looks from the potential
buyers. Joe kept one eye on the horse and the other on the men crowded around
him.
“Now this first mare is about five years old,” Watson said as he patted
the horse on the neck. “She’s a sturdy work horse and a good breeder.”
The men standing around the corral were looking at Watson and the horse.
They didn’t note the band of Paiutes quietly descending the hill, coming out
of the thick covering of the woods. The Paiutes rode their horses quickly
but silently until they were within a few feet of the shack. Then, with a
shriek, the Indians attacked.
Hearing the howl of the Paiutes, Joe quickly pulled his gun from his
holster. The men around him did the same and the group spun as a man to meet
the attack. Joe began firing his gun rapidly, hitting two braves and knocking
them from their horses. He could hear the shots coming from the men around
him. But there must have been more than twenty Indians riding toward the men,
and they were on top of the men before they knew what happened. Joe was vaguely
aware of someone to his right falling to the ground, and he saw the roan
mare sprinting away. Joe turned to fire at another brave riding toward him.
Suddenly, he felt an intense pain in the side of his head. He staggered for
a moment, and a wave of pain engulfed him. Then he slipped into a deep well
of blackness.
Joe shook his head, trying to rid himself of the fog that seemed to be circling
his brain. His head hurt and he couldn’t seem to move his arms. Joe shook
his head again, and slowly became aware of his surroundings.
It took a minute for Joe to realized he was sitting on the ground, with
his hands tied over his head. His back was against the rail of the corral,
and he figured the rope which bound his hands was also tied to one of the
of rails above him. Joe looked around and saw several bodies – both Indian
and ranchers – scattered on the ground. Three Paiutes stood near the shack;
they were looking toward the corral with stony expressions, rifles at the
ready. Several other Indians were herding horses across the meadow. Joe could
see his stallion mixed in with the horses Watson was trying to sell, as well
as the horses the other buyers had ridden. Joe shook his head once more, trying
to clear his thinking.
“You all right, son?” a voice to Joe’s right asked.
Joe turned his head. Sarge was sitting against the corral a few feet away
from him. The soldier’s hands were tied above his head also. Joe twisted his
body so he could see beyond Sarge and noted two more men tied to the corral.
“What happened?” Joe asked Sarge.
“Paiutes killed Watson and a couple of the other men, “ Sarge answered.
“You got hit with a rifle butt. The rest of us got knocked down, too. They
dragged us over here and tied us up. Since then, they’ve pretty much concentrated
on getting the horses together.”
Trying to keep the fear out of voice, Joe asked. “What do you figure they
are going to do? Kill us?”
Sarge shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he answered. “If they wanted to
kill us, why wait? They could have done that easily when they attacked. No,
I think they have something else in mind.”
“Torture?” Joe said, his mouth dry as cotton.
“Maybe,” Sarge admitted. “They ain’t the friendliest bunch of Indians I’ve
ever seen.”
Taking a deep breath, Joe closed his eyes. He said a silent prayer, asking
for help to be strong. He didn’t want to die as a coward, begging for his
life.
“Maybe they’re just looking for hostages, something to trade,” suggested
Sarge in a voice meant to reassure Joe.
Joe nodded, but he really didn’t believe the soldier. He had a feeling that
there were going to be some tough times ahead.
One of the Indians herding the horses broke away from the pack. He rode
toward the corral and yelled something in Piaute to the other braves. The
three braves walked purposely toward the men tied to the rails. Joe
swallowed hard as he watched the braves.
Two of the Indians stopped in front of the men, and kept their rifles aimed
at the figures tied to the corral. The third walked to the enclosure and untied
the rope from rail above each man. A long trail of rope fell over each of
the captives. The brave grabbed the end of the rope tied to one of the ranchers.
With a yank, he pulled the man to his feet, then led the man to one
of the braves sitting on a horse. The Indians handed the end of the
rope to the rider.
Three times the brave returned to the corral, each time yanking one of the
men to his feet and leading him to a brave on a horse. Joe was the last. He
had considered standing and walking before the brave got to him, but the two
Paiutes with rifles discouraged any movement. Joe meekly followed the brave
who led him across the field. He saw the end of his rope handed to a tall
brave sitting on a pinto. Joe stood still and waited.
“Keep on your feet,” Sarge yelled from a few feet away. He and the other
two ranchers were also standing behind Paiutes sitting on horses. “If you
fall, they’ll keep riding and drag you behind them,” Sarge continued. “No
matter what, keep on your feet!”
Quickly, Joe turned his attention to the rope in front of him. He grabbed
the rope with his tied hands, hoping it would help him keep his balance.
One of the braves yelled and pumped the air with his arm. He was holding
a rifle high above his head. The brave turned his horse toward the hills and
started riding. The braves herding the horses followed, pushing the animals
in front of them. Then the four braves leading captives starting walking their
horses.
Joe felt the jerk of the rope as the brave in front of him started moving.
He almost fell right then, but managed to keep his balance. Joe walked rapidly,
trying to keep up with the Piaute ahead of him. Dust from the horses in front
of him choked him, and he coughed hard. Joe put his head down, trying to avoid
the dust. He also watched the ground in front him, trying to avoid any rocks
or debris that could trip him.
As the Paiutes rode, they seemed oblivious to the men they were pulling
along. The band of Indians reached the hill and started up into the woods.
This slowed the pace, but the slant of the hill was difficult for the men
on foot. Joe grabbed the rope tighter, using it to pull himself up the hill.
For several hours, the Paiutes rode steadily on, never bothering to look
at the men who trailed behind them. They climbed the hill and rode across
the flat mesa at the top. After a mile or so, the band started down the mesa,
descending to the flat land below. Then they started across the flat country,
dotted with scrub brush and rocks, heading toward some unknown destination.
Trailing the brave on the pinto, Joe’s legs ached and his body was sore.
He was hot, tired, and thirsty. He felt the grit of the dust in his mouth,
and over his body. Joe tried not to think about his discomfort. He tried to
keep his concentration on the ground in front of him….that, and keeping on
his feet.
After about four hours, the band of Paiutes came to a pond, and the braves
finally stopped their horses. The four riders leading the captives sat patiently
while the other Indians watered their horses and the animals they had taken
in the raid.
Exhausted, Joe sank to the ground in a tired heap. He looked longingly at
the pond in front of him, but he knew there was no sense asking for a drink.
The Indians would ignore his request, he was sure.
Joe heard one of the men to his right begging for a drink. He turned to
look at the man. It was one of the ranchers at the auction, pleading on his
knees. At first, the brave on the horse in front of the man ignored him.
But the rancher kept begging. Finally, the brave turned and said something
sharply to the man. When the rancher kept begging, the brave swung his rifle
and knocked the man on his back. Then the brave turned his back on the rancher.
Putting his head down, Joe closed his eyes, trying to catch a few minutes
of rest. He was also trying not to think what might lie ahead of them.
Suddenly, Joe felt the ropes around his hands being jerked forward. Quickly,
Joe scrambled to his feet, using the rope to help himself stand. The brave
on the horse in front of him was riding toward the pond. The Indian stopped
his horse at the water and allowed the animal to drink. Joe watched the Piaute
for a minute, but the brave seemed to be ignoring him. Joe moved slowly to
the side of the horse, watching for any movement from the rider. When the
brave continued to ignore him, Joe turned to the water. Kneeling, he quickly
began cupping water into his mouth with his hands. Joe splashed some water
on his face, and then started cupping water into his mouth again.
Joe was able to slake his thirst a bit before he saw the horse next to him
starting to move. Joe quickly scrambled to his feet again; he had no desire
to be dragged across the pond. As Joe followed the horse into the waist-deep
water, he heard a splash. He looked quickly to his right. One of the ranchers
hadn’t been as quick on his feet as Joe, and was being dragged by his rider
across the water. The man was trying to keep his head above the water and
to regain his feet, but it looked like a lost cause. Joe turned away. He knew
there was nothing he could do to help the man, and he didn’t want to watch
was would happen.
“Pull on the rope!” a voice suddenly called. Joe recognized Sarge’s voice
coming from somewhere behind him. “Use the rope to pull yourself up!” Sarge
yelled again.
Turning his head, Joe looked back at the rancher. He could see the man struggling
with the rope, and Joe silently urged to man to his feet. Just when Joe thought
the man wouldn’t be able to struggle much longer, he saw the rancher rise
out of the water. He had somehow managed to get to his feet. Joe smiled with
relief and silently cheered the man.
Quickly, Joe turned his attention back to keeping his own feet from
slipping. His rider was coming out of the pond and pulling Joe along behind
him. Joe grabbed on to the rope even tighter than ever and pulled himself
out of the pond.
The Paiutes never stopped. The Indians rode on, dragging the exhausted men
behind them. Luckily for the captives, the horses they were herding were proving
to be difficult, and that slowed the band down. Nevertheless, the Paiutes
kept riding until the sun began to dip in the sky.
As the sky began to darken, Joe was wondering how much longer he could walk.
He was tired -- as tired as he could ever remember -- and his feet and legs
hurt. His wrists were chafed by the ropes and his hands were starting
to go numb. He desperately wanted to rest, but he knew he had to keep
walking. He concentrated on moving his feet, nothing else; he just kept putting
one foot in front of the other.
Just as Joe felt he could go no further, the Indians halted. The riders
led their captives to some rocks and dropped the ropes. Four exhausted men
fell to the ground. Joe immediately fell into a deep sleep.
The sky had turned to black when Joe woke . He sat up quickly and, for a
moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. Then he saw the other men sitting near
him. Joe looked around carefully. One Indian was standing guard with a rifle
near the men; the brave looked bored. The other Paiutes were sitting near
a large fire. Joe could smell the food they were cooking and his mouth watered.
“How are you doing, son?” a voice asked. Joe turned to see Sarge sitting
near him.
“Tired,” Joe answered truthfully. “Tired, hungry and sore.”
Sarge nodded. “You did all right today, Joe, “ he said. “Just keep it up.
You’ll be fine.”
“How long do you think they’re going to drag us along like this,” one of
the ranchers asked.
Sarge shook his head. “Don’t know,” he answered. “As long as they like,
I guess.”
“Where do you think they’re taking us?” the other rancher asked.
Once again, Sarge shook his head. “I have no idea.”
One of the Indians came walking over from the fire, carrying a large bowl
in his hands. He looked at the huddled captives with disgust, then threw the
bowl on the ground. The brave turned and walked away, apparently not caring
what the men behind him would do with the contents of the bowl.
The bowl contained half-eaten bones with chunks of meat and gristle hanging
from them. A half eaten potato laid on the side. A few crusts of bread lined
the bottom along with some wilted leaves.
Immediately, Sarge picked up the bowl and started sorting through its contents.
He picked up a bone and started to chew on it.
“How can you eat that?” one of the ranchers demanded. “It’s nothing but
garbage.”
“It’s food,” Sarge said as he chewed. “I don’t know if or when they’ll feed
us again. You’d better eat while you can.”
“Not me,” declared the rancher. “It’d probably make me sick.” The man laid
on the ground and went to sleep. The other rancher did the same.
Joe looked at the contents of the bowl. The half-eaten food turned his stomach.
But he took a deep breath and reached for a bone and some of the bread crusts.
Sarge nodded approvingly as he watched Joe force the food down. “That’s
it, son,” he encouraged Joe. “Eat whatever you can. You’ll need it.”
“What about them?” Joe said, pointing to the two ranchers.
“Can’t force ‘em,” Sarge answered. “They’ll eat the next time we’re fed….if
there is a next time.”
Joe and Sarge ate until the bowl contained only the picked-clean bones.
Joe was still hungry, but the little food he had managed to eat seemed to
help. He laid down on the ground and went to sleep.
Feeling the rope around his hands being jerked woke Joe. He opened his eyes
to bright sun and saw four braves standing over the captives. Each held a
rope and was yanking it. Joe scrambled to his feet as the Indian holding his
rope started walking away, pulling the rope behind him. The muscles in Joe’s
legs ached and his hands were numb. He wondered if he could last another day’s
march. The brave leading him seemed unconcerned about his captive. The Indian
climbed on his horse and urged the animal forward. Joe quickly started walking.
Joe walked for hours at a mind-numbing pace. He no longer thought about
the pain in his legs or his sore body. He was almost used to the thirst and
the hunger. He thought only of how tired he was, and how he wanted to rest.
Joe didn’t know how he managed to keep walking, but somehow he did.
A sudden cry snapped Joe’s attention to his left. He saw one of the ranchers
fall to the ground. The Indian leading the man ignored the cry. He kept riding
steadily forward, dragging the man behind him. Quickly, Joe looked away.
Joe tried not to look at the rancher as the band kept moving, but he couldn’t
help himself. He glanced to the left several times and saw the rancher being
dragged behind the horse. The man bounced over rocks and his body scraped
the dirt. The rancher was not struggling, or attempting to get to his feet.
Joe wondered if he was dead.
An hour passed before the brave dragging the rancher called a halt. Joe
sank to the ground, grateful for the respite. He watched as the brave dismounted
and kicked the rancher with his foot. When the body showed no reaction, the
brave turned the rancher over. Joe looked away from the bloody pulp that once
had been a man’s face.
Once again, Joe felt the ropes that bound him being pulled, so he rose and
started walking. Cautiously, he glanced one last time over his shoulder at
the rancher. The Indians had simply left the man laying there in the dirt.
Joe closed his eyes and kept walking.
The sun was high in the sky when the Paiutes stopped again. Once more, they
had come to a water hole, and once again, they worried more about their horses
than their captives. Joe sat on the ground, waiting. He hoped the brave leading
him would let him drink again when the Piaute watered his horse. Joe was so
tired and so thirsty he could hardly stand it. But he knew waiting was the
best thing to do.
From somewhere on his left, Joe heard the other rancher starting to beg
for water again. He looked at the man but he was so numb from fatigue he
could only stare dumbly at the rancher. The man’s actions seemed to have
no meaning to Joe. He heard Sarge tell the man to be quiet, but the rancher
begged on, asking for water in a pitiful voice. The brave sitting on the
horse in front of the man threw the rancher an angry look. With a quick motion,
the Indian twisted on his horse. He pulled his rifle up and shot the rancher
in the chest. The man crumpled to the ground.
Joe had no time to react to the brutal action. He felt himself being pulled
forward and as quickly as his aching legs would allow, he pulled himself to
his feet. When the brave stopped to water his horse, Joe quickly moved to
the water hole. He drank as much water as he could as quickly as he could.
All too soon, Joe was yanked away from the water and led forward.
Now Joe and Sarge were walking next to each other as the Indians led their
two remaining captives. Joe could see Sarge was covered with dirt; sweat was
dripping from the man’s face. His eyes were ringed with dark circles. Joe
numbly though he must look as bad as the soldier.
Stumbling over the rough ground, Joe started to fall forward. He would have
tumbled to the dirt had not a pair of hands grabbed his arm. He looked
up to see Sarge holding on to him. Joe regained his footing and kept moving.
With a nod of approval, Sarge released Joe. “Thanks,” Joe mumbled.
When they reached the foot of some tall mountains, the band of raiders stopped.
The Paiutes seemed to be trying to decide what to do next. Joe sat on the
ground, not caring what they decided. He only wanted to rest.
Two braves rode forward and dismount near some rocks. The men began pulling
away at some brush and smaller rocks, uncovering the entrance to a trail.
When the trailhead was cleared, the two Paiutes gestured to the others to
follow them, and the rest of the band started moving forward slowly. Joe and
Sarge waited with their riders as the other Paiutes maneuvered the horses
through the narrow opening and down the trail. They were the last to go through
the slender gap. Sarge’s rider went first, pulling the soldier behind him,
then Joe’s rider followed. Joe saw two braves standing near the entrance to
the trail as he passed; both watching the exhausted men with impassive expressions.
Joe glanced over his shoulder as he walked down the trail. The two braves
were already sealing the opening with rocks and brush.
Past caring where he was going, Joe walked on and on. He knew the band was
following a narrow trail through the mountains and that they were climbing.
He was grateful that the narrow trail forced the Paiutes to move very slowly.
Joe doubted if he could walk any faster than the slow shuffle he forced himself
to use.
After what seemed to Joe an interminable time, the Paiutes came to a clearing.
Joe’s exhausted mind had a hard time grasping the sight before him, but eventually
he realized that the band had reached some type of camp. He could see teepees
and several shelters built out of branches. The structures formed a semi-circle
around a large piece of flat ground which seemed to be a common area. A wide
circle of rocks surrounded the remains of a fire in the middle of the flat
ground. The Indians were herding the stolen horses into a large corral behind
the camp, near a forest of thick trees and brush which began a few yards behind
the teepees. Joe turned his head and saw the camp face a large lake of sparkling
blue water.
Joe’s rider yanked on the rope, pulling him toward the middle of the camp.
Joe could see Sarge ahead of him; his rider was pulling the soldier along
also. Both riders stopped at the edge of the camp, and Joe’s rider yelled
something in Piaute. Jerking the rope in his hands, the man pulled Joe toward
the center of the camp.
Paiutes began emerging from the various structures. They stood watching
passively as the braves pulled their two captives toward the middle of the
camp. About forty people stood watching. Most were men, but Joe saw
ten or twelve women. Somewhere in Joe’s tired mind he noted they were all
in their twenties or thirties. He saw no old people or little children.
The two braves stopped before a tall Piaute standing with his arms crossed.
Both Indians pulled hard on their ropes, causing their captives to fall at
the feet of the man. Joe and Sarge laid on the ground in an exhausted heap.
The Piaute stood staring at the men for a minute. He said something to the
other braves, his eyes never leaving the captives. One of the braves answered
briefly, and the man seemed satisfied with the response. He continued to stare
at the dirty and exhausted men on the ground. Finally, he spoke.
“You are now the slaves of the Black Bear tribe of the Paiutes,” the man
declared in English. “You will do what we tell you. You will work hard. If
you do not, you will be beaten. If you try to escape, you will be captured
and beaten. You are less than the dogs of the camp and you will be treated
like dogs. Do you hear me?”
Too tired to reply, Joe merely looked up at the man. His mind dully heard
what was said, but the words seemed to have little meaning. The brave bent
and slapped Joe hard across the face.
“Answer me when I speak to you!” the brave said in an angry voice.
Joe rubbed his face. “I understand,” he said in a voice that was little
more than a croak.
The man nodded in satisfaction. He turned to Sarge, who had struggled to
his knees. The soldier’s back was straight and his head was held high. “Yes
sir!” Sarge said crisply. The brave failed to note the sarcasm in Sarge’s
voice; he nodded and turned away.
Emerging out of the circle of people watching, two Piaute braves grabbed
the long ropes from the ground. With a jerk, they pulled the captives to their
feet and led them to the edge of camp. Joe walked wearily behind the man
who led him, too tired to resist. He saw Sarge was moving as if he were marching
and wondered where the man found the energy.
The two Paiutes stopped near a small space between two teepees. The space
was small, but visible to the whole camp. The two captives could be seen by
the whole tribe at all times. One brave pulled a knife from his belt and cut
the ropes from Joe’s hands. Joe quickly began rubbing his sore wrists, trying
to get some circulation back into his numb hands. He saw the brave cut the
rope away from Sarge’s hands also. The Indian turned and walked into the
teepee, returning a moment later with two wide bands of leather and several
long strips of rawhide in his hand. Quickly, he fitted the leather around
Joe’s neck like a collar, then moved to Sarge and did the same. Joe could
see the collar was tied together at the back of Sarge’s neck. He assume his
collar was the same.
Moving quickly, the brave attached a long strand of rawhide to back of Joe’s
collar. He pushed Joe hard in the back, causing him to fall to the ground.
Joe laid on the ground and watch as the Indian repeated the process with Sarge.
Then the brave grabbed the end of the rawhide strips and tied them to a stake
next to the teepee.
“Do not touch,” the man warned. Joe nodded.
The brave looked at the two captives with disgust. He murmured something
in Piaute to the Indian who had been watching and both laughed. The first
brave turned back to his captives. “Do not touch,” he warned again. “You untie,
you will be beaten.” Then he turned on his heels and walked away. The other
brave watched the men for a minute. Satisfied that they were not going to
resist, he also walked away. Joe laid on the ground, too tired to care about
what was going to happen. In less than a minute, he was asleep.
Joe woke to a hand roughly shaking him. He blinked his eyes, trying to rouse
himself from his exhausted stupor. He realized it was dark. He must have slept
for several hours because night had fallen. A hand roughly shook Joe again,
and he looked up to see a woman standing over him. She wore a leather dress,
trimmed with fringe, and had several rows of beads around her neck. The woman
shook Joe once more than dropped a bowl on the ground in front of him. Without
a word, she turned and walked away.
Almost reluctantly, Joe looked into the bowl. It contained a watery stew
with a thin layer of grease across the top. Joe could see some small chunks
of food floating in the liquid. He wasn’t sure what they were, and he wasn’t
sure he wanted to know.
“Eat up, Joe. It don’t taste as bad as it looks,” a voice said. Joe turned
and saw Sarge sitting next to him. The soldier was alternately drinking from
the bowl and using his fingers to shove chunks of food into his mouth. Joe
sat up and tentatively put the bowl to his mouth, taking a sip of the liquid.
It was watery and tasteless, but his stomach welcomed the warm liquid. Joe
began imitating Sarge, sipping and using his fingers to feed himself.
“Black Bear must want to work us hard tomorrow,” said Sarge. “He’s letting
us rest and he’s feeding us.”
“Black Bear?” Joe asked between mouthfuls of food.
“That big brave who talked English,” explained Sarge. “I’m pretty sure he’s
Black Bear.”
“Never hear of him,” said Joe. He shook his head. “I didn’t know the Paiutes
were on the warpath again.”
“They’re probably not,” replied Sarge.
Joe frowned. “Then what’s this all about?” he asked. “Why the raid? Why
did they kill the others and not us?”
“I don’t know for sure,” admitted Sarge. “But I’ve heard of Black Bear.
Even Winnemucca don’t care for him. Most Paiutes stay as far away from him
as possible.”
“I don’t understand,” Joe replied wearily.
“Black Bear, he’s one mean Indian,” said Sarge. “Way I hear it, Winnemucca
threw him out of the tribe. Told him to stay away from the rest of them.”
“Why?” asked Joe, his curiosity piqued.
“Not sure,” answered Sarge. “Something to do with killing another brave.
Winnemucca lets him alone. Kind of ignores him.”
“You’d think Winnemucca would get rid him,” Joe remarked.
“Well, Winnemucca is a smart Indian,” replied Sarge. “He uses Black Bear.
Winnemucca sends all the misfits and people he don’t like to live with Black
Bear.
Whenever there’s a raid or something, Winnemucca blames it on Black Bear.
Says he can’t control him.”
“Is it true?” asked Joe.
“Mostly, I guess,” Sarge acknowledged. “But every once in awhile, some of
Winnemucca’s young braves get feisty and stage a raid. It’s handy for the
old chief to blame Black Bear for everything. That way, he can deal with his
own braves and avoid a war.”
“Why does he want us?” Joe asked. “You think he would of killed us like
the others.”
“I can’t answer that,” admitted Sarge. “But whatever he wants us for, it’s
not going to a picnic. Like I said, he’s one mean Indian.”
“The savage Redman,” Joe said, shaking his head.
“Meanness don’t have any skin color,” Sarge countered. “I’ve known plenty
of white men who could be called savages. They’re just as mean and rotten
as you can be. Known plenty of Indians, too. Mostly, they’re just like you
and me. They’re trying to raise their families and live in peace. They’ll
fight, though, to protect what they think is their land.”
Joe nodded his head. He thought of the many times he and his family had
fought to protect their land. In some ways, the Cartwrights were like the
Paiutes, willing to fight anyone to keep what was theirs.
Sarge laid down his now empty bowl. “Better get some sleep, Joe,” he advised.
“I’m not sure what Black Bear has in mind for us tomorrow.”
“It couldn’t be any worse than what we’ve already been through,” said Joe,
thinking of the long march and the deaths along the way.
Sarge shook his head. “I don’t know, son,” he replied. “But I got a bad
feeling about this. I got a feeling we’re going to find out what hell is
like.”
Ben Cartwright spread horse blankets over the corral fence in the yard in
front of the Ponderosa ranch house. He was trying to pay attention to what
he was doing, but he kept glancing anxiously toward the road that led to the
house. He had expected Joe to be back yesterday. It wasn’t unusual for his
youngest son to be late, but as the day wore on, Ben’s worry grew.
Hearing the sound of horses, Ben turned and watched two riders coming up
the road at a full gallop. He didn’t need too look hard to recognize his sons,
Adam and Hoss. The way they were urging their horses to full speed did nothing
to ease Ben’s worry. He had sent them to town to look for Joe. The fact that
they were racing back did not bode well.
As his sons rode into the yard, Ben came forward to me them. Pulling their
horses to a stop a few feet away from their father, Adam and Hoss quickly
dismounted and walked to Ben.
“What is it?” Ben asked anxiously. “Where’s Joe?”
“Pa, the Paiutes raided the line shack where Watson was holding the horse
auction,” Adam said in a rush. “They killed four men.”
Ben’s heart rose to his throat. “Joe?” he asked.
“We don’t think so,” answered Hoss. “There was a telegram from an Army captain.
The wire said they identified the four men who were killed. But they found
Joe’s jacket there. His wallet and some papers with his name on it were in
the jacket.”
“What happened to Joe?” Ben demanded.
“They don’t know,” replied Adam. “The wire said some men were missing. They
think the Paiutes might have taken them with them.”
Ben swallowed hard. He didn’t want to think about what a raiding party of
Indians would do to his son.
“The Army’s got a patrol out looking,” Hoss added. “Adam and I figured we’d
ride up there and see if we could find them. Maybe find out about Joe.”
“I’ll saddle my horse,” stated Ben, already walking toward the barn. “I’m
going with you.”
“We figured you would,” Hoss said.
The Cartwrights rode hard toward the line shack, stopping only to rest their
horses and to catch some brief rest themselves. They had started late in the
day, but the worried men didn’t let nightfall stop them. They continued to
push toward their destination. They arrived at the site of the horse auction
just as dawn was breaking.
The land around the shack was deserted. Ben led his horse to the hitching
post and dismounted. Adam and Hoss sat on their horses as their father looked
around. All traces of the raid seemed to have been removed. The only evidence
was what looked like some bullet holes in the wall of the shack. “Nothing
here,” Ben said as he remounted his horse. Adam and Hoss both nodded.
“Which way do think the patrol went?” asked Adam.
Hoss pointed toward the woods. “There’s lots of tracks going that way,”
he said.
“Let’s follow them,” ordered Ben.
The Cartwrights followed the tracks for most of the day. They followed them
through the woods, and across the mesa. They even followed them into the wide
valley below the mesa. But Ben called a halt when they reached the hard ground
below. The tracks they had been following had disappeared.
“The ground is too hard,” Ben said in a voice tinged with despair. “There’s
no way to follow those tracks any further.”
“What’ll we do now?” asked Hoss.
“Why don’t we spread out,“ Adam suggested. “Maybe we can pick up something,
or at least spot that patrol.”
“That’s a good idea, Adam,” agreed Ben. “You go west and Hoss, you go east.
I’ll go straight ahead. We’ll meet up at that pond near Shadow Rock.”
With a brief nod, Adam turned his horse and began slowly riding, his eyes
glued to the ground. Hoss and Ben followed suit, each guiding their horse
slowly as they looked for some sign. The three quickly separated as each followed
a different direction. If they had bothered to look up, each man could have
spotted one of the others. But none of them looked at anything but the ground
before them.
A little over an hour later, Ben came to the pond. He had seen nothing that
looked like tracks. Hoping that Hoss and Adam had been more successful, Ben
dismounted and watered his horse. He had just led the horse to the pond when
he heard another rider approaching. Adam was coming in.
“Did you find anything?” Ben asked as his oldest son approached.
Adam shook his head. “Nothing,” he answered. “You could drive a herd of
cattle over this rough ground and not leave a sign.”
“Maybe Hoss found something,” Ben said, not really believing it.
As if his father’s words had called him, Hoss suddenly appeared and rode
toward the pond. “I didn’t find nothing,” he said to the two faces looking
anxiously at him.
Adam and Hoss led their horses to the pond. The animals began to drink from
the water.
“Now what?” Adam asked as he idly watched his horse drink.
“I don’t know,” Ben admitted sadly, shaking his head. “Maybe head to the
fort. Maybe they have some news there.”
“Hey, Pa, look!” called Hoss suddenly.
Peering in the direction to which Hoss was pointing, Ben could see about
ten men riding slowly toward him. The blue uniforms and the formation in which
they rode told him they were an Army patrol. “Come on,” Ben said to
his sons. “Let’s ride.”
Quickly, the three Cartwrights mounted their horses and galloped to meet
the soldiers.
The captain leading the patrol called halt as he saw the riders approaching.
He waited for the men to reach him.
“Captain, my name is Ben Cartwright,” announced Ben as he stopped his horse
near the patrol. “My son was at that line shack the Paiutes raided. He’s missing.”
Before the captain could reply, Hoss grabbed his father’s arm. “Pa, look,”
Hoss said in a grim voice as he pointed to two of the soldiers. Both men had
large bundles draped over the back of their horses. Hoss could see a set
of arms dangling out of the blanket that covered one bundle. He didn’t have
any doubt that the soldiers were carrying bodies.
Ben’s face turned pale when he saw the bundles and realized what they were.
He quickly turned back to the captain. “Captain…”.
“Go ahead and take a look,” the officer replied gently. “But I’ll warn you,
they’re not a pretty sight.”
Nodding his thanks, Ben dismounted, and Adam and Hoss followed suit. The
three men walked slowly to the soldiers carrying the extra loads. Both soldiers
had already started to untie the bundles.
Ben closed his eyes and, for a moment, he stood still. He was steeling himself
for what he knew he must do. Then he opened his eyes and took a step forward.
Grimly he lifted the blanket off the first bundle and looked at the body.
He only needed a moment to know the body wasn’t his son; the man was too old
and too heavy-set. Ben dropped the blanket. He had taken only a quick look
but it hadn’t taken long to see the man had been shot in the chest. It also
hadn’t taken much to see scavengers had been at the body. Ben looked at Adam
and Hoss and shook his head.
Moving to the second bundle, Ben lifted the blanket. He was forced to look
at this body a little longer before deciding it wasn’t Joe. The body had virtually
no face, and scavengers had also attacked the body. But the hair was the
wrong color and what was left of the clothes was unfamiliar. Ben was confident
that this was not his son’s body. He dropped the blanket, and, once more,
shook his head at Adam and Hoss. Both men let out a sigh of relief.
The captain rode his horse back to where Ben was standing. “Did you recognize
them?” he asked. “I know there’s not much to recognize, but I was hoping you
might be able to identify them.”
“The first one, his name is Tom Morgan,” answered Ben. “He has…had a ranch
near Carson City. I don’t know the second man.”
“Then neither is your son,” he said.
“No,” replied Ben his voice filled with relief. “My son Joseph is not here.”
He looked at the captain. “Did you find any other signs? Anything that might
tell you what happened?”
“As near as we can tell, the Paiutes took four men from the line shack,”
the captain answered. “We found four sets of boot prints at various places
on the trail.”
“Boot prints?” said Adam with a frown. “You mean they were walking.”
The officer nodded. “It’s something the Paiutes do sometimes. They walk
their captives on some kind of a death march. If a man falls, he’s dragged
along. That’s what we think happened to that man there.”
Hoss shuddered as he saw a picture of Joe being dragged in his mind.
“The other man was shot,” Ben stated.
“Yes,” the captain said. “I don’t know why. Maybe the Paiutes just didn’t
want to take him with them.”
“But what about my son?” Ben insisted. “And the other man. What happened
to them?”
“I wish I knew,” the captain answered. “We followed the trail until we lost
it, then searched the whole area. There’s no sign of those Indians or the
other men. It’s as if they disappeared.”
“You’re just going to quit?” Adam said in an angry voice. “You’re just going
to stop looking?”
The soldier didn’t seem upset with Adam’s anger. “No,” he replied in an
understanding voice. “We’re not going to stop. But we need to get some more
supplies and more men. And we need to get these bodies back. There are some
families somewhere wondering what happened to them.”
Ashamed at his outburst, Adam looked down. He had been so worried about
Joe that he hadn’t thought about the anguish others might be feeling.
“Captain, do you have any idea who other man might be?” Hoss asked.
“You mean the other captive?” the captain clarified. “Yes, we’re pretty
sure it’s Sergeant Milligan. Sarge was suppose to be at that auction. We
haven’t found any sign of him. Actually, that’s how we found out what happened
so quickly. When Sarge didn’t come back to the fort, the colonel sent a couple
of soldiers looking for him. When they saw what happened at that line shack,
they hightailed it back to the fort and got a patrol.” The captain looked
at the bodies on the horses.
“Unfortunately, we didn’t pick up the trail soon enough.”
“I’m sure you’re doing all you can, captain,” Ben consoled the soldier.
“I can tell you one thing that might be of comfort,” the captain said. “If
your son is with Sarge, Sarge will try to take care of him. He’s a wily
old soldier and he understands Indians. If your son is with him, Sarge will
do his best to help him stay alive.”
Joe felt as if he had only been a sleep for a few minutes before he felt
a foot kicking him awake. Joe groaned and slowly sat up. He was tired and
sore, and the stew he had eaten last night had barely taken the edge off his
hunger. A foot kicked him again, and Joe quickly moved away from it. He looked
up and saw two braves standing over him. Both men carried rifles and
had what looked like a willow switch stuck through their belts. And both
had decidedly unfriendly looks on their faces.
“Joe, you do whatever they tell you,” Sarge said as he got to his feet next
to Joe. “Don’t argue and don’t fight them. You can’t win.”
Nodding and swallowing hard, Joe scrambled to his feet.
One of the braves reached down and untied the thongs from the peg
on the ground. The brave handed one of the rawhide strips to the man standing
next to him. He jerked on the other one, pulling Joe forward. Joe quickly
followed the man.
The brave led Joe to the center of the camp. He gestured for Joe to pick
up four leather sacks laying on the ground. As soon as Joe had the sacks in
his hand, the Indian pulled on the leather again, leading Joe to the lake.
Joe followed the man tamely, taking Sarge’s advice to heart. When they reached
the lake, the brave gestured for Joe to fill the sacks. Joe quickly bent near
the edge of the lake and lowered each sack in turn into the water, filling
them to the brim while surreptitiously cupping water into his own mouth. The
brave then gestured for Joe to pick up the now full sacks. Joe did so awkwardly.
The water sacks were heavy when full and difficult to grip. The brave grunted
and once more, he pulled on the thongs, leading Joe back to the camp.
Joe walked slowly. The heavy sacks pulled at his arms and the thin strip
of leather around the edges cut into his hands. The brave ahead of him pulled
harder, urging Joe to walk faster. Joe tried but he couldn’t keep up. He stumbled
and fell, spilling the water over the ground.
Immediately, the brave turned and shouted angrily at his captive in a language
Joe didn’t understand. The brave pulled the willow stick out of his belt and
began striking Joe with it. Joe quickly ducked and covered his head, wincing
as he felt the sting of the switch on his back. The brave struck Joe six
or seven times.
When the blows finally stopped, Joe looked up meekly. The Indian stood over
him with an angry look on his face, gesturing for Joe to pick up the water
sacks. The young man quickly picked up the sacks and walked after the brave
who was leading him back to the lake. Joe refilled the sacks and picked them
up again. He got a slightly better grip on the sacks, which helped him hold
them tighter. Nevertheless, he felt the weight of the sacks as he carried
them, and the leather strips still cut into his hands. But Joe was determined
not to repeat his mistake. Grimly, he hurried after the brave leading him
back to camp. He managed to keep his feet and carry the heavy sacks without
dropping them.
The brave led Joe to the edge of the camp and stopped. He gestured, indicating
where his captive should drop the sacks. Joe placed them carefully on the
ground, being sure not to spill them. He was breathing hard from the exertion
of carrying the heavy sacks and from walking rapidly to keep up. He stood
for a minute, trying to catch his breath. But the brave would have none of
that. With a jerk, he pulled Joe away from the sacks.
Filling the water sacks was just the beginning of the chores the Paiutes
found for Joe. He was given a pile of dirty clothes and was led to back to
the lake. Joe knelt by the water, washing the clothes and beating them against
the rocks until they seemed reasonably clean. His back ached from both effort
of bending over the water as well as from the sting of the beating he had
received. When he gathered up the clothes to return them to camp, his
guard stopped him. The brave inspected the clothes, and angrily threw them
to the ground. He pulled the willow switch from his belt and struck Joe several
times on the back. Then he gestured for Joe to clean them again.
The rest of the day followed the same pattern. Joe was given what he felt
was every miserable and unwanted job in the camp. And every job he did seem
to dissatisfy the brave who was watching over him. He shook out blankets and
tried to fold them neatly. The brave kicked the pile of blankets, and beat
Joe several times with the switch. Then he made Joe fold them again. Joe
was given a stack of wild wheat. He separated the grain from the chafe, using
a flat strainer. He sifted the grain until he felt his arms would come off.
His guard watched Joe impassively, then looked at the results. Joe ducked
his head, knowing what was coming. He felt several blows to his back from
the switch. The brave dumped the grain on the ground and made Joe sift it
all again.
Joe worked all day, trying to please his guard. But nothing he did seemed
to satisfy the man. The brave used any excuse pull out the switch and beat
Joe with it. Around noon, the brave had led Joe back to camp. He made Joe
sit on the ground and watch as the Indian ate. But no one gave Joe any food.
As soon as the brave had eaten his fill, he led Joe out of the camp, giving
him more work to do.
Joe had spotted Sarge once or twice as he was being led around the camp.
He saw the soldier carrying a large bundle of firewood, and, later, saw him
in the corral, cleaning up after the horses. Joe wondered if Sarge’s guard
was as easily dissatisfied as his.
At last it seemed the Paiutes had run out of things for Joe to do. The sun
was beginning to set as the brave led Joe back to the small opening between
the shelters. Joe was tired and hungry, and his back ached from the beatings
he had received. The brave didn’t seem to care what Joe felt. He led his captive
back to the opening, and shoved him to the ground. He tied the leather thongs
to the peg, then turned and walked away. Joe huddled on the ground, thankful
for a place to rest.
As Sarge was led back to the opening, Joe looked up wearily. The soldier’s
guard also shoved Sarge to the ground and tied the end of the leather strips
to the peg. The brave walked away without a backward glance.
Almost casually, Sarge propped himself up on his elbow. “Well, what kind
of day did you have?” he asked Joe.
Joe tried to smile, but it took too much effort. In a weary voice, Joe briefly
described all the work and all the beatings he had endured. Sarge nodded with
understanding.
“Sounds about like what happened to me,” said Sarge.
“Do you think it’s going to be like this every day?” Joe asked fearfully.
“Probably not,” Sarge answered, trying to reassure him. “I think they were
just hard on us today to make sure we understood what they wanted us to do.
And what would happen if we didn’t do it.”
“I hope you’re right,” Joe said.
“Sure I am,” replied Sarge in a soothing voice. “Heck, even those Paiutes
got to get tired of whipping us.”
Before Joe could say anything else, an Indian woman walked over to them
carrying two bowls. She placed the bowls on the ground a few feet away from
the two captives, then walked away. Sarge reached out and pulled the two
bowls toward him. He gave one to Joe.
Joe looked at the watery stew in the bowl, and set it down. He was too tired
to eat, even though his stomach grumbled with hunger. As Joe started to lay
on the ground, Sarge grabbed Joe’s arm and pulled him up. “You eat, boy,”
he ordered Joe. “You’ve got to keep up your strength.”
Joe shook his head. “Why?” he said. “So I can live the rest of my life like
this? No thanks. I’d rather starve to death.”
“Now you listen to me, Joe Cartwright,” Sarge scolded in an angry voice.
“You been here one day. One day. That’s no time at all. The trick to something
like this is to survive. You have to do whatever it takes to survive. You
don’t know what’s going to happen. In a week or so, we could be rescued. You
don’t want to starve yourself before we’re rescued.”
“Or we could be here for the rest of our lives,” Joe said bitterly.
“Maybe,” Sarge admitted. “But the point is, neither of us know what’s going
to happen. I want to be around to see what happens. You should too.”
For a minute, Joe considered what Sarge had said. Then he picked up the
bowl and slowly began to eat.
“That’s more like it,” Sarge stated as he also began to eat.
Neither man said a word as they finished eating what the Paiutes had fed
them. When the bowls were empty, Sarge took them and put them back where the
Indian woman had placed them.
Once more, Joe laid on the ground, and this time, Sarge made no move to
stop him. As he drifted off to sleep, he heard Sarge say, “Remember what
I said, Joe. You do whatever it takes to survive.”
Joe lost track of time as the days seemed almost the same. Every morning,
he was rudely awaken by one of the Paiutes and made to carry water to the
camp. The rest of the day was spent doing whatever work the Paiutes could
think for him to do. He washed clothes and cleaned blankets. He swept out
teepees and buried garbage. He skinned rabbits brought to him by the hunters.
The last chore took a long time since the Indians gave him a very dull knife
with which to work. That earned Joe another beating.
But the beatings were fewer and fewer. The Paiutes seemed to have gotten
quickly bored with tormenting their captives. Joe’s guard barely paid attention
to him as Joe did his work. Joe tried hard not to do anything which would
attract notice. He had decided the best way to survive was to be as unnoticed
as possible.
But all the time he was working, Joe was thinking. He was thinking about
how to escape. He formed half a dozen plans in his mind but discarded them
all as unfeasible. He and Sarge had whispered in the night about escape, but
neither of them had come up with an idea that would work. Both agreed if
one of them got a chance, he should escape. Neither of them wanted to deny
the other a chance for freedom. They vowed whoever got away would come back
for the other.
Joe was washing yet another stack of clothes by the lake when an idea came
to him. As he worked, he watched the guard through veiled eyes. The bored
brave sat on a nearby rock, half asleep. Joe turned the plan over in his mind,
weighing every possibility of what could happen. As he gathered up the clothes,
Joe looked out over the lake. He was convinced his idea would work.
Warily, Joe watched the guard on the rock; the brave was paying no attention
to him. Moving with caution, Joe sat down onto the bank of the lake.
Watching the guard the whole time, he slowly eased off his boots. He sat on
the bank for a moment, making sure his actions had been unobserved. Satisfied
that the brave was not watching, Joe turned back to the lake. Suddenly, he
jumped to his feet and ran into the water.
The guard heard the splash and leapt to his feet. He shouted and raised
his rifle. As soon as Joe heard the shout, he dove into the lake.
Joe swam toward the bottom of the lake, turning to his right as he swam.
He could see and hear bullets zinging into the water. But the bullets were
behind him.
Joe swam under the water until he felt his lungs would burst. He moved in
the watery depths toward a patch of reeds he had seen growing near the edge
of the lake, away from the camp. He reached the reeds just as he felt he could
no longer stay under the water. When Joe pushed himself toward the surface,
his head bobbed up among the reeds. Joe gasped for air as his head emerged
from the water. He coughed as he drew in the dank air, then gasped for more.
Joe treaded water as he sucked in more air. Finally, his breathing began
to slow.
Turning slowly, Joe pushed the reeds gently aside. He looked back toward
the bank of the lake near the Piaute camp.
Joe could see a handful of braves standing on the edge of the water. They
were looking into the lake, and one brave shot his rifle into the water. Several
of the braves were arguing, and Joe could hear angry shouts across the water.
Joe smiled to himself as he saw his guard was receiving the brunt of the
other braves’ anger. Joe eased the reeds closed.
Resting in the water, Joe hung on to the reeds with his arms. He untied
the leather collar from around this neck and watched in satisfaction as it
floated away. He checked periodically to see what the Paiutes were doing.
When he saw the Paiutes spreading out to search the lake, he knew it was
time to leave.
Diving back into the water, Joe swam to the middle of the lake. The lake
was large, and Joe was sure that a lone swimmer would be difficult to see
from the shore. He kept to the middle of the lake and swam until his arms
began to tire. Then slowly he began to move toward shore.
Joe spotted some bushes growing near the lake, and he swam in that direction.
He cautiously looked around but could see no sign of the Paiutes. Joe swam
the last few feet to the shore, then pulled his exhausted body out of the
water. He quickly dove into the cover of the bushes.
Breathing hard, Joe laid in the bushes and tried to thing. His plan was
to find a place where he could reach shore in safety, then run into the woods.
But he hadn’t counted on how much the swim would tire him. Joe was exhausted.
He decided he was safely hidden, and could afford a few minutes rest. Joe
closed his eyes and went to sleep.
The rattle of the bushes woke Joe. He opened his eyes to see two Piaute
braves staring down at him. Joe scramble to his feet and started to run.
But he was wearing only socks and he couldn’t get his footing. Joe slipped
and fell to the ground. Instantly, several hands grabbed his arms and dragged
him across the ground. Joe was pushed face down into the dirt. He felt his
arms and his legs being pinned down by strong hands. Then he felt the sting
of a switch on his back.
Sarge waited nervously at the camp. He wasn’t sure how Joe had managed to
escape, but he knew his young friend was gone. His guard had dragged him roughly
back to camp when he heard the cry. Sarge had seen the braves rush down to
the lake, and had seen them return to camp. He saw the Indians mount their
horses and ride back to the lake. Sarge figured Joe was trying to swim to
freedom. He prayed his young friend would be successful.
Sarge sat quietly on the ground between the two shelters. He didn’t want
to give the Paiutes any excuse to take their anger out on him. He waited for
the search party to return, hoping that they would come back empty handed.
It was almost evening when Sarge heard the riders returning. He sat up and
watched as the braves returned to camp. At first, Sarge thought Joe had been
successful; he couldn’t see him among the riders. Then Sarge saw it. The last
horse was being led back to the camp. Joe was on the back of the horse, his
hands tied tightly around the animal’s neck.
Joe’s head was laying against the neck of the horse, and his body bounced
as the horse moved. Sarge wondered if the boy was dead. But then he decided
that the Paiutes wouldn’t have bothered to bring a dead man back to camp.
Sarge waited to see what they had done to Joe.
He didn’t have to wait long. The braves led the horse carrying Joe over
to where Sarge sat. One of the Paiutes cut the ropes holding Joe’s arms around
the horses neck, then he roughly pushed Joe off the horse. Joe landed on the
ground with a thud and laid still.
Two of the braves dismounted and grabbed Joe’s arms. They roughly dragged
him over to Sarge and dropped Joe on his back at Sarge’s feet. Sarge could
see Joe was unconscious. One of the braves stood over him while the other
walked away. The second brave returned, carrying another leather collar and
a long strip of rawhide. The first brave pulled Joe’s head up by the hair
while the second attached the collar tightly around Joe’s throat. The rawhide
strip was again attached to the collar and then tied to the stack in the ground.
Then the two braves walked away.
Sarge bent over Joe and tried to see what they had done to him. At first,
Sarge was puzzled. He couldn’t see any sign of injury. Then he turned Joe
over.
Joe’s back was a bloody mess. Sarge could see welts through the narrow rips
in Joe’ shirt. Sarge quickly pulled Joe’s shirt up to get a better look.
Joe’s back showed the marks of what seemed like a hundred lashings from
the switch. He was covered with welts and bruises. His back was bleeding
in several places. Sarge shook his head. The Paiutes must have beaten Joe
with that switch until he was unconscious, or until the brave’s arm got tired….or
both. “Oh, Joe,” Sarge said softly, “What have they done to you?”
Suddenly Sarge saw a pair of moccasins come into the view of his peripheral
vision. He looked over his shoulder and up into the face of Black Bear.
“I told you what would happen if you tried to escape,” Black Bear said with
a smirk. He dropped Joe’s boots on the ground.
Sarge’s hand balled into a fist. He wanted to smash Black Bear in the face.
He wanted to wipe the smirk off the Piaute’s face. Slowly, though, Sarge’s
hand opened. He knew punching the Indian wouldn’t accomplish anything. He
would only get beaten himself, maybe even killed for hitting a chief.
“What happens now?” asked Sarge.
Black Bear looked puzzled by the question. “Things go on as before,” he
said. “You are my slaves. You will show the others the power of Black Bear
over the white man.”
Now it was Sarge’s turn to look puzzled. Black Bear evidently meant to show
off Sarge and Joe as his captives. Sarge wondered who the audience would be.
He turned back to look at the still unconscious man on the ground. “He’s not
going to be much good to you dead,” Sarge said.
Black Bear frowned. “Dead?” he said. “I told my braves to beat him, not
kill him.”
“They did a real good job,” replied Sarge. “Too good. Them cuts will probably
fester, and he’ll take sick. Wouldn’t surprise me if he up and died on you.”
The frown on Black Bear’s face deepened. A dead white man wouldn’t serve
his purpose. “I will send Yellow Feather to tend to him,” the chief said.
Then he abruptly turned and walked away.
Sarge gently turned Joe on his side so he could unbutton the boy’s shirt.
He slipped the ripped cloth off Joe’s back and arms, the laid Joe gently on
his stomach. Sarge had exaggerated the extent of Joe’s injuries to
Black Bear, but probably not by much. Sarge could feel the heat radiating
from the welts on Joe’s back. Joe’s injuries would be extremely painful to
the young man.
A young Indian woman walked over to Sarge with a sullen expression on her
face. She carried a blanket, a small jar, and a bowl of water. Without a word,
she knelt on the ground next to Joe. She splashed some of the water on Joe’s
back and then roughly began rubbing some ointment of from the jar on to Joe’s
back. She was obviously not happy about the task she had been given. When
Joe groaned softly, Sarge gently grabbed her wrist. “I’ll do it,” he said.
Yellow Feather looked at Sarge for a moment. With a shrug, she thrust the
jar into his hand, then stood and walked off.
Sarge gently washed the blood from Joe’s back, then slowly began to rub
the ointment in. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but Joe grunted in
pain several times. When Joe’s back with liberally covered, Sarge put the
jar aside, hiding it in a tuft of grass. He hoped the Paiutes would forget
he had it. Sarge took the blanket and wrapped it around Joe. Then he sat
back. He had done all he could to help his young friend.
It was almost an hour before Joe began to stir. He moaned softly and began
to shiver. Sarge reached for the bowl of water, and lifting Joe’s head, held
it to Joe’s lips. Joe swallowed a bit of water, then slowly opened his eyes.
“Welcome back,” Sarge said, his voice dripping with irony.
Joe closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as a wave of pain swept through
him. He opened his eyes and looked at Sarge. “I almost made it,” he said in
a weak voice.
Sarge nodded. “Yeah, but almost don’t count,” he said.
Joe gave Sarge a thin smile. Then he closed his eyes and drifted off to
sleep.
Joe woke to Sarge gently shaking him. “Come on, Joe,” Sarge said as he shook
Joe’s shoulder. “Wake up. Them Paiutes will be here any minute.”
Joe groaned. His back felt like it was on fire and his muscles ached. All
he wanted to do was lay back on the ground and go to sleep. Sarge shook him
again. “Joe, you got to get up,” he said urgently. Joe nodded and slowly sat
up. Sarge could see the pain on Joe’s face. Even the little effort of sitting
up was extremely painful to him. Sarge pulled the blanket off his friend.
He reached into the grass and pulled out the jar of ointment.
As Sarge began rubbing the ointment on his back, Joe shivered, both from
the cold morning air and from pain of Sarge’s rubbing. Sarge quickly covered
Joe’s back with the salve, then hid the jar again. He snatched Joe’s shirt
from the ground and shook it out. Then he helped Joe put it on, carefully
easing it over Joe’s back.
“You have to work today like nothing’s wrong,” Sarge said as he helped Joe
pull on his boots.
Joe shook his head. “I don’t think I can,” he answered.
“You think them Paiutes are going to give you the day off as a reward for
trying to escape?” Sarge asked in a gruff voice.
Joe shook his head again. “I don’t think I can do it,” he repeated in a
weak voice.
“You’ll do it,” Sarge told him sternly. “Somehow, some way, you’ll get through
the day.”
Before Joe could answer, two braves walked over to the captives. They were
surprised to see the men awake. Joe shuddered as he saw the look on the face
of what he considered “his Indian”. He knew he was going to pay for the humiliation
he had caused the man. The brave reached down and untied the leather thong.
Then he jerked Joe to his feet.
Joe wasn’t sure how he managed to get through the day. His back burned and
his arms and legs felt like they were made of jelly. For some reason, Joe’s
guard seemed to have orders not to beat him, because the brave never reached
for the willow switch. But that didn’t prevent the man from jerking the leather
strip tied to Joe’s collar roughly as he led him through his chores. Joe gritted
his teeth as he carried water and did whatever else he was told to do. Several
times, Joe fell to the ground in pain and exhaustion. Each time the brave
jerked him back to his feet. Once the guard had stood over Joe in anger and
disgust. The brave took a quick look around and when he was satisfied he
couldn’t be seen, the man kicked Joe in the ribs. As Joe laid on the ground,
moaning in pain, the brave laughed. Then he jerked Joe to his feet once again
and set him to work. The day was a blur of pain and exhaustion to Joe. He
couldn’t remember when he was so glad to see a day end.
Joe was laying on the ground between the tents in an exhausted heap when
Sarge was led back. The soldier looked at his friend with concern. But he
also felt a bit of pride in the young man. Despite the obvious agony he was
feeling, Joe had managed to do his work.
Sarge knelt on the ground next to Joe. “How are you doing?” he asked.
Joe opened his eyes a bit and looked at Sarge. He didn’t think the question
needed an answer. Joe closed his eyes again.
“After they feed us, I’ll rub some more of that ointment on your back,”
Sarge said. “Things will be better tomorrow.”
Slowly, Joe opened his eyes. “How can you say that?” he asked in disgust.
“Things are never going to be better.”
“Sure they will,” Sarge said in a encouraging voice.
Joe shook his head. “You’re the eternal optimist.”
“No,” answered Sarge. “I’m a survivor. And so are you. You proved that.
Why do you think they marched us here. Black Bear wanted the strongest men
for his slaves. You took what them Paiutes gave you and you got through it.
Just like you’re going to get through this whole mess. Someday, you’ll be
able to tell your grandkids about the time you were captured by the Paiutes.”
“Grandkids!” Joe said with a bitter laugh. “We’re never going to get away
from here. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives here.”
“No we won’t,” Sarge stated positively. “Some day, some way, we’ll get out
of here. I promise you. Some day we’ll get home.”
Ben rode with the Army patrols for almost a month, looking for Joe. Hoss
and Adam alternately rode with him. Ben had sent his remaining sons home to
look after the Ponderosa, but they wouldn’t stay. They had worked it out between
them: one would ride with Ben and the patrol while the other ran the ranch.
When the patrol returned to the fort, whoever was riding with them would
return to the ranch, and the other would join in the search. Both Hoss and
Adam wanted to search for their brother full time, but they also knew they
needed to keep the ranch going. They wanted to be sure Joe had a home to
come back to.
After a month, the Army was ready to call off the search. Ben stormed into
the colonel’s office when he heard the news.
“How can you stop looking?” Ben demanded as he stood in front of the colonel’s
desk.
“Where do you suggest we look?” the colonel asked in reply. “We’ve covered
every square inch of this territory at least twice. There’s no sign of an
Indian camp with white captives.”
“Then look someplace else,” Ben ordered in an angry voice.
The colonel shook his head. “I know how you feel, Mr. Cartwright. If it
was my son out there, I’d want to keep looking also. But I can’t keep sending
out patrols.”
“So you’re giving up,” Ben said bitterly.
“No, I’m just going to change tactics,” the colonel replied. “I’m going
to alert every Army post in the West about what happened. I’m going to ask
them to keep an eye out for any sign of a band of Indians with white captives.”
“A lot of good that will do,” Ben said. “They’ll forget about it within
a month.”
“They might,” the colonel admitted. “But they also might get lucky and stumble
across something. You never know.”
Ben’s shoulders slumped, his discouragement evident.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright,” the colonel added with sympathy. “I wish there
was something else I could do. I’d send a message to Winnemucca himself if
I thought it would do any good. But the old chief wouldn’t make any of his
people give up a captive. You know that.”
Ben knew. Winnemucca led his tribe with a strange sort of democracy. He
wouldn’t force them to do something they didn’t want to do. And no Piaute
wanted to give up his captives.
“The best thing for you to do now is go home,” advised the colonel. “If
something turns up, I’ll let you know immediately.”
Ben nodded, and slowly walked out of the office. For the past few weeks,
he had felt the hope of finding Joe slowly fading away. But as long as he
was searching for his son, he felt there was some chance of finding him. Now
that chance was gone.
Hoss was sitting on the steps outside the colonel’s office when Ben emerged.
It was his turn to join the search while Adam took care of things at the Ponderosa.
Hoss had heard about the search being called off. He had hoped his father
could persuade the colonel to change his mind. But Hoss saw the sag of Ben’s
shoulders, and the slowness of his father’s step. He also saw the look of
despair on Ben’s face. Hoss knew the Army would no longer be searching for
Joe.
Hoss stood as his father approached. “The colonel’s called off the search,”
he said, not really asking a question. Ben nodded. “What do we do now?” asked
Hoss with a frown. “Do you want to keep looking on our own?”
Ben looked at Hoss, his eyes filled with sadness. “No,” he said. “The colonel
is right, as much as I hate to admit it. There’s no place left to look.”
“But Pa,” Hoss protested. “Joe’s out there someplace. We have to find him.”
Gently, Ben laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Hoss, we have to face
the truth,” he said. “We’re not going to find Joe.”
Hoss shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t believe that.”
“Son, I don’t want to believe it either,” Ben answered. “But searching endlessly
is not going to do any of us any good. I know it’s hard, but we have to accept
the fact that we’ve lost Joe.”
Hoss put his head down. His eyes filled with tears at the thought of never
seeing his little brother again. Ben patted his son’s shoulder, trying to
comfort him. Ben’s heart was filled with grief also. He had lost three wives,
and now, one of his sons. He wondered how much he could endure.
Hoss looked up, his eyes red. “What are we going to do?” he asked in a trembling
voice.
“Let’s go home, son,” Ben said. “There’s nothing else to do.”
Joe’s back healed, or healed as much as it could given the periodic beatings
he still received from his captors. Joe gave the Paiutes few excuses to lash
him with their willow sticks. He obediently did whatever task he was asked
to perform. He no longer looked for a chance to escape. Since his last attempt,
the Paiutes had kept a close eye on both captives. Escape no longer seemed
possible.
Sarge had told Joe about Black Bear’s comment, about how he wanted to show
off his captives. They speculated about when and who they might be paraded
before. But as time passed and no visitors came to the camp, the men forgot
about what Black Bear had said. Both Sarge and Joe concentrated on staying
alive, although Joe still wasn’t convinced survival was necessarily the best
alternative.
One morning as he carried the water sacks from the lake, Joe noted a flurry
of activity in the camp. He saw the Paiutes excitedly talking and gesturing.
Joe quickly was put to work cleaning up the camp. He was made to clean up
every bit of debris around the grounds. Joe saw Sarge working hard, grooming
the horses. Joe wondered what all the excitement was about.
About mid-day, Joe and Sarge were led to the lake and ordered to bathe.
Joe looked at Sarge in surprise. Both men had gotten used to wearing dirty,
tattered clothes, and having dirty bodies. The best either could manage was
to stick their head quickly in the lake, washing some of the dirt and grease
from their hair. Both had beards. Sarge’s was thick, while Joe’s was thin
and sparse.
The Paiutes ordered both men to strip and get into the lake. Joe was hesitant
a first, embarrassed to appear naked in front of his captors. But he quickly
began removing his clothes when he saw one of the braves reaching for his
willow stick.
Joe and Sarge quickly waded into the lake after removing their clothes.
The Indians on the bank held tightly to the leather strips tied to their
captives’ collars. They wanted no repeat of Joe’s escape attempt.
“What do you think is going on?” Joe muttered to Sarge as he tried to rub
the dirt off his body. Without soap, it was hard to remove the layer of grime
he had accumulated.
“I don’t know,” Sarge answered as he also bathed. “Whatever it is, it must
be a big deal.”
“Do you think they might be going to let us go?” Joe asked. “Maybe we’re
going to be exchanged for some Piaute prisoners.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Sarge cautioned.
Despite Sarge’s warning, Joe felt his spirits lift for the first time in
weeks. He knew his father and brothers would have been searching for him.
Maybe they found him, Joe thought. Maybe they figured out a way to rescue
him.
The two men stayed in the cold water of the lake for as long as possible.
Both reveled in the feeling of being clean. They scrubbed their bodies hard,
and repeatedly dipped their heads under the water. Joe ran his hands through
his wet hair, rubbing it hard as he tried to clean it. He thought about his
father’s repeated orders to get his hair cut. Pa should see it now, Joe thought
with a grin.
The braves on the shore finally got tired of watching their captives wash.
They jerked on the leather strips and led the men out of the water. As Joe
and Sarge stood shivering on the shore, the Paiutes pointed and laughed at
their naked captives. They made some obviously crude comments before throwing
a blanket to each man.
While Sarge and Joe wrapped themselves in the blankets, the Indians came
up and removed the leather collars from their necks. Joe rubbed his neck.
He had almost gotten used to the collar.
Next the Indians pointed to the pile of dirty clothes Joe and Sarge had
left behind. They gestured to the men to wash the garments. Joe wrapped his
blanket tightly around him as he knelt on the bank. He carefully washed his
clothes, wondering if the cloth would dissolve in his hands. It had been
so long since any of his clothes had been cleaned that he was afraid that
they would come apart in his hands. He was relieved when the clothes seemed
to hold together.
Spreading their clothes over the grass to dry, Joe and Sarge sat huddled
in their blankets, waiting for the Paiutes to tell them what to do next. But
the Indians just sat on some rocks, seemingly content to just wait. The captives
had no objection to simply sitting on the grass. It was the first time either
of them could remember having a break during the day.
After about an hour, the Paiutes stood and gestured for the white men to
dress. Joe’s clothes were still damp, but at least they were clean. Joe quickly
dressed. He was surprised when the braves didn’t replace the collar around
his neck. He thought this was another sign that he was going to be released.
As soon as both captives were dressed, the braves pushed them toward the
camp. Joe and Sarge walked back to the camp willingly. Neither tried to run.
Both braves behind them were carrying rifles, and flight would mean a bullet
in the back.
The camp was alive with people rushing around. Joe could see some blankets
spread on the ground near the large camp fire in the center. He also saw Big
Bear emerge from his teepee. The Indian was decked out in a fine set of leather
clothes. His shirt was adorned with beads, and fringe hung from his arms
and legs. He carried a bonnet of feathers which he carefully placed on his
head.
The two guards quickly pushed Joe and Sarge to their now familiar patch
of ground between the teepees. One of the guards gestured for them to sit,
and the two captives obeyed. The brave said something to his companion and
then race off. The remaining guard positioned himself so he could watch the
prisoners as well as keep as eye on the activities in the camp.
Joe and Sarge sat quietly, waiting to see what all the fuss was about. It
seemed to them they waited a long time. But suddenly, the guard straightened,
pulling himself up as if at attention. Joe and Sarge leaned forward to look.
An old Indian wearing a long headdress walked into the camp. He was followed
by several braves, all of them looking young and strong. Black Bear rushed
forward to greet the old man.
Joe whistled. “Winnemucca himself,” he said in a low voice.
Sarge looked at Joe with surprise. “You know him?” he asked.
Joe shook his head. “Not really. I’ve seen him a few times,” Joe answered.
“But he knows my father. Pa has negotiated a couple of treaties with Winnemucca.”
Sarge watched as Winnemucca was greeted formally by Black Bear and led to
the blankets spread on the ground. The old chief didn’t seem to be too happy
about being in the camp.
Sarge turned to Joe. “Do you think Winnemucca would listen if you talked
to him?”
“I don’t know,” Joe answered. “Why? What do you have in mind?”
Sarge nodded toward the center of the camp. “Winnemucca doesn’t like Black
Bear, and he doesn’t look too thrilled to be here, “ Sarge said. “I was thinking
if you asked, he might order Black Bear to let us go.”
“I don’t know,” Joe replied doubtfully. “Piaute chiefs don’t usually order
their tribe to let prisoners go. Not unless they have a good reason, like
a trade or something.”
“But it’s worth a try,” Sarge insisted.
“Black Bear won’t be too pleased with us for asking,” Joe said. “If Winnemucca
refuses, things could get pretty rough for us.”
Sarge shrugged. “How much rougher could they get?” he asked.
Joe looked at the soldier for a minute, then he grinned. “You’re right.
What else can they do to us?”
Sarge clapped Joe on the back, then instantly regretted it. He saw Joe wince
with pain. “Sorry,” Sarge said quickly.
“How are we going to get to Winnemucca?” Joe asked.
“I don’t know,” Sarge admitted. “But I have a feeling Black Bear is going
to show us off to the chief. When he does, that’ll be your chance to talk
to him.” Joe nodded in agreement.
Sarge and Joe watched as Black Bear talked with the chief. He seemed to
be trying to persuade Winnemucca about something, but the old chief was unmoved
by whatever Black Bear was saying. He stared straight ahead, not acknowledging
he heard the younger man’s words. Black Bear seemed to get more frantic. His
voice grew louder. Still Winnemucca seemed to ignore him. Finally, Black Bear
stood. He gestured to the brave guarding the captives.
“This is it,” Sarge said as the their guard gestured to the two men to stand.
Sarge and Joe scrambled to their feet, and their guard pushed them forward.
Joe and Sarge walked to the center of the camp, to where Winnemucca was sitting.
The old chief’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the two white men.
As Joe and Sarge neared the chief, their guard pushed both men roughly to
the ground. Joe landed on his chest, but quickly scrambled to his knees. Joe
sat back on his heels and saw Sarge do the same.
“I speak now in the white man’s tongue,” Black Bear said, “so these men
may tell you what I say is true. They are my captives, my slaves. They obey
my every wish. I show you them so you know my power. If you make me war chief,
I will kill the white men as I have killed them before. I will make them slaves
to the Paiutes as these two are slaves.”
So that’s what this is all about, Joe thought. Black Bear wants to be war
chief. Joe shuddered at the thought. If Black Bear was war chief, the Paiutes
would be on the warpath in no time. Every rancher and settler in the state
would be in danger.
“Black Bear will make the Paiutes a great nation once more,” Black Bear
continued. “I ask that you speak my name at the council.”
Winnemucca said nothing. He simply stared at the white men.
Joe took a deep breath. Here goes, he thought. “Great chief Winnemucca,
may I speak?” he asked.
Black Bear reached down and slapped Joe. “Silence!” he ordered angrily.
“No!” Winnemucca said, raising his hand. “I will hear what he has to say.”
Joe rubbed his sore cheek briefly, then looked Winnemucca straight in the
eye. “My name is Joe Cartwright,” Joe began. “You know my father, Ben Cartwright.”
Joe saw Winnemucca’s eyes widen in surprise again. Joe pointed at Sarge. “This
man is a leader in the Army, the blue coats. Black Bear has taken made a
mistake by taking us captive.”
Joe glanced at Black Bear and saw the anger growing on the Paiutes face.
In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. Joe swallowed hard. “You know
my father, Winnemucca,” Joe continued. “He will never stop searching for me,
as the blue coats will never stop searching for this one. They will find out
that the Paiutes have taken us captive and this will cause a war. Many of
your braves will die. There will be weeping among your women.” Joe thought
he saw Winnemucca nod briefly.
“But, if you let us go,” Joe said, “we will return to our people. This one
will tell the Army about the wisdom of the great chief Winnemucca. I will
tell my father of your kindness. The name of Winnemucca will be honored among
the white man.”
“He lies,” Black Bear spat out. “He only wishes his freedom so he can lead
the white men to attack the Piaute.”
“Oh great chief, what I say is true,” Joe said quickly. “You know it is.
Give us our freedom so that we may honor your name. Give us our freedom so
we may prevent the death of your braves.”
Joe lowered his head. He had said his piece. Now it was up to Winnemucca.
The old chief sat passively. He appeared to be thinking. Finally, he spoke.
“You are not mine to release,” Winnemucca said. Joe’s heart sank. “You belong
to Black Bear. Only Black Bear may give you your freedom.”
Black Bear smirked at Joe, his face showing the triumph he felt. Joe shuddered.
He had no doubt that Black Bear would make him pay for what he said to Winnemucca.
Slowly Winnemucca started to get to his feet. Two of the braves who had
accompanied him rushed forward to help him stand. The old chief turned as
if to leave.
“Wait!” Black Bear cried. “Before you leave, I must give you a token of
my friendship. I have two fine horses which I wish to give you. I say this
in the white man’s tongue so they will know Winnemucca is my friend.”
Winnemucca stared back at Black Bear. “Winnemucca has many fine horses already,”
he said in a cold voice. “What does he need with more?”
Black Bear recoiled at the chief’s refusal of his gift.
Then Winnemucca seemed to get a gleam in his eye. “My woman is getting old,”
he added. “She finds it hard to tend our lodge. Give me one of your slaves
to help her.”
Black Bear stood in shock. He hadn’t expected Winnemucca to ask for one
of his captives. But he knew he couldn’t refuse the chief’s request, not
if he wanted to be war chief.
“Take one,” Black Bear agreed.
Winnemucca turned to the two white men who were still kneeling on the ground.
He looked at them for a long time. He appeared to be deciding which one to
take.
Finally he pointed at Sarge. “I will take the blue coat,” he declared.
Joe’s shoulders slumped in despair. He had barely managed to survive with
Sarge to help him. How would he ever manage with out him?
“No!” Sarge shouted. He leapt to his feet. “Take the boy. He’s younger,
stronger. Take him and leave me here.”
“I choose you,” Winnemucca said firmly.
Sarge looked frantically between Winnemucca and Black Bear. “If you leave
the boy behind, Black Bear will kill him,” Sarge pleaded with the old chief.
Winnemucca turned to Black Bear. “If you wish to be war chief, you must
show the council how you can keep the white man captive,” Winnemucca said.
“You must show them your slave.”
Black Bear scowled. He had no wish to keep Joe alive. He was already planning
a slow and painful death for the young captive. He wanted Joe to pay for embarrassing
him before Winnemucca.
“You must bring your slave to the council,” Winnemucca repeated. “You must
show us how the white man will obey you.”
Sighing, Black Bear nodded. “I will show the council,” he agreed.
Sarge turned quickly back to Joe. His young friend’s head was down and his
shoulders were slumped. Sarge grabbed Joe’s shoulders and pulled his friend
toward him. “You listen to me, Joe Cartwright,” Sarge said in a frantic voice
as he shook Joe. “You remember what I told you. You do whatever it takes to
survive. You hear me? You have to stay alive.”
Joe looked up at Sarge with dull eyes. He nodded his head.
“Come!” Winnemucca said sharply.
Sarge ignored the chief. “Don’t give up, Joe,” Sarge urged. “You’ll get
out of this. I promise you. I promise you I’ll get you home.”
Winnemucca said something in Piaute to his braves. Two of them came forward
and grabbed Sarge by the arm. They dragged him away from Joe. Sarge let the
men lead him away, but he looked over his shoulder. His last sight in the
camp was Joe kneeling on the ground with his head down as Black Bear stood
over him with a triumphant look on his face.
Ben Cartwright rode his horse slow back to the ranch house. He knew he had
spent another unproductive day riding around the ranch. He was trying to take
an interest in the activities on the Ponderosa, for Adam’s and Hoss’ sake.
But he found it hard to be interested in branding schedule and timber contracts.
He thoughts were filled with Joe.
As Ben rode, he thought about his youngest son. Over two months had passed
since Joe had been taken captive. He wondered where Joe was, what he was doing.
Ben refused to let his mind speculate on the horrors his son might experiencing
at the hands of the Paiutes, or even that his son might be dead. Instead,
Ben preferred to think about Joe living with the Indians, hunting and fishing
with the other braves. Ben knew in his heart this was a foolish thought.
The Paiutes would not be treating Joe as one of their braves. But he preferred
these thoughts to the others that might come into his head.
Ben sighed as he guided his horse into the yard front of the ranch house.
He would have to endure another meal in the house soon, another dinner with
an empty chair at the table. He tried to put up a good front at the meals,
ignoring the empty place at the table. He talked about the ranch, about activities
in town, about almost anything. But he knew Adam and Hoss saw through him.
He knew they saw the flash of pain in his eyes every time he glanced at that
empty chair.
Dismounting, Ben led his horse into the barn. He stabled the animal and
walked slowly toward the house. He hated coming home these days. He missed
the warmth and the laugher in the house. The Ponderosa had become a house
in mourning.
Ben walked into the house, stopping by the door to hang his hat on the peg
next to it. He then unbuckled his gun belt, and placed it on the table near
the door.
“Pa?” Ben heard a voice shout in inquiry.
“Yes, it’s me, Adam,” Ben answered in a quiet voice. Ben knew Adam was at
his desk, doing the paperwork which kept the ranch running. Adam had quietly
taken over keeping the books when Ben found he could no longer concentrate
on the figures in the ledgers.
Adam came around the corner, a sheaf of papers in his hands. “Did you check
the calves?” Adam asked in a gentle voice. “Did you get a count on the new
ones?”
Ben frowned. Was that what he was suppose to be doing today? He had forgotten.
Ben shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Adam,” he said in a sad voice. “I forgot.”
“That’s all right, Pa,” Adam replied in an understanding tone. “It’s not
important. I’ll have Hoss do it tomorrow.”
Slowly Ben nodded. He knew he wasn’t doing his share of the work on the
ranch, but he had a hard time concentrating. It seemed as soon as he left
the house, Ben’s thoughts would stray and he would forget what he was suppose
to be doing. He would end up riding aimlessly around the ranch, his thoughts
filled with Joe.
“Where is Hoss?” Ben asked suddenly. Since Joe’s disappearance, Ben had
become anxious anytime one of his sons left the ranch.
“He went to check on the timber camp,” Adam said in a soothing voice. “He’ll
be back soon.”
Ben looked at the clock nervously. It was almost five. “Shouldn’t he be
back by now?” Ben asked, the anxiety evident in his voice.
“He’ll be here any minute, Pa,” Adam assured his father. Since Joe’s disappearance,
Adam and Hoss had made it a point to tell Ben where they would be and when
they would return. They tried hard not to be late. Ben became anxious if either
of his sons were even a few minutes late returning home. Both Adam and Hoss
had fallen into the habit of being home by five for dinner.
Adam and Ben heard the sound of a horse in the yard. “Here he comes now,”
Adam said. Ben visibly relaxed.
As he heard the sound of a second horse, riding faster, coming in the yard,
Adam frowned He wondered who would be coming to the Ponderosa at dinner time.
Adam walked past his father to the door. Ben watched his oldest son pull open
the door, but he couldn’t seem to generate any interest in who their visitor
might be.
Suddenly, surprised expression crossed Adam’s face. He turned back to Ben.
“Pa,” Adam said. “I think you’d better come over here.”
Sighing softly, Ben walked to the door, more in obedience to Adam’s call
than out of curiosity about their visitor. But Ben’s attitude changed as soon
as he saw who stood in the doorway.
A young soldier stood on the porch, with Hoss at his shoulder. The soldier
saluted briskly to the men in the house. “I’m looking for Ben Cartwright,”
he announced.
“I’m Ben Cartwright,” Ben said. “What do you want? Do you have news about
my son? Has he been found?” Ben fired the questions rapidly at the young soldier.
For a minute, the soldier looked confused. He obviously had been given a
specific message to deliver, but Ben’s questions threw him off stride. He
pulled himself to attention and delivered his message.
“The colonel sends his compliments, sir,” the solider said, starting his
message. “He asks if you and your sons can come to the fort as soon as possible.
The colonel wishes to inform you that Sergeant John Milligan has been found.”
For a minute, Ben didn’t understand the message. Who was John Milligan?
Then Ben remember that was the name of the soldier who had been captured
with Joe.
“Milligan?” Ben said in an excited voice. He turned to Adam. “That’s the
soldier who was taken with Joe!” Adam nodded, a smile on his face. Ben suddenly
turned back to the soldier. “What do you mean by found?” Ben asked fearfully.
“Is the sergeant alive?”
For the first time, the young soldier relaxed. His face broke into a grin.
“Alive and well, sir,” the soldier said. “Or as well as he can be under the
circumstances. When I left the fort, he was complaining to the doctor and
yelling at the orderlies.”
With a smile on his face, Ben looked at Adam and at Hoss. For the first
time in two months, Ben felt a surge of hope. “Get the horses saddled, “
Ben said to Hoss.
“We’re riding to the fort.”
Normally, it was a day’s ride to the fort, but the Cartwrights arrived in
little more than half a day. The soldier didn’t complain about riding through
the night and eating jerky as they rode. The colonel had warned him what to
expect.
Ben urged his tired horse forward as he passed through the gates of the
fort. Adam, Hoss and the young soldier followed behind him. Ben rode straight
to the colonel’s office and dismounted. He rushed into the office.
The colonel was sitting behind his desk with papers in his hand when Ben
burst into the office. Immediately, the colonel dropped the papers
and stood. “Hello, Mr. Cartwright,” he said with a smile. “You made good time.”
Ben ignored the colonel’s greeting. He heard Adam and Hoss come into the
office. “What news do you have?” Ben asked anxiously. “What have you heard
about Joseph?”
“I’d prefer that Sarge, Sergeant Milligan that is, tell you his story himself,”
the colonel replied. “But I can tell you that the last time Sarge saw your
son, he was alive.”
Ben’s shoulders sagged in relief. Joe was alive.
The colonel walked from behind his desk. “I’ll take you to Sarge,” he said.
Ben nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. The colonel left the office with
the Cartwrights close behind him.
Crossing the grounds of the fort, the four men entered a building that with
a sign proclaiming it to the be the infirmary. The colonel led the Cartwrights
into a large room where a dozen or more beds were neatly lined up against
both sides of the wall. But only one bed was occupied. Sarge was sitting on
the bed, reading a newspaper, legs stretched out. He looked up as the men
entered the room.
“Sarge, this is Ben Cartwright and his other two sons,” the colonel said
to the man on the bed. Sarge threw the paper aside.
“What can you tell me about Joseph?” Ben asked the man on the bed in an
anxious voice. “The colonel said he’s still alive.”
“He was about two weeks ago,” Sarge answered. “I expect he still is.” Ben
let out a sigh of relief. Even though this was the second time he had been
told his son was still alive, hearing it from Sarge seemed to make it true.
“Sarge, I thought it would be better if the Cartwrights heard the whole
story from you,” the colonel said.
Sarge nodded. He looked down at the floor for a moment, wondering if he
should tell Joe’s family everything. He decided that he wasn’t doing them
any favors by leaving things out. They would have to know eventually about
the brutal treatment Joe had received. It was probably better to tell them
now and let them get used to it. Sarge took a deep breath, then started his
tale.
He told the Cartwrights everything. He told them about the raid on the line
shack and the march back to the camp. He told them about being made to work
as slaves, and about the beatings. He saw Ben grow pale when he described
Joe’s escape attempt, and what had happened to Joe when it failed. Finally,
he described the confrontation with Winnemucca.
“How did you get away?” Adam asked.
“I didn’t,” Sarge answered. “Winnemucca let me go.”
“I don’t understand,” Hoss said in a puzzled voice.
“It took me awhile to figure it out,” Sarge admitted. “Winnemucca took me
back to his camp, but he didn’t make me work. He just dumped me in a teepee
and seemed to forget about me. I was given food, and water, and blankets to
sleep on. There was a guard in front of the teepee, and he kept me inside,
out of sight. Then a few days ago, the guard came into the tent in the middle
of the night. He woke me and had me sneak around the camp with him. There
were two horses waiting for us just outside of camp. The guard rode with me
until we were in sight of the fort. Then he turned and just rode off. I rode
into the fort and here I am.”
“I still don’t get it,” Adam said. “Why did Winnemucca want you for himself
and then let you go?”
“Well, the way I figure it, Joe’s little speech made sense to the chief,”
Sarge replied. “But he couldn’t order Black Bear to let us go. Things just
aren’t done that way.
I figure he took me because he thought I had the best chance of persuading
the Army to go rescue Joe. It may not have worked the other way around.”
“But why does he want to Army to rescue Joe?” Ben persisted.
“Winnemucca doesn’t want a war, and he sure don’t want Black Bear to be
war chief,” Sarge explained. “But I don’t think he wants an out and out fight
with Black Bear either. This way, the Army can rescue Joe, and maybe
kill a few Black Bear’s braves in the process. When Black Bear shows up at
the council without any white slaves, his claim to be war chief will be considerably
weaker.” Sarge chuckled. “I told Joe that Winnemucca was a wily old fox.”
“Won’t Black Bear be suspicious when he finds out Winnemucca let you go?”
Hoss asked with a frown.
“I doubt if he’ll have the nerve to ask Winnemucca about me,” Sarge answered.
“Since only a few people in the camp saw me, nobody will think to mention
that I’m gone. Heck, most of the people in that camp didn’t even know I was
there.”
Ben shook his head, amazed at Winnemucca’s maneuverings. The old chief would
have put the best politicians in Washington to shame.
“Do you think Joe’s still alive?” Hoss asked with a frown. “I mean, it sounds
like Black Bear was pretty mad at him. Maybe he…” Hoss couldn’t finish.
Sarge grew sober. “Joe’s still alive,” Sarge said. “Black Bear wouldn’t
dare kill him. Not after Winnemucca practically made him promise to bring
Joe to the council. But that don’t mean Black Bear ain’t taking his revenge
on that boy. I’ll bet Joe’s life is a living hell.”
The three Cartwrights looked at each other with grim expressions. Ben turned
back to Sarge. “Can you lead us to Black Bear’s camp,” Ben asked.
Sarge nodded. “Sure can,” he assured the Cartwrights. “I’ve just been waiting
for someone to ask.”
Ben turned to the colonel. Before he could even ask, though, the colonel
said, “I’ll have a troop of cavalry ready to ride first thing in the morning.
Captain Farley will lead them. He’s one of my best men. No one understands
Indians better than Farley.”
“Thank you, “ Ben said to the colonel. He turned back to Sarge. “And thank
you for taking care of my boy.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” Sarge asserted. “I really didn’t do much.” Sarge
shook his head. “That boy of yours, Mr. Cartwright; he’s really something.
He’s endured things that would break most men, and he came back fighting.”
Sarge grinned. “You should have seen him with ol’ Winnemucca. Talked right
up to him. No, Mr. Cartwright, don’t thank me. It’s a privilege knowing your
son.”
Captain Farley led a troop of twenty soldiers out of the fort at dawn. Sarge
and the Cartwrights rode in front of the soldiers, with Sarge showing them
the way. The Cartwrights were anxious to reach Joe as soon as possible, but
they rode at a military walk, knowing that they needed to proceed with caution.
It took the troop almost two days to reach the hidden entrance to the mountain
trail. Sarge showed the Cartwrights and Captain Farley how the Paiutes had
hidden the start of the trail behind rocks and bushes. Ben shook his head.
“No wonder we never found the trail,” Ben said. “If you didn’t know where
to look, you’d never see it.”
Sarge agreed. “Them Paiutes, they’re clever. This is the only trail up that
mountain. There’s deep ravines, rock slides and steep cliffs blocking every
other way. I know. I looked when they led us up here, and again when Winnemucca’s
men led me back down.”
“Sarge, do you think Joe’s still in the camp?” asked Hoss in a worried voice.
“Maybe that Piaute council has already started.”
“No,” said Farley. “The Piaute council doesn’t meet until the summer solstice,
what they call ‘the long day.’ That’s still two weeks away. Black Bear wouldn’t
have started for the council meeting yet.”
Ben studied the trail as it wended it’s way through the trees. “Sarge, how
far is it up that trail to Black Bear’s camp?” he asked.
“About half an hour on horse,” Sarge answered. He grinned ruefully. “Seems
a lot longer when you’re walking.”
“Is there someplace where you can see the camp without being seen?” Ben
asked.
Sarge thought for a minute and then nodded. “Yeah, there’s some trees and
rocks just this side of the camp. You can’t get real close to the camp, but
you can see it from there.”
“What are you getting at, Mr. Cartwright?” asked the captain.
“I think the five of us should ride up and look at that camp,” replied Ben.
“Get the lay of the land and see if we can spot where they’re keeping Joe.
Then we can make a plan on how best to get him out of there.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Sarge. He looked at the sky. “It will dusk pretty
soon. That’s the best to do it. We’ll still be able to see into the camp,
but it will be hard for the Paiutes to spot us. And they eat at dusk. They’ll
be busy around the cookfires.”
“Are there any guards near the camp?” Adam asked.
“No,” Sarge said. “Black Bear feels real safe up there. He’s sure no one
but the other Paiutes knows where his camp is. He doesn’t bother with guards.”
Ben turned to Adam and Hoss. “Let’s go find Joe.”
The five riders came up the trail quietly. Sarge stopped them about half
a mile from the camp and told the others to dismount. They hid their horses
in the trees and proceeded the rest of the way to the camp on foot. Sarge
had cautioned the Cartwrights to be quiet and not say anything, no matter
what they saw in the camp. Any sound could alert the Paiutes to their presence.
Moving stealthily, Sarge led the others up a small rise to dotted with fallen
trees and large rocks. He crouched behind a large rock and motioned for the
others to do the same. The men had a clear view of the camp from the rise.
They settled down and watched.
As Sarge had predicted, the Paiutes were eating. Groups of Indians
were spread throughout the camp, all of them chatting as they leisurely ate
from bowls and plates.
Ben’s heart sank. He could see no sign of Joe in the camp. Then he saw a
brave walk over to one of the fires. The man picked up a small bowl from the
ground and walked across the camp. He approached what initially looked to
be a bundle of rags. The brave kicked at the bundle, and it began to move.
Ben was shocked to see the bundle of rags was Joe. He barely recognized
his son. Joe’s hair was long and disheveled, with tufts sticking out in all
directions. A thin, scraggly beard covered the lower half of Joe’s face.
His clothes were in tatters. Ben could see his pants had holes in both knees.
The left sleeve of his shirt was torn off raggedly at the elbow and the right
sleeve was split from the wrist almost to the shoulder. Both Joe and the
clothes were filthy.
The brave held the bowl in front of Joe as the captive rose to his knees.
Joe reached for the bowl but the brave pulled it back, just out of Joe’s reach.
Joe crawled forward and reached again for the bowl, but once more the brave
pulled it back. Joe crawled forward again, but stopped abruptly. A leather
collar was around Joe’s neck and the collar was tied to a leather strip.
The end of the strip was tied to a stake in the ground. Joe had stopped because
he could stretch the leather strip no further.
Joe reached out his arms, evidently begging for the bowl. The brave laughed
and held it just out of Joe’s reach. Joe tried to stretch his arms further,
but could not reach the bowl. Finally, the brave tired of tormenting his captive.
He threw the bowl to the ground.
Snatching the bowl from the ground, Joe put it to his mouth. He used his
fingers to spoon something from the bowl into his mouth, then tilted the bowl
and started to drink from it. The bowl must not have held much, because it
less than a minute, it appeared to be empty. Joe started licking the bowl,
looking for the last bit of nourishment that might be clinging to it.
The brave had watched Joe with a mixture of amusement and disgust. He reached
to take the bowl away, but Joe turned his back to the man, continuing to lick
the bowl. The Indian stepped forward and grabbed the bowl, but Joe refused
to release it. They struggled briefly over the bowl before the brave finally
pulled it out of Joe’s hands. The brave kicked Joe in the ribs, sending him
sprawling. Joe laid still on the ground as the Indian walked away. Then he
got to his knees and slowly crawled back toward the stake to which the leather
strip was tied. Joe laid on the ground next to the stake, his back to the
camp. Ben could see the back of Joe’s shirt was ripped in several places.
Ben turned to look at Hoss and Adam. The shock and anger Ben felt was reflected
on his sons’ faces. Ben turned the other way to look at Sarge and Farley.
Sarge’s face was impassive, as if he had seen nothing that he had not expected
to see. Farley’s face had a deep frown on it.
Once more, Ben turned back to look at the camp. He could see Joe lying still
on the ground and the rest of the camp looked as if it were preparing to settle
for the night. Ben felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Sarge staring
at him. Sarge raised his eyebrows, asking a silent question. Ben nodded,
indicating he had seen enough. Sarge raised his hand slightly and gestured
behind him. The five men crept silently down the rise.
No one said a word as they hiked back to their horses. None of the men could
seem to put into words what they felt about what they had seen. Ben finally
broke the silence when they reached their horses.
“A direct attack won’t work,” Ben said. “There’s too many braves in the
camp. Besides, Joe could easily be killed during a direct attack. We’ll have
to figure out another way.”
“There is another way,” Farley suggested in a hesitant voice. Ben looked
at him. “Corporal O’Hare is a marksman. He could easily get a shot off from
the rise. He could put your son out of his misery.”
“What!” Ben exclaimed in shock. “I didn’t spend all this time looking for
my son just to have him murdered before my eyes.” Adam and Hoss both looked
at the captain in disbelief.
“It might be kinder for him and for you,” Farley said in a quiet voice.
“You saw what happened in that camp. I’m not sure that…that man in the camp
in your son any more.”
“No,” Ben replied with anger. “We’re going to get Joe out of there and take
him home. Whatever’s happened to him, we’ll find a way to fix it when we get
him home.”
Farley nodded, and mounted his horse. “I’ll meet you back at camp,” he said,
and wisely rode away.
“He didn’t mean to be cruel,” Sarge remarked to Ben in a soft voice. “He
really did mean it as a kindness.”
Ben turned to Sarge, his eyes blazing with anger. “How can you say that?”
he demanded.
“The captain and me, we both seen what can happen to men after the Indians
have them for awhile,” Sarge explained. “There was a lieutenant, a close friend
of the captain. We rescued him from the Utes a year or so ago. The man was
never right after he was rescued. He started seeing Indians everywhere. Shot
up a garrison.
The man is in an insane asylum now.”
Ben looked at Sarge with a shocked expression. He turned to Adam and Hoss.
Their faces showed shock also. Ben took a deep breath and shook his head.
“No matter what,” Ben said, “my son is coming home with me. I don’t care what
shape he’s in. I’ll make him well. I just want him home.”
Sarge nodded in understanding, then turned to mount his horse.
“Pa,” Adam said in a gentle voice. “If what the captain suspects is true.
I mean, if Joe’s not right in the head, maybe we need to make plans. Maybe
we should….
“Don’t say it, Adam,” Ben interrupted in an angry voice. “Don’t even think
it.”
“Adam didn’t mean anything, Pa,” Hoss said hastily. “He just wants the best
for Joe. We both do.”
“The best thing for Joe is for him to come home,” Ben stated firmly. Adam
and Hoss nodded their agreement. Quickly, the Cartwrights mounted their horses
and rode back down the trail.
As night fell, Farley, Sarge and the Cartwrights sat around the campfire
discussing and discarding plans of attack. The troops sat by two other fires,
waiting patiently for their orders. Ben’s anger at the captain had quickly
faded. He knew Farley was just doing his job. His job was to consider all
options, no matter how unacceptable one of those options might be to the Cartwrights.
But Bent was determined to come up with a plan to rescue Joe, a way to return
his son to him alive.
“What we have to do is come up with a diversion,” Adam stated. “Something
to occupy and distract them while we sneak Joe out of there.”
“A diversion isn’t going to work, “ Hoss disagreed. “They’ll just come chasing
after us as soon as they realize Joe is gone.”
“We might be able to outrun them,” suggested Farley.
“I don’t know how far Joe can make it on a horse,” Ben said, shaking his
head. “You saw the shape he’s in.”
Sarge had said little during the discussion. Now he looked up. “I have an
idea,” he offered. “It’s risky, but it might work.”
“Anything we try is going to have some element of risk,” Ben said. “What
is it?”
“Well, if we go back up that trail tonight and sneak around the edge of
the camp, we can be in the woods on the other side by dawn,” replied Sarge.
“I can work my way into the corral and set the horses free, send them through
the middle of camp. In the confusion, you can snatch Joe and ride out of there.
By the time the Paiutes figure out what’s going on, we’re be long gone. It’ll
take ‘em a while to round up the horses and chase after us.”
The men around the fire sat silent for a few minutes, each considering Sarge’s
plan. Finally, Adam nodded. “It would work,” he said.
“But wouldn’t the horses get nervous when you came toward the corral?” asked
Hoss. “That could alert the Paiutes.”
“No,” said Sarge. “Those ponies know me, know my scent. I spent a lot of
time cleaning up after them.”
Captain Farley nodded thoughtfully. “If we ran those horses down the trail,
and into the meadow, the Paiutes might never find them,” he added thoughtfully.
“That would not only prevent the Indians from coming after us, but it would
also embarrass Big Bear at the council. A chief who shows up with only a few
horses would not be considered a very important man.”
Sarge grinned. “An added benefit,” he agreed.
Farley nodded. “I’ve got one or two other ideas that might help it work,”
he said.
The sun was just beginning to rise as the figures moved silently around
the Piaute camp. The camp was quiet. The Indians slept peacefully with a
sense of security. Ben and Hoss moved through the trees, trying to get as
close to Joe as possible. Ben’s heart ached when he saw the dirty and ragged
body of his son huddled on the ground. He couldn’t wait to put his arms around
Joe and comfort him.
Ben and Hoss waited in the trees, alert for any sign of danger. But the
camp stayed quiet as the dawn broke.
Suddenly there was a shout and the loud neighing of panicked horses. In
just a few seconds, the sound of galloping horses echoed throughout the camp.
Paiutes began rushing out of the teepees and shelters, shouting to each other
as the herd of horses began running through the camp. A man in an Army uniform
was on the last horse, yelling and shouting at the animals ahead of him.
As the first of the horses reached the camp, Ben and Hoss ran forward. Ben
had a knife in his hand, ready to cut the collar from his son’s neck.
The noise had awaken Joe and he was sitting up, looking around in confusion.
Ben ran up to his son. “Joe,” he said as he put his hand on his son’s shoulder.
Joe recoiled from the touch and backed away. He looked at Ben with confusion
in his eyes, and without recognition. “Joe!” Ben said again in an urgent voice.
“It’s me. It’s your Pa.”
“No!” Joe screamed in a frightened voice and backed even further away.
“Pa, we have to go,” Hoss said urgently. “We have to go now!”
Ben nodded. “You grab Joe,” Ben ordered.
Rushing forward, Hoss threw his massive arms around his little brother.
Joe struggled against the grip, but he seemed to have little strength. Ben
rushed up and, with two quick strokes of the knife, cut the leather collar
from around Joe’s neck.
As soon as the collar fell away, Hoss stood, pulling Joe up with him. Ben
grabbed Joe’s right arm, and Hoss moved so he could take Joe’s left arm. Ben
and Hoss ran toward the trees, dragging Joe with them.
Behind them, the camp was in chaos. The horses had run through the camp
and were starting down the trail. As the Paiutes started after them, a series
of shots rang out from the rise near the camp. The soldiers were firing high
into the air, being careful not to hit anyone, especially the fleeing Cartwrights.
But the Paiutes didn’t know that. At the sound of the gunfire, most of the
Indians dropped to the ground. Several started to run back toward their tents,
while others ran toward the lake.
Ben and Hoss reached the woods where Adam was seated on his horse, and held
the reins of two other horses. Hoss and Ben literally threw Joe up and on
the horse behind Adam, Joe’s arms instinctively went around his brother’s
waist. Adam threw the reins of the other two horses at his father and brother,
then turned his horse toward the edge of the camp. He rode at a full gallop
around the camp and then down to the trail. Ben and Hoss followed him. The
soldiers kept firing at the camp until the Cartwrights were well down the
trail. Then they quickly melted back into the woods.
As he slowed his horse to proceed down the trail, Adam felt Joe’s grip tighten
around him. He could hear his brother’s ragged breathing in his ear. Adam
urged his horse down the narrow path as fast as was safely possible. He couldn’t
go at a full gallop; it was too dangerous. He could hear Joe’s breathing becoming
rapid as the horse slowed, and he could feel the trembling in Joe’s arms.
Adam rode slowly until he finally reached the end of the trail. The rocks
and bushes had been removed from the opening, so the horses would run out
into the meadow. As soon as Adam saw the opening, he kicked his horse into
a full gallop. He heard the sound of horses behind him, but Adam didn’t bother
to look back. He just assumed that his father, brother, and the rest of the
troop were following him.
The band of men rode in no particular order for another 30 minutes or so,
until their horses began to tire. Adam’s horse, carrying the load of two men,
was among the first to slow. Adam saw several troopers pass him, as well
as Captain Farley. Farley was trying to get to the head of the charge, so
he could call a halt. Eventually, the captain shouted and raised his hands,
and the men all around him began to slow. Soon the entire troop was pulling
their horses to a stop.
Ben and Hoss stopped their horses and dismounted, then turned back to look
for Adam. Adam was pulling his horse to a stop when the animal suddenly whinnied
and reared. The horse’s front hoof pawed the air. Joe slid off the back of
the horse and landed on the ground with a thud. Immediately, Ben and Hoss
ran toward the figure on the ground.
For a moment, Joe laid on the ground. But he started scrambling away as
he saw men rushing toward him. Adam was still struggling to bring his horse
under control as Ben and Hoss passed him, moving toward Joe. Seeing the approaching
figures, Joe started running from the men, but tripped on rock. He fell to
the ground but quickly started pulling himself across the dirt. Ben and Hoss
stopped and stood still They realized Joe was trying to flee from them.
Adam ran up to his father and brother. “I’m sorry,” he panted. “I was trying
to stop my horse, and Joe kicked him. I was pulling on the reins, while Joe
was kicking and….” Adam stopped as he realized what was happening. Ben and
Hoss were standing watching Joe, as Joe slowly eased himself away from them.
“Joe, it’s all right,” Ben said in a soothing voice. “It’s me. It’s your
Pa.”
Joe didn’t seem to understand the words. The sound of voices seemed to frighten
him even more and he began to pull himself away from the men even faster.
“Pa, let me try,” offered Hoss.
Hoss moved forward slowly, talking in a soothing voice. “It’s all right,
Joe,” he said softly. “It’s just me. It’s just ol’ Hoss.” Hoss walked
toward his brother slowly, keeping his voice soft and even. He approached
Joe as if he were approaching a frightened animal. In Hoss’ mind, that’s what
Joe was.
Joe stopped and watched as Hoss came closer to him. His eyes were large
with fright, and he seemed ready to run at any minute. Hoss walked slowly,
speaking softly as he neared his brother. He stopped a few feet from Joe.
Hoss kept his hands to his side, trying to appear non-threatening. “Joe,”
Hoss said in a soft voice.
“Don’t you recognize me, little brother?”
Frowning, Joe looked puzzled for a moment. Slowly, recognition seemed to
dawn on his face. “Hoss?” Joe asked in a hoarse voice. “Is it really you?”
“It’s really me, little brother,” Hoss answered in a soft voice. “Ain’t
nobody gonna hurt you any more. Pa’s here and so is Adam. We’re here to take
you home, Joe.”
Joe stood slowly. He took a tentative step forward, then another. Joe looked
as if he were seeing a ghost. Hoss stood still, letting Joe work it out in
his head.
Suddenly, Joe rushed forward and threw his arms around Hoss’ neck, giving
out a strangled sob as he hugged his older brother.
Ben and Adam rushed forward.
Joe clung to Hoss as sobs wracked his body. Hoss gently stroked Joe’s head,
telling him softly that everything was all right. Ben gently pulled Joe’s
arms from Hoss’ neck. Joe looked up.
With tears in his own eyes, Ben hugged his youngest son tightly. Adam put
his hand on Joe’s shoulder and Joe looked up at his oldest brother. “Welcome
home,
Joe,” Adam said softly. Joe stared at him as the tears flowed from his eyes.
The soldiers had been standing around, watching at Hoss approached Joe.
Now they shifted nervously on their feet, many of them looking at the ground.
Captain Farley watched the scene, then quietly ordered his men to make camp.
The soldiers hurried to obey the orders, seemingly thankful to have something
to do.
Joe clung to Ben as he sobbed his relief. “I had almost given up” Joe said.
“I didn’t think anyone was going to find me.”
“I’m sorry it took so long, Joe,” Ben replied as he gently stroked Joe’s
head.
Joe didn’t answer. He simply held onto his father and cried.
Ben felt Joe’s grip begin to relax as his son finally began to get control
of himself. Joe lifted his head from his father’s shoulder and looked at Ben.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Joe said. “Back in the camp, I kept dreaming
I was home. When I saw you, I thought I was still dreaming or something. I
thought maybe I had finally gone over the edge, that you weren’t real.”
“It’s all right, Joe,” Ben replied. Ben studied his son. Joe’s face was
gaunt, and Ben had felt how thin Joe had become. Joe’s left eye was ringed
with the fading bruises of a black eye. Ben could see other bruises – some
new and some fading – through all the dirt on Joe’s face. Based on what Sarge
told him, Ben suspected Joe’s whole body looked like his bruised face.
Ben could see Joe was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.
He looked over Joe’s shoulder to Hoss. “Get some blankets,” Ben ordered
softly. Hoss nodded and hurried away. “Sit down, Joe,” Ben said gently. Immediately,
Joe sank to the ground. When Hoss returned, a blanket in his hand,
he knelt next to Joe and gently wrapped the blanket around his little brother.
Joe didn’t seem to notice.
Ben sat on the ground next to Joe and eased Joe’s head onto his shoulder.
“You rest now, son,” Ben crooned softly. “You’re safe now. We’ll take you
home.” Joe sighed with relief.
For several minutes, Ben sat with Joe’s head on his shoulder. Joe’s eyes
grew heavy, and his head began to nod. He barely noticed that Ben gently helped
him lay down. Joe was in a deep sleep in a few minutes.
Almost two hour passed as Ben sat by his son, just watching him. It was
almost if he couldn’t get his fill of looking at his youngest son. Adam and
Hoss took care of the horses, and helped the soldiers with some small chores.
They instinctively knew that Ben needed to be alone with Joe for awhile, more
for their father’s sake than for Joe’s.
The aroma of cooking food was wafting through the camp when Hoss walked
slowly over to the pair. “Pa,” he said in a quiet voice. “Why don’t you go
get something to eat? I’ll stay with Joe.”
Ben looked up with almost a dazed expression on his face. He had forgotten
where he was. All his attention had been focused on Joe. Ben needed to reassure
himself constantly that his youngest son had actually been returned to him.
He looked at Hoss for a few minutes, then rose. “I’m not hungry,” Ben answered.
“But Joe will be. Stay with him while I get some food for him.”
Moving quickly, Ben walked over to the fire where one of the soldiers was
cooking some beans and ham . The soldier looked over his shoulder when he
heard someone approaching. Seeing it was Ben, the man quickly grabbed a plate
from a stack of dishes on the ground and started filling the plate with food.
As Ben waited for the plate, he heard a voice over his shoulder.
“I’m glad we got your boy out,” the voice said.
Ben turned to Captain Farley. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for all your
help.” Farley merely nodded. “I appreciate your willing to make camp so Joe
can rest and get some decent food,” Ben continued.
Farley shrugged. “The horses needed the rest, and the men needed the food,”
the captain answered diffidently. “We didn’t do anything extraordinary.”
Farley looked around. “I’ve posted a guard but I doubt if Black Bear or any
of his braves will come after us. They’ll be too busy trying to find their
horses.”
Nodding in agreement, Ben turned to take the plate the soldier had
prepared. He walked back to Joe.
Joe was still sleeping, and Ben hesitated to wake him. But he knew Joe needed
food as much as he needed rest. Ben shook his head. Joe needed so much right
now. He hoped he would know what was right for his son.
“Joe,” Ben said as he stood over his son. “Joe, wake up! Joe!”
Slowly, Joe stirred. He was only half awake when he smelled the food. Joe
opened his eyes and saw only the plate in someone’s hands. Without thinking,
Joe snatched the plate from his father’s hands. Ben watched in horror as Joe
began to shove the food into his mouth as fast as possible, barely stopping
to chew.
“Joe, stop!” Ben shouted as he grabbed his son’s arm. “Wait, slow down!
You’ll make yourself sick!”
Joe ignored Ben’s warning. Even as he was beginning to gag on the partially
eaten food he had swallowed, he was trying to shove more into his mouth.
“Joe, stop!” Ben shouted again, but Joe continued to ignore him. Ben tried
to take the plate from Joe, but Joe pushed his father away. Finally in desperation,
Ben turned to Hoss, who was watching Joe with a stunned expression on his
face. “Hoss, grab him!” Ben ordered. “He’s going to choke!”
Hoss shook himself as if coming out of a daze. He quickly wrapped his massive
arms around Joe, pinning his brother’s arms to his side as Ben snatched the
plate away. Joe struggled against Hoss’ grasp, his arms reaching desperately
for the plate of food.
“Joe, you can have all you want!” Ben said quickly. “Do you hear me? You
can have all you want. But you have to eat slow. You’ll make yourself sick.
Joe, listen to me. I’ll give the plate back. But you have to eat slow.”
Joe continued to struggle against Hoss, grunting as he tried to twist free.
But Hoss held his brother firm. Suddenly, Joe seemed to run out of energy.
He sagged back against Hoss, his head down.
Kneeling on the ground next to Joe, Ben slowly placed his hand under Joe’s
chin, then raised Joe’s head.
Joe’s eyes had a wild, almost crazed look in them. Bits of food were caught
in his beard. Juice ran down the side of Joe’s mouth. Ben shuddered slightly
as he looked at what his son had become.
“Joe,” Ben said in a gentle voice. “I’ll give the plate back but you have
to promise to eat slowly. You can have all the food you want. No one is going
to stop you from eating. But you have to eat slow. You’ll make yourself sick
if you don’t. Do you understand me?”
For several minutes, Joe stared at Ben, obviously trying to make some sense
out of Ben’s words. Slowly the confusion in Joe’s eyes began to disappear.
He nodded his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Pa,” Joe said in a contrite voice.
“I forgot where I was.”
As Hoss released his brother’s arms, Ben handed the plate back to Joe. He
knelt next to his youngest son, ready to grab the plate back if necessary.
But Joe ate slowly this time. He still used his fingers, but he was no longer
shoving food in at a frantic pace. Rather, he scooped up some food, and chewed
it slowly, savoring the taste and licking his fingers. He repeated the process
until the plate was empty. Joe put the plate to his mouth, as if he were going
to lick it. Ben quickly pulled it away.
“Joe, there’s plenty,” he said in a patient voice. “You can have more.
Do you want more?”
Joe looked thoughtful for a minute, then shook his head. “No,” he answered
in a tired voice. “I don’t think I can eat any more right now.” Joe shook
his head slowly.
“I can’t seem to get used to the idea I’m not in that camp.” With a sigh,
Joe laid back on the ground and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Turning his head, Ben looked at Hoss. Hoss had a pained expression
on his face. Ben quickly looked away. “You stay with him,” Ben said in a quiet
voice. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Hoss nodded.
Walking back toward the fire with the empty plate, Ben could see the soldiers
standing around, staring in Joe’s direction. Some of them had a look of disgust
on their faces. Others, pity. A few had a look of fear. All looked away as
Ben approached.
Ben handed the plate back to the soldier by the fire. The soldier took it
quickly, not wanting to look Ben in the eye. Ben started to say something
to the soldier, then stopped. He realized he didn’t know what to say. The
soldiers were reacting to Joe as they saw him now, a man who appeared to be
tottering on the edge of madness. They didn’t know Joe as his father did.
They didn’t know about Joe’s iron will and stubborn streak. Ben was confident
his son would become himself again. Joe just needed some time and someone
to show him the way. But Ben didn’t know the words to explain it to the soldier.
He didn’t know how to tell the man that the Joe he saw now was not the real
Joe. The real Joe wasn’t with them…at least not yet.
As he walked away from the cook fire, Ben decided he didn’t need to explain
his son to the soldiers. He didn’t care what they thought. Ben only cared
that Joe had been returned to him.
Two hours later, the soldiers were breaking camp. Ben was surprised to see
Sarge standing near the horses. He had thought the sergeant would have approached
Joe by now. But Sarge seemed to be reluctant to come near Joe.
Ben walked over to Sarge and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. Sarge looked
up at Ben, his eyes filled with worry and something else Ben couldn’t identify.
“How’s Joe doing?” Sarge asked softly.
“As well as can be expected,” Ben answered. “He’s exhausted, half-starved,
and been badly beaten. I think he’s having a hard time realizing he’s free.”
Sarge looked away.
“Sergeant, will you go see Joe?” Ben asked. “It might help.”
Sarge looked down at the ground and said nothing.
“I know he’s acting pretty strange and you probably don’t want to
be near him…” Ben began.
Sarge looked up quickly, surprise on his face. “No,” he said quickly. “It’s
not that.”
Looking puzzled, Ben asked, “Then why won’t you talk to Joe?”
Sarge seemed to be turning over in his mind how to answer. Finally, he shrugged.
“I can’t talk to him, Mr. Cartwright,” Sarge admitted reluctantly. “It’s my
fault what happened to him. If I had stayed with him, I could have helped
him. I could have protected him some.”
Now it was Ben’s turn to look surprised. “It wasn’t your choice to leave,”
Ben said. “Winnemucca and his braves dragged you out of that camp. You didn’t
desert Joe. You did everything you could to help him.”
“Yeah,” Sarge replied. “But does Joe know that?”
“I’m not sure what Joe knows right now,” Ben answered in a quiet voice.
“He’s been through hell and back. But he needs to know he’s safe, that no
one will hurt him. I think you can help him see that.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Cartwright,” said Sarge, shaking his head. “The
last thing I said to Joe was that he had to do whatever it took to survive,
to stay alive. Well, he stayed alive, but I’m not sure what it cost him to
do it.”
“It cost him,” Ben agreed. “But Joe’s a strong boy. With a little help,
he can find his way back to a normal life. I think you can give him that
help.”
“I don’t know what to say to him,” Sarge insisted.
“I can’t tell you want to say,“ said Ben. “But you’re the only one who really
understands what Joe has been through. He knows that. He knows you’ll understand
him better than anyone else.” But Sarge looked at Ben with uncertainty.
“Just talk to him,” Ben urged. “And more importantly, let him talk to you.”
Sarge looked thoughtful for a minute then nodded his head slowly. Without
saying a word, he walked away from Ben.
Joe was sitting on the ground, still wrapped in blankets. Hoss and Adam
sat next to him, not saying a word. At first, Adam and Hoss had tried to
talk to Joe, to reassure him, and to tell him everything was all right. But
Joe had seemed frightened and overwhelmed by his brothers. Finally, both
men realized the best thing to do was not to do anything. They just sat next
to Joe, letting him know they were there.
As Sarge walked slowly to the Cartwrights, he was still trying to
decide what to say. He didn’t notice Ben trailing him from behind, nor did
he really see Adam and Hoss. His attention was focused on Joe, and the pitiful
condition of his friend didn’t make Sarge feel any better about talking with
him.
Finally, Sarge stopped and stood over Joe. “I told you that you’d get home,”
Sarge said.
Joe looked up, his face full of disbelief. “Sarge?” he replied tentatively.
Sarge smiled. “Yep, it’s me,” he answered. “I promised you I’d get you out
of there, and I don’t break promises.”
For a minute, Joe just stared at the man. Suddenly, he struggled to his
feet, staggering a bit as he rose. Joe threw his arms around the soldier.
“Sarge!” he cried in a loud voice. “You’re alive!”
Looking embarrassed, Sarge patted Joe on the back. He saw Joe wince and
instantly regretted his action. “I’m alive,” Sarge assured his young friend.
“Can’t kill a tough old bird like me.”
Pulling back a bit, Joe studied Sarge. “I didn’t know what happened to you,”
Joe said in a trembling voice. “I was worried that Winnemucca was mad about
what I said. I thought maybe he would…” Joe stopped and shook his head. “I
thought you were dead and it was all my fault.”
Sarge looked at Joe in amazement. After all the boy had gone through, Joe
was worrying abut him. Sarge couldn’t believe it.
“Winnemucca was good to me, Joe,” Sarge said. “I think he treated me right
because of what you said. He let me go. I think he let me go because he wanted
me to come back and get you. You didn’t make him mad. You saved me, Joe. You
saved both of us.”
Sighing, Joe closed his eyes. He looked as if a weight had been lifted from
his shoulders.
With a gentle motion, Sarge lifted Joe’s chin with his hands. Joe opened
his eyes and looked at the soldier. Sarge’s eyes searched Joe’s face. “What
about you?” he asked softly. “What happened after Winnemucca left?”
Turning his head away, Joe didn’t answer. Gently, Sarge turned Joe’s face
back to him. “Tell me, Joe,” Sarge said. “I need to know.”
Ben, Adam and Hoss had been watching the scene quietly. Now all three held
their breath, waiting to hear what Joe had to say. They knew what he said
now would help him, and them, understand what he had been through….if he could
bring himself to talk about it.
A pained look crossed Joe’s face, as if he couldn’t bear to think about
the camp. But he looked at Sarge’s searching eyes, and knew he had to answer.
He owed the soldier that much, and more. Joe took a deep breath.
“After Winnemucca left, they beat me up pretty bad,” Joe said slowly. “Black
Bear was really angry. I thought he might kill me. But he just beat me, then
tied me back up by that tent. I was hurting pretty bad, but I remembered what
you told me about staying alive. It was hard, but I tried not to give up.
I wanted to stay alive so I could get away, so I could find you, and so I
could get home.”
Sarge nodded in understanding. Ben, Hoss and Adam listened carefully, their
faces reflecting their dismay
“They worked me, and beat me whenever they felt like it,” Joe continued
in a low voice. “They had two men watching me all the time, so I couldn’t
escape. They seemed to enjoy making me miserable.” Joe looked down. “ They
thought up some pretty mean stuff….” Joe closed his eyes and shuddered slightly,
as if remembering. “Well, anyway, it got pretty bad. The only way I could
get through it was to kind of go numb. I didn’t think, I didn’t feel, and
I didn’t care. I just existed.” Joe looked up at Sarge. “You understand what
I mean, don’t you” he asked in a pleading voice.
“I understand, Joe,” Sarge replied in a soothing voice. “You were in a tough
situation, with no one to help you. You did the only thing you could.”
“I didn’t like what I became,” Joe admitted. “But I couldn’t seem to help
myself. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Joe, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Sarge assured the young man. “I told
you that the name of the game was finding a way to survive. And that’s what
you did.”
Ben walked up and put his hand gently on Joe’ shoulder. Joe was startled
by the action. He had forgotten anyone else was around.
“Joe, I’m proud of you, son,” Ben said. “You didn’t give up. You found a
way to survive a horrible situation.”
Joe seemed to find Ben’s words comforting. “I was afraid you wouldn’t understand,”
Joe mumbled, looking down at the ground.
Before Ben could answer, a shot rang through the air. Sarge and the Cartwrights
turned to see a soldier running toward the camp.
“Indians!” the man shouted. “Get your guns!”
Captain Farley ran up and grabbed the soldier, stopping him in his tracks.
“Callahan, what’s going on?” he asked.
“Indians, Captain!” the soldier shouted. “A whole bunch of them. I spotted
them coming toward the camp. Some on horses and a lot on foot. They’ll be
here any minute!”
Farley looked around. About half the horses were unsaddled and men were
scattered through the campsite. There was no way to mount an attack…or a
retreat.
“Grab your weapons,” Farley ordered the men. He looked toward Sarge. “Sarge,
take half the men and go over into that draw. I’ll take the rest over by the
horses.
We’ll catch them in the middle.”
Saluting briefly, Sarge ran back toward the camp. Ben, Adam and Hoss also
ran to pick up rifles. Joe stood uncertainly, trembling, and wondering what
to do. Then he turned and ran toward the middle of camp. He snatched a rifle
from a saddle laying on the ground. He looked around, trying to get his bearings.
Adam grabbed him by the arm and led him into the draw with Sarge, Ben, Hoss
and five other soldiers. The men dove into the grass, seeking whatever cover
they could find. Joe laid on his stomach between Ben and Sarge.
Two Indians on horses appeared at the edge of the meadow, well out of the
range of the rifles. They seemed to be taking a look at the situation. Then
they rode off.
“Black Bear must be out of his mind,” Sarge said. “He can’t be thinking
of attacking!”
“Maybe he has no choice,” Ben suggested. “Without his horses and his captives,
Black Bear will have no place in the council. His only hope is to try to get
them back.”
Joe turned to Ben. “Pa,” he said in a shaky voice, “I’m not letting them
get me again. One way or the other, I’m not going back to that camp.”
Ben looked at Joe, his eyes reflecting his understanding. “Don’t worry,
Joe,” he replied gently. “I won’t let them take you back.”
Nodding, Joe turned back to face the meadow.
Taking a deep breath, Ben silently vowed that he would die if he had to,
to keep Joe away from Black Bear’s hands again.
The men waited nervously as they searched for any signs of the Paiutes.
They watched the meadow for what seemed to them a long time. Some began to
wonder if the Paiutes had changed their minds.
Suddenly, a band of riders came charging into the meadow, screaming at the
top of the voices. The men on both sides of the meadow turned to fire at the
Paiutes. As soon as their attention was directed toward the riders, another
band of Indians attacked from the other side of the meadow. Most of these
were on foot but their screams were just as loud as the riders.
Soldiers began firing in all directions as both bands of Indians began shooting
at them. In their panic and the confusion, most of the soldiers missed their
targets. The Paiutes were getting closer and Sarge was yelling at his men
to direct their aim. He could hear Farley yelling from the other side of the
meadow.
Ben turned to Adam and Hoss. “You two take the left side,” he yelled. “Joe
and I will take the right.” Adam and Hoss both turned their rifles to the
left and began firing. Several Indians fell to the ground.
Both Joe and Ben directed their fire toward the Indians on horseback. Their
targets were harder to hit, but two braves fell from their horses. Joe saw
Black Bear streaking across the meadow. The Piaute was riding the stallion
Joe had ridden to the line shack for the auction that day which seemed a lifetime
ago. Joe fired at Black Bear, but missed the man.
Sarge finally got his men organized and Farley seemed to be doing the same.
Suddenly the Paiutes found themselves caught in a murderous crossfire. Braves
fell to the ground, some with bullet wounds but others simply to escape the
bullets flying at them from all sides. Joe saw Black Bear riding back across
the meadow, urging his braves to fight. Joe raised his rifle, aiming carefully.
But before he could pull the trigger, he saw Black Bear clutch his chest and
fall to the ground.
“Got you, you devil,” Joe heard Sarge mutter.
Black Bear’s fall seemed to take all the fight out of the Paiutes. The few
left on horses turned their mounts and rode at a gallop away from the meadow.
Several of the Indians on the ground began crawling away. As soon as they
were out of the crossfire, the braves stood and ran for their lives.
Sarge yelled to his men to stop firing, and he heard Farley doing the same.
In a minute, an eerie quiet came over the meadow.
Slowly, soldiers rose to their feet. The Cartwrights did the same. They
looked at the bodies of close to twenty Paiutes scattered throughout the
meadow.
Almost in a daze, Joe began walking toward the meadow. Ben and Sarge followed
him, watching with concern. Joe walked passed the bodies of the dead Indians,
looking at each one carefully. Finally he stood over the body of Black Bear.
He stared at the man who had made his life a living hell.
Ben came up quietly and put his arm around Joe. “He’s dead, Joe,” Ben said.
“He can’t hurt you any more.”
Joe didn’t seem to hear. He stared down at the body on the ground. Suddenly,
he started to shake. He turned to his father with tears in his eyes. Joe tried
to say something but he couldn’t seem to get the words out. Then he collapsed
into Ben’s arms.
Hoss and Adam sat on the step of the porch to the infirmary in the fort.
They were waiting for Joe to finish saying his good-byes. Neither man said
anything as they waited for their younger brother. There was little left for
them to discuss. They had talked about what happened to Joe when they
had gotten back to the ranch a few weeks ago. Ben had stayed at the fort
to help tend to Joe while Adam and Hoss took care of the ranch. Neither man
had minded doing the work, but both were anxious to have the whole family
back together again. Now they waited, both lost in thought.
Hoss thought about the day they had rescued Joe. His father had literally
carried Joe from the meadow. His little brother seemed to lose what every
strength he had been fighting with when he saw Black Bear was dead. It was
as if he could finally stop fighting and give into the pain and weakness he
felt. Hoss remembered Joe riding back to the fort on Ben’s horse, with Ben
sitting firmly behind him. Joe seemed barely strong enough to stay in the
saddle. Ben had held him tightly all the way to the fort.
Angrily, Hoss thought of the bruises he had seen on Joe’s body when he helped
his younger brother removed his ragged clothes upon arrival at the infirmary.
Bruises had covered Joe’s back, chest, arms and legs. Hoss got mad again when
he thought about it. If Black Bear wasn’t already dead, Hoss would have killed
him with his bare hands for what the Piaute had done to Joe.
Hoss also worried about Joe. He had been sick and weak when they took him
into the infirmary, although the doctor had assured them that a few weeks
in bed and some nourishing food would cure him. Hoss had worried about Joe
the whole time he was at the ranch. Now, finally, after three weeks, they
had received a message that Joe was ready to come home. Hoss and Adam had
rushed back to the fort, and had been greeted with a much healthier looking
brother than they had left behind. Hoss was relieved, but he was still worried.
The traces of bruises were still evident on Joe’s face, and his brother walked
with an unnatural stiffness.
Adam’s musing were not about his brother’s physical state. Adam wondered
about Joe’s mental health. He remembered what the captain had said about men
who had been captured by Indians. He also remembered how the terrified and
blank looks had alternated on Joe’s face after he was rescued. Joe had retreated
within himself to survive the brutal treatment from the Paiutes. Adam wondered
if Joe was going to be able to deal with the “real world” now.
Adam thought about the day the post barber had come to shave Joe and cut
his air. Joe’s face had gone blank when the man approached him with the razor
and scissors. Joe hadn’t said a word when the barber removed the beard and
cut his hair. Joe hadn’t even complained about how short his hair was cut.
He had simply sat in the chair and stared. Adam shuddered to think what memories
Joe was blanking out with that stare.
Adam knew Sarge and Ben had had long talks with Joe. About what he wasn’t
sure, but then, Adam wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He only knew that his
father had told them that the talks seemed to help. Joe had had nightmares
every night for the first week or so. Now, Ben told them the nightmares were
gone – or at least infrequent. Ben also told Adam that Joe no longer seemed
to retreat from reality. Adam hoped his father was right.
While Ben was at the fort, Adam had made a decision. He and Hoss drove twenty
head of the best beef on the Ponderosa to a meadow near Winnemucca’s camp.
Two Piaute braves had watched from the crest of a nearby hill. Adam and Hoss
left the cattle behind, knowing Winnemucca’s men would take them from the
meadow. They also knew Winnemucca would know who left the cattle as a gift…and
why. Adam understood it is was a small gesture, but it was the only thing
he could think of to thank Winnemucca for his role in bringing Joe back to
them. Adam knew his father would approve.
Both Hoss and Adam’s thoughts were interrupted by a door opening behind
them. “You two going to sit around all day?” a voice asked sarcastically.
Turning slowly, Adam looked up at the speaker. Joe stood in the doorway,
grinning. He was still thin and his face showed traces of bruising. But the
familiar grin and sparkle in the eyes were there. Adam was relieved.
“Well, we figured you would be late as usual,” Adam replied. “We didn’t
think there was any rush.”
As Joe walked out of the infirmary, Hoss got to his feet. The clothes he
had brought Joe from home seemed about a size too large; they hung on his
thin frame. Joe walked stiffly, his back unnaturally straight. His gait
was slow and measured . Hoss offered Joe his hand. “You need some help, Joe?”
he asked.
Joe smiled back. “No, I can make it. Did you bring Cochise for me?”
Nodding, Hoss pointed to the horses tied to a hitching post a few yards
away. He had brought Joe’s pinto to the fort for the ride home. He had wondered
if riding was really a good idea for Joe, but seeing his brother’s face light
up at the sight of the pinto, Hoss was glad he had brought the horse.
With a grin on his face, Joe turned and yelled back into the building behind
him. “Hey, Pa,” he shouted. “Hurry up! We’re ready to go.”
A few seconds later, Ben walked out of the infirmary, followed by Sarge.
“You sure are in a hurry,” Ben called back to his son with a laugh.
“I can’t wait to get home, Pa,” Joe said, his face sobering a bit. “It’s
been a long time.” Ben nodded in understanding.
Sarge walked over to Joe. “Well, you take care of yourself, Joe,” Sarge
said shaking Joe’s hand and patting him on the shoulder.
“Thanks again for everything,” Joe replied, his voice full of emotion.
“Nothing to thank me for,” said Sarge airily. “If I ever get captured by
Indians again, I’ll be sure you’re with me.”
A look of pain flashed across Joe’s face, and his eyes started to focus
on some unseen object. Suddenly, Joe shook his head. He looked back at Sarge
and smiled a shaky grin. “Let’s not do that again, uh?” he said. Sarge nodded.
With a wave, Joe turned and walked slowly toward his horse. Hoss threw his
arm around his brother’s shoulders and walked with him.
For a minute, Adam watched Joe walking away. Then he turned to Ben. “Is
he going to be all right?” Adam asked his father. “I mean, really all right.”
Ben watched Joe as he answered. “It’s going to take some time. Joe’s not
likely to forget what happened to him, but time will help the memories to
fade. He’s come a long way already.”
“With your help,” said Adam, “and Sarge’s.”
“We helped him understand, that’s all,” Sarge replied. “Your brother is
a survivor. He coped with an unthinkable situation the best way he could.
We just helped him understand that there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Adam nodded. He didn’t really understand but it wasn’t important. The important
thing was that Joe understood. Adam looked at his father. “Ready to go?” he
asked.
“I’m ready,” answered Ben. “I’m ready to take my whole family home.”
*****End*****
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