Mark of Kane

Part 5

By Kathleen T. Berney

Stacy settled herself comfortably next to her father in the plush, two seater buggy, savoring the warm sunshine on her face, and the cloudless, bright blue sky above. In the meadow surrounding them on both sides of the road, tender shoots of new green grass pushed their way up past the dried yellow and brown remnants of last year’s growth, in their bid to reach the warm, life giving sunshine. Come May, after the spring rains had passed, those meadows would be awash with all manner of blues, whites, yellows, pinks, reds, and violets, when the wild flowers bloomed. The bright yellow green new leaves on the aspens, cottonwoods, oaks, and birch trees in the forests beyond the broad expanse of meadow stood out in stark, delicate contrast against the deep blue green of the pine trees, in the same manner as baby’s breath in a floral arrangement.

“A penny for your thoughts, Young Woman,” Ben said quietly, upon noting the far away look in his daughter’s bright blue eyes, the half smile tugging hard at the corner of her mouth.

“You have to promise me you won’t get upset,” Stacy replied.

“Alright . . . . ” Ben said with a touch of wariness. “I promise.”

“I was just thinking of how it would be to take Blaze Face and ride out to Ponderosa Plunge or maybe the lake on a beautiful day like this,” Stacy said wistfully.

“You’re going to have many, many lovely spring days like this yet to come,” Ben said, not without sympathy.

“I know . . . . ”

“ . . . and I’m certainly NOT upset with ya for THINKING about riding out on Blaze Face on a day like this,” Ben continued, favoring Stacy with an indulgent smile.

“You’re not?!”

Ben shook his head. “To be honest, I’d be concerned if you WEREN’T thinking about riding Blaze Face. However, if I catch you actually trying to ride Blaze Face before that cast comes off and Doc Martin says you can . . . well, THAT’S going to be a whole ‘nuther story.”

“I know . . . even if I live to a hundred and you . . . longer than that, I STILL won’t be too old for you to be marching out to the barn,” Stacy said, returning his smile.

“ . . . and don’t you ever forget it.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“What were YOU thinking about just now?”

“I was thinking about the night Hoss, Joe, and I brought our gal home for the first time. You remember?”

Stacy nodded. “I remember, Pa . . . . ”


It was actually the dark hours of early morning. The moon had set hours before, and the last of the stars had gently winked out of the indigo black skies to make way for the dawn soon to come. They had stopped for supper and to rest their horses shortly after sunset. When faced with the prospect of spending another night on the trail and reaching home late tomorrow morning, or continuing through the night until they reached home, the three men opted for the latter.

“I don’t know about the REST of you, but I’m really looking forward to sleeping in a nice, soft bed tonight,” Joe declared, as he doused the remnants of their cook fire with what remained in their coffee pot.

“Pitiful,” Hoss murmured, shaking his head. “Just out ‘n out plain pitiful.”

Joe frowned. “Who do you think you’re callin’ pitiful, Big Brother?!” he demanded, indignant and outraged.

“I’m callin’ YOU pitiful, LI’L Joe,” Hoss retorted, grinning from ear to ear. He exhaled a long, melodramatic sigh and shook his head. “That’s the trouble with you young folks today. No stamina . . . not one li’l bit.”

“I got sta-min-uh,” Stacy, who was all of eleven years old at the time, declared with her arms folded defiantly across her chest, and an emphatic nod of her head.

“Yeah, Young ‘n, you do at that,” Hoss agreed.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“What’s sta-min-uh?”

“It means you’ve got a lot of spunk, Kid,” Joe quipped, as he and Hoss finished cleaning the dishes.

“Oh.” She frowned. “Is that good?” she asked, as she gazed over at Joe through eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Yes, Stacy, that’s VERY good,” Ben said. “Boys?”

“Yeah, Pa?” Hoss responded.

“We about ready?”

“We’re ready,” Joe said this time.

“You gonna ride with me, Li’l Sister?” Hoss asked, turning to her expectantly, with a big smile on his face.

“Hey! It’s MY turn to take Stacy,” Joe indignantly protested.

“Whaddya mean it’s YOUR turn?” Hoss demanded, favoring his younger brother with the meanest glare he could possibly summon. “Stacy’s been ridin’ with you all day.”

“Well, she rode with YOU all day yesterday, AND the day before,” Joe immediately returned.

“Stacy, who do YOU want to ride with?” Ben asked, noting that the child seemed to be taking great delight in having her two older brothers fighting over her.

“I . . . can I ride with YOU, Pa?” she asked, looking up at him with those big blue eyes, punctuating her words with a yawn.

“Yes, you certainly may,” Ben replied, shooting his sons a look of smug triumph. “Up you go, Young Woman.” He gave her a boost up onto Buck’s back, then climbed up behind her. Within less than an hour, she had fallen asleep, lulled by the movements of his horse and the loving security of his arm wrapped around her.

The very next thing she remembered was her father gently shaking her. “Wake up, Sleepyhead,” he said gently. “We’re home.”

Stacy slowly opened one eye, then the other, and yawned.

“We’re home, Stacy,” Ben said again.

“Come on, Young ‘n . . . I’ve gotcha.” Hoss reached up and lifted her off Big Buck in a single, fluid movement, and gently set her down on terra firma.

“Would you boys mind taking care of our horses?” Pa asked.

“Yeah . . . we can manage,” Hoss replied, as he took Big Buck’s lead from his father. “Come on, Li’l Brother.”

“Well, Stacy, what do you think of your new home?” Pa asked.

Stacy saw the warm, flickering lamp lights in one of the windows on the first floor and the single window overlooking the front yard. As the darkest hours of early morning began to slowly, almost reluctantly gave way to the silver gray light of dawn, she was able to make out the lines of a large two story log house, with a covered porch running nearly its entire length.

“Pa!” she gasped, as she took in the house through eyes round with surprise. “You never told me you lived in a castle . . . . ”


“I never stopped thinking of our home as a castle,” Stacy said quietly, with a nostalgic smile, and a dreamy, far away look in her eyes.

“Oh?”

“Promise me you won’t laugh?”

“I promise,” Ben said, noting the serious, almost solemn look on her face.

“Castles are supposed to be like fortresses. I remember learning that in school.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I kept thinking of our house as a castle at first because it was lots bigger than anything I’d ever lived in before,” Stacy said, “but later, it was because for the first time in my whole life . . . I felt safe and secure. I know THAT was because of you, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing, but something of the people always rubs off on the house where they live. I’m probably not making very much sense . . . . ”

Ben reached over and gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Yes, you ARE making sense . . . perfectly GOOD sense.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“I’m g-gonna MISS that castle of ours.”

“I am, too,” Ben said, as he drove the buggy into the yard between the barn, still standing, and the new house, in its early stages of construction. After bringing the horses to a complete stop, he sat for a moment staring at the giant hole where the house . . . the castle . . . once stood . . . .


“Pa, I’ve designed and rebuilt this house so that it will stand for the next hundred years.”

Adam’s voice, the day he, Hoss, and Joe, stepped into their refurbished home, the house that was. He saw his eldest son, a much younger Adam, clear as day standing straight and tall, with a proud smile on his face, eyes alight with an eager, almost childlike anticipation, ready to show the rest of his family their new home. He opened the front door, and gestured for them to enter.

“If you’d all kindly step right this w— ”

Adam’s invitation was rudely interrupted by his youngest brother, then eleven going on twelve, as he pushed past the young architect and designer, clad in black, and bolted headlong in through the front door. Ben and Hoss followed at a slower, more sedate pace, sharing a chuckle with Adam over Little Joe’s sheer, unbridled excitement. As the three elder Cartwrights entered the house for the first time, the youngest member of the family was no where to be seen . . . but his infectious laughter could be heard echoing through out the house, from pillar to post . . . .


Little Joe’s childish laughter diminished, faded into the steady, rhythmic pounding of mallet striking hard wood. The house and young Adam disappeared too, leaving behind a platform, slightly raised, and the enormous hole, amid the surrounding ponderosa pine trees and within his own heart.

Ben felt Stacy’s arm around his waist, the weight of her head dropping gently onto his shoulder. He automatically slipped his own arm around her shoulders, and hugged her close for a moment, grateful to have her there, in the buggy beside him, alive, and well on her way back to wholeness again. “You all right, Young Woman?”

“I . . . I don’t remember the whole house being gone, Pa,” Stacy said softly, her voice shaking. “Last thing I remember that night . . . or early morning was . . . I think it was Kevin telling us the roof was about to go . . . then running as fast as I could behind Hoss and Joe. I can’t even remember leaving the house for . . . for the last time.”

“Hoss carried you out,” Ben said. “From all the plaster we found in your hair, we figured a good sized chunk of ceiling must’ve fallen and hit you over the head, knocking you out. Joe carried you to the top of the steps, and . . . must’ve been holding on when the steps fell.”

Stacy shuddered. “I’m kinda glad I wasn’t awake for that, Pa,” she said quietly, grateful for her father’s comforting presence, his arms wrapped securely about her.

“I . . . don’t think I would’ve wanted to be awake for that either, if I had been in your place,” Ben agreed.

“Pa? Stacy?!”

Father and daughter turned, and found Adam standing outside the buggy, to Ben’s right.

“Everything all right?”

“Sorry, Adam,” Stacy said contritely. “I was just telling Pa that I didn’t remember whole house being gone . . . like it is now. I . . . wasn’t exactly awake when I left the old house for . . . for the last time.”

Adam favored her with a wan smile, that never came close to reaching his eyes. “I understand,” he said. “Would you like to see what we have done on the new house?”

Stacy nodded.

Adam walked around to the other side of the buggy, while Ben set the brake and grabbed her crutches. “What happened to Joe?” he asked.

“He said his ankle and ribs were feeling a mite tender this morning,” Ben replied, “so he opted to stay home today and take it easy.”

“I see,” Adam murmured, hurt, yet relieved in an odd, and very profound way. “Well, I’m glad the two of YOU were able to come. Stacy, if you put your arms around my neck . . . . ”

Stacy complied. “Thank you, Adam. I appreciate the lift out of the buggy . . . . ”

“But?” Adam prompted, as he carefully lifted her into his arms.

“How did YOU know there was going to be a but?!” Stacy demanded, looking into her oldest brother’s face, surprised and with a touch of awe.

“I could hear it in your voice.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Ok. The but is . . . I promised myself that the first time I went up to our new house, I was going under my own steam,” Stacy said in a gentle, yet firm tone of voice. “I . . . hope you’re not upset with me.”

“No.” Adam shook his head, then carefully set her down. “Not at all. In fact . . . I should’ve known that you WOULD want to enter the new house . . . yourself,” he said, remembering summer . . . what? . . . three years ago now?! . . . her convalescent period after she had been grazed by a bullet and knocked off her horse. To say that she was a very IMpatient patient would be to grossly understate the matter.

At one point, mid-way through the one week of sternly prescribed rest, Stacy had become so cantankerous, Adam was ready to cheerfully strangle her . . . .

Strangle her.

He heard Peter Kane’s harsh, mocking laughter echoing through his head . . . just as clear as he had heard it echo through his head again and again and again in that damned worthless mine hauling out pile after pile of rock like a pack mule.

“You ready to kill me NOW, Cartwright?!”

Adam shook his head vigorously. “No.”

More laughter.

“Surely you must be ready to kill me now,” that voice mercilessly . . . relentlessly taunted. “If you were ready to so cheerfully strangle your sister for simply being cranky, then surely you must be ready to kill ME, after all I’VE done . . . . ”

“NO!” Adam yelled.

“Adam?!”

He started, then turned, and found himself staring into the anxious, concerned, and bewildered faces of his father and sister.

“Son, are you alright?” Ben asked, noting the thin sheen of sweat on Adam’s forehead, his face nearly white as a sheet, and his trembling hands.

“Fine,” Adam snapped, glaring over at his sister. He quickly balled his still shaking hands into a pair of tight rock hard fists and jammed them self-consciously into the pockets of his jacket. “If you’ll both excuse me for just a moment, I’d like to make sure there’s no obstacles.” With that, he abruptly turned heel and beat a straight path toward the house, moving at a brisk, angry pace.

Ben and Stacy stared after him, their faces near twin masks of astonishment, shock, and deep concern.

“P-Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?” Ben replied, his anxious frown deepening.

“What did I do?” she asked, thoroughly perplexed.

“About . . . . ?!”

“Adam. The way he looked at me just now . . . Pa, if looks could’ve killed, y-you’d be planning my funeral,” Stacy said grimly.

Ben favored his daughter with a sharp glance, remembering that Joe had said the something along those very same lines the morning Adam left with that search party. Joe had later confessed to asking Adam about the time he had been held prisoner by a demented prospector named Peter Kane. Ben’s thoughts drifted back to the day he, Hoss, and Joe found Adam shuffling through the badlands, bound like a beast of burden to a travois bearing a dead man . . . .


. . . so weak, he could barely slide one foot in front of the other. They called out to him, yelling his name at the tops of their lungs, but, incredibly, Adam seemed not to hear. He continued, moving on a course parallel to their position, his face, his eyes firmly fixed to the horizon in front of him.

Then, Adam collapsed, without a word, without a sound, as hunger, thirst, exposure, exhaustion, and the weight of the man lying on that travois finally extracted their grim toll. Fearing the absolute worst, Ben practically fell out his saddle, then half ran, half stumbled down the ridge and across the sand, desperate to reach his oldest son’s side. At first, he was greatly relieved to hear Adam laughing. It meant his son was alive. But as Adam’s laughter increased, in volume and intensity, Ben’s relief quickly turned to a fear far greater than what he had felt at the prospect of his firstborn being dead.

“ADAM,” he cried as he threw off the straps binding his son to the travois like a mule. He threw his arms around him and dragged him to his feet. “ADAM . . . . ”

“ADAM!” It was Hoss, slipping his arms around his older brother’s chest, taking the full weight of his body onto himself.

“ADAM . . . .” Joe appeared on the other side, taking his oldest brother by the arm, with a frightened look on his face that mirrored the terrible fear mushrooming within his own heart.

“Th-there . . . there w-was no g-gold,” Adam murmured, laughing so hard now, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. “N-No gold . . . . ”

“ADAM!” Ben shouted, terrified and grief stricken, almost certain now that his son had tumbled over the edge into the dark, bottomless pit of insanity.

Then the laughter stopped, leaving in its wake a terrible silence. Ben, Joe, and Hoss stared over at the son and brother they clasped tight in their midst, their faces identical masks of fear and dread.

“Oh, Pa . . . . ” Adam finally spoke in a voice not much above a whisper. He, then, fell into his father’s open arms sobbing, as he never had before.

Hoss and Joe had set themselves to the grim task of burying the dead man lying on the travois their oldest brother had been carrying for only God knew how long, over how many miles, while Adam himself continued to weep, clinging to his father and in so doing, perhaps clinging to what remained of his own sanity as well . . . for dear life. Hoss fashioned a simple cross from the frame of the travois, to mark the final resting place of a, then, mystery man. In days to come, Ben would learn that his name was Peter Kane, that he had been a prospector who had failed, and that he had somehow pushed Adam to the very edge of the boundary between sanity and madness . . . but little else.

After burying Peter Kane, Ben took Adam up onto Buck with him, and held him close as he had when his firstborn was but a small boy, the whole way back to Eastgate, to be examined by the doctor there. Morningside, his name was. Doctor Uriah Morningside. A short, portly man, with red cheeks, a full head of white hair, and pair of bright blue eyes, filled with kindness.

“A few days of rest, plenty of water, three good squares a day . . . PHYSICALLY, your son will be good as new, Mister Cartwright,” Doctor Morningside said in a voice, surprisingly deep. “The rest . . . will be entirely up to your son.”

Ben knew all too well what “the rest” was. “Is there nothing you can do, Doctor? No advice you can offer?”

Doctor Morningside sadly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I’m afraid my medical training covered only the ailments and injuries of the physical body. The mental and emotional are beyond my poor scope of knowledge. As for advice . . . if your son wishes to speak with a man of the cloth— ”

“Which I do NOT.”

Ben was surprised to find Adam, clad in a newly purchased nightshirt, bathrobe, and slippers, standing in their midst.

“I’ll be fine, Pa. Honest. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, Son,” Ben said, desperately wishing that to be true.

“Doctor . . . Morningside, is it?”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright,” the doctor replied, as he rose, and turned his attention to his patient.

“Would it be possible for me to leave here tomorrow, first thing?”

“I wouldn’t advise it.”

“I am NOT asking what you would ADVISE, Doctor,” Adam said through clenched teeth, his syllables terse and clipped. “I am asking if it would be POSSIBLE.”

“Yes,” Doctor Morningside said with much reluctance. “IF you rest, and get three good, solid square meals in you today. You should also be drinking water, and plenty of it, and make sure you take MORE than enough for your journey. I would also like to check that arm wound in the morning before you leave.”

“May I come to your office at eight o’clock?”

“Let’s make it NINE o’clock . . . AFTER you’ve eaten a nice BIG breakfast,” the doctor said.

“Fine. I’ll see you at nine o’clock . . . AFTER breakfast.”

“Adam,” Ben had said, “there’s no real hurry to— ”

“Pa, if you DON’T mind . . . I would rather NOT stay around here any longer than I absolutely have to,” Adam said in a voice stone cold, that sent a chill running down the length of Ben’s spine. “Nothing personal, Doctor Morningside.”

“I . . . understand, Mister Cartwright.”


Although he had slept like a baby the three nights they had spent on the trail between Eastgate and the Ponderosa, Adam found himself unable to sleep upon reaching home. It was very late one night, after nearly a week of sleepless nights, that Adam finally told him a little of what had happened, beginning with his being robbed of the five thousand dollars he and Joe made selling that herd of cattle.

“ . . . after that, I went from the old frying pan right into the fire,” Adam said, his voice filled with anger and bitterness. “In addition to my wallet, those men took my horse, my supplies, my water . . . they robbed me of any and all chances of survival.”

“What happened to you out there, Son?” Ben asked anxiously. “How did you come to be where we finally ended up finding you . . . trudging through the desert, bearing . . . what was his name . . . . ?!”

“Kane, Pa. Peter Kane.” Adam said in a tight, angry tone of voice that told Ben Peter Kane was a name that the young man, clad in black, standing with his hand resting on the mantle, his eyes fixed on the cold, empty firebox . . . would NEVER forget.

“Adam . . . Son . . . please. Talk to me?” Ben remembered begging.

“Pa, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon NOT talk about it . . . I . . . I just plain and simply want to forget it.”

Would that it could have been that simple . . . .


“Pa?!” Stacy’s tremulous voice cut through his terrible reverie like a hot knife through butter. “Pa, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t MEAN to upset Adam . . . . ”

“Stacy, please believe me . . . YOU haven’t done or said anything wrong,” Ben hastened to reassure her.

“You’re not mad at me for wanting to enter our house for the first time . . . myself?!”

Ben slipped his arms around her, crutches and all, and gave her a gentle, loving squeeze. “No . . . I’m NOT mad at you. Proud as the dickens of you, yes . . . but certainly not mad.” He could feel her body gently leaning against him, the weight of her head resting against his chest. “What you said about ‘if looks could kill’ . . . it put me in mind of something Joe said recently, and got me to thinking about other things, that’s all.”

“What about Adam?”

“He’s got a lot on his mind right now . . . . ”

Stacy cast a quick, furtive glance over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “You mean . . . the Estevans?”

Ben nodded.

Stacy shuddered. The hell Mrs. Estevan had suffered . . . and no doubt, continued to suffer was horror beyond her imagining. Ever since Susannah O’Brien had shared the details with her and Joe . . . Stacy found herself alternating between rage and feeling acutely sick to her stomach, every time she thought about it happening to a stranger. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she would feel if all that had happened to someone she actually knew. “Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“Is Adam going to be alright?”

“I . . . think it might take him a little while to work things through,” Ben said quietly. “But, I have every confidence that he will.”

A moment later, Adam returned. “Stacy?”

“Yes, Adam?” she responded warily, mentally bracing herself.

“I’m sorry if I . . . well . . . if I seemed upset with you just now,” he said contritely.

“It’s ok, Adam,” Stacy said, not quite knowing how else to respond.

“You ready to see what’s going to be the downstairs of your new home?” Adam asked. “All potential obstacles have been cleared away, so it should be pretty smooth sailing, once you get there. However, the ground between here and the new house is somewhat lumpy, so you need to be careful.”

“You take your time, Young Woman,” Ben exhorted his daughter. “We’re in no big hurry this afternoon.”

“Yes, Pa,” Stacy murmured, before setting off on a slow, yet steady pace, with her father and oldest brother flanking her on either side.

Leaning heavily onto his solid oak cane, George Farlyn, the job foreman, waited patiently for the Cartwrights beside the two steps leading up onto the porch. “Miss Cartwright?”

“Yes, Mister Farlyn?”

“You have two steps from the ground up to the porch, roughly the same size and steepness as they were before,” George told Stacy in a brisk, yet polite tone of voice. “Will you be able to manage?”

“Easy,” Stacy replied. “I’m doing very well . . . if I DO say so myself . . . in getting up and down the steps in the Fletchers’ house, and they’re lots higher and steeper.”

“She certainly is,” Ben put in with a proud smile.

George smiled back. “In THAT case, if you’ll follow me?”

Adam stepped up onto the porch first, leaving Ben to follow behind Stacy in case of a mishap. He and George both were surprised to see her move up the steps with nearly the same fluid grace, with which she had always moved before the crutches.

“This looks like the same planking that was here before,” Ben remarked as he gazed down at the porch.

“It is, Mister Cartwright,” George said, when Adam failed to respond. “Apart from a few nicks and scratches when the old house collapsed, these boards came through pretty much unscathed.”

“Probably because of that downpour that let loose shortly after the roof must’ve fallen,” Ben said quietly. “Though I noticed you boys replaced the steps.”

“The old ones were rickety and unstable, made so, no doubt, then the porch roof and some of the beams collapsed,” George explained. “It was easier to replace them than repair them. The front door is going to be right here, where it was before.”

The four of them stepped over where the threshold was going to be onto the new wood floor that would cover the entire first story of the new house. George led the way, with a subdued eagerness that came of a job thus far well done. Stacy followed, with Ben protectively close behind. Adam brought up the rear, moving slowly, as a man lost in deep thought.

Stacy smiled upon seeing the massive, gray stone fireplace, with its tall, thick chimney thrusting skyward. “I was hoping the new fireplace would be a big one, like the old one was,” she murmured softly.

George smiled. “Miss Cartwright, that IS the old one.”

“It IS?! Really?”

“Yep. We had to rebuild the top half of the chimney, and make repairs to the mortar, but basically it’s the same,” George said.

“I’ve always loved that great big fireplace. I’m so glad it survived the roof falling in,” Stacy said.

“Its size . . . the fact that it was so well constructed . . . . ”

“Pa told me Adam designed and built the old house,” Stacy said.

“Not the ENTIRE house, Stacy,” Adam immediately set himself to correcting his sister’s inaccuracies. A smile tugged hard at the corner of his mouth, upon hearing the pride in her voice, and seeing it in her face. It lingered briefly, then quickly faded. “I enlarged the kitchen, added on the dining room, and built on the entire second floor,” he continued in a low voice, barely audible. “PA built the original house, which included the original kitchen, which was about a third of the size of the one YOU knew, and the great room, including that great big fireplace.”

“I hired a man to build that fireplace and chimney, actually,” Ben admitted with a smile. “Someone who was once very well acquainted with Mister Farlyn.”

“MY pa?” George asked.

Ben smiled and nodded.

“I should’ve known,” George said, gazing over at the Cartwrights’ fireplace and chimney with a wistful smile. “Pa was the best stone mason in the whole Territory of Nevada in his heyday. When that man built, he built to last a hundred years at the very least.”

“Did he teach you how to do stone masonry?” Stacy asked.

George grinned. “Gotta give Pa credit for trying, but my talent . . . AND interest . . . lay in working with horses. When MY pa came out to work on the fireplace, your older brothers and I would go out to the corral and watch the men saddle break the horses. I knew I wanted to work with them even then . . . . ”

“I’m . . . sorry about . . . about . . . that you can’t work with them anymore,” Stacy ventured hesitantly, noting the wistful smile on his face.

“You needn’t be, Miss Cartwright,” George said, as he and Stacy slowly moved over to the area, intended to be their new kitchen. “Supervising the work on that grand fireplace and chimney of yours has brought back to remembering a lot of the lessons Pa taught me . . . or TRIED to teach me . . . and helped solidify them.” He smiled. “I can’t do much in the way of lifting and carting heavy stone because of my back, but I sure can pile one stone atop another and slap on the mortar in between.”

“Adam, it sounds as if George Farlyn’s rediscovered a whole new line of work for himself,” Ben mused, as he watched the foreman take Stacy on a grand tour over what would soon be Hop Sing’s kitchen, showing her the changes between it and the previous one and helping her to envision the new layout. “Adam?”

There was no answer.

“Son?!”

Still no answer.

“Adam . . . . ” Ben raised his voice slightly.

Adam started.

“You all right, Son?”

“Pa, I wish everyone would stop asking me that,” Adam said with a disparaging sigh.

“I’m sorry, but . . . that was the THIRD TIME I called you.”

Adam closed his eyes for a moment, and slowly counted ten. “I’m FINE, Pa,” he said finally, through clenched teeth, his words and syllables terse, and clipped. “Honest. I’m fine.”

“I’m FINE, Pa. Honest. I’m fine.”

“I’ll be fine, Pa. Honest. I’ll be fine.”

Words slightly different . . . but, the tone of voice, the scowl, that jaw so stubbornly set . . . all the same, now as then . . . .

For a fleeting instant, Ben saw Adam as he remembered seeing him in Eastgate, after they . . . himself, Hoss, and Joe . . . had taken him there to be examined by the doctor. Clad in a nightshirt and bathrobe, that younger version of his eldest son stood once more before him, his body posture . . . with feet firmly planted shoulder width apart, shoulders back, arms dangling on both sides with fists clenched . . . mirroring the same of his older counterpart now.

“I’ll be fine, Pa. Honest. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m FINE, Pa.

Honest.

I’m fine.”

Then, suddenly . . . he knew!

For that tiny space of time between one heartbeat and the next, Ben knew exactly what demons had return to torment his firstborn, and how the missing stage, the ultimate fate of its passengers, the unspeakably tragic end to Lorenzo and Maria Estevan’s all too brief time as husband and wife . . . all came together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, to form a very dark picture.

“PA!”

Adam’s voice, tight and angry, rudely jolted him back to present time and place. The vision of the younger Adam, as Ben remembered him in Eastgate right after they had miraculously found him in the badlands, was gone . . . and with him, went the revelation. Like a flash of lightening it was there and gone . . . that quick. Ben looked over at the firstborn of his four children through eyes round with surprise and bewilderment.

“Pa . . . that’s the second time today YOU’VE faded out on me,” Adam said with a touch of asperity.

“Sorry, Son, I . . . I was just remembering,” Ben said quietly.

“What?” came the curt reply.

Ben sighed. “Forget it, Son . . . it was nothing.”

Adam sighed again. “Sorry, Pa,” he said with weary remorse.

“What for? You haven’t said or done anything that demands an apology.”

Adam ruefully shook his head. “I don’t know. Ever since I got here . . . it seems every time I open my mouth to say something, I . . . I feel like I’ve hurt someone . . . or perhaps insulted, or in some way made them angry.”

“If you’re referring to your youngest brother— ”

“No. It’s NOT Joe . . . he and I’ve been locking horns over one thing or another all our lives,” Adam said in a dismissive tone. “I don’t really expect THAT to change. It’s . . . . ” He exhaled a curt, exasperated sigh, then shook his head, angry, frustrated, and perplexed. “Sometimes it’s the way everyone looks at me, like . . . well, like Stacy when you and she first arrived. You’d have thought that I had hit her or something.”

“She thought you might have been a little upset with her because she wanted to enter this house herself,” Ben said, wisely opting to keep back Stacy’s “if looks could kill” remark.

“Why should THAT upset me?” Adam demanded.

“Adam, I— ”

“Am I that difficult to get along with, Pa?”

The question took Ben completely by surprise.

“Well?” Adam pressed. “Am I?”

“Not usually . . . no.”

“In other words not usually, but I’m being a real pain in the ass NOW?! Is THAT it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Ben said, wholly taken aback by Adam’s words, accusing more than questioning.

“You didn’t HAVE to,” Adam snapped, before turning, with every intention of beating a hasty retreat.

Ben immediately reached out, and caught hold of Adam’s forearm. “Young Man, I will NOT have you or anyone else putting words in my mouth that aren’t there . . . that I had no intention of ever saying,” he said sternly. He, then, closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. “Adam, I . . . WE . . . all of us . . . know and understand that YOU’VE been through a lot, too. You had no way of knowing that we had found your brother, alive, if a lot worse for wear . . . that Stacy is going to make a full and complete recovery . . . the missing stage . . . the terrible things that have happened to the Estevans— ”

“Pa, from here on out, I fully intend to concentrate on completing this house,” Adam said curtly. “I won’t be riding off on anymore wild goose chases, to quote my youngest brother. You have my word on that.”

“Adam, I’m NOT the least bit concerned about the house,” Ben said, angry, yet earnestly pleading. “I’ve signed a six month lease on the Fletchers’ house, with an option for six more months, if needed. You have plenty of time to get our house built.”

“Alright,” Adam said stiffly, “if you’re NOT concerned about the house . . . what ARE you concerned about?”

“I’m worried about YOU,” Ben said earnestly, passionately. “Adam . . . a house can be replaced. If I DIDN’T know that before . . . well, I certainly do NOW. But my REAL treasures . . . my sons and my daughter . . . they CAN’T be replaced.” He paused a moment, to allow his oldest to digest the import of his words. “Son, please . . . I don’t want to LOSE you.”

The anxious, pleading look on his father’s face filled Adam with remorse. “Pa, I’ll be fine. Honest. I . . . I guess I just need a little time is all.”

“Adam, I’m only going to say this once, then I promise ya . . . I’ll drop the whole subject like a hot potato and leave well enough alone,” Ben said. “I . . . don’t know WHAT’S eating you, Son . . . but I know something is.”

Adam opened his mouth to protest.

“Please, hear me out,” Ben said holding up his hand. “I meant it when I said I would only tell ya this once.”

“Alright . . . . ” Adam said curtly, as he folded his arms tight across his chest.

“I want to remind you that Hoss, Joe, Stacy, Hop Sing, and I . . . we’re your family, TOO, Adam . . . every bit as much as Teresa, Benjy, and Dio,” Ben said, “and WE’RE here for you, too . . . because we love ya, and we care about you. If you need ME for anything, whether it be an ear to bend, a shoulder to cry on, or to just simply BE there . . . you can come to me anytime. The same can be said of your brothers, your sister, AND Hop Sing.”

“Thank you, Pa. I’ll keep that in mind,” Adam said stiffly. Though his gaze remained fixed on his father’s face, it stopped just short of his eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think we’d best catch up with George and Stacy.”

For Ben, the remainder of the house tour passed in a blur. He felt as if he were trapped between two worlds, two different places of existence, as he tried hard to focus attention on what George Farlyn was telling him and Stacy about their new home soon to be . . . while at the same time, trying very hard to put aside, at least for a little while, his increasing worry and concern about Adam.

“Thank you very much for showing us around, Mister Farlyn,” Stacy said with a warm smile, as she and the foreman shook hands. “I can’t wait to see our new castle after you guys’ve finished.”

“Castle?!” George echoed, bemused.

“The first time, Pa, Hoss, and Joe brought me home . . . and I saw the old house for the first time? It was so much bigger than anything I had ever lived in before, it looked like a castle to me,” Stacy explained. “Pa and I were remembering that as we were riding into the yard today.”

“If the first house seemed like a castle to you, Little Sister, THIS one’s going to seem like a big PALACE,” Adam said with a genuine, if slightly wan, smile.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“Can we call our new house the Ponderosa Palace?” Stacy suggested, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“If we do, I think we’d best keep that name to ourselves,” Ben said, his voice sounding oddly distant, almost as if someone else was speaking, using his mouth and his voice. “There’s too many folks in Virginia City who think we Cartwrights are too high and mighty for our britches as it is.”

“Hmm. I’d forgotten about THAT,” Adam said wryly. “Pa . . . Stacy . . . I’m going to head on home so I can get some good work done those drawings for the upstairs before we sit down for supper.”

“Alright, Adam . . . Stacy and I will be along in a little while.” He looked over at Stacy, and smiled. “I promised her that she could visit with Blaze Face.”

“Ok . . . I’ll see you both at the Fletchers’ house later,” Adam said.



“Little Joe . . . Hop Sing home,” the Cartwrights’ chief cook, bottle washer, assistant doctor, and sometimes assistant pa announced himself as he stepped through the front door.

“In here, Hop Sing,” Joe called back, favoring Hop Sing with a smile, and a wave of his hand. He sat in the middle of the settee, with book in hand, resting his injured ankle on a plush cushion in the middle of the coffee table. He marked his place, then turned his full attention to Hop Sing. “I . . . wasn’t expecting you back ‘til closer to supper time. Everything ok with YOUR pa?”

“Hop Ling fine. Tell Hop Sing painting of new Ponderosa map for your papa birthday come along fine, too,” Hop Sing replied as he made his way over toward the settee. “Hop Sing see Missy Stacy Friend leave house, go to doctor house across street.”

“You talking about Susannah O’Brien?”

Hop Sing glared down at Joe, with hands planted very firmly on hips, through eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Little Joe Papa know Missy come, see Little Joe?”

“Of course he did.”

“Hop Sing hope very much Little Joe behave.”

“I’ll have YOU know that I conducted myself like a perfect gentleman,” Joe declared in melodramatic tones of mock outrage, “not that a guy with busted ribs and a bum ankle on the mend has much choice otherwise.”

“Why Little Joe and Missy go see sheriff?”

Joe’s jaw dropped. For a moment he stared up at Hop Sing through eyes round as saucers, too stunned to speak.

“Hop Sing and Hop Ling hear from venerable uncle, who hear from Jimmy Chong, who say he see Little Joe, Missy Stacy Friend go see sheriff,” Hop Sing said with a touch of smugness.

“Geeze loo-weeze! It sure didn’t take long for word to get around,” Joe wryly observed.

“So why Little Joe and Missy go see sheriff?”

“Missy . . . I mean Susannah very graciously offered to take me for a ride in her buggy,” Joe said very solemnly. “We stopped by the sheriff’s office so I could visit for a little while with Sheriff Coffee.”

“So why Little Joe visit with sheriff?” Hop Sing pressed.

“He’s an old friend of the family. Do I need a reason?”

That very solemn, wide eyed innocent look on Joe’s face told Hop Sing there was more to this visit than simply stopping by to see an old family friend. “That whole truth?” he demanded, favoring the youngest Cartwright son with a suspicious glare.

“Well, uhhh . . . yeah,” Joe murmured softly, his eyes not quite meeting Hop Sing’s.

“Little Joe sure?”

Joe sighed. “Alright, Hop Sing, the REAL reason I went to see Sheriff Coffee was . . . . ” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then mentally braced himself. “I wanted to ask him if anything had happened to Adam when they were out on that search party, that might have upset him.”

Hop Sing glared down at Joe. “Little Joe ask for big trouble,” he said tersely. “Much, much big trouble if Mister Adam find out.”

“Y-You’re not going to tell him . . . are you?”

“Hop Sing SHOULD tell Mister Adam, but Hop Sing not tell,” Hop Sing said. “One condition.”

“What?”

“Little Joe mind Little Joe business. Keep nose away from Mister Adam business.”

“Ok, I shouldn’t have done it,” Joe admitted, “but, the way he’s been jumping all over the rest of us if . . . if we so much as sneeze the wrong way . . . well, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Hop Sing understand what Little Joe say,” he said, not without sympathy, “but stick nose in Mister Adam business very bad. Make much trouble if Mister Adam find out.”

“I know,” Joe sighed.

“Papa and Miss Stacy back yet?”

“No, Hop Sing,” Joe replied, greatly relieved that Hop Sing had opted not to pursue the matter further. “Pa and Stacy aren’t back yet.”

“Hop Sing go in kitchen, start supper now.”



Adam, meanwhile, had left the Ponderosa after giving George Farlyn his final instructions for the day. The men would finish laying down the floor for the downstairs by the end of the week. Come Monday morning, they would be ready to start building the walls. Adam knew he could get enough logs from the sawmill to get the men started, IF he could get those final drawings completed and work out the exact amounts of logs and lumber needed to build the new house.

IF.

BIG if.

. . . and given his present rate of speed, coupled with a wastebasket and a half upstairs, filled with paper wads, crumpled in his ever increasing anger and frustration, the task of finishing the final drawings on the new house seemed impossibly daunting.



As Hop Sing entered the kitchen to begin preparations for the evening meal, he was surprised to see Adam quietly stepping in through the back door. “Mister Adam back early,” he remarked, as he gathered together a dozen white potatoes, and set himself to the task of washing them. “Hop Sing not expect ‘til supper.”

“I came home early so I could put in a couple of hours on those drawings for the new house before we all sat down to supper,” Adam said wearily.

“Papa and Miss Stacy . . . they come back with Mister Adam?”

“No,” Adam wearily shook his head. “Pa promised Stacy she could visit with Blaze Face for a little while.”

“Hop Sing hope Papa know what he doing,” Hop Sing said darkly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Adam asked, with a puzzled frown.

“Let Miss Stacy see Blaze Face, could be trouble, maybe.”

“Trouble?” Adam queried. “How?”

“Miss Stacy see Blaze Face, next thing Miss Stacy try and RIDE Blaze Face before doctor say she can.”

“I don’t think you have a thing to worry about on THAT score, Hop Sing,” Adam said, with an amused grin. “Pa reminded her that if she tried anything before the doctor said she could, he was dead serious about hogtying her until she came to her senses.”

“That good,” Hop Sing declared, as he finished washing the last potato. “If Miss Stacy be bad girl, Hop Sing hope Papa do what he say he do.”

“I’m sure he will,” Adam said wryly. “In any case, they should be along in a little while.” He, then, turned and silently made his way up the steep, narrow back stairs that led from the kitchen to the second floor.

After Adam had gone on upstairs, Hop Sing filled the largest pot in the kitchen from the pump, then set it on the stove to boil. They ALL loved their mashed potatoes, especially Mister Hoss, and they had come to be a main staple on Little Joe’s present soft and bland diet. He peeled three, then as an afterthought, decided to wash three more potatoes for the pot, bringing the number to fifteen.

Within a few minutes, Hop Sing fell into a cadence, singing an old Chinese folk song under his breath, that kept time with peeling the potatoes.

Hop Sing was barely half way through that particular task, when someone pounded very loudly on the front door. Muttering a few choice Chinese invectives under his breath, he put down the potato and knife in hand, then reached back to untie the strings of his apron . . . .



“I’LL GET IT, HOP SING,” Joe called out from the great room, as he rose stiffly from the settee. Upon opening the front door, he was surprised to find Matt Wilson standing outside. “Hi, Matt, come on in,” he cordially invited, standing aside to allow the unexpected visitor to enter. “I don’t expect Adam back much before supper— ”

“That’s ok because I stopped by to see YOU, actually,” Matt said, as he stepped into the house.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Sheriff Coffee asked me if something happened after Adam and I parted company with the others in order to search for that stagecoach,” Matt said, “ . . . something that may have unduly upset him in some way?!”

“Yeah . . . please, come in, Matt, I really appreciate you stopping by like this,” Joe said, as he stepped aside to allow his visitor to enter.

“If there’s any possibility that what I know may help Adam in someway— I’m worried about him, too, Joe.”

Joe silently led Matt over to the settee and the easy chairs clustered around the fireplace. “Please . . . make yourself at home,” he invited with a broad sweep of his arm that seemed to take in all the furniture. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you,” Matt immediately declined the offer for refreshment. “I can’t stay very long. Ma’s perfectly capable of looking after Clarissa expecting OR mischievous Wilhemenna getting into everything and anything she can’t put in her mouth . . . but not both, leastwise not for very long, especially since she’s been looking after them for the better part of a whole week now.”

“I won’t keep you, Matt,” Joe promised as the two of them sat down together on the settee. “Did . . . anything happen?”

“Adam was on edge the entire trip,” Matt began. “I overheard a couple of the older guys talking about how Adam wasn’t himself. . . Mister Hansen for one, but my pa said something to me, too. I didn’t think much about it, leastwise not at first. After all, the guy almost lost his entire family in that fire . . . . ”

“WOULD have if Pa and Hoss hadn’t woken up in the nick of time,” Joe said soberly, with a shudder.

“He also didn’t know about you and Stacy ‘til he got here,” Matt continued, “and his having made the acquaintance of the Estevans on his way out from Sacramento . . . well, with all that going on, I’d certainly be a little edgy, too . . . if I had been in Adam’s shoes.

“The two of us parted company with Sheriff Coffee, Pa, and Apollo Nikolas at Crazy Cal’s shack,” Matt continued. “That’s where we found the Carters, Timothy Higgins, and Black Bart Troutman.”

“Four men? Sheriff Coffee only brought back THREE.”

“Higgins shot ‘n killed Black Bart . . . I think to keep him from spilling the beans, for all the good it did him,” Matt said. “Black Bart had ample time to confess everything before he died. Jacob Carter, the ringleader of the bunch, confessed, too, trying to save HIS neck. Meanwhile, Adam, Apollo, and I were outside the shack, with our rifles on Higgins, who had tried to run, and ended up falling flat on his face. Literally.” This last was added with angry relish. “Adam wished out loud that Higgins WOULD try something stupid and give us an excuse— ”

“Adam?!” Joe echoed, incredulous.

Matt nodded.

“You didn’t think THAT was . . . well . . . a little odd?”

Matt favored Joe with a bleak, mirthless smile, as he shook his head. “Adam said he wished Higgins would try ‘n make a run for it because he has a wife, a daughter, and a sister. Apollo agreed, adding that HE has a wife, two daughters, a twin sister, and a niece . . . plus in-laws. Though I didn’t say so at the time, I found myself wishing that Higgins would try something, too . . . because I ALSO have a wife, a daughter, and a mother.

“Sheriff Coffee and the others took the prisoners and headed on back to the watering hole where Mister O’Brien, Crystal, and Darryl found Mrs. Estevan. Adam and I set out together to try and find that coach.”

“How did you know where to begin looking?” Joe asked.

“Jacob Carter gave us directions,” Matt replied. “Not a whole lot to go on . . . and it came from a source about as unreliable as you can get, to boot! But, Adam was bound and determined to follow up on it. Needless to say, Sheriff Coffee wasn’t real happy with the idea, and he tried to talk Adam out of it, but . . . as I just said . . . Adam was bound and determined.”

“When he and I were much younger, I know it was a toss up as to which of us was the most stubborn, sometimes.”

“His . . . insistence on going out to find that stagecoach . . . Joe, I think it went BEYOND out ‘n out cussed stubbornness.” Matt cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder toward the stairs. “Between you and me? The reason I volunteered to go with Adam was, I wanted to make damn’ sure he came back.”

Matt’s words drew a bewildered frown from Joe.

“If Adam had gone by himself and NOT found that stagecoach where Jacob Carter said he would . . . I know he would have gone on searching until he either found that coach or dropped dead somewhere in that God forsaken wilderness of sun stroke and thirst.”

Joe shuddered, remembering how fearful he had been of losing his oldest brother to the desert the day Doc Martin came by to tell Pa about Adam and Matt setting out together to try and find that stage. “I . . . know he felt he owed the Estevans a lot . . . . ” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible. “Matt?”

“Yeah, Joe?”

“You think maybe he expected to find Mister Estevan alive?”

Matt immediately shook his head. “No. Adam’s certainly smart enough to have figured out what the score was . . . and even if he wasn’t, Doc Martin had already spelled things out in terms clear enough for anyone to understand.”

“Then why—?!”

“He wanted to bring Mister Estevan’s body back so his wife could see that he was properly buried and . . . more important than that, he wanted to give her a means by which she might have some kind of closure, and hopefully be able to move on,” Matt said. “We both agreed that no one deserved to end up as my Aunt Hetty did.”

“I . . . understand,” Joe murmured softly.

“Adam and I DID find that stagecoach, as you probably already know,” Matt continued. “The water kegs up top had been emptied, the thieves took the horses, and every bit of food. We found four bodies. The two drivers . . . Johnny Jacobs and Angus Dawson— ”

“The guy from over Carson way?”

Matt nodded. “The two of them, AND Mister Estevan, had been shot. There was also an older woman, who had been beaten to death.”

“My God, Matt!” Joe exclaimed, horrified. “They shoot the drivers, beat one woman to death, abduct another to rape and torture after shooting down her husband before her eyes . . . Sheriff Coffee told me they also traded a young girl, not much older than my niece, to a band of renegade Indians for food, and . . . on top of all that, they leave the other surviving passengers to the mercy of the desert . . . what kind of . . . of men are they?”

“In MY book, they don’t qualify as anything even remotely resembling human OR animal,” Matt said, as an angry scowl clouded his face and his eyes. “I’m not what you’d call particularly religious, Joe, nor do I give much credence to things supernatural, but . . . if someone told me those thieves were demons from the deepest, darkest pits of hell, I’d have no problem believing that.

“Adam and I buried the woman and the two drivers out there, where we found them. As for Mister Estevan . . . we brought his body back with us.”

“What about the other passengers?”

“Adam was absolutely convinced they set out on foot, to see if they could find help,” Matt replied. “A letter one of the passengers wrote to his girl seems to bear that out. Adam and I found it stuck in a text book along with a letter that same passenger wrote to his mother.”

“You mean one of the passengers actually wrote letters to his mother and to his girl . . . telling them what happened?”

“He told his girl what happened . . . and . . . and . . . . ” For a moment, Matt was too overcome to speak.

“ . . . and he told them he loved them?”

“Y-Yeah, Joe . . . how’d YOU know?”

“If I were in that passenger’s place, knowing I would more than likely not come out of the situation I was in alive . . . and being able to write to my pa and a woman I happened to be in love with, I . . . I know I’d want MY very last words to them to be how much I love them,” Joe said, his own voice unsteady.

“We . . . found Mister Estevan’s journal in the coach near his body, half shoved under the seat,” Matt continued. “He also wrote up an account of what had happened, and managed to sketch the faces of the men who robbed and . . . and murdered them, while he lay on the floor of that stagecoach slowly bleeding to death.”

Joe felt the blood drain right out of his face. “Did you read it?”

“No. I only looked at the pictures of the men Mister Estevan sketched. I didn’t read any of his testimony.”

“Did Adam?”

“Yes. He read the entire thing.”

“How was he . . . after he read Mister Estevan’s account of what happened?”

“Adam never slept. The whole time we were on the trail, he sat up every night . . . the ENTIRE night reading Mister Estevan’s account of what happened,” Matt replied. “Yesterday morning . . . I found him sitting on top of his bedroll, clutching Mister Estevan’s journal to his chest like this . . . . ”

Matt picked up the murder mystery, that Joe had been reading, from its place on the coffee table, and held it tight to his own chest, as Adam had the leather bound, forest green journal that had belonged to Lorenzo Estevan. “His eyes were round, like he was surprised, shocked, or maybe scared out of his mind, and he was . . . staring.” He shuddered.

“At . . . what?” Joe asked, with an anxious, perplexed frown.

“I don’t know,” Matt replied with a helpless shrug. “Joe . . . you remember Mrs. McAllister, as she got older and started to loose her memory . . . . ?”

“Yeah . . . . ”

“You remember that vacant look in her eyes, like . . . like there wasn’t anybody home inside her head?”

“Yeah,” Joe said with a shudder.

“That very same look was in Adam’s eyes,” Matt said.

Joe remembered seeing the very same look in Adam’s eyes the day he, Pa, and Hoss found him stumbling under the weight of that travois bearing the dead body of Peter Kane.

“ . . . and the rest of the way home, he barely said a dozen words,” Matt continued. “When we finally reached Virginia City late yesterday afternoon, we went right to Sheriff Coffee’s office. Your pa was there.”

“Yeah. Hop Sing, Stacy, and I shooed Pa out of the house,” Joe explained. “Between being worried about Adam, and having spent the better part of the last month cooped up inside, looking after Stacy and me, he was starting to get a mite testy.”

“Whatever the reason, I’m sure glad he WAS there.”

Joe frowned. “Why? What happened?”

“Adam and I started to tell Sheriff Coffee what we had found,” Matt said. “When we started to talk about that missing girl?!”

“The girl who was traveling with her duenna?”

“Yeah. Adam started muttering over and over about how that girl wasn’t much older than Dio, then . . . before any of us realized what was happening, Adam ran back into the jail, and . . . . ” Matt swallowed, and took a deep breath. “Joe, by the time we got back there . . . Adam . . . had his hands around Jacob Carter’s neck, and— It took all three of us to pull him off. I’d hate to think of what might have happened if we hadn’t all been there.”

Joe stared over at Matt, numb with horror and shaken to the very core of his being . . . .


“All I can think of right now is that friend of yours . . . he was sheriff over in Concho for many years before he . . . before he all of a sudden just . . . snapped.”

His own words, after one of those terrifying waking dreams, in which he suddenly found himself with Lady Chadwick again, naked, bound hand and foot to a bed in the Marlowe mansion. He never knew what, exactly, was going to trigger them, and most frightening of all, it was all so vivid, he couldn’t be sure what WAS real, and what was dream. He was deathly afraid that he was slowly, but surely, going insane.

“All I can think of right now is that friend of yours . . . he was sheriff over in Concho for many years before he . . . before he all of a sudden just . . . snapped.”

“Paul Rowan DIDN’T just all of a sudden snap,” Pa said, gently yet very firmly. “What happened to him was something that had been building and festering inside him for a number of years . . . and the REASON all that festered inside him was he kept everything bottled up. He never told his wife what happened during the years he fought in the war because he wanted to spare her— ”

“THAT’S understandable . . . . ”

“Unfortunately, he never shared with anyone ELSE . . . his doctor for instance, or the minister of the church he and his wife attended,” Pa continued. “To make matters worse, he went right from being soldier to being sheriff, without a break, or any kind of a vacation. Paul did bring law and order to Concho, but it was an uphill battle, one waged virtually alone, every bit as bloody and violent as any battle he fought during the war. By the time he felt like he COULD take time off . . . it was too late . . . . ”


Paul Rowan DIDN’T just all of a sudden snap . . . .

What happened to HIM was something that had been building and festering inside him for a number of years . . . .

. . . a number of years . . . .

. . . a number of years . . . .

Paul Rowan DIDN’T just all of a sudden snap . . . .

What happened to HIM was something that had been building and festering inside him for a number of years . . . .

Joe remembered seeing a letter from Paul’s wife a year after he had been taken back east, to Saint Elizabeth’s Hospital in Washington D.C., that not only specialized in treating mentally ill patients, but did so in a humane way. In the end, Paul couldn’t bring himself to face the events and the outcome of that battle, his mind kept reenacting over and over and over again. When it became clear that Paul was never going to leave Saint Elizabeth’s Hospital, ever, his wife sold their home in Concho along with most of their possessions and moved, with their son, back to her parents’ home in Ohio. As far as Joe knew, Paul Rowan lived a marginal existence now, drugged into near unconsciousness to keep back the demons that would otherwise devour him.

“DAMMIT, YOU’RE DEAD . . . . WHY IN THE HELL DON’T YOU STAY DEAD?!”

Adam’s voice now, screaming as he awoke from a dreadful nightmare, sometime in the dark early hours of this morning. Who was supposed to be dead? Joe had no idea. Adam didn’t tell HIM about the dream . . . and he was pretty sure Older Brother hadn’t told PA, either.

“Dammit, you’re dead . . . .

You’re dead . . . .

Why in the hell don’t you STAY dead . . . . ”

Then, in the deep recesses of his mind, Joe heard Adam scream again, upon waking from a nightmare the morning he left with the search party.

It was a name.

KANE!

Somehow, that stagecoach robbery, the men locked up in the Virginia City jail, the Estevans all figured into whatever had happened to Adam all those years ago in the desert at the hands of a man named Peter Kane . . . .

. . . the very same man lying dead on a travois, that he, Pa, and Hoss found Adam mindlessly dragging the badlands . . . .

Paul Rowan DIDN’T just all of a sudden snap . . . .

What happened to HIM was something that had been building and festering inside him for a number of years . . . .

. . . a number of years . . . .

. . . a number of years . . . .

“Joe?!”

He started. Upon recovering his wits, he found himself staring into the anxious face of Matt Wilson.

“Joe? You alright?! That was the third time I called to you . . . . ”

“Sorry . . . . ”

“It’s ok, Joe, I need to be moving along anyway,” Matt said, as he rose slowly to his feet. Joe followed suit. “At any rate, I’ve told you everything that happened out on the trail. I don’t know how helpful any of it’s been . . . . ”

“More, I think, than you know, Matt,” Joe said, as they turned and started for the front door. He knew what he had to do in order to reach Adam . . . question was, did he have the guts to actually go through with it? “Thanks for coming by.”

“You’re welcome. Joe?”

“Yeah, Matt?”

“How HAS Adam fared, since . . . . ?”

“I’m doing very well, Matt, thank you.”

Joe and Matt turned and saw Adam standing at the top of the stairs, with his arms folded across his chest, leveling a dark, murderous glare down at both of them.

“S-Sorry, Adam . . . . ” Matt stammered, flinching away from the white hot fury burning in his old friend’s golden brown eyes. “I . . . I had n-no idea you were there.”

“That’s obvious,” Adam said in a tone that dripped icicles as he started down the stairs, moving slowly, deliberately.

“How long have you been standing there?” Joe demanded, angry and deeply ashamed at the prospect of Adam having overheard everything that had passed between himself and a man who numbered among his oldest friends..

“Long enough.”

“You should’ve made your presence known,” Joe returned, lightening quick.

“What? . . . and miss out on what’s proved to be a very interesting conversation?”

“Adam, I . . . really, I’m sorry, I— ” Matt hastily tried to stammer out an apology.

“I thought YOU were my friend,” Adam said in a low, menacing tone, as he stepped down onto the first floor.

“I AM your friend,” Matt said, very much on the defensive.

“Get out.”

“Adam, please— ” Matt begged.

“I said, ‘Get out,’ ” Adam snapped, “and don’t bother to come back.”

“You’d better go, Matt,” Joe said quietly, his voice filled with remorse. He had never meant to bring about the end of their long standing friendship. “I’m sorry.”

Matt nodded, then slipped out the front door without a word.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” Adam turned the full brunt of his fury on his youngest brother. “You . . . just . . . couldn’t . . . leave it alone.”

“If you expect me to apologize for trying to find out just what the hell’s eating you— ”

“You wanna know what the hell’s eating me, LITTLE Joe?! Well, I’ll tell you just what the hell’s eating me. It’s having a BABY brother who can’t seem to mind his own damned business!”

“Look! I’ve TRIED to mind my own business . . . to stay out of your way and let you work things out yourself,” Joe rounded on his oldest brother furiously. “But, you’re not doing a damned thing, except getting worse and worse by the day, sniping at the rest of us if we so much as look at you cross eyed . . . and I, for one, have HAD it.”

“Oh, so you’ve had it, eh?” Adam returned sardonically. “You’re REALLY something, LITTLE Brother, you know that?! YOU are really something.”

“What the hell’s THAT supposed to mean?”

“You think YOU’RE the only one allowed to get angry? To throw temper tantrums? Three years ago, when Teresa and I came with the kids, I thought you had really grown up,” Adam said contemptuously. “Seems I was WRONG.”

Joe opened his mouth to respond to his oldest brother’s remarks on his lack of maturity. “He’s pushing you into the ropes,” an inner voice screamed, loud, clear, and very insistent. “You’ve GOT to find a way to turn this around.” He took a deep breath, then forced himself to look Adam right in the eye. “Come on, Oldest Brother, give!” he snapped, moving at once to what he believed to be the heart of the matter. “What happened out in the desert between you and that guy Kane?”

Adam’s face lost every bit of color it had. He stared over at his youngest brother, too stunned to move, or even speak.

“What’s the matter, Adam? Cat got your tongue?!” Joe pressed. “Come on, TELL me! What happened in the desert between you and that guy, Kane?”

“I . . . I don’t believe this!” Adam exclaimed, the instant he recovered a measure of his voice. “I can’t believe you’re actually dredging THAT up, after all these years.”

“What happened, Adam?”

“I DON’T want to talk about it!”

“What. Happened?”

“I SAID I don’t want to talk about it.” Adam stepped around Joe, intending to retreat to his room upstairs.

Joe immediately sidestepped, effectively blocking Adam’s path. “Oh no! You don’t leave this room until you tell me.”

“LEAVE IT ALONE!” Adam yelled.

“NO!”

“DAMMIT, JOE, IT’S OVER!”

“NO, ADAM . . . IT’S NOT OVER . . . IT’S NEVER BEEN OVER,” Joe relentlessly pressed. “CAN’T YOU SEE THAT?!”

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re trying to prove by dredging up this whole sorry business, but I can assure you . . . it’s OVER.” Adam stated in a low, menacing tone. He began to move toward Joe, slowly, his entire body trembling in the throes of a raw, passionate fury, barely contained. “You understand me, BABY Brother? It’s over! Over and done! I put that whole sorry business behind me and moved on a long time ago.”

Joe involuntarily took a step backward, his arms instinctively rising to shield his face. The intensity of his oldest brother’s emotions now rushing to the surface with lightening speed terrified him, as nothing ever had before. But, the thought of all that lay within his oldest brother, unspoken . . . never truly faced or acknowledged . . . pushing Adam toward the same precipice from which Paul Rowan fell, shoved Joe beyond his own fear to that place where fools rush in and angels fear to tread.

“Come on, Adam. Give!” Joe’s voice cracked like a whip. “What happened in the desert between you and Kane?”

“Shut-up.”

“Did you bargain with him?”

“I TOLD you to shut-up.”

“Did you try to escape?”

“Joe . . . . ”

“Did you have to kill HIM to save yourself?”

Joe watched in a kind of morbid fascination as the blood drained right out of Adam’s face, leaving it a deathly white. Adam stood, as if rooted to the spot, staring over at Joe in horrified, angry, dismay, feeling as if he had suddenly been stripped naked. Then, gritting his teeth, he lashed out with lightening speed, catching his youngest brother’s jaw with a powerful right cross, with force sufficient to send him half flying, half stumbling backwards across the room. The heel of Joe’s slippered foot struck a low footstool, causing him to lose his balance. Dazed and horribly disoriented, he frantically waggled his arms in a desperate bid to remain on his feet. He teetered, then fell over backwards, landing in a sprawled heap between the settee and the coffee table.

“DAMMIT . . . WHY?” Adam shouted, towering over him like some angry, god of vengeance. “WHY?? WHY DO YOU HAVE TO DREDGE UP ALL THAT GARBAGE AGAIN?!”

Joe scuttled backward with surprising agility, given the physical injuries from which he was still recovering. After he had passed the other end of the settee, he scrambled gracelessly to his feet. “I WANNA KNOW, ADAM,” he mercilessly shot right back. “WHAT HAPPENED IN THE DESERT BETWEEN YOU AND KANE?”

“Stop it, Joe,” Adam growled, as he began to advance on his brother. “You hear me? Stop trying to dredge up things long past . . . that are better off STAYING past.”

“What’re you afraid of, Adam?” Joe taunted him, as he continued to move backward.

“I’m not afraid of a damned thing.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what happened?”

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!”

Suddenly, Joe felt the solidity of a wall pressing hard against his back. He slowly, reluctantly raised his head and found himself staring into the face of his older brother, twisted into a frightening mask of rage coupled with agony.

“I . . . DON’T want to talk about it,” Adam said in a low voice, barely audible. “Get it through your head. I . . . DON’T . . . want . . . to talk about it.” His arms shot out, like a pair of whips, and his hands seized Joe by the lapels. “It’s OVER, Joe. You understand me?! It’s over! Over and done! Leave it ALONE!”

A sharp intake of breath, coming from the direction of the front door caught and drew Joe’s attention. He turned and, much to his horrified surprise, saw Stacy leaning heavily on her crutches, roughly half way between where he and Adam stood and the front door. “Adam? Joe!?” She looked from him over to Adam, then back, her face pale, her bright blue eyes round with shock and astonishment. “What’s going on?”

“N-Nothing,” Joe stammered.

Stacy frowned.

“It’s over, Joe, you understand me?!” Adam continued in a low menacing tone, his entire attention focused on his youngest brother, to the exclusion of all else, including the presence of their young sister. “It’s over . . . I DON’T want to talk about it . . . ever! END of discussion . . . END of conversation!”

“Adam, please . . . . ” Joe begged, fearing now for his sister’s safety. “Stop it!”

“I strongly suggest you get that through that thick skull of yours, Little Brother, because of you don’t . . . so help me . . . I’m gonna POUND it into you.”

“Adam, stop it!” Stacy said tersely, as she began to move toward them. “You’re hurting him— ”

“Stacy, no . . . stay back!” Joe ordered.

“Joe— ” she started to protest.

“It’ll be ok, Kid, I promise . . . it’ll be— ” The next thing Joe knew, he was being dragged out of the corner in which he had been trapped. A second hard right cross to the jaw sent him reeling across the room, back once more toward the settee. He felt his left calf striking the edge of the coffee table. He wavered briefly, then collapsed onto the coffee table, breaking it into splinters no good for anything except kindling.

“HEY!” Stacy shouted, as astonishment quickly gave way to anger. “COME ON, GUYS, CUT IT OUT!!!”

“NO, STACY, NO . . . STAY BACK!” Joe shouted, as Adam, enraged past all reason, seized him by the lapels again and roughly hauled him to his feet. Gritting his teeth, he quickly balled his left hand into a tight, rock hard fist and drove it into his oldest brother’s abdomen with all his might.

Adam groaned and doubled over, releasing his hold on Joe. The latter immediately followed through with a hard, powerful left hook, catching the former squarely in the jaw. The force of his momentum slammed Adam into the nearest easy chair and sent it toppling. Muttering a string of terse, clipped Paiute obscenities under her breath, Stacy hobbled into the fray, far too shocked and angry to even consider anything remotely resembling good judgment.

Adam, meanwhile, had scrambled to his feet with the swiftness and agility of a man half his age. Before Joe could even begin to realize what was happening, Adam had lowered his head and charged, like an enraged bull. His head caught Joe square in the mid-section and sent him flying across the room. He crashed into his sister, knocking her off her feet. Both tumbled to the floor with a sickening thud, with Stacy landing on the bottom, and Joe on his back, sprawled on top of her.

“Oh my God!” Joe murmured, with heart in mouth, upon realizing what had just happened. “Stacy?!”

“Right HERE, You big Lummox!” she growled. “Would you mind getting OFF of me?”

Joe immediately rolled over, wincing against the pressure of his own body mass against his still injured ribs. He, then scrambled to his feet, as Adam looked on, numb with horror. “S-Sorry, Kid . . . . ” Joe murmured softly, as his eyes strayed to his sister’s cast, now cracked and splintered. Large pieces of plaster dotted the floor surrounding her injured leg.

“You sure as hell are,” Stacy shot right back, giving vent to her own anger. She glared up at Joe first, then over at Adam. “That goes for the BOTH of ya!”

“Here, lemme g-give you a hand,” Joe offered, bending over.

“I can manage!” she growled back.

“Stacy— ” Joe begged.

“NO, GOD DAMMIT, LEAVE ME ALONE!” Stacy shouted, her face dark as a dangerous thundercloud. “BOTH OF YOU . . . JUST . . . LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!”

“Stacy, I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Joe said, his voice shaking. “Now come on, let me help you— ”

“So help me, as God is my witness, either one of you so much as touches me, I’ll break your arms!” she spat.



Hop Sing, meanwhile, upon hearing the fracas out in the great room, angrily slammed the hunk of beef, intended for supper that night, down onto the counter with a resounding thud, and bolted for the kitchen door, muttering a long string of some of the more colorful Chinese idioms under his breath.

“Foolish boys,” Hop Sing angrily grumbled, shifting momentarily to English. “Foolish, stupid boys! Too old! Too old for settle things with fight.”

He heard the sickening sound of wood breaking, followed a moment later by the thud of an easy chair hitting the floor.

“NO, STACY, NO . . . STAY BACK!”

That was Little Joe.

“Oh no!” Hop Sing moaned softly. The blood drained right out of his face at the horrifying prospect of poor Miss Stacy finding herself caught in the middle of whatever was happening between Mister Adam and Little Joe. He quickened his pace, bursting through the kitchen door just in time to see Little Joe crashing hard into Stacy, knocking her off her feet.

“What the—?! Hey! What’s goin’ on around here?!” That was Hoss. He stepped through the kitchen door and took up his place behind Hop Sing, with his hands planted firmly on his hips, staring at the disordered room, utterly perplexed.

“That what Hop Sing want to know,” Hop Sing declared, glaring first at Adam, then over at Joe and Stacy.

“I fell,” Stacy said in a stone cold voice.

Hoss was across the room and kneeling at her side in less than a heartbeat, as Adam and Joe looked on, stunned and badly shaken. A low whistle escaped Hoss’ lips upon seeing Stacy’s cast, cris-crossed with a myriad of fine lines and cracks, with large pieces missing. “Hoo-whee!” he murmured softly, gazing down at the broken cast in dismay. “You sure did take a tumble, Li’l Sister.”

“Joe?”

“Y-Yeah, Hoss?”

“I think you’d better git across the street ‘n fetch Doc Martin,” Hoss said, taking charge of the situation.

“Y-Yeah, Hoss, sure,” Joe said contritely, still visibly shaken by all that had just happened. “Be right back.”

“Mister Hoss?”

“Yeah, Hop Sing?”

“Where Papa?”

“He . . . he left ME off at the front door, then left to return the buggy and horse to the livery stable . . . and pick up Buck,” Stacy answered the question, her voice shaking as her anger began to quickly dissipate.

“Maybe in Fletcher barn, stable Buck,” Hop Sing suggested hopefully. “Hop Sing go see.”

“Thanks, Hop Sing,” Hoss said. “I’d sure appreciate it if you would.”

“Hop Sing be right back.”

“In the meantime, I’d best git YOU upstairs,” Hoss said as he gently scooped Stacy up in his arms. This time she uttered no protest, nor did she make any move to resist. “You ok, Li’l Sister . . . apart from your cast?”

“Yeah,” Stacy sighed wearily. She slipped her arms around Hoss’ neck, and dropped her head down on his shoulder.

Adam dutifully retrieved Stacy’s crutches, and silently followed.

“No harm done,” Doctor Paul Martin finally declared after a thorough, painstaking examination. He and his patient were upstairs in the latter’s room. Ben and Hoss were also present. “I had planned to remove the cast to examine your leg next week anyway, Stacy, just to make certain things were still healing properly. Your fall just moved the schedule up a week.” He paused, just long enough to flash all three of them a reassuring smile. “You’re coming along fine. I think another four weeks in the new cast will just about do it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to run back across the street and get a few things.”

“Doctor Martin, are you going to put the new cast on now?” Stacy asked.

Paul nodded. “It won’t take long,” he promised. “By the time Hop Sing has supper ready, the plaster-of-paris should be set hard enough for you to join the rest of the family at the table.”

“Before you put my new cast on, I was thinking that, maybe you’d better check on Joe,” Stacy said quietly, “just to make sure he didn’t do any more damage to his fractured ribs. He, ummm . . . fell, too.”

“That MIGHT not be a bad idea,” Paul agreed wryly, upon remembering Joe’s disheveled appearance and the disordered living room downstairs.

“I think he’s gone to his room,” Hoss said very quickly, upon seeing his father’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “I can show ya the way, Doc.”

Ben waited, his fingers impatiently drumming against the night stand beside Stacy’s bed, until he and his daughter were alone. “Stacy?”

“Yes, Pa?” she queried warily.

“What happened?”

“When?”

“Just now,” Ben replied, “between you, Joe, and Adam.”

“What . . . makes you think something h-happened?” Stacy asked. Though she stared earnestly into Ben’s face, her eyes did not quite meet his.

“Oh, let’s just say I suspected that SOMETHING out of the ordinary happened, when I saw the living room with half the furniture overturned, and the coffee table broken into a thousand pieces,” Ben said with a touch of wryness.

“I fell, Pa. Joe fell on top of me.”

“That’s IT?”

“That’s it!”

“Stacy . . . . ”

“That’s it as far as I’M concerned.”

Ben sighed, knowing that he was not going to get anything more out of her pertaining to what had happed downstairs. He silently made himself a mental note to question Adam and Joe later. “The important thing is YOU’RE alright,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, I’M ok. The only thing that got badly bruised was my dignity, but that’ll recover quick enough,” Stacy said, relieved that her father had no intention of questioning her further about the circumstances surrounding her fall. Then, suddenly, she burst into tears.

Ben immediately gathered her into his arms and held her close. “It’s all right, Stacy,” he murmured softly, as her arms reached up under his arms and loosely encircled his shoulders. “I promise you, everything’s going to be all right.”

“Oh, Pa . . . I’m s-sorry,” she sobbed.

“What in the world for?”

“F-For . . . for acting like s-such a . . . a b-big crybaby.”

“Stacy, you’re NOT acting like a crybaby. Honest . . . you’re not,” Ben gently tried to reassure her.

“I . . . Oh, Pa, I feel s-so . . . so silly.”

“There’s no reason in the world for you to feel silly, either, Young Woman,” Ben said. “We’ve all gone through quite a lot in the space of a month.”

“B-but, y-you and Hoss haven’t . . . . ”

Ben placed the handkerchief in her hands, then hugged her closer. “Oh, yes we have,” he hastened to assure her. “Hoss told me later that once the fire was out, after Hop Sing and I left to bring you to Doctor Martin, and everyone else returned to their homes or to the bunk house, that he sat down in the barn next to Chubb’s stall and bawled like a baby.”

“H-He did?! Really?” Stacy asked, as she wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks with her father’s handkerchief.

“Yes, he did. Really,” Ben affirmed with an emphatic nod of his head. “For ME, the first time everything began to hit home was when I came to see you before Doctor Johns operated on you to fix your leg. You had passed out, and I . . . I just sat there with you, holding your hand, bawling like a baby myself, just like your big brother.”

“ . . . and when you, Joe, and I went out the other day?”

Ben smiled. “When you two were teasing each other?”

Stacy nodded.

“One minute I was enjoying myself listening to you and Joe, and the next . . . I realized just h-how close I came to . . . well, to losing BOTH of you— ” Ben broke off, unable to continue. He hugged her closer, grateful for her arms encircling his waist, squeezing affectionately, and for the weight of her head resting against his chest. “Now that the worst is behind us, we’re all going to have moments like this, when the enormity of what happened and what still lies ahead begins to really hit home. I’m sure coming up on Adam and Joe in the midst of a knock down drag out didn’t help matters any, either.”

Stacy glanced up at him sharply, through eyes round as saucers. “H-How did you—?! I never said anything about them—”

“You didn’t HAVE to,” Ben said gently.

“ . . . just like I don’t have to tell you anything about me trying to go in and break it up, either . . . do I?”

“No. But, if you WANT to talk about it, I’m more than willing to listen.”

“I think I’m more upset with myself for falling and b-busting my cast,” Stacy said ruefully, her eyes glistening with tears once again. “I should’ve known better than to rush in where . . . where angels fear to tread.”

“I know it’s been rough on all of us dealing with Joe’s progress and set-backs . . . along with his anger and frustration— ”

Stacy adamantly shook her head. “No, Pa . . . it’s NOT Grandpa!” she said, taking great care to lower her voice. “I’d be lying if I said it HAS been easy, but I know him, and I know what to expect. When he’s upset or something’s bothering him, he SAYS so, and . . . HE’S willing to let us be with him.

“But, ADAM . . . ever since he came back from that search party? Whenever I’m around him I suddenly feel like I’m hauling n-nitroglycerin, or . . . or walking around on . . . on a floor full of eggs,” she continued. “I can’t shake the feeling that something’s really eating away at him, but every time one of us asks, he clams up real tight and says he’s fine. Maybe my feelings are wrong and he IS fine . . . I don’t know.” She sighed dolefully, and shook her head. “Of course, I haven’t had a chance to be around Adam very much, since he was gone before I came . . . . ”

“ . . . which is something I will always regret very much.”

Ben and Stacy glanced over toward the open door and saw Adam leaning heavily against the door jamb, his face pale and shoulders slumped, as if trying to bear up under a great, heavy burden. His dark eyes were filled with sadness. “Stacy, may I come in for a moment?”

“Sure,” she readily assented.

“I promise . . . I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Adam quickly assured his father and his sister, as he drew up a chair alongside her bed. “I want to apologize for what happened earlier. I’m not going to offer any kind of excuse because there is none. I’m just going to say that the fault was all mine, and ask if you’ll forgive me?”

“Of course, Adam,” Stacy said, gazing into his face anxiously. “I . . . I hope you’ll forgive me, too . . . for losing my temper with you and Joe. I said some things I wish I hadn’t.”

“You had every right to be angry, Little Sister.” Adam gently squeezed Stacy’s hand. “Unfortunately, when Joe and I are together for any length of time, we tend to bring out the stupid in each other. My fault mostly. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle.”

“It’s my own fault I got caught in the middle,” Stacy replied.

“I . . . I hope you’re alright,” Adam said.

“I’m fine, Adam. The only casualty’s the cast.”

“I’m very relieved to hear that,” Adam declared with heartfelt sincerity. “Pa?”

“Yes, Adam?”

He reached into his right pants pocket and drew out his wallet. “Here’s a hundred dollars for the coffee table,” he said, placing the cash in his father’s hand. “If the damages come to MORE than that, you can send me a bill.”

“SEND you a bill?!” Ben queried anxiously.

Adam nodded. “I plan to leave on the ten o’clock stage day after tomorrow.”

“What?!” Ben felt as if he had just taken a hard blow to his solar plexus.

“Adam, you CAN’T!” Stacy protested. “We need you!”

“No, you DON’T need me, not really,” Adam said with a sad smile. “I’ll have all the final plans and drawings completed by this evening. Tomorrow morning, I’ll give Hoss a list of what’s needed from the saw mill, then I’ll head into town to purchase and place orders for the remaining building material that’ll be needed.”

“Adam, I . . . WE . . . were counting on you to oversee the rebuilding of the new house,” Ben said, stunned by Adam’s sudden decision to leave.

“Anybody can oversee the rebuilding of the house, Pa. By the time the men are ready to start work on erecting the walls, I’ll bet JOE will probably be up to doing the job himself.”

“ . . . and if he’s NOT?”

“If he’s not, George Farlyn can continue with the work already started. I’ll see that he has copies of the plans before I leave. If he’s got any questions, he can come to you or Hoss. Joe can assume the mantle whenever Doctor Martin gives him the go ahead.”

“Adam, please . . . stay?” Ben begged.

“I can’t, Pa. I . . . I probably shouldn’t have come in the first place.” With that, Adam rose from his chair and left the room.

All Ben and Stacy could do was watch Adam’s retreating back in stunned silence.

“Pa?”

“Y-Yes, Stacy?” Ben replied, his voice shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured contritely, as tears once more began to sting her eyes. She reached over and took her father’s hand in her own. “I . . . I know you’re always w-warning me about my . . . about my temper.”

Ben gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “None of this is YOUR fault, Stacy,” he said quietly. “Your gut feelings about Adam are right on the money. Something HAS been eating away at him, but whatever it is . . . it has nothing at all to do with you, and while I’m inclined to believe that Joe may have in some way been fuel for the fire, I don’t believe HE’S really at fault, either.”

“Do you know what IS troubling Adam?”

“ . . . I’d be a lot more worried if something like this— ” meaning Lady Chadwick’s abduction of Joe and subsequent torture, “ —happened to someone, oh like Adam, your oldest. Given his natural stoic reserve, the way he’s always kept a tight lid on his feelings . . . . ”

Paul Martin’s words echoed once more in Ben’s ears, invoking the same feelings of dread and foreboding he had felt when they had conversed in the post office.

“No, Stacy, I don’t know what’s troubling Adam,” Ben said dejectedly. “I sure wish to heaven I DID.”

“Adam, I’m NOT gonna let you do it!”

Adam finished folding the shirt lying on the bed in front of him, and straightened. He was surprised to see his youngest brother entering the room, his jaw rigidly set, and mouth thinned to a near straight, lipless line. He flinched away from the raw intensity of emotion he saw reflected in those gray-green eyes. “Did PA send you in here?”

“No,” Joe snapped.

“Then get out. I have those drawings to complete and a lot of packing to do.”

“Adam— ”

“If you’re feeling guilty, DON’T. What happened just now between us . . . with Stacy . . . was MY fault. I told Pa that.”

“I see,” Joe said rancorously. “Everything all nice and neat, wrapped up in a pretty box and tied with a bow.”

This drew a sharp, angry glare from Adam, as he took another shirt from the stack piled on his bed and began to fold.

“I’m not here because I’m feeling guilty,” Joe continued. “I’m here to stop you from running out on PA.”

“I’m NOT running out on PA.”

“Aren’t you?”

“NO!” The word exploded from Adam’s lips as he dropped the second folded shirt on top of the first, and snatched a third off the top of the stack.

“Then how about an explanation?” Joe pressed.

“An explanation?! For WHAT?”

“For why you’ve all of a sudden decided to up and leave,” Joe shot right back.

“Joe, please! Leave it ALONE!”

“NOT until you answer my question.” Joe stubbornly planted his feet side by side, slightly more than shoulder width apart and folded his arms across his chest.

An exasperated sigh exploded from between Adam’s lips. “Look! I said I was sorry. I apologized to Stacy, I told Pa that . . . what happened . . . was MY fault. I even paid for the damned coffee table. What MORE do you WANT?”

“I want you to tell me just what the hell’s eating you.”

“ . . . and I’ve told YOU . . . I DON’T want to talk about it,” Adam shot right back through clenched teeth. “It’s none of your business anyway.”

“Ok, maybe it WAS none of my business . . . but, THAT changed the minute you tried to rip my head off with your bare hands,” Joe immediately returned. “Come ON, Adam . . . please! Don’t shut us out like this . . . we’re your family, for heaven’s sake. We . . . I . . . want to help.”

Adam sardonically rolled his eyes as he finished folding the third shirt and slammed it down on top of the first two. “I see. The relentless pain-in-the-ass brat baby brother approach didn’t work, so NOW you’re going to play amateur psychologist,” he returned scathingly, as he snatched the fourth shirt off the pile and threw it down onto the bed.

“I don’t NEED to be a trained head shrink or even a man of the cloth to see that SOMETHING’S tearing away at your gut,” Joe returned without missing a beat. “You’ve been on edge ever since you got here, and it seems ever since you found out about that stage going missing . . . you’ve been so touchy, you’re jumping down our throats with both feet, if any of us so much as looks at you the wrong way.”

“Well, starting the day after tomorrow, you call all heave a great big collective sigh of relief,” Adam said in a voice that dripped icicles, as he seized the shirts he had already folded and emphatically stuffed them into the open carpet bag sitting on the bed directly in front of him, “because I’ll be on the very first stage going OUT.”

“Adam, leaving’s not going to solve ANYTHING.”

“I DON’T belong here, Joe. I’m not sure I ever DID. I should never have come in the first place.”

“WHAT THE HELL KIND OF CRAZY TALK IS THAT?!” Joe exploded, stunned by his oldest brother’s words and the quiet intensity by which he had spoken them. “WHEN YOU FIRST GOT HERE, YOU TOLD US . . . TOLD PA HOW GLAD YOU WERE THAT HOSS THOUGHT TO SEND FOR YOU, BUT EVER SINCE YOU AND MATT WILSON CAME BACK AFTER FINDING THAT STAGECOACH OUT IN THE DESERT— ”

“DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?! THOSE POOR PEOPLE WERE ROBBED, TORTURED . . . THEN LEFT OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DESERT, WITH NO FOOD, NO WATER, NOT EVEN A SINGLE HORSE, NO CHANCE OF EVER MAKING IT OUT ALIVE, JUST LIKE . . . JUST LIKE— ” Adam abruptly broke off.

“JUST LIKE . . . WHAT?” Joe immediately pounced with both feet.

“Nothing!”

“Nothing my backside! Come on, Adam, GIVE! Just like WHAT?” Joe mercilessly pressed. “Those people were left in the desert with no chance of making it out alive . . . just like WHAT?”

“JUST LIKE ME!” Adam shouted, his entire body trembling with the rage and grief that had been growing and festering inside for so long. “JUST LIKE ME, AFTER THOSE MEN ROBBED ME OUT IN THE DESERT . . . OF THE MONEY, MY FOOD, MY WATER, AND MY HORSE. THEY LEFT ME OUT THERE IN THAT DESERT TO DIE, THE SAME WAY THOSE PEOPLE ON THAT STAGE WERE . . . were l-left to die— ” He abruptly turned his back on his youngest brother, his words drowned in a torrent of agonized weeping.

Joe was immediately at Adam’s side, with his arms around him, fiercely holding him close, with tears, borne of guilt and remorse streaming down his own cheeks. “Oh, God . . . Adam, I . . . I’m s-so sorry . . . so s-sorry . . . please? Please f-forgive me?”

For a time, the two brothers stood, clinging to one another for dear life, with faces tightly pressed, buried against the other’s shoulder, sobbing openly, holding back nothing. Neither saw the solitary figure standing in the hallway, just outside the door to Adam’s room. Ben, with tears streaming down his own face, reached out, took the door knob in hand and silently closed the door.

“Pa?”

Wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, Ben turned and found himself staring into the pale, anxious faces of his middle son and only daughter. He lifted his finger to his lips and motioned for them to go on back down the hall, away from the room where Adam and Joe were.

“Pa, are . . . are Adam ‘n Joe gonna be alright?” Hoss asked, once the three of them had moved to a place well beyond earshot.

“They will be,” Ben said quietly, with confidence.

“You think it’s . . . ok to . . . to leave them alone?” Stacy asked, remembering the terrible brawl in the living room a short while ago.

Ben nodded. A wistful smile tugged hard at the corner of his mouth. “I think we can trust them now to work out their difficulties without bashing one another’s brains in.”

“Mister Cartwright?”

Ben, Hoss, and Stacy looked up and found Hop Sing standing in front of them on the top landing, looking troubled and uncertain.

“Hop Sing come to let know supper ready, but— ” His dark eye peered over Ben’s shoulder into the darkened hallway and the room where Joe and Adam remained.

“I don’t know about the two o’ you, but I’m hungrier ‘n a bear,” Hoss declared, with a broad grin.

“Hop Sing, it looks like its going to be the four of us for dinner,” Ben said. “Suddenly, I’M hungrier ‘n a bear myself.”

“Come down, wash up,” Hop Sing said. “Hop Sing go, put supper aside for Mister Adam, Little Joe . . . keep warm in oven.”

Later, after the passage of what seemed many hours, Adam and Joe sat together on the former’s bed, side by side, with their feet flat on the floor, hands resting on their knees, eyes and faces pointedly staring straight ahead. Both were utterly spent, physically and emotionally. Adam could not remember a time in his entire life in which he felt as exposed, as fragile, and as vulnerable as he did at that moment.

“It happened so long ago,” he murmured softly, incredulous, his voice barely audible, “so . . . LONG . . . ago . . . I should be over it by now.”

“But, you’re NOT.”

“No, I’m not,” Adam admitted, then shrugged. “Maybe there’s some things a man . . . or a woman, for that matter . . . NEVER gets over . . . never EVER quite forgets.” He rose, and to his youngest brother’s great dismay, walked over to the chest of drawers, set against the wall directly opposite the door, and opened it.

For a moment Joe silently watched his oldest brother lifted one stack of neatly folded underwear from the drawer, then another, setting them on top of the dresser. “Adam?”

“Yes?”

“Didja ever think that maybe, just maybe that’s the REAL problem?”

Adam froze, his hands poised just above the drawer, ready to lift out the last stack of neatly folded clothing. He turned and glared at his youngest brother, still seated on the edge of his bed. “Maybe WHAT is the real problem?” he demanded reluctantly, his voice tinged with weary exasperation.

“Trying to FORGET what happened.”

Adam sighed and sardonically rolled his eyes. “Joe— ”

“Adam, hear me out, PLEASE.”

Adam bristled against his youngest brother’s terse, clipped tones. He opened his mouth to utter the scathing retort sitting right there on the tip of his tongue, only to snap it shut again, upon seeing the desperate, unspoken plea reflected in Joe’s hazel eyes. He closed the drawer with a melancholy sigh, then turned to face his brother. “Alright, Joe, speak your peace and be done with it,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

“One thing that’s really helped me since . . . since I’VE come back from being held prisoner by Lady Chadwick is talking about what happened,” Joe said quietly.

Adam sighed, and shook his head. “What’s the point in talking about it?” he demanded, taking no pains to hide his annoyance. “All THAT accomplishes is rehashing the same old ground over and over. Nothing is ever changed. Nothing CAN be. What happened . . . still happened.”

“I know. You can’t go back and make what happened . . . NOT happen,” Joe replied, “but I’ve found out that when I try to keep things bottled up inside, they eat me ALIVE. I can feel it, Adam. But, when I talk about it to someone kind enough to listen, it somehow becomes less scary. I’m better prepared somehow to face it head on, and work it through.”

Joe’s words prompted the memory of an incident that had happened when he, his wife, and their children had spent an entire summer visiting his father, brothers, and sister at the Ponderosa. His son, Benjy woke up screaming from a frightening nightmare . . . .

“Oh, Papa, it was horrible!”

Adam heard again his son’s small frightened voice, just as clearly as he did that night. “Can you tell me about your nightmare?” he had asked.

“D-Do I have to?”

“No, Benjy, you don’t HAVE to tell me. I just thought maybe you’d WANT to tell me.”

“No!” Benjy half sobbed, as he buried his face against his father’s shoulder, drawing from him comfort and reassurance. “I . . . I’d rather NOT, Papa. Please don’t make me! It’s . . . it’s too scary!”

“I won’t make you tell me, Buddy,” Adam promised.

“Thanks, Papa.”

“May I tell you a story instead?”

Benjy smiled despite the terror that yet remained with him. “Y-you haven’t told me any bedtime stories since . . . I guess since I was Dio’s age.”

“This one’s a little different because it’s true,” Adam said. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Adam had told his son about having no memories of his own mother, Elizabeth, because she died when he was a baby. The first real mother he had ever known was Inger Borgstrom, the woman who became his father’s second wife and mother to his biggest brother, Hoss.

“What happened to her, Papa?” Benjy had asked.

“She was killed in an Indian raid at the Ash Hallow Way Station,” Adam said, his voice catching. “One minute, she was at the window with rifle in hand, the next she lay dying in your grandpa’s arms. Your grandpa and I were devastated. After we buried Inger and moved on, I began to have some terrifying nightmares. One night, I woke up screaming from what had to have been the scariest one of them all.”

Adam had shared with Benjy the horrifying details of “The Ash Hallow Dream,” in which not only Inger died, but Pa and Hoss as well, leaving him all alone in a world, overwhelmingly big and frightening. Every night, for the better part of a month following Inger’s death, the dream plagued him. He had also told Benjy of his reluctance to share the details of the dream with his father. One night, “The Ash Hallow Dream,” had taken on some new, even more terrifying dimensions. Adam had woken up screaming, on the edge of hysteria.

“Papa?”

“Y-yes, Benjy?”

“What happened? When you woke from that dream?”

“Pa took me in his arms and held me while I cried, like he always did. After I settled down, he asked me once again what the dream was about. I wouldn’t tell him. That night, however, your grandpa told me something I never forgot.”

“What was THAT, Papa?”

“He told me that most dreams are letters we write to ourselves. Instead of writing those letters in words, we write them in pictures. The good dreams let us know that everything’s alright. The bad ones are trying to tell us that something needs to be fixed. He told me that the only way something can be fixed is to take a good, long, hard look at it, and see where it’s broken. That night, I told Pa about the dream, and I also told him about my fear of losing him. You know what?”

“What?”

“He DIDN’T laugh at me or get mad at me for being a sissy. He just sat there and held me in his arms for a very long time, the exact same way I’m holding you right now. He told me how much he loved me and that he and Hoss would never, ever leave without me.”

“Did you stop having the bad dreams?”

“Not right away. But when they came, they weren’t as scary as they had been. As time passed they came less and less often, until they eventually stopped coming altogether . . . . ”

“Nothing like being hoist by my own petard,” Adam murmured softly, his voice barely audible.

“What was that?”

“In other words, there’s nothing like being brought up short and slapped hard in the face with my own advice,” Adam said ruefully, then shared the incident with Joe, including the advice he had passed on to his own son.

“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“You want to take your own advice and . . . talk about it?”

Adam sighed, then opened his mouth with every intention of telling Joe that enough was enough. The words were actually sitting right there on the very tip of his tongue, awaiting utterance. ENOUGH, Joe. Enough. It’s over. Done. There’s no point in dredging all that up now, at this late date, after the passage of more years now than he cared to admit. It’s past time for letting sleeping dogs lie. The words that did come from his mouth were nothing less than a villainous betrayal by his own voice, lips, and tongue.

“Kane had been out in the desert for the better part of twenty years, working that claim, day in, day out,” Adam began. His voice was placid and bland, almost to the point of being a straight monotone. He felt himself oddly detached, as if the experience he spoke of had happened to someone else. “That claim was his last great hope, his last chance to make up for what he saw as a life time of failure. He told me that himself. By the time I blundered into his camp, Kane had known for a long time that his claim was worthless.”

“Why did he stay?” Joe prodded carefully.

“I think when he realized his CLAIM was worthless, he must’ve decided his entire life had been worthless . . . without any kind of meaning,” Adam replied. “Sad, when I think about it now. Sad and pathetic. If Kane had been of a more positive frame of mind, he would have seen that his life WASN’T over because that claim didn’t pan out. Who knows? Maybe . . . in time . . . he would’ve found something that did work, that would have given his life value and meaning in his own eyes.”

“He was dead when Pa, Hoss, and I found you,” Joe said. “After Hoss and I buried Kane, he . . . Hoss, that is . . . told me there were no marks, or wounds on the man’s body that could’ve killed him. He was also in pretty good shape physically. In other words, Adam, Kane shouldn’t have died . . . yet, he did. Do you suppose he died because he WANTED to die?”

“I . . . KNOW Kane wanted to die. No doubt in my mind at all about that,” Adam said slowly. “But simply dying wasn’t enough. He wanted to take someone else down with him.”

“Why?” Joe queried with a perplexed frown.

“I think he had come to the conclusion that taking someone ELSE down . . . destroying them in the process . . . was the only means left to him to make a difference in this world,” Adam said sardonically. “But, we’ll never know . . . not for absolute certain. I don’t think HE could have told you why. So he waited. For someone . . . anyone, it didn’t matter who, just so long as it was another human being he could torture first, then destroy.” It had taken every ounce of will he possessed to force those last words out. His hands, resting on top of his thighs, suddenly clenched into a pair of tight, bloodless fists.

Adam shook his head, chuckling softly, without a shred of mirth. “Looking back? I was the perfect choice. I was everything Kane wanted in a victim. Young . . . very naive in a lot of ways for all that I had attended college back east, so sure of myself . . . so sure I knew everything there was to know about human nature . . . . ”

Joe’s own thoughts drifted back to that day.

After selling that herd of cattle in Eastgate, for a whopping five thousand dollars, they had a few extra days to kick back and relax before heading home. They had found out about a murder trial, scheduled to begin the following morning. The defendant, a man by the name of Obediah Johnson, had been accused of murdering his partner, Jeb Early, along with his own wife. Joe, having had enough of being on the trail, opted to stay in town and watch the trial to see how it came out.

Adam, however, had rejected that option, disdainfully asserting that he already knew what the outcome would be. Obediah Johnson murdered his wife and his business partner, he should and would hang. That was the law . . . period. No ands, ifs, or buts. When Joe had suggested that his oldest brother might think a little differently if HE were the defendant, Adam stated with smug confidence that he would never end up as a defendant in a murder trial . . . because he, as a civilized man, was incapable of murder.

“As you know, I was robbed not long after I left you behind in Eastgate,” Adam continued. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take shallow breaths, slow, even. “They not only took the money we got for selling that herd of cattle, they also took the horse I was riding . . . along with my food . . . and my water.” He felt his youngest brother’s hand come to rest firmly on his shoulder.

“Just like that stage coach,” Joe said softly, his mouth, his jaw tightening with anger.

“Yeah. EXACTLY like that stage coach,” Adam said tersely. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I started to retrace my steps back. I . . . I KNEW I’d never make it back alone . . . on foot . . . with no food or water. One of my last coherent thoughts was to curse the men who had robbed me for leaving me alive to die like that . . . for not just shooting me, killing me outright and . . . and getting it over with.”

“I felt that, too, Adam,” Joe said in a soft voice, barely audible. “After having spent three days tied spread eagle to a bed, completely naked, with no food, no water . . . I . . . I asked Crippensworth straight out—why didn’t he and Lady Chadwick just out ‘n out kill me and get it over with. For a little while, I . . . I honest and truly wished they had.”

Adam peered into Joe’s face and eyes and saw another who truly knew, and understood. From that knowledge and understanding came compassion. He managed a wan smile as he reached up and affectionately squeezed the hand still resting on his shoulder.

“Joe?”

“Y-Yeah, Adam?”

“Lady Chadwick and Crippensworth . . . they did the same to you as Kane did to me,” Adam said softly. “Lady Chadwick had a different agenda, but it still comes down to the same thing.”

“You’re right, Adam,” Joe said, closing his eyes against the flood of tears stinging them. “Lady Chadwick and Crippensworth WERE trying to . . . to tear me apart, like that guy Kane tried to tear YOU apart.”

“I . . . I must’ve been a real sight when I blundered into Kane’s camp half dead of thirst and . . . and of heatstroke, not entirely in my right mind,” Adam continued. “He gave me shelter and water . . . he fed me. He even offered me the use of his mule and enough food and water to make it back to Eastgate, if I’d work for him for three days. He claimed he was on the verge of a strike, even had a good sized chunk of gold ore to prove it. His proposal sounded reasonable, even though . . . even though by that time, I was already late meeting YOU. I also knew that the only chance I had of making it back alive was to accept Kane’s proposal and his offer, so I did. I had no idea in the world that he was lying.

“The first couple of days things went well enough,” Adam continued. “He was anxious and impatient . . . again, understandable, since I had believed him when he said he was on the verge of making the strike. But, the third day, it seemed every time I stopped to rest, to catch my breath, he was on me like a slave driver, making snide remarks, ordering me to get back to work.

“I . . . I actually allowed this to go on another two days, before I decided I had finally had it. I grabbed the nearest canteen and went to take the mule. He pulled a rifle on me, Joe, a rifle he had kept hidden, and ordered me to stand away from the mule. Then, he turned the rifle on the mule and shot it. Our only way out of there, and he KILLED it.”

“My God!” Joe murmured softly, shaken to the very core of his being. “Why?”

“It’s as we said before . . . Kane wanted to die,” Adam replied. “As to WHY he wanted to die . . . I must’ve asked myself that question a million times after you, Pa, and Hoss found me, and brought me home. For weeks, maybe even MONTHS, after, I lay awake night after night after night, uselessly speculating. In the end, the only sure answer I could come up with is . . . there’s no rhyme or reason to insanity.”

“Not much of an answer is it?”

“No.”

“Lady Chadwick told me that I was supposed to some kind of weapon she planned to use against Pa in revenge for his having humiliated her when she visited us, AND for jilting her back in New Orleans,” Joe said, surprised to find a great measure of comfort in his oldest brother’s presence. “None of it made any sense. You know what happened when she came to the Ponderosa to visit, and Pa told us that he had asked her to marry him in New Orleans, but SHE turned him down flat.”

“I remember. I was ten years old at the time,” Adam said, scowling. “Pa left Hoss at home with Mister and Mrs. O’Brien, but decided to me with him. They met at someone’s party and apparently hit it off very well. The next morning, she took Pa and me on a grand tour of the city. It was a whirlwind courtship. I remember Pa being shocked and devastated when she turned down his marriage proposal. I also remember how furious he was when he found out that she had actually eloped the night before with Lord Chadwick, then sailed off with him to England a few days later.”

“You mean to tell me . . . she was actually MARRIED to Lord Chadwick when she officially turned PA down?!”

Adam nodded.

“That means . . . she was courting HIM the whole time she was stringing PA along.”

“There’s no doubt of that at all in MY mind.”

“Damn! That bitch was a real piece of work, wasn’t she?”

“Well, I, for one, am glad things turned out as they did. Otherwise, God forbid, he might STILL be leg shackled to that scheming harridan, and even worse, he would’ve never met YOUR mother. I’m GLAD he met and ended up marrying Marie. If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t have had YOU.”

“Thanks, Adam,” Joe said quietly, with a smile. He sighed, and the smile faded. “I knew Lady Chadwick wasn’t right in the head after she killed her son. I’d hear her call Crippensworth by PA’S name, and toward the end of my time with her, she actually started calling ME Ben. She also started acting like she was married to Pa.

“Hoss told me later that Lady Chadwick had been working on a painting, almost life sized. He and Pa saw it in the house she owned in Carson City. They had gone there looking for me or clues to my whereabouts. That painting was a picture of her and Pa dressed as a bride and groom. Hoss told me that painting gave him and Pa both a real case of the heebie-jeevies.”

“I’ll bet! She probably painted Pa’s face from memory, too, just like she did on the one she gave him when she came to visit,” Adam observed with a shudder.

“Adam?”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Promise me you won’t tell Pa that I know about the painting? He’d throttle Hoss if he knew that he had told me,” Joe said. “To give Big Brother credit, he didn’t WANT to tell me. I dragged it out of him.”

“I know very well how stubborn and relentless you can be, Baby Brother,” Adam said with a wry smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t say a thing to Pa.”

“Thanks,” Joe said, returning his oldest brother’s smile. “I appreciate it, and if Big Brother knew, he’d appreciate it, too. Adam, may I ask you one more question? You don’t have to ANSWER it, if you don’t want to.”

“Fair enough. What’s your question?”

“Have you been able to come to terms with what happened between you and Kane?”

“I thought I had, but now . . . . ” Adam shrugged and shook his head. “After I got home, I made damn’ sure I kept very busy, pushing myself until I was physically exhausted, too tired to see straight, let alone think. That was the only way I could sleep at night.”

“I remember,” Joe said quietly. “For months you ran yourself into the ground, and in the end . . . it seemed to have worked. You were pretty much back to your old self again . . . so I thought, anyway. I wanted to do the same thing. There’s so much work to do, it would have been real easy. But, I couldn’t.”

“Because of your injuries?”

Joe nodded. “ . . . and the fact that my stomach had come to a place of no longer being able to accept solid food. Pa told me later I was so dangerously dehydrated, that if I vomited again . . . or had any bouts of what Sheriff Coffee sometimes refers to as the ol’ back door trots . . . it could’ve killed me.”

“My God! I . . . I had no idea!”

“Neither did I. I was a little upset with Pa for not telling me at first, but now . . . I’m kinda glad he didn’t.”

The two brothers lapsed into silence for a time, each mulling over all that had been spoken between them in the privacy of their own thoughts.

“Joe . . . . ” Adam finally, at length, broke the silence.

“Yeah, Adam?”

“You were wrong.”

Joe frowned. “About what?”

“About me running out on Pa,” Adam said. “I was actually trying to run out on MYSELF . . . this evening . . . AND the night I left the Ponderosa for good.”

His last words drew a look of surprise from Joe.

“I . . . never realized that before,” Adam said slowly, “I certainly didn’t think of it then, not in so many words . . . . ”

“You probably would have left anyway . . . eventually,” Joe said quietly. “You’ve always had your own dreams. Though for a long time, I . . . I’d thought your leaving the Ponderosa . . . AND us . . . was MY fault.”

Adam looked over at his youngest brother, shocked and astonished. “Where in the world did you get an idea like that?”

“You left not long after I was attacked by that wolf up in Montpelier Gorge,” Joe said. “I don’t remember anything about that night, I was pretty much out of it, but Hoss later told me what happened. He also told me how you were so hell-bent on leaving for someplace more civilized once you knew I was out of the woods, so to speak. I thought later, after you HAD gone, if only I hadn’t insisted on you and me going after that wolf that day, I wouldn’t have been hurt and the rest that came later wouldn’t have happened . . . and YOU would’ve stayed.”

“Joe, no! It wasn’t YOUR fault,” Adam said in his own very firm, very Pa-like voice. “For one thing, I wanted to stop that wolf from killing any more of our cattle every bit as much as you did. That whole business of Doctor Hickman having to attend to a breech birth, Hoss having to go to a warehouse twenty miles away, Dowd and HIS cohorts bushwhacking Hoss to steal your medicine and hold it hostage, well, I’d be less than honest if I didn’t admit to it all being fuel for the fire.

“But when morning came? Pa was home, Hoss had taken Dowd to the sheriff, and I knew that YOU were going to pull through, things looked a lot brighter. I saw again how beautiful this country is, and all that we Cartwrights have here. The last thing in the world I wanted to do then was leave it all behind for good.”

“Adam, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to either . . . but what DID prompt you to leave for good?” Joe asked. “I remember your decision being very sudden, and all the loud, furious arguments between you and Pa that whole week before you left.”

“Randy Paine.”

“What?!” Joe looked over at his brother, incredulous. “You mean the old drunk who took up residence at the old Bucket of Blood Saloon, in that corner table, ‘way in the back?”

Adam nodded. “Randy Paine. You remember how he was always singling out somebody to scorn and ridicule.”

“Yeah,” Joe affirmed with a scowl and a curt nod of his head.

“Well, for almost that entire month before I decided to leave here for good, he had decided to single ME out,” Adam said. “At first, I ignored him. Then, his nasty remarks started hitting too close to home, beginning with comments about me killing Ross Marquett.”

“Adam, THAT was self defense!” Joe declared, outraged. “Ross gave you no choice.”

“I know,” Adam sighed. “I know. I tried my best to keep right on ignoring him. I might have succeeded if he hadn’t started making accusations about DELPHINE and me. She NEVER had eyes for anyone else but Ross, from the first day she met him. She never would have dreamed of being unfaithful to him. In fact, the entire time she was with us, right before . . . before Ross killed her . . . Delphine thought of no one BUT Ross. Ol’ Randy Paine-in-the-ass . . . sitting at that back table, drunk as a skunk, slandering her good name, and Delphine Marquett no longer in a position to defend herself . . . I was furious.”

“I don’t blame you. What did you do?”

“If he had been younger, stronger, in better health, I would have mopped up the saloon floor with him,” Adam said, his ire rising. “Instead, I grabbed his whiskey bottle, it was almost full, and I threatened to pour every last drop of it out on the floor, unless he took back every filthy, lying word he had said about Delphine.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. I thought that would put an end to his tormenting me, but it didn’t. Randy never mentioned Delphine again, or any other young lady, with whom I had been friendly, but he found other things.”

“WHAT other things?”

“One of his favorite jabs was to tell me that I was a rich man’s son . . . who had never had to do a lick of real work . . . or honest work . . . in his entire life.”

Joe’s face darkened with anger. For one brief moment, he wished with all his might, that he could have Randy Paine back from the dead and in the prime of his life, so he could put his own fist right through the man’s face. “That’s a lie!” he declared in a low voice, barely audible. “Adam, that’s a . . . big, ugly, vicious LIE.”

“Part of me believed him then . . . and I think still does . . . even n-now.”

“How can you say that?!” Joe demanded, incredulous. “For one thing, Pa’s ALWAYS been a demanding task master, especially toward US. For every full day’s work he expects from the men who work for us, he expects a full day and a half from Hoss, Stacy, and me . . . and he did from YOU, too . . . before you left.

“ . . . as for being the son of a rich man, you weren’t always. You and Pa went through a lot of years of being poor, of drifting from place to place . . . job to job. Once, when I was little, and wanted this pair of boots I didn’t need in the absolute worst way . . . Pa told me about the summer YOU ended up going around barefoot because you had outgrown your last pair of boots, and . . . and he couldn’t afford to buy another pair.”

“I think there was something in the WAY Randy said the things he said . . . and, in MY case, the way he kept carping on that particular thing every single night for a whole solid month,” Adam said wearily. “There’s something about that . . . having a certain point constantly thrown up in your face over a long period of time. After awhile, you start believing the lie.”

“Like . . . Lady Chadwick trying to t-tell me that she and Crippensworth had come to help me the night our house burned down, when the truth of the matter was . . . they had come to kidnap me,” Joe said slowly, his voice shaking, “or worse . . . when she told me that . . . that Pa and the rest of the family believed me dead and that they were actually HAPPY about it.”

“I hope you know that none of US would have been happy, had you actually died in that fire,” Adam said.

“I knew THAT,” Joe said quietly, surprised by the intensity of emotion churning up within him. “The thing that scared me . . . I mean really . . . scared me . . . was that somehow, I got it in my head that STACY had died and that PA had died, too . . . because Stacy was dead, and . . . and because he believed I was dead.”

Adam looked over at Joe, noting that his eyes blinked excessively. “THAT’S how Randy Paine made ME forget everything that had ever happened before,” he said gently, as he placed his arm around his brother’s shoulders, this time offering comfort as he would to a peer, an equal, rather than to the child he had always thought of Joe as being.

“I think . . . things would have turned out a lot different if I only had to work through the repercussions of Kane holding me prisoner, forcing me to do the work of his pack mule . . . OR Randy Paine needling and badgering me night after night,” Adam said. “But, having to face BOTH—

“A week before I left . . . for good . . . I had gone into the Bucket of Blood with Matt Wilson and Hoss,” Adam continued. “It had been one of those days in which everything that could have gone wrong, DID go wrong . . . . with a vengeance. That night, all I wanted to do was relax, and have a couple of beers with Hoss and Matt. The very last thing in the world I was in the mood for was Randy Paine’s needling.

“Randy, however, was in rare form that night. He started in almost from the second I stepped into the saloon. For a little while, Hoss and Matt were able to keep me under wraps, but in the end, I . . . I finally snapped. I was up, and running across the room before Hoss or Matt could even think of stopping me. I grabbed Randy by the lapels and literally threw him across the room. Then, I started after him, with every intention of killing him. But when I reached Randy? It wasn’t RANDY I saw, but Kane, lying there laughing at me, telling me that he had won after all.

“Afterward, I tried desperately to ignore it, to blame it on circumstance, but deep down, I knew I wanted more than anything to kill Randy Paine, to shut his mouth permanently . . . just like I wanted to kill Kane,” Adam continued. “I knew couldn’t just pass it off anymore, and THAT frightened me. My first thought was, if I could get away from HERE, go to one of the big cities back east, maybe . . . just someplace more civilized, I . . . I could keep that urge to kill . . . to murder . . . safely under wraps.

“Pa KNEW I was running away from something, though he didn’t know WHAT that something was. I know he was worried. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he told me that if I didn’t stay long enough to face what was bothering me, and work it though, it would haunt me for the rest of my life.” Adam shuddered. “It would appear . . . he was right.”

“Is that why you left in the dead of night, after we had all gone to sleep?”

Adam nodded. “As you probably remember, Pa and I had our worst set-to yet that day. It began in the afternoon, as we were all riding in from the range and continued on into the evening and most of the night. Finally Pa called a truce, and said we’d talk about it in the morning. I was scared to death, Joe. Scared that come morning, he would somehow talk me out of leaving.

“So I waited for the rest of you to fall asleep. After stuffing in everything that would fit into this old carpet bag sitting behind me on the bed, I left a note for Pa on the credenza, and snuck away in the dead of night like a thief. I was on the first stage out the following morning. I didn’t care at the time where it was going, just so long as it was going AWAY from Virginia City.”

“Why were you so afraid that Pa would talk you out of leaving?” Joe asked.

“I was scared because that night, I was so angry with Pa,” Adam replied. “After being dragged through hell by Kane, then on top of that, having to put up with Randy Paine night after night, I KNEW I was capable of getting angry enough to want to kill someone, and . . . and I was frightened beyond all imagining at the prospect of getting so angry that I’d . . . that I’d end up killing Pa . . . or YOU . . . or Hoss.”

“M-My God, Adam,” Joe whispered, his voice catching. “B-Bearing up under such a heavy burden for all these years . . . is THAT why you stayed away so long?”

Adam nodded, unable to speak.

“Why didn’t you ever tell US? Or at the very least tell Pa?”

“Pride, I think,” Adam said ruefully. “I was the eldest. I . . . I knew you and Hoss looked up to me, counted on me to be strong. Pa depended on m-me a lot, too, especially in those first years after . . . after YOUR mother died. I felt as if . . . as if I might be letting HIM down and the two of you, as well.” He turned and stared very hard, very pointed at his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

Joe, noting that his oldest brother’s eyes blinked excessively, gathered him in his arms and held him close, in manner not unlike the way his father did even now, whenever he was hurt or troubled. “Adam, I . . . I don’t know WHAT to say, except . . . well . . . just because you show yourself t-to be human . . . doesn’t make you any the LESS my hero . . . . If anything . . . it makes you even M-MORE my hero!” he whispered fiercely, as fresh tears began to slip down over his own eyes lids, and down onto his cheeks.

Adam looked over at his youngest brother, his face a mixture of awe, surprise, and a deep, profound relief, as if the weight and burdens of the whole world had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders.

“You haven’t let me down, Adam . . . and . . . and you h-haven’t let Pa, Hoss, Stacy, or . . . or H-Hop Sing down either,” Joe continued, his voice tremulous, “ . . . and I . . . WE . . . aren’t going to turn our backs on YOU . . . especially not now, when YOU need US the most. I’m HERE, Oldest Brother . . . I’m right here . . . and . . . and I’m gonna st-stay right h-here . . . whether . . . whether you WANT me or n-not— ”

Joe’s words were lost, drowned in a torrent of grief for the brother he held clasped tightly in his arms. He could feel Adam’s arms encircling his waist, and the weight of his head dropping down heavily onto his shoulder. Joe gently leaned his head against Adam’s and, tightened his embrace as both again wept openly.

They remained thus for a very long time.

Hours later, long after dim twilight had passed into the dark of night, Adam’s heart felt lighter than he could ever remember, as he and Joe made their way downstairs. “Thank you, Joe,” he said softly.

Joe turned and regarded his oldest brother with mild surprise. “For what?”

“For being there.”

Joe’s grin trembled slightly. “That’s what brothers are for. Think of it as a real small down payment for all the times YOU’VE been there for ME.”

As they stepped down off the last step onto the first floor, they saw their father, seated on the settee, his face turned toward the dying embers in the fireplace. Ben’s posture straightened, upon hearing the soft sounds of their footfalls. He immediately rose, and turned, regarding them anxiously.

“Adam? . . . Joe? Is . . . is everything all right?” Ben ventured hesitantly.

“Not y-yet, but it will be,” Adam replied, his voice still unsteady. He walked over toward the fireplace, with Joe following silently behind. “Pa?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“You think maybe . . . we could ride out to . . . to Ponderosa Plunge . . . tomorrow?” Adam asked as he dropped down in the nearest vacant easy chair, over next to the fireplace. “Just you and me? I . . . I just realized that . . . well, it’s been a long time since you and I’ve ridden out there together.”

“Pa, you don’t need to worry about The Kid and me,” Joe immediately put in. “I think the two of us can fend for ourselves for ONE day . . . and besides! Hop Sing’ll be here . . . and he’s a worse stickler for us following the doc’s orders than YOU are.”

“Uh oh. Maybe we’d b-better postpone that trip out to Ponderosa Plunge, lest you find yourself short a chief cook,” Adam said in mock horror, his eyes sparking with mischief.

“Whaddya mean lest Pa finds himself short a chief cook?” Joe demanded.

“After being forced to spend the day alone . . . with you and Stacy BOTH on the mend . . . Hop Sing’s gonna be on the first stage to San Francisco to help that cousin of his with the restaurant,” Adam teased.

“Oh, I think Hop Sing can cope for ONE day,” Ben said, as Joe stuck his tongue out at his oldest brother. He, then, sat back down on the settee, his face an odd mixture of relief and bewilderment. “Adam, I’d like nothing more than to ride out to Ponderosa Plunge with ya,” he said. “But, are you going to have the time?”

“Sure, Pa. I’ll have PLENTY of time.”

“But . . . aren’t you leaving day after tomorrow . . . on the first stage out?!”

“Pa, I can’t POSSIBLY leave day after tomorrow,” Adam said in mock surprise, then smiled. “I have a house to build first.”

Joe, with wild, joyous abandon, whooped at the top of his lungs, in response to Adam’s words. “ALRIGHT, OLDEST BROTHER OF MINE! NOW YOU’RE TALKIN ’ GOOD SENSE.”

“Joseph Francis Cartwright, will you for heaven’s sake keep your voice DOWN?! We’re in town, NOT out on the Ponderosa. Our nearest neighbors are only several FEET away, NOT several miles.” Though Ben reprimanded his youngest son very sternly, he couldn’t quite keep back his own happy smile. “Besides, Hoss, Stacy, and Hop Sing are probably trying to sleep.”

“No, we ain’t, Pa.” It was Hoss.

Ben, Adam, and Joe turned, and found the remainder of the family, Hoss, Stacy, and Hop Sing standing together behind the settee, clad in nightshirts, bathrobes, and slippers.

“How long have you three been standing there?” Joe demanded.

“Not long, Grandpa. We followed you after we heard you and Adam start down the stairs,” Stacy replied.

“I thought the three of ya had gone to bed,” Ben said, his eyes moving from Hoss, to Stacy, and finally to Hop Sing.

“We tried, Pa,” Stacy said, “but . . . it was one of those nights we just couldn’t get to sleep.”

“Good thing HOP SING plenty wide awake,” Hop Sing said. “Need fix lunch for Mister Cartwright, Mister Adam. Very good Mister Adam ride to Ponderosa Plunge with Papa. Very, very good.” He smiled, then yawned again, as he turned and started toward the kitchen.

“Hop Sing, please wait,” Ben said earnestly.

Hop Sing paused mid-stride, then turned and favored Ben with a quizzical look.

“You’ll have plenty of time after breakfast to fix up that lunch for Adam and me,” Ben said firmly. “Right now— ” He broke off, suddenly unable to speak.

“Pa?” Stacy prodded gently, noting the excessive blinking of his eyes.

Ben felt her hand gentle, yet firm coming to rest on his shoulder. Joe, his eyes round with apprehension, also reached over and covered his father’s hand, lightly resting on the arm of the settee, with his own.

“I-I’m alright,” Ben tried to assure them, his voice unsteady. “I . . . I just want all of you to c-come and . . . s-sit down awhile.”

Hop Sing nodded mutely and pulled one of the small straight backed chairs over close to the chair Joe occupied, while Hoss and Ben helped settle Stacy between them on the settee.

Adam moved the ottoman from its place in front of the chair he occupied, over directly in front of Stacy. “Here you are, Little Sister,” he said, smiling. “Sorry about the coffee table. Hoss, would you mind handing me one of the cushions behind you?”

“C-Comin’ atcha, OLDER Brother,” Hoss quipped, with tremulous smile, as he drew the cushion squashed behind his back and lobbed it toward Adam. His own big sky blue eyes gleamed with unusual brightness. The pillow sailed over Adam’s head and hit Joe squarely in the face.

“H-Hey! You did that on purpose,” Joe accused, laughing and crying at the same time.

“ACCIDENTLY on purpose,” Hoss countered, as he reached into the pocket of his robe and drew out a handkerchief.

“Gimme that,” Adam growled, smiling amid new tears forming in his own dark eyes. He snatched the cushion away from Joe and carefully placed it on the ottoman beneath Stacy’s new plaster cast. “There you are, Kid, nice ‘n comfy.”

“Thank you . . . G-GREAT Grandpa,” she replied, her own voice unsteady.

“GREAT Grandpa! I LIKE that,” Joe declared, a split second before breaking into a gale of infectious laughter that ensnared them all, one by one.

Ben slipped one arm around Stacy’s shoulders and squeezed Joe’s hand, still resting lightly on top of his. He offered a silent, heartfelt prayer, filled with gratitude for having all four of his children and Hop Sing gathered around him, alive, whole, and in one piece. “Alright, CHILDREN, let’s settle down,” he admonished them all gently, as the laughter subsided.

“Right!” Joe quipped with a grin. “We don’t want the neighbors complaining to the sheriff about all the noise.”

“Hoo boy! THAT’S gonna cramp our style,” Stacy said with an exaggerated, melodramatic sigh. “Adam?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“How long is it gonna take you to build our house anyway?”

“I don’t know . . . several months I imagine.”

“Several MONTHS?!” Joe echoed, incredulous. “Just to build a house?! Adam, are you kidding?!”

“Actually, I COULD get it done in a few weeks, weather permitting, IF I were in a hurry,” Adam said with a complacent smile. “But, seeing that I’d probably be expected to leave upon completion . . . I don’t think I’m in all that much of a hurry.”

“Adam, I’ve got a proposition for ya,” Ben said.

“What’s that?”

“You get that house built BEFORE one of your exuberant younger siblings lands the lot of us in jail for disturbing the peace, and I’ll let you stay as long as you like.”

Adam’s smile broadened. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Pa . . . . ”

Epilogue . . . .

“Feast your eyes upon THAT, Adam,” Ben said softly, reverently, as he gestured toward the magnificent vista of lake, mountain, sky, and a vast carpet of pine trees spread out before him with a broad sweep of his arm. “I STILL don’t know whether or not I’ll someday see heaven, but even so . . . I can’t imagine the beauty of heaven surpassing the beauty of the Ponderosa.”

“Amen to that, Pa,” Adam murmured, his voice every bit as soft, as reverent.

For a time, father and son stood together, in companionable silence, looking out on the view named Ponderosa Plunge by the latter, each lost in his own thoughts.

“Joe and I had three days to kill after we sold that herd of cattle in Eastgate,” Adam began, inwardly astonished at the ease in which the words flowed out of his mouth. He was grateful beyond measure for the loving strength radiating from his father’s close proximity. “Joe told me he was tired of being on the trail . . . that he wanted to stay over, rest, spend the next couple of nights sleeping in a real bed, with sheets, and a couple of soft, down pillows. I, on the other hand, was anxious to put some distance between myself and the town. I wanted very much to explore the area, of course . . . but that hardly explains why I was so eager to leave.”

“You’ve always needed your time alone, Son, from the time you were a small boy,” Ben said quietly. “After spending nearly a week on the trail, constantly in the company of your youngest brother, I can well understand you feeling the need to spend a couple of days alone.”

“We didn’t argue once on the trip out to Eastgate, Pa,” Adam said, feeling himself on the defensive. “Looking back, I’m still amazed at how well he and I got along.”

“I’m sorry . . . I meant no criticism of the relationship between you and Joe,” Ben said. “I was trying to say that you’ve always needed your time of solitude to replenish your energy, mental and physical. Joe, on the other hand, thrives on being around and interacting with people.”

Adam silently digested his father’s words. “You’re right, Pa. I . . . never realized that before, but . . . looking back . . . you’re right.”

“The beauty of the land surrounding you has always been a source of strength for you, too, Son,” Ben added, “and the starkness of the badlands out past Eastgate is in its own way every bit as magnificent as the view spread out before us here.”

Adam took a deep breath and shared with his father all that had happened from the time he had left the barbershop, where Joe was luxuriating in a hot bath, and finally ending with his setting out across the desert, carrying a travois, with Peter Kane’s inert body lying stretched out upon it, holding back nothing.

“I should’ve bowed to my baby brother’s wisdom and remained in town,” Adam said ruefully, “or at the very least . . . left the money with Joe or better yet, put it in the bank. I . . . I have no idea in the world why I insisted on carrying all that money around with me like that.”

Ben placed a comforting, paternal hand on Adam’s shoulder and gently squeezed. “Did you ever stop to consider that if you HADN’T taken the money with you, the men who robbed you might’ve killed you right there on the spot because they didn’t get what they were after?”

“They were watching me, Pa. They HAD to have been watching me. Had I put that money into the back . . . they would’ve known about it and . . . well, almost certainly looked for another victim.”

Ben winced against the bitterness, the anger he heard in his eldest son’s voice. “Son, you don’t know that. You CAN’T know that. Just before I left home to make my own way in the world, MY pa told me that hindsight is always crystal clear. ‘Use it to look at your mistakes and learn the lessons they have to teach, but never let it incriminate you.’ I . . . know it’s difficult sometimes— ”

Adam forced himself to turn, to gaze into his father’s face, and eyes. Instead of the expected reproach, he saw the great depths of his father’s love and compassion for the first time in a very long time.

“I . . . oh, Pa, I . . . I can’t believe how naive . . . how arrogantly cock sure I was of myself . . . of what I believed,” Adam said, his voice filled with bitter self reproach and grief. “I honestly and truly believed that a civilized man . . . like . . . myself . . . couldn’t be driven to commit murder. Kill to defend himself . . . to protect others, particularly those he loves, yes. But to commit premeditated, cold blooded murder . . . no.

“As Kane went on working and treating me like a . . . like a brainless animal, goading me every step of the way, I became angry, Pa. So angry, I wanted to kill him . . . to put my hands around my neck and choke the very life out of him. That scared me . . . more than anything in my whole life.

“In the end . . . when Kane t-told me we were going to have a . . . a fight to the death to . . . to see who got to leave with the rifle and . . . and the secret stash of f-food and water, God help me, Pa, I . . . I pummeled him within an inch of his life. The minute he fell, I was on him. I . . . I actually hand my hands around his neck.”

Adam felt his father’s hand leave his shoulder. Then, in less than the space of a heartbeat, Pa’s arm encircled both shoulders and held on tight. He quickly swallowed back the lump quickly rising in his throat, as he slipped his own arm around his father’s waist.

Ben felt the acrid sting of tears in his own eyes, not only for the agony that Peter Kane had inflicted upon the man he held against him, with his arm wrapped tight about his shoulders, but for the terrible burden he had carried inside all the years since. “Adam . . . DID you kill him?”

“No! I . . . I grabbed h-his rifle and . . . I smashed it into a million tiny pieces,” Adam replied, his voice shaking. “Then, I . . . I located the stash of food and water, but . . . b-before I could even think of running . . . Kane got in one last jab. He t-told me that he had won after all . . . that I was as good as killing him by going off w-with . . . with the very last of our food and water— ” He abruptly broke off, unable to continue.

“I’m here, Son . . . . ” Ben whispered very softly. “I’m right here. Whether you want me or not, I’ll still . . . ALWAYS . . . be right here.”

Adam’s head dropped down onto his father’s shoulder, with a natural ease that surprised him. He had stopped coming to his father like this, in what he considered to be the manner of a child, in the wake of Inger’s death. Pa needed him to be strong, to be a man, that together, both of them might properly look after Hoss. There had only been two exceptions. The first was in the wake of those frightening Ash Hallow dreams, prompted, no doubt, by the suddenness of Inger’s demise. The second was the day Pa, Hoss, and Joe found him trekking blindly through the badlands, dragging a travois bearing the dead body of Peter Kane.

“Adam . . . if you never listen to another word I say . . . if you decide to never again listen to or act upon any piece of advice I give you in the future . . . please . . . please hear this,” Ben said, his tone gentle yet rock firm with conviction. “One thing I’ve learned in all my travels . . . from the countless numbers of people I’ve met along the way . . . is that people are capable of great good . . . AND great evil. The choice is always ours.

“Now from what you’ve told me about that time, I see a young man who chose NOT to kill, despite his wanting so very much to do so,” Ben continued, as his arms wrapped tighter about his eldest son’s body. He pulled him closer, gratified and deeply touched that Adam came willingly, without offering even the slightest bit of resistance. “In spite of all that Kane did . . . and tried to do, you took your hands from around his neck, and later . . . you placed him on a travois and tried to bring him back, along with yourself. Your decision to try and save Kane in the face of your feelings, your instincts to the contrary, speaks to me of a very strong . . . very courageous man . . . who . . . who I am very proud to have as my s-son— ”

Father and son stood together, for a time, locked tight in each others’ arms, weeping openly, without shame. Their tears flowed freely, overtop their eyelids, and down their cheeks, pressed close, to mingle, and become as one. For the first time in many, many years, Adam knew once again the profound depths of his father’s love, and in those depths discovered anew the bonds that united them as father and son.

Afterwards, Adam told Ben about Randy Paine, and the circumstances that had finally led to his leaving his home . . . and his family . . . for good. “I . . . I wanted to kill him every b-bit as much as . . . as I had wanted to kill K-Kane. That’s . . . that’s why I left home, Pa . . . left you, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing the way I d-did,” Adam confessed, as their weeping began to subside, “sneaking out . . . in the dead of n-night like a thief, without . . . without saying good-bye. I saw a part of myself I didn’t w-want to see . . . that I . . . I tried m-my damndest NOT to see, and I was afraid.”

“ . . . afraid that y-you’d get angry enough to want to kill me, your brothers, or . . . or Hop Sing?”

Adam nodded.

“You wouldn’t have, Son.” Ben gently cupped Adam’s face in his own hands, and gazed lovingly into his firstborn’s golden brown eyes, filled with uncertainty and dread, yes . . . but there was also a glimmer of hope there that had been absent for many, many years. “You chose NOT to kill Peter Kane and Randy Paine . . . two men who cruelly abused you for their own twisted purposes. If you’re capable of sparing the lives of men like that . . . how much more capable are you of sparing the lives of people you love?”

“I n-never even thought of that, Pa,” Adam murmured, as fresh tears once more filled his eyes.

“I . . . think you would have left the Ponderosa . . . and us . . . eventually,” Ben said quietly, with a touch of sadness. “As a young man, YOU wanted to see the world every bit as much as I did at the same age.”

Adam nodded.

Ben favored his eldest son with an encouraging, yet wistful smile. “I . . . I miss you, Son, so much, it sometimes hurts,” he said, “ever since . . . since that first morning I woke up and found your note on the credenza . . . and I always will. You and I . . . we’ve shared and gone through a lot together . . . for good and for ill, that I will never share with your brothers or your sister. I would be less than honest if I didn’t acknowledge and admit that, but . . . over the years, I’ve come also to see that you and Teresa have made a life for yourselves and for your children that’s every bit as good as the life I’ve tried to make here on the Ponderosa for you, Hoss, Joe, and Stacy.”

“Thank you, Pa. When Teresa and I came with the kids three years ago, she asked me if I missed my life here on the Ponderosa.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I answered yes, but I also told her that as much as I DID miss my life here, I still wouldn’t trade it for the life she and I’ve made together,” Adam said. “I’ve found, much to my surprise that I enjoy being a city slicker very much. However . . . . ”

“Yes?”

“I have every intention of coming here to visit you more often, Pa . . . a LOT more often.”

Ben smiled. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Son.”

“You’d better,” Adam said, smiling back.

“ . . . and you’d better bring your family with you, too.”

“Dio’d never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t,” Adam said. “Of course this business of bringing the family along works both ways, y’ know. Eduardo and Dolores remind me every chance they get that my brothers haven’t been to visit since the wedding . . . and that Eduardo has yet to meet my sister.”

“I’ll have to wait until your sister’s back on her feet again— ”

“Given her impatient nature in times of enforced convalescence . . . . ” Adam smiled, as he sarcastically rolled his eyes heavenward, “she should be mobile by late summer . . . if not before.”

“If she is, then I promise to descend on you en masse. That includes Hop Sing.”

“That BETTER include Hop Sing.”

“I hope you and Teresa’ll be up for it. Your brothers and sister can be an unruly bunch sometimes, y’ know.”

Adam laughed out loud, upon remembering how he and Teresa had come back from a ride to this very spot, and found the entire great room trashed, Joe and Stacy armed with the matched set of fencing rapiers, that had belonged to Marie, half sitting-half lying on an overturned settee, clad in outlandish make shift costumes, laughing their fool heads off . . . and Pa, towering over them, altering from astonishment, to anger, and to amusement.

“When we do come?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll make sure Joe and Stacy leave the fencing rapiers at home,” Ben promised, with a knowing smile.

The End.

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