Author's Note: I am eternally grateful to Mr. Dortort for allowing us, the fans to play in the world he created. This story originally started as a 'What Happened Next' to the episode of Bonanza titled 'The Savage'. However in the writing, the tale took some interesting twists. The end result is more precisely described as, inspired by this popular episode. I also thank the original writers of 'The Savage', Joe Stone and Paul King. This story ended up with much of their work included in the telling.
I also thank all those who were kind and tolerant enough to do ‘beta-reads’ of my writing to help me out. Any and all remaining spots that make a reader go ‘huh?’ are entirely my fault. I hope that you enjoy the ride!!

“Upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all” -- Alexander the Great

‘Whither Thou Go’est’

Prelude

Coyote preferred to remember the present and not the past. Unfortunately the two often got tangled, creating a mess.
His friend Raven had warned him that something bad might happen. But Coyote had been too busy having fun. Grinning mirthlessly, the spirit sat square on his animal haunches and lifted his nose to test the night. As usual Raven was right—trouble was brewing. What was to come posed a real threat to both spirit and mortal creatures, he welcomed the challenge.
Long ago the ancient Indian people had sought power for powers’ sake alone. Their seeking had reached into a place beyond the walls of the world and had awakened a thing of evil. It was a black presence, a Worm that fed on the very essence of life. This black presence had sensed the open trail to a new world and lusted after the fresh hunting ground. It offered power to the seekers if they would open the door to earth. Those men, full of their own lust, had willingly accepted the bargain. The rest of the tribe quickly became victims and slaves. In time only a pitiful few of the clans remained free.
Those remaining folk petitioned for help. At that time, Coyote had been sent to answer their plea. But what man had set free, only man could truly bind. A binding it would have to be, for the Worm was not of this world and could not be killed. Coyote instructed the people on how to petition a senior spirit, White Buffalo. A woman stepped forward to serve as a host and through her White Buffalo explained to the people what must be done.
The Worm was bound into the rocky vaults of what would become the Mountain of the Dead. The price of that binding was grievous, but the people willingly paid that price in order to preserve the future. The survivors were only a pitiful few. Only the wind remains to mourn the loss . . . . Blowing dust and grit through their empty homes.
The story of that ancient fight against evil soon faded in legend and myth. Uncounted years passed and the memories of the danger bound beneath the mountain were forgotten.
In the present day, family clans of Indians came to the mountain to enjoy the rich hunting and fishing. For hundreds of years the evil worm slumbered; but at last the bindings grew thin. It began to dream; it knew hunger; driven by that need it awoke. It rediscovered its’ prison, it wanted freedom, but first it needed to feed . . . The Spotted Pony clan of the Shoshone came and settled on the river meadows of the mountain to hunt and fish. At first the people were happy for the game was plentiful and life was good.
The Worm sensed their presence. Death visited the people—and they didn’t know why.
Coyote, since he was present at the beginning, is given the task to orchestrate a new binding. The host he needs is in place on the mountain, but she is blocked. There is not time to find another. Therefore to open the path, a key must quickly be found and time was short.

Chapter One
Shortcuts can be Perilous
Adam
Adam's heart was pounding. . .He was in the grip of a nightmare. A hurricane of confusing sounds and images were sweeping through his mind. He saw as if he was looking through a picture window, the wiry grizzled shape of a yellow-eyed coyote. The animal trotted into view from around a large boulder. The grizzled creature sat down and seemed to look straight at him. Alarm bells rang in his mind, but it was already too late. The yellow eyes began to flare and grow. Adam tried to look away, but he found himself trapped. . . .The yellow fire blazed like the sun, it grew and grew. Adam redoubled his efforts, if the fire touched him—he somehow knew that he would be lost. His breath burned, he could feel the sizzling heat on his skin.
“No!!”
The raw denial rang loud in the breathless dark. He found himself sweating and twisted in his blankets, breathing like a winded horse. “What a nightmare!!” It was a physical effort to focus on the forest of lodge pole pine that surrounded his lonely campsite. The narrow trees stood tall and silent, darker shapes in a black night. There were no clouds. To the east he could see the faint milky glow of a waning moon filtered through the trees.
As a boy on the trail coming west, Adam had thrilled to tales of spooks and legends. Today, Adam Cartwright the grownup, put little stock in such myths. He had worked hard to build a life based on practical realities. What had woken him; it was only a dream—wasn’t it? He shivered with a sudden chill. He scrambled to his knees as the deep dark of the night was suddenly filled with voices, howling in a primitive lupine aria.
“What in. . . ?” he rasped, as he reached for his pistol.
In the fading grip of nightmare he couldn’t be sure if the primitive music he heard was real or imagined. He took deep deliberate breaths, striving for control. The gun was a comforting weight in his hand. Gradually the howling music faded away. Time and the night resumed a normal flow. For a long moment Adam waited in the dark. He heard the waters of Willow Creek burbling away; the pungent smell of manure marked where Sport was tethered; the big sorrel stamped his foot, waking at Adam’s movement. All was quiet---normal.
“Must have been a bad batch of beans.” Adam commented to his horse, reaching for a slim bit of humor. On the other side of the banked campfire, Sport craned his neck to look at Adam; the sorrel’s dark eyes gleamed in the night. The gelding was better than any camp sentry and would have warned him if there had been a real threat.
“Yeah right. . . .” Embarrassed at his fright Adam holstered the pistol and laid back into his blankets.
He sighed, staring up at the stars through the black tracery of the forest trees overhead. Deliberately he turned his thoughts to consider the last few days. His trip to Nevada City had been successful. Ira Fairbanks had been detailed and specific in his talk on windmills. It had been well worth the argument with his father for Adam to attend. Now all he had to do was plan how to convince his father to spend the money!
Approach Ben Cartwright with a poor argument and the man would growl and scowl and make Adam feel like he was ten years old. Adam hated that feeling. Gazing up, Adam sighed; the stars were giving him no answers tonight. He could just see the edge of Orion through the trees. Behind him to the north Adam knew that he would find the Big Dipper. The presence of both constellations meant that it was the season of change. Summer was fading; the cold nights of the fall season would soon arrive.
Adam frowned counting the days. Next week, or was it the week after--was the autumnal equinox. That was when day and night were in balance. That was the time when by the stars, the summer days gave way to the long dark cold days of winter. Adam’s lips twitched with a smile remembering the astronomy class he’d taken in college. The young professor teaching the course had been obsessed with the mathematics of mapping the sky.
Adam had learned the stars from his father and from years of living in the West. He’d taken the course because it was the only way to get close enough to examine the construction of the great telescope in the observatory. Adam had spent the rest of his class time smuggling female companionship into the dark corners of the domed building. The professor had never caught on. Adam rearranged his blankets smiling at the memory.
“Best get some sleep.” He told himself. Orion was high in the night sky, which meant that it was late.
If he got an early start Adam figured that he could make Eagle Heights and the eastern corrals on the edge of the Ponderosa by sundown. He began to figure his route through the scrub desert and salt flats. It would be a tricky ride once he left the green oasis of this mountain forest. Abruptly he realized what he was doing.
He began to laugh ruefully. “Face it partner," he thought, "You’re stalling! You’re afraid to go back to sleep!” The dream images had been so vivid. Adam had never before experienced the like. “Little Joe has always been the dreamer in the family.” Adam thought, remembering his brother as a little boy and the tall tales Joe would dream up. “Usually as an excuse to get out of doing chores!” Adam had gained considerable practice ferreting out the truth in helping to raise his youngest brother. Adam laughed softly speculating what Joe would make of his dream. Idly Adam considered possible influences from the nearby Mountain of the Dead.
The ‘Mountain of the Dead’ loomed over the plains. It stood alone, apart from the other peaks of the Sierra mountain range. Its dark black cliffs frowned at the world in solitary splendor. Lower down, the mountain’s flanks were covered with a forest rich and full of game. The mountain was a green oasis, surrounded by miles of barren rocky desert. The local Indians considered the mountain holy. It was the only major landmark to be seen for miles. White men called it haunted.
More than one tribe used the high shoulders of the mountain to bury their dead. Every so often white hunters would come, attracted by the rich hunting. But for those who came, their hunting luck almost always turned bad. Last year a party of four men from Carson City had gone hunting on the mountain. They had vanished. The search parties never found them. Yet even the most rabid Indian haters had stayed silent. . . The Mountain of the Dead kept its own secrets.
The regular wagon road from Nevada City avoided the mountain. The road traveled wide to the north before veering west for Carson and Virginia cities. Following the road would add several days, to the trip home. Normally this wouldn’t bother him. But last night Adam had veered off to head directly west, towards the Ponderosa. The ranch was short handed—it would help his case with his father if he got home early.
He believed a five-day trip could be cut to two. Tomorrow he planned to cut across the salt flats to reach the Tahoe heights and the far-eastern border of the Ponderosa. Then it would only be one more day’s trip to reach the ranch headquarters and home. Tonight’s camp on Willow Creek was just within the borders of the forest of Mountain of the Dead. He wasn’t going to stay but the one night and had no intention of hunting. Adam had figured there could be no harm in this shortcut.
Off in the distant night he could hear the night-wind stirring in the forest. It was as if the trees themselves moved in a slow, ponderous conversation. Stifling a yawn, Adam turned on his side, trying to get comfortable. There was just the barest hint of frost in the night air. He re-arranged his blankets, pulling them up over his head for warmth. Unbidden, a smile came to his face remembering a boy’s defense against night born fancies. He decided to add an adult measure and began to recite the multiplication tables; somewhere at around 15 times 12 he fell asleep. Off in the night, the trees continued to murmur in endless conversation.

****
Just within the screen of the trees a dark furry shape watched the camp. Twin lamps of yellow-eyed fire flared in the gloom. "It's a pity that White Buffalo requires a woman. " was Coyotes' thought. "It's gonna take some. . . to get the woman in proper shape." the spirit eyed the bundled blankets beside the fire. "Cartwright will prove handy for that --- he might even live to enjoy it."

Chapter Two
Pre-Dawn on the Mountain
Ruth
A huge old incense cedar stood high on the western shoulder of the Mountain of the Dead. Its bark was unusually thick and fragrant, making it prized and sacred to the Indian. Over the centuries the old tree had spread its branches wide, holding back a forest of its lesser cousins and thus creating a cove of open air and sunlight. In one corner a tiny little spring-fed pond reflected back the gray of the pre-dawn. From the foot of the old cedar the view of the lowlands was breathtaking. The brown, red and yellow of the desert spread itself like a bright quilt at the foot of the mountain. In the far reaches of the sky the rough peaks of the Sierras bordered the horizon. At night the broad expanse wrapped the mountain like a protective blanket. Occasionally the red spark of a campfire rode the far dark, marking the camp of a lonely traveler.
A soft pre-dawn breeze murmured in the branches of the old giant. The sweet notes of a single meadowlark welcomed the day. Ruth stepped out of the trees and smiled. The saucy bird was an old friend. His throat and breast were like a bit of bright yellow sunlight dancing in the trees. The bird ceased its song and flew down to a lower branch just over her head and cocked his head to look at her. “You are bold today!” she told it. Even in the morning light the black crescent on the birds’ chest shone like the lapels of a formal jacket. The meadowlark chattered and chirped impatiently. She laughed and in response to the demand, scattered the crumbs from her breakfast in the grass. The largess prompted the appearance of the darker, less brightly colored mate of the meadowlark. The feathered pair made short work of her offering. She smiled and walked out into the meadow.
This was her favorite time of day. The barest hint of gray in the east promised the arrival of the sun and a new day. The sweet grass stirred in the warm breeze, for despite the lateness of the season—summer lingered in the meadow. Ruth spread her arms, dancing to welcome the sun into the sky. A nameless tune stirred in her mind—about her feet the scattering of tiger lily, shooting star, and blue cup and brittlebush made an appealing display. Ruth lived each day in the present. For her the past was best forgotten. Each day was new and to be cherished. So it had been for uncounted days on the mountain . . .until the dreams started. Dreams that disturbed her peace; dreams her mind didn’t want to accept.
Her dance brought her to the base of the old tree. The joy in her gray eyes became shadowed as she remembered why she came. Whenever she was troubled Ruth came to sit at the foot of the old incense cedar. Now she sank down to sit cross-legged in the grass. The branches of the old giant swayed above her head. The comforting scent of the bark reached out to surround her. The deep roots of the old cedar formed a natural backrest. She leaned into its embrace and closed her eyes—seeking the old tree’s ancient spirit as she had done so often before, to sooth her fractured
thoughts. . . .But rather than relief, the dream returned with crushing force.
She saw a dark-haired man, a white man, with the lean-muscled body of a warrior. She felt a heat in her thighs, a flush in her face at his nearness. He looked at her with hooded eyes that flashed with the look of eagles. Despite her bodily response, she was afraid. As she watched, the man turned away from her to stand tall against a gathering storm—at his side loomed a massive white buffalo. The animal pawed the earth and bellowed; thunder shattered the heavens. The white warrior stood defiant against a great evil. He shouted. Lightning struck—and he was gone.
“No!!” Ruth started up. Frightened, her eyes took in the meadow, almost expecting to see her dream take form. There was nothing—she felt the silence of the morning almost as a physical weight. The first rays of the sunrise slanted through the forest. The meadowlark flew up to his perch and resumed singing. In the dawn-light the surrounding trees cast long shadows upon the grass. Ruth sat down, hugging her knees and fought back her tears.
“It’s not fair.” She whispered to the wind. She resented the fact that her hard-won peace was being threatened. For Ruth anything beyond the present moment was to be feared. At her back the old cedar flexed and shifted—Ruth found her senses overwhelmed as she began to remember.
Coyote had been moving among the dead, the violence of the killing had clouded the clan’s path to the Great Spirit Wakan Tonka. Coyote and his good friend Raven had come to help and to provide guides for the murdered dead. It had been Ruth’s sheer determination to survive the massacre of the Bannock clan that had first drawn their attention.
They had watched with interest as Ruth defended herself against the killers. When she struck back, Coyote had approved. He had sensed that her heart was of the People. It had pleased his fancy to help Ruth find sanctuary on the Mountain of the Dead. Coyote thought she would be a perfect fit. Raven had advised against this, predicting disaster. But Coyote was reckless, and ignored his friend’s warnings. Croaking his disapproval, Raven flew away. The next burial party of Indians, a group of Paiutes, dropped everything and ran when they spotted Ruth. They thought she was a ghost. For Coyote the expressions on their faces had been priceless. Hearing Coyote’s laughter, the poor folk had run away even faster.
Now more than a year later, Ruth sat under the old cedar oblivious to the splendor of the morning. Fear and anger chased through her mind; her thoughts began to veer to even older memories, the fears of a child abandoned and alone in the wilderness.
“No!!” She surged to her feet in denial. “My place is here!!” Ruth surged to her feet away from the old cedar. She shoved those treacherous memories back into their box and closed the lid. “This is my world! This is where I have peace!” Her voice echoed in the air—a defiant protest to this new dream sending. “I will not have this man . . .I will not!”
Even as she voiced her claim, Ruth was aware that she might not have a choice . . ..

****
Deep beneath her feet, imprisoned at the very roots of the Mountain, a restless darkness flowed. In it's most basic form the evil knew only hunger. As it fed, higher thought processes were regained. Gaining substance by the hour, its black coils churned and flowed like a nest of snakes. It had discovered the presence of Coyote. "Caution!!" With the return of thought came fear and cunning. It remembered the enemy. Should it move now? Perhaps not. The creatures' memory was spotty. It would continue to gather strength and seek knowledge.

Chapter Three
He’s Gonna be Late Getting Home
Adam
Warmth and hot breath, Adam shifted in his blankets, his body responding to a very different dream . . . She was there, she had wheat colored hair and gray eyes . . . She stood before a bonfire, every curve of her body outlined in flames. She smiled, her voice was music on the air, calling to him . . . Adam felt the heat grow to an aching need—then abruptly he smelled grass and earth . . . Adam woke up with a start and began to laugh. It was Sport! His horse had pulled loose his picket and was breathing in Adam’s face and nibbling on his ear.
“Hey what’s the matter boy?” Firmly discarding the haunts of the night. Adam reached out to scratch under the gelding’s halter. Unaccustomed to the angle, Sport nevertheless leaned into the caress. Then the gelding shoved his rider hard with his nose. Adam glanced at the lightening sky; sunrise was near, “Okay, okay I’ll get up!”
To the east the sky was showing many colors of gray, layered like frosting over the night dark earth. High up, a few scattered clouds were iced with just the palest sprinkle of pink to herald the coming sunrise. To the west, land and sky still held the night’s darkness as if reluctant to give way to the brightening day. Despite his university education Adam was still a cowboy at heart. He found a special delight in the fresh scent of a new day. Sport gave him another ungentle nudge. “All right, you tyrant!” Adam laughed. He put on his hat first, and then he shook out his boots, prudently dislodging any crawlers before inserting his size twelve’s into the well-worn leather. He retied Sport and then he stirred up the fire, adding the fresh wood he’d gathered the night before. As the flames began to explore the new fuel Adam positioned a flat rock for a cooking hearth. Then he made a quick trip to the creek, filling the fire-blackened coffeepot with fresh water. It would take awhile for the water to boil. So Adam got up and went to the bushes to take care of some other essential business.
From where he stood in the gray pre-dawn, he could just see the rocky peak of the Mountain of the Dead. Curious, he frowned at it. Something didn’t seem right. Adam walked further into the forest. There was another smaller meadow where he could get a better view of the peak. It was crowned with sheer black cliffs. He decided that it looked rather like a mythical castle rising out of the darkness. Only within this fortress lived no men of chivalry or women of courage. As the rising sun began to climb above the horizon the black cliffs didn’t seem to reflect the light, rather the rocky walls absorbed it. Adam felt a chill travel down his spine.
The rush of tiny wings caused Adam to jump. His hand grabbing for the gun he’d left back in camp. He turned to see a flock of little finches join the day. The females were brown with a scattering of black feathers on their heads and shoulders. The males made a brighter display with a dusting of red on their heads and wings. They skipped and hopped from the trees to the ground and back again. One particularly bold little female perched herself on a salmon berry bush right next to him. Adam set aside his nebulous worries and smiled, amused at the little bird’s antics. Her cheery song welcomed the sun into the sky. The flock’s morning music lifted his spirits. Back in the campsite clearing Sport let loose with a full-throated whinny.
Adam laughed outright, “All right, all right! Breakfast is coming!” Whistling a cheery song of his own, Adam turned his back on the shadowed mountain.
The earth was already warming rapidly to the day when Adam walked back into camp. He dropped a generous handful of coffee into the boiling water and picketed Sport next to the creek where the gelding could find some tender browse for his breakfast. The high banks of the creek were thick with brushy willows and green grass. Adam sweetened the horse’s meal with a handful of oats and corn. Sport showed his appreciation by quickly eating the treat and searching Adam’s shirt pockets for more.
“No more, you greedy son.” Adam replied, with a chuckle talking to his horse as a man does who is often alone. “I saved that for you since we have a long way to go today.” The sorrel skipped to the end of his tether, tail and ears cocked, plainly showing his opinion of his rider’s plans.
“You’re full of it, my boy.” Adam laughed again, he turned back to the fire and the now- enticing smell of coffee; refusing the gelding’s offer to play. Sport stood for a moment watching, and then he huffed and switched his tail. He bent his head to examine the grass along the creek, found a patch to his liking and started the second course of his breakfast. For Adam it was fry-bread and bacon for his morning meal. He scraped some coals out of the fire to generate the necessary, hot, even heat and rearranged the stones to support the heavy iron fry pan. Bread and bacon was quickly cooked. Plate in one hand and coffee in the other, Adam leaned back against his overturned saddle and found himself in agreement with Sport. This was too good a camp to leave. The morning was perfectly still, the earth itself seeming to stretch in lazy contentment under the morning sun.
Off in the distance the voice of Willow Creek Falls rang loud in the morning air. A flight of ducks soared by overhead, the beat of their wings adding to the song of the morning. The birds were heading for the pool at the base of the falls. High up in the treetops a busy squirrel called out to its neighbor. While getting water for the coffee Adam had spotted the sleek shapes of several fat brook trout. Lounging by the fire he heard a splash. A fish was jumping, seeking its own breakfast. Beyond the creek Adam caught a flash of sunlight on a brown hide. A pair of mule deer stepped warily out of the forest. Short tails twitched, as the animals took a long look at Sport grazing on grass and willow shoots. Adam held very still, there was no wind and only a few wisps of smoke from his fire.
One dainty step, then another, big ears the source of the mule deer’s name flicked from side to side. One delicate muzzle dipped to the creek for a drink, while the other watched. Then it was its partner’s turn for a drink while the first deer nibbled on some willow shoots. Not needing to hunt the animals, Adam simply watched, delighting in their grace and movement.
Behind him the trees began to sway with a rising breeze that stirred his fire, carrying his scent across the meadow. The mule deer froze, noses taking in the sudden man smell. The breeze strengthened, the deer’s tails went up in alarm and they bounded off back into the forest. Adam tracked them easily, following the white fluff of fur on the underside of their tails. He sat back with a relaxed sigh; the forest was filled with game. If he were a hunter instead of a rancher, coming to this mountain would be hard to resist. He poured himself another cup of coffee. The finches, having followed Adam to camp, continued their busy chatter in the forest nearby. Several of the little birds were scratching around in the dirt next to the fire looking for crumbs.
Amused, Adam obliged. A pair of aggressive camp robber jays promptly joined the finches. The larger birds, gray-feathered bodies with black tipped wings and black heads bullied the finches away from the food. “Here you greedy birds.” Adam tossed the remains of his breakfast from his plate in a wide arc; feathers and wings dashed in pursuit. With a sigh Adam got up to shave, clean his gear, pack up and saddle Sport. Sitting aboard the gelding’s broad back Adam turned for one last look at the pretty little campsite. The grassy meadow was bordered on one side by the creek, the water made a lopsided u-turn creating a cove of grass backed up by the forest. The trees, mostly lodge pole pine, provided an excellent windbreak and plenty of wood. It was a beautiful morning for travel; warm but not too hot. “I’m going to remember this spot.” Adam said, Sport tossed his head impatiently, the gelding’s powerful hindquarters shifted from one side to the other, the sorrel loved the long trail as much as his rider and was ready to get going. Adam touched his heels to Sport’s side and horse and rider threaded their way through the forest, heading west for the Ponderosa.

****
Coyote trotted out of the trees. The spirit was almost starting to regret his choice. "This one is deeper than he looks." Coyote said to himself. He sat on his haunches in the middle of the campsite, curling his bushy tail about his feet. "But then that's what I've always liked about humans." Coyote watched horse and rider leave, his yellow eyes gleaming with calculation. A hot breeze began to blow. A plume of dust sprang up and the grizzled spirit was gone.

****
Deep within at the very roots of the mountain the Worm twisted and turned, trying to decide what to do. Blackness flowed--shaped itself . . "Caution!! a careless step now would mean disaster.!" The world had changed since the binding, it needed to spy out the land. It needed information on what the enemy was planning. The creature hissed in frustration. The walls of its prison while weakened, were still strong. Twisting in darkness un-graced by the light of man the Worm considered. "It needed a host! If not a human there were others that could serve." High up on the black peak of the mountain a flock of crows had made the heights their home. The creatures squawked in protest as their eyes began to glow with dark fire.

****

In less than a mile Adam’s plans abruptly changed. He came across the trail of two horses and a pack mule all shod—which meant white men, undoubtedly hunters. The tracks were fresh and headed straight for the Mountain of the Dead.
“Damn fools!” Adam’s face turned grim. The Indians were very protective of their holy mountain. Adam wavered for a moment; it wasn’t his business—he’d made good time, his own trail lay before him out into the desert. Adam could see a dust devil playing among the rocks; Sport tossed his head waiting for a decision. Adam took his hat off, wiping the sweat from his hatband. “Damn!!” He repeated as he put his hat back on and turned Sport back to the forest to follow the trail of the hunters, hoping to turn the men back and prevent a tragedy. Adam lost the tracks twice, losing valuable time. The sun had risen high in the sky casting only short shadows on the earth when Adam pulled out of the forest onto open ground. The land was visibly higher now. At this vantage Adam couldn’t see the black cliffs of the peak. A collection of large rocks and boulders were scattered across this shoulder of the mountain. They formed a stone barrier to further progress.
There were no tracks on the rocky ground. Off to the left Adam spotted a gap, maybe a way through, he lifted Sport to a faster pace only to pull up abruptly. Two Indian lances decorated with feathers stood guard in the middle of the trail. The razor sharp lance-heads were driven into the ground, a clear warning against further progress. Adam paused; his eyes were dark and wary as he surveyed his surroundings. He felt watched. He was
right . . .But his gaze slid right over the big yellow-eyed coyote lazily sprawled on the rocks. The grizzled spirit panted silently, patiently waiting for just the right moment. What Adam saw was a short rocky canyon that was an ideal place for an ambush. Sport shifted nervously, feeling his rider’s tension. Warily Adam slipped the thong from his pistol. He was unwilling to continue until he spotted the hoof prints in the dust—the same ones he’d been following all morning. Adam’s gaze lifted from the ground to check the surrounding rocks. He leaned forward in the saddle transferring his attention to the trail in the dust. Adam had no intention of moving until he was ready. He let his eye trace the route down the hill. He quickly spotted the bodies. Two men were dead on the ground. Arrows were growing from their backs. One man was lying in the open. The other had fallen running for shelter, his body partially hidden in the rocks.
Adam’s back between his shoulders began to itch. Indians wouldn’t care that he wasn’t here to hunt. They would only see another white man, desecrating their holy ground. He took another wary look around. The killings had to have only just happened; buzzards hadn’t yet begun to gather. Common sense told him to turn around and leave. His face grim Adam sent Sport forward past the lances and to one side. Common sense or no—he had to check. The men might have families and he couldn’t leave the bodies out in the open for the birds and scavengers. Adam dismounted, draping Sport’s reins over a spiny, twiggy bush of mountain heather. Standing for a moment Adam checked the surroundings again. There was no sound, no sight of threat in the rocks. His hand went to the reassuring walnut grip of his pistol, the weight comfortable on his hip. Sweat formed between his shoulder-blades, he could feel his shirt sticking to his back. Slowly, cautiously Adam stepped forward, going down on one knee to check the first body. As expected, the fellow was dead. But it posed a question. The body hadn’t been looted or scalped but the horses were gone. He got up, stepping over the body to go check the other one.
Abruptly came a shout, a voice—Adam’s hand flashed for his gun. He crouched, ready to run or fight, all too aware that he was in the open, far from any cover. The voice came again, an Indian, after a space he realized—shouting in Shoshone and it wasn’t directed at him. The voice was demanding something; that was clear in the tone. He had picked up a little of the language, he concentrated in order to dredge up the knowledge. The voice was demanding that someone come down. Curious now, Adam moved into the rocks, seeking a higher vantage point. Up in the rocks, the yellow-eyed Coyote surged to its feet. An unseen shadow—in the sunlight, he followed behind Adam. Unaware of his companion, Adam was careful to step lightly as he threaded his way through the screen of boulders. He congratulated himself on his caution when he saw the speaker. An Indian, a Shoshone, marked so by the fashion of his buckskins. The brave was sitting on his horse, arms raised, shouting at the empty hillside.
Curiosity growing, Adam crouched down; his position was on a low cliff above and behind the Indian. Wishing for his rifle, Adam kept his pistol to hand. The Shoshone brave sat his horse in a hollow pocket of ground. He was facing a flat-topped pile of rocks. Adam followed the Shoshone’s line of sight, at first nothing was there. Then came a movement, a woman stepped out. Adam’s mouth opened in surprise. Blonde hair—a white woman!! She wore a plain buckskin shirt belted like a tunic over a plaid skirt and had moccasins on her feet. A heavy skinning knife hung belted to her waist. He couldn’t see her face. The woman stood with one hand on her hip, regal as a queen—at home in this unlikely setting. As she came down from the rocks the Indian dismounted pulling his horse to one side. The brave backed away, head bowed before her advance. Up on his perch Adam strained to hear the words.
“I carry the medicine of the Shoshone and the power of our Shaman, my father Chato.” Dachow, the son of Chato stepped forward, his hands clenched around the beaded necklace that he wore. With great daring he looked up into the woman’s face. She seemed remote and untouchable.
Out of his pride and courage Dachow pleaded, “Our people die in their lodges. We have need of your medicine.”
“I am sorry that your people are sick.” She replied “But there is nothing I can do for them.”
Adam caught his breath, her voice! Bits and pieces of his dream last night resurfaced—but that was impossible! Adam leaned forward, intent on the scene, anxious to hear more. Up on the rocks Coyote watched intently. His yellow eyes began to burn.
Surprised at her refusal the Shoshone countered, “I have already vouched my life. My people wait!”
“I’m sorry.” Standing straight and tall she refused again, and turned, intending to leave.
“I promised to bring you back!!” Rash in the face of failure Dachow reached out to stop her, his hands grabbed her arm. Both figures, man and woman froze in shock. Copper colored hands held onto the woman's white flesh. The Indian was touching her and his heart still beat, he was still alive. “You are flesh—you are as I!” He looked up, awe changing to accusation. “As other people!" Alarm and fear rose in the woman’s gray eyes. Dachow’s anger began to flare. “Even as a young squaw of our tribe.” The man accused her. She pulled her arm away.
“Please. . .You must not do that!” She held her arms close, trying to regain her control. “You must not touch me.”
Dachow reached out again to grab her. They both flinched at the contact. “I touch you and I live.” He said in amazement, “My father will not believe that. . .”
“I don’t care about your father!!” Desperately she jerked free of his grip. “Let me be!!”

Deliberate this time, Dachow reached out, twisting her arm, to try and hold her. “I will take you to my father! He must see that you are nothing but a white squaw!!”
Up on his perch, Adam could see that this was going badly. . .but what could he do? His attention fixed on the two below; Adam didn’t see the other Indian lurking in the bushes. It was Tolca, brother to Dachow. Adam shifted his feet and that one small movement had attracted the hard gaze of Tolca. Black eyes narrowed in anger, the man faded back into the brush, dangerous as any wolf on the hunt.
Unaware of his peril, Adam’s concentration remained on the drama below. “That you cannot help the Shoshone!!” Continued Dachow “That your very presence here on this mountain of our dead is a shame and a desecration!!”
Anger flared on both sides now, charging the air around them. The woman tore herself from his grip; her strength surprised the Shoshone. “Get away from me!!” she shouted, stepping away, “I don’t care about your superstitions—they’re not for me!!” The woman stood tall, confronting her accuser. “I know what would happen in your village….You would kill me!”
“Squaw. . .” Dachow’s voice became filled with deadly intent. “I would kill you here and now.” Swift as any gunfighter’s draw, his hand was filled with a sharp bladed hatchet.
“Put it down!!” Adam’s voice rang out; he had to stop this.
The man and woman turned to look up, almost comical in their equal surprise. The fact that they had been observed was impossibility to both. Adam cocked his pistol, a clear sound of promise “I said put it down!!” He shouted again.
Movement, the Shoshone grabbed the woman as a shield. He threw the deadly little hand axe, his aim surprisingly close for the distance. Was this a spirit or a man? Dachow had no way to tell—He threw the woman aside and turned to run for the rocks. Adam fired, the Shoshone died. Chato’s oldest son fell into the dark, his blood flowed into the dust.

The air was close and breathless from the afternoon heat. Coyote watched, his jaw dropping in a lupine grin. His eyes were blazing in anticipation. Time itself seemed to pause; the drama wasn’t over yet.
His mind locked on the hunt, Dachows’ brother crept closer to Adam. The Indian almost had the range. Tolca had his arrow ready on his bow. The razor sharp man-killing point of the arrow glinted in the sun.
The woman lay where she had fallen. Curiously intent, she stared up into the rocks at this new presence. Adam stood up, looking for a way down but he saw that the rocks nearby were too steep and crumbling to climb. Spotting a promising looking crack in the rock further on Adam carefully skirted the steep ledge. As Adam concentrated on the uncertain footing, Tolca ran to a last bit of cover behind a boulder. The Indian’s black eyes glittered with hate. For his brother and his people he took aim and let the arrow fly.
Dachow’s brother scored a solid hit. The arrow struck deep into Adam’s lower leg. Adam flinched against the rocks unable to stifle a cry of pain and surprise. Below, Tolca rose up in triumph. Adam spotted him, took a step and shot back. It was a snap shot, but he saw the Indian spin away and fall. Then peril opened at his feet. Adam was too near the crumbled ledge of rocks. He struggled for balance but his leg didn’t want to work. He fell. Adam landed on both feet. He had time for an instance of amazement that he was still alive. Then the pain struck, deep claws sank into his body and mind. He rolled in the dust; the shaft of the arrow broke, driving the deadly barbed head deeper into his leg. Agony flared—as bright as the sun, his body arched as he cried out in protest.
Now!! Now was the time to make the connection! Coyote tilted his muzzle skyward and howled. The world tipped on its side and reality shifted.
Adam couldn’t move, but he knew that he had to move or die, there could be more Indians. He could taste the dust in his throat, a hot wind whispered through his brain. He could hear his own gasps as he struggled to stay conscious. If only that coyote would stop its damn singing! The wailing notes joined with the wind, circling him, holding him; Adam struggled, like an animal in a trap. Finally he sagged back, gasping in fear and shock. Adam gradually became aware of a shadow across his body. Incongruously the scent of wildflowers wreathed his senses—he opened his eyes.
On a new track, time restarted. Adam opened his eyes to meet hers; eyes as gray as the sea on a foggy morning, as gray as the peaks of the Sierras just before a snowstorm. It was her. . . the woman of his dream! Crouched next to him, she saw him look at her and jumped back, afraid.
“Who are you?” he rasped.
Wary silence met his question. At least the blasted coyote had stopped singing. Adam’s head pounded, but his mind felt curiously clear. He summoned the effort and moved, trying to reach for her—pain rose in opposition. “Help me.”
She stepped back and away. Adam rolled onto his belly in the dust, determined to crawl if he had to—to follow. He propped himself up on his elbows and like a swimmer in the ocean he rode the waves of pain “Come back!” he pleaded, his voice cracking. At the edge of trees she stopped, turning to look at him. She took another step and vanished behind a great rock.
Adam clutched at the ground in frustration, his fingers drawing furrows in the dust. If he was lucky this would all be a dream and he’d wake up at home at the Ponderosa, safe in bed. The ground beneath him dipped and swooped like the deck of a ship. Agony flared in his body. . .no, this wasn’t a dream—she was real, he knew it.
Somehow Adam struggled to his feet. He had to have answers. A breeze appeared, skittering out of nowhere; it danced around him, streaks appeared in the dust. Adam teetered on his feet, the world spun, his leg collapsed. He fell.

Up in the rocks Coyote stared down at the scene. The connection was made. It was only the first step, but the signs were promising. He was pleased.

*****
High up on the rocky peak of the mountain the crows are driven into flight. Desperate for knowledge of its enemy the Worm strained at the boundaries of its prison.

Chapter Four
Meeting a Legend

Adam

The darkness teased him, but Adam refused to answer. He was comfortable and free of pain. He could hear the wind howling around the eves of his bedroom. His room was nearest the kitchen and as he snuggled under his quilt Adam could hear Hop Sing clattering around making breakfast. One wall of his bedroom shared the kitchen chimney. When the little cook was putting out fresh bread the heavenly scent always came to his room first. Hoss was always trying to get him to trade.
He smiled and poked his head out of the covers to sniff and was puzzled. “What is that!?” Rather than the yeasty-cinnamon smell of fresh baked goods, he smelled—“Wildflowers?? It’s the dead of winter!” His bare feet hit the floor but Adam found himself ignoring the cold. The scent was compelling. It drew him on like a rope on his soul. He was unable to resist. The tie took him beyond the walls of his bedroom and out into the windy dark.
The wind howled. Adam stumbled to his knees. He reeled back in surprise as an enormous White Buffalo loomed out of the dark. Its eyes were red and glaring; it examined him with a real intelligence. Adam tried to speak but the words were stuck in his throat. At last the animal turned and faded away like a phantom in the dark. Released from his paralysis he cried out, “Wait, who are you? What’s happening to me!” His leg collapsed beneath him and pain arose in answer and sweeping him away. As the darkness claimed him he heard the calling of a chorus of crows.

****
The next thing he felt was soft hands on his face, a wet cloth was wiping away the dirt and blood. Adam could feel the hard ground and rock beneath him, the wet moisture from a cloth on his lips. He groaned as his body reported in, totaling the aches and the hurt. Consciousness returned with a rush. He opened his eyes. It was her! She’d come back! Her gray eyes were cold and remote as he stared. Whether this was a dream or a nightmare, Adam didn’t care. He had only one question. “Who are you?”
She rose to her knees, pulling her knife. Adam’s vision was fuzzy but he could see that the knife looked very sharp. Behind her a gray horse stood, patient under the harness of a travois.
“I couldn’t hurt you if I wanted to.” Adam croaked.
“If I wanted your life—I would not have returned.” The woman replied.
Music on the air, his dream spoke! Despite his weakness Adam felt a thrill of triumph. The voice was the same, maybe now he could get some answers. The woman turned the blade and bent over his leg. The heavy knife easily ripped away the fabric of his pants exposing the arrow that was rooted in his flesh. Adam propped himself up against the rock. His leg sent slivers of fire into his brain as she worked. “Will you tell me who you are?” he asked again.
“I’m called . . .White Buffalo Woman.” She turned to look at him, her face was classic, chiseled in mystery, but her eyes betrayed a lonely soul in pain.
For a moment, his leg forgotten, Adam sat up a little more. “White Buffalo Woman?” In spite of the drama he’d seen between her and the Shoshone, he had expected her to claim almost anything else, “The spirit woman of the legends of the Plains Indians?”
She didn’t answer. Her busy hands picked up a leather pouch and pulled out a cloth and some salve. She picked up her knife and laid back the ripped cloth of his jeans. The broken shaft of the arrow stood out, buried in the bloody flesh of his leg. She readied the blade.
Adam braced himself, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
She reached out and picked up a small piece of folded rawhide, giving it to him. “Don’t move.” She ordered.
Adam took the tough leather, clenching it between his teeth. Small hands rested on the wounded flesh of his leg. He felt the tip of the knife; it seemed hard and cold as ice. The blade sank, skillfully carving into his leg, seeking the barbed man-killing point of the arrow. Adam reared back, submitting to the agony. He ground his teeth, nearly biting through the tough rawhide.
The woman called ‘White Buffalo’ worked quickly, and her hands knew what to do. The cruel barbs of the arrowhead were embedded deep in the man’s leg. If she tried to cut it free the barbs could break and remain to poison his flesh. There was another way—the arrow point had missed the bone. In fact the force of the blow had nearly driven it through his leg.
She grabbed hold of the ragged arrow shaft and quickly shoved. The man jerked under her hands, his body protesting at the abuse. As she watched he fainted away. That suited her purpose as she pulled the arrow free and staunched the blood, applying her wound salve and tightly wrapping the leg.
Adam gulped in dizzy relief as he swam back into consciousness. “Thanks.” He gasped.
Silence, ‘White Buffalo’ looked at him like he was an unfinished and unwanted chore. She quickly stowed her gear and grabbed his arm. Adam gritted his teeth, trying to help, as she pulled him to his feet. He was surprised at her strength. His leg felt like fire, but he was grateful that he still had it.
She pulled him over to the travois. Dizzy with the effort he crawled onto the blankets, collapsing onto his stomach. The world shrank and darkness beckoned, he felt and heard movement. She was wrapping a rope, a long piece of rawhide over his back and around his arm. That was sensible, the last thing that Adam wanted to do was fall off the travois. Feeling secure, Adam at last let go, welcoming unconsciousness.
Up in the rocks above, Coyote raised his head from his paws. He was satisfied, he got to his feet and with a flick of his tail, faded away.
High up on the peak of the mountain, a flock of crows began to circle—spying out the land below.
One last time Adam heard the voice of his rescuer.
“The Great White Warrior” her voice said, disparagingly.
“What did she mean?” The question followed him into the dark.

Ruth
Flames danced in the dark. Ruth sat next to the fire, arms around her knees, her chin rested on knobby bone as she stared through the flames. She stared at the long shape of the man, lying so still on the other side of the fire. He lay on a bed made of her best buffalo robe. He had yet to regain consciousness, but he had lost a lot of blood. She didn’t expect him to wake before morning.
That suited her need. For a wild moment she wished that he might never wake. . .but no, she must not so wish. . .the wishes of ‘White Buffalo Woman’ carried power. She had wished against the man this morning. Now instead of a warrior, she had a man hurt and in pain. Ruth drew a long shuddering breath, fearful of the portents of the night. She feared the dreams, was afraid that they might yet come true. Resentment flowed, bringing further disturbance to her thoughts.
She closed her eyes, taking long slow breaths—seeking control. A soft breeze stirred the smoke from her fire. Off in the forest an owl called its question in the dark. The night was warm, but it was always so here at her camp. No matter the storms upon the mountain, existence here in her little camp, this protected place, was safe, secure. It had welcomed her when she found it.
Slowly the peace of her surroundings began to sooth her thoughts. The flickering light picked out flame colored highlights in the woman’s hair. The flames hissed. Close by she heard the yipping call of a coyote. Ruth’s head went up with a jerk. Her eyes left the fire to seek the dark. It had been a long time since she had heard that particular call.
In the beginning, after the massacre of the Black Eagle Clan of the Bannocks it had been a big yellow-eyed coyote that had helped her. The grizzled creature had led her to this mountain. Once she found her place, this camp, the coyote had disappeared.
Afraid, she had looked for him. The massacre had left her mind unhinged. Without the animal’s company she had again been bereft. Alone and adrift Ruth had wandered the Mountain of the Dead, more as an animal than a human.
The Indians who saw her then, thought that she was a ghost. For a while she had thought so too. Many clans, particularly the Shoshone, began leaving tribute, which she had taken as her due.
Then one sunny summer day Ruth saw her face in a still alpine pond. The wild creature that had looked back at her in the mirror- still water had been shocking; looking only remotely human. Ruth had immediately plunged into the water. She scrubbed at the dirt until her skin was red and raw. Slowly, painfully Ruth had put herself back together until she could call herself whole again. Finally the time came that she began to gain a measure of peace.
Then came the dreams . . . dreams that she feared. . . now her dream was reality and asleep on the other side of the fire. The night again rang with primitive music; her benefactor was back, his call insistent. Setting aside her feelings of resentment, Ruth quickly banked her fire and picked up her second best buffalo robe. On the rocky heights the nights were cold.

****
Coyote watched Ruth climb up through the rocks. "This whole thing is about timing,” mused Coyote. “That and these two humans.”

****
Down at the roots of the mountain—The Worm stirred, its proxies quartered the night sky. It searched for the signature of the enemy; caution battled with hunger and the very substance of the mountain trembled.

****
Coyote sneezed, abruptly a skirl of wind flared in the night, obscuring the animal in a blinding swirl of dust. The wind fell away and a knurled old man appeared on the heights. His skin was earth colored, his eyes an intense yellow, his short cropped shock of gray hair, stiff as a wire brush. Coyote got up from all fours and casually seated himself on a convenient boulder. He pulled out an evil smelling corncob pipe from his buckskin jacket and watched Ruth hesitantly enter the clearing.
She didn’t see him at first, it was dark tonight, the moon yet to rise. She called out, “Old one, where are you?”
“Here, child,” came the answer.
She jerked about, but was unsurprised to see a man instead of an animal shape. “You’ve come far, youngster.” Coyote was amused.
“I have but remembered the teachings of Black Eagle, my guardian when I was with the Bannocks.” Ruth drew herself up in an attitude of defiance, but inside she trembled. Taking her courage in both hands, Ruth asked her questions. “I have served you well. Why do you send the dreams? Why must I have this man to disturb my peace?”
Grinning a feral grin at Ruth’s tremulous challenge, Coyote was nevertheless pleased. He leaned forward and his eyes began to glow with yellow fire. The air between them began to shiver and dance. Coyote answered her question with another, “Think you girl that you can stand against me?”
For a long moment Ruth withstood him, then she cried out and fell sobbing to her knees. “Please!!” she cried hiccupping through her tears, “I only want to be left alone.”
Coyote relented and Ruth struggled to regain her composure. She spread out her buffalo robe so she could sit down and use the robe to keep warm. She scrubbed the tears from her face. Bundled up, she looked like the eleven-year old she’d been when her father left her in the snow. She waited.
“Hmmm,” Coyote said watching her closely “There is a service you must do…for receiving my help.”
Ruth’s gray eyes looked like clear glass, even in the starlight. “Me? But what can I possibly do?”
Coyote snorted in exasperation, “Do?” His voice echoed with the knowledge of centuries. “You are a human; your kind can do quite a lot.”
Ruth stared at him, uncomprehending.
Coyote judged that it was time to change his approach. She wasn’t yet ready for the full story. He climbed down to come sit next to Ruth.
“Don't worry youngster. You won't be alone.” Coyote extended himself to reassure Ruth. The warmth he generated was a palpable as a fatherly embrace. “Come now” he said “Rest a bit—you've had a busy day.” Ruth’s thoughts quieted, she fell asleep without realizing it. Coyote stayed next to her through the night. He was troubled. “I wish we could get someone else. . . .but there is no time--that Cartwright now—he’s got a strong spirit for a white man.” He sighed regretfully; “It’s too bad that White Buffalo requires a woman . .” Coyote stared down at Ruth, his gaze turned inward. Even for him the end of the trail was obscured. The little brown man sat smoking his pipe as he watched the stars traverse in the night. Ruth slept, and down in the sheltered camp Adam slept too. A shadow in the night, the old man watched and waited.
He knocked out his pipe with a sigh. These two humans were about to enter a peril beyond their worst nightmares. They deserved a little time together. But if what was planned was successful then the Nightmare Worm currently twined about the roots of the mountain could be bound for another thousand years. The old man stood up, cocking an eye to the east. The night was done; sunrise was coming. The end of this new day and those to come depended on Adam and Ruth. Coyote judged that there was time—just—for the two to do what was needful. The brown man stamped the earth. He began dancing and singing a welcome to the fire of a new day. . .The dawn wind fell from the sky raising a cloud of leaves and dust around the old man. The song ended and a big grizzled coyote loped off into the hills. The yellow fire of his eyes a reflection of the celestial fire in the sky.

Chapter Five
Questions with Few Answers

Adam Cartwright woke at last, blinking in the hot sun. He tried to sit up; a blinding stab of pain caused him to gasp in protest. A bar of hot agony throbbed in his forehead. Fighting the sudden rush of nausea Adam propped himself up on one elbow while his other hand went up to his face. He could feel a thick pad held in place with a flat strip of rawhide. Images of his fall from the rocks flashed into his brain. “Everything hurts too much. I must still be alive,” was his unsteady thought. He sat up a little more and the queasiness faded, leaving behind a dull throbbing headache.
His mouth was dry as dust, and he had trouble focusing his eyes—but at last his mind began to stumble into gear. “Where am I? Pa was right, I should have stayed home.” Beneath his hands Adam felt the coarse rough fur of a buffalo hide. His body was resting against leather pillows. Needing to see, Adam shifted around trying to sit up a little straighter. At the head of his bed a log peeled of its bark was positioned as a headboard. Adam propped himself up against it, then his leg checked in. The new agony beat a vicious counterpoint to the murderous headache. Adam gasped again as a fresh wave of nausea crashed over him like a tidal wave. Willing himself to endure the discomfort, it faded away just a quickly. Adam dropped his hand, blinking the world back into focus. Across the clearing was a rough little hut, covered with hides. His gaze swept the tiny camp; memory returned with a rush. “The girl, White Buffalo woman! This must be where she lives!” Behind him leaning against the rocks was the travois, and penned in a tiny corral next to the hut was the gray horse she’d used to bring him here.
Adam was confident that this wasn’t the camp of a spirit or a dream. “But where was she? Who was she?” He burned with the need to find out. Unthinking Adam started to get up. He gritted his teeth against the instant reminder from his wounded leg. Frustrated, Adam sank back against the leather pillows. His mouth was so dry it was hard even to swallow. Then he saw within easy reach, the leather canteen. Why not? Adam uncorked the bag, it was heavy, and it felt full so he took a long drink. The water was fresh and clean. It tasted faintly of mint. The liquid quenched his thirst and seemed to course through his body giving him energy and strength. He re-corked the canteen, savoring the taste. Adam tried again to get up, he felt better—but his leg was still an obstacle. Frustrated, he sat for a moment. What he needed was a prop, something he could use as a crutch.
Just beyond his bed, lay a bundle of long sticks. . .kindling for the fire. Adam made a long reach and found one that seemed strong enough. Using the wood as a prop, he pulled himself to his feet. His whole body ached with the effort and for a moment Adam forgot and tried to put weight on his injured leg. The flash of agony took his breath. Gasping in pain, he was glad for the strength of his impromptu crutch else he would have fallen into the fire. With a trembling effort, Adam pushed himself erect. Pleased at his accomplishment he looked around. It was a cozy little camp, sheltered by low granite cliffs from the wind and weather. Rich looking pelts of deer, wolf and even bear were hanging from a drying rack. The firepot was well made, with an iron tripod to hold the big cooking kettle.
He called out, “Hello?” No one answered.
With careful halting steps, Adam limped over to the hut. “Hello?” He called out again. He was stumped for a moment. It was difficult to knock on skins. It wasn’t polite to just walk in, but he burned with the need to find out more information. Half remembered dreams and his current circumstance overcame politeness. “Anyone here?” He lifted the door flap. Inside everything was neat and orderly. He saw a single frame bed well padded with furs and pillows. The walls of the hut were lined with fragrant boughs of pine and fir. In a corner weapons were neatly stacked. There was a bow for hunting and supplies to make arrows. Stowed in other corners were bottles and boxes. More skins of rabbit and fox hung from the rafters. He wavered in the doorway taking another look outside. Whoever his rescuer was, Adam was invading her privacy. But something told him that this was the only way he could find out what he needed. “I’ll just take a quick look.” was his thought.
Ignoring his aching head, Adam hobbled inside. He nearly walked into some heavy cotton fabric hanging next to the door. It was more of the plaid he’d seen her wearing as a skirt. He reached out fingering the fabric, “Nice color.” The big chest next to the bed drew Adam like a magnet. Glad that the hut was small, he managed to hitch himself over and sank down on the bed. Now he could use both hands. The handle of the trunk was broken, replaced by two leather straps. He heaved open the lid. It was sturdy and well-made but had obviously seen hard use. Adam had seen hundreds of these trunks on the wagon trains coming west just after his father had married Inger. As a boy he had named them ‘treasure trunks’ causing his father to laugh. But Inger had chided him. “Benjamin, the boy is right. It is where we settlers keep our most precious things.” Adam the boy had rewarded her with a hug and a bright smile. Accepting the correction, Ben had adopted the phrase. Now, years later, they had several such ‘treasure trunks’ stored in the attic at home on the Ponderosa.
This trunk was nearly empty but inside was a smaller box made of mahogany. The top of the lid was inlaid with a small mother of pearl design. Carefully he lifted it out, placing it on the bed to open it. Inside were a few trinkets, nothing that told him very much. He picked out a man’s razor. The blade was nicked and dull. Looking again into the big trunk Adam spotted a Bible. Eagerly he reached for it. Settler families often recorded important family facts in the flyleaf pages of their bibles. The cover of this Bible was worn and tattered. He opened the front cover and caught his breath. There was writing! At first it was a man’s hand, the script bold and flowing. Adam began to read.
“Olaf Halverson . . .born 1810, Burgeon, Norway.” He felt satisfaction and sadness at the same time. This made the woman who had saved him a castaway, a survivor from some destroyed wagon train. He continued to read, “Married one Elizabeth Carr, Bridgeport, Connecticut, 1838—Daughter Ruth, born August third 1840.” The dates were right, Adam began to get excited, “Wife died 1846 . . ” The rest of the page was blank. He flipped through the pages, looking for more writing. In the back of the Bible the story continued, this time it was the thin printing of a child.
“July 14th. . .we left St Joe this morning---soldiers said it was too late in the season to start. But Daddy laughed at them . . . He is not afraid, for at home in Norway—he was used to hard winters and heavy snow in the mountains. . . . . October 8th our axle is broken and Daddy left yesterday in the morning and hasn’t come back yet. It is cold and we can hear the howling of the wolves.”

****
Ruth woke late on the heights. Her thoughts were slow, like pushing through cotton batting. She could remember meeting Coyote but not if anything happened. Feeling bereft and not quite knowing why, she curled up into a ball; her mind tried to deny recent events. Perhaps if she stayed right here nothing else would happen—and the outside world would just go away. From where she lay Ruth could hear the meadowlark singing to welcome the day. She wasn’t far from her favorite meadow. She wanted to go, but she didn’t have the energy to move. . . .The sun climbed his daily path into the sky warming the earth. Close by in a spiny bush of sage, fat little black spiders were busy spinning their webs. She watched, mesmerized. A slow tear, tracked down her cheek. Her hard-won peaceful world was at an end. Finally, a warm breeze skittered through the rocks, kicking up dust and obscuring the web that threatened to enchant her gaze. High up in the hills came the thin yipping call of a coyote on a daylight hunt. Ruth coughed, sitting up, abruptly aware that she was hungry. Suddenly anxious for her camp and the man left alone down there—Ruth gathered up her second best buffalo robe and hurried home. Behind her the wind danced, leaving streaks in the dust. The tattered threads of an empty spider web fluttered in the breeze. A shadow touched the earth. Overhead flew a pair of crows—searching.

*****
Adam jumped; he felt the breeze of a heavy knife skim the back of his neck. It sounded like an axe landing in the post right next to his head. She stood there, the image of his dream, his heart skipped—Ruth, it had to be.
She looked angry, “That blade would not have missed in the lodge of a Bannock.”
Adam knew that she had missed on purpose, but he had a point to make too. “And in the home of. . . Ruth Halverson?”
Adam smoothed the pages of the Bible that he’d dropped. He could see that he’d hit the mark.
Ruth’s gray eyes darkened, for a moment she was uncertain. “You have heard my name?”
Aware that with his injuries he was at a disadvantage, Adam played for time. He reached up and pulled loose the knife. “The White Buffalo woman is a myth. . . .But Ruth Halverson is—or was real.”
Her eyes paled, the storm clouds returned, Ruth was again angry. She pointed to the doorway. “Go!!”

Accepting her demand Adam grabbed his crutch and hauled himself to his feet. Wary, Ruth backed off, refusing to help him. He hobbled to the door of the hut, giving her back her knife, hilt first. She took it, the heavy blade pointed at his belly.
His headache returning full force, Adam ignored her hesitation and hobbled outside, finding a seat on convenient rock next to a small table. While he caught his breath, she followed him.
“Remember this . . .” Ruth hands fingered the knife. “You are here because you helped me. Stay until you can travel. But keep away from me or—I’ll forget I owe you anything.”
There were some flat biscuits on the table next to a pitcher of water. Knife still in her hand, Ruth took the bread and went to tend her horse.
Adam watched her leave, his face showing consideration and amusement. This was no ordinary woman. Her mood had changed three times in as many minutes. Now a fourth time her mood changed again, and he saw the queen that he’d first seen with the Shoshone.
His interest aroused. Adam reached out for the water jug. “In other words—welcome.”
He drank the water and watched Ruth work with the little gray gelding. Adam could see that Ruth clearly knew horses; her movements were graceful and sure. She plied the brush on the animal’s pale coat, which was already starting to grow long against the coming winter. The little horse craned its neck to nibble at her shirt. Ruth smiled with affection, pushing him away so she could check his feet.
Ruth turned in the corral to look at him. Adam suddenly found himself pinned to his seat by her clear gaze. “You must have had a horse. . .Where is it?”
Sport!!, Damn, he’d forgotten. This woman unsettled him—in a way that he’d never felt before. “I left him back on the trail by the crossed lances.” Dismayed at his forgetfulness, Adam tried to get up too quickly, his vision grayed and the world went away. He clung to the seat beneath him as the only solid thing in existence. Pain from his head, his leg . . .out of the mists he heard his father’s voice. “Don’t be stupid, boy! You’re hurt, you can’t ignore that!”
Small hands and the smell of wildflowers, a different voice--Ruth’s, music rested on the air. “Fool!!. . . Stubborn fool!!” A sturdy figure under his arm helped him back to his bed.
Adam sank back into the pillows, all too ready to agree with both his critics. But he had to make one important point. He opened his eyes to focus blearily on Ruth’s face.
“My name—is Adam. . .Cartwright.” He smiled in satisfaction at the look on her face and surrendered to unconsciousness.

Chapter Six
Ties that Bind

Ruth stared down at the man . . . at Adam Cartwright. Abruptly she became aware that her hands were twisting the rag she’d used to clean his face. Angrily she threw it aside; having his name made things seem all the more real. He had an identity now, a connection with the outside world. She didn’t appreciate that. Backing off, Ruth left Adam lying on the bed. Her mind was a confused jumble of thoughts. . . .she spun away, for an endless moment she was nearly overwhelmed by the urge to run away. With an effort that left her breathless she quelled the feeling. Her courage returned and her thoughts settled on practical matters. “His horse!” The poor animal had been left alone a night and a day. “I must go to find it.” Ruth went to let down the bars of her corral and her little gray gelding pranced out.
“There now my beauty, we are going to see if we can help one of your cousins.” she told the animal. The little gray—his name was Dancer, because that was what he did—willingly accepted the hackamore and padded blanket Ruth used as a saddle. Just before she left camp Ruth pulled Dancer to a halt, for one last look at the man—at Adam Cartwright sleeping on the bed of her best buffalo robe. She tried to push her emotions away; willing herself not to feel. . .It didn’t work. The man, who had first invaded her dreams, was a reality. Adam Cartwright carried a strong face, shadowed now by pain and the dark lines of hair and brow. His hands and shoulders were large; they had the look of power about them. His long legs and lean hips completed the picture.
She had tended his body and knew that Adam Cartwright carried great strength within, undoubtedly from years of hard work. In a fight he would be a force with which to reckon. She watched him stir in his sleep; he was still smiling. Unbidden, an answering smile quirked her lips, Ruth caught her breath at the sudden turn of her thoughts; she flushed. There had been a brave among the Bannocks that had made her feel like a woman. Running Deer had been his name and he had been one of the first to fall in the massacre. Ruth had never expected to ever feel that way again.
Dancer snorted at her abrupt signal. Pivoting on his back legs, the little gray bounded out of the camp.

****
The sky above was a clear eye searing blue. There were no clouds to ease the eyes. Within that expanse a flight of crows quartered the sky. Their pattern of search was bringing them ever closer to Ruth’s camp.

****
From her time on the mountain Ruth knew every nook and cranny of the land. She once even climbed the black heights of the cliffs on the mountain peak. That part of the mountain was cold and dead, once on the peak had been enough—she never went back. Her camp was on the south side of the mountain. It was placed so to catch the warmth of the sun and for protection against the cold northern winds of winter. The crossed lances and the site of her confrontation with the Shoshone were to the west. She had no trouble finding the area; buzzards flew in the sky, marking the spot.
Several of the ugly birds were too engorged to fly as she urged Dancer past the remains of Dachow and his brother. Ruth cared little for the men. The men had intruded on her life. They had paid the price. What was happening now was just the ordinary cycle of life. Yet the sight wasn’t pretty. She wondered what Adam Cartwright would think. She grew angry at her thoughts. What that man thought shouldn’t make any difference to me! Ruth tightened her legs around Dancer urging him to a faster lope than was needful, up the trail. At the sight of the two dead white hunters, she pulled Dancer to a sliding stop. She hadn’t known about this. The little gray kicked out in protest, reacting to her anger and fear. Dead white men meant searchers would come—looking for their companions. This meant more intruders in her ordered world.
Grim-faced Ruth leaned forward, urging calm on her horse. She had a promise to keep, the sooner done the better. Quiet now, Dancer picked his way past this new offense. Ruth soon found the tracks and the droppings where the man’s horse had been tethered. She sighed; nothing was going to be easy these days. The horse was gone. Ruth turned Dancer to follow the trail. Despite the fact that the animal was rider-less, it seemed to have a destination in mind. The horse was headed straight as an arrow to the west. She could tell by the tracks that it was moving at a good pace. She followed the trail to the edge of the forest. Just within the last screen of trees Ruth brought Dancer to stop. The trail led straight into the salt flats of the desert. She had no intention of following. The horse of Adam Cartwright was beyond her reach. She doubted that the animal would survive the desert.
It was late; the sun painted the land beyond in bright oranges, reds and purples. It wasn’t often that she came this far through the forest. Shading her eyes Ruth could see the distant smudges of more mountains on the horizon. The thought of a wider world beyond her mountain, filled with people, was disturbing. She turned her back, sending Dancer back to camp. It was fully dark when she and Dancer returned home. The fire-pit was down to just a few coals. Adam Cartwright was still asleep. He barely stirred when she stirred the fire to gain some light to check his bandages. He had a fever, but that was to be expected and it wasn’t too serious. Watching the man sleep, she was suddenly inexpressibly weary. The temptation was almost overwhelming to simply lie down on the bed right next to him. She stood for a long moment, staring at him. Until now she hadn’t known what it meant to be lonely. His nearness burned in her senses. At last Ruth turned away.
She was nearly crying with weariness as she tended to Dancer. She gave him some fresh browse and a handful of her precious store of corn as a reward for the little gelding’s hard work. The fire had already dropped back to glowing coals. The stars and moon gave her more than enough light to see. Ruth tidied up the camp and banked the fire to hold the coals for the morning. Standing at the door of her hut, Ruth turned for one last check. She purposely skipped over the long shape of Adam Cartwright sleeping by the fire. In the distance a chorus of coyotes lifted their voices to sing to the moon. Ruth cocked her head, listening to the primitive music but these were just ordinary beasts. She turned, letting the door flap fall behind her, and crawled into her lonely bed.

****
On the rocky heights above the camp a lean grizzled shape was sprawled on the rocks. “We’re comin’ along” Coyote thought, “Cartwright’s got a natural talent . . . .” The spirit kept a close watch on the sky. He was aware of the enemies need for information. The crows were getting closer.

****
The next morning, the sun in his eyes woke Adam for a second time. “I need to ask the desk clerk for a better room,” he said to himself wryly. Adam stretched and then he stopped, pleasantly surprised that he could move without pain. “Sleep was just what I needed.” He was feeling almost cheerful! But when he sat up against the pillows and the log shaped headboard of his bed, a dull ache between his eyes and a throbbing in his leg warned him that the healing process couldn’t be rushed. Biting back his frustration Adam scanned the camp. All was quiet. He called out toward the hide-draped hut. “Hello? Ruth?”
No answer. The little gray gelding was gone. Hung beside the corral there had been a packsaddle and a collection of traps. They were gone too. “Hmm, she must be out inspecting a trap line, and it doesn’t look like she found Sport.” Adam said to himself. “No telling how long she’s been gone, or when she’ll be back.” He eyed his crutch considering if he ought to try getting up. “I’m going to have to make something better than a pointed stick.” Then he spotted the wrapped package of jerky and biscuit next to the leather canteen. Ruth had left them within easy reach.
The jerky had a fine savory taste. It was nearly as good as Hop Sing could make. The water in the canteen was fresh and cold. Adam took his time eating. He wasn’t really that hungry, but he knew that his body needed the strength of the food to heal. A soft breeze began to rise. The sky overhead was an incredible shade of blue found only in the high mountains. The breeze began to skip around the camp, invisible mischievous fingers tugged at the hide-covered hut. With a gleeful whoosh it landed in the fire, stirring up the flames.
Adam lay back onto the pillows to avoid a rush of scented smoke. Settling into the bed he put his hands behind his head. All at once, he was glad to be alone---he needed time to get some thinking done. The pace of recent events had been extraordinary. It had been what . . .two? Maybe three days since he’d left Nevada City? To Adam it seemed like a lifetime. He rubbed his chin reflectively, three days by the feel of the stubble of his beard. “I’ll have to ask Ruth if I can use that razor.” Ruth . . . it was amazing to find a girl, no--a beautiful woman living all alone out here in the wild. Remarkable—improbable but undeniable; Ruth dressed in her buckskin tunic and plaid skirt, had a presence and a beauty that shone like a lighthouse. Small wonder that the Indians thought she was a spirit.
Settling himself into the bed made of Ruth’s best buffalo robe, Adam stared overhead at the wispy clouds. From long habit he sought to organize his thoughts. Adam considered his rescuer. It was obvious that her ordeal in the wild had left her with a fragile personality. “Very few could have survived as she did. I better watch my step around her.” Adam smiled; for despite the caveats, Ruth was a compelling woman. He found himself strangely drawn to her. He wondered what she would look like dressed in the latest from Boston, or New York. “Hmmm, a pale yellow color I think, to set off her hair.” Ever the connoisseur of fine things, Adam Cartwright knew what he liked. “With a darker yellow lace on the bodice and sleeves and a pretty little parasol.” Adam smiled at the picture he constructed. “She’d make the women of Virginia City green with envy.” Adam pictured himself and Ruth strolling down the boardwalk in Virginia City to have supper at the International House, afterwards a play and then. . .his grin widened, all those tiny buttons were such fun to undo.
Adam stirred on his bed, finding that his body was starting to respond to his imagination. “Maybe I better think of something else!” His thoughts turned to home. “I wonder what Pa and those ornery brothers of mine are doing?” Adam considered, “It will be a day or so yet before I’m missed. And then Pa will have to send a telegram to Nevada City. . .it’ll take a day maybe more before he finds out that I never even made the first stage stop.” Adam sank into the fur of the buffalo robe, all stimulation effectively quelled. “Any search they start is really going to cause problems with the roundup.” Adam sighed; he hated having to be rescued. He much preferred to be the rescuer. Beyond the rocky boundary of the camp, a robin added its sweet tune to the afternoon. He took another look around. “With no horse . . . I’m stuck.” Adam knew that big sorrel gelding of his; Sport had certain priorities. He wasn’t Cochise. . .that little paint horse had been known to trail his brother Joe by scent alone. . .like a dog. Sport, left untended for a day and a night, would break free and make a beeline for home. “I wonder if he’ll make it?” Adam considered the desert between the Mountain of the Dead and the Ponderosa. He felt a rush of sadness. “It would be a miracle . . . .” Firmly Adam set aside the thought of losing the big sorrel. Sport was big and strong, he might make it. . . . . . Adam sighed, “Maybe I can convince Ruth to let me borrow her little gray.”
Even as he considered the option, Adam knew that this was unlikely. In the wild, a horse was essential for survival. For a man or a woman left on foot in the wild with no horse it was considered a death sentence. Which was why stealing a horse was considered a hanging offense. Adam knew that the little gray gelding was a big reason Ruth had done so well for herself out here on the Mountain. The horse would have been vital for shifting heavy loads, and other jobs too big for Ruth to tackle on her own. “If I could just talk to her. . .find out more about her.” Considering her changeable nature—easier said than done . . . The afternoon was warm and pleasant as Adam considered how best to approach his rescuer. The scented breeze from the fire wafted across the camp. Without knowing it his thoughts drifted again into daydreams and Adam feel asleep.

****
The sun was low in the western sky when Ruth returned. Dancer’s packsaddle was well laden, the trap-line had been nearly full. It would take days to clean and cure all the skins. At the edge of camp Ruth paused, all at once reluctant . . . Dancer took a few more steps before he realized that she had stopped. Curious, the gray gelding circled on his lead, he was anxious for his paddock and tiny shelter. Dancer lowered his head, snuffling at Ruth’s shirt. Still hesitant she reached out and scratched under the gelding’s halter. Impatient, Dancer didn’t understand why his mistress was hesitating. The gelding shoved his nose against her shoulder. Ruth jumped, startled into motion, “Alright . . .” She assumed a look of resolve like a shield, squared her shoulders, took hold of Dancer’s lead and strode into camp.
Her lips quirked in annoyance, Adam Cartwright was asleep. Ruth found her gaze resting on the firm line of his jaw, still evident even though unshaven. Her breath caught as she thought of his deep-set eyes and how he had looked at her. Dancer rubbed his head against Ruth’s shoulder making her jump again in surprise. Firmly shoving away her fantasies Ruth led the gelding over to the corral to unload the meat and to stretch out the uncured skins on racks to dry.
Over on the bed, Adam stirred awake. He sat up. He knew that she knew, that he was watching. . . .but she refused to acknowledge him. Adam reflected that things were rapidly getting complicated. Silently Ruth proceeded to do the general camp chores. Adam’s gaze followed her every move. She felt his eyes like a hot brand on her skin. Resolute, Ruth was determined to not let her nerves betray her. Dancer was happily munching on his feed. Her own stomach growled—loudly. With all that had happened Ruth hadn’t eaten since yesterday.
Adam silently cocked an eyebrow, Ruth flushed with embarrassment. Without a word she went to her stores and got some food, giving her guest his portion. She quickly finished eating and pulled out a basket of cured skins to begin sorting them. The sun was just touching the western horizon--painting the sky with a mellow evening glow. Confined to the bed, Adam took his time eating. The rabbit meat she had given him was fresh and tender. Adam chewed on a leg bone as he considered how best to break the silence. In the distance a gray winged dove began its evening song. From the nearby creek, frogs and crickets began added their chorus. Listening to the harmony, he hoped to add his own notes.
“Aside from your many other accomplishments, I see you also run a trap line,” he ventured.
“I trade the pelts for supplies.” Her voice was distant, non-committal.
Encouraged, Adam continued, “Well now, I’m a fair man with hides . . . could I help?” Ruth nailed him with a glare and carried her skins to the other side of the fire. Adam watched the set of her shoulders as she sat down. He tried again for common ground. “Until I can travel, you’re going to have to put up with me.”
Silence . . . she continued to sort the furs. Adam reined in his frustration, keeping his voice even and reasonable. “Now there’s no reason why we can’t . . . try to understand each other.”
Again silence . . .until. . . .
“How?” Oh, the doubt and the challenge she packed into a single word! Adam gathered his ammunition, striking quickly.
“We could start with Ruth Halverson.” Adam watched closely, her busy hands stopped. Adam could see that she was staring into the gathering dark. The sun was almost gone, the twilight had begun to grow. Adam found himself holding his breath.
“Ruth Halverson was a child,” she said at last.
Adam cursed his injuries, the fact that he was chained to the bed. The bitter regret packed into those words! The need he felt to go to her, to hold her—was almost physical. But she was out of his reach. The only thing Adam could do was try to keep her talking.
“What happened after your father left the wagon?” he asked gently.
“I never saw him again,” her voice was short and tight, shutting away the pain. Adam waited. The dove-song was silent, only the crickets were singing now. For a moment he thought she was going to stop—suddenly she continued. “In the spring a Bannock hunting party found me.”
Adam suddenly put it all together. The words written in the Bible . . . ‘it is cold and we can hear the howling of the wolves.’
There had to have been other wagons, other people! Ruth had been the only survivor of a winter wagon camp in the mountains. What must she as a child have seen and been forced to do to stay alive until the Indians found her? Adam, during his own childhood spent on the move with his father had seen the many dead and the graves along the trail west. “At least I had Pa and then Inger.” Adam thought. He dragged himself away from further speculation as Ruth continued.
Her hands smoothed the furs in her lap. She turned her head, to look at him. Ruth’s smile graced the gathering twilight. “They took me to their village, I stayed there as one of them. . . ,” her voice warmed with the memories and her eyes flared with joy. Adam knew that Indians valued courage. The Bannocks would have taken the girl child’s survival in the wagon camp as a good sign and welcomed her into the tribe and clan. The joy on Ruth’s face suddenly disappeared as if a door was shut. Sadness and fear came over her. . . “Until the hunters came . . .white hunters . . . . They wanted our furs.”
Adam drank the cold tea in his cup. He could guess what must have happened. The Bannocks must have been a small family group. Perhaps the able-bodied warriors were away, hunting. A small family clan would have been vulnerable. Easy pickings. Ruth gripped the skins in her lap. “When we refused—they attacked us! All the braves . . . the women . . . the children, they killed.” Adam could almost physically touch her sorrow. He mourned the loss of her family. He mourned the fact that the differences between white man and red man could cause such violence. For a second time, Ruth was the sole survivor of a terrible tragedy. No wonder she was unstable. Her hands twisted the furs in her lap. Adam watched and waited. What came next could be the key. Again he held his breath.
Ruth trembled on the edge of tears. “I . . .” her face changed abruptly.
Another door shut—Adam could practically hear it slam. He ground his teeth against the need to shout. So close! As he watched Ruth suddenly stood up. Adam almost expected her to run off. He could see her . . .visibly editing the story.
“I found my way here.” She dropped the furs, sheathing her big skinning knife and continued, “To the Mountain of the Dead.” Ruth’s voice had changed as she switched gears yet again. Bemused and frustrated Adam knew that he would have to wait for another chance. “I can’t push this too hard.” He settled back into bed and let the silence grow as he finished eating.
The sun had finally set and even the crickets were silent as full night spread across the camp. The moon had yet to rise, so the only light came from the flames of the fire. A night breeze sprang up, sending huge flame shadows dancing on the rocks that surrounded the camp. Saying nothing, Ruth continued her camp chores. When she passed in front of the fire Adam found himself spellbound. Her figure was outlined in flame. Another picture rose to his mind, half-remembered from his dream at Willow Creek. At last she spoke again. “A Shoshone saw me, told his people he had seen ‘White Buffalo Woman’ raised from the grave.” Ruth’s voice twisted with sarcasm. “To them I’m a great spirit woman.”
Echoes of her words seemed to bounce off the surrounding rocks, a shy breeze danced through the camp. Ruth knelt to wash her hands in a bucket of water. Adam blinked, memories of the dream returned again, for just a moment while looking at Ruth he saw the faint image of a huge buffalo. It lowered its huge head, looking straight at him. Adam blinked again, his vision blurred. Then the moment passed. He caught his breath and everything was ordinary again.
Unaware of his lapse, Ruth continued, “Until today they have left me in peace here . . .in my own world, to live my own life.”
Adam felt nailed to the ground. Something important had just happened. This woman was a puzzle that Adam knew he had to solve. Her story had stirred his soul. Maybe in the process he could help? More than anything, he had to try. If he could just somehow redirect her attention! . . He cast about trying to think of something to say.
“Ruth, the only real life for you . . . is with your own people.”
His voice was gentle, but full of conviction.
“Since the Bannocks died,” Ruth countered, drying her hands. Bitterness, and grief colored her voice. “I have no people.” She got up and strode to the hut. Ruth paused for a moment and shot him a glance before ducking inside.
Adam had no answer for her. The look in her eyes had been one of pleading and of challenge. The breeze gained strength as it skittered around the rocks; silent dust spurted in the air. Adam wished that he could talk to his father, even Joe or Hoss would be a comfort. Ruth was so shockingly alone. He couldn’t help but admire her strength . . . but there was something, something about her that left him uneasy.

****
High up the flight of crows at last spied Ruth’s camp. Under orders from their master, the birds circled down for a closer look.
With a glance at the sky, Coyote scrambled to his feet. Cartwright had, so far, done well. “Now it gets interesting.”

Chapter Seven
Testing and Forging

Adam couldn’t sleep. The look on Ruth’s face before she went into the hut was burned into his mind. It was a plea for help, he was sure of it. But how was he to answer? His leg ached with a dull throbbing pain, reminding Adam of his current limitations. His clenched his fists in frustration. He found himself surprised at the depth of his feelings. With slow deep breaths he forced himself to relax. His breath puffed out, hanging in clouds. In the sky a feathered threat was slipping closer. Adam’s attention was elsewhere so he didn’t notice that a sudden unnatural chill had settled on the camp. Thinking hard, Adam merely settled into the buffalo hide bed, pulling the fur up for warmth. Ruth was a fascinating woman, he told himself, and her story had stirred his heart. It was only natural that he had feelings of compassion toward her. That was it—wasn’t it? “To think anything else is being a fool.” Adam muttered, and yet it had been such a long time since any woman had so captured his interest.
He twitched at the buffalo robe. His thoughts stuttered from one subject to another. “Stop it!!” he told himself firmly, “I need to get home first, or somehow let Pa and the boys know that I’m okay.” He couldn’t get comfortable. Feeling threatened but not knowing why, Adam flipped over and stared up into the sky—he couldn’t see the stars. A hazy fog hung in the air like curtain obscuring sight and sound. Adam was oblivious, his thoughts were still running in circles. Up in the masking dark, the eyes of the proxy crows began to glow with a red fire as they spiraled closer in the dark. Up in the rocks, Coyote held his breath. It had been a long time since the grizzled spirit had felt such tension. Humans were so unpredictable. The next few minutes were crucial. Which way would the balance tip?
Restlessly, Adam’s thoughts turned toward home. Without effort the picture sprang to mind . . . his father and brothers gathered around the table eating supper; the faithful Hop Sing at his post in the kitchen. He could almost hear their voices; Ben Cartwright listening in amused tolerance while Joe teased Hoss and the big man cheerfully went along; because it was Joe doing the teasing. Adam quirked a smile in the dark—people often accused the eldest Cartwright son of being cold and unfeeling. Few knew the truth—that his family was the linchpin of his existence. The depth of that emotion was his greatest weakness. Adam knew that, so he went to great lengths to hide that fact. His father’s face and words sprang to mind. ‘Son, don’t shut away your feelings. That’s what makes you strong.’ Adam laughed at the irony. His breath hung in clouds in the cold night air. “So typical of Pa.” Adam thought. “But on the other hand the old man could be right.” Adam didn’t normally dwell so on his memories but tonight it just felt right. His body finally relaxed, he was warm and comfortable under the furry buffalo robe. His eyes were unfocused, seeing only the past. Ben’s voice echoed in the mind of his firstborn. ‘Son, no matter where you go if you keep your family safe in your heart—you’ll be all right.’ Adam's mind entered in that half aware state between sleep and wakefulness. Stirred by the situation, untapped sources within Ben's oldest son began to flow.
Coyote had to suppress a yip of triumph. Deep below the ground the Dark Worm twisted in surprise. The earth trembled in protest. The well of strength within the white man was startling. Coyote moved first. The spirit dropped his jaw in a lupine grin, for a white man Cartwright carried an enormous potential. “This Cartwright's a natural!!” Cheerfully the spirit reached, taming the wild flow of power. His yellow eyes began to glow as he shaped a protective mantle over the camp. It wouldn’t last forever. Just long enough for the man to do what was needful!
In the dark the crows squalled in protest. Wings beat the air as the proxy flight was forced to veer away. In the rocky vaults of the Mountain of the Dead, darkness hissed in anger. Yet it had gained crucial information, it had learned of the key and his roll. The creature began a new scheme. Its strength grew by the hour—it was determined to be free.

****
Overhead the stars burned clear and bright. Starlight fell gently on the camp. The night air now held the warmth of summer. A soft breeze danced around the camp, it danced in the fire pit, stirring up the embers. Smoke drifted in circles over Adam’s sleeping body. The fragrant smoke circled once more over his head. The night breeze ruffled his black hair.
“Achoo!” Adam sneezed himself awake.
Up in the rocks Coyote dropped his jaw in a lupine grin, satisfied with his handiwork.
Adam yawned, “I must have fallen asleep.” Blearily he peered up at the stars. The Big Dipper was low in the sky and that meant it was still early. Feeling more and more awake Adam hitched himself around using the pillows to prop up his shoulders. Staring over at the silent hut where Ruth slept—his thoughts resumed. It didn’t take any intelligence to recognize his situation. Alone in the wilderness in the camp of a beautiful woman—just because it was a romantic setup—didn’t mean romance couldn’t happen. . . . .his thoughts were chasing each other round and round. He sat up re-arranging the thick fur so it didn’t weigh so heavily on his wounded leg.
The night was so still—“Would it be so bad to relax for once?” Adam asked himself. “To just ‘go with the flow’ as Joe was so fond of saying?” Far off on the shoulders of the mountain he could hear the wind in the forest. It sounded like a train. All that was needed was the lonely wail of the steam whistle echoing over the hills. Thinking of his youngest brother Adam closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift—determined not to over-analyze his situation. Close by the camp some crickets struck up a chorus. In the tiny corral Ruth’s little gelding woke briefly. Adam could hear the animal as it sought a drink of water. In the fire pit the flames hissed, seeking to consume the last of the available wood.
Adam shook himself into motion and made a long reach to add some wood to the fire. The hungry flames sought the new fuel and threw huge shadows on surrounding rocks. His wounded leg throbbed with the brief exercise. Adam took an internal poll. It would be some time yet before he was fully mobile. He would still have to depend on Ruth.
“One step at a time,” Adam thought, “Mobility, that’s what I need first.” He spotted some rawhide strips that Ruth had left draped over the edge of the basket of furs. Adam sorted through the available wood he could reach. With the rawhide and his pocketknife he could make a handle for his stick, turning it into a sturdy cane. Putting worry aside, Adam set to work. The third night in Ruth’s camp passed quietly.
Up in the rocks Coyote stood up. Indeed, he was well satisfied. The enemy had been driven back. “Time to let nature take its course!” The spirit grinned and with a flick of his bushy tail he faded into the night.
The next morning Adam woke without help from the sun. Low clouds had obscured the sunrise. He glanced over to the hut, the door was open and her horse was gone. Ruth had gotten up early. Adam grinned in anticipation. He quickly found and ate the package of biscuits and jerky she had left him for breakfast. Feeling better than he had in days, he got up, and with the help of his new cane went exploring. Slowly he hitched his way along a path to a pretty little mountain lake.
The air was fresh and sweet, the sun warm, the waters of the lake crystal clear. Adam took a deep breath, the air seemed to sparkle as if newly-made and he the first to take it in. “And they call this the Mountain of the Dead.” Enjoying his mobility, but careful of his leg Adam continued along the lakeside path. The birds sang and a gentle breeze caressed the air. The image of Ruth’s smiling eyes came to him.
With every step Adam took he felt strength returning to his body. It was a giddy feeling, but he liked it. Ruth’s voice rose beyond the trees, she was singing. Adam, recognized the tune, it was an old hymn. He remembered it from boyhood, Inger used to sing it.
He joined in on the refrain.
“Joy cometh in the morning,
Joy cometh in the morning;
Weeping may endure for a night,
But joy cometh in the morning.
Oh weary pilgrim, lift your head,
For joy cometh in the morning . . . .”
Grinning, Adam rounded the turn in the lake trail. He spotted Ruth’s blond hair just beyond the trees. She was down by the water. He also saw her clothes spread out on the branches. Adam stumbled to a halt.
“Adam?”
His mind was suddenly full of conflicting impulses. His body ached with a sudden need. “I haven’t felt this way since I was a kid!” was his surprised thought. Trying to gain some semblance of control, Adam turned away.
“Adam?” Ruth’s voice was coming closer. “That was wonderful, why did you stop?”
“I ah . . . don’t mean to intrude.” Adam leaned heavily on his cane wishing he could just disappear.
“Are you all right?” Ruth asked, “You’re . . .” She trailed off looking puzzled as she emerged from the embrace of the forest. Seeing Adam, comprehension quickly dawned and she began to laugh softly. Her voice rippled like silk in the wind. This was a different woman from the closed off creature of the night before.
Adam flushed even more, embarrassed that all he could do was just stand there. “Wouldn’t Joe and Hoss just love to see me now!”, he thought.
“I’ll, I’ll just . . .”
“Adam, it is safe to turn around.” Ruth’s voice was amused, “I was just doing some laundry.”
“I guess the joke’s on me.” Adam’s laughter was forced as he turned around. Ruth, fully clothed, stood framed by the green pines as mischief danced in her gray eyes. For a brief instant Adam wished that his first assumption could have been true.
Ruth saw the wish in his eyes and her smile deepened. Her response surprised him. “Come with me and sit down before you fall down.”
Bemused, Adam followed her down to the lake. At first he was full of doubts at such a radical change literally from night to day in Ruth. But when she turned to look at him—his thoughts were scattered like pine needles on the wind. Her gray eyes were an open invitation. His breath quickened as he watched the sway of her hips as she moved down the path to the lake. His pulse began to pound as he followed her into the forest. Through the trees he could see the waters of the lake sparkling like crystal. A gentle breeze danced as soft as a cats-paw on the surface of the water. The warmth of the sun was a caress to his senses as Adam slowly followed Ruth along the lakeshore. She led him to a log next to the water, which was wide enough to serve as a seat for the two of them.
His leg was awkward yet. Ruth had to help him sit. Her body moved against his and all rational thought flew out the window. Adam knew that he had a silly grin on his face, but all at once he didn’t care. Regaining some of the initiative Adam refused to let go of her hand. He drew Ruth down next to him. Their kiss was long and sweet. Ruth seemed to melt in his arms. Breathless and a little dizzy Adam finally broke off. “I never really expected. . . .if you don’t . . . .” His voice was hoarse with passion and desire. Ruth laid herself against him, her hands stroking his temples. Adam closed his eyes, the sensations Ruth was arousing in him were incredible!
“Ruth we can’t just--” he tried again.
“Adam . . .I am no innocent.”
“I can see that.”
Conversation was replaced by action, the pair slid down to the warm grass. Adam had little time to marvel at her passion—this side of Ruth took his breath away. Across the lake Coyote was sunning himself on the beach. His yellow eyes gleamed with triumph. The lovers were now so involved it would have taken a cannon shot to claim their attention. The spirit mused, “This whole scheme just might work!” The key was in place and deep within the soul of the host. In answer to Cartwright’s power, White Buffalo began to stir. The day passed into twilight, the hours unnoticed by the two lovers. Totally involved, they wandered back to camp.

****
Filled with rage the Nightmare Worm twisted in the dark. The roots of the mountain groaned in protest. White Buffalo had yet to fully manifest, but the Worm could now clearly sense the presence of the enemy. Freedom was so near! Coyotes plan was now plain. It considered how best to react. . . .the danger was in allowing White Buffalo to fully manifest. Therefore it must split the two humans apart. Then perhaps it could manipulate the situation. How best to proceed? It considered—the crows had been of limited use. Perhaps it needed another more flexible proxy? Yes!! The darkness gathered itself and reached out.
On the opposite side of the Mountain of the Dead lay the sad camp of the Shoshone. Those left alive were becoming pitifully few. Their medicine man had tried everything he could think of to help his people. Including the sending his sons into danger. Now he sat alone in his lodge his mind empty of everything but despair. Chato slumped into an exhausted sleep. But he found no rest. His dreams were haunted by the whispers of evil promises.

Chapter Eight
Sorrow and Fear - The Shoshone

In the east was the faintest hint of gray. The sky lightened in promise of the new day. But in the camp of the Spotted Pony clan of the Shoshone there was no joyful welcome of the new sun. The orderly circle of tepees was silent. Sickness and fever lay heavy on the Shoshone camp. The people stayed in their tents, too many of them sick or caring for those that were. Raven Wing sat cross-legged on the ground, her hands resting on her thighs. They were upturned and empty—as empty as her heart. Beside her lay the pallet bed of her youngest son, his struggle for breath finally done. The boy had just died of the fever. Raven Wing was the mother of three boys. All three now were gone, taken by the fever.
Raven Wing hadn’t the energy left to cry. She could feel the heat of the fever in her own limbs. Grey Feather, her husband, came to sit beside his wife. The man’s face was a mask of pain. He reached out to touch the pitiful remains of his son. Raven Wing bowed her head; the raven black mass of her hair hid her face. She took her husband’s hand. Slowly, quietly she began to sing, keening a death song, for their son—and for themselves too. The only other activity to be found was in front of the shaman’s lodge. One man was standing guard. A closer look showed that he was little more than a boy. The tribe had been so decimated that the young Wasp had been posted to wait and watch. Taking his
duties seriously he turned to the east squinting against the rising sun. His vigilance was rewarded when he spotted the two scouts sent out the day before. The guard turned to report his sighting. The scouts came running out of the forest and hurried through the camp to the lodge of the medicine man. Chato the Shaman came out to stand and receive the messengers.
“Shaman!”
“Where are my sons?” asked the shaman. The messengers hesitated; for the medicine man’s eyes were still haunted by the evil sending’s of the night.
“We waited at the place of the forbidden stone. There is no sign of Dachow, or Tolcha.”
“They would have returned by now . . . if they could.” The second warrior’s voice echoed with sadness. For this was both the shaman and father to the missing men.
“My sons have failed.” Chatos’ shoulders slumped. His grief was heavy. He was afraid of what the evil dreams had told him. The shaman bowed his head. The two braves felt a similar despair; this had been the last hope for the people of the Spotted Pony clan of the Shoshone. The men bowed their heads in respect, and started to leave.
The shaman tightened his grip on the badge of his power; he stared down at the worn staff of bone, seeking the strength and power with which he had thus far guided his people. The evil voice of his dream laughed at him. Chato raised his head, the proud shoulders drew back—he was determined to make one last try. His voice flamed with determination. “But perhaps where a son fails—a father can succeed. . . I will go to the Mountain of the Dead.”
Halted by the Shaman’s declaration, the first warrior, whose name was Kaska, exchanged a glance with the two others, Tiawa and the young Wasp. There was agreement. “We shall go with you, Shaman.” All three had sung their death songs . . . all they wanted were to rejoin their families. But perhaps the shaman just might succeed. And so it was that Chato led them back to the Mountain.
****
The rocky roots of the Mountain of the Dead trembled in sympathy. The crows, still in thrall, were driven into flight. As they circled the mountain their calling shivered the air. Far below the earth in stone vaults never graced by the light of man, the darkness laughed.

****
Coyote was perched on a pile of boulders on a shoulder of the Mountain of the Dead. A warm breeze danced around him ruffling his fur. Coyote faced toward Ruth’s camp and lifted his muzzle to test the air. He was well aware of the Worm’s plotting and he was counting on it. Ruth was still the variable. She was enough to turn his already-gray hair—white. Around the grizzled spirit’s perch the air danced and shimmered, leaving prints in the dust. . . .Coyote settled in to wait.

The Ponderosa, Ranch Headquarters

Ben was irritated. Adam wasn’t due back for several more days, which meant twice as much work for the rest of them. With Ben’s temper, breakfast didn’t go well. Ben sent Joe and Hoss out to the barn to finish the morning chores. The two younger men, eager to escape their father’s temper, left quickly. Ben finished his coffee and slowly walked to the front door to get his gun belt. His thoughts were preoccupied with some notes he needed to make about a shipping contract. Gun belt in hand he went over to his desk to scribble some reminders to himself. Hop Sing had finished cleaning up in the kitchen when Ben finally straightened up from the desk and put on his gun belt.
The front door burst open and Hoss came in, “Pa? . . .”
“Hmmm?”
“Pa,” Hoss repeated, “Adam’s horse just came in.”
“Adam’s horse!” Alarm flared in Ben’s mind as he swung away from the desk to face his middle son.
Hoss was still standing by the door, worry written large on his face. “Yes sir and he’s still got the saddle on ‘im.”
With a hard look at Hoss, Ben strode to the open door.
“Will Harly found Sport late last night over by the eastern border of the ranch.” Hoss continued as he followed his father out the door. “He knew Sport right away and brought him in. I sent Harley back out, but he said that he’s already got the boys workin’ on Sports’ back-trail.”
Ben nodded abstractly, only half listening to Hoss’s report. Ben saw that Little Joe had tied Sport to the hitching rail and was checking over Adam’s saddle and gear. “There are no real marks on him Pa . . .” Joe said, “No nothing.” Joe was worried too.
Ben could see that Sport had been wearing his saddle for several days. His alarm grew. Adam would not have willingly been parted from Sport. Ben patted the big sorrel on his hindquarters as he bent down to examine the gelding’s legs. Those legs slim but strong were covered with scratches, doubtless from wandering through the thorny scrub brush prevalent in the eastern quarter of the Ponderosa. Sport appeared mostly unharmed, but he was clearly very tired. The horse stood quietly at the hitch rail, lacking his usual vim and vigor.
Hoss said it for all of them. “Pa, I think we oughta go after him.”
Ben took a deep breath, firmly shoving all sorts of nightmare scenarios from his mind. “Joe, you . . . get some food ready.”
“Right Pa . . .” Joe laid a comforting hand on his father’s arm and hustled into the kitchen.
“Hoss . . .saddle up the horses . . .better bring a spare.” His face grim, Hoss nodded and headed for the barn. Ben barely noticed. He continued staring at Sport, looking for clues. He couldn’t rid his mind of the awful possibility that that last argument with Adam before he had left for Nevada City, could be the last time he would ever see his eldest son alive.
Hoss brought out more than just a spare horse for Adam. The big man brought out extra animals for himself, his father and for Joe.
“Hoss, what are you doing?” Ben asked in surprise.
“Pa,” Hoss replied, “There’s somethin’ in my gut as tells me we ain’t got a lot of time.”
Ben was taken back at Hoss’s intensity.
“With the extra horses.” continued Hoss, “We kin push hard and switch saddles to the spare animal and won’t have to stop.”
“Good idea, Hoss!” chimed Joe, his voice full of false cheer. The youngest Cartwright came out of the side door of the kitchen storeroom and began to stack up a pile of camping gear and food. “There’s no tellin’ what sort of trouble has tagged Adam. The sooner we get there the better.” Hop Sing came out with a box of gear for the packsaddles. The little cook was uncharacteristically silent as he crossed the yard, handing the kit box to Hoss. Ben just stood there, twisting Sport’s lead rope in his hands. Joe and Hoss shared a worried glance. . . Normally it was Adam who knew what to do when their father was so distressed. With a sharp glance at Hoss and Joe, the little cook solved their problem.
“Boss you stand there like deaf post!!” the Chinese scolded, “You get busy! Got job to do--find Number One Son!” Ben was startled as Hop Sing advanced on him like an angry bantam rooster. Joe and Hoss turned away hiding their smiles. Hop Sing always knew what to do.
“Hop Sing stay here, keep things ready—just like always!” With a fine sense of timing, honed over the years of working for Ben Cartwright, the little man retreated to his kitchen, trailing frustrated Chinese imprecations in his wake.
Ben stared after the cook, but his eyes began to gleam with amused affection. The little man always hid his deep feelings for the Cartwright family with angry scolds.
Little Joe couldn’t hold it in any longer. He started to giggle. Hoss’s shoulders were shaking in silent laughter.
Ben turned to glare at his sons.
“Ha! Ho! Hee Hee!. . .” Hoss guffawed. “Pa if you coulda’ seen your face!” Little Joe’s chipmunk giggle danced counterpoint to Hoss’s deeper laughter.
“Alright you two . . .” Ben couldn’t hold his glare, “I’ll put Sport away and then we’ll get going.”
With the three of them working it didn’t take long. They settled on two mounts per man and one packhorse to serve as Adam’s mount when they found him. It was Ben’s suggestion to parcel out the supplies and camp gear among their remounts.
“Good idea, Pa!” agreed Joe, “That way the pack horse won’t be carrying such a heavy load of food for Hoss!”
“Pshaw little brother, I just plan ahead.” Hoss replied with exaggerated dignity. “You’d hit the trail without yer boots on
if’n------I didn’t remind you.”
“Hey! You take that back!” Joe overplayed his reaction considerably, hoping Ben wouldn’t notice Hoss’s lapse. It was Adam who always supervised putting their gear together for the trail. Hoss, realizing his break, followed Joe’s lead as usual.
Ben smiled at the boys’ transparent tactics and horseplay. He was worried, but his fears for Adam were now under control. Ben took a last tug on the cinch of his saddle and swung aboard. He had chosen to ride his second string horse, Tin Biscuit. The young steel-dust gelding was restive and ready to run. Buck, his regular mount shook his head, one foreleg pawing at the earth. He didn’t like the fact that Ben wasn’t going to ride him, but Ben knew that he’d need the buckskin’s reliable strength later on.
“If you two are ready?” Ben growled in mock anger.
The two youngest Cartwright’s hastily mounted up, not in the least cowed by their father’s glare. They too were riding their second string animals. Cochise put up a fuss at being led until Joe pulled her head down and whispered in her ear. Chubb had quietly accepted the lead rope but the black gelding wouldn’t let Hoss out of sight. The big man was riding ‘Buttermilk’ a smooth-gaited big dapple-gray horse, with the heart and strength to run all day. Joe had told Cochise the plan and the little paint nodded her head as if she understood. She stood quietly on a lead when her master mounted his second string horse a fast long legged black gelding that he’d named appropriately enough, ‘Blackie’. The teasing about the name had stopped after had Joe won the Virginia City Stakes Race twice in a row while riding Blackie.
Tin Biscuit tossed his head and tried to dance. With a last glance around the ranch yard Ben absently controlled the steel-dust colored horse into proper manners. The young gelding stood quietly awaiting the signal from his rider. Beneath his legs Ben could feel that the young horse was eager to run. With a nod to Hop Sing, Ben gathered up the reins and Buck’s lead rope. At the touch of his rider’s spur Tin Biscuit was out of the yard in two bounds with Buck running easily alongside. Hoss and Joe traded glances and urged their horses to catch up. Hop Sing stood in the kitchen doorway watching the Cartwrights ride off just as he had so many times before. Ben Cartwright and his sons had done much for Hop Sing and for his people. To Hop Sing the Cartwright’s were a second family. The look on Ben Cartwright’s face would stay with Hop Sing in the days to come. The last time Number One Son had gone missing, he had been robbed and set afoot in the desert. The eldest Cartwright son had come back more dead than alive. The little cook walked quickly through the kitchen to reach his own quarters. In one corner was a tiny altar dedicated to his ancestors back in China. Hop Sing went to his knees, lit some incense, and began to pray.
Outside in the empty ranch yard, a cold wind began to blow.

Chapter Nine
Expect the Unexpected

Ruth

Ruth felt split in two. She pulled Dancer off the trail into a tiny little pocket of meadow. The gelding was pleased at the chance for some fresh green grass. Ruth let Dancer graze on his lead. She sank cross-legged to sit on the ground. The sun seemed frozen in the sky, its heat beating upon her head and shoulders. The trap-line had been empty. The whole forest seemed empty of game; which was disturbing enough. But without the distraction of work Ruth had time to think and she didn’t like what her thoughts were saying. Her mind in turmoil she had left camp before dawn. Adam had still been asleep. She had tenderly kissed the face of her lover before slipping from the bed. Ruth clenched her fists. Yes! Her lover! She could say that. But her mind still trembled. Something more had passed between them. Something that she couldn’t quite put a name to—it made her afraid.
She remembered what Coyote had said. That she must do him a service. She couldn’t remember much of that meeting but she became afraid that the spirit had wanted her to lie with Adam. “But why?” As Ruth sought within for an answer she gradually became aware of the trembling of the ground. She followed the trace of the disturbance and touched the churning darkness imprisoned at the roots of the mountain. In response she heard the answering bellow of White Buffalo. With an effort that left her sobbing she pushed away both invaders. All she wanted was a normal life! She clung to that thought, refusing to allow any other in her mind. Ruth loved Adam—of that she was certain. He was so kind and gentle. Never had a man touched her so. She had lost her father; she had lost the Bannocks; her mind veered, this time she was determined not to lose. Her mind tipped in the other direction and her eyes flared with a touch of madness. If she had to fight for him than so be it! She had her lover, there would no change, and nothing would be allowed to interfere!! Dancer jumped in surprise as Ruth surged to her feet, forcing her to hang on tight to his lead rope. Her hands whitened as she hung on, as tightly as she intended to hold onto to her fading dreams.

Adam

Adam's dream had turned dangerous. The sun was full in his face—yet he didn’t wake. The morning air was warm and still. Off in the distance the crows from the mountain had begun with a renewed imperative to quarter the sky. Their harsh calling echoed through the forest. “No” the protest was little more than a breath of sound as Adam’s breathing grew labored. The feathered threat couldn’t physically reach him, but since Ruth wasn’t there, he was on his own. The voices of the crows began to form a net, pulling at his soul. Adam struggled, sweat formed, the draw intensified. Breathing hard now in the grip of this newest nightmare, Adam struggled. For some reason the image of Hoss came to his mind. Hoss! Standing tall and strong, his feet planted in the earth. Yes!! The gentle face of the biggest Cartwright formed in his memory. Adam seized on that memory like a lifeline, seeking the stone steady strength that always sustained his brother. Adam jerked awake. His breath came in great gasps.
“What in heaven is happening to me?” Adam’s voice was hoarse and shaking as he braced himself on the bed, struggling for control. His gaze swept the camp; all was quiet; everything seemed normal. But then again ever since he had decided to take the shortcut across the foot of the Mountain of the Dead . . . . .normal had been tossed out the window! Adam shifted himself around and with the help of his cane got up to get some water. His mind felt curiously detached. He sat down on the rock next to the fire-pit. He absently poked at some of the coals with his cane. His brow furrowed as he sought to wrap his thoughts around the events that had occurred since that night on Willow Creek. When he had first had started to ‘dream’. Images of Ruth filled his thoughts, “Face it old man, love and logic seldom go hand in hand.” He felt his lips quirk in pleased memory of Ruth in his arms and yet his eyes remained dark and troubled. His thoughts stuttered to a halt, his mind veered away from what it couldn’t explain.
The puzzle that was Ruth, as he saw her, now meant everything to him. He didn’t stop to consider why, it just was—thinking of her made Adam feel complete—whole for the first time in his life. He could just picture his father and brothers when he introduced her to them. Thinking of his family, Adam’s smile faded a little. “I’ve lost track of the days. They have to have missed me by now.” He poked again at the coals of the fire. Adam hated to think of the worry his father and brothers must be feeling. Tiny flames stirred and danced, seeking fuel from the remains of the firewood. Adam rolled his shoulders, seeking to do away with the tension. He resolved to speak to Ruth when she got back.
The breathless air of the camp made Adam restless. Everything was so quiet! Abruptly he heard the patter of tiny paws. He jerked around to see a bushy tailed ground squirrel climbing up the side of Ruth’s hut. The little creature froze at Adam’s movement. Man and squirrel stared at each other for a long moment. With a quick flip of its bushy tail the squirrel swarmed up to the roof of the hut. The little fellow sat up on his haunches and chattered, raining insults down on Adam. Adam laughed he could see that the squirrel had been busy gathering food. Its cheek pouches were full. With a final flip of its tail the ground squirrel bounded across the roof and was away into the forest.
Adam quirked an eyebrow, “Maybe I should take the hint.” He thought. His practiced eye again scanned the camp. There were a number of chores he could do while waiting for Ruth to return.
His could always think better, when his hands were busy.

****
The Worm coiled and flexed, it reconsidered. The human had evaded the crows once again. But no matter, there was still time and the darkness now had another pawn. The bones of the Mountain of the Dead groaned; cracks began to grow in the surrounding rock.

****
Coyote rested his head on his paws, “It’s a pity that White Buffalo requires a woman.” He sighed; it was going to be a near thing working with Ruth. The key was in the lock. Which way would it turn? What he had to do now was wait for the right moment.
****
Ruth’s Camp

Adam found plenty of work that needed doing. First he straightened up around camp. Then he took a close look at Ruth’s little hut and found that it was resting on shaky foundations. “Fixing this will be my first project.” He was pleased to be able to use his skills as a builder to make Ruth’s home more secure. His leg was still sore; but Adam found that if he moved slowly and with care, the limb would support his weight.
“Which is more than I can say for this hut!” Fortunately, Ruth had plenty of supplies. Adam set to work.
First he reinforced the frame with rawhide lashings. But the sturdy posts really needed to be sunk into the ground. Lacking a
post-hole digger and he had to admit, the strength to dig—Adam settled for rigging cross braces and piling up rocks for added support. Now for the roof.! He certainly didn’t have the wood for proper planking. But he could use fir boughs from the forest and pack it with grass to make a watertight thatch.
“Adam!! What are you doing!?” exclaimed Ruth.
Totally absorbed in the work he hadn’t seen Ruth’s return. “Oh Ruth I hope you don’t mind.” Adam said, “But I thought that I’d make myself useful.”
Her surprised gaze took in the re-arranged drying racks for her animal pelts and skins. The fire-pit scraped and cleaned a new fire burning, her hut with the sides wide open showing everything to the world. She clenched her fists. Adam was perched precariously on the edge of the roof. He couldn’t see the madness that still rode in her mind. “My brother Little Joe has a phrase for it—he calls me a ‘workaholic’, I guess it comes from working so many years with Pa to build the ranch. I can hardly wait to show it all to you.” Belatedly sensing that Ruth was upset Adam tucked in the last bit of thatch and hastened to climb down. “Ruth honey, I’m sorry if you’re upset I should have asked you before I changed anything.”
“Changes!!” Ruth’s voice echoed off the rocks, her emotions were in turmoil. This camp was her refuge a place to retreat from the world. Everything depended on that. . . .she felt a flush of heat at the base of her spine as in response to her emotions, the power within suddenly awoke. Reacting without thought she cried out. “This isn’t right!! How dare you!!”
Facing her, Adam at last saw her eyes. “Ruth?”
She reached . . . and suddenly Adam couldn’t breathe.
Hand to his throat Adam stumbled, his knees buckling. “Ruth what are you? . . . .” he rasped in surprise.
Ruth reached again.
“Agghh . . .” Adam fell under the onslaught of pain.

Pa
Ben Cartwright leaned forward to shift his weight Tin Biscuit was working hard now. Ben could feel the young gelding take huge breaths as he strove to answer the demands of his rider. Sweat had formed on the steel-dust’s neck coloring his hide black. Unweighted, Buck was running easily on his lead, the buckskin’s head bobbing just at Tin Biscuit’s hindquarters. Ben regretted having to push the horses so hard. But all morning his sense of urgency had continued to grow. Ben reviewed in his mind the road ahead. Within the Ponderosa the road was broad and flat. He employed road crews to keep them so, therefore they could make fast time. Once beyond the border of the Ponderosa the road quickly narrowed to a rutted track. As they headed east the broad fertile meadows of Tahoe quickly gave way to slate, mesquite and red desert. They would be forced to slow down. At the end of the road Ben maintained a barn for supplies and a corral for stock and a well. Adam had plans to use the water to irrigate the land and to grow hay. Those plans were the subject of another long running argument with Ben. “Lord I’ll let him do what ever he wants. Just please let me find Adam safe!” came a father’s fervent prayer.
“Pa?” Hoss urged Buttermilk up to run side by side with Tin Biscuit. The big dapple-gray put his ears back and ran stride for stride with the steel-dust. “Pa?” Hoss asked, “What do you figure to do once we reach the east corrals?”
“I’m counting on Harley.” Ben answered, “He should have told the men to be waiting for us. We’ll change horses and keep going.”
“I figure maybe he sent Ladder Walker and Dally Jones to back-trail Sport. That’ll save time.”
“Next to you son they’re the best trackers.”
“They’ll leave markers on the trail and come darkness we ought to catch up. Sounds good Pa.” Hoss tightened the reins but the dapple protested; he was enjoying the race with the steel-dust. Hoss put his hand on Buttermilk’s wet neck. “Come on feller—we got miles yet to go, just slow ‘er down a mite.” Hoss asked again, and the dapple-gray shortened his stride. Joe had fallen behind; he had his hands full trailing the spare horses. Hoss fell back to join him.
Joe handed over the extra lead ropes and the two urged their mounts back up to speed, catching up to their father. “Well?” Joe asked.
“It’s about like we figured.” Hoss answered.
“Pray that we get lucky?”
“Yep.”
“Terrific.”
The brothers settled down to ride.

Ruth’s Camp
In her dismay and surprise she had struck without thinking.
Now her love lay in the dust at her feet. He’d collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Ruth couldn’t make herself move. She felt empty, drained of all feeling. One part of her mind was horrified; the other exulted in the power at her command.
“Oooohh . . .” Adam rolled in the dust, fighting his way back to consciousness.
“Oh my love, let me help you.” Ruth’s gray eyes flared with passion and desire.
Adam tried to flinch away, the fear and confusion on his face struck her heart. She hesitated—this wasn’t right!
Barely aware he cried out, “No don’t!”
But once she touched him his body responded as if on a leash. Ruth drew him over to the buffalo robe bed before she let him go and he collapsed into the fur and pillows. Ruth sank to he knees beside the bed, her face a mask, immobilized by the conflict within. On the bed Adam was also held fast--trapped in fever and nightmare. For long hours nothing moved in the breathless air. The sunset came and went and darkness fell on the silent camp.
At last came the sound of footsteps. Brown as the earth and clad in buckskins, old man Coyote walked into her camp.
Ruth’s eyes were empty. She gave no sign of acknowledgement.
The old man’s eyes flared with a yellow fire at her silence. He puffed on his pipe and created a cloud of sweet smelling smoke. “Watch this young lady—it should help.”
All she saw at first was darkness and flame. Then the view pulled back to reveal a group of men camping in the desert.

Chapter Ten
Choices

Ben, Hoss and Joe
The desert hills loomed black against the night. Overhead ranged the stars, clear and cold in the moonless night. Below on the dark earth burned the single red eye of a campfire. A closer look reveals three men lying at ease in their blankets. A blackened and battered coffee pot sits on a rock next to the fire. Luck had come through yet again for the Cartwrights. They had changed horses at the ‘eastern corrals’, leaving the exhausted Blackie, Buttermilk and Tin Biscuit to be tended by Ponderosa ranch-hands. The Cartwrights had then forged on into the desert, eating their food in the saddle. They easily followed the trail markers and met up with Dally and Ladder before sundown. Ben had thanked the men and sent them back to Harley with instructions to finish the roundup.
Hoss eased himself back into the embrace of his overturned saddle. The big man’s jaws were still working on a piece of jerky. Hoss exchanged a long look with Joe. Throughout the long day in the saddle their father had grown more silent and grim. Even now Ben was staring, sightless into the fire. The forgotten coffee cup was cradled in his hands. The flames of the campfire busily consumed the dry wood, sending sparks up into the sky to join the stars. Joe cocked an eyebrow at Hoss. The big man grimaced, reluctant to take the lead. But the job fell to him as the oldest. He cast around for a subject to break the silence.
“Pa? Why did you ?” asked Hoss, “In the very beginning I mean.”
“Why did I what?” Ben asked, taken by surprise.
“Well Pa, Adam weren’t no bigger than a corn nubbin’ Why did you head west?”
Joe abandoned his indolent slouch as surprised as their father at Hoss’s question. But the middle Cartwright was perfectly serious. The orange-red light of the fire gilded the rocks around the camp. Fire-borne shadows parted to reveal the intent look on Hoss’s face.
“Ole’ Captain Stoddard had a good business”, Hoss pressed, “You could ‘a stayed in Boston . . . with Adam still a nursin’ baby, it would ‘a made more sense.”
Ben Cartwright harrumphed and took a drink of his cold coffee. He made a face at the cold beverage and tossed the remaining liquid on the fire. The flames hissed. Ben stared again into the fire, but this time a smile was in his eyes. All day he had had to struggle to drag his mind away from worry. Now came Hoss’s questions helping Ben to redirect his thoughts. Ben found himself grateful for Hoss’s big heart. His middle son was the rock, grounding the whole family. Joe had to remind himself to breathe, their father seldom talked about his earliest days in Boston. Joe had asked Ben before, about Boston and only received a brush-off.
Tonight he could sense, promised to be different.
Ben was silent for a moment. “It was a dream, son, and a quest. I had worked all my life for other men. I wanted to make something of my own.”
“But why the West Pa?” Hoss persisted, “I mean you was a top sailor, and officer. You could have just as easily a got yer own ship.”
“I did have one. . . for awhile.”
The fire flared in the dark, finding a knot of pitch in the wood. But Ben Cartwright’s gaze was elsewhere, lost in memory. “I worked for over a year with Abel Stoddard. He bought the cargoes and I would captain the ships up and down the coast, down to Florida and into the Caribbean and on to Texas. . .Abel and I were going to build a trading empire. . . with Adam safe on shore.”
Ben smiled remembering those days. “It was a good dream. The old man had been planning it for years. He was just waiting for a good partner. . . .But Adam was growing so fast . . .every time I came back it would take days, sometimes a week or more before he would recognize me, as his father again. . . .it was a hard thing for me to bear . . . more than anything I wanted to be Adam’s father and that wasn’t happening.” The two youngest Cartwrights held themselves still. Ben didn’t often reminisce like this. Both Hoss and Joe were hungry to know and hear anything that their father would say.
“The Captain could see that despite our success, I wasn’t happy.” Ben laughed, “I still remember that night. . .It was suppertime and I was picking at my food. . .The old man gave me a real talking to.” Ben’s voice lowered, taking on a gruff tone.
‘Ben, Elizabeth would say you’re having a taking. You haven’t eaten right for a week. Now tell me why you’re foundering on the rocks.’
“I didn’t want to”, Ben continued in his normal voice, “I didn’t even have it all straight in my own mind. . . my sails were all aback and my thinking was uncertain, but he was insistent . . . .He questioned me and kept after me until he finally found the words that I couldn’t. . . . ‘Ben he said, the land calls to you, the great mountains of the west.. . the way the sea called to me . . . you must answer the call . . . you have no choice.’
Ben laughed, “I can still see him, he always insisted on dressing for supper, the lamp light would gleam off the brass buttons of his coat as we sat at the table set with white linen and a silver service. His white collars were always perfectly pressed. I did my best to live up to his standards, but the old man always made me feel like a grubby schoolboy.”
Hoss grinned as he pictured the scene . . .Joe had to smother a laugh. Finally both younger sons were beginning to understand where some of their father’s standards of conduct were developed.
Ben continued, “The Captain’s mustaches would quiver like two angry terriers when he was mad, he’d grown them after Elizabeth died . . .He had hazel eyes that could flare as bright as a lit fuse on gunpowder . . .”
Hoss’s blue gaze flicked to meet Joe’s somber green eyes. Adam had that trait. Oldest brother could make a body feel lower than a whipped dog, with just a look.
“I squirmed under that gaze stuck like a bug on a pin. But sir, I can’t leave you . . .I protested. . . ‘Nonsense! the old man declared . . . I’m not so old that I can’t find some good employee to run cargoes . . .You’, he shook his finger at me. . . ‘need to follow your own dream. . . That’s one of the reason’s my daughter married you!’
At the fireside Ben shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his seat, he reached for the coffee, much as he must have done Hoss figured, under Captain Stoddard’s relentless interrogation. Joe eased forward to add some wood to the fire. After a moment, Ben continued.
“My thoughts were scattering like pine needles on the wind, the food long cold on my plate . . . “Aaa humphhh”. . .I cleared my throat, “I suppose I could go west”, I said, “make a stake and then send for Adam” . . . .It was the Captain’s turn to squirm . . . .his gaze fell from mine for a moment . . .his voice was low when he spoke again, ‘Much as I’d dearly love to have my grandson here with me, the lad belongs with his father’ . . . .Abel’s gaze returned to mine . . . ‘the boy does poorly when you’re apart, together the both of you prosper . . .I’ve seen it. . .the boy must go with you.’ “But sir!” I protested, “he’s not weaned yet!” The Captain had his answer ready – your wet-nurse, Mrs. Abernathy has a sister in St Joseph, Missouri. She has agreed to go that far with you and care for the boy . . .by then Adam will be taking solid food’ . . . “but I haven’t enough money for supplies and a wagon” . . .I protested again --- ‘I’ll stake you,’ said the old man, ‘pay me when you can’ --- I found myself glued to the chair, I couldn’t move . . . “you seem to have thought of everything” I accused, my voice was trembling . . .My last objection I couldn’t say, it would mean leaving Elizabeth, her grave in the cemetery that overlooked the sea. . . .The old man’s eyes softened, it was easy then, for him to know my thoughts --- ‘Son, Don’t let your grief tie you down, follow your own dream Benjamin, it’s what Elizabeth would want’ . . . . and so I did.”
The stars seemed to loom close overhead. The starlight was a soft caress on the desert. The campfire had subsided to a bed of glowing coals. Far off to the south, heat lightening flickered in silent display. Both Joe and Hoss were thinking of those early days and how their brother Adam had lived his childhood on the way west.
“Humph, I haven’t thought of that night in years.” Ben’s voice was a gruff rasp.
Joe had a suspicion as to what his father was doing in the dark. He sought for something to say. “Thanks Pa—for telling us.”
“What?” Ben lowered his hand from his face.
“What Joe means is that you hardly ever talk of them days.” Hoss said.
“We know it means a lot.” Joe continued.
“Well thanks boys.” Ben was grateful for the love and support of his two younger sons. “But I’m about talked out.” Ben got up from the fire and went to his bedroll, sitting down to remove his boots. “You both best get some rest.”
“Sure thing Pa.” Joe snuggled into the embrace of his overturned saddle. “Night Hoss, night Pa.”
“G’nite Shortshanks.”
“Goodnight boys.”
Hoss wasn’t ready yet for sleep. He got up to bank the fire for the night and still wakeful, went to check the horses on the picket line.
Buck, Cochise and the packhorse were fast asleep. Chubb raised his head at his master’s approach. The big black gelding huffed and cocked his head begging Hoss for a treat.
“Here ya’ are you greedy cuss.” Hoss gave the horse a biscuit left over from supper. Chubb snuffled at his master’s shirt pockets, mobile lips searching for more. Hoss pulled the black’s head down looking for solace in the warmth of the big horse. Chubb, as greedy for affection as he was for treats rested his big head against Hoss’s chest.
Hoss stared up into the night, “Hang on big brother.” Hoss’s voice was a raw whisper. “Adam you cuss—we’re a comin’ just you hang on!”
Starlight softened the night as Hoss at last made his way to his bed. Snores soon signaled the big man’s fast surrender to sleep. Little Joe had once run a betting pool that his brother could snore louder than anyone in the Territory. Hoss had gotten his revenge, with a little help from Adam. The youngest Cartwright tended to talk in his sleep, vocalizing his dreams—particularly about girls. The results had been spectacular and had kept people laughing for weeks.
Ben Cartwright was rolled in his blankets with his back to the fire. For him sleep refused to come. Ben listened to the desert night and to the sleep of his two youngest sons. Starlight shadowed his face as he stared into the dark.

Ruth
Within Ruth the balance wavered on a razor’s edge. Which will win? Love and Duty? Or Passion and Power? Coyote had shown her the heart and soul of the Cartwright’s. His play has struck deep. But, it is Ruth who must decide. The stars wheeled by in the night sky, marking the hours. On the bed Adam lay trapped in evil dreams. Ruth still kneeled motionless by the bed. Coyote waited sitting cross-legged on the ground.
A single crow winged to a landing in the rocks. The old man grinned, his sharp teeth flashing in the dark. Coyote puffed on his pipe and sent smoke rings dancing up to encircle the black bird. The creature chattered angrily and flapped its wings, but the smoke thickened rather than dissipated. Giving a discordant call, the crow flew away.
As for Ruth she is engulfed by a black sea of fear and doubt. Only this time while she struggles to swim in the dark waters, Ruth at the same time finds herself standing on a cliff; watching the swimmer flail in the angry sea.
“Help me!!” coughs the Swimmer.
“Why should I?” answers Ruth. “I have a chance at happiness,” her voice rising in anger, “And I deserve it!!”
A hot wind strikes the dark water, calming the waves somewhat.
“But Adam doesn’t deserve what you’ve done.” The Swimmer challenges.
“I’m doing what’s best for both of us!” Ruth shouted back.
“Have you asked him?” Is the Swimmer’s answer.
Silence on the cliff.
“You have seen his father and brothers. You know how it feels to be without. How can you deny him?” The Swimmer presses her point.
“But what if he hates me?” Ruth whispers.
“We’ll have to take that chance.” The Swimmer replies.
Ruth finds herself on the shore; her bare feet sink into the silver sands. She is alone. Ruth turns to see the Swimmer was wading out of the black water; exhausted the Swimmer stumbles to all fours.
Ruth steps forward. “Let me help.”
The Swimmer looks up and Ruth sees her own face, their hands meet. “Our only chance is together.” Their voices echo as one from the rocks. A wind picks up the sand forming a crystalline curtain around the two women. The heavy scent of sage fills the air. The earth trembles, the wind drops away. A White Buffalo appears on the silver sands. The animal takes an uncertain step, its eyes are gray. One more step and the key will turn. . . .

****
Below in the roots of the Mountain of the Dead, rage twists in the dark.

Chapter Eleven
Consequences

The first streaks of gray are just painting the sky in the east. The air is so still that the silence feels like a physical thing. In Ruth’s camp Coyote was pleased. He knocked out his pipe. “I wouldn’t a bet on it, but then with humans you never can tell.” The Old Man stood up and danced a few steps in the dust. “Now Cartwright . . . your role is almost done.” The air shivered, and a big grizzled Coyote howled mirthfully to welcome the sun.
Adam opened his eyes, just as Coyote trotted into the forest. Adam blinked and for a long moment was unsure even of his own name. He turned his head to see Ruth lying next to him. Slowly Adam felt his memory and strength returning. He shaded his eyes against the morning sun. “This is starting to get annoying.” He muttered. His mind felt curiously detached. He remembered what happened—but for some reason it didn’t bother him. Ruth was still asleep; her face was marked with tears. Adam was struck by how open and vulnerable she looked. Coherent thought went flying. He leaned down to kiss her. A smile tugged at his mouth when he pulled back—to watch his lover begin to wake.
She didn’t open her eyes immediately but her breathing changed. The red morning sun burnished her hair a copper colored gold. Adam gently stroked her face.
“Ruth . . . beloved.” Adam’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Adam? . . . oh Adam!” Ruth turned away, crying fresh tears.
“Ruth . . .” Adam gently turns her back, “I remember everything and it wasn’t your fault.”
“Do you? . . .do you truly?”
“Well I don’t pretend to understand it all.” Adam said wryly. “I’ll need your help for that.”
Ruth took long shuddering breaths, seeking control. Adam watched approvingly. Ruth’s misty gaze searched his face. “I’ll try . . . hicc!!” Her gray eyes wide Ruth claps a hand over her mouth. “Hiccc!!”
Adam tried, but he couldn’t stop his laughter. “Mmmm, ahhh . . . Hee hee ho.”
“Adam!” Ruth protested, shoving him away. “Hicc!!”
Adam falls back into the bed laughing outright. Ruth was outraged until he pulled her down and proceeded to soundly and thoroughly kiss away her hiccups. Unnoticed by the lovers the sunrise painted the sky a blood red.

The Shoshone
The morning sun brightens an empty clearing. Overhead a solitary crow side-slipped through the air, its flaming eyes were following the progress of three riders. On the ground the Shoshone rode into view. Dachow the Shaman’s son had known his duty and left trail signs for his father to follow. Chato pulled up at the edge of the rocks. The pitiless sunlight revealed a pair of buckskin-clad legs. The Shaman felt his heart freeze. At his side Kaska leapt from his pony and runs to see.
“No.” Chato’s voice was full of a father’s pain. His command halted Dachow’s best friend in mid stride. “Do you too, wish to be struck down by the magic of the White Buffalo Woman—as my son was?” At the medicine man’s words, Kaska’s shoulders slumped the Shoshone turned away and came back to stand in front of Chato. The Shaman stared at Kaska, but his eyes were full of despair and desperation. The evil whispers within his mind sprang to new life, and in his despair Chato began to listen. Behind the Indians, a red eyed crow landed on one of the tallest rocks. It cocked its head—watchful.
“Her powers are greater than all the medicine in the Shoshone.” Within Chato’s mind, the world tilts, his thoughts were muddied and dark. “That is why she must go back with us. Only she can save our people from the great sickness.” Chato’s knuckles grew white as he clenched his staff. “Tiawa!! Kaska!! Find her camp!” ordered Chato. “Then return to me.”
Responding to orders, Kaska leapt aboard his pony and he and Tiawa rode away to carry out the Shaman’s orders. The younger Wasp stays behind to serve as guard to Chato and to worry.
On the rocks the crow bobbed its head, the creature’s red eyes began to gleam.

Ruth’s Camp
Adam Takes Hold

“What day is it?” Adam asks. Ruth stirred drowsily. “How long have I been here?” He propped himself up on one elbow, idly tracing the curve of Ruth’s cheek—her lips. Ruth snuggled into the curve of Adam’s body. At the moment nothing mattered but the nearness of her lover.
“Why do you want to know?” Ruth murmurs.
“I’m curious.” Adam’s hands began to wander.
“I don’t know, five, maybe six days.” Ruth began to respond to his explorations. The scent of sage was carried on the air.

****
Coyote lounged on the sun warmed rocks above Ruth’s camp. His yellow eyes were following every movement down below. The grizzled creature mused as he sniffed the wind. He could smell the approach of the Shoshone. “There isn’t much time, he has to unlock and stabilize that girl today.” Coyote’s jaw dropped in a lupine grin; “If he’s lucky Cartwright might even survive the experience!” The creature collapsed with boneless grace onto the rocks as he settled down to watch.
The day progressed as, unaware of the watcher Adam and Ruth spent the day in camp, doing chores. Adam set about heating some water to wash his shirt. While he worked he examined his feelings, and decided that they were true. They aren’t in gratitude for the nursing care. The uncanny events of the night seem unimportant. For Adam that decision is a fateful mistake.
“So much for being the cold and unfeeling Cartwright.” His thoughts were focused solely on Ruth. He did recognize that she was unstable. “And who wouldn’t be—having to live all alone out here?” Adam mused, “I’ve got to help her!” That settled he smiled ruefully at himself. “Easier said than done, I’ll just have to watch and wait for my chance.” His eyes full of resolve Adam went to the fire-pit. He picked up a stick and fished out his shirt from the wash water. Absorbed in his task, he didn’t see when Ruth came out of the hut, until she sat down next to him. Turning to look he saw the she held the bible Adam had found in her trunk. “Easy now.” Adam tells himself—“Just maybe . . .”
Ruth bent her head over the book. Adam kept working on his shirt. The only sounds are the crackle of the fire, the sighing wind in the forest, the whisper of parchment paper as Ruth turned the pages, and the dripping water as Adam carefully wrung out his shirt. Adam knew that he had to wait for Ruth to make the first move.
At last Ruth began to read aloud. “And a certain man of Bethlehem Judah went to sojourn in the country of Moab he and his wife and his two sons.”
Adam laid his shirt aside to dry. “You read very well.” He kept his voice deliberate and casual. “The Old Testament . . .Book of Ruth. Like you she a. . she’d gone into a strange land.”
He leaned over to look at the bible. Adam admired the grace and strength in her hands. Ruth stabbed a quick glance at him; before she ducked back to the refuge of the book in her lap. Her mind trembled, tipping back and forth like a see saw. Hoping to distract herself, she kept reading.
“And the name of the man was Eli. . .” she stumbled over the strange word.
“Elimelech,” Adam prompts, “And the name of his wife, Naomi.”
Wearing just his black vest over his bare shoulders, with his tattered jeans and scarred boots, Adam presented a compelling figure. The scent of his very nearness unsettled her. She looked away but his mellow baritone voice reached into her heart. To a place she had walled up long ago. When her father had walked away and left her in the snow—when the Bannocks died. Within, her soul a door began to open. . . .it was the opening for which White Buffalo was so patiently waiting.
“Entreat me not to leave thee.” Ruth’s voice turned hesitant. Power hummed at the base of her spine—but for the moment the human girl was in charge.
“Or to return from following after thee.” Adam continued to prompt her.
Ruth risked another look—she found it comforting that he knew the words. “A long time ago, my father used to read this to me.” The memory warmed her face and heart. Watching . . . Adam had to physically restrain himself. All he wanted to do was to take her in his arms. “Easy does it.” He repeated to himself, “Not yet!!” Unbidden a picture came to mind of his brother Hoss; the big man has a special touch with wild things. Once on a bet he’d even enticed a wild rabbit to eat from his hand. Adam leaned heavily on the image of Hoss in his mind.

“That part of my life—died with him.” Ruth’s face became a mask of remembered sadness and pain.
Adam shifted his seat; his voice was gentle but insistent, “Finish the quotation.”
She looked across the camp but her eyes saw only memories. At last she continued. “For whither thou goes’t I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.”
Adam felt a fire begin to burn within him. “And thy people shall be my people, and thy god, my god.”
Ruth’s lips moved soundlessly as she also completed the quote. She looks up at the man seated so close to her. Grey eyes meet hazel—soul meets soul. The wind drops into silence, the flames of the fire are soundless, the earth seems to hold its breath.
“Ruth . . . come back with me.”
“Back? . . . Where?”
“Where you belong!” The words spill forth. “Leave White Buffalo woman where she belongs, with the graves of the past.” Adam struggled to hold a reasonable tone of voice.
“I’ve found peace here.” Ruth protests—the girl’s mind wavers yet again. Deep within, White Buffalo rumbles a protest.
“The people that are buried here have found peace. What you’ve found is a hiding place!” Adam’s own passion began to rise.
Ruth set down the bible; “What can your world offer me that I don’t have right here?!” As Adam watches, the balance within Ruth Halverson suddenly tips. She stands up to leave.
Adam nearly despairs to see the change, but he isn’t about to give up. “People of your own kind.” His statement is the bald truth. Adam watches closely as the woman before him listens and wavers between legend and reality.
“I know nothing but evil of my father’s people.” Ruth can no longer banish the bitter memories. Under the onslaught, Ruth sinks down to her seat—gripping the bible on her lap.
Adam eases himself to his good knee. His heart aches for the torment he sees on her face. But he knows that she has to work through it—to have any chance to reclaim herself—her true identity. “Look Ruth . . . You say this is your home where you belong . . . It can’t be!!”
He feels his heart stop when Ruth’s face turns stony. “Why can’t it be?”
“Because you’re alone.” Adam knows all about being alone. The truth of that rings in his voice. He can feel the sweat trickle down his back, his leg aches; he ignores the pain. A corner of his mind recognizes that the next few minutes are going to be some of the most important in his life. He waits—hardly daring to hope.
Ruth blinked, looking at him.
“I have a stubborn father” Adam resumed his play for the woman he loved. “And two hard headed brothers, to me they’re home. No matter where they live.”
“I . . . I have no one.” Ruth turned in her seat, seeking refuge again in the bible.
Adam gathered up all his hope and made one last throw. “On this mountain you’re a legend.” His voice dropped in sorrow, “And a legend leads a lonely life.”
Ruth lifted her eyes from the book in her lap. She stared across the camp. Adam forged ahead. “In the world out there—you wouldn’t be alone—music—books—the sound of laughter. All you have to do is come back . . .” He could see Ruth begin to waver. Gently—oh so gently—he put his hand on her shoulder. “And let me do the rest.” He could feel her trembling. Slowly--time seems start up. Adam can hear a pair of crickets began to sing.
“No . . . let me be.” Ruth began to panic. Adam shifted his grip, she tried to leave, he stopped her, he made her turn to look at him.
“Ruth—Ruth you can’t keep running.” Adam pressed. “What ever you’re hiding from must be faced—and now!”
Ruth shuddered in his grip, terrified of the memories.
“I can’t---please let me go!!”
“Ruth tell me—tell me now what really happened!” The past rose up to overwhelm her. Ruth’s eyes were full of past terrors.
“Two of those men—caught me—I fell—and they were—they were there—laughing. They grabbed me and one of them—one of them hit me and—I got my hand on a knife—His face—he screamed—and I broke away and I—I ran.”
At last the tears began to flow . . . Ruth falls into Adam’s embrace. His hand rested ever so gently on her hair, . . . he held her close. “And now you can forget it.” Relief colored his voice. Ruth gulped away her tears; deep within her soul White Buffalo turned to face the open door. The spirit stepped across the threshold bringing compassion and healing to Ruth’s mind. Coyote’s plan is almost complete. Only one more step—Ruth must willingly accept the mantle of power.
Whole for the first time in ever so long, Ruth at last found her rest in the arms of Adam Cartwright.
The lovers’ kiss is salted with tears.

****
On the rocks above Coyote’s yellow eyes begin to glow. “Well played, Cartwright!” He exults, below in the camp Coyote can feel the energies of White Buffalo beginning to gather and grow. He raises his muzzle to sniff the wind. Beneath his feet at the roots of the earth—the Worm flexes in anger. On the top of the mountain a rockslide thunders down as one of the black rock cliffs splits apart.
Coyote’s yellow eyes flare—that anger suits his purpose. “Just you keep on throwing tantrum’s.” the grizzled spirit panted. The next part of his plan called for some delicate deception. It suited Coyote to use the Worm’s own tools for a much different goal. He turned to watch the lovers. “Now for a little mixing and stirring’” the spirit’s yellow eyes flared with a measure of regret, “They do make a good couple. It’s a pity.”

****
Unlike Little Joe, oldest brother Adam liked to kiss a girl with his eyes open. Therefore it is with a start that he realizes that he and Ruth have an audience. Ruth feels his surprise and turns to see.
The lovers confront a stony faced Chato and his men. The Shoshone are standing at the very edge of the camp. Ruth stood up, her hands quickly scrubbing away her tears. She turned to face their unwanted visitors. The warriors cast their eyes down, afraid to look. Chato gripped his staff of power and the darkness grows within him in answer to his plea. Adam is forced to watch the woman he loves go alone to face down the Shoshone. Wishing for his rifle, he curses his injury and the Shoshone for their timing. He grabs his stick, whatever happens he’ll meet it on his feet.
“Chato, Shaman of the Shoshone—brings you tribute.” Once White Buffalo Woman stands in front of him only then does Chato drop his eyes in respect.
“I accept your tribute Chato.” Ruth warily replies. She is keenly aware of the man—yes she can say it!—her lover behind her in the camp. Her resolve hardens she’ll do anything—to protect him! “I accept your tribute Chato.” Ruth continued, “But not your presence here, with your warriors.”

****
Within rocky vaults that have never seen the light of man, the dark contracts—for through the shaman it can almost taste the stirring of power within the woman. . . . the Worm trembles with greed and irresistible hunger.

****
“Only the Spirit of the great White Buffalo Woman can conquer the sickness that has come to our lodges.” Watching at a distance Adam sees the unreasoning passion of a fanatic within the shaman.
“My heart cries for your people.” Ruth stands her ground and replies, “But the White Buffalo Woman must stay here—with the ashes of the past.” She offers the shaman a way to save face and accept defeat. But Chato isn’t about to accept.
“The ashes of the past, or the lies of a white man!” Darkness burns within the Shaman.
Ruth tries to hide her alarm—how much did the man hear of what passed between her and Adam? She shoots a look at her lover; she leans on his presence to steady her thoughts.
“To the Spirit Woman, Chato.” Ruth countered, “All men are brothers. It is for me to judge who is welcome on the Mountain of the Dead!” Her voice rang out in challenge.
Adam felt a surge of pride and worry seeing Ruth’s courage. But is it enough? What will Chato do next? The shaman stared at the woman, she had power; he could feel it, the darkness within, whispers to him—passing on instructions.
“You have my answer.” Ruth nails the man with her eyes. “Take your warriors.”
Willing to do anything to prevent their dismissal, Kaska and Tiawa grab for their weapons. Ruth doesn’t flinch. The shaman raises his hand to stop any rash actions by his men. Wordless he bows—and walks away, his men follow. Ruth dismisses the Indians, not even watching them leave. She only knows worry for Adam. She quickly returns to him.
“You must go.” She pleads.
“Not without you.”
“But Adam don’t you understand?” Ruth is frantic. “They’ll kill you!”
Adam pulled her close for an urgent kiss. After everything that has happened he isn’t about to let anything get between him and the woman he loves.
When they part, Ruth agrees, “Then we’ll find a way past the Shoshone—together.”
The lovers seal that promise, with a kiss.

****
A short distance away Chato is giving orders. It is clear to the Shaman that Ruth carries the spirit of the White Buffalo, but the sacred power is weak; the white man has contaminated it. The Worm chuckles and whispers in his brain.
“Wait here and watch.” He tells his faithful warriors, “When the white man is alone—take him alive. She will hear my words—or watch him die!”

****
Coyote can feel the distress of the earth. It will be soon, very soon. His indolent pose is belied by the sharpness of his gaze. “Cartwright has done well—too bad.”

****

The Cartwright Variable
Several miles down the mountain Ben and the boys have found what remains of the two white hunters. Animal scavengers have been at work. Being decent Christian men they take the time to bury what’s left. Hoss and Little Joe stand with their hats
off—listening to their father say a brief prayer.
“Dear Lord—accept these souls into heaven. May they rest in peace—for ever and ever—amen.” Ben feels very sorry for the deaths of the two men. But his emotions are mixed. He is grateful that at least it wasn’t Adam. He wonders if these men had families. Because of scavengers, there was very little left to tell who these nameless men were. Ben fingered a piece of beadwork that one of the hunters was wearing. It wasn’t much of a marker for a man’s life.
“Well from the signs, Adam got this far.” Ben said dragging his thoughts back to business. Off in the hills a chorus of coyotes start to howl—a wild soulless music. Ben shivers; he much prefers the more homey sound of the crickets and frogs singing in the nearby shallows of Willow creek. “But he didn’t meet the same fate the two trappers did.” He tried not to feel guilty about the relief he felt; that it wasn’t his son who died.
“Where do you think he’d go from here?” Joe asks.
Ben knows in his heart where to go. “He must have gone into the mountain.” He can just see the dark brooding cliffs of the Mountain of the Dead just over the densely forested hills.
“Adam would know better than that!!” Hoss protests.
Staring at the mountain Little Joe swallows nervously; he catches his father’s mood. “Well—maybe he didn’t have a choice..”
Hoss is at a loss. His father and brother obviously have some knowledge he doesn’t—So what else is new? The big man is used to this feeling. If he is patient, they will tell him—they always do.
“Well. . .” Ben turns to their horses. “We’re not going to find him standing around here.” The Cartwright’s mount up to ride. One of the family needs help—they won’t rest until Adam’s fate is known.

A Stolen Interlude
Adam and Ruth

Since they have to wait for nightfall before they can try to get past the Shoshone Adam proposes that they go up to the lake and go fishing. Ever practical, Adam figures that the night will be hard and dangerous. They might as well rest up first and enjoy themselves. He is right, but for the wrong reasons. Ruth agrees. The lovers play in the sunlight. Adam pretends to fall asleep over his fishing pole. Ruth sneaks up to steal a kiss. He springs awake and grabs her. “You weren’t asleep at all.” Ruth accuses with a smile.
“Didn’t you ever hear of the spider and the fly?” He laughs, delighted at having caught her.
Ruth shakes her head. She is amazed that this man is so playful and loving. Raised as she was by the Bannocks she finds it hard to credit such—in a white man. Adam grins back at her. The lovers kiss again, their joy brightens the air about them. Adam is so happy he feels like shouting.
“Now I know why they gave me my name.” Adam leans back on one elbow. “My folks must have known that I belonged in the Garden of Eden.” He gently places a bright little cornflower in her hair.
Ruth smiles at his whimsy. “I wonder if they knew about me?” Then her face darkens, for despite Adam’s loving her, she can’t help but worry. “And—the Shoshone . . .”
“Ruth—we’ll leave tonight.” Adam seeks to reassure his love. But for the moment the Indians are one of the last things on his mind.
“I want you to have something.” He digs into his vest pocket. Ruth spies what he holds and a look of wonder crosses her face. It is a ring—made out of tightly woven scraps of leather. “When a man is betrothed to a woman,” Adam takes her hand, “He gives her a ring.” He takes her hand and slips it on her finger. It isn’t the diamond he’d dreamed of giving his chosen bride—but what it represents is just as precious.
Ruth is suddenly on the edge of tears. Adam’s mellow baritone turns a bit husky as he seeks to control his own emotions. “And as long as she wears that ring—they belong to each other.”
Ruth is full of wonder and pride. This wonderful man has chosen her. She kisses the humble bit of braided leather. Her hand tightens on his.
“Adam . . .I will be your wife.”
“I love you very much.” Adam couldn’t believe he was saying such an old line. But he knew that his soul was in the words. The lovers kiss to seal their pact. For Ruth each one is as sweet as the first. For Adam. . . .he has to remind himself to breathe. They part for a moment. He looks down at their joined hands.
“Love—Honor—and Obey.” He grins wickedly. “I kinda like that last word.” He leans forward to snatch another kiss.
Ruth laughs, her smile answering his. “That last word Mr., Cartwright—we’ll talk about.” She ducks away from his seeking, “When I get back.” She gets up. There is a special keepsake back at camp—she wants to get it and give it to Adam as her betrothal gift to him.
Still not 100-percent recovered he can’t get up so easily to follow her. So he lets her go. She takes a few steps and turns, her smile is brilliant. “Adam—it’s a beautiful ring.”
Adam leans against his fishing log and watches her go—she is such a remarkable woman. He feels incredibly lucky to have found her. He can’t wait to get her home to the Ponderosa. And talk about luck! The tip of his fishing pole suddenly starts bobbing. He’s got a fish! With laughter in his heart he grabs the pole.

Chapter Twelve
The Fight Begins

His thoughts racing toward the future Adam drops his guard as he works on landing the fish. Suddenly the hard snout of a rifle jabs him in the back. He drops the pole and turns to meet the stony glares of Kaska and Tiawa. Adam’s bright interlude of love screeches to a halt.
Tiawa drags him to his feet. Seeing that their prisoner is hopping on his bad lag, Tiawa spots his stick on the ground and he scornfully hands the white man his prop. The Shoshone stalks a few steps up the beach, and turns to glare at Adam. Tiawa’s hand grips his hunting knife. Adam’s thoughts begin to race. . .jolted from thinking of matrimony to sheer personal survival no word is spoken, it is clear what the Indians want. He leans heavily on his stick. Rather overdoing his limp. “How do I get out of this?” Adam rapidly considers his options. Whatever he does it must be before Ruth returns. To distract the Indians, he plays the weak invalid. But he also knows that it is too close to the truth. He doesn’t have the endurance to take both men at the same time. “If I can separate them—somehow. The one with the rifle; I’ve got to get him off my back.”
Tiawa, leads the way to the trees and their horses. Adam slows and manages some first rate grimaces. He starts to sweat, a natural reaction to the play he’s about to make—for his life. Tiawa turns and gets a scornful look on his face. That suits Adam’s purposes--the warrior gestures peremptorily, he doesn’t want to sully himself by touching a weak white man. Kaska joins in, yelling and shoving at their pitiful prisoner.
Adam stumbles and allows himself to fall; his shoulders sag; he hangs his head; neither Indian can see their prisoner’s eyes. Adam is so sharply focused that time seemed to slow to a crawl. Kaska huffed in exasperation and grounded his rifle, reaching forward to help the weak white man to his feet. With the rifle no longer aimed between his shoulder blades Adam explodes into action.
With both hands on his stick, Adam rams it into the Indian’s belly. Shocked, Kaska loses his wind with an explosive grunt. His mouth gasps for air—Adam closes it with a right cross—driving the Shoshone into the dirt. A few crucial seconds late; Tiawa arrives. He jumps Adam from behind, ripping away the sturdy stick. The Indian attempts to club his opponent over the head. Adam counters by tackling Tiawa, getting inside the blow and tumbling both of them to the ground.
Tiawa drops the stick and both men roll over and over, each seeking the wrestling hold to subdue the other. His eyes blazing with hate Tiawa gains the upper hand. He straddles the white man’s body, his hands close on the man’s throat. Adam resists, and Tiawa shifts to apply more pressure. The Indian forgets his orders, he wants nothing more than to kill. The air begins to roar in Adam’s ears—at the last second he grabs the Indians wrists and uses his good leg to leverage the man, flipping him up and over his head.
Tiawa bounces up like a rubber ball—Adam scrambles around to face him—Tiawa grabs his knife, the blade looks sharp enough to cut the sun; the Shoshone warrior attacks—Adam ducks, his pulse is thundering in his ears—he’s got to finish this—Now. Both men rush together. Their bodies strain—their left hands are locked on the knife. Adam’s bad leg weakens, he finds himself sinking, wavering—Tiawa’s black eyes flare with triumph. Adam calls on one last burst of strength, he surges upright—frees his right hand for quick vicious punch to the Indians belly. He twists to the left, swinging the knife blade around and in—the strike is deep—Adam holds on; just to make sure. For a long moment nothing happens—then Tiawa falls, taking Adam with him. He summons a gasping effort and throws his body away from the stink of death.
Footsteps—a kick—Adam blinks at the blue sky—Kaska’s scowl fills his vision—Adam never sees the rifle butt. His only thought as he falls into the dark. . . Ruth!?

****
Ruth was only halfway to camp—when she stopped—she suddenly became worried about leaving Adam alone and turned back. She came trotting out of the trees, calling. “Adam. . .Adam?” Only silence meets her query. Fear rises like bile in her throat. She finds Adam’s stick, she picks it up—her hands twist, white knuckled on the sturdy wood. She scans the ground and is shocked to spy Tiawa’s body in the grass.
“How dare they!” Anger stirs and her mind begins to tip. Deep within, White Buffalo rumbles a challenge. For Ruth it was as if she is slammed against a wall. Her sight dims as she sinks to her knees.
Ruth finds herself back on the silver sands of her dream, fronting the restless waves of the black sea. “You promised!!” her voice was a raw scream.
“We promised nothing.”
Ruth whirls to find an Indian woman, wearing an exquisitely beaded white buckskin dress; she is standing a few paces away. She appears to be an ordinary woman—until you notice her eyes.
Ruth holds onto her rage. “I let him free—and he chose—he chose me!!”
The spirit regards Ruth with approval. “Choices are made all the time, the crux is—are you willing to take the consequences?”
“Enough riddles!” Ruth snaps, “Tell me plain what you mean!”
After a long moment, the spirit slowly extends a hand. Ruth flinches as gray eyes meet flame.
“Take my hand.” The senior spirit’s voice echoes with power.
Before her doubts can surface Ruth quickly reaches—the women’s hands meet and the world turns into flame.

Joe, Hoss and Ben

Down in the lower reaches of Willow Creek, Little Joe urges Cochise into a run. The youngest Cartwright is taking out his frustration and worry in a hard ride across the open meadows. Further up the Mountain, Ben and Hoss sweep through their own search pattern. All three men are remembering the desert when Adam was robbed—and set on foot. They had searched—but after two weeks had sadly given Adam up for dead. When the whole story was told, Ben, Hoss and Joe had been bitterly ashamed; for despite his ordeal with Kane—Adam had never given up—this time the three Cartwright’s are determined to keep searching, until they have proof—of Adam alive—or dead.
Night has fallen—Ben and Hoss wait for Joe; they are worried—he’s late. The call of an evening dove sounds. The two men turn to the sound; hope chases the worry on their faces.
“Joe,” Ben’s voice is a hoarse whisper. Their meeting place is high on the Mountain—it’s dangerous territory. Hope flares in Ben’s face as he watches his youngest son ride up. Joe dismounts and turns to his father, wearily shaking his head.
Hoss’s face falls—Ben’s turns grim.
“We must have missed something.” Ben says.
Hoss and Joe are too tired and depressed to say anything.
“There’s only one thing to do.” Ben takes a breath—straightening his shoulders under the load of his anxiety. “We go back to where we buried those trappers—we start all over again. We turn over every rock it we have to.”

****
Adam is alive, tied hand and foot on the dead Tiawa’s horse. He slumps—only half conscious. A hard faced Kaska herds his prisoner back to meet the shaman. When Chato is done with the white man—Kaska will demand the right of the kill.
Ruth opens her eyes. She is back in the meadow—the site of her lover’s abduction. Knowledge burns within her brain, Coyote paces out of the trees. Ruth turns to glare at the grizzled spirit.
“Old man what gives you the right to so use me?”
Coyote sat on his haunches and just looked at the woman standing so resolute in front of him. He is pleased. The spirit takes his time getting up and shakes from nose to tail. A cloud of dust explodes from the animal’s coat. With difficulty Ruth restrains her annoyance.
When the dust settles a yellow-eyed old man stands revealed. He pulls an evil corncob pipe out of a pocket in his buckskins. He grins a bright sharp-toothed grin.
“When a need must be filled. . .we must use the tools available.”
“Needs!!, What about my needs?” Ruth rages.
Gone is the timid mouse. Coyote is immensely pleased at her newly blended strength. Yet the outcome is still very much in doubt. The old man puffs on his pipe. Sage scented smoke dances between them.
“Watch and learn.” the spirit replies. Tendrils of smoke encircle Ruth.
Batting at the smoke Ruth huffs in annoyance, “Old man . . ,” She stops . . . .
Coyote’s grin turns feral . . . .Ruth’s eyes glaze over in shock. “Young lady sometimes the choices are taken for us, whether we will or not.” The grizzled spirit puffs his corncob pipe as he imprints Ruth with the story of the ancient war and what Ruth must do to contain the evil. Within her soul—White Buffalo rumbles an answer to that challenge. The mind of the mortal woman spins. Ruth stands with her fists clenched at her side. Her mind turns over, digesting the information.
She opens her eyes; “I suppose I owe you for saving my life but what of Adam?”
“He’s a strong one—he’ll be able . . .”
“Not good enough old man.” Ruth interrupted. “The final price for my help is Adam. He must be returned to his family so that he can go home to his Ponderosa.” Gray eyes meet yellow and the air shivers.
After a long moment Coyote grins, "A hard bargain, but an honest one. . . accepted."
Ruth orders herself to breathe as knowledge burns within her brain. "Old man--the enemy is powerful. What is your plan?"
"We set a trap within a trap." Coyote replies. "You will have just one chance to strike—White Buffalo will mask herself and allow the evil to take you. Once placed within the heart of its power. One strike will bind the creature for another thousand years."
"A risky plan.” The grizzled spirit merely nods, as he acknowledges the gray flame in Ruth’s eyes.

****
Elsewhere Chato is thoroughly under the influence of the Worm. He picks a clearing in the rocks and trees. He orders young Wasp to build a bonfire. The shaman then seeds the flames with herbs and prayers. Pungent smoke rises to the sky. Filled with foreboding the young brave returns to the horses.
“Tie him there.” Chato points to a tree in the center of the clearing. Adam is dragged from his mount and dumped on the ground. His arms are jerked backwards around the tree. Kaska ties the prisoner’s hands with a vengeful glee. “Soon white man—you will be mine!” Adam hasn’t the breath to reply.
Kaska and Chato stand, looking down the slope in the direction Ruth will come. “Shall I bring the Spirit Woman now?” Kaska asks.

“No Kaska.” Says Chato “The spirit woman must come to us willingly.”
Adam drags his thoughts into some sort of order. Fortunately the last few days with Ruth have refreshed his knowledge of Shoshone. He can understand his captors. It is his last card to play. He has to try and persuade them that their plan is no good.
“She won’t come here.”
Adam fills his voice with conviction trying to hide his desperate fear.
Kaska gives Adam an angry glance—that the white man can speak Shoshone is unsettling. The shaman doesn’t blink, “She will—for you.” His voice is full of hate. Clearly Chato over heard Ruth’s breakthrough.
“It won’t work!” Adam tries to press his point. “You’ve got the wrong bait.”
This earns him another glare from Chato. Adam gathers himself, given enough time he thinks maybe . . . .But time has run out—there is movement in the tree line. Chato swings away.
“She is here.” Triumph and fear, mix in the shaman’s voice. Kaska is openly staring.
Adam wrenches against his bonds, “Ruth get out of here!!” Adam struggles to quell his feelings of helplessness. If only she’d waited!
Regal as a queen Ruth stalks into the clearing. She pauses and looks down at Adam. He sees her eyes and his protest dies
unspoken.
“You dare to violate the sacred lodge of White Buffalo Woman?” Ruth challenges, White Buffalo is masked but the scent of power remains.
Buttressed by dark whispers and seeing only a vulnerable woman, Chato is unflinching. “You would not hear my words.”
“And this one?” She indicates Adam, “Do the Shoshone make war with the wounded?”
“My people must have the medicine of the Spirit Woman or they will die.” Chato counters.
Listening, Adam feels nothing but a helpless rage—it isn’t going well.
“And the white man?” She asks.
“He will die, unless you go with us!”
“Release him!! Or you will die now—by the hand of White Buffalo Woman!”
The shaman ups the stakes. “Then destroy us now.” Chato holds tight to his staff of power. “We will not go without you. My people need you.” Chato sees the look of defeat on Ruth's face--the darkness within him exults.
Adam sees only the peril to his love. “Ruth don’t!!”
Kaska punishes his prisoner with several stinging blows and then grabs his knife. Going on sheer stubbornness, Adam clings doggedly to consciousness.
“Stop!!” Ruth cries. “Spare his life—and you shall have the medicine of the White Buffalo Woman.”
The shaman examines the woman before him . . .and is pleased. “Cut him loose.”
Kaska is disgusted—he beckons to Wasp at the horses, to come and cut loose the white man. For Adam the world begins to tilt. He feels his hands free and bolts forward trying to reach his love.
“Ruth no—I won’t let you do it!! Run!!!”
Kaska and Wasp jump their prisoner and wrestle him away from the Spirit Woman.
“Get out of here—Ruth!!”
Kaska finally lands a blow that connects, there is a sound like an axe on wood . . .Adam falls to the ground.
At last Ruth’s composure breaks. She runs to kneel by the unconscious body of her lover. She has no tears—her voice trembles with loss. She reaches out.
“For whither thou goest—I will go.”
Ruth’s touch flutters over the bruised face of her love. She finds some little comfort in the fact that his heart still beats. It strengthens her for what she must do. Adam finds himself
swimming in a mist—he can’t tell up from down—he can hear Ruth’s words—he tries to call out, but he has no voice.
Ruth stands up her hand goes to the bit of braided leather on her finger. Chato watches her closely—he believes that the man has weakened the woman's power. . . All the better for his purposes.
Ruth turns to face him. “I am ready, shaman.”
Chato’s eyes darken as he savors his victory—with a bow to the spirit woman he turns to give his orders to Kaska and Wasp. “When we are beyond the Mountain of the dead, take him to the camp of the spirit woman. He will find his way back to his people.”
Lying on the ground Adam has heard everything, but he is unable to move. He hears footsteps—the scent of wildflowers overwhelms him—the world spins away and he knows no more.

Ruth
Ruth leads the way to her camp to gather supplies and to change. Her little horse Dancer stands ready to travel. She goes into the hut, while a watchful Chato waits outside. Sitting on her bed, she holds the Bible in her hand. She takes off the humble little ring and sets it on the open page. ‘As long as she wears this ring.’ Adam’s warm baritone echoes in her mind—at last the tears begin to flow. White Buffalo stirs within, Ruth embraces it, the brief moment of communion gives her strength before the spirit fades away . . . The shaman waits. Ruth at last comes out of the hut. The dress she now wears she had made for her death song. She came to stand in front of his horse. “I am ready Shaman.”
“We must hurry Spirit Woman . . .already too many of our people lie dead.” Satisfied that its proxy is going to deliver the prize, the Worm has withdrawn.
To Ruth’s eyes the shaman, looks worn and harried. Perhaps he too is sick. Ruth is saddened—even with Coyote’s plan, death is now the only future she can see. “Even your sons.”
“Even my sons.” Chato agrees.
“We will do what we can for the Shoshone who still live.”

Chapter Thirteen
The Lost is Found
The next day dawns bright with promise. The Cartwright’s are early on the trail. They start back where they found the trappers. Hoss and Joe cast about for signs. Sitting on Buck, their father watches his younger sons at work. It was Adam who taught the boys to track. “Adam! Hang on son. We’re coming!” Ben refuses to accept any other outcome.
It’s Joe who finds the first sign—none of the men question the fact that the tracks weren’t there before. Like bloodhounds on the scent they don’t care. The hours pass swiftly as the Cartwright’s make their way up the Mountain. Joe is the first one to cross into Ruth’s camp. He spots the body lying on the buffalo robe bed.
“Pa! Hoss!!” Heart in his throat, Little Joe vaults off Cochise—its Adam all right. But he’s not moving!
Ben slews Buck to a halt; he dismounts hurriedly and runs. “Adam!” The name is said as a prayer. Hoss appears at his side. Ben hurriedly assesses the injuries inflicted on his eldest. “Adam?—Lets turn him over.” Carefully the younger Cartwrights help. Adam groans at their handling. “Easy—easy with him.” Ben protests. Coyote has kept his bargain with Ruth, just barely.
Ben shifts himself to support Adam’s head and shoulders. His son’s eyes open, but at first he doesn’t see his father and brothers. Relief and worry chase through Ben’s heart. Joe and Hoss are shocked to see their brother in such a state.
Ben can feel the struggle in his son—he waits. “Pa..?” blank hazel eyes begin to see again, “Ruth?!” Adam tries to get up but he doesn’t have the strength.
“Easy boy.” Ben holds Adam down while the youngest Cartwrights examine their brother’s injuries.
“Dadgum—Adam it looks like you tangled with a grizzly.” Hoss is right; Kaska and Wasp had been none too gentle in delivering him back to Ruth’s camp.
“Yeah and got beat.” Joe is looking at Adam’s leg. The flesh around the bandage is red and inflamed.
Memory returns in a rush, there are gaps—but one thing stands out. “The Shoshone took Ruth.” Adam’s voice is raw.
“Who?” Ben is just glad that his son is alive—he is slow to catch on.
“The girl that saved my life.” Adam is frantic—She has to be here—she couldn’t be gone!! “She lives here.” He struggles against succeeding waves of dizziness and fear. He struggles to remember while trying to make his father understand.
“A girl here?” Ben trades looks with Joe and Hoss.
Hoss puts a hand to his brother’s forehead. “Fever.”
“She’s not imaginary—she’s real!!” Adam protests against the fear and despair in his heart. “Her name’s Ruth Halverson.” He points to the hut. “There’s a bible in the hut.”
Ben nods to Joe—he gets up to go look.
“How come the Shoshone took her Adam?” Hoss asks.
“They thought she was a spirit. The reincarnation of one of their gods.” Adam is angry and bitter at the idea of wasting Ruth in such a manner. His mind scatters in a dozen directions—instinctively seeking to find what was lost. He uses his anger as a prop to shake loose from Ben and Hoss and gets to his feet.
“I’m going after her—I’ve got to find her—you try to stop me I’ll walk all over you—both of you!!” In his heart he can feel that Ruth still lives—unknown to anyone there exists a tie between the two lovers a tie that hums with power. The question is . . . .can Adam remember and understand?
Hoss is speechless, Ben sees that Adam is weaving on his feet, that his son isn’t going anywhere. He starts to speak intending to try to reason with his eldest, when Joe’s voice interrupts.
“Hey Pa?” Joe ducks out of the hut; the bible is open in his hands. “I found the bible—some writing in the front—Olaf Halverson—daughter Ruth—born 1840.” Joe walks over to his father to show him. “And there’s something inside—marking a
page.”
Hoss and Ben have only time for a quick glance. Adam reaches out to snatch the book. What marks the page is a bit of braided leather woven into a ring. “They belong to each other . .” Adam grips the ring—water and sunlight fills his memory—the smell of wildflowers. His heart is split in two.
“I gave her this ring. I wanted to marry her.”
At last Ben fully understands. ‘My son finally found someone—and now this! Elizabeth help me find the words!’ Adam’s father knows all too well this kind of anguish. Ben’s heart aches. “If she left this ring behind then she must have gone of her own free will.”
“She did it to save my life!” Adam flares. “That’s why I’ve got to go after her.”
“And if you do that—you sign her death warrant for sure.” Ben returns. “Now she’s a girl—not a spirit woman, that’s true.” Ben is hopeful when he sees that Adam is at least listening. Joe and Hoss exchange glances. They too finally understand what must have happened. The younger brothers are filled with sorrow to see the pain on Adam’s face. Wishing he didn’t have to say it, Ben presses his point, “But the Shoshone believe she is—if you destroy that belief in her—you destroy her—you destroy them too.” Adam grips the ring—his heart is numb.
“That’s right Adam.” Adds Hoss, trying help, “If they believe in her that strongly. Then maybe she’ll be able to be of some help to them.”
Little Joe stands silent, he would charge into hell for his oldest brother; but this time he sees no way to help; words fail.
“You’ve got to let her go for now Adam.” Ben continues more gently now, “Maybe someday. . .” Ben sees the expression on his son’s face—and stops. Time is what is needed now. . . .He’ll give Adam some time to pull himself together. Ben looks at Hoss and Joe. “Come on.”
Ordinarily Ben would stay put. Adam is clearly in no shape to travel and this camp is well constructed and well sheltered. “This Ruth must be a remarkable woman.” Ben thinks. Glad of something to do the younger Cartwrights efficiently organize things for the trip down the Mountain. Ben watches Adam, as his eldest stands uncaring. “It’s best that we leave—we can make Willow Creek tonight.”
They rig a saddle for Adam and put him on the packhorse. He responds as if in a daze. He rides more from instinct than conscious design. Hoss keeps a worried eye on his brother. The sun is at high noon as they head west down the Mountain.

****
The Worm exults. The threat from Coyote is defeated and the woman is taken. It is free to hunt further for power. The crows surge into the sky. Changed by their master, the creatures now feel the same hunger. Feathered threat quarters the sky, they have scented fresh prey. Around the roots of the mountain the darkness trembles. The earth groans in protest, as black clouds start to form over the cliffs of the Mountain of the Dead.

Chapter Fourteen
The Cartwright’s-Hunted

Ben Cartwright is grateful. He’s found Adam—alive if battered. “Elizabeth, I’m going to need your help.” Ben prays with a father’s instinct. “Our son isn’t out of trouble.” They’d been on the trail several hours now slowly heading west down the mountain—so as not to overtax his son’s fragile strength. Ben shifts in his saddle; he can’t rid himself of the feeling that they were being watched. His hand drifts to the walnut grip of his pistol. Ben turns in his saddle to look and is profoundly comforted by the vigilance of his younger sons.
Hoss is nearly riding sidesaddle in order to keep an eye on Adam. Joe has pulled Cochise out of line in order to scout out the terrain. The youngest Cartwright doesn’t know why but it feels as if they are riding in enemy territory. He is carrying his rifle at the ready across his saddle horn.
At the end of the line Adam is immersed in his thoughts. “She’s gone . . . I’ve lost her . . . it’s my fault . . . it’s my fault!!” The litany repeats over and over in his mind, he grips the saddle horn—barely able to see. The cuts and bruises he’d acquired as parting gifts from the Shoshone are making themselves felt. His head feels like it is coming apart, the arrow wound in his leg is on fire; his body sways out sync with the motion of the pack mare.
“Adam? . . . Adam!” Hoss pulls up, directing Chubb alongside his brother’s mount. Adam is listing sideways, dangerously close to falling. The big man reaches out to steady his brother. Adam sags against his support. “Pa! Joe! Hold up!”
Ben his face grim with worry, urges Buck to Adam’s other side. The pack mare stands patiently as Chubb under Hoss’s direction; moves in close to keep Adam from sliding to the ground. “Adam? Son? --- Can you hear me?” Adam doesn’t respond. Ben takes note of his son’s sweaty face and the blood seeping through the bandage on his leg. Clearly his eldest son is at the end of his strength.
“We can’t stop now.” Joe says as Cochise dances in a circle, feeling his rider’s anxiety. “There’s a storm brewing on the mountain.” Hoss and Ben turn to look at the ugly purple and black clouds that have come out of nowhere to gather over their back trail.
“The nearest shelter is Willow Creek.” Ben said.
“Pa,” Hoss asks, “What if we made a travois?”
“Good idea Hoss.” Ben replied, “Let’s get your brother on the ground. Then you and Joe can get busy.”

Ruth, Enters the Unknown
Ruth follows Chato as the Shoshone party makes their way down the eastern side of the mountain. She keeps seeing her lovers face. For a few fleeting hours she had been so happy. Now she keeps seeing his protest; before the Shoshone struck him down. “Oh Adam I pray that someday you will forgive me!” It was the only way she saw to save his life but oh—the cost! The trail that the shaman is taking was little more than a thread on the side of the mountain. A single misstep would mean a fall of hundreds of feet. For a wild moment Ruth considers setting her heels to Dancer and taking that leap. Blinking back the tears she strokes the little gelding. “No my friend—you don’t deserve such a fate.”
Her mind is ragged from the emotions of the past few hours. The presence of White Buffalo within is little comfort. Dancer stumbles on the narrow rocky path, Ruth shifts her weight and lifts the reins to help steady the faithful little gelding. The eastern side of the mountain of the dead is strewn with steep areas of rock and shale; the rockslides bottom out to a series of pretty highland meadows where the doomed Shoshone are camped.
Ruth straightens her shoulders, “Three times now I have had my life ended—What will I be in this fourth life?” Ruth blinks at the sudden chill that romps down her spine. From her days living with the Bannocks she had learned that four was a holy number for the Indian. Ruth shivers again as she reviews the wild task Coyote has given to her. Grey Fox, the Bannock medicine man often told stories of the ancient people and how they died. Sharing her thoughts, White Buffalo is silent. The spirit is watchful, hoarding its strength.

Adam Follows
“Mmmm sorry---it’s my fault.” Adam raised bloodshot eyes to peer at his father. His body ached with a rising fever as he gave up all pretence and clung to the saddle with his remaining strength.
“Don’t talk foolishness boy.” Ben reached out to steady his son.
“Pa you don’t understand.” Adam fought against a wave of nausea. It was vital that his father know—what—Adam is too confused to remember—except that he could feel—that something bad was about to happen. In the distance he could hear crows.
“Son . . .”
“Pa we may not have time to build a travois.” Joe interrupted
“Look at that.” He points with his rifle back up the mountain. Ben and Hoss turn to look. High up on the mountain the forest was moving, as if being stirred by a giant hand. It was too far away to hear the wind, but Hoss could feel the hairs on the back of his neck begin to itch. The cap of storm clouds on the peak had doubled with unnatural speed. Ben could now see traceries of lightening within the angry clouds.
“I hear thunder.” Joe said. The angry mutter was only a bare grumble—but all three Cartwright’s understood the threat—make that four.
“Just tie me on.” Adam’s voice is a raspy whisper. “You can’t waste time—just tie me on.” He repeated.
Ben swung to look at his eldest. “Son, it’s just a storm.”
“No it isn’t Pa.” Adam ground his teeth against the nausea. “We have to get off this mountain—now.”
“Pa he’s right. That storm ain’t behavin’ like it should.” Hoss observed the big man reached out to calm his horse. The big black was tossing his head, testing the wind. It was plain that Chubb smelled some sort of threat on the air. All the horses did.
A breeze sprang out of nowhere. It skittered around the men flattening the grass and shaking the bushes. The scent of sage filled the air. Adam gasped and closed his eyes, hanging on to consciousness by sheer stubbornness.
Without realizing it, Ben drew his pistol looking for a threat. Hoss and Joe trade looks. Surprised at his own action, their father looks down at the gun in his hand, “Alright boys, I’m convinced.”
Hoss quickly dismounts, handing Chubb’s reins to Joe, so he can do, as Adam wants.
“Make it good and tight Hoss.” Adam whispers. He keeps his eyes closed and allows his brother to tie his feet and hands to the saddle. Grim faced Hoss also cuts a lead rope for the pack mare and passes it to Ben.
In the distance the thunder sounds again, growing appreciable louder. The sage scented breeze begins kicking up dust all around them. On the mountain, the rising storm-wind sounds like the angry snarl of a hunting cat. Squinting to see, Ben grips the lead rope. Joe gives Chubb back to Hoss; the big man swings into the saddle; Ben lays his heels to Buck.
“Lets ride.”

Ruth
Unnoticed by Ruth and the Shoshone the storm clouds on the peak of the mountain gather strength. They pick their way off the steep rocky trail and reach the first of the highland meadows. The grass is so tall it brushes the horses’ bellies. Just within the screen of trees a pair of squirrels chases each other, chattering and playing. Ruth hears a meadowlark trilling it’s sweet song. It was a tranquil scene—but Ruth finds herself unnerved, although she doesn’t know why.
Deep under the roots of the Mountain of the Dead, The Worm flexes, repossessing its proxy. It will take the woman's power, then it will be free. On the peak of the mountain a black cliff shatters. The wind screams in triumph.
“There lies the camp of my people.” Chato pulls his mount next to Ruth. About a mile away she spots campfire smoke above the trees. The shaman looks at her and Ruth had to resist the urge to back Dancer away. Something was different. “His eyes!” Ruth thinks, “They look like those of the hunters—before they started killing the Bannocks.” Ruth clamps down on the memories. Adam’s face rises in her mind the connection to his sturdy strength, calming her fears. She leans forward to swat at some flies that were bothering Dancer.
“I pray that we are in time to be of help.” Ruth was rather pleased that her voice was steady.
“You will heal them.” Chato replies, his eyes are strange and staring. In the face of the threat White Buffalo must remain silent therefore the native strength of her father's people fills her need. Ruth looks straight at the shaman. Their glances cross like sharp blades. Challenge rumbles between them. Chato blinks, it’s as if he has hit a wall, he backs off . . . Ruth knows that her win is only a small skirmish. Hidden within her mind she sees White Buffalo snort and paw the earth. The spirit was pleased but Ruth finds that she doesn’t really care; she can no longer feel Adam’s touch; she is afraid.
Wasp and Kaska continue across the meadow and into the trees. The men hadn’t expected to return alive from their mission. Now they are anxious for their families. Ruth lays heels to Dancer sending him to follow. The little gelding had taken advantage of the pause to grab some fresh browse. He lurches into an uneven trot in protest. But Ruth’s hand is firm. Her surprising strength has caught the shaman off guard. A brief look of rage twisted his features and is gone just as quickly. He kicked his mount to follow.
In rocks above Coyote paces into view his yellow eyes are twin lamps of fire as he watched them go.
Deep underground the darkness twisted in anger; the earth trembled. . . more rock on the peak splits and shatters. All now within the Shoshone camp were ill and dying.

Ben Cartwright
Ben had seen his share of uncanny events in his life. “But the way this storm is behaving beats anything I’ve ever seen. It’s as if there’s something . . .” The thought was too outlandish for Ben to even complete. As they headed for shelter at Willow Creek the scent of sage was heavy in the air. Ben would never admit it, but he thought he saw marks on the ground, as if something was traveling alongside—most particularly next to Adam. The hunted feeling has faded--for the moment. The legends surrounding the Mountain of the Dead came to his mind. Not that he believes any of it . . . Ben kept Buck at a steady ground eating lope. Glancing back he could see that Adam was slumped in the saddle his eyes closed; but for all that, he was riding tolerably well, now that he wasn’t in danger of falling off.
On either side Hoss and Joe were riding as watchful guards. Up on the rocky peak of the mountain the storm seemed to have lost its focus. “Maybe we’ll have time to get to shelter.” Ben thought, “I wish I dared push on beyond Willow Creek, but Adam needs to rest before we cross the desert.” Feeling slightly foolish, Ben addresses the streaks of dust on the ground. “Whatever you are, just help us get there!” Ben’s face hardened, he’d do and say anything now that he’d found Adam, to get his son safely home.

Adam
Cast adrift from his love; his memories scrambled; Adam finds himself trapped in an evil dream. He was home crouching on the porch of the house; Ruth lay dead in his arms; his father and brothers were dying in a hail of gunfire; the Ponderosa was in flames. “No!!” he shouted, “This can’t happen I won’t let it!!” Thunder cracked overhead and lightening split open the heavens. When Adam could see again he found himself in a darkened room with no door; as he sought for a way out, an evil laughter swelled from the shadows.
“Who’s there!!” All he could see was a vague man shape in the dark. “Show yourself!!” He challenged. The sly laughter came again and a man slithered out of the shadows. Adam stepped back in shock.
“The high and mighty Adam Cartwright.” Kane sneered. “Just what do you think you can do to stop it?”
Fire and thirst ran through his mind, Adam took a breath. Kane had been an evil sadistic bully. He’d confronted the man over a year ago in the desert. They’d fought, and Kane had died. That death had left Adam badly shaken. He’d suffered nightmares for weeks. But now curiously, Adam felt reassured; he’d faced this ghost down once before. He could do it again.
“Your bones are buried in the desert. I don’t have to listen to anything you say.” Adam turned away.
“I’m in charge here.” Kane snarled, “And you better listen to me.”
“I made that mistake once.” Adam responded, “I’m not about to repeat myself.”
“The high and mighty Adam Cartwright.” Kane hissed, “Always thinking you’re better than the rest of us.”
“As usual you’ve got it wrong.” Adam shot back, “You’re a thief and a liar. It’s never your fault when things don’t go your way.”
“You’re no different.” Kane accused, “You’re a killer, no better than me!!”
“Wrong again!!” Adam’s voice cracked like a whip. “I regretted your death. I tried to save you. . . .You didn’t just want to kill me, you wanted to destroy me!” Adam leveled his gaze at the ghost. “Well you failed!. Go back to the worms where you belong.”
“Raugh!!!” The Kane figure attacked. Just before they came to grips, the ghost disappeared. Chest heaving, still ready for a fight, Adam spun in a circle, checking for threat. Then the room trembled as if in an earthquake, the floor shifted, the shock pitching Adam to his hands and knees.
He started to get up and then froze. Impossibly he now found himself face to face with a huge buffalo. The darkness had fled, driven away by the glow from the animals’ white coat. He was on his hands and knees in a sea of tall grass. The white buffalo lifted its head, huffing as it took in his scent. Adam held perfectly still. At more than a thousand pounds in weight the animal could easily flatten him. Then he saw that the buffalo had gray eyes; he looked within and felt his heart stop. . . ."Ruth!!”

Ruth Makes Her Play
The village was dying. She felt it as soon as Dancer carried her down the trail and through the screen of trees. The Shoshone clan had set up camp along a pretty little valley. Their teepee homes were scattered along the banks of a fast flowing river. Ruth counted what must have been some fifteen families in all. The place was unnaturally silent. At this time of the day the camp should be bustling with activity. The children should be out running and playing; mothers should be tending fires and grinding meal for bread; the men should be on watch or just returning from the mornings’ hunt; even the horse herd looked sad and dispirited. The only sound was the voices of Wasp and Kaska as they called out to their friends and family. If they received an answer Ruth couldn’t hear. Far, far below the physical manifestation of the Worm strained against the rocky walls of its prison. More cracks appeared in the tortured earth; soon the way would be open to the surface. In the camp of the Shoshone three more unfortunates were dead; the very force of the lives ripped away by the Worms’ relentless demands
“You see spirit woman.” The shaman said, “You are needed.” Chato swayed in his saddle. The whispers in his mind were growing stronger. ‘Kill her and the power is yours!!’ The shaman's hand went to the knife on his belt.
Ruth didn't need White Buffalo to feel the threat at her back. She suddenly felt an inner pressure within her mind—a voice—an instinct, which told her to move! She pressed her heels into Dancers’ side. The little gelding snorted and moved further into the silent camp. The same instinct warned her to look over her shoulder. Her eyes widened at what she saw. There was a look of rage on Chato’s face, and a raised knife in his hand.
Ruth took a breath, Adam’s face rose in her mind—his eyes sharp and piercing. Beginning to feel a little more confident, she reached within and the call of White Buffalo answered. At her look the shaman froze.

****
From his watch-post Coyote was uncertain. He would have preferred that the girl had waited a little longer.

Hoss and Joe
Joe gave the high sign to Hoss and the big man reined Chubb over to trot side by side with Cochise. Both brothers kept a wary eye on their surroundings while they talked.

“What do you think?” Hoss asked.
“I think we’re in deep this time.” Joe replied. The big man grunted in agreement. They rode in silence for time. Joe eyed the slumped shoulders of their charge. Adam was riding with his head down, tied on, his body swayed mostly in time with the motion of the horse. Joe spotted fresh blood on his brother’s leg. They’d have to stop soon. Joe slid a glance over at Hoss; he’d seen the blood too.
“Leave it to Adam, he never does anything by halves.” Joe said ruefully.
“Yeah well he comes by it honestly.” Hoss pointed out with a nod at their father.
“You remember that.” Joe said wryly, “The next time it’s me getting in trouble.”
Hoss chuckled, “The problem with you Shortshanks is that you just enjoy trouble too much.”
Joe laughed. “Too right! And it drives Adam crazy.” For the youngest Cartwright brother the temptation was too irresistible to perturb the imperturbable in the person of his oldest brother. Hoss grinned. He figured that it did Adam some good, to be jolted now and then. That was why he was so often Joe’s willing henchman. A shivering in the air halted their conversation. The two youngest Cartwrights felt the threat at the same time as all four horses neighed in protest.
“Holy!!!, Will you look at that!?!” Hoss exclaimed.
“I’m kinda busy right now!!” Joe shouted as Cochise plunged beneath him.
Like cracks in heaven itself, lightening spidered across the sky, followed closely by the booming rumble of thunder. Joe could hear the freight train roar of the wind high up on the mountain. It hadn’t reached them yet. But it soon would. The brothers quickly settled Cochise and Chubb urging their horses forward to help their father with Buck and the pack mare.
Joe had grabbed the pack mares lead rope while Hoss helped their father with Buck. “Adam are you alright?” Joe asked, mentally he kicked himself. Of course he wasn’t! Joe could see that Adam had his eyes open, but he wasn’t responding.
“Adam!?” Buck surged to the other side of the pack mare. Ben was obliged to keep a heavy hand on the gelding to keep him under control.
“I dunno Pa,” Joe answered, “His eyes are open but he’s not hearing us.”
Ben reined Buck around. “Normally I’d say lets try and outrun this. But Adam would never make it.” Ben’s voice was tight with worry. He had to shout over the rising wind. The scent of sage was heavy in the air.
“Will there be enough shelter at Willow Creek?” Joe asked.
“I think so.” Hoss replied. “If we get there in time, I got me an idea that might help.”
“Well then let’s go!!” Ben took the lead rope back from Joe and laid his heels to Buck. They splashed across a small stream and headed west. They were almost off the mountain.

****
Far below in a black cauldron of hate and hunger the Worm twisted. Through the eyes of the crows it had seen the men. The Shoshone were finished. This prey was fresh and strong and Adam was particularly vulnerable. The urge was irresistible. The hunt was on! . . . Coyote was worried. The spirit decided that it could no longer afford to split his attention. Let the black creature occupy itself with the white men. The diversion might prove crucial.

****
Chapter Fifteen
Sanctuary
Ben pulled up, uncertain which way to go. The light was beginning to fail. Behind them the ‘storm’ was steadily eating away at the sky, causing an early twilight. The mountain peak itself was shrouded entirely in darkness. It formed a black cloak that was lit from within by lurid flashes of lightening followed closely by thunder. All around them the wind howled like a beast and stalked through the forest. In all his years at sea, and on the trail west, Ben had never seen the like.
“Hoss!!, which way!?” Ben shouted.
Without a word, the big man laid his heels to Chubb and took the lead. The middle Cartwright was the best in the family at finding his way in the wild. Ben prayed that that would be so now. The nearest he could estimate the stream they had just crossed should have been Willow Creek. If so they were near the cliffs at the top of the falls. In this wild weather they had to be careful. Any misstep could be deadly.
“Pa!!” Ben saw that Hoss had pulled Chubb over to their right. Hoss had found the cliffs, but the way was dangerous with loose rock and crumbling earth. “We cain’t ride it. We’ll have to blindfold and lead the horses on foot.” Hoss also had to shout because of the wind.
“We don’t have time to find anything better.” Ben shouted back, “We have to get off this exposed plain.” In the sky the afternoon sunlight had turned brassy and flat. It was fast losing ground against the darkness spread by the storm. Squinting against the storm-light, Ben turned to Adam. “Son? . . .can you hear me?” There was no response. He could see that Adams’ eyes were now closed; his son’s face was a mask of pain. Ben’s heart twisted with fear. “Hang on boy . . . .we’ll get you to where you can rest.” Hoss and Joe exchanged grim looks.
“Pa . . . .” Joe began. Hoss shook his head at his brother and Joe shrugged. Ben was too worried about Adam to notice the byplay.
“Let me tie him down secure like.” Hoss said, “If he cain’t shift around then the mare won’t lose her balance goin’ down that trail.”
“Let’s do it.” Ben agreed. They worked quickly. Ben noticed that the scent of sage that had been with them for the last few hours was beginning to fade; he couldn’t say why, but that worried him. He took the lead rope of the pack mare, leaving Buck in Hoss’s care. First Ben and then Hoss carefully guided the horses down the crumbling trail. His body firmly tied to the pack mare, Adam didn't move. Waiting until both his father and brothers had safely reached the ground; Joe brought up the rear with Cochise.
The paint put his head down, listening intently as Joe whispered reassurances; Ben had his heart in his throat as he turned to watch his youngest lead his horse down the eyebrow thin trail. As the last one down Joe was in the most danger. The soft rotten ground had shifted under the weight of the previous horses; being lighter and more sure footed Joe and Cochise had to go last. Ben told his insides to stop worrying—they didn’t listen. Lightening flashed overhead bringing a lurid light to the scene; Cochise stumbled, Joe laid a steadying hand on his neck. With dainty steps, feeling out the ground, the sturdy paint followed his master’s voice to solid footing.
“Whee . . .” exclaimed Hoss. “I never of believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyeballs.”
“Amen” breathed their father.
Joe was grinning from ear to ear as he took off Cochises’ blindfold. “Ain’t he something!” Joe’s voice was proud. The paint shook himself nose to tail in relief at reaching solid ground.
“Yes he is.” Ben agreed as he turned to survey their surroundings. They were sheltered from the storm winds by the high cliffs of the falls. The rocks formed a large horseshoe shape cutting deep into the ground for goodly distance in each direction. The sun was almost gone. In the gathering gloom it was hard to see how far the cliffs traveled. The waterfall fell straight off the tallest cliff into a deep pool. Ben eyed it distrustfully. With the storm on the mountain any sort of rain could make Willow Creek rapidly swell into a dangerous flood.
The creek bed at their feet ran off to the right, Ben could hear the voice of the waters, a lighter counterpoint to the thunder of the falls as it burbled and chattered to itself in the stormy twilight. Across the way he could see lit at intervals by the bright flares of lightening, a large cove of grass that rose to a hill at the edge of a grove of lodge pole pine trees. That suited his needs. Ben led the way, splashing across.
The light was failing fast. While Ben and Joe went to Adam, Hoss picked up the axe from their supplies and entered the surrounding pines. He forced his way into a thick stand of second growth; the trees were all ten or twelve feet high. He cut down several, as close to the ground as he could get. Then Hoss drew the tops of the surrounding trees down and tied them together until he stood under a living hut of green. With branches from the cut down trees he began to weave them into the roof, forming a thick thatch. While their father saw to Adam, Joe came and pitched in and soon the hut was solid and tight.
With the branches left over Hoss made a bed for their charge. Ben got up and inspected the results. He was impressed. “Where ever did you get the idea for this?” He asked.
“Aww shucks,” even in the fading light Ben could see the flush of embarrassment on Hoss’s face. “It was in one a’ them there books of Adam’s. I saw the drawins’ and was curious. Adam he explained it all to me. It was telling all about nomadic hunters in Europe. It told how that just ‘cause people were primitive, it didn’t mean they weren’t smart.”
Ben smiled, “I’m proud of you son.”
“So am I ya big ox.” Joe chimed in.
“Auwwww, Twern’t nothin’.” Hoss said.
“On the contrary son.” Ben clapped Hoss on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get your brother inside.” Ben said.
Adam didn’t wake as they carried him in. . .Hoss went to get water. . . Joe gathered wood for a fire. Ben stayed in the hut, tending Adam. A short distance from their camp, the creek waters split around a bar of gravel. It was there that Hoss found some willow bushes that he stripped, intending to make some ‘willow bark tea’ . . .the Indians often used it for fevers.
Hoss was hopeful, as he climbed back up the hill to their camp. They didn’t have much in the way of medicines . . .maybe the willow tea would help. Joe had a roaring fire going when Hoss got back. The big man was glad of the warmth. In the middle of flames were piled half a dozen rocks. Without comment Hoss set down the canteens, gave his brother the willow herbs and went to gather more rocks. . .Joe’s idea was a good one, the heated stones placed in his bed, would help keep Adam warm.
The fire crackled and spat while overhead, storm lights prowled in the sky. Down by Willow Creek sheltered by the cliff and the trees their camp was warm and secure. The Cartwright luck was working. There was a virtue in the cliffs that provided shelter against hunters sent by the worm.
When Joe brewed the tea and brought it to his father in the hut. There was no light except from the fire outside. So Ben had found a large flat stone. Using it for a hearth Ben had kindled a tiny fire. Ben put the stone on a stump of wood, just above Adam’s head. It gave just enough light for Ben to tend his patient. Joe had had to improvise too. He had poured the hot water into one of the canteens and then added the herbs. “Thank you son.” Ben said appreciatively. He used the herb-laden water to clean his patients’ sweaty face and soaked a clean bit of cloth to dribble more water between Adam’s lips. Joe caught his breath as he saw his brother respond.
“Help me with him.” Ben was encouraged too. With Joe’s help they roused their patient enough to take a whole cup of tea.
“How’s he doin’?” Hoss peered in the door. He was grateful to see that Adam had taken the tea.
“Now that he’s off the horse—he’s doing much better.” The relief in Ben’s voice was immeasurable.
“There’ll be more hot water, directly.” Needing to keep busy, Hoss ducked back out the door and came back in with some of the heated rocks in an improvised carrier. He and Joe insulated the rocks and placed them in Adam’s bed. Their patient didn't wake but some of the tension in his body began to ease as the warmth began to penetrate.
The storm muttered and growled, as it prowled around the mountain. The hunters had indeed lost the trail. There wasn’t room for all four men in the hut. So Hoss went outside to finish setting up their camp. The big man figured that they would likely stay awhile, Adam needed time to regain his strength.
He watered the horses and settled them in a picket line close to the pine-tree hut. Hoss collected some browse from the creek bank to give the animals a little something more than just grass for supper. “You all done good today . . .” With an approving pat and scratch for each, Hoss left the horses happily munching away on the treats.
Firewood was the next chore. There was plenty of dry deadwood lying around. Hoss busied himself by dragging it all into a handy pile near the fire. He replenished the water in the canteens and started some coffee. By then the sun had lost its battle against the storm. It was full dark. Lightening flickered constantly on the mountain. Hoss got up to walk away from camp so he could listen.
He remembered going on his first camping trip with Adam. “Out in the wild Hoss, you’ve got to learn to listen.” His brother would say, “Learn to separate out the sounds of day and night, learn what each one means.” It was most likely raining up on the mountain. In the dark their only warning if the creek began to flood would be a change in the voice of the falls. For now the water was calm, splashing and burbling to itself, a homey sound in the gloom. Back in the hut he could here the voices of his father and Joe. How he wished that Adam would wake up!
Resolutely putting his feelings on hold, Hoss turned, he could hear the thunder prowling the hills. It had seemed so close while they were out on the exposed plain. Now that they’d found shelter even the lightening seemed to be falling off. Hoss looked up at the cliffs, he could hear the wind, it screamed, as if disappointed.

Chapter Sixteen
Spirit Woman
“Spirit Woman!! Help us!” The cry broke the standoff between Ruth and the Shaman. When she broke away, Chato reeled in shock. Deep below within its crumbling prison, the Worm convulsed; nearly a half-mile of rock shattered in an instant. The mountain shuddered.
Ruth turned to see Kaska come running, he carried in his arms his oldest son, a little boy, maybe two years old. The child’s face was pale and sweaty. Ruth quickly slipped off her horse and took the child from the arms of the anguished father.
“I need someplace clean and dry.” Ruth could feel the heat radiating from the boy’s body; and she could feel something else. Something was terribly wrong. This wasn’t a normal fever. She couldn’t say how she knew. But Ruth could almost see that a black presence within the child was leeching away the boy’s strength.
Kaska deferred to the shaman, but the man didn’t respond. “This way,” Kaska said hesitantly. In Ruth’s arms the little boy started to cry. The sound was thin and weak. Ruth could feel the child’s bones through the blanket. She gently hugged the little boy. Now is the time! Was her mental cry to the presence that she felt within, Show me what to do!! In response to her plea, a melody of warmth began singing in her mind.
“Shush little one. I am here to help.” The melody began to deepen and grow. Ruth felt herself a spectator within her own body. White Buffalo used her as a conduit for the power. This would be the first countermove--cut the Worm off from its source of strength. In Ruth's arms the little boy hiccupped once and began sucking his thumb.
For the first time in days, Kaska felt hope, he reached out to caress the boy. “He is all that survives of my family.” The man’s voice was hoarse with need and worry. He looked again at Chato and found no help there. “This way.” He repeated. “White Buffalo woman you honor us.” Kaska led Ruth to a teepee in the center of the village.
Behind them the Chato stood with his fists clenched. His face was a mask that hid the turmoil within; for the spirit woman’s song had reached his mind as well as the little boy. It interfered with the siren call of the dark. “Kill her!! Kill her now and power is yours!!” the voice raged. But the little boy’s face had reminded him of his own sons, and the joy of fatherhood.
The spirit woman’s song rose loud and strong helping to
re-order his thoughts. The earth trembled beneath his feet. The shaman turned to see the cap of storm clouds on the mountain. All at once he knew the source of the dark whispers in his mind. He stared at the dark cloak that now shrouded the peak of the mountain. Chato remembered sitting before his grandfather as the frail old man told stories of the ancients. The story grandfather had told was of an ancient evil and of how their ancestors had been killed in an awful war. As Chato remembered, sniggering laughter began to sound in the corners of his mind. It began to grow—Chato screamed.
In the big lodge in the center of the Shoshone camp, Ruth quickly organized the care of the sick. She drafted Kaska and Wasp as her helpers. But she was afraid. There were so many! The song within began to falter as her confidence ebbed. She felt the Worm’s influence as a heavy dragging leech on her strength, impeding her efforts. Ruth’s current patient, a little baby girl, shuddered and gasped, dying her arms.

****
More rock shattered in the crumbling vaults of the mountain. Exultant, the black worm surged upward. Even though the men on the other side of the mountain had escaped, the woman was failing. It would still take its freedom!! At his watching post, Coyote growled. At his side a huge form wavered into view, White Buffalo pawed the earth. If Ruth couldn't regain her confidence--all was lost.

****
In the camp Ruth cried as she held a little baby, a shadow came between her and the light. She looked up, it was Chato—she saw what was in his eyes.
“No!!” She flung her hands up in denial.
“Woman!! You are clumsy and slow!!” Chato shouted, “My people still die!!” Kaska and Wasp were bringing water skins from the river and they were brought up short at the doorway. The two men had never heard such menace from their shaman. “Save them, or you will suffer!!”
Chato stood just within the doorway of the lodge. Ruth crouched protectively over her charges. Her every sense cried alarm for the man had changed, the outward form was the same. What was missing was his soul. He gripped his wand of power; his eyes were staring and full of black flame. With a wrenching effort she looked away.
Totally in thrall to the Worm, Chato’s face twisted in rage. He raised his hand to strike. Up on the rocky peak of the mountain cracks began to appear, causing more slides and rock-falls. The Worm exulted; taking Ruth would ensure its freedom.
“No!!” Kaska came to a decision. The spirit woman had saved his son; he had to try and help. The brave swept into the tepee. He grabbed at the shaman’s hand.
“You dare!” Chato swung to face the young brave.
Kaska froze—trapped by the shaman’s blazing eyes. The hapless brave began to choke; his body shuddered and twisted—the reflex of an animal caught in a trap.
Ruth was pinned; she could feel the earth tremble. The drag on her strength increased. She could no longer hear the song of power. Despair bloomed in her heart. Thunder rattled the heavens as from the heights of the Mountain of the Dead the wind and rain at last descended on the camp. Through the open door of the tepee Ruth, saw Wasp. The man had courage, but this was beyond him. Their eyes met.
“Run!!” Ruth managed to croak out. “There’s nothing you can do—Run!!!” Darkness fell—between one lurid flash of lightening and the next—he was gone.
Glad at least that Wasp had a chance, Ruth could feel her breath begin to catch. She was filled with regret that she would not see her love one last time. She whispered his name. “Adam!”

Dark brushstrokes on an olive canvas, a face built on layers of rectangles came to her mind. Under black bushy brows were sharp hazel eyes clear enough to challenge the eagles. She could see the dimpled smile and the full lips that had more than once kissed away her nightmares. She could feel his strong hands so roughened by work but so sensitive to her needs. She could hear the smooth baritone of his voice, that brought tingles to her spine.
“ Adam, O Adam I was wrong to send you away! How I wish you were here!” As her thoughts began to fade the last of the power within Ruth took flight to answer that wish. . . . .Adaaam ! !

Adam Strikes Back

Adam Cartwright shifted restlessly. Someone was calling him. The voice wouldn’t let him sleep. It was an echoing call as if from down a long hallway, but he couldn’t understand. He was so tired! . . . maybe if he got up, he could go ask whoever it was to be quiet so he could go back to sleep. Adam got up and stepped out of the hut . . .wait a minute! Something was wrong! The colors – everything was blurred and wavery, standing in the doorway of the pine-tree hut Adam turned back to ask his father. . .he froze in shock at what he saw.
His father was on his knees tending . . . him . . . Adam’s own body lay on the pine bough bed. . .Hoss and Joe grim faced, were keeping watch.
Adam stumbled forward, “Pa! . . .Joe! Hoss!” he tried to get their attention, but when he reached out, his hands passed right through them . . .he couldn’t touch them . . .and they didn’t hear him. Adam raised his hands, examining himself; they seemed solid enough . . it was the rest of the world that had gone strange. . Adam stared down at the body on the bed. . . “I look like hell!” It was a grim attempt at gallows humor but he considered it appropriate for if he wasn’t dead, he must be nearly so. . .Gazing at his brothers and father, Adam found himself consumed with sorrow. “I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.”

“Joe what the . . .” Adam stumbled back against the wall of the hut when Joe turned to grab a saddlebag and reached right through Adam. . . as if he wasn’t there.
“Ahhh . . .” It didn’t help when he realized that he had stumbled partway through the wall of the hut. He stepped back in, forcing himself to take slow steadying breaths. Being transparent was unnerving. For the first time he took a look around. His hand caressed the wall of the hut; it sank partway through the branches. Adam’s smile was bittersweet as he recognized the design. “Good work Hoss . . people never give you enough credit.” Watching the sorrow and exhaustion on his father’s face and Hoss and Joe’s grim resolve, Adam knew that somehow he had to get back; so he could at least tell his father and brothers goodbye. But how? And indeed how had he gotten hurt? There were gaps in his memory.
“Adam!!”
His head turned as if on a string. It was a woman’s voice. It was the same voice that had interrupted his sleep. A face came to his memory . . .gray eyes and flaxen hair; the scent of wildflowers. I know her! But how? Out of habit Adam ducked through the doorway of the hut. He hadn’t yet accepted that as he was, the physical world held no barriers. He came to a stop next to the fire.
“I recognize this place! This is Willow Creek!”
His last clear memory was of an idyllic morning spent camping just downstream. Adam turned to look up at the cliffs of Willow Falls and his eyes widened in shock. The physical world indeed held no limitations for Ben Cartwright’s son. Without conscious intent his gaze focused deep into rocky roots of the Mountain of the Dead.
His mind rebelled at the sight of a vile cauldron of darkness, hunger and hate. It was a black snake—coil upon coil twisting and turning upon itself; the huge creature flexed. Adam could feel the bones of the mountain groan in protest. As he looked, Adam saw the back of a huge head. Lifted by the thick muscular coils the creature began to turn. It knew that it was being watched. It knew—and it was hungry. Instincts rang the alarm; Adam struggled to turn away. If the creature saw him, then he was lost.
“Adam!!” The voice called a third time. He grabbed hold of that calling and used it like a lifeline. The nightmare scene faded. Adam found himself on his hand and knees, retching at the foulness he’d touched. Directly overhead, lightening split the heavens, followed immediately by the earsplitting crack of thunder. Rain at last descended in torrents as the wind came screeching off the mountain. Regaining control Adam sat back on his heels. He watched as Hoss and Joe came scrambling out of the hut to secure the horses. Pa, Hoss and Joe, it’s too dangerous for them to stay here! But what can I do?
“Aaadam!!” The voice called a fourth time. This time— with crushing force, his memory returned——he surged to his feet.
“Ruth!!!”
Reality folded itself, one instant he was standing in the rain drenched darkness at Willow Creek and then the next, he found himself on the other side of the Mountain of the Dead in the middle of what had to be the Shoshone camp. He stumbled forward, his mind dizzy with the impossible. He took a deep breath. “Stop asking why.” He told himself, “Just find her!”
A hot angry wind explored the camp, tugging at his body. Overhead a thick layer of churning clouds obscured the sky. In jagged flashes--lightening painted a desolate scene. Adam saw what had once been a prospering camp. The hide-covered lodges had been painted with bright scenes and designs. It had been a place for families and children. Trash and dust now blew through and between the empty homes. The place smelled of death and pain. There was no sign of anyone alive, not even a stray dog.

****
With renewed interest, Coyote and White Buffalo watched.

Chapter Seventeen
Two Together
“Ruth!!” Adam shouted. If he found Ruth, he’d get some answers. For the moment, the howling hot dark was his only answer. His fists clenched, Adam forced himself to think, his very being trembled with the urge to run, to search each and every lodge in the camp. But there wasn’t time! He was ridden by a driving sense of urgency. The same malevolent presence he’d seen at Willow Creek was here surrounding the Indian camp. It was a thick cloying presence that made it hard to move; to think.
Adam forced himself to take deep slow breaths. He had to find Ruth; to do that--Adam knew that he must be clear headed. He strove to set aside the outer senses to concentrate on the inner. Within his mind the storm gradually began to abate. Like a spinning compass, the sense that tied him to Ruth steadied and showed him a direction. He opened his eyes, his gaze resting on the biggest lodge in the center of the camp. There!! He moved, tossing aside the hide covering the door. Inside he found the failed sick ward, where now only the dead lay. To one side stood Chato the shaman. In his hand he held a knife and Ruth was crumpled in a heap at his feet.
Adam didn’t stop to think—he struck. His hands blurred in a short vicious blow to the man’s kidneys, Adam’s surprise attack from behind succeeded in making Chato drop the knife. Then Adam grabbed an arm and spun the man to face him. He swung a hard left to the belly, Chato folded—Adam finished it with a roundhouse right to the head that drove his opponent to the ground. For a long moment Adam waited, but the shaman was done.
“At least I could touch him.” Adam told himself. Insides shaking, he got down on one knee. “Ruth?” Ever so gently—he reached out. She stirred.
“Adam??” her voice was confused.
“Yes, my love—I’m here.”
The lovers embraced--power flared and the ground trembled in long slow waves of movement. Within the Mountain of the Dead--the Worm twisted in rage. From his vantage point Coyote gave surprised a yip of triumph. He hadn't considered this. At his side White Buffalo was gone.
“But Adam how did you get here??” Ruth asked.
Adam laughed, “My memories are a bit confused, beloved. I was about to ask you the same question!”
Taking his face in her hands Ruth kissed him long and slow. The song within had returned. It recognized the power in the strong arms of Adam Cartwright. She didn't have time to explain--but with his help she might yet achieve the goal. But it would have to be all or nothing. The Worm was even now regrouping itself. If it could take one or both of the lovers--its freedom was assured. “Do you trust me?” Ruth whispered.
“Of course my love—but what?”
Behind Ruth an apparition of White Buffalo began to appear.

Ruth
Makes her Play
When Adam was five years old he’d accidentally gotten separated from his father. He’d been hunting for bits and scraps of wood for the campfire and gone too far into the forest. Realizing he was lost, young Adam knew enough to sit still and wait for his Pa to find him.
Twilight came early in that mid-western forest. Waiting for his Pa, young Adam started to feel very small and alone. In the gloom the broadleaf maples and huge old oak trees turned dark and threatening. The wind moaned overhead. In the growing darkness the bushes rustled and the little boy struggled to control his fear. Lambent green eyes glared at him from the night. A big raccoon chittered at him; the animal rose up on its’ hind legs. The young Adam gripped the largest stick from his pile of wood. The boy was determined to be brave; nevertheless fear choked his breath it was a big coon and its’ teeth were sharp.
“Here I am son! Come to me!”
The boy had been ever so glad to hear his father’s voice. He turned partway to see the yellow glimmer of lantern light that was reflected against the dark boles of the trees. . . .movement shifted in the night, Adam gripped his stick and swung back but the raccoon was gone. “Pa!!” Young Adam wanted nothing more than to run to his father’s comforting embrace.
“Come to me my son, I will help you!”
The moaning wind kicked up a swirl of dust and leaves. Adam had to stop and shield his eyes.
“Pa where are you?” Uncertainly the boy peered into the dark. “I can’t see you!”
“Here I am son.” The tall craggy faced; Ben Cartwright stepped out from behind the trees. The lantern light flared, young Adam still unsteady, squinted against the light. “Come to me my son.” Ben repeated, his voice tinged with impatience. The tall figure of Adam’s father held out his hand. Behind the lantern light the man’s eyes crawled with a cold dark flame.
The tall oak where the boy had sheltered shuddered and trembled under a blast of wind. The shadows cast by his father’s lantern loomed black and threatening in the night. Young Adam hesitated, something was wrong! But this was his Pa--Adam took a hesitant step. . .
“Come now.” His Pa beckoned clearly impatient. Anxious to obey, the boy set aside his fears and took another step, reaching out for his father’s hand.
“No!!” White lightening cracked open a cloudless sky. The wind shrieked. The branches of the oak whipped back and forth like snakes. Adam fell to the ground gaping at the apparition of a woman dressed in elaborately tooled white buckskins. She had stepped out of no-where.
The figure of Ben Cartwright snarled in anger and swung to confront the woman. Adam stared in shock.
The white glare of lightning turned night into day. “Look at him Adam!” The woman’s voice echoed, “That is not your father!”
The boy looked at his father and saw something—something dark and evil.
“Pa?” the boy quavered.
“She’s lying boy!” the man snarled, “Come with me and we can go home.”
In the glare of the light young Adam looked to his father for reassurance. Their eyes met, the boy screamed. “You’re not my Pa!” Lightening fractured the sky above. A tremendous burst of flame engulfed the figure of Ben Cartwright. Adam scrambled back in terror as flames seemed to reach out and try to grab the boy.
“Begone foul worm!!” The woman’s voice echoed from the sky. “The boy has refused!” Her challenge swung the creature away from the boy. “Return to thy prison!” The flame began to waver under her assault. Great clouds of smoke billowed up. Adam could barely see, as he choked on the noxious fumes.
A great wind scoured the clearing; the woman was revealed, untouched. The clear air revealed that a great black snake had taken his father's place. It was coiled in the center of the clearing. Its evil head swayed in front of the white clad woman seeking an opening to strike; its’ hiss was cruel and threatening. Adam clamped his hands over his ears. The woman’s clear soprano rose in opposition. Adam could hear both voices in his bones.
Lightning and thunder cracked overhead; it scraped at the walls of his mind. In a burst of flame the black snake was gone. In an endless moment of terror the boy clutched at the ground, his body racked with sobs.
“Shhh, little one.” The woman crouched down to be on his level. “This is only a dream, a terrible nightmare.” Unwilling to trust anything now, Adam scooted back out of her reach.
“I don’t blame you young Adam.” The woman smiled. “But that wasn’t your father.” She said, in a conversational tone, “He is alive and well.”
Wanting desperately to believe, Adam knuckled the tears out of his eyes. “Pa’s alive?”
“Yes and he’s quite safe.” The woman was sitting cross-legged on the ground ignoring the dirt on her fine buckskins. “And if you will trust me.” She continued, “I can take you away from here so you’ll be safe too.”
Young Adam took a long slow look. He saw a gray eyed woman her wheat colored hair was loose on her shoulders. She was smiling. There was no shadow within to confuse him, like he’d seen within the figure of his Pa.
“Take your time Adam.” She encouraged.
“Can you take me to my Pa?”
“Trust me.”
The boy took her hand.

****
New barriers!! Impossible!! The Worm slammed against the newly rebuilt walls of its prison. The ground rocked in a violent series of quakes. The creature reached out. It still had servants. It wasn't beaten!! Not yet!!!
From his watching post Coyote gave a yip of triumph. "Never count a human out!" he exulted. He laughed at the rage of the enemy. "Hmmm, these two present an interesting option."
On the eastern slope of the mountain a light began to grow in the Shoshone camp. In the storm tossed night Wasp had to stop and catch his breath. He had climbed the slope of the mountain to get away, now he squinted in the rainy dark to look down at the camp. He saw an eldritch glow of light. It came from the lodge where the spirit woman lay. He clutched at the rocks and gasped in shock. He could see the light gather and grow into an animal form--a White Buffalo!

Joining
Adult Adam convulsed, his mind reeled under the impossible memories. It seemed as if he stood at the edge of a precipice and voices called to him out of that abyss. Voices full of deception and lies, Adam struggled to turn away. His mind clawed for the familiar, the known.
“Pa?” His voice was raw. Everything hurt.
“You’re Pa isn’t here, but I can help.” It was Ruth. Her voice, her body, the scent of her filled his senses. Adam turned to her; Ruth eagerly welcomed his seeking. Adam knew only need and Ruth was there to fulfill it. A bright light of life, and renewal sprang into being—centered on the lovers.
The darkness howled in protest. The light grew, finding its way into the earth bringing life where the Worm had wrought destruction. The darkness tried to counter the power with its leeching draw and recoiled in surprise, it was blocked! On the dark slope of the mountain Wasp felt the ground twitch like an animal. Hastily he turned and scrambled up the slope to a more secure island of rock. Then despite the danger, he turned again to watch.
The Worm howled in protest as it found that the last door to freedom was swinging shut. The light in the camp grew in focus and intensity. But the worm still had a pawn.
In the Shoshone camp Chato stirred as once more he felt the prodding of evil.
Lightening struck in the camp--the crash was deafening.

Retaliation
Chato fought with everything he had--but it wasn't enough. The shaman could only watch as his body stirred . . . .Like a broken puppet Chato's hand found the knife and he began to crawl. The lovers lay together in what remained of the central lodge only a short distance away. The evil could yet be free--if it managed to kill one of them. The medicine man sobbed as the laughter scraped at the walls of his mind.
Adam's eyes clicked open. The constant flicker of lightening was the only illumination . . . . The knife glowed with its own evil promise. Galvanized by the threat, Adam's body uncoiled like a spring. Hands locked on the knife Adam drove Chato back against the fire-pit away from Ruth. Even as he fought the medicine man sobbed and pleaded.
"You must kill me!!"
Adam looked Chato in the eyes and was shocked. He recognized the presence within--it was the evil he'd seen at Willow Creek. Taking advantage of the human's surprise, the Worm surged to the attack . . .the shaman was useful . . .but if it could take this white man that dared to fight--revenge would be sweet!! All at once Adam couldn't breathe. The shaman, his face contorted with rage twisted the knife--scoring a long shallow gash down Adam's side. Adam welcomed the pain; it enabled him to break away. He fell to his hands and knees; his lungs heaved as he gasped for air. Aware of his vulnerable position, Adam desperately tried to straighten up.
"Adam!!" it was Ruth, screaming his name.
The knife descended toward his back. "Move boy! Move!!" Adam yelled at himself . . . . In one quick motion Adam collapsed and rolled to face his attacker. His hands struck out to try again to twist the knife away from Chato. Still crying and pleading the medicine man resisted. Keeping his iron grip on the deadly glowing blade Adam scissored with his legs, sweeping Chato off his feet. The knife was between their bodies as the two men rolled over and over in the dirt. Desperately looking around the empty lodge for some sort of weapon Ruth ran to the fire-pit seeking to try and pry loose a stone from the hearth. The combatants rolled to a halt, Chato was on top. For an impossibly long moment Ruth couldn't tell what had happened. The glowing knife had struck . . . but who??
With a sobbing effort Adam pushed at his opponent’s body, it flopped to the ground. The knife was buried to the hilt in Chato's chest. Dragging himself to his hands and knees Adam was shocked again to find that the man was still alive!
"White man I thank you. " Chato's voice was a bare whisper. Adam saw that at last the man's eyes were sane. "I am free . . . Dachow, Tolca . . . I come!" Chato, the shaman of the Spotted Pony Clan of the Shoshone was filled with joy as he went to join his sons.

****
Deprived of its best proxy, the Worm was again trapped--the door shut. It raged in protest, spending nearly the last of its energy seeking any crack in its rebuilt prison.

There is always more . . .
Adam felt like he was going to fly apart. He dragged himself away from Chato's body.
"Oh Adam!" Ruth was there helping him into a sitting position against the hearth of the fire-pit.
Adam could feel her anxiety and concern as if it were his own. He took several steadying breaths, seeking to give himself some time to orient his senses.
"Oh Adam." Ruth said again, "I'm so sorry I dragged you into all this."
"I'm not." Adam pulled her close, "What ever the price . . . it's worth it . . . to know you."
Their kiss was flavored with his sweat. Ruth laughed pulling back; she took a piece of his shirt and gently cleaned his face. "I am forever tending you."
Suppressing a hiss at the pain in his side Adam pulled her back against him. "The foundation of a proper relationship."
Silence . . . . .simple comfort at holding and being held.
"Ruth?"
"Yes?"
"Is it finished?"
She sought within for an answer but White Buffalo was silent. "I don't know."
"Well who does?"
"I know," said Coyote as he walked into the lodge.
Adam stared. What he saw was an old Indian bent and twisted with age, his skin as brown as the earth. The man wore a set of buckskins that were old and well worn. Out of one of his many pockets Coyote pulled his corncob pipe. He made a production of loading it with tobacco and stirring up the fire-pit for a coal to light it. . . .Adam restrained his impatience. In the last few days he had learned not to make quick assumptions . . .Coyote's yellow eyes glinted with approval.
Ruth wasn't so forgiving. "Old one . . . I have seen you pull that pipe out already lit." She accused, "What is it that you want?"
Coyote didn't answer at first. He settled himself cross-legged on the ground and began blowing smoke rings. Feeling the sudden tension Adam's gaze traveled from Ruth to Coyote and back. . . .his eyes widened when he noted that the smoke rings were forming themselves into animal shapes--most noticeably . . . buffalos.
"There's one reason why I like you humans." Coyote contemplated one smoky buffalo that began galloping around the lodge. . . .he grinned, pleased with his handiwork.
Adam shifted restlessly--his side was starting to hurt. Ruth shifted her attention; her hand on his side soothed away the pain. She looked up at her lover and Adam knew what she was thinking. "The old man is Coyote, beloved--we must be patient." Like the legend of White Buffalo, Adam had heard of Coyote. . .and his powers. Adam figured a little caution would be smart.
Coyote chuckled, "Wise move Cartwright." The spirit was still watching the galloping buffalo. The smoke animal had doubled in size. "I've always liked humans. Just when I have it figured, you surprise me."
"What surprised you this time?" Adam asked in a mild voice.
"That you are both alive."
Adam dragged himself to his feet, Ruth had to help him. He was in no shape to fight--but if Coyote intended to follow through on his statement . . . Adam intended to meet his fate standing up. Coyote sat back and continued to puff on his pipe. The smoke buffalo continued to grow.
Ruth looked on uncertainly. "Adam I don't think . . . ."
"Cartwright--that's not why I'm here." the spirit was amused.
Adam captured her hands--the force of his grip made her gasp communication flowed; she understood and tucked herself against his side. Her closeness gave him strength and hope. The lovers waited. Outside the lodge the lightening continued--thunder muttered in the distance. High up on the mountain it had all proven too much for Wasp. The man had fallen senseless to the ground. . . but he wasn't alone--Raven had come. The messenger spirit stood guard over the last son of the Spotted Pony Clan. Raven clacked his beak and Wasp began to dream. Below on the mountain, the Shoshone camp was gone--there remained only the tattered frame of the central lodge. Inside that lodge the only light came from the fire, the silent flames cast huge shadows on the hide-covered walls. Coyote grinned; his yellow eyes were twin lamps in the gloom. The smoke born buffalo came to a halt. It had grown huge, one moment solidly real--the next just a shadow. The silence grew.
Coyote stowed his pipe and favored Adam with an ironic bow. "The two of you have earned a choice."
Adam cocked an eyebrow, but remained silent. Ruth eyed the wavering form of the buffalo.
Coyote bared his teeth in a feral grin. "The Worm is bound as intended. It'll be a long, long time before it can again seek its freedom." Coyote's voice was full of satisfaction. "Your first choice is simple. Leave here and live your lives."
"But?"
"Sooner or later I'll have it all to do again." Coyote sighed, "Yonder creature is dangerous to all kinds of life."
"What is the second choice?" Adam prodded.
"We send the creature back home--where it came from. Never again to threaten humans or anyone here on this world."
"How?" asked Adam
"The two of you can open that door between the worlds. . .with my guidance." Coyote reached out a hand to scratch the now solid buffalo. "But the risk is great that one or both of you will die in the attempt."
"Why should we want to take such a risk?" Adam challenged.
"If I was you I wouldn't." Coyote shot back, "I'd take my woman and go home and make babies. Leave it to your descendants to deal with it when the worm wakes again."
"Old one--Why pick on our children?" Ruth asked defensively.
"Young lady . . . you know as well as me that once talent shows itself in the line--it breeds true." Coyote replied. "Will they or no, when it's time, your kids will have the job of sticking yonder beast back in its cage."
"You'll be around to make sure of it." Adam accused.
I won't have to." the spirit said, "No matter who you are, or where you be, there are rules that govern all of us. But it's those same rules that say we have a chance--right now--to stop this particular evil forever."

One last time---Together
The lovers shared a long look. Adam's mind pictured all the generations of future Cartwrights and the danger they would have to face. . .He knew what his father and brothers would say. Ruth shared his vision and she felt the same . . .for the children of the future--they chose. With that choice, came knowledge.
At Coyote's side White Buffalo became completely solid, its eyes’ glowed with red fire. Ruth reached up to caress Adam one last time. Then she stepped forward to face the spirit. It bowed its great shaggy head to the woman--she embraced it . . . and with a soundless flash the two of them disappeared. Adam took a long steadying breath, he wasn't afraid for Ruth. He could still feel her somehow, in his mind. Instead he found himself wishing for the company of his father and brothers. Together the Cartwrights had faced down countless opponents. Standing with his family Adam knew he could face anything. Joe was as quick and fierce as summer lightening in a fight. Hoss always slow to start--would fight like a grizzly bear once he had a target. His father . . .well when Ben Cartwright took up a fight--he was just plain unstoppable. Thinking of his family this way made Adam feel secure and complete. Now his beloved Ruth was a part of that mix. Adam could feel her with him, an elemental force--a mother defending her children yet to be. As Coyote watched, the power of that emotion settled on Adam's shoulders like a cloak. . . .The grizzled spirit was well pleased. Adam could feel the grizzled spirit's approval. His own sense of certainty began to rise.
"That's it Cartwright . . .together we can do this!" Coyote began to dance.
Listening to that inner prompting, Adam walked quickly out of the lodge and found himself standing on the edge of a precipice. A black sea lay directly below, the restless waves crashing relentlessly at the base of the cliff. There was no placing the sun. A veil of mist obscured the sky. Beneath his feet Adam could feel the springy turf of sea grass of the sort he had seen when he visited San Francisco. He turned to look behind him and found that the lodge and the Shoshone camp were gone. Instead the land was empty and cloaked in more mist. He was standing in a clear pocket of ground; warily Adam kept an eye on his surroundings. He didn't feel a threat, but he did feel that there was a watcher. Adam turned to look as a huge shape loomed behind him in the diffuse light. The sea mist parted like a curtain to reveal the form of White Buffalo coming to stand at his side. The animal lowered its shaggy head to snuffle at his shirt just the way Sport did when the gelding wanted a treat. Bemused Adam reached out--he saw the animal's eyes--it was Ruth!
Adam could feel her laughter ripple through his mind like a fresh breeze, new made from the top of the world. Adam leaned into the warm bulk that was his beloved and felt himself more energized by the minute. Ruth gave him her support and love with an open heart--White Buffalo approved. Adam began to feel a little strange. The sense of power coming to his command was immense. Far off in the distance Adam heard the voice of Coyote; the spirit was raising his own song of power to blend and join with the lovers. Hearing that inner melody Adam turned to face the sea. Ruth stayed at his side. Adam kept his hand resting easily on the buffalo's shoulder. The feelings within his heart were overwhelming. Adam began to smile and then laugh with the joy of it all. All that was dark within him--death itself--cowered and fled from the focus of his joy.
Over the water a dark horizon was starting to grow. It was the Worm--the creature was drawn like a moth to his flame. Blue lightening began to crackle through the mist. . . Adam saw that lightening as a lure to move the dark force of the Worm. Hearing that inner voice Adam knew that the creature must not realize what was to happen--failure or success wavered on a razors edge. The Worm hovered in the distance filled with need and hate . . . it had been given one more chance at freedom. It didn’t care why. . . The human appeared careless--Manipulating the lightening Adam left open a path seemingly by accident--the sentient dark surged forward. Unflinching, the lovers watched it come.
Elsewhere the old man danced; he stamped a pattern in the earth puffing great clouds of yellow smoke from his pipe. The sage scented cloud formed a counterpoint to the spirit's dance. Eyes blazing, the old man leapt and spun; his voice climbing Coyote sang . . . and at the center of his circle there came into being what could only be described as a tear in the fabric of reality. It was a doorway--to somewhere else. It showed a dark wasted place, filled with barren ground and pale dying stars. It hurt the eyes to look at it. Even Coyote had to squint as the doorway came into being. This was the original home of the Worm.
The darkness had no features, and yet Adam knew that it was looking at him. Adam called the lightening, in an apparent attempt at defense. At his side White Buffalo shifted restlessly and pawed the ground. Adam continued to play a shell game with the Worm--raising barriers at the last moment--forcing the creature to turn aside yet always allowing it to move just a bit closer. The effort was not without cost, his shirt was drenched with sweat and his head was beginning to pound. Ruth could have bolstered his flagging energy, but Adam had to appear overconfident and vulnerable.
The cat and mouse game continued, while unnoticed the waters at the base of the cliff began to boil. A spinning whirlpool was forming. At the bottom of the pool Adam could hear the song of Coyote begin to rise. Between the two of them the timing had to be precise. Coyote danced, the sage scented smoke from his pipe swirled in a counterpoint--streaks appeared on the ground encircling the 'door'.
The creature was very close to the lovers. It surged forward--the air was drenched with a weird smell, a musk that gagged the senses--beside him Ruth cried out. At the last second Adam called the lightening, the Worm slammed against the barrier. So close! Rather than turning away, the creature surged forward attempting to bull its way through this last barrier. Adam looked oblivion straight in the face and was glad, for he and Ruth were together. He could feel the breath of the worm nibbling at the edge of his soul. . . .White Buffalo raised her massive head, her eyes were flame; power began to flow, bolstering Adam. Ruth shook her head; the elemental challenge of an adult buffalo shook the air.
The whirlpool at the base of the cliff suddenly tripled in size. In his hands Coyote now held a hunting spear, the spirit caressed the weapon . . . . his yellow eyes were twin lamps of fire. The sage scented smoke now completely shrouded the 'door'.
On the edge of the cliff Adam cried out, lightening spidered across the misty sky--with Ruth's help Adam formed a net of power, casting it over the worm's black presence. Thus contained the creature fell into the grip of the whirlpool, where deep within now lurked Coyote's door. With a shrill cry Coyote spun the weapon and drove it into the center of his smoke shrouded circle. Deep within the heart of the mountain the spear reached its physical mark. Emitting a shriek of defiance the black snake turned to meet its doom.
The weapon struck true. The Mountain of the Dead shuddered and groaned in response to the physical death throes of the Worm. At the cliff Adam stumbled to his knees, he had to scramble forward to track the fall of the worm. The net of lightening spat blue fire as the black essence within sought desperately to be free. It put out such a surge of energy that for a moment its fall was checked. Wearily Adam tried to marshal his energy one last time. . . .but at that moment Coyote's strike bore results. The 'door' gaped wide, home was calling--a force the worm could not deny. It fell--the 'door' slammed shut and the spinning waters collapsed, creating a geyser of water that drenched the lovers on the cliff. Coyote gave a cry of victory. Bowing once to each of the four corners of the elements and a fifth time for the one who contained them all--the spirit jammed his corncob pipe into his pocket . . . and disappeared.
Human once more, Ruth held Adam close. The kiss they shared was cut short, as Adam's body began to shiver.
"Is it over?" Adam tried and failed to keep his teeth from chattering.
Growing increasingly alarmed Ruth tried to help him. "Yes my love. It's over." Knowledge came from her now permanent link to White Buffalo. That same link told her what was wrong.
"Ohhhhh . . . ." Adam was finding it increasingly hard to focus.
"Adam!!" Ruth grabbed him and forced him to look at her. "You must go back. You have been too long away from your body."
"I agree." he stuttered, "But I don't know how."
Ruth smiled, "Let me help" She pulled him close and kissed him. This time the kiss was long and deep. Adam felt her spread fire and warmth throughout his body. His senses spun in dizzy circles--his last sight was the smiling promise in her eyes. This time the darkness was warm and friendly--he welcomed it.
Ruth stood up--she was alone on the cliff. "Soon beloved." she declared, "I will join you."
White Buffalo stood a short distance away. The spirits' form was insubstantial again. It wavered in and out of her sight.
"You do understand?" she told it, "I have to go!"
The huge buffalo lowered its head. Without thinking Ruth found herself scratching White Buffalo behind the ear. The spirit leaned into her caress. The wave of compassion from White Buffalo, tinged with regret nearly brought her to tears.

Chapter Eighteen
Survival
The Mountain of the Dead looked little changed on the outside. From the north a steady wind sprang up, driving away the ragged remains of the storm clouds. A few rockslides scarred the ground here and there but the forest remained. However the waters born upon the mountain, the substance that formed the creeks that nourished the forest, remained stained with mud which meant that trouble was brewing . . . serious trouble and the animals of the forest knew it, they were leaving. . . . .Inside, the Mountain was empty—a shell—that had begun to collapse. Unchecked, the fall of the mountain would affect a huge swath of the countryside. . . Most immediately the Cartwrights at Willow Creek could never survive.
In the remains of the Shoshone camp Ruth stirred. Her body ached from lying so long on the ground. It took real effort to stand up and walk without stumbling. Her own physical symptoms were forgotten as she became aware of the distress in the earth. The storm on the peak which had been a physical manifestation of the battle she and Adam had waged, had dissipated, but what had struck the Shoshone camp had left it in shambles. The sad tattered remains of the Spotted Pony Clan tore at her heart. She heard a cry overhead. It was Raven--still standing guard over the sleeping Wasp.
She raised her arm to the sky. Raven back-winged to the offered perch. The messenger spirit cocked his head, birdlike . . .Ruth acknowledged the intelligence that perched on her arm. The wicked claws of the big bird could have easily ripped her flesh. Raven carefully shifted his grip. Ruth felt her arm tremble under the weight of the bird. The spirit cocked his head; to look at her . . . communication flowed.
"Raven, you are clever and wise to save him." Ruth said, "It is right that this story be told." Raven back-winged once, his voice rang like brass in the air. "Of course, I will help." Ruth replied. She sought within for strength and White Buffalo answered.
Raven launched himself into the sky. Ruth felt part of herself lifting to the flight. She cradled her wounded arm to her chest--for this time the messenger spirit had drawn blood. Raven began to circle, his clarion calling filled the sky. The black bird completed four circles between Ruth and Wasp. Ruth felt the power within her rise up like a flood. At last Raven flew close over the last survivor of the Spotted Pony Clan. The bird's form was huge; his wings engulfed Wasp and bore the man away to safety.

The Choice
The ground twitched like the skin of a horse trying to shed a fly. Ruth stumbled as the earth began to shudder in long nauseating waves. Soaring high over the chaos a harsh calling pained her ears. Again she sought within for answers and White Buffalo came to her call. The worst had happened. The Worm was gone but its malice remained. It resided in the crows, the flock that had lived on the rocky peak of the Mountain of the Dead and served as proxies for the dark. Feathered malice now circled the mountain, their voices crying out with glee as their former home convulsed.
Dismayed Ruth turned to look. She saw a myriad of cracks form a spider web in the earth. Massive boulders began to shift and slide as the soil ran like water. Trees that were already old when the first white man came to the new world; groaned and shuddered as the ground rebelled against them. Above Ruth's camp in her favorite meadow the ancient incense cedar struggled to retain its hold on the earth. The meadowlark pair was gone--the forest surrounding that bright meadow on the mountain was convulsed.
Spreading her feet to stay upright, in one dizzying moment Ruth encompassed the mountain. She felt the death throes of the old cedar--the old tree's pain was hers. She heard the voices of the crows as they rejoiced. Their interference was what tipped the scale. She couldn't reach them, but she could frustrate their intent. Suddenly Ruth understood the regret and compassion she had felt from White Buffalo. In one timeless moment Ruth reached out to touch the men at Willow Creek. The sleeping presence of her love was a burning fire . . .all she wanted was to wake him. The other three Cartwrights burned just as bright in her soul-sight. She and Adam had banished the evil, for the sake of the children yet to be. Now it was her choice . . . for the sake of the greater future . . . .she couldn't stop the mountains' collapse, but she could re-direct it.
"Oh my love, forgive me!"
The land began to move. The force was immense. Standing amidst the remains of the Shoshone camp, Ruth summoned everything she had from White Buffalo . . . Ruth called, she cajoled, then she demanded and finally succeeded in opening up a vent in the side of the mountain, to release the pressure. The tall cliffs above her simply melted, a portion of the eastern side of the Mountain of the Dead sheared itself away in a massive landslide. The camp of the Spotted Pony Clan was buried under tons of rock. To the west the land shuddered with the force of the slide; but was largely preserved. Reshaped, the mountain survived. Frustrated, the crows flew away seeking fresh prey.

Hoss
Hoss was worried; he prowled the camp, leaving Adam in the care of Joe and their father. The waters of Willow Creek had at last stopped rising, but the night wasn’t finished, he could feel that something else was wrong. He went to check the horses; Chubb blew and stamped a hind foot at his masters’ approach. Buck and Cochise were as restless as Chubb, even the packhorse crowded close to Hoss, seeking reassurance.
“Easy now, easy does it fellers.” Hoss murmured to his charges. “Hush up now and let me listen.” The big man closed his eyes in order to concentrate. Nearby the voice of Willow Creek remained steady. In the hut, he could hear the low murmur of Joe’s voice and their father’s response. Up on the cliffs, it was quiet, the wind and rain were gone. Hoss opened his eyes to look up. The thick cloak of clouds overhead was beginning to lift. To the west Hoss could see the pale glow of the rising moon. The silver light fell gently on the camp; Hoss was immensely cheered by the sight. “See?” He spoke to the horses, “It’s gonna be okay.” Chubb blew again, shaking his head in irritation. “Well old son—what is it?” Chubb was an experienced range horse. Hoss knew better than to ignore him.
The bushes rustled; in one motion Hoss drew his pistol and turned to face whatever—the bushes rustled again “Alright!” Hoss called out, “Enough funnin’ Just step on out!” After a long moment—a pair of raccoons suddenly burst out of the bushes and Hoss was hard put not to trigger off a shot. The animals ignored him and ran across the clearing almost directly under the feet of the horses. Whinnying in protest Cochise put back his ears and started plunging. Hoss had to holster his pistol and move quickly to secure her tether. Then he heard a series of big splashes from the creek. Hoss turned to look and spotted a trio of mule deer bounding through the water and trotting downstream. They ran right past a mountain lion that was standing in the grass on the near side of the creek. Something very strange was happening.
“Pa, Joe!! Get out here quick!!” Hoss yelled.
The big cat screamed and began to move. This time it wasn’t just Cochise that tried to run. Hoss found himself with his hands full; if they lost the horses their chances for survival approached zero.
“What is it?” Joe was there, the cat screamed again in answer. Ben stood frozen at the door of the hut as the cat ran through the camp ignoring the men and the plunging horses. Closely following the cat was a pair of kit foxes. Then a flock of brown grouse fluttered by underfoot. The animals of the forest were on the move.
“Pa it’s like all the animals are runnin’ from something.”
“I don’t smell smoke.” Joe offered.
“It’s not a fire.” Hoss said.
“Then what is it?” Staring after the big cat, Ben came to help settle the horses.
“I dunno Pa, but . . . .”
The earth rocked. The horses screamed.
“Blindfold them!!” Ben shouted as he struggled out of his vest and used it to blindfold Buck. Beneath their feet—the ground swayed in long waves of motion.
“An earthquake here? How??” Joe yelled his stomach flip-flopped as he tucked his jacket under Cochises’ halter.
“I dunno little brother.” Hoss yelled back. “Nuthin’ has made a whole heap of sense, since we got to this mountain.” Using his greater strength Hoss got both Chubb and the packmare in hand.
Ben didn’t have the breath to comment. He was busy. Buck wanted to rear. Blindfolded as he was the big horse could hurt himself. Ben closed in on Bucks’ head, hoping that his weight would keep the animals’ feet on the ground.
Abruptly, the ground dropped from beneath their feet like the deck of a ship in heavy sea. The air shuddered with a sonorous boom of sound. Ben knew instantly what had happened. He renewed his grip on Buck. “It’s a landslide, it sounds like a big one. Hang on boys!!” Hoss could smell a weird tang to the air as a renewed cloud rose to obscure the moon. But it was the sudden gasp from Joe that drew Hoss and Ben’s attention. They turned.
Looking more dead than alive, Adam stood in the doorway of the hut. The ground shuddered, Adam’s head swung up as if on a string. His eyes were black with pain. Without hesitation Ben let go of Buck and went to his son.
“Adam?” Ben hesitated.
“Pa??” The look of loss and grief on his son’s face tore at his father’s heart. Adam collapsed. Ben was barely in time to catch him as he fell. Up in the sky, the crows chorused in triumph.

Chapter Nineteen
For Services Rendered

The stars were out but they were remote and far away. The black vault of the night sky over the Ponderosa was clear of clouds. The starlight that fell to the earth was cold and pitiless. There was no moon . . . Adam Cartwright was dying.
Ben Cartwright was arguing with his younger sons. “You boys should go to the All Saints Harvest Dance. It’s what Adam would want.”
“But Pa!” Joe protested. “We can’t leave now!”
“You can and you will.” Ben insisted, “You both deserve a break. I can take care of Adam for the night. Hop Sing will be here to help.” Ben confronted Hoss and Joe at the foot of the stairs. They were in the great-room of the Ponderosa. The colors of the room seemed pale and lifeless, the light cast by the finely wrought lamps in the room, brought all the way from San Francisco seemed unable to hold back the shadows. Grey and insubstantial, they haunted the corners of the room, waiting.
Hoss said nothing. The big man had lost weight in these past weeks of caring for his brother. His pale blue eyes were haunted with the knowledge and fear that Adam would never wake from his coma. In the days after their return from that terrible night at Willow Creek, Adam had never regained consciousness. Family friend, Dr Paul Martin had been unable to offer any help. For the first time in years, Dr Martin stopped at the Bucket of Blood for a drink on his way home. Adam Cartwright was well regarded in Virginia City. The news spread like wildfire. The town had been planning the annual Harvest Days dance for the end of October. Event planners included a moment of silence and a donation box to be given in Adam's name, to charity.
Typically Little Joe refused to acknowledge what was happening. Yet as the days had passed, dark circles appeared under his eyes and even his hope was beginning to fade.
Hoss was worried about Joe too. His brother could break himself to pieces denying the inevitable. He placed a big hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Shortshanks, dadburnit, yew know it won’t do no good to argue with Pa. Besides he’s right.”
Joe swung on his brother in surprise. Hoss stood with his arms crossed and stared him down. In vain Joe tried to gather his thoughts, usually he could persuade Hoss, but Joe’s mind was fogged with fatigue and despair. His shoulders slumped as he acknowledged defeat. “Alright,” he declared, “But I’m not going to have any fun!”
Ben had to bite his lip, trading a knowing look with Hoss. The big man even managed a small smile. It was such a typical comment for Joe. With Hoss watching out for him, Ben knew that Little Joe would be alright.
Hoss clapped Joe on the shoulder, “Come on, let’s go get the horses.”
Hop Sing was upstairs with Adam, so Ben went out to the front porch to see his sons off. The bunkhouse was dark, the ranch-hands, released for the dance, had already left.
These past weeks had also affected the Ponderosa patriarch. His body had become nothing but whipcord muscle and bone, as he fought to keep his family from falling apart. He stood on the porch watching Joe and Hoss ride away. Long after the sound of their horses was gone, Ben still stood on the porch listening to the silence. There was no wind, even the creek in the south meadow, ran silent.
At last, Ben stepped off the porch to look at the stars. He remembered teaching Adam, as a boy, how to navigate by those stars. Ben had a sailor’s knowledge of the heavens, which he had wanted to pass on, to his oldest son. As a new father, Ben had been amazed at his young son’s thirst for knowledge. Adam had pestered him night after night as they traveled, until the boy had learned all the stars they could see. Then Ben had made the mistake of telling his son that the Southern hemisphere had different stars. Adam had made his father draw diagrams. They couldn’t afford paper, so Ben had used a stick and drawn pictures in the dirt. Ben Cartwright lifted his face to the cloudless heavens, he couldn’t see the stars tonight, they seemed blurred and distant. . Ben was crying.
Consumed with memories, Ben wasn’t really aware of his movements. Evidence of his son’s hand lay everywhere on the ranch. The Ponderosa was his dream, but without Adam that dream would lose its substance. At length Ben found himself in the woods beside the house. There was a huge old pine tree, its branches knotted and knurled over the years. After much pleading and persuasion on the part of his son, Ben had allowed the young Adam to build himself a tree-house nestled high within the old ponderosa pine.
The main house of the ranch had been built when Adam was still a boy. He had helped design it, but hadn’t possessed a man’s strength to really take part in the actual building. But the tree house was just the right size. Adam had insisted doing all the work on his own. The boy had saved and sorted the scraps leftover from building the main house. He had labored over endless sketches and ideas. Ben had promised to stay away until the grand unveiling. Their first ranch foreman, Will Reagan, at that time an ordinary ranch hand, kept Ben appraised of Adam’s progress; giving the boy encouragement and some needed suggestions.
Ben had been dubious when he was at last invited up for an inspection. The tree house was little more than a platform and a roof, with canvas scraps for the walls. Where a boy could easily move, the branches of the old pine didn’t welcome the bulk of a full sized man. However the platform was sound and if it could hold a man’s weight his father knew that Adam would be relatively safe. . . . and the view. . . Ben had to admit, was spectacular. Oriented to the south, to catch the warmth of the sun Ben had found the south meadow pasture laid out at his feet. The tall green grass was dotted with wildflowers, purple lupine, white aster and yarrow with a scattering of buttercup and red fireweed. The south creek wound through the grass, the water glittering with highlights from the sun before it vanished into the dark green of the forest. And surrounding everything, the snow capped peaks of the Sierras.
'It’s beautiful son.' Adam had been so proud and pleased at his father’s approval. The boy had spent hours in that tree house, dreaming boys’ dreams. At length it had been passed on to Hoss and then to Little Joe. The place had been rebuilt several times and finally given real walls. It was a cherished memory for all of the family. Ben leaned against the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough bark under his hands. The branches of the mighty pine stood black and knotted in a blacker night. Consumed with grief, Ben didn’t see the yellow eyes above; he didn’t know he was being watched.
A gentle wind stirred the branches of the old pine. The cold stars began to change and their silver light now fell gently on the Ponderosa. The breeze traveled down the trunk of the ponderosa pine, tugging at his clothes. Ben pushed his hair out of his eyes and suddenly realized that he smelled pipe smoke. Pipe smoke? Someone was in the tree house!
Outraged at what he felt was an invasion of privacy, Ben demanded, “Who’s there?” He peered up into the branches. A wiry shape shifted in the dark. Footsteps scrabbled on the old platform; pieces of bark fell on Ben’s head. “Come down from there!” Ben spluttered.
“I’m coming old man, no need to fuss.” A gust of wind struck the ground, scattering pine needles and dirt.
Ben was taken with a fit of coughing. When he could see again, he found himself looking at a wizened old man, with leathered brown skin and amazingly yellow eyes. The fellow barely came up to his shoulder, and was nonchalantly puffing on an evil smelling corncob pipe.
“Who are you?” Ben repeated.
“I am a friend of your son. I’m here to help.” The yellow eyes gleamed in the silver dark.
Ben was confused, “My son? . . . but . . . You’re a friend of Adam’s?”
The old man sat cross-legged on the ground. “Well not a friend precisely,” he drawled, “But your son did me a favor, and I pays my debts.”
“I don’t understand.”
Amused the old man replied, “Well it’s not likely.” Peering up at Ben, the yellow eyes blinked. “Sit down, feller, I’m getting a crick in me neck looking up at you.”
Snared by the yellow regard, Ben sank obediently to the ground.
“Who are you?”
“My name isn’t really important. I’ve had a few in my time.” The old man scratched his grizzled hair and sniffed the air. The stars began to grow close in the night; a silver light began to warm the earth. Upstairs in Adam’s room Hop Sing was trimming the wick of a low burning lamp. He straightened up, cocking his head to listen. The little cook’s eyes glittered as he turned to watch his charge, lying so pale and still in the bed.
Unaware of any change in the night, Ben leaned forward anxious to hear what this strange old man had to say, “Your son is a great fighter, but he took on too much – and has suffered the price. One he shouldn’t be forced to pay.”
Making a wild guess Ben ventured, “Does this have to do with Ruth? -- The White Buffalo Woman?”
“Very good! . . .” the man knocked out his pipe with a pleased chuckle, “It’s easy to see that he’s your son!”
Setting aside a myriad of questions, Ben asked the most important one. “You said that Adam suffered a price. That he did you a favor. My son is dying, what can you do?”
“It’s more what you can do, Ben Cartwright.”
“????”
“Don’t let ‘him go. Get back upstairs in that great house a yours grab his hand and pray.” The old man stowed his pipe in an unseen pocket. “There isn’t a lot a time to explain, but good is, as good does, no matter what the name. I think you know, she is gone. . . I can’t help that. . . But I can maybe help your son, maybe he doesn’t have to follow.”
“How!?”
“It’s tricky . . .and it’s almost time . . . best you get up to him and do your part.” The old man stood up, spearing Ben Cartwright with his yellow eyes.
The buildings of the Ponderosa had begun to shimmer in the starlight. Upstairs, standing at the foot of Adam’s bed, Hop Sing held himself very still. Raised in his own traditions, the little Chinese could feel that his ancestors were very close tonight. He turned to the window and bowed in deepest respect. The silver light of the night was gathering in intensity, coming through the window in shafts almost as bright as the sun.
Outside, the air itself was beginning to change. There was a texture, a form growing in the night. Between one moment and the next Ben found himself running up the stairs to his son’s room.
“Adam!!”
Ben Cartwright blundered through the door of his son’s room and fell to his knees at the side of the bed. “I can’t let you go.” Ben cried, “It’s not right . . . Son it’s not your time . . .We need you here.” Blinded by tears, Ben took hold of Adam’s unresisting hand. . . . “My boy!! Elizabeth help me!” Ben Cartwright bowed his head devoting his whole being to the cry.
The silver light from the window began to grow and spread. Impossibly the substance of the walls to Adam’s room dissolved into smoke.
Quietly, Hop Sing bowed out of the room. He slipped quickly down the stairs to his own quarters. In one corner of his bedroom stood a small altar, with a burning pot of incense; he too had prayers to make.
In the great room of the Ponderosa, the big cabinet clock began to strike the hour, midnight, October 31st. The chimes blended and transformed into a bright music that began to wend its way through the night, lending its own slight presence to what was to happen. The little song was from Adam’s music box, which once belonged to his mother, Elizabeth. At last . . .time sled gently to a halt.
A sprightly presence danced through the house as if exploring, examining everything. Hop Sing lifted his head, recognizing that music. He bowed, to the altar in the corner of his room, clapping his hands, a sign of respect to honor the presence of a Cartwright ancestor. The fey music danced out into the night, drawn to the old man standing under the big Ponderosa Pine. The yellow eyes smiled and began to flare in response.

Another breeze stirred in the night. This one had a direction. It came from a pretty little meadow, overlooking Lake Tahoe. The breeze carried with it the wild scent of the forest, and wild flowers, it joined in the dance around the old man. He laughed . . .his sharp canine teeth flashing in the bright dark. Finally as if from a far distance, from the earth itself came a presence, fresh with the smell of a spring garden, the soil turned and ready for seed. A force that was full of dreams and life, an unstoppable wave.
Time stretched and turned back again. Out in the yard, the old man nodded to his company with a pleased grin. Yellow eyes becoming flame, he raised his arms to the heavens and began to sing. Coyote took the power he was offered, stamping the ground, in a rhythmic dance. Little puffs of dust rose underneath his bare feet. In the great room of the ranch house the clock finished its last chime, striking the midnight hour. But the ringing of the bells continued, an echoing vibration tying everything together.
Upstairs the lamp at Adam’s bedside began to flutter and fade to be replaced by another older light, as the door to other-where began to open. Ben trembling with exhaustion lifted his head, at last beginning to sense something. Had Adam’s hand in his grasp moved? Staring at his son’s pale face on the pillows Ben dashed the tears from his eyes. Was there just a hint of color returning to Adam’s features?
Ben stiffened in shock as a pair of small arms encircled his shoulders. His senses began to reel. He smelled a perfume, Elizabeth’s perfume. A familiar voice never forgotten, tinged music breathed in his ear. “Rest easy Benjamin, it will be alright.”
“Liz?” Ben tried to see, “Where are you?”
Under his hand Adam’s body began to shift in protest. His eyes opened, they were slitted with pain. “Pa?” came the hoarse whisper.
“Adam!” His father shifted to the bed, gathering his son’s body to hold him close.
“That’s it Benjamin, hold on tight.”
“Elizabeth?!”
Adam turned to his father. “I tried Pa . . . I really tried, but they wouldn’t let me go . . . I can’t get loose.” Adam’s fingers were claws as they dug into his father’s flesh.
“I’m here boy. Hold on to me!” Ben encouraged.
“I’m so tired. . .” Adam’s eyes were open, but what they saw was elsewhere.
“Just a little more son.”
Adam blinked, “Momma?” Intelligence flowed back into his eyes.
“Yes son, your Mother,” Ben said hoarsely.
Adam turned to stare at his father. Their gazes met, Ben blinked, between one breath and the next—he was elsewhere.

>>>>>>>>>>Nightmare and Freedom

Ben stood at the edge of clearing in the forest. The sky was filled with gray threatening clouds. It was winter, the trees stood black and bare in the gloom. A cold wind moaned through the tangled branches. All around Ben in the trees, the angry chattering of crows could be heard. Overhead, lightening flared in the bellies of the clouds. Ben reeled in shock as across the bare ground he spotted his son. “Adam!”
The body of Adam Cartwright swung free of the ground. In the aftermath of Willow Creek, Adam had lost himself. His spirit had drifted into peril. Now he was trapped and cruelly tied, arms and legs outstretched between two trees. His clothes hung in rags from his shoulders and hips; his feet were raw and bare. Ben could see the blood slicking the ropes as his son struggled in his bonds, an unwilling offering. Crows hopped and fluttered in the trees their voices laughing and taunting him. Blood dripped to the ground, evidence of feathered attacks. Adam lifted his head, his eyes burned as he saw his father, “Pa? Get away I can’t stop them!”
The chorus of crow voices began to build. Black threat flew through the trees. Adam jerked in pain as two feathered shapes struck, fresh blood dripped to the ground. Ben Cartwright ran across the clearing, iron determination in his voice. “No I won’t let them have you!” As always when his sons were threatened Ben was unstoppable. Reaching the trees holding Adam, his father began to work at the ropes holding his son. In the distance could be heard the rising howl of Coyote. Ben’s heart lifted; somehow he knew that meant help was on the way. . . . Hoofbeats pounded in the dark, a pale white shape slipped through the trees.
“Excellent Mr. Cartwright, you can free him while Coyote and I hold them off.” Ben turned to find a young white woman, wearing a beaded white buckskin dress, standing at his shoulder. She had long blond hair that was pulled back to the base of her neck. When she spoke, there was music in her voice, behind her an enormous White Buffalo trotted into the clearing. The animal bellowed, pawing the earth, its red eyes on the trees above and around them. Coyote’s howl grew in strength, sounding a note of triumph.
“Are you Ruth?” Ben asked. The woman turned from the trees above to look at him, Ben found himself caught by her wide gray eyes.
“Questions later - - free your son!!” The crows tried to descend en-masse. Ruth stood, one hand resting on the shoulder of the White Buffalo. She tilted her head back, voicing an eerie cry, her voice a counterpoint to the wild strength of Coyote’s howl. Yellow flame sprang from the earth, circling the trees the held Adam’s body. Outside the circle, hungry flame sought and devoured black feathers.
Obeying Ruth’s urgent command Ben found a knife in his hands. He used it to slash the ropes binding Adam’s legs. As if they where a ship’s mast, he scrambled up the trunks of the trees. He cut free the rest of the ropes binding his son, lowering Adam gently to the earth. Ruth was there to receive him.
Ben quickly swung himself to the ground. Adam rested in Ruth’s arms. His eyes were open in wonder. “Ruth!” he whispered. Adam took her in his arms. . . the kiss was long and sweet, flavored with the salt of his tears. A soft warm breeze began to blow. The sweet song of a meadowlark floated on the air. Ben turned, unsurprised to now find himself in a high mountain meadow. The nightmare clearing was gone. The same trees stood, green now and sleepy, standing watch around the edge of a pretty little pond. The breeze skipped little cat’s-paws across the water and Coyote appeared, sprawled on a rock warming himself in the sun. The yellow eyes blinked at Ben. The brown man nodded and smiled.
Ben turned to find Adam and Ruth. The couple lay in each other’s arms, amongst the grass and wild flowers. Adam was whole and healthy. There was such joy on their faces. Ben hesitated, not wanting to destroy the moment. Ben felt a small hand take his. He turned, to find Elizabeth at his side. Adam’s mother came willingly to his embrace. “It will be alright Benjamin. Trust us.” Ben buried his face in her hair, his own tears flowing. Two more women came from the trees, one short and dark, her hair a mass of curls, her green eyes fiery with life. The other, tall and blond, towered over her companion, her pale blue eyes containing an iron will of their own, she was smiling at Ben and humming a lullaby.
Ben’s heart expanded with love and wonder. “How?” he asked, “How is it that you’re all here?”
“We are never far from you my love.” Said Inger, her voice containing the musical lilt Ben remembered so well.
“How could we be?” laughed Marie, fire in her voice and eyes.
“Your love keeps us close.” Answered Elizabeth, “And we are glad and pleased.”
Ben was speechless as all three came and each took him in turn for a long lingering kiss.
Coyote standing just apart chuckled, “Ben Cartwright, you surely know how to pick your women!”

Elizabeth rewarded Coyote with a wicked grin. “Yes old man, he certainly does.” She joined hands with her sisters. Ben moved to follow, but Coyote stopped him with a silent shake of his head.
The women walked over to the oblivious young couple. Elizabeth leaned down resting a hand on Adam’s shoulder. He turned at the touch, looking up his mother with a lazy smile, “Momma? I didn’t know you were here. Have you met Ruth?” Adam got up, helping Ruth to her feet.
“Yes my son we’ve met.” Ruth came to Elizabeth’s embrace. “But now it’s time to go.”
“Go? Where?” Adam was confused and suddenly anxious.
Ruth came to him, reassuring, “It will be alright my love. Should you truly need me I will come to you.” Her gray eyes lifted to find Ben, summoning him.
“For now you must go back, with your Father. There is much work yet for you to do. You have another destiny my love.” Behind Ruth, an enormous White Buffalo paced solemnly out of the trees.
Ben jumped as Coyote gave him a sharp shove. “Go on Cartwright, now’s the time, lets put a proper finish on this.”
Ben moved to stand next to his son. Reaching out he held on, when Adam tried to pull away.
Ruth joined hands with Inger, Marie and Elizabeth. A warm yellow fire began to grow around them. “It’s alright my love!” Ruth cried, “I will always be with you. I’ll wait for you.” Gently but with firm purpose, the women drifted away.
The yellow haze encircled the two men. “Ruth!” cried Adam. Ben hearing again the song from Elizabeth’s music box held his son close. The music swelled, Coyote howled in an eerie descant to the music, sweeping them away.
Ben Cartwright opened his eyes to find himself back home in his son’s bedroom. The dawn sun was just lighting the sky. Adam was alive, in his arms, he was crying. Ben didn’t bother to question what had happened. . . He didn’t care. Adam was alive! Ben gave thanks, and held his son, waiting for the tears to pass.
At last, Adam rested against his father’s shoulder, “She’s gone Pa. What am I going to do?” His voice was hoarse with despair.
Stirred to the core of his being, Ben Cartwright held his son close. “You’ll go on living son. One day at a time. . .One moment. One breath at a time.” Dashing away his own tears, Ben rasped. “I’ll help you, your brothers will help you.” Adam was silent, struggling for control.
Ben shifted in the bed. “Look at me son. . .” Ben laid a gentle hand to Adam’s face. Adam tried to pull away, habit developed over the long years of hiding his pain.
Feeling the withdrawal, Ben insisted. “Don’t make my mistake . . . don’t pull away.”
“But Pa – If only I . . .”
“Don’t go down that road son.” Ben interrupted, “It’s a trap,
one I fell into at the death of Marie. A trap from which you and the boys rescued me.”
“But that’s just it, you had Joe, Marie’s son, and Hoss and me.” Adam swallowed, the tears threatening to start anew. “Ruth and I will never . . .”
“Have children?” Ben completed . . “No son you won’t. But what about those few precious days and hours the two of you spent together. . . ?” Ben continued, “There are some men who don’t even have that much.”
Adam blinked, just looking at him. Ben felt a tiny hope - - at least he was listening.
“Think son. . . .” Ben’s smile was heart rending, “How do you honor the love shared by the two of you? How do you bless the memory?”
Adam took a long shuddering breath. “By living.” He whispered at last, “By living the best I can . . .” Adam stared off in the distance. The tears flowed unchecked. “And by letting my family help when I need . . .” The proud shoulders slumped, and his father gathered him close.
“Oh Pa!!”
The gray pre-dawn light had given way to true day, when Adam’s sobs at last subsided. Ben was silently helping Adam to clean and wash, when there came a tap at the door and Hop Sing came bustling in. The cook’s tray held a mug of broth for Adam and a cup of coffee for Ben.
“Number One Son needs food. . . Get strength to heal.” He announced.
Amused, Ben watched, as the little Chinese settled Adam in the bed, his shoulders propped with pillows. His son accepting from Hop Sing, what he seldom would from anyone else.
“Mr., Cartlight, you sit in chair, have coffee.” The cook shook his finger at Adam. “You!! Drink broth!”
The little man stood, hands on hips, glaring at both men until they obeyed.
Adam drank the broth. It was warm and soothing on his raw throat and settled gently into his empty stomach.
Ben moved to the chair, drinking the coffee, pretending to glower. Yet he didn’t miss the relief and joy in Hop Sing’s eyes.
“Humph!,” the cook declared, “Both you, bloody mess! When I come back, you” he pointed at Adam, “Be sleeping, healthy sleep this time. . . And you” Hop Sing glared at Ben, “Go shave, clean up! Younger sons be home soon. They be worried enough!”
Hop Sing swept out of the room, leaving trail of Chinese imprecations in his wake.
“I don’t know what we’d do without him Pa.” Adam’s voice was hoarse, and infinitely tired, yet Ben was pleased to hear a glimmer of amusement and affection.
“I agree son. He cares . . . we all do.”
Adam bowed his head, swallowing convulsively as he concentrated on finishing the rest of the broth.
After a moment, Ben set his coffee aside; taking the empty mug from his son’s slack hands. “One moment --- One breathe at a time, son.” Ben reminded.
Taking a shaky breath, Adam met his father’s gaze, with a sad smile and a nod.
“That’s my boy.” Ben approved, holding back his own tears.
Ben removed the pillows, helping Adam to settle into the bed. The morning sunlight was now pouring in the window. Ben went to close the curtains.
“Pa? Leave them open please . . . the sun feels good.”
Surprised, Ben turned and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “Of course son, anything else?” Adam was already getting sleepy, as his father adjusted the covers over his son’s long form.
“Um, could you wind up momma’s music box? I’d like to hear it.”
Ben’s face softened, “Of course son.” His hands caressing the carved ivory lid on the silver box, Ben Cartwright gently turned the key to start the music. The box began to play, as he set it down on the table next to his son’s bed.
“Mmmm, thanks Pa . . .” Adam trailed off, drifting into sleep, a tiny smile on his face.
His father rested a hand for a moment on Adam’s forehead; then he bent to give him a kiss. “Sleep well my son.”
Ben Cartwright turned to the window, where he could see the sun just peaking like a bright smile over the Sierras. “Elizabeth --- my love . . . Ruth . . . All of you. I don’t pretend to understand why or how it all happened. . . but thank you for sending him back to me.”

Epilogue
Standing at Adam’s window, Ben spotted movement on the road, riders. In the lead were two horses, a short-coupled pinto and a long legged black. Hoss and Little Joe were coming, along with the rest of the Ponderosa Hands. They would arrive in about thirty minutes; just time for him to get a shave and clean up.
Ben was standing on the porch when they swept into the yard.
“Pa!! Is everything okay?” Joe pulled Cochise to a plunging halt.
No far behind, came Hoss and Chubb. “There was a freak storm, caused a flash flood,” said Hoss, “took out the road. Made it too dangerous in the dark. So we had ta’ wait fer daylight.”
“Cooch and I could have made it,” Joe said, vaulting from his saddle, “But old fussy britches there wouldn’t let me.”
Dismounting with injured pride, Hoss said “Dadburnit little brother you’d be speakin’ out a’ the other side a your mouth if that paint pony a’ yours came up with a busted leg!”
Ben laughed, “I take it that the dance was a success.”
“You bet it was Pa,” Joe enthused, “An we brought visitors, Ol’ Ross and Delphine wanted to come out.”
Adam’s best friend from childhood, was helping his wife dismount. Ross waved to Ben, as one of the ranch hands came to take their horses. Arm in arm, the couple moved rapidly through the press of men and horses.
“Enough jawin’ Shortshanks,” Hoss turned to his father. “Pa, how is he?”
The ranch hands, normally so efficient, were also loitering, waiting for news.
Ben smiled, pleased to announce. “The coma broke last night. . . He’s going to be just fine.”
“Hurrah!! Yahoo!!” The men cheered.
“Shhh, quiet down . . . he’s sleeping.” Ben admonished.
“I don’t think he’s going to be sleeping for long.” laughed Ross.
Ben turned to find that Hoss and Joe were racing each other for the door. Resigned, Ben offered his arm to Delphine as the three of them followed Joe and Hoss inside.
“Is he really going to be okay Ben?” asked Delphine.
“I think he will, with time and our help.” Ben replied.
Upstairs Adam shifted in his bed; the arrival of the horses had already woken him. Sleepily he began counting. . .Right on cue, he heard the thunder of boots on the stairs. Warm and comfortable under his quilt, Adam rolled over to face the door.
The footsteps slowed, trying to be quiet.
“Adam?” there was a tap on the door, it was Hoss.
“Come on in you two . .” he had to swallow; his voice was still pretty raw.
Hoss and Joe, both grinning like fools tip-toed into the room. “Hey brother, Pa said you’re back with us.” Joe said, his voice trembling.
“Hello to you too. . .” whispered Adam.
“Dadburnit, Adam, you came too close this time.” Hoss choked out.
“Someone has to stick around and keep you boys straight.” Adam’s growl wasn’t very effective.
For all three men, words failed. Hoss finally broke the impasse.
“I kin’ see you need to rest.” He laid a meaty hand on Joe’s shoulder, “I’ll just take Shortshanks down and get some breakfast.”
“Hey!” Joe protested as Hoss almost dragged him bodily from the room.
Smiling, Adam settled back to sleep. “Your brothers will help . .” his father’s words came to him. . . and on the edge of sleep came another voice. . . . . . “I will always be with you my love.”

Fini ---- October 2006

Postscript

“Hey Slacker! How’s it goin’ today?”
Adam Cartwright, the subject of Ross Martin’s cheerful insult, put down his book. Adam sat at his ease up in the hayloft, his feet dangling over the edge like an errant schoolboy. His childhood pal Ross Martin had found him in the barn. Adam was supposed to be mending tack.
It had been a long recovery. . . But Dr. Martin had at last allowed him to return to light ranch work. However with the onset of winter the doctor and family friend had forbidden Adam to ride the range. Stating the Adam wasn’t strong enough yet for the required heavy winter work. Suffering under his son’s advanced case of cabin fever Ben let his eldest spend long hours alone in the barn.
Either Ross or Delphine often came over to visit and help keep Adam’s spirits up. Today was Ross’s turn.
Adam smiled, one of his rare full voltage smiles. “Slacker is it! Who was it that spent a week, gold bricking in bed from just a little bump on the head?”
Ross laughed, as he climbed up the ladder and dropped down next to his friend. Ross had just recently suffered his own close call. His herd bull had attacked, killing his horse and sending Ross through a solid board fence. Dr. Martin had been worried, Ross had taken a terrific blow to the head.
“I’ve got a good excuse. . .My wife is a tyrant.”
Adam eyed the package Ross pulled out from under his coat. The rich odor of cinnamon cookies filled the cold air of the loft as Ross undid the wrappings. Carrying the package next to his body had kept the baked goods warm.
“Delphine sends her compliments.”
“Mmmmm . . .” Adam snatched at the paper wrappings, picking out a handful of still warm cookies. “Ross . . . I may have to take some action . . .that woman is too good for you.”
Adam’s eyes were closed in pleasure as he savored the first bite, thus missing the spasm of rage the twisted his friend’s features. With a tremor, Ross’s face returned to normal.
“Damn boy! How much time do you spend out here? It’s cold!” Rubbing his temple, Ross appeared not to realize his lapse.
His attention still on the cookies, Adam laughed. “Okay tenderfoot, we can go down to the tack room, it has a stove.” Carefully stowing the package inside his own shirt, Adam led the way. “I think I can find you a little something to warm up your frail body.”
“Lead on sirrah!” Ross brightened immediately, clearly hoping for some of Adam’s personal stock of brandy.
Pleased that he could entertain his friend, Adam draped an arm over Ross’s shoulder. “You and I need to make some plans for Christmas.”
Adam couldn’t know that trouble would soon take Ross Martin in its’ merciless grip. This Christmas would be his friend’s last.

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