Resolution
From Despair
Shanklin
What
Happened Next
By: Rona Y.
Shanklin, a former Confederate officer, arrives at the
Ponderosa with the intent to take $25,000 from Ben Cartwright. In trying to
stop him, Hoss is shot and seriously injured. Shanklin, while constantly
threatening to kill Hoss, allows Ben to summon a doctor for him. Ben gets the
money as asked and while Doc Ingram is operating on Hoss, Joe and Jamie return
to the ranch with the intention of freeing their family. When they burst into
the house, Shanklin himself is operating on Hoss, fed up with Ingram’s
incompetency. Shanklin is angry that Joe killed one of his men and tells Joe
that he must retrieve his gun and kill or be killed. Shanklin’s bullet hits Joe
in the chest; Joe’s bullet ricochets off a mirror and hits Shanklin in the
back. Shanklin dies. At the end of the episode, we see Ben, Joe and Jamie
gazing down on the dead man. There seemed to be a lot of loose ends…
For Janet – I hope this lives
up to your expectations. And as ever, for Claire. Who
can tell where you find your family?
The
shots fired almost simultaneously. Ben Cartwright flinched as he saw his son,
Joe, get hit in the right side of his chest. And yet, even in the moment that
he was hit, Joe fired back at Shanklin. The outlaw looked surprised and
staggered forward a step before collapsing to the floor. Ben snatched up the
shotgun Irons had dropped and aimed it at the man. “Hop Sing!” he hissed and
the Chinese housekeeper hurried forward to take the gun. Ben immediately
hurried over to Joe.
“Joe!”
Ben pushed aside the desk chair to reach his injured son. “Joe!”
“I’m
all right, Pa,” Joe panted, despite the fact that the force of the bullet had
knocked him over the top of his father’s desk, where he had crashed off the
chair to the floor. He groaned as he allowed Ben to help him to his feet.
Somehow, Joe sensed that Ben had taken all he could for that day and he got to
his feet.
Looking
over, they saw that Doc Ingram was kneeling beside Shanklin. Joe frowned in
perplexity. Shanklin had, by his own admission, shot Hoss, and yet when Joe and
Jamie had burst into the house, he was operating to save Hoss’ life. Even so,
when Shanklin discovered that Joe had killed one of his men, he insisted that
Joe should try and retrieve the gun taken from him, so that Shanklin could kill
him. It made no sense at all to Joe. Why was Ingram so worried about Shanklin?
“Joe?”
Glancing down, Joe tried to smile into Jamie’s eyes. He wasn’t sure he had
succeeded very well, for his newly adopted younger brother snuggled close into
Joe’s side, ostensibly to offer his adored older brother physical support, for
Jamie had seen what Ben hadn’t – Joe was anything but all right – but also to
gain some comfort on this confusing, never-ending day.
“I’m…
all right,” Joe assured him, but he was feeling less all right by the second.
The shock was hitting him now; the shock of learning that Hoss had been gunned
down in the doorway of their own home, that Ben was
giving the outlaws $25,000, seeing Hoss stretched out there, unconscious and
being operated on. It was all becoming too much for Joe, as he stood there. His
knees buckled suddenly and if Ben and Jamie hadn’t been supporting him, Joe
would have fallen to the floor.
“Doctor!” Ben hissed, suddenly realising
that Joe was not all right. He helped his son to sit in the nearest chair,
horrified as Joe’s head lolled on the back, his eyes barely open. “Doc!” Ben’s faith in Richard Ingram had been badly shaken
that afternoon, but there was no one else around.
Lifting
his head, Ingram focused his gaze on Joe, but his heart quaked at the thought
of performing more surgery that day. If Shanklin hadn’t been such a great
surgeon, Hoss would surely have died. Ingram swallowed, suddenly desperately
wanting another whiskey to steady his hands and nerves. Rising to his feet, he
tottered over to Joe.
“Did…
did the bullet go through?” he asked.
“I
don’t think so,” Ben replied, frantically searching for an exit wound. There
wasn’t one. “No, it’s still in him.” Ben stroked the curls off Joe’s forehead.
He glanced at Ingram. “What are you going to do?”
“I…
I don’t… don’t know,” Ingram admitted.
Horrified,
Ben stared at him. He could feel his hands shaking and he sat down abruptly
beside Joe. He didn’t think he could take any more that day. Hoss was still
unconscious from his surgery and now Joe needed an operation, too. Could he
allow Ingram to operate on another member of his family? After the man had
carelessly applied too much ether and stopped Hoss breathing?
Unaware
of the difficulties that Ingram had faced, but not wanting him to do the
necessary surgery, Joe forced open his eyes. For all that Ingram was Paul
Martin’s partner, Joe didn’t like him. He had seen him in the saloon, worse for
drink, too many times to want him to be the man wielding the scalpel.
Unwittingly, he solved Ben’s problem. “Jamie, go into town… and get Doc Martin…
and Clem.”
For
a moment, the ginger-haired youth blanched. He was exhausted by the events of
the day, but he knew that there was no one else to go. “All right, Joe,” he
agreed and hurried out of the door to go and get his horse.
“I
tie this one up,” Hop Sing offered, clearly getting tired of holding the
shotgun on Irons.
“There
are others…tied up in… the barn,” Joe explained. He saw Hop Sing shepherd Irons
out. His eyes dipped closed again.
“Joe.”
Ben’s low voice made Joe open his eyes again. “There were a lot of men with
Shanklin. Did you…?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the question.
“I
took… all of them… out,” Joe replied. He tried to ease his position, but moving
hurt. He groaned unintentionally and saw his father’s weary face pale. “Pa, I’m
all right,” he insisted, knowing that he was lying. He glanced at Doc Ingram
and saw that the little man was gazing at him with a glazed expression. Joe
didn’t want him going after the bullet, but he had rather hoped that perhaps he
might have stopped the bleeding or given him something to help with the pain.
Joe had no idea how he was going to cope with the pain until Doc Martin
arrived, but recalling what Jamie had told him about Hoss, he vowed that he
would bear it as bravely as his brother had, although Hoss’ injury had been
much more serious.
As
though Joe’s thoughts had called to him, Hoss moaned and moved slightly. Ben sat
up straight, as if stung, and he exchanged a glance with Ingram, who also
seemed more alert. Then, as Hoss moaned again, Ben leapt to his feet and
hurried over to where Hoss was lying. “Hoss?”
There
was another groan as an answer. Hoss was not yet awake, but was coming out of
the anaesthetic. This was a huge relief for both Ben and Ingram, given that
Hoss had stopped breathing earlier. Ben bent over Hoss, murmuring something
softly to his son.
It suddenly
occurred to Joe to wonder what on earth Hoss was lying on, and he glanced
carefully around the room, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. Almost all the
furniture had been moved and every mirror in the house seemed to be here in the
great room. Looking at the lamps placed in front of each mirror, Joe guessed
that they were there to shed more light on Hoss for the operation. The room was
a mess and there was a drum – a drum?
– sitting on the sofa. Joe frowned. He could vaguely remember seeing the drum
in the attic. Had the men even gone there?
The dining table. Hoss had to be lying on
the dining table. Joe’s breath hitched in painfully as he twisted a little too
far. A fresh wave of blood spilled over the hand he had clamped to his injured
side. Why wasn't the doctor doing something? “Doc, I’m… bleeding,” Joe
whispered, but Ingram didn’t seem to hear.
On
the table, Hoss began to move. Ingram hurried to his side and lifted the sheet
that covered Joe’s older brother. Ben looked across anxiously. “How’s he
doing?” he asked.
“It
looks good,” Ingram replied. “Shanklin sure knew what he was doing.”
There
it was again, Joe thought. Why did Ingram sound as though he admired Shanklin?
Yes, the man had saved Hoss’ life and for that Joe would be forever grateful.
He shot a glance at the dead man on the floor. But Shanklin had shot Hoss in
the first place and from what he could piece together, had continually
threatened to kill Hoss. Joe was confused.
The
front door opened, causing them all to tense, but it
was just Hop Sing returning. “Bad men all tied up tight,” he assured them. He
looked around the room in disgust and started to tidy things up. Joe watched
him in a desultory manner. Suddenly, Hop Sing stopped and looked right at Joe.
“Lil Joe – you all right?” he asked and hurried over. He began to cluck
worriedly as he saw the spreading stain on Joe’s shirt front. Turning, he
snatched up one of the cloths left for Ingram to use and gently placed it on
the wound. Joe winced.
“Joe?”
Ben was back at his side, peering worriedly into Joe’s face. “That bullet needs
to come out.”
“Not…
by… him,” Joe panted. The room seemed to be growing very warm, and yet he was
shivering. “I’ll wait… for… Doc Martin.”
“That
bullet needs to come out!” Ben repeated, allowing his worry to masquerade as
anger as he saw Joe shiver. Ben suddenly found himself facing the horrifying
prospect of maybe nearly losing another son to one of Shanklin’s bullets. “Joe,
please!”
Before
Joe could say anything in response, Hoss moaned loudly and said, “Pa?”
Ben
was torn. Much as he wanted to go to Hoss, he knew Joe needed him too. Seeing
the indecision on Ben’s face, Joe made it easy for him. “Go to him, Pa,” he
breathed. “I’m fine.”
“You’re
a liar,” Ben told him lovingly and rose to go back to Hoss. “I’m here, Hoss.
Just take it easy. You’re going to be just fine.”
“Shanklin,”
Hoss mumbled. “Pa, don’t. Don’ give him… the money.”
“Shh,”
Ben soothed. “It’s all over, Hoss. The money’s safe and you’re going to be
fine.”
Opening
his eyes, Hoss stared at Ben, confused. “How?” he slurred, still groggy from
the anaesthetic. “Shanklin…”
“Shanklin
is dead,” Ben told him. “Joe and Jamie took care of his men.”
“Good,”
Hoss grunted, with decided satisfaction. His eyes drifted closed for a moment.
He felt a little better than he had before; well maybe not better exactly, but
not as bad. Then it fully registered with him what Ben had said and his eyes
opened again. “Joe an’ Jamie. Is they… all right?”
It
was the hesitation that told Hoss that they weren’t. He made a move to sit up,
but discovered, to his shock, that he was too weak. “Joe?”
“Right here, big brother.”
Joe peered down at Hoss, hoping that the older man wouldn’t notice anything out
of the ordinary. Getting up from the chair had cost him a great deal in pain
and further blood loss, but if it prevented Hoss getting anxious, then it was
worth it to Joe.
The
groggy blue eyes turned towards Joe and a smile
flitted across Hoss’ face. “Ya all right, little brother?” Hoss asked and Joe
nodded.
“Just fine. You get some rest now.”
Joe smiled, although stabs of pain were rocketing through his chest. He watched
his brother’s eyes close before he turned away.
Instantly,
Ben was at his side, supporting Joe as he stumbled back to the seat. “What were
you thinking?” Ben hissed, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Hoss.
“Joe, you’re bleeding heavily!”
“I
know.” Joe squeezed his eyes shut against the pain as Ben took the cloth and
put pressure on the wound. “But if Hoss rests easily, then it was worth it.”
“Joe!”
Ben scolded, but the pride in his voice spoke louder than his annoyance. Trust
Joe to think of Hoss before his own comfort. It was quite true. Hoss would have
worried if he hadn’t seen Joe and there was no way the big man was going to be
getting up any time soon. “You stay put this time,” Ben went on in a low voice.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ingram taking a good solid slug out of the
whiskey bottle.
“That’s
why I won’t let him touch me,” Joe commented. His hand involuntarily gripped
Ben’s wrist as the pain increased for a moment. Ben didn’t let up the pressure
at all. “He’s a drunk.” Joe’s hand slid off Ben’s wrist. His black glove left a
sticky, bloody handprint on Ben’s wrist. “Don’t let him… touch me.”
For
the first time, Ben realised that Ingram hadn’t saved Hoss’ life. Shanklin had.
Ben frowned. Ingram hadn’t even looked at Joe and Joe was bleeding badly.
Everyone could see that. Ben glanced over his shoulder at the table of
blood-covered medical implements and wondered, sickly, if he would have to
perform surgery on Joe.
“Hop
Sing,” he called. “Boil some water and put those instruments in it, please.
Doctor Martin will need them when he comes.”
At
once, the Chinese cook scurried away to put the water on. Ben returned his
attention to Joe, who had his eyes closed again. It hurt Ben’s heart to see his
son sprawled there so pale and still. This was what Ben had been afraid of –
that Joe and Jamie would burst into the house to save him and Hoss and be hurt.
That was why he had asked Clem to arrest them and lock them up until this was
over. And yet Ben couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. Joe had managed to
save them a whole lot of money and he himself wasn’t facing the prospect of a
long ride as a hostage. How could Ben be angry? He couldn’t. Yet he wished
fervently that this had all been accomplished without Joe and Hoss being hurt.
Cautiously
lifting the cloth, Ben peered at the hole in Joe’s side. The bleeding had
almost stopped and Ben resumed the pressure on it. Joe groaned deeply and
writhed in the seat. Desperate to have his mind distracted, Joe asked, “Pa, how
come… Shanklin was… operating on Hoss?”
Quickly,
Ben explained how Ingram had wanted to amputate Hoss’ leg because of the damage
to his femoral artery. Joe’s eyes opened wide at that. “Oh, Pa!” he breathed,
horrified. His eyes raced to look at his older brother, lying so still on the
table. At that moment, Hoss issued a very reassuring snore.
“I
know,” Ben replied, also looking at Hoss. He then carried on with the story,
explaining that Shanklin had seemed affronted by Ingram’s incompetency and had
taken over the tricky surgery, retrieving his bullet almost casually at the
end. “I don’t understand him at all,” Ben admitted. “I know his experiences in
the Civil War saved Hoss’ life, but they also warped Shanklin.”
“Why
did he come to you for money?” Joe asked. He was beginning to feel quite
light-headed.
Shaking
his head, Ben replied, “I don’t know, son. He must have heard that I have money
– and sons that I love enough to sacrifice anything for.” Ben smiled as Joe’s
eyes slit open, but he was concerned that Joe didn’t lift his head from the
back of the seat.
“You
must be… exhausted,” Joe commented. He was worried about his father, but the
worry was muted and distant. Joe recognised the signs of shock and blood loss.
“I’m
fine,” Ben assured his son, untruthfully. He was exhausted – emotionally and
physically.
Joe
glanced at the clock, but time had lost all meaning. He didn’t know what time
it had been when Jamie left, so he had no idea how much time had passed. Not
enough, he suspected, for Jamie to have reached town, never mind be on the way
back.
So
it was a complete surprise when the door opened a minute or two later and Jamie
staggered in. Joe simply blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. Ben had
whirled, regretting that he didn’t have a gun close by, but relaxing slightly
when he saw his youngest, adopted, son.
Rising,
Ben exclaimed, “Jamie!” He was suddenly terrified that Joe hadn’t managed to
take out all of Shanklin’s men.
Behind
Jamie a shadow moved. Ben’s heart started racing at three times its normal
speed and he glanced around frantically for a weapon, but there was nothing to
hand. But then the shadow came into the light and Ben recognised Clem Foster,
sheriff of
They
were truly safe now.
**********************************
“How…?”
Ben asked, unable to articulate his question.
“Clem
and I decided not to wait for you to ask for help,” Paul Martin replied,
brushing past Jamie and Ingram to crouch by Joe’s side. “We decided, as
friends, that we didn’t have to wait for you to come to us. We decided that we
would help you regardless.” He took Joe’s pulse and peered into his face. “Joe,
what happened to you?”
“Shanklin,”
Joe replied. “He shot me.”
“Have
you lost consciousness at all?” Paul went on. He prised Joe’s hand away from
his side and lifted the bloody cloth.
“No,”
Joe breathed. He suddenly felt that he might pass out right there and then and
wondered why he had to do it now that they were safe. He didn’t realise that
the adrenaline had exited his body, leaving him feeling weaker than he had
before. He began to shake again.
“That
bullet has to come out right now,” Paul declared. He glanced around at the
makeshift operating table. “I’d better do it here,” he decided, giving Ingram a
hard look. “Hoss might need some attention. Ben, could you rig up something to
cover the sofa with? I’ll operate there.”
“Of
course,” Ben replied, looking round rather wildly. But the faithful Hop Sing
was there, rushing up to strip the sheets off one of the spare bed and placing
them on the sofa. He brought more boiling water from the kitchen and showed Doc
Martin the instruments, still in the tub of water. They didn’t look as clean as
Paul preferred, but time was now beginning to be of the essence and he didn’t
quibble.
“Come
on, Joe.” Paul carefully helped Joe to his feet and Ben hurried over to take
his other arm. Joe could barely shuffle now and he could hardly believe that a
little while before, he had been able to get up and walk over to reassure Hoss
that he was all right.
The
bustle around him disturbed Hoss, who grunted as he moved slightly. “Pa,” he
called, weakly.
Half
turning, Ben hesitated, still supporting Joe by the arm. “Go to him,” Joe
breathed. A wordless apprehension was now gripping Joe and he desperately
wanted Ben’s loving support, but Hoss needed their father, too, and Joe wasn’t
selfish enough to deny Hoss anything that would help him in his long fight back
to health. “Go on,” he added, when Ben hesitated.
Still
torn, Ben did as Joe urged and hurried back over to Hoss. “I’m here, son,” he
soothed. “It’s all right.” He touched Hoss’ cheek, not only to give some
comfort, but to determine if Hoss was running a temperature. He glanced at Paul
anxiously. Hoss was warm to the touch.
“What’s
happenin’?” Hoss mumbled.
This
time, Ben was torn between telling Hoss the truth and telling him something
that would allow him to go back to sleep. This time, the lie won out. “We’re
just tidying up a bit,” he replied. “We didn’t mean to disturb you, Hoss. Go
back to sleep.”
“Where’s
Joe?” Hoss asked. “An’ Jamie?”
“Joe’s
busy right now,” Ben told him evasively. “Jamie’s helping Hop Sing.” It was
quite true. As Clem dragged Shanklin’s body out of the house, Hop Sing had
taken Jamie under his wing and given him a few small jobs to do to stop the boy
brooding on what had happened. “You just rest now and let us clear up, all
right?”
“All
right,” Hoss sighed. His eyes, which had never fully opened, drifted shut again
and his breathing deepened almost once. Ben stayed another minute, making sure
that Hoss was soundly asleep before hurrying back over to Joe.
During
those few minutes, Joe had been divested of his shirt and jacket and Ben could
see the red, angry, bruised wound on his chest. To Ben’s inexperienced eyes, it
seemed to be perilously close to one of Joe’s lungs and the grim expression on
the doctor’s face told Ben that Paul was not happy with the situation either.
“Joe.”
Ben took Joe’s hand as Paul produced the ether. He felt a moment’s panic,
remembering Shanklin coolly telling Ingram that Hoss had stopped breathing, but
this wasn’t Ingram, he reminded himself. This was Paul, whom he had known for
many, many years. He trusted him and his own words came back to mock him. ‘I trust Doctor Ingram’, he told
Shanklin, only for Ingram to announce that he was
going to amputate Hoss’ leg.
Giving
Ben a weak smile, Joe closed his eyes as the ether mask was applied. “Just
breathe, Joe,” Paul told him and again, Ben was assailed by memories. When Joe
began to cough, Ben’s heart skipped a beat. But after a few moments, Joe was lying peacefully, his breathing and pulse regular. “I don’t
think you want to help me with this, Ben,” Paul commented. “Richard will assist
me.”
It
was true Ben didn’t want to help, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted Ingram to
help either. “But…” he began.
“No.”
Paul put his hand on Ben’s arm. “You’re exhausted, Ben. Rest while you have the
chance. Talk to Jamie and make him rest. It’s been one hell of a day for all of
you and I suspect it’s not over yet. Now rest. I’ll hear the full story later.”
Seeing
the sense in that, Ben nodded and relinquished his position by Joe’s side.
After a final glance, he went to find Jamie.
****************************
The
teenage boy was understandably upset by the day’s events. He had seen first
Hoss and then Joe gunned down in their own home, had had a gun shot out of his
own hand and Jamie was about at the end of his tether. He was sitting on the
porch rocker, shivering with cold, but reluctant to return inside. The great
room of the house had never, in his short experience, looked the way it did now
and Jamie didn’t know what to make of it. He had heard the stories from Joe and
Hoss about the things that had happened to them over the years, but he hadn’t
entirely believed them. He had never been able to picture the Ponderosa any way
but the way it had been since he’d arrived. Now, he could all too easily
picture the way the house had looked after General Diaz and his Mexicans had
broken in and shot Joe in the back, or the way it had looked when Joe, Hoss and
Candy, the foreman, had been kept prisoner overnight by a group of bank
robbers. Would it have made any difference if Candy had been home at the moment
and not away on a cattle buying trip?
Watching
as Clem prodded the prisoners out of the barn, Jamie shivered again as he
remembered Joe fighting with these men. His admiration for his big brother
rose, but Jamie was now realising how dangerous a situation it had been for
Joe. If something had gone wrong, they could both have died.
“Jamie?”
Ben was looking down on the youth with compassion. “Are you all right?” Ben had
barely seen the boy since he had ridden into town to tell Ben about Shanklin.
“Yeah,”
Jamie replied, unconvincingly. “How’re Joe an’ Hoss?”
“Hoss
is asleep,” Ben replied. “Doc Martin is operating on Joe right now.” Ben drew
Jamie to his feet and gave him a hug. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat
and then you can go to bed.”
“I’m
not hungry,” Jamie replied, horrified to find himself
near to tears. While all had been mayhem and trouble, Jamie had been coping.
Now that things were almost back to normal, kindness had him crying. Jamie
didn’t understand.
“You
should eat something,” Ben coaxed. “Try, for me. I’m going to need your help
over the next few days, son.” He put his arms around Jamie’s thin shoulders and
drew him towards the kitchen door. “It’s good to know that I can rely on you.
That takes a weight off my mind.”
“Really?” Jamie gasped. He
frequently felt quite inadequate compared to Joe and Hoss, although he had
never admitted it. He comforted himself with the thought that Joe and Hoss had
once been young, but the age gap between them was such that Jamie felt he would
never grow up, never know as much as his brothers. Jamie didn’t resent the fact
that Joe and Hoss seemed to know much more than he did. He idolised both men
and was striving to be just like them, although he didn’t think he would ever
know as much about nature as Hoss, or ever be such a good rider as Joe.
“Really,”
Ben assured him. He looked down into the boy’s wide eyes. “Jamie, you kept your
head today. Although I might wish that you and Joe had stayed out of this mess,
you did what you thought was right and it’s turned out for the best. Hoss is
going to be fine, and so is Joe. You acted to save your brother’s life and I’m
proud of you.”
Suddenly,
Jamie felt about a foot taller and his stomach rumbled loudly. “Thanks, Pa!” he
exclaimed, his face alight with new-found pride. “I guess I am hungry after
all.”
Laughing,
Ben was surprised to feel his own stomach rumble and realised that he hadn’t
eaten anything since that morning. “I think I might join you in supper,” he
smiled.
*******************************
“Joshua,
I’m not sure that this is a good idea,” Ingram whined.
Already
sweating, Paul gave Ingram a black look. “I wish to heaven I’d never told you
what the ’J’ stood for in my name,” he grated. “Everyone round here was quite
content knowing me as Paul!” The worst bit, he reflected, as he paused to draw
in a calming breath, was that Ingram had had ‘Joshua’ painted onto their
shingle and now everyone in the town knew of his hated first name.
Leaning
over the somnolent Joe once more, Paul followed the path of the bullet with
care. It was indeed resting very close to Joe’s lung. In fact, Paul was
beginning to fear that it was actually in Joe’s lung and was the only thing
preventing the lung from collapsing. Despite the fact that the entire contents
of his office appeared to be in the Ponderosa’s great room, Paul wasn’t sure
that he was equipped to deal with a punctured lung that night!
There
was silence while Paul probed further. Ingram was now convinced that the bullet
had passed into Joe’s lung and was rattling about in it. That meant a certain
death sentence for Joe, although quite when the bullet would move enough to
kill him was another matter. Paul was praying that the famous Joe Cartwright
luck would hold out.
And
suddenly, there it was. The squashed piece of metal had chipped a bit off Joe’s
top rib, but that had slowed its travel enough that it hadn’t quite reached
Joe’s lung. However, it was still in a dangerous position. Without saying a
word to Ingram, Paul took the forceps and reached for it.
For
a horrible moment, Paul thought it was going to spring out from his grasp and
enter Joe’s lung. Holding his breath and consciously steadying his hand, Paul
reached for it again. This time, he got a solid hold on it and began to draw it
out of the wound.
He
almost had it out when Ingram leant over him and jostled his elbow. The bullet
slipped from Paul’s grasp and went back inside the wound. Stifling a curse,
Paul glared at his colleague, wondering why on earth he had asked this man to
be his partner. “Richard! Get out of my way or so help me…” He couldn’t finish
the threat, but the look on his face was enough to get his point through.
Ingram retreated and when Paul glanced up a minute or so later, he saw Ingram
was ensconced in the whiskey bottle.
It
was harder finding the bullet second time around, since there was a much larger
incision for it to get lost in, but patience and perseverance won the day and
at along last, Paul Martin triumphantly drew the bullet out of Joe’s chest.
There
was no one to share his triumph with immediately. Ingram was frankly drunk;
Hoss was sleeping and Hop Sing was in the kitchen with Ben and Jamie. Dropping
the offending bullet into the dish beside the one retrieved from Hoss, Paul
sighed and patted Joe’s shoulder. “Joe, I don’t blame you in the least for
waiting for me,” he admitted quietly. “And let’s just hope that you make a
quick recovery.”
Reaching
for a needle, he began to suture closed the incision.
******************************
When
Paul went through, Jamie was drowsing at the kitchen table. Ben was nursing a cup
of coffee and looking as weary as Paul had ever seen him. He sat down next to
Ben and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Hop Sing handed him.
“Well?”
Ben’s voice was low, but the intensity roused Jamie to full wakefulness.
“I
got the bullet out and stitched him up. His lung was intact, but I had to
remove some slivers of bone off one of Joe’s ribs. His flesh looked rather
inflamed, but he had a bullet in him and I had to dig quite deeply for it. I’ll
stay tonight, of course, and keep an eye on both him and Hoss. But I fully
expect Joe to be all right. He’s lost a lot of blood, so he’s going to be weak
for a while.” Paul drank deeply from the cup. “Hoss’ fever is climbing right
now, but that’s no surprise.” He sighed and rolled his head around his shoulders.
“You’re in for a hard time of it, Ben. Both the boys will be off their feet for
a good while, Hoss particularly. And with him being so big…” Paul made a face.
“He’s going to find it hard to get back on his feet, I fear.”
“What
are you telling me?” Ben asked, while Jamie’s face blanched, leaving his
freckles standing out in stark relief.
“I’m
telling you that Hoss is going to find it hard to get back on his feet,” Paul
returned, mildly. “I’m not suggesting for a single minute that he’s going to become
an invalid, or even lose that leg. All I’m saying is that Hoss is not going to
get over this and be fine in the morning, Ben. He’s older and heavier and
that’s going to make it a bit harder for him. Even Joe might take a day or two
longer to bounce back this time.”
“But
they’ll be all right?” Jamie asked, his voice sounding young, thin, high and
scared.
“Yes,
I’m pretty sure that they’ll be all right in time,” Paul agreed. “Now, young
man, I think you ought to get a good night’s sleep, as your Pa here will need
your help in the morning.”
“I
can help now,” Jamie insisted.
“Yes,
by going to bed,” Ben agreed. “Jamie, you’re tired and I’ll most likely be up
all night. If you get a good sleep, then you can help Joe and Hoss in the
morning while I sleep.”
There
was logic there, even if Jamie was initially reluctant to see it. But he could
hear the iron in Ben’s voice and he knew better than to argue. Rising, he made
his way out of the kitchen to go to bed.
Left
alone, the two old friends sat on. Ben was bone weary, his thoughts flitting
from one son to the other. Paul was thinking that he would have to find another
partner. Ingram was not fit to doctor animals, he thought. Right now, he was
passed out, snoring, in the great room.
Abruptly,
Paul said, “I’m sorry about Ingram, Ben. I don’t know exactly what he did
today, but I’m sorry I ever clapped eyes on the man. No
wonder Joe didn’t want him to get that bullet out.”
Quietly,
Ben told Paul exactly what had happened that afternoon and evening. He kept his
eyes on his coffee cup and his voice dispassionate, as though that would take
the pain out of the recitation for him. It didn’t work and Ben blinked back
tears of anger.
“Well,
I suppose we ought to be grateful to Shanklin for the surgery he performed on
Hoss,” Paul commented softly after Ben had finished speaking. “But that doesn’t
make up for what he did initially.” He shook his head. “Where is the money
now?”
“Still
through there, I think,” Ben replied. It hadn’t occurred to him to wonder about
the money when he had his sons to worry about.
“Why
don’t you put it into your safe and in the morning, Clem can take it back to
the bank.”
“Yes,
I should,” Ben agreed, but it was only when Paul rose that Ben heaved himself
to his feet. He felt old. Keeping that disquieting thought to himself, Ben went
back through to the great room.
The
money was sitting where it had been left, on the round table by the foot of the
stairs. Ben glanced at Joe first, then Hoss, before
going over and putting the coins back into the bags. One by one, he carried
them over to the desk, then knelt to open the safe.
Thinking back, he remembered one of Shanklin’s men trying desperately to break
into the safe and he wondered why Shanklin hadn’t asked for the safe to be
opened.
Shanklin
was such a mass of contradictions that Ben didn’t think he would ever be able
to understand his motivations. He had
wanted $25,000 from Ben, yet didn’t want the money from the safe. Looking at
the small pile of bills in there, Ben guessed that it was because he thought
the currency might well be
Securing
the money at last, Ben straightened wearily, feeling his joints popping. He
turned round to see Paul leaning over Hoss and a momentary panic touched Ben’s
heart. “Is something wrong?” he whispered, moving closer.
Smiling,
Paul shook his head. “No. Look.” He gestured to Hoss, who turned his head and
looked at Ben.
“Hi,
“Hi
yourself,” Ben smiled. He cupped Hoss’ cheek in his hand and felt that the
fever had gone down. “How do you feel?”
“I’m
plumb wore out,” Hoss replied. “But it don’t hurt so much as it did.” He glanced around. “Where’s
Joe? I thought I spoke ta him afore…” Hoss big blue eyes turned up to Ben,
beseeching his father to tell him that Joe was all right.
“Joe’s
sleeping,” Ben replied, steadily. “Which is what you ought to
be doing, too.”
“Ya
need ta git some sleep, too, Pa,” Hoss murmured in return, but obediently closed
his eyes and drifted off.
Wearily,
Ben sat down in the nearest seat and closed his eyes for a moment. He fell
asleep at once.
******************************
“Ben!”
The hand shook his shoulder again and reluctantly, Ben Cartwright opened his
eyes. For an instant, he couldn’t remember why he was sleeping in a chair, but
as he straightened his stiff limbs, his eyes fell on the shambles in the room
and memory flooded back.
More
awake now, but still feeling tired, Ben looked at Paul. “What is it?” he asked.
“Joe? Hoss?”
“Joe’s
still asleep,” Paul replied. There were dark circles under his eyes, testifying
to his sleepless night. “But he’s pretty hot, Ben. It looks like there might be
an infection started up. Hoss is awake. I thought it might be an idea to get
him into his own bed. He’ll be more comfortable there.”
“We
can’t carry him alone,” Ben replied. “I’ll go and get some of the men…”
Shaking
his head, Paul put up a hand to stem the flow of words. “We need to get Hoss on
his feet as soon as possible, Ben. Now is as good a time as any. Between us, we
can manage. Then, when Joe wakes up, we can get him settled into his own bed,
too.”
Quaking
at the thought of causing his son pain, Ben protested, “I don’t know if their
rooms are habitable.”
“Don’t
worry, Hop Sing took care of that before he went off
to bed.” Paul looked exasperated. “Come on, Ben, quite stalling. Yes, it’s
going to be uncomfortable for Hoss to get up, but if we don’t get him moving
now, it’ll be much harder later. And don’t tell me you like the room like
this?”
Smiling
at how well his old friend knew him, Ben got to his feet. “No, it’s not my
first choice of furniture order,” he agreed. He followed Paul over to Hoss and
smiled down at his middle son. “I hear you’re going to your own bed instead of
taking up the table,” he teased.
“An’
right good it’ll be, too,” Hoss smiled. “This here table’s all right fer eatin’
off, but it ain’t so comfortable fer lying on.”
It
took a bit of doing to get Hoss onto his feet, but once there, he limped
carefully towards the stairs, leaning heavily on Ben and Paul. Given how much
blood he had lost, Hoss felt remarkably good, but by the time he had reached
his bed, he was exhausted. He managed to stay awake long enough to eat a plate
of broth, then snuggled into his pillows contentedly and fell asleep again.
Back
downstairs, Ben was surprised to see Jamie starting to put the room to rights
again. Paul was sitting on the coffee table by Joe, listening to his heart. Ben
smiled at Jamie and gave the youth a hug before going over to see Joe.
It
was plain to anyone with eyes that Joe was very ill. His face was deathly pale
and his breath came in gasps. Ben felt a renewed stab of worry. “Is it an
infection?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The one word answer was not the reassurance that Ben wanted.
“But
why Joe?” he demanded. “Hoss had the bullet in him longer.” He blinked and
realised what he’d said. “Not that I want Hoss to have an infection, but Ingram
said last night that there was some gangrene in his leg.” He bit his lip,
remembering Joe’s nasty brush with gangrene a couple of years before.
Knowing
what Ben was thinking, Paul put his hand on his friend’s arm. “The gangrene in
Hoss’ leg is gone, Ben,” he soothed. “It went when the artery was repaired and
the blood started getting through again. Hoss is fine; you saw that for
yourself. But the instruments that I used on Joe weren’t as clean as I would
have liked. I had no choice but to use them, but I think that’s where the
infection came from. I’m sorry, Ben.”
Looking
at his friend’s contrite face, Ben forgave him without any hesitation. “It’s
not your fault, Paul,” he assured him. “But… Is Joe going to be all right?”
“I hope
so,” Paul sighed. “I’m doing everything I can.”
***********************************
It
took remarkably little time to set the room to rights again. Ben and Jamie
worked steadily and quietly, so that they wouldn’t disturb Joe, but it seemed
to Ben that every time he looked at his son, Joe was so deeply unconscious that
he wouldn’t have wakened if they’d dropped everything.
After
a time, there was little else to do but wait. Ben knew he would have to take
the $25,000 back into town, but he couldn’t leave while Joe was so ill and
there was no way he could entrust that amount of money to a youngster like
Jamie. He took over bathing Joe’s head with cool water, allowing Paul some
much-needed rest. Ingram had roused from
his drunken stupor and tottered outside earlier and hadn’t returned. Ben hadn’t
spared him a single thought.
Hooves
outside suddenly snapped them all to attention. Clem had taken Shanklin’s men
into town, but he had been alone and it might just be that they were returning.
Snatching up his holster, Ben drew his gun, noting that Jamie had a shotgun. He
motioned the boy back as he rose, watching the door intently.
There
was a brisk rat-tat-tat on the door
which opened to show Clem Foster and the banker. They both looked rather
startled to see Ben and Jamie so obviously on the defensive and froze in place
for a second until the weapons were lowered.
“Everythin’ all right, Ben?”
Clem asked.
Sighing
and relaxing, Ben shrugged. “I suppose so,” he agreed, sitting down to tend to
Joe once more.
Concerned
at the fatigue he saw on Ben’s face, and wondering who was lying on the sofa,
Clem exchanged a glance with the sleepy Paul Martin and walked across the room
to look down on Joe. What he saw was not reassuring.
When
Clem had first come to
But
they were friends now and Clem was shocked to see how ill Joe looked. When he
had last seen him the evening before, Joe had been bleeding, shot, wounded, but
essentially all right. Clem was saddened by Joe’s decline but it wasn’t really
a surprise to him. He had seen too many men laid low by gunshot wounds and knew
that general good health before such an injury meant nothing. Infection was
always a danger and killed a vast number of men. Clem just hoped that Joe
wouldn’t be one of them.
“Is
Richard out there?” Paul asked and received a nod in reply. He got to his feet
and went outside to talk to his colleague.
“Ben,
we came to take the money back to town,” Clem explained. “And
to see how the boys were. Where’s Hoss?” As soon as the words left his
mouth, Clem regretted asking. What if Hoss had died during the night?
“He’s
upstairs, asleep,” Ben replied. “He’s much better, thanks.” He soaked the cloth
he had in his hand in a basin of cold water and put it on Joe’s forehead, then
rose. “I’ll get the money. It’ll be much safer back in the bank than here in my
safe. I’m sure half the county knows what happened here last night.”
“Quite
likely,” Clem agreed. He knew the gossip-spreading propensities of the
neighbourhood as well as Ben did. “How’re you doin’, Ben?”
“I’m
all right,” Ben replied, kneeling wearily in front of the safe. In truth, he
was exhausted, despite the sleep he had had. Once he knew that Joe was going to
be all right, he would be fine, he knew. Until then, he was only going to shut
his eyes when he had to.
“If
ya need any help, jist holler,” Clem advised him, as he hefted the bags of
coins that Ben handed to him.
“Thank
you, I will.” Ben stood watching as Clem and the banker loaded the money onto a
buckboard and then rode off cautiously. Now that the cash was gone, Ben was
relieved to have it off his hands and he felt less tense.
As
he turned to go back inside, Ben saw Paul and Ingram standing over by the
corral. Paul was talking and Ingram was listening and Ben guessed that Paul was
ending the partnership. Ben had wondered how long it would last when he saw the
new shingle outside the office. He had known for many years that Paul’s
never-used first name began with a ‘J’, but until the shingle went up, he had
never discovered what that name was. Ben could see nothing wrong with the name
Joshua, but clearly Paul didn’t agree with him. It was something that Ben would
keep in his memory to tease his friend with on a later date. But
not now. However Paul and Ingram’s partnership ended, Ben had more
important worries – Joe and Hoss. Turning, he went back into the house.
*********************************
Lunch
appeared and was eaten and still Joe writhed in fever’s grip. Ingram had gone
back to town to cover anything that arose there. Paul had elected to stay on
the ranch until such times as he knew how Joe was going to be. He dozed in
Ben’s red leather chair, rousing every now and then to check on Joe, administer
the quinine he was hoping would break the young man’s fever and going up to
check on Hoss.
The
only plus was that Hoss was making a good recovery. He was still weak from
blood loss and would be for some time to come, but he was already sitting up
and eating well. The most difficult time for Hoss would come when he was
getting back onto his feet. The damage to his leg was fairly extensive and Hoss
was no light weight. The muscles would need a lot of work before they were back
to normal. Hoss might never lose his limp.
“Why
don’t you go and sit with Hoss?” Paul suggested, meeting Jamie lingering at the
foot of the stairs. “He’s awake and could use the company.” He patted Jamie on
the shoulder. “Take the checkers board and let him win a game or two.”
“All
right,” Jamie agreed, but his tone was listless and he moved slowly as he found
the gaming board and started climbing the stairs. He paused at the top and
looked down and Paul knew that he was another who would suffer badly if Joe
died.
If Joe died. It was the first time Paul had allowed himself to think that. He had
known at the time that he was taking a risk using dirty instruments. Unlike
many of his profession, Paul firmly believed in the relationship between dirt
and infection. But needs must when the devil drives, and Paul had had to
operate, or Joe would have bled to death. Caught
between a rock and a hard place, Paul thought. He grimaced and tried to
shake the gloomy thoughts from his head. But they, like the guilt, refused to
leave.
*************************************
Night
time came again. Joe still fought, but his struggles seemed to be getting
weaker. He had taken water regularly from Ben, but in his stupor, they had been
unable to get anything nourishing into him. Now, he no longer moaned or
thrashed about. His face was deathly pale, his features waxen, his skin clammy
and burning to the touch. As Joe
deteriorated, Ben also went down hill, his eyes becoming sunken, the lines around his mouth deepening. He had not been
talkative all that day, but he was completely unforthcoming now.
Paul
knew that the loss of any of his sons would be a blow that Ben would be hard to
pushed to recover from. But there was a special bond
between Joe and Ben, one that no one could deny. It wasn’t that Ben played
favourites with Joe, for he treated all his sons fairly and equitably – some
even said he was too fair, in that Adam still stood in line to inherit a share
of the Ponderosa, when he had been gone for years. But there was just something
about the relationship between Ben and Joe that lifted it out of the ordinary.
Paul had seen evidence of it many times over the years as he treated Joe for
this illness or that injury, but he still didn’t know quite what made that
difference. If Joe should die, Ben might never recover. For that matter, Joe’s
death would leave Hoss and Jamie utterly devastated. Would any of them recover,
should Joe die?
Lifting
his head, Paul saw Ben’s anxious face only inches away from his. “Ben, we need
to pack Joe in ice,” he told him. “We’ve got to get his temperature down. If we
don’t, he might have seizures.”
“I’ll
get the ice.” Fear shortening his breath, Ben went into the kitchen, grabbed a
bucket and the ice axe and hurried off to the spring house. Paul, meanwhile, stripped the blankets off
Joe and removed what was left of his clothing. The sweat glistened on Joe’s
naked body, highlighting his impressive musculature. Grabbing the sheet, Paul
took it into the kitchen and soaked it in cold water.
Packing
the ice around Joe’s body, Paul took especial care to make sure there was some
put into his arm pits and around his groin, two areas where the ice would work
even more quickly. Then he placed the soaked sheet over Joe and tucked it in
firmly.
As
the cold hit his fevered body, Joe let out a great shout. His back arched as he
bucked, trying to rid himself of the painful,
penetrating cold that seemed to burn hotter than the fever did. This was the
most dangerous moment, Paul knew. This was the moment when the shock of the
cold could stop the heart. He held his breath, crossed his fingers and prayed
as hard as he could.
Up
and up Joe’s back arched until Ben was forced to reach out and hold him down so
that he wouldn’t tumble off the sofa. “Easy, son, easy,” Ben whispered, his
heart rising to choke him as he finally faced the prospect of losing his son.
Abruptly,
shockingly, Joe’s eyes sprang open, but there was no recognition in those
fevered depths. In fact, Joe’s green eyes seemed to be blind as he looked
through his father and let out another inarticulate shout. He twitched once, then collapsed limply to the sofa, unmoving, his head
dangling grotesquely off the side.
“Joe!”
Ben’s eyes filled with tears as he groped for Joe’s pulse,
sure he had just seen his son breathe his last. “Joe.”
Other
fingers were there before him, resting on Joe’s exposed throat. Ben could only
stare at them, wondering whom they belonged to. It wasn’t until the fingers
gripped his arm painfully tightly that Ben was able to move his stricken gaze
from his son’s body and face Paul Martin. Paul’s lips were moving, but Ben
couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Trying
to swallow down the lump in his throat, Ben forced his ears to work and then
wondered if he could believe what he heard. “He’s alive, Ben! Alive!”
“Alive?”
Ben echoed, still unwilling to believe, lest the doctor be wrong in his
diagnosis.
Realising
that Ben was in shock, Paul grabbed his hand and
guided them towards Joe’s throat. The pulse beat was actually visible at the
base of his throat, but Ben was too shocked to notice that. But the reassuring
beat throbbing under his fingers, steadying down to a regular rhythm, brought
Ben to overflowing tears.
For
a time, it was all Ben could do just to sit there and hold Joe’s hand. But he
was made of stern stuff and soon gathered himself together, ready to face the
next challenge thrown at him, whatever it might be.
Sensing
the change, Paul put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get Joe upstairs to a dry
bed, shall we?” he suggested. Hop Sing had the room aired and the bed turned
down and ready.
Stripping
off the wet, clammy sheet, Ben brushed the melting ice onto the floor and
gathered his son into his arms. Joe was no longer the skinny kid of Ben’s
memory, but he was still light enough that Ben could carry him with little
trouble.
Standing,
he met Paul’s gaze. “Lead the way,” he ordered.
**********************************
Opening
his eyes, Joe looked around his bedroom with surprise. This wasn’t where he
last remembered being and he frowned. How…? Joe tried to sit up, but discovered
two things; that he was too weak and his right side hurt. He let out a grunt of
mingled pain and disgust.
“Easy,
Joe, just take it easy,” Ben soothed, leaning into Joe’s line of sight and
putting a big warm hand onto Joe’s chest. “Don’t try to move about too much.
You’ve had a hard time of it and you’re not quite out of the woods yet.”
“Pa?”
Joe breathed and wondered at how raspy his voice was. His mouth was dry and he
licked his lips, trying to find some moisture. “What…?”
Sliding
his hand under Joe’s shoulders enough to lift his head off the pillows
slightly, Ben tilted a glass towards Joe’s mouth. Joe wanted to gulp the water
down all at once, but he was too weak. So he sipped instead, holding the
marvellous liquid inside his mouth for several seconds before swallowing. It
tasted great.
When
at length Joe was finished drinking, Ben put the glass aside and picked up a
cloth, which he used to wipe Joe’s face. That his son was exhausted was clear
to see. Ben smiled at him. “How do you feel?”
“So…
weak,” Joe replied, sounding puzzled. “What happened… to me?
I remember being downstairs…” Joe frowned again as he tried to piece his memory
together. “Hoss! How’s Hoss?” Joe tried to sit up
again, but once more failed, the pain shooting across his chest. Joe tried to
lift his right hand to touch the sore spot, but his right arm wouldn’t move.
“What?”
Seeing
that Joe was getting upset, Ben put his hand on Joe’s arm and began to rub his
thumb in small circles. “Easy, Joe. Let me explain.
Hoss is fine. He’s sitting up and eating well. His leg is healing nicely. Now, as for you.” Ben fixed him with a mock glare. “What do
you think you’re doing, scaring me like that?
Getting shot and refusing the doctor? Getting a nasty infection? Being
so ill and then sleeping for another two days straight? Joe Cartwright, no
wonder I’ve got grey hair!”
“I
remember being shot,” Joe replied, his eyes wide. He lifted his head slightly
and squinted down at himself, but his body was hidden beneath the blankets.
“But I don’t remember the rest.” He frowned as he once more tried to raise his
right arm, and failed. He winced as pain once more flashed across his chest.
“Let
me explain.” Ben lifted the covers so that Joe could see down the length of his
nude body. His chest was wrapped in bandages and his right arm was carefully
bandaged to his side. “The way the bullet went, inside your chest, it ended up
chipping a bit off your rib.” Ben lightly touched Joe’s chest. “The wound got
infected, Joe and for a while, we didn’t think you were going to pull through.
You lost a lot of blood.”
“Did
I hurt my arm?” Joe asked, still confused.
“No.”
Tucking the covers over Joe again, Ben smoothed them down. “You were restless
the night that we packed you in ice. When we brought you upstairs, you were
bleeding again, having torn the stitches. So Paul decided
that the best way to stop it happening again was to bandage your arm down.”
“I
don’t remember any of this,” Joe said, flatly. He dropped his head down,
exhausted by that small effort.
“Well,
no, you wouldn’t,” Ben remarked. “You see, you went off to sleep, Joe and
although we’ve fed you regularly and you’ve been mighty cooperative in other
ways,” a blush rose in Joe’s cheeks as he realised what Ben meant, “we just
haven’t been able to waken you completely.”
“How
long since I was shot?” Joe asked, trying to get his head around what had
happened.
“Three
days. If you count the night you were shot, this is the fourth night.” The
teasing was gone now. Ben’s sober tone and sombre face told Joe exactly what
his father had been going through while he slept seemingly endlessly.
“I’m
sorry, Pa,” Joe muttered. “You’ve had enough to do with Hoss being laid up
without me copying him.”
“You’ve
nothing to be sorry for,” Ben chided him. “It wasn’t your fault.” He didn’t
want to admit to Joe that he had barely closed his eyes for the last few days,
still terrified that Joe somehow would slip away from them if Ben wasn’t
watching over him personally. Hoss had also needed a lot of help, although he
was fast regaining his strength now.
“Still,”
Joe persisted. “I know how tough it is when one of us is stuck in bed without
both of us being ill. Are you all right?”
“I’m
fine, thank you and your little brother has been a great help.” Ben smiled.
“How about I get you something solid to eat and see how you feel after that?
The doctor should be out later.”
“All
right,” Joe agreed slowly, although he wasn’t sure he was that hungry.
However,
when the smell of scrambled eggs and newly ground coffee wafted in through the
door, Joe’s stomach gave a healthy rumble of hunger. He made a vain attempt to
sit up by himself, but given that one arm was strapped down and he was as weak
as a kitten, he didn’t get very far.
Ben
helped Joe sit up as Hop Sing arranged a tray on his lap and Jamie came in to
visit while Joe ate. The only person missing was Hoss – Joe had long ago
schooled himself not to think of Adam at these times – but Joe knew that his
older brother was making progress and they would see each other soon.
As
Joe ate, Ben brought him up to date on what had been happening. “Clem took the
money back to the bank the next day,” he began. “He had those men you’d tied up
in his jail, although there had been some excitement in getting them there in
the first place, I hear. Apparently, from the stories they’ve been telling
Clem, they’ve done this sort of thing quite regularly. They come to an area,
find out who the richest men are and take them for a lot of money. We’ve been
lucky, Joe; they’ve killed hostages before now.”
“We
were lucky,” Joe agreed, thinking back to Hoss lying so still and pale on the
table. “Did they really think they could revive the Confederacy?”
“They
really did,” Ben replied.
“But…
the war’s been over for years,” Jamie blurted.
“Not
in Shanklin’s mind and he had convinced his followers that it could happen.” He
quickly sketched in the details that Shanklin had confided to him about the
death of his wife and child. “I think that warped his mind forever,” he
concluded sadly. In a way, he could understand it; in another way, it was a
totally alien concept to him. He just hoped and prayed that his sons would never
have to face that kind of situation.
“But
we survived,” Joe said, quietly.
“Yes,
we survived,” Ben agreed.
**********************************
Over
the course of the next few weeks, both Joe and Hoss gradually regained their strength,
but they would never forget Shanklin and his men.
The
end