The Lo Mein Affair
Part 3: Cartwright & Cartwright,
Private Investigators
By Kathleen T. Berney

As the silvery-gray light of dawn gave way to the brilliant, shining golds, oranges, and peach-pinks, heralding the magnificent sunrise soon to come, Joe and Stacy silently circled back around from the rear of the house their minds wholly focused on getting back inside, back into their snug beds without anyone else being the wiser.

Especially Pa!

“Grandpa . . . . ”

“What is it NOW, Kid?” Joe demanded, annoyance mixing with rising panic.

“You NEVER answered my question,” Stacy replied, taking no pains to conceal her own irritation.

“What question was THAT?”

“How are we going to get in the house without being caught?”

“Uh oh, Stacy, DUCK!”

“Hunh?!”

“I SAID, ‘Duck!!!’ ” Joe quickly turned, and grabbing her arm, pulled her down to a crouched position. “Somebody forgot to close the dining room shutters last night.”

“I sure hope so, Grandpa,” Stacy said in a very low voice.

“What ELSE could it be?”

“It COULD be that Hop Sing’s already up and about, and he’s OPENED the dining room shutters.”

“Pessimist!”

“I prefer to think if myself as being a REALIST!”

“For cryin’ out loud, Little Sister, the least you could do is have some faith in me,” Joe groused, favoring her with the nastiest glare he could possibly summon. “After all, I’m a real old hand at sneaking out and sneaking back in.”

Stacy sighed, then shrugged with fatalistic resignation. “Ok, Grandpa, I bow to your superior wisdom.” Her words, dripping with blatant sarcasm, prompted a melodramatic, long suffering sigh from her brother and a sardonic roll of the eyes.

Joe dropped to his stomach and inched his way past the dining room window, taking care to keep well below the sill. Stacy watched in dismay, noting how the moisture from the wet ground oozed out from under her brother’s body with each move, every undulation he made.

“Come on, Kid! YOUR turn!”

Stacy sighed, then dropped to her stomach and followed. “Yuck!” she declared with a grimace upon safely reaching the other side of the dining room window, and rising to her feet.

“Willya for heaven’s sake keep your voice DOWN?!” Joe hissed, casting a fearful glance in the direction of the dining room window.

“It’s WET!” she growled, favoring her brother with a withering glare.

“Of COURSE it’s wet! Whaddya expect? It’s mud after all . . . . ”

Stacy sighed again and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Ok, Grandpa, NOW what do we do?”

“Just follow me,” Joe replied.

“Right! Like I really got a whole lotta choices here,” Stacy groused.

A few yards past the dining room window, they came to the wall surrounding Hop Sing’s vegetable and herb garden. Joe gamely led the way around to the garden gate, set into the wall directly facing the kitchen door. “After you, Kid,” he said as he turned the latch and pushed. The gate remained rock solidly in place. Frowning, Joe turned the latch again, and pushed. Nothing moved.

“Grandpa? What’s wrong?” Stacy asked as Joe frantically tried to turn the latch several more times.

Joe’s facial complexion suddenly paled. “Oh no!” he groaned.

“What?”

“I just remembered! Hop Sing’s been locking the gate, partly to keep deer from devouring the plants, but MOSTLY, I think, to curtail Xing’s comings and goings in the middle of the night.”

“Too bad it didn’t work for Xing,” Stacy sighed dolefully.

“Yeah! We wouldn’t be in the fix we’re in right now, if it had.”

“So . . . what do we do NOW?”

“What else? We scale the garden wall.”

Stacy’s eyes rose up the entire height of garden wall towering high above their heads. “You gotta be kidding, Grandpa! That wall’s must be ten feet tall going straight up, at least!”

“More like FIFTEEN!”

“ . . . and we’re gonna climb over it?!” Stacy demanded, incredulous.

“It’s either that or go around to the front door.”

For a long moment, Stacy stood unmoving, trying to decide which prospect was worse: falling from the top of that garden wall or walking through the front door and finding Pa there . . . waiting. She swallowed nervously. “I guess we’re gonna scale the garden wall,” she said, opting for what she finally decided would be the less dangerous of the two choices.

“It’s actually not as bad as it seems, Kid,” Joe said reassuringly. “It’s basically rocks piled one on top of another, all held together with mortar. There’s plenty of hand and footholds.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Grandpa.”

“Tell ya what? I’ll climb up to the top first, you follow after in my path.”

“You’ve . . . done this before?”

“No, but hey! There’s always a first time for everything,” Joe teased with a smile and a playful wink.

“Oh well,” Stacy said with a resign, fatalistic shrug. “If we fall and break our legs, Pa won’t be able to march us out to the ol’ woodshed.”

“Geeze Loo-weeze, Kid, can’t you for once try to look at things on the BRIGHT side?!” Joe admonished his sister with a touch of asperity.

“I AM looking on the bright side!”

“Oh brother! If THAT’S looking at things from the bright side, I’d hate to see you get all glum and moody.”

“Grandpa . . . . ”

“NOW what?”

“Are you gonna just stand there and argue with me all morning, or are ya gonna climb?”

“I oughtta grab you by the collar and march you to the ol’ woodshed myself,” Joe growled back, “but, I won’t.”

“You’d have to CATCH me first for one thing.”

“ . . . and by the time I did THAT, Pa would definitely be up and around.”

“Not to mention loaded for bear.”

“Ok, enough gabbing. I’ll climb, you watch, then follow me up.”

Stacy nodded in the affirmative, then watched closely as her brother scaled up the wall with surprisingly ridiculous ease. She waited until he had reached the very top before following.

Joe, meanwhile, straddled the top of the wall, so that he might keep the kitchen windows and his sister under close watch. “Come on, Stace, get a move on!”

“I’m moving as fast as I can,” she snapped back cantankerously, as weariness, due to the worry and apprehension of all that had happened over the past couple of days, coupled with lack of sleep, finally began to take their toll.

“Try and move a little faster! Hop Sing could be getting up any minute!” Joe glanced over at the kitchen windows, noting with satisfaction and great relief that they remained dark. He, then, turned his attention back to his sister. “Here! Give me your hand! I’ll pull you on up.”

Stacy reached up and clasped her brother’s hand very firmly in her own.

“Ok, Kid, upsy-daisy!” Joe pulled his sister up, as she in tandem, scrambled up the remained of the way. “Come on . . . just a little more . . . . ” He was so intent on getting his sister up to the top with all possible haste and speed, he had no idea of how much he kept leaning backward to compensate. Next thing he knew, he was in free fall, screaming at the top of his lungs.

With heart in mouth, Stacy scrambled over the top and lunged forward, in a desperate attempt to grab Joe. She missed. The momentum of her sudden, forward thrust sent her toppling off the top of the wall, as well. Their discordant screams rudely rent asunder the early morning calm. Hop Sing’s chickens rudely squawked their protest at top volume.

Joe and Stacy landed with a dull thud, one first, then the other, in the soft ground, freshly tilled to receive seed and the sprouts Hop Sing had gently nurtured for the better part of the last month in the warm kitchen. The early spring rains had also turned the fertile soil into mud. The younger Cartwright children very gingerly eased themselves up from lying prone in the mud, to sitting, and for a moment, glared darkly at one another, before muttering in unison,

“Nice goin’, Kid!”

“Nice goin’, Grandpa!”

“HEY! WHAT ALL THE NOISE?! WHAT GOING ON OUT THERE!??”

Joe and Stacy paled in sheer terror as the bell-like tones of Hop Sing’s voice, raised nearly to top volume, fell on their ears. Impelled by a sudden, potent rush of adrenalin, they scrambled to their feet and ran toward the house, where they plastered themselves up flat against the wall. Seconds after reaching their new positions, the kitchen door exploded open, and Hop Sing, clad in nightshirt, robe, and slippers came charging out into the garden as an enraged bull charges into a bullfight ring.

“WHO OUT HERE?” Hop Sing demanded at the top of his lungs. A long string of terse, clipped Chinese syllables followed, also at top volume.

“C-Come on, Stacy, it’s n-n-now of n-never!” Joe stammered, his eyes riveted to the angry Oriental juggernaut, now charging blindly across the garden to the gate.

“I-I’m right behind you, Grandpa!”

Now blinded by fear and rising panic, Joe and Stacy bolted through the open kitchen door and tore through the kitchen, the dining room, the great room, and on up the stairs. After a seeming eternity of running, overwhelmed by mind numbing terror, they, at long last reached the relative safety of their respective bedrooms.

Joe leaned heavily against the closed door of his room, gasping for air, his entire body trembling. A few moments later, he stumbled across the room, stripping off his muddy clothes every step of the way. He balled them up into a big, muddy bundle and stuffed them into his wardrobe before donning his nightshirt and collapsing heavily onto his bed, sound asleep before his head came in contact with the pillow.

Stacy, meanwhile, crept into her own bedroom, moving silently as her Paiute foster mother, Silver Moon, had taught her as a young child. With heart slamming hard against her rib cage, she closed the door, exhaling a soft sigh of relief upon hearing the latch click. She turned toward the bed, noting with relief that her roommate still slept.

“Poor Yin-Ling,” she mused sadly, in silence, as she tip-toed around to her side of the bed, the side nearest the window. The sight of Yin-Ling’s reddened cheeks and the wetness of the pillow cradling her head, brought tears to Stacy’s own eyes. She quickly stripped off her wet, muddy clothing and stuffed it under her bed. “I sure hope Joe and I can get to the bottom of this horrible mess,” she mused uneasily in silence, as she climbed into bed and settled herself under the covers, “for Yin-Ling’s sake . . . AND for Pa and Miss Ashcroft.”

“HOP SING?!” the Cartwright family patriarch bellowed as he made his way down the stairs, tying the sash of his robe. Then, he remembered. He had house guests, all of whom, were at the very least trying to sleep, especially after that outburst. “Hop Sing, what’s all the noise?!” Ben demanded, as Hop Sing stormed into the great room from the kitchen. Though he spoke this time at conversational decibels, his ire continued to rise.

“That what Hop Sing want to know! What all the noise?” Hop Sing said tersely, with a murderous scowl on his face. “Hear screaming outside! Wake up Hop Sing! Think it Xing, come back after out all night. Hop Sing look, not see Xing! Leave trail big as all outdoors all through house, but disappear.”

“Trail?” Ben queried with a frown.

Hop Sing thrust his arm and pointing first finger down toward the floor. Ben’s eyes slowly, almost reluctantly followed the line of Hop Sing’s arm and finger to globs of mud on the floor.

“It START in kitchen. At kitchen door. Go through dining room, come out HERE!”

“Why don’t we just FOLLOW the trail, Hop Sing?” Ben suggested. “We’ll probably find Xing at the end. When we do, he’s all YOURS.”

Hop Sing grinned with mirthless feral relish as he fell in step behind Ben.

The trail led through the great room toward the stairs.

“THAT’S odd . . . . ” Ben murmured as he and Hop Sing reached the middle of the hallway.

“What odd, Mister Cartwright?”

“The trail divides,” Ben replied. “See? One line continues down the hall, the other veers off.”

“To Miss Stacy room!” Hop Sing noted, his black eyes smoldering with fury. “Maybe Hop Sing leave no good nephew to Mister Cartwright tender mercies.”

“He could have gone in to see Yin-Ling,” Ben hastened to point out.

“Then double back, to THAT way?” Hop Sing queried, nodding toward the second line of mud that continued on down the hall.

“Now THAT’S the odd thing,” Ben said. A bewildered frown deepened the lines already present in his brow. “If Xing had gone in to see his sister, then come back out, this line here would be doubly thick . . . but, it’s not. No, Hop Sing, this trail definitely splits and goes off in TWO different directions.”

Ben turned and started to follow the second trail down the hallway, with Hop Sing dutifully following behind. Both were surprised to see the trail turn toward the closed door to Joe’s room. Ben noiselessly opened the door and stepped inside. Hop Sing followed. The trail of mud continued from the door around the foot of the bed, where the youngest Cartwright son lay deep in the arms of slumber. Ben and Hop Sing followed the line of mud around to the other side of the bed, where they found irregularly shaped patches of mud, in varying sizes and shapes. Another line, reduced to occasional splotches and dribbles, led directly to the wardrobe.

Ben scowled as another possibility suggested itself. He moved past Hop Sing and stepped over to the wardrobe. After throwing open the doors, he angrily pushed aside Joe’s clothing and peered into the bottom. There, he saw a mound of muddied clothing all tightly wadded into a single ball. “Hop Sing, it would appear that Xing is INNOCENT of all charges,” Ben said grimly as he gingerly lifted a sock, white turned reddish brown, from the bottom of the closet. “This,” he grimaced, “and the REST of the filthy clothing lying on the floor of this wardrobe belong to JOE.”

“Hop Sing not understand. Little Joe go to bed early, when Miss Stacy go to bed. Same time. How come clothes muddy?”

Ben, his jaw clenched and mouth thinned to a near straight, angry line, walked over to the window. Looking down, he immediately spotted the line of bed linens, knotted together, lying on the ground in a sensuous, serpentine line. “Hop Sing, it looks like your nephew wasn’t the ONLY one who was out all night,” Ben said through clenched teeth as he turned from the window.

“Little Joe?!” Hop Sing’s initial anger quickly transformed itself to complete and utter astonishment. “Hop Sing not understand. Little Joe legal age. NOT have to sneak out and in like little boy no more.”

“That’s very true, Hop Sing,” Ben immediately agreed. “Stacy, on the other hand is NOT of legal age. Though she’s never snuck out of the house before, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

“MISS STACY sneak out of house?!” Hop Sing queried, shocked to the very core of his being. He shook his head vigorously. “Hop Sing know, she NOT go with no good nephew. Miss Stacy very smart young woman, not like no good nephew.”

“No, I don’t think she snuck out with Xing either,” Ben hastened to reassure. “I’M more inclined to believe that she snuck out last night with JOE. Something’s afoot, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it, so help me!”

“Hop Sing leave Cartwright children to Cartwright papa tender mercy,” he sighed, visibly disappointed that his nephew numbered not among the transgressors this time. “Hop Sing make breakfast after clean floor.”

“No, Hop Sing,” Ben said very firmly, as they stepped back into the hall. “You’re NOT going to clean the floor.”

Hop Sing’s glare very clearly, very succinctly questioned Ben’s sanity.

“Since it’s obvious Joe and Stacy muddied the floor, it’s only fair that they CLEAN the floor,” Ben decreed, as they walked toward the stairs. “I’m going to give them a couple of hours to sleep, THEN, I’ll haul ‘em both out of bed and let YOU put ‘em to work.”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright,” Hop Sing replied. “Hop Sing go make breakfast.”

“None for me,” Ben said immediately, as he paused before the closed door to his own room. “After all that’s happened yesterday, now THIS . . . I’m feeling a lot of things right now, but hunger is not one of ‘em. I’ll just have coffee, later, after I get dressed.”

A short, curt, exasperated sigh exploded from Hop Sing’s lips as he literally threw up his hands. “NOBODY hungry this morning, not even Mister Hoss hungry this morning. Hop Sing not cook breakfast and nobody eat. Mister Cartwright say not clean floor. Hop Sing have easy morning!”

“ ‘Mornin’, Hop Sing . . . ‘mornin’, Pa,” Hoss greeted both affably, as he stepped into the hallway from the top landing of the stairs, clad in the garb he favored for the onerous chore of mucking out the stables.

Hop Sing glared at the biggest of the Cartwright offspring. “Not even YOU hungry!” he said scathingly, then turned and headed toward the stairs, this time muttering under his breath in Chinese.

Hoss stared after Hop Sing, more surprised than angry, for a moment before turning to his father. “Pa?”

“Yes, Hoss?”

“What burr’s worked it’s way up under HIS saddle?” Hoss asked, with a bewildered frown.

“Long story, which I’d rather NOT get into right now,” Ben said wearily. “Do me a favor?”

“Sure thing, Pa.”

“After you wash up and change, would you mind waking up your brother and sister?”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

“Thank you, Son,” Ben murmured gratefully, wondering whether he should question Joe and Stacy about last night’s doings together, or divide and conquer by questioning them separately.

An hour later, Hoss, washed, freshly shaved with hair combed, and wearing clean clothes, stopped in front of the closed door to Stacy’s bedroom, and knocked. “C’mon, Li’l Sister, time t’ rise ‘n shine!”

No answer.

Frowning, Hoss knocked again. “Up ‘n at ‘em, Li’l Sister,” he called out again, raising his voice slightly.

Still no answer.

“Ain’t like STACY t’ sleep in this late,” Hoss mused silently, his frown deepening, “not unless she’s sick or something.” He knocked on the door again.

A moment later, the door opened, though it was Yin-Ling who peered out through eyes red, swollen, glistening with the brightness of unshed tears.

“Sorry, Yin-Ling,” Hoss immediately apologized, sotto voce, his heart going out to her. “I didn’t mean t’ disturb ya. Is . . . Stacy all right?”

Yin-Ling said nothing. She shrugged, then opened the door and stepped aside.

As Hoss entered the room, he spotted his sister lying on the side of the bed closest to the window. She lay buried deep under the sheets and quilt, in a tightly curled ball, unmoving. Four brisk giant steps carried Hoss over the threshold from the hallway to the side of her bed.

“Time t’ wake up, Li’l Sister,” Hoss said, as he leaned over and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

There was no response.

Hoss gently shook her. “Rise ‘n shine, Li’l Sister.”

Stacy groaned, and half opened one eye.

Hoss touched her forehead with the back of his hand. “That’s a relief! Y’ ain’t runnin’ a fever.” He quickly shook Stacy again upon seeing the half opened eye lid beginning to droop. “Oh no y’ don’t, Stacy Rose Cartwright.”

“Aww, c’mon, Hoss. Can’tcha wait ‘til the sun comes up?!” Stacy protested irritably.

“Sun’s been up f’r the last three, goin’ on four hours now,” Hoss said.

Stacy rolled over on her back, closed her eyes, and groaned.

“C’mon, Li’l Sister, up ‘n at ‘em. Pa said f’r me t’ make sure I got you ‘n Li’l Brother up after I got m’self washed up, ‘n clothes changed.”

“P-Pa said?” Stacy queried, suddenly assailed with a dreadful sinking feeling.

“Yeah. Pa said,” Hoss replied, “and he ain’t in the best o’ moods either, so ya’d best get yourself movin’.”

“Uuuhhhh great!” Stacy groaned again, then threw aside her bed covers, with much reluctance.

Satisfied that he had sufficiently gotten Stacy up and moving about, Hoss nodded to Yin-Ling as he left his sister’s bedroom. “Don’t know what in the world’s gotten into Li’l Sister this mornin’,” he mumbled aloud, under his breath, as he walked down the hall toward Joe’s room. “By THIS time o’ day, she’s up, washed ‘n dressed, ‘n comin’ back from a ride out t’ Ponderosa Plunge or some such.”

Upon reaching his younger brother’s room, Hoss opened the door and walked right in. He found Joe lying in bed, tightly curled in fetal position, his face toward the wall opposite the door, deeply buried under the covers, as Stacy had been. Hoss quietly tip-toed in and set himself to the task of moving any and all small objects well out of reach, upon remembering all too well another time Pa had asked him to awaken Joe.

“Jooo-ey! Time to wakey-wakey!” Hoss said, placing his hand down on his younger brother’s shoulder and gently shaking him.

Joe’s only response was a deep, guttural snort.

Hoss sighed. “Come on, Li’l Joe, up ‘n at ‘em.”

Joe snorted again. “ . . . go ‘way,” he mumbled very softly as he curled his body into a tighter ball, and pulled the covers up over his head.

Hoss grabbed the covers and yanked them away from Joe’s body with a powerful thrust of his arm.

“Hey! Cut that out!” Joe made a wild, desperate grab for his sheets and quilt, a full three seconds too late.

“I toldja it’s time t’ get up,” Hoss said firmly as he marched from the bed to the window. There, he threw aside the drapes and curtains, allowing the bright morning sunshine to stream in through the naked panes of glass.

Joe screamed in agony, as the blinding sunlight fell on his face full force. He quickly rolled over onto his stomach, and buried his face deep into downy depths of his pillow.

“Up ‘n at ‘em, Li’l Brother. Time t’ rise ‘n shine!”

“Already?!” Joe groused irritably, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Hoss frowned. “What do y’ mean ALREADY?! It’s almost nine o’clock.”

Joe groaned.

Hoss walked over to the wash stand and dipped the washcloth into what he knew was by this time ice cold water. He carried it, dripping wet, over to his brother’s bed and squeezed it over the exposed portion of his neck.

Joe screamed again, and rolled over onto his other side, this time facing the door, opening out into the hall. He reached toward his night stand, his nimble fingers searching for something . . . anything . . . . “Hunh?!” he snorted, upon finally realizing there was nothing, except for a flat expanse of night stand, completely cleared.

“I got smart this time ‘n removed anything ‘n everything you could possibly throw at me,” Hoss said smugly.

Joe groaned again, as he sat up and placed his legs over the edge of the bed one at a time. The instant both feet made contact with the floor, he was up and running, with head lowered, charging Hoss like an angry bull. Hoss neatly side stepped. Joe, too weary to register his big brother’s move, or to stop himself, plowed headlong into his washstand, sending his pitcher and bowl to the floor with a deafening crash.

“WHAT IN THUNDERATION’S GOING ON UP THERE?” Ben bellowed from below.

“IT’S ALRIGHT, PA. JOE JUST HAD A LI’L BIT OF AN ACCIDENT’S ALL,” Hoss yelled back.

Joe, now sprawled, half on the floor, and half across his fallen night stand, looked up at his biggest brother, who stood towering high above him, through eyelids half closed. “That PA?” he groaned.

“Yep,” Hoss replied, as he leaned over and slipped his big, massive hands up under his younger brother’s arm pits. He picked Joe up with almost ridiculous ease and set him up on his feet. “You’d best hurry up ‘n git yourself dressed. Pa told me to wake you ‘n Lil Sister, an’ as you just heard he ain’t in a real good mood.”

“Oh wunnerful,” Joe groaned as he sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. “Jus’ great! Pa’s in a bad mood this mornin’ . . . . ”

When Joe and Stacy at long last stumbled down the stairs, still half asleep, they found their father, leaning up against the banister post, waiting. Brother and sister exchanged uneasy glances, with fast sinking hearts.

“Good morning, Joe . . . good morning, Stacy,” Ben greeted his younger children in a tone, too bland. “Glad to see you both up and about . . . FINALLY.”

“S-Sorry I, uhhhh overslept, Pa,” Joe murmured warily.

“Me, too, Pa.”

“That’s quite alright,” Ben said in that sweet, benevolent tone he often used right before the proverbial other shoe dropped, “and perfectly understandable . . . . ” He scowled, and his voice immediately hardened. “ . . . seeing as how both of you were out all night.”

“Pa, there’s a g-good reason for that,” Joe said very quickly.

“Yeah . . . a REAL good reason,” Stacy immediately voiced her own agreement.

“ . . . and I’m real interested in hearing all about it,” Ben said, “but not right now.”

“Hunh!?” Joe queried, taken aback.

“Oh, we’ll talk about this later, don’t you worry about that,” Ben quickly assured his two younger children. “Right now, however, you both have a job to do . . . no, make that TWO jobs to do, in addition to your own regular morning chores.”

“We do?” Stacy asked.

“You certainly do,” Ben said, placing his arms around their shoulders. “First of all you’re both gonna clean up all the mud you trailed in last night, starting in the kitchen.”

“Wh-what mud, Pa?” Joe ventured, standing with his legs pressed together tight to keep his knees from knocking.

“THAT mud!” Ben pointed to the trail at their feet.

Joe and Stacy gazed down in complete dismay.

“It stretches all the way from the kitchen door to your muddy clothing, which I happened to find lying on the floor of your wardrobe, Young Man, and if I were to hazard a real wild guess, Young Woman, I’d say YOURS are lying on the floor under your bed,” Ben continued, glaring at each respectively. “THAT’S how I found out!”

“Oh!” Joe swallowed nervously. “We were wonderin’ ‘bout that . . . . ” His words drew a sharp glare from his sister.

“I’ll just bet you WERE wondering about that,” Ben retorted sardonically. “That brings me to the second job you have to do, namely the laundry.”

“Th-the l-laundry?!” Stacy stammered, after she also swallowed nervously.

“Yes, the laundry. I saw how muddy your clothes were, and I don’t think it’s fair to make Hop Sing wash them. I also decided that since you’re doing your own laundry today, you might as well do it for the rest of US, including our guests.”

“Y-Yes, Pa,” Joe stammered.

“Yes, Sir,” Stacy replied, vigorously nodding her head.

“I WAS gonna haul you both out to the barn, but I decided I’d be going too easy on ya,” Ben said sternly. “Now, since I expect all that PLUS your own chores to be done by the time Hop Sing’s ready to serve up our noon meal, I’d suggest you get started. You’ve slept away half the morning already.”

“Mister Cartwright!”

Bradley Meredith turned with sinking heart, and found himself staring into the perpetually scowling face of the woman, whose daughter ran Kirks’ Hostelry over on the next street. This morning, he was impeccably attired in a brand new three piece gray linen suit, with a new shirt, and navy blue string tie, charged to Ben Cartwright’s account. Shorty Jim Slade was with him, dressed in a brand new dark blue suit, white shirt, and dark blue string tie, also charged to the largesse of the Cartwright account.

“Mister Cartwright, it’s bad enough you taking up with that cheap floozy who has the sheer gall to call herself a school teacher,” Eloise Kirk sputtered angrily. “But, NOW, you’ve taken to robbing stage coaches. What, I ask you, WHAT kind of an example are you setting for your impressionable young sons and daughter?”

Bradley’s entire face darkened with anger. “Madam, I will NOT countenance such unkind remarks about Miss Ashcroft,” he spat through clenched teeth. “You WILL apologize, or— ”

“Hey, come on, Bo—PA! We gotta job to do remember?” Shorty Jim quickly positioned himself between Bradley and Eloise Kirk.

“ . . . and what might THAT job be?” Eloise queried in a withering tone. “Hold up the BANK?”

“Ma’am, what EVER happened to innocent ‘til proven guilty?” Shorty Jim asked, favoring her with a sad, angelic, calf-eyed stare worthy of the youngest Cartwright son he so closely resembled.

“Hmpf!” Eloise snorted derisively, before pushing rudely past the men she believed to be Ben and Joe Cartwright, and continuing on her way.

“If THAT old battle axe was one of Ben Cartwright’s lady friends, then I’ve done him a big favor,” Bradley Meredith growled, as he watched Eloise Kirk moving on down the street.

“C’mon, Boss, pull yourself together!” Shorty Jim reminded his associate through clenched teeth. “We came to see Mister Sutcliff, remember?”

“You and your brother have become very tiresome, you know that?”

“I COULD say the same about YOU, too, but I’d rather get hold of whatever money we can get on those statues, so’ we can all be off, goin’ our separate ways.”

“Alright!” Bradley snapped. “Mister Sutcliff’s office is right across the street.”

Geoffrey Sutcliff, a tall, well muscled man with sandy blonde hair, and full beard, politely rose to greet Bradley Meredith and Shorty Jim Slade as they stepped into his office. “Good day, Mister Meredith, I’ve been expecting you.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed, yes.” The smug, triumphant smile and predatory gleam in Geoffrey gray-green eyes was not lost on Bradley Meredith. “Gentlemen, please, come in and sit down.”

“Thank you, Mister Sutcliff,” Bradley said smoothly, keeping his uneasiness well hidden with all the consummate skill of the finest of actors. “May I present my associate, Mister James Slade?”

“Good to meet you, Mister Slade,” Geoffrey murmured politely, as he extended his hand. “Can I get you gentlemen some coffee?”

“No, thank you, Sir,” Shorty Jim declined politely, drawing a sharp glare from Bradley. “We’d prefer getting down to business, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, I imagine you WOULD,” Geoffrey said wryly, as the three sat down. “What have you got for me, Mister Meredith?”

“As if you didn’t already know, you son-of-a-bitch,” Bradley Meredith responded silently, as he removed the protective cover from around the jade statue of Chang-O. “I’ve brought along THIS little trinket for your perusal,” he said aloud, his tone bland, his smile never wavering. “I trust you recognize the workmanship?”

“Indeed I do, Mister Meredith, indeed I do. This can only be the work of Yang Wei-Chu.”

“Gesundheit,” Shorty Jim quipped without missing a beat, prompting a sardonic roll of the eyes from Bradley Meredith.

“It seems your associate has much to learn about fine art,” Geoffrey observed condescendingly, with a wry grin.

“Yes, it would seem that he DOES,” Bradley agreed, favoring the young gunman with a withering glare. “At any rate, this statue of Chang-O is one of three, all part of a set. The others are of Hou-Yi and Kuan Yin.”

“Moon, Sun, and Mercy,” Geoffrey said, looking upon the exquisite jade carving as if it were something very good to eat. “May I be so bold as to ask how you came by these works?”

“I have a client who is anxious to sell, Mister Sutcliff,” Bradley replied. “Naturally, I thought of YOU first.”

“Your client is a private collector?”

Bradley nodded. “He’s fallen on hard times, I’m afraid, and has to sell the statues.”

“Most unfortunate,” Geoffrey said slowly. “Your client wouldn’t happen to be the Li Family . . . would it?”

Shorty Jim gasped, drawing a sharp glare from Bradley Meredith.

“Mister Meredith, is your associate ill? He’s all of a sudden looking a little peaked,” Geoffrey observed caustically.

“Mister Sutcliff, if you’re not interested in the statues . . . . ” Bradley said, rising. A swift kick in the ankle prompted Shorty Jim to follow suit.

“On the contrary, I am VERY interested in the statues,” Geoffrey said smoothly. “As you know, I am a most discriminating collector of fine art. This set of statues by Yang Wei-Chu would make handsome additions to my collection. At what price are you offering them?”

“As I just said, my client is very anxious to sell,” Bradley replied. “He is in need of the money, sooner rather than later. He would also prefer payment in cash or gold bullion.”

“Cash or gold bullion, Mister Meredith?”

“Yes.”

“You ARE aware that further reduces the price tag.”

“Indeed I am, Mister Sutcliff. The statues, of course, are priceless. My client is willing to settle for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“ONE hundred fifty. Not one cent more,” Geoffrey Sutcliff snapped.

“Done.”

Geoffrey smiled the triumphant smile of a predator moving in on its cornered prey for the final kill. “I have twenty-five thousand cash here in my safe, Mister Meredith. I will give that to you, YOU leave the statue of Chang-O here, with me. It will take me two hours to gather together the balance. Be here, in my office, in two hours with the remaining statues. If you are not prompt, the price declines.”

“We will see you in two hours, Mister Sutcliff,” Bradley said, holding out his hand.

“Two hours,” Geoffrey reiterated as he shook hands to seal the verbal bargain.

“Little Joe miss spot there and there, also over there,” Hop Sing said, giving critical eye to the wet sheet in Joe’s hand.

“Aww, Hop Sing, ya gotta be kidding!” Joe groaned.

“No!” Hop Sing adamantly and vigorously shook his head. “No! Hop Sing NOT kidding around! Little Joe miss three spots.”

“Where?” Joe groaned.

“I ALREADY tell you. Right there, and there, and there! You look!”

“Aww, come on, Hop Sing, you can hardly see those spots.”

“Hop Sing NOT make bed with dirty sheet,” the Chinese man declared, leveling a thunderous scowl in Joe’s direction.

“Hop Sing, this sheet is NOT dirty,” Joe wheedled. “It’s got a couple of spots— ”

“THREE spots, not couple!”

“Ok, THREE spots . . . so light you can barely see ‘em, not that anyone’s ever gonna see ‘em anyway because if they’re not on the bed, covered by a blanket AND a quilt, they’re gonna be folded up in the linen closet.”

“Not care if nobody see. HOP SING see. HOP SING know. Little Joe wash sheet AGAIN. Get spots out, get sheet clean.”

Joe groaned as he plunged the sheet back into the washtub.

Hop Sing, then, turned heel and marched back into the kitchen, where Stacy was down on her hands and knees scrubbing for the second time around. Her clothing was as wet as the floor and, though her hair was braided, several tendrils had slipped loose and now dangled down into her face. “How you do with floor, Miss Stacy?” Hop Sing cheerfully asked as he sauntered into the kitchen.

Stacy rocked back, up onto her knees and wearily shoved the tendrils of hair out of her face. “Almost finished, Hop Sing.”

Hop Sing smiled. “Good! Very, very good! When Miss Stacy finish, take out water, scrub floor one more time.”

Stacy shook her head vigorously, not wanting to believe her ears. “H-Hop Sing, did you just say . . . one more time?”

“Three time, Miss Stacy. Three time the charm.”

Stacy groaned.

“Oh dear! Is Miss Stacy alright? Miss Stacy not sick . . . . ?” Hop Sing hovered anxiously.

“No, just bone tired. Do I really hafta do the floor three times?”

“Three time. Three time the charm.”

Stacy groaned again as she dropped the scrub brush back into the pail of soapy water.

Hop Sing walked over picked up the pot of coffee warming on top of the stove. Humming a tune very much Chinese, he carried it out into the great room, where Ben sat behind his desk working on the ledger. “More coffee, Mister Cartwright? Hop Sing make up fresh.”

Ben looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Hop Sing, I’d love more coffee,” he replied holding up his mug.

Hop Sing took the mug, filled it, then handed it back to Ben.

“Hop Sing?”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright?”

“How are things going in the kitchen and with the laundry?”

“Miss Stacy finish scrubbing floor two time, get ready to scrub floor THREE time. Little Joe scrub sheet from your bed, try to get out wine spots.”

“What?”

Hop Sing nodded and smiled.

“Hop Sing, if that’s the sheet I’m thinking of . . . those wine spots have been there for YEARS,” Ben said lowering his voice. “Paris . . . Stacy’s mother . . . spilled the wine . . . that time we were snow bound.”

“You know that, Hop Sing know that. Little Joe? He NOT know that.”

“I see. Tell me something else. Do you USUALLY scrub the kitchen floor three times?”

Hop Sing shook his head. “One time do the trick.”

“Yet your have Stacy scrubbing the floor for the third time and Joe trying to wash out wine spots that have been in that sheet for years?!”

Hop Sing’s smile never wavered. “Mister Cartwright tell Hop Sing not be easy on Little Joe and Miss Stacy.”

“I did indeed,” Ben agreed. “Keep up the good work.”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright.” Hop Sing turned to leave.

“Hop Sing?”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright?”

“I haven’t seen very much of your sister’s family this morning,” Ben said very quietly. “Only Hsing, a few times, knocking at the door of his grandmother’s room.”

“Bad, Mister Cartwright. Very, very bad!” Hop Sing replied, shaking his head. His smile quickly faded. “Mei-Ling and Yin-Ling both cry all night. Cry themselves to sleep. Yin-Ling STILL cry. Mei-Ling, not cry anymore. Mei-Ling very angry with son, worry very much about husband. Hsing very quiet. Not talk to nobody, not even Mei-Ling. Hop Sing know he very worried about venerable grandmother.”

“Mrs. Li STILL refuses to see Hsing?”

“Mrs. Li not see anybody. Only Hop Sing when take venerable lady tea early this morning.” He sighed and shook his head mournfully. “Hop Sing worry about Mrs. Li, too. She sit in room. Have shades down, keep room dark. Not even sleep in bed. Yin-Ling very sad, she cry. Mei-Ling very angry, all through crying. But, Mrs. Li too sad for crying. No sparkle in eyes. Hop Sing worry very, very much.”

“I’m worried, too, Hop Sing,” Ben said soberly. Mrs. Li had not stirred from the downstairs guest room since her grandson, Hsing broke the news to her about the theft of the jade statues yesterday afternoon. She had refused supper last night, and breakfast this morning. Worst of all, she absolutely refused to see anyone, including Hsing. “I CAN send for Doctor Martin if you wish.”

“No use, Mister Cartwright, no use,” Hop Sing said softly, shaking his head. “Mrs. Li not have body sickness. Mrs. Li have sickness of heart. Very, very bad.” Suddenly, his face darkened with intense anger, the like of which Ben had never seen in all the years Hop Sing had been part of the Cartwright family. “Where Xing?” he snapped. “Where no good nephew go?”

“I . . . I haven’t s-seen . . . Xing,” Ben stammered.

“Xing out. Sneak out last night. Stay out all night. Drink in saloon. Kiss girls. Play poker. All night long. STILL not come back. Xing should be here. Family NEED him. Xing NOT here. No good nephew not here.” Hop Sing abruptly turned heel and stormed off back toward the kitchen, muttering a long string of terse, clipped Chinese syllables.

Ben stared after Hop Sing’s retreating back, profoundly grateful he had no idea as to the exact translation of those words.

“Hey, Pa?”

Ben turned and looked up as Hoss stepped through the front door.

“I got the buckboard wheels greased, an’ I gave the loft in the barn a good cleanin’ up,” Hoss said as he walked over to the desk. “I found somethin’ mighty interestin’ up in the loft . . . . ”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. This.”

It was a book. Ben took it and turned it over. “How to Solve Crimes by Professor Foote,” he read the title aloud, then frowned. “Hoss, isn’t THIS the book that got the you and Joe into trouble trying to catch bank robbers awhile back?!”

Hoss nodded. “ ‘Fraid so, Pa.”

“I thought your brother promised me he wasn’t going to touch his book ever again,” Ben said with a scowl.

“I don’t think Joe was the one readin’ it, Pa,” Hoss said quietly. “When I went out in the barn t’ fetch ‘em in for supper last night, I saw him take somethin’ from Stacy ‘n sneak it behind his back. He must’ve hidden it under the straw.”

“I wonder where Stacy found it,” Ben wondered aloud.

“Probably in the attic. You know how much she loves goin’ up there ‘n rootin’ around in all them boxes ‘n trucks we got stored up there.”

“For the time being, I’m going to keep it locked up here in my desk, where it’ll do the least damage,” Ben said grimly, as he slipped it into the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Hoss?”

“Would ya do ME a real big favor an’, well . . . kinda go easy on ‘em about that book?” Hoss asked. “Stacy doesn’t know anything ‘bout the trouble Joe ‘n I stirred up on account o’ Professor Foote’s book.”

“I know,” Ben said with a touch of asperity, “but— ”

“We both know that Joe ‘n Stacy ain’t ones for sittin’ on the side lines twiddlin’ their thumbs,” Hoss continued. “They wanna do somethin’ that might help us get outta this big mess we’re in.”

“I know,” Ben sighed, “but tracking down criminals is something best left to the law. I have all the faith in the world in Roy Coffee. If anyone recover those statues and bring the thieves to justice, he can. I also don’t want Joe and Stacy to get themselves hurt.”

“I know that, Pa,” Hoss said very quietly. He smiled. “Sometimes, I don’t know what I’m gonna do WITH the two of ‘em, but I sure as shootin’ don’t wanna find out what I’d do WITHOUT ‘em, either. I guess I’m too used t’ havin’ ‘em both around.”

“I am, too,” Ben agreed wholeheartedly. “I’ll tell you what. If your brother and sister agree to leave the matter of law enforcement to the sheriff, I’ll let ‘em off the hook . . . with regard to their having that book in their possession, at any rate.”

“Thanks, Pa,” Hoss said gratefully.

Truth be known, Ben plain and simply couldn’t bring himself to deny the ardent pleading in Hoss’ great big baby blue eyes. His second son, the kindest and gentlest of his four children, had always been protective of his baby brother from the day he was born. For the better part of the last four going on five years, that protectiveness included his young sister, as well. Ben took one last sip from the coffee mug, and rose. “Hoss, I’m going into town. I have some business I need to take care of. I won’t be home in time for dinner, but I should be in plenty of time before supper.”

“You want me t’ come with ya?”

Ben considered, then shook his head. “I think it might be more prudent for you to stay here and make sure your brother and sister stay out of trouble.”

“Tall order, Pa.”

“Uuuuh!” Stacy groaned softly, as she emptied the last pail of dirty water. “I’m sure glad THAT’S over . . . my back is KILLING me.”

“Don’t tell ME your troubles, Kid,” Joe retorted, as he hung the last sheet out on the line to dry. “My entire BODY hurts.”

“That happens when you get old, GRANDPA,” Stacy teased.

“You may YET take that trip out to the barn, Little Sister.”

Stacy frowned. “Pa said he wasn’t going to haul us out to the barn.”

“I wasn’t talking about Pa.”

“Who then? You!?”

“Don’t think I can’t do it, Kid.”

“You’d hafta catch me first, and as tired as we are now, I can STILL out run ya.”

Joe stuck out his tongue.

Stacy retaliated in kind, then turned serious as they stiffly leaned over to pick up laundry basket and pail. “Grandpa?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“What happens NOW?”

“We keep doing as the first chapter in that book says,” Joe replied. “We keep thinking like criminals.”

“Ok.”

“What would YOU do if you had just robbed a stage?”

“I’d head south toward Mexico.”

“What if you didn’t get cash or gold bullion? What if you ended up with something that had to be sold?”

“In THAT case, I’d retreat to a hideout and lay low.”

“First on our list of things to do this afternoon, Kid, is find that hideout,” Joe said.

“How do we do THAT?”

“Lemme see,” Joe murmured thoughtfully. “That stage was robbed about an hour outside of town, along the road between Virginia City and Carson City. Chances are their hideout lies somewhere along that road between Virginia City and the spot where the stage was robbed.”

“The old Haines place!” Stacy said immediately.

Joe grimaced. “The old Haines place?!”

“Yeah. Ok, the house isn’t much more than a run-down shack, and the rest of the buildings are half fallen down, but it IS along the road between Virginia City and Carson City, about a half an hour’s ride away . . . or LESS.”

“That’s true.”

“Best of all . . . for a criminal, it sits a good mile, maybe mile and a half off that road along a trail half overgrown by weeds and brambles this time of year,” Stacy continued. “Unless you know exactly where that trail is, you could easily miss it.”

“Even if you DO know exactly where that trail is, you could easily miss it IF you’re not keeping a sharp look out,” Joe agreed. “Ok, Kid, let’s you ‘n me hustle along with our morning chores, then the private detective team of Cartwright and Cartwright is off to investigate the Haines place.”

“Judge Faraday?”

John Faraday glanced up from the sheaf of papers spread out before him on his desk. “Yes, Elmer?”

“I know that you had asked not to be disturbed, Sir, but Ben Cartwright is waiting in my office,” Elmer McFarlane, the judge’s administrative assistant, said.

“Please, show him in,” the judge said, as he placed the papers in hand back down on the desk in front of him. His friendship with Ben Cartwright had cooled since his unfortunate bid for the office of state governor several years ago . Throwing his lot in with Sam Endicott had proven disastrous, effectively nipping any and all political aspirations in the proverbial bud. Ben had told him about Sam Endicott, about the wealthy financier having his own agenda, but John Faraday had chosen not to listen. Ben was absolutely right, and somehow that rankled. Even so, he still maintained an acquaintanceship with the rancher.

John had a reasonably good idea as to the reason for Ben’s visit, impromptu, without an appointment, and it dismayed him to see the man with his back up against the proverbial wall, forced into a course of action that over time would benefit no one, and might even prove detrimental to all concerned.

Ben entered the judge’s office a moment later, with Elmer following discreetly behind.

“Ben, please come in,” John said, rising and offering his hand.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, John,” Ben said, as the two men cordially shook hands. “I hope I’m not interrupting something important.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of John Faraday’s mouth. “I was just catching up on my paperwork,” he said. “Anyone coming to see me in the midst of my doing paperwork isn’t an interruption, it’s a much needed relief. Please, sit down.” He gestured toward the two chairs placed side-by-side in front of his desk.

Ben nodded his thanks, then sat down in the chair to John’s left.

“Can I have Elmer get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you, John. I’d prefer to get right down to business, if that’s alright.”

“Certainly.” The judge looked up, making direct eye contact with his administrative assistant, still standing in the open door between his office and the anteroom beyond. “That will be all for now, Elmer.”

Elmer nodded and quietly withdrew, closing the door behind him.

“What can I do for you, Ben?” John asked, turning his attention to his visitor.

“I’m here to arrange for a marriage ceremony,” Ben replied.

“Yourself and Miss Ashcroft?”

Ben nodded, then observed with a touch of rancor, “Nothing travels faster than word of mouth, it would seem.”

Despite his ambivalent feelings toward Ben these days, the judge nonetheless found it disheartening to see that look of resigned defeat on the man’s face. “Ben, you don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “You are not required by law to marry Miss Ashcroft.”

“I know that,” Ben said wearily, “but, I’m afraid I still have no choice in the matter, the law not withstanding . . . unless I want to risk having my daughter taken away from me.”

“I know what Mrs. Danvers said, but, I can assure you, her threat is an empty one. You ARE Stacy’s natural father. No one can legally remove her from your custody.”

“Lucas says there’s a precedent,” Ben said bitterly, “one which I ironically helped to create. You remember Margie Owens little girl?”

John nodded. “That child’s father was unfit, Ben.”

“As I could be found given the matter of Miss Ashcroft,” Ben said dolefully, “not to mention the fact that my sons and I are prime suspects in that stage hold up yesterday afternoon.”

“If either of those cases came up for trial in MY court, I’d throw them both out within the first five minutes for lack of evidence,” John argued. “You and Miss Ashcroft both deny that YOU are the father of her child. As far as I’m concerned, and as far as the law is concerned, Mrs. Danvers and her cousin have no case.”

“I’m not worried about you or Judge Greenberg either for that matter. Judge Caine, however, is another matter entirely.”

“Ben, the law is the law.”

“I know, John, but as Lucas pointed out, a precedent has been set. Given the animosity that’s grown between Judge Caine and myself over the years, if the case ever came before HIM, I can’t trust him NOT to rule on the basis of that precedent . . . out of spite. You and I both know for fact, it wouldn’t be the first time, either.”

John sighed, knowing all too well the truth of those words.

“My daughter has the right to feel secure in her own home, with her own family,” Ben continued. “I’ll do anything and everything in my power to ensure that, including marriage to Judith Ashcroft. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this whole business arranged and be done with it.”

“Alright, Ben. If you would excuse me for a moment, I need to consult with Elmer as to my schedule.”

Ben nodded curtly in response.

John rose and quietly made his way across the room to the door. “Elmer,” he said, upon cracking the door open. “Would you please step into my office for a moment, and bring my appointment book with you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Elmer immediately responded. He grabbed the appointment book, lying open to the present date on the desk to his right, then rose and silently followed his employer.

“I’d like to get this done as soon as possible,” Ben said, as John returned to his desk, with Elmer in tow.

“Mrs. Danvers DID give you a week,” John hastened to point out.

“I know,” Ben sighed, “but, I’d just as soon get this whole matter over with as soon as possible.”

“Tomorrow, you have an inquest regarding the death of Vincent Hutchins scheduled for nine-thirty in the morning, and lunch with Judge Greenberg at noon,” Elmer said briskly, “however, your afternoon is completely free.”

“How about tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock?” Ben asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock will be fine, Ben,” John said reluctantly. “I’ll see that the marriage license is drawn up and ready for you and Miss Ashcroft to sign when you come.”

“Thank you, John,” Ben said, rising.

John also rose, and again offered his hand. “For what it’s worth, Ben, I wish you and Miss Ashcroft all the best.”

Meanwhile, Bradley Meredith and Shorty Jim Slade sat together, side-by-side, on a richly upholstered settee in the anteroom of the posh office Geoffrey Sutcliff maintained. Their like pose, with postures ramrod straight, two pairs of feet flat on the floor with the toes of their shoes in a near straight line, each holding a jade statue, hidden under a covering of coarse cotton, lent them the appearance of bookends. Bradley’s eyes strayed toward the regulator handing on the wall behind Geoffrey Sutcliff’s secretary, a small man, painfully prim and proper, with his nose perpetually wrinkled with disdain. He exhaled a pointedly audible sigh of exasperation.

Millard Phillmore Craig, the secretary, glanced up sharply and favored the two men seated on the settee to his right, with a withering glare. “Mister Meredith, I will show you in WHEN Mister Sutcliff asks me to show you in, and not one second before,” he said sternly. “If you and your associate had thought to make an appointment— ”

“We DID have an appointment, you squint nosed little insect!” Bradley growled.

“I don’t have you down in my appointment book.”

“That’s because I made the appointment with Mister Sutcliff himself, nearly two hours ago.”

“It is NOT down in my book,” Millard declared in a bored, condescending tone. “If you continue to be troublesome, Gentlemen, I WILL ask you to leave.”

The door behind the diminutive, bookish man opened. “Trouble, Mister Craig?” It was Geoffrey Sutcliff.

“No, Sir, none I can’t handle,” Millard replied. “Two gentlemen here who CLAIM to have an appointment— ”

Geoffrey looked over at Bradley Meredith and Shorty Jim Slade, establishing eye contact with the former. He dug his long fingers into the shallow, right hand pocket of his vest and extracted a watch. He brought the time piece up to his eye level and flipped up the cover with a single thrust of his right thumb. “Mister Meredith, you and your associate . . . . ” he grimaced, wrinkling his nose in utter disgust, “are three and one half minutes late.”

Bradley rose, gently cradling the jade statue of Kuan-Yin in his arms. “On the contrary, Mister Sutcliff, my associate and I arrived early,” he said through clenched teeth, leveling a dark, malevolent scowl at Geoffrey first, then Millard. “This incompetent numbskull who has the audacity to call himself a secretary refused to inform you that we had arrived.”

“You gentlemen did NOT have an appointment,” Millard maintained with a smug complacent smile.

“BECAUSE you gentlemen are tardy, I am entitled to a discount,” Geoffrey continued. “Instead of a balance of one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, I NOW owe a balance of seventy-five thousand dollars.”

“It’s quite apparent to me that you’re not serious about acquiring these priceless works of art, Mister Sutcliff,” Bradley said in a tone ice cold. He rose and with an impatient glare, invited his accomplice to do likewise. “Fortunately for me, I have other clients, also collectors of fine art, every bit as discriminating as you CLAIM to be. I bid you good day.”

“Sit down, Mister Meredith,” Geoffrey ordered in an imperious tone of voice. “You, too, Mister Slade. I am very serious about acquiring those statues.”

Bradley remained in place. “I beg to differ,” he countered. “It seems to me that you are more interested in playing childish games than in the purchase of priceless artwork.”

“Mister Meredith, you WILL sell the remaining statues to me at the lowered price, or I will summon the good sheriff of Virginia City and tell him everything,” Geoffrey said.

“I don’t listen to idle threats, Mister Sutcliff.”

“That is no threat, Sir, THAT is my final offer. Seventy-five thousand for the remaining statues or I go to the sheriff.”

“Alright,” Bradley snarled, his entire body trembling with impotent fury.

“I knew you’d be reasonable,” Geoffrey said with a smug, triumphant smile. He stepped behind his desk and opened the top drawer on the side to his right. He grabbed the bundle of paper bills sitting on top and tossed it across the room to Bradley Meredith. “Seventy-five thousand dollars. It’s there, every last penny.”

“I’m sure you don’t mind if we count it?” Bradley said, noting with grim satisfaction that his client actually bristled. He favored Geoffrey with a mirthless smile.

“You don’t trust me, Mister Meredith?” Geoffrey queried with a dark, angry scowl.

“Have I any reason TO trust you, Sir?”

“AFTER you and your associate finish counting your money, you WILL deliver the statues to my town house over on A Street,” Geoffrey said in a tight, angry voice. “The SERVANTS’ entrance is through the side gate and around the house to your left. I’m sure you can find your way.”

“The servants’ entrance is through the side gate, around the house on your left. I’m sure you can find your way,” Shorty Jim muttered a scathingly mimicking Geoffrey Sutcliff’s imperious way of speaking, the instant he and Bradley Meredith stepped outside the realtor’s office and closed the door behind him. “Who does that horse’s patoot think he is?”

“Without his wife’s fortune, Geoffrey Sutcliff’s nothing but an INSECT in a SMALL, INSIGNIFICANT pond, filled with small, insignificant FROGS,” Bradley replied, the angry glare still set on his brow as if in concrete, “and WELL he knows it. Don’t let yourself get all hot and bothered over the likes of him, he’s not worth the trouble. In any case, each of us get thirty three thousand apiece . . . more than enough to keep you and your brother living in high style down in Mexico.”

“What about the Li kid?”

“What about him?”

“He knows, Boss. If he goes to the sheriff . . . . ”

“If he goes to the sheriff, he implicates himself, too,” Bradley replied. “That boy is too spoiled and too soft to survive a jail sentence, and deep down, I think he KNOWS that. I plan to given him the remaining one thousand dollars as his commission— ”

“We promised him TEN.”

“The dowry turned out NOT to be money or gold, as he had led us to believe,” Bradley said grimly. “That plus the risk WE took in selling those statues, coupled with the financial losses we were forced to accept comes right out of HIS commission, reducing it by nine thousand dollars.”

“S’posing he decides to go to the sheriff out of spite?”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that, Boss, not really. I say we silence him permanently.”

“ . . . and risk a hangman’s noose?! No.” Bradley adamantly shook his head. “I was figuring on leaving him tied up at our hideout and sending an anonymous wire back to the Cartwrights telling them where to find him, once we’re all at least a day’s ride away from here.”

Shorty Jim’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “How do I know you won’t tell the Cartwrights where to find my brother ‘n me?”

“Because if I told them where to find YOU, you’d turn around and tell them where to find ME,” Bradley said, using the tone of voice most would use to address a very stupid child. “I want to avoid a prison sentence every bit as much as you and your brother.”

Shorty Jim bristled against the highly insulting condescension he heard in “The Boss’ ” tone, but still nodded his satisfaction. There was, after all, something to be said of the dubious honor among thieves. “All we gotta do is drop off these statues, and we’re outta here?”

“That’s all we gotta do,” Bradley agreed.

“In that case, let’s haul butt over to A Street. The sooner we’ve shaken off the dust of this dusty boom town off our feet, the better I’ll like it.”

“Is the coast clear, Grandpa?”

Joe handed Cochise’s lead over to his sister, then crept over toward the barn door. He opened it slightly and peered outside. “The coast is clear, Little Sister,” he reported. “Let’s go.”

Stacy nodded as she handed Cochise’s lead back to her brother.

Joe opened the barn door, pausing for another look around. The yard between the house and barn appeared to be completely deserted. Satisfied, he stepped out of the barn, leading his pinto, Cochise, saddled and ready to ride. Stacy followed leading Blaze Face, her own big bay gelding.

“We’ll mount up and ride once we’re outta sight of the barn,” Joe said, taking care to keep his voice low.

“Alright.”

“ . . . . and just where do the pair o’ you think you’re goin’?”

Joe and Stacy both jumped and screamed upon hearing the stern voice of their biggest brother, upsetting their horses. Both whirled in their tracks so fast, they threw themselves off balance. Stacy fall against Blaze Face, while Joe toppled over backwards, landing hard on his back side. Hoss walked toward them, coming from behind, favoring both with a threatening glare.

“Hoss, dag gummit, you just scared me outta ten years’ growth!” Joe declared, outraged. “Where’d you come from anyway?”

“I saw the two o’ you creepin’ into the barn like a couple o’ sneak thieves,” Hoss said sternly, “ ‘n figured ya had to be up t’ some kinda no good.”

“Hoss, you WOUND us!” Joe said, as he rose once more to his feet. Their eyes were big, round, and angelic. Joe’s lower lip protruded ever-so-slightly, lending him the air of an innocent child, wrongfully accused. Stacy’s chin quivered, as she bit her lower lip. “We just wanted to take a short ride before supper.”

“Then WHY were ya sneakin’ into the barn?” Hoss demanded, neither moved, nor unduly impressed by his younger siblings’ sad, sweet, angelic faces.

“We weren’t sneaking, Hoss,” Stacy said. “We were trying to be considerate.”

“Considerate, eh?”

“Of course, Big Brother,” Joe chimed in. “We didn’t want to disturb Hop Sing’s relatives or Miss Ashcroft.”

“That’s very nice of ya,” Hoss said sardonically. “Now you can turn around and go just as quietly back to the barn ‘n unsaddle both them horses.”

“Aww, come on, Hoss!” Joe protested.

“Aww, come on Hoss yourself!” the biggest of the Cartwright offspring retorted. “You two are in trouble enough. When Pa left t’ go into town, I promised him I’d keep ya both OUT o’ trouble, an’ that’s exactly what I aim t’ do.”

“Hoss, for cryin’ out loud! Stacy and I just wanna go for a short ride! What kind of trouble can we possibly get into?”

“Plenty, Li’l Brother, knowin’ YOU two!”

“Hoss, we scrubbed the floors and did the laundry like Pa and Hop Sing asked,” Stacy was quick to point out, “and we’ve done our regular chores. Can’t we take a short ride? Please?”

“PRETTY please?” Joe begged.

“Pa should be comin’ home soon. You can ask HIM.”

“Ask him WHAT?”

Stacy and Joe both turned and watched in dismay, as their father slowed Big Buck to a halt and dismounted.

“These two scallywags were fixin’ t’ go for a ride,” Hoss said scowling at the two of them. “I told ‘em t’ wait ‘til YOU got home. I didn’t want ‘em t’ get themselves into any more trouble than they’re in already.”

“Thank you, Hoss,” Ben said wearily. He, then, turned his attention to his younger children. “Have you both finished scrubbing the floors, the laundry, and your own chores?”

“Yes, Sir,” Joe replied.

Stacy nodded.

“Alright, but make it short and NO riding into town,” Ben said sternly.

“We have no intention of riding into town,” Joe promised very solemnly.

“That’s right, Pa,” Stacy added in a tone equally as solemn.

“I’ll expect you back BEFORE supper,” Ben said.

“Thanks, Pa,” Stacy said as she prepared to climb up into Blaze Face’s back.

“Me, too, Pa,” Joe said flashing a smug grin in the general direction of his big brother. He grabbed the edges of the saddle and prepared to swing himself up.

“Before you go, however, I’d like the three of you to step into the house. I have something to tell you,” Ben said.

Hoss, Joe, and Stacy looked at each other, then at Ben. From the slight slumping of his shoulders and the lines of his face, and the fatalistic resignation they saw reflected in his dark eyes, all three knew that whatever their father had to say couldn’t possibly be GOOD news . . . .

“I want to let the three of you know that I spoke to Miss Ashcroft yesterday afternoon,” Ben addressed his three younger offspring, now lined up in front of his desk, their faces slightly pale, eyes solemn. “She has agreed to go through with the marriage.”

“Oh NO!” Stacy wailed in complete and utter dismay. “Pa, you CAN’T!”

“Stacy, I don’t have much choice in the matter,” Ben snapped, giving vent to the anger and frustration that had been building since Myra Danvers had delivered her ultimatum at the school board meeting the day before.

“ . . . and it’s all MY fault,” Stacy angrily shot right back.

Ben closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Stacy, no! It’s not YOUR fault.”

“Isn’t it? You wouldn’t be in this fix at all if it WEREN’T for me!”

Ben, hearing the anger and the grief in his daughter’s voice, immediately came out from behind the desk. “Stacy,” he said earnestly, placing both hands on her shoulders, “I’m sorry I snapped your head off just now, but I want you to know that NONE of this is YOUR fault. I want you to get THAT idea out of your head pronto, Young Woman.”

“But . . . . ”

“No buts! If ANYONE’S to blame for this, it’s Mrs. Danvers and Mister Meredith, certainly not YOU.”

Stacy nodded mutely.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Hoss?” Ben queried as he turned his attention toward his second son.

“Have you, uhhh . . . set a date yet?”

“Yes,” Ben replied. “I spoke to John Faraday when I went into town earlier. I’ve arranged with him to perform the marriage ceremony tomorrow afternoon, at two o’clock.”

“TOMORROW afternoon?!” Joe echoed, his heart sinking fast, as a stone when dropped into water. “I thought you had a week!”

“I see no point in procrastinating, Joe,” Ben said quietly, “which brings me to another matter. I fully expect the three of you, AND Hop Sing, to accept Miss Ashcroft and her baby, when it arrives, as members of this family and to treat both of them accordingly. They’re just as much victims of Mrs. Danvers’ spiteful maneuvering as we are.”

“You don’t have to worry none on THAT score, Pa,” Hoss said firmly, with an emphatic nod of his head.

“Yeah,” Stacy said morosely, “what HOSS said.”

“Ditto, me, too, Pa,” Joe added.

“I know I can count on you,” Ben replied. “I’ve arranged for a quiet, private ceremony at the courthouse. I expect you three to be there.”

“We will be, Pa, you can count on that,” Joe promised.

“You bet,” Hoss said with a curt nod of his head for emphasis.

Stacy simply nodded.

Within less than an hour, Joe and Stacy were riding together along the road between Virginia City and Carson City in silence, their faces set with grim, stubborn resolve.

“Tomorrow!” Joe murmured softly. “That doesn’t give us a whole heckuva lot o’ time, Kid.”

“Tell me something I DON’T know, Grandpa,” Stacy said grimly.

The Haines place, their destination, had once been a thriving farm, belonging to a man named Archie Haines. Less than a year after staking his claim to the land, he had taken a mail order bride named Jennie, a young woman nearly twenty-seven years his junior. A child, a daughter, was born to them a year later. The Haines family largely kept to themselves, due in large part to Archie’s taciturn nature, though Jennie was friendly enough with some of the other ladies on the rare occasions she accompanied her husband into town.

One day, the family pulled up stakes and left, leaving a mystery in the wake of their passing. Double crops of corn and oats stood tall and healthy, nearly ready for harvest, as did vegetables for human consumption, in the large garden in back of the house. Their animals, a cow, two horses for drawing buckboard and plow, chickens, and two pigs were found in reasonably good health, freely roaming the property. Adding more fuel to gossip and speculation was the fact that the Haines’ had been gone for quite sometime before their absence was discovered.

“When I was kid, I used to think the place was haunted,” Joe remarked casually, as they rode.

“Cut it out, Grandpa,” Stacy admonished her brother sternly, unable to quite repress the shudder that passed through her body.

Joe grinned. “Aww, come on, Kid, don’t tell me you actually believe in ghosts.”

“Yes, I do, and so do YOU,” Stacy countered.

“Yeah, I have experienced some strange things in the course of my all too brief lifetime,” Joe admitted, his thoughts drifting to an incident that had occurred soon after he had turned thirteen, and to a real ghost town out in the middle of the desert.

“So have I,” Stacy said. “However, I don’t think we have to worry about GHOSTS haunting the old Haines place.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“There’s the trail, Grandpa.” Stacy pointed to a small weed-choked path, leading off the main road, just wide enough to accommodate a single horse ands rider. “From the way those weeds are lying flat on the ground, someone’s been through here quite a bit lately . . . someone LIVING.”

Joe brought Cochise to a halt, then dismounted. “You keep an eye out for anyone ELSE coming along this road,” he said. “I want to check something.”

“What’s that?” Stacy asked, as she edged Blaze Face off to the side of the road, that she might effectively watch both directions.

Joe moved down the trail a few feet, then crouched down. “Here!” He pointed. “I not only see horse tracks, but the ruts of wheels appearing where the earth’s exposed, NOT covered over by trampled weeds.”

“They’d probably need a buckboard of some such to haul away the box with the Li family’s dowry inside, wouldn’t they?”

“That’s the way I’m figuring it,” Joe said, rising. He swung himself back up into the saddle with an easy, casual grace, then turned Cochise toward the trail leading from the road. “Let’s go, but keep your eyes peeled and ears open.”

Joe and Stacy rode up the path, their horses slowed to a walk, in silence, keeping to the horse tracks already made. The former peered through the overgrowth ahead, his sharp eyes on the alert for any and all sign of life or movement. Stacy followed, listening for the sounds of horse hooves along the road behind them. When the old dilapidated farm house came into sight, Joe motioned for them to stop. “You and I’d better walk the rest of the way in, and head for that barn over there,” he said, pointing. “From the looks of things we can get real close under this cover of bushes and brambles, and the barn will shield us from the sight of anyone inside that house.”

“You lead the way, Grandpa,” Stacy whispered, as the pair dismounted.

Stacy and Joe silently moved away from the trail, keeping well behind the tall, scraggly bushes and wild shrubs, skirting the edge of the area once cleared for farming. They saw no one outside, nor any signs of life within the house. As they drew parallel to the side of the barn facing away from the house, Joe silently motioned for them to stop. “Wait here, Stace,” he whispered, placing Cochise’s lead into her free hand. “I’m gonna sneak over and have a look in that barn.”

Stacy nodded.

Joe crept to the very edge of the scrub brush nearest the edge of the cleared farmland and peered out through the branches. Still no sign of life. Bending low, he silently bolted across the exposed ground between the bushes and scrub brush where Stacy remained hidden with their horses, Cochise and Blaze Face, and the barn several yards distant. Upon reaching the barn, he flattened himself against the wall and froze, his ears straining for any sound of movement within.

All was quiet.

Joe took a deep breath, then started to inch his way along the wall, heading for the nearest window, taking care to keep his body relaxed, his muscles limber. Upon reaching the window, he once again paused, and listened. His sharp ears picked up the soft, barely audible snorting of a horse.

Joe turned, slow and easy, toward the window and cautiously peered inside. There he saw a single horse standing in the stall nearest the door, set into the wall directly opposite. He recognized it immediately as the big black Horace Greeley kept over at the livery stable back in town. Hoss had rented that horse several times in the past when Chubb had either thrown a shoe or come up lame. Two empty stalls stood on the other side of the one occupied by the big black, both of them showing signs of recent use.

On the other side of the door, Joe saw three more stalls, all empty. The scant covering of straw over the wood floor told him that none of those stalls had been used for quite some time. There was a loft above, set against the wall to his right, perpendicular to the wall into which the door had been cut. From his vantage point, he saw that the loft was empty. Its ladder was nowhere to be seen. The only other item in the barn, apart from a half dozen rusty farm implements, was a buckboard, also courtesy of the livery stable.

Joe turned and motioned to Stacy his intention to enter inside barn. A moment later, she responded with the wall of a whippoorwill, indicating that she had received and understood his message. Joe glanced once more into the barn, ascertaining that the coast remained clear, then scrambled in through the open window. The black inside turned and whinnied as he dropped noiselessly to the floor.

“Sshhh, Pete, it’s me . . . Joe Cartwright,” he addressed the big black gelding in a low, gentle tone. “You know me.”

Pete snorted.

Joe dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a lump of sugar from the supply he kept for Cochise. “Here, y’ go, Pete,” he whispered, as he extended his arm with the sugar sitting square in the middle of his left palm. “This is one of Cooch’s favorite treats . . . . ”

Pete snorted again, and watched as Joe moved closer. When he finally reached Pete, the horse sniffed at the sugar, then took it from his hand. “You DO remember me,” Joe crooned as he affectionately rubbed the black’s glossy muzzle. “Now I’m not gonna hurt anything, I’m just gonna have a look around. But I need YOU to be real quiet.”

Pete snorted softly, then returned to the half filled trough of hay in front of him.

Satisfied that Pete would remain quiet, Joe moved toward the barn door and inched it open, just enough to allow him to see the house. A large expanse of open ground lay between the two buildings, overgrown with tall grasses, weeds, and an occasional sapling. If he and Stacy kept low and crawled in on their stomachs they could reach the house without being spotted.

The house, in relation to the barn, was angled slightly away, with the front door placed almost directly opposite the end of the trail, leading in from the main road. Joe could barely make out the lines of the only window, set into the wall on the other side of the front door, the side away from the barn. The side of the house directly facing the barn had no windows, nor did the back wall, as far as Joe could see.

He quickly returned to the place where his sister waited with their horses, and reported his findings. “We can do it, Stace,” he said in conclusion. “We can make it to the house without being seen.”

“Ok, but first, we’d better find a place over there to tether Blaze Face and Cochise,” she said pointing toward the area lying behind the back of the barn. “The wind’s shifting, placing us UPwind from the barn.”

“Yeah. We can’t take a chance on Pete catching scent of our horses and alerting whoever’s inside to their presence,” Joe said thoughtfully.

“If we follow that line of scrub brush around to the back of the barn, that should place us down wind enough so Pete won’t catch their scent.”

Joe nodded. “Let’s go.”

The two younger Cartwright children led their horses around behind the barn, staying well within the scrub brush. They found a copse of trees roughly five hundred feet from the back of the barn, well hidden from view of the house. Joe and Stacy quietly tethered their horses to the trees, and attached feedbags to their bridles to ensure their silence.

“Ok, Kid, let’s go check out that house,” Joe said grimly, as he slid his gun out of its holster.

Stacy nodded and fell in behind.

Judith Ashcroft, upon reading the same paragraph for the sixth time, slammed the book in her hands shut. She sighed, then rose, laying her book down on the night table next to her bed.

“Well, Miss Judith Eleanor Ashcroft, you’ve not only got YOURSELF into one fine pickle of a mess, but you’ve also managed to drag the entire Cartwright family along WITH you,” she angrily admonished herself for the umpteenth time in silence. She began to walk slowly, in a line parallel to the length of her bed, back and forth, to and fro . . . .

“Do you DENY that Miss Ashcroft is with YOUR child?” Judge William Caine’s voice once again echoed in her ears, disdainful and arrogant. A haughty smile, with lips firmly pressed together spread across the lower portion of his face in the same manner oil oozes across the surface of water.

“As I recall, Judge Caine, Miss Ashcroft resigned her teaching position for PERSONAL reasons,” Ben said pointedly, in tones, even and measured. The dark, angry scowl on his face indicated that the quiet calm in his voice was the lull before the breaking of a ferocious storm. “The rest is hearsay and gossip.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Mister Cartwright.”

“Judge Caine, you surprise me. The rumors circulating about Miss Ashcroft being with child are just that. Rumor and gossip. Surely as a lawyer, and now as a judge, you wouldn’t even THINK of admitting rumor and gossip into evidence in a court of law.”

“Alright, Mister Cartwright, I’ll phrase it hypothetically,” the judge said, his smug, complacent smile fading. “IF Miss Ashcroft were with child . . . . . IF, Mister Cartwright . . . . . is there any possibility, any possibility at all, that she might be with YOUR child?”

“Absolutely NOT,” Ben replied.

“OH, BEN, HOW COULD YOU?!”

Judith cringed, as her own words, her own anguished outcry returned again to haunt her. If she had but one wish, it would be to go back to that very moment and stop herself from uttering those words.

A loud knock on the fast closed door to her room, forcibly pulled Judith from her unpleasant reverie. “Yes? Who is it?”

“Hop Sing, Miss Judith. Have tray.”

“Please, take it away, Hop Sing,” Judith half sobbed. “I’m NOT hungry.”

Hop Sing opened the door and entered, his jaw set with stubborn determination, carrying a tray with a generous bowl of chicken and vegetable soup, two biscuits, and a large mug of steaming hot peppermint tea. “Missy must eat,” he stated in a tone that brooked no argument. “Missy eat for two now.”

Judith immediately averted her gaze to the floor, her cheeks flaming scarlet at his blunt assessment of her delicate condition.

Hop Sing walked over toward the night table and removed the book. He set the tray down on the table, then sat down on the bed next to her. “Miss Judith MUST eat,” he urged in a gentler tone.

“Why? Why couldn’t I have kept my big mouth SHUT?” she moaned, burying her face in her hands.

Hop Sing placed a comforting hand on the distraught young woman’s shoulder. “You and Miss Stacy think this all YOUR fault.”

“Stacy?!” Judith echoed in surprise. She lifted her head, and turned focusing her gaze on Hop Sing’s face. “Why would Stacy think all this is . . . HER fault?!”

“Danvers woman say she have cousin come, take Miss Stacy away if Mister Cartwright not marry you,” Hop Sing replied. “NOT Miss Stacy fault. Not Miss Judith fault, either.”

“Oh, Hop Sing, if . . . if ONLY I’d kept quiet . . . . ”

“Miss Judith not know,” Hop Sing insisted. “Other man look like Mister Cartwright. Look EXACTLY like Mister Cartwright. Fool many people, even fool Hop Sing. NOT Miss Judith fault. Now, maybe, Miss Judith eat?”

“I’ll . . . I’ll TRY, Hop Sing.”

The soft tapping of bare knuckles against the door jamb drew Hop Sing and Judith’s eyes toward the door, where Ben Cartwright stood, his face an impassive mask. “Miss Ashcroft . . . Hop Sing . . . I hope I’m not interrupting anything . . . . ”

“No interrupt,” Hop Sing replied. “Hop Sing try and make Missy eat.”

“I’ll take over from here, Hop Sing,” Ben said, as he stepped into the room. “I have some things I need to discuss with Miss Ashcroft, anyway.”

“Ok.” Hop Sing rose. “Mister Cartwright make Miss Judith eat. Hop Sing go, see to sister.”

Ben waited until Hop Sing had left the room, closing the door behind him. “You should feel highly honored about Hop Sing’s nagging you to eat, Miss Ashcroft,” he said quietly, as he drew up a chair along side the bed.

“Oh?”

Ben nodded. “He ONLY nags his FAMILY about eating, the one he was born into and the one he adopted.”

“I . . . I had no idea Hop Sing w-was married.”

“He’s not. The family he adopted was the CARTWRIGHT family, when he came to work for us,” Ben explained. “Over the years, he’s come to be far more than simply someone who works for us. Even though he insists on calling me Mister Cartwright, he’s become more like a brother and friend to me and as a second father to all four of my children. I’m very pleased to see that he’s included YOU now as part of his large family.”

“Thank you,” Judith said in a small, sad voice, barely audible. She looked up, her gaze falling a hair’s width short of meeting his eyes, and favored him with a wan smile. “Please t-tell Hop Sing I’ll . . . that I’ll try to eat,” she promised.

“How are you feeling?”

“Physically, I feel like a wrung out dishrag, but otherwise, I’m feeling better. I’m not feeling as nauseated now as I was earlier.”

“Most of the time, this business of feeling sick in the morning passes,” Ben quickly assured her.

Judith averted her gaze once more to her lap, then nodded, far to embarrassed to speak. Growing up in that home for orphaned and wayward girls, the latter who came to the home in the same condition she now found herself, were sequestered from the others and spoken of in whispers, in the dead of night. The matrons at the home, occasionally made mention of a girl being in a delicate condition, or perhaps in the family way.

Here, things were very different. Even now, after having spent seven years as teacher at the one room school house in Virginia City, she STILL found herself blushing when her students, particularly those living on farms or ranches, talked so frankly about the births of their animals. Mrs. Danvers’ candid assessment of her as Mister Cartwright’s pregnant mistress in front of nearly all the men in the community had not only been horribly, unspeakably rude, but cruelly humiliating as well. Though neither Hop Sing nor Mister Cartwright INTENDED to embarrass or humiliate, their forthright references to her condition, were, nonetheless most discomfiting.

“Miss Ashcroft, a new life making its way into this world is nothing less than a miracle,” Mister Cartwright said, speaking directly to her feelings of guilt and shame, “something that should be looked upon as beautiful and sacred, not as shameful and humiliating.”

“Maybe the birth of a child IS something sacred and beautiful when it happens within the bonds of holy wedlock,” she said bitterly, “but when it happens to someone in MY position— ”

“Some circumstances by which a child comes into the world may be less desirable than others,” Ben said. “It takes two to bring a child into this world, and I’ve come to see that maybe a child is best served when he or she can be raised and sustained by two. It’s very difficult for one person to be both father AND mother.”

“You’ve done very well being both,” Judith ventured hesitantly. “I’ve never met your oldest son, but I can see it in the men that your other two sons are . . . and in the woman your daughter is becoming.”

“Thank you,” Ben said simply, yet with profound gratitude. “That brings me to the matter I had originally come to discuss with you. I went into town this morning and made arrangements with Judge Faraday. He’s an old friend, not as close as we once were, but I still consider him to be a trusted friend. We’ll be married tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock in his chambers.”

“So soon?”

“If you don’t find that suitable . . . . ”

“No, Mister Cartwright. Two o’clock tomorrow afternoon will be fine,” she said sadly. “There’s no point in postponing what must be, I suppose.”

“Hoss, Joe, and Stacy will be present, of course,” Ben continued. “If there’s anyone YOU wish to invite . . . . ”

Judith thought for a moment of Molly O’Hanlan, who had so valiantly stood by her side at that horrendous school board meeting the day before, only to dismiss it in the very next instant. Her father MIGHT allow her to attend. He had, after all, allowed her to attend that school board meeting. Mrs. O’Hanlan, however, was a different kettle of fish entirely. Her invitation to Molly would, at best, initiate a royal row to end all rows within the O’Hanlan family. Judith simply could not bring herself to do such a thing. She sighed, and shook her head. “No, Mister Cartwright,” she said softly, “there’s no one I wish to invite.”

Ben nodded, then rose. “I have one more thing to say, Miss Ashcroft . . . . ”

She glanced up, her eyes still falling just short of meeting his.

“I want you to know that I don’t hold you in anyway responsible for what happened at that school board meeting yesterday,” Ben said very quietly, very earnestly, “nor does any member of my . . . of OUR family.”

“Oh, Mister Cartwright, if only I could go back . . . stop myself from saying those words, from accusing you . . . . ”

Ben immediately sat back down in the chair he had just occupied a short while ago, and took both of her hands in his. “Miss Ashcroft . . . JUDITH . . . I want you to look at me,” he said, addressing her in the same way he would one of his own children.

Judith swallowed nervously and looked up, forcing herself to meet his dark brown, almost black eyes.

“You made an HONEST mistake,” he continued. “Bradley Meredith could pass for my identical twin brother, but I don’t need to tell you that. He told you he was me, and you had no reason NOT to believe him, especially since I was out of town through much of your courtship. At the school board meeting, when you realized your mistake, you tried your best to set things straight.”

“I’m afraid my best was none too good,” she sighed morosely. “They refused to listen, and even worse . . . Mrs. Danvers accused me of lying.”

“Mrs. Danvers is a mean, spiteful woman, who for whatever reason has had designs on me for at least the better part of the last six months or so,” Ben said. “My biggest regret about all this is that she isn’t a man. Had THAT been the case, I almost certainly would have mopped up the streets of Virginia City with her for threatening Stacy, and for dragging YOUR good name through the mud, as well.”

“Thank you, although . . . I’m afraid my good name is pretty much non-existent now.”

“It won’t be after two o’clock tomorrow afternoon,” Ben promised.

For a moment, Judith found herself wishing that Ben Cartwright HAD been the man with whom she had fallen so desperately in love. He had been very kind and generous to her, far more that she felt was deserved given the unfortunate circumstances by which they had been forced together. She silently vowed that she would do her best to be a good wife to him. But, deep in her heart, she knew that she would never love him as she loved and would always love Bradley Meredith.

Joe and Stacy Cartwright crept through the tall grass, moving on their stomachs, approaching between the barn and the windowless wall of the house, with the former leading. Upon reaching the house, after a seeming eternity of snaking through tall grass, across a field still wet from the spring rains, Joe turned his head and motioned for Stacy to draw up alongside him.

“What’s up, Grandpa?” she asked, keeping her voice to the decibel of a stage whisper. “Besides the real strong possibility of US doing laundry again tomorrow morning?”

Joe turned and favored his sister with a ferocious glare. “Whaddya mean US?! I did the laundry this morning. My fingers STILL look like prunes from all that soap and water,” he hissed back.

“Oh yeah? Well not only do MY fingers still look like prunes from sticking them into a lotta soap and water, but my knees are stiff and sore, too, because I had to scrub the kitchen floor three times.”

“Don’t tell ME your troubles, Kid.”

Stacy stuck her tongue out at him.

Joe returned the gesture.

“Ok. If YOU wanna do the laundry again tomorrow, Grandpa, you go ahead and knock yourself right out,” Stacy said.

“Not me,” Joe said with a grimace. “We can wade into Mister Grimley’s pond on the way home. We’ll be wet, but at least we won’t be muddy.”

Stacy grimaced, unsure of which prospect was worse: spending an entire morning doing laundry according to Hop Sing’s exacting specifications or taking a plunge into the ice cold waters of the pond out in the middle of Mister Grimley’s cow pasture.

“At any rate, I’m gonna move ahead to that corner to make sure the coast is clear,” Joe whispered, coming to the reason he had waved her forward. “One of those stage robbers is still here, probably inside that house. That and the fact that window over there is in full view of the way in here . . . things could get a little dicey from here on in, so we’ve gotta keep alert.”

Stacy nodded.

“If the coast is clear, I’ll wave you forward,” Joe explained. “Then we’ll move along the front, keeping real close to the foundation wall of the house ‘til we reach the end of the porch. I’ll make sure the coast is clear again before we make our move toward that window.”

“OK, Grandpa,” Stacy agreed. “I’m right behind you all the way.”

Joe nodded then moved ahead on his stomach, keeping himself as close to the stone foundation as he could. He reached the corner, then paused to listen. All remained quiet, save for the gentle breezes wafting through the tree branches. He slowly raised himself up until his eyes cleared the top line of the tall weeds and grasses surrounding him on all sides. He saw no one, nor did his ears pick up the sounds of horse hooves coming from the trail up ahead. He motioned for his sister to move up, then started moving on a course parallel to the foundation along the front of the house.

After having moved two thirds of the way along the foundation facing front, Joe silently signaled for them to halt. “The window should be right above us,” he whispered. “This is where we gotta be real careful.”

“I’m listening, Grandpa.”

“Once we’re up on that porch, we’re right out in the open,” Joe explained. “There’s absolutely no cover at all. The trail leading in from the main road ends on the other side of this cleared area. There’s a lot of underbrush and tree saplings that’s grown up since the Haines family left. However, since we left the path and rode in cross country, I don’t know how far back someone coming in can see the house.”

“If I were a criminal looking for a hideout, I’d be looking for a place I could see from the road from shootin’ range, at least.”

“I agree,” Joe said soberly. “Ok. I’m gonna go up first. I’ll wave you up once I’m sure the coast is clear.”

Stacy nodded solemnly.

Joe listened again, then, hearing no sounds of horses or people, he raised himself up, again just enough to see over the top line of weeds and grasses. The coast was clear. He swallowed nervously, then scrambled noiselessly up onto the porch, keeping well to the side of the window farthest from the front door. Slipping his revolver out of its holster, he crept toward the window and peered inside.

He spotted Li-Xing first, tied up to a stout hard back chair, set in the middle of the single room inside the small house. His hands had been pulled behind his back and bound at the wrists. Each foot was tied to the front legs of the chair and there was a white handkerchief stuffed in his mouth. His hair was mussed, and one of the sleeves had been torn from his shirt at the shoulder. Apart from that he seemed none the worse for wear.

A pig-like snort, drew Joe’s attention to the double bed, set up against the wall behind Xing. A big man, with reddish brown hair and massive barrel chest, lay on his side, with his back to the window, sound asleep. “Dang! That guy snores louder ‘n herd of stampeding cattle . . . just like Hoss,” he mused silently, as he turned and waved Stacy forward.

Inside, Xing raised his head. His dark eyes met and held Joe’s hazel ones. Joe quickly raised his first finger to his lips. Xing nodded.

“There’s TWO of ‘em in there, Stace,” Joe whispered, the instant his sister reached his side. “Xing and another guy, who’s big . . . like Hoss. The big guy’s sound asleep.”

Stacy silently crept past her brother and peered into the window. “He’s not wearing his holster, Joe. I think THAT’S it there . . . on the table next to Xing.”

“I think you’re right, Kid. If we can get in without waking Sleeping Beauty up, we’ve got the drop on him,” Joe said, as a wild, predatory grin spread across his lips. “I’ll lead, you follow.”

“I’m right behind you, Grandpa.”

Joe, with revolver in hand at the ready, moved to the front door and cautiously slipped his fingers around the knob. He turned it, and found, much to his pleasant surprise, that the door was unlocked. As he pushed the door inward, the rusty hinges resounded with a near deafening squeak. Big Jack Slade, the man lying inside on the cot inside the house, snorted and groaned. Joe and Stacy froze. Big Jack grunted, as he turned and flopped over on his back. A moment later, his snoring resumed.

Joe waited, then inclined his head toward the interior of the house, as he and his sister slowly exhaled the breath each had been holding. Thankfully the door was open just enough for the two of them to enter. Joe forced his body to relax before leading the way inside. Stacy followed close at his heels, then, tip-toed over toward the fireplace, set against the wall perpendicular to the same into which the door and window had been cut. Her eyes immediately fell on a wrought iron poker, lying on the hearth. Though its surfaced had rusted, its core remained solid. She picked it up and moved silently over to the cot and the big Texas gunman lying upon it, sound asleep.

Joe waited until Stacy was in place. “Hey, Mister, time to wakey-wakey,” he announced in a falsetto, sing-song voice, as he nudged the sleeping man’s shoulder, none too gently, with the barrel of his revolver.

Big Jack snorted.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty, time to rise ‘n shine.” Joe nudged Big Jack harder.

“Sleeping Beauty?! You better not be counting on ME to play the role of Prince Charming,” Stacy said in a tone that dripped icicles, as she regarded Big Jack with a grimace.

“Perish the thought!” Joe wrinkled his own nose in disgust, as he moved half a step backward. He raised his booted foot and gave Big Jack a hard shove against his shoulder.

Big Jack snorted again, then rolled over ending up on his other side, facing toward the door. “What the fu—?!”

“That’s enough outta YOU, Big Fella,” Joe snapped, aiming the barrel of his weapon at the middle of Big Jack’s chest. “Now sit up and reach for the sky, nice ‘n slow.”

Big Jack very slowly, very cautiously raised himself from prone to sitting.

“Very good,” Joe said sardonically. “Now get those hands up!”

Big Jack raised his hands to the level of his head, then rose slowly to his feet. “Li’l boys got no business playin’ with guns,” he taunted, as he moved forward, wholly unmindful of Stacy, silently moving in behind him, with poker clasped firmly in both hands. “Why a li’l feller like you could get hurt awful, awful bad y’ know.”

“Do tell,” Joe said, taking a step backward.

“Now why don’tcha be a good boy ‘n just hand over that gun to ol’ Big Jack here?” the youngest of the Slade brothers continued to advance on Joe.

“Now lemme get this straight,” Joe said, as he moved back another step, then another. “You want me to hand over my gun.”

“Yep.”

“Just like that, no questions asked.”

“Just like that . . . an’ no one’ll git hurt.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Really? No one gets hurt?”

“That’s right. No one gets hurt,” Big Jack reiterated, noting with a triumphant smile, that Joe Cartwright had just backed into a wall.

“Well, Big Guy, I guess there only one thing I can say about your kind and gracious offer,” Joe said affably. He raised his right hand and waved. “Nighty-night and sweet dreams.”

Joe had no sooner uttered those words when Stacy, now positioned directly behind Big Jack, brought the fireplace poker down on his head hard. The biggest of the Slade brothers groaned softly, then collapsed to the floor like a lump sack of potatoes.

“Uh oh! Hope you didn’t hit him TOO hard, Kid,” Joe said as he started to work on untying the ropes securing Xing’s left ankle to the left chair leg.

“Not to worry, he’s still breathing.” Stacy insisted, as she moved in behind Xing and started untying the bonds holding his wrists together. “Ya wanna know something?”

“What?”

“Give that big guy a shave and trim up his hair around the edges, and he could very easily pass for Hoss.”

“I think he already DID,” Joe said with a scowl, “when he and his other two friends held up that stage. Hey, Stacy . . . . ”

“Yeah, Joe?”

“Hold up on untying Xing’s hands a minute.”

Stacy wordlessly did as her brother had asked.

Joe reached up and pulled the gag out of Xing’s mouth.

“It’s about damn’ TIME someone showed up to rescue me,” the young man sputtered angrily.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk,” Joe clucked, shaking his head. He quickly stuffed the gag back into Xing’s mouth.

“MMMMPPPHHHHFFFF!” Xing protested, his eyes round with shock and outrage.

“Hey! If you want my sister and me to untie you, you’re gonna have to talk to us a heckuva lot nicer than THAT,” Joe declared.

“Yeah,” Stacy replied, with an emphatic nod of her head. “You don’t want to be talking like that around me. After all, I’m a very impressionable young child.”

Joe sarcastically rolled his eyes.

“Mmmmggghhhffff???”

“That’s more like it,” Joe said, as he removed the gag from Xing’s mouth. “So! Tell us, Xing, how in the ever lovin’ world did you ever end up in this fix in the first place?” Joe asked, as he rocked back from his knees to a crouching position.

Xing glared murderously at the youngest Cartwright son, and said nothing.

“Now the way I see it, you have two choices,” Joe said in a deceptively sweet honeyed tone of voice, sounding not unlike Ben in similar situations. “You can either talk to my sister and me here, THEN to Sheriff Coffee, OR the two of us’ll just trot along our merry little way and leave you to the tender mercies of your new friends.”

“ . . . which would be no less than what you DESERVE, Xing, after what you’ve done to your family, especially to Yin-Ling,” Stacy added with a dark, murderous scowl of her own.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Xing declared loftily, “nor can I understand why you assume that I even know, much less am friendly with the men who’ve kidnapped me.”

“Well, let’s just say I started to suspect something when I saw you in the Silver Dollar Saloon the day before that stage robbery talking to one of ‘em,” Joe said, adding a bright, sunny smile to he sweet sounding words. “It was the one who looks like our Pa.”

“I . . . I have no idea WHAT you’re t-talking about.”

Despite Xing’s words of denial, Joe knew he had just scored a direct hit when the face of Hop Sing’s young nephew suddenly lost every bit of its healthy, robust color. “We ALSO know that you’ve been working in cahoots with the men who’ve kidnapped you,” he pressed.

“No.”

“Xing, Xing, Xing, Xing,” Joe said, shaking his head. “My sister and I may be YOUNG, and we may not be the most sophisticated people in the world, but neither one of us were born yesterday!” He shrugged indifferently, then rose. “Hey! If you don’t wanna talk to US . . . that’s fine. We’ll see you back at the house later.”

“Maybe,” Stacy added ominously.

“Wait a minute! You two aren’t . . . y-you’re not leaving . . . ARE you?!”

“We’d hoped for a little more in the way of conversation, but . . . . ” Joe shrugged again as he and Stacy turned toward the front door.

“Alright!” Xing snapped angrily. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“We’re all ears!” Joe said as he motioned for his sister to return and help him complete the task of freeing Xing. “Now start talking, or my sister and I are outta here.”

Xing sighed, and surrendered himself to the inevitable. “You two were right. I don’t know how you figured it out, but I WAS working in league with the men who robbed that stage,” he confessed. “I told them about the dowry and when it was coming to Virginia City.”

“****!” Stacy spat contemptuously, using a Paiute epithet Joe had never heard before. “Hop Sing’s right! You ARE no good!”

“What do YOU know about it, Girl?!” Xing responded, giving full vent to the bitter anger that had been festering within him, since the day his great-grandmother had decreed that the exquisite jade statues by Yang Wei-Chu would be his sister’s bride price. “For centuries, those jade statues have passed down from father to the firstborn SON, to HIS firstborn son. By rights those statues should be MINE, not the bride price for my sister. The only reason they were promised as bride price for my sister is because my own father squandered the family fortune drinking, gambling, and . . . and on women.”

“That STILL didn’t give you the right to do as you did,” Stacy argued. “Yin-Ling loves the man she was supposed to marry— ”

“She’s young! She’ll get OVER him.”

“I don’t think so! She hasn’t stopped crying since your friends robbed that stage and took what was supposed to be her dowry,” Stacy said, giving full vent to her own rage, “and your great-grandmother . . . she won’t eat, she stays holed up in the guest room downstairs, she won’t see anyone . . . all she had left was your family’s honor, and now that you’ve taken THAT away from her . . . it’s like she’s just waiting around to die.”

“You know NOTHING about the things of which you speak,” Xing sneered.

“The hell I don’t!” Stacy angrily shot back.

“How can you possibly know of such things?” Xing demanded in a sullen tone. “You’re too young, and with a wealthy papa, too sheltered.”

“It hasn’t always been that way,” Stacy growled back.

“Whaddya gonna tell me next? That your papa sold you to gypsies or someth— ” His words ended on a loud, agonized scream when Stacy kicked him hard in the shins.

“Hey, come on, Kid, take it easy,” Joe admonished her gently, as he moved himself between his sister and Xing.

“Take it easy?!” Xing echoed, angry and outraged. “That kid needs to be kept on a leash!”

“Why you— ” Stacy balled her right hand into a tight fist, then pulled her arm back, with every intention of punching Xing’s lights out.

“I TOLD you to take it easy,” Joe said sternly, as he placed a restraining hand on her wrist.

Stacy whipped her arm out of her brother’s grasp, then favored him with a dark, withering glare.

“Hey! You could end up in a whole world of trouble for practicing dentistry with your fists,” Joe said in a kindlier tone. “I should know.”

An amused smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I guess you should at that, Grandpa.”

“As for YOU, Xing, any more cracks about Pa selling her to the gypsies or anyone else, and I’LL slug ya MYSELF,” Joe said, favoring Hop Sing’s nephew with a scowl underscoring the truth of his words. He finished untying the ropes holding Xing’s other ankle to the chair leg, then rose, and once again removed his gun from its holster. “You finished with his hands, Stace?”

“Yeah, I’m finished.”

“OK, Xing, you’re coming back to town with us,” Joe said, “and you’re going to tell Sheriff Coffee everything you’ve just told us.”

“Oh no he’s NOT!”

Three heads turned in unison to the sound of a new voice, one that sounded nearly identical to Joe Cartwright. There, standing framed in the doorway, was Shorty Jim Slade with a revolver in hand, aimed squarely at the chest of the man he so closely resembled.

“Hey! Y-You’re the man I saw in the Silver Dollar!” Joe stammered, stunned by the near identical likeness of the man standing before him.

“James Slade at your service, Mister,” the gunman sneered. “Most of my friends call me Shorty Jim, but YOU can call me MISTER Slade.”

Joe scowled as he rose slowly to his feet. “Now lemme get all this straight, MISTER Slade,” he said, turning mister into the vilest of insults, “you’ve spent the last month on a shopping spree, charging everything to MY account . . . you wore out Trudy at the Virginia City Social Club and put THAT on my account . . . . ”

“I especially liked the bit with the trapeze and the leather tutu,” Shorty Jim declared, drawing blank, quizzical looks from Stacy and Big Jack.

“ . . . . you also romanced Laurie Lee Bonner at the Silver Dollar Saloon in my name, putting me clear in up to my neck in deep curds ‘n whey with my REAL girl,” Joe continued, “and then on top of all that you robbed a stage coach and set ME up to take the fall.”

“Yeah . . . . ” Shorty Jim murmured thoughtfully, “yeah, that just about covers it, except for the skinny dip out at some quaint swimming hole called Miller’s Pond with Sherrie Lynn at that new place . . . . ” He frowned, trying to recall the name.

“The Pink Flamingo,” Stacy adroitly supplied the information.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Shorty Jim said. “The Pink Flamingo. That Sherrie Lynn is a goddess, Cartwright, nothing less than a goddess with real EXPENSIVE tastes. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t let me put all that you’re your account, so I had no choice but to put it on you PA’S.”

“WHAT?!” Joe shrieked.

“You heard me,” Shorty Jim sneered. “Caviar . . . . champagne . . . . dinner at the lovely French place . . . . a half dozen new dresses, on a account o’ I got a little rowdy a few times . . . . all expensive, Cartwright, very, very, VERY expensive. I’d LOVE to be a fly on the wall when you try to explain all THAT to your pa.”

Joe responded with a primal roar, as he leapt on his ‘evil twin,’ before the man could even think of moving. Shorty Jim bellowed in pain, shock, and outrage as he crashed onto the hard wood floor of the dilapidated farmhouse he, his brother, and the man they called Boss had known as home for the last couple of months.

“Ok, you no-good, lousy, son-uva-rotten hunka goat cheese, I’m gonna make it real easy for folks to tell who’s who from now on,” Joe declared through clenched teeth, as his fist connected resoundingly with his double’s face, “ ‘cause Joe Cartwright’s NOT gonna be the one sporting a pair of black eyes.”

“THAT WILL BE QUITE ENOUGH YOUNG MAN!” a familiar sounding resonant baritone voice thundered from the general direction of the front door. “Now get up!”

Joe, much to his horror and chagrin, found himself staring into the barrel of a derringer held right in his face.

“P-Pa?!” Stacy stammered, as bewilderment replaced her initial anger towards Xing.

Bradley Meredith looked over at Stacy, and smiled. “YOU, My Dear, must be Stacy Cartwright,” he remarked, as he politely tipped his hat. “Miss Ashcroft’s told me so much about you, I feel as though I already know you . . . quite well.”

“M-Miss Ashcroft?! Wait a minute!” Her whole face suddenly lit up with the light of revelation. “You’re NOT Pa! You’re the guy— ” Stacy’s words abruptly ended with a groan, as Big Jack, now semi-conscious and on his feet, his balance wavering, slugged her from behind, knocking her senseless.

“So help me, Bub, if you’ve hurt my sister— ”

“Shut-up, Cartwright,” Bradley Meredith ordered, “and get up. I won’t tell you again.”

Joe complied, seething inside with rage and frustration.

“I don’t want to hurt you, your sister, or Xing,” Bradley continued, “and I WON’T as long as you do exactly as I say. Now get your hands UP. Mister Slade,” he looked over at Big Jack, establishing eye-contact, “take his gun.”

“Got it, Boss,” Big Jack said, as he jammed the barrel of the weapon into his pants, “an’ don’t YOU worry none ‘bout your sister. I ONLY slugged her hard enough to keep her sleepin’ ‘til mornin’.”

“ ‘Til mornin’?!” Joe echoed, as panic began to rise within him.

“ ‘Til mornin’,” Shorty Jim affirmed his brother’s words as he rose. Joe could see the beginnings of what would soon become a pair or real shiners discoloring the skin under his double’s eyes. “Big Jack’s got sluggin’ people down to a real science, so if he says the kid’s gonna be out ‘til mornin’, you can guarantee she’s gonna be out ‘til mornin’.”

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have hit her that hard, she bein’ a girl ‘n all, but I figured she had it comin’ after the way SHE got the drop on ME first with that poker,” Big Jack said with a scowl. “You KNOW what they say ‘bout pay backs.”

“The only reason that girl probably DID get the drop on you was because SHE caught you napping . . . quite literally,” Bradley growled. The cheeks, suddenly tinged with red and the general shamefaced look on Big Jack’s face confirmed the truth of his suspicions.

“Hoo boy! What in the world am I gonna tell PA?” Joe groaned.

“You’ll have all night to work it out, Boy,” Bradley declared.

“WHAT?!”

“Either of you boys have some rope?” Bradley asked his associates.

“Yeah. I got some out on my saddle,” Shorty Jim replied.

“Get it,” Bradley snapped, “then tie up young MISTER Cartwright. Xing, YOU can sit down . . . right there.” He pointed to the chair that the young Chinese man had very recently vacated. “Big Jack, make yourself useful and get to work tying him back up.”

“Some rescue,” Xing groused, as he sat back down.

“I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that if you HADN’T thrown in your lot with these guys that maybe . . . just MAYBE, you wouldn’t even BE in this situation needing to be rescued?!” Joe shot back without missing a beat.

“You sound just like my parents,” Xing growled.

“Oh yeah?! Maybe you should’ve listened to ‘em.”

“You self-righteous son-of-a— ” Xing’s remaining words came out as a hybrid cross between a snort and a guttural snarl when Big Jack stuffed the handkerchief back into his mouth.

“Thank you,” Bradley said sardonically. “You got ANOTHER handkerchief?”

“Yep.”

“Good. We’ll gag Young Cartwright, too. I sure wasn’t looking forward to listening to him and Xing going at it all night long.”

“Whaddya mean all night long, Boss?” Shorty Jim demanded as he stepped back inside the small house with rope in hand. He immediately set to work tying Joe up, taking malicious delight in pulling the knots extra tight.

“We leave at daybreak,” Bradley growled.

“WHAT?!” Shorty Jim howled.

“You heard me. We leave at daybreak. I’m not leaving Virginia City without Judy, and it’s a little late in the day for me to be dragging her out along these dangerous highways and by-ways.”

“You knock yourself right out, Boss,” Shorty Jim retorted as he finished tying Joe’s wrists behind his back. He, then moved to bind his captive’s legs together at the ankles. “YOU can leave whenever you like. My brother and me, however, are off ‘soon as we divvy up the money.”

“WE leave at daybreak,” Bradley said very pointedly.

“YOU and your schoolmarm lady friend leave any ol’ time y’ want, Boss,” Shorty Jim said, whipping his own gun from its holster, every bit as fast as the Cartwright son he so closely resembled.

“Wait a minute!” Joe yelped. “Did you say schoolmarm lady fr—?!” His words were effectively, if rudely, severed mid-sentence when Shorty Jim stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth.

“ . . . my brother ‘n me are headed outta here today . . . this afternoon, right after we divvy up the cash, so I suggest ya get it out and start countin’.”

A sigh, borne of pure and simple exasperation exploded from between Bradley Meredith’s lips. “Alright!” he snapped, as he retrieved the cloth sack containing the money from his saddle bags. “The sooner the three of us can part company, the better I’ll like it anyway.”

“UUUURRRRRGGGHHHH!” Joe half-grunted, half-snorted in a desperate bid to forcibly eject the gag from his mouth, that he might tell Bradley Meredith about Miss Ashcroft.

“I want it quiet over there,” Bradley growled, favoring Joe with a threatening glare.

“MMMMGGGGGFFFFFF !”

“Big Jack, why don’t you make yourself REAL useful and knock HIM out ‘til morning, too?” Bradley said as he drew the paper bills from his saddle bags and began to count. “Counting is a very tedious job at best, and I won’t be able to concentrate on doing it properly with all that noise.”

“RRRRGGGGGFFFFFFF!” Joe snarled as loud as the gag in his mouth permitted. A faint moan escaped his lips as Big Jack Slade gamely hit him from behind. The last thing he remembered was the unsettling feeling of pitching forward, before blackness claimed him.

“Mister Cartwright . . . Mister Hoss, supper ready ten minutes,” Hop Sing announced.

Ben and Hoss, both seated on the settee next to the fireplace with a half-played game of Checkers sitting between them on the coffee, table looked up. “Ummmm um! Whatever you’ve cooked up tonight sure smells wonderful,” the latter declared with a broad grin as he inhaled the savory aromas permeating the air.

“Tonight, Hop Sing make roast pork, with buttermilk biscuit, and mashed up potato,” Hop Sing said. “For desert, Miss Stacy favorite. Great big chocolate layer cake and plenty chocolate icing.”

“That’s one o’ MY favorites, too,” Hoss said, licking his lips in anticipation.

“You go out in kitchen, get washed, while Hop Sing go upstairs, get Little Joe and Miss Stacy.”

“Tell ya what, Hop Sing, why don’t you get your sister ‘n her husband to the table, ‘n maybe make up a tray for Mrs. Li, an’ let ME roust out everyone upstairs,” Hoss offered, rising.

“Thank you, Mister Hoss, Hop Sing appreciate very much,” Hop Sing said gratefully.

“How IS Mrs. Li doing today?” Ben asked as he and Hop Sing made their way back toward the kitchen.

“Bad, Mister Cartwright, very, very bad,” Hop Sing replied in a melancholy tone. “Hop Sing take venerable lady food, she not touch. Offer tea and water, she tell Hop Sing no. Sometime, hear venerable lady speak with men she call Singh Chou and Hou Chan. Mei-Ling say those names of husband and oldest son, both dead. Hop Sing worry.”

Hoss, meanwhile, meanwhile, quietly made his way up the stairs, reaching the fast closed door to his sister’s room. “Stacy? Yin-Ling? Shake a leg! Supper’s about ready,” he called out as he knocked. He was very much surprised when Judith Ashcroft opened the door. Yin Ling sat on the edge of Stacy’s bed, with head bowed, and hands clasped in her lap, her fingers loosely interlaced. “Hop Sing said supper’ll be ready in ten minutes, Miss Ashcroft. You ‘n Yin-Ling got just enough time t’ wash up ‘n git to the table.” His eyes darted over the length and breadth of the room searching for his young sister. “Stacy?”

“She’s not here, Mister Cartwright,” Judith said.

“Yin-Ling, have you seen Stacy?”

“Not since you got her up this morning,” Yin-Ling replied, as she dabbed her eyes on the edge of her sleeve.

Her reply left Hoss feeling uneasy. “You both best wash up ‘n git on downstairs. Hop Sing’s a real stickler for comin’ to the table on time.”

“Mister Cartwright— ”

“Please, Miss Ashcroft, call me HOSS. You’re part o’ our family now, leastwise as far as I’M concerned,” he said gently. “Most folks I know don’t call family Mister ‘n Missus.”

“Alright, Hoss . . . if YOU’LL call me Judith,” she said in the calm, quiet tone of sad resignation. “Do you need help looking for Stacy?”

Hoss shook his head. “She’s probably out in the barn with Blaze-Face. I’ll check there after I roust Joe up outta his room.”

Judith nodded. “Come along, Yin-Ling,” Judith turned and gently urged the sad young woman, still seated at the edge of the bed. “We need to go down and wash up for supper.”

“You go ahead, Miss Ashcroft,” Yin-Ling said in a very small, very sad voice. “I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, Young Lady,” Judith said in her firmest school teacher tone of voice, as she crossed the distance between the open door and the bed. “Now come on, let’s wash up.”

Hoss left Judith and Yin-Ling and moved on down the hall to his brother’s room. He knocked first, then walked in. “Supper’s ready, Li’l Brother.”

No answer.

Upon realizing that Joe wasn’t in his room, Hoss’ uneasiness increased a hundredfold, coalescing into a cold, hard lump in the pit of his stomach. He stepped out of Joe’s bedroom, closing the door behind him, and strode briskly down the hall.

“Mister Hoss!” Hop Sing’s voice, a mixture of surprise, apprehension, and a little outrage assailed his ears, as he stepped down off of the last step and started across the great room toward the front door. He stepped out of the downstairs guest room, just as Hoss stepped down off the last step. “Where you go? Supper ready!”

Hoss noted with sinking heart the tray, virtually untouched, that Hop Sing clutched in both hands. “I’ll be back there, Hop Sing. Joe ‘n Stacy ain’t upstairs in their rooms— ”

“Hoss?” It was his father. The worry and apprehension he saw reflected in Ben’s eyes, and etched into the lines and planes of his face, mirrored the same Hoss knew to be in his own.

“They’re probably out in the barn searchin’ that loft high ‘n low for Professor Foote’s book,” Hoss said, in what he hoped was a calm, reassuring tone of voice. “It won’t take me but a second t’ fetch ‘em.”

Ben nodded, but made no move toward the dining room.

Hoss stepped through the front door, and moving at a brisk clip, easily covered the distance between the house and barn. “Joe . . . Stacy,” he called out as he opened the barn door and entered, “suppertime.”

There was no answer.

Hoss glanced up toward the loft. “Joe? Stacy?” he called again.

Again, no answer.

Scowling, Hoss walked over toward the ladder, leading up to the loft over head. “So help me if the two o’ you are hidin’ up there with a pail o’ water, or some such, I’m gonna wash the two of ya up for supper in the trough out front,” Hoss grumbled under his breath, as he started to climb up. Upon reaching the top, he was surprised and dismayed to find the loft completely deserted.

Hoss climbed down the ladder, moving with surprising swiftness, given a man of his height and mass. The minute his feet touched the barn floor, he looked over toward the stalls normally occupied by Cochise and Blaze-Face. Both were empty.

“Hoss . . . . ”

He turned and found himself staring in to his father’s anxious face.

“ . . . did you find them?” Ben asked.

“No, dadburn it, they ain’t here,” Hoss replied, his heart sinking fast, like a mill stone. “Neither are Cochise ‘n Blaze-Face.”

Ben stared over at the two empty stalls in complete and utter dismay. “Damn!” he swore. “So help me, if those two are out playing detective again, the minute I get the two of ‘em home, I’m gonna drag the both of ‘em out to the barn and give them a tanning they’ll NEVER forget!”

“Pa, please . . . . don’t be too hard on ‘em,” Hoss begged. “They’re only tryin’ t’ help.”

“Help?! They could get themselves hurt . . . maybe even killed,” Ben rounded on his biggest son, giving vent to the volatile mix of worry, anger, and exasperation festering inside. “I should’ve KNOWN better than to let them ride out earlier.”

“We’ll find ‘em, Pa, don’t you worry none ‘bout that,” Hoss said, his jaw rigidly set with a grim, obstinate determination. “We’ve got an hour ‘n a half o daylight left, maybe two. I’ll g’won over t’ the bunkhouse, ‘n round up whoever’s there. We’ll search until either we find ‘em, or it gets too dark.”

“I’d better go back and let our guests know what’s happening,” Ben said grimly. “I’ll ask Hop Sing to keep our supper warm. Would you please saddle Buck?”

“You don’t hafta come, Pa. I can handle things.”

“I know, Son, it’s just that I can’t sit by and do nothing.”

That was the kind of thinking that had prompted Joe and Stacy to take up the mantle of private investigator in the first place. They couldn’t just sit by either, while the lives of the Cartwright and Li families went to heck on a handcar moving swiftly downhill. “Like father, like son ‘n daughter,” Hoss murmured, shaking his head.

“What was that, Hoss?” Ben demanded, favoring his second son with a sharp glare.

“Nothin’, Pa,” Hoss sighed. “You do what y’ hafta in the house. I’ll saddle Buck.”

It was going to be a long night.

End of Part 3

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