by
Janice Sagraves
ONE
Adam Cartwright had gone to Virginia City to send a wire to Boston that he was going to take the job. Elsford Haynes, El to his old college pals, had an opening in his shipping company and thought of his friend. He’d deliberated long and hard about it, and his decision to leave the Ponderosa hadn’t been made lightly. And it certainly wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. He was thirty-two, and he felt it was time to start his own life. Past time he would’ve told you if you’d asked. But Pa hadn’t asked and when Adam had told him about his plans Ben Cartwright had squarely hit the ceiling. After that maybe one of the worst arguments between them had erupted. Adam grinned at the image of his brothers slinking out of the house so as not to get hit by anything. But his amusement quickly evaporated as the ire returned. It wasn’t like he was leaving Pa alone; he still had Joe and Hoss to help him. And there were still such things as mail, telegraph, stagecoaches and trains. The world had gotten smaller since he was in college and staying in touch wasn’t impossible. And even if it was his mind was made up and nothing Pa could say or do would change that.
He bent in the saddle as a cold, biting gust caught him in the back of the neck. An involuntary shiver ran through him, and his dark hazel eyes cast up from beneath the brim of his hat to the threatening sky. He hadn’t paid much attention to the weather when he’d stomped out of the house to the barn, or even when he’d ridden out in a huff. He’d been mad as a peeled rattler and not concerned with one of Mother Nature’s temper fits. Well, now he was very concerned. It had been against his better judgment that he hadn’t stayed in town for the night and – as he’d learned over the years – that kind of lapse could get you easily killed.
Little frozen specks stung his cheeks, and his eyes watered. He sensed what was coming, and he hoped he wasn’t going to get caught in it. It was too late to turn around and go back to town. He was past the point of no return so he just kept Sport headed toward home.
Another gust caught him, and this one he thought was going to blow him off his horse’s back. His long legs tightened against the animal’s sides in an effort to stay seated. The wind was picking up and – to his disquiet – so was the snow. It was fine as sand and getting heavier by the second. He guessed it to be a little after five o’clock in the afternoon but it looked closer to seven or eight. He cursed under his breath as he slumped closer to his horse’s neck as the temptation to speed up quickly passed. The ground was frozen solid and slick in patches as a wet whiskey bottle. Whiskey. Boy, what he couldn’t do with a good jolt.
The trees twisted and the wind howled in their boughs like hungry wolves, and Adam feared he was on the menu. His gloved hands tightened on the reins, and Sport continued to saunter along as if without a care in the world.
Icy flecks swirled around man and animal, and Adam decided to toss caution aside and pick up the pace. If he didn’t get home before this closed in on him, he knew the chances were good that he never would. He nudged his heels into Sport’s sides, and the big chestnut moved effortlessly into a lope. Adam slumped even more and let his mount do the work.
By the time he felt it and realized what was happening it was too late. He tried recovering but by that time Sport was already falling. He barely had enough time to kick his left foot free from the stirrup. When the horse landed he didn’t want it to be on his leg.
The thud and following grunts were drowned out by the wailing of the wind. Adam hit in one chunk and skidded across the slippery ground, losing his hat along the way. The thick coat padded him some but not enough as pain ran through his left shoulder and hip. More pain ran along his leg from his foot as it was caught against the saddle. He didn’t cry out but it did enter his mind.
As he lay there he felt the pressure release as Sport apparently got to his feet. Adam couldn’t be certain since he was unable to see him. By now the snow was so thick it was like being inside a pitcher of milk, it was just as white and just as suffocating. He managed to get onto his hands and knees and groped around trying to get his bearings. It wasn’t working. He called out to Sport but doubted if the horse could see him either.
The rest of his body was beginning to ease off some but his foot still hurt mightily. The boot had helped but, like the coat, not enough. Unsteadily, he got to his feet but he thought he was going to be blown right back off of them. He called out again, and his mouth was instantly filled with snow. Spitting and spluttering he tried turning his back to it but it was coming from all directions.
“You’ve had it this time, Cartwright,” ran through his thoughts. He didn’t want to think this was going to kill him but how could he keep from it. He was afoot, hatless, and he couldn’t find his horse. So that meant no bedroll, no food and no way home. Water he had in abundance so that wasn’t a problem, in fact, that was the problem. And whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not, he couldn’t walk there in this.
Ducking his head, he tried calling out to his horse one last time and when it still didn’t help he resigned himself to the fact that he had to move or die where he stood. And as unpleasant an aspect as walking was, dying was even more of one. He pulled his collar up around his neck and hunched his head down into his shoulders like a turtle pulling back into its shell. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets, and as he did he found two things he’d forgotten he had with him. In the right pocket was his long woolen scarf. He remembered poking it in there the previous morning and then forgetting all about it. He brought it around his head and over his ears then tied it securely under his chin and then he brought one end of it over his mouth and nose and tucked it in on the side.
The other item he found was a box of matches, but they wouldn’t do him any good unless he found shelter and something to burn. More incentive to get moving. And he could only hope he was going in the right direction.
Taking the small, precious box he unbuttoned his coat and put it in his shirt pocket where it would be less apt to get wet or lost. Then he buttoned up again.
He worried about Sport – the animal was as much at the mercy of the storm as his rider. But, horses were a little better equipped to handle this sort of thing. Adam could only hope he made it back home. He knew that when someone found him they would realize he was in trouble. But what good would that do? In this blizzard they couldn’t very well come looking for him. No, he feared that they would have to wait for the spring thaw. He grumbled at himself for thinking that way then started to walk. It wasn’t easy for the wind was pushing against him like a giant hand. And if he fought against the force too much that would make him sweat and that could be lethal.
Unknown to him he passed in less than a foot of his disoriented horse. They were both on their own now and had to rely on themselves for survival.
TWO
Adam wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking – all he knew was that he was exhausted. Between struggling against the wind and trying to keep his tired, aching legs working, he was more worn out than he could ever remember being. His heart was beating hard, and he knew that without the scarf to warm the breaths he took that his lungs would be on fire. And the only good thing he could think of about the exertion was that it kept his muscles warm.
An artic blast caught him, and he staggered but stayed upright. All he needed was to fall into the snow that was steadily accumulating. At this rate it would be to his knees before long, and his progress would be seriously impeded if not halted all together. And snow that deep would definitely work up a sweat. He had to find a place to wait this out even if it was a hollow log. As long as it was shelter he didn’t much care what it was.
He stopped trying to look up at the sky – every time he did his eyes were stung by the biting snow. So he kept his head down, but he couldn’t even see his own feet. If at all possible, the storm seemed to be getting worse.
He had no idea where he was or how far he’d come. He’d lost track of the time, and the only thing that hinted at the day’s progression was that the snow was a grayish shade that was growing darker.
His body was stiff and tired and ached all over and his mashed foot throbbed. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe some of the bones in it had been cracked. It wasn’t broken or he wouldn’t even be able to stand on it let alone walk. And as if that wasn’t enough, the cold exacerbated it.
Another worry kept him moving: frostbite. His ears and most of face and head were protected by the scarf, and he had on gloves and had his hands in his pockets. And he was wearing a pair of long handles, faded to pink from years of washing. But boots were never intended for this. They were adequate protection against sand, rocks, sticks, water and even a light cover of snow. But this much at once and over a prolonged period, a man could lose toes.
Finding a place to hole up was becoming more imperative with every second that passed. His life could now be measured as the grains that pass through an hour glass. He’d dared to scoff at Mother Nature, and now she was making him pay for his impudence.
He stopped to catch his breath and try to get his bearings, but he couldn’t see beyond the tip of his nose so that was futile. He wanted to sit down and fighting the urge was growing steadily harder, but Adam Cartwright was, if nothing else, stubborn. He snorted and shook his head. How well his family knew that. His family. He wished he was in their house in front of a crackling fire with them around him. He would even welcome another argument with Pa if it got him out of this maelstrom.
“All right, Cartwright, that’s long enough to feel sorry for yourself. Now get moving.”
He ducked his head and forced one leg to follow the other. He was so tired and a sense of sleepiness was beginning to settle into him. This was another danger he had to fight off, because if he laid down to go to sleep he was dead, and he knew it. Stories of it happening had been passed down to him, and he didn’t want to become another story to be passed on. He bowed over and headed into the teeth of the gale.
He kept moving.
THREE
Dark as it was the snow managed to find enough light to turn it an eerie shade of gray, almost like moonlight. And Adam Cartwright moved in the middle of it. He had no idea where he was or in what direction he was headed. For all he knew he could be pointed back toward town and walking away from home.
Once he fell, and the snow was past his elbows. But he’d forced himself to get right back up. Now he was nearly at the end of his strength but the will to survive was still strong in him. He wasn’t going to just lie down and die no matter how tired he got, he wasn’t put together that way.
“You’re freezing to death, Cartwright. Oh, no I’m not. Who says so? I do,” he argued with himself. “I’m not going to die out here like…” but his voice trailed off. His breathing was coming hard and fast and talking made no sense. There was no one to hear it. And it wasted energy. “But it keeps me going.”
He slogged on and up as the ground rose at a slight angle. He couldn’t remember the trail rising like this but right now he wasn’t worried about it.
His warm baritone floated on the wind and was drowned out to others but he could hear it and it kept him company.
“Those hours, that with gentle work did frame,” he said breathlessly as he continued upward. “The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell. Will play the tyrants to the very same.” His foot caught on something buried in the snow but he kept from falling. “And that unfair that fairly doth excel. For never-resting time leads summer on. To hideous winter,” he grew quiet for a moment. “To hideous winter, and confound him there. Sap checked with frost,” he took three deep breaths, “and lusty leaves quite gone. Beauty o’er-snowed and bareness everywhere. Then were not summer’s distillation left.” He veered to the right and a large rock brushed his arm. “A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass.” He stopped for a moment and rested his hands on his legs. “Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft,” he puffed. “Nor it,” he straightened and started off again, “nor no remembrance what it was. But flowers distill’d, though they were winter meet.” Another breath. “Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.”
The going was becoming more difficult as the incline grew steeper. This wasn’t right but turning back could only put him in a worse situation, and, besides, he didn’t have the energy to spare. “Where are you?” he no sooner asked himself than he pitched to his left. He was unable to catch and tumbled down an embankment and landed with a thump. Face down and wheezing, it took a couple minutes for it to register that the storm no longer raged about him. He raised his head and saw that he was surrounded by a calm, black void. It was still cold as everything but he was out of the driving wind and snow.
He was in a cave. How big it was or how deep he couldn’t tell but he could feel its bumpy floor beneath him. He pulled the scarf down from his face, and its earthy, musty smell was like the sweetest of perfumes. Pushing with his hands, he got onto his knees. “Hello,” he said loudly, not expecting an answer. Judging by the sound that reverberated back to him it wasn’t a huge cave, maybe a bit bigger than his bedroom he reasoned.
Sitting back on his legs he inhaled deeply of the wonderful scent. Now he needed to get a fire started. He wanted to get a look at his refuge and see if anything looked familiar. As many caves as there were on the Ponderosa there was no guarantee that he’d ever been in this one. And, at that, they all pretty much looked the same. That is, if he was still even on the Ponderosa.
Taking the fingers in his teeth, he pulled his gloves off and stuffed them into his coat pocket. He’d kept his hands balled into fists in his pockets for the most part so they were fairly warm. Then he undid the top button and took the small box from his shirt. As a blind man would, he carefully opened it and took out a match. Striking it on the lid, it sizzled to life and filled the area close to him with a soft glow and his nose with the pungency of sulfur. He staggered to stand and held it out at arm’s length to get a better look.
He’d been right about its size, but it looked as if no other human being had ever set foot here, at least for a few centuries anyway. The match was burning perilously close to his fingers so he carefully took out another and touched to it. It sputtered to life like the first, and then he shook the dying one out and threw it down. Taking a few tentative steps forward he probed along the walls with the light, and his heart fell. There didn’t seem to be a sign of anything that would burn.
Every foul word he could think of passed through his mind. If he couldn’t get some heat going his refuge could become a tomb. In his disgust, the tiny flame singed his fingers, and he dropped it with a curse where it fizzled out. He was submerged in blackness again. “That was smart, Cartwright,” he griped.
He stood in place afraid to move for fear that he could precipitate himself onto the floor again. But he couldn’t just stand there in the darkness all night; he had to figure something out. “Think, Cartwright, think. You do have a brain. Yeah, I have a brain but it’s three-quarters frozen solid. Well, then thaw it out and use it before you’re one-hundred percent frozen.”
A tiny glimmer came to life in his iced up mind, and he dug in his left coat pocket. A crinkly sound reached his ears as he took out a piece of paper; it was the telegram he’d received from Elsford. Carefully, he lit another match and moved to the center of the stone room. Crouching, he lay the little box aside and proceeded to tear the sheet in half and that into shreds and put the rest of it back for later. Then he put the match to it and a wonderful little fire sprang up.
“Not exactly a bonfire, but at least I can see what I’m doing. But if I don’t find something else to burn…” his voice died as his eyes scanned around him.
He stood and rubbed a knot from his back then began delving more thoroughly into his temporary home. The thought that it could be permanent he discarded. At the cave’s mouth he stopped for a moment to look out into the howling night and be thankful that he wasn’t still out in it. As he started to turn around he noticed a cluster of rocks to his right, and as he stooped for a better look he saw a small stack of branches and dead leaves. It was almost as if they’d been put there specifically for him. He gathered them into his scarf then went to the other side and found another stash. This place was becoming more and more of a godsend. He took his treasure back and put a couple sticks and a few leaves on the waning flame. The small blaze crackled as it voraciously went after the new fuel. He then got some of the rocks to encircle his campfire.
He went back for a larger rock to use as a stool. He sat down and warmed his hands then decided to see if he could work some life back into his feet. He dreaded what he would find as he worked off his boots then the heavy socks. His britches legs had blocked most of the snow from going down inside so they were fairly dry. There were pin prickles in his heels but he still couldn’t feel his toes. They were red with the digits a darker shade.
He put his boots and socks on either side of the fire but not too close. He wanted them warmed, not cooked. He wasn’t at the stage where he could try to eat leather, yet. He held his right foot to the welcomed warmth and massaged it. Gradually, sensation and a healthy color returned. Then he propped it on one of the warming rocks and did the other one, though not as vigorously since it could be cracked inside.
Some of the cold and shiver left him just from having his feet warm. His fingers had loosened from being bunched into tight wads. Teary from the unaccustomed light and heat, he blinked and tears ran down his cheeks and the sides of his face. He didn’t bother to wipe it away; there was no one here to see it.
He capped one hand over a languid yawn. Now he was really getting sleepy but he still didn’t dare nod off. If he lay down on the cold ground he’d surely freeze, and if he tried it sitting up he’d probably fall into his fire and – meager though it was – get burnt and extinguish his only source of warmth at the same time. So he just sat hunched over and began pondering ways to stay awake.
His eye lids were so heavy that they felt like lead. “Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream,” he said drowsily and they drifted down. His head began to drop when suddenly it shot up, and his eyes flashed open. “Perchance to die. Stay awake, Cartwright.” He rubbed the slumber away from them and slapped himself in the face. “Think of something unpleasant.” He looked around toward the entrance and could vaguely make out the ghostly entity swirling around outside. “That’s taken care of.”
He let his mind run free as he stared into the mesmerizing flames. His eyelids were beginning to grow heavy again so he sat up straight and shook his head and looked at something less hypnotic: his big, bare feet. “If a sight like that doesn’t ward off sleep nothing will,” he said with a crafty grin.
Food. Some of Hop Sing’s hot cooking, and he didn’t care what just so it was food and hot enough to peel the hide off a grizzly. He smirked at one of Hoss’ metaphors.
Hoss. He wished he had him there to keep him company in this bleak hole in the earth. No, he cared too much for his brother to wish this on him. Of course, if he was there they could keep each other warm. “Hey, Hoss, do you remember that bear cub you found when you were seven, and you wanted to keep it?” He could hear his brother answer him and even see his warm, smiling face and the twinkling blue eyes. “But then the mother came along, and she had other ideas. I didn’t know either one of us could shinny up a tree that fast.” He laughed, and the sound of it bounced off the stone walls, and he didn’t feel so alone.
He wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed up and down. Sleep was begging to come in but he knew he just couldn’t let it. If he did the chances were better than good that he wouldn’t live to see the morning.
Smacking his mouth, it dawned on him that he was thirsty. He looked around him. There wasn’t a well or pump in sight. Then he looked to the opening, and his eyes narrowed. Water was the only thing that wasn’t in short supply or non-existent altogether. But the idea of going to get it was less than appealing.
“Well, it’ll certainly wake you up.” He bolstered himself for what he was about to do. Looking at his boots, he decided not to put them back on and get them wet again. Taking a deep breath he stood, and the cold ground assailed his feet, but the best was yet to come. “Once more into the breach.”
He hurried to the opening then darted out into the storm, shifting back and forth from foot to foot. Scooping up a handful of snow he popped it into his mouth but didn’t swallow. Then he ran back to the fire, put a couple sticks onto it and one crunched leaf. He sat down and propped his well-chilled feet onto the rocks. Sticking his hands under his arms, he tilted his head back and let the melted snow trickle down his throat.
One thing was for sure though, he wasn’t sleepy anymore. How long it would last he couldn’t say, but for the moment he didn’t have to worry about it. Now he could focus on something to keep his mind occupied. He let it reel back, and the first thing to come to him was the ugly squabble with his father that morning. He was still peeved with Pa, and he wasn’t up to the notion of reliving that verbal battle between them.
He reached into his pocket and took out what was left of the telegram from Elsford. Only the top part had been torn away, but what his friend had wired remained. He held it closer to the light and read it out loud.
Adam Cartwright
Ponderosa Ranch
Virginia City, Nevada
Have opening in company in purchasing. Means travel. Thought of you first. Let me know if interested by first of next month. Be like old times. Elsford
“Enough of this, I said you’re not going, and that’s all there is to it!” Ben had bellowed. “I need you here! Just because it’s winter doesn’t mean there isn’t still plenty to be done!”
“And you have two other sons that can do it as well as I can!” he’d shot back.
“Do I have to tell you what all there is?”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Pa!”
And that’s when Adam had stormed out of the house, his father calling his name after him. But he hadn’t even slowed down.
“No,” he said brusquely and thrust the paper back into his pocket. “I’m not going over it again. I’m leaving, Pa, and that’s it.” He leaned forward against his legs and glared into the flickering orange. “If only I could make you see, Pa. I need to have my own life. I need to be what and who I am. You always taught us to be our own men and to think for ourselves, and that’s what I’m trying to do, if you’ll just let me.” He put his hands on his knees and rested his forehead against them. “Is that so hard to understand?”
FOUR
Unlike most people Adam was lucid almost from the minute he would wake up, and he’d always been that way. It never took him long to get his wits about him. He blinked as he took a deep breath and inhaled the musty odor, and he sat upright with a jolt. How long he’d slept he couldn’t be certain but his fire was on the verge of going out. In a mad scramble, he put another leaf and a stick on it and puffed at it lightly but it was too far gone to catch. With the last vestige of light he grabbed the box and took out a match. It burst to life against one of the rocks, and he dropped it onto the kindling. The fire was going again, and so was his heart.
“I told you not to do that. Almost killed yourself, didn’t you, Cartwright? It wasn’t that bad. Oh, I guess freezing to death isn’t the worst way to go. But what would Pa say? Ah, who cares what Pa would say?” There was a long pause. “You do.”
It wasn’t like he didn’t know Pa loved him, he did. But his father was just being pigheaded.
“Who is, Cartwright? Who is being the hardheaded ox here? Enough!” he blurted and stood up. The cold ground sent shock waves through his warm feet. Sitting back down, he propped them in front of the fire. “I’m not getting into this with you. And if you bring it up one more time I’ll throw you out in the snow.” Then he went silent. “This is crazy. You’re having a conversation, make that argument, with yourself.” It went quiet again. “Crazy. Just like Ross.”
The likeness of Ross Marquette took shape in front of him as much as he tried not to let it. They’d known each other for fifteen years, and the spring before the past one he’d been forced to kill his best friend in self defense. He hadn’t known that anything was even wrong until it was too late. But Ross’ wife, sweet, beautiful Delphine, had known something wasn’t right but had hoped deep within her heart that it would get better. It hadn’t. And because of his madness, whether directly or indirectly, seven men and the lovely Delphine were dead. And Adam himself had nearly raised the toll to nine.
“I’m sorry I had to do it, Ross. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you or Delphine. But at least you came back before you left me for good.” He felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. “I’m sorry, Skinny.”
He’d thought he’d gotten past what had happened but this was proving him wrong. The pain was as new and fresh as it was last year. Another reason for him to get away from the Ponderosa.
“And what good will that do? Whether you go to Boston or Bombay your memories go with you. Is it a new life you want to start or are you just running away?”
Only the lashing of the storm filled the cave. Was he trying to run from what had happened with Ross? Did he still feel guilty because he hadn’t been able to save Delphine? He hadn’t thought of it so he couldn’t answer his own questions.
“No, it wasn’t my fault, at least that’s what everybody told me.”
He lowered his head and closed his eyes. For the first time since the funeral for his friends he wanted to cry, but he wasn’t going to. What good would it do?
Suddenly, he looked around toward the cave’s mouth. “That was thunder,” he said softly. “This is turning into one heck of a storm. I’m just glad I’m still not out in it.” His forehead furrowed, and the thick dark brows rose. “And I hope nobody else is either.”
By ‘nobody else’ he meant his family. The very thought of something happening to one of them while out looking for him made his heart thump. But if he knew his little brother, he’d to be out there right now if Pa and Hoss didn’t stop him. If they even knew he was missing. For all they knew he could have stayed in town, unless, of course, Sport made it home. Trusty Sport. If any horse could make it back, he could. And Adam wanted to believe he had.
Sport was born eight years ago. Pa had presented the four-month-old colt to his son as a homecoming gift. From the moment he’d seen him, Adam had known there was something special about him. He’d grown quickly, and by the time he was a full year old Adam knew that this was more than just a horse and more than just a potential mount. Sport, the name Adam had given the showy chestnut, had proved difficult to break. They’d fought each other hoof and nail the whole way until the day they both could’ve died.
He’d gone out for his usual horse breaking session. A sudden and violent storm had blown up not long after he got there. And a nastier summer squall he couldn’t remember seeing come up so fast. The rain came in wind-driven sheets, and the lightening was hurled at them as if from Zeus himself. The men had scrambled in an effort to save themselves and the animals, but they hadn’t been fast enough. The base of a tree exploded in a flash of light and debris as it was split from the ground. It toppled, and the terrified horses in the stock corral ran as a herd. But in their panic the two stragglers ran right into its path, a little bay filly and Sport. Adam had watched in horror as the huge oak crashed down on them. He and some of the men dashed in to try to free them. Adam threw himself into the mud and eased around the massive tree’s trunk. At once he saw that the gentle little filly was dead but Sport was still very much alive. Trapped in the branches and limbs the big chestnut thrashed around in an effort to free himself. When someone had suggested that it would probably be best to just shoot him Adam had nearly taken the man’s head off: no one was going to shoot his horse.
A warm smile danced over Adam’s face as he watched the flickering of the flames. He hadn’t thought of this in years, but now it came to him as if it had happened yesterday.
Working his way through the tree’s spidery appendages Adam had been able to get a grip on Sport’s head. Talking and stroking his wet jowl had soothed him some but he was still terribly frightened. Once a slashing rear hoof had just missed the back of Adam’s skull but he wouldn’t leave his Sport. Men chopped with axes and dodged hail, but Adam never left Sport’s side. “Look out!” someone had yelled, and as Adam looked around he found himself knocked back by a falling limb. Gasping for breath he guessed that some of his ribs were either cracked or broken. But still he wouldn’t give in and had no intentions to.
By the time they’d freed the animal the worst of the storm had blown itself out. He hadn’t been hurt except for a few scrapes and scratches and Adam’s ribs had indeed been cracked but no worse for either one. Sport seemed to appreciate that Adam hadn’t left him, and after that an inseparable bond had formed between them. Yes, Sport was Adam’s horse, and he could only hope he was safe and well.
More thunder crashed, and once Adam thought he caught a glimmer of lightning. The storm continued to shriek through the night but little of it reached the cave’s lone inhabitant. The way the ground dipped sharply down apparently cut off some of it and much to his delight. It was cold enough in there as it was.
His stomach gurgled as a pang ran through it, and he rubbed his hand against it. “I could eat every steer between here and Sacramento, hide and all. What I wouldn’t give for some of Hop Sing’s roast pork and sweet potatoes. Or venison stew.” He could almost smell them in the chilled recesses of the cavern. His mouth watered, and he smacked and swallowed. “Stop that! You’re hungry enough without trying to starve yourself to death.” Frowning, he set his eyes on the little fire as he put another stick and a leaf on it. “I’ve got to think of something to take my mind off of my stomach.” As he shoved any thought of food away he became aware of another sensation. “Ah, well, I’m only human.” Reluctantly, he brought his feet from their warm perch and went into a corner to relieve himself. He got through the necessary function as quickly as possible and went back to his seat.
He dug into a britches pocket and took out his watch. Opening it, he held it close to the fire. “Almost two o’clock,” he said and heaved a deep breath. “It won’t be light for four or five hours yet.” His head dropped with a jerk. “What now? Well, you’re the college educated one, so figure it out. Pa didn’t spend a fortune for nothing, so use what you learned. What I learned doesn’t exactly apply in this situation. I don’t think algebra and Greek mythology are going help get me out of the mess I’ve gotten myself into. Oh, you admit that this is your fault?” He went pensive on himself again. “I guess do. If I hadn’t ridden out mad enough to bite a cougar I would’ve paid attention to the weather and seen that something like this could be on the way. And why didn’t I stay in town once I was stupid enough to go in the first place?” He shook his head and riffled his fingers in his heavy black hair. “This isn’t Pa’s doing, it’s yours and yours alone. The only reason he doesn’t want you to go is because you’re his son, and he loves you. But he still treats me like a child, and I’m not and haven’t been for a long time.” He sat in a long silence. “But you’ll always be his child.”
After that exchange he sat and stared into the fire for another hour, adding a couple sticks and leaves and struggling to stay awake and alert every second. But the conversation with himself had ceased. He’d had enough arguing, he just wanted to climb into a soft, warm bed and go to sleep while nature raged. The temptation to huddle on the cave’s floor was growing, even though he knew he could freeze that way. “No, stay where you are. You can’t afford to go to sleep anyway. At least, this way you won’t be so liable to.” But then he remembered his little nap from earlier. “Stop trying to fool yourself. If you don’t fight it you could go to sleep standing up.” He rubbed his eyes and straightened his back. “Think of something hot.” His mind began to drift, and not in the direction he wanted it to. “And I don’t mean food, so stop that,” he said angrily.
Sorting through memories was like going through old letters, sometimes they were fond, and sometimes they weren’t. But at this point, anything that would keep him warm and awake would do. As he gazed into the fire one came at him like a torrent. And this one was anything but completely pleasant.
It was the night he told his little brother that he would be going away to Boston for four years to college. And it hadn’t gone over well at all. Joe was almost eight and just as quick tempered as ever. Adam knew that the kid felt like he was being abandoned. After Marie died nearly two years before Joe had attached himself to his father and brothers even more. Adam always suspected that the fear of losing someone else and being left again was ever present in the young, vulnerable mind. But this was something he wanted, and while she was alive his stepmother had encouraged it, so he felt he was doing this as much for her as for himself. But Joe hadn’t seen it that way; it was desertion plain and simple.
It was just after supper that February evening when Joe had bolted from the house with his oldest brother right after him and followed him into the barn. Adam lit a lantern hanging by the door and found his brother sitting on a work bench. Joe hadn’t been crying but he could see the anger and betrayal in the sharp green eyes as the boy looked at him. He’d tried talking to his brother and assured him that he wasn’t running out on him. But Joe wasn’t having it, his mother was gone, and now his brother was going too. And that was when the kid’s temper flared, and he threw a harness at him. It had missed its target but not the lantern, and they both crashed to the floor. He didn’t have time to get mad at Joe as the straw quickly caught. Now Adam’s main concern was getting his little brother and the horses out of there. And only after they were safe would he worry about himself.
Adam had yelled for his father as he’d dove into saving the animals and had all of them out but one when Pa and Hoss came from the house. He would never forget the terror stricken look in his father’s dark brown eyes as he saw his sons. Joe had just taken the last of the four horses out when the flames began closing in the doorway. Adam fought it with an old grain sack but instead of putting it out the fire had only spread. That barn, unlike the one he’d later designed, had no loft or windows, so he was very much cut off from escape. The conflagration was gobbling up the wood and anything else that would burn and had a desire for him. He could hear his frantic family calling his name but he couldn’t concern himself with that now. If there was a way out he had to find it, and he didn’t have time to waste.
As he searched frenetically for a way out he became aware of his father’s voice. When he turned he saw that water was being thrown into the doorway and each time it was it created an opening, never a big one but enough for a chance. And right then he was out of options. So with the next buckets of water he’d made a mad dash and prayed for the best. Fiery fingers clutched at him, and he’d felt the intense heat wrap itself around him. Then there was fresh air and the chilly night as he’d hit the hard ground with a grunt. Someone helped him to his feet, and he saw that his clothes were still smoking. He had a hard time convincing his father that he was all right and thought Pa’s strong embrace would crush him.
Once finally loose, Adam had gotten on one knee in front of his little brother and saw the slowly ebbing fear and guilt there.
“I’m sorry, Adam.”
“That’s all right, buddy. I understand.” Then Joe had melted into his oldest brother’s arms, and Adam could hear and feel his sobs. “I promise that I will come back.”
And he’d kept his promise, but things had never been quite the same between them. Joe had grown a lot in the time Adam was away and felt he didn’t need his big brother telling him what to do anymore. After all, he’d had the audacity to leave. Quarrels were frequent through Joe’s teens, though they’d toned down some since entering his twenties. He’d lost four precious years with his youngest brother that were irreplaceable and that he could never get back. And now he wanted to leave him again.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” Adam said softly as he rested his head in his hands. “Now look what you’ve done!” His voice was harsh as he looked up. “You’ve worked yourself into a depression. Nice work!”
His sanctuary was becoming oppressive. The craggy gray walls were beginning to close in on him, and the little fire only suited to make them look harder and more unfriendly.
“Why don’t you think of something good for a change instead of feeling sorry for yourself and rehashing the bad things? Well, it hasn’t all been bad. Enough to turn you an undesirable shade of blue. So snap out of it, Cartwright! You’re not dead yet!”
Something good. Think of something good. Hop Sing’s cooking. He groaned and shook his head. “I said something good, not something that’s just going to make you hungrier than you already are!” He was really starting to annoy himself. “Lack of sleep, that’s what it is. And lack of food and companionship and…” It dawned on him that he hadn’t had any water in a bit, and he was quite thirsty. With a jerk he got up and stomped for the cave’s mouth, but as he did he hooked a toe in a rut in the floor and pitched forward. He instinctively grabbed for something to break his fall but there was nothing to catch. As he hit, his head glanced a rock, and the lights went out.
FIVE
When he came to he had a headache, and he was chilled right into his bones. As he pushed himself away from the floor and sat up his head thought to fall off, and the pain ran though his skull like someone was hitting him with the barrel of a gun. Putting his hand to his forehead he felt something damp and sticky. He didn’t have to see it to know it was blood. “Cracked yourself a good one, didn’t you, Cartwright?” He groaned again and pinched the bridge of his nose.
And that wasn’t the only thing. His fire had burned itself out while he lay like a lump.
“Well, this does prove one thing. You didn’t freeze to death like you thought you would.”
Lethargically, he got to his knees and blinked against the darkness. He groped his way back to the small ring of stones he’d put together and then felt around until he found the box and took out a match and lit it. He took a few sticks and a couple leaves and started the fire again. As it came to life he became aware that he didn’t hear the storm any longer. Maybe it had stopped while he was unconscious. But when he went to check it out he saw why he didn’t hear it anymore. “Snowed in,” he said half to himself. “Entombed.”
This aspect of the whole thing he hadn’t thought about. He’d been too busy worrying about his stomach and his mashed foot, which still throbbed some, and a few other things. He sniffed and could smell fresh air, and on closer inspection he found a space at the top just large enough to stick his fingers through. He was able to wiggle them and found no obstruction.
“Well, at least I’ve got plenty of fresh air, not to mention water. Now if I only had a month’s supply of grub I’d be fine until some of this thawed off. Unless, of course, it snowed again and really sealed me in.” Digging off a handful of snow, he stuck it in his mouth and let it melt. “I might as well get at it unless I want to stay here until spring.”
He looked around until he found a rock that looked like it might make an adequate shovel. It would only make more work if he started at the top so he began about halfway up from the ground. “Maybe if I dig it out in the middle gravity and weight will make it collapse on itself and leave an opening big enough for me to get out through.
His feet were like ice but his work was the important thing, and he didn’t have time to be bothered. And he didn’t want to put his boots on just yet. When he started out he wanted them as warm and dry as he could get them. So for now he toiled in his bare feet.
It was time consuming, exhaustive and slow, and he had to be careful not to work up a sweat. Every now and then he would stop to ad to the fire or get his breath and let his aching arms rest and sometimes get a drink. And twice he had to stop to relieve himself in the back of the cave. But gradually he got a pretty good trench dug, and the top snow was beginning to crumble as he hoped it would. A white clod would tumble loose now and then to spatter against the floor. He kept his eyes on it. All he needed was to get caught in an avalanche no matter how big or small.
It finally began to give way, and he stepped back and watched it go. Gray light streamed in and filled the cave and assaulted his eyes. Cold pain shot through them until they adjusted themselves. Moving closer, he peered through the opening and saw a sliver of sky. The snow seemed to have stopped but it still looked to be overcast. He would be able to tell better after he got outside.
“Now to get out of here and try to get home.”
He went back to his fire and put all the sticks and crushed leaves he had left on it and added another lit match. The heat enrobed his feet as he got them as close to the flames as he could without burning them. As soon as he was sufficiently warmed he’d get himself bundled up and get started. If Sport had made it home – as he hoped he had – he knew his family would be worried about him. As he sat there a thought came to him. Reaching into his pocket he came out with the remains of the telegram. He read the words over once again then wadded it up and tossed it on the fire.
“When I leave I don’t know when I’ll get back. And letters and wires aren’t the same. I can’t take Sport and Hop Sing with me. Maybe I’m still trying to make it up to Joe for those four years we lost. Hoss will always be Hoss and Pa…” He stared past his feet into the little blaze. “Pa can be demanding and stubborn, but I’m no treasure to live with. I don’t have to come to a decision right now. It doesn’t have to be this job, and it doesn’t even have to be Boston.” He took a deep breath and massaged the back of his neck. “We can talk about it when I get home. But right now I need to get going.”
The socks were good and dry and well warmed so be slipped them on and quickly put on the boots to hold in as much of the heat as possible. The foot Sport had fallen on had swelled some and it didn’t want to go into the boot so he had to force it. He got his scarf and shook it out then put it around his head and face as before. He put the prized box of matches back into his shirt then put on his gloves and stood. Taking a couple handfuls of snow he doused the fire and looked around him. As much of a life saver as this place had been he’d be glad to get back out into the open and get moving again.
He scrambled up and squeezed out through the opening just barely big enough for him. Fortunately, though, it was snow and not rock, so it gave way easily. He felt like a bear coming out of its den after a long hibernation. The sky was sullen and cloudy as he’d at first thought. The storm had definitely passed but threatened a return performance from the looks of things.
Now he could see his surroundings and knew where he was. He hadn’t veered as far off from the trail as he’d thought, but the snow looked to be waist deep or close to it. This wouldn’t be easy going, but he had to get home.
He started down the pass back the way he’d come. If he could get onto the trail again he should have a straight shot. Anyway, he hoped so. In some places the snow held under him, and he walked on top of it, but in others he broke trough and it was almost to his waist. Just getting there was as rough going as he’d figured and left him winded and puffing. He stopped to catch his breath and to survey his situation.
When he got started again he stayed clear of the trees. All he needed was to get lost and draped in snow as everything was it wouldn’t be difficult. He could only imagine what it would be like for his father and brothers to find his frozen body, stiff and lifeless. Closing his eyes against it, he fought off the image and trudged on. His stomach roiled around and complained just to remind him that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. “Not now, I’ll feed you when we get home.”
As the heat was leached from his boots and replaced by the cold his injured foot began to pulsate more. He tried to ignore that he could feel his rapidly beating heart in it, but without much success.
The time was progressing slowly and heat wasn’t the only thing he had to fight the loss of. His strength and energy threatened to dessert him as well. But there was a will and a drive and determination inside Adam Cartwright that didn’t know the meaning of quit. And this was one time when his innate stubbornness could possibly keep him alive.
Again he stopped, and he just wanted to sit down. If only he could sit in front of a roaring fire with a book and forget about trying to stay alive for a short while. “Keep moving,” he chastised. “Just because it’s broad daylight doesn’t mean you can’t still freeze to death.”
Bringing the scarf down from his face, he took a deep draught of the invigorating air, then put some snow into his mouth and pulled it back up. He pushed his hands down into his pockets and pressed on.
Then his strong voice began to fill the pristine silence:
There was a young lady from Kent.
Who walked everywhere that she went.
Then one day in the street.
A carriage she did meet.
Now she goes around slightly bent.
He grinned wickedly and shook his head. “I don’t think my English professors would approve of that kind of rhyme.” One eyebrow rose. “Although I think the Immortal Bard would.”
His light laugh was cut short as he broke through and lost his balance and fell flat. The snow caved in, and he came up like a drowning man gasping for air. Wouldn’t it be great to get buried alive and suffocate before he got the chance to freeze to death?
“You’re bound and determined to kill yourself one way or the other, aren’t you, Cartwright?” he said snappishly.
He brushed himself off and scooped the melting snow out of his collar. All he needed was to catch a chill and letting his shirt and the inside of his coat get wet was one surefire way to do it. With one end of the scarf he dried his neck.
Massaging some life back into his aching legs he tried to make sense of where he was. If he continued straight on until he came to the lightning-splintered pine and went to the left of it that would keep him headed in the right direction. That is, if he was where he thought he was and with everything shrouded in white there were no guarantees.
“All right, let’s get moving before your legs stiffen up. You still have plenty traveling ahead of you.”
He forged on and made a strong effort not to fall again. That image of his father finding him frozen kept him diligent. He couldn’t do something like that to Pa, he’d lost enough already and had stored up enough grief to last him the rest of his life and them some. He wasn’t going to be the reason for more.
Soon he came to the tree. It had once been a splendid specimen but now it was charred on one side where the bark had been stripped. The top of it was gone and left a jagged point where it had been wrenched off and even the softening of the snow couldn’t hide all that had happened. It was simply another victim of Mother Nature’s wrath as he could yet become.
Staying to the left of it, he forced himself on. As he went a little ditty that Marie had sung to Joe when he was small came back to him after so many years. His rich baritone rose in fluent French as the words of the gentle lullaby brought life and warmth to the quietness.
Dors, l’enfant, dors,
Blotti dans ton berceau.
Dans la forêt briute un agneau
Douce la laine de son man teau
Dors, l’enfant, dors.
The stillness seemed even more still when he paused long enough to take a good breath.
Dors, l’enfant, dors,
Il ne faut pas dans pleurer.
L’agneau ne bêle pas dans son pré.
Ses yeux sont remplis de gaieté.
Dors, l’enfant, dors.
But something kept him from finishing, and he stopped in his tracks. As the last note floated away he listened, cocking his head to one side. He thought he’d heard something other than his own voice. Standing stock-still he waited to see if he’d been right.
He watched around him and stayed motionless. This time he knew he’d heard something and looked ahead. As he did four horses came into the clear around a stand of huge Ponderosas’. As he tried to make them out golden sunlight broke through the clouds and turned the snow the color of butter.
They stopped as their eyes met with his, and he pulled the scarf down from his face. His rapid breath made white plumes in the frigid air as he watched them. Three of the horses were mounted and the riderless one was Sport. His family had found him.
He stood his ground and waited for them to come to him. The horses were having a rough time getting through the deep snow but they were brought along slowly he knew so as not to injure their legs. As they drew closer he read the relief in his father’s face and couldn’t miss the glow burning in the dark eyes.
There was no reason to rush off just yet. He could give his father another year anyway. And at the end of that time, who knew, maybe he would leave. But for now, he’d been found by those that he knew loved him most. He would go home with them and they would be a family and wait to see what the future brought.
THE END
The poetry Adam recites in Chapter 2 is Shakespeare’s Sonnet 5. The limerick in Chapter 4 is my own. The lullaby is Cajun/French Creole Dors, L’enfant, Dors (Sleep, Baby, Sleep). I’m not sure of how old it is but I thought it would fit the situation very well.