Enjoyment of this story would be enhanced by viewing “The Legacy” from “Bonanza,” Season 5. In that episode, though we see Hoss and Joe return home to find their father alive, we never see Adam’s reunion with Ben. A friend said this was one scene she had always wanted to see. And I always was intrigued by the thoughts that must have been going through Adam’s head as he walked out of that store. So here’s my take.

“The Doubt”
A What Happened During for “The Legacy”

Adam Cartwright guided his horse at a walk onto the road that led to his family’s ranch, the Ponderosa. He was in no hurry to reach the ranch house; in fact, he dreaded it.

It was a house that would no longer hold the same allure for him as it had before: Its power to draw him home when he was away was diminished and it no longer seemed the safe haven it always had been. Though he had known the day would have to come at some point, facing a life in this house without his father, with only his two brothers, wasn’t something he was ready for.

For about the 10th time since he’d left the town where he’d found his man and headed home, he groaned aloud as if he were in pain. How in the world were they all going to survive without their father? Adam was confident enough in his ability to run the ranch, but not so confident in his ability to lead his brothers down the same road he was sure his father would have taken.

Adam guessed he WAS in pain, sure enough. There was an ache in his throat – and in his heart – that would not go away and though his mouth was dry, he hardly cared. He certainly didn’t feel like taking the cork from his canteen and drinking. He felt, somehow, that remaining thirsty was little enough punishment for someone who had been unable to properly avenge his father’s death.

Everything about his posture in the saddle said sadness and his horse, taking a cue from its heartbroken rider, plodded along, with no life in its step.

“My father is dead. My father is dead,” Adam repeated aloud, trying the words out over and over. His horse flicked its ears back toward the sound and then forward again. Adam paid no attention. While he, Hoss and Joe had been tracking their men both together and later when they split up, their father’s death hadn’t seemed quite real. But now that he grew closer to their home, he knew his return would mark the beginning of a different sort of life on the Ponderosa, one that he, as the oldest, would have to take the lead in creating.

“OK, just stop it!” he told himself aloud, trying to sound stern. “This isn’t going to get you anywhere.” Adam knew he had to be strong for his brothers and he hoped that together, they could face anything. But he also worried about the potential for conflict. How would he manage to get along with his brothers without his father there to act as a buffer between their diverse personalities? What would happen to the three of them without their father’s unifying presence?

“God Pa, why did this have to happen?” Adam again spoke aloud and then found himself fighting hard to control his emotions. One minute he felt he was doing fine and the next minute deep, heart-wrenching despair filled him, making him feel nearly physically ill. He closed his eyes and took several deep, shaky breaths as his horse quit walking and stood quietly, waiting. For nearly half a minute Adam sat still, shoulders hunched and tense, willing the tears to stay at bay. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to cry for his loss. He wanted to shout and storm and rage and scream for his loss. But he had a long way to go and much to do before he could enjoy the luxury of letting go his control and he was determined that, for his father and his brothers, he would remain strong.

When Adam felt he once more had a hold on his emotions, he urged his horse forward. He wasn’t sure what success his brothers had had in finding their men, and he wasn’t sure if he was the first one to return home or not. But he knew once they were all together again at home, the first thing they must do was to ride out, find their father’s body and bring him home.

Adam made himself think over all the things that would have to be done in the next few days. Finding their father and getting him home were only the start. There would be friends and business acquaintances to notify and the preparations for a funeral and burial.

The funeral likely would be well attended: Ben Cartwright was a well-known man throughout the territory and in California as well. And he’d have to talk it over with Joe and Hoss, of course, but he figured that they’d bury their father next to his third wife, Marie. She was the only one of his wives buried on the Ponderosa and Adam thought it appropriate to place his father’s grave next to hers. Adam nodded as he thought, Joe would probably like that.

Joe. Adam wasn’t so far gone in his own grief to think about how this was going to affect Ben’s youngest son. Adam felt sorry that Joe hadn’t had Ben as a father as long as Adam had. And Joe was the one who needed their father the most.

And Hoss … Adam’s thoughts turned to his middle brother, the one who seemed most at home in the bigness of nature that was the Ponderosa. He hoped Hoss wouldn’t make himself miserable trying to keep the peace between his oldest and youngest brothers.

Adam felt a fierce protectiveness toward both his younger brothers and hoped he could somehow fill the huge gap left them by their father’s death … if only they’d let him.

Now that he was closer to home, he wondered how things had gone with his brothers and their quests. He thought he had done the right thing by not killing his man when he’d found him but now he wasn’t so sure. At the time, what the man said to him made sense but now that he was nearing home, he began to wonder if his brothers would be unhappy with him for not following through on what they’d all pledged.

He was, at times, accused of being too analytical and not emotional enough, especially by his younger brother. It often was a sore spot between them and Joe’s biting words as he tore into his brother for his dispassionate reaction to one thing or the other cut Adam deeply, though he would never give Joe, or anyone, the satisfaction of seeing it.

And to be sure, when Joe was ready to race off with scarcely a thought to the consequences, Adam was usually the one to pull him back and make him think twice. Isn’t that what had happened at the way station when they were trying to get information from that old codger? Joe had wanted to force it out of him and Adam was the one who took over and offered the old man a few coins to get the information they sought.

So maybe Hoss and Joe would come back, having properly avenged their father and Adam would be faced with their reproach – and worse – for not having taken care of things like they had all agreed they would. Had he done the right thing or not? The closer he got to home, the more he questioned his decision.

Adam finally found himself rounding the barn into the empty ranch house yard. That didn’t mean Hoss or Joe couldn’t have gotten back hours ago and already put their horses into the barn. Adam dismounted and, putting his hand on the animal’s muscular neck, hesitated. He looked toward the ranch house and, letting out a shaky sigh, leaned forward and folded his arms over the warm leather of the saddle. Closing his eyes tightly, he put his head down and waited for the pain to subside.

How he dreaded walking into that house, where his father’s presence was everywhere, from his desk, to his pipe, to his favorite chair and his brandy on the sideboard.

Finally Adam raised his head and pounded both fists lightly on the saddle in frustration and finality. He turned to walk into the ranch house. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered to himself, deciding to face the pain boldly and head-on. He strode across the porch and, reaching for the handle, swung the door in fiercely, so fiercely in fact, that it struck the credenza and started slowly to swing closed again. Adam hardly noticed as he stepped through into the living room.

“Well Adam! Welcome home, son,” Ben Cartwright called out from where he was seated in his favorite chair by the cold fireplace.

Adam stopped short as though he’d walked into a wall and blinked several times. The sound of his father’s voice mocked him. He had known it would be difficult returning to their ranch house, but he hadn’t expected to hear his voice … so real, it was so real, it was like he was right here in the room. Adam stood still, swaying slightly on his feet, straining to hear it again, but fearful of hearing it again.

“Adam! Son? Are you OK?” Ben started struggling to rise from his chair but his wounds had weakened him and with only one good arm, it was impossible. Damn, he hated it when his body wouldn’t cooperate with his wishes!

Adam felt rooted in one spot. Was he really seeing what he was seeing?

“Pa?” Adam swallowed hard and when he said the name again, his voice faltered. “Pa? I thought …” He stopped, too bewildered and overcome to continue. He stood there, swallowing convulsively.

Though Adam was too choked up to finish his sentence, Ben knew what he thought. He had told Mr. Dorman as much. He had come out of unconsciousness and when Dorman had told him how long he’d been out, nearly his first thought had been for his sons and how worried they would be when he didn’t return.

“They must think I’m dead.” He had said it with a little chuckle, but began to wonder shortly after that what his sons’ reactions would be. After returning home to find all three of his sons gone and Hop Sing telling him they had ridden out in search of his killers, Ben had been waiting anxiously for them to return.

And now his eldest son was home and Ben was so sorry for what he must have been going through. Just the look on Adam’s face was enough to tell him that he had thought his father dead and his suffering had been great indeed.

“Son … come here to me,” Ben said gently, holding the hand of his uninjured arm out toward Adam in a beckoning gesture. At that, Adam finally was able to move his feet and he covered the distance from the door to his father’s chair in three great strides. He dropped to one knee and grasped his father’s outstretched hand with both of his.

“We thought you were dead,” Adam said, as he found himself fighting his emotions again. This time the tears he struggled against, however, were those of relief and joy and the total release of all the sorrow he had been bottling up for so long. “Your horse came back … there was blood on the saddle.”

Adam was overwhelmed: He took a deep hitching breath and his shoulders raised and then lowered as he struggled with his emotions. He dropped his father’s hand and, lowering his head and putting a fist to his forehead, covered his eyes and fought hard to regain his composure.

Ben almost wept at the agony his son had obviously felt. He reached out his good hand, placed it on the back of Adam’s neck and gently squeezed. “I know, son, and I’m sorry you had to go through that. I ran across a poacher and he took a couple a shots at me.”

Adam pulled in another deep breath but said nothing and Ben began to stroke the dark, curling hair that grew at the back of Adam’s head. “By the time I woke up, Mr. Dorman said I had been out for two days. I knew you boys would worry but there was nothing I could do except get home as quickly as I could. And then when I got here, none of you was here.” He looked around the room then, which had seemed so empty only moments before but now seemed a little more like home with the addition of his first born.

Ben continued to stroke his son’s hair and rub his neck, feeling the tension that bunched the muscles in Adam’s shoulders. He continued, “I’ve been worried about you.”

Adam finally moved his fist from his forehead to his mouth, raised his head and looked at his father. Ben saw that Adam was looking at him still filled with disbelief, his fist crushing his lips against his teeth.

But Adam’s eyes were dry: He’d beaten his emotions for the last time that day. He brought his hand away from his mouth and once again grabbed his father’s hand. “I still can’t believe it’s true. I was planning your funeral, Pa.” He shook his head and looked into his father’s face, the residual pain of the last several days of grieving still haunting his eyes.

“Well you can just set those plans aside for a long time yet, OK?” Ben smiled and, dropping Adam’s hand, moved to firmly grip Adam’s shoulder. “I want you to meet Mr. Dorman, the man who brought me home. He’s upstairs taking a nap.”

“Sure Pa … we owe him, don’t we?” Adam gave little notice to what his father was saying. He could not quit staring at his father: If he took his eyes off him for even a minute, would he disappear and the nightmare he’d been living with for the last few days turn out to be real after all?

“Adam … where are your brothers?” Ben said gently.

Adam blinked at his father again. “They’re …” He stopped. He didn’t really know where his brothers were. He only knew the general direction in which they’d ridden off. It was so hard to focus his thoughts on what his father was asking when his mind was still trying to reconcile itself with the realization that his father was not dead.

Ben moved his hand to Adam’s forearm, which was resting on the arm of his chair. “It’s important, son, if you can tell me.”

“I know, Pa.” He looked at his father’s face, still distracted by the sight of that familiar silver hair, those dark brows, hearing his deep voice and smelling the scent of the pipe tobacco that clung to his shirt. He shook his head again and finally allowed the faintest of smiles to slowly move onto his face. “I just can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I was afraid this would happen. I sure wish it hadn’t.” Ben winced and let out a short gasp as he tried to shift his weight a little and once again was limited by the pain in his shoulder.

“Pa … you’re OK, aren’t you?” Adam suddenly remembered just why they had thought their father dead. Might they lose him after all? He frantically grabbed at the collar of Ben’s shirt and pulled it aside it to view a swath of white bandages criss-crossing the gray hair covering his father’s chest. “Someone shot you?” He looked from those bandages to his father’s face once more.

Ben nodded grimly. “Took two shots … got me both times, too. Just my luck that neither one did a whole lot of damage.” He reached up to his forehead and gently felt again the white bandage there.

Adam said, “Shouldn’t you be in bed, Pa? Where are you hit?” He still held the shirt collar in his hand, looking doubtfully at the bandaged chest.

Ben replied, “It’s just my shoulder, son. It pains me some, but the doc thinks I’ll make a full recovery.” He winced again and smiled wryly. “Besides, I really can’t rest until all you boys are home.” Adam nodded, visibly relaxing at his father’s description of the doctor’s diagnosis.

He brushed Adam’s hand away from his shirt and said again. “I’m awfully happy to see you, son.”

“Not as happy as I am to see you, Pa.” Adam reached out yet again to rest a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Does that hurt?”

“Not a bit.” Ben was surprised, but pleased, that his usually aloof son could not keep his hands from near-continuous contact with his father.

For his part, Adam wasn’t conscious of his need to be in constant physical contact with his father. But it was true that when he had at least one hand on his father, he felt better. He needed reassurance that the last several days had been all a big mistake, his father was alive instead of dead and the burden of responsibility that Adam had been ready to shoulder could be put off for a long while yet.

“Joe and Hoss will be along soon. Don’t worry about them.” Adam hoped he sounded reassuring.

“I take it you three went after the man who shot me?”

“The men, Pa. Way we figured it, there were three of ’em. We tracked ’em to the way station and when they separated, so did we. We all had a different one to go after.”

He looked at his father then and saw the question in his eyes. He was relieved once again that he didn’t have to explain why he had killed the man, but rather that he could tell his father how he had done things the right way, the Ben Cartwright way. What a switch from a short time ago when he’d worried how he was going to tell his brothers he had let them down and NOT killed his man.

“I didn’t kill him, Pa.” Adam watched as the anxiety he’d seen in his father’s eyes, faded away and was replaced by relief. The lines multiplied at the corner of Ben’s eyes as his mouth turned up into a triumphant smile.

“I knew you wouldn’t, son.” Ben squeezed Adam’s hand tightly. “I knew you wouldn’t.” But the relief that shown on his face told Adam that his father had harbored some doubt about how his sons would react to the news of his death.

Ben dropped Adam’s hand and rubbed at his forehead again. “I told Dorman as much … I told him I had taught my sons well and I knew they’d do the right thing.”

“I didn’t want to do the right thing, though. I wanted to kill him for killing you.” Adam stopped and reflected on the cold rage he’d felt when he’d had his man cornered in the store and he knew he’d be able to get his revenge for what the man had done to his father. He had only hoped it would give him the satisfaction he craved. And now …

“But you didn’t,” his father interrupted his thoughts.

“No, I didn’t,” Adam agreed, looking down at his work-calloused hands, rubbing absently at a dark smudge on one side of his index finger.

Ben waited for him to say more but his son remained silent.

“Son, can’t you tell me what happened?”

So Adam began to tell his father what had happened once he’d confronted his man in the store.

**************

When Adam had grabbed the barkeep in that town, and noted, with cold fury, the look that passed between him and Jeannie, the saloon girl, he knew he was on the right track. He knew she knew more than she was saying, and that’s why he followed her back to the store. She thought she could lead him on a wild goose chase to San Francisco, but Adam wasn’t stupid. Hell, could she have been more transparent? San Francisco, indeed.

He had sipped once at his drink, steeling himself for the confrontation that was to come. Then, with great deliberation, he put the glass down and, placing both palms on the table top, slowly pushed himself up from his chair. It was weariness he felt, he told himself. He was so tired, having been on the road chasing his man and having been up all night tracking his father with his brothers before that.

But was it reluctance instead of weariness? Was he loathe to follow this Jeannie and let her lead him to his man and then take out his vengeance on him? Adam filled his chest with air and let out a deep sigh. He’d come this far and he wasn’t going to give up now, especially since his brothers were counting on him to do the right thing.

He walked out the door of the saloon just in time to see the sage green of Jeannie’s cloak disappear into the doorway of the general store across the street.

He crossed to the opposite walkway and entered the store’s front door. He appeared to have interrupted a discussion between Jeannie and a man. His man. Talking about an incident on the trail that didn’t amount to anything. The man saw him in the doorway then and said to Jeannie, “I meant to tell you about it.”

Adam said, “Why don’t you tell ME about it?”

The man’s stammering explanation of what had happened sounded plausible but liars often told convincing stories, Adam thought to himself. He listened to him talking and backpedaling and sweating and felt nothing but contempt. Adam didn’t really want to hear him, anyway. He was absolutely driven by the cold lump of revenge that sat at the base of his throat; the same lump that had been there since that moment in Roy Coffee’s office when he and his brothers had decided they weren’t waiting around for a posse, but would go after their father’s killers themselves.

“You knew a man was hurt, and yet ya didn’t go lookin’ for him, huh?” Adam said with disgust and disbelief.

“Well, we were scared. We’d just got outta prison. Who was gonna believe us?” The man seemed to be pleading for some understanding but Adam’s face remained impassive. The man tried again. “Now look, I know, maybe we did the wrong thing runnin’ like that … Well, I didn’t know who this fella was, ridin’ out there at night.”

Now Adam was even angrier, if that were possible. “That was my father,” he said, his voice getting more forceful with each word. And Adam noted with satisfaction the horrified look on the man’s face: It must be awful to think you’ve gotten away with murder only to have the dead man’s son turn up in your store.

Adam continued, ticking off the chronology of what must have happened: “He found ya poaching. Ya shot ’im, ya stole his rifle.” The man shook his head in protest but Adam continued. “We traced his horse back to your campfire.” And suddenly he knew he was in the right. He knew this man was his father’s killer.

And when the man started pointing his finger and righteously stammering that Adam couldn’t prove any of what he was saying and that Adam was only trying to shake him down for money, well, it only added more fuel to the fire that burned in Adam’s belly.

Then the idiot had tried to pull a gun on him, tried to beat Adam to the draw with a hidden weapon. Adam was quicker and had him dead to rights before the man had even been able to raise the barrel above the counter. So why hadn’t he killed him right then?

As Adam stared down the man before taking the gun from his limp hand, a range of emotions worked through him. What if he were wrong? What if this man wasn’t the killer? He’d missed his chance, he feared, and now he could see his brothers’ barely veiled disgust when they all returned to the Ponderosa, Adam the only one not having properly avenged his father’s murder.

He had not felt this kind of indecision in many years. The man interrupted his thoughts with his protests about why he’d gone for the gun, but Adam once more steeled himself and told himself going for that gun was as good as a confession. Here he was, pleading and begging: “Please … I … I lost my head, I grabbed a gun.”

“Like maybe that was the way it happened that night, huh?” Adam could clearly see this bastard grabbing for a gun and using it to pick his defenseless father off his horse. He saw his father, in pain and shock, slump forward over his horse’s neck and then fall to the ground as the animal took off without him. Adam slowly shook his head to chase the image from his mind.

“No, no,” the storekeeper shook his head in protest.

Adam looked him in the eyes, the muscle in his jaw working and working. Why did he keep listening to what he had to say? Had his father gotten all this time to plead his case, to plead for his life?

But Adam saw … What? Honesty? That couldn’t be, he thought, because this man was a murderer, had murdered his father. There was not a chance he could be telling the truth right now.

Adam had missed his chance to kill this murderer fair and square before but there still was a way to make this right, still a way to do what they’d all agreed on at the way station.

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Adam said evenly as he holstered his own gun. “I’ll wait for you outside.” He turned and walked away, still carrying the man’s gun and said, “You gotta come out sooner or later.” He paused near a bolt of fabric laying flat on a counter, raised the man’s gun in his right hand and held it up above his shoulder. “And when you do, bring this with you.”

“Mister!” The man sounded desperate now, but Adam was determined not to hear him. Please … N-now think for a minute!” Adam paused with the gun still raised in his hand and listened, despite himself. An internal battle brewed behind his hazel eyes, while the storekeeper tried desperately to make him see his point.

The man continued, speaking more quickly now. “You think I killed your daddy and stole his gun. Now why would I do a thing like that? Wh-what would I gain by it? Look, I got everything I want right here. I got a wife … who waited and worked for me for five years. We’re startin’ fresh! Now why would I wanna shoot ’im? For a gun?” His voice was high pitched and almost frantic.

Adam stood frozen, still holding the gun aloft. “God Pa, he’s making sense,” Adam nearly cried to himself. Though he prided himself on his logical mind, it was times like this when he wished he could be more like Joe, wished he could just come to a decision right away and follow through on it, without having to analyze everything to death.

He looked at the gun in his hand and then slowly lowered it and placed it down on the bolt of fabric. Without another glance at the man or his wife, he walked out the door and down the sidewalk.

It was then, his boots making a steady thudding on the wooden planks of the walkway, that Adam really began thinking about what the man had said. What reason did he have to kill his father? And if he didn’t have a reason, would this man have killed his father? Adam once more began to have second thoughts about his mission.

He had noted the fear in the man’s eyes as he begged for his life and, at first, it had given him deep satisfaction. He had almost smiled at the man’s obvious discomfort, at the way he had stood there, ill at ease, sweating and fidgeting. Adam had enjoyed it.

Then he caught himself and was ashamed. This was not the way his father had raised him, to get satisfaction from the pain and discomfort of another, and now that he was outside, he felt his face burn at the memory. Ben Cartwright had raised his oldest son well.

“No!” Adam said to himself in a low voice and with teeth clenched. “Don’t give in.” If his father’s way was right, why was he dead right now? Adam reasoned with himself. Where had “the right way” gotten Ben Cartwright? Dead by a poacher’s bullet. Surely it was time for Adam to let those childhood lessons go and start acting like a man out to avenge his father’s murder.

Adam stepped off the sidewalk, and mechanically walked across the dusty street to one of the lamp posts. He turned to face the store and, leaning his shoulder against the post, once more drew his gun from its holster. He opened the barrel and checked the ammunition. Six full chambers. He snapped the barrel back into place and loosely reholstered his gun. Even now, he had absolutely no idea what he would do when his man stepped out that door.

It was a warm day, but that couldn’t account for the sweat that beaded on Adam’s forehead and glistened on the part of his forearms that showed below his rolled-up sleeves. He knew without being able to see it, that his black shirt had a dark patch of perspiration between his shoulder blades. No, actually the weather was fairly pleasant and the town’s citizens even enjoyed an occasional cool breeze this day, though gentle enough that it didn’t stir up clouds of dust off the street.

And now, as much as he didn’t want to let it happen, Adam felt that lump in his throat he was calling revenge start to dissolve just a little. Where before he’d been absolute in his determination to find the man and make him pay with his life for having killed his father, now the tiniest hairline crack had found its way into his resolve. Again.

He stood motionless, one foot slightly ahead of the other, slouching, hipshot. While his body wasn’t moving, his mind was racing. What the man had said kept repeating over and over in his mind: “We’re startin’ fresh! Now why would I wanna shoot ’im? For a gun?”

And once more Adam had to admit to himself that it made sense. He could fight the notion all he wanted, but the truth was, there was no reason for this man to have killed his father. None at all. And he could not call a man out who had done nothing to deserve it. To be sure, there were men who enjoyed killing so much, they didn’t even need a reason to call a man out.

But Adam Cartwright was not one of those men.

Adam’s shoulders fell as the tension released from his body. “I’m sorry if this isn’t what my brothers want, Pa,” he thought, “but I think I’m doing the right thing. I’m doing what you would want me to do.”

Adam felt, rather than heard, someone walking up from behind him on the right side. He stood still, staring ahead at the store’s entrance. From the corner of his eye, he saw a man wearing a white shirt and tan pants pause beside him. The man wore a black vest and Adam noted a silver star pinned to one side of it. He remained silent.

Finally the sheriff spoke: “You waitin’ for someone, mister?”

Adam turned his head and looked at the man beside him. “I was. I’m not anymore.”

“So is there anything I can do for ya?” The sheriff looked hard at Adam, wondering what this stranger, who had the lean and hungry look of a gunfighter in his face, was doing standing in the middle of the street in his town.

“Well, sheriff,” Adam began, pointing at the store front. “There’s a man in the general store who may or may not have been involved in a shooting near Virginia City.” Adam lowered his hand and folded his arms high on his chest. “I’ll leave it to you to figure out the truth of the matter. I’ve gotta get home.”

“OK, stranger. I’ll check into it.” The sheriff eyed Adam. “I think it’s time you got on home then, wherever that is.”

Adam tipped his hat and turned to find his horse.

***************

“Was it right, Pa?” Adam looked up at his father anxiously. It was easy to think he’d made the correct decision, of course, now that he knew his father was alive, but if Ben had been dead, would his decision still have been the right one?

“Son, it’s exactly how I raised you. You couldn’t make any other decision than the one you did,” Ben said reassuringly.

“But if I had come back here and there wasn’t this happy ending … ” Adam paused and tried to steady his breathing. He had felt he was in control of his emotions over this incident, but the minute he let his mind turn back to when he thought his father dead, they threatened to overwhelm him again. He was determined he would shed no tears in front of anyone, least of all his father.

“Even if I HAD been dead, even if the man you found WAS the one who killed me,” Ben said as loudly as his weakened condition would allow, “You still would have done the right thing by NOT taking the law into your own hands.” His dark brows nearly met as he looked at his oldest son sternly: “It was you who convinced me of that, remember? When that sheep man kept taking his animals across our land and I wanted to handle it ourselves?”

Adam nodded and then looked down again to pick at a loose thread on one of the buttons on his cuff. Better ask Hop Sing to sew that on tight before he laundered it next time, or it would come up missing.

“I should have known you were right that day. I probably just was too stubborn to admit that my son was smarter than his father,” Ben added with a rueful smile.

Adam looked sideways at his father then, and smiled in return. He remembered fighting hard to hold his own anger in check as his father glowered at him just inches from his face and asked, “You goin’ soft, boy?”

“And look where that got us,” Ben continued. “I knew it was wrong not to call the authorities in like you wanted, but I went ahead and did it my way and almost got you killed.”

“Pa, that doesn’t matter now …” Adam started to respond with a slow shake of his head.

“Yes, it does, son. It’s exactly the same thing, don’t you see? And it’s why I’m absolutely sure that no matter what the outcome had been for me, you were right to turn your man over to the sheriff.”

Adam’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I spent a good part of the last two days agonizing over what Joe and Hoss were gonna think of me – and say to me – when they found out I hadn’t killed the man who killed you.”

Ben once more reached over and put his good hand on Adam’s forearm, gripping as tightly as he could to make his point. “That doesn’t matter now because I’m not dead.” He smiled at his son. “You did the right thing and they will too. They’re my sons as much as you are and they’ll come to the same decision you did.”

Adam looked at his father’s familiar, calloused hand gripping his arm and then let his gaze follow the hand, up the arm to the shoulder and finally into Ben’s face. He saw the conviction there but also saw the slight doubt in the deep brown eyes. Adam put his hand over Ben’s and said, “I know you’re right, Pa, but … ”

“But what?”

“We’re gonna worry until they both come home and we know for sure.” Adam’s face was sober. He added, “I don’t suppose I can convince you to get into bed and get some rest while we wait?”

Ben gave his son a reproachful look. How many nights had he dozed in a chair by a fire reduced to a few glowing coals, waiting for the sounds in the yard that would tell him one of his sons had come home? “You know I can’t go up to bed until they’re here, until I know they’re safe and …”

“You know they’ve made the right decision,” Adam finished for his father. Ben nodded and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

Adam noted the paleness of his father’s complexion and decided he had to make him as comfortable as he could for their wait. There was no way of knowing how long that might be but he had to shake off his recent shock and emotional struggle, and take control of things here.

As Ben rested in his chair, Adam set about starting a fire to prepare for evening’s chill. Now his worries had switched from himself and how he’d explain his action – or rather, inaction – to his two younger brothers, to making sure his father recovered from his injuries and concern over what news his brothers would bring home. He shouldered these burdens which came with being the family’s eldest, without even knowing he was taking them on. It was what he was used to and had been all his life.

Once the fire was built up and roaring, Adam shoved aside the large bowl of apples on the table in front of the hearth and sat down facing the flames. He let his thoughts just briefly turn to his two younger brothers.

Where a short time ago, he had been wishing he could be more like Joe, able to make a decision quickly and act on it, he now worried that very trait of Joe’s could have led him to kill his man once he found him.

And he knew Hoss was slow to anger, but he also knew that once Hoss had been pushed far enough, folks were smart to use caution with him. And it was hard telling what his reaction would be if he came face to face with the man he thought had killed his beloved father.

A quiet groan from the direction of his father’s chair interrupted his thoughts and he looked over at his father. Ben was wincing in pain again as he shifted his weight in the chair.

You OK, Pa?” Adam looked over at his father, concerned, half rising from where he was seated.

Ben held up his hand palm out toward his son and Adam sat back down. “I’m OK, son, I’m fine. I’m just a little stiff.” Ben struggled to sit up a little straighter and held his good hand out toward the fire. “That sure feels good.”

Adam put a booted foot up on the hearth and nodded. More than anything he wanted to hear hoof beats in the yard right now, to know his brothers were home and to hear them say they had followed their father’s teaching and had not killed the men they pursued.

He looked over at his father, who had closed his eyes and let his head fall back to rest on the chair back. In the light from the flickering flames, Adam saw the sheen of perspiration on his father’s forehead and hoped he was not starting up a fever.

“Pa?”

“Hmm?” Ben opened his eyes slightly to look at Adam. His son still perched on the edge of the table facing the fire, but his face wore a distinctly worried expression. Inwardly Ben smiled at the notion of his oldest fretting over the late arrival of his middle and youngest sons. Someday when Adam had sons of his own, Ben reflected, this sitting up at night worrying would seem very familiar to him. Fretting about the brothers he had helped to raise was good practice.

“I’m not very good at this, I’m afraid,” Adam said with a wry grin. “But I guess now we wait, huh?”

Ben returned his son’s gaze and gave a tired smile. “Now we wait.”

END