Sacrificial Lamb
Part 2: Descent Into Hell
By Kathleen T. Berney

She stood in a small room, gowned in a long, flowing garment of white cloud and light. Three walls of the room were windows, clear glass with no shades, no curtains, no draperies to block the morning sunlight streaming in, bathing the entire room with bright white light. The fourth and only true wall was painted a brilliant light-white. In the far distance, somewhere beyond the walls surrounding her, she heard the sound of a child laughing with wild, joyous abandon. The joy, the love, the unbridled delight she heard in that laughter swelled until it filled the entire room where she stood waiting.

The child’s laughter brought forth a song from somewhere deep in her heart. She listened carefully to the words, to the simple, lyrical melody rising now from the depths of her heart, then gave her heartsong voice. She felt her tensed body relaxing and swaying in time to the song’ s gentle rhythms. The song rose, filling her entire being, gently urging her feet to move.

She gave herself over to the song building, rising from the depths of her heart. Her feet moved of their own volition, slowly at first, almost hesitantly. She circled around the room, her feet and legs moving with more confidence, faster, ever faster.

The child’s laughter rose, its simple descant harmonizing with the symphony of her heartsong. A second child, laughing with the same unrestrained joy, joined the first. A third child immediately followed. The lines of their musical laughter flowed together, intertwining, and merging with the growing, swelling melody of her heartsong.

The children’s laughter and her own music faded away to silence as a door appeared in the fourth wall, then opened. She stepped back away from the open portal, suddenly afraid.

“Come along, My Pretty Peggy.
Come along this way.”

It was her mother, Laura, as she was many years ago, back when the two of them lived in Nevada. Smiling, very much as a child herself, Laura flounced up toward Peggy, seizing her daughter’s hand in her own, clutching it tightly to her side.

“To the church, Pretty Peggy.
‘Tis your wedding day.”

Aunt Lil appeared on her right, grabbing her right hand in a powerful vice like grip, and holding fast.

Panic rose swiftly within, threatening to wholly inundate her. She tried to pull her hands from her mother’s and Aunt Lil’s, but their grip was fast, too strong.

“Come along, My Pretty Peggy.
Come along this way.
To the church, Pretty Peggy.
‘Tis your wedding day.”

Mother and Aunt Lil led her toward the door chanting the rhyme her father, her real father, Frank Dayton, had made up just for her, many, many years ago. She struggled in earnest, desperate to free herself. No matter how hard, how fiercely she struggled, they continued steadily toward the open door.

She, wholly against her will, entered the room, propelled along by her mother and her great aunt. Inside all was an opaque, impenetrable blackness, broken here and there by the dull glow of gold fire from torches all around the room. There was a table at the far end of the room, covered with a white cloth. A long, narrow aisle led from the door to that table.

As she, her mother, and her aunt moved down the aisle, her gown changed from cloud and light to a heavy robe of gold brocade, encrusted with jewels. The room was crowded with people, all packed in so tightly, no one could move. A new sound filled the air. She thought it was the wind, at first, then maybe the sound of spring melt rushing down from the high mountains through dry gullies to the rivers, steams and lakes. Then she heard words. She couldn’t make them out at first, but she knew they were words, nonetheless. As she neared the table at the far end of the room, sounds coalesced into recognizable vowels and consonants. Words emerged from the seemingly random vowel and consonant sounds, forming strings of words:

“Come along, My Pretty Peggy.
Come along this way.
To the church, Pretty Peggy.
‘Tis your wedding day.”

They were all chanting it, including her mother and Aunt Lil flanking her on either side. She renewed her valiant struggle to free herself, but they still held fast.

When she reached the table, she was stripped of her heavy golden bejeweled gown and placed naked on the table. Aunt Lil took the gown, draped it possessively over her arm. She hugged it close to her own body, all the while looking down at her, smiling. That smile froze the very marrow in her bones. Frightened, she tried to move, tried desperately to rise from the table and flee. But she couldn’t move. Then, the words of the chant changed.

“From the church, Pretty Peggy
to your marriage bed.
Bride and Lamb of Sacrifice
Your blood will buy our bread .”

She heard a thin wail above the chorus, striking a harsh discord against the tune sung in unison by the people gathered. Another wail arose above the swelling sound of song and the first. The children, she suddenly realized. Two of the children, whose laughter had summoned forth her heartsong back there in the light, now screamed in the darkness, crying out in terrible agony. She felt the sting of tears in her own eyes, borne of fear, horror, and anger at the person inflicting such cruel pain on the children. Drawing strength from her anger, she tried again to move, to escape. Her valiant struggling was in vain.

The crowd gathered in the dark room surged forward , toward the table on which she was lying. A sea of faces crowded into her line of vision. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the faces, searching for the face of her mother. She found her mother where she always was, where she had been for most of her life now. Right next to Aunt Lil.

“Mother, please!” she begged, with tears streaming down her face. “Mother, please, help me.”

Laura smiled. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Peggy,” her mother said with the same complacent detached tone she had used the time she told her that her father had left again, on a long trip. A very long trip. She didn’t know when he would be coming home. She only knew he wouldn’t be coming home for a very, very, very long time.

“MOTHER, HELP ME! PLEASE, PLEASE HELP ME!”

“Close your eyes and count to one hundred, Peggy,” Laura said with that beatific smile. “When you reach one hundred, everything will be all right again. You’ll see, Peggy, you’ll see.”

The wailing of the two children rose in volume and pitch, wrenching her heart. “Mother, help me please! Help me, so I can help them, for the love of God, please!”

“One . . . . two . . . . three . . . . four . . . .” Laura chanted the numbers in a childish sing-song voice. “Count, Peggy, you’ll see! Five, six, seven . . . . .”

The wailing crescendoed into an ear splitting, high pitched shriek, followed by ominous silence. The silence was broken an agonized scream of raw, primal fury. She was surprised to find it was she, herself screaming.

A long, tall shadow fell over her, slicing her body in pieces with its sharp delineations of light and dark .

“ . . . . eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, come on, Peggy! Count!”

The shadow falling over her body belonged to a tall man, clothed in pitch darkness, so thick, no eye, no torch, no beam of light could penetrate its depths. A man’s hand stretched forth from the darkness. It was very well muscled, with skin that appeared to be bone white against his robe of blackness.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen . . . . ”

Blood covered the man’s fingers and palm. She heard a voice within that horrible darkness, taking up the words of the chant. Laura continued to count, her voice rising above the man’s, a discordant descant against his line of melody.

“Come along, My Pretty Peggy.
Come along this way.”

“Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three . . . . ”

“To the church, Pretty Peggy . . . . ”

“Count, Peggy, please count! Twenty-four . . . ”

“ ‘Tis your wedding day.”

“Twenty-five . . . . twenty-six . . . . twenty-seven . . . . twenty . . . . ”

“From the church, Pretty Peggy . . . ”

“ . . . eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

“ . . . to your marriage bed.”

“Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four!”

“Bride and Lamb of Sacrifice
Your blood will buy their bread .”

High over her head the darkness faded to reveal a man’s face, his once handsome features twisted into a demonic caricature of the way he used to look, before injury and illness extracted their own tolls. He chanted the last verse of her song over and over.

“From the church, Pretty Peggy
to your marriage bed.
Bride and Lamb of Sacrifice
Your blood will buy their bread .”

Suddenly, she realized that the man clothed in darkness was Brett. He pulled a single long strand of black from the darkness surrounding him, with slow, precise, agonizing slowness. Unable to move, her cries, her screams for help falling on deaf ears, all she could do was lie there on that table and watch, numb with horror, as Brett wrapped each end of the long, black string around his hands.

“I’m your groom, Pretty Peggy
To love, honor, and obey.
With me you’ll stay, Pretty Peggy,
Forever and a day.”

Chanting, he brought the black string stretched taut between his hands down over her throat. She could feel that black string pressing down unbearably heard against her throat. Its cold burned into her body and soul, sinking deeper and deeper down into the very core of her being. She tried hard to scream, only to whimper.

“Peggy? Peggy, wake up!”

Peggy’s eyes snapped wide open. Her hands immediately flew to her throat as she struggled to sit up. Stacy, with heart in mouth, slipped an arm around Peggy’s shoulders and helped ease her to a sitting position. Peggy drew in a deep, ragged breath, then wearily collapsed back down against the mound of cushions behind her head and back.

“P-Peggy?”

She slowly opened her eyes and found herself staring up into Stacy’s anxious face.

“Are you all right?” Stacy asked. She was dressed in a pair of worn slacks and an old white shirt of Joe’s, that had long ago seen better days. “I heard you cry out.”

“I’ll be all right, Stacy, I . . . I just need a minute to collect myself.” Peggy murmured, closing her eyes once again. “What a horrible, horrible dream.” She shuddered.

“Peggy, I used to have nightmares all the time when I first came here,” Stacy said sympathetically. “Actually, it was the same nightmare over and over. I’d wake up scared out of my wits. It always helped when I could tell Pa, sometimes Hoss and Joe.”

Peggy opened her mouth with every intention of asking Stacy to please, run upstairs and fetch Adam. The insanity passed, as quickly as it had come upon her. “I’ll be all right, Stacy, I promise.” She flashed Stacy a wan smile, hoping to reassure. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Stacy shook her head. “I was already up. It’s my turn to muck out the stalls.”

Peggy rolled her eyes and groaned melodramatically. “Oh yes! It all comes back to me! The joys of life on a ranch! I was responsible for mucking out Traveler’s stall every morning, not-too-bright and early.”

“Who’s Traveler?”

“My pony. Adam gave him to me shortly after my pa died. I was all of eight years old at the time.” Peggy’s eyes misted over, and her smile faded. “Mother and I gave him back to Adam when we moved to San Francisco. I’ll bet I cried for a good solid month.”

“I would, too, if I had to go somewhere I couldn’t take Blaze Face. He’s MY horse,” Stacy said with genuine, heartfelt sympathy.

“Adam said you’re an excellent rider,” Peggy murmured with a touch awe. “I think his exact words were, ‘Stacy and Blaze Face together are swift, fluid poetry in motion.’ ”

Stacy felt the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. “That . . . sounds like Adam!”

“Did I just hear my name mentioned?”

Stacy and Peggy turned their faces to the open door, and saw Adam, clad in nightshirt and hastily donned robe. He leaned against the doorway with arms folded loosely across his chest.

“Good morning, Adam,” Peggy greeted him with a smile and extended her hand.

“Good morning, Peggy.” Adam stepped into the room, and reaching the side of her bed, gently took her extended hand in his. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I was awakened by a bad dream. Stacy heard me cry out, so she came to check up on me. I’m all right now.”

“You sure?”

Peggy smiled and nodded.

“Peggy, seeing as how you’re in good hands, I’d better get out to the barn,” Stacy said with a smile.

“Ok, Stacy. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t forget your rain slicker, Little Sister,” Adam said. “It’s pouring down out there.”

Stacy frowned. “A bit late in coming,” she mused aloud. “As red as the sky was day before yesterday at sunrise, I half way expected a big storm by YESTERDAY morning, if not before. Well . . . see you two at breakfast!”

Adam wisely refrained from telling her that a big storm did start the same morning she saw that red sky at sunrise. One that blew in wrapped in a cloud of blue silk.

“So, what’s the REAL reason you’re up, Adam?” Peggy asked, after Stacy had left.

“The rain against the roof woke me up,” Adam said evasively. “I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I thought I’d come down here and read.”

“Adam Cartwright, you lie through your teeth!”

Adam stared down at her, completely dumbfounded.

“You’re down here to check up on Stacy,” Peggy continued. “You want to make sure someone’s here to protect her, in case my . . . in case Brett shows up.”

“I WAS speaking true when I said the rain woke me up,” Adam said slowly, with a touch of reluctance . “But, yes . . . I want to be here, in case Stacy runs into any trouble.”

“This is all a mistake,” Peggy murmured softly, shaking her head in despair. “A horrible, horrible mistake . . . . ”

“Peggy, don’t say that!”

“Why NOT??! It’s TRUE! I’ve put all of you in terrible danger by coming here. I know better than anyone what Brett’s capable of. The longer I stay— ”

“Peggy, please, listen to me— ”

“Listen to you say WHAT, Adam?” she turned on him angrily. “Are you going to tell me one more time that I’m safe here . . . when the truth is I’m NOT safe here? And as long as I’M here, none of YOU are safe, either! You know THAT, at least as well as I do, or you wouldn’t be making a point of being down here in case Stacy runs into trouble mucking out the barn early in the morning before the rest of the family’s up.”

“All right, Peggy, your safety’s not a hundred percent guaranteed,” Adam said, his own anger and frustration rising. “But, you’re still safer here than you would be anywhere else.”

“Maybe I was, but I’m not now!”

“Why NOT now?”

“Because Mother and Aunt Lil know I’m here!”

“Yes, they have their suspicions, as I said yesterday, but they don’t know for sure. They never saw you, and Pa never admitted to them that you’re here.”

“All the same, they KNOW! And they’re going to tell Brett I’m here, I know they are! If they haven’t already.”

Adam remembered the brief confrontation with Aunt Lil and Laura the day before, and knew without doubt Peggy spoke true.

“See?” Peggy’s tone held an accusatory note. “You can’t deny it, can you?”

“You’re absolutely right. I can’t deny it. I’m not even going to TRY,” Adam said. “I wish I could understand WHY.”

“Why Mother and Aunt Lil would tell Brett where I am?”

Adam nodded. “Surely THEY know what kind of man this Brett van Slyke is . . . and the harm he’s done to you.”

“Of COURSE they know,” Peggy said bitterly.

“Then why ARE they so anxious to turn you over to Brett?”

“Because my marriage to Brett van Slyke is their meal ticket.”

“What?” Her words shook Adam to the very core of his being.

“It’s true, Adam. Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered how and why I ever got mixed up with a . . . with a MONSTER like Brett van Slyke.”

“I’d be less than honest if I said no.”

“Yet you haven’t asked me.”

“I figured you’ll tell me, when you’re ready.”

“Aunt Lil arranged the whole thing,” Peggy explained. “I guess you know Mother and Will never married.”

Adam nodded. “Yes, I know. Will wrote Pa, about a year and a half after the three of you had moved to San Francisco, telling him that he, Will that is, and your Mother decided to call off their engagement.”

“Did Will ever tell Uncle Ben why?”

“No. The way Will worded things, we were left with the impression they mutually agreed to end their relationship.”

Peggy sighed and mournfully shook her head. “I don’t know what happened between Will and Mother, either. The only thing SHE ever said about their parting of ways was that things between her and Will didn’t work out. I asked her why, of course . . . . ”

“What did your mother say?”

“It was one of those grown-up things that I wouldn’t understand.”

“Typical,” Adam said with a touch of rancor.

“When Will came to tell me good-bye, he hugged me and told me he felt worse about leaving me than he did about leaving my mother. I’ll never forget the look on his face, like someone forever haunted something they can see, but can’t do anything about. I didn’t understand it, then, Adam, but I think I do now.”

“You said Aunt Lil arranged your marriage to this Brett van Slyke . . . that it was some kind of meal ticket for her and your mother. Why? I was under the impression Lil was quite wealthy when she visited us.”

“She spent that whole wad in less than a year, Adam,” Peggy replied. “No matter how much she’s ever had, her tastes have always been ‘way more expensive. After Will left, there SHE was poor and in debt to boot, with a grown niece who . . . who couldn’t stand on her own two feet, even if someone propped her up all the way around on all sides with boards and braces, and a little girl to provide for.

“Aunt Lil managed one of the bars down near the water front, where she seemed to be making good money. Mother and I moved in with her after Will left. She had a tiny apartment overtop the saloon. The three of us were constantly tripping over each other. Looking back, I know Aunt Lil wasn’t happy with the whole arrangement. She was always yelling at us . . . me for being a nuisance, always underfoot and asking so many questions . . . and poor Mother for . . . for being so useless.

“I hardened myself to Aunt Lil’s yelling pretty early on, but Mother . . . . ” Peggy sighed. “I always ended up trying to comfort Mother.”

“Who was there to comfort YOU?”

A bare hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Peggy’s mouth. “I got to a point where I could just block out a lot of what Aunt Lil said, but the times when I couldn’t . . . I’d go someplace by myself, like down to the wharf, find a place to sit down and just remember all the wonderful times you and I had before Mother and I left. I’d remember a lot of the things you told me, too, Adam, like the time I fell off Traveler.”

“I remember. I told you that you were a brave little girl for getting back up in the saddle.”

Peggy nodded.

“I . . . wish there was some way I could have been there with you through all that,” Adam said ruefully.

“In a very real way, you WERE, Adam, because every time I’d think and remember, it took a lot of the sting out of what Aunt Lil said.”

Adam nodded, unable to speak past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

“Two years ago, Aunt Lil told Mother and me that she was tired,” Peggy resumed her story. “She wanted to get out of the saloon business and be a lady of leisure. Aunt Lil told Mother and me about this rich man she knew, who wanted a wife for his son. He wanted his son to marry and settle down, but couldn’t find the right girl.”

“Brett’s father?”

Peggy nodded. “Horace van Slyke. Aunt Lil told me that if I married Brett, Mister van Slyke would provide very generously for Mother and her. I didn’t want to do it, Adam. Like most people, I wanted to marry for LOVE, not money!” She grimaced. “Aunt Lil about hit the ceiling when I told her I wouldn’t do it.”

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, Peggy,” Adam said gently, “but, why did you change your mind?”

“I could have held out against Aunt Lil’s yelling and screaming OR against Mother’s weeping and wailing. But NOT against both.”

Adam recalled with a touch of rancor how determined and manipulative both Lil and Laura could be when they had set their minds on something. When Lil came to visit Laura and Peggy, right after Frank Dayton’s sudden death, she had concocted this grand and glorious scheme to make him jealous by bringing in a third party. That third party was none other than his own first cousin, Will Cartwright. Lil’s plan unfolded smoothly, without the slightest hitch. Adam had proposed marriage to Laura, as he was supposed to do. Laura had gone so far as to accept. The only twist in her scheme that Lil hadn’t bargained for was Laura falling in love with Will Cartwright, the bait in her little trap.

“Adam, maybe I should just go back,” Peggy said sadly.

“Back WHERE?”

“To Brett!”

“Peggy, that’s crazy!” Adam protested, making no effort to conceal his annoyance. “You know what he’ll do.”

“No! Not right away! He’ll very nice to me . . . at least for a little while. He’ll be every bit the doting husband . . . attentive, romantic, b-bringing me candy, flowers, little gifts. If that can l-last until we can l-leave Placerville? Well, then, maybe . . . once we get to San Francisco, I can appeal to m-my father-in-law— ”

“Has your father-in-law EVER tried to help you?”

“N-no! No, he hasn’t . . . but, you can’t blame him, Adam. He doesn’t even know how things are. I never saw fit to tell him, until . . . until I miscarried for the second time.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Peggy said, her voice breaking, “but it’s not HIS fault, exactly. I made the mistake of trying to tell him with Aunt Lil there. SHE convinced him that I was unbalanced . . . hysterical, because I had just lost m-my second baby.”

“Peggy, I think deep down, Horace van Slyke KNOWS what kind of man Brett is,” Adam said earnestly. “That’s why he offered to provide so generously for your mother and for Lil, because he KNEW no woman from their social circles would have Brett. Whether he just plain doesn’t want to face up to the truth or if he has accepted the truth, and merely wants to maintain a facade of respectability, I don’t know. Either way, I doubt very much you can count on him for help.”

“Adam, what am I going to do?”

The hopeless despair he heard in her voice and saw mirrored in her eyes, round and staring, wrenched Adam’s heart. “First off,” he began in a steady, firm tone of voice that brooked no further argument or discussion on the matter, “you’re going to stay put right here, where my family and I can best protect you. If it comes down to a fight, Pa not only has fifty men working for him, but he’s also surrounded by neighbors on all sides who will pitch in and help, if need be. Second, you’re going to keep eating and make sure you get plenty of rest, like Doctor Martin said.

“Third, and last on the list,” Adam continued, “you’re going to hear what Mister Milburn has to say. Pa’s riding into town later, and among other things, he’s going to make arrangements for his lawyer to come out here and see you. He’s also going to see Doctor Martin about giving testimony to back up cruelty as grounds of divorce. Pa’s also going to ask Doctor Martin to wire Doctor Phillips.”

Peggy nodded mutely, drawing a measure of strength and determination from Adam’s words, in spite of herself.

“Pa also asked Sheriff Coffee to wire the police department in San Francisco about the van Slyke family. Any information THEY can pass on to Roy should also help establish proof of cruelty.”

“Adam, when Uncle Ben goes into town today? He should also ask Sheriff Coffee to wire the sheriff in Placerville,” Peggy said. Her chin trembled slightly, but her mouth was set in a grim, determined line. “The night before I left, Brett and I had a row to end all rows. I know the sheriff was called . . . . ”

A smile tugged at the corner of Adam’s mouth. “Great minds think alike, Peggy. Pa said Roy was also going to send a wire to Placerville.”

“In the meantime, maybe you’d better go out and check on Stacy,” Peggy suggested, punctuating her words with a big yawn.

“That might not be a bad idea,” Adam agreed. “Will you be alright?”

Peggy nodded. “I will NOW, Adam,” she promised.

Brett van Slyke awoke in the early hours of the morning, while it was yet dark, irritable and restless after a night of sporadic bouts of fitful sleeping. He rolled over, curling his large, muscular body into a tight ball, and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for sleep to reclaim him once more. How long he lay thus, he had no idea. Brett stretched, and rolled over onto his other side, then onto his back, his other side, and stomach. He finally threw the sheet, his only covering, aside with an angry thrust of his arm, and sat up.

Brett sat on the side of his bed, unmoving, his eyes glued to the window at his right. Outside darkness gave way to the silver-gray twilight of dawn, then to the first orange-gold rays of sunrise.

“Meredith!” Brett whispered.

No answer.

Suddenly, Brett leapt to his feet with the powerful ease and strength of a cougar leaping from one rock to the next. He seized the black silk robe lying across the foot of his bed and quickly slipped it over his otherwise nude body. Three long, effortless giant steps brought him to the closed door of his hotel suite. He opened the door and bolted out into the corridor.

“MEREDITH! MEREDITH!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Still no answer.

“MEREDITH!”

At the far end of the corridor, he spotted one of the hotel maids, stepping up to the top landing, her arms laden with clean bed linens.

“YOU!” Brett shouted, pointing.

Even from this great distance, he saw her freeze. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes went round with horror.

“COME HERE!”

The maid pivoted a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn, and fled back down the stairs, strewing the clean linens all over the floor in her wake.

“STOP! I SAID STOP! COME BACK HERE!” Brett shouted as he gave chase with the hem of his unbelted robe flapping behind him.

Lark Meredith, clad in pajama bottoms and unbelted robe met him at the second floor landing. “C’mon, Mister van Slyke, it’s early yet. Let’s getcha back t’ bed.” He took Brett’s elbow and started to steer him back toward the stairs.

“NO!” Brett shouted, as he pulled his arm free from Lark’s grip. “I’m not sleepy.”

“All right. Let’s go back to your room. You need to bathe, wash, and get dressed.”

“Then what?”

“Breakfast.”

“I want my pretty Peggy.”

“She’s not here.”

“Where IS she?”

“With friends. She’ll be back soon.”

Brett meekly allowed Lark Meredith to take his elbow once again, and steer him back over toward the stairs. “I’m thirsty,” he said petulantly.

“After I get you back to your room, I’m going to ask the concierge for some hot water, so you can have a bath and wash up,” Lark promised. “I’ll also get you something to drink.”

After seeing his charge back to his hotel suite, Lark immediately roused Hoyt Pyle, Brett van Slyke’s valet. Hoyt was a large, well muscled man standing nearly six and a half feet tall, and weighing in at a bit over three hundred pounds. Every bit of that mass was iron hard muscle. Lark delegated to Hoyt the task of procuring the hot water, and seeing that Mister van Slyke bathed, washed, and dressed himself properly.

Satisfied that Brett, for the time being, was safely in responsible hands, Lark Meredith returned to his own room. He quickly splashed a couple handfuls of cold water on his face, and dressed. As he stood before his dresser mirror, lathering his soap in preparation for a shave, someone knocked on his door. “Yes?” he queried with a reluctant sigh.

“Mister Meredith, the concierge asked me to fetch you.” It was one of the bellboys. “Mister Jamison wants to see you at your earliest convenience.”

“I’ll be right there,” Lark said, laying side his cup of shaving soap and his brush.

“Yes, Sir,” the bell hop without mumbled.

Lark ran a comb through his tangled locks and put on a fresh clean shirt. A few moments later, he stood in the manager’s well-appointed office, face to face with Nathan Jamison, the hotel manager. Nathan Jamison was a short, thin wiry man, whose forceful personality, near obsessive perfectionism, and short, fiery temper more than compensated for any lack of physical size. He stood in the center of his office, impeccably attired in a conservative dark blue three-piece suit with clean white starched shirt and tie. Lark also noted, to his dismay that the man’s thinning hair was neatly combed, and that he HAD shaved this morning.

“Mister Jamison, I apologize for the disturbance this morning,” Lark said, flinching away from the intensity of the smaller man’s intense glare. “You have my solemn word it won’t happen again.”

“This makes the third time in the last two weeks you’ve given me your solemn word it won’t happen again, Mister Meredith,” Nathan said with a touch of sarcasm. “I’ve already had half a dozen guests check out earlier than they had scheduled. Three others are in their rooms packing even as we speak. These gentlemen ARE regular clients, or they have been up until now.”

“Surely the patronage of the van Slyke family . . . . ”

“This is the first time ANY member of the van Slyke family has so much as set foot in Placerville for the better part of the last three or four years now,” Nathan said in a tine that dripped icicles. “In the days Horace van Slyke and his father before came here for the hunting, they stayed at that lodge of theirs outside of town. The van Slykes have NEVER been clients of THIS establishment at all until, unfortunately, now.”

“The van Slyke family is fully prepared to make whatever amends . . . . ”

“The only amends the van Slyke family can make at this point is to check out as soon as possible.”

Lark’s jaw dropped.

“My staff and I have had more than enough, Mister Meredith,” Nathan said firmly.

“If we could just stay until we locate MRS. van Slyke,” Lark begged.

“She’s probably crossed the wide Mississippi by this time and is well on her way to points east,” Nathan said in a wry tone. “She is if she’s smart, especially after that terrible fight she and her husband had the night before her disappearance.”

“We’ve already paid you for the damages, TWICE what it’ll cost to make repairs and buy new furniture. What more do you want?”

“I want the lot of you to leave as soon as possible,” Nathan snapped, “and once you’ve gone, I don’t ever want to see your shadows darken the threshold of this establishment again, ever.”

Lark exhaled a short, curt sigh of exasperation.

“All right!” Nathan exhaled an explosive, curt, exasperated sigh. “I am NOT an unreasonable man, Mister Meredith. Therefore, in light of Mrs. van Slyke’s unfortunate disappearance, I will allow Mister van Slyke’s party to remain for another three days, but that is all . . . AND it goes much against my better judgment.”

The fierce, determined look on Nathan Jamison’s face told Lark loud and clear there would be no allowances made beyond the three-day extension reluctantly granted. He simply nodded curtly, then turned heel and left the manager’s office without further word. In passing the registration counter in the lobby, Lark paused just long enough to glance up at the clock hanging up on the wall behind. The time was twenty-three minutes past the hour of seven. He made himself a mental note to be at the telegraph office when it opened at nine so that he might wire the elder Mister van Slyke for instructions, then set off in the direction of the small café, across the street, two doors down from the saloon.

After wolfing down a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and black coffee, Lark Meredith immediately went to the Western Union office and dispatched a telegram to his employer in San Francisco that was brief and to the point:

“Mister van Slyke [stop]

Son’s condition much worse [stop] Must leave hotel three days [stop] Mrs. van Slyke still missing [stop] Will see care taker at lodge about opening [stop] Please advise [stop]

Your servant [stop]
Lark Meredith [stop; end of message]”

Lark sternly instructed the Western Union clerk to take the reply down to the hotel and leave it with the desk clerk, adding an extra fifty-cents over and above the cost of sending the wire for the man’s trouble. He, then, walked the block and a half from the telegraph office to the livery stable, where he rented a horse and set out for the van Slykes’ hunting lodge, located ten miles northeast of town. The care taker, a name by the name of Cameron Dressler and his wife, Faith, lived in care taker’s cottage, located behind the big house.

Ben Cartwright had also risen early that morning. After a light breakfast of toast and coffee, over and above the loud protests of Hop Sing, half in Chinese the other half in English, he set off toward the barn.

“ ‘Morning, Pa!”

Ben smiled. “Good morning, Stacy. You about finished?”

“JUST finished. Where are YOU going so early?”

“I have some things I need to take care of in town,” Ben replied. “I wanted to get an early start.”

“You want help saddling Buck?”

“Sure. The sooner I get going, the sooner I can finish up.”

Stacy ran ahead and moved Ben’s horse from his stall.

“What are YOUR plans for this morning?” Ben asked, as he slipped on Buck’s bridle.

Stacy placed a clean saddle blanket over Big Buck’s back. “The road’s probably going to be too wet for Sun Dancer to run laps today, after all that rain earlier. so I thought I’d take him out for a brisk ride . . . AFTER breakfast.”

“Yes, AFTER breakfast!” Ben agreed wryly. “Hop Sing’s upset enough with ME taking off early.”

Stacy smiled. “I know. I heard.”

Ben placed the saddle on over the blanket, then motioned for Stacy to hold the reins, while he fastened the saddle around his horse’s girth. “Do me a favor?”

“Sure, Pa. What is it?”

“When you take Sun Dancer out, ask Joe to go with you.”

“You worried about Peggy’s husband, too?”

“Too?”

“Adam’s been getting around the time I go out to muck out the stalls since the morning I found Peggy out in the barn.”

“Yes,” Ben admitted. “I AM a little concerned about Peggy’s husband showing up. Stacy, I hate asking this of you . . . . ”

Stacy, having a very good idea what her father was about to say next, felt her heart plummeting fast and furious toward her feet.

“ . . . until I know more, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go out riding by yourself.”

“Ok, Pa.”

Though Stacy took pains to keep her voice neutral, Ben could see the dismay in her eyes quite clearly. “I’m hoping Sheriff Coffee might have some information for me today,” he said by way of offering encouragement.

“Well, I guess one day won’t kill me,” she sighed.

“Look at it THIS way, Stacy. Today, you and Joe have an opportunity to spend some good quality time together.” Though she sarcastically rolled her eyes, Ben saw the bare hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, too. “I should be back around dinner time,” he said as he climbed up onto Buck’s back.

“Ok, Pa. See you later.”

Ben set off. Overhead, the thick covering of opaque, slate gray clouds had begun breaking up. Rays of sunlight shone through the holes opening in cloud covering, revealing patches of patches of bright blue sky above. Buck made reasonably good time, given the wet, muddy road conditions. Ben arrived at the sheriff’s office shortly before nine o’clock.

“Come on in, Ben,” the sheriff invited. “Coffee’s over there on the stove if y’ want some.”

“Have you heard anything?” Ben asked, as he poured himself a mug of the sheriff’s strong, black coffee.

“Yep,” Roy replied with an emphatic nod. “I got two wires ‘ a big envelope marked special delivery from San Francisco. Accordin’ to the wire from the San Francisco Police Department, this Brett van Slyke you’re askin’ about ‘s got NO police record.” He handed the Western Union note over to Ben. “The OTHER wire’s from the Chief o’ Police himself.”

Ben took the wired message, sent by the Chief of Police in San Francisco, from Roy Coffee, and read it over silently:

“Dear Sheriff Coffee [stop]

Be advised [stop]

Members of the van Slyke family are decent, upright, honorable, wholly moral pillars of San Francisco community and society here and have been for many years [stop]. My father, beginning as a small boy, worked first for Julian van Slyke, then for his son Horace. [stop] We can vouch for both being fair, honest, decent, and generous employers.

Horace van Slyke paid my college tuition, without asking for repayment [stop] During my mother’s last illness, Horace van Slyke paid for doctor and medicines [stop] My family will remember van Slykes’ kindness and generosity though Mother did not recover [stop]

Very sorry to hear about Mrs. van Slyke’s disappearance [stop] Hope she is found, alive and well [stop] Let Brett van Slyke know he is in our prayers [stop]

Hope this clears up any trouble or misunderstanding regarding Brett van Slyke [stop] Please wire if he requires my presence in Virginia City [stop]

Your servant [stop]”

Ben looked over at Roy after he had finished reading the lengthy communiqué . “It must have cost the police chief a small fortune to send this wire,” he remarked archly.

“George at the telegraph office here in Virginia City figures it had to have cost somewhere in the neighborhood of ten dollars to send.”

Ben whistled. “You could buy stage fare to San Francisco and back for THAT.”

“Somethin’ tells me that if the police chief couldn’t afford it, this Mister Horace van Slyke . . . . . could.”

“I find one thing very, very interesting about the contents of this wire,” Ben said slowly. “When our good friend the police chief extols the virtues of the van Slyke family, he mentions Julian and Horace, but NOT Brett. In fact this wire doesn’t even mention Brett except in passing, at the end of the letter.”

“Take a gander at what’s in the envelope,” Roy said curtly.

Ben opened it. Inside, he found a half dozen articles that had been clipped from a newspaper. At the top of each article, a date was noted, presumably the date it had appeared in the paper. The earliest date was two and a half months ago, and the most recent was dated a scant three weeks ago. A note, short, terse, and to the point accompanied the articles:

“Ben—

According to reliable sources, an old friend of yours may be in serious danger. You will find her in Placerville or at the van Slyke hunting lodge, ten miles outside of town. See enclosed.

This is one I owe you for asking your friend to set me up here as a reporter.

Sincerely,
Horace Banning ,
Reporter for the San Francisco Tribune.”

Ben glanced over the enclosed articles. The one marked with the earliest date stated that the body of a barmaid named Rosemary O’Malley had apparently turned up in San Francisco, by the wharfs floating face down in the water. She had been missing for two weeks prior to the date, noted on top of the article. Her body was covered with numerous cuts, bruises, and scar tissue from grievous wounds healed over, all neatly hidden under her clothing.

The post mortem examination revealed massive amounts of blood surrounding her heart, and in her lungs, stomach, and intestines, all evidence of massive internal injury. The most interesting finding was the absence of salt water in her lungs, evidence that the woman was dead before her body was thrown into the water. Most of her ribs and her pelvis were fractured, and the lower bones in both legs were shattered while the woman was still alive.

Ben closed his eyes for a moment, sickened by the image of a young woman thus disabled, unable even to flee. All she could do was lie there helpless while her assailant tortured her to death.

He took a deep, ragged breath and forced himself to continue reading. Brett van Slyke was named as a frequent customer in the saloon where Rosemary O’Malley had worked. According to witness accounts, Brett had been keeping close company with her for nearly a year prior to her disappearance. She was also last seen leaving the saloon in his company.

Ben, his senses reeling from the horrific facts given in the first article, turned his attention to the second, dated one week later. It recapped much of the information given in the first. The additions included an eyewitness account of Brett van Slyke going on a violent rampage two months before Miss O’Malley’s disappearance. According to the witness, name not given, Brett had seen her in the company of another man. He and Miss O’Malley’s companion argued. The other man swung at Brett, but missed. Brett retaliated by hitting the other man repeatedly with a solid wood cane, carved from dark ebony. Other men, patrons, bartender, and bouncers all rushed in immediately to separate Brett and the other man, but the damage had been done. The other man died of his injuries a week and a half later, without regaining consciousness.

“I don’t believe this!” Ben murmured, shaking his head. “I just plain and simply don’t believe this!”

“What is it, Ben?” Roy asked.

“Brett van Slyke beats a man to death in a saloon . . . in front of witnesses, and no charges are even filed?!” Ben looked over at Roy, dumbfounded.

“Money talks, Ben. You know that as well as I do,” Roy said grimly, “and it seems the van Slykes have enough to do a whole lotta talkin’!”

“Not to mention a police chief who’s grateful!” Ben added curtly.

Ben returned his attention to the remainder of the article. One eyewitness, another barmaid who adamantly insisted on her name not being given, said that Rosemary spoke to her of being deathly afraid of Brett van Slyke and what he could do. Other accounts told of Brett either threatening or beating up other customers, he thought were trying to move in on Miss O’Malley.

The next two articles, the first dated two weeks after the second and the other one week after that, were repeats of the information given in the first article, omitting any and all mention of Brett van Slyke.

The fifth article, dated two weeks after the fourth stated that a hearing had been held regarding the nature of Rosemary O’Malley’s demise. The presiding judge ruled her death a “probable suicide,” based on a new piece of evidence, a note allegedly written by Miss O’Malley, that had suddenly come to light. In her note, she had confessed her ardent passion for Brett van Slyke. Unable to face living without him, she had opted to drown herself. The note was dated the night before her disappearance, and signed. Allegations from several anonymous witnesses that Miss O’Malley was illiterate immediately followed.

Horace van Slyke was quoted, expressing “deep, profound regret” over his son’s “unfortunate indiscretion,” and sorrow “over the tragic turn of events that ended with that pitiable woman taking her own life.” He had also said that his son was “exceedingly sorrowful for having strayed from his vows of marriage,” and felt “a great, abiding remorse having wounded his loving wife so cruelly and so deeply,” and for “the tragedy of that young woman’s unfortunate suicide.” The article ended up by saying that Mister and Mrs. Brett van Slyke had gone into seclusion to “effect a reconcilement to their marriage.”

As horrific as all the information gleaned from the first five articles had been, it was the final line in the last article, added as a mere afterthought, that really left Ben shaken to the very core of his being. Rosemary O’Malley, like Peggy, was pregnant at the time of her death. “I . . . w-wanted to know what I’m up against,” he murmured softly, “now . . . now I know.”

Roy quietly placed a firm hand on Ben’s shoulder, offering a measure of reassurance and support. “I know how ya feel, Ben. I must’ve had the exact same look on MY face after I got through readin’ them newspaper articles.”

“Roy, have you heard anything from the sheriff in Placerville?”

“Not yet.”

“You mind if I take these with me?” Ben asked, holding up the envelopes containing the letter from the police chief in San Francisco and the newspaper articles from anonymous. “I’d like Adam, Teresa, Hoss, and Joe to read them over. After that, I’ll turn them over to Lucas for safe keeping.”

“Sure,” Roy agreed. “They’re addressed to YOU. That makes ‘em yours as far as I’M concerned.”

Ben nodded.

“How about Stacy, Ben?”

“What ABOUT Stacy?”

“Y’ gotta tell her something.”

“Don’t worry, Roy, I’m going to tell her what’s going on,” Ben said soberly. “With the very real possibility of Brett van Slyke eventually coming out to the Ponderosa looking for Peggy, I HAVE to. But, I’m perfectly able to impress upon her how dangerous and violent that man is . . . without her reading all these lurid details.”

“Ben?”

“Yes, Roy?”

“I want ya t’ know I’ll give ya what help I can,” Roy said. “Problem is, there ain’t much I c’n do, seein’ as t’ how OFFICIALLY, this Brett van Slyke ain’t even got a criminal record.”

“I understand, Roy.”

“Mister Meredith, it’s been a little while!” Cameron Dressler greeted Lark Meredith with a warm smile. He stood aside and gestured for Lark to enter, with a grand sweep of his arm. “Please come in.”

Cameron Dressler and his wife, Faith, had been the caretakers of the van Slykes’ Placerville lodge for nearly a decade. Cameron’s duties included the general upkeep of the grounds, and seeing to all of the needed repair and maintenance work. Being a skilled carpenter and general all round handyman, he handled virtually all of the work himself.

Faith Dressler was in charge of housekeeping. For the past three years, she had kept the van Slykes’ hunting lodge ready to receive guests at a moment’s notice. At the beginning of the year, however, she had been dropped from the payroll. Faith received a glowing letter from Horace van Slyke himself, thanking her for her loyalty, dedication, and hard work in the first paragraph, smoothly traversing into the second which informed her that her housekeeping services would no longer be required due to “the lengthy illness plaguing me day and night without let up, with no foreseeable end in sight.” A fifty dollar bonus was included with the letter.

Lark stepped across the threshold, into a large, well lit great room.

“Mister Meredith, what a pleasant surprise! Please, come in and sit down,” Faith invited as she rose from her place at the small dining room table, located on the opposite side of the room, next to the kitchen door. “Cameron and I were just finishing our breakfast, but I can fix you something, if you’d like.”

Lark politely removed his hat and shook his head. “I had breakfast in town,” he replied, “but, I would like a cup of coffee, if you have any.”

“I have plenty,” Faith said. “Sit!” With that, she turned heel and flounced off into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with the coffee pot in one hand and a large mug in the other. “Your coffee, Sir,” she said, placing the mug, filled nearly to the brim down on the table before him. “Cream and sugar?”

“No thank you, Mrs. Dressler. I take it black these days.”

“I have some cleaning up to do upstairs,” Faith said as she deftly removed her breakfast dishes from the table. “So I’m going to have at it, and let you gentlemen discuss your business.”

Lark rose to his feet politely. “Good seeing you again, Ma’am.” He took a large gulp from his mug, then turned his attention to the caretaker, seated across from him at the head of the table. “How long would it take to get this lodge in shape for human habitation?”

“This house hasn’t been cleaned at all since Faith . . . Mrs. Dressler . . . was let go,” Cameron said slowly. “Is Mister Horace planning a trip out here, sometime soon?”

“No, the elder Mister van Slyke is quite ill, I’m afraid.”

Cameron’s face fell. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“ . . . and right now, he has his hands full trying to set to rights some unsavory business the younger Mister van Slyke had the misfortune of being caught up in.”

“How is Mister Brett these days? Is HE any better?”

“Nope. He’s worse, and growing more so by the day.”

Cameron shook his head dolefully. “Shame, that. Between you and me? Seems like it might’ve been lots better all the way around if Mister Brett . . . well, if he HADN’T regained consciousness after that last accident.”

“I . . . can’t say I disagree with you.”

“Is . . . is Mister Brett coming here?”

“He has to,” Lark said grimly. “He’s, unfortunately, created quite a stir at the hotel in town. The manager’s ordered us to vacate in three days. I . . . I haven’t heard from Mister van Slyke as to whether or not it’s alright for Mister Brett to return home to San Francisco, nor do I expect to, not in the next three days. Is there anyway you and Mrs. Dressler can have this place ready by then?”

“Good heavens! Three days?”

Lark nodded.

“Mister Meredith, it’ll take Faith ‘n me three days just to hire enough extra help to get this place back into ship shape,” Cameron said. “This house has not had a proper cleaning since my wife’s dismissal at the beginning of the year.”

“How about just the second floor . . . where the family living area is?” Lark pressed. “I think we can adequately confine Mister Brett to the guest room on that floor, if need be.”

“Confine?”

“Yes.”

Cameron whistled. “Mister Brett has . . . deteriorated that much?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’ll need to replace the lock on the second floor master bedroom . . . . ”

“ . . . and find bars for the windows.”

“What about MRS. van Slyke? Did SHE accompany Mister Brett here from San Francisco?”

Lark nodded. “SHE’S gone missing, however” he said gravely. “Took off right in the middle of that big birthday bash Mister Brett threw for himself a few nights ago. She told her aunt that she had return to her room for something, she’d be right back. She never came back.”

“Betwixt you ‘n me, I can’t say as I blame her. Any idea where she’s gone?”

“None. Got Jake checkin’ out a lead named Cartwright . . . . ”

“BEN Cartwright?”

Yeah,” Lark said quickly. “YOU know ‘im?”

“I know OF him,” Cameron said quietly. “Most folks ‘round here know about Ben Cartwright ‘n that Ponderosa spread o’ his.” He frowned. “You figure Mrs. van Slyke’s gone THERE?”

“They were friends once. Her mother was engaged to Mister Cartwright’s oldest boy for a little while.”

“Hm! Small world!”

Lark finished the last of his coffee and set the empty mug down on the table. “Mister Cameron, you didn’t answer my question. Can you get the second floor ready in three days?”

“Faith and I will do what we can.”

“I will see that she’s paid, of course.”

“If it’s all the same to YOU, Mister Meredith, I don’t want Faith’s wages to be in the form of MONEY.”

“Oh?”

“I want a one way ticket, on the ten o’clock stage to Carson City, day after tomorrow,” Cameron said. “She’s been wanting to visit her sister there for quite awhile. I’ve just decided that NOW’S the time.”

“I WAS counting on her to cook our meals.”

“I’LL see to our meals,” Cameron said in a stern tone, that brooked no argument. “Granted my skills in the kitchen pale in comparison to my wife’s, but they’ll have to do. I will NOT, under any circumstances, have Faith anywhere near this place, while Mister Brett is here.”

“I promise you, your wife will be perfectly safe.”

“Mister Meredith, Faith has a friend, who lives with her husband and family in San Francisco,” Cameron said. “They went to school together, and now they write each other at least once a week.” He paused, and looked Lark Meredith straight in the eye, boldly, without flinching. “Mister Meredith, we know all about that poor, unfortunate Miss O’Malley.”

“I see,” Lark sighed. “All right, Mister Dressler. I will send your wife’s stage ticket tomorrow morning by messenger.”

“Ben, I’ll be more than happy to provide an affidavit regarding Mrs. Van Slyke’s physical condition,” Paul Martin agreed with a dark scowl. “The sooner she’s away from that . . . that creature she’s married to . . . . ”

“Paul, you don’t even know the HALF of it,” Ben said grimly. He gave the doctor a capsulated version of the information gleaned from the newspaper clippings sent by his old friend in San Francisco.

Paul blanched. “ . . . and I thought I’D seen it all,” he murmured, stunned. “Peggy’s lucky to have escaped with her life.”

“Unfortunately, we’re far from out of the woods, but Adam and I are determined to see that Peggy, and her unborn child, remain safely out of her husband’s clutches.”

“If it’s alright with Lucas, I’ll stop by his office later on this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Paul,” Ben said gratefully. “I need one other favor from you.”

“Sure, Ben, you name it.”

Ben explained the need for more testimony to back up Peggy’s petition for divorce on the grounds of cruelty, as Lucas Milburn had told him two days before. “I need you to send a wire to Doctor Forsythe Phillips in San Francisco. She was seeing him before she left San Francisco. He was also her doctor when she miscarried her second baby because of Brett’s violence.”

“I’ll make inquiries under the dictum of ‘professional consultation and courtesy,’ ” Paul said. “Ben?”

“Yes, Paul?”

“How’s Peggy doing?”

“Her appetite’s picked up, much to Hop Sing’s delight,” Ben said with a smile, “and she’s anxious to be up and around.”

“Good!” Paul heartily approved. “Just make sure she’s doesn’t overly tire herself. I’ll be out at the end of the week to check up on her, Ben, if that’s ok.”

“That’s fine,” Ben agreed.

“Hopefully, by then, I’ll have heard from this Doctor Phillips.”

Thanks to Buck, Ben reached Lucas Milburn’s office a few minutes after leaving the doctor. He paused, as he looped the reins of his horse around the hitching post, unable to shake the uneasy feeling he was being closely watched. He turned, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. He saw nothing unusual in the buggies, the buckboards, riders on horses, and pedestrians moving along the street.

“If I don’t watch myself, Old Friend, I’m gonna start seeing villains, thieves, and scoundrels lurking under every rock and behind every tree,” Ben addressed his remarks to Buck with a rueful smile. He reached up and patted the big palomino’s neck affectionately. “I won’t be long . . . . ”

“So THAT’S Ben Cartwright!”

“That’s right, Mister Gormsley!”

Jake Gormsley laughed mirthlessly and shook his head. Aged in his late thirties, he was a man of average height, slender, with thinning brown hair, generously laced with strands of gray. He wore a clean off white shirt, with long sleeves rolled to the elbow, a pair of brown pants, and boots that were well worn, yet still in one piece. He stood across the street from Lucas Milburn’s office watching as Ben Cartwright left his horse and walked inside. Lil Manfred and Laura Dayton were with him. All three kept themselves well inside the shadows cast by the buildings on their side of the street.

Lil turned and favored Jake with a withering glare. “Would you mind telling me what’s so funny?” she demanded with arms folded tight across her ample bosom.

“Gotta hand it to the pair o’ you!” Jake said, shaking his head in wonder. “I mean the girl’s your niece, Mrs. Manfred, and . . . she’s Mrs. Dayton’s DAUGHTER. Yet here you are, willing and eager to hand that poor gal over to the likes of Brett van Slyke. I’ve known some real hard hearted dames in my day, Ladies, but you two top ‘em all.”

Laura gasped, horrified.

“Spare me your moralizing, Mister Gormsley,” Lil growled. “You’re in this for the money, just like WE are. The only difference is Mrs. Dayton and I don’t have the wide range of choices you do, when it comes to how we make our money.”

“True! That’s very true! There’s all KINDS o’ choices out there for the man what likes hard work ‘n low wages,” Jake replied. “Unfortunately, that limits MY options, too, seein’ as how I like high wages and a nice cushy job. Workin’ for the van Slykes, I got both. They pay me handsomely to just watch and observe, and on occasion, ACT at my discretion.”

“What, pray tell, have you been watching and observing?” Lil demanded.

Jake smiled malevolently. “You, Mrs. Manfred. You and Mrs. Dayton to see if you’d lead me to Mrs. van Slyke. Now that you have in a manner o’ speakin’, I can take over from here. The two of you are gonna pack your things and head on back to Placerville.”

“Oh no we’re not!” Lil said complacently.

Jake scowled, sending a chill running down the entire length of Laura’s spine. “Look! Things are dicey enough all the way around without a couple o’ schemin’ dames gettin’ in my way.”

“We have absolutely no intention of getting in your way, Mister Gormsley,” Lil said, using the same insultingly condescending tone she used when trying to explain something to Laura. “You do what you have to do, we won’t interfere.”

“Damn sight better not!” Jake growled.

“However, Mrs. Dayton and I are staying right here in Virginia City, until Mrs. van Slyke is found. After all, she and I have a much larger stake in all this than you do.”

“Oh yeah? Exactly how large a stake are you talkin’ about, Mrs. Manfred.”

“Our survival . . . Mrs. Dayton’s and mine.”

“For a pair o’ survivors, you two sure live high on the hog,” Jake said with a sardonic chuckle.

“NOW what’s so funny?” Lil demanded indignantly.

“I’ll bet, if you went into some of the deep jungles along the Amazon and watched some of the rituals of human sacrifice ‘n cannibalism, you’d be appalled. You’d think it very uncivilized.”

Laura blanched. “H-how horrible!” she gasped.

“It’s all in how ya look at it, Mrs. Dayton. To those Amazon natives, cannibalism’s a very sacred ritual. The idea is to acquire all the things about your enemies that you admire, like his strength, his cunning, his intelligence. So ya gotta pick your human sacrifice very, very carefully.”

“Your point, Mister Gormsley?” Lil snapped.

A malicious smile oozed it’s way slowly across the lower portion of Jake’s clean shaven face. “My point is THIS, Mrs. Manfred. Your willingness to turn that young niece o’ yours over to Brett van Slyke makes you ‘n Mrs. Dayton here no better ‘n those savage, uncivilized cannibals living down in the Amazon jungles.”

“No!” Laura protested. “No! That’s not true!”

“Yeah, it is, Mrs. Dayton. Your daughter’s just as much a human sacrifice as the people those cannibals boil in pots, and the pair o’ you . . . well, you ain’t fit to shine the boots of the folks who cook ‘em for dinner.”

Upon returning to the hotel back in Placerville, Lark Meredith found a message waiting for him. It was not the one he expected from San Francisco, rather it was from Jake Gormsley in Virginia City:

“Mother and Aunt here [stop] Wife probably at Ponderosa [stop] Still unsure [stop] Send instructions [stop]

J Gormsley [stop, end of message]

Lark felt a measure of relief upon learning that Mrs. van Slyke’s mother and aunt were in Virginia City, out of his hair. Jake probably wasn’t very happy with that situation, however . . . .

“Who the hell CARES whether Jake’s happy or not! For now they’re HIS problem!” Lark muttered under his breath as he crumpled the message into a tight ball and stuffed it in his pocket. “I got plenty enough of my own!” He set off in search of the hotel manager.

Nathan Jamison was in the lobby speaking to two customers, a man and woman, both young, and fresh faced. The woman kept her face buried in her hands, while the man, standing with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his own face beet red, spoke with the manager.

Lark watched . . . and waited.

The young man grew more animated, his movements and gestures more sharply defined. Nathan occasionally addressed himself to the young woman, receiving a nod or shake of the head in reply. Once or twice, the men’s voices were raised, though Lark heard none of their words clearly.

As the conversation between the manager and the young couple dragged on, Lark began to pace, pausing to glance over at the clock hanging on the wall behind the registration counter. He counted to ten very slowly, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths between numbers. When, at long last, the man and woman moved off, Lark bounded across the lobby after Nathan, who had turned and started back to his own office.

“Mister Jamison . . . please! A moment, if I may?”

Nathan stopped and turned. “Yes, Mister Meredith?”

He assured the hotel manager that he had wired Mister van Slyke’s father in San Francisco, appraising him of his son’s condition. Though he had not yet heard from the elder Mister van Slyke, he expected to before day’s end. “I also rode over to the lodge to see Mister Dressler, the caretaker. He assures my that he and his wife will to all they can to ready the second floor of the house— ”

“WHY are you telling me this, Mister Meredith?” Nathan’s voice dripped with icicles.

“I need more time, Mister Jamison.”

“More time for what?”

“To remain HERE. ‘Til the end of the week.”

“Out of the question!”

“Please, Mister Jamison! The Dresslers can’t possibly have everything done in three days . . . Please! Just let us stay until the end of the week. That’s all I ask.”

“Mister Meredith, that young couple I was speaking to when you came in?”

“Yeah? What about ‘em?”

“Well it seems Mister van Slyke escaped his gargantuan keeper about an hour after you left this morning, and attacked the woman.”

Lark’s heart plummeted to his feet. “Oh no . . . . ” he murmured softly.

“I’m afraid SO.”

“Please, Mister Jamison, I’m doing everything I can to get him out of here, but I need more time.”

“Mister van Slyke is NOT staying here.”

“I have no where to take him!” Lark said tersely, finally giving vent to the frustration growing within him.

“To be honestly frank, I don’t care,” Nathan said firmly. “Three of our maids quit because they plain and simply got tired of Mister van Slyke chasing them, and making indecent propositions. None of them will venture up to the third floor, I have a bellhop home recovering from injuries inflicted on him by Mister van Slyke during one of his rages, and now he’s attacked a young woman on her honeymoon. Mister Meredith, I have had quite enough.”

“I told you, the ELDER Mister van Slyke is prepared to make amends . . . . ”

“Instead of making amends everywhere his son goes, perhaps the elder Mister van Slyke should look into having his son committed.”

“Do you have any idea what those so called sanitariums are LIKE, on the inside, Mister Jamison?” Lark demanded. “People tied to their beds, or chained to the walls, left alone to babble and . . . and to wallow in their own filth . . . . ”

Nathan lapsed into a stunned, brooding silence for a long moment. At length, he sighed. “Then perhaps the elder Mister van Slyke should lock him up in the attic at home,” he said through clenched teeth. “In any case, the YOUNGER Mister van Slyke is dangerously and violently insane. For the safety of everyone else around him, he should be locked up tight . . . somewhere . . . . ”

“I’ trying to do just THAT over at the lodge, Mister Jamison., but— ”

“Three days, Mister Meredith. Not one second longer.”

“Well, Teresa? What do you think?” Peggy stepped from the darkened hallway into the light at the top of the stairs.

Teresa, standing at the foot of the stairs looking up, groaned inwardly. “Peggy, I think YOU look lovely,” she said in all sincerity. “The outfit . . . well, it’ll do until Mrs. Pomeroy can get a few things made.”

The shirt, white and slightly worn at the collar and cuffs, belonged to Hoss. It hung on Peggy like a tunic, reaching to mid-calf. On her feet, she wore a pair of striped socks, borrowed from Joe, and a pair of moccasins, that belonged to Stacy.

Furthermore, Stacy, bless her heart, had gone up to the attic, after finishing her chores in the barn, and rooted through boxes and trunks of old clothes. She finally unearthed an old pair of black pants that once belonged to Adam.

“I’m so glad I’m finally able to take off my pajamas and get dressed, I feel like an absolute fashion plate,” Peggy declared as she trotted happily down the stairs. She had spent the last hour bathing and finally setting to rights the tangle her hair had become. Now, after a vigorous, thorough wash and a ferocious battle with comb and brush, her shining, smooth golden tresses hung loosely about her shoulders.

“Teresa?”

“Yes, Peggy?”

“What are you reading?” Peggy asked, noticing the book tucked under Teresa’s arm for the first time.

Teresa handed the book to Peggy, as the two of them made their way over to the settee.

“The Life of Charlotte Bronte,” Peggy read the title aloud slowly, “by Elizabeth Gaskell.”

“Charlotte Bronte and her sisters were writers,” Teresa replied. “I read her novel Jane Eyre a couple of years ago, and another novel by her sister, ANNE Bronte called The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I enjoyed reading the stories so much, I wanted to know more about the women who wrote them.”

“What are Jane Eyre and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall about?”

“Jane Eyre is about a young woman, who was orphaned as a child and raised by an aunt who didn’t want her,” Teresa replied. “She’s sent off to a harsh boarding school, and eventually takes a job as governess to a French girl living in a mansion out on the English moors in the middle of no where.”

“Sounds mysterious,” Peggy remarked with a smile.

“Jane Eyre IS dark, mysterious, and brooding.”

“What of the other?”

“The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is the story of a woman, who leaves a bad marriage to an abusive, alcoholic husband. She and her son rent Wildfell Hall,” Teresa said quietly. “The story’s told through the eyes of a neighbor, who falls in love with her.”

“Sounds like she’s in the same predicament I am.”

“There ARE similarities, but there’s differences, too.”

“Maybe . . . after my problems with Brett are behind me . . . maybe I can go to the library and see if they have a copy of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,” Peggy mused as she and Teresa sat down on the settee.

Teresa looked over at Peggy and smiled. “You won’t have to wait that long, Peggy. I’ve been wanting to read The Tenant of Wildfell Hall again, so I brought that one along with me. If you’d like, I’d be more than happy to run up and fetch it down for you.”

Peggy rose. “Stay put, Teresa. It feels so good to be up and around . . . I’ll get it.”

“It’s in Adam’s old room on the book case, top shelf. But, the author’s name on the bonding will be ACTON BELL.”

“Acton Bell . . . Acton Bell . . . Acton Bell,” Peggy repeated the name as she sauntered back toward the stairs.

Adam entered the house a few moments later, his posture stiffly erect, and limping. Hoss followed close behind, grinning from ear to ear.

“Adam?” Teresa gazed over at her husband anxiously, as she rose from her place on the settee.

“Nothing serious, Sweetheart.” Adam’s smile, meant to reassure, seemed forced.

Teresa turned and favored her big brother-in-law with a withering glare. “Eric Hoss Cartwright, if’s he’s been hurt . . . . ”

Hoss tried valiantly to wipe the smile off his face. His success in that endeavor was negligible at best. “Not to worry, Teresa, just a few stiff muscles. Ain’t nothin’ a good rub down with some o’ Hop Sing’s ointment can’t cure.”

Adam’s comically grotesque grimace at his younger brother’s mention of Hop Sing’s ointment, brought a smile to Teresa’s face. “I’ll go ask Hop Sing for that ointment right now,” she said briskly.

“There’s no hurry,” Adam said very quickly.

“Best we get you rubbed down sooner rather than later, Adam,” Teresa countered in her best mother and nurse tone of voice.

“She’s right about that, Adam,” Hoss agreed whole-heartedly.

Adam groaned. “Where’s Peggy?”

“She went upstairs to borrow one of my books,” Teresa replied, as she made her way out toward the kitchen.

“Someone mention my name?”

Hoss and Adam turned toward the stairs and saw Peggy standing at the bottom of the stairs, with book in hand.

“I wondered where that shirt o’ mine got off to,” Hoss mused aloud.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Peggy said. “I just had to get dressed . . . such as it is. I couldn’t stand the thought of spending another entire day lying around in Teresa’s nightgown.”

“So what are you getting ready to read?” Adam asked, as Peggy seated herself in the blue easy chair beside the fireplace.

“The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,” Peggy replied, holding up the book so Adam could see the cover. “Teresa was telling me a little bit about it just now.”

Teresa returned to the living room, with Hop Sing following. The latter carried a small bowl half filled with a thick noxious looking brownish gray-green mixture that looked to be a hybrid cross between a thick oil and a thin, runny cream. The only thing worse than its appearance was its aroma.

“Come, Mister Adam. Hop Sing fix you up good!”

“That’s what I’m deathly afraid of,” Adam said with a grimace. “May as well get it over with.” He rose stiffly from his place on the settee, pausing briefly to cast a filthy, withering glare in the direction of his wife and younger, bigger brother. “There WILL be repercussions,” he growled.

“Is that a threat?” Teresa countered lightly, with a smile.

“No, that’s a promise.” With that, Adam turned slowly and walked toward the stairs.

Hop Sing silently followed. A smug, cat-that-ate-the-canary grin slowly spread across his lips.

“Teresa, is Pa back from town yet?” Hoss asked, as he settled himself into the red easy chair.

“No.”

Hoss frowned. “How ‘bout Joe ‘n Stacy? The road was too wet this mornin’ for Sun Dancer to be out racin’, but they wanted to get him out ‘n exercise him.”

Teresa shook her head. “Joe and Stacy aren’t back yet, either. In fact, I was getting ready to ask if YOU might’ve seen them or Ben on YOUR way in,” Teresa said. An anxious frown creased the smooth surface of her brow. “I’m getting a little concerned.”

“I’m sure everything’s alright,” Hoss said with far more confidence than he felt. “They oughtta along any time now. It’s pert near dinner time, an’ for all they tease ME, I can’t say I’ve ever known Pa or my li’l brother t’ ever miss a meal either.”

“Did I just hear my name taken in vain?” It was Joe, stepping through the front door.

“Where’s Stacy?” Hoss asked.

“She’s out in the barn with Pa, tending the horses,” Joe said quietly as he placed his hat on the wall rack and removed his gun belt. “We met him out on the road on our way back. Where’s Adam?”

“He’s upstairs gettin’ a good rubdown with Hop Sing’s muscle ointment,” Hoss said with a smile. “I’m afraid our older brother just found out the hard way how many years it’s been since he last did any bronco bustin’.”

Joe laughed unable to quite contain himself.

“Joseph Francis Cartwright, didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s not nice to laugh at others’ misfortune, even if he IS your oldest brother?” Teresa admonished her young brother-in-law with mock severity.

“S-Sorry, Teresa!” Joe managed to rein in his laughter, but the smile remained. “Pa gave me a couple of envelopes and told me to pass ‘em on to Adam. They’re from Sheriff Coffee.”

“I’ll be more than happy to take them up,” Teresa offered.

“Thank you, Teresa!” Joe said, handing her the envelopes.

“It’s sure takin’ Pa ‘n Stacy long enough to unsaddle those horses,” Hoss observed with a frown.

“Pa wanted to talk to her about something,” Joe said, his mirth fading.

“It’s about Brett isn’t it?” Peggy said apprehensively.

“He didn’t tell me what he wanted to talk with Stacy about, Peggy, but you’re probably right,” Joe said quietly.

“Did . . . did Uncle Ben tell you what he f-found out today?”

“No, but judging from the look on his face . . . I don’t think the news is gonna be good.”

Smiling, Teresa paused outside the closed door to the bedroom she and Adam shared, and knocked.

“Who is it?” Adam responded in that weary, long-suffering tone he generally reserved when asking for details of their children’s most current misbehavior.

“It’s me, Adam,” Teresa replied.

“Come in.”

Teresa entered the room and found her husband lying across the bed, face down and sans shirt. Hop Sing was in the midst of giving Adam a vigorous, thorough massage, making generous use of the ointment, sitting in its bowl on the night table.

“Mister Adam not young like used to be,” Hop Sing admonished him severely. “Mister Adam older, almost old like Papa.”

“Thanks a lot,” Adam growled, as Teresa quickly covered her mouth the hide her smile.

“Those facts of life, Mister Adam! Too old for bust up broncos! Must be more careful!”

“I WILL certainly try to be more careful,” Adam promised.

“You rest now! Hop Sing fix dinner!” With that, Hop Sing gathered up the bowl of ointment and ambled out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Adam rolled over onto his back, and sat up, carefully easing his legs, one at a time, over the side of the bed.

“Nice!” Teresa remarked, gazing at her husband’s unclothed upper torso with open and frank admiration. “I’ve always loved men with fur coats.”

“Woman, you’re absolutely incorrigible!” Adam declared, grinning from ear to ear.

“ . . . to be ‘incorriged’ at all times,” Teresa quipped seating herself on the bed, very close beside him.

“What’s up?”

“Ben’s back, along with Stacy and Joe,” Teresa replied. “He wanted you to see these. They’re apparently from Sheriff Coffee.”

Adam took the envelopes from Teresa and rose. He quickly read the wired messages from the police department in San Francisco, and from it’s chief. “All in all, I suppose I shouldn’t be TOO surprised,” he remarked, as he handed the telegrams he had just read back to his wife.

“It must have cost a bundle for the police chief to sent THIS wire,” Teresa mused archly, as she gave the long message a quick glance. “Either he likes the van Slyke family very much, or they pay him a very handsome salary, if you get my meaning?”

“I do, Teresa. I do indeed.”

As Teresa read the telegram and the police chief’s letter, Adam quickly donned a clean shirt, then opened the envelope containing the note and the newspaper clippings. “Good Lord!” he whispered, stunned.

“Adam? What is it?” Teresa asked, noting his pallid complexion, and eyes round and staring fixedly to the article held in a hand that trembled slightly.

“Here! Read it for yourself!” Adam handed the earliest dated article over to his wife, then waited as she read.

Upon finishing, Teresa closed her eyes, and forced herself to take a deep breath. “Madre Di Dios!” she murmured, shaking her head. Adam noted that her normal, ruddy complexion was almost ashen. “What Peggy must have gone through . . . . ” She opened her eyes and looked up at Adam, her gaze meeting and holding his. “Adam, this . . . My God! This is far worse than anything I could EVER have imagined! What are we going to do?”

“What do YOU want to do?” Adam asked.

“I want to do everything I can to help Peggy get free of that . . . that . . . of that monster!” Teresa stated very quietly, yet very emphatically.

“I feel the same way,” Adam said with a grim, steely determination. “Did Pa say anything to you about . . . this?” He pointed to the newspaper clipping in Teresa’s hand.

“No, Joe said he was out in the barn talking with Stacy,” Teresa replied. “My guess is he’s telling her about what we just got through reading, but sparing her the more alarming details.”

Adam nodded.

“We’d better wire my mother in Sacramento, as soon as possible. She’s supposed to be arriving with Benjy and Dio in another couple of weeks. I think, under the circumstances, we’d better tell her not to come until we send for them.”

“I agree.”

“Pa, it’s not fair!” Stacy declared vehemently.

“You’re absolutely right, it’s NOT fair!” Ben agreed wholeheartedly. The thought of restricting this free spirit he knew as daughter was tantamount to thrusting a sword through his own heart. “But, I hope you understand it’s necessary.”

Stacy nodded. She understood only too well after having been abducted herself less than three months ago by a man hell-bent on murdering her in order to satisfy the bitter, deep seated hatred he had nursed against Ben Cartwright and Paris McKenna, her father and mother, over a period of many years. The fact that it happened while she was in the company of her father was all the more unsettling.

Even so, the prospect of having her freedom so strictly curtailed again, so soon, was sheer torture nonetheless.

“You’ll still be able to train Sun Dancer,” Ben pointed out, “since Hoss and Joe . . . even Candy are all working with you on that.”

“You’re still going to let me race Sun Dancer in the Independence Day Race?”

“Of COURSE I am!” Ben declared stoutly, bolstered by the sudden appearance of a small ray of hope he saw reflected in her face and in her eyes. “That would be pretty silly of me not to let the fastest horse in the whole state of Nevada enter that race, now wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would!” Stacy agreed. For a moment, Ben thought she was actually going to smile. The moment faded, and with it, the brief glimpse of sunshine and light. “Pa?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got to promise me something,” Stacy said, her face set with grim determination.

“I will if I can,” Ben said warily.

“I mean it, Pa.” Stacy verbally pounced on his hesitation with both feet. Her eyes burned with fierce, angry determination. “If push comes down to shove, and we end up having to fight it out with Brett van Slyke, I stand WITH you guys.”

Ben nodded, knowing full well that argument would be useless. “Stacy,” he said, placing a paternal hand on her shoulder, “I wouldn’t want my Fighting Irish Knight Errant anywhere else EXCEPT by my side.”

That evening, Lark Meredith half walked, half stumbled into the Lucky Lady Saloon in Placerville, located directly across the street from the hotel. His eyelids felt like some one had tied a ten-ton weight to each. He collapsed against the bar with a big yawn.

“Good evening, Mister Meredith,” the bartender, a man named Everett Monroe greeted him affably. “The usual?”

“Not tonight,” Lark shook his head. “I’ll have a bottle o’ whiskey and a glass. It’s been a real long day!”

Everett nodded and moved off, returning a few moments later with a full bottle of whiskey and a clean glass. “I hear you folks are gonna be leavin’ us soon,” the bartender said as he placed bottle and glass down on the bar in front of Lark.

Lark glanced up at him sharply. “Where’d you hear THAT?” he demanded.

Everett shrugged. “Different people.”

“Well, we ARE pretty close to winding up our business here,” Lark said evasively, as he poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“You movin’ out to the lodge?”

It was in the tip of Larks’ tongue to tell the bartender in no uncertain terms to mind his own business. No point in THAT, he decided with an indifferent shrug. If Everett Monroe already knew the van Slykes’ business, chances were everyone in Placerville already knew, too. “We got some matters to take care of over in Virginia City,” Lark said. He raised the glass of whiskey to his lips and downed its entire contents in a single gulp. “After that, perhaps, if the younger Mister van Slyke is of a mind to take time off ‘n relax.”

“Any word as the whereabouts of Mrs. van Slyke?”

“We think she may be with friends.”

Everett nodded. “That WAS a pretty big set-to they had a few nights ago. Y’ know? Sometimes, when things get THAT hot ‘n heavy? It does a couple good if one or t’ other’s able to go away for a few days. Gives ‘em both a little time alone t’ cool off.” He smiled. “Sure worked well enough for the missus ‘n ME all the years we wuz married.”

Two rowdy customers at the other end of the bar loudly demanded immediate service. Everett moved off to serve them, much to Lark’s relief. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the neck of the bottle, picked up the glass, and moved to a table in a far dark corner, with a single chair. There, he sat unmoving, his elbows flanking the near full glass in front of him, with chin resting heavily on the palms of his hands. He stared morosely into the amber depths of the whiskey. There had been no reply from San Francisco. He had checked at the hotel desk and at the Western Union office before coming here, to the saloon.

He took another sip from the glass, wondering what in the world he was going to do about finding lodging for his employer’s son until the Dresslers could get the second floor of the lodge ready. He had gone to the other two hotels in Placerville. Neither were anywhere near as nice as the one they were in now, of course, but beggars can’t afford to be choosy. The manager of the first place he visited was polite, yet very firm in his refusal to lodge the van Slyke Party. The other manager didn’t bother to trouble himself with the niceties of common courtesy. He simply ordered Lark to leave his establishment, peppering his request with a vast array of colorful invectives.

Even if the Dresslers COULD guarantee that the second floor would be ready within the next three days, there were other things to consider. Laying in food supplies was one. Bed linens, blankets, towels, even pillows . . . all of THOSE would have to be purchased NEW, since Mister Horace had taken all that stuff with HIM back to San Francisco, the last time he had visited.

“ . . . I can’t even START shopping until Mister van Slyke in San Francisco gets his wherewithal together long enough to wire the bank here, to release enough money so I can buy what I need to buy,” Lark groused in silence.

Maybe . . . .

If Horace van Slyke’s reply arrived tomorrow morning, releasing the funds in the family account at First Mercantile, Lark COULD spend the morning shopping, laying in supplies. The Dresslers had today and tomorrow to get things cleaned and ready. If they could just concentrate their efforts on the second floor guest bedroom, MISTER Dressler could finish up the remaining house cleaning, after his wife left for Carson City.

In the meantime, he and Hoyt could certainly “rough it,” until the rest of the second floor could be cleaned, and made habitable.

Or maybe tomorrow would finally be the day the elder van Slyke sent word informing them that all the nasty, sordid business concerning Brett and that barmaid had been cleared up, and they could return home. All of them! The younger Mister van Slyke . . . his wife, IF they ever found her . . . the wife’s insipid mother and ruthless aunt . . . the accountants . . . good riddance to every last one of them.

“How in the ever lovin’ world are we gonna get Brett van Slyke safely back to San Francisco when the time comes?” Lark groaned aloud, softly, under his breath. His initial elation at the prospect of being at long last rid of the van Slyke party quickly plummeted to the very depths of despair. Over the past three days, Brett van Slyke’s condition had steadily worsened. Though his “valet,” Hoyt Pyle, was big, and could be pretty mean if the situation demanded it, even he was hard pressed to keep Brett van Slyke under wraps. Lark had grave doubts as to whether the two of them could adequately handle Brett van Slyke on that long trip back to San Francisco.

Lark lifted his glass once again, intending to finish what remained. He froze for a moment, with the glass poised mid-way between the table and his lips as a fleeting cold draft gently wafted over him.

“Sudden cold chill means someone’s walkin’ across your grave, Lark,” his mother’s words spoken in a quivering frightened voice echoed in his ears over a long stretch of years gone by. “Quick! Cross yourself ‘n say the ‘Our Father.’ ”

Lark shuddered. His hand, with its fingers wrapped tight around the whiskey glass, rose automatically to cross himself. Suddenly, he slammed the glass back down on the table, hard, sloshing two thirds of the remaining whiskey on the table. “Damn’ silly superstition!” he growled, as he angrily shoved the empty bottle and glass aside. He rose unsteadily to his feet and sauntered out of the saloon.

When he returned to the hotel, Lark found a reply from San Francisco waiting at the front desk. He rudely snatched the envelope, into which the message from the telegraph office had been placed, from the clerk’s hand, and opened it with eager anticipation. His face fell as he read:

“Mister Meredith [stop]

Have seen to matter regarding wife and child [stop] Not safe yet to return [stop] Will advise [stop]

Yours [stop]

HvS [stop; end of message]”

As he stood, his eyes glued to the long awaited message from Horace van Slyke, Lark was suddenly possessed with a strong, nearly overpowering urge to run. Just run! It didn’t much matter where . . . just anywhere, far, far away from here, and the van Slykes, and all their problems. Let the likes of that bossy Nathan Jamison handle things from now on, or better yet, that passel of useless accountants, who had nothing better to do day after day, except complain about the food being too hot, the mattresses being too lumpy, or the rotgut whiskey served in the saloons. Lark would have loved seeing them try.

“No!” Lark, with clenched teeth, shook his head. “No! I’ll see that Brett van Slyke gets back to San Francisco. After THAT, I give my resignation.”

“Hoss Cartwright, just what do you think you’re doing?” Stacy demanded angrily, the following morning. She stood framed in the open door to the barn, with fists planted firmly on hips, leveling a dark glare at her biggest brother.

“I’m muckin’ out the stalls,” Hoss affably stated the obvious.

“I’M supposed to be mucking out the stalls.”

Hoss grinned. “I had no idea you enjoyed doin’ this job so much, Li’l Sister.”

“I don’t,” she snapped. “But, a bet’s a bet, remember?”

“I know, but when trouble’s afoot, all bets are OFF.”

“Postponed!”

Hoss sighed. “All right, Li’l Sister, postponed.”

“I mean it, Hoss.”

“I mean it, too. Tell you what, Stacy?”

“What?”

“Seein’ as how you’re here, if y’ could give me a hand with the last few stalls, I think you ‘n I might be able t’ squeeze in a ride out t’ Ponderosa Plunge ‘n back before breakfast is ready.”

The dark angry scowl on her face evaporated, almost as if it had never been. “Really, Hoss?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah . . . if we quit talkin’ ‘n git t’ work.”

Stacy quickly located another bucket and shovel. She stepped into the stall adjoining the one where Hoss worked, and eagerly pitched right in. Brother and sister worked diligently and hard together in companionable silence, finishing the onerous chore in record time.

“Why don’t you run on in the house . . . leave a note for Pa, an’ while you’re at it y’ can grab our hats ‘n my gun belt,” Hoss suggested. “I’ll saddle Chubb ‘n Blaze Face.”

“Ok, Big Brother.” Stacy turned and impulsively threw her arms around his waist. “Thanks,” she said gratefully, as she hugged him tight.

Hoss smiled, and hugged her back. “You’re welcome. Now you’d best skedaddle! Time’s a wastin’!”

Stacy nodded and ran off, returning within a scant few minutes with everything Hoss had requested, plus their jackets. “Pa was already up,” she explained as she handed Hoss his gun belt, then his jacket. “He said he didn’t want the two of us catching our death of cold.”

Hoss slipped on his gun belt and jacket. “It IS a mite chilly this mornin’,” he said by way of agreement as he took his hat from Stacy and deftly placed it on his head.

Stacy slipped on her own hat and jacket, then turned to help Hoss finish saddling Chubb.

The vivid colors of the early morning sunrise gave way to a rich, golden amber light, as Hoss and Stacy left the yard, riding their horses, Chubb and Blaze Face. Hoss led them along the more circuitous, scenic route that wound its way through forest and meadow, and past stream.

“Hoss, look!” Stacy pointed to a tree up ahead, where two squirrels chased each other along the trunk. She and Hoss paused and watched the graceful, fluid choreography of the small mammals’ movements up and down the tree trunk.

In the branches above, they heard the harsh, strident cry of a jay calling. Hoss called back a response, in perfect, precise mimicry. The jay responded. Hoss and bird carried on a long conversation, much to the wonderment and delight of his young sister. At length, Hoss and Stacy emerged from the trees out onto the rock promontory of Ponderosa Plunge. They were very much surprised to find they were not alone.

“Good morning, Big Brother . . . Little Sister,” Adam greeted his approaching younger siblings with a broad grin and a wave. His wife stood behind him, a little to the right, smiling.

“ ‘Mornin’, Adam . . . ‘mornin’, Teresa,” Hoss greeted his older brother and sister-in-law.

“Good morning, Oldest Brother . . . and you, too, Teresa . . . . ” Stacy smiled remembering the morning the pair of them had returned to the house with an abundance of pine needles in their hair and disheveled clothing.

“I’ve ALWAYS loved this spot,” Adam said with a dreamy smile on his face, as he turned to contemplate the view.

“I love coming out here, too,” Stacy said quietly. “Especially when whatever problems I’m having start to overwhelm me. I come out here for awhile, and all the things that were so big and overwhelming . . . aren’t anymore.”

“ . . . and you start to see that whatever the issue is, you CAN work it out, even solve it?”

Stacy looked up into her oldest brother’s face, surprised and delighted that he somehow understood.

“That’s the way it was for me, too,” Adam confirmed, gratified to find a piece of common ground with this young sister he had met for the first time almost a month before. “Your mother used to ride out here often herself, after Pa and I showed her this place.”

“She did? Really?”

Adam nodded.

“Adam, what was she like . . . back then?” Stacy asked.

Adam smiled. “She was very much like YOU in a lot of ways, Little Sister,” he replied. “I’ll always remember her as a very free spirited, independent woman, wild and impulsive sometimes, and always loving, kind, and gracious. She was very quick tempered, but her anger always passed very quickly. She also loved beautiful scenic places like this, and loved spending time there.”

“There was a place near the lake where she and Pa used to go together to watch the sun set,” Stacy said quietly.

“ . . . among OTHER things,” Adam mused in silence, as he fondly remembered the numerous times Paris and their father came back from that place, their hair laced with pine needles, clothing ever so slightly disheveled, holding hands, and smiling contentedly at one another. If Little Joe was actually conceived right here on the spot where the four of them stood, as Teresa had told him their first morning here, then that place down by the lake was, more than likely where his young sister was conceived. Aloud, he said, “I’ve never told anyone this before, but I always felt sorry that your mother and Pa never married. Now that I’ve met YOU, Stacy, I regret that even more. I would’ve enjoyed having a baby sister around.”

“Thanks, Adam,” Stacy said quietly, as she slipped her arms around his waist and squeezed.

Adam put his own arms around Stacy’s shoulders, squeezed back with genuine affection, then held her close for a moment, remembering how a simple touch of hand, or a quick affectionate squeeze always meant so very much to her mother. Unlike Paris, however, Stacy wasn’t the least bit shy or apprehensive about being the first to reach out and touch others she loved and cared about. No wonder his father and brothers, especially Joe, who himself was as tactile oriented, had fallen so completely in love with this “mere slip of a gal,” as Pa described her in that first letter following their homecoming from Fort Charlotte nearly five years ago.

“I, uh think we’d best be moseyin’ along,” Hoss ventured, reluctant to bring the bonding happening between Stacy and Adam to an end so soon. “If we start back now, we’ll just make it back in time f’r breakfast.”

“Stomach rumbling already, Big Brother?” Adam teased gently.

“I wasn’t thinkin’ so much about my stomach as I was about how Hop Sing’s gonna have a fit if we ain’t there t’ dig in while it’s hot,” Hoss retorted good naturedly.

“Big Brother speaks absolutely true!” Stacy agreed wholeheartedly.

The four untethered their horses and climbed up onto their backs. This time, Hoss led everyone back along the more direct route toward the main road. As they moved out onto the main road, and turned toward the Ponderosa, a shot from an unseen rifle rang out, spooking their horses.

Hoss quickly reined in Chubb, then rode first to help Teresa bring her own horse, Guinevere, to order.

“Thank you, Hoss,” Teresa said gratefully.

“You all right?”

Teresa nodded. “What about Stacy and Adam?”

After Stacy had managed to rein in and calm Blaze Face, she looked over at her oldest brother, and saw, to her relief, that he had already brought the high-spirited Sport II to order.

“You ok, Adam?” Stacy asked.

“I’m fine. Where’s Teresa?”

“Not to worry! She’s over there with Hoss, and it looks like they’ve got Guinevere calmed down now, too.”

“Now that I know everyone’s alright, I’d like to know just who in the hell’s shooting at us!” Teresa declared with a dark angry scowl, as her hot Latin temper got the better of her.

“Whoever it is probably ain’t shootin’ at US or anybody else,” Hoss said, as Adam and Stacy rode over to join them. “They was more ‘n likely aimin’ at some wild animal an’ . . . . ” A second shot rudely interrupted Hoss mid-sentence.

Adam blanched as the bullet whizzed by less than a half inch from his ear. “STACY, GET DOWN . . . NOW!” he shouted, as he himself quickly dismounted. “HOSS . . . TERESA, YOU, TOO!”

Before Stacy could even think of moving, a third shot rang out, striking her head. Blaze Face, now thoroughly panicked, reared, dumping his insensate rider like an ungainly sack of potatoes. Even as he ran to help his stricken sister, Adam’s eyes darted over the landscape before him, frantically searching for something, anything, that would serve as adequate cover. Hoss meanwhile had half jumped half fallen off of Chubb’s back. With heart in mouth, he immediately ran to help Teresa, as she dismounted.

“HOSS! TERESA! OVER THERE!” Adam pointed to a couple of boulders sitting about thirty yards from the edge of the road. He quickly scooped Stacy’s inert form in his arms and bolted, as a fourth and fifth shot rang out.

“Teresa, run!” Hoss ordered tersely, drawing his own gun from it’s holster. He took aim and fired at a small group of trees growing on the other side of the road.

Adam, with Stacy, reached the shelter of the rocks first, with Teresa arriving less than a second later.

Teresa pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her riding skirt and pressed it hard against Stacy’s profusely bleeding temple for a moment. “Thank God! That bullet merely grazed her,” she murmured softly, upon removing her handkerchief for a closer look at the wound.

Stacy, still lying cradled in Adam’s arms, groaned softly and began to stir.

“Easy, Stacy, lie still,” Teresa gently admonished her young sister-in-law.

Hoss joined his brother, sister, and sister-in-law, a few moments later. “How’s Stacy?” he demanded.

“The bullet branded her, that’s all,” Adam replied.

Hoss slowly let out the breath he had been holding.

“H-Hoss . . . ?” Stacy groaned.

“I’m right here, ‘n I’m just fine, Li’l Sister.” Hoss reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “You just lie still ‘n relax. We’ll have ya home ‘fore ya know it.” This last was uttered with far more confidence than he felt.

“Hoss, were you able to get a look at whoever was shooting at us?” Adam asked.

Hoss grimly shook his head. “When they fired ‘n hit Stacy, I caught sunlight glintin’ on metal over in the trees over there . . . on the other side o’ the road,” he replied.

“You think they’re still there?” Teresa asked.

“I don’t know f’r sure, Teresa. All I DO know is I ain’t seen anyone come outta that clump o’ trees.”

“One way to find out,” Adam said grimly. Keeping one arm firmly around Stacy, he reached up with his free hand and removed his hat. “Sit this up on top of the rock there, and see what happens.”

Hoss took Adam’s hat and carefully set it atop the large rock that sheltered them. The gesture was immediately answered by rifle fire. One shot, followed by a second. A third came a moment later, followed straightaway by a fourth, which knocked Adam’s hat from its perch. Teresa moved close to Adam and Stacy, shielding the latter with her own body. Hoss pressed up close against the rock, jumping up to return fire before the echoes of the fourth shot had a chance to die away. The fifth shot from the trees across the road sent Hoss ducking for cover post haste.

A sudden volley of return fire erupted across the road, originating from a place beyond the clump of trees sheltering whoever had been firing upon them. Hoss and Adam exchanged worried glances. An apprehensive silence settled over all four like a thick shroud.

“HOSS!”

“That’s Pa!” Hoss declared the obvious, his profound relief evident in his tone of voice and in the way his entire body sagged heavily against the rock support behind him.

“HOSS!”

Hoss quickly scrambled to his feet, clinging to the rock for support. “HERE, PA!” he shouted back at the top of his voice.

A moment later, Ben emerged on foot from the trees across the way. “IS EVERYONE ALL RIGHT?”

“STACY’S HIT . . . . ”

“WHAT?!”

“SHE’LL BE ALRIGHT, PA!” Hoss shouted back quickly, as he emerged from cover.

Ben, with heart in mouth ran ahead, meeting Hoss in the middle of the road.

“Stacy’s gonna be alright, Pa. The bullet branded her, that’s all.”

“Thank God!” Ben murmured a short, heartfelt prayer of relief and gratitude. “Where is she?”

“Behind the rock where I was, with Teresa ‘n Adam. Stacy ‘n I met ‘em out at Ponderosa Plunge. We were on our way back to the house when someone started shootin’ at us the minute we stepped onto the road.”

“All four of your horses showed up in the front yard without you,” Ben explained. “We . . . Joe, Candy, Hank, and a couple of the other men . . . heard gunfire, so we cut across the meadow and snuck up behind the people firing at you.”

“Didja get ‘em, Pa?”

“Oh yeah, we got ‘em,” Ben said grimly.

“Does Joe need any help?”

“I’d say he has things pretty well in hand,” Ben turned and gestured broadly toward the clump of trees, as Joe and Candy emerged into the light, both armed with rifles. Hank followed, leading Buck and Cochise. Hoss’ jaw dropped in complete and utter astonishment upon seeing the two people walking in front Joe, Candy, and the business end of their rifles. Lil Manfred, walked slightly ahead of Laura Dayton, with hands upraised and a defiant, angry scowl on her face. Laura’s head was bowed, her face and eyes fixed resolutely to her feet.

Ben, meanwhile, made his way behind the rock, where Adam and Teresa remained with Stacy cradled between them. Teresa rose as her father-in-law approached and moved aside. Ben half smiled, and nodded his thanks before kneeling down beside Stacy and Adam.

“Pa?” Stacy murmured softly, reaching out her hand.

“Right here,” Ben said, taking her hand in his. “You all right?”

“My whole body hurts, especially my head.”

“I don’t THINK Stacy broke anything, Pa, but she DID take a nasty tumble off of Blaze Face,” Adam said gravely. “It might be a good idea to have Doctor Martin look her over, just to make sure everything’s alright.”

“I agree, Adam,” Ben said. “I’ll send someone to fetch him.”

“Were you able to catch the men firing at us?” Adam asked.

“Yes, we caught the people shooting at you, and no, they’re not men,” Ben said, as an angry scowl knotted his brow. “They’re women.”

“What?!” Adam looked over at his father, stunned.

Ben nodded. “None other than our old ‘friends,’ Laura Dayton and Lil Manfred.”

End of Part 2

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