The Ambush
By
Janice Sagraves

For this story set in 1860 I decided to use Sheriff Beggs from “Death at Dawn” and Glory from “Death on Sun Mountain” puts in an appearance. Some of the characters and settings are not mine, and no infringement is intended. This is simply for fellow Bonanza fans.

ONE

It was one of those glorious fall days that come to the Sierras. The leaves had been losing their summer green for nearly two weeks as a harbinger of the coming winter. The chill breeze that blew in the trees sounded like the rustling of so many ladies’ petticoats and was scented with nature’s heady fragrance. It was definitely a beautiful day but the bitter taste that lingered in Adam Cartwright’s mouth tainted it.

He had gone into Virginia City to meet with some cattle buyer on Pa’s behalf. Figuring that the deal would end late he had told his father that he would probably spend the night in town. However, it had gone well and quicker than expected, and after what had happened in the Bucket of Blood he had just wanted to get away and go home.

He didn’t like disputes – never had – but that didn’t mean he would walk away from one. And when he saw a wrong it was his nature to get involved. More than once he had cursed himself for doing so, but this was not one of them. This time he knew that it had been the only thing he could do, and he didn’t regret it for a second. Given the opportunity he would do the same over again, after all, he had to live with himself when others didn’t.

The big red chestnut walked along at an easy, relaxing pace, lulling Adam into a sense of well-being. He was eager to get back to his family, and he wouldn’t mention the distasteful affair in the saloon.

He looked up from beneath the brim of his silver-gray hat. The early evening sun filled the azure sky with streaks of crimson, bittersweet and magenta and the darkening clouds were illuminated from above. Adam loved Nevada sunsets and this was a favorite time for him. Still, he would be glad to get home to the warmth and settling influence of those he loved.

Sport ambled on.

<>C<>

As always a day on the Ponderosa started early, before it was even possible to get around without the aid of a lamp or candle. By the time the family came downstairs, Hop Sing would be taking up their breakfast. The Cartwright household was efficient and well run, most of the time.

Ben Cartwright sat at the head of the table taking care of the last of his coffee and what few bites remained on his plate. He’d had a restless night, though he couldn’t explain why, and it had left him a little tried and edgy. With a furtive grin over the rim of his cup, he watched as his middle son devoured his food like a starving man.

Hoss Cartwright was a big, robust soul to say the least, and it took a lot to keep his massive furnace burning. He loved to eat and was a constant source of awe and wonderment to others, even his own family. He took up four more biscuits and spooned gravy over it and dug into it.

Joe Cartwright, who had already finished, was just going outside to start his chores. He didn’t have an appetite like his father and brothers, and was usually the first to finish. He put on his hat then gun belt and tied the laces around his thigh then started out. “Pa!”

The urgency in that single word was enough to cause a mad scramble from the table and chairs scraped the floor and boots thumped the hardwood. As Ben and Hoss came around behind him there was nothing to say, they could plainly see what was wrong. Sport stood at the hitch rail – un-tethered and riderless.

They went out and – with soothing words – Hoss carefully took the reins so as not to startle the animal. He ran a hand along the smooth neck and across his withers, both darkened and stained. “He’s been run hard. Adam wouldn’t just leave ‘im out here sweated like this.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Ben said. “Not without a very good reason.”

“I’ll go look in the barn,” Joe said and darted off across the yard.

Ben stepped to the horse and scratched between his eyes. What possible reason could Adam have for leaving his beloved Sport unattended and lathered like this? There were a lot of different ones and none of them were comforting. The cause for his bad night had been given form and substance and it filled him with unrest and apprehension.

Joe dashed out and rushed back to them. “He’s not in there. I looked all over and there wasn’t a trace.”

“All right,” Ben said with conviction, “we’ll go look for him, and we’ll head in the direction of town. That’ll be the best place to start.” He glanced up at the lightening sky. “And by the time we start out we’ll be better able to see.”

“I’ll git one o’ the hands to take care o’ Sport.”

“All right, son, but be quick about it.”

Ben went back into the house and immediately began making ready to head out in search of his oldest son. He didn’t know what the trouble could be, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It didn’t matter, though, what did was that Adam was out there, afoot and maybe even injured. He tried pushing away the dark thoughts that encroached on his mind but it wasn’t working. For each one he rid himself of there was another to take its place.

By the time they mounted up and headed out it was – as Ben had said – lighter and easier to see. The sky still hung gray and the sun darted among the smoky clouds, playing shadows over the land. There was little in the way of words and alert eyes missed nothing. What escaped one another caught sight of and it was investigated. Adam was out here, and they knew it beyond any shade of doubt.

“You know,” Joe started in an attempt to lessen the tension for his father’s sake, “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he meets us with a bit of a limp.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Hoss said brightly. “All mad and flustered over bein’ throwed. You know how he hates that.”

“Who doesn’t? It can ruin a man’s day.”

“But Adam more ‘n most.”

Abruptly, Ben reined in the big buckskin and sat motionless in the saddle.

“Pa, what is it?” Hoss asked as he and Joe pulled up on either side of him.

But Ben said nothing. As they followed his gaze their spirits sank. Near a clump of tall grass lay something very still and no one had to tell them what it was.

Ben nearly leapt from the saddle and took off at a dead run. His sons’ shouted after him but he didn’t hear them as his increasingly sick heart drove him forward. He fell to his knees against the cold ground, and the blood rushed in his ears in accompaniment to the drumming of his pulse.

Adam was lying face down as still as death itself. His arms were at his sides with his hands toward his feet as if he hadn’t attempted to break his fall. He had been shot in the back and blood had swelled onto his coat, hideously staining the tan fabric.

“Adam,” Ben said softly and the words quivered as he placed his hand on his boy’s back. If life dwelled within his son he couldn’t feel it.

But Adam didn’t move or respond in any manner. Joe and Hoss stood on the other side of their brother as their despairing father lovingly turned him over. His face was so at peace and gave no outward signs of the violence that had befallen him.

Carefully, Ben lifted him and cradled him close and a small whimper passed his lips as his arms tightened around his son. He placed his ear against Adam’s chest and his face crumpled. The pain and anguish in his eyes as he looked up shot arrows of unadulterated sorrow through his two youngest.

With great tenderness, Ben brushed the dirt from Adam’s pale cheek then smoothed back the heavy black hair. He pushed dead leaves and other debris from his coat with trembling fingers then held one of the fine hands. “You’re so cold…. I need to get you home to the fire. You shouldn’t be… You shouldn’t be so…” Then he clutched his lifeless son to his chest and – wrapping his arms around him – buried his face against his boy and wept like a child. His broad shoulders shook, and his pitiful sobs rose to the sky like an entreaty to spare the life of one he held so dear.

Hoss stood in helpless grief and watched his father. His brother was dead and Pa was dying inside, and there was nothing he could do except to die a bit himself. Tears floated over the surface of his saddened blue eyes and his gentle heart thought to break.

Joe felt the rage close in around him like a hot burlap sack. Some cowering bastard had shot his brother in the back and didn’t even have the guts to face him. Vengeance burned like an ember – bright and hot – and took on a life of its own. He wouldn’t rest until he’d found the man who had done this and he lay dead at this Cartwright’s feet.

As if charged by the nearness of his father or the lamentations of a grieving man, Adam moaned faintly. Ben’s weeping abated as he straightened and – blinking away the tears – looked into his son’s face. “Adam.” He squeezed the treasured hand. “Adam, do you hear me?”

Adam moved ever so slightly but it was enough to give a sign of life, however small, and a lift to three shattered hearts.

Joe stooped in front of his father and placed a hand on his arm. “Pa, you have to get him home. I’ll go for the doctor but you have to get him home.”

Ben’s grief-shrouded brain was slow to respond, but he finally looked up. “Go, Joe, go.”

Joe raced to Cochise then vaulted onto his back and was gone in a whirl of wind.

“Hoss, help me with your brother.”

Hoss took Adam from him as delicately as possible lest he cause any further damage and carried him back to the horses.

Ben quickly climbed aboard Buck and – leaning down – reached out. “Hand him up to me.”

“Pa, I think you oughtta let me do it.”

“I said hand him up to me.”

Hoss read the determination on Pa’s face and in his eyes and knew well arguing would be futile. And right now Adam’s life hung in a fragile balance and there wasn’t time for such nonsense. With all his strength he raised his brother to their father’s waiting arms then went to Chubb and rose into the saddle.

Ben held his son in front of him as he had when he was a baby, one of Adam’s long arms hanging loose. The sadness that resided in his chest as he looked down at his nearly-dead boy cried out for this young man to live and for an injustice to be righted. And if Adam did die, the search for justice would be fierce and harsh and relentless. A family torn asunder would see to that.

TWO

It took longer to return home than it had to find Adam. Ben and Hoss were afraid that any hard riding would finish what a coward’s bullet had started so they took it slow and easy. Not once the whole way would Ben relinquish his charge, though Hoss kept trying to talk Pa into letting him take his brother but each time got those stern coffee eyes.

When they finally stopped in front of the big house Hoss was the first to dismount. “I’ll take ‘im,” he said as he reached up. “You’re all done in an’ all Adam needs is for you to fall with ‘im.”

Ben reluctantly agreed and let Hoss take him then he got down. Shoving his exhaustion into the background he rushed for the front door, Hoss coming along behind him.

“Hop Sing!” Ben shouted as they headed for the stairs. “Hop Sing!”

As the little cook came from the kitchen his face instantly went the color of chalk. “What happen?”

“He’s been shot. I need towels and bandages.”

“Yes, Mista Cartlight.” Then he scuttled back into the kitchen.

Ben led the way up the staircase and down the hall. He opened the door to Adam’s room and Hoss came in sideways, careful of the doorjamb. Lightly, he laid his brother on the bed as Ben sat next to his eldest.

“We have to get him out of this coat,” Ben said as he began undoing it. “And we need to get him warmed up.” He finished then leaned Adam forward, and his head rested on his father’s shoulder. His shallow breathing was like a feather brushing against Ben’s neck and it turned his heart.

With a touch amazingly light for such large hands, Hoss removed his brother’s irreparably damaged coat. He deftly worked the sleeves off the long arms then haphazardly tossed it aside. He then sat down and raised the back of the shirt to check on the wound. Though the bleeding had stopped, Adam’s back was covered in dried blood and it made Hoss hurt. Lowering the blood-stiffened cloth he suddenly felt the need to leave the room. He stood and watched as Adam was lowered back onto the bed, lip as a rag doll. What small flicker of life he had shown when they had found him seemed to have gone out.

Ben feared what he was seeing and it ripped great gashes inside him. Tears streaked his face, and he knew a sadness that he as a father had never known. He softly caressed an ashen cheek and the deep urge to hold his son overtook him. Again, he brought Adam up from the bed and leaned his boy against him. “I love you, son,” he whispered into an unhearing ear and a breath came raggedly. How could this be happening? How could he be losing one of the most cherished things in his life? His hold tightened around that cherished thing, and he felt all the love he had for his son flung back at him.

As he sat there he became aware of an almost imperceptible shivering. Adam was freezing and his body was reacting unconsciously. He pulled the bedspread from the mattress and brought it around both of them. If only he could get Adam warm, maybe it would help, and maybe it was too late already.

With sorrow so heavy it threatened to swallow him whole, Hoss quietly went out into the hall. He didn’t want to believe that Adam was going to die, that Death could ride in on its pale horse and take his older brother from them, but reality was staring him in the face, and he knew what he didn’t want to.

As he stood there with his head bowed Hop Sing silently came up the stairs with his arms loaded down with towels and bandages. The little man just stopped and looked at him. Hop Sing had been a part of this family for sixteen years and it gave him the greatest pleasure. When he came the youngest boy had been two, this one eight and the oldest fourteen, and they had taken to him from the start. Only Missy Marie had caused any problems, but even she had come to befriend him as well. Now they were in danger of suffering another such loss as they had with her and it grieved him to think about it. “You all light, Mista Hoss?” The pain-wracked blue eyes came to his face and made him ache.

“Don’t worry about me none – just take those in to Pa.”

Hop Sing looked at him for a second longer then whispered into the room.

Hoss would go back in a bit, but not just now, not just yet. If Adam was going to die he thought Pa should have some time alone with him before it came. Again he lowered his head and this time he clasped his hands in front of him. “Please let my brother be well again,” he said almost inaudibly. “An’ if’n You havta take ‘im make sure he gits to his ma, an’ take care o’ our pa too. He’s gonna need it real bad.” His eyes scrunched tighter as his head dropped even more and then his wide shoulders began to shake.

<>C<>

It was approaching ten o’clock when the little black-and-white paint tore into the young town of Virginia City. Born seemingly overnight, the burgeoning metropolis had sprung from the Washoe Diggings. With the discovery of silver, its population had swelled like a flooding river and buildings grew from what had once been tents and shacks. So now – at roughly a year old – it had taken on the appearance of an honest-to-Pete town.

Businesses and saloons weren’t the only things it could boast of, it also had a sheriff and a doctor, and right now Joe Cartwright’s goal was to find the latter. The eighteen-year-old ground tied his horse in front of what had been one of the first permanent buildings erected and – shabby as it was – now served as the doctor’s home and office until he could find something better.

Paul Martin had come to this area with some of the early settlers, knowing that they would be in dire need of a doctor, being so far from civilization. And being twenty-eight and adventurous had helped to push him west where the need was the greatest. He was fixing himself some coffee in what loosely passed for a kitchen at the back when someone burst in through the front door. They called out to him frantically, and he immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Ben Cartwright’s youngest boy. He had known this man and his sons for close onto eleven years and four finer men no one could brag of knowing. After taking the pot from the age-worn stove, he hastened to see what the problem was.

What met his blue-gray eyes as he entered the so-called parlor and ersatz examining room was a frazzled and agitated Joe and Paul couldn’t begin to guess at what was causing it. “Joe, what’s the problem this time?” he asked as he was buttoning the front of his coat.

“It’s Adam!” Joe said breathlessly. “Somebody shot ‘im in the back!”

“In the back?” Paul said as his throat tightened. He had seen too many shot in this manner before, and he didn’t hold out much hope. This, however, he wasn’t going to tell this frenzied teenager, and he wanted to see Adam first anyway. “Do you know who did it?” he asked as he began taking medical implements from a table along a rough wall and stuffing into a battered black leather medical bag.

“No, but it looked like he’d laid out there all night long.”

Paul swallowed hard as he read the implication of this, something else to add to what was already life threatening. “All right, let’s go,” he said as he fastened the bag. As he followed Joe out he snapped his hat from where it hung on a peg by the door and stuck it on his head.

As they went around to the adjoining stable where the doctor’s horse and buggy were kept Luther Beggs, sheriff for the past six months, came toward them. Beggs, a tall, lanky man with a head full of wavy, silvering bark brown hair, joined them. He was an affable man and was proving to be a good choice to keep the law in this booming, rowdy mining town. Quick with a gun and with his fists, he used – without hesitation – whichever the situation called for. “Doc, Joe,” he drawled.

“We’re in a bit of a hurry, Luther,” Paul said as he began fitting the harness onto his horse. “Someone shot Joe’s brother Adam… in the back.” His eyes narrowed as they caught with the sheriff’s.

Luther’s breathing hitched – he knew the connotations of what the doctor had just told him and it boded ill for the shot man and his family. Fifteen years at this job, and he had seen a lot and much of it was dark, to say the least. “Who did it, Joe?”

“We don’t know. We just found ‘im this morning. At first we thought he was dead.”

“Well, do you have any ideas?”

“No,” Joe said as he shook his head. “He came into town yesterday for Pa.”

“I know,” Luther said, “I saw ‘im and we talked for a bit outside the hotel.”

“We thought he was gonna stay the night, but for some reason he changed his mind. That’s why he laid out in the cold all night long.” Joe’s head fell and his shoulders slumped. “That’s why we didn’t start looking for him until this morning when his horse came in.”

“I’m ready, Joe,” Paul announced as he slid his square from into the buggy.

“It’s all right, son,” Luther said as he took the boy’s arm. “You go on with the doc and leave the findin’ out who did this to me. I promise you I will.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Joe said then went to Cochise and sprang into the saddle.

Luther Beggs stepped into the middle of the muddy, churned up street and watched as they headed urgently toward the end of town. They were racing against the clock, and he wondered if time would win. But that was only one of his concerns. Right now he had to find out who had back shot Adam Cartwright and left him to die. Right now he wondered if he was looking for an assailant or a murder. And right now he dreaded thinking about what would happen when the rest of the town – particularly the miners and the cowboys – found out about this and how he was going to keep a lid on it.

THREE

Paul Martin raced up the stairs to the second floor of the big, rough-hewn log house with the youngest of Ben Cartwright’s three sons’ right behind him. He never knew exactly what he would be walking in on when he was called and this time was no exception. But what he saw when he opened that bedroom door was like getting hit in the gut as it forced the air from his lungs. Ben was sitting on the edge of the bed holding Adam against him – the bedspread wrapped around both of them – and his soft voice circulated through the quiet room. Paul couldn’t make out what this distraught father was saying but he suspected that it was a prayer. He took several steps over to his friend and spoke but it was as if he had said nothing at all for all the response he got.

“It’s been like that since we got home,” Hoss said as he came from behind him to stand next to the doctor. “An’ I cain’t make Pa put ‘im down.”

“Ben,” Paul said as he lightly touched his arm.

Ben shushed and looked at him and the dark brooding wells of despair that turned to Paul reached into him and squeezed his insides.

“Help him, Paul. Please, help him.”

“I will, Ben. I promise I’ll do everything I can. Now let’s put him back on the bed and turn him onto his stomach so I can get a better look. Hoss,” he glanced back, “help me here.”

Hoss went around to the other side of the bed and together he and the doctor got his brother settled. The pillow was taken away so he would be lying flat. Ben continued to sit right there as Paul went about his task.

A quick look and a slight nod from Dr. Martin conveyed to Joe what he wanted. “Pa…. Pa, let’s stand over here and let the doctor work,” he said as he moved closer and firmly took his father’s arm. Then he began tugging in an effort to get him to his feet. “Come on, Pa.”

“I don’t want to leave him.”

“You’re not gonna leave ‘im. We’ll just be right over here, but we need to get out of Paul’s way so he can help Adam.”

Ben looked back to his dreadfully injured son then allowed himself to be pulled away. Joe could feel the minute trembling as he continued holding onto the strong arm.

Paul shucked out of his coat then took a pair of scissors with long narrow blades from his black bag, which he had put on the bed table. He held Adam’s shirttail and began cutting up the back of it. He then laid the scissors aside and carefully parted back the stained fabric. It was apparent that it was nothing short of miraculous that Ben Cartwright’s eldest son was still alive. The small, neat hole between his shoulder blades, being closer to the right one, had come very close to ending his life and could yet. The puncture was filled with darkened, clotted blood which had effectively stanched the bleeding, but it remained to be seen if it had it done so in time. Now Paul had to find out if the bullet was still inside. “We need to get his clothes off of him so I can check for an exit wound.”

Ben and Joe watched as Adam was carefully and completely undressed and examined from head to foot. It didn’t take much to deflect a bullet and send it off in a different direction, but Paul found nothing to indicate it had left the body. It was still inside him and there was only one way to get at it.

“The bullet is still in there. Joe, Hoss, I want you to take your father out and send Hop Sing to me.”

“No, Paul, I won’t leave him.”

Paul stepped to his friend and gripped his arm. “Ben, we don’t have time for this. Adam doesn’t have time. Now I need for you to go downstairs with Joe and Hoss so I can do what I can to save his life.” His fingers tightened. “Go on, Ben.”

“Come on, Pa. Adam’s in the best of hands.”

“Joe’s right. We need to git outta the way so’s the doc can help ‘im.”

Together they had to practically drag him from the room, and his bottomless eyes never left his eldest. As the door closed, Paul turned back to his patient. He knew he had his work cut out for him, and he was dubious as to how much good he could do. He had seen wounds of this nature before and many were the case when the injured person died, though not always. Methodically, he started rolling up his sleeves but he never looked from the deathly still individual before him. “I hope I can save you for your family,” he said quietly as his fingers continued to work. “I don’t know what we’ll do with them, especially your father, if I can’t.” His train of thought was interrupted as the door opened, and he looked around.

The little Chinese cook padded softly over to him but said nothing.

“All right, Hop Sing, let’s get to it.”

Ben stood before the fire in the grate but didn’t see it and hardly felt it. His eyes were closed and all he saw was Adam as they had found him. So pale, so still, so cold. It made him shiver to think how cold his son had been. That was one of the things that had led him to believe that he was holding the empty shell that had once contained the life of one he held so precious and dear. A long jagged sigh coursed through him and the pain in his soul ran deep. His son was not going to die – he wouldn’t allow it he simply couldn’t. But how could he – a mere cattle rancher – conceivably do anything? All his wealth and power and holdings were worthless in the face of this. Paul Martin was fighting at this very moment for his son’s life and it remained to be seen if he would be successful. So what could he do? All he had was prayer and on that he leaned heavily. An uncontrollable trembling set into his chin and fiery tears welled behind his lowered lids. He put one hand over his face and a gentle, forlorn sobbing spread around him.

Joe hadn’t seen his father like this since what had happened to his mother. He had only been six at the time but he remembered how Pa had been when she was hurt. He recalled the state that overtook him while they waited to see if the newly arrived doctor from back east could help her. And then they had been told that it was out of his hands, that there was nothing he could do for her. Her husband and sons had been with her when – after telling them how much she loved them and how proud of her boys she was – she simply closed her eyes, took her last breath and died with Pa holding her hand. Joe shuddered at the thought that this could be out of the doctor’s hands as well and what Pa would be like to have to hear that again. He straightened his backbone, batted back the acid that burned in his eyes and went over to Pa. Without speaking he put a comforting arm around his father’s quivering shoulders and looked down into the flames. Then his lips moved in a silent supplication. “Please, save my brother.”

Hoss had thought about going out to the barn but – thinking better of it – had gone no farther than the front porch. Should the worst come to pass he didn’t want to be so far away from Pa and Joe. He didn’t like to imagine what it would be like for them without his older brother. Adam was one of the driving forces behind the success of the Ponderosa, of that there was no denying, and without him the heart and life would go out of it. The heart and life would go out of them. Pa would be inconsolable, and he could just see Joe becoming angry and vengeful. As for himself, he knew there would be a gargantuan hole left by his brother’s passing that would remain for as long as he lived. He looked up into the pristine sky and knew that the storm clouds would not be found there. No, to find them he must look inside himself and there he would find them in great abundance waiting to engulf him. “If’n you can hear me, big brother, you stay with us ‘cause we ain’t ready to let you go.” He pressed his eyes shut and his huge hands balled into tight wads. “We just ain’t ready.’ Then he bucked himself up, turned and went back into the house.

<>C<>

Sheriff Beggs followed along behind Jed Knapp as they headed up the street toward the Bucket of Blood saloon. Jed, as with all the miners, liked the Cartwrights and what he had heard when he went to buy a bottle of whiskey he felt the law should know about. Luther’s gangly legs overtook the excitable smaller man as they reached the batwing doors, and he went in first. The minute he got inside it wasn’t hard to hear why Jed had come for him.

A scruffy, ungainly man with unkempt dirty blond hair was leaned forward against the bar regaling the patrons with tales of his prowess with a rifle and how folks would so best not to push him around. With a scan about the room the sheriff could see that those around him were less than happy and if he didn’t so something quick this bigmouth would likely get beaten for his troubles.

“That’ll learn ‘im not to go around hittin’ Stim Yerly,” he said and took down a slug of rotgut. “Yessir, I learned ‘im real good.”

But the man’s voice died, and he went perfectly motionless as a pistol was cocked and the business end of the barrel was jammed into his back. He held his hands out in front of him as his gun was slipped from its holster. “All right, now turn around,” said a cold, even voice.

As the man turned to face him, Luther Beggs could see that there wasn’t an ounce of remorse there and something he couldn’t place in the man’s demeanor told him to be wary. “Now just who are you and where do you come from?”

“Name’s Stim Yerly,” the man said boastingly, “from out Arizona way, an’ I think you’d just best back off, Sheriff.”

“And why’s that?”

“’Cause you don’t wantta mess with me. A feller did yesterday an’ I learned ‘im real good not to. No sir,” a malicious, arrogant grin spread to show gnarled teeth, “he won’t do that no more.”

Luther’s eyes narrowed and addressed the man before he said another word. “And you used this to do it, right?” he said as he held the pistol out.

“Nah, I used a rifle. I saw ‘im ride out so’s I followed ‘im, got ahead of ‘im an’ waited ‘til he come along. It was somethin’ the way he fell outta the saddle an’ that big red horse o’ his took off.” He laughed and shook his head. “Run like a scared jackrabbit.”

Luther could feel his innards tangling, and he had to hold back his mounting anger. “Aren’t you sorry about that?”

“Nah, he had it comin’. He’s the one that’s sorry. Sorry he ever messed with Stim Yerly.”

“All right,” Luther said with a faint nod, “you’re comin’ with me.”

“Well, I got things I gotta finish here first.” He turned back to the bar and poured another shot.

“I’m not askin’ you mister, I’m tellin’ you. You’re comin’ with me.”

“Why?” the man asked casually as he turned around and leaned back against the bar, drink in hand. “Ain’t you got better things to do?”

“Not better than this,” Luther said scathingly. “You’re under arrest.”

“What for?” the man asked and blinked dully.

“For the attempted murder of Adam Cartwright.”

The hush of the room was replaced with the clamor of voices as the men closed in around the sheriff.

“He shot Adam?” one asked.

“I knew it was somethin’ like that,” another said. “I heard about what happened yesterday. Clancy told me.”

“That’s right,” the tall man behind the bar said.

“Let us have ‘im, Sheriff! We know what to do with his kind!”

“That’s right!”

“Somebody git a rope!”

The men started pushing forward and it was all Luther could do to hold them back. “There’ll be no lynching today or ever, not in my town. This man’s my prisoner and the law’ll take care of ‘im right and proper.”

“And if Adam dies?”

“The law’ll take care of that too. All right, Yerly, let’s go,” Luther said as he prodded him with his gun barrel.

“But I ain’t finished my whiskey.”

“You’re finished. Now, let’s go.” Then he took the man in tow and pushed him through the maddened group.

Behind Luther Beggs the din of outrage made him nervous. Virginia City had just become more of a powder keg than usual, as he knew it would when this got out. He also knew that it would take only one spark to set it off when word got around about this. No one had to tell him what that one spark would be, and he ardently hoped – for the sake of everyone – that Adam Cartwright didn’t die, for more reasons than one.

FOUR

For the Cartwright family the surgery was interminable and hung over the house and its inhabitants like a black pall. Even the big grandfather clock by the front door seemed effected, and the hands barely crept around its face.
It felt like an eternity when they were finally allowed in to see Adam but it had actually been less than an hour.

As the family entered the room it came as a shock how unmoving and white he was. Always vibrant, energetic and so much alive he now looked as if death had already crawled inside him. He remained on his stomach with his arms at his sides. The wound had been bandaged and the bedspread covered him from the middle of his back down, and he was lying flat as before without a pillow. His raven black hair – with its tendency to curl – stood out in stark contrast to his coloring, and he hardly appeared to be breathing.

“Paul,” was all Ben could say, and his eyes never left his son.

“It was a fight all the way, Ben, and it’s a battle we haven’t won yet. He’s weak, very weak. Once I thought I’d lost him. But he’s strong and has always been one to fight when others would simply give up.”

“I know that,” and a father’s voice faltered. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the bed and tried not to think that his child was dying. “When will we know?”

“It’s hard to say. Shot in the back like this…”

“And lying in the cold all night long,” Ben interrupted.

“That may’ve been a blessing in disguise – it may’ve kept him from bleeding to death. But once he was brought home he needed to be warmed and your holding him and wrapping him up may’ve done as much to keep him alive as I have.”

Ben wanted to accept that but the fact that he had been at home safe in the knowledge that he had his sons while his eldest lay out there, his life gradually ebbing, nagged at him. He couldn’t get away from the feeling that maybe he had let his son down. “Pa,” came at his elbow, and he looked around into woeful emerald eyes.

“Is it all right if I…”

“Of course, Joseph.”

With long dragging steps, Joe went to the side of the bed and stooped and looked into the tranquil, colorless face and it sent pain running through him like a torrent. He wanted to touch his brother and feel the life still in his badly abused body but thought better of it. “I promise you, Adam,” he started too lowly for anyone else to hear, “whoever did this won’t walk away from it. No matter how long it takes or how far I have to go, he’ll pay. One way or another, he’ll pay. You have my word on that, brother.” His dark curly head dropped and his eyes pinched together, and he said a soundless prayer then rejoined the rest of his family.

“All right, Hoss,” Ben said as he got a pleading look from his middle son.

Hoss did as his younger brother had but stayed standing. He wanted to hear Adam’s laughter – which came all too infrequently to suit him – and the deep baritone and see the intelligent hazel eyes that could speak to him the way mere words couldn’t. He loved his older brother, and he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do this to him. Adam was a good man, well liked in town, and always ready and willing to help others. In fact, more than once he had gotten himself into a touchy situation simply by helping someone. He reached down and gently ran his fingers over Adam’s heavy black hair as if petting a fragile kitten and it made him want to pick up his brother and hold him as if to never let go. “It’s gonna be all right, Adam,” he murmured. “It’s gonna be all right.” But he couldn’t be sure about that and it was gnawing at him. He sniffed and scrubbed the back of his hand at his nose then went to stand next to Joe.

Ben moved to the footboard and gripped it until his knuckles whitened. Why his son? Why had this happened to his son? First the unfairness of life had taken his parents when he was young, then his Elizabeth. His brother John had died when Adam was only a child and his Inger not many years after that. And just when he thought things couldn’t get any better death had taken his Marie away. Now it could claim his first-born. To say that Ben Cartwright had endured much tragedy would be a serious understatement. “Stay with us, son,” he whispered. “You have to fight this like you’ve never fought before…. I can’t lose you too.”

As they watched Ben moved the wingchair to the side of the bed and sat down in it where they knew he would stay until Adam woke up… or left them forever.

<>C<>

Hoss and Joe were just dragging themselves wearily down the stairs when a frantic banging came at the front door. With a glance at his brother, Joe rushed to answer it lest Pa be disturbed. What greeted him was a flustered and agitated Jed Knapp.

“Jed, what’re you doing here? Come on in,” Joe said as he opened the door back.

Jed thanked him and stepped inside, sliding his tattered hat from his head and ruffling his wispy ash brown hair. “I thought you’d wantta know that the sheriff arrested the man who shot your brother.”

Joe’s eyes shot green daggers, and he swallowed a sharp breath as his hand strangled the door knob.

“You sure about that, Jed?” Hoss asked as he came to stand by his little brother.

“I’m sure, Hoss. I was right there when the sheriff run ‘im in.”

“But how can you be sure he’s the one?”

“He was braggin’ about it in the Bucket o’ Blood, and Clancy said he’s the same one who had a run-in with Adam yesterday.”

“What kind of run-in?” Joe asked as his fingers tensed.

“Accordin’ to Clancy, this jasper blew in an’ started right off throwin’ his weight around like he thought he was somethin’. He was buyin’ whiskeys, but only for hisself, an’ talkin’ big about how nobody better mess with ‘im. Then he spied Glory an’ asked her to have a drink with ‘im. Clancy said he could tell she didn’t really want to, but a girl don’t turn down a free drink from a payin’ customer.”

“But what has that got to do with Adam?” Joe asked impatiently.

“I’m comin’ to that. He started gittin’ heavy-handed with her an’ when she started to leave he grabbed her by the arm an’ told her that nobody run out on Stim Yerly.”

“Is that his name?” Hoss asked.

“That’s right. Well, anyway, she tried gittin’ away from ‘im an’ called ‘im a name or two.” Jed shook his head and his angular face scrunched. “He slapped her just about as your brother come in. Well, we all know how Adam don’t cotton to women bein’ slapped around so it didn’t surprise nobody who was there when he jerked Glory away from ‘im an’ flattened this feller. This Yerly started for his gun an’ found your brother’s in his face an’ he was told to git out an’ not come back if he couldn’t treat a lady better ‘n that.”

“Then what happened?” Joe inquired as he moved closer to the man.

“Clancy said he got up rubbin’ his jaw an’ lookin’ at your brother like he hated ‘im. There weren’t no trouble to git ‘im to go, but before he left he told Adam he’d be sorry ‘cause nobody pushed Stim Yerly around, then he went out into the street an’ got his horse. This don’t come as no surprise to anybody who was there or heard about it. Clancy said he figgered trouble was acomin’.”

Without a word Joe stepped around the door and put his hat on. He was buckling his gun belt around his hips when Hoss came over to him.

“Now just where do you think you’re goin’?”

“Into Virginia City,” Joe said as he began tying the leather laces around his thigh. “I want to see the man who shot my brother.”

“Now Joe there ain’t no use in that. Sheriff Beggs has ‘im locked up an’ he ain’t goin’ nowhere, an’ I think we should both be here if’n Pa needs us.”

“Paul and Hop Sing are here, and he probably wouldn’t even miss us.”

“I don’t know why you’re so all fired set on seein’ this feller.”

“I want to see what kind of a man shoots another one in the back and leaves him to die on the cold ground then goes into town and brags about it. And don’t you try to stop me.”

“I ain’t gonna try to stop you,” he said as he grasped Joe’s shoulder. “I’d like to see this jasper my own self. Just let me tell Doc an’ Hop Sing first.”

With a self-assured grin Joe slapped him on the arm. “I’ll be waiting right here with Jed.”

Hoss then turned and started for the staircase as Joe and Jed stayed by the door.

FIVE

A crowd of forty-five or fifty men had gathered outside the jail to shout epithets and taunts and ominous threats loud enough for the prisoner to hear. All of them knew Adam Cartwright and his family and liked them. Mostly they worked in the mines but a few were cowboys from neighboring spreads. However, the thing they all had in common was their hatred for anyone who would bring down a man for no good cause and shoot him in the back to boot. And when that man was a friend, that hatred ran as deep as an underground spring that bubbled to the surface.

“Hey, Sheriff, why don’t you send him out to us? We’d like to give him a new neck tie!”

There was a spate of laughter.

“Yeah, Sheriff, made outta fine Kentucky hemp!”

Another peal of laughter came.

“It’s Joe and Hoss Cartwright!”

The dark olive eyes of Mike Callahan came around and followed the pointing finger. The big red-haired Irishman – who had been in the Comstock before it was even known by that name – was the obvious leader of the assembled men. He had survived more than one cave in and had three times led his fellow miners to safety. Widows and orphans of those who didn’t make it knew him well, and he even commanded respect from the cowboys and what he said went.

Cochise and Chubb came in front of the jail and were reined in at the hitch rail. As the brothers dismounted and tied up they were greeted by Callahan while the others stayed behind him and let him take the lead.

“Joe, Hoss,” Mike said as he shook their hands heartily. “Tis a sad day, tisn’t it?”

“It sure is,” Hoss said.

“So, how is Adam doin?”

“Not so good, Mike,” Joe said as he pushed his hat back with a single finger. “He just lies there and doesn’t even know when we’re in the room.”

“And himself, your sainted father?”

“He ain’t doin’ so good either, Mike. Since we found Adam he just ain’t been hisself. I think it was thinkin’ he was dead when we first come on ‘im.”

Mike clicked his teeth and shook his head. “Ah, tis a shame to be sure. They’re both fine men and this shouldn’t be happenin’ to them. But if, Saints forbid, Adam should die, we know how to take care of things.”

“If Adam dies, I’ll bring the rope,” Joe said and his eyes danced with sadistic pleasure at the thought.

Mike grinned knowingly and gave him a friendly smack on the arm. “If you’re plannin’ on goin’ in there, you’ve got to let the sheriff know who you are first. He’s got the door bolted from inside, and I’m sure he’s sittin’ on the other side of it with a loaded shotgun. I’ve known for some time that Luther Beggs is a right smart man.”

“Thanks Mike.”

The knock resounded through the gloomy office. “Who is it?” Luther asked as he moved closer to the door with the double barrel shotgun ready.

“Joe and Hoss Cartwright,” Joe announced from outside. “Can we come in?”

Luther moved cautiously closer and threw the bolt. “All right.” Joe and Hoss came in, and he quickly closed the door and re-bolted it. “I think I can guess why you’re here,” he said as he laid the shotgun across his desk.

“We want to see the man who shot our brother and tore the heart out of our father,” Joe said tersely.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, but I suppose if it was my brother I wouldn’t want anybody stoppin’ me either. But I’m gonna ask you to leave your guns out here.” He held out his hands to receive the weapons.

Hoss was quicker to comply than Joe.

“Don’t you trust me?” Joe said caustically as he finally surrendered his pistol.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just don’t like to take chances. Now you can go on in.”

Without any further talk they went through the rough, wide door off to the right to where the two sells were. The first thing they saw was the unsavory man in the far one. He was sitting on his bunk with one leg drawn up in front of him and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. His pale eyes locked onto them and never wavered, even when they connected with the livid green ones.

Joe felt like a pot about to boil over. His blood ran through his veins like molten fire, and his ears roared like a wild surf. If only he could get his hands around this animal’s throat he would save the men outside the trouble.

As they stepped closer to the cell Hoss could see plainly that his little brother was fighting to hold himself back. Joe had a hot southern temper that – once unleashed – could prove fearsome. Though his rages usually blew out quickly, Hoss suspected that wouldn’t be the case this time.

For a long moment no one said anything as they sized each other up.

“So,” Hoss started finally, “you’re the one that shot our brother.”

“He hit me,” the man said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, well, from what I heard you needed hittin’.”

The man slowly pulled himself up from the bed and sauntered across to them. His gaze roved over them then his dry lips parted into a snaggle-toothed smirk. “I just give ‘im what he asked for…, an’ I ain’t one bit sorry neither.”

That was more than Joe could take. “You’re gonna be sorry!” he stormed as he lunged at the man and grabbed him through the bars. Stim Yerly tried pulling away but Joe’s grip was like a vise.

“Joe!” Hoss tried separating them but his brother was dogged with the strength of a man thrice his size. “Joe!”

The wooden door slammed open and Luther Beggs burst in. He joined Hoss in trying to pull Joe away from the man. “Joe, let go!” he shouted.

Joe’s fevered mind told him that he was being pulled away, but he was bound that he was going to inflict some pain before they could. With one good jerk he drove Yerly’s face into the bars and a thin line of blood appeared across the bridge of his nose. However, it wasn’t good enough and Joe wanted to do more, but the sheriff and his brother managed to drag him back as Yerly twisted from his grasp.

Yerly staggered back and touched his nose, and his fingers came away smeared with red. “You broke my nose,” he said with stunned amazement.

“I’ll break your neck!” Joe snarled as he strained to get free. “Let me go!”

“No, Joe, we ain’t gonna do it,” Hoss said as he continued to hang onto his struggling brother. “Now you just gotta settle down. This ain’t gonna do nobody no good.”

“Not until he pays for what he did!” Joe cried.

“He will, but it ain’t up to you.”

“Sheriff, he broke my nose. Ain’t you gonna do somethin’ about it?”

“Shut up, Yerly,” Luther snapped.

Joe felt himself being hauled away from the man he did so want to kill, and he continued to fight it. He’d only done part of what he wanted to do, and he wasn’t about to go quietly or easily. His focus was so intent on the man in the cell that he didn’t realize he’d been drawn into the office until the door closed in front of him, cutting Yerly from view.

“All right, Hoss, you can let me go now,” Joe said harshly as he wrestled free from his brother’s arms. “I’m not gonna hurt ‘im anymore.”

“You see you don’t. Pa don’t need that right now.”

“I knew that was a bad idea,” Luther said as he stomped across the room.

“Well, what would you’ve done if it’d been your brother that was gunned down?” Joe said as he followed after him.

Luther sat on the corner of his desk and looked pensively at the floor then his smoke blue eyes rose to Joe. “Probably the same thing, but I suspect somebody’d hold me back too. Now why don’t you two go on home? There’s nothing more you can do here.”

“The sheriff’s right, Joe,” Hoss said as he came to stand behind his brother. “An’ we’re needed more there.”

Joe felt his steam building again as he thought of Adam and Pa and what this stranger had done to them. And for what? Wounded pride? “All right,” he said flatly. “But you know that if Adam dies, I’ll be back.”

“I expect you won’t be the only one,” Luther said glumly. “Now you best get on.”

“Thanks, Sheriff,” Hoss said as he shook the man’s hand.

“Don’t mention it, son.”

“I won’t, but I’m gonna be watchin’ to make sure this feller gits what he’s got comin’ to ‘im. You can count on that for sure.”

Luther found this more than a trifle unsettling since it only fueled his sense of impending conflict. He didn’t know this family as well as he would like, but it was enough to know that trouble would come from this. They were a very close knit family and when you harmed one you got your lap full of Cartwrights. He saw them out and closed the door behind them then bolted it and wondered how much worse this was going to get.

Joe and Hoss were about to mount up when they turned to a feminine voice calling to them. Glory DeLong, a stunning blonde in a short red dress with black ruffles and a black feather in her upswept hair, was running toward them.

“Afternoon, Miss Glory,” Hoss said as he tipped his hat to her.

“Hello, Hoss, Little Joe,” she said as she came to stand closest to Cochise. “I heard you were in town, and I wanted to find out how Adam is. He’s not…?”

“No, Ma’am,” Hoss said as he came around behind Chubb. “The doc’s out to the house now. But like we told Mike Callahan, he ain’t doin’ so good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. If it weren’t for him,” she said as she grazed her fingertips over the discolored spot near the beauty mark on her left cheekbone. A cheerless smile turned her painted lips, and her misty blue eyes sparkled in the midday sunlight. “I’ve had men fight over me a lot, but few have ever fought for me. Even Mark Burdett never did that.”

“That’s our older brother, all right,” Joe said proudly.

“Some of the miners are saying that he was shot in the back. Is that true?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Joe said as his face darkened. “And this Yerly’s proud of it.”

“I hope they hang him,” she said and her elegant hands clenched. “If Adam dies or not I hope they hang him.” She capped both hands over her mouth, and her eyes closed, forcing out the tears. “I feel like if it weren’t for me Adam wouldn’t have been…”

“No, Ma’am,” Hoss said forcefully. “Don’t you talk like that. It ain’t nobody’s fault ‘cept that man who done it.”

“Hoss is right,” Joe said as he gently took her arm. “None of this is your doing, so don’t blame yourself. Adam wouldn’t want you to.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said as she looked at him. “I guess I just needed to hear someone else say it. Maybe when this is all over I can come see Adam. I want to tell him how grateful I am.”

“He’d like that,” Joe said. “I’d like it too.”

“You’re sweet,” she said and kissed him on the cheek then Hoss. “Thank you and you tell that brother of yours to get better so I can come visiting.”

“I will, Ma’am,” Joe said.

With a feeble smile she pulled the black knit shawl closer about her shoulders then turned and went back across the street. They watched her go then Hoss climbed into the saddle but Joe’s eyes lingered on her. It was indeed like Adam to protect the weak from the strong and the innocents from the bullies. He only hoped it hadn’t gotten him killed. His soft brows lowered then he got aboard Cochise and started out of town with Hoss.

SIX

As Joe and Hoss came in their father was coming down the stairs, and Hop Sing was with him holding onto his arm. Pa’s eyes were vacant and saw nothing of what was around him and the little cook was steering him.

“Pa, what is it?” Joe asked tremulously.

But he didn’t answer or look at his son. Hop Sing’s doleful obsidian eyes turned to him, and Joe didn’t like what he was seeing. “He gone, Mista Joe. Mista Adam gone.”

Joe suddenly felt smothered. In a shot, he headed for the stairs as Hop Sing led Ben to a chair and got him into it. Joe took the steps two at a time then bounded down the hall, his heart thumping into his throat. He pushed open the door to his older brother’s room and froze. Paul Martin was standing at the window. “It’s too late, Joe,” he said. “You’re too late.”

Joe swallowed back the fear as he looked to the bed and the long sheet-covered form. He rushed forward and dropped onto his knees. Carefully, he pulled back the covering, and his mouth went immediately dry. “No,” was all he could say.

Adam was white as the sheet that had been placed over him and there was no telltale sign of life. It was indeed too late, and he hadn’t been there to say good-bye to his brother.

His breathing came in ragged jerks as he reached out and touched Adam’s shoulder. He was already turning cold and it made Joe sick inside. He gulped hard and longed to see those dark hazel eyes, even if they were flashing amber sparks as they always did when he was angry, many times at his youngest brother.

“Adam, please, you can’t go. Not like this and not now. It’s too soon. Adam, please come back.” He reached under the covers and brought out one of the fine hands with its long tapering fingers. Never again would he hear them play the guitar, and never again would he hear the rich baritone in song. Then he clutched the hand to his chest and fell forward against the bed weeping. “Don’t go.”

Then Hoss’ voice was cutting through and saying his name but Joe was too deep into his grief to answer. “Joe.” Fingers were digging into his arm. “Joe.” Then he was jostled hard. “Joe!”

Joe’s head snapped around, and he was looking into Hoss’ face. Cochise swayed under him as they headed back to the house. It had all been in his mind, or had it?

“Joe, you all right?” Hoss asked and his own eyes were stark and troubled.

“Hoss, we have to get home. Don’t ask me why, we just have to.” Then he kicked his horse into a run and took off before anything else could be said.

“I was just about to say the same thing,” Hoss said to himself and gave the big Morgan his knees and they sped off after his little brother.

It was less than an hour later when Joe burst in through the front door. The room was devoid of life but it gave him no small measure of reassurance. His emerald eyes darted toward the second story, and he dashed for the stairs. It felt like no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get to Adam’s room fast enough. Finally there, he threw back the door but stopped dead. His father was sitting in the chair by the bed with his head bowed and Adam was lying as he had been when Joe had last seen him. The doctor was standing at the window and looking out, his arms folded across his chest.

Joe moved quietly to the foot of the bed and never looked away from his brother. As he stood there, he became aware of someone standing next to him.

“How is he?”

“He’s holding his own,” Paul said softly. “Although there for a few seconds I thought we’d lost him.”

Joe looked quickly at him.

“He stopped breathing,” Paul went on. “I listened for a heartbeat, but there was nothing to hear. Then he took a deep breath and was back.”

Joe felt an icy chill saturate him as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over him as he looked back at Adam. What had come to him on the way home raced around in his mind, and he couldn’t shake what he had seen. But it had only been in his mind since Adam was right here in front of him alive, though not well. He wasn’t ready to give up and apparently neither was Adam.

“When did this happen?” Joe asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“About a half hour ago.”

Joe sucked in air. That was about the time he’d had his vision and this news only intensified the feeling already running rampant through him. He had always known that the bond between him and his brothers was strong, but until right this moment he hadn’t realized how strong.

“We’re here, Adam,” he whispered.

“An’ we ain’t goin’ nowhere so’s don’t you either,” Hoss said as he stepped next to Joe.

Then the three of them stood and watched wordlessly as Adam continued to cling to life.

<>C<>

The hours of darkness had moved in as they always did, but for those that lived in Virginia City these were proving to be anything but restful. All because of one slap placed against a girl’s cheek by one vindictive, dull-witted man who thought too highly of himself, everyone’s lives had been knocked off their axis. Now he sat languishing in jail, the woman he’d struck carried a sense of guilt, the man that had come to her aid hovered near death, the town was in turmoil, and the sheriff wondered how long he could keep things under control. All-in-all, it was going to make for a very restive, very volatile night.

Out on the Ponderosa the tension was thick enough to cut with a jackknife and all normal routine had been swept aside. No one wanted to eat or sleep or do any of the things they usually did to wind down the day. Many times the soft melodies of a guitar or the sharp notes of a harmonica would waft out from the bunkhouse, but tonight it was silent as a graveyard. The big house – usually a hive of activity and filled with the lively voices of brothers – had fallen into a deathlike hush.

Joe stood on the front porch looking out into the blackness that threatened to consume them all. No one had bothered lighting the outside lamp, and he liked it that way. The faint glow of lamplight filtered through the thin curtains of the bunkhouse windows and acted as a reference point.

He took a deep draught of the crisp air and let it expand his lungs to capacity then expelled it roughly. What had happened earlier that day still haunted him, and he knew probably would for the rest of his life. The image of his brother lying dead beneath a sheet hung in his imagination and wouldn’t let go of him. He embraced himself against the cold and rubbed his hands up and down his arms.

Hoss was coming downstairs after taking Pa some coffee – which he doubted he would drink – when he saw that the front door was ajar. Since they had gotten home Joe had become quiet and morose. Something was preying on his little brother’s mind, and he had a good idea what it was. He had seen in Joe’s eyes what he had felt on the way home.

He finished going on down and crossed to the door and stepped outside. He could only just make out a shadowy figure in the light that escaped from the house, and it wasn’t necessary to tell him who it was. “You all right, little brother?” he asked as he stepped closer to the still shape.

Joe just stood there looking out toward the darkened silhouette of the barn. Since getting back he’d debated with himself whether to tell anyone about his unnerving experience. He found it rather difficult to believe himself but figured if anyone would it would be Hoss. “Hoss,” he started with uncertainty, “I saw something today. Something I hope I never see again as long as I live.”

Silence hung about them like thick fog.

“You seen a brother dead,” came like a shotgun blast from the darkness.

Joe felt like he’d been slugged as he whirled around. His breathing shuddered and he wished he could see his brother’s face better. “How do you know that?”

“’Cause I seen it too, plain as day. Adam was dead an’ just the color o’ milk. I was beggin’ ‘im to come back where he belonged ‘cause we weren’t ready to give ‘im up yet. I told ‘im he had to fight harder an’ not to let go…. I don’t think I ever been so scared in my life as I was right then. I just kept right on beggin’ ‘im to come back.”

“And then what?”

“Then I was back with you out on the trail, an’ when I seen your face I knew you’d just seen it too.”

Joe was having trouble taking in what he had just been told. Then he felt a muscular arm go around his shoulders.

“I don’t know why things happen the way they do, but I do know it’s for a reason. I spose what happened today was our way of
of helpin’ Adam.”

“But did we?”

“I dunno, Joe. I don’t try to understand things like this. I don’t need to an’ neither do you. Every day we see the Creator’s hand in all that’s around us an’ I think that’s what this is. We’re a close family, and we’re always there for each other, even when we’re apart. That’s the way we was made an’ that’s the way it’s sposed to be, so don’t question it.”

Joe suddenly felt warm all over and things weren’t as mysterious and frightening as they had been. He’d never really thought about it like that, but it made perfect sense. A warm smile tipped his lips, and he shook his head, leave it to Hoss to put it into the proper light.

“Now let’s go on back into the house before we catch a chill an’ Pa an’ Hop Sing wind up havin’ to take care of us too.”

Their boots sounded on the porch floor as they started back inside. Joe was lucky to have two such brothers as he had – he only hoped that by the time this was over he didn’t find himself with only one.

SEVEN

It was working into the wee small hours of the morning when Joe and Hoss finally drug themselves off to bed, though neither expected to get much sleep, if any. Hop Sing promised to stay close to their father and brother and let them know at the first sign of any change.

Ben sat in the chair at the side of the bed watching his son as if he could disappear at any moment. Except when they found him Adam hadn’t moved. He could still see the look on Paul’s face when he’d discovered that his patient wasn’t breathing. Then the infamous words came that had shaken a father to his very foundation. “His heart has stopped.” Ben’s heart had stopped as well, and he had fought off the idea that his son had just died before him.

“Please, son, please don’t leave us. You can’t go, I won’t let you.” His fingers dug into the chair’s arms as he remembered kneeling at Adam’s side and taking one of his hands. “Adam, if you can hear what I’m saying please listen to me. Your family loves you, and we need you. Please come back. Come back to us, son. Come back.” Then as he watched helplessly, his boy took a deep breath, but other than that he remained motionless and never opened his eyes. Paul listened again and when he looked to his old friend his mouth spread into a broad smile and he simply said, “He’s with us again.”

Ben swallowed the lump in his throat, and his tired eyes never strayed from one he loved beyond words. He had been blessed to know three wonderful women and they, in turn, had each blessed him with a fine son. Only Joe had been fortunate to get to know his mother, though she had been taken when he had been quite young. He had always tried to keep his sons’ mothers alive for them, and he hoped he had succeeded.

He didn’t notice when Hop Sing slipped into the room with a cat-like tread in his felt-soled slippers. “I bling you some tea,” he said quietly as he stepped to the side of the chair.

“I don’t really want it, Hop Sing, thank you.”

“It have lot of cinnamon and honey like Mista Adam like it.”

Ben’s gaze went to the steam drifting up from the top of the cup. “It does smell good.” He took it and inhaled the spicy aroma. “Where’s Paul?” he asked and he took a sip.

“I put him in guestloom. Him go to sleep maybe hour ago, but first him say to wake him up if there any change. Doctah Paul good man and good flend.”

“Yes, he is, and I don’t like to think about it if he hadn’t been here.” Ben settled back in the chair and his sight rested on his son. “He almost got away from me today, Hop Sing.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’ll do if that should happen.”

“You go on like you do with him mothah and Mista Hoss’ mothah and Mista Joe’s mothah.”

“And those were three of the worst times of my life…. If I had lost him when he was a child it would have been bad enough, but now, after having him for so long.” His voice fell off, and he sat the cup on the saucer with a hard clink. “Hoss told me about the man who shot him and went on in the saloon about it…. You don’t want to believe that they’re people like that in the world, but then something like this comes along and you’re forced to see them. To slap a girl around then shoot the man who defends her out of some misguided sense of self-worth.” Ben took an absentminded sip but this time he didn’t taste it. “Well, he’ll be held accountable for what he’s done.”

“Mista Cartlight, why not you go to bed? Hop Sing can stay with him. You need lest.”

“I’m all right, but thank you anyway. I couldn’t stand to be away from him, and he might need his father.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. We’ll be all right until you get up. And thank you for the tea,” and he raised the cup. “It helps.”

“All light, but if you need anything you let Hop Sing know no matter what time.”

“I will. Good night, old friend.”

“Good night, Mista Cartlight.”

As the door eased together Ben refocused his attention back toward the bed. He lost his desire for the tea – though it hadn’t been that strong to start with – and placed it on the bed table as he stood. Lowering his hand, he did as he’d seen Hoss do when they had come in after the surgery and lightly stroked the heavy black hair. “Why do parents have to suffer so?” he asked of no one in particular and not expecting an answer, but it came in the form of his own voice. “Because they love their children.” His hand continued to move gently and lovingly and with each pass the touch sent such paroxysms of pure sorrow through him that it threatened to rend apart every fiber of his body. “I’m right here, son. I’m right here.”

<>C<>

The men that gathered outside the jail to hurl insults and promises of dire retribution loud enough for the prisoner’s benefit took turns. As one group would leave for the mines or the range – whichever their certain job related to – another would take over. There was always someone there even if it was no more than six or seven, and it was never less than that. But right now, with the last shift of miners heading home, there was a hoard and they were loud and vociferous.

It was going into the second full day since the attack and tensions were mounting. The men and women that made up the population of Virginia City and surrounding areas were – for the most part – of the rugged, self-reliant variety and they brooked no interference in their affairs from outsiders. In many respects, the Cartwrights blended in very well and they had always treated those that toiled in the bowels of the earth with respect. As with the cowboys, it had been one of their own, so when Adam was felled this stalwart lot took it as a personal affront. In short, one of them had been brought down and they planned on doing something about it. This growing community had been assaulted and the offense wouldn’t go unpunished.

Luther Beggs was edgy to say the least. He had encountered crowds like this before in other places he had sheriffed and not once had they ever gotten a prisoner away from him. There had been a close shave in Texas two years ago, but in the end it had all turned out for the best. However, this time things were decidedly different. This time the victim had been a wealthy, well respected, well liked man and this was a mining town. These hamlets carried their own set of rules and principles that didn’t comply with the rest of the world outside their venue. He was up against it, and he would give his right arm for a dozen deputies to back him.

His long legs took him around behind the scarred desk and the chair creaked beneath his weight as he sat then leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms and tenting his hands in front of him. He liked Ben Cartwright’s oldest son, as he did with the whole family. Ben, as part of the new Town Council, had been instrumental in his coming here. His reputation as a tough but fair lawman had preceded him, he had been told, and they were mighty glad to have him. Ben and his sons were law-abiding, forthright and the kind of citizens a sheriff wished for, but they were also not to be crossed. He could only imagine what would happen if Adam should die and it sent a chill through him. What was going on now would be nothing by comparison.

He took a deep breath and smoothed back his silvering brown hair. This thing was getting uglier by the second and all he could do was stay holed up and hope Adam Cartwright made it.

Stim Yerly sat on the bunk, huddled in the corner of his cell. This wasn’t the first time he’d found himself in this kind of situation, but in the past he’d always gotten out of it. Sometimes it was deemed self-defense and sometimes he was forced to flee when those around him were too shortsighted to see it his way. But he was, after all, Stim Yerly and people needed to learn that they couldn’t just push him around, and he couldn’t understand why some simply couldn’t see that.

This time wasn’t at all like any of the others. First, he’d always been too smart to catch and rode the fastest horse in the Territory, and second, what he felt was a new and alarming sensation. Before, there had been a sense of superiority when he was vindicated and exhilaration as he rode at breakneck speed through the countryside as his pursuers tried desperately to catch up with him. But now he heard heated, nasty voices outside that seemed to enjoy tormenting him and it shook him. In point of fact, Stimson Yerly was scared.

“Hey, Yerly!” one of them shouted, “I bet you didn’t know you shot the son of one of the most powerful men in these parts! You’re gonna swing!”

“And Joe Cartwright’ll bring the rope to hang the man who shot his brother!” came another voice with an Irish accent.

Cartwright. He knew that name. Ben Cartwright! He had shot the son of the man who owned the Ponderosa! He thumped his head back against the wall and ran his fingers through is hair. Now he knew for sure he was dead if he didn’t get out of there. How, though, with him locked in a dinky nine-by-nine cell and a sheriff outside that would just as soon shoot him as to look at him?

Time moved like molasses from a cold bottle, but gradually the dark began to fade from the sky as the morning sunlight overpowered it. With a jolt, Yerly awoke and slowly realization came that he had dozed off leaned back as he was. As wakefulness took hold it became apparent that the commotion outside had diminished and – except for him – there seemed to be no other life in the jail. He sat for several minutes just listening and all he heard was his own breathing. He looked up through the bars of the window at the ever lightening heavens and wished he’d kept right on riding after he shot Cartwright. But he had to come back into this lousy town and be the big man and try to impress people, especially a flaxen-haired girl with crystal blue eyes. “Dumb” he said through gritted teeth. “Just plain dumb.”

Gradually, he became aware of a burning sensation low, and he pinched his legs together. He scooted off the bunk onto his knees and pulled the bucket from underneath it and availed himself of the improvised chamber pot. When he finished he pushed it back where it had been lest he turn it over.

He was just finishing buttoning up his britches when activity in the outer office and muffled talk made his head snap around and his breathing quicken. It seemed like forever when the wide door opened back and the sheriff stood there with a tray covered with a red-and-white checked cloth.

“Your breakfast is here, Yerly,” the sheriff said as he came closer to the cell, a ring of keys dangling from his right hand. “Stand back against the wall.”

Yerly, however, didn’t move and stayed right there looking at him.

“If you want this get back against the wall like I said with the palms of your hands flat against it.”

Yerly just kept looking at him then did as he was ordered. The tall, craggy-featured man balanced the tray in his left hand and unlocked the cell door then opened it back. He kept his eyes on Yerly as he sat his burden on the floor and pushed it farther in with the toe of his boot. As he did his gaze briefly flitted from the prisoner but it was long enough. With speed not uncommon of a desperate man Stim Yerly lunged at him. The whole thing clattered when it was kicked in the ensuing scuffle and the sheriff was driven back into the bars. A fierce clout to the jaw sent Yerly to his knees, but he quickly came up with the tray as the sheriff was going for his gun and brought it around against the side of the man’s face and head. Stunned but not out cold, Beggs went down.

With thoughts of nothing but escape, Yerly bolted from the cell and into the outer office. His frenzied eyes darted about in an attempt to find a means of self protection, and then he saw it. His gun belt and pistol were on a table near one of the front windows. He practically leapt forward and quickly buckled it on but didn’t waste time tying down, he could do that later.

Now he had to get out of here and find a horse, and it disturbed him that it probably wouldn’t be his own. His eyes rose to the glass, and he saw at once thirteen or fourteen men gathered near the front steps. At present their attentions were elsewhere as they quietly talked among themselves, but he knew what it would be the minute he went outside. He had seen no doors other than this one so this was his only exit.

“Yerly!’ shouted from the back and the whole thing was rendered academic. He threw the bolt, jerked open the door and found himself standing on the porch. As he had known it would, all bedlam broke loose and the screaming mob surged forward in an effort to apprehend him. Yerly dashed away from them and jumped from the boardwalk into the rutty street. Innocent bystanders saw immediately what was going on and ducked for cover.

“Yerly!” Luther Beggs shouted as he came out, pistol in hand and a thin trickle of blood running down the side of his face from his hairline. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

But Yerly kept going without looking back.

Luther rushed to the edge of the porch and fired a shot into the ground. “I said stop!”

This only incited Yerly, and he spun around as he fumbled for the Colt on his hip.

Seeing what was about to happen, the men scattered as the sheriff took dead aim. “Don’t do it!”

Yerly was heedless to the warning, and his hand gripped the firearm’s pitted stock. It hadn’t even cleared leather when an ear shattering explosion further disrupted the morning, and the man dropped onto his back – his gun discharging into the air – and didn’t move.

Luther’s long stride took him down the steps, and him and the men gathered around the body. Blood continued to swell onto the front of Yerly’s grimy shirt as the crowd grew, and his rapidly glazing eyes stared up at what no one else could see. Luther kicked the pistol from the man’s hand and it skittered across the ground.

“Saves us a hangin’,” Mike Callahan said.

“Cartwright isn’t dead,” Luther said as he looked around at the big red-haired man.

“Tis true, that we know of, but who’s to say that others haven’t been so lucky.”

At last Stim Yerly had gotten what he’d always wanted: people had finally taken him seriously. Dead serious.

EIGHT

It had been two days since Stim Yerly had been killed by Luther Beggs while trying to escape and five since the man had callously and with malice ambushed Adam Cartwright. Justice had been served as far as he was concerned but it was beginning to appear that Ben Cartwright’s oldest son would never know about it. He continued to lay senseless and his family tried being optimistic, but with each passing moment that he remained unconscious their optimism was eaten away.

Ben had yet to leave his son’s room and all that he ate and drank was brought to him, when he did either. His sons had been sick and injured before but this was different. He could not get past the fact that – for a short few seconds – Adam had been dead. His boy had gone beyond his grasp, but something had pulled him back and it was a recollection he would never forget.

He came up from the chair and stretched his tight muscles and tried rolling some of the stiffness from his neck and shoulders. It was comfortable enough for sitting, but as a bed it sorely lacked. With rigid steps he moved to the little writing desk where he had seen Adam hunched and hard at work many times. On top of it was the music box adorned with pink-faced cherubs that he had bought on one of his voyages for Elizabeth and given to her shortly before their marriage. Tenderly picking it up, he raised the lid and the sweet tinkle of notes floated about him like dulcet perfume. Lightly putting it back as it played, he lifted the small portrait of Adam’s mother painted in pastel oils in an ornate silver-gilt oval frame. The tips of his fingers actually hurt as he rubbed them over the smiling visage that looked back at him.

“Elizabeth,” he said softly. “I miss you so much.” He closed his eyes then looked up to the ceiling. “I need you now maybe more than I ever have since I lost you…. I could lose our son. He could be snatched away from me just as you were, and I don’t think I could live if that happened. I don’t think I could live if I lost any one of my sons…. I hope you can see how tall and strong and handsome he’s grown. He’s a good man, Elizabeth, and I know you would be so very proud of him, as I am.” He clutched the little portrait to his chest, and his head dropped as his eyes closed again. “Please, Elizabeth, help him. Help him to stay with us.” He held the picture tighter and sank into prayer.

For several minutes he stood there asking that his son’s life be spared and feeling the pain in his heart as keenly as he ever had. With a heavy sigh he raised his head and gently put Elizabeth back on their son’s desk. His fingers – usually steady and strong as one of the huge pines that surrounded them – quivered as he delicately closed the lid on the music box and silence permeated the room. Sluggishly, he turned around and solidly froze as his pulse raced like a wild stampede.

Dark hazel eyes were looking at him. Ben’s lips mutely formed ‘Adam’ as he rushed to his son and knelt beside the bed. A smile graced his mouth as tears filled in his coffee brown eyes. “Welcome back, son.”

But all he got was a languid blink and a deep breath that brought a wince over the wan features.

“Don’t try to talk yet. You’ll know when it’s time.” He took the cloth from the wash basin on the bed table and wrung it out then began washing his son’s face. “We’ve all been so worried, but now I think everything’s going to be all right. Paul’ll be glad to see that you’re awake and so will the rest of the family.” Then he took the cloth away and just looked into the peaceful face. “I love you, son.”

One corner of Adam’s finely sculpted mouth made a feeble effort at turning, and Ben reached under the covers and took his son’s hand and squeezed it. For the first time since they had found him lying so cold and close to death Ben felt that his first-born was going to pull through this, and no one could convince him of otherwise.

<>C<>

Just over three weeks had passed since Adam had awakened. The house had livened up and once again resonated with the voices of brothers. He was stiff and the wound still gave him problems, though he couldn’t expect it not to this soon. A fever had come but that too had passed and his appetite had returned and increased but he was yet too weak to get out of bed. He understood how close he had come and Pa and Hoss and even Hop Sing had talked to him about it. But Joe was evasive and whenever he tried opening a conversation on it his youngest brother always shrugged it off and changed the subject or became belligerent and stormed out if he persisted.

Judging from the sunlight coming into the room it was straight up noon when Joe came in with Adam’s dinner. The smell of egg drop soup – one of his favorites – drifted to him and agitated his already hallow stomach.

“I hope you’re hungry, brother,” Joe said brightly as he sat the tray on the bed table. “Hop Sing sent a big bowl and said you’re to eat it all. And I don’t think it was a request.” The green eyes twinkled.

“I know it wasn’t,” Adam said as he laid his book aside. “As hungry as I am, though, I don’t think it’ll be too much of a problem.”

Joe helped him to sit up more and fluffed his pillows and leaned him back against them. The muscles in Adam’s jaws knotted but it was the only indication that he was in any kind of pain.

“I’m sorry, Adam. Did I hurt you?”

“It wasn’t you,” Adam said and took his brother’s arm reassuringly. “I’m all right. Now let’s have that food before I start in on the bed.”

Joe watched him dubiously as he lightly placed the tray on his brother’s lap. Adam had the habit of telling you only what he wanted you to know.

“Now, why don’t you sit down and visit with me while I eat?” Adam said as he tucked the napkin into the front of his nightshirt and spread it over his chest.

“All right.” Without any further prodding Joe sat on the bed near his brother’s feet.

Adam dipped the spoon into the enticing liquid with its threads of egg and tiny noodles and took a good, bracing bite. It warmed every sore, stiff inch of him and worked to rejuvenate.

“Taste good?” Joe asked as his eyes eagerly drank in his brother.

“I’ve eaten egg drop soup in other places but none of it can touch Hop Sing’s.” He took another bite.

“And he knows it too,” Joe said with a wicked, one-sided grin.

“Of course he does, I told him.”

For several seconds they sat and said nothing as the level of the bowl steadily lowered. With a cursory glance up through his thick eyebrows Adam filled the spoon. “Joe, there’s something we have to talk about.”

Joe blanched and swallowed hard. “What’s that?”

“Don’t give me that, younger brother,” Adam said as the dark hazel eyes raised and glued themselves to Joe’s face. “You know very well what.” Some of the pique went out of him. “Joe, not talking about it isn’t going to change anything, and I can see that you need to get this out in the open.”

“You still haven’t told me what you mean.”

“What happened to you and Pa and Hoss while I was lying up here almost dead.”

“I don’t need to talk about it,” Joe said sharply and jerked to his feet. “I’m just fine.”

“No, you’re not. I can see it whenever you’re around.”

“Then I just won’t come around anymore if that’ll make you happy,” Joe snapped.

“It won’t, and what would it solve anyway? Come on, Joe, sit back down,” he patted the mattress, “and let’s talk about it. Pa and Hoss and Hop Sing have, and I can see that you need to.”

Adam could see the cogs turning behind the warm emerald eyes. His breath held as he waited to see if Joe would bolt from the room or do as he’d been told. Finally, Joe sat back down and Adam smiled, it was time. He started in on his soup again and let his little brother build up the courage to put into words what was plaguing him.

“Did you die?” came softly but shook the rafters.

Adam tried not to show the jolt this admission sent through him and kept eating. “Well, you can plainly see that I didn’t.”

“Doc Martin said you weren’t breathing, and your heart had stopped. Were you dead?”

“It kinda sounds that way, doesn’t it?” He put the spoon into the bowl and held his hand out, and Joe took it without hesitation. “But I assure you, Joe, I’m not now.” His grip tightened. “Can you feel that? Dead men can’t do that.”

“I know you’re not now, but you were for a little bit.” Joe pulled his hand away. “Did you see or hear anything?”

Judging by what his father and Hoss had already told him about their experiences – Adam knew that Joe was finally confronting what was bothering him. He went contemplative as he let his arm rest against the bed.

“Yes on both counts.” Adam’s dark eyes raised and held with Joe’s. “I saw my family, and they were begging me to come back. There wasn’t any question about what to do.”

Joe gulped and scooted closer. “You’re not just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear, are you?”

“No, Joe, I wouldn’t do that. I was never really aware of anything until I saw all of you. You were holding my hand and you said it was too soon and not to go.”

Joe nearly strangled, and his hands clenched wads of bedspread. He hadn’t told anyone any part of this so how could Adam possibly know if it weren’t so? It felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his chest as the tight fist released. He watched as Adam went back to his soup.

“You’re the reason I’m still here, Joe. You and Pa and Hoss, and what we feel for each other. There’s nothing that says that death or distance has to come between people reaching out to each other.” He tipped the bowl and ladled up the last spoonful. “My family saved my life; it’s as simple as that. If not for them I don’t think I would be here. And I don’t think there’s anything strange or scary about what happened. We love each other, Joe, and that’s the best way I can put into words why it happened.” Then he took down the last bite and dropped the utensil into the bowl with a clatter then wiped his mouth on the end of the napkin.

Adam’s explanation satisfied Joe, and he continued to watch him with the most complete satisfaction he’d ever known. His brother was back and the family was whole again and that love Adam had spoken of was stronger than ever before.

“I tell you what,” Joe said as he bounded from the bed. “Hop Sing just baked a pie this morning, huckleberry I think. How about when I take the tray back to the kitchen, I get a couple pieces and come back, and we can talk some more?”

“Sounds pretty good to me.”

“All right then.” Joe gathered up the tray and started out of the room but stopped as he got to the door. “I sure am glad you decided to stay.” Then he disappeared out into the hall.

Adam grinned and settled into the pillows and grimaced as it put pressure on his back. He eased around so that his weight was more on his left shoulder and it didn’t hurt so badly.

This had been an experience that had changed all their lives. But if he had it to do over again – still knowing the outcome of his actions – he would do the very same. He was what he was and the kind of person he was negated the fact that he could have done any differently when he saw a woman treated like that. And while he wasn’t the vindictive kind, hearing that the man who had done this to him was dead did make him rest easier.

He took a deep breath and it caused a twinge. He could hear Joe coming up the stairs as only Joe could and it made him smile. The pie he was looking forward to more for the closeness it would bring between brothers as they shared it.

“I’m back, brother,” Joe beamed as he stepped into the doorway and held up two plates with ample pieces of berry-filled golden pastry.

Adam’s smile turned into a wide grin. “I think we’re all back, Joe.”

THE END

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