Lost
By: Rona Y.
The
darkness that surrounded him seemed impenetrable. Vague sounds like voices
reached him, but he couldn’t make any sense of it at all. Then someone touched
him and pain flared through his body. For a fleeting instant his eyes opened, but
all he saw was a confused kaleidoscope of colours and movement before the
darkness swallowed him completely and he knew no more.
*****************************
He
couldn’t move. It took Joe several seconds to realise that he was actually
awake because his eyes wouldn’t open and he couldn’t move more than a fraction
of an inch in any direction. Panic flared through his mind as he fought
whatever was keeping him in place. It was useless, though and he tired after
only a few moments. Lying there, panting, Joe became aware that there were
leather straps around his wrists and something soft around his head. His legs
felt like they weighed a ton each and they wouldn’t move at all, although he
could feel them. “What’s going on?” he mumbled, his voice raspy and his throat
dry.
There
was no answer, not that Joe expected one. He couldn’t hear any sounds that
would indicate another person’s presence. Joe tried to move again, but all he
succeeded in doing was making pain awake in his legs. “Pa?” he called, as loudly
as he could, but there was no response.
He
must have fallen asleep again, for the next time he woke, there was someone in
the room, someone who was wiping his chest with a warm, damp cloth. Joe
flinched and the hand was removed. “Well hello,” said a female voice. “You’ve
decided to waken up, have you?”
“Who
are you?” Joe asked. “Where am I?”
“I’ll
just get the doctor,” the unknown voice replied. “Don’t go away.”
Biting
his lip in frustration – where did she think he was going to go and how did she
think he was going to get there? – Joe contained himself with as much patience
as he could, straining his ears to hear when she was going to return.
It
seemed forever to the helpless young man, but it was only a couple of minutes.
He heard a door open and then heavy footsteps approach the bed where he lay. “I
believe you’re awake, young man,” asked a deep baritone voice. “Can you tell me
your name?”
“Joe
Cartwright,” Joe answered, without hesitation. “What happened? Where am I?
Where’s my father?”
“You
were involved in an accident,” the doctor replied. “You’re in my clinic at
Milltown.”
Uneasily,
Joe processed this information. “Where’s my father?” he repeated.
“Mr
Cartwright, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your father is dead.”
“No!”
Joe whispered. “No! No! No! No!” He was shouting, struggling against the
leather straps, oblivious of the pain shooting through his body. “No! Pa!”
Joe
was barely aware of the needle sliding into his flesh, but his struggles
gradually ceased and he was once more in a drugged slumber. The doctor looked
down at him. “I had the feeling he wasn’t going to take that news well,” he
commented to his nurse. “Let me know when he wakes up again.”
*********************************
The
next awakening was painful. Joe remembered with too-vivid clarity the news he
had received and he groaned aloud. Instantly, a hand touched his arm and Joe
flinched. “Who’s there?” he asked, wishing that his eyes were uncovered so he
could see.
“I’m
Nurse Jones,” replied the voice. “Do you remember where you are, Mr
Cartwright?”
“I
remember,” Joe replied. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I see? Why can’t I
move?”
“The
doctor will be here in a minute, Mr Cartwright. He’ll explain,” the nurse
soothed. “Would you like a drink?” She
lifted Joe’s head and helped him to sip. The cold water felt wonderful on his
parched throat.
As
soon as the doctor appeared, Joe repeated his questions. “What’s wrong with me?
Why can’t I see? Why can’t I move?”
“Mr
Cartwright, what’s the last thing you remember?” the doctor asked.
If
there was one thing Joe hated, it was people who answered questions with
questions. But instead of snapping, Joe gave it some thought. His head ached
and it made remembering difficult, but he persevered. “Pa and I left the ranch
to go to
“We’re
not exactly sure what happened, but your wagon overturned. You were trapped
underneath it for quite some time. Both your legs are broken and you had a
severe head injury.”
“Is
my back broken?” Joe asked, fearfully. “Am I blind?”
“No,
your back doesn’t appear to be broken,” the doctor replied. “We have you
restrained, because you became violent as you woke up. You had a considerable
amount of grit in your eyes. I don’t think there’s any permanent damage, but
it’ll be a few days before we take the bandages off.”
“What
about my Pa?” Joe asked, his voice cracking.
“He
was dead when you were found,” the doctor told him. “I’m sorry.”
Turning
his head away, Joe fought back tears. “Have you wired my brothers?” he choked.
“We
didn’t know who to get in contact with,” the man replied. “But if you give me
the details, I’ll arrange that.”
Slowly,
Joe did as he was asked. He was exhausted by the news he had heard and wanted
nothing more than to escape into sleep. His injuries began to hurt and he
twisted reflexively against the restraints. “I’ll give you something for the
pain,” the doctor told Joe. “But the restraints stay until we’re sure you won’t
become violent again.”
“Please,
I won’t,” Joe objected, but he was ignored.
As
the needle pierced his flesh once more, a thought that had been niggling at the
back of his brain suddenly crystallised. “Wait!” he cried. “You said a wagon…”
The drug began to work. “What…wagon…?” Joe was unconscious once more.
**************************************
“I
don’t care if you like it,” the man told the doctor. “You just keep the boy
where he is until the father agrees to pass up on the contract. It won’t take
long. He’s cracking already.”
“What
do I tell the boy when he asks for his brothers again?” the doctor enquired. “I
can’t keep sedating him.”
“You
tell him the truth,” the other sneered. “Tell him there hasn’t been a
response.”
“You
did this to him, didn’t you?” the medic demanded. “You broke his legs, didn’t
you? There wasn’t really a wagon accident. The boy remembers.”
“He
remembers?” The tone told the doctor that he had just made a major blunder.
“Sort
of,” he hedged. “I’m keeping him sedated a lot of the time, but I can’t keep doing
that, either. He has had a bad head injury – masking the symptoms of that could
be very bad for him.”
“Oh
dear,” the other responded, with no trace of worry or sympathy in his tones.
“How tragic.”
*****************************
The
nausea had to be the worst thing, Joe thought as he finished another bout of
dry heaves. He had been unable to keep anything much down for days – or what
felt like days – Joe had no way of discerning the passage of time. His eyes
were still tightly bandaged and he was still restrained, although he protested
this indignity every time he was awake.
Never
a good patient, Joe was now more than just frustrated by his injuries. He was
downright suspicious of the people looking after him. Was this really a doctor?
Joe knew by now that the man’s name was Miller and that they were in Milltown,
wherever that was, but he knew nothing else. Every time Joe started to ask an
awkward question, he was sedated. Alarm bells were ringing loudly in his mind,
but he didn’t know how to set about freeing himself.
“Have
you heard from my brothers?” Joe asked, the next time Dr Miller was with him.
“There
hasn’t been a reply yet,” Miller answered, but there was a certain hesitation
in his voice that made the hair stand up on the back of Joe’s neck.
“Oh,”
Joe whispered, as he slumped back on the bed. He sought to look as cowed and
harmless as he knew how. “I had hoped…” He didn’t finish his sentence.
“I
know how difficult this must be for you,” Miller sympathised, resting a hand on
Joe’s shoulder. Joe flinched from the unexpected contact. “Now tell me, how are
you feeling? Is the nausea any better?”
“No,”
Joe admitted. He was exhausted, his body aching from lying in one position all
the time. “Please, can’t you take these restraints off? I don’t know what you
think I’m going to do.”
“Head
injuries are unpredictable,” Miller replied. “You never know what a patient
might do. This is standard procedure in my clinic.”
“Please,”
Joe begged, although it went against the grain to plead. “I’m injured and alone
and my father is dead. Please, take off the restraints.” He was practically in
tears.
Something
in Joe’s anguished plea must have struck a chord in Miller. “All right, Mr
Cartwright, I’ll loosen them slightly. But I won’t remove them all together
quite yet. I’ll make another review of the situation tomorrow.” He fiddled
about at Joe’s wrists and Joe felt the tight leather peel off his sweaty skin.
The relief was quite overwhelming.
“Thank
you,” he breathed.
“You
need to get some rest now,” Miler added.
“Please
don’t sedate me,” Joe cried. He sensed
Miller hovering over him and held his breath.
“All
right, we’ll see how you go without it,” Miller agreed. Joe sagged with relief
as he heard the footsteps retreating and then a room door closing – and
locking.
For
the first time since he wakened, Joe was alone.
****************************************
His
first action was to make sure that he really was alone. The sound of the
locking door might have been a figment of his over-active imagination, but Joe
didn’t think so. Every time he had asked an awkward question, he had been
sedated; the significance of that fact hadn’t escaped Joe, although he had no
idea why it was happening. But there were too many things that didn’t add up
here and Joe was determined to get to the bottom of what was going on.
After
several minutes, Joe was sure that he was alone in the room. He began to
wriggle his wrists, trying to ease them out of the leather restraints. His skin
was already sweaty and sticky from the constant chafing, but Joe had small
bones and slender wrists, and he was sure that, with a little perseverance, he
would manage to break free.
It
took more than a little perseverance; when Joe finally was able to get his right
hand free, he was bleeding where he had torn the skin. Wincing as he stretched
over to fiddle with the bindings on the other hand, he wished he had got his
left hand free first, seeing as how he was left handed. It would have made
things easier, but when was life ever that obliging?
But
at last, his hands were free and Joe rubbed his sore wrists for a few minutes
to restore his circulation. His next act was to take the bandages off his eyes
and he did so with a certain amount of trepidation. He had no way of knowing if
the doctor had been telling the truth about his eyes or not. The lingering
headache was a pointed reminded that he had suffered a head injury of some
description, but Joe was unsure what to believe.
Cautiously,
he opened his eyes and winced at how bright the light was. However, one thing
was for sure; if he had had grit in his eyes, it was causing him no pain now
and his eyesight was perfect. The relief made Joe feel quite weak as he gazed
about the small room that was his prison.
There
was a window to Joe’s right, further down the room from where he lay on a bed.
It was swathed in net curtains and Joe could tell only that it was daylight
outside, but he couldn’t see anything. The room was bare apart from a chair by
the bed and a basin, which Joe guessed had been placed there for his use,
should the nausea surface again, although quite how he was supposed to make use
of it, with his hands restrained and his eyes covered, was beyond Joe’s
understanding.
Glancing
down at himself, Joe saw that his torso was covered with bruises and he winced
as he forced himself into a sitting position. He ached all over and his muscles
were stiff from disuse. He took hold of the blankets that covered him to the
waist and threw them off.
The
shock was quite surprising, given that Joe knew his legs felt heavy and that he
couldn’t move them. The plaster casts extended from his toes to his hips on
each leg and – Joe sucked in another shocked breath – there appeared to be
something connecting his legs together just above the knee. Sitting up further,
and willing the dizzy feeling to go, Joe reached out and touched the casts,
feeling how thick and heavy they were. The plaster that connected his legs was
too solid for Joe to break with his hands, although that didn’t stop him from
trying.
Eventually,
exhausted, Joe slumped back. He was shaking. He didn’t know what to think. He
was alone somewhere, he had been told his father had died, and he appeared to
be a prisoner. Joe swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. And then
he remembered again – the doctor said they had been in a wagon accident, and
yet – Joe was panting now – they had left home mounted on their horses.
What
was going on?
*******************************************
Joe
was dozing when Miller returned. He had been unable to manoeuvre the heavy
casts off the bed and he knew that there was no way he could climb out of the
window, even if he did get to the floor. There was nothing around that he could
use to hack the plaster off – in fact, there was nothing in the room at all. It
didn’t look like any clinic that Joe had ever seen.
He
woke as the door opened and glared defiantly at Miller. “Stop lying to me!” he
cried. “What really happened?”
“I
told you what happened,” Miller responded, his tone quite cool. He reached into
his pocket and withdrew a syringe.
“Oh
no!” Joe declared. “You’re not going to sedate me again!” He made a lunge for
the man, wrestling for control of the glass vial, although he had no idea what
he meant to do once it was disposed of. He could hardly get up and run out of
the door.
The
struggle was brief and Joe did win, seeing the hated object crash to the floor
and shatter. But Joe was exhausted by the fight, his injuries and the frequent
drugging taking their toll on his strength. His head began to spin and before
Joe knew quite what was going on, he was once more restrained to the bed, the
leather cuffs buckled tightly around his wrists.
“Why
are you doing this?” he panted. “Where’s my father?”
“I don’t
know what you mean,” Miller replied. He checked the buckles and looked down at
Joe, an oddly regretful expression on his face. “It would have been better for
you to have done what you were told, Mr Cartwright. Much better for you.” He
turned and walked away.
“Wait!”
Joe yelled. “Come back!”
The
door closed and locked once more.
**********************************
Stretching
as he left the house that morning, Hoss Cartwright was in no way prepared for
the sight which met his eyes. For standing in front of the barn were Buck and
Cochise, the horses belonging to his father and younger brother. Surprised, for
there was no way they could have travelled to Sacramento and back in such a
short time, Hoss peered around, half expecting to see them coming out of the
barn or something.
When
there was no immediate sign, Hoss went forward slowly, and caught the trailing
reins of the horses. Buck was plastered with dried sweat and when he checked,
Hoss found that Cochise was the same, the black and white hair dried to hard
points.
Alarm
bells were ringing loudly in Hoss’ mind. There was no way either Ben or Joe
would have left their horse in such a condition. “Adam!” he cried. “Adam!”
The
house door opened and Adam Cartwright, the oldest son, walked out, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” he asked and then caught his breath as he saw the horses.
“Where are Pa and Joe?” he asked, as though Hoss had hidden them in his pants’
pocket.
“I
dunno,” Hoss replied. “Look, the horses is all sweated up.” He glanced at Adam,
seeing the growing concern in the dark eyes. “Somethin’ must a happened ta
them, Adam.”
“I
think you’re right,” Adam agreed. “Come on, let’s get saddled up and look for
them.”
“Where
are we gonna look?” Hoss wanted to know.
“I
don’t know,” Adam responded. “But we’ll follow the route they were supposed to
take. We might find something.”
Slowly,
Hoss nodded. He might not like the idea any better than Adam did, but it sure
did beat sitting at home all hollow.
*********************************
It
had been a long struggle, Ben Cartwright thought, as he finally freed his hands
from the ropes that bound him. It had taken him several days to get to this
point and he felt exhausted. Slowly, he drew his hands round in front of him
and started to rub some life back into them. His arms felt heavy and the ‘pins
and needles’ sensation of the returning circulation was more like knives and
pitchforks, but Ben didn’t complain. Now, he had the chance to get away and
rescue Joe.
Rising
cautiously to his feet Ben pressed his ear against the door and held his
breath, listening. The house beyond the locked door of his prison was silent,
as he had expected. It was still dark, although Ben knew dawn was only an hour
or so away.
It
had been a long few days for Ben. He didn’t really remember the ambush that had
separated him from his son, but he knew only too well who had triggered it –
Curt Holmes, his rival for a big meat/timber/horse contract with the army. He
had already told Ben that he was holding Joe – who was seriously injured –
until such time as Ben withdrew his bed for the army contract.
Frantic
with worry about Joe, Ben agreed that he would withdraw the bid, but so far,
Holmes had not brought Ben pen and paper to write the letter. Ben was almost
glad, for he wasn’t sure he would be able to bring himself to do it. He was
desperately concerned about Joe, but it went against the grain to knuckle under
like that. Yet what choice did he have? The life of his son – of all his sons –
meant more to him than a contract, however lucrative.
However,
Ben was not the type to take captivity quietly. He had been making his plans
for escape since the day he had been brought in and tonight was the night he
was going to put them into practice.
Although
the door to his room was locked, Ben had noticed that the hinges were on his
side of the door. It took him some time, but he had hung and removed doors from
their frames before and he was soon squeezing out through the gap he had
opened.
The
house was still and hushed and Ben placed his feet very, very carefully to
avoid any squeaky floor boards. He had to search the house, to make sure that
Joe wasn’t being held prisoner in another room. Somehow, Ben didn’t think he
was, although he had no real basis for this supposition. With his heart
thundering in his chest, Ben searched the whole place before letting himself
silently out of the front door.
He had
no idea where he was, but one thing was for sure – he wasn’t going to hang
around to ask Holmes. The other man had been soundly asleep in an upstairs
room, but Ben couldn’t count on him remaining asleep for long. He had to get
away, get help and find Joe.
Ben
started walking.
***********************************
The
only thing to be said for his current predicament was that he now knew if it
was day or night, but that was the only plus that Joe could find. He was still
a prisoner, his wrists restrained for most of the day, unless he was eating. He
was sure that either his food or drink was drugged, for he always seemed sleepy
afterwards and could provide only a token resistance to being restrained.
Despite
sleeping so much, Joe didn’t feel rested. His body ached all the time – a
common side effect of sedatives, although Joe didn’t know that – and the heavy
casts on his legs prevented him from moving to get comfortable. His muscles
cramped regularly and the headache he had initially woken up with hadn’t gone
away.
Bored
beyond belief, Joe couldn’t prevent his thoughts from dwelling on what had
happened. He alternated between believing that Ben was dead and denying that it
was true. He wondered why his brothers hadn’t responded to the wire telling them
of the accident and then realised that it wouldn’t have been sent. He
concentrated hard to remember what had happened. But his mind was a blank.
*****************************
The
evidence was obvious to Hoss and Adam; the campsite had been attacked. There
was some blood – not much, but enough to make the brothers deeply concerned.
With Hoss in the lead, they set off following the tracks.
“Uh-oh,”
Hoss commented, pulling Chubb to a halt. “Look! They split up.”
Biting
his lip, Adam studied the tracks. “I think we’d better follow this set,” he
decided. “They lead towards Milltown. We might enlist the help of the sheriff
there.”
“I
guess,” Hoss agreed, although he sounded dubious.
“Much
as I would love to follow both sets,” Adam replied to the unasked question, “I
don’t think we should split up, do you?”
“No,
yer right,” Hoss nodded. “I jist…”
“I
know,” Adam agreed. “I feel the same way.” He sighed and looked at the second
set of tracks. “Let’s leave a marker here just in case,” he suggested. “That
way, if the weather turns, we’ll know which direction to follow.”
“Good
thinkin’,” Hoss enthused and jumped down to help Adam lay out a marker. They
both paused for a moment when that was done and then mounted again, hurrying
towards Milltown.
********************************
Sitting
heavily on a convenient rock, Ben Cartwright paused to catch his breath and to
visually assess his surroundings. He had walked about seven miles, he thought
and was pretty sure that he was headed towards Milltown. He would be able to
get help from the sheriff there – assuming that Holmes didn’t catch up with him
in the meantime. So far, there had been no sign of pursuit, but Ben knew that
wouldn’t last.
Even
as the thought crossed his mind, he heard hoof beats on the wind. Panicking, he
glanced around, but there was really nowhere to hide. He crouched down behind
the rock, determined that he wouldn’t go easily. It didn’t sound like a large
number of horses and Ben wondered if Holmes’ men had split up and would come at
him from all sides. Either way, he would go down fighting, he decided.
So
it was with a distinct sense of shock that he recognised the men riding towards
him. He rose abruptly from his hiding place and shouted, oblivious to the
startled shying of both horses. “Adam! Hoss!”
“Pa?”
Adam was down off his mount in a moment, putting a hand on his father’s
shoulder, searching the older man’s face. “Are you all right? Where’s Joe?”
Allowing
himself to sag with relief, Ben sat down on the rock again, although he
couldn’t stop himself throwing a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know where
Joe is,” he replied, wearily. “I haven’t seen him since we were attacked a few
days ago. I just know that Holmes has him prisoner somewhere. We’ve got to get
to Milltown and get the sheriff’s help.”
“Are
you all right?” Adam persisted.
“A
few bruises, but I’m fine, son,” Ben assured him. “How did you know to come
looking for us?”
“Buck
and Cochise came home alone yesterday,” Adam responded as Hoss handed Ben the
canteen. Their father drank deeply. “We found your camp site. There were
tracks, but they split apart back there about a mile.”
“I
reckon them other tracks was the ones to where Pa was,” Hoss decided, eyeing
the tracks that Ben had left.
Hope
flared in Ben’s tired eyes. “Let’s keep following these ones then,” he
suggested. “And we’ll find Joe.”
“Let’s
talk to the sheriff first,” Adam suggested.
*************************************
It
seemed like an incredible waste of time to Ben that he had a bath, a shave, a
hot meal and a change of clothing, but he did feel a lot better for it
afterwards. He sat in the hotel dining room, nursing a cup of coffee and
smothered a yawn.
“I
haven’t seen anyone fitting that description around town,” the sheriff was saying,
“but I’ll ask around. Have you spoken to the doctor? There’s always the chance
that he might have seen your son.”
“I
didn’t see a doctor’s sign anywhere in town,” Adam replied. He didn’t add that
he’d hoped to have the doctor check Ben out – his father was no more enamoured
of visiting the physician than his youngest son.
“He
lives a little way out of town,” the sheriff replied.
“Let’s
go there now,” Ben suggested. “Sheriff, can you point us in the right
direction?”
“Sure
can,” the man agreed. “I’ll just get my horse and meet you out front in a few
minutes.”
“I
wonder if the other sheriff has picked up Holmes yet,” Ben mused aloud as they
went to collect their mounts from the livery. He didn’t like to admit how
uneasy it made him feel that his captor was still at large.
“We’ll
hear soon enough,” Adam assured him. He didn’t want to admit to his unease over
the whole situation.
They
followed the sheriff out of town. Dusk was draping the landscape with long
purple shadows, but the Cartwrights were oblivious to the beauty of the
evening. They simply wanted to find their missing brother and son.
“The
doc must be busy,” the sheriff suddenly commented, pointing to a house standing
alone at the side of the road. Several horses were tethered outside.
Ben’s
heart began to race. “Holmes!” he exclaimed and kicked the rented horse he was
riding.
“Pa,
wait!” Adam called, for his father was unarmed. Ben paid no heed; his only
thought was to save Joe.
*********************************
As
the door opened once again, Joe dragged his heavy eyelids open and looked at
the men standing there. His latest dose of sedative seemed to be taking much
longer than usual to wear off and he found it difficult to muster much interest
in the new arrivals. He was feeling nauseous again and had been unable to keep
anything much down that day.
“How
long will it take to get those casts off?” demanded a man. Joe blinked. Didn’t
he have broken legs?
“The
better part of an hour, I would think,” the doctor replied. “But I really
wouldn’t consider moving him. He’s not been well today.”
“Do
you think I care about that?” Holmes replied. “But I can’t wait an hour. I need
to get him out of here now.” He frowned, deep in thought. “All right, we’ll just
have to sling him belly down over a saddle.” He snapped his finger at two of
his men. “Bring him.”
“Wait!”
the doctor protested. “You really shouldn’t move him and not like that! Do you
want to kill him?”
“What’s
the matter, doc?” Holmes sneered. “Isn’t the thought of your continued freedom
enough incentive for you?” He laughed. “I can get you sent away for a long
time, don’t forget. And I bet you haven’t been exactly following good medial
practice while taking care of this young man, now have you?”
The
doctor flushed, though Joe didn’t know if it was through shame or anger. “What
do you want?” Joe slurred.
“Shut
up, boy,” Holmes advised him. “If you stay quiet, I might allow you to live a
little longer.”
Panic
surged through Joe’s belly, helping him shake off the last lingering effects of
the sedative. He had a sudden feeling that it was dark and he could hear voices
as blows rained down on him. He felt searing pain in his legs and heard his
father’s despairing cry. “Joe!”
Blinking,
Joe came back to reality, panting as he gazed into the face of the man who had
led the attack on their campsite. “You!” he panted, shaken. “It was you!”
Too
late, Joe realised he would have done better to keep his mouth shut. Holmes’
face grew dark and he glared down at the helpless young man. Joe felt very
vulnerable, and began to twist hopelessly against the restraints on his wrists.
Holmes back-handed him across the face.
“Boss!”
Interrupted
in his desire to make Ben’s son pay for Ben’s escape, Holmes looked at the
door, his expression telling his man that this had better be good. “What?” he
snarled.
“Four
men are coming,” was the response.
“You,
stay here with him,” Holmes ordered one of his men. “If anything happens to me,
blow his brains out.” He smiled down at Joe, enjoying the panic that crossed
his captive’s face. “I warned your father, boy. If he behaved and did as I
said, you might have got to live. But he didn’t do as I said and so you’re
going to die.”
Although
he tried to appear stoic, Joe’s breath was coming in panicky gasps. He knew
that there was no way out of this situation. He was completely helpless, even
if he did get his hands free. The number of drugs he had ingested over the last
few days had sapped his strength and the injuries he had sustained in the
attack on the camp were severe. He closed his eyes as the gun came to rest by
his temple.
***************************************
The
element of surprise was gone. They all knew that. Nevertheless, they didn’t hesitate.
Joe’s life was in danger – somehow, they were all convinced that Joe was inside
that building. Ben snatched up a stout branch as he jumped down from his horse.
He
needed it at once, as a man launched himself out of the front door. Ben didn’t
have time for thought; he just reacted. The branch swung around and although he
didn’t get his opponent’s head, he did manage to strike a hard blow to one arm,
causing the man to drop his gun.
A
second, follow-up, blow caught the man in the solar plexus and he went down.
Ben dropped the branch and scooped up the gun. He heard the others behind him
and went forward.
A
shot fired from the open door and they all ducked, someone behind Ben returning
fire. The next instant, bullets were flying everywhere.
*****************************
When
the first shot sounded, Joe’s eyes opened wide and he looked right up into the
face of the man who held a gun to his head. If he was going to die, Joe was
going to face death with his eyes wide open. It seemed to disconcert the
gunman, who hesitated.
Although
there was nothing Joe could do, the doctor didn’t miss his chance. He slammed
into the man’s back, knocking him away from Joe and to the floor. He reached
out to gain control of the gun and was met with a fist in his face. Miller fell
away.
As
a doctor, Miller had spent most of his life taking care of others. He had never
learned to fight – wasn’t sure he had ever been in a fight, even as a child.
His punches were ineffectual for the most part. But he wouldn’t give up. He
might have compromised his ethics beyond repair over the last few days, but he
couldn’t stand by and see a helpless man murdered in cold blood. Miller fought
on.
As
the door to the room opened once more, there was a shot and both the men on the
floor lay still. Joe was frozen with horror, unable to do anything to free
himself or help the other man. His eyes swivelled to the newcomers, sure he was
going to be looking at his own death once more. The sight of his father brought
tears to his eyes.
The
relief was so incredible that Joe fainted.
*********************************
“Joe,
can you hear me?” Ben had Joe in his arms the moment the restraints were
released.
The
young man’s eyelashes fluttered and then Joe opened confused green eyes. “Pa?” He
blinked, scarcely believing what he was seeing. “Are you really here?” he
whispered.
“Really
here,” Ben soothed. His hand rose, unbidden, to stroke the errant curl back
from Joe’s forehead. “Joe, are you all right?”
For
a moment, Joe couldn’t speak. He choked on a sob. “They told me you were dead,”
he gasped and his hand clutched the front of Ben’s tan vest, the knuckles
white. “Oh,
“Easy,
Joe, easy,” Ben soothed, tears standing in his eyes. He had very little idea of
what Joe had gone through, but it was clear to see that the last few days had
not been easy for his youngest son. “We need to get Joe out of here,” he
declared, looking round at the others in the room.
“I’ll
find a wagon,” Hoss mumbled and hurried out.
“We’ll
help you carry Joe,” Adam offered. The stench of death would soon overpower the
small room. Neither the doctor nor the gunman had survived the last bullet.
Together,
they carried Joe from the room.
******************************
There
wasn’t another doctor in the area to assess Joe’s condition. They had no way to
know how badly injured Joe’s legs really were and so Ben opted to take his son
back to
Together,
Joe and Ben had pieced together the ambush that night. Holmes and his men had
come out of nowhere. Joe was already asleep, Ben drifting on the fringes. Ben
had fought back as best he could, but he was distracted by the scream that Joe
let out as an iron bar was crashed against his legs not once, but twice. A fist
got through Ben’s guard and that was the last thing he remembered until waking
up as Holmes’ prisoner.
Joe
remembered only being dragged from sleep, and blow after blow raining down on
him until the first crashing pain in his legs. His memory stopped there,
mercifully for him. There were no gang members left alive to tell them that Joe
sustained his head injury as he was dropped to the ground; no gang members to
tell that Ben was going to be shot the minute he wrote the letter to the army.;
no one to say that the doctor had accidentally killed a man by giving an
overdose of morphine a few years before. Miller had confessed all to the other
patient he had at the time and Holmes had lied for him. Miller had been
performing certain services for Holmes ever since.
The
journey home was once that Joe wished he could forget. Every bump on the road
jarred him awake and he wished fervently that he could have had some of the
sedatives that had been in his system. He had still had some symptoms of
concussion and he became motion sick in the back of the wagon, necessitating
more stops along the way than Ben was happy with. But all that mattered to him
was getting Joe home to be checked out and if Joe needed to stop frequently,
then they would stop as often as necessary.
It
took three days for them to get to
“I’ll
cut these casts off, Ben and see what we’ve got,” Paul told his friend. He
didn’t like to say that if Joe’s legs were broken and hadn’t been set properly,
then the young man was going to be in dire straits. It was possible to re-break
the bones, but it was never entirely successful and the last thing Paul wanted
was for Joe to be permanently lamed.
While
Paul worked, Ben, Adam and Hoss took turns sitting with Joe while the others
washed up. Joe was as tense as a bow, fear showing in those remarkable green
eyes that were the window to his soul for those who knew him well.
“Have
you got any pain, Joe?” Paul asked, as the last of the plaster fell away.
“Some,”
Joe replied, truthfully. He looked down at his legs, which seemed very pale and
wrinkled. The sides of both legs were dotted with large, yellowy bruises. Joe
suspected that they had, initially, been very dark purple. He braced himself as
Paul reached to touch them.
A
hand took Joe’s and he clutched at that lifeline. Ben did not wince as his son’s
hand closed tightly on his own. He could bear anything for his sons.
“Is
that sore?” Paul asked. His touch was infinitely gentle.
“A
bit,” Joe admitted. “Not as sore as when I’ve had broken bones before.”
“Good,”
Paul replied, moving on to examine Joe’s other leg. Again, the touch was light.
Joe wondered how on earth Paul could learn anything from such a delicate probe.
Finally,
Paul straightened up. “What’s the verdict, doc?” Joe asked. He could hear the
tiny quiver in his voice. A quick squeeze from Ben told him that his father had
heard it, too.
“If
your legs were broken, they weren’t bad breaks,” Paul replied. “But I don’t
think they were. Oh, the bruising has been bad, as I’m sure you can see and
they will be very tender for some time to come. The damage has been to the soft
tissue, not to the bone. But sometimes, a soft tissue injury will take longer
to heal than a break.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Joe, let’s get you up
on your feet.”
“All
right,” Joe agreed. He accepted help to swing his legs around – the muscles
were weak after almost seven days in plaster. He grabbed Ben’s arm and Paul
took the other. Adam leant over the bed to steady Joe around the waist. Hoss
hovered uselessly.
It
hurt – there was no doubt of that. But Joe’s legs bore his weight quite easily
and the pain subsided to a manageable level after a few moments. Joe shook off
the support and took a few, stiff steps on his own.
“Guess
you’ve got your answer,” Adam smiled.
“Guess
I have at that,” Joe agreed, grinning broadly. “Can I go home, doc?”
“I’m
sure you’d rather put some pants on first,” Paul murmured, unable to hide the
laughter as Joe coloured. He had forgotten that his clothes had disappeared and
he’d been wearing only an old shirt of Ben’s along with his underwear.
“I’ll
go an’ git ya some clothes,” Hoss offered, as Joe finally saw the funny side
and began to laugh.
“I’d
wait a few more days before you attempt to ride,” Paul advised, as the hilarity
died down.
At
that point, Joe would have agreed to almost anything. Hoss was soon back and
Joe slipped on the clothes with a feeling of complete contentment. They would
soon be home.
*******************************
“Its
good to be back,” Joe sighed as he settled into his bed.
“Yes,
it is,” Ben agreed, tucking Joe into bed. “I thought I’d lost you, Joe.”
Remembering
the fear he had felt, Joe nodded. “I know,” he whispered. “And I thought you
were dead.”
“I
wish it hadn’t happened to you,” Ben confessed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s
not your fault, Pa!” Joe objected. “You didn’t know this was going to happen.
And hey, it’s over. We’re both home and in one piece, just for a change.”
Smiling,
Ben nodded. “We ought to celebrate,” he suggested. “Have a ‘Joe Cartwright’s
Back Home in One Piece Party’.”
“Sounds
like a right good idea ta me, Pa,” Hoss declared, coming in carrying a tray
with a plate of broth on it. “An’ Hop Sing says if’n ya don’ git downstairs
right now an’ eat, he’s gonna go back to Ol’China.”
Smiling
at this oft repeated threat, Joe jerked his head towards the door. “Better
hurry up,” he advised. “You know who really runs the Ponderosa, don’t you?”
Rising,
tacitly admitting that Joe might well be right, Ben muttered, “Funny, I thought
that was me…”
The
End