The Lo Mein Affair
Part 2: The Game's A Foote
By Kathleen T. Berney

Ben Cartwright and Judith Ashcroft, now former teacher at the Virginia City Public School, rode together in stony silence in the former’s buckboard toward her home. Ben stared straight ahead, his eyes pointedly on the road stretching before him. Judith, her cheeks scarlet from embarrassment and the angry tears shed, sat demurely in the seat beside him, hands folded in her lap, eyes glued to her hands.

“M-Mister Cartwright?” Judith ventured timidly, unable to bear the strained silence any longer.

“Yes, Miss Ashcroft?” Ben’s angry tone dripped icicles.

“I . . . I know it can’t be nearly enough, but . . . I’m so sorry,” Judith said, her voice trembling. “I honest and truly thought he w-was you . . . until— ” She suddenly broke off, unable to speak.

“Are you speaking of your child’s father?”

Judith nodded. “He . . . he looks very much like you, Mister Cartwright.”

“He never set you straight?” Ben asked, incredulous.

“No,” Judith said in a very small voice. “H-he . . . the entire time, he led me to believe that . . . that he was you.”

“Miss Ashcroft, when did you realize that I’m NOT the man you’ve obviously fallen in love with?” Ben asked in a more polite, kindly tone.

“At the school board meeting. When you . . . when you came forward t-to . . . to tell me to m-my face that you weren’t . . . the f-father of my child? I looked into your eyes . . . and . . . I knew.”

“I see.”

“He loves me, Mister Cartwright. He loves me as . . . as much as I love him. I could see it very clearly in his eyes.”

“You said this man resembles me?”

“He could very easily p-pass for your identical twin brother.”

Ben suddenly remembered. Bradley Meredith, a crook and con man par excellence, fit that description all too well. Twice, he had attempted to use that uncanny resemblance to raise money by selling big chunks of the Ponderosa out from under him. He nearly succeeded on both occasions.

“No wonder people have been treating me so strangely since I arrived home from San Francisco yesterday,” Ben mused aloud.

“I-I’m sorry, Mister Cartwright. I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I’ve been in San Francisco for the past month on business,” Ben explained. “When I returned home on the morning stage yesterday . . . well, to say that friends and acquaintances were treating me rather strangely is the understatement of the year. But, if rumors have been circulating about you and me, it explains a whole lot.”

“You . . . I mean HE and I both had agreed it was best to keep things quiet until the end of the school year,” Judith said ruefully. “We tried to be discreet, especially after that picnic— ” She broke off, her cheeks suddenly flaming scarlet, and quickly averted her eyes.

“Are you talking about the church picnic?”

Judith vigorously shook her head. “Another picnic, just us . . . him and me.”

Ben, much to his absolute horror and chagrin, felt the telltale tingling of blood rushing to his own cheeks, as he surmised what had, more than likely occurred in the course of that picnic to which Judith had referred. “I’m . . . I’m sure you did everything humanly possible to be discreet, but sometimes things slip by unconsciously . . . like my daughter suddenly bringing home all A’s and B’s, for instance?!”

“Oh dear! I think I see what you mean,” Judith murmured, unable to bring herself to look into his face.

Ben cast a quick, furtive glance over at the miserable, forlorn young woman seated next to him on the buckboard seat, his heart going out to her. He silently wracked his brains in a desperate search for a nice, easy way to tell her that the man she had fallen so deeply in love with, and who had fathered her unborn child, was more than likely a con man and a thief. “ . . . uh, Miss Ashcroft?”

“Y-yes, Mister Cartwright?”

Ben swallowed nervously. “I’m pretty sure I know who he is . . . the man you’ve fallen in love with, I mean.”

Judith turned and glanced over at him sharply.

“Yes, he and I’ve met. He DOES bear an uncanny resemblance to me. In fact, he’s a dead ringer. His name is Bradley Meredith.”

“Really?”

Ben nodded.

“I wonder why he didn’t correct m-me when I . . . when I mistook him of you?!”

“I’m afraid he’s . . . he’s a thief and a con man,” Ben forced himself to say it straight out. He kept his face and eyes pointed straight ahead. The look on her face was the absolute last thing in the world he wanted to see right now. “I’m sorry, Miss Ashcroft . . . . ”

“Mister Cartwright, I have to find him.”

The expression on Ben’s face clearly and succinctly questioned the young schoolteacher’s very sanity. “M-Miss Ashcroft,” he stammered, “d-didn’t you hear a word I j-just said?!”

“I heard you perfectly, but I STILL have to find him . . . because I have to tell him about the baby, and . . . and because I love him.”

“B-but— ”

“This Bradley Meredith loves me, too . . . as much as I love him. I told you before, I could see it in his eyes.”

“Miss Ashcroft, I think you may be reading more into his intentions than— ”

“Mister Cartwright, Bradley Meredith has feelings . . . even . . . even if he IS a c-con man and . . . and a thief . . . . ” With that, she suddenly burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.

Ben eased the buckboard over to the side of the road and brought the horses to a stop. He gathered her into his arms and let her cry on his shoulder. Bad enough Bradley Meredith had used his resemblance in at least two attempts to rob HIM blind! But the thought of that man using his own likeness to dupe, then so cruelly use a vulnerable young woman like Judith Ashcroft went ‘way beyond the pale.

“Miss Ashcroft, we’re going to find Bradley Meredith,” Ben promised through clenched teeth. “Even if we have to go to the very ends of the earth, we’re going to find him. You have my solemn word on THAT!” After she had her say with him, he vowed to haul that man’s sorry carcass back to Virginia City, bound and gagged if need be. Once there, he would elicit a full confession from Meredith’s lips in front of reliable witnesses, even if it meant beating him within an inch of his life to get it.

It was still late morning when Ben brought the horses to a halt in front of the tiny house Judith Ashcroft had been renting during most of her tenure as teacher at the Virginia City Public School. He immediately jumped down and quickly circled around behind the buckboard, drawing up along side where Judith remained, unmoving, staring morosely down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Let me help you, Miss Ashcroft,” he said softly, extending his hand.

“Thank you,” Judith responded in a voice, barely audible. Though she looked up, her eyes fell just short of meeting his.

Ben took her by the waist and gently set her down on terra firma. “Are you going to be all right?”

“As . . . as all right as I can b-be . . . under the circumstances,” Judith murmured, nodding her head. She felt an overwhelming desire to flee up the sidewalk to the sanctuary of her home, and once inside to slam and lock the door against the wagging tongues and the eyes of the self-righteous so quick to pass judgment. She especially wanted to escape from the man who had just brought her home. The mere thought of having to look him square in the face brought yet another rush of blood to her own.

“Mister Cartwright, you needn’t see me all the way to the door,” Judith said very quickly, her words tumbling out one after the other. “I— ” She turned, then cried out in alarm.

Ben whirled in his tracks and saw, much to his horror and chagrin, Judith’s possessions sitting on the front stoop.

“I don’t understand this,” Judith moaned, suddenly feeling dizzy. “I don’t understand this at all! I . . . I just paid my rent . . . . ”

Ben’s eyes were immediately drawn to a white, rectangular shaped piece of paper attached to the worn carpetbag sitting on top of the pile. “Wait here,” he muttered, then started up the walk, moving at a brisk pace. Upon reaching the front porch and haphazard pile of Judith Ashcroft’s personal belongings, he removed the pin securing the envelope to the carpetbag. It was addressed to the former schoolteacher.

“What is it, Mister Cartwright?” Judith asked wearily, upon his return to the buckboard with envelope in hand.

“I saw this attached to the carpet bag sitting on top,” Ben replied as he handed her the envelope.

Judith tried to open the envelope, but found that her hands were shaking too much. “Would YOU mind?” she ventured, holding the envelope out to Ben.

Ben took the proffered envelope and opened it. “It’s a letter from Russell Churley.”

“My landlord.” Still gripping the edge of the buckboard for support, Judith turned and dropped her forehead against her arms. “Would you . . . would you mind reading it to me, Mister Cartwright?”

“ ‘Dear Miss Ashcroft,’ ” Ben read. “ ‘In reviewing my records, I was dismayed to learn that you are six months behind in your rent payments. You are hereby evicted. In light of your recent difficulties, I have decided not to impound your belongings until your debt is paid, as is my legal right to do. Regretfully, Russell Churley.’ ”

“He’s lying, Mister Cartwright. I’ve NEVER been behind on my rent, NEVER!”

“Do you have a receipt?”

Judith nodded. “I . . . I keep the receipts from all my bills filed in a strong box. It’s in my desk at the school house, bottom drawer on the left.”

“I’ll send Candy to collect it,” Ben said. “Is there anything from that pile of belongings that you need immediately?”

“That carpet bag should have most . . . . ” Judith felt her knees begin to buckle, and her grip on the edge of the buckboard loosen. She would have almost certainly collapsed, had it not been for Ben’s strong arm around her waist, supporting her.

“Miss Ashcroft, do you feel up to sitting in the seat? If you don’t, you can lie down in the back of the buckboard.”

“It’s all right . . . I can sit.”

“Let’s get you back up there.” Ben gently helped Judith back up into the passenger’s side of the buckboard. “We’ll be off as soon as I get the carpet bag. Do you need anything else?”

“No, not immediately.”

Ben turned and started up the walk.

“Mister Cartwright?”

He paused mid-stride and turned around. “Yes, Miss Ashcroft?”

“Where do you intend to take me? I . . . I can’t afford to stay at the hotel.”

“I’m taking you back to the Ponderosa,” Ben replied.

“Oh no!” Judith protested, shaking her head. “Mister Cartwright, no! That would be too much of an imposition.”

“It would be no imposition at all, Miss Ashcroft,” Ben said. “Under the circumstances, I feel it’s the very least I can do.”

“Mister Cartwright, good you back,” Hop Sing greeted Ben as he slowed the buckboard to a halt. “Dinner ready soon. One hour. HOP SING cook today.”

“Thank heaven for great mercies!” Ben murmured with heartfelt gratitude, remembering the inedible meal Mei-Ling cooked up the day before.

“Who Missy?”

“This is Miss Ashcroft,” Ben said wearily, as he jumped down from the buckboard. “She’s going to be staying with us for . . . for awhile.”

“Why Missy so sad?”

“Hop Sing, please . . . don’t ask so many questions,” Ben said, as he helped Judith down from the buckboard. He reached into the back and pulled out her carpetbag. “Would you mind showing Miss Ashcroft upstairs to the spare room? It’s been a long tiring morning for her, Hop Sing. I think she might like to rest.”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright,” Hop Sing said, taking the bag. “Missy follow Hop Sing.” He turned and started toward the house, with Judith following silently behind.

“Oh! Hop Sing!”

Hop Sing paused, and turned. “Yes, Mister Cartwright?”

“Where IS everyone?”

“Mrs. Li in room downstairs. Take nap,” Hop Sing replied. “Mei-Ling and family go to town. See Hop Ling. Venerable father. Whole family go, except no-good nephew.” He scowled. “Xing get up early, leave. Where, no one know.”

“How about Hoss, Joe, and Stacy?”

“Mister Hoss, Little Joe inside. Miss Stacy and Blaze Face out for ride.”

Ben was exceedingly grateful for that last. “Hop Sing, would you ask Hoss and Joe to join me in the barn?”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright,” Hop Sing replied.

“Mister Cartwright, I’ll see to the horses,” Candy offered, as he crossed the yard between the bunkhouse and the buckboard.

“Not just yet, Candy, I have a couple of errands for you,” Ben said. “You’ll need the buckboard. First, I want you to go to the schoolhouse. Miss Ashcroft has a strong box in the teacher’s desk, in the bottom left drawer. I’d like you to retrieve that, and any other personal effects of Miss Ashcroft’s. After you’ve done that, I want you to take the buckboard to the house where she was living and get the rest of her things. Take Mitch or Bobby with you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Candy replied. “Where do you want us to put Miss Ashcroft’s things when we come back?”

“For now stack everything in the barn . . . in one of the empty stalls. She can sort through it all later.”

Candy nodded. “Mister Cartwright?”

“Yes, Candy?”

“The men and I . . . we want you to know that we . . . . ” His cheeks flushed pink. “We want you to know, Sir, that we . . . we don’t believe anything . . . they’re saying about you in town.”

Ben sardonically marveled at how even the speed of light had nothing on the swiftness of word of mouth. “Thank you, Candy. You don’t know how much I appreciate that,” he said heartily grateful for the support of those who worked for him. “Please, convey my thanks to the others?”

“I sure will, Mister Cartwright. If there’s anything I can do . . . . ”

“Thank you, Candy. If there is, I’ll let you know.”

“Dadburn it, Pa! That Danvers woman’s gone too far!” Hoss declared, his brows knit together in anger, after his father had related all that had transpired at the school board meeting earlier that morning. “She oughtta be tarred, feathered, ‘n run right outta town on a rail!”

“Pa,” Joe queried, lowering his voice. He cast a quick, furtive glance toward the open barn door and the house. “You aren’t going to give in to Mrs. Danvers’ ultimatum . . . ARE you?”

“I have to go back into town later with Hop Sing and Li-Hsing to pick up those jade statues,” Ben said grimly. “They’re supposed to be on the four o’clock stage. I’ll see if we can’t go a little early so I can talk things over with Lucas Milburn.”

“You want Joe ‘n me t’ go with you, Pa?” Hoss asked.

Ben thought the matter over. “Joe . . . . ”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“I’d like you to go with us,” Ben said. “Hoss, I’d like you to stay here, kinda keep an eye on your sister, Mrs. Li, and Miss Ashcroft.”

“Have you told Stacy anything yet?” Hoss asked.

“No,” Ben shook his head. “I . . . I’m hoping I can hold off on that until I’ve talked with Lucas.”

“Hold off telling me WHAT until you’ve talked with Mister Milburn?”

The three men turned and saw Stacy entering the barn, leading Blaze Face.

“Pa, what’s going on?”

Ben looked over at his sons. “Hoss . . . Joe . . . . ?”

“Sure, Pa.” Hoss moved forward to take Blaze Face’s lead from Stacy. “You g’won with Pa, Li’l Sister. Joe ‘n I’ll stable Blaze Face.”

“Pa . . . . ?!”

“Stacy, let’s you and I step into the tack room,” Ben said quietly. Stacy nodded, and followed. There, Ben took a deep breath and told his daughter what had transpired at the board meeting.

“Pa, I . . . I won’t let them take me!” she declared, as the blood literally drained right out of her cheeks. “I won’t let that . . . that monster from hell take me.”

“Stacy . . . . ”

“I mean it, Pa!”

“Stacy, do you trust me?” Ben said earnestly, placing both hands on her shoulders.

“Of COURSE I do, Pa.”

“Whenever I’ve made a promise to you, I’ve always kept it?”

Stacy nodded.

Ben slipped his arms around her and hugged her close. “Stacy, I promise you, NO ONE’S going to take you from me . . . from US! Least of all the likes of Vivian Crawleigh! You have my word on that.”

Stacy tightened her arms around Ben’s waist and rested her head against his broad chest. “When we were at Fort Charlotte? She was horrible, Pa,” she said, her voice shaking. “She’d . . . she’d punish me for the least little thing. I never knew what to expect. One day she’d praise me for doing something, the next she’d punish me . . . for doing the exact same thing.”

Ben’s thoughts drifted back to the first time he, Hoss, and Joe met Stacy. It was their first night at Fort Charlotte. In the dark hours of early morning, he was jolted from slumber by the terrified screams of the young woman he now held in his arms . . . .

Propelled by his fatherly instincts, finely honed through many years experience, he rose to his feet, threw his jacket on over his nightshirt, and went immediately to Stacy’s room. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently shook her by the shoulder. “Stacy? Stacy, wake up . . . . ”

Her eyes snapped open.

“It’s all right, Stacy, you were having a bad dream . . . . ”

Ben was surprised and touched when she threw herself into his secure embrace. He held her, allowing her to cry on his shoulder, all the while softly murmuring words of comfort and reassurance.

“Mister Cartwright!”

Ben turned toward the door and saw Vivian Crawleigh standing at the threshold, with arms folded tightly across her chest. Clad in a dark, navy blue robe, hair wrapped up in papers, her face slathered with some kind of mudpack, she did indeed look like a monster from the deepest pits of hell.

“What do you think you’re DOING?!”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Crawleigh. Stacy had a night mare that’s left her shaken up, but she’ll be all right.”

“Not if you cater to her every time she screams.” Mrs. Crawleigh’s voice dripped with icicles.

“Cater to her?” Ben echoed, not understanding.

“It’s a bid to get attention,” Mrs. Crawleigh informed him in a lofty, condescending tone. “As long as you keep on rushing in here, she’s going to keep right on throwing these temper tantrums in the middle of the night.”

“M-Mrs. Crawleigh, you mean to tell me . . . . . ”

“When she screams, I just let her scream. If she keeps it up long enough, I’ll come in and give her attention all right . . . in the form of a good, sound whipping with my cane.”

Ben stared over at the woman, too horrified to even speak.

“That’s the only way she’s going to learn, Mister Cartwright.”

Ben made up his mind right then and there to ask the fort commander about the possibility of taking the frightened child he held in his arms home with him and the boys, to be part of THEIR family . . . . .

“Stacy, I want you to look at me.”

Stacy lifted her head and looked up earnestly into her father’s face.

“I don’t care what it takes, whatever I have to do, you’re NOT going to Ohio with Mrs. Crawleigh,” Ben said quietly. “That I promise.”

“Even . . . even if you have to . . . to marry M-Miss Ashcroft?”

“Even if I have to marry Miss Ashcroft,” Ben vowed. “But, I don’t think it’s going to come down to that. Your birth certificate was in with your mother’s things, remember?”

Stacy nodded.

“She had me listed as your father,” Ben continued. “Plus there were a lot of witnesses there the night John McKenna revealed that Paris and I are your parents. Between those two things, we have ample enough proof that I am your natural father, Young Woman.”

“I hope so, Pa, I really hope so.”

“Johnny?”

“What is it, Aaron?”

“What time ya got?”

Johnny Jacobs, the man riding shotgun on the Overland Stage bound for Virginia City, carefully eased the butt of his rifle down on the footrest, balancing the weapon between his legs, dug into his pants pocket with his free hand. “Four minutes past three,” he replied, glancing down at the pocket watch resting in his massive palm.

Aaron Buckley mutely nodded his thanks, exhaling a sigh of relief. Less than an hour now to Virginia City. The first thing he planned to do, after seeing to the passengers and unloading the baggage on top, was to go at once to the barber shop for a nice long soak in a hot bath, followed by a shave, and maybe a haircut. Dinner would be at the International Hotel, as always, with a couple of beers at either the Silver Dollar or that new place, the Pink Flamingo. Perhaps there might even be a poker game going somewhere . . . .

“Aaron, stop!”

Johnny’s frantic tone pierced through Aaron’s reverie.

“Stop?! Wha’ for?”

“Look?” Johnny pointed.

There were two men standing in the road up ahead. The bigger of the two stood well over six feet tall. He had a massive, rock solid muscular girth, roughly the size and shape of a beer keg, and a pair of well muscled beefy arms. He wore a tall, rounded ten-gallon hat, brown pants, a white long sleeved shirt, and a leather vest tanned a shade of brown lighter than his pants, almost golden. The shorter man was of a slimmer build, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and hips. He wore light brown pants, a green jacket, and a hat that matched the pants. He stood next to the big man with arms folded across his chest.

Aaron studied the two men silently for a moment. “Kinda looks like the Cartwright boys, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed, frowning.

“Wonder what they’re doin’ all the way out here, standin’ in the middle of the road like that?!”

“Maybe one o’ their horses went lame or lost a shoe,” Aaron replied., as he slowed the stagecoach to a halt. “Least we can do is offer ‘em a lift.”

The driver and man riding shotgun were shocked when the Cartwright boys both drew their guns.

“Stand and deliver, My Good Man,” the shorter man ordered.

“Joe Cartwright, if this is some kinda joke, it ain’t funny!” Aaron sputtered angrily, upon finding his voice.

“This is no joke,” the man addressed as Joe replied. “Now both of you . . . throw down your guns, nice ‘n easy.”

“What’s going on out there?” an impatient young woman, with a pronounced Boston accent demanded petulantly. “Why are we stopping?”

“I think the stage is being held up,” a short, portly middle-aged man declared, upon looking out the window.

“An astute observation, Sir,” the big silver haired man, clad impeccably in a black three piece suit, freshly laundered white shirt, and black string tie, stated in a quiet tone of voice. He was the lone occupant on the seat facing toward the back of the coach. Before anyone could even think to stop him, he pulled a small, mother-of-pearl handled derringer from the inside pocket of his jacket and leveled it at the passengers facing him. “This is INDEED a hold up.”

The girl with the Boston accent opened her mouth to scream.

“I’d save your breath, if I were you, Miss,” Bradley Meredith, the silver hair man, advised. “There’s no one out here to hear your cries for help anyway.”

The girl snapped her moth shut, then turned and favored Bradley Meredith with a sullen glare.

“Now THAT’S a rare treat. Beauty as well as intelligence,” Bradley observed acerbically. “Now then, if the lot of you follow my instructions to the letter, you will be on your way, lickity-split, and no one will get hurt. You!” He glared at the cowboy seated next to the window. “I want you to remove your gun from its holster, slow and easy . . . and toss it out the window.”

The cowboy reluctantly complied.

“The rest of you raise your hands in the air,” Bradley ordered,” sit tight, and keep your mouths shut.”

One by one the passengers slowly raised their hands.

“Alright, Driver, I want you to toss down that big box in the middle,” the man addressed as Joe ordered tersely. “The one with all the fancy Chinese writin’ all over it.”

“Do as he says, Johnny,” Aaron ordered.

Johnny rose slowly, easily, taking great care not to make any sudden moves. He climbed on top of the coach and crawled over to the requested box.

“You find it, Johnny?”

“Yeah, Aaron, I got it.” Johnny seized hold of the chest and dragged it to the front, toward the driver’s seat. “Here y’ are, Hoss.” He handed the heavy box over to the big man.

“Thank you, Mister, much obliged.” The big man smiled and nodded politely.

“Say, Hoss . . . . ”

“What?”

“With all that money your pa’s got . . . why’d you take up robbin’ stage coaches?”

“The novelty of ranchin’ ‘n ropin’ s worn off, I guess,” the short man replied with an indifferent shrug.

“Your pa’s gonna be awfully disappointed in you boys,” Aaron reproved them severely.

“Someone mention their pa?” Bradley Meredith asked as he stepped down out of the coach.

Aaron Buckley’s jaw dropped, and his eyes bulged right out of their sockets. “Muh-muh-muh-muh-Mister . . . C-C-Cartwright?!”

“You got the right box, Boys?” Bradley asked.

“We sure do, uuhhh ‘Pa,’ ” the big man, the one addressed as Hoss, replied with an emphatic nod of his head.

“Ok, Driver, you can go,” Bradley said in a dismissive monotone.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya!” the short man in the green jacket called after the swiftly departing coach.

“Alright, let’s get this loot back to our hideout,” Bradley Meredith ordered. “We can divvy it up there.”

“Then it’s south to Mexico for the Slade brothers, Big Jack ‘n Shorty Jim ,” the man in the green jacket crowed. “Our share’ll be more ‘n enough to keep the pair of us in wine, women, and song for a long, long, long time.”

“Say, Boss, whatcha gonna do with YOUR share?” the big man, Big Jack, asked.

“I ain’t as young as I used t’ be, Boys,” Bradley replied. “I’m figuring on buying me a nice piece o’ land somewhere nice ‘n quiet, where a fella can settle back, sit a spell and put his feet up.”

“You figurin’ on takin’ that homely li’l schoolmarm with ya?” Big Jack asked, as a sly smile oozed across his lips.

The question was answered with a dark murderous glare.

“Hey, don’t get your long johns all wrapped up in knots, Boss,” Big Jack immediately backed down. “I was only joshin’.”

“You’re NOT to josh in that way about Judy,” Bradley said through clenched teeth.

“You’re more bent outta shape than a lady trying t’ lace up a corset whut’s too tight,” Big Jack returned with a scowl.

“I’m WARNING you . . . . ”

“Hey, come on, cut it out!” Shorty Jim immediately interposed himself between The Boss and his younger, big brother. “We got the loot, now let’s high tail it outta here. The sooner we count it out ‘n divvy it up, the sooner we can all be goin’ our separate ways.”

“That can’t happen soon enough fer ME!” Big Jack declared, directing a murderous glare in the general direction of Bradley Meredith.

“LUCAS MILBURN, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN IT’S POSSIBLE?!” Ben demanded, leveling a dark, angry scowl at his hapless lawyer, seated behind his desk.

“I mean there’s precedent!” Lucas replied, his gaze, unwavering, resting square on Ben Cartwright’s angry face.

“WHAT PRECEDENT?!”

“Ben, please . . . . ”

Ben closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep, even breath. “Alright, Lucas,” he said in as even a tone as he could possibly muster. “What precedent?”

“You should know, Ben, you helped set that precedent,” Lucas replied. “It concerned Margie Owens’ little girl. Remember?”

Ben remembered. Frank Owens young granddaughter, whom Hoss had wistfully nicknamed ‘Li’l June-Bug,’ had grown into a delightful child with a lively, vivacious personality. She had not only been a great comfort to her grandfather, but a new lease on life, as well. Frank took great delight in Li’l June-Bug. Though he would never regain the robust health that had been his before the onset of illness, his health did improve significantly for a time. When he finally died three almost four years ago now, Li’l June-Bug went to live with Carl and Marilyn Owens, Margie’s brother and sister-in-law, respectively. Carl and Marilyn, who had no children of their own, welcomed Li’l June-Bug into their hearts and into their home with open arms.

The Owens’ joy however was very short lived. Less than a day after Frank Owens had been laid to rest in the Virginia City Cemetery, Mark Connors came to town demanding custody of his daughter. Carl and Marilyn had adamantly refused to hand the child over, knowing Mark Connors to be the scum dirt wipes from its boots upon coming in from the cold. Mark Connors immediately petitioned to the court for custody of his daughter. Carl and Marilyn Owens, with the help and support of Ben Cartwright and Lucas Milburn, fought tooth and nail to retain custody of their niece. They might have lost the case entirely, had Mark Connors not shown up in court on the day the ruling was to be handed down, reeking of cheap whiskey and stale perfume, barely able to stand and walk.

“Lucas, aren’t you forgetting that we proved conclusively that Mark Connors was an unfit father?” Ben asked.

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that a precedent has been set,” Lucas explained. “Unless you can produce the man who DID father Miss Ashcroft’s child, Mrs. Danvers and Mrs. Crawleigh have very compelling circumstantial evidence.”

“With emphasis on CIRCUMSTANTIAL, Lucas.”

“Ben, you know as well as I that many an innocent man has gone to the gallows on the basis of compelling circumstantial evidence,” the lawyer hastened to point out. “While Judges Faraday and Greenberg can be counted on to hear all testimony, and declare Mrs. Crawleigh’s petition invalid for lack of good concrete proof, Judge Caine is another matter. Given the animosity that’s grown between you and Judge Caine over the years, Ben, I frankly wouldn’t put it past him to rule on the basis of that precedent.”

“Is there anyway we can prevent Judge Caine from hearing the case, if things actually come down to that?”

“No.”

For a time, Ben remained silent, consumed by his escalating anger, frustration, grief, and foreboding. Fate had just dealt Myra Danvers a powerful winning hand, with regard to the situation involving Judith Ashcroft and himself. If he gave in to her demand that he “do right” by Miss Ashcroft, would she on other occasions pull out that trump hand to make him or any other member of his family do her bidding? Ben feared he knew the answer to that question all too well. “Ironic, isn’t it, Lucas?” he finally mused aloud, bitterly. “All the work I did to save a child from having to live with a father, who was terribly unfit, now threatens to take away my own daughter.”

“Ben, I wish to heaven I could give you a better answer,” Lucas said helplessly.

With a heavy heart, Ben Cartwright trudged wearily from Lucas Milburn’s office to the Overland Stage Depot, where he had agreed to meet Joe, Hop Sing, and Li-Hsing.

Joe, upon catching sight of his father’s face, knew immediately that the news was bad. “Pa . . . . ?”

“Later,” Ben immediately cut his youngest son off. “We’ll talk about it at home.”

Joe sighed softly, and nodded. “Ok, Pa,” he agreed reluctantly. “We’ll talk at home.”

“Has the stage come in yet?”

“No,” Joe shook his head. “It would appear the stage is late this afternoon.”

“Oh no!” Hsing exclaimed horrified. “Why stage late? What if robbers hold up stage, take statues?”

“Don’t worry, Mister Li,” Joe said, making an effort to reassure, in spite of his own growing trepidations about Pa’s meeting a short while ago with Mister Milburn. “The reason the stage is late is because it was more than likely held up in Carson City for some reason.”

Finally, at nearly twenty-three minutes past the hour, the Overland stage turned the corner and rumbled up the street, coming to a halt in front of the depot.

“SOMEONE GET THE SHERIFF!” Aaron Buckley shouted, as he jumped down from the driver’s set. “THE STAGE WAS ROBBED.”

Upon hearing the driver’s announcement, everyone gathered at the stage depot began to talk at once, in tones mixed with fear and outrage. Two boys, waiting with their father to meet one of the passengers, were immediately dispatched to the sheriff’s office to fetch Roy Coffee.

Hop Sing and his brother-in-law, their faces paled to a sickly ashen gray, exchanged horrified glances.

“Should never trust stagecoach,” Hsing moaned. “Never, never, never, never! Hsing should have brought statues, deliver to venerable grandmother. Should never trust stagecoach to deliver.”

“Mister Li, most stagecoach robbers are after things like money, gold, and jewelry,” Joe said, trying to maintain a semblance of calm against his own mounting dread. He had a real full blown bad feeling about all this. “It could be that they left your statues behind, not knowing what they were.”

“Little Joe right,” Hop Sing affirmed, nodding his head vigorously. “Stage robbing men, crass. Very rude. Need class, smarts up here . . . . ” he tapped his right temple three times, “ . . . to know real worth, true value for statues. Most robbers not know that.”

Ben frowned as he listened to the exchange between Hop Sing and his youngest son. There was some merit to their words, perhaps, on the basis of general principles, but he had chosen this stage to deliver those statues because he had known that it would not be carrying gold, a payroll, or even the U.S. mail to tempt thieves. “Joe?”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“Why don’t you g’won over and ask the driver what was taken?”

“Sure thing, Pa. I’ll be right back!”

“THERE! HE’S ONE OF THEM! HE’S ONE OF THE MEN WHO ROBBED US!” the passenger with the Boston accent shouted and pointed as Joe Cartwright edged his way to the front of the gathering crowd.

“YES! THAT’S HIM!” the balding, middle aged man added his voice to the young girl. “THAT’S HIM! THERE! THE MAN IN THE GREEN JACKET!”

Before Joe could even begin to register the import of the passengers’ words of accusation, hands were grabbing him from all sides, pinning his arms, holding him very firmly in place.

“WE’VE GOT HIM!” one of the men holding fast to Joe’s right arm shouted back to the shaken drivers and passengers.

“HEY! JUST A COTTON PICKIN’ MINUTE!” Joe shouted, as the implications suddenly began to dawn on him. “I DIDN’T ROB THAT STAGECOACH . . . . ”

“Ben . . . Joe, I got witnesses who say you DID rob that stage,” Roy Coffee said sternly. He, the Cartwrights, Hop Sing, and a pale, terribly shaken Li-Hsing were all gathered together in the sheriff’s office. “The description of a third man robbin’ that stage just so happens t’ fit HOSS to a ‘T.’ ”

“Roy, before I went to the stage depot, I spent the better part of an hour with Lucas Milburn,” Ben growled, his voice beginning to rise. He made no efforts to in any way conceal his growing frustration and impatience. “An HOUR, Roy! Nearly a whole hour! Now I ask you . . . how could I possibly go to Carson City, catch the stage to Virginia City, rob it an hour outside of town, then rush back here . . . while spending the better part of the last hour with Lucas Milburn?!”

“Ben, I got witnesses who describe the robbers as lookin’ very much like you ‘n your two boys,” Roy argued. “The passengers point you ‘n Joe out as the men whut robbed that stage over at the depot. The two drivers identified the three robbers as Mister Cartwright, Hoss, ‘n Joe. Ben, I got no choice BUT to haul the both o’ you in here ‘n at the very least ask ya some questions. YOU know that as well as I do.”

“Sheriff Coffee, we didn’t rob that stage,” Joe said tersely.

“Settle down, Joseph.”

“Pa— ”

“I SAID settle down.”

A sigh borne of pure, unadulterated exasperation exploded from between Joe’s lips. He, then, lapsed into sullen silence.

“Alright, Roy,” Ben said through clenched teeth. “Joe and I will answer your questions.”

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” Roy said with a subtle touch of sarcasm. “First question . . . I need the both of ya to account for your whereabouts beginning . . . let’s say about two o’clock.”

“At two o’clock, I was out in the barn with Candy and Bobby Washington, getting our buckboard hitched up,” Ben replied. “We . . . . ” he gestured to his son, to Hop Sing and Li-Hsing with a broad sweep of his arm, “had to be here to meet the four o’clock stage because we were expecting a delivery on what’s turned out to be the only objects stolen in this hold up. I decided to come to town early because I wanted to consult with Lucas Milburn regarding another matter.”

“What time didja reach Mister Milburn’s office, Ben?”

“The clock on his wall struck three o’clock shortly after I arrived.”

“How long exactly were ya with Mister Milburn?”

“I left his office at nine minutes past four. I remember because I looked up at Lucas’ clock, knowing I was running late. I had told Joe and Hop Sing that I’d meet them and Li-Hsing at the stage depot promptly at four . . . if not a bit earlier.”

“Alright, Joe, how about YOU?”

“Hop Sing and I left Pa off at Mister Milburn’s office,” Joe Cartwright took up the story in a cold, sullen tone. “Then he and I drove over to the home of his father, Hop Ling in order to pick up Li-Hsing.”

“Li-Hsing and Hop Sing sister, Mei-Ling, and daughter all visit with honorable father,” Hop Sing dutifully explained.

“What time did you reach Hop Ling’s house?” Roy asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” Joe snapped. “It had to be . . . shortly after three, if Pa reached Mister Milburn’s office a few minutes BEFORE three.”

“Hop Sing know. Little Joe and Hop Sing reach Hop Ling house three, maybe four minutes past three. See on new sundial in rose garden in front of house.”

“How long were ya there?”

“We left at a quarter ‘til four,” Joe replied. “I heard a wall clock striking the last quarter hour. That’s how I knew it was time to leave for the depot. Li-Hsing came with Hop Sing and me. Mei-Ling and Yin-Ling stayed behind to visit awhile longer with Hop Ling.”

Roy Coffee made note of the people and times given him by Ben and Joe. “I’m gonna have to speak with Candy, Bobby Washington, and Hop Ling to verify, but that should be enough to keep ya outta jail, at least f’r now. However, I don’t want any of ya leavin’ town.”

“Mister Sheriff Sir?” Li-Hsing ventured hesitantly.

“Yes, Mister Li?”

“What happen with jade statues?”

“I’m gonna do everything I can to find ‘em,” Roy promised. “I’ll need a complete description of ‘em from you. Once I get that, I’ll send the information to every law man between here, ‘n California AND Mexico.”

“You find jade statues? Get back?” Li-Hsing asked, his pale, ashen face mirroring the desperate hope of one clinging for dear life to the thin edge of a precipice, suspended hundreds of feet above the earth and terra firma.

“Mister Li, as I said before I’m gonna do everything I can,” Roy said, his heart going out to the stricken man standing before him. “I wish I COULD tell ya fer sure that I’m gonna git ‘em back, but I can’t.”

“I . . . see. Li-Hsing thank Mister Sheriff for speaking honest.”

“Now if you can tell me what those statues look like . . . . ”

Ben, Joe, and Hop Sing moved over and took up their places next to the door that opened out on onto the street, allowing the sheriff and Li-Hsing a modicum of privacy.

“Mister Cartwright . . . Little Joe, this bad,” Hop Sing murmured gravely, shaking his head. “This very, very bad. No jade statues, no dowry. No dowry . . . Li family loose face, loose honor.”

“Loose face and . . . l-loose honor?!” Joe echoed, staring over at Hop Sing, incredulous. “I don’t understand.”

“Li-Hsing venerable grandmother promise jade statues be dowry for Yin-Ling,” Hop Sing said sadly. “Now statues gone. Li Family have no dowry. Li Family promise. Now can’t keep promise. Li Family dishonored. Loose face.”

“B-But it’s not Mrs. Li’s fault the statues were st-stolen,” Joe stammered, wholly taken aback.

“Mrs. Li promise. No can keep promise. Li Family disgrace, dishonor.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Little Joe right. NOT fair! But that way things be.”

“Come ON, Big Jack, out your back into it for heaven’s sake,” Shorty Jim urged impatiently.

“Keep your drawers on willya?” Big Jack growled. “I’m workin’ as fast as I can.”

The three thieves had retreated post haste, using a buckboard and team of horses well hidden from sight along the road. The box they had stolen was loaded into the back of the buckboard and covered over by a layer of straw and a coarse blanket. Bradley Meredith took the reins, and drove the buckboard off the road toward an abandoned homestead, chosen well before the planned robbery as their hideout. The buckboard and horses were hidden in what remained of the barn, while the men retreated into the house, carrying their ill-gotten gain.

Big Jack spent the better part of half an hour working diligently to pry off the lid of the wood box containing the Li family dowry. Shorty Jim stood close at his brother’s elbow, his hazel eyes shining with excitement, shifting from one foot to the other, then back again. Bradley Meredith sat before the small kitchen table, playing a game of Solitaire.

“Shorty, willya puh-leeeese! Stop all that prancin’ around?!” Big Jack angrily admonished his older brother. “You’re makin’ me nervous!”

“Alright!” Shorty snapped. He stepped back, putting some distance between himself and his brother. “Alright, I’ll quit lookin’ over your shoulder, if you’ll just get that box open!”

“I TOLDJA I’m tryin’.”

“Yeah, you’re tryin’ alright. REAL tryin’! You’re also takin’ forever.”

“I can’t help it if these Chinese folks are good at sealing stuff up,” Big Jack growled, as he returned his attention again to the box.

“Just hurry it up.”

As Bradley Meredith dealt himself another round of Solitaire, his anxious thoughts drifted to the woman he loved, the woman he hoped would be waiting for him back in Virginia City, remembering and reliving again the first day he had ever set eyes on her . . . .

“Mister Cartwright.”

She stood on the board sidewalk right next to the door of the Silver Dollar Saloon, her posture straighter than an army general’s and with arms folded tightly across her chest, leveling a ferocious scowl in his general direction. If looks could have killed . . . . .

“You were going to get right back to me about rescheduling that parent-teacher conference regarding Stacy, when you last canceled,” she said sternly. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since.”

“Stacy?” he murmured, with a bewildered frown.

“Your daughter.” Her tone was colder than the glaciers of Baffin Bay.

“Oh, yes . . . Stacy. My daughter.” This was suddenly going from very badly to even worse. He had no idea in the world that Ben Cartwright had a daughter.

“It’s been nearly a month, Mister Cartwright,” she continued in that stern, school teacher tone of voice.

“I’m very sorry, Miss— ” She was the school teacher. Bradley Meredith knew that, but what was her NAME?

“I WAS under the impression that you regard a good, solid education as something vitally important,” she continued.

“I do, believe me! I do! Unfortunately, I’ve been a tad under the weather for the last couple of weeks or so— ”

“I’m glad to see you’re up and about again, Mister Cartwright,” she said, her voice laden with heavy sarcasm. Her bright blue eyes strayed very pointedly to the saloon door behind him.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he murmured, flinching away from the steely glint in her gaze.

“One hour, Mister Cartwright.”

“One hour? Until . . . . ?”

“Until that parent-teacher conference,” she stated very firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I will be at the school house in one hour. We’ll have that parent-teacher conference then.” She paused, then added, “I trust you know the way to the school house as well as you seem to know the way to the Silver Dollar?”

“Y-Yes, Ma’am.”

“Excellent. I will see you THERE in one hour.”

Though not particularly beautiful in accord with the accepted norms of physical beauty, she intrigued him. Everyone ELSE in this dusty boom town went out of their way to kowtow to him, in the mistaken belief that he was Ben Cartwright, especially the ladies . . . the unmarried ones, that is . . . and the widows. A few were very attractive, but had proved themselves quite tiresome after an evening spent in their company.

But this school teacher was different, the way she spoke to him as she might one of her students, TELLING him to be at the school house in one hour instead of asking him when things might be convenient. And that pointed remark about the Silver Dollar . . . .

Out of curiosity, Bradley Meredith arrived at the schoolhouse for that parent-teacher conference early.

“If you would follow me inside, Mister Cartwright,” she said, not the least bit impressed or grateful of his early arrival, but accepting it as a given. She unlocked the door and led the way inside. “You will find a chair against the wall here in the back of the room. If you would be so kind as to bring it up along side my desk?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he murmured meekly, before doing her bidding like the most obedient of her students.

“I AM gratified that Stacy’s school work has shown marked improvement, since we last talked at the end of the last semester,” she began, once they had both gotten themselves settled. She sat behind her desk, posture straight, hands folded, making him feel every bit the errant schoolboy, called to the front of the class for misbehaving. “However, you and I both know that she IS a highly intelligent young woman, capable of doing much better.”

“Yes,” he said, not quite knowing what else to say.

“I know you and your sons do your best to encourage her to keep up with her school work, AND you do quite well in HELPING her with her homework without doing it for her,” the schoolteacher continued. “You and your sons are to be commended in that area.”

“Th-thank you.”

Her manner softened, as she favored him with a smile that transfigured her, revealing a glowing inner beauty that wholly overshadowed her otherwise unremarkable appearance. “Mister Cartwright, you have no idea how many parents either could care less as to how well or how poorly their children do in school, or who actually to their work for them. One mother was highly irate after I gave her daughter a failing grade for a report turned in. The reason I had to give that failing grade was because I knew for fact that the girl’s mother had written that report herself. When I tried to explain . . . . well, to say the mother just plain didn’t get it would be a gross understatement.”

“I believe very strongly that a child should do her own schoolwork,” Bradley said, settling into the role of parent. “How ELSE are they going to learn?”

“My sentiments exactly,” she responded with a triumphant nod of her head. “Overall, I’m very pleased with the improvement in your daughter’s schoolwork.”

“I can safely assume she’ll be passed on to the next grade?”

“Absolutely, no question about that, Mister Cartwright,” she hastened to assure. “In the coming year, however, I would like to see her applying herself a little more. As I said before, Stacy is a very intelligent young woman, more than capable of doing better.”

“I will certainly encourage her to do her best, Ma’am,” he promised earnestly. “How has she been behaving?”

“That talk you had with her after our last conference has done a world of good in that department. I am very pleased to report that she simply walks away when Abel Caine taunts her with his unkind remarks. Ignoring him seems to take all the wind right out of his sails, and as a result, he appears to be leaving her alone more and more.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’M glad I don’t have to listen to Judge Caine whining to me everyday about your daughter sending his son home with a split lip or a bloody nose.”

“You and me both.”

“Well, Mister Cartwright, that’s all I have to say. Do you have any further comments or questions?”

One. He wanted more than anything in the world to ask her if she were free to have dinner with him that night. “No, Ma’am,” he said aloud as they both rose.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with me,” she said quietly. “I know running a ranch the size of the Ponderosa is very time consuming— ”

“Even so, my daughter’s education is also very important. My apologies for all the postponements.”

“Apology accepted, Mister Cartwright.”

He just had to see her again, socially, out of the context of her being the teacher and he the supposed parent of one of her students. That opportunity very quickly presented itself at the church picnic a few days later. As a fundraiser to help families within the community, whose fortunes had suffered greatly in the wake of the hard winter this past year, all of the single ladies were asked to make up a picnic basket and put it up for auction. She and the gentleman who had the highest bid would share its contents together.

He had made sure that his was the winning bid on Judy Ashcroft’s basket.

They had spent a delightful afternoon together. He was very pleasantly surprised to discover that she could converse intelligently on a diverse spectrum of topics, ranging from current events, national and local, political issues, to art and literature. She was even knowledgeable in some of the finer aspects of raising cattle and crops. He knew also that she, too, was very pleasantly surprised, leaving him with a very strong sense that her perceptions of Mister Ben Cartwright differed radically from the image he had presented that afternoon at the church picnic.

In the days that followed, he had made a point to show up at some of the events he knew she would be attending, like the poetry readings held weekly at the library. Afterward, he would ask her to join him for coffee at the International Hotel. She, more often than not, accepted.

Then came that picnic he and Judy shared together, alone . . . .

After a highly delectable lunch, put together by Gretchen Braun over at the International Hotel, he took her into his arms, confidently, without preamble, hesitation or permission, and kissed her. Her entire body initially stiffened in the circle of his arms. He remembered her hands against his chest desperately trying to push him away, but he pulled her closer, his lips tenderly, expertly massaging hers.

Then, suddenly, her struggling ceased. He felt her body go limp in his embrace, her arms sliding up under his, her fingers wrapping tightly about his shoulders, clinging for dear life. Her lips began to massage his in return, tentatively at first, then bolder, with more confidence. He touched her lips with the tip of his tongue, gently prying them apart, then thrusting triumphantly into her mouth, eliciting a soft moan from deep within her.

“You want this, Judy,” Bradley whispered, awed, as his lips moved from her mouth up to her eyelids, over her forehead, and down to her cheeks. “You want this every bit as much as much as I do.”

“Yes,” Judith moaned, breathless. “Yes, yes, oh yes . . . . ”

Cradling the young schoolteacher in one arm, Bradley began to remove the pins binding her hair in its customary tight chignon. “You have such pretty hair,” he whispered, “like spun gold. I’ve been wanting to run my fingers through your hair since that ‘parent’-teacher conference.”

“Ben?”

“Yes?”

“Please? Kiss me again?”

Bradley granted her request. Judy responded with an intensity, and ferocity that must have shocked her to the very core of her being, and frightened her. He could feel her entire body trembling in his arms. Her tongue touched his lips, teasing, finally working its way inside his mouth. Groaning, he pulled her closer, pleased and very surprised.

He gently laid her down onto the red and white-checkered cloth that had served as their picnic table, then laid down along side her. He gathered her in his arms once more and gazed down longingly into her eyes. “Judy,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Are you sure?”

Judy’s eyes remained glued to his face as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse one button at a time. She gently took his right hand in both of hers and placed it under her blouse on top of her bare breast, then nodded, too overcome to speak.

Over the years he had known many women in the Biblical sense, but none had ever given of herself so willingly, so completely, and so passionately as Judy had on that glorious picnic. It had been HER first time. He knew immediately when he saw the fear in her face, fear of her own fierce passionate nature. Yet she trusted him so completely, she found within herself the courage to surrender not only to him, but to herself, finally setting free that which she had kept bound for so long.

He had deflowered many young virgins in his much younger days. Some of them had been saloon girls, but many more of them had hailed from the so called “good” families, wealthy with a genealogy that included names appearing on the passenger list of the Mayflower and many of the crowned heads of Europe. Despite their so-called good breeding and impeccable pedigree, each and every one were a dime a dozen.

Judy Ashcroft, however, was different.

Judy Ashcroft was a rare and precious gift.

The thought of leaving Virginia City for good, without Judy, grew increasingly unbearable with each passing day . . . .

“IT’S OPEN!” Big Jack’s triumphant shout, following on the heels of that wooden box, containing the Li Family dowry, splintering into a million pieces, forcibly yanked him away from his tender musings of Judy Ashcroft.

“WHAAA-HOOOOO!” Shorty Jim cheered jubilantly, as he turned and ran over to his brother looming triumphantly over the recalcitrant box.

“Bring that box on over here,” Bradley ordered tersely, taking no pains to conceal his irritation at having been so rudely pulled from his tender reverie. Scowling, he quickly gathered up his cards, and jammed them into his shirt pocket.

“It sure is heavy,” Big Jack declared, grinning from ear to ear, as he had his brother hefted the box up off the kitchen counter and into their arms.

“That’s PROBABLY ‘cause it’s GOLD!” Shorty declared. “We’re rich, Big Brother, you ‘n me are filthy, stinkin’ RICH.”

“Get that box over here, and let’s count it,” Bradley ordered.

“When we do, we’re on our way south to Mexico!” Shorty declared.

The brothers placed the box on the kitchen table in front of Bradley Meredith, who gingerly removed the splintered remains of the box top. Inside was a layer of straw that was quickly removed.

“What’s this?” Big Jack queried with a perplexed scowl, as his eyes fell on the three irregularly shaped bundles inside.

“The gold’s in those bundles,” Shorty Jim replied.

“Gold ingots don’t look like that.”

“Maybe it’s gold COINS.”

“Come on, let’s get these bundles open,” Bradley said impatiently. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and drew out a pocketknife. He flipped up the blade and quickly sliced through the cords holding the bundles together. He, then, set the knife aside and ripped off the burlap, revealing a deep green jade statue of a woman flying. The full, round lunar disc and stylized clouds anchored and supported the figure. A line drawing of the moon hare was incised into the flat moon disc behind the carved woman.

“Hey! This ain’t gold!” Big Jack exclaimed in dismay.

“WHAT?!” Shorty Jim yelped in outrage.

“I . . . I don’t believe it,” Bradley Meredith whispered, wholly awestruck. “This jade statue of Chang-O. . . it’s obviously the work of Yang Wei-Chu, his late period . . . yet one completely unknown . . . and NOT sitting behind glass in a museum somewhere.”

“Agggh! Who the hell CARES?” Shorty Jim snorted derisively. “You can’t spend a jade statue.”

“Maybe there’s gold in the other two bundles,” Big Jack suggested hopefully.

Bradley Meredith carefully, almost reverently set the statue of Chang-O down safely on the kitchen counter, then set himself to the task of severing the cords around the two remaining bundles. He unwrapped the burlap from around the first of the remaining bundles, while Shorty Jim greedily yanked the burlap from the other with Big Jack looking on, his eyes shining with anticipation.

“Aawww, daggumit! There ain’t no gold in them two sacks either,” Big Jack exclaimed in complete dismay. “Just . . . more statues.”

“Hou-Yi and Kuan-Yin,” Bradley identified them, “also by Yang Wei-Chu, late period, pieces completely unknown . . . until NOW.”

“I got half a mind to ride into town, find that no good Li-Xing and kick his sorry ass from one end o’ Virginia City to the other, ‘n back again,” Shorty Jim declared with a murderous scowl.

“These statues are priceless, Gentlemen,” Bradley hastened to point out. “We can sell them.”

“We’d almost have to go to San Francisco to find someone wealthy enough to buy priceless statues,” Shorty Jim groused. “By the time we got there, the sheriff here will’ve gotten out a general description at the very least. We’ll NEVER find a buyer ‘cause no one in his right mind’s gonna buy stolen property.”

“We could maybe hold ‘em for ransom,” Big Jack suggested.

“ . . . and we’d still get only a fraction of what they’re worth,” Bradley argued, “and besides! The Li Family’s impoverished and has been so for quite a number of years now. Xing said these statues are all that remains of his family’s wealth.”

“Ben Cartwright ain’t poor,” Big Jack countered. “The REAL one, that is.”

“Even if Ben Cartwright sold the Ponderosa, all of his other holdings . . . his lumber mill and mining interests, and pooled together all of his liquid assets over and above all that, it still wouldn’t come up to anything near what those statues are worth,” Bradley replied.

“You got any BETTER ideas?” Shorty Jim demanded.

“I not only have a better idea, I also have a buyer . . . right here in Virginia City,” Bradley replied with a smug, triumphant grin. “He’s very wealthy, has an extensive collection of priceless works of art, and he’s not real choosey as to where they come from.”

“Who IS this guy?” Shorty Jim asked in a sullen tone.

“Geoffrey Sutcliff. He already owns half the real estate in Virginia City and is working diligently to buy up the other half,” Bradley replied. “He makes a real tidy sum every year just sittin’ back on his fat ass, collecting rent from most of the businesses in town. But, that’s not the real source of his wealth.”

“What IS?” Big Jack asked, curious.

“Does the name van der Hoest mean anything to you?”

Big Jack and Shorty Jim exchanged puzzled glances, then shrugged. “Never heard of ‘em,” the latter replied.

Bradley Meredith sardonically rolled his eyes. “That shouldn’t surprise me,” he sighed. “The van der Hoest family is what they call old money back east. They amassed their fortune in shipping and shipbuilding. Mrs. Sutcliff’s maiden name was van der Hoest. She’s the sole heir to that entire fortune.”

“OK, so this Geoffrey Sutcliff can afford the statues,” Shorty Jim said. “How do we go about lettin’ him know they’re for sale.”

“I will ride into town first thing in the morning and inform Mister Sutcliff that the three statues are for sale,” Bradley replied. “I’ve fenced . . . uuhhh, BROKERED sales of artwork with him before, so he’s well acquainted with me.”

“Big Jack and I’re coming with you.”

“Not, you’re not,” Bradley growled. “This is something I can best handle ALONE.”

“Another thing you can best handle ALONE is selling those statues to this guy, collecting the money, grabbing up your lady friend, an’ high tailin’ it to San Francisco, with Big Jack ‘n me none the wiser.”

Bradley took a deep breath and pulled himself up, fully erect. “Are you accusin’ me of cheating you and your brother?!” he demanded, thoroughly outraged, favoring Shorty Jim wit a dark, murderous glare.

“Don’t you go ‘n get all self-righteous on US, Boss,” Shorty Jim countered heatedly. “You’ve already lied to the woman you supposedly love by telling her you’re Ben Cartwright, you help us steal those three statues from the stage this mornin’, AND you cheat playin’ poker. Cheatin’ on your partner’s the next logical step the way I see it.”

“I am NOT going to take all three statues,” Bradley said in a tone that dripped icicles, “only ONE. You two will remain here to guard the remaining two.”

“OK, fine! Just fine!” Shorty retorted. “How do we know that you won’t turn Big Jack ‘n me over to the sheriff and keep all the money you make from sellin’ these statues for yourself?”

“A man with even a small amount of intelligence would realize that the Cartwrights, to whom we ALL, including me, bear very close resemblance are at the very least under suspicion for having pulled that stage robbery,” Bradley said in a withering, condescending tone. “If I so much as set foot in the sheriff’s office, they’re going to mistake me for Ben Cartwright and throw me in jail.”

“What he says makes sense, Shorty,” Big Jack admitted.

This drew a sharp glare from his older brother. “Yeah,” Shorty Jim growled through clenched teeth. “Alright then, Boss. What ARE your plans for tomorrow morning? My brother and I have a right to know THAT much.”

“I plan to ride out early tomorrow morning to Mister Sutcliff’s home, which happens to be located just outside the city proper,” Bradley said stiffly. “As I said before, I’ll take one of the statues with me to show the client. If all goes well, I’ll make the sale, arrange for the delivery of the remaining two statues, and pick up a hefty bank draft . . . . ”

“Bank draft?!” Shorty echoed, incredulous. “A bank draft?”

“Yes, a bank draft, made out to me. We’ll cash it in Placerville.”

“Oh no! You’ll take payment in CASH . . . or gold bullion.”

“If I were to insist on cash, that might arouse suspicion.”

“I thought you just said this Mister Sutcliff ain’t real choosy about where he buys his art work.”

Bradley sighed. “Alright. Cash or gold. I CAN tell Mister Sutcliff that the, umm CLIENTS for whom I’m brokering, are anxious to sell. However . . . . ”

“However WHAT?!”

“There will be a substantial reduction in PRICE.”

“I don’t care,” Shorty replied. “I just wanna get outta here.”

“What about that li’l Chinese fella?” Big Jack asked. “The one who put us up to this heist. HE’S gonna expect HIS commission.”

“Oh he’ll get his commission,” Bradley said, scowling. “Only he’s going to find it drastically reduced because of the risk factor involved in selling these statues.”

“Hey! He’s supposed to meet us in that alley between the Pink Flamingo ‘n the Virginia City Social Club, ain’t he?” Shorty said, remembering.

“Yes, tonight just before midnight,” Bradley nodded. “Given our present situation, I think it might be best if he come and stay here with us . . . . ” a sly smile slowly spread across his lips, “ . . . as our guest, until the sale of the statues is complete.”

“Hoss . . . . ”

“Li’l Sister, you runnin’ to the window every five minutes ain’t gonna hurry ‘em along any,” Hoss said, taking no pains to conceal the annoyance born from his own growing anxiety.

“Sorry,” Stacy murmured contritely.

“I-I’m sorry, TOO, Stacy,” Hoss also apologized upon getting a look at the wounded expression on her face. “I may be just as worried as you, but I got no call t’ take it out on you.”

“ ‘S ok, Hoss.”

“No, it ain’t,” Hoss said in a kindlier tone. “Tell you what. I’ll accept YOUR apology, if you’ll accept mine.”

“You got yourself a deal, Big Brother,” Stacy said, then sighed. “I hope Mister Milburn had some good news for Pa.”

“I’m sure everything’ll be alright,” Hoss said with more conviction than he felt. “But, even if it ain’t, you just remember one thing.”

“What’s THAT?”

“That promise Pa made you. Ain’t NOBODY gonna take you away from us, Li’l Sister, not Mrs. Danvers, not that Crawleigh woman . . . NOBODY. This is YOUR home, Pa, Li’l Joe, Hop Sing, ‘n me . . . we’re all your family. Ain’t nobody gonna change all that.”

Stacy walked over to the settee where her big brother was sitting and threw her arms around his neck. “Thanks, Hoss,” she said, before planting a quick kiss on top of his head.

Hoss smiled, despite is own apprehension and patted her arm. “Don’t you dare forget that, Li’l Sister, you hear?”

“I won’t,” she promised.

A few moments later, Stacy and Hoss heard the sounds of horse hooves and buckboard wheels out in the yard. The latter rose from his place on the settee, and walked around to take his place alongside his sister, whose eyes were riveted to the door.

Yin-Ling burst through the front door first, weeping. She bolted across the great room and ran up the steps, wholly oblivious to the presence of Stacy and Hoss. The sounds of her footfalls, her piteous sobbing echoed through out the second story, as she fled to the room she shared with the Cartwright daughter. Downstairs, they heard the door to Stacy’s bedroom slam shut. An uneasy silence reigned.

“H-Hoss?”

“What is it, Li’l Sister?”

“I-I don’t know about YOU . . . but suddenly . . . I’ve got a real bad feeling about all this,” Stacy said, her voice shaking.

Hop Sing entered next, followed by Mei-Ling and Li-Hsing, their faces pale. Stacy’s heart sank when she realized that Mei-Ling had also been crying. Mei-Ling paused, turned and exchanged a few words with her husband, Li-Hsing. He, in turn nodded, then stepped over to the closed door of the downstairs guest room, the one occupied by his grandmother. Hop Sing and Mei-Ling went out to the kitchen.

“Hoss?” It was Joe, his face a mixture of anger and of grief. “Would you mind helping me with the horses?”

“Sure thing, Li’l Brother.” Hoss paused just long enough to give his anxious sister a gentle, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before following Joe outside.

“Stacy . . . . ”

If she hadn’t known before that the news wasn’t good, she certainly knew, without a shred of doubt, upon getting a good hard look at her father’s strained, weary face, containing within it the same mix of grief and anger she had seen just now in Joe’s face. Stacy swallowed nervously, then walked over, meeting Ben half way. “Pa, what did Mister Milburn say?” she asked in as steady a voice as she could possibly muster.

Ben took a deep breath and told her everything.

“Oh no! Pa, what are we going to do?”

Ben gently took his daughter into his arms and hugged her close. “One thing we’re NOT going to do is let this Mrs. Crawleigh take you anywhere,” he said earnestly. “I want you to know that and remember that.” He held her enough apart to look into her face. “Your home is right here, with your brothers, Hop Sing, and me. I won’t let either Mrs. Danvers or Mrs. Crawleigh change that.”

“H-How can we STOP them?” Stacy asked, her voice shaking.

“You leave THAT to me, Young Woman,” Ben chided her gently. “All YOU need to do is remember that the Ponderosa is your home, and we’re your family. Nothing this side of heaven or hell is going to change that.”

“Ok, Pa . . . I’ll remember, but in the meantime? I could use a great big bear hug,” she said, her blue eyes unusually bright.

“Now that you mention it, I could use a big bear hug myself about now . . . . ” Ben felt his own eyes stinging with tears, as he gathered Stacy back into his arms and hugged her closer.

“M-Mister Cartwright?”

Ben glanced up upon hearing his name. He was seated behind his desk, with a pile of unopened mail spread out before him. Judith Ashcroft, her cheeks beet red, her eyelids and upper lip swollen, stood on the other side of the desk with sodden handkerchief clasped tightly in one hand. Her vulnerability, laid bare by the day’s events, lent her more the appearance of a troubled school GIRL rather than austere schoolteacher.

“Hop Sing t-told me just now that you . . . that you wanted to s-see me?”

“Yes,” Ben immediately rose. “Let’s sit down over next to the fireplace.”

Judith nodded and fell in step behind him. She seated herself at the end of the settee nearest the red leather chair facing, with her posture stiffly erect and hands folded in her lap.

“I spoke to my lawyer this afternoon, Miss Ashcroft,” Ben began as he seated himself in the red leather chair. “I’m afraid he didn’t have good news to tell me.” He shared with Judith all that Lucas Milburn had told him.

“Then Mrs. Danvers’ cousin c-could come here . . . petition for custody of Stacy and . . . and w-win the case?!”

“It’s a very strong possibility, Miss Ashcroft.”

“Oh, Mister Cartwright, I . . . I am s-so sorry . . . . ” Judith immediately lowered her face toward her lap, her eyelids blinking excessively.

“It’s not YOUR fault,” Ben said quietly, then scowled. “If fault lies anywhere, I’d have to say it lies with Mister Meredith and Mrs. Danvers.”

“D-Does . . . does Stacy know?” Judith cast a quick, furtive glance over her shoulder.

Ben nodded. “There’s no keeping things from her, I’m afraid. She’s too perceptive.”

“S-So what happens now?” Judith ventured timidly.

Ben took a slow, deep, even breath. “Before we talk about that, there’s something I’d like to tell you first . . . about Stacy.”

Judith nodded, then waited.

“When Hoss, Joe, and I met her at Fort Charlotte, she had just been taken, by force, from the Paiute family who had taken her in as a child, who had loved her and raised her,” Ben began. “The men at the fort tried to find out whether or not she had family, and who they might be, but came up empty handed. Someone at Fort Charlotte must have either known Mrs. Crawleigh personally, or known about her. Major Baldwin, the fort commander, sent her a wire asking her to come and take Stacy.

“The kindest things I can possibly say about Mrs. Crawleigh are that she’s abusive and cruel, and that’s based on what I saw while we were all at Fort Charlotte,” Ben continued. “Stacy’s told me other things over the years, and just thinking about it’s enough to make my blood boil. I just thank the Good Lord that for whatever reason, Major Baldwin at the last minute changed his mind and allowed Stacy to come home with US.”

“Stacy’s very lucky you and your sons came along when you did,” Judith said in a small, quiet voice, her eyes riveted to the darkened hearth. “I . . . didn’t grow up in the Lucia Churchill Hayes Home for Orphans and Foundlings, rather in an institution very much like it. My parents died when I was very young. Though I had several aunts and uncles, none were interested in taking on another mouth to feed. Mister Cartwright . . . . ”

“Yes?”

“If there’s anything I can do to ensure that Stacy remains here with you, secure in her own home . . . . ”

Ben was grateful to her for opening the way. “Does that include marriage?”

“It’s the least I can do for wrongly implicating you.”

“I will accept and raise your child as my own, Miss Ashcroft,” Ben said quietly, earnestly. “You and your child will be accepted and treated as any other member of this family. I will be a good husband to you, on your terms. If you wish our marriage to be one of convenience, in name only, I will respect that.”

“Th-Thank you, Mister Cartwright. You’re . . . you’re very generous.”

“If you need time to think about your answer . . . . ”

“No. I . . . I WILL marry you, Mister Cartwright,” Judith said, her voice shaking. “I do so knowing that you’re . . . you’re doing this for Stacy’s sake. I’ll leave the arrangements to you.”

“STACY? HEY, KID, YOU OUT HERE?” Joe called out as he entered the barn.

“UP HERE!” Stacy called back from the loft overhead.

Joe walked over to the ladder and climbed up. He found his sister sitting against the wall, a few feet from the ladder, with an open book propped up against her knees. “Hop Sing says supper’ll be ready in ten minutes,” he said as he stepped from ladder to straw covered loft floor. “Whatcha readin’?”

“This.” Stacy held the book up so that her brother could see the title.

“How to Solve Crimes by Professor Foote,” Joe read the title aloud with a grin. “Where in the world did you find THAT?”

“In the attic, last Christmas, when we were all bringing down the Christmas decorations.”

“I’m surprised that book ended up in the attic. I thought sure Pa had taken it out to the middle of Lake Tahoe and dropped it in.”

“I’m sure glad he didn’t,” Stacy said grimly.

“Uh oh! What’re you up to, Little Sister?” Joe asked as he knelt down beside her.

“Grandpa, it’s up to US!” Stacy said, with that tell tale stubborn set of jaw that more often than not signaled she was about to embark on a course of action that could potentially land her in a whole world of trouble.

“US?! What’s up to us?”

“We have to stop Pa and Miss Ashcroft from making a big mistake,” Stacy explained. “They’ll be miserable together.”

“I . . . I know, Kid,” Joe said sadly, as he settled himself on the floor beside her.

“Especially Miss Ashcroft! That’ll be torture for her to be married to a man who’s a dead ringer for the man she loves, but he’s NOT the man she loves.” Stacy sighed and dolefully shook her head. “I’m not making a whole lot of sense am I?”

“Actually, Little Sister, you’re making perfect sense, but I’m afraid Pa has no choice in the matter. If he doesn’t marry Miss Ashcroft, YOU stand a good chance of being handed over to that Crawleigh bitch.”

“That’s another thing,” Stacy pressed. “Knowing Mrs. Danvers, she’ll hold that over Pa’s head for the rest of his life, if he marries Miss Ashcroft. If he doesn’t do her bidding, she’ll threaten him with send a wire to that monster cousin of hers.”

“It wouldn’t be his whole life, Kid, only for the next three years . . . until you come of age,” Joe hastened to point out, “but the thought IS sobering.”

“We’ve got to DO something.”

“What . . . exactly do you have in mind?” Joe asked warily.

“We find the man Miss Ashcroft’s in love with,” Stacy said with a scowl. “That’ll not only get PA off the hook, but I have a real strong feeling that if we find HIM, we also find the Li family’s jade statues.”

“Oh yeah?” Joe queried, intrigued in spite of himself. “How do you figure?”

“This guy who’s a dead ringer for Pa . . . what’s his name?”

“Bradley Meredith,” Joe said, scowling. “Twice he tried to use his resemblance to Pa sell the Ponderosa out from under us. Both times, he almost pulled it off.”

“From some of the other things you guys’ve told me, I betcha anything he and two guys who look like you and Hoss held up that stage and stole the jade statues,” Stacy continued.

“That’s right,” Joe remembered with a scowl. “When I walked over to ask Aaron and Jacob what was stolen, they . . . and all the passengers, too . . . identified Pa ‘n me as two of the thieves.”

“Didn’t the drivers also say that Hoss was the third thief?”

“Yeah . . . . ” Joe murmured, his scowl deepening. “Now that we’re sitting here talking about all this, it suddenly occurs to me that the REAL robbers must’ve gone out of their way to make darn sure everyone saw their faces.”

“BECAUSE they look a lot like you, Pa, and Hoss.”

“Yeah.”

“WE know that Pa’s not the father of Miss Ashcroft’s child,” Stacy continued, “and there can’t be TWO guys, who are dead ringers for Pa . . . can there?!”

“Anything’s possible, Kiddo, but I hafta agree that it’s not likely,” Joe had to admit.

“Then one of the stage robbers . . . the one who looks like PA . . . has to be the father of Miss Ashcroft’s child,” Stacy insisted.

Joe silently mulled over her words for a moment. “What you say makes sense, Stace. The odds against two other guys running around Virginia City, who happen to be dead ringers for Pa, have to be pretty high . . . and THAT reminds me of something ELSE!”

“What’s that, Grandpa?”

“There was something strange about that stage heist . . . . ”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Joe replied. “First off, when Pa made the arrangements to have those statues shipped here from San Francisco, he purposely chose a stage that wouldn’t be carrying anything robbers might find tempting. There was no gold, no money, not even a bag of mail. Second, the thieves ONLY took the statues.”

“What do you mean they ONLY took the statues?!” Stacy queried with a bewildered frown. “You just got through saying that the stage wasn’t carrying anything ELSE robbers might find tempting.”

“Stage robbers usually go through the luggage, and rob the passengers, too,” Joe explained. “That one gal . . . from the way she talked, I’d say she HAD to have come from Boston . . . but when the stage arrived in Virginia City, she was wearing a fortune in jewelry.”

“You know what THAT means, don’t you, Grandpa?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Little Sister.”

“It means they were after the statues!” Stacy replied.

“Not necessarily,” Joe said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?”

“They were obviously after the Li Family DOWRY, but I somehow don’t think they were expecting to find jade statues,” Joe explained. “I think they were expecting gold, or cash.”

“How do you figure?”

“First lesson in that book, Kid. You have to think like a criminal.”

“That can’t be too much of a stretch for you, Grandpa,” Stacy couldn’t resist.

“For YOU either, Kid. Think about it.”

“Cash and gold ARE more portable, easier to spend,” Stacy said slowly. “Those statues have to be sold.”

“ . . . and THAT’S not gonna be easy. I know for fact that Sheriff Coffee’s wired descriptions of the statues to every jurisdiction between here, California, the Mexican border, and the Mississippi River,” Joe said.

“ . . . which means the heist was an INSIDE job!”

“A WHAT?!”

“An inside job!” Stacy reiterated. “The book mentions it right here.”

Joe walked over and settled himself comfortably in the straw next to his sister. He looked down at the book, at the place where her finger touched the page, and read. “Wait a minute!” he said, frowning, after having read the paragraph over twice. “If this heist was an inside job . . . that means . . . one of US is working with the thieves.”

“Y-Yeah,” Stacy said, looking miserable. “It CAN’T be any of US.”

“That leaves the LI family.”

“But, THAT makes no sense either,” Stacy said morosely. “Yin-Ling’s in love with this guy Yan-Chou. I know she’d NEVER have done anything that could stop the wedding from taking place.”

“Mister Li was really upset when he heard the news of the heist,” Joe observed. “You should’ve seen him when we were all in Sheriff Coffee’s office. There were a few times, I actually thought he was gonna faint.”

“MRS. Li, Hop Sing’s sister, was pretty upset, too when you came home this afternoon.”

“ . . . and somehow . . . I just can’t picture Mister Li’s GRANDMOTHER on cahoots with stage robbers. I know, maybe I’m being really naive, but I just can’t see it.”

“I’m with you there, too, Grandpa.”

“That leaves . . . . ” Suddenly, Joe’s face brightened with the dawning of revelation. “Of COURSE!”

“What?”

“Yesterday, after dinner, when Hoss took me out for some fresh air . . . . ”

“Yeah, I remember,” Stacy said, favoring her brother with a scowl.

“We ended up at the Silver Dollar Saloon. While we were there . . . Stacy, we saw them! Hoss and I SAW them!”

“Saw who?” she demanded warily.

“The crooks! There were three guys there, playing a game of high stakes poker. The winner . . . the winner looked just like PA! EXACTLY like Pa! Hoss and I thought he WAS Pa . . . ‘til we figured there was no way Pa could have changed his clothes, saddled Buck, and still beat us into town. But even THEN we couldn’t be sure, so we ducked under the table.”

Stacy chuckled at that last statement.

“Wasn’t all THAT funny!” Joe growled.

“Sorry!”

“The other guys playing cards with him . . . well, AFTER the card game broke up? I saw the one guy heading upstairs with Laurie Lee Bonner . . . Stacy, he looked so much like ME, I . . . I honestly thought I was having some kinda strange out of body experience.”

“ . . . and I remember how Laurie Lee flirted with you, the day Pa came home from San Francisco.”

“Yeah! And when Lilly Beth Jared decked me out on the street later? She accused me of two-timing on her with Laurie Lee Bonner.”

“Those men have to be the crooks! And guy who looked so much like Pa? HE’S also the man Miss Ashcroft’s in love with. He’s GOT to be!”

“It all adds up, that’s for sure,” Joe said. An angry frown creased the plane of his normally smooth brow. “But now that we know who these guys are . . . how do we go about finding ‘em?”

“We need to figure out who the inside man is.”

“Stacy, I know exactly who the inside man is!” Joe declared, his ferocious scowl deepening.

“Who, Grandpa?”

“Li-Xing!”

“Hop Sing’s nephew?!”

“Not a day’s gone by without Hop Sing making SOME mention about his nephew being no good,” Joe explained.

“True . . . . ”

“He was also in the saloon yesterday at the same time as our doubles,” Joe continued. “Hoss saw him going into the saloon as WE were leaving. He, our big brother that is, was so shocked, he stopped walking. I plowed right into him.”

“So THAT’S what happened to your nose,” Stacy murmured sympathetically. “Did you guys see him talking to your doubles?”

“No,” Joe immediately shook his head. “He was actually arriving as Hoss and I were leaving.”

“Still, what you said about Xing makes sense, too,” Stacy said thoughtfully. “Maybe we should follow him around for awhile and see if he DOES make contact with your doubles.”

“Starting tonight.”

“Is he back yet? Xing, I mean.”

“I don’t know, Stacy. I haven’t seen him since Pa and I got back from meeting that stage— ”

“I thought I heard voices up here . . . . ”

Stacy and Joe glanced up sharply and found themselves staring into the stern face of their big brother, Hoss.

“What’s goin’ on out here, anyway?” Hoss demanded as he stepped from the ladder into the loft. “Joe, you came out here t’ tell Stacy supper’d be ready in ten minutes . . . fifteen minutes ago! Hop Sing’s fit to be tied. He’s threatenin’ t’ quit ‘n go back to China to help some cousin or another with the laundry.”

“The laundry, eh?” Joe quipped, as he deftly removed the book from Stacy’s hands. He slipped it behind his back and edged it under the straw near the place where Stacy sat. “THAT’S a new one. He usually threatens to quit and go off to San Francisco to help some cousin of his in a restaurant.”

“That ain’t funny, Li’l Brother. The two o’ you’d best wash up ‘n git on inside, ‘for ya wind up in a world o’ trouble.” With that, Hoss turned and climbed back down the ladder.

At the stroke of eleven, Li-Xing slowly rose from prone to sitting on the cot set out for him at the foot of his uncle’s bed. Thankfully, there was enough moonlight shining in through the French doors, that opened out into the vegetable and herb garden Hop Sing had maintained almost since the day he, himself, had joined the Cartwright family, when Joe was but an infant. Xing moved his feet from the cot to the floor one leg at a time, very slow, taking great pains not to make even the slightest noise.

A quick, furtive glance over toward the bed told him that his uncle, Hop Sing, remained asleep, half curled on his side, facing away from the French doors. The young man took another moment to allow his eyes to fully adjust to the darkened room, before rising. Xing quickly pulled his nightshirt up over his head, revealing his street clothes underneath. He rolled down the legs of his pants and the sleeves of his shirt. He paused again to glance over at his uncle, and smiled upon seeing that the older man remained asleep.

Xing reached under the cot and drew out his boots and a jacket like Joe’s, except for being a dark navy blue, then rose slowly, carefully to his feet. He bent down from the waist and picked up his boots in his right hand, his jacket with his left, then set off across the room toward the French doors, tip-toeing very slowly.

“Hey! Where you going?”

It was his uncle. Xing bit down on his lower lip to keep from groaning out loud. With sinking heart, he turned and, much to his great dismay, found Hop Sing sitting up in bed glaring right at him.

“It late! Very, very late! Where you think you go?” Hop Sing demanded tersely.

“To the tall shack out back,” Xing growled back in a sullen tone. “You know, the one with the half moon in the door!?”

“Use chamber pot!” Hop Sing growled, favoring the young man with a jaundiced glare.

“It’s too far under the cot,” Xing returned without missing a beat. “I can’t reach it.”

“You TRY?! You get down on hands and knees and stretch?”

“Aww, come on, Uncle . . . I gotta go.”

“Ok!” Hop Sing very reluctantly allowed. “You go. You come right back!”

“Alright, already!”

Xing let himself out through the French doors and made his way around to the front of the house. Assuming his uncle didn’t immediately fall back asleep, he figured he had fifteen minutes, twenty, perhaps at the very outside, before Hop Sing came looking for him. That would be just enough time to saddle a horse and ride out, IF he hurried. Hurrying was something Xing didn’t like to do very much. More often than not, hurrying along involved more work, more time and energy, than he cared to expend just on general principles.

Upon reaching the front of the house, Xing noted with much relief that all the windows were all dark, upstairs and downstairs. He quickly made his way across the yard to the barn, and found the horse he had been using, Sport II, so named for the great uncle once favored by the eldest Cartwright son. Xing quickly slipped on his boots and jacket, then saddled the house. He led Sport II to the door, pausing within the deep shadows inside the barn, to glance once more toward the house. He smiled, noting that the windows remained dark, then stepped out of the barn, leading Sport II behind him.

A few moments later, Joe and Stacy Cartwright, both fully dressed, their faces twin masks of grim, obstinate determination, also stepped from the barn, leading Cochise and Blaze Face respectively.

Li-Xing rode at a brisk trot from the ranch house along the main road toward Virginia City, blissfully ignorant of the two youngest of the Cartwright offspring following behind. His thoughts were focused on the commission Mister Meredith had promised: a whopping ten thousand dollars, if the heist went well. Though a mere fraction of the jade statues’ true value, Xing consoled himself with the knowledge that he would at least realize something from the priceless treasures he deemed rightfully his.

The image of his sister’s face, as he had seen her at the Cartwrights’ supper table swam before his eyes with vivid clarity. Her eyelids and cheeks were red and swollen from the copious tears she had already shed, and her dark eyes glistened with the many tears yet to be shed. The immense sadness he saw in her eyes and trembling lower lip filled him again with remorse. Yin-Ling had fallen deeply in love with Yan-Chou, her intended, and now, because of his actions, his sister would never again set eyes on the man she had come to love more than life itself.

“No!” Xing muttered through clenched teeth, as he squeezed his eyes shut against the terrible vision of Yin-Ling. With a deep, guttural snarl, he vigorously shook his head, as if to physically dislodge his sister’s face from his thoughts.

The faces of his parents, Hsing and Mei-Ling, immediately replaced that of Yin-Ling. His father’s face was firmly set, like granite, an impassive mask, void of all emotion. Xing caught sight of his father’s eyes, however, before he closed them and turned away. There, he saw bitter disappointment, in his son, but mostly in himself. His mother’s cheeks were wet with the bitter tears shed not only for his sister, but for the entire family as well. Her mouth was thinned to a near straight angry line, and her eyes, round with shock, and grief, glittered with the raging fires of the fury burning within.

“Why?” her terrible vision demanded. “Why have you done this to us?”

“Because it was wrong of my father’s grandmother to have promised those statues as Yin-Ling’s dowry,” Xing shot back with rancor, unaware that he had spoke aloud. “Do you hear me? It was WRONG! For centuries they have passed from father to SON, not daughter. They should have passed to ME, not to Yin-Ling.”

The faces of his parents faded into the most terrible vision of all, that of his great-grandmother. Her features, the very lines and hallows of her face were set with hopeless resignation, her black eyes flat, lifeless. The indomitable spirit that had so vigorously animated them was gone, shattered now into thousands upon thousands of pieces. Xing realized in that moment he had not only stolen the last of his family’s wealth, but he had also taken from them the real treasure that had remained, even after the monetary wealth was gone: the honor and trust that had taken centuries of work, much harder work than the amassing of wealth had required, to build and to maintain.

Xing angrily decided then and there that the minute he had the promised ten thousand dollars safely in hand, he would not return to the Ponderosa as he had originally planned. Rather, he would spend the night at the International Hotel, and leave on the first stage heading out of Virginia City come morning. With ten thousand dollars cash in hand, he could purchase a small tract of land, build himself a small house, and still have plenty left over. Best of all that money would take him someplace very, very far away from the grief stricken, angry, accusing faces of his family, their outdated, old fashioned traditions, and their high-faluting notions of honor.

“That’s very interesting, Grandpa. Xing’s riding PAST the Silver Dollar,” Stacy remarked, taking care to keep her voice low. She and her brother Joe had slowed their horses to a walk, keeping at all times within the deep shadows cast by the buildings lining the opposite side of the street.

“He must be going to a different meeting place,” Joe mused softly.

Ben Cartwright’s younger children followed Xing silently through the next block, then the next.

“Stacy, look! He’s stopping!”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “Isn’t that the Virginia City Social Club?”

“Yeah, it— ” Joe stopped abruptly mid-sentence and favored his younger sister with a sharp glare. “Wait a minute! How do YOU know about the Virginia City Social Club?”

Stacy sighed and rolled her eyes. “Geeze loo-weeze, Grandpa! EVERYONE knows about the Virginia City Social Club. Pa MAY be overly protective about some things, but he’s not kept me locked away in a tower somewhere, like Rapunzel. How do YOU know so much about the Virginia City Social Club?”

“Remind me to answer that question later, LITTLE Sister. Like maybe TEN YEARS later.”

The sharp retort sitting at the very tip of Stacy’s tongue died immediately upon seeing Xing up ahead dismount, and tether Sport II to the post on the street on front of the Virginia City Social Club. “Grandpa, look!”

“I see!” Joe said grimly, as he and Stacy brought their horses to a complete stop.

They saw Xing pause briefly, to cast a quick glance over his shoulder, before walking briskly past the front door of Polly McPherson’s establishment toward the alley beyond.

“If memory serves, that’s a CLOSED alley way back there,” Joe whispered.

“ . . . and how do you know THAT?”

“I’ll tell you in ten years, Kid,” Joe quipped. “In any case all we need to do is wait here and keep outta sight until Xing comes back out.”

“It’s about time you showed your ugly face. You’re LATE!”

Startled, Xing whirled in his tracks. The awkward momentum of his body sent him reeling over backwards. He landed on the hard, packed dirt floor of the alley with a hard thud on his rump. He glanced up into the face of the man standing over him, illuminated by the flickering glow of lamp light from a back room of the Virginia City Social club. “Joe Cartwright, what’re YOU doing here?” he demanded, his own face darkening with anger.

“I AIN’T Joe Cartwright,” the man spat. “The name’s SLADE! Shorty Jim Slade. MISTER Slade to YOU. Now get up. Nice ‘n slow.”

Xing complied, marveling at the uncanny resemblance between his associates and the Cartwrights. Amazing how a pair of gunslingers from Texas could bear so close a resemblance to Joe and Hoss Cartwright, and a silver haired thief, gambler, and con man could pass for Mister Cartwright’s identical twin brother. “You got my commission, Mister Slade?”

“Yeah, I got your commission,” Shorty Jim said sardonically. “Right here!” With that he whipped his pistol from its holster and aimed the barrel at Xing’s abdomen.

“Hey! What’s the meaning of this? We agreed— ”

“There’s been a slight change of plans. You’re coming with me back to where the boss, my brother, and I’ve set up housekeeping. You’ll remain there as our GUEST until Mister Meredith unloads those dadblamed statues,” Shorty Jim said. “And for the sake of your continued good health, you’d better hope ‘n pray real hard that he DOES unload ‘em. Now get inside! You’ll find the door right behind you.”

“Joe . . . . ”

“Yeah, Stace?”

“It’s been too long.”

“Let’s give him a few more minutes.”

Joe and Stacy had retreated to the deep shadows of the overhang above the sidewalk in front of the abandoned store directly across the street from the Virginia City Social Club. From that vantage point, they had a complete unobstructed view of the street in front of them, the front doors of the Virginia City Social Club, the Pink Flamingo Saloon, and the alley between, into which Xing had gone.

Brother and sister lapsed into uneasy silence for the space of a minute that seemed to stretch into eternity.

“Something’s wrong, Grandpa. I can FEEL it.”

“I can feel it, too, Kid.”

“What do we do NOW?”

“We go over there and see for ourselves,” Joe said, his hand unconsciously coming to rest on the handle of his pistol, resting securely in its holster. “I’ll lead. You follow, and keep real close, alright?”

“Alright,” Stacy agreed, with an emphatic nod of her head.

“Good! Let’s go.”

Joe quickly drew his gun and led the way out from under the overhang down to the street, taking care to keep low. Stacy followed suit. Together, they moved silently toward the alley, keeping well within the deep, opaque shadows cast by the buildings towering above their heads. Joe held up his hand, signaling for them to stop as they drew even to the entrance of the dark alley on the other side of the street.

“Ok, Kid, I’m gonna dash across first,” Joe said, keeping his voice to the decibel of a stage whisper. “When I get in position, I’ll wave you across. You move as fast as you can and keep low. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Joe glanced up and down the street, noting that it was largely deserted. The only signs of life, apart from themselves, their horses, and Sport II tethered across the street, were the blazing lights in all the front windows of the bordello and piano music, shouting, and raucous laughter coming from the saloon next door. With gun firmly in hand, Joe hunched his shoulders and bolted across the street, making a beeline for the entrance to the alley. He positioned himself in the dark shadows of the saloon side, then vigorously waved his sister across.

Stacy bent low and ran. Within less than a heartbeat, she had taken up her position next her brother, with her back plastered up next to the wall.

Joe peered into the alley first, bracing himself, mentally and physically, for trouble.

“Joe? What is it? What’s wrong?” Stacy demanded, with heart in mouth, upon getting a good look at the shock and astonishment she saw reflected in her brother’s face.

“Th-there’s . . . there’s n-no one . . . there!” Joe squeaked.

“What?!”

“See for yourself.”

Joe moved aside, allowing his sister to take a glimpse into the alley. It was completely deserted, with no sign whatsoever, that Xing had even been there.

“Where’d he go?” Stacy murmured aloud, scratching her head in complete bewilderment. A tall board fence reaching almost to the second story windows of the bordello and saloon, effectively blocked all means of escape except by way of the D Street entrance.

“Come on,” Joe said, slipping his gun back into its holster.

“Where?”

“In the alley . . . to look for clues.”

“Xing was here all right, Grandpa,” Stacy said grimly as the pair entered the alley together, single file, with Joe leading. “Those are HIS foot prints.”

“It would appear someone was waiting for him,” Joe added.

“How do you know?”

“Look there.” Joe pointed to the dusty ground at their feet. “See?”

“Yeah. That stack of boxes was moved to make enough space for someone to hide,” Stacy agreed. She inclined her head toward the two large boxes standing to the left of a back door opening into the Virginia City Social Club.

“Whoever was hiding back here behind them stepped out from around this way, coming up on Xing from behind,” Joe continued. “These are HIS footprints.”

Stacy nodded. “Both sets lead to the door.”

“It looks like Xing went quietly. I don’t see any sign of a struggle.”

“Ok . . . NOW what do we do?”

“We’ve got to get INSIDE somehow . . . . ” Joe murmured thoughtfully.

“Inside?!” Stacy echoed. She could feel the blood draining right out of her face. “Inside the V-Virginia City . . . Social C-Club?!”

“Of course. That’s where Xing was taken, wasn’t it?”

Stacy rolled her eyes heavenward, and sighed. “If PA finds out about this, he’s gonna skin BOTH of us alive.”

“I have no intention of telling Pa about this . . . do YOU?”

“Do I really look THAT stupid?!”

“No comment.”

“Alright, Mister Genius, any bright ideas about getting inside?”

“Yeah,” Joe replied with a smug grin. “I am going to walk in through the front door, while YOU wait here. There’s a room here . . . . ” He pointed toward the window, positioned next to the back door, with the extended thumb of his left hand. “Unfortunately, the curtains are drawn and I can’t see in. I figure whoever took Xing inside had to have gone into that room.”

“Makes sense to me, Grandpa. It’s a place to start anyway . . . . ”

“Good. You just sit tight a minute, Stace. As soon as I’M in, I’ll come open this back door for YOU.”

“Hey! Joe Cartwright! Didn’t expect YOU back again so soon!” Polly McPherson’s bass-baritone voice boomed out across the room, almost the very instant he stepped through the door.

Joe cringed, wishing desperately for the earth to open and swallow him up, as he felt every eye in that large, crowded drawing room come to rest squarely on him.

Aged in her mid to late fifties, Polly McPherson was the madam of the Virginia City Social Club, the largest bordello in town. She was a big woman, standing nearly six feet tall, in her bare feet, with a generous sized body, voluptuously proportioned with wide curving hips, narrowed waist, and a nicely rounded, generous décolletage, often showed to exquisite advantage by the plunging necklines of the old fashioned gowns she preferred for evening wear. Her hair, long, luxuriously thick, was styled in an elaborate coif, piled on top of her head. Though born a brunette, her hair color of late tended to run along the lines of a lavender-tangerine hue that complimented her deep violet eyes.

“Ya come in here, wear out poor Trudy, one of m’ best girl’s no less . . . and NOW you’re back for more?!” Polly scolded lightly, as she sidled up next to Joe and took his arm. “I’ll say one thing for ya! You sure as hell gotta lot of stamina!”

“I, ummm . . . . hate t-to disappoint you, Mrs. McPherson, but I’m afraid I , uhhh . . . . . . d-don’t have the st-stamina you think . . . exactly,” Joe stammered. He could feel the hot rush of blood to his cheeks and forehead.

“Well, I do declare! You’re blushing!” Polly guffawed. “Why, I dunno! According to Trudy, you definitely got nothing to be ashamed of . . . . ”

“The, uhhhh, reason I c-came back, I . . . I forgot my handkerchief,” Joe stammered. The last four words tumbled out in a rush. He swallowed nervously, then lowered his voice. “It’s . . . got my initials on it, M-Mrs. McPherson. If . . . if someone found it? And gave it to my pa? He’d have my hide!!!”

“I understand, Mister Cartwright,” Polly said with a knowing smile. “Yours is a very common complaint. Well, Trudy’s special room’s right through there.” She inclined her head toward the closed pocket doors directly behind her. “It’s empty right now . . . . ” She jabbed him playfully in the ribs. “You g’won in and have a look around.”

“Th-th-thank you . . . . ”

It took every ounce of will he possessed to walk at a decorous, if brisk, pace into the that room beyond the closed pocket doors, when every instinct, every voice, even his own legs urged him to run. The instant he stepped into the darkness of the room, occupied, more than likely, by Mrs. McPhearson’s girl, Trudy, and his own double, Joe slammed the doors shut, then leaned against them heavily. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, and his face felt as if it had suddenly burst into flames. He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of every face, male and female turning toward him speculatively when Mrs. McPherson started rambling on about his stamina, while furiously willing his rapidly beating heart to slow down.

A few moments later, he suddenly remembered Stacy, waiting in the alley beyond.

“It’s about time, Grandpa!” she said tersely, as she sauntered past him through the open door. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten me!”

“S-Sorry, Kid . . . .”

Stacy paused for a moment to study her brother’s face in the dim illumination, provided by the oil lamp on the table beside to door that opened out into the alley. “Grandpa, you’re blushing!” she declared. An amused smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“We’ve got a job to do, and probably not much time to do it in,” Joe snapped.

“Ok, Grandpa, ok! Keep your britches on, willya?!”

“I fully intend to!” Joe growled back.

“Now we’re searching for Li-Xing, or proof that he was here, right?” Stacy queried as she turned up the lamp.

“Yeah,” Joe replied, “that and anything that might give us an idea as to where he might have gone from here.”

As Stacy turned away from the oil lamp, and the table on which it sat, her eyes fell on the bed, with it’s tall brass barred headboard, white dust ruffle, and it’s pink and white satin sheets invitingly turned down. Two fluffy down pillows were stacked against the head headrest. Hanging from the ceiling, suspended roughly six feet above the center of the bed was a trapeze. “Grandpa?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve, uuuhhh . . . heard this place could be a real swingin’ joint, but . . . I didn’t think anyone meant that literally.”

“I’ll be very happy to explain it to ya later, Kid, but right now we got work to do.”

“I know, but . . . when later are you going to explain that to me?”

“I was thinking somewhere along the lines of ten years later, at the very earliest,” Joe said, as he dropped to his knees beside the bed, and lifted the dust ruffle.

“Hmpf!” she snorted derisively. “By THAT time, I’ll have forgotten the questions.”

Joe grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

Joe and Stacy lapsed into silence as they searched the room, looking for tangible proof of Li-Xing’s presence.

A glance under the bed yielded nothing except for a scattering of dust bunnies, and a pair of high heels, pink satin, trimmed with sparkling rhinestones, custom made for someone with the same shoe size as Hoss. Joe hefted one of the massive shoes in his hand, grinning from ear-to-ear, knowing that shoe could only belong to two people in the whole of Story County, if NOT the entire State of Nevada: Hoss Cartwright and Geoffrey Sutcliff, a wealthy realtor who owned nearly half of the real estate in Virginia City, most of it lying in the business district. Both were big men, standing well over six feet tall. Geoffrey Sutcliff, however, cut more of an Adonis shaped figure, which he maintained by an almost religious devotion to a daily exercise regimen. Most of the women adored his manly good looks, while their husbands and lovers derided him for his vanity and caricatured macho airs.

Joe chuckled, knowing for absolute certain those shoes did NOT belong to Hoss Cartwright. Though it was about the same length as Hoss’ foot, it was far too narrow.

“Hey, Grandpa . . . . ”

“Coming, Stace!” Joe slid out from under the bed, with shoe still in hand, and beat a straight path toward the wardrobe, where his sister stood, leaning down into its cavernous interior. “Whatcha got?”

Stacy straightened and held out a black shoe, made for a man’s foot, size small. “I found THIS. It was the only one of it’s kind in there, AND it’s the kind of shoe Li-Hsing . . . and the rest of the Li Family . . . wears.”

“Hop Sing, too,” Joe remarked as he took the shoe from his sister and studied it briefly. “Though this is ‘way too narrow for Hop Sing.”

“I found some other interesting things in here, too, Grandpa.”

“Oh? Like what, Stace?”

“Whips, chains, all kinds of clothing made of leather . . . even underwear!” She turned, with a perplexed frown on her face, holding up a bull whip and iron chain, complete with manacles in one hand and what appeared to be a corset made of black leather, and lavishly trimmed with rhinestones and other hunks of metal. “I also saw a saddle and bridle lying on the floor of this monster wardrobe that . . . if I didn’t know better, I’d say was custom made to fit a MAN instead of a pony.”

“Oh geeze loo-WEEZE!” Joe groaned in utter dismay. “Stacy, you gotta promise me . . . y-you won’t say a word about all this to PA! Not one word!”

“I know . . . if Pa found out about this, he’d skin us alive.”

“If Pa EVER finds out about this, he’ll START by skinning us alive,” Joe said in an ominous tone, “using a dull knife!”

“All right,” Stacy said soberly, duly noting that her brother’s ‘maidenly blush’ had suddenly turned to the pale white of sheer terror. “Ok I promise, I WON’T say a word about this to Pa, but you gotta tell me . . . what’s all this FOR? Does Sheriff Coffee keep prisoners HERE when the jail’s full?”

“No.”

“Then . . . what’s all this FOR?”

“I’ll tell ya LATER.”

Stacy sighed and sardonically rolled her eyes heavenward. “Yeah, yeah, I know . . . you’ll tell me in about ten years or so.”

“No . . . I was thinking more along the lines of TWENTY years, actually . . . . ”

A loud pounding on the closed pocket doors brought their conversation to a screeching halt. “Mister Cartwright?” It was Polly McPherson. “Mister Cartwright, are you still in there?”

“Stacy! You gotta hide!” Joe hissed, as a rising flash flood of panic began to rise within him, fast and furious.

“Where?”

“I dunno . . . wait! Under the bed!”

Stacy immediately dropped noiselessly to her hands and knees and scrambled under the bed. Less than a second later, the Virginia City Social Club madam shoved open the pocket doors and strode into the room. “Mister Cartwright, I need this room for a special client,” she said. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“As a matter of fact, yes! I did, Mrs. McPherson,” Joe said smoothly. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and drew out the clean white handkerchief he always kept there. This one just happened to be embroidered with his initials, lending a greater degree of credibility to his claim made earlier. “I happened to find it just before you walked in the door.”

“Excellent,” Polly declared with a smile. “Would you like a little something before you leave?”

Joe paled.

Polly McPherson threw back her head and laughed out loud with genuine mirth. “I MEANT coffee,” she said, finally, as her laughter died away to soft chuckling. “It’s almost daylight after all, and I know you’ve a long ride ahead of you.”

“N-No . . . thank you. I, ummmm . . . think I’d best g-get going,” Joe stammered, as a distinctive beet reddish glow began to infuse his cheeks. “I’ll just . . . let myself out the back?!” The last word ended on a high-pitched squeak.

“Suit yourself,” Polly said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She turned to leave.

“Oh! Mrs. McPherson!”

The Virginia City Social Club’s owner and madam stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“I kinda forgot after . . . . ” The beet red of his cheeks slowly deepened to a port wine color and spread to his forehead and chin. “ . . . well, after . . . after . . . . ”

“Ah, yes! Trudy is very good at making men forget things,” Polly said with a touch of pride. “What was it you wanted to ask?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend here . . . actually h-he’s a houseguest,” Joe said. Though his voice had steadied, his face and neck still glowed a deep port wine color. “I wanted to show him a good time.”

Polly frowned. “Who was that fella y’ took out before?”

“I . . . took a fella out b-before?!”

“You said he was a young fella, first time ‘n all that,” Polly gamely filled in the details. “He stopped in over at the Pink Flamingo next door for a shot o’ rotgut to steady his nerves, ‘n ended up downin’ a few shots too many?”

“Oh yeah, well, y’know . . . hard to think of much else besides Trudy,” Joe said very quickly. He quickly moved his hands around behind his back so that the madam wouldn’t see them trembling. “No, THAT fella’s the younger brother of the guy I’m looking for. We figured since he’s just come of age ‘n all, it was about time he, uuhhh . . . c-came of age all the way, if y’ get my meaning?”

“I do indeed, Mister Cartwright,” Polly said with a knowing smile.

“His older brother, the guy I’m looking for, well I just plain wanted to show HIM a real fun time.”

“You came to the right place for THAT. What’s his name? If he happens to show up later, I’ll let him know you were looking for him.”

“Li-Xing,” Joe said.

“Li-Xing,” Polly repeated the name, committing it to memory. “If I see him, I’ll give him your message. I’ll give you a minute to see yourself out the back before I bring in the next client.”

“Thank you again, Mrs. McPherson.” Joe waited until the madam had left, and the door had closed firmly behind her, before running over to the bed. “Come on, Kid, we’re outta here!” he hissed, as he seized Stacy’s forearm and literally dragged her out from under the bed.

“Hey!” Stacy squawked, protesting the sudden, rough manhandling.

“Sssshhhh! Willya keep your voice DOWN?!”

“I will if you stop dragging me around like a sack of potatoes!”

“Come on, we gotta get outta here pronto! Mrs. McPherson’s gonna be back any minute with another client.” Acting purely on impulse, Joe bent down to retrieve the pink high heels he had found earlier, lying under the bed.

Stacy quickly scrambled to her feet, then followed her brother out the door into the back alley.

“From the way Mrs. McPherson was talking, it looks like your double spent the evening here . . . with Trudy,” Stacy remarked, once they were safely out of Virginia City and on the road toward home.

“Yeah, and he’s got Li-Xing,” Joe said, nodding his head in agreement.

“The kid who supposedly got too drunk to lose his maidenly virtue?”

Joe was exceedingly grateful for the cover of darkness that concealed the blush he knew all too well had once again flamed his cheeks. “Stacy . . . . ”

“What?”

“Do you have to be so BLUNT?!”

“Sorry, Grandpa. I didn’t mean to offend your sensibilities.” He could almost hear her chuckling as she spoke.

“Stacy?”

“NOW what?”

“You’ve never . . . . ?!?” Joe asked, remembering himself at the age of fifteen very soon to be sixteen. “HAVE you?”

“Not even tempted, Grandpa,” she replied with a sigh. “Right now, I’d be hard pressed to name anyone of my acquaintance I particularly want to KISS let alone . . . you know.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Feel better now?”

“Lots,” Joe replied, the relief very evident in his voice.

“Now getting back to our detective work, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Which question was THAT?”

“The kid Mrs. McPherson said you dragged out of the Virginia City Social Club, who was supposedly to drunk to make tonight the night his first time,” Stacy said, trying hard this time NOT to offend her brother’s sensitivities. “Are we safe in assuming HE was Xing?”

“Y-Yeah. My double must’ve drugged him or hit him over the head so he’d look like he was drunk,” Joe replied.

“What do we do now?”

“We sleep on it,” Joe said, yawning.

By the time Joe and Stacy had reached home, and stabled their horses, the gray skies of early dawn had taken on the first reddish orange blush of the magnificent sunrise, soon to be.

Joe opened the barn door slowly, just enough to peer out. “Luck is with us, Kid. No one seems to be up yet . . . . ”

“You STILL haven’t told me exactly how we’re going to . . . to . . . . ” Her mouth stretched open in a big, wide yawn.

“Cover your mouth, willya, Stace? I’ve already SEEN Carlsbad Caverns.”

Stacy glared over at her brother, but complied. “How are we gonna get back INTO the house, Grandpa?” she demanded irritably.

“Follow me.” Joe glanced outside once more, to make absolute certain that the coast was clear. He saw no one, not even the ranch hands occupying the bunkhouse, out and about. Further, he noted with satisfaction and relief, that the windows in the house remained dark, void of any sign of life inside. “Let’s go, Kid.”

Joe crouched down and darted across the yard around to the side of the house. Stacy followed suit. Taking care to keep themselves well below the windows in Hop Sing’s room and the dining room, they circled around toward the very back.

“NOW what?” Stacy asked, casting a dubious gaze over the two-story drop from Joe’s window directly overhead toward the ground at their feet. Here no trees grew close to the house, nor was there pillar, post, or overhang. There was only the straight line of wall rising upward.

“We climb up to my window.” Joe pointed.

“We WHAT?!”

“You heard me.”

Stacy looked hard at the shear wall again, then over at her brother. “Y-you’re not serious.”

“It’s ok, Kid, I’ve got a ladder stashed,” Joe chuckled, amused by his young sister’s discomfiture. “You think I’m crazy enough to suggest scaling that wall?”

Stacy exhaled a long, slow sigh of relief. “You had me going there for a minute, Grandpa.”

“I know. I wish you couldda seen your face,” Joe couldn’t resist teasing.

“Willya just get the daggone ladder?” Stacy growled. “I’d like to be upstairs in my room in bed before Pa wakes up.”

“Ok, ok! Keep your shirt on,” Joe snickered as he sauntered over toward a growth of scrub brushes, growing close together a few yards from the back of the house. He bent down and retrieved the long tree branch he had hidden there last night, before ostensibly retiring for the evening.

“THAT’S the ladder?!” Stacy demanded, incredulous, her eyes fixed on the tree branch in her brother’s hands.

“No, Silly, THIS is gonna GET us the ladder.”

“This I gotta see!”

“I knotted together my sheets and left ‘em all bunched up there on the window sill,” Joe explained. “I used to do this all the time back in my days as a devil-may-care, callow youth.”

“Pa NEVER caught on?”

“Yeah, he did . . . after the third time I used it.”

Stacy rolled her eyes heavenward. “Wonderful!” she growled under her breath.

“Willya relax?” Joe groused. “I’m NOT a teenager anymore, Stace. I no longer have to sneak out of the house at night.”

“No. Only sneak back IN come morning.”

“As far as PA’S concerned, I’m ‘way too old anymore for these kinds of shenanigans. Trust me, Kid. He won’t suspect a THING.” Joe lifted the tree branch and snagged the rope fashioned from his bed linens on the first try. “Got it! We’ll be in the house ‘n back to bed with no one the wiser.” He pulled the end down, ably grasping it in his free hand as it fell.

Stacy, at the same time, successfully caught the OTHER end.

“Got it, Kid!”

“Got it, Grandpa!”

“Oh NO!” they chorused in unison upon seeing that they had both caught the ends of the rope made from Joe’s sheets and pillowcases.

“ . . . uuhhh, Grandpa?”

“What is it, Kid?”

“Aren’t you s’posed t’ tie ONE of these ends around the leg of your bed . . . or something?!”

“Well, uhh . . . y-yeah . . . . ”

“Can I ask you a really stupid question?”

“Why not?”

“How do we get back into the house NOW?”

End of Part 2

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