A Special Friend for Hoss

"They won't make me cry! They won't make me cry!!"

The exhausted boy collapsed in a heap at the edge of the forested pond. A gentle breeze stroked the tall meadow grass and danced with velvet cat’s-paws on the surface of the pond. It was a warm balmy afternoon, but young Hoss Cartwright was in no condition to appreciate the day. He’d left his pony in the stable and run away from school. Clutching his knees tight, the boy squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop the tears.

"Just because I'm big it don't mean I'm different!"

Young Hoss hid his face while the word ‘different’ echoed in his mind. He could see the faces of the children at school crowded around--pointing--and laughing at him. Hoss at nine years old looked big enough to be 13 or 14. He'd always been big for his age. He was painfully shy around the girls, always afraid of breaking something. Since he was so big—the boys were always challenging him to fight. They called him a coward when he refused. He knew that wasn’t true, but it seemed that nobody else at school did. He could bear it with the help of his older brother Adam. But then his brother came down with pneumonia and the doctor hadn’t yet allowed him to go back to school. Adam knew what that meant for his brother but Hoss had told him that he was okay. . . .He wasn’t.

Young Hoss was so lost in his misery that he didn’t hear the heavy footfalls coming through the screen of bushes. He felt rather then heard the regard of the intruder. He opened his eyes and looked up and up and up . . . at the biggest, blackest horse he’d ever seen. The stallion had lowered his head to sniff curiously at the boy crumpled in a heap in the grass. The deep oval shaped brown eyes of the black horse regarded him with open curiosity.

“Golly! . . .” Hoss gulped his voice little more than a squeak.

The black horse jumped at the sound. Hoss’s emotions veered from fear to pity when the animal stumbled. The boy spotted the dried blood on the horses’ right rear hind leg.

“Dang . . . “not wanting to startle the horse any further Hoss’s exclamation was little more than a whisper. This was no ordinary wild mustang. Hoss could see that right off. He remembered that the newly hired Sheriff Coffee had come out to the ranch last week. The new Virginia City sheriff had wanted to talk to his Pa about a valuable stallion that had been stolen in California. Rumor had it that the thieves were headed for the Sierras. The Sheriff had been out making the rounds to alert the ranchers to keep a watch.

The stallion swung back to examine the boy. Hoss knuckled his brain to remember what the Sheriff had said. He’d called the stolen horse an Andalusian. Adam had told him that the bloodlines of such horses went back thousands of years. He found it hard to think about that much history now standing in front of him on four feet. . . Even battered and bedraggled by his time on the loose the horse held himself like a king. The animal didn’t have a totally black coat. Hoss could see white hairs showing through the black. Hoss wondered if the coat had been dyed. He’d heard Sheriff Coffee speculating that that might have been done. Now that he was looking, Hoss thought it likely. The horse stood with his rear foot barely touching the ground. From were he sat the boy could easily see the swelling in the leg. He was dismayed to spot a length of wire embedded in the flesh of the wound.

“Feller you gotta be hurtin’ bad. I wonder how you got away from the crooks that stole ya’.” Hoss breathed, full of sympathy. “My Pa would see that you got the help you needed.” The horse snorted and sniffed the air, taking in the boys’ scent. Young Hoss slowly shifted to his knees as his eyes scanned the brush and forest around the pond. He worried that the crooks might show up to claim their prize. Thus preoccupied the boy forgot his lunch bucket. When he moved the tin box fell against a rock with a loud clang. Startled at the noise the andalusian stumbled again, this time falling to his knees.

As the horse began to panic, young Hoss forgot about any other danger, he knew only that he had to help. He threw himself at the animals head.

“Easy boy! . . . Ya gotta try and hold still . . . or you’ll hurt yourself some more.”

For once Hoss was grateful for his strength as the horse gradually quieted under his hands. His voice was low and reassuring as he urged the horse to relax and lay down. “Now what . . .” thought Hoss, “Helpin’ ole Hank doctor the animals on the ranch is a little different than doin’ it all by your lonesome!!” The horse shifted under his hands. “Easy Bucko, easy now . . .” Hoss soothed.

Hank the oldest ranch hand on the Ponderosa was always calling his animal patients ‘Bucko’.

The stallion again relaxed as a look of trust began to grow in his eyes. Hoss noticed, “Bucko . . . that’s a good boy . . . you cain’t have been free all that long. Is Bucko your name?”

“Huff, huff . . .”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hoss smiled. His hands moved over the horses’ body, removing thorns and other bits of bramble. As he slowly worked down to the wounded leg, he prayed that Bucko wouldn’t react and decide to kick. There was a fairly substantial piece of wire wrapped around the horses’ leg. Several inches were embedded and causing the wound to fester.

“Dadgummit”

Hoss was forever picking up new words from Hank. “Bucko it looks like somebody done tried to snare you with this.” He wondered that the crooks who stole such a valuable animal could do such a thing. Hoss didn’t think that his pocket knife was adequate to the task of removing the wire. That was when he remembered and his hand went to his back pocket.

“I’ll never moan about fixin’ that stinkin’ chicken coop again!”

Hoss produced a pair of wire cutters that yesterday he’d shoved in his back pocket. He’d pulled on the same pair of jeans this morning to wear to school. The stallion trembled as Hoss laid his hand on the wounded leg—but he didn’t move.

“Good boy . . . gooood boy!!” With a sure touch, young Hoss snipped away the wire piece by piece. The horse craned his neck back one or twice to look but he held as still as he could—understanding that the boy was helping.

“Now comes the tough part.” Hoss said. There was only about four inches of wire left. Three inches of which were rooted in the flesh of his patient. Hoss placed a firm hand just below the bulge in the black hide that marked the end of the wire. He started to apply a steadily increasing amount of pressure.

Bucko began to breath faster . . .”Errr Errgh . . .”

“Easy now Bucko — try not to kick me — but if you do I understand . . .” Hoss kept up the pressure. He was grateful to see that it moved freely under the flesh. There was a chance that he could remove it like a big splinter. He took a firm hold on the end and pulled.

“Eeaugghhh!!!!!!” Bucko screamed . . . . He kicked out and tried to scramble to his feet. With only three legs it wasn’t easy. Hoss ducked out of the way of the flashing hoofs and then moved around to the head and grabbed hold, doing his best to help.

“Come on—Bucko! That’s a brave man . . . .” From his lessons with Hank, Hoss knew that he had to get the horse up and walking.
His heart went out the suffering animal as the horse came to a trembling stand on all fours. Fresh blood flowed from the wounded leg.

“Come on now feller let’s get you into the pond. The cold water will help.”

Hoss took off his shirt so he could use it to clean out the wound. Bucko craned his neck around to supervise the operation. The stallion shuddered each time Hoss touched the leg—but he held still, letting young Hoss do a thorough job. The boy plunged deep in the water to dig up some good thick mud to make a poultice. Then he tore his shirt into strips to improvise a bandage. Hoss regarded his work critically.

“The dang thing looks sure to fall off.”

The Andalusian bobbed his head up and down. His dark eyes regarded the boy through a very wet forelock. It was now clear that his coat had been dyed. Now that he was wet the horses’ mane and tail were clearly showing patches of white.

“Eeaahhhh….” Bucko sounded off with a long whinny that sounded like laughter. He reached out with his nose and shoved the boy on the shoulder hard enough to spill Hoss into the water.

Spluttering with laughter the boy came up for air. “Bucko! Is that gratitude?”

Pale blue eyes, met almond shaped brown and communication flowed. For the first time in weeks the boy felt acceptance and support. He had a friend. . . Dripping wet, Hoss got to his feet—one hand went out to scratch the stallion at that precise itchy spot under his jaw. Bucko grunted in pleasure, leaning into the caress. Gently Hoss tugged, urging the horse to step out of the water. Hoss was pleased to note that while he still limped, Bucko was walking on all four feet. Boy and horse stood close together. Hoss murmured words of reassurance. He tried to remove some of the burrs caught in the wild tangles of Buckos’ mane.

“These will have to be cut out.” Hoss said tolerantly.

Bucko lipped at the boys’ hair and then rested his big head on Hoss’s strong shoulder. The horse heaved a sigh. Hoss gulped at the trust being demonstrated by the big stallion. His insides clenched as the enormity of what occurred began to sink in.

“You and me have done a piece of work today. . . But now I gotta get you someplace safe.”

The andalusian swiveled his ears—listening to the boy.

“I dunno if I should leave you here or . . .” The horse lifted his head and nipped at Hoss’s ear. “Ouch!!” One hand clapped to the sore spot while the boy glared; the stallion shook his head and stared right back. After a long moment Hoss gave in. . . “I’m guessin’ that you ain’t about to stay put.”

“Whuff!! . . . “Bucko snorted.

“I’ll take that for a yes.” Bemusement taking over his anger, the boy got a sense of how the horse had managed to get free of the crooks. “Just the same, with that leg, you ain’t fit to go very fast or
far. . . are you plum sure?” The stallion bobbed his head making the strands of his now white forelock go flying in the light breeze. “Stubborn as a mule!” Hoss exclaimed. The stallion whickered softly, lowering his big head to lean against the boys’ chest. Hoss put his arms around Bucko and hugged back. This time his tears were joyful. The warm sunlight filled the meadow. In the trees a lark began to sing. Boy and horse were content with each others company.

“Whuff . . . whuff!!”

“I guess you’re right.” The boy scrubbed his face with a muddy hand. “We best get movin’”

Bucko moved away a few steps.

“The trail back to the road is over here.” Hoss pointed. The stallion bobbed his head and swung to follow. Boy and horse slowly made their way down the forest path. “Now that I figger on it, I remember that Pa was supposed to go out ridin’ with the sheriff today.” Hoss could feel Buckos’ hot breath just on the back of his neck. “They’re lookin’ for you and the crooks that took ya’.” Bucko dropped his chin onto the boys’ broad shoulder. Hoss reached up to rest his hand on the warmth. “If we make it to the road we might, maybe be able to spot ‘em and then you’d be safe.”

The eastern road, between Virginia City and the Ponderosa was what Hoss had in mind. The road made a turn to cross Cold Creek. There was a mixed grove of aspen and pine with tall green grass. It would be ideal to shelter the stallion while Hoss kept watch on the road. He briefly entertained the vision of walking into the school yard with the andalusian at his side. With a laugh he dismissed the idea. “That’d really make me different!” Bucko snorted and lifted his head to sniff at the breeze. Despite his bedraggled appearance Bucko was proud. The horse held himself as if he knew that he was royalty. “Maybe bein’ different ain’t such a bad thing to be . . . As long as a body’s’ got friends.” For the first time Hoss considered that only a few of the children at school persisted in teasing him. Hoss considered that he had been afraid to even look for friends.

There was one boy, Harry. He lived in town. His father was a tinker, making pots, pans and other odd bits to feed his family. More than once he’d given Hoss a warning that his persecutors were laying for him. There was also Hermione, a ranchers’ daughter. Her father ran a small spread on the northern border of the Ponderosa. The girl had knack for small animals. . . Hoss had seen her at lunch, feeding the birds. “Maybe it’s more about first bein’ true to yerself.” Hoss considered that thought for a moment. Instinct told the boy that this was something he should consider and remember. He tucked the thought away in his mind to let it simmer.

“Whuff.” The stallion pricked his ears forward and stopped.

The boy and horse had reached the end of the forest. Together the pair studied the empty road. Hoss turned to his companion.

“Well now, the spot I have in mind is about half a mile that-a-way.” He told the horse. Hoss stepped back to examine the makeshift bandage and poultice. Amazingly, it was still in place. The flesh, while swollen didn’t show any signs of growing worse. Bucko stood patiently, allowing the boy to examine him.

“You look a sight, but if’n you’re game.” The stallion bobbed his head, shoving Hoss toward the road. “I can take a hint!” Hoss laughed. They met no one. Hoss’s charge was delighted with the fresh grass to be found in the pine and aspen grove. Before he went back to watch the road the boy extracted a promise. “Now I’m just gonna go watch fer the posse.” Hoss pulled Buckos’ head down to give him a good scratch. “You gotta promise to stay put!”

“Whuff . . .” the andalusian rumbled deep in his chest. He lipped affectionately at the boys’ fly away hair.

“Now stop that and listen!” Hoss was exasperated. “You ain’t safe. Until those crooks are caught. . .Ya gotta stay hidden.”

The stallions’ eye gleamed as he looked at the boy. Hoss felt the animals’ regard like a physical weight.

“It’ll come out fine . . . just you wait.”

The andalusian huffed once and then turned to slowly walk back to the grove. Hoss watched him go, wanting nothing more than to stay with the horse and hide. “It will, it will!!” he whispered fiercely . . .Holding onto his resolve the boy turned back to the road.

There was a pile of boulders marking where the road-bed turned to cross Coldwater creek. Hoss climbed up to the top figuring that it would be a handy vantage point. At first, Hoss kept diligent watch on the road. But the afternoon sun was heavy on his bare shoulders. He expected any minute to spot his Pa and Sheriff Coffee riding along with the posse. After a long day of searching the countryside, this road was the easiest route back to Virginia City.

Hoss squirmed around, removing some small rocks that were biting at his rear. The bigger rocks around him radiated back the heat of the sun, enfolding him like a blanket. He rubbed his eyes. The glare of the sun was making it hard to see. He stretched out trying to get more comfortable. He closed his eyes, just once to ease them from the glare. Before he knew it—he’d fallen asleep.

“Well, well . . . What have we here?”

Hoss knuckled the sleep out of his eyes. The boy knew instantly that the man who had woken him was not part of the posse. He wore his gun tied down and Hoss remembered seeing him loafing in front of the Bulls Head, one of the seediest saloons in town. Three other men were sitting their horses in the road. Each man looked rough and angry enough to chew nails. Hoss found himself wishing desperately that his older brother Adam was with him. Adam was a fast thinker. . . Well he’d just have to make
do—Bucko was depending on him.

His interrogator had climbed halfway up the rocks and was clearly impatient. “Don’t be an idiot. Speak up kid!”

Thinking of Adam, Hoss took his cue from the question and decided to play for time.

“Gee Mister! . . .Where’d you all come from?” Hoss tried to make his voice sound different. Which wasn’t hard, the tension he was feeling threatened to choke off his vocal cords.

“Never mind that,” the man said impatiently, “How long have you been perched in these rocks?”

Hoss answered with a question of his own, “Mister, you ain’t gonna report me for skippin’ are ya?” He scrunched up his face, trying to generate some first rate tears. Thinking for the first time of his father’s wrath when he found out that his younger son had skipped out on school helped.

One of the other men a red head, shouted, “Paul! He’s just a snot nosed kid. Leave off!”

“I just want to find out if he’s seen the stallion!” Paul snapped.

“I’m tellin’ you we gotta get goin’!” the man snarled, “That posse could come along any minute!”

If that happened Hoss intended to cheer.

“Hey kid.” Paul said, his voice tight with anger, “We’re looking for a black horse. A valuable one; we know he’s in the area . . . . We’ve seen tracks.”

“I dunno Mr . . . I ain’t seen nothin’” Hoss did his best, but he wasn’t very good at lying.

Paul eyed him closely. . .his suspicions aroused. He drew his pistol. . . “Come down from there.” His voice hardened.

Hoss stared and gulped, from his viewpoint the muzzle of the outlaws’ 45 Colt pistol looked as big as a cannon.

“Get down here now!”

“Auw Paul he don’t know nuthin’.” The red head spoke again. “I say let’s go back to the river and check again.”

“Red, I say that you better shut yer yap,” Paul snarled, “Or I’ll shut it for you!”

The other two riders edged their horses away from Red. Suddenly feeling lonely, the red haired outlaw eyed his companions with disgust. “I’m just worried about that posse is all . . . .” Red grumbled. He was careful to keep his hands away from his gun.

“I ain’t letting nobody stand between me and that horse!” Paul shouted.

“Alright, alright.” Red backed down before the man’s fury.

Seeing that the outlaws weren’t paying attention, Hoss started to slip away. But the boy didn’t get far.

“Hold it!!” Paul triggered a shot over Hoss’s head. The boy froze in dismay. “Don’t think I won’t plug a kid!”

Hoss cringed at the evil sound of the bullet whipping over his head. Back in the grove at Coldwater creek the andalusian jerked his head up; his muzzle dripping from the water. He snorted testing the breeze for threat. The great body tensed as the breeze picked up bringing the sought for information. The stallions’ ears flattened as he began to move. In the rocks Hoss was thinking that right now staying in school and enduring the teasing of his peers was looking downright attractive. He cast a desperate look up and down the road as he slowly turned back to obey Paul’s orders. No sign of the posse. No sign of help.

“Get down here kid!!” Paul had to quickly make his point or clearly Red would again push his challenge.

“I don’t know nuthin’ Mr!” the boy cried despairingly.

“I think you’re lyin’” Paul grabbed Hoss and swung him around. The move placed the boy in the middle of the outlaw band. The men scowled and shifted their horses to back their leader’s play. Looking disgusted Red joined in.

Hoss looked at their faces and saw no sympathy. He turned back to Paul. “I was just skippin’ school is all!”

Paul backhanded the boy to the ground. “I don’t believe you boy! This is too far out of town for you just to be skippin’ school! Boy you’re hidin’ something . . . I know it!!” The frustrated outlaw punctuated his point with several well aimed kicks.

Hoss was terrified. But he couldn’t give up Bucko. He wouldn’t. The only thing he could think of now, was to just hang on and maybe the outlaws would give up and go away. If Bucko could stand it—he would too. Fortunately he didn’t have to endure for long.

A deep angry voice echoed off the rocks. “You touch that boy again and I’ll kill you!!!”

Hoss gave a sob of relief, “Pa!”

Intent on the boy the outlaws hadn’t seen the arrival of the posse. Sheriff Coffee had spread his men in a line across the road. The posse already had their rifles out. The men were pleased at getting the drop on the outlaws. A breeze kicked up dust devils in the road. The stallion was now at the edge of the grove. His eyes began to flame with anger. The hated scent was fresh and strong.

“Get over here Hoss.” A grim faced Ben Cartwright was sitting his big rawboned buckskin horse next to the sheriff.

Paul jerked the boy to his feet; putting his pistol to the boys head. “I don’t think so.”

With the bore of the pistol grinding in Hoss’s ear; it was a stand off. “Pa!” Hoss gulped.

“Now let’s all just back up a minute here.” Sheriff Coffee put up a cautioning hand. “Don’t you boys do anything stupid.” Next to him Ben’s face had turned dark as a thundercloud. The other outlaws traded uneasy looks. Grim faced, the men of the posse held their rifles steady.

“That’s right,” Paul growled, “You be a smart sheriff and let us go.”

“Now so far you boys is just wanted for horse thieving.” Roy countered, “Lets not make it murder.”

“Roy!” Ben Cartwright’s voice was shaking with rage. “That’s my son!”

“Now Ben, just give me a minute to do my job!”

“You don’t have a minute law dog.” Paul interrupted. “Let us go now or I shoot the kid!”

“Eaaghh!!” An earsplitting scream shattered the air. . . His eyes red with rage the andalusian stallion charged—heading straight for Paul. Bucko would never forget what that man had done.

For Hoss things seemed to be stuck in slow motion. His Pa . . .Sheriff Coffee even the other outlaws seemed to be frozen. Only Paul was moving and he was swinging his pistol to take aim at his friend the oncoming Bucko.

“You devil!!” Paul shouted, “No horse can get the better of me!!”

“Noooo!!!!” Hoss screamed. With all his considerable strength he grabbed the outlaws’ gun-hand and squeezed. “Don’t you hurt him!” All at once everything came unstuck.

Hoss’s move had put the boy between the stallion and his prey. Horrified Ben spurred his horse forward his rifle raised, to protect his son. Roy Coffee and the rest of the posse moved on the other outlaws. Bucko recognized the threat of the rifle and let loose another angry scream. Frustrated, the stallion veered off to wait for another chance. Reluctant to shoot such a splendid animal Ben slowly booted his rifle. For the moment Bucko was content to snort and glare balefully—from a distance. Ben was willing to let the horse be—he dismounted to go to his son.

For Hoss, everything was a blur. The rescue of the stallion had been the only good thing that had happened to him in nearly a month. It was past time for some payback. The only thing he saw was the pale sweaty face of Paul. This man had threatened and apparently abused a defenseless animal. “Don’t you hurt him!” Hoss cried again. Astounded at the strength of the grip on his gun hand; Paul tried to break free. His pistol had dropped into the dirt. He struck out. Hoss didn’t even feel it. . . there came a sickening crack and the outlaw screamed. His hand was broken. Paul went to his knees and clutched futilely at Hoss.

“Don’t you hurt him!” Hoss repeated.

The other men, outlaws and posse all stared, awestruck. Even Ben was hesitant. He knew Hoss was strong, but this? Proud; worried and afraid all at once Ben stepped forward.

“Hoss! Son—let him go!” His father’s arms around him, the scent of his tobacco—his deep voice finally registered.

Hoss let the outlaw go and turned to his father. Sense returned to his eyes. The boy was horrified at what he’d done. “Oh Pa!”

Ben went to his knees to comfort the sudden wild tears of his remarkable young son.

“It’s alright. . .Whatever comes . . . we’ll work through it.” Ben murmured. “You—me and Adam your Ma . . . together—we’re family!”

The boy stood with his hands clenched at his sides. He was very near the edge; afraid to even reach out. His father cursed himself for his own blindness. For the last month he’d been worried about Adam being so sick. His attention was also taken up with Marie and the new baby Joseph. But that was no excuse! Ben cursed himself. Hoss was different; Ben knew that—he should have been paying closer attention!!

Ben reached out to hug his son. Hoss didn’t move away. But he didn’t respond. He just continued to cry bitter tears. Watching the astounding scene, Roy Coffee shook himself to his senses. He began to organize the men. Intending to get Ben Cartwright and his son into town; getting the boy to a doctor was the only thing the sheriff could think of to do.

“Uh Sheriff?” one of the posse men asked. “What about the stallion?”

Bucko had stayed nearby to watch events. His instincts told him that his tormentor was finished. . . Now all he wanted to do was go to the boy who had helped him—but he was stopped by the presence of so many men. When Roy turned to look at him Bucko returned the regard—look for look.

“I suppose we could get a rope on him.” The sheriff was dubious.

The stallion snorted and shook his head. His ears were flicking back and forth. His nostrils were working to take in the scents of these new men. . . Bucko was uncertain. He inhaled—seeking the scent of cruelty.

“I dunno,” said the posse man. “Even hurt like he is, a horse like that is a handful.”

“Well we can’t just leave him!” Roy was frustrated. He was a lawman—not a horseman. The men of the posse were all from town and would be no help. That was why he’d asked Ben Cartwright to join them. . .but the big rancher had enough worries to deal with right now. The Ponderosa wasn’t too far away; maybe they could send a message.

Reluctantly Roy started forward, “Ben . . .”

At the same moment the andalusian made his decision. He took a few slow steps and whickered entreatingly.

Open mouthed, Roy stopped to watch as a fiery stallion turned himself into a placid pony.

Bucko walked right up to Hoss and rested his head on the boys’ shoulder. Ben also watched in amazement, as his son came to life. With a cry of joy the boy turned to embrace the horse. The proud stallion pressed his head against the boys’ chest and gave a huge sigh of contentment.

“Well I’ll be a monkeys’ Uncle.” Roy whispered.

Ben stood up and quirked a smile. He turned to trade glances with the sheriff. Both men knew that they were seeing something special.

“Pa?”

“Yes son?”

“I’d like you to meet my special friend.”

Epilogue; Two days later

“Hoss?”

“Yeah Adam?”

“Are you okay?”

There was no moon. The brothers were sitting out on the flat portion of the roof outside of Hoss’s window. The stars shone like diamonds in the black velvet sky. It was their favorite spot. Adam wore his coat in deference to his recent illness. After consultation with Marie, their Pa had remitted Hoss’s punishment for skipping school. . .just this once.

“I figger so.”

The voice of the north meadow creek rose to fill the silence. An owl spoke its question to the night.

“You need to stop bottling up your feelings.”

Hoss laughed at the irony. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black!”

Silence reigned again on the rooftop as Adam conceded the point. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

“Twasn’t yer fault that ya got sick.” Hoss said loyally, “I was gonna have to be on my own sometime . . .an meetin’ up with Bucko—that was worth anything!”

“That sure is a special horse.”

“Yes.”

Silence—while Adam considered the wealth of feeling his brother packed into that one word.

“It’s amazing how he trusts you and is so suspicious of anyone else.”

“Bucko is one smart animal.” Hoss said proudly, “He knows who is his friend.”

“Think you could introduce me?”

“Be glad to older brother.”

Silence on the rooftop—the brothers could hear heavy footsteps in the room below. The flat roof was directly over their Pa’s office. He often got up to pace—when he was working on the ranch accounts. Through the window behind them could be heard the sounds of Marie, dressing baby Joseph for bed. . .he didn’t want to go.

“Pa had no choice but to send that letter.” Adam said. That morning Ben Cartwright had written to the legal owners of the andalusian stallion. The letter informed them that the horse had been rescued and was being cared for at the Ponderosa.

“I know.” Hoss’s voice was little more than a whisper.

“A horse like that. . .Pa’d have to mortgage the ranch to buy him.”

“I know that too.”

Silence . . . .

“Hoss?”

“Adam . . .I talked with Hank.” Hoss sought to steady his breathing. “Hank says that it’ll be two months, maybe three afore Bucko is fit enough for the trail back to San Francisco. So we’ll have at least some time to spend together. Then when his owners do come. . .I’m gonna ask them if’n they’ll let me come visit. . . .If I kept up with my school work . . .I think Pa’d take me with him when he goes to Frisco next fall.”

Adam’s face was a pale blur in the dark as he regarded his younger brother and his remarkable speech.

“Hoss?”

“What? . . .”

“I think that that’s a smart idea. . . good for you!”

“Heck older brother . . . it comes from hangin’ around you and Pa.” Hoss returned, “That stuff kinda rubs off on a body.”

Adam’s delighted laughter rang out.

“Boys!?” Their Pa’s voice was a muted bellow.

“Pa?”

“Get to bed!!”

Sniggering with laughter the brothers turned their backs to the stars and climbed back inside the house. With a rattle and a bang—the window was shut and true silence descended . . . but since this was the Cartwright household—it wouldn’t last.

Fini
Marcia Lee
July 2006

RETURN TO LIBRARY