Remembrance
by
Janice Sagraves

Part 1

~ONE~

The big man in black dismounted warily, ground tying the sleek chestnut and un-holstering the .44 Colt. He sensed something wasn’t right, but he didn’t see the shotgun sequestered back in the small stand of pines. And he didn’t hear the blast.

The morning dawned bright and sunny as any in the Sierras, its warm summer breezes making work a little more tolerable. Wispy white clouds floated playfully overhead and pine scented the air. It hadn’t rained in probably a week or more so things were a bit on the dry side. But there was nothing to be worried about yet.

Hoss Cartwright unloaded a stack of fence posts from the back of the wagon that would stagger most men. He dropped them with a jumbled thud and they tumbled and rolled over one another.

His day had gotten of to a bad start and wasn’t getting any better. First, he’d fallen on getting out of bed when he’d hooked his foot in the sheet. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Joe had come in and found him in an unflattering heap. Then the teasing had started in earnest. At breakfast he’d come close to pounding his little brother, till Pa came in.

The fence line out in the North pasture needed mending and it’d landed on Hoss to do it. His brothers were conveniently elsewhere when the chore came up: Adam was in Bantree on business and Joe had gone off rounding up strays with Chris – Hoss was on his own.

While Hoss was mopping his face and grumbling about being abandoned, again, hoof beats caught his attention. He looked around to see Joe and Chris McCutcheon riding toward him, and he didn’t care for their amused expressions, especially Joe’s. Hoss gave them a dirty look and griped to himself.

Joe Cartwright, often teased for being the smallest of the family, usually by his brothers, reined in at the back of the wagon. Chris, a slender sapling of a youth, drew his little dun mare alongside Joe’s paint.

Joe leaned forward on the saddle’s pommel with a skewed grin. “What’re you doin’, Hoss?” he asked with a sideways wink at Chris.

“Whadaya mean what am I doin’? What’s it look like I’m doin’? Playin’ checkers?” Hoss rested his fists on his hips.

“No, no, you’re not playin’ checkers. If you were, you’d be losin’,” Joe said sweetly.

Hoss’ mouth drew down and his eyes glittered blue sparks. “Ha, ha, real funny.” He went back to gathering the rest of the posts from the back of the wagon. “For your information, little brother, I’m a workin’ and a sweatin’.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Joe tried looking as innocent as possible. “And you’re doin’ a real good job at it too. And after you get all those posts unloaded, you planning on walkin’ all day?”

“Huh?” Hoss looked at him dumbly.

“Now, if it’d been me, I would’ve left ‘em where they were and brought up the wagon instead of doin’ all that walkin’,” Joe said, with a superior smirk.

Hoss stifled a curse and slammed his hat to the ground. “Dadburnit, Joe, you got me so blamed rattled! I wasn’t meanin’ to unload ‘em all!”

“Well, maybe you need help puttin’ ‘em back?” Joe pushed his hat back on his head and a dark brown curl fell free.

“I was just thinkin’ the same thing.” Hoss sneered knowingly and riffled his fingers through his fine hair. “I don’t suppose you an’ Chris’d like to, would you?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. See, me an’ Chris, we already have work to do. Ain’t that right, Chris?” Joe said with a glance at the young cowhand.

“Uh, that’s right.” Chris brought his leg over and draped it around the saddle horn. He’d worked for the Cartwrights for almost a year now, and he enjoyed the banter between the brothers.

“I didn’t think so,” Hoss said with an exaggerated nod. “You know, I been doin’ a lot o’ thinkin’ on somethin’.”

“And what’s that, big brother?”

“How is it when somethin’ like this comes to be done you ‘n Adam ain’t nowhere to be found?” Hoss hooked his thumbs in his gun belt.

“Well, now, Hoss, I’m not exactly layin’ down on the job. And Adam’s in Bantree on that timber deal for Pa. You know that.” Joe looked wounded.

“Uh-huh – and speakin’ o’ Adam. Wasn’t he supposed to be home three days ago?”

“That’s right. But you know how it is when he goes to Bantree; he likes to enjoy the trip back.”

“He likes to take his time, you mean. Ol’ Adam ain’t no fool. The longer it takes gittin’ back the more hard work he can git out of,” Hoss said with a surly tone.

“Well, we’ve always known Adam’s mighty smart,” Joe said with pride. “Now, I think we’d best get goin’ and let you get back to what you were doin’. We wouldn’t wantta keep you from it. Come on, Chris.” Joe brought his horse’s head around with a giggle.

Hoss grimaced as he watched them ride off at a more than leisurely pace. He turned back to the posts on the ground. Now he had to put some of them back or he was going to be doing a lot of walking. “Dadburnit.” He snapped up his hat and jammed it on his head.

Luckily, Joe and Chris had slowed down to a sprightly trot when the mare stepped into a chuckhole near a small stand of pines. With a frightened whinny she fell down hard, dumping Chris. He hit in a wad and rolled once, skinning and bruising as he went.

“Chris!” Joe wheeled Cochise and came straight back. He bolted from the saddle before the horse was completely stopped. “Chris, you all right?”

The caramel-haired youngster was just getting up when Joe got to him. “Yeah, I’m all right,” Chris said flatly, slapping the dirt from his shirt. “Just a might bunged up is all.”

“That was a nasty one.” Joe helped to beat some of the dust from the boy’s back.

Chris stepped to his horse just as she got to her feet. He ran his hand along her left fore leg. He knew what he’d have to do if it was broken.

“How is she?” Joe took his hat off and ruffled his unruly locks.

“She’s all right, too.” Chris gave the horse an affectionate pat. “But to see us go down a gamblin’ man wouldn’t’ve give two hoots and a holler fer…” But Chris’ voice drifted into the breeze as he turned around.

Joe was crouched at the spot where Chris and the mare had landed. It was an area of bare, tamped earth about six-by-three feet.

“Looks like somebody’s been burying somethin’,” Chris said as his eyes traced the outer fringes of the plot.

“Yeah,” Joe rested his arms on his knees. “Or somebody.” He threw Chris a glance. “You’d better go get Hoss, and tell him to bring the wagon…. Just in case.”

Hoss, as usual, got stuck doing the digging. But being larger and brawnier than Joe or Chris it didn’t take long to get at the hole’s contents. Joe’s suspicions were confirmed when a hand was uncovered, then another.

“Now, who’d wantta go buryin’ a dead man on the Ponderosa?” Hoss asked, wiping sweat.

“Maybe we can find out who he is when you get his face uncovered. Might be somebody we know,” Joe said impatiently.

As more and more of the man was unearthed, more and more became chillingly familiar about him. He appeared to be good-sized – dressed all in black and wearing a .44 Colt, tied down. A blood-spattered, buckshot-riddled black hat on his chest added to the uneasiness. But when Hoss cleared the dirt away from his face, the three young men were visibly jarred. He had none.

“A shotgun,” Chris gulped.

Hoss and Joe looked at each other across the unmarked grave – each knowing what the other was thinking.

“We best go ahead and git him outta there,” Hoss said, letting the shovel drop. “Maybe he has somethin’ on him that’ll tell us who he is.”

“Ah, come on, Hoss, all three of us know who it is!” Joe burst out.

“No, we don’t, Joe. We don’t know no sucha thing,” Hoss said with a hard edge. “Now let’s git him outta there.”

Hoss and Joe got into the hole astraddle the man’s head and legs. While they lifted him out, Chris got his sleeping blanket from his horse. When he came back the body was on the ground and the brothers were looking down on it. Chris could feel his innards tangling and bunching in knots. He hoped it wasn’t who he thought it was.

“He looks to’ve been buried three, maybe four days,” Hoss said, staring at the body.

“When Adam was supposed to get home,” Joe said lifelessly.

“Joe, would you stop it?” Hoss stormed, his hard, cold gaze flashing up. “Just stop it!” He was fighting not to believe what his mind was telling him. But his eyes wouldn’t let him think anything else. And it angered him that Joe would accept it so easily. “Bein’ in the ground that long can change a man.”

“Not that much, Hoss,” Joe said despondently. “Not that much.”

“Shouldn’t somebody…” Chris faltered. “I mean, shouldn’t somebody go ahead and go through his pockets? To see if…”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Hoss continued to stare at the dead man but made no move to do it.

Chris could tell that the brothers were having trouble bringing themselves to do this. And he understood why. His heart tightened and his hands bunched into fists. “I’ll do it,” and he tossed the blanket aside.

Hoss and Joe watched as the kid began going through the man’s britches pockets. He found a black leather wallet and handed it to Hoss.

Hoss looked through it and found only a few dollars and a receipt from Tabler’s, a fancy restaurant in Bantree. But what Chris found in the watch pocket would change all their lives. He started to hand it to Hoss but Joe snapped it away.

Joe clutched it, afraid to turn it over, afraid of what’d he find when he did. He felt like his body had turned to stone.

“What is it, Joe?” Hoss was getting impatient with his little brother. “Ain’t you gonna look at it?”

Joe wanted to do anything but look. He swallowed the knot that was trying to choke him. How could he make himself do this?

“If’n you ain’t gonna do it, I will,” Hoss said, reaching out.

Joe pulled back, clutching the object close. “I’ll do it,” he said testily.

He finally forced himself to turn it over and held it up to the light. It felt like someone had their hands around his throat – squeezing his life out of him. He didn’t want to accept what he was reading but there it was, and he couldn’t change it.

“Joe, what is it?” Hoss asked, seeing his brother turn seven shades of pale.

“It’s a… a pocket watch. And there’s an inscription on the back.”

“Read it, Joe,” Hoss said his voice as dead as the man lying at his feet.

Joe’s hands shook so that the words jittered in front of him. “The world…” How many times had he heard the passage as it’d actually been written? He fought hard to find the breath to talk but it didn’t want to come. Finally, with a hard swallow, he was able to say it, but it wasn’t necessary to read it. “The world is all before you, my son.”

Hoss went hollow – no heart, no lungs, no brain, only grief. “That’s Adam’s watch.” His voice betrayed no feelings, only emptiness. He couldn’t deny who it was now, and he felt like his own life had suddenly stopped.

Chris felt like he’d just lost a member of his own family. Adam had never looked down on him and the other hands. He would always recall how his first day on the Ponderosa, Adam Cartwright had talked to him more like an older brother than his boss. His eyes batted back heavy tears and he rubbed at his nose.

No more words were spoken, none were needed. Hoss scooped the dead man into his massive arms as gently as one would a baby. A small moan passed his lips as the man’s head fell back, as if he possibly could’ve hurt him. He placed him lightly in the back of the wagon and Chris delicately put the blanket over him.

Joe took a red bandana from his back britches pocket. Leaning over the side of the wagon he pulled the blanket back. He tightened his fingers affectionately in the black hair then put the kerchief over the man’s head, concealing what was left of his face and tenderly tucking in the edges. Then, with one last, forlorn look, he covered him again.

He picked up the black hat and looked at it, lightly rubbing the silver-studded band with his thumb and trying to see the face of the man who wore it.

Hoss, Joe and Chris looked at each other. The trip back was going to be long and agonizing, but the worst was yet to come – Ben had to be told.

The ride to the ranch house took almost an hour. No one was in any real big hurry to get there. Hoss drove, his unseeing eyes riveted to the rumps of the team. Chris put distance between him and the sorrow in the wagon bed by taking point. And Joe rode behind, staring at the blanket covered body of one he’d come to take for granted, as maybe all the family had.

When they came into the yard, a couple hands standing by the barn watched as the sad procession stopped in front of the big, rough-hewn log house, so lovingly designed by a young man fresh from college. Joe and Chris got down as if manipulated by a puppeteer and Hoss continued to stare blindly at nothing.

Ben Cartwright sat at the solid mahogany desk, his large frame nestled in the tufted green leather chair. He hated doing the books and always had. As he’d gotten older Adam had taken on the chore some of the time. But these days, with him in Bantree, it’d fallen squarely on Ben.

He heard the wagon and riders come into the yard and began to wonder why it’d grown so quiet. He went to the window and looked out and, with a puzzled frown, went around to the door.

Hoss, Joe and Chris were standing at the back of the wagon when Ben came outside. They’d been joined by the other two men, who had removed their hats.

“Well, you three are certainly home early,” Ben said cheerfully as he left the porch, a bright smile parting his full mouth. “You didn’t have enough…?” But his words died and the smile faded as he caught their tragic expressions. “What is it? What’s wrong? Joe? Hoss? Chris?”

But he got no answer – only looks that conveyed more than any words ever could.

Ben could feel a twisting in his gut – something growing that had no name yet. “What is it?” he asked as he stepped to the side of the wagon. “Isn’t somebody going to…?” But his eyes went into the back to the long, motionless, blanket-shrouded form. Only the boots showed, and they were black and dusty. “Where’d you find him?”

“Out in the North pasture, Mr. Cartwright,” Chris said mutedly.

“Well, do you know who he is?”

“Yeah, Pa, we know,” Joe breathed. Gently, he pulled the blanket back and watched his father’s face plummet.

Ben swallowed hard – it couldn’t, it wasn’t, he just wouldn’t allow it. “That’s not Adam. It may look like…”

Joe dug into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out the watch. “He had this on him.” He held it out to his father.

Ben took it but he refused to see anything more than a simple timepiece. “This could belong to anybody. It’s just…”

“Turn it over, Pa,” Joe said as his anguished eyes went to his father’s face.

With hands that trembled, Ben did as Joe said. There were the words he’d had engraved on the gift for his oldest son’s sixteenth birthday. He read them over again and again. It was the paraphrasing of a line from Elizabeth’s favorite book, the same book that had inspired their baby son’s name. ADAM.

Then he saw the familiar black hat in Joe’s hands.

He looked at those around him without actually seeing them. Heartache – deep, intense living death like he hadn’t known since losing Marie engulfed him. “My son,” he said softly as his fingers closed around the precious memento. “Adam.” He drew his attention back to the stillness lying in the wagon bed. But something wasn’t right, something was wrong. “Why’s his face covered? I want to see his…”

“Pa, don’t!” Joe reached for him. “Hoss!”

But before anyone could stop him he raised the kerchief. “Oh, my Lord.” Ben Cartwright’s world crashed in on him. Blackness swirled around him, up became indistinguishable from down, night from day. Nothing made sense anymore. He didn’t feel the big, strong hands gripping him, holding him upright. The only clear thing was that his oldest son was dead.

~TWO~

It should have been raining. It should have been gray and overcast and dismal. But it wasn’t. It was cloudless and bright and resplendent the day Adam Cartwright was laid to rest.

It was supposed to be a small gathering. But anyone who knew the young man couldn’t stay away: bartenders, saloon girls, mine owners, miners, ranchers, homesteaders, store keepers and lumbermen. The Mayor of Virginia City was there and the Chinese community was represented by the elders. On a bluff overlooking the meadow were Chief Winnemucca and four of his finest warriors. And every hand that worked on the Ponderosa. The family simply didn’t have the heart to turn them away.

Also there were Sven and Annie Lundberg from up by Reno, attorney for the family Phillip Dawes, editor of the Territorial Enterprise Dan de Quille, Dr. Paul Martin, Sheriff Roy Coffee and both his deputies. Since there was hardly anyone left in town they weren’t worried.

Ben Cartwright and his two remaining sons stood closest to the grave. Hop Sing, dressed respectfully all in the purest white, was with them.

Ben didn’t hear any of what Reverend Taylor was saying. His vacant eyes never left the coffin, even as it was lowered into the ground by Chris McCutcheon and another hand. His son was gone, and he hadn’t even been allowed to look on that wonderful face one last time. It, as well as his boy’s life, had been ruthlessly torn from him. “Adam, my son,” whispered in his head.

Joe and Hoss flanked their father, should the grief overwhelm him again as it had when they’d brought Adam home. Joe rested his hand on his father’s back, though he doubted he felt it.

Joe looked up at the sky; blue and clear as he’d ever seen it. “Adam would love this day,” he thought. He let his woeful emerald eyes drift around him – anywhere but that dreadful, bleak hole. It was beautiful here; lush and green and edged on two sides by immense Ponderosa pines that seemed to scrape the heavens. At first it’d been considered putting him next to Marie, but Joe and Hoss, since Pa hadn’t been able, had decided on this place. It overlooked the lake that Adam did so love, and they liked thinking of him here.

Hoss stood like a mountain: still, silent, resolute. He stared at the grave, but all he saw was black hair, flashing dark hazel eyes and a smile that came all too infrequently. His brother. How could he have ever lost trust in Adam? But after what’d happened last year with Reagan Miller, he had. And he’d hurt Adam. For a short time, to his discredit, he’d even been glad of it. But he’d come to realize that Adam had never meant to harm him and he’d regained what he’d lost and put the incident behind them. “I hurt him. I hurt him bad,” ran through his mind. Well, Adam couldn’t be hurt anymore. Not by him or anyone else.

It had happened. Hop Sing had lost one of his boys. He’d worked for the family and been a part of it for twenty years now. When Ben Cartwright hired him, Adam had been fourteen. Even then he could see the kind of man the child would eventually grow in to. Honest, loyal, protective, highly intelligent, and with a sense of humor that considered anyone fair game. And he adored biscuits, especially with butter and honey. When it came to them, he could almost eat Hoss under the table, and he was known around the Comstock for it. “No more biscuits for Mista Adam,” brought the tears.

After the service as folks were going, Reverend Taylor came to give solace to the family. Joe and Hoss were still on either side of their father.

The Reverend shook hands with the brothers. But when he held a large, gentle hand out to Ben it went unnoticed.

“That was very nice, Jeff, thank you.” Joe blinked hard. “Adam would’ve appreciated it.”

“Yeah, and I ‘specially liked what you said about him bein’ with his ma now.” Hoss sidled closer to his father.

Jeff Taylor hadn’t been with this congregation more than a year, but he liked it here. And he liked the people; he liked the Cartwrights. “This is my saddest duty, and I try to make it as comforting to the family as I can.” Jeff’s compassionate eyes took in the three wan faces before him. “If you’d like I can go back to the house with you and…”

“No, you won’t,” came Ben’s soft, scathing voice, but he continued to look intently at the ground.

Joe and Hoss were shocked. But Jeff didn’t seem to be.

Ben finally raised a sinister glower to the young minister. “You’ll stay away from my house. And you’ll stay away from me and my sons. You and your kind come out of the woodwork like termites at a time like this, and I don’t want or need you or your so-called help,” Ben said, his slurred voice rising steadily.

Then Ben stormed away before anyone could say anything. Hoss’ pale face turned to Jeff as if uncertain if he should apologize, then he went after their father.

“Jeff, I’m sorry,” Joe said stepping next to him as he watched Hoss go after their pa. “I can’t believe he said that. He knows better.”

“It’s all right, Joe. I’ve seen grief in many forms – this is simply one of them.”

“I don’t understand it.” Joe shook his head and looked around at Jeff.

“I don’t either, not all together. The human heart is a strange place and so is the mind.” A long breath ran through Jeff’s tall body. “He can’t lash out at whoever did this, so he lashes out at me. He can’t go after the one who sent the message, so he goes after the messenger, so to speak. He has to blame someone and I’m here.”

“I know, Jeff, but you of all people.”

“Only Ben knows why me, and he’ll tell us when and if he gets ready.” Jeff sighed with regret. “I think maybe it’s a good idea if I don’t come out for while. But, Joe, if you or your brother needs to talk, you know where to find me.”

“We know. And thank you for everything, Jeff. It really was a very nice service.”

They shook hands, and then Joe walked off after his father and brother. A puff of air stirred Jeff’s soft wavy hair as he watched him go. He was wrong – this wasn’t a sad duty, it was heartbreaking. And it hurt terribly when he couldn’t ease their pain. But he knew that God and time could accomplish what he couldn’t.

The usual custom was for the mourners to gather at the home of the bereaved family and give support and share memories and food. But such a drastic change had come over Ben Cartwright since the previous morning when he’d first seen his son that it was decided not to. Only Paul Martin and the Lundbergs accompanied them back to the house.

As soon as they got home Ben went inside ahead of the others, got a decanter and a snifter and went straight upstairs. As they came into the parlor they heard the bedroom door slam.

Joe went to the liquor cabinet and searched until he found what was missing. “He took the brandy.”

“Yeah, and this morning it was the bourbon,” Hoss said dully. “Drank it dry.”

“He’s done this twice?” Paul asked, removing his jacket. Even after losing three wives this was not common behavior for Ben.

“All day yesterday and last night he sat with Adam. Then, when he was getting dressed for the funeral, he drank and cried,” Joe said unevenly. “And he doesn’t go to his own room, Paul. He goes to Adam’s. He just stays in there with the door closed and gets drunk.”

“I went to git him this mornin’ when he wouldn’t come out.” Hoss went to the fireplace and leaned forward against it. “When I tried to tell him it was time to go, he told me to git out and leave him be. And not to never come back into that room.” He drew a deep, ragged breath. “When I wouldn’t he threw his empty glass at me. So I left.” He stared into the cold hearth but saw more than charred logs. “I nearly had to carry him out to the buggy when we left.”

Annie took the black hat from where it sat atop her up-swept hair and dropped it onto the low table. She went to him and rested her hands on the big back and felt the strong muscles quivering just beneath the surface. Hoss Cartwright wasn’t one to hide his feelings – what he felt you saw.

“I ain’t never seen my pa like this before, Miss Annie.”

“He’s never lost a son before, Hoss. It’s to be expected,” her words came on a soft Irish lilt. “Just give him time.”

“Ja,” Swede said with a heavy accent as he eased his large body onto the settee. “A man raises three fine sons, and then to lose one like this. It hasta to do something to him.”

“That’s right, Swede.” Paul let his blue-gray gaze go toward the upstairs. “But I think there’s more to it than that. Joe.” He turned to the youngest Cartwright. “You said Ben saw him… Well, saw him like that. Without his face, I mean.”

“That’s right, Paul, I did.” Joe rubbed his thumb between his eyes. “We tried to keep him from it, but he lifted the bandana I’d put over…” He smothered a groan. “We weren’t fast enough, and he saw Adam in a way his pa shouldn’t have to.”

“And that’s what’s wrong.” Paul sat in the tall-backed blue chair, Adam’s favorite. “Imagine seeing your child like that. It’s bad enough someone murdered your son, but when you go to look at his face… and it isn’t there.” He leaned back. “It’s going to do something. Mind you, I’m not saying he’s crazy, but what happened has knocked him off balance. It’ll take him a while to accept it.” He smoothed back his thick, mouse-brown hair, tinged gray over the years with worry for others. “If he ever does, and I think he will.”

Hop Sing, having changed into his usual soft blue, padded silently from the kitchen with a tray, which he placed on the table in front of the fireplace. On it were a pot of tea, cups and saucers and spoons, cream, sugar and tongs, napkins and a plate of sandwiches.

“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Annie said pleasantly.

But the little cook simply ducked his head in quiet acknowledgement and then turned and disappeared back into his realm.

“After Hop Sing come here it was like gittin’ another pa,” Hoss said, finally turning around. “Losin’ Adam was losin’ one of his own.”

Annie poured the tea and started the plate around.

“It’s been hard on all of us.” Joe took a sandwich and looked at it distastefully then passed the plate to Swede. “But Pa’s the one I’m worried most about.”

“It’s only natural you would be, Joe.” Paul took a sip. “But I think he’ll be all right if, like Annie said, we just give him time.”

“And if’n he’s not?” Hoss was the only one not eating, and he’d never liked tea anyway.

“We’ll ford that river when we get to it,” Paul said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “And if you need me for anything, anytime, you only have to ask.”

“We know that, Paul.” Joe bit into his sandwich and his nose wrinkled.

From there the conversation lulled into nothing. They picked at their food and made a feeble effort at the tea.

Annie looked around her at the sea of sullen faces. “Now what’re we doin’? Adam wouldn’t want us grievin’.” She took a good bite of her sandwich. “I’ll never forget the first time I met him. It’s hard to believe it’s only been four years,” she said with a sad smile. “I even accused him of being a snivverblot.” Her light laughter floated around them. “You should’ve seen the look on his dear face.”

The plate soon had only crumbs and the pot emptied. The bad things were pushed off into the background, leaving only the good.

“And then he found what was left of the Swede’s pick handle in your stove,” Joe said with a slight giggle. The soft, buoyant hair waved as he shook his head.

“I was only protectin’ me own interests. And himself’s,” Annie said with mock offense. “After that, though, it didn’t take long to realize who I was tryin’ to put somethin’ over on.”

“And how about ven I caught you kissing?” Swede gave his wife a sly look as he started on his third sandwich.

“You said we were lollygaggin’ too,” Annie said and her lips parted. “And you were so bitin’ mad, when he tried to explain, you said you ought to punch him right in the nose.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know it was only a thank you for helpin’ out and not something else?”

A peal of laughter rippled through the room. It was good to recall the man and why they cared so deeply for him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” boomed from the stairs.

Everyone looked around to see an unkempt, bleary-eyed Ben Cartwright, clutching the nearly half-empty decanter, standing on the top step. It sent a shock to see the big man reduced to this. Always so strong and rock solid – the tragic death of his oldest son had sent him into a downward spiral.

“My son’s lying dead in a hole and you’re laughing!” His voice was even more slurred but still carried weight.

Annie’s black crepe dress swished as she moved to the foot of the stairs. Her large, round aqua eyes turned a tender understanding up to this distraught father. “Why don’t you come down here with us?” She extended her hand out to him. “We’re rememberin’ the good times with Adam. I’m sure you’d…”

Then he saw Paul sitting in Adam’s chair. “Get out of that chair, Paul! Nobody’s to sit in that chair!”

Annie went up a step. “Mr. Cartwright, won’t you…”

“I won’t have it, you hear! Now I think you’d all better leave!” Without even noticing Annie, he spun around and disappeared down the hall. They didn’t have to wait long before the door slammed.

Hoss was the one that went to her. “He don’t mean nothin’ by it, Miss Annie. He’s just so broke up inside, he don’t much know what he’s sayin’.”

“I know that, Hoss, bless his dear heart.” Tears began filming the surface of her eyes. “I know.”

*********

Joe lay on his back on his bed. It was so quiet anything could’ve been heard. Moonlight filtered in through the window casting unearthly shadows.

He stared at the ceiling and tried to see Adam’s face. He longed for him to keep him company there in the somber darkness. A sob wracked Joe’s lean frame. Could his eldest brother really be dead? The only answer he could find was yes. He brought his arm over his eyes and wished this night would end.

Everyone had turned in, he guessed probably two or three hours ago. Pa had stayed in Adam’s room, willfully refusing to come out.

Joe hadn’t been able to go to sleep – the wound in his heart simply went too deep. Could he ever sleep again?

Joe lay there listening to his own breathing when he thought he heard something outside and raised himself onto his elbows. He had heard something – there it was again. As he strained to hear, the first thing into his mind was – Sport.

The horse hadn’t been found and hadn’t returned home on his own. The only reason anyone could think of was that whoever killed Adam had taken him, and losing him left as much of an empty space as losing his rider. It was like losing Adam a second time.

He bounded to the window. From Joe’s room one could see directly down into the yard and to the barn. The light was enough tonight to see anything, especially something the size of a horse. But there was nothing.

Joe sighed. He was just being foolish.

He looked at the bed. It held no appeal, so he decided to go downstairs. Not bothering to put his robe on over his nightshirt, he eased quietly out into the hall. His bare feet whispered over the floor and down the stair treads.

The big room had never looked so desolate. Usually inviting with its rustic warmth, it was as if when Adam died the life had been sucked out of the house as well.

The sudden desire to get out of there drove Joe across to the door and outside.

A cool breeze wafted through the porch. The serenity wrapped itself around Joe, acting as a balm to his injured soul as he raised his eyes to the nearly-full moon. He recalled stories Adam had told him when he was small about the man who lived there and watched over them. “Why did he have to die? Why did my brother have to die?”

“Nobody knows the answer to that,” came a soft voice from behind.

Joe whirled as Annie stepped next to him. The long wavy, dark red hair floated over her sloped shoulders and down her back. It was the perfect accompaniment to her light green robe.

Joe crossed his arms in front of him, his hands resting on his legs, as he tried to hide as much of himself as possible.

“You don’t have to be modest with me.” She grinned deviously. “I’ve seen men with a lot less on.”

She made him feel comfortable, which was one of the things Joe had always liked about Annie. She wasn’t a bit uppity. He was glad she and the Swede had decided to stay instead of going back into town. For right now he needed to be with her. “I miss him, Annie,” he said, no longer trying to hide anything from her. “I miss him awfully bad.”

“I know you do, darlin’. We all do and will for the rest of our lives,” she said, her warm arm sliding around him. “A man like him few of us are favored to know in our lifetime; and when he passes, it’s for sure he’ll take a part of all who knew him. But he also leaves a part of himself behind; as Adam has. As long as he’s remembered and loved, he’ll never truly be gone.”

“I wish I could believe that, but I just can’t.” Joe’s head dropped.

Tenderly, Annie put a finger under his chin and raised it to look into his plaintive eyes. “You will. In time, darlin’, you will.”

He took in her lovely face, the corners of her elegant mouth turned up in a poignant smile. And for the first time since he’d looked down on the lifeless, faceless form in the back of the wagon and knew it was his brother, Joe let his defenses down and his heart finished rending itself apart. He brought Annie close, and it felt good to hold her. He could feel her tears against his cheek as they stood there and wept into the night.

Hoss sat on his bed in the dark; he hadn’t even bothered to get out of his dress cloths and boots. He stared ahead at nothing particular, but saw his older brother’s face. Hoss wanted to do something for him, though he didn’t know what. “Oh, Adam,” he murmured. He put his hands to his face and the big shoulders shook.

Ben slumped in the chair in his oldest son’s room, having fallen asleep in a drunken stupor. A lamp burned low on the bed table, throwing everything into high relief. The most glaring incongruity was the empty decanter on the floor, where it had slipped from Ben’s limp hand.

Incense burned in Hop Sing’s room, to protect the spirit of his lost boy. He tossed and tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come.

Adam was gone, and it left a void that could never be filled.

~THREE~

With the obvious exception of Ben at the head of the table, the men folk were gathered for breakfast. They were careful not to let their gaze stray to where Adam always sat. Hop Sing had gone into town to personally thank the elders for honoring the Cartwright family by coming to the funeral. So, Annie was doing the cooking and enjoying a freedom she hadn’t tasted in a while.

Annie liked to cook, especially for the men in the Territory, since they seemed to have a special relish for woman cookin’ – particularly the men of Washoe Diggings. Annie had come to the Comstock from San Francisco’s Barbary Coast to stake a claim to one of Swede’s two silver strikes. When he was going to sell them she’d taken one as payment for having grubstaked him and left for Nevada with her father. But Kevin ‘Himself’ O’Toole had died along the way, leaving Annie to carry on alone. That is, until she’d met the Cartwrights, and from there things had escalated quickly and she’d become a very wealthy woman. After he was calmed from his jealousy and assured that Adam and Annie weren’t in love with each other, Swede had married her. They’d gone to Europe to soak up culture for a year, then had come home and built a fine mansion on the road between Reno and Virginia City.

But still Annie liked to cook, and these days she didn’t get a chance to do much of it. She brought in a bowl of ham gravy, a platter of fried ham and eggs and a plate of light, golden biscuits; all balanced precariously along her arms, a holdover from her restaurant days in the Diggings.

Hoss turned a bit squeamish when he caught his first whiff of the biscuits as Annie put them down near him. He hadn’t had one since the day they’d found Adam, and he wasn’t sure he wanted one now. Still, he had to eat and Annie made the best he’d ever had, though he’d never tell Hop Sing.

Annie darted to the kitchen and came back with the coffee pot, butter and a glass with honey.

Now Hoss’ stomach really did do flip-flops, and he couldn’t understand why. But he was hungry.

Annie took her seat next to Hoss and, like the others – she couldn’t make herself look at Adam’s empty chair.

After grace and a special prayer for Adam, everyone dished up and started in, though not with the usual gusto, with maybe the exception of Swede.

Hoss split his biscuit and filled it with butter and honey, as he’d seen Adam do many times. He’d barely gotten the first bite down when his stomach began to gurgle and revolt, and he felt everything surging upwards. He excused himself and raced out through the kitchen.

Joe, Annie and Swede waited in silence, exchanging puzzled looks. It wasn’t like Hoss to have such an adverse reaction to food. It was almost two minutes before he dragged himself back into the dining room.

Seeing his pallid color, Annie went to him. “Hoss, darlin’, are you all right? You look a bit peaked.” She placed her hand on his forehead. “You aren’t hot.”

“No, ma’am.” He began rubbing his still queasy stomach. “And danged if’n I understand it. But I don’t want no more food.” Without any further explanation he got his hat from the rack by the door and went out.

“I can’t remember the last time Hoss couldn’t eat,” Joe said with a grimace. “He’s probably just coming down with something.”

Annie sat back down. “I don’t really think so. He was doin’ fine till…” her voice ebbed.

“Till what?” Swede asked around a mouthful.

“Nothin’. Go ahead and eat your breakfast, love.” She glared at her plate and began pushing the food around with her fork. Hoss wasn’t the only one who’d lost their appetite.

******

It was shortly after noon when Roy Coffee rode into the yard on his frowzy-looking bay. It wasn’t social, not completely. Someone had murdered one of the citizens he’d been elected to protect and a friend, and he wanted that someone punished for it – preferably at the end of a rope. But if they decided to make a fight of it and Roy had to shoot them, it certainly wouldn’t keep him awake nights.

Roy had known Adam Cartwright since he was boy, had watched him grow into a fine young man. He liked Adam; respected his judgment. The only time they’d ever really been at odds was when Adam had accused Bill Enders of killing Toby Barker when he and another man robbed the stage station at Goat Springs. Even though wearing hoods to their waists, Adam insisted that he could identify Enders. Even after witnesses saw Enders in town giving him a seemingly iron clad alibi, he’d held to his conviction. Even when everyone else, including Roy, doubted him, Adam wouldn’t back down. But he was proved right and Enders was found guilty and hanged. He would always admire Adam for standing his ground – and now he was gone and Roy intended to do something about it.

He dismounted and was tying up at the hitch rail when Joe came out of the barn carrying a bridle in need of mending.

“Howdy, Joe.”

“Hi, Roy,” Joe said dryly. “Have you found anything out?”

“That’s why I’m here.” Roy rubbed at his mustache. “First I wantta say again how sorry I am about Adam. He was one of the finest men I’ve ever been honored to know. How’s your pa doin?”

“Not so good, I’m afraid. Seeing Adam that way came as a real shock,” Joe said, trying to hold back the image of his brother how they’d found him. “Paul thinks he’ll be all right, but I’m not so sure.”

“Doc says he’s took to the bottle.”

Joe nodded. “And he won’t eat and hardly leaves Adam’s room. My pa’s become a stranger to his own sons.”

“Well, I guess you gotta expect that after a thing like this,” Roy said in his easy manner. “I don’t know that I could git over it either.”

Joe nodded again and lowered his head so the sheriff couldn’t see the moisture in his eyes.

“Joe, I just come out to tell you that Ren Coker saw somebody the other day out by Dutchman’s Creek on a horse that looked a lot like Adam’s.”

Joe’s head shot up, and he swallowed hard. The anticipation of getting his hands on the man who’d done this was almost overwhelming. And he knew what he’d do when he found him. He only hoped no one tried to stop him.

“He didn’t git a real good look at the man and didn’t pay much attention to it at the time,” Roy went on. “But after Adam was found, he said he got to thinkin’ about it real hard and thought I oughtta know. So I’m gittin’ some men together and I thought you or Hoss…”

“I’ll go.” But as Joe turned to head for the barn Roy grasped his arm.

“Joe, after this long pickin’ up a trail may not be so easy. And the one that done it could be anywhere in the country by this time.”

“And the longer we stand here the farther away he gets,” Joe said grimly. “Roy, I want him if I have to follow him all the way around the world.”

“All right, Joe,” Roy said and smiled as he gave him a pat on the arm. “You go git saddled up and I’ll go tell Hoss.”

“Thanks, Roy.”

“Ain’t no thanks necessary. You’d do the same for me if it’d been my brother.” Then Roy turned and started for the house.

Joe rushed for the barn, angry with his legs because they wouldn’t go any faster. The man who’d cold bloodedly murdered his brother could be within his grasp and it made his pulse race. He’d take a shotgun along and when this man looked into his eyes he’d show him the same mercy he’d shown Adam.

*****

Hoss walked down the hall; it’d been a long day, and he just wanted to go to his room and shut out what he could. But he knew that he could never shut out the grief with a door. His soft eyes darted toward Adam’s room as he got to his own. Pa was still in there, and the supper tray Annie had brought remained where she’d left it on the floor, covered with a towel. Just like the breakfast and dinner trays she’d brought it hadn’t been touched.

He thought about letting it go, but he couldn’t. He moved quietly to the door of his oldest brother’s room and raised his fist to knock.

“Don’t bother. Me and Annie’s both tried.”

Hoss stopped as he was about to contact wood and looked around to see a weary Joe coming toward him, his saddlebags hung over his shoulder.

“I didn’t know you was back. You wasn’t gone long. Didn’t you find a trail?”

“Yeah, we found a trail, and it led us straight to Jake Hadley and that new big chestnut of his. He was who Ren Coker saw.”

Hoss’ face scrunched up, and he looked back to the door. “Joe, this ain’t normal.”

“And it’s not normal to see your son in the back of a wagon with his face blown off by a shotgun,” Joe said vehemently. He dropped his head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Hoss. I guess I’m just tired and frustrated.”

“I know you ain’t mad at me, Joe.” Hoss squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “You’re mad at the one who done this.” A grim cloud came over Hoss’ face and a vicious light wavered in his eyes. “And if’n I could git my hands on him I’d tear him apart.”

Joe’s head shot up as pain ran through his shoulder and down his arm. “Hoss.”

In his desire to kill Adam’s murderer with his bare hands Hoss felt himself tense. His name came at him seemingly from a long way off and he felt something prying at his fingers. Looking around he saw it was Joe and it sickened him, and he went pale as he jerked his hand away. “Joe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“I know.” A tired smile lit Joe’s drawn face as he rubbed away the traces of Hoss’ fingers. “Why don’t you come to my room and we’ll talk. We haven’t done that since…” the words drifted away. “Since before we lost… Anyway I think we need to talk about what we’re gonna do about Pa.”

“Well, you’re dang sure right we gotta do somethin’. He cain’t go on like this or we’ll be havin’ another funeral.”

“Here,” Joe said as he gave his saddlebags to Hoss. “You go on, and I’ll be right back.”

“Where’re you goin’?”

“Down to the kitchen to get some of Annie’s mulligan. I haven’t had much since breakfast, and I could eat a mule.”

When Joe got back to his room a lamp was burning on the dresser, and Hoss was already settled in the chair by the window. Joe sat down on the bed and leaned back against the headboard, his legs bent in front of him and dug eagerly into the large bowl of hot stew.

The two young men had never been at a loss for words with each other; but now they failed them. Neither knew exactly where to start, but both knew what they didn’t want to talk about.

Hoss finally broke the silence. “What’re we gonna do about Pa? I know it’s only been three days, but this scares the heck outta me. We both know Pa’s killin’ hisself. You cain’t live in a bottle without no food, leastways not for very long. And starvin’ ain’t gonna bring Adam back.”

“I know. But I don’t know what we can do – what anybody can do.” Joe continued to wolf down his food. “You can’t talk to a man who won’t hear what you’re saying. And Pa just plain refuses to listen.”

“Well, right now all he’s rememberin’ is how Adam was the last time he seen him. None of us that seen him that way’s ever gonna forgit it.”

Joe put his empty bowl on the bed table and simply shook his head.

Their conversation moved into more pleasant memories. They recalled good times, bad times and people that’d crossed Adam’s path: Emmett Riordan and his daughter Sheila, Ross and Delphine Marquette, Sue Ellen Terry, Regina Darien, Ed Payson. And they shared silence when the words seemed superfluous.

Joe’s exhaustion finally caught up with him, and he dozed off. But Hoss couldn’t sleep, hadn’t much lately. He was still sitting in the chair as dawn began to break. He loved sunrise; the beginning of a fresh new day. It was a time when life would wake up and start the cycle over. But things could change so quickly. In the pulling of a trigger life had taken on a different and harsh meaning.

He gradually became aware of the bed squeaking and looked around. Joe was tossing – his head rolling on the pillow.

“No, Adam, no! Please, don’t hurt him!” His hands grasped the bedspread. “Please, don’t kill my brother!”

Hoss went right to him. “Joe.” He sat down next to him and took his arms firmly. “Joe, wake up. You’re havin’ a bad dream.”

“Adam!”

“Joe,” Hoss said sternly and shook him. “Wake up, Joe.”

“Adam!” he screamed, his eyes flashing open, sheer horror alive in their emerald depths, as he sat bolt upright. His breathing came fast and he was soaked with sweat. He stared at Hoss. “I heard it, Hoss. Oh, God, I heard it.”

“Heard what, Joe?” Hoss’ concerned gaze traced his little brother’s haggard face.

“The shotgun blast – I heard that awful explosion.” He flopped back on the bed, his chest heaving. “I heard it this time.”

Hoss read the implications – his brother had dreamed this before. He knew this wouldn’t be the last time and it hurt that he couldn’t do anything to prevent it.

~FOUR~

Hoss and Swede helped the driver load the luggage into the back of the shiny black carriage as Joe and Annie came out of the house. She tugged at the jacket of her dark gray traveling suit then smoothed it with her gloved hands.

“Now are you sure, Joe, that you don’t need for us to stay longer? Adam has only been a week buried.”

“We’re sure, Annie. We’ll make it all right. It’s not like we have a whole lot of choice.” She turned to him as they stopped next to the team of blood bay geldings. “But it’s been good having you and Swede here. It’d be almost like old times if…” his voice died into silence.

She smiled and put her hand to his cheek. “I know, darlin’.”

“Vell, that does it. Ve’re ready to go,” Swede announced robustly as he came to stand behind his wife.

“All right, love.”

“It’s been right good havin’ you two back for a visit,” Hoss said as his hand shot out to Swede. “Just cain’t say much for the circumstances.”

Swede shook it vigorously. “Ja, but it’s times like this ven friends need to be vith friends.” Then he shook hands with Joe. “And if you need anything else, you just let us know.”

“We will,” Joe said. “And you do the same.”

Annie turned to Hoss and hugged him. She could still see him rushing out of the dining room, sick as a dog. It caused pain to her gentle Irish heart because she knew why he’d gotten so ill if no one else did. She kissed his cheek then stepped back and brushed back his baby fine hair. “You take care of yourself now. And don’t go gettin’ sick on anymore of me cookin’,” she chastised mildly with a light grin.

“All right, Miss Annie.”

Then she turned to Joe. She looked into the deep, sad green eyes and shared his sorrow. She put her arms around him as he clasped his around her. “You take care of your family,” she whispered in his ear. “You’re the man of the house now.” She closed her eyes in a vain attempt to hold back the tears. “There’s no other hurt like it in the world. So when you think you can’t go on, think of Adam, and he’ll carry you through.” She felt Joe’s grasp tighten, and she wanted to stay more than ever. But she knew he was ready to be on his own, and she had to let him.

She dabbed her fingers at her eyes then released herself from him, putting on her best cheerful face. “Now, you remember that if you need anything.”

“We’ll remember,” Joe said with a forced chuckle. He helped Annie into the back seat while Swede got in on the other side next to her.

Quiet fell over them and no one really knew what else to say.

“All right, Michaels, take us home,” Swede commanded.

The driver, in his smart frock coat and top hat, clicked the reins against the horse’s backs and they started off with a crisp trot. As they headed out Annie turned around and watched the brothers until they disappeared from sight past the barn.

Joe and Hoss stood in silence for nearly a minute. Then, with only a look between them, Joe went back into the house and Hoss on to the barn.

Joe had been sitting hunched over his father’s desk for more than an hour, and his back thought to break, but he had to try to bring the books up to date. Adam wasn’t around to do it anymore and Pa had lost interest, so it was left to him. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, he just didn’t have the head for it his father and oldest brother did. And then there was Hoss.

Hop Sing came lightly downstairs carrying an empty tray. Ben was eating some. The little Chinese cook had realized that Ben would respond to anything connected to Adam and that he’d most likely eat some of his son’s favorite things. This took a small part of the worry for their father off of Hoss and Joe, and they were eternally grateful to Hop Sing.

He glanced over toward the office and began a low, steady stream of Chinese. Shaking his head, the long braid swishing across his back, he disappeared into the kitchen.

Joe was so immersed in what he saw as his duty that he didn’t hear the horses come into the yard. But the urgency in Hoss’ voice he didn’t miss, “Joe, you’d best git on out here.”

Joe shoved the chair back as he almost lunged from it and rushed for the door. What now? But as he went outside, he froze and his heart fell into his boots. Tears burned, and he felt like a rock had been rammed down his throat as he went into the yard. He couldn’t stop the trembling as he reached out to stroke the big chestnut’s glossy neck. “Sport,” was almost a whisper.

“Ol’ Ned here found him and brung him on home.”

Joe looked around at the gangly young man. “Where’d you find him?”

“The old line shack up by Gobbler’s Ridge. I was out chasin’ strays with Pete Cooper. We split off and I headed up there,” Ned Beech said, his shadowy eyes shifting under Joe’s direct gaze. “I didn’t pay no attention till I heard a horse neigh, so’s I went to check it out. I found him in the lean-to out back. And his gear was there hangin’ over the fence rail.”

“Did you see anybody around?” Joe continued to run his hand over the horse.

“Nope. There was sign that somebody’d been there, but it was all jumbled up and I couldn’t make heads-ner-tails of it. That’s why I didn’t bother saddlin’ him up. I didn’t know who might still be up there, and I just wanted to get out quick.”

“Could you tell how long he’d been there?” Hoss asked.

“From the way things was pilin’ up I’d say no more’n a couple days.”

“But why go to all the trouble of stealing a horse and then just leave him where anybody could find him?” Joe’s brow creased.

“Could be whoever took him realized whose horse he had and just wanted to be shed of him and light out.” Ned’s eyes still shifted restlessly under Joe’s, and his work-leathered hands knotted tightly.

“I suppose you’re right,” Joe said.

“Well, now we got somethin’ to tell Roy,” Hoss said, hope dawning in his face.

“Thank you, Ned.” Joe patted him on the back. “It means a lot to get him back.”

“Figgered it would,” Ned glanced away self-consciously. “The Cartwrights’ve always done right by me, so’s I’m glad I could do this.”

Joe thanked him again then turned to his brother. “Hoss, why don’t you take him into the barn, I’m gonna tell Pa.”

“Do you think he’s gonna care?” Hoss asked dubiously.

“It’s Adam’s horse,” was all Joe said before dashing into the house.

Joe couldn’t contain his excitement – this might be the thing to bring their father out of the shell he’d built around himself. As he ran for the stairs he couldn’t help a glance at where the blue chair once sat. Everyone suspected that Ben had come down when no one was around and taken it to Adam’s room.

Joe’s hand seized as he raised it to knock. How many times had he done this and gotten no answer? His rapping echoed up and down the hall. “Pa.” As figured, Ben said nothing. “Pa, I know you’re in there.” The room remained silent. “It doesn’t matter if you answer me or not. You need to come outside. Ned Beech just came in with Adam’s horse. Pa, Sport’s home, and he’s out in the barn.”

Still, Joe got no answer, and his frustration was mounting.

“Pa, did you hear me? Sport’s home – he’s back.” But when no words or even angry epithets came back at him, his temper took charge. “All right, just sit in there and feel sorry for yourself! I just thought you’d at least…” but his voice dissipated. With a groan, he shook his head and went back downstairs.

Out in the barn Hoss was giving Sport a thorough going over while Ned watched. The horse seemed unharmed and in good shape. Hoss smiled broadly and gave him a healthy pat on the jowl. “Welcome home, boy.”

Joe trounced in, his fists in tight balls and his mouth set in a grim line.

“Did you tell him?”

“Yeah, I told him,” Joe said flatly. “For all the good it did. Hoss, I just don’t know how to get through to him. I surely thought this’d bring him out if anything would.”

“Well, if’n he don’t wantta come out there ain’t nothin’ nobody can do to make him.”

“I know.” Joe leaned his arm on Sport’s back. “But it just gets so…”

“Joe,” Hoss cut him off, looking past him.

Joe whirled around and his breath caught – his father was standing in the doorway. Ben’s blood-shot eyes sat deep over dark smudges and he’d lost color, and his clothes were disheveled. He saw the horse and nothing else.

The three young men stood back as Ben stepped to the animal’s head. He grasped Sport’s bridle and caressed the reddish-brown coat. There seemed to be no emotion at all. Then, he left his hand on the horse’s withers and hid his face against its neck. His soft, deep sobs filled the barn and his shoulders shuddered.

Ned turned quietly and slipped out. The brothers exchanged looks of profound sorrow as tears ran down their faces. They wanted to hold their father and cry with him. But right now they knew he didn’t want it.

*****

Joe had banked the fire and was making sure everything was locked up before going to bed. The rest of the household had already turned in. He’d stayed up late to finish the books and promised Hop Sing that he’d take care of things. The grandfather clock was just finishing striking midnight as he trudged up the stairs.

It’d been a long day – one of the longest he could recall. He’d hated to see Annie and Swede go, Sport had come home, and the image and sound of his father weeping so continued to haunt him. And he knew it would for the rest of his life. Joe hadn’t seen him do that since his mother had died, but this was different. She’d been killed in a riding accident, terrible as it was, but Adam had been brutally…

He let the rest of the thought vanish. As he came to the top step he stopped dead, his hand on the banister. Cocking his head to one side he listened. It couldn’t be, but it sounded like the soft strains of a guitar. Joe moved stealthily toward Adam’s room – the door was closed. He could still hear it but it wasn’t coming from here. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Maybe it was coming from outside.

He went back downstairs, unlocked the front door and went out into the sweet night air. The bunkhouse was dark, and there wasn’t another sign of life other than his. A light wind tussled in the trees, and summer insects chirped in lonely harmony – but no guitar.

Joe wondered if anyone else had heard it, but well down inside he knew they hadn’t. No one heard some of the things he did these days and nights – he’d asked.

“Are you losing your mind?” he asked himself. “Or is it just grief?”

He stood there for a couple minutes more and simply listened. This country had a way of soothing, but tonight it wasn’t working. Tonight it made him wish he could be someplace else. Not necessarily out of Nevada, but certainly away from the Ponderosa, away from the sadness that pervaded every inch of it.

With a deep intake of breath he went back into the house and locked the door. He knew what he had to do – he just wasn’t sure when he was going to do it.

~FIVE~

Five days had passed since Sport’s return. Joe and Hoss had hoped that with the homecoming of Adam’s mount something would spark to life in Ben – it hadn’t. He continued to stay holed up in that room and nothing had changed.

Joe was just finishing his breakfast when Hoss came in from outside.

“Joe, Sport ain’t in the barn,” Hoss said as he stepped to the dining table. “And Ned says he ain’t seen him either.”

“Not in the barn.” Joe pushed his plate back and was just getting up when Hop Sing came downstairs mumbling in Chinese.

“Father no eat this morning. Food still out in hall.”

Joe and Hoss looked at each other, and they knew who’d taken the horse.

“Pa,” they said almost in unison.”

“And I’ve got a pretty good idea where he went.” Joe rushed to get his hat and gun belt.

“That ain’t so hard to figger out,” Hoss said as he started for the door.

It didn’t take the brothers long to get saddled up and head out. They knew where they were going – it was the only logical place. They pushed their horses harder than usual. After the way Pa had been behaving they worried about what he might do.

They reined in at the edge of the bluff overlooking the meadow where Adam was buried. They weren’t surprised to see their father kneeling by the grave, Sport tethered nearby. They were too far away to tell if he was crying, but they suspected as much.

“The first time he goes anywhere since the funeral, and he comes here.” Joe eased himself in the saddle.

“Well, where’d you expect him to go, Joe?” Hoss said sharply.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Joe felt almost like he was watching a stranger. “I’ve never seen him take anything like this so hard – not even my mother.”

“Nobody used a shotgun on your ma, Joe,” Hoss said, pushing his hat back. “He’d had Adam longer ’n he did either one o’ us. I ain’t sayin’ he loved Adam any more, but there’s always gotta be somethin’ special about your first-born. And to see him laid out like that – dead before his time. Well, it’s gotta tear somethin’ loose inside.”

“I know it would.” Joe heaved a sigh. “Well, I guess we’d best get him and…”

“No, Joe,” Hoss firmly gripped his brother’s arm, “leave him be. He’ll come home when he’s a mind to.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll come git him. Now let’s just go home and leave him to grieve.”

Joe only nodded. They brought their horses around and rode off without their father knowing they were there.

It was late afternoon when Ben finally returned home. Phil Dawes sat on the settee with Joe across from him in the red leather chair when he came in. Phil’s face lit up when he saw his old friend but quickly fell at his appearance. A fleeting look at Joe told him what he wanted to know.

Ben didn’t seem to notice him as he went straight for the stairs. Joe called to him but he kept on going, refusing to look around.

“Pa, Phil’s come all the way from town to see you about something important. Don’t you think…?”

“It’s all right, Joe,” Phil said as he raised his tall, stocky body and took his leather folder from the settee next to him. “Ben, it’s about Adam’s will.”

Ben seized on the first step, his back to the attorney and his fingernails digging into the cap of the newel post. His eyes grew more lupine than human and the muscles in his jaws knotted.

“It’s been almost two weeks,” Phil’s russet eyes warmed with sympathy as he went on and stepped to Ben, “and it needs to be taken care of. Dragging it out isn’t helping anything. Now we can do it in town, but I thought…”

Ben suddenly whirled and Joe gulped – he’d never seen such a look of utter ferocity on his father’s face.

“No!” Ben thundered. “There’ll be no reading of wills!”

Joe moved to stand behind Phil. “Pa, this is something that needs…”

“Don’t back talk me, boy!” Ben flared, his hands clenching and unclenching. “You can just pack up your papers, Phil, and go back to town.”

Phil reached out to his friend but Ben recoiled. “Ben, running away from this thing isn’t going to change what’s happened. Adam’s dead and…”

“”Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think it tears at me every day and every night to know that?” Ben’s voice crackled with tears. “But that will is not going to be read and that is the end of it, Phil.”

“Ben.”

“I said that’s the end of it!” Ben bellowed, driving his fist against the wooden post. With a hard jerk, he turned and stomped up the stairs and down the hall. The bedroom door slammed harder than usual.

“I’m sorry about that, Phil.”

“Don’t be, Joe, I’ve seen it before. Ben knows what happened, knows that Adam’s dead, and maybe a small part of him has accepted it. But with the reading of the will everything becomes final, and there’s no going back.”

“But it is final, Phil. It’s as final as it’s ever gonna get.”

“And I think somewhere in his mind he knows that, and he’s fighting against it as hard as he can.” He turned to Joe and rested an understanding hand on his shoulder. “We’re simply going to have to give him time. And nobody can say how much.” Phil went to the low table and got his hat. “Don’t bother seeing me out. I think I know the way.” He smiled and headed for the door.

Joe stood motionless as if carved from rock and looked toward the upstairs.

Phil put on his hat as he opened the door and his line of sight followed Joe’s. This wasn’t the first grieving parent he’d ever encountered in this job, but this one was a dear friend, and it hurt terribly to watch him and his family suffering so.

With a ragged, weary breath Phil went out, easing the door together behind him. He put the folder in one of the saddlebags then took the reins and climbed into the saddle. He stared at the house for a few seconds. Phil Dawes wasn’t the crying kind, but the sorrow he felt for these good people brought him closer to it than he’d ever been.

He turned his horse and, with a light kick, rode out of the yard. He didn’t know when he’d be back.

*******

The large wagon rumbled to a stop in front of the weathered building out at Gobbler’s Ridge and Hoss got down. He looked at the thick stand of pines that arched around behind the cabin and down the slope to the left. The sound of water running over rocks came from not too far away. This was a mighty pretty place for something as humble as a line shack. It was meant for a house and a family. This was a place where a man and a woman could put down roots. Where children could run and play and be free. But he didn’t have time for such ponderings, he’d come here with a specific reason in mind.

He walked around in front of the horses and stopped with his eyes to the ground. Ned hadn’t been wrong when he said that the tracks were too muddled up to make sense of, much less try to follow. Either there’d been a bunch up here or one had purposely messed things so that even the best tracker couldn’t make use of it. But again he was letting his mind wander from why he was there.

With a determined stride he went to the fenced in lean-to around back. But he didn’t notice the straw, he didn’t pay attention to the horse manure, he wasn’t interested in anything but what he came for. Adam’s saddle with its matching breast collar and the saddlebags he’d had since he was seventeen hung over the top rail next to the gate.

Hoss stepped closer and ran his fingertips across the seat through the thin film of dust that’d settled over it. How many times had his brother set there? How many lariats had he dallied around the horn? How many times had it been used for a camp bed? How many times?

Hoss’ hands tightened on the smooth leather of the cantle and pommel, and his head dropped. His eyes closed but still the tears managed to escape. They fell onto the saddle, leaving clean streaks as they ran down its side.

“No,” he said tersely, “you ain’t got time for this.” He roughly scrubbed the wet from his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He looked through the pouches of the saddlebags and found that their contents seemed untouched and then hung them over his shoulder. Then he put the collar with them and hefted the saddle – blanket, bedroll and all, like a child’s toy. He took them back to the wagon and put in the back of it. But then a thought struck him, and he went to the shack. He opened the rickety door. It drug and scraped and its hinges squeaked as sediment sifted down. Whoever had been here apparently hadn’t gone inside, no one had for some time from the looks of things. And that was strange. But Hoss didn’t have time to think much about it, he had to get Adam’s gear back home where it belonged.

He went to the wagon and climbed back onto the seat, took up the reins and urged the team on. He wanted to get back with his prize and give it a good dressing. It would have a special place in the barn as Adam had a special place in his heart.

Hoss pulled his hat down in front and bucked himself up. He wished he’d brought a different wagon – this was the same one he’d taken Adam home in. “Stop it, dadblamit,” he muttered harshly to himself and slapped the reins harder.

~SIX~

As Joe came downstairs to breakfast he found Hop Sing rounding on Hoss for not eating enough.

“You no like Hop Sing’s biscuits no more?”

“No, Hop Sing, that ain’t it,” Hoss said, defensively holding up his hands. “I cain’t eat nobody’s biscuits.”

“Then you eat plenty everything else,” the little cook huffed. “Hop Sing no want you take sick, maybe die too.” He turned and bustled angrily back into the kitchen grumbling to himself.

Joe joined his brother at the dining table and dropped into his chair. “I see Hop Sing’s after you again. Last night it was me for leavin’ my bedroom window open and letting in a night draft.”

“He’s been doin’ a lot o’ that lately.” Hoss forked down a bite of fried egg.

“I know.” Joe took a slice of ham onto his plate. “You don’t eat right, I stay up too late working on the books, and if we keep the house too cold we’ll get a chill and so on.” Joe shook his head and took a biscuit.

Hoss paled and swallowed hard as he watched his brother split it. If he put butter and honey on it he knew he was going to be sick. But Joe cut the ham into fourths and put between it. Hoss released his breath and went back to his own breakfast.

“Has Pa already gone out?” Joe stuck the sandwich between his teeth and pushed himself away from the table and got up.

Hoss harrumphed and nodded. His nose wrinkled as his food lost its appeal. “Every day it’s the same thing.”

Joe took his hat from the rack and sat it on his head then buckled on the gun belt, his breakfast still clamped in his teeth.

“He always takes Sport, and this time he used Adam’s gear. He don’t pay attention to poor ol’ Buck no more,” Hoss went on.

Joe tied the holster laces around his thigh and took the sandwich from his mouth. “I know. And he’s not the only thing Pa’s lost interest in. He doesn’t seem to care about the Ponderosa anymore.”

“I think he still cares about this house; Adam’s house,” Hoss said as he poured himself some coffee.

“Yeah, but that’s about it. Well, at least he doesn’t seem to be drinking so much.” Joe took a bite. “I’ve got to go into town and pick up some supplies. I sure could use some help. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Naw, I got some other things that need doin’ and besides, I wouldn’t make very good company.” Hoss began toying with his fork.

“I’m not askin’ for your company, I just need your strong back,” Joe said with a lopsided grin.

Hoss shook his head. “No, Joe, I got somethin’ I gotta take care of.”

Joe’s grin disappeared and something gray and sullen replaced it. “Is this the same thing you’ve been getting to everyday for the past eight days while I do all the hard work?”

“That ain’t none o’ your business, Joe,” Hoss said glaring at him.

“Well, I’m in charge now and that makes it my business!” Joe shouted and threw the sandwich at his brother, just missing him.

A black scowl came over Hoss. “And who died and…” he blurted as he jerked to his feet, but stopped abruptly.

The silence in the room could’ve been cut with an axe. It was a poor choice of words on Hoss’ part, and he wished he could take them back, however it was too late for that.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” Joe said softly, eyes brimming.

Hoss wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He’d hurt his brother, and it brought a pang to his own heart. Yes, they both knew who’d died and left Joe in charge.

Joe tugged his hat down then went quietly out, easing the door shut behind him. It was amazing how thoughtless words could wound. He knew Hoss hadn’t meant what he’d very nearly said, but in anger one sometimes did that – brought up things that stung.

As Joe started for the barn he saw Chris McCutcheon coming toward him. The young man looked like he had something serious on his mind. Since that terrible day in the North pasture Chris had become quiet and somber. He was taking it harder than Joe had thought of him – after all, he was only a hand. Supposed to be far removed from the family, right?

“Hey, Chris,” Joe said as brightly as he could muster. “I thought you were going to help move that herd out to Strawberry Meadow.”

“I was. But I needed to talk to you about somethin’. I…” Chris ducked his head briefly. “I come to get my pay. I’m quittin’.”

“Quitting?” Joe’s chin fell. “Why? I thought you liked it here.”

“I purely do. I worked quite a few spreads before I come here, and this is the longest I ever stayed in one place. Even thought to maybe make it my home,” Chris said with a sigh. “You and your family’s been real good to work for; always treated me and the others real good. But…” A solemn light glinted in the boy’s doleful eyes. “After what happened I just don’t think I can stay here no more. It’s just plain too hurtful.”

Joe watched Chris with something akin to what he felt for Adam and Hoss. They were close in age, and when his brothers didn’t have time for him Chris always did. Now here he was grieving the loss of Adam more deeply than Joe had expected.

“You don’t havta to do that.” Joe rested a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “I don’t think Adam’d want you to do that. Not if you’re happy here.”

“I was. But I cain’t be now. So I think it’s just best I move on.” Chris stubbed his boot toe in the dirt.

“Well, you haven’t given yourself much time. It’s only been two weeks since we found…” Joe gulped the lump forming in his throat. “I tell you what; why don’t you give it a year? Stay for one year, and if you still wantta go you can collect your pay and ride out with no hard feelings. How’s that sound?”

Chris shook his unkempt head. “Nope, ain’t no good.”

“All right, six months then, just six months, and you’ll get the same deal if you still don’t wantta stay. Come on, Chris, I’m only asking six months.”

Chris wanted to say yes, but it’d been almost like losing his own older brother all over again. He looked up into Joe’s earnest eyes. He knew the same pain Chris had felt, did feel every day. “All right,” he said with a nod. “Six months, and if’n I’m still a mind to I can light out?”

“That’s what I said.”

Chris didn’t have to think too long or too hard since he hadn’t wanted to go in the first place. “All right, I guess I can stay for now.”

“Good,” Joe said with a slight grin and clapped his hand on his back. “Now I’ve got to go into town for some supplies, and I sure could use some help.”

Chris agreed and they walked on toward the barn.

“I never told you I had an older brother,” Chris said softly. “His name was Pat.”

*****

Chris hefted the last bag of feed into the back of the wagon as Joe came out of the mercantile with a couple slabs of bacon and thumped down by it.

“Well, that’s the last of it,” Joe said as he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “And none too soon to suit me. I’m dry as the desert in June.”

“This is June,” Chris said with a knowing smirk.

“Which probably explains it,” Joe said as he came around behind Chris and slapped him on the back. “I tell you what, why don’t you go on over to the Silver Dollar and get us a couple cold beers. I want to go see Sheriff Coffee, and I’ll meet you there. This won’t take long.”

“All right,” Chris said with a nod.

Joe gave him another friendly smack and started off across the street. His mood had lightened a little since his spat with Hoss, but then being around Chris could do that. He was glad he’d been able to talk him into staying, at least for the next six months.

As he went up the steps he suddenly stopped – the voice was deep and rich. It floated to his ears like notes of music. He hesitated for less than a second before looking around. The purveyor of the dulcet words was short and squat with thinning, dirty blond hair.

Even though he’d known better, Joe was still disappointed – knowing full good and well he would be when he looked. This was the third time he’d done this, and next time he wouldn’t look.

He crossed the boardwalk and went into the sheriff’s office. Roy sat at his desk going through wanted posters to make sure no one as getting past him.

“Hi, Roy,” Joe said blandly as he closed the door. “You findin’ what you’re lookin’ for?”

“I ain’t lookin’ for nothin’ in particular.” Roy looked up, running his fingers through what was left of his hair. “I know why you’re here, Joe, and I don’t have no more to tell you than I did two days ago.”

“But it’s been…”

“I know how long it’s been. I don’t need tellin’,” Roy said as Joe came to the desk. “I want to catch the one what done this near as much as you do. But if there ain’t no trail to follow I cain’t very well make up one. I wish I could and it’d lead right to this jasper, but I cain’t.”

“I know, Roy.” Joe leaned his hands on the desk. “It’s hard enough just knowing he’s gone, but not to know who did this. He didn’t even rob him, just killed him. Roy, I’ve never wanted to watch a hanging, but this one I would. If they’d let me I spring the trap door myself.”

“I understand how you feel, Joe.” Roy came to stand by him and rested a consoling hand on his back. “But campin’ on my door every other day ain’t gonna help. Now why don’t you go on back home? You know I ain’t never gonna give up on this. As long as Adam Cartwright’s killer is out there I’m gonna keep right on lookin’ if it takes the rest o’ my days.”

“All right, Roy. But you’ll let us know if…”

“Joe,” Roy couldn’t help the trace of annoyance that edged into his voice.

Joe nodded dejectedly then left. Roy ran his hand over his care-lined face. It hurt him to watch Ben and his sons mourn as they were. And what hurt almost as much was how they’d changed. But then seeing Adam as they had, it didn’t really surprise him.
And Roy had noticed that after seeing Adam for himself, his nights had become a bit more uneasy.

*****

That night was a restless one at the Ponderosa ranch house. The wind whipped around outside creating a mournful sound in the boughs of the huge pines. The scent of rain hung in the air and seemed to seep through every crack and cranny it could find.

Joe sat in the red leather chair, his feet propped on the table, trying desperately to concentrate on the book he was trying to read. But Hoss’ continual poking at the fire rubbed on his nerves like a coarse file.

Finally, after reading the same paragraph over five times, Joe closed the book with a hard slam that reverberated through the room like the report of a gun.

Hoss jumped like he’d been shot. “Dadburnit, Joe, you scared me nigh to death.”

“Well, would you cut that out?” Joe stormed, clomping his feet to the floor. “You’ve been jabbin’ at those logs for an hour now!” He thudded the book down on the table.

“Ah, Joe, it ain’t been that long an’ you know it.”

“I don’t know any such thing!” Joe jerked himself up from the chair. “I might as well go to bed unless you wantta come up there and poke at me too.”

“Unless you pull in your horns, little brother, I’m just liable to take a poke at you right now.” Hoss’ face darkened.

A Chinese cyclone burst out of the kitchen. “You two stop fight – both go to bed. It getting late and boys need sleep.”

“Dadburnit, Hop Sing, we ain’t children.”

“You act like childlen, so I treat like childlen!”

“All of you be quiet down there!” Ben roared from upstairs. Then the door slammed.

The three of them stood quiet, their eyes directed up. Hop Sing went back into the kitchen muttering. A stern look crossed between the brothers, and then Joe drug himself up the steps as Hoss turned back to the fire, stabbing it with the poker.

~SEVEN~

After all the build up only a light rain had fallen through the night; barely enough to wet the dry ground. And it didn’t take long for the morning sun to burn it off.

Joe and Hoss were doing chores on opposite sides of the barn. They were both quiet and still grouchy from the night before. They’d gotten to work earlier than usual and were there when Ben came out for his daily sojourn to the gravesite.

Nothing was said at first as Ben quietly got Sport ready in Adam’s gear.

It didn’t take long to get to the point where Joe had had enough. He walked over to his father and gently put a hand on his back. “Pa, would you like for me to come with you?”

Ben froze and didn’t look around. Hoss watched silently from his side of the barn; what he was doing quickly forgotten.

One side of Joe’s mouth smiled sadly. “We haven’t all been up there since the funeral. I think all three of us should go together.”

Ben shrugged his hand off and continued with Sport. He tightened the cinch then led the horse out into the yard like Joe wasn’t even there.

Joe and Hoss looked at each other; their ire with one another lost in their mutual worry for their father. Joe followed him out while Hoss watched from the doorway.

“Pa, would you like the company?” Joe grew flustered when his father continued to ignore him. “I know he was your son a lot longer than he was our brother, but we loved him too.”

Still without acknowledgement, Ben eased into the saddle and rode out.

With a ragged sigh Joe walked to Hoss. “I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Joe said, defeat drooping his body.

“There ain’t nothin’ we can do ‘cept be here when he’s ready.”

“If he ever is. But, Hoss, I don’t think he’s ever gonna get over this.”

Hoss put a reassuring arm around his brother. “None of us will, Joe,” he said giving him a squeeze. “Now let’s git back to work.”

They went back into the barn and went about fixing and cleaning and putting things to their rightful place for about an hour – Joe stewing the whole time. He’d had enough watching his father torment himself over something that could never be any different, and it was building to a head.

A hackamore sailed right past Hoss’ face by mere inches. His blue eyes turned icy and his mouth set. “Dadblast it all, Joe, that’s the second time you almost hit me in two days.”

When he turned around Joe had Cochise out of his stall and was saddling him with quick, jerky movements.

“Now, where do you think goin’?” Hoss asked as he went over to him.

“After Pa.” Joe swung the saddle onto the horse’s back. “It’s gone on too long. If he doesn’t come out of this, Hoss, we’re gonna lose him too.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“No, I don’t want us both crowdin’ in on him,” Joe said as he finished with Cochise then turned to Hoss. “I’ll try and bring him back with me.” Joe gave him a brotherly slap on the arm then led his horse outside.

Hoss didn’t watch Joe ride off, but the clatter of hooves told him he’d gone. He tried to get back to work but found that concentrating was impossible, so he went into the house. Maybe there was something he could find to do there.

Joe rode hard and didn’t rein in until he passed the first stand of trees and was within sight of the clearing where the grave was. Sure enough, Ben was standing at the newly placed headstone, one hand resting on it, his hat in the other hand and his head lowered. Sport was ground tied and cropping grass.

Joe wasn’t exactly sure how to approach this, but he’d figure it out along the way. This had to be done – it was already long overdue. He prodded Cochise in the sides and walked him on down.

If Ben heard him coming it didn’t show. Joe stopped and dismounted and let Cochise join his stable mate. His heart was beating wildly; he’d always respected and honored his father, and right now he wished he could be any place but here.

He swallowed hard and removed his hat, then stepped next to Ben and cast his eyes to the marker. It cut deeper than any pain he’d ever known to read the words inscribed on it: Adam Stoddard Cartwright May 5 1830 – June 14, 1864 Beloved son of Benjamin and Elizabeth. It drove home that his cherished oldest brother was gone. Tears burned like tobacco juice and his eyelids batted furiously to hold them back. His father had enough without seeing him cry like a three-year-old.

“It’s peaceful here,” Joe’s voice quavered. “Hoss and I wanted a spot overlooking this part of the lake. This one’s shaded and you can smell the pine and hear the water.” He took a deep draught of the fragrant air and let it attempt to sooth his inner ache.

Ben stood like a statue, his eyes drilled onto the headstone.

“Pa, why don’t you come home with me?” Joe reached out and touched him.

Ben pulled away, but didn’t look around.

“Don’t you think this has gone far enough?” Joe asked mildly. “Don’t you think it’s time to let Adam rest in peace? It’s time we were a family again.”

Ben spun on him, again with those lupine eyes catching the light that managed to filter in.

Joe felt cold to the bone. This was only the second time he’d ever seen his father look this way. The first time it’d been turned on Phil Dawes, but this time it was aimed at him and it frightened him. If looks could kill, Joe and Phil would both be dead.

“Don’t you understand?” Ben growled. “This can never be a family again.”

“Pa, you told me after my mother died that we had to go on, to keep the family going because that’s how she’d want it. Wouldn’t Adam want that too?”

“You still don’t understand, do you, boy?” Ben snapped bitterly. “Your mother’s face was so at peace, I could see…” He choked off and turned from his son.

Now it had come out – Adam’s face had been taken away and all Pa could see was what the kerchief had been meant to conceal. There was no peace.

“Pa, why don’t…” Joe started, reaching out.

Ben whirled and slapped his hand aside. “You always were the defiant one – never could simply do what I told you to!”

“Well, I wasn’t the only one.” Joe grinned lightly.

Ben flamed. “And what does that mean?”

“Just that Adam wasn’t any more perfect than the rest of us.” Joe reached out to his father again, then, thinking better of it, he brought his hand back. “He made mistakes and gave you more than a few fits along the way. How many times have you two butted heads over something? Admit it Pa, Adam could be a real headache.”

“Stop it, do you hear? I’ll not have you talk down your brother when he’s not here to defend himself!”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Joe’s desperation was creeping in. “Pa, you’ve done exactly what Will Cass did with his son. You’ve turned Adam into something larger than what he was. Adam was only a man, a good one, but still only a man. And men have faults, even my brother.”

“I won’t listen to this,” Ben rasped as he turned his back to Joe.

“Well, you’re gonna listen.” Joe’s frustration was quickly becoming the angry kind. “Adam was sharp-tongued and stubborn…”

“That’s enough!”

“…and pushy,” Joe continued.

“I said that’s enough!” Ben roared as his right arm shot around.

Joe staggered back as his father’s hand caught him across the cheek and jaw. He felt his teeth cut into the inside of his mouth and his mind temporarily stopped. His hat left his head with the force, and his soft hair tumbled into disarray.

Ben Cartwright had just done something he’d never done in his life – he’d struck a son in the face. He stared at Joe and saw something in the injured emerald eyes that’d never been there before. He couldn’t put a name to it but it cut through his grief and only added to it.

Joe thought the hardness in his father’s face softened a little, but it didn’t matter – the damage was done. He daubed the back of his knuckle at the corner of his mouth and it came away wet and red.

Father and son just looked at each other, neither moving. Even the birds had left and only silence remained.

With a quick jerk, Joe picked up his hat and jammed it on his head, then – his eyes flitting to his father – he turned and stomped to his horse.

Joe grasped the horn and swung into the saddle without fooling with the stirrup. He glared at Ben. It wasn’t hatred he was feeling or even anger, it was something far worse: abandonment. He tugged Cochise’s head around and rode off at a hard gallop.

Ben watched until Joe was out of sight then turned back to the headstone. He felt empty – barren. Dropping to his knees, emotions trampled him like stampeding cattle. “Adam,” he sobbed. “Joseph.”

Joe swiped savagely at his tear-filled eyes as Cochise ran headlong, his long mane slapping the wind. It was time to do what he’d been planning. This was a thing he needed to do and now was the time.

With a wild whoop and a kick Cochise picked up speed. Joe knew he could break his fool neck, but right now he didn’t care. Right now that was the least of his problems.

Horse and rider disappeared into the morning mist. Nothing would ever be the same again.

~EIGHT~

Joe hadn’t made any firm and steadfast plans about when he wanted to head out. But after the set-to with Pa the day before at the grave, his mind had been made up for him. Pa wasn’t getting any better, and maybe Joe was being selfish, but he had to get away. Sitting around watching his father disintegrate in front of him had become too much. And he didn’t really think Pa would miss him anyway, even if he knew he was gone.

Things weren’t improving – instead of time lessening the pain it only seemed to make it throb more. Pa was still grieving himself to death, Hoss had become very secretive about something and still couldn’t eat biscuits, and Hop Sing was as domineering as ever. And, as for him, he was still hearing what wasn’t there.

Joe fastened the cinch around the paint’s belly with such a jerk it made the animal look around. “Sorry, Cooch,” Joe said as he gave him a gentle pat on the withers.

“I knew you was headin’ out early, but I didn’t know you was gittin’ up before the chickens,” a familiar voice said from the darkness.

Joe’s head shot around as his brother stepped into the soft glow of the lantern. “I wish if you were gonna sneak up on people like that you’d wear a bell.” Joe’s face fell as the terse words were immediately regretted. “I’m sorry, Hoss. I guess I’m not over what Pa did yesterday.”

“You gotta know he didn’t mean it, Joe.” Hoss rested his hand on Cochise’s rump. “Pa ain’t exactly in his right mind these days. But even like he is, I cain’t believe he meant it. In all these years he never once hit one of us in the face. Even when it woulda been goodernuff for us.”

“Not the old Pa, but I don’t know this one.” Joe brought the fender from over the saddle seat and let it drop. “Doesn’t matter – I just need to get away from here.”

“I can understand that, but why there? If’n it was me, that’d be the last place I’d wantta go.”

“This could be a mistake, I don’t know.” Joe leaned against the horse, facing Hoss. “But I feel like I need to go there. I need to be where he was those… those last few days.” He took the reins and let his eyes search his brother’s face. “Maybe I’ll find something I lost, maybe I won’t, I can’t say. But I’ve gotta look,” Joe said as he turned the horse to the door. “And I can’t just sit around and watch Pa do this to himself.” Guilt began to rise up inside him. “Hoss, do you think I’m running out on you, Pa and Hop Sing?”

“No, but I do think you’re runnin’ away. But sometimes you gotta go that so you can come back.”

Joe snorted and shook his head. “Leave it to you to clear things up with just a few words. I’ve seen you do the same thing for our college educated brother.” He gave Hoss a friendly smack.

Hoss smiled at him as he took the lantern from the nail it hung on, and then the brothers walked out into the yard. The night was blacker than it’d been those first few nights of grief. Hoss closed the barn doors and dropped the bar across them.

Joe looked up at the millions of stars dancing in the inkiness. “I’m coming to find you, brother Adam,” he said softly and looked around at Hoss with a cheerless smile.

“You take care o’ yourself little brother,” Hoss said as he rested his hand on his brother’s back.

“I will. And I’ll wire you when I get there.” Joe slid his foot into the stirrup then swung up and settled himself into the saddle. “And you take care of yourself and what’s left of our family.”

“Don’t you worry none about that. You just find what you’re lookin’ for.”

“I’ll do my best.” Joe nudged Cochise into a walk and headed out past the barn.

Hoss watched him go then went quietly back into the house. He closed the door and bolted it and then blew out the lantern and put it on the bureau. With heavy steps, he went to the red leather chair and sat down. His gaze fixed itself on the dim glow of the banked fire. His family was coming apart at the seams and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it. And it ensconced an ache inside him that the big man didn’t know how to heal, much less deal with.

******

It was right around noon when Joe reined Cochise up alongside a stream and stepped down. The heat of the day was in full swing, and he was hot and thirsty. He got down on one knee and drank alongside the paint, then slapped some if the cold water on his face and neck. Taking his hat off, he ruffled his thick hair and let the breeze cool his sweaty scalp.

He was a lot farther along than he would’ve been any other time. But he wanted to get where he was going so he’d been pushing himself and the horse a bit harder. He wouldn’t stop for the night until it was too dark to see where they were going without risk.

With a deep breath, he looked around him. By western standards this country was wild and rugged, but to eastern thinking it would be called savage and brutal. He’d met people from places like Boston, Philadelphia, New York, and they’d all pretty much expressed the same opinion. And after what’d happened to Adam he now easily agreed with them.

Putting his hat back on, he went to the horse and delved into the left pouch of his saddlebags. He came out with a draw-string cloth bag and from that he took a strip of jerky and then put the rest of it back. Taking the end of the sun-dried meat in his teeth, he pulled until he managed to tear off a bite about the size of his little finger. Then he went and sat on the bank, leaning his elbows on his knees.

Jerky was a funny thing, it seemed like the longer you chewed the bigger the bite got. And by the time you got done with a strip, your jaws were so tired that you forgot about being hungry.

Cochise snorted and snuffled at the edge of the water, his bridle rattling as he shook his head. Joe knew he probably sensed his master’s restlessness and was just as eager to get back on the trail. But Joe also knew that they both needed the break. They had a long ride ahead of them, and it wasn’t going to help anything if they killed themselves along the way.

The sun crept down toward the other side of the sky, but not with any discernable haste. Joe sat leaned back against the trunk of a large, shady tree with his hat pulled low in front. He hadn’t gone to sleep though his body had rested. But his mind hadn’t, it kept running to things he didn’t want to think about. And they all centered on Adam or his father.

Cochise’s restive milling brought him to Joe’s side. He lowered his head in front of Joe, who grasped the reins and patted his satiny muzzle. “All right,” he said as he worked his feet under himself and stood, “I think we’ve rested enough. But first I want to fill my canteen, then we’ll go. I hope that meets with your approval.” He grinned and gave the animal another pat.

He led the horse back down to the water’s rim. Cochise drank again while the canteen was filled, and then Joe hung it around the horn and vaulted easily into the saddle. Then he kicked the paint into a walk and they were off again.

They rode until night draped around them like a black quilt and Joe was forced to call it a day. He laid a fire first so that he could see what he was doing, then he got Cochise picketed and settled down. He made a pot of coffee and had a few more strips of jerky, then got into his own bed.

He nestled into the upturned saddle and pulled his blanket around him. In spite of the heat of the day, the evening had turned cool. He was tired and stiff, and it felt good to lie down, even on the hard ground. “Good night, Cooch,” he called and wasn’t surprised to get an answer. “Good night, Adam.” Then, with one last look at the dark canopy over him, he pulled his hat down over his face and let sleep come for him.

******

Adam walked toward him, smiling at the sight of his little brother, unaware of the danger he was in. He didn’t see the shotgun pointed at him, but Joe did. “No, Adam, no!” Joe’s legs churned slowly as he tried to get to him. “Please, don’t hurt him! Please, don’t kill my brother!” But that sudden sickening explosion came anyway and Adam’s face was gone. Then Joe saw his father pointing an accusing finger at him. “Why was it him?”

Joe sat straight up, breathing hard and fast. His clothes were soaked with sweat, and his hair was flat to his head with it. His fists were bunched around handfuls of blanket and his heart ran like a storm chased mustang.

He looked around at the darkened landscape. It was silent, except for the summer insects and the wind blowing in the trees and through the tall grass. “Not again,” he groaned and fell back against the saddle. Would this ever end? Or would that awful image haunt his dreams for the rest of his life?

He flung his arm over his eyes with a whimper. And it was getting steadily worse – more was being added. He’d been seeing the blast obliterate his brother’s face for some time now, but Pa was new. How bad was this going to get before he couldn’t take it anymore?

*****

Joe slouched in the saddle as Cochise ambled on. His eagerness and agitation to get to his destination had ebbed. He paid only enough attention to his surroundings to know where he was, Cochise did the rest.

Again at around noon, they stopped at a small creek that meandered its way over rocks and through trees and really wasn’t much more than a trickle. But it was cold and clear and man and animal drank their fill and rested. But this time they stayed longer than the previous day.

Joe leaned back against a large boulder and looked out across the vastness that spread out around him. Again he found his mind cluttered with troubling thoughts. And one, above all others, ripped jagged tears inside him. What had the last few minutes of his brother’s life been like? Had he seen what was coming? Had he known he was going to die? Did he think of his family and realize he’d never see them again?

A sound like that made by an injured animal ran through the clear air as Joe wrapped his arms around his knees and hid his face against his legs. All at once he wanted to go back, not back home but back to when he was a little boy. He wanted to go back to when Adam would hold his hand and comfort him from bad dreams. His fingers dug into his arms and his shoulders shivered. “I’m sorry, Pa,” he said softly. “I’m sorry it wasn’t me.”

******

Joe recognized landmarks, Bonner Creek being one of them. That meant that he’d be at his destination probably late tomorrow, unless something happened to hang him up. Either way, he was nearly at the end of his journey. Soon he’d be where Adam had spent some of what was left of his life. And not for the first time he wondered if he’d made a mistake in doing this. But he’d come this far, and he wasn’t about to turn around now.

He eased Cochise down through a slight gully and came out on the other side. Darkness would soon close in and tonight he wanted to get his camp set up before it did. His eagerness from the day before had given way to misgivings and it slowed him some. Plus, laying a fire when you could barely see your hand in front of you had an effect.

He’d stop as soon as he cleared the next rise. He was tired and his body was stiff from the feet up, and tonight he felt like cooking a little bit. For one of the few times bacon and beans didn’t sound half bad. His nose wrinkled, and his upper lip curled at the thought of jerky.

~NINE~

It was early evening when Joe Cartwright rode into Bantree as the sun flirted with the notion of setting before too long. It’d been another long day in the saddle, and he was bone tired. And right now all he wanted to do was get Cochise liveried, send a wire to Hoss, get a hotel room and settle in. He’d hit Tabler’s Restaurant across from the Sinclair Hotel after he’d checked in.

Bantree, Nevada, unlike many towns around here, hadn’t been born because of silver or gold, but owed its birth to timber. Beginning as a lumber camp in 1848, it’d grown into a full fledged town by 1851. It had been named for the man and the trees responsible for its being. Now, with a population of between three and four hundred that fluctuated with the seasons, it would be Joe’s home for the next few days.

It was closing in on six o’clock when Joe walked into the hotel, and he was hungry as a she-wolf. The Sinclair wasn’t the only one in town, but it was the best and the Cartwright’s always stayed there.

The lobby was posh and maybe a little gaudy by Eastern standards. But there was no mistaking its elegance and refinement, even in this part of the country.

Joe’s boots were muffled against the black-and-gold carpet as he stepped to the admitting desk just inside and to the right of the heavy double doors as you came in. He took his saddlebags from over his shoulder and lay on the desk.

Tom Piedmont turned around, his gray-rimmed blue eyes lighting up at the sight of Joe. “Joe Cartwright, it’s been what, four, five months?”

“Closer to six,” Joe said as he rubbed a kink out of the small of his back. “It’s been a long three days, Tom. I’d just like to get checked in, get a bath, get something to eat and go to bed – in that order.”

“Sure, Joe, I’ll give you a nice quiet…” he started as he reached for a room key.

“I want the room Adam stayed in the last time he was here.”

Tom turned back to him, puzzled by the request. “That’d be room thirty-one, but I’m afraid it’s occupied and will be to the end of the week. But I can…”

Fatigue wrinkled Joe’s brow. “Could you ask them to take another room?”

“Not Mrs. Hiram Cadence,” Tom said with a grimace and a slight shake of his head. “She’s from back East, and she doesn’t particularly think much of us out here. We’re terrible boors.” He added a wink.

“Well, you could ask. It’s very important to me, Tom.” Joe tried to roll some of the stiffness out of his neck and shoulders.

Tom obviously wasn’t too keen on the idea, but the Cartwrights were valued customers and well liked, to boot. So he excused himself and went to the second floor.

Joe was just about to sign the register when a woman’s irate voice, jumbled with Tom’s desperate pleadings, made him turn around.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing; asking a person to leave their room.”

Tom continued trying to placate her, but to no avail.

“And for no other reason than they can,” she prattled on. Her eyes set on Joe. “Is that him?”

Tom nodded reluctantly.

Joe pushed his hat back on his head and leaned against the desk. He wasn’t in the mood for this, but he wanted that room.

She blustered over to him, Tom following. Her plump, anger-reddened face made her pale eyes stand out. “Young man, are you the one that’s trying to have me thrown out of my room?” she said with a New England accent Joe just at that moment noticed.

“I’m not trying to have you thrown out, but I thought if you could take another…”

“Absolutely not!” she huffed. “I was given that room, and there I’ll stay! Of all the nerve! He tells me,” her arm jerked back to Tom, “that you come from a wealthy family!”

Joe’s initial amusement was beginning to wear thin.

“The Cartwright’s have the biggest spread in the whole Territory,” Tom offered.

“Spread?” she asked with a confused scowl.

“Ranch, ma’am,” Joe said pleasantly.

“That doesn’t give you any special privileges. Why is it the moneyed think they can just push the rest of us around?” she snipped. “Well, not me. Tell me, young man, why is it so important that you have that room?”

Joe didn’t want to go into it, and certainly not with this venomous woman. “Ma’am, I don’t really…”

“It’s me you want pushed out; I think that gives me the right to know.” She rested her hands on her broad hips. “I’m waiting.”

Joe was grimy, sweaty, bushed and not in the mood for polite conversation, the amenities or pulling punches. He shoved himself away from the desk. “Because that was the last place my brother stayed before somebody took a shotgun and blew his life away,” he said loudly and flatly.

The room went quiet as a tomb. Nearly everyone in town knew or knew of the Cartwrights and to suddenly hear that one was dead sent shockwaves. Mrs. Cadence was visibly stunned, but not anymore than Tom Piedmont.

Joe turned around and began signing the register as Tom brought his stocky body around behind the desk. “Tom, give me a room, whatever you’ve got.”

Tom fumbled around until he got a key and placed it in Joe’s palm. As he was about to close his fist around it a warm, soft hand capped over it, the fingers lacing with his own. Surprised, Joe looked around into the kindest, saddest face he’d seen in a while.

Tears rimmed the bottoms of Mrs. Cadence’s eyes, and the red had left her face, leaving only rosy cheeks. Her full lips were curved into a touching smile. “Mr. Piedmont, have someone move my things to this room. Mr. Cartwright will be staying in room thirty-one.”

Joe watched her, and he didn’t know if it was pity or sympathy he was seeing. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he tipped his hat.

“Not at all. I understand why that room is so important to you. I once felt the same about a desk.” She took the key and handed it to Tom. “I’ll have my trunks ready presently, Mr. Piedmont.” Then she started for the stairs.

Joe felt the sudden need for companionship. He called to her and stopped her at the bottom step, removing his hat. “Ma’am, once I get some of this trail dust washed off me and some fresh clothes, I’m gonna go to Tabler’s for supper. I’d like it if you’d join me.”

“After the way I behaved, I would think I would be the last person you would want to ask,” she said with a genial, somewhat embarrassed smile.

“You didn’t have to let me have the room, and…” his voice fell off. “Well, right tonight I don’t think I want to eat alone. So if you would…”

She reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand. “I would be delighted to have supper with you, Mr. Cartwright. When should I be ready?”

“I’ll meet you here in an hour.”

She agreed and went on upstairs. He watched her go and heaved a ragged sigh.

“Is it true, Joe,” came Tom’s uneven voice from behind him. “Is Adam really dead?”

“Yeah, Tom, it’s true,” Joe said without turning around. “And it has been for over two weeks.”

******

It took about fifteen minutes to get Mrs. Cadence moved out. Joe only had his saddlebags so he went right in.

It was a nice, fairly large room with dark mahogany furniture and the same gold and black color scheme carried in from the lobby.

He pushed the door together quietly and leaned back against it. Joe could see Adam in this room – sitting in the highly carved, over-stuffed chair by the window poring over contracts, sleeping in the sumptuous bed, dressing for a night on the town or with the Bannings. A cold, sharp pain ran through him and he almost wished he had taken another room. But he couldn’t back out now anymore than he could’ve on the trail, and he did feel close to Adam here.

He gave his hat a fling onto the dresser and hung his bags over the footboard then flopped back on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head. There was still plenty of time before he was to meet Mrs. Cadence; right now he just wanted to think and remember.

******

Tabler’s was the finest restaurant in town, with the finest food and the finest furnishings that money could buy. French provincial, gold gilt and crystal light fixtures imported all the way from New York attested to that fact.

Joe and Mrs. Cadence were capping off a prefect meal and a perfect evening filled with light conversation and good food with coffee and brandy. Joe was just taking his first sip of the hot brew when he caught a broadside.

“Tell me about your brother,” she said gently. “We’ve been here for over an hour and you haven’t mentioned him once and I would like to know about him. I don’t even know his name.”

Joe could see the genuine sincerity in the compassionate eyes looking back at him. “Adam,” he nearly whispered and took the brandy down in one slug.

“I think you would feel better if you talked about him.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think right now…”

“What’s wrong with right now? And this is as good a place as any.”

He shook his head and looked down at his hands. He would talk when he got ready, and he felt the decision was his to make. And, after all, he hardly knew this woman. Why did she care?

“It was three years ago when my Hiram was taken from me,” her voice trembled faintly.

Joe’s head came up with a quick jerk.

“He was struck down by a carriage in a fog while on his way home from his job. He did so love to walk, even when we both knew it was unwise.”

Joe could read the grief across her face, fresh and new as the day it’d happened. Here was someone who knew exactly what and how he was feeling.

“We had always planned on coming west someday just to see what it was like and see what all the talk was about. He never made it, but I promised us both that I would.”

Joe was a little surprised when she poured some of her brandy into her coffee.

“The desk he had at work became very important to me; almost an obsession, really. I kept nagging my husband’s employer until he let me buy it,” she said, then laughed lightly. “I think he did-so just to get me out of his hair.” She took a demure sip of her spiked coffee. “So, Joseph, I do know what you’re feeling. Every time you see his things, eat a food he enjoyed, go some place you went together you miss him so badly you think you can’t bear to go on. But talking about him can help. That is, if you’ll let it.” She touched his arm. “A stranger once did for me what I’m doing for you now, and I’ll always be grateful to him. Now I’m passing it on to you.”

He watched the steam rise from his cup. “I wouldn’t know where to start. There’s… There’s so much…”

“Why not begin with what he looked like. That helped me to get started.”

Joe cataloged in his mind Adam’s features, everything that made him up on the outside. He hadn’t forgotten like he’d been afraid he would. “He was tall and a big man,” he glanced at her, “and not just in size.” He absentmindedly picked up his spoon and began stirring his coffee. “Those brown eyes could look right through you and keep a secret better ‘n anybody I know. And he was dark with wavy black hair.” Joe choked off – this was as hard as he’d expected it to be.

“He looked like your father?”

“Yes, ma’am, but he looked like his mother too.”

Her puzzlement showed in her face. “His mother? Wasn’t she your mother?”

“No, ma’am, all three of us had a different mother. Adam’s died when he was born, Hoss’ was killed in an Indian attack when he was just a few weeks old and mine,” the flow of words ceased for a moment, “mine died when her horse fell on her when I was six.”

“And now this.” Her eyes began to sting. She’d only lost her husband to a tragic accident; but this family had known more than its share of heartbreak. And all the money in the world wouldn’t make it go away. She reached out and placed a hand over his and felt like she was reaching out to her own son. “It’s all right, Joseph; we never get too old to hurt.”

He took her fingers in a vice-like grip and looked up, and the anger and torment she saw made her wince.

“Tell me about him,” she urged with a gentle smile.

“My father didn’t raise me and Hoss alone,” he started.

*****

Joe couldn’t remember when he’d been so thoroughly exhausted – even a hard day’s work had never left him this wrung out. He peeled out of his clothes and hung them over the back of the chair then put out the lamp and sat on the bed. He looked forward to breakfast with Mrs. Cadence, but there was something he wasn’t. He had to tell the Bannings, and he knew how they felt about Adam, especially one of them.

He leaned back and his head had barely touched the pillow when he was fast asleep.

~TEN~

After breakfast Joe walked to the northern edge of town. It was a pretty good jaunt, but he was well rested and talking with Mrs. Cadence the night before seemed to have eased his mind. He’d slept better than he had in a while, and there’d been no bad dreams.

As he drew closer to his destination, one of Hoss’ many sayings came to him. “I’d just as soon take a stob in the eye with a sharp stick as to do this,” he could almost hear his brother say. The Cartwrights had been business associates and close personal friends with Siddon Banning for ten years now. And many were the times they’d had supper and met for business at his house. They knew his lovely wife Carolyn and their three daughters well. And he knew what the news he carried was going to do them.

Joe finally came up the long drive to the Banning mansion. It was as fine and stately a house as he’d ever seen, and a few times he’d even spent the night. But he’d always been glad to get back to the Ponderosa, where a man could put his feet up on the furniture, until Pa caught him.

He rapped the solid brass knocker against the sturdy oak door, and after a few minutes it opened back and Joe found himself looking into the angular face of Giles, the Banning’s houseman. In spite of his name, Giles had once been a roustabout at the lumber camps, and the only polish about him was his boots. “Joe Cartwright,” he said, a single gold eyetooth glinting in his grin. “Come on in, Mr. and Mrs. Banning’ll be mighty glad to see you.”

Joe took his hat off and stepped into the large foyer.

“Here, let me take your hat,” Giles said as he closed the door. “Mr. Banning’s in his study. I’ll take you to him.”

Joe thanked him and let himself be led down a dark wood paneled hall that he’d been down more than once. Giles knocked on an ornately carved door and a robust voice answered. Joe was shown into a purely masculine room.

“Joe,” Siddon Banning said as he came from behind his massive desk. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you. Come in, come in. Giles, bring us some coffee.”

“No, thank you,” Joe said solemnly, “none for me. But I would like for Carolyn to be here.”

A strange look crossed Siddon’s face. He gave Giles a nod of approval and the man backed out, pulling the door together.

“Sit down, Joe.” They shook hands and Siddon waited as his guest took a place in a black leather chair, then he parked himself on a corner of the desk. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in my house. It’s good to have you here. I hope Ben was happy with the arrangement I hashed out with Adam.” Siddon’s brow drew down as his gaze wandered over Joe.

“What arrangement?” Joe asked blandly, and then enlightenment came to him. “Oh, the timber deal for the new mill. Pa hasn’t been interested in business lately, and he hasn’t…” Joe riffled his fingers nervously in his hair and came to his feet. “I’m sorry, Siddon, I guess it’s nerves.”

Just then Carolyn Banning glided in, bright and bubbly as always. “Joseph Cartwright, what do you mean by staying away so long?” She clasped his hand fondly and kissed his cheek. “I’ll have to talk to your father about keeping you from us.”

“Hello, Carolyn, beautiful as always,” Joe said with a feeble attempt at a smile.

“Flatterer,” she beamed. “A typical Cartwright. You will stay for dinner, and I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Carolyn, I think Joe has something to tell us.” Siddon’s keen eyes never left him. “Don’t you, Joe.”

“I do, and there’s no easy way to say it.” Joe gently pulled away from Carolyn and stepped back.

“Well, the best one I always learned is to just come out with it,” Siddon said with his usual frankness.

“All right, I will.” But Joe couldn’t. He’d never liked giving this kind of news, and he didn’t want to have to say it again. He looked from one intense face to another. Then, he licked his dry lips, took a deep breath and came out with it. “It’s Adam…. He’s dead.”

Carolyn’s mouth flew open as her hand capped over it and Siddon’s eyes went black. “How? What happened?” Siddon asked.

But before anyone could say anything else the door opened back and fifteen-year-old Amelia Banning burst in. Her eyes searched her parent’s faces as if looking for an answer then turned to Joe.

“Amelia.” Carolyn reached out to her daughter but the girl darted from the room. “Amelia!”

With a fleeting look at the Bannings, Joe ran out after her. Carolyn started after her child but Siddon stopped her. “No, let Joe do it.”

Fourteen-year-old Marjorie and her twelve-year-old sister, Juliet, came into the room. “Daddy, what’s wrong with Amelia?” Marjorie asked.

Joe ran out and around the front of the house and kept going until he came to Carolyn’s flower garden. He passed through a rose-covered trellis and followed a cobble stoned path only a short way. He found Amelia standing by a marble statue of a cherub with her back to him. “Amelia,” he said softly, but she didn’t answer or turn around. He didn’t stop until he was standing directly behind her. “Amelia.”

“You lied.” Her voice was small and frightened. “You’re lying… or you’re wrong.”

“I’m not lying, and I wish I was wrong.” Tenderly, he turned her to him and took her hands. The tears on her cheeks glistened in the morning sunlight. “Adam’s dead, honey.”

Her innocent eyes looked into Joe’s soul, and then he saw the girl grow up all at once before him. Her fine features crumpled, and she threw her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. He held her tightly and caressed the golden ringlets.

“Did he… Did he suffer?”

Joe wished he could tell her the truth but knew it was too awful for anyone to hear, especially one so young, so he lied. “No, I don’t think so. I believe it was quick.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want him to… Oh, Joe.” Her arms squeezed around him and the weeping started.

He rested the side of his face against the top of her head, still stroking her silken hair. She continued to quiver and sob as he gathered her up and carried her back inside. Carolyn directed him upstairs, and she put her daughter to bed as Joe went back downstairs. Siddon was waiting for him at the bottom step.

“I’m sorry, Siddon,” Joe said dully.

“She had to find out some time, and it’s better coming from you.” Siddon clapped a hand on his back. “I know it’s a bit early, but I think we could both use a brandy. Maybe five or six.” They started back along the hall. “Giles.”

When they returned to the study, Joe resumed his place in the black leather chair. The matching leather sofa groaned under Siddon’s weight as he sat down. They’d no sooner done so when Giles came in with a large decanter and two snifters. In spite of what he’d done in a past life, Mason Giles was a model of efficiency that almost seemed to know what was wanted before it was asked. He sat them on the desk and was dismissed with a polite thank you. But before he went he gave Joe a look that told him the man knew and was sorry. Then Giles left the room as quietly as a ghost.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but you’re gonna have to a lot before this is laid to rest,” Siddon said as he filled the two snifters and handed one to Joe.

“I know,” Joe said and took a large gulp. The liquor burnt but he didn’t care since it matched his mood. “We don’t know much, not even who did it or why. We found him buried on the Ponderosa – someone’d used a shotgun on him.”

For one of the few times since he’d known him, Joe saw Siddon Banning go pale. He took a good swig of his brandy and Joe did likewise.

Siddon replenished their glasses and leaned back, the piece of furniture complaining again. “In my thirty-eight years I’ve seen, heard and done a lot of things, but this is the hardest. I still can’t believe it and I think it’s gonna take me a few years before I finally do.” He tipped his drink and took down half of it. “How’s the rest of the family taking it? I know Ben’s killed.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Siddon.” Joe finished his brandy. “You don’t know the half of it.” Now Joe supplied the refills. “I’ve never seen such a change come over one person in my life. I don’t even know him anymore. The thing is he saw Adam like that.” Then it dawned on him that he hadn’t given the grisly details. “Siddon, he didn’t have a face.”

If at all possible, Siddon went even paler. He chugged his glass empty and filled it again, splashing its contents. The room went quiet and stayed that way until the door opened, and Carolyn drifted in and sat next to her husband. It was obvious that Amelia hadn’t been the only one who’d been crying.

“Amelia cried herself to sleep so there won’t be any need for the doctor.” Her sad, weary azure eyes roved to the decanter. “I think I would like to have one of those.”

But before Siddon could summon him, Giles came in with two more snifters and handed one to Mrs. Banning. “If it’s all right, Mr. Banning, I’d like to join you.”

“It’s more than all right, Giles,” Siddon said as he supplied everyone with an ample drink. “Right now I think we all need to be together.”

******

By the time Joe left the Banning’s he was well plied with drink and more than just a little tipsy. The fresh air perked him up slightly as he walked back, but not enough to change his destination. He was headed for The Wooden Nickel saloon with the full intention of deadening the pain some more.

Joe went in through the batwing doors and stopped. This had always been Adam’s favorite watering hole when he was in town, and now it was Joe’s.

He went straight to the highly polished bar and leaned forward against it. “Give me a whisky, Steve. And keep ‘em comin’.”

Steve Balasco’s charcoal eyes went to Joe as he turned around. “Sure thing.” His lean build had no problem navigating his chosen bailiwick. He put a shot glass down and filled it in front of Joe, who took it in one jolt. He poured another round.

“Joe, a rumor’s been going through town that I don’t like the sound of.”

“That my brother Adam’s dead,” Joe said and downed the rotgut.

Steve nodded. “That’s the one, but judging by the shape you’re in, it’s not a rumor, is it?”

Joe shook his head.

Steve reacted like he’d been hit in the stomach with a board. He’d been tending bar in the Nickel for three years, and he knew and liked all the Cartwrights. But he and Adam had something in common; they both liked poetry. Some people made fun of him when they found out, but not Adam. They’d found kindred spirits in one another, and Steve always looked forward to the next time he was in Bantree, now that was at an end.

“What happened?”

Without looking up Joe simply said, “Shotgun.”

Steve’s eyes clamped shut, his face contorted and his teeth gritted. “Who?” he asked as he looked back at Joe.

Again Joe shook his head and banged his glass on the bar.

Steve filled it and left the bottle. He held back his mounting rage as he bent down and took a wooden mallet from behind the bar used to thump unruly drunks. He pounded loudly on the shiny surface. “Gents!” He continued hammering until he got their complete attention. “Listen up!”

Everyone went quiet and turned around.

“Joe Cartwright,” he started, resting his hand on Joe’s shoulder, “just told me that his brother Adam is dead! Well, I can only say that we lost a good man when we lost Adam Cartwright!”

“Hear! Hear!” seemed to rise up as a single voice from the patrons.

Steve took down a bottle of the house’s best whiskey and a shot glass, poured himself one and held it into the air. “I’d like to raise a toast to Adam Cartwright, the finest man it’s ever been my privilege to know! To Adam Cartwright!”

A chorus of “Adam Cartwright” filled Joe’s ears and the sound of drinks being downed. “Adam Cartwright,” he said to himself. “Here’s to you, brother.” Then he took another belt.

Steve’s voice began to rise once more as the room went silent.

Flow down, cold rivulet to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and sea,
A rivulet, then a river:
No where by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thy alder tree,
And here thine aspen shiver;
And here by thee will hum the bee,
For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

For the first time Joe realized that Steve was standing next to him. “Thanks, Steve,” he said quietly then poured himself another. “Thanks,” and he squeezed the bartender’s arm.

“He was my friend. And when you hang the man who killed him I want to be there.”

“Count on it,” Joe said and took down the whiskey in one slug. “Now why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Steve went back around behind the bar. “It’d be my pleasure.”

Joe poured two more stiff ones, and he and Steve drank a private toast to his brother. The day was winding down and was headed for a long evening.

~ELEVEN~

By the time Joe rounded back to the hotel it was well after dark and to simply say he was drunk was like calling the Mississippi River a stream. When he staggered into the lobby his clothes looked like they’d been slept in. And, unlike many who’d had too much, he wasn’t jovial and happy or mean and nasty, just sad.

Tom wanted to go with him, but Joe assured him he could make it fine. Barely able to navigate the stairs, by some stroke of luck he made it to his room in one piece. He fumbled with his key, trying his best to be quiet, but without success. He couldn’t help notice that the key hole kept moving on him.

As Joe bent over to give it another try a firm hand took the key from him. He straightened and looked around at Tom Piedmont. “Ah, Tom,” he said stupidly and draped his arm around the man’s shoulders. “I guess you noticed I’m more ‘n a little drunk.”

“Yeah, Joe, I noticed,” Tom said as he pushed the already unlocked door open. “Now why don’t you let me help you?” He steered Joe inside and lit the lamp on the dresser.

“Nah, I can do it m’self,” Joe slurred. “I don’t need…” But the rest of the words never materialized.

Tom maneuvered him to the bed and sat him down on the edge of it. As he began unbuckling the gun belt he became aware that Joe seemed to be in a whole other world. “Joe?”

Joe sat motionless – he didn’t even seem to be aware that Tom was still there.

Mrs. Cadence was just about to turn in when a light tapping came at her door. Consternation wrinkled her forehead as she retied her robe sash with a jerk. “Now who on earth could that be at this hour?” she asked herself as she went to answer it. “Who is it?”

“It’s Tom Piedmont, ma’am. Could you please open your door?”

She did as he asked and peered out at him. “Do you know what time it is?” she asked crisply.

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m sorry about that, but there’s somethin’ wrong with Joe Cartwright and knowin’…”

“Is he all right?” Anxiety swirled inside her like an eddy current.

“I don’t know, ma’am. He came in drunk as three polecats and…”

“Drunk? Where is he?”

“In his room. He just sets there on the bed – no talkin’, no movin’, no nothin’,” he said desperately. “I was wonderin’ if you’d mind…”

“Of course I don’t mind. Take me to him.”

When Mrs. Cadence bustled into the doorway of Joe’s room she stopped dead. He sat slumped on the side of the bed, just as Tom said. She spoke his name but if he heard her it didn’t show.

She scuffed lightly over to him. “Joseph, it’s Mrs. Cadence. Are you all right?” She sat down next to him as Tom came to stand at the footboard. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Are you injured?”

“As far as I can tell, ma’am, there ain’t a mark on him.”

Gingerly, she reached out and began rubbing Joe’s back up and down. She’d done this with her own sons and daughters when they were upset. And for someone she’d only just met, he brought out her motherly instincts like no one had in a long time. She repeated his name but still he didn’t seem to hear her. Then she started to say something to Tom Piedmont when a voice came soft and low.

“We knew who it was even before Hoss got all the dirt clear. And when he uncovered his face…” Joe’s voice cracked and died. It took nearly a minute before he went on. “…it wasn’t there. Somebody’d used a shotgun an’…” The tears started down his cheeks.

“Dear Lord,” she said under her breath.

“But we still knew it was Adam.” Joe’s fingers dug into his knees as he continued to stare at the floor. “Pa couldn’t take it, seein’ him like that.” He began trembling all over. “I tried talkin’ to him, but he…”

“But he what, Joseph? What did your father do?” She began rubbing his back more vigorously.

“He… backhanded me.” Joe absently scrubbed at his cheek where he’d been struck. “Pa never did that to any one of us before. But he…” Desolate, haunted little boy eyes turned to Mrs. Cadence. “I think he wished it’d been me instead.”

“Oh, no, Joseph, I’m sure he didn’t.” She cupped his chin in her other hand. “I’m sure he didn’t. Your father was just so very hurt that he wasn’t thinking clearly.”

He just looked at her, the tears coming harder. Grief was cutting through his alcoholic daze, and he felt like all the sorrow and all the sense of loss bottled up inside him had found an escape. Then he reached out to her. Mrs. Cadence put her arms around him and held him close. He rested his head on her shoulder and let himself be enfolded in a mother’s love that he’d lost so long ago.

“It’s all right now, Joseph,” she said as she ran her fingers through his soft curls, pushing them back from his face. “The pain of losing someone you love never goes away, but it dims with time. No matter where you go or how long you live, Adam will always be with you. No one will ever be able to take that from you.”

In the warmth and safety of Mrs. Cadence’s embrace Joe could feel the sadness and ache evaporate as sleep began to overtake him. And the whiskey made it easier to give in to it. Her soft voice drifted into a fog and gradually faded into welcomed oblivion.

Mrs. Cadence could feel his breath against her neck. “He’s asleep, poor child,” she whispered.

“I hope he don’t remember this in the mornin’.” Tom came around in front of him.

“I hope he does. I know that seems callous, but he needs to,” she said, unaware that she’d begun to rock slightly. “The more he can get it out into the open, the sooner the healing can begin.” She kissed his forehead and gave his unruly hair one last, gentle swipe. “Now, if you will, Mr. Piedmont, get him into bed. Sleep is the best thing right now.”

She stood back and watched as Tom got Joe settled for the night, removing his boots and covering him with a blanket. Her heart went out to this young man like she hadn’t anticipated. Until she’d met Joseph Cartwright, she believed the West to be a land filled with crude, boorish, many depraved, barbarians with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and she hadn’t given herself a chance to know anyone. But this boy needed her like no one had in many a year. And she had to admit that she needed him to.

She could feel the burning behind her eyes but the tears would have to wait until she got back to her room. Then she could cry properly in her own privacy.

*****

Joe felt like his head was going to split in half, and then the halves were going to spilt. It hurt to look at himself in the mirror.

He braced his hands on the dresser and watched the red-rimmed eyes looking back at him. “Boy, how many times did you bend your elbow last night?”

Joe flinched at the words. Adam had always used that very self-same phrase when confronting his little brother after an all-night bender. A touching smile turned the corners of his mouth and tugged at his eyes. “I guess you always will be with me, hey, brother.”

He finished buttoning his shirt and was tucking it in when someone started knocking sharply and loudly at the door. It felt like Joe was being hit over the head with a running iron. He groaned and rushed to make them stop.

All thoughts of throttling whoever it was left him when he jerked the door open. A scraggly-haired, freckle-faced boy of about nine stood there with an envelope.

“You Mr. Joseph Cartwright?”

“That’s right. Is that for me?” Joe massaged his left temple since even talking was an exercise in misery.

“Well, sure it is if you’re Mr. Joseph Cartwright, and that’ll be two bits.”

“All right,” Joe said as he scrounged around in his shirt pocket. “Here’s three.”

“Gee, thanks, Mister,” the boy said breathlessly. “You wantta send anything?”

“Not right yet.” He took the telegram and the boy ran off down the hall as he closed the door.

Stepping to the window where the light was better he took out the folded sheet of paper and read:

Joseph Cartwright
Sinclair Hotel
Bantree, Nevada

Have you found Adam yet? Everything here about the same. Hope you come home soon. Miss you little brother. Hoss

He put the paper back in its envelope and laid it on the dresser then finished getting ready and left. The first thing he’d do was send a return wire to Hoss and then he could do whatever he wanted with the remainder of the day.

Rested from his whiskey-induced, dreamless night he felt ready to tackle just about anything. That is, once the little man with the hammer stopped hitting the anvil inside his head.

He’d slept away breakfast and was hungry. He checked his pocket watch; it’d be time for dinner before long, but there was still plenty of time.

As he came down into the lobby, a cheery voice paralyzed him where he stood. He flinched for he knew she’d seen him all roostered up. Removing his hat, he turned around.

“Good morning, Joseph. You look fine this morning. Had yourself a bit of a time last night, didn’t you?”

Joe’s eyes darted away from her briefly – he’d rather face a rope. “I guess I did, ma’am.”

“How many bars did you go to?”

“Only one, but I kinda lost track of the time so I couldn’t tell you how long I was there.”

“Well, I’ve never held a man’s drink against him as long as he doesn’t make a habit of it. Even my Hiram liked a nip now and then.” She gave his hand a pat. “And men tend to grieve differently than we women do.”

“Yes, ma’am, I guess we do,” he said and self-consciously ruffled his hair.

“Oh, you don’t have to be embarrassed with me,” she laughed lightly. “Now, what do you have planned for this bright, sunny day?”

“Well, I gotta go the telegraph office and send a wire to my brother, and then I don’t know.”

“How would you like to have dinner with a crotchety old woman?”

He grinned impishly. “If I can find one I’ll do just that.”

“Hiram would have liked you, yes he most certainly would have,” she said on a chuckle. “I have some errands to run, and I’ll meet you back here.”

“That sounds fine, ma’am.” Then he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “And, ma’am, thank you for last night. I don’t remember everything, but I do remember a mother being with me. Your children are very lucky.” He kissed her again, then stuck his hat on his head and started out. “And supper at Tabler’s.”

But as Joe was going out, Mason Giles was coming in and they stopped each other and shook hands.

“Giles, what’re you doin’ here? There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

“No, nothin’s wrong, but I was sent to find you. The Banning’s are having guests tonight, and they’d like for you to come.”

“A party?” Joe asked, with a frown.

“Not a party; a memoriam for your brother, and it wouldn’t be right without you. Anyone who knew him is invited.”

Joe glanced at Mrs. Cadence. “Well, I promised this lady that I’d have supper with her.”

“Bring her along, she’s more than welcome,” Giles gave her a warm smile and tipped his hat. “And anyone else you’d like to.”

“Well, there are two others.”

“Bring as many as you want to, Joe. This is for you and Adam.”

Joe turned to her and let his melting green eyes ask the question.

“I would be honored to come to Adam Cartwright’s memoriam.”

“And don’t worry about gettin’ all gussied up; what you’ve got on is just fine, unless you just want to. Come at seven or whenever you get ready, just so it’s before eight. I’ll tell the Banning’s to expect you.”

They shook hands again and Giles left. Joe decided to wait about sending the wire to Hoss, but he had two invitations to make. He tipped his hat to Mrs. Cadence and went out.

~TWELVE~

For the evening Joe rented a carriage to take him and his guests to the Banning’s. But rather than fool hiring a driver he drove himself. It was just a little after seven when they came up the drive and stopped off to the side with a large number of carriages, buggies and riderless horses. He helped Mrs. Cadence down, and then they went to the front portico where Giles waited. They were shown into the foyer where Siddon and Carolyn Banning were greeting their guests as they streamed in.

“Joe,” Siddon boomed as he clasped Joe’s hand in a hearty handshake, “I’m glad you came.”

“Well, since it’s in honor of my brother, I couldn’t do any less.”

Carolyn took Joe’s hands and kissed his cheek. “It’s for all of us who knew him.”

“This is Mrs. Hiram Cadence from Maine.”

“I never met Adam personally, but through Joseph I feel like I was able to know him,” Mrs. Cadence said.

“We’re glad you were able to come,” Carolyn said kindly.

“And I’m sure you already know Steve Balasco from The Wooden Nickel and Tom Piedmont from the Sinclair,” Joe went on.

“Oh, yes, me and Steve are well acquainted,” Siddon said as he shook the bartender’s hand. Then he did the same with Tom. “And I know Tom too. We’re glad all of you came. Mill around. There’s food and drink. I’m sure there are people here you know and some maybe you don’t, but they all knew Adam. So I hope you have a nice evening and share some good memories.”

“Thank you for this,” Joe said. “I think Adam would’ve liked it.”

“Adam was a good man,” Carolyn said, her grasp tightening on Joe’s hand, “and he should be remembered. This was the least we could do for him for his friendship and compassion and understanding.”

As Joe and his companions started off Siddon called out to him. “Joe, make sure that you don’t leave before eight o’clock. And be in the ballroom.”

Joe assured him that they would then they went on. Steve and Tom split off and went their own ways but Mrs. Cadence stayed with Joe. He watched the sparkle in her eyes.

“Joe, this is all so splendid and I am enjoying myself.” Remorse crossed her full face. “And I feel guilty. It’s because of your brother’s death that I’m here and…”

“No, don’t feel that way. Adam’d be happy that you’re having a good time because of him.” He snorted. “If he can see us now, I think he probably is too.”

“You know, the more I hear about him, the sadder it makes me that I didn’t get the chance to meet him.”

“I wish you could’ve too.” Then he gripped her shoulders and turned her to him. “Now,” he started on a cheerier note, “maybe you’d like to see some of the grounds before it gets too dark.”

“I’d love to.”

“I think you’ll like the garden, so we’ll start there.” Joe hooked her arm around his, and they went into the ballroom and out French doors onto the veranda. They worked their way down a slight embankment and along a cobbled path. As they drew closer the perfume of a profusion of roses hung in the heavy summer air.

“Joe, this is wonderful. I didn’t know places like this existed in the west. And the Bannings seem like such fine people.”

“They are. Siddon came out here in ’48 from Seattle with Carolyn and their first-born daughter. He started a logging camp that became the town of Bantree.” Joe grinned lopsidedly and shook his head. “At the time he didn’t have two bits to rub together. But he’s got a good head on his shoulders and it didn’t take long.”

“And how did you meet them?”

“My family’s also in timber, as well as cattle. We have a saw mill and we met Siddon through business dealings.”

They walked on, taking their time and drinking in the evening. The sound of masculine voices and laughter drifted down from the house.

“Joseph,” Mrs. Cadence said as she drew up, stopping him, “who is that?”

Joe looked around, and his expression tightened. “That’s Amelia, the Banning’s oldest daughter.”

“She looks so terribly alone.”

“She’s taking this really hard. She’s known Adam since she was six and loved him dearly. But when she began growing into a young lady things got a little more serious.”

“Oh, my. And how did your brother handle it?”

“In typical Adam fashion. He never took it lightly or laughed about it. He said she’d grow out of it, but for now it wouldn’t hurt anything and it’d make her feel special. Last year he made a trip here for no other reason than to take her to Tabler’s for her birthday.” Joe took a deep breath. “I think I should talk to her. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t. I have daughters of my own, and I know how devastating these things can be on one so young.”

Amelia sat on a weathered wooden bench near the base of a huge pine, her hands folded in her lap. Her thoughts seemed miles away as she stared into the dregs of the day as they stepped to her. She didn’t notice them.

“Amelia…. Amelia.” She finally looked around and the sadness in her young eyes went through Joe like a war lance. He could almost see her heart breaking and shared her deep pain. This girl had been forced to grow up all at once, jarring her from a crush that only a teenager could have for a dashing older man. Adam had been trying to move her delicately through it, but a shotgun blast had changed all that. “Amelia, this is Mrs. Cadence.”

Amelia politely but barely acknowledged her then turned back to the dusk.

Mrs. Cadence sat down by her and took one of the girl’s hands. “My name’s Verina and I am very glad to meet you Amelia.” Her smile warmed the steadily cooling air. “I know how you feel. I lost the man I loved too. His name was Hiram.”

Amelia looked back around at her, and Joe watched as a connection formed between two people that had both suffered the same way. Then, without a moment’s notice, Amelia threw herself into the arms of this gentle stranger and cried like a little girl. Mrs. Cadence talked softly and soothed as Joe saw the mother take over as she had with him the night before.

“Joseph, why don’t you go on and leave us? We’ll be along presently, but right now we need to talk woman to woman after the tears are spent.”

Joe didn’t question it and – with a duck of his head – started back to the house. He went in through the same doors they’d gone out. Small cliques of men, all talking and sharing memories and laughs, filled the room. Over to one corner he saw that Steve Balasco and Tom Piedmont were joined by six others. Steve, a drink in hand, saw him and gave a two-fingered salute. Joe returned it then went in search of something to eat. He’d skipped supper to come here and now he could eat a steer, horns, hide, hooves and all. He wandered down the paneled hall and found a banquet set up in the grand dining room. Fine china plates were being filled with roast beef, wild pheasant, venison en croute and a large variety of braised and cooked vegetables. The smells were enticing so Joe got himself a plate.

As he was being served a piece of the delightfully rare venison wrapped in golden pastry a voice at his shoulder asked, “Aren’t you Joe Cartwright?”

Joe looked around into a face that looked vaguely familiar. “Yes, I am, but I can’t…”

“Daniel Wilkie,” the man said as he stuck out a mitt of a hand. “I knew your brother from across the bargaining table. And I’ve always come away the worse for it.” A wide, toothy grin exposed tobacco-yellowed teeth. “He was a shrewd customer and not easy to get around.”

“Oh, I know that,” Joe said as a large portion if glazed carrots were spooned next to the meat. Then recognition dawned. “I know who you are now.” Joe moved on down the buffet line and placed a roll on his plate. “You were bidding on the contract my brother just closed for the new grist mill to be built here.”

“That’s right. You know, caught between Siddon Banning and Adam Cartwright, I didn’t stand a chance. Once or twice I’ve thought about hiring somebody to shoot him in the leg to just keep him away. But then I would’ve missed the opportunity to cross swords with him.” Wilkie shook his head and took out a long dark cigar. “It won’t be the same anymore. When Adam died the challenge and, yes, the fun went out of it.” He took a sigh if resignation and looked disdainfully at the cigar. “Well, I’d better go outside to smoke this. Some of the ladies find my stogies offensive and don’t care to tell me.” He pumped Joe’s hand again. “I really am sorry about Adam, and you tell your family this business won’t be the same without him.”

“I will, Mr. Wilkie,” Joe said then watched the man’s broad back until it disappeared through the doorway. He shook his head then got a goblet of red wine, a fork and knife, a napkin and went off to eat.

After his delicious meal Joe went looking for anyone he’d come with. He stopped just outside the ballroom and checked his pocket watch. It was rounding onto eight o’clock, lacking two or three minutes. Someone said his name, and he turned just as Mrs. Cadence came up behind him and took his arm.

“Here you are. You promised the Bannings that you would be here,” she said half dragging him in. “I knew you wouldn’t disappointment them.”

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“No, but we won’t find out if we stay out here.”

The ballroom was filled with people and more were coming in. Siddon and Carolyn stood on the dais where the musicians usually played. Something standing on the floor between them was draped in a white cloth. Marjorie and Juliet stood next to their mother. “All right, I think we’re all here so let’s simmer down,” Siddon boomed to make himself heard and it quieted. “We’re all here tonight because somebody very special has passed from our lives.”

Joe suddenly went cold and vacant. He felt a squeeze on his arm and looked briefly into Mrs. Cadence’s reassuring face.

“Adam Cartwright,” Siddon went on, “was a friend, a business associate, a rival…”

“And one of the best!” Daniel Wilkie burst out and people laughed.

“… a son, and a brother,” Siddon continued, directing his eyes to Joe. “He was there when we needed help or just needed somebody to tell our troubles to. When I first met him he was twenty-four and right out of college. But he never once held that over me or tried to make me feel worth less because of it. Right then a long and lasting friendship was born and it took his death to put an end to it. He was taken from us too soon in a way that happens too much out here. And for everything he gave us, me and Carolyn and our family wanted to do something for him. It’s our small way of saying thank you. And that’s why you’re all here.” Then he turned his attention back to Joe. “Joe, come on up here.”

Every eye turned to him.

“Go on, Joseph,” Mrs. Cadence urged softly.

Then he felt a gentle tug at his other arm, and he looked around at Amelia Banning, her delicate lips curving.

“Do it, Joe. Do it for him and every one who cares about him.”

All at once Joe knew why he’d come to Bantree. With a nod and a smile he went to the front of the room. Siddon clapped a hand on his shoulder then removed the white cover from what it hid: a very young Ponderosa pine. Joe’s eyes burned as he gawked at the wonderful thing. He looked at Siddon, who grinned and winked with a nod. Then Joe found a shovel thrust into his hand.

“All right, folks,” Siddon barked, “let’s all go outside.”

Everyone trooped out across the veranda and down through Carolyn’s garden until they came to a small stand of pines. Joe found himself at the center of things as the crowd formed around him and Siddon.

“A hundred years from tonight,” Siddon spoke up, “when we’re gone and this is all forgot Adam’s tree will still be here.” Then he turned to Joe and held out the baby pine. “Plant it, Joe.”

Joe took the sapling and set it down then began to dig. The only sounds were the night insects, the shovel biting into the earth and a sniffle or a cough now and then. When the hole was deep enough, Joe let the implement drop and picked up the little tree and set it into the ground. He looked at it for a long moment. “Grow tall,” he whispered to it then began putting the dirt back around it.

When he’d finished Joe picked up the shovel and stepped back next to Carolyn. She looked at him and it was comforting. Then his eyes searched until they found Mrs. Cadence, and she was holding Amelia’s hand. Standing behind them were Steve Balasco and Tom Piedmont. It was good to have friends and many of those with Joe were the best kind.

“Tonight we plant this tree in remembrance of Adam Cartwright,” Siddon said reverently. “It can never replace what we’ve lost but it can stand as a reminder of what was ours for an all too short a time.” His eyes went to the ever darkening sky. “Good-night, Adam, and good-bye, at least for now.”

It grew silent again as Joe looked up. It’d been a long time since he’d known such inner peace and it felt good. He knew now that he could go back home to the Ponderosa, and it was time. Now he could remember Adam the way he should be: strong, caring, talented, protective, generous, sensitive, and, at times, gentle. As a loving, albeit pigheaded, son and brother whose passing left an un-refillable hole. And the guilt he’d felt for having lived when his brother had died no longer existed, for he understood that it could’ve just as easily happened the other way around. Carolyn’s hand slipped into his and tightened around his fingers.

“Good-night, buddy,” Joe whispered.

Yes, it was time to go home.

THE END

PART 1

NOTES: The town of Bantree is totally fictional. It came out of my own mind and not a history book.

The poem recited by Steve in The Wooden Nickel is “A Farewell” by Alfred Lord Tennyson and first published in 1842. It has remained unaltered since 1843. And though it is about a river I thought it was a fitting way for Steve to say good-bye to a friend.

Some of the characters and parts of this story aren’t mine. No infringement was intended and it is simply for the enjoyment of Bonanza fans.

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