Rat Stew?

By Sadiespinner

Nov. 2004

As he pulled open the huge doors, the rusted through hinges squealed. Not expecting this Hoss Cartwright stumbled backwards. Unable to break his fall, he landed flat on his back, with one of the doors covering him. For an instant he lay still, until he finally recaptured his breath in a horrific guttural gasp.

Fear flung his own well being to the wind. Struggling he ignored the thumping in his shoulder, dismissed the waves of pain rippling up and down his already overtaxed back. Once on his hands and knees, he crawled to the body he had ever so gently set down.

“Pa . . . Pa . . . are you still with me?”

Trembling hands covered in scratches and dirt felt for a pulse. It was there, then not, then there.

“Hold on Pa . . . Please hold on . . . ”

Hoss forced himself upright onto both knees bowing his head as wisps of hair played with the wind. “Lord, I’m about out of steam. Could ya just lend me a touch more to git him inside?”

Hoss choked down an expletive he knew would bring his ears to burning if his father heard; that was unlikely at this time.

Drawing on his inner strength Hoss, hauled Ben into his aching arms. His muscles rebelled in spasms. Ever so slowly, a foot at a time, he was able to cross the threshold into the meager shelter of the dilapidated old barn. It was barely standing, but its stone foundation was sturdy and though missing boards here and there, it was enough for now. Dim and dingy, all inhabitants long gone, the spider and cobwebs seemed to reach out and clutch at him, as if in need of new nourishment. After letting his eyes adjust he found an ancient pile of straw aged to the point that it was almost white. Any resemblance to the rich golden color it bore when first harvested had vanished with the years.

Sinking to his knees, he lowered his burden into the straw. Most of it crumbled under the weight and small puffs of gray dust mushroomed up to hang suspended in the air before settling back to where they lay until awakened by the body.

Hoss pressed his huge callused hand ever so gingerly to the matted swirls of silver, while bits of straw dust further enhancing the pallor of Ben Cartwright’s usually tan rugged masculine features.

Finally succumbing to his own plight, Hoss sank down against the remains of a stall. Blinking once or twice, he let his hands fall to his lap. Lip quivering, face all scrunched up, the giant of a man resembled a frightened, lost child. In fact he was just that, inside. Hoss valiantly fought the demons of guilt and self-doubt, recrimination hounded him, his fault all his fault.

“Pa, I’m powerful sorry Pa . . . ” he whispered and oblivion stole him.

When he again opened his eyes, he vaguely wondered what time it was. Time, the one thing he did not have. Hours had slid away like a thief in the night, precious hours he could not pull back. He had to do something. Forcing his mind to function he asked himself, ‘what would Adam do?’ Look around . . . think, see whatever you can find to use. But what could he possibly find here in this old barn that was of any use? The stale smell of long gone horse and cow manure stubbornly clung to the wooden floor. Standing slowly his knees wobbling uncertainly Hoss pushed through a curtain of cobwebs so thick it was like a blanket of cotton in front of him. His eyes were rewarded with the sight of shelves. It appeared there were items still sitting on them testimony to the life that did once thrive here.

In his hurry, Hoss tripped over something. He caught himself at the last minute. When he turned to see what it was, hope died that it might be a treasure he could use. Deeply disappointed he picked up a single very rusty horseshoe from the discarded pile left to Antiquity a long time ago. Rubbing his toe, he tossed it back. A dull metallic clink answered back muffled by the dirt accumulated. With a great sigh, he once again set out to search every nook and cranny. The shelves proved little help they held mostly old bottles, the contents long hardened into solid masses or evaporated all together, leaving thin rings hinting at what they might have been.

More than once Hoss paused to look back at the still form of his father, half-wanting him to move or cry out and half-wanting him remain unconscious. Suddenly the floor off to the right began to rise and fall, undulating like waves. Accompanying the disconcerting movement came the unmistakable sound of rats. Rats smelling opportunity. Hoss crashed back to Ben’s side wildly, his eyes watching the floor. Nothing moved. Hoss turned slowly in a circle making almost no noise. There was silence, but for his own raspy, breath. Was his tortured mind playing tricks on him?

Kneeling down once again he felt Ben’s forehead. He had not moved. Limp and still, he seemed even paler than before.

Hoss squeezed his eyes shut. Suddenly hit with memory of the events leading up to this moment. He let out a low strangled moan, unable to block the ugly vision.

Was it three or four days ago? They had taken this trip North. Adam wanted to see this rope bridge high in the Virginia Mts. He had heard some old trapper talking about it. Adam was deeply passionate about . . . he swallowed fighting the memory, but it refuses to yield.

For whatever reason, Ben had not only given in with uncustomary ease, he was the one who suggested they all go.

Adam’s eyes shone when proposing his idea to his father. Within those serious dark hazel

Brown eyes Ben observed a light he hadn’t seen in too long a time, the pure excitement of a boy with a passion for knowing how things worked and anything that had to do with building, from barns to houses to bridges. This hidden wonder was reportedly built years ago, the builder no one seemed to have known or heard of. This fact alone intrigued the ‘Ponderosa Professor of Everything,’ a so called secret nickname bestowed on him by Little Joe, while slightly under the influence of punch at one of the many parties held at The Ponderosa. Adam had overheard him, and for an instant considered rattling his teeth for him. But after all Joe was a little tipsy and this fact was ammunition in and of its self. He would hold his temper and tongue until such time it proved beneficial to him and sure to get the most out of it, and hopefully Joe’s smart aleck hide.

The terrain was unfamiliar and they had to rely on compass and Ben’s well-taught lessons on finding your way from the things around you. The ride afforded all four of them a chance to explore an area none had really traveled before. Delights abounded all around them. For long periods of time they rode silently. They wound slowly up steep rocky passages, along narrow barely passable trails that required them to ride single file through. Then under canopies of dense forest, full of hardwood and scrub, deep into pristine Redwood, huge Spruce, rich deep green Fir and the powerful Ponderosa for which their home was named. The hush of untouched nature and raw beauty etching sights sounds and colors in the mirrors of their minds and hearts. Adam devoured the tattered old map he had persuaded the trapper to trade him for a good meal and jug of corn liquor. The odd old codger claimed he had no real interest in seeing that part of the country any more, but would not elaborate.

At lunch that afternoon the brothers gentle banter and ease with each other made Ben Cartwright fight the lump in his throat and make some silly excuse to extricate himself and find a quiet glade to reflect on his blessings. As always it was Adam who came looking for him and instinctively sensed his father’s troubled heart.

“Pa am I intruding? I was just worried. You sort of left the party early.”

“No–no son, I ah just, ah,” Ben flicked at the corner of his eye and adjusted his vest but not before Adam caught his unguarded shinny eyes.

Now embarrassed himself for disturbing his father, Adam, blushed and covered with a cough. “Ahem, w-well were ready to take the last leg of this adventure and did not want a long lecture on running off and not telling out pa where we were going, or waiting for him.”

“And a good thing too, for all three of you.” He shook his finger at his son, also needing to cover his feelings. He raised his brow mustering his sternest scowl as they reached the camp site declaring, “Or I might just have to cut me a good sturdy switch, and have a Very Long, Necessary Talk with each of you.”

The expression on each face was to be prized for years to come, or so he thought. Little Joe immediately began to sputter and squeak, hands behind him he sidestepped behind Hoss, who just stood there, mouth open. Adam’s both black brows rose until they met in the middle. Unable to stop it he felt his face flush, and he began to fiddle with his ear.

Ben snorted in satisfaction. “Good, now that we have that settled, lets go see this amazing bridge.”

The three boys stood frozen for a minute longer then tossing glances back and forth, finished cleaning up and making ready the horses and pack mule.

They secured the horses at the base of the steep, almost straight up trail now almost invisible due to years of disuse and tangled underbrush it was strewn with rocks. Knowing the climb would be impossible for their mounts this made the most sense. The hikers carried only canteens slung over a shoulder and one rope for an emergency. Ben removed his vest, Only Hoss chose to keep his hat claiming he felt ‘Plum nekked’ with out it.’ Adam and Joe also discarded their respective jackets to make climbing easier. It was then they made another decision one that would play a big roll in the hours and days to come. Removing their gun belts, they carefully left them hanging from the horns on the saddles.

The air was thin but the pungent smell of pine invigorated them, making them up for the challenge of the climb, it was not terribly cool, and felt good. Adam tucked the map in his back pocket playfully pushing Joe’s hat down over his face, “Here Little Joe, now you won’t have to worry about how high we go.”

“Ha very funny, Adam, but just you remember who is young and in the best shape of this family.”

“Youth. Ahhh such delusions of grandeur.”

“Stop jawing and lets get going. The quicker we get there the quicker we can enjoy the view and then get back down to relax and cook that fine meal.”

“Watch me.”

Joe carelessly tossed his hat to his father, and was off scrambling up the steep rocks in the blink of an eye. His father’s stern warning to be careful lost in the echo of his laughter as he breathlessly raced to stay ahead of Adam hot on his heels.

“Whom are you referring to as being out of shape?” he tugged at the hem of Joe’s pants as he came right up behind him. Joe turned taking a moment to catch his breath.

“Not to shabby Older Brother.”

The competition and all manors of jesting stopped as the four Cartwrights stepped out of the trees and came upon the incredible chasm. Its dizzying depth falling away to be enshrouded by great clouds of cool mist rising in billows throwing a myriad of vibrant rainbows in and out; dancing above the roiling, churning white water crashing over boulders and splashing up the sides of the sheer canyon as it raced toward its eventual end.

Adam was the first to make a sound it was a long very low whistle. He stood stock still at the sound of the water echoing up the cliff, the sudden cooling of the air as he inched forward, the misty droplets kissing his face and playing with his raven dark hair. Deep respect for the beauty and power of nature filled him with awe. Mesmerized by the ingenuity of mankind his heart thudded against the wall of his chest.

“Adam, hold on there a minute,” Suddenly overcome with a premonition, Ben broke out in a cold sweat.

All three boys had moved up to the footbridge, a powerful draw compelled them, seeing nothing nor heeding Ben’s warning they turned to look at each other.

“Dare Yah!”

“Darers go first.”

“I’m the oldest and I am the one with the degree in Engineering.”

“Well by all means, Professor of Everything, us humble peasants bow to your superior brain and ego.”

“Speak feer yerself short shanks.”

“Oh, a thousand pardons.”

“I say it’s about time you learned to respect your elders.”

Adam, lost in his desire to test the bridge, started inching out. Hearing Hoss he turned carefully around to watch. Amusement coupled with boyish mischief encouraged Hoss.

Hoss advanced, Joe grinned tauntingly as he began to edge backwards out onto the bridge before he realized. Eyes focused on his brother’s intentions he neglected to look down.

Hoss looked over Joe’s head and Adam’s wink and hand signals went on without Joe any the wiser.

Ben reached the edge of the bridge, still feeling uneasy, his voice sharp he warned.

“Boys, that enough, Adam! Hoss! Joseph! . . . this is no place to be behaving like this . . . you’re not children anymore, for heaven sakes, get off that thing right now!”

This strident chord unfamiliar to his sons drew their attention. All three boys halted but gave no other indication they were going to retreat. Ben stepped out onto the old slats, just as Hoss gripping both sides gleefully began to rock and shake the ropes. Weight, altitude, age, weather, elements, all held the dice as it was cast.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Back in the ancient barn Hoss could still hear the loud clatter of wood, the screams as the walk fell away from under them, the look in Adam and Joe’s wide terrified eyes as they were hurled into the churning raging waters below, swept downstream battered by rocks and gargantuan boulders. Pressing his hands to his ears and shutting his eyes so tight they ached did nothing. For days it seemed Hoss had been reliving this vision.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

His strength and deep love of his father in spite of the horror had enabled him to hold tight to the man grasping his waist, head pressed into Hoss’ side. Ben was trembling. His body jerked and he began to lessen his hold, it was his son’s pleas that gave him the ability to fight the desire to follow his other two sons.

Just how he had done it, Hoss, had no recollection. When they were once again on firm ground, they sank into each other stunned, until Ben scrambled to his feet. Snatching the rope he raced down the trail. Hoss followed after his desperate father, helping him every few feet as he crashed down in his heedless head long rush, then held tight to the end of the rope as Ben plunged into the roaring rock strewn foaming waves. But it was too late . . His aborted attempt to catch Adam and Joe, rendering Ben unconscious and unresponsive, Hoss pulled him in from the water.

Sobbing, Hoss undid the knot, tossing the rope angrily into the river that had swallowed his beloved brothers and now had surely stolen his Father. “Oh, Pa . . . ” he begged. “D-don’t you leave me too.” Rising shakily to his feet Hoss shook his fist at the river as it rushed past totally unconcerned with his anguish or rage. Shock robbed him of his natural sense of direction, wiping all reasonable thoughts from his mind. His only concern as he hefted his father up onto his broad strong back was going home. Staggering blindly off he never knew their mounts were a mere fifty yards away.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The sound of tons of water cascading over the edge drowned out the cry’s for help as the two men bounced and spun from rock to wave to wave caught up in the swirls of foam, swallowed over and over again, dragged down into whirlpools only to be spat out to start all over again.

Adam by far the stronger did his best to hold onto his little brother, but the torrential fury of the water tore him free.

Even in this state, Adam recognized that sound.

“OH MY GOD!”

“Aaadddaamm.” It was drowned out as Joe felt himself pulled under yet again, by now almost too exhausted to keep fighting without Adam holding him. Coming up choking and sputtering he suddenly bumped into something. Instinctively he grabbed frantically at it. Adam pulled him close, even though they both kept getting mouthfuls of water, he managed to get a few words out, between submerging and coming back.

“Joe listen to me . . . ” he gasped. But Joe, in the throws of a terror he had never known before, was beyond listening. Hands clawed at Adam, ripping his shirt. Frenzied fingernails raked his cold flesh.

It was the last and most painful thing Adam had to do. No more time was allotted for him to reason with his hysterical baby brother, yet he gave it one more try.

“Joe . . . you have got to let go!”

“Noooooo.”

“Yes Joe, it’s the only way . . . ” Adam slid below the water coming up sputtering.

“Noooo” his voice strained in a high pitch scream. Joe fought harder, pulling at Adam’s wet hair, his face, anything, as the relentless surge propelled them faster and faster toward the waterfalls and eternity. Joe could not hear him; Adam knew that he was past reason. There was no way to tell him they would only have a minute chance to survive the fall, depending how far or how deep the pool at the bottom was - if they went over separately. Together, they would do more harm then good. If they both survived, they would pop up and maybe . . . Just maybe . . .

With tears in his eyes, Adam whispered a prayer to God and his three mothers for forgiveness. It took a Herculean thrust as he pushed Joe away. No time left for regrets or what ifs - Adam Cartwright found himself free falling; carried on the tons of water down, down, down. He lost sight of and all hope of ever seeing his father and brothers again. As he plunged and tumbled, he saw his fathers face, and then all went black.

The last thing Joe Cartwright remembered was a deafening thunder as he was flung over the edge and the fact his brother, Adam, had pushed him away when he needed him most.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Hoss came up from the dark depths he seemed to be sinking further and further into. Dusk had fallen and the dim light filtering in was now almost nonexistent. Fumbling to get his bearings Hoss began to feel around for his father. To his further dismay Ben was now shivering. There was nothing to do but wait for the first strands of dawn. Never before had he felt so powerless. Scooting next to Ben, Hoss sat guard. As night fell, it beckoned the denizens to surface, to forage for whatever came their way. Sensitive noses twitching told them, they might be in luck.

A scratching sound came from the left. Hoss swiveled around. It stopped. Then a scurry came from behind. He twisted to meet it. It stopped. Hoss had never given much thought to rats, other than that they were persistent pests, often carriers of deadly disease. Mostly here in the country they only cost the loss of feed, and chickens. In truth they had been known to feast on carrion, or any other creature unable to defend itself. Hoss Cartwright was neither weak nor unable to defend himself, at least ninety nine percent of the time. In fact, it was his strength that his family depended on over and over again as he grew from oversized youth to a man. They also relied on his inner strength, his quiet gentle nature.

Seeing nothing Hoss got to his feet and stomped as hard as he could, hoping the vibration and noise might frighten them off for a while. He was no fool he knew rats were smart. It would not take long for them to get around him in the dark. His skin starting to crawl, Hoss sat down behind Ben pulling him up to his chest wrapping him in his arms. Cold and limp Ben never so much as moved, however his shivers seemed to abate just a little.

Fervent prayers played over Hoss’ lips. Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks there in the dark where only God could see.

“-A-d-am, Sob! Little Joe . . .Sob! I’m s-s-orry brothers . . . Almighty sorry . . . ” He bent and rested his face on his father’s hair, shoulders shaking with his sobs. Dawn was a long time coming, no matter how hard he wished for it.

Finally the inside of the barn took on a slightly less ominous blackness. Grateful for the passing of the night and the fact his father’s heart was still sluggishly beating under his hand, Hoss sighed. Placing Ben back on the straw, Hoss forced himself up to stretch his numb body. He hadn’t moved so much as an inch all night. His body told him they both needed food, and most of all water.

Walking to the door, he looked out, waiting for it to be light enough to look around. Torn in two, Hoss knew for every moment he delayed his father slipped further and further away. At first he did not hear it, so soft, the trees rustling almost masked it. He felt it then, turning he saw his father’s eyes open, staring at him. When he stumbled back, the joy in his face vanished. Ben’s stare was hollow. His eyes did not recognize him, then, they fluttered closed.

“Pa!! PA! . . .”

Hoss put his hand over his own eyes and sobbed. Gritting his teeth he wiped his face, resolved to fight. He owed his brothers that much, to do everything in his power to save their father.

His tears spent, he stood to once again search the barn. Dusty and angry at how easily he had tired he dropped the only other useful item he found next to Ben.

For a fleeting instant their horses came to mind . . . Hoss had staggered, disoriented for a night and day before he came upon this old ruin. He wondered dully now, if by some magic they might have wandered in this direction, whatever direction it was from that dreadful spot. No sense hoping for that, he sat down and began to unfold the ragged moth-eaten wool blanket, only to find it mildewed and moldy, filled with droppings. Disgusted, he went to throw it, but shook it out instead, before hanging it on the remains of a small tree by the door.

Looking up at the sky Hoss figured it to be around 10:00 A.M. It was doubtless going to be a long day. Taking a few minutes to care for his needs, he then drew in a deep breath and settled once again at his father’s side. Carefully caressing the deep lines in Ben’s face, Hoss whispered to him, hoping that he would respond. Then he began to talk a little louder, realizing no one could hear as he poured out his heart.

Hoss grew weary of talking and slipped into a fitful sleep, only to wake to the feel of tiny feet crossing his chest, and the high pitch squeak that went with them.

“Ahhgggg” Jumping to his feet, Hoss beat his chest, but the rat had already burrowed back under the floor. Gulping for air, Hoss stood trembling. When his heart stopped pounding and he looked around, he saw the day had grown gray and clouds covered the sun. Getting himself under control, he retrieved the blanket. Despite its odor he gently placed it over Ben. Hoss was becoming more and more distraught. Ben had not roused or made any sound but for a few moans in the last few days and that brief moment he opened his eyes.

How could he get help? He could never leave his father and he knew to try to carry him at this point was likely to kill both of them. Strong as Hoss was, the emotional and physical drain had taxed him to his limit.

“Pa. . . Can ya hear me Pa? . . .Please wake up. . . Pa . . . please . . . ”

Ben had retreated into a black world, no thought, no feeling, no pain, just black, quiet velvet black.

As evening crept in the barn once again took on a sinister feel. Just how many rats lived here began to play on Hoss’s mind. One minute he felt the entire floor moving and rats were everywhere. Beady red eyes, long naked tails, they were scurrying along the walls up on the fallen remains of a decaying roof. Other times he told himself it was just a handful.

It was night again, a pitch dark, damp night. Hoss spent it sleeplessly listening for the rats.

Just when he drifted off he wasn’t sure but he woke to find the air very damp and clammy.

Rubbing his hands together, shivering, he moved to re-tuck the blanket around his father. Fire and food now became his priority. Ben needed nourishment. Just how he would get anything in him Hoss would figure out once he found something. Rats were on the move again he followed the sound even though he could not see them. The hem of his pants tugged. Hoss kicked out violently, a loud squeal broke the air, then a thud; a scrambling of feet, after that there was only silence.

Rats! Could he even begin to consider it? Suddenly his mind sprang into motion. Hoss searched his memory. Vague images of the time way back, before the ranch the lean hungry times. No matter how slim, Pa had provided. It wasn’t always at regular intervals or staple meals, but he did his best. In all those times, never had they had to eat rat, and he was sure he would have heard if Adam had in the years it was just he and Pa. Okay . . . but he had no way to cook it, and his stomach and mind absolutely refused to consider the thought, consuming it raw was positively out of the question

Focused now on an ingenious task, Hoss used his senses. The rats moved in and out. Pulling in his bottom lip he crept slowly to the pile of old horseshoes, feeling each until he had found the heaviest.

Motionless, he waited, willing his breath to almost halt. Honing in on sounds, he listened. When he was sure he heard a big one, he hurled the shoe like a knife. True to its mark, announced by a loud squeak, and thud coming together, then trashing, then stillness. Hoss cautiously inched over to where the last few sounds came. Taking a deep breath, fingers trembling, he felt along the floor until they met his prey. It was dead. Sinking down he held the warm body in his hand.

. “Sorry” He whispered “But my Pa an me need ya”

Finding a food source, his next problem was how to make the most of it. Returning to his memory store, flashes turned into a picture. Long ago, Adam had shown him how to start a fire without needing forbidden matches. The result was undying adoration from an amazed little brother and a painful ‘talk’ for the older boy regarding fire and all its inherent danger to small children. If his situation wasn’t dire, Hoss might have chuckled, but instead it brought a tear as he mourned his older and younger brother. He hadn’t used this form of fire starter in years, so he hoped it might do the trick. The door to the barn was well seasoned, made of hardwood.

Next he needed a nail to gouge a small hole, and lastly a strong strait stick. Hoss felt life again flowing in his veins.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The two men wandered down the trail. Twins known forever simply as Bigelow and Barlow, they obviously had no pressing need to hurry. Returning from many fruitless years of panning in the Yukon, they had been gathering pelts along the way back to civilization in hopes of selling them for a stake and change of lifestyle. Both carried packs made of hide and canvas over their shoulders and hats made of beaver. Buckskin shirts and breaches, gave them the appearance of the long gone Mountain men, and well they might be. Neither spoke, they just walked in silent companionship. If truth be told, even after all these years, neither brother had spoken more than four words in any sentence, at any given time. Looking up shading his eyes, Bigelow grunted.

“Horses.”

Barlow replied, “Yep.”

They continued on until they had reached the dense underbrush in which the nervous horses and one pack mule stood tangled in the vines an brush.

“Sum en’ lost um.”

“Yep.”

“Might best look-see?’”

“Yep.”

Slipping out of their packs they moved toward the horses, which, while lost and frightened sensed they meant no harm. Buck raised his head and sniffed the air, shaking his mane. Sport began to struggle. Chub eyed them warily. Cochise whinnied. The mule brayed a long loud heehaw. All were hungry and thirsty. Both brothers checked them over, noting with nods to one another the fact these were well cared for high quality animals. Finding no immediate sign of ownership other than a strange pine tree shape brand, they spread out to look for any other clues. With nothing to go by, they gathered the reins between them and headed down to the river. The horses hurried to quench their thirst.

“No so’ fas.”

The mini stampede took all their effort, and in doing so, they missed the signs of struggle on a low bank of the river’s edge.

“Wheew!”

“Yep.”

The four horses and mule now lined up in the sunlight. Dusty saddles told the twins they had been alone for at least a day or two, perhaps more.

“Take um?”

“Supose so.”

With another silent nod they pulled the animals away, lest they drink too much and colic.

“Follow?” Bigelow pointed to the river. “In case.”

“Supose so.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When Adam burst through the surface, his lungs screaming, he was shocked to find himself alive. Spinning in the still swirling water, he let himself be pushed into the quieter eddy toward the river’s edge. Opening his eyes, he saw something floating off to his left. Turning he squinted.

“Nooooo. . .OH GOD, NO!” It was Joe floating face down on the now slower current. Powerful strokes, driven by adrenaline, covered the distance. He flipped Joe over, unable to tell, he began to swim backwards toward the sandy stretch a few yards ahead. Upon reaching it he used his legs and feet to hitch himself back on his seat up the sand, both arms hugging Joe to his chest. Every measure of strength now drained, Adam’s eyes rolled back in his head as he folded over, arms still wrapped around Joe. Both bodies touched the ground to lay motionless and still.

Late evening merged with twilight. The forms lying together at the river’s edge never moved. The breeze stole up and played with the damp black hair, lifting then dropping it. Unable to make the chestnut curls do the same it got bored and let them be. All through the damp night they remained unmoving. Not even the sun creeping over them warmed them. Both lay cold and still as the day wore on.

The big chestnut horse and smaller paint sniffed the air dancing sideways.

“See sum et.’ ”

“Yep.”

The other two horses picked up on their companions’ jitters. Having tied both backpacks onto the mule, the brothers worked together to quiet them.

“Betta look.”

“Uhuh.”

Tightly tying all four horses together and then to a sturdy pine tree, they moved off toward the river.

“Oh, oh.”

Bigelow slid to his knees next to the black clad body tangled with another smaller body clad in tan. Both faces bore some resemblance after the silt and sand were brushed away.

“Rel ee’ ‘tives.”

“Could be?”

“Pappy, an.”

“Dun think so.”

“Brothers.”

Bigelow and Barlow looked into each other’s eyes. Nothing needed be said.

“Gotta git um warm.”

“I’ll fetch th’ gear.”

Bigelow gently separated the bodies, stopping to look all the way up to the top of the falls, then his eyes drifted down on the faces.

“Cain’t be?”

Shaking his head, he removed his cap and rested his ear to the chest of the bigger man. There was a slow faint beat. Nodding, he moved to the younger, doing the same, sitting back with a satisfied grunt.

Barlow returned with blankets from the horses, figuring by the animals’ reaction these must be the ones who owned them, therefore the gear and food naturally belonged to them. Making two more trips, he retrieved the cooking gear and food supply. Once they had a nice fire started, the brothers carried each man off the damp sandy beach and under the trees. Wrapping each in a warm blanket, Bigelow began to brew some strong coffee, then, they sat back and waited.

Long into the late afternoon they waited, punctuated only by their rather unusual way of communicating through eye contact, gestures and when necessary, a few well-chosen words.

“Bad.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Been while.”

“Yep.”

“Gunna wake?”

“Mehbee.”

“Tur-bul thang.”

“Yep.”

“Be notherwhile.” he nodded towards the men.

Bigelow removed his beaver hat and scratched his fuzzy scalp. “Yep, spose so.”

Both brothers sat comfortably together and waited. After a long silent spell Barlow glanced off at the horses. “Good’ en’ s.’ ” He nodded drawing in a long puff on his pipe.

“Yep, spect’ so.”

Bigelow stood and added more wood to the fire. “Em’s need more farr,” he prodded the flames to greater height and heat. Returning to his brother, he settled in once again.

His head felt heavy, tons of crushing water pushing in on all sides. Slowly the smell of wood smoke, warmth filling his body and the strong smell of coffee roused him to the edge of consciousness. Floating there for a brief interlude Adam slowly sighed and opened his eyes.

When his vision cleared, he found he was away from the river and wrapped in a blanket near a warm fire from which the blissful aroma of strong black coffee beckoned to him.

Stiff and ever so sore, he slowly attempted to sit up. His head spinning he lay back down, shutting out the world. In another moment he opened his eyes again to see a face peering anxiously down at him, and odd, fuzzy, rather old face at that.

“Hullo.”

Adam drew back and looked around. There appeared to be a duplicate face a few feet away. He placed his arm over his eyes. Another long weary sigh slipped out. “H-how, long have I been out?” he finally mustered, afraid to move lest his head start up again.

“Dunno. Good spell I reckon.”

‘Talkative cuss’ Adam’s senses were now coming back. Removing his arm he turned his head. The sight brought everything crashing down on him all over again.

“J-joo–e” he whispered and flung the blanket off to scramble over to the other body wrapped in a blanket. Joe’s eyes were closed, his face pasty white. “Oh, Joe.” Hot tears burned his eyes, as he reached out with trembling hands and caressed the sodden curls and side of his brother’s face. “I’m sooo sorry, little buddy. I thought . . . I thought . . .” Unable to finish he hung his head and pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose, shaking uncontrollably. “I-I-tried, I thought . . .I thought. You would have a better chance if . . . if . . . ” “Oh God, why? I should have never asked . . . ”

A gentle gnarled hand touched his shoulder. “Ain’t dead.”

“W-what?” Adam looked up wiping his eyes.

“Out’s all.”

Adam looked back at his brother, unable to believe. “ N-no-not dead,” he stuttered, shivering.

All he got was a silent nod as he was gently placed down next to Joe and re-covered, Adam slipped back into darkness.

Bigelow and Barlow sat sipping coffee and watching, as Joe Cartwright began to stir. He moaned softly. Then gagged as he coughed up the river water that had held him captive, refusing to let his lungs expand and draw in the much-needed air. Joe rolled over onto his side and wretched until his lungs and stomach emptied completely. Gasping he pushed up on one elbow and looked around. His bleary eyes eventually were able to focus, slowly sweeping the area to rest on Barlow, who smiled.

“Wh-who- a-are y-you, and where am I?” he croaked.

“Here.” His only answer was a warm cup of strong black coffee pressed into his shaky hands.

Taking it gratefully, Joe swung to sit up. It was then that he saw Adam. For a frozen second he stared, then an ugly scowl marred his face. He scooted as far as he could away form his brother.

Returning his eyes to his cup, he drained it reveling in the warmth it sent to his battered cold body.

“Ain’t dead.”

It was the same response Adam had gotten but had a decidedly different effect on Joe. Huddling in the blanket he stretched his arm out for more coffee. It was Joe’s turn to fall pray to his memory. With a strangled cry he threw his cup and covering his face with his hands he wailed “Paaa, Hosss,” collapsing in a heap. Bigelow and Barlow shrugged not knowing what else to do.

It had been dark for well over two hours, yet nether brother stirred more than a few moments.

Bigelow started a pot of rabbit stew. Both Adam and Joe roused as the aroma drifted over them. Adam was the first to slowly sit up, rubbing his hands over his face, then his eyes. His stomach called loudly. A plate of steaming rabbit stew appeared under his nose, along with it another cup of that wonderful strong smelling coffee. Smiling Adam accepted the food and ravenously gobbled it. He nearly choked before he slowed down. A faint tinge of pink colored his cheeks, Adam was not one to behave in this manor. He prided himself in his ability to command his emotions and self-control. Swallowing the chunk with a small amount of difficulty, he took a sip of the coffee.

“This is wonderful. Thank you again.”

With the silent nods from the other side of the fire, he bent his head again to finish the stew, in a more mannerly pace, and relish it’s flavor. Adam was almost happy he had choked, for had he continued to eat at the rate he was going, it was sure to come right back up and further embarrass him in front of them.

He did not see Joe open his eyes. Joe slit his eyes open then laid still, listening to the sounds around him. The smell of stew and his own rumbling stomach brought him to a sitting position

Upon catching the action out of the corner of his eye, Adam lay his plate down and moved over next to Joe. Gently and tenderly he reached for his brother. Joe saw it coming and slapped the gesture away. “Get away from me!” his face a dark ugly scowl. Adam retreated shocked. “J-Joe”

“No! . . .I don’t wanna talk to you . . . I don’” he choked on a sob. “I-I d-don’t wanna e-even l-loo-k at you.” He turned his back on Adam. Tears fighting to escape, he shoveled the stew he had just been handed in his mouth. Joe couldn’t help but tremble. Visions and the feeling of being shoved away then going over the falls overcame him. Emotions too raw to conceal spilled out.

“I Ha-ate y-you . . . Why? Why Adam . . . You- you wanted me to die? Didn’t you?”

He threw the plate in Adam’s direction, his aim off as he shook violently.

It was shock, Adam knew that, but it was no help, his own rational self was at war inside.

“It was YOUR FAULT!!!. . . My-my- F-fathe-er,” he stumbled over the hot angry words. “Is..is dead!” he jabbed his finger at Adam “An . . . an and my BROTHER! . . .My only REAL brother.

Adam’s normally stoic features crumpled.

“Dead. “ Joe moaned. “Paaaa, Hosss. . . gone.” He fell face down on his arms and cried.

Adam chanced a look around. Bigelow and Barlow were nowhere in sight. Trembling himself he crept back to Joe’s side.

“Joe, p-please . . . Little brother . . .”

Joe raised his face, tears streaming down through clenched teeth he spat, “I already told you”

Returning his face to his arms, his shoulders shook with his pain and loss.

Devastated by the words, Adam hung his head and murmured, “Y-yes, Joe you are absolutely right, and” His voice caught in his throat. “I h-ave to live with it the rest of my life. But w-we still have a life . . . and-”

It was the sound of Adam’s soft heartbroken sobs of grief that cut the stone that had formed in Joe’s young heart. Turning he looked up into those dark hazel eyes. The fire playing on his drawn tear stained face, the one that had always been there for him. The eyes that held such pain and remorse, the same eyes that would sparkle with glee or warm comfort, the eyes of his beloved big brother and protector. Joe reached up gulping, to be pulled into Adam’s waiting arms. Both brothers clung together. Grief and trauma washed the harsh words away. After a long while, Adam’s grip lessened just a bit, Joe snuggled close his head buried in Adam’s neck. “Oh Adam, it hurts, I miss em’ sooo much. W- what a-are we gonna dooo?”

Adam leaned in and kissed him on the top of his soft hair, matted and full of river dirt. He almost laughed at the smell. “Were gonna take care of each other. Didn’t I promise I would always look after you?”

Joe nodded, then asked “B-ut ain’t we gonna eveen look fer em?”

“Joe, I-I don’t think. . .If you want. . . But, Joe . . . ”

No answer came, as Joe slipped into a healing sleep. Adam let him rest on him for another long while then replaced him on the blanket, covering him lovingly and running his finger down the soft cheek. A tiny rumble climbed up his throat, as he felt the unexpected yet undeniable stubble.

“Little brother . . . I guess you are growing up . . . ”

Finding his own blanket Adam wrapped himself up and settled down right next to Joe, knowing it was an almost guaranteed fact Joe would wake in some form of a nightmare.

Bigelow and Barlow slipped back into camp, quietly, as not to waken the others much needed sleep. They cleaned up and banked the fire before they went to sleep themselves.

“Young un.”

“Big un’ too.”

“Yup.”

“Lost em.’ ”

“Peers so.”

Barlow shook his head sadly, looking across towards the brothers, Adam close to Joe as possible in a protective way.

“Tisk . . .’ pow r ful hard.”

“Yup.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

As yet another dawn came Hoss got up and went out to inspect the door. Yes it was going to work well all he had to do was find a way to get the right size piece off. Aware of the fact he himself was none to steady, Hoss moved carefully to conserve his waning energy. Just outside, a few big rocks had tumbled lose from the foundation. Lifting them in succession until he found the right weight, Hoss settled on the one he felt would best achieve his goal with the least amount of effort. Hefting the good-sized rock, he had to wait until he caught his breath. Raising it to his chest, he sent it crashing down. The force almost knocked him over. Turning his head he wiped the sweat that had popped up on his brow on his sleeve. As devoid of humor as his situation was, Hoss could not help muttering about the loss of his very special hat.

Frowning, he studied the results of his work. Not exactly as he had hoped, the door did crack and separate, but he had to use his hands to extract the board he wanted. One other item however did result from his struggle. A huge spike like nail fell free from the corner cross-joint. Looking down, Hoss picked it up and held it over his head, squinting at it.

“Well, thanks Lord, for the bonus.” For the first time a smile hinted at his worried face. Carrying his prize, he re-entered the hollow of the barn. Next he went to the shelf and selected the largest glass bottle he found. Shielding his face, he smacked it down on the shelf. Another bit of good luck emerged. Holding a near perfect shard in his hand, Hoss set to the task of skinning and cleaning the rat, shuddering and grimacing at what he was about to do. He sniffed at the sudden change in the air- the smell of rain. Stopping he looked up through the decaying roof, not sure this was a gift or trial. The first of many drops splashed down on his face. He lowered his head to finish his task. It only took minutes for the drops to turn to steady sheets. Hoss stepped back under what little shelter there was and held out the carcass in his hand, the cold rain, washing the blood from both it and his hand. The rain continued to fall steadily. Hoss decided to move Ben into a corner under the remaining roof, away from the damp draft.

Chest heaving he had to rest yet again. Frustration over his tiredness making his work seem useless he doggedly pressed on. Gathering bits of straw dust, tiny twigs, dry grass and slivers from the broken door, Hoss set them aside. Going back to the horseshoes, he began to collect what he had not scattered in his earlier search. Using his hands, he cleared a spot in the dust where there was no floor left, just damp pungent earth. Scooping out a small pit he ringed it with the shoes. As he began to assemble his items, he still had no idea what to use to cook in. Vainly he wished Adam were there, and again the tears stung his eyes and rolled down his face. With an angry growl he made himself stop and pay attention to detail.

With the door gone, the light wind now blowing began to move the straw about. Small whirls skipped around the center of the barn, sweeping the floor clean in some spots, and drifting the straw up against various objects in others. In one corner Hoss’ sharp eyes noticed a gray square. Jumping up he hurried over to find it was a roof patch made of thin tin. Another gift . . . Hoss used a horseshoe and one of the rocks to fashion a resemblance of a small bowl or pot. Quickly as the rain was letting up, he placed it outside crossing his fingers he was not too late. The satisfying ping as the first drops hit further reinforced Hoss’ growing hope.

The final test was yet to come. Breaking away, he went to start the laborious task of coaxing fire from a stick and piece of wood with a small hole gauged in it where the stick would fit. Setting it up next to the pit, Hoss resolutely set the stick into the notch.

Holding his breath and sending up a prayer he began to spin the stick between his big strong palms, working up another sweat as he did. Nothing happened. Resettling himself, he began again, rewarded when a tiny, wisps of smoke began to rise from the friction of wood on wood. Licking his lips Hoss worked harder. When tiny embers formed, he carefully blew on them and gently turned them out onto the bits of grass and hay, continuing to encourage with gentle puffs. They glowed, then, died away. Hoss hung his head. He had known it would be a reach, but the Cartwright stubborn streak prevailed. With his stiff back and shoulders aching he tried again. It took three more tries, but on the last, a strong little column of smoke preceded the glow as a tiny flame burst up.

“Hah, Yes!”

Gently he coaxed and cajoled it with more bits of straw and slivers. It faltered once, almost going out. “No . . . D-don’t. “ Hoss begged, now almost frantic, and the little flame bravely hung on, as he fed it, growing in size and heat. Once sure it had taken a good hold, Hoss added small twigs and bits of wood. The little flame devoured it hungrily. All at once, Hoss was faced with yet another dilemma, what if the embers escaping touched off the old tinder dry rafters or roof? Swallowing, he looked upward as the smoke snaked up and out into the still damp air.

He had no choice and only one chance. Watching the flame dance, he remembered the lunch he shared that last time he saw his brothers. Turning to look at the still man wrapped in the musty old blanket, he wondered what would become of them.

Sufficient time had passed for the fire to generate coals hot enough, and Hoss retrieved the makeshift pot. The rainwater was colder than he realized as he set it quickly down to avoid burning his hands. A steam hiss rose as the heat met the cold sides of the vessel. Hoss held his breath and closed his eyes. The hiss subsided and the crackle of the small fire continued.

Wishing he had more to add, he briefly thought of Mesquite beans, a long-standing joke between him and his brothers. It would take the water a while to boil so he took a chance and hunted around the outside of the barn. In a pile of rotting wood he discovered mushrooms. Being well schooled since youth on which are and aren’t safe to harvest, he was more than pleased to find these round white sweet little gems. It would be watery and not very satisfying but it would provide nourishment for now. After gently wiping them off in a small pool of water collected in a hollow, he hurried back, lest his precious water source boil away.

Drawing a big breath as he shut both then opened one eye he carefully dropped the sections of rat into his pot. The water simmered for a while than an awful smell assaulted his nose. “Uggg Phewww.” He was forced to back off and cover his nose and mouth. His eyes began to water and he almost gagged. After all this, he wasn’t at all sure he could get it down.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Back at the river dawn crept over the small camp. It had not rained here, but the thunder could be heard in the distance in the wee hours before sunrise. Adam rolled over. The serene beauty and peace here he found haunting, given how the last few days had ended. Needing to relieve himself, he quietly slipped off into the brush. On his return, he went down to the rivers’ edge to wash his face in the cold water. Squatting down, he lifted a handful to his mouth, after a few sips he turned to look at the falls. (Had he and Joe actually rode the falls and survived?) But Hoss and Pa, they were to close to the side. Jagged rocks and boulders, along with the chance they got pulled down with the remains of the bridge and tangled . . . Pressing his hand into his face, he could not continue to imagine the outcome.

Slowly he rose, thinking of duty. These men who found them deserved his help in getting the morning meal. He would deal with his still wildly spinning emotions later, in a private place. Coming up the little bank, he found Bigelow and Barlow already at work. Once again they offered him their silent nod of greeting. This time he did the same. For whatever reasons, he understood that words were not a big part of them so he followed their lead in respect. Yet they were almost comical in how they managed. In fact, he had to bite his tongue to stop a quip about how lucky they did not have Joe as a brother to wreak havoc in their well-ordered life.

Joe . . . Adam bent down and touched his face. He had made it through the night without a nightmare, but that was no guarantee they would not surface tonight or tomorrow. Joe sleepily opened his eyes at Adam’s touch. They just stared at one another for a brief moment. Joe covered his face, and Adam patted his shoulder, knowing Joe was asking if this was real or a dream.

“Its real little buddy,” came the soft whisper, “But we’re ok, and we are the guests of these fine men so, lets show them the Cartwright spirit and behave accordingly.”

Joe drew his hands back, opened his mouth then shut it and silently headed off into the trees to relieve himself. Upon his return he was handed a plate of fried potatoes and bacon. Joe settled down thanking them with a small watery smile. It took a couple of cups of coffee but slowly his stability returned.

Adam and Joe went down to the water’s edge. Adam had his arm around Joe. Silently they stood and gazed at the thundering falls and river below and above it. Joe turned into Adam and they embraced tightly. “We have to go Joe . . .”

Joe nodded, his normally sparkling eyes full of sadness.

Bigelow and Barlow had in their abridged way let them know they had checked for any other survivors. “Four horses, four riders.” was the explanation.

Joe had fallen silent. Even at finding his beloved Cochise who welcomed him with enthusiasm did not seem to have much effect. He watched Bigelow and Barlow mount Buck and Chub and lead the way. The four rode silently for a long time. Joe kept his head down. He played with his fingers, lost in thought. Adam rode at his side, watching him carefully. Emotions and thoughts were clearly racing over his features. Adam began to worry.

When Bigelow held up his hand they all stopped. He shielded his eyes and looked off to the East. Rising in the saddle, he sniffed the air.

“Smoke.”

“Yep.”

“Ya-thinnk.”

“S-pose.”

Adam and Joe also sniffed the air. Barlow pointed to a clump way off to the East where the smoke seemed to be coming from.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Hoss sat there and wondered how he might get Ben to take some of this, figuring at least Ben would not object to the odor. It was beginning to permeate the barn. Hoss sighed and dragged himself over to Ben. Placing a gentle finger on the pale cheek, he whispered, “Pa I ain’t sure how yer gonna take this when ya wake up, but . . . I dun made ya some nourishment.” He licked his lips nervously. Ben’s eyes moved just a little under his closed lids, his nose twitched with an ever so slight movement of his head away from the smell.

So enthralled with the fact his father might be ready to wake up Hoss, neglected his pot. Within a Blink the ‘stew’ boiled up and over the rim dousing the fire and sending plums of strong smelling smoke up and out.

The riders far in the distance could see the smoke more clearly now. Joe suddenly kicked Cochise into a gallop, urging her to fly over the terrain at neck breaking speed. “HOSSS.. . PAAAA” he screamed. Horrified, Adam followed screaming himself for Joe to slow down. Unfortunately, heading into the wind his words only blew back into his angry face. Yet deep in his heart, he too felt the sensation.

Bigelow and Barlow trailed along bringing the slow balky mule.

Adam managed to catch Joe about 50 feet from the back of the barn. Joe flung himself out of his saddle at the same time Adam did. Adam grabbed him and shook him.

“No, Joe, listen to me.” An eerie feeling swept over both of them. Joe froze. Gaining his composure and shaking off the numbing feeling, he saw the fear and hope, in Adam’s eyes. Just then, sunshine spilled out from under one of the passing clouds.

“Joe, we can’t go storming in there . . . we don’t know . . . ”

“It has to beeee Adam . . .”

“Joe, it is a long shot . . . ”

“Adam . . .P-p--leeeze.” It was a frightened child’s plea.

Adam swallowed hard. “Joe what if . . . It might be someone else, some outlaw, or maybe more than one . . . ”

Understanding his brother’s caution, Joe acquiesced. “Okay big brother as usual you are right, but?”

Adam ruffled his hair, “C-come on kid.”

Carefully they quietly went around to the open front of the barn. Upon which they were, immediately assaulted by the horrific aroma. Gagging and covering their nose and mouth, they stepped inside.

The sight that greeted them almost knocked them over.

“H-Hoss?” With a tentative whisper, Joe dug his fingers into Adams arm. Both were trembling.

“Hoss is that really you?”

Hoss turned to the whisper. There in the doorway, surrounded by sunlight, stood the forms of his lost brothers. Awe filled his tired eyes. His dirty scruffy face broke out in a wide beam of a smile. Almost afraid to ask, he too whispered.

“A-Adam is that you?. . . fer real big brother? You ain’t no Angel?”

The quivering quip that came back sealed it. “Hah . . . that el’ be the day! . . . haven’t ya learned ya big galoot . . . Adam may pretend . . . but HE ain’t No Angel!” With that, the barn erupted with a high pitch giggle, one Hoss was sure he was never to hear again.

It was broken by four husky, weak words.

“Hoss, What is that smell?”

The reunion raucously going on amid back pounding and huge strangling bear hugs that bruised already sore ribs, halted. A hushed silence followed, broken only by the sound of the fire in its death throws. Three sets of eyes traveled to the face above the blanket.

Hoss let go of his brothers and, unable to believe it, slowly walked to where Ben lay.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Hoss what is that awful smell?”

Hoss brushed the tears from his eyes as he knelt by his father’s side. “Never mind, Pa. I just found sumthin much better fer ya.”

Adam and Joe came and did likewise. Adam touched his father’s face and held the pale hand up to his own cheek. Tears trickled down over the bruised knuckles. “Pa.” It was all he could say.

Joe being Joe threw himself on his father’s chest and hugging, he began to sob. “Oh Papa, I thought I had lost you.”

Ben pulled his hand from his side and tenderly stroked the curls. “Hush now, child. I’m all right. I.” He paused, his voice very weak and hoarse, “Thank you Lord.”

Joe continued to cry. Ben opened his eyes and squeezed Adams hand. He smiled weakly as their eyes met; saying more than any words ever could, Adam, nodded, then looking away to get himself under control. Not letting go of his father he scanned the inside of the barn.

“Hoss, what IS that smell?”

Hoss still very teary eyed, at having his family whole again, sniffed. “Stew, Adam.”

Adam looked around. There was no visible sign of anything remotely resembling a food source.

His eyes narrowed and he looked up at his large little brother. Hoss hunched up his big shoulder and shoved his hands in his front pockets.

“What . . . kind of Stew?”

“Now Adam . . . y-you gotta realize there weren’t nu-nuthin here, an’ Pa was gettin mighty weak. Fer a bit I - I-” he halted, swallowing a great lump. “I thought he was surely, gone,” he finished in a mumble.

Adam rose to place his hand on the big shoulder. “It’s okay Hoss, really, honestly.” He suddenly wrapped his arms around the bulky frame. They stood there for a long time, Adam giving him the comfort and understanding in what he had endured. Hoss reveled in his big brother’s arms securely around him, more than glad to let Adam take over, to just be Hoss again.

Curiosity one of Joe’s biggest problems got the better of him. Reluctant as he was to leave Ben, he had to see. Releasing his hold, he crawled over and peered into the makeshift pot.

“Uggg” he snorted at the smell. Picking up a stick, he poked around in the remains that had not boiled out. A loud gasping gag got everyone’s attention. Arms around his middle, Joe almost lost his own breakfast. Adam looked at Hoss, suddenly suspicious. He went over, and taking a look over his shoulder to see Hoss blush, he took the stick and fished in the pot. Only his amazing ability of self-control saved him.

“H-Hoss is- is th-this-” the stick held a very small skull. “Is- this what I think it is . . .?”

“Um . . .” Hoss shifted and shuffled his feet, afraid to look up.“S-stew, Adam. . . ” There was no way to go around it, so he stood up straight, and staring his best daring stare, he admitted, “Stew—Rat Stew!”

Joe covered his mouth and bolted out of the barn, almost running down Bigelow and Barlow in his race. They startled, then, shrugged peeking inside. Ben, whom all this time had been fighting his way back to full consciousness, managed to feebly get his elbows under him to blink confused at the double visions at the door.

Adam immediately went to his side. “Here, Pa, let me help you sit up” Gently he struggled to hoist Ben up against the crumbling foundation. Adam was appalled how thin his father felt under his cloths. It had been he reminded himself a few days, and in that time Ben had not so much as a drop of water. “You must be very thirsty, Pa. I’ll be right back.”

Hoss had walked a little into the far side of the barn to compose himself and take a few moments to thank God. He caught Adam’s words, and without turning, he muttered, “Ain’t none.” When he turned around Adam reappeared carrying two canteens. Bigelow and Barlow now followed him in.

“Hoss, I would like you to meet two very special men.” Hoss stretched his hand out warmly as Adam introduced them and explained how they not only found their horses but searched until they had also found he and Joe and nursed them back, where they could have just as easily taken all the horses and supplies and no one would ever have known.

Barlow slipped his huge beaver hat off, taking Hoss’ outstretched hand.

He mumbled, as he shook his head. “Twern’ right.”

“Yep.”

“Done hole wi theivien.”

“Yep.”

“Takin wha’ ain’ yern.’” Bigelow concurred.

“Nevr’ do sech.” He nodded, his own hat, now in his gnarled old hand.

When Joe showed up again, the three Cartwright boys had a real fight on their hands as they desperately tried to make Bigelow and Barlow stay with them for at least today.

Finding it almost impossible to argue with two stubborn men who never spoke a whole sentence, and when they did, it was no more than a few words. Adam tossed his hands in the air. Being brought up in the manner he was, he had to make these two understand why they felt they owed so much to them. The two men just refused to accept they had done anything out of the ordinary.

It was Ben who broke the stand off. While his voice wasn’t up to its usual force, he did bring things to a halt.

“Boys.”

They all three stood up straight and turned. “Yes Pa?”

In spite of his condition and pounding headache, Ben presented a formidable presence. He cleared his throat, still dry and achy from so long silent.

“You will not harass and badger these good men. Where are your manners?”

“B-butt” they sputtered in unison.

“No.”

He coughed into his hand, taking a while to get his breath back, then continued, “No buts. . .Now either apologizes properly, and let them take their leave, as we have held them up long enough, or” to all’s amazement a bright sparkle suddenly gleamed in his eyes.

“Or when I get my strength back. . . I will cut that switch!”

For the first time Bigelow and Barlow let out matching howls of laughter, shaking their heads and slapping their sides, stomping in circles.

The red faces standing off to the side could only helplessly watch hoping the hilarity would soon die down. After a painfully long time, at least to Adam Hoss and Little Joe, Hats once again on their heads the twins went and shook Ben’s hand. With shrewd, knowing winks they took their leave.

Waving silently, except for the shaking heads and shoulders they disappeared from sight.

Adam looked over at Ben from under his lashes, the pink still high in his cheeks, he pulled on his ear, then, he let a small smirk touch his lips. (Okay Pa, two can play at this.) In a very innocent tone, one that put Ben instantly on guard, his eldest son sweetly asked. “Um Pa I know you have got to be starving, sooo I was wondering, since you don’t have your strength back . . .” He paused in dramatic fashion. Hoss and Joe watched from the sidelines.

“Go on, Adam.”

Adam smiled wider; in fact his grin touched his eyes that sparkled and his dimples shown deeply.

“Perhaps you would prefer the RAT STEW . . . Hoss,”(he waved his arm toward Hoss.) “So lovingly prepared, to anything we might be able to come up with from the pack Hop Sing sent along?” “Humm?” “Hummm.”

Ben made as if he was going to get up. Adam danced away, his deep baritone laugh filling the barn.

With a smile a mile wide full of unending, absolute, abounding love, bringing tears to his eyes, Ben Cartwright reached out and all three of his grown sons came to him as he gathered them in his arms pulling them as close as he could.

“RAT STEW . . .Indeed”

Then came the muffled words. “Well look at this way, Pa, at least he didn’t find any Mesquite Beans”

“Aww Little Joe . . . ”

“He’s right Pa, didn’t we both tell you about the dangers of trips with Hoss.”

For a minute there was deep silence as all four Cartwrights reflected on their near loss and safe reunion. In the bigger scheme of things, what were Rat Stew and Mesquite beans, in comparison to the love and devotion they knew and would cherish forever.

The End.

• Reference to Mesquite beans from the Episode, “The Last Hunt”
• I hope I did not offend anyone with a squeamish stomach.

RETURN TO LIBRARY