WRONG SIDE OF THE LAW
BY MICHELLE K

Muffled, angry voices were the first indications the dreams of home were not real. What the two men were arguing about was unclear to Adam Cartwright. He vaguely wondered why they would be quarrelling while he had been trying to sleep. As awareness pricked at his pain-hazed brain he came to realize, he was most assuredly not in the comfort of his own home.

How precisely he found himself to be on the ground was a mystery, but he was sure it must have something to do with the sharp, piercing pain emanating from the left side of his head. With a soft groan, he carefully lifted his hand to the spot, just behind his ear. He was not surprised when his fingers came away wet and sticky.

Not yet ready to open his eyes he attempted to follow the intense conversation above him. Though he had heard the voices before, he knew they did not belong to anyone in his family. Making sense of what he had awoken to was exceedingly difficult; his thoughts seemed to scatter with each new piece of information. Slowly he began to recall the circumstances that had delivered him into this undignified position. Although reluctant to face the grim situation he recognized he was now in, he decided it was time to open his eyes.

The glare of the afternoon sun nearly sent him back to unconsciousness. As his world slowly came into focus, he tried to suppress the threatening nausea and take stock of his current situation. Behind, and slightly above him, stood Cornell Morris. He had known this man for only a short while, and his presence was not reassuring.

Directly above him, to his right, was the dark silhouette of another man, his face shaded by the glare of the late afternoon sun behind him. It was this man that caused Adam the most concern, for this man had a pistol pointed directly at his head.

He followed each movement of the Colt .45 as it wavered above him. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, transfixed by the tarnished barrel and the slight tremor of the hand that held it. He dare not move—that would be foolish, for he had no desire to lose his head today, certainly not in this manner.

“I SAID, drop the gun, Morris! Unless, you want your friend here with a hole in the head,” the stranger demanded.

So this was it; his life was in the hands of Cornell Morris, a man he barely knew and hardly trusted. A man he was sure had more to do with their current predicament than he had divulged. A man he feared would have no qualms of sacrificing someone else’s life for his own gain.

He stole a quick glance at the stranger and could see his gaze was fixed on Morris. He carefully eased his right hand to his gun belt and silently cursed when his fingers felt the empty holster. In so vulnerable a position, Adam could think of only one other thing to do. So, he closed his eyes, and sent a silent prayer as he waited for Morris to respond.

Time seemed interminable as he waited for the reply. He felt sweat intermixed with his own blood track through his scalp and drip to the dirt below. He prayed for the safety of Joe, Mrs. Mosby, her son and the driver who were all still waiting in the dilapidated homestead at the bottom of the hill. He thought of his father and Hoss back home; they were probably just sitting down for lunch, discussing the current day’s work.

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the man above him, “Well, what’s it going to be Morris?” Adam forced his eyes open and attempted to concentrate. The figure of the dust-covered cowboy slowly came into focus once again. The man’s attention was still on Morris as he waited for his answer.

“Do you really think I care about him, Butler?” was the icy reply. “Go ahead, shoot him.”

The gun shook, and Adam watched the finger on the trigger move ever so slightly. He held his breath as he waited for the firearm to discharge. He felt a twinge of regret that he would not be able to say farewell to his brothers and father.

The sun seemed impossibly bright as he watched the barrel of the pistol sway above him. He could see the man known as Butler consider his choice, his dirt- covered face creased with tension.

Butler glanced to Adam, seeming to take notice of his conscious state for the first time,. “Do you know who you’re helping? Do you know what this so- called ‘man of the law’ has done? This no good, lying, scheming, back stabbing, son of a—”

“That’s enough, Butler! You drop your gun peaceably; or you shoot him and I drop you. Your choice.” Morris’s voice was cold and steady.

Butler took a deep, halting breath and looked at the ground, his revolver still leveled at Adam’s head. When he lifted his head, Adam knew a decision had been made to end this standoff, and it stole his breath away. Butler smiled grimly as he raised his pistol. “I ain’t got nothin’ else to lose, do I? You already took what’s most important to me…”

Earlier that day…

The monotony of the dry, barren, and seemingly endless landscape seen through the window appeared to echo the boredom found inside the stagecoach as it rumbled along the isolated road. Brief, polite, conversations had been interlaced with long periods of silence, for the heat of the day seemed to sap all the energy and good will of the six passengers crammed inside the coach. Each person was covered in a fine layer of dust, which added to the collective misery.

Joe Cartwright was seated next to his brother Adam, who from all appearances, was sleeping. Joe doubted this was the case as his brother had to be as miserable and uncomfortable as he was. Especially since Adam, in a rare conciliatory mood, had let Joe take the window seat. His long legs were carefully, and Joe guessed most uncomfortably, placed so as not to inconvenience the lady who sat across from him.

Next to Adam sat a dandy of a young man named Alistair Jacobs. Joe had to smile at the man’s neatly tailored suit and matching bowler hat. No doubt, his brown, pin-stripped suit would soon be more cream colored from the alkali dust of the Nevada landscape. Definitely a greenhorn from back east, someone near his own age, Joe presumed.

Across from the dandy sat an older man, Cornell Morris, also neatly dressed in a silver brocade vest and white tailored shirt. He had long ago removed his heavy suit jacket and was now using it as a makeshift pillow. Joe doubted that the man was getting much rest and was, like his brother, feigning sleep to pass the miserable hours until their arrival at the next way station.

Next to this man sat an attractive woman whom had introduced herself as Mrs. Addison Mosby. Joe guessed her to be about his brother’s age. He couldn’t imagine the misery she must be in as she sat crammed in this small place with her many layers of dress. Ever the proper lady, she still wore gloves to cover her slim, delicate hands, no doubt to dissuade the possibility of any improprieties during their journey. And, although her curls had long ago lost their tight spring, she had yet to remove the hat that was neatly pinned to her upswept, brunette hair.

Next to Mrs. Mosby sat a young boy whom Joe guessed to be no more than seven years old. The boy stared blankly out the window, and he briefly wondered how such a young child could be so well behaved and still. With a deep, miserable sigh, Joe decided that he had had enough of the deafening silence. He uncorked his canteen and proffered it to the young, brown-haired boy: “Thirsty, kid?”

The boy looked away from the window, startled by the unexpected offer. With a quick look to his mother for approval, he reached for the canteen. “Uh, yes, sir. Thank you..?” The boy furrowed his eyebrows in thought, “What was your name again?”

Joe laughed, “Cartwright, but you can call me Joe. You can reserve ‘Mr. Cartwright’ for my big brother here. Your name was…Barrett, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Cartwright, I mean,” the boy again looked to his mother who nodded her blessing, giving him permission for the informal address. “I mean, Joe. My name is Barrett Mosby.”

“Pleased to meet you, again, Barrett.” Joe tipped his hat and looked to Mrs. Mosby, “Ma’am, can I ask what brings you both out this way?”

The woman was not pleased at being brought into the conversation and gave Joe a stern frown that belied her cordial words. “Not at all, Mr. Cartwright, we are headed to Carson City.” With that she turned to the window as if to signal the conversation was now over.

Not to be intimidated by the woman’s standoffish manner, Joe gave her his most beguiling smile. “Carson City? You don’t say... We’re from up near Virginia City way; my brother, ” he gave a nudge to Adam’s ribcage, “and me know the area real well. Ain’t that right, Adam?”

Adam, who had indeed been awake, reluctantly sat up; it seemed Joe was determined to get to know their fellow passengers despite the suffocating heat. He scowled at Joe as he pushed his hat back above his eyes, just to let him know he did not appreciate the elbow or his attempts to drag him into polite conversation. Despite this, he offered a courteous smile and a tip of the hat to Mrs. Mosby, “Yes, ma’am, that’s right.”

Adam could see the twinkle in Joe’s eye as he chattered away and rolled his eyes. He briefly considered feigning sleep again and was about to slouch low to do just that when he felt another nudge to his ribs. Seems his brother was not about to let him wallow in the misery of the mid-morning heat. Leave it to Joe to ruin a perfectly quiet, though be it miserable, ambiance.

“So, may I ask why you all are headed to Carson?” Joe questioned, oblivious to his brother’s mild annoyance.

“We’re goin’ to Carson City to meet my father!” Young Barrett exclaimed excitedly. “Father’s taken a new job there; going to work for the railroad!”

“Is that so? Where are you moving from?” Joe questioned.

Mrs. Mosby replied, “We’re from St. Louis, Mr. Cartwright.”

Adam lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a long ways to travel for you and your son, through a lot of dangerous territory.”

“It has been a long journey, Mr. Cartwright, but we have had company.” She nodded toward the young man sitting next to Adam.

Jacobs smiled and sat up, pleased to join the discussion. “That’s right; I’m in stead of my Uncle Addison, as their escort.”

“Well, just one big cozy family we got here.” The silver-haired man harrumphed as he repositioned himself to join the conversation. “Are you along just for the grand tour of the West, Mr. Jacobs, or do you have other plans?”

Alistair smiled, pleased that someone was inquiring about his plans. “Well, my uncle has offered me a position working for the railroad as well, Mr. Morris.”

“Ahh…well, at least your long journey is for an important cause.” Morris replied rather half-heartedly.

Jacobs didn’t seem to notice as he sat forward, his voice excited as he spoke, “Are you from around these parts, Mr. Morris? I’ve heard so many exciting stories about the West! I am quite eager to see some of it for myself. Have you ever had run-ins with the Indians or perhaps outlaws?” It was clear that these questions had been on his mind for some time.

Morris stroked his white mustache, clearly amused by this greenhorn’s excitement. “I think you’ll find that the West is not quite what they write about in the papers, my friend. Shootouts are generally a rare occurrence. And the Indians are fairly subdued by now, with a few exceptions, of course.”

As Adam sat back and watched the interaction between the two men, he couldn’t help but take a keen interest in Morris. Something about the man unsettled him, though he wasn’t sure just what it was. The man was certainly cocksure, and the way he spoke to Alistair could be taken as quite condescending, but it was something more than that. He supposed that it really didn’t matter as they would soon be parting ways, but for some reason, he could not shake the feeling that Morris was a man to keep at a safe distance.

His thoughts were interrupted when Morris turned his attention to Adam and Joe, seeming to have lost all interest in Alistair Jacobs, “Are you the Cartwrights of the Ponderosa?”

“The same!” Joe beamed, pleased he had had managed to create a renewed spirit of camaraderie in the coach. “My brother and I were in Carlin for some business -- for the railroad actually...”

“What’s the Ponderosa?” interrupted Barrett.

“It’s our ranch, near Virginia City. You’ll have to come visit; you’ll be real close in Carson City. I know my Pa would be pleased to have you all, seeing as you’re new to the area.”

“Could we, Ma?”

“We’ll see, Barrett…”

“You’d really like it, ma’am. It’s not real far—“ Joe stopped in mid-sentence as he felt the stage pick up speed, causing him to almost fall.

“What the devil is wrong with the driver?” Morris asked, as he reached for a handhold to stop his slide from the seat.

The sound of gunfire answered his question and spurred the men to take action. Adam pulled Mrs. Mosby to the floor while Joe did the same with Barrett, instructing them both to stay low. Adam next pushed Jacobs from his seat by the window. “Out of the way, man!”

The stage again lurched forward as the driver urged the horses to a full run. Guns in hand, Joe and Adam crouched low as they tried to see the gunmen through the windows.

“Joe, how many do you see?”

Joe fired off a couple shots before he answered, “I don’t know, maybe, four?”

Adam leaned back into the coach just as a bullet splintered the doorframe. “That’s what I figure, too.”

Cornell Morris squatted next to Mrs. Mosby, “I doubt they’ll be able to keep up with the stage. We should be able to out run them.”

Adam nodded, “There’s a good chance, but I’d rather they not get any closer.” He noted with disdain that Morris did not bother to offer his gun in defense of the stage, though he kept silent.

More shots hit the coach, followed by a muffled yell from atop the stage. Adam watched in horror as the body of the shotgun rider fell. His body flipped several times as it cascaded along the road. “They got Frank!” he yelled to his brother.

Joe frowned and fired another shot at the oncoming horsemen. He was pleased when a rider fell, his bullet finding its mark. As he took aim at another horseman he noticed something more terrifying. He let out a muffled curse and turned to his brother, “The back wheel is smokin’! I’m gonna let Cal know!”

Before Adam could reply Joe was already climbing out the stage door. He did his best to cover Joe while also keeping a watchful eye on the smoldering wheel. An inadequately greased axel was no match for the uncommon speed of the coach. While worrisome, it would be remedied once the coach came to a stop.

Joe quickly reached the front of the stage. “Cal! The wheel is smoking; we’re going to have to pull over!”

Cal Hendricks was an experienced stagecoach driver, and he had been with the company nearly five years, this was not the first time he had found himself under fire. His eyes never left the well-traveled road as he urged the horses forward. “I know a place to stop. There’s an old homestead – ain’t but a mile up…”

Joe grabbed the rifle dropped by Cal’s fallen companion. He fired off two more shots, pleased when several of the riders veered off the road. “You think we can make it that far?”

“Sure as shooting! It ain’t but two whoops and a holler from here.”

Joe nodded his acceptance; after all Cal was the expert, and they’d all just have to trust him and do what they could to help. He did his best to slow the advancement of the bandits and was pleased when they seemed to fall out of sight. He could see them rein in their horses, no longer able to keep pace with the stage.

It wasn’t long before the remnants of a long-abandoned homestead came into view. The wood structure was no longer a complete home. One wall had completely collapsed, and it looked like the rest of the structure was not far behind. It would, however, provide the passengers and their driver with some much-needed shelter; a place where they would be able to regroup and possibly make a stand against the would-be bandits.

Cal pulled hard on the reins as they approached the front of the house and urged the horses to halt their run with a strong, “Whoa!”

Adam threw open the door and jumped out. With a quick look to the passengers still inside the coach he motioned to the men, “Morris! Jacobs get the Mrs. and the boy inside, now!”

His gun at the ready he peered around the back of the coach. He watched the road, waiting for any sign of the remaining horsemen. He glanced to the top of the stage, impatiently waiting for Joe to climb down. He would feel a whole lot better when they were all inside the house. “Joe, get inside!” he yelled.

Still on top of the stage, Joe kept his eyes on the crest of the hill looking for any sign of the gunmen. “Cal, you go first; I got you covered from here.” Puzzled by the lack of movement, he turned and gave him a shake. “Cal! Come on you got to move!”

Cal turned his head slowly to look at Joe, “I cain’t. I’m hit… You go.”

Joe crawled to the front of the seat, leaning low as he hoped the baggage would provide some cover if the gunmen were to get within shooting distance. When he reached Cal he could see the pain etched upon his face as blood seeped from his shoulder. “Cal, I’ll help ya get down. I ain’t leaving you here.”

Cal nodded in acceptance.

“Joe! Hurry up, will ya!” yelled Adam again.

“I’m coming! Cal’s been hit. He’s going to need help!”

“I’m here. Hurry!”

“All right, Cal, I’ll help you down. Think you can walk?” Joe asked.

“My legs ain’t hit,” came the gruff reply.

Joe smiled as he took Cal’s good hand. As Cal lowered himself over the edge, Joe struggled to keep his hold. He nearly lost his grip when, thankfully, Adam appeared below and steadied his decent.

Seeing that Cal was on his feet, Adam gave him a light push toward the door of the house before turning his attention back to his youngest brother. “Joe—”

A rifle dropped into his view, “Here! We’ll need this!”

Adam tucked the gun into his arm and hunched close to the stage at the sound of gunfire. “For Pete’s sake, Joe, get down here!” he hissed.

Joe scrambled to the side of the coach. “I’m coming, Adam. You go in!”

He heard several choice words from his brother but was pleased to see Adam run for the shelter of the house. He was about to jump when it occurred to him that they would need some supplies – most importantly, water and ammunition. Moving as fast as he could he reached behind the seat and grabbed two canteens of water. He had to duck as a bullet whizzed overhead. He abandoned his search for ammunition as he heard his brother’s frantic yell to get moving. He fired one more shot in the general direction of the gunmen and then turned to the edge of the seat and jumped.

Joe knew right away that his landing would not be graceful, for he had not been in the right position to fall. He hit the ground hard, the canteens bouncing noisily beside him. Immediately pain shot up from his right knee. Knowing he was in a vulnerable position, Joe tried to get back on his feet, but he soon found himself face down in the dirt when his knee gave out from under him.

As he made another attempt to push himself to his feet, he could hear Adam’s shouting, urging him to move quickly. With his knee throbbing in earnest, he tried once more to rise. He was relieved to find Adam by his side, pulling him to his feet and nearly dragging him to the cabin.

Inside, the brothers collapsed against one of the remaining walls. Once he caught his breath, Adam turned a concerned eye to Joe, “You all right? Anything broken?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Joe huffed. “Think I just twisted my knee.”

“Not your most graceful… or wisest move.” Adam couldn’t help but lightly scold his brother.

“Yeah, but at least I got us some water!” Joe smiled as he held up the two canteens. Seeing his brother’s concerned gaze, he turned serious, “I’ll be all right, Adam. Best see to Cal. Hand me that rifle; I’ll keep an eye on the door.”

Adam took a deep breath and stood up to help reposition Joe so he could see through the open doorway. Seeing that Joe was settled, he gave him a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder; he could see he was in pain and, Adam was sure, a little embarrassed by the fall.

He turned to find Morris and Jacobs hovering over Cal, who was slumped against the wall not far from where he and Joe had collapsed. “How is he?” Adam asked as he approached the men.

Jacobs looked up from where he knelt next to Cal, shock evident in his brown eyes. “He’s bleeding pretty bad, been hit in the shoulder.”

Morris stood up, “We need something to slow the bleeding.” He looked at Mrs. Mosby, who stood in a dark corner a few feet away, clutching her son tightly. He pulled a pocketknife from his vest pocket and flipped it open. “Your skirts will do.”

The woman’s eyes widened in fright, and she took a few steps away from the approaching man. Adam grabbed Morris’ forearm, halting his advance. “Please, Mrs. Mosby, we need something to slow the bleeding, and the material from one of your skirts would be very helpful,” he said in a soothing voice. He could tell the woman was near the edge of hysteria and Morris’ approach was not helping.

Mrs. Mosby closed her eyes and nodded. She said nothing as she lifted the heavy material of her outer skirt to reveal a portion of a lighter underskirt beneath. Morris immediately stepped forward and used his knife to tear away a large swath of material.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Adam said as Morris returned to Cal’s side. He attempted to comfort her with a small smile; he had seen the woman flinch with each movement of Morris’ knife.

Adam bent down and peeled back Cal’s bloodied shirt. “Doesn’t look like it went through,” he observed grimly as Morris handed him a strip of cloth. With a steady supply of material from Mrs. Mosby’s skirt they worked together to stem the bleeding and make Cal as comfortable as possible.

\\\\\/////\\\\\\/////

Once they had bandaged the driver’s shoulder, it was time to address the problem that had brought them to this decaying refuge. Adam walked through their shelter, familiarizing himself with the layout of not only the house but also the surrounding area. The dwelling once had two rooms. They were in the first, which provided the most cover from the outside. A collapsed wall left the back part of the building wholly exposed to the elements. Nature had already started to reclaim the space as grass and brush had begun to grow in what was once a bedroom. Beyond the crumbling foundations of the house, loomed a rock-strewn hill; scrub brush and a few trees dotted its slope. This, he knew, was where the gunmen had gone.

Mrs. Mosby now sat stoically next to Joe’s right, beside her sat Barrett. The boy was clearly terrified as he leaned into his mother for comfort. With a heavy sigh, Adam walked to Joe and sat down, suddenly exhausted.

“What do you figure they want?” asked Joe quietly.

Adam rubbed at the tension in his neck. Before he could answer, Morris spoke up, “Cal, what are you carrying on the stage?”

Cal opened his eyes, and after some thought, answered, “There ain’t nothing unusual. A few packages, mail…there’s a strong box that’s got maybe five-hundred dollars in it.”

“Where is it?”

“Behind the seat, plain as day.” He answered wearily before closing his pain-filled eyes.

Alistair Jacobs stepped forward from where he stood next to Mrs. Mosby, “Maybe that’s what they want! Maybe, we should just give it to them?”

“Well, you do have a point, boy. We can’t hold out here too much longer. We don’t have any food, only a little water, and Cal, here, needs a doctor.” Morris turned to Adam and Joe, “I imagine you Cartwrights don’t have much ammunition left.”

Adam grimaced. Morris was right. They were dangerously low on ammunition, and he shuddered at the thought of what would happen if they were forced into extended gunplay.

“There are couple guns in the luggage rack,” Joe said. “I saw them earlier…couldn’t reach them though.”

“Not going to do us much good up there.” Adam pushed himself up from his position on the floor and moved to the door. The stage was only about five yards from the door. Cal had placed it well; it provided them some additional cover from the men. He frowned as he took in the possibilities of getting to the strong box. The top of the stage would be completely exposed to the gunmen.

Jacobs joined him at the doorway. “We should just give them the money; then they’ll go away.”

“The kid may be right, Cartwright.” Morris added.

Adam turned to look at the man, who stood in the shadows of the house, well away from the door. “And just how do you suggest we go about it?” he asked tersely.

“We show them we ain’t going to shoot!” Jacobs answered excitedly. “I’ll do it!”

Before Adam could stop him, young Alistair Jacobs stepped through door, waving his white handkerchief as he approached the stage. “Jacobs! What are you doing; get back here!” he yelled.

“Alistair!” Mrs. Mosby cried from beside him. Adam wasn’t sure when she had left her spot on the floor, but he grabbed her by the arms and held her tight, lest the woman do anything foolish.

From the corner of his eye he saw Barrett stand up, “Joe, the boy! Grab the boy!” He watched Joe struggle to quickly take hold of Barrett before he too reached the door.

Jacobs ignored their frantic yells and continued his determined walk. He reached the stage in a few short strides and started to climb to the top. Adam was amazed that the gunmen had yet to fire. With a tight grip still on Mrs. Mosby, he held his breath as they all watched Jacobs reach the top of the stage, and with slow, careful movements begin to untie the strongbox.

“Careful boy…” Adam heard Morris say softly behind him.

He watched as Jacobs lifted the small, but heavy box and tossed it away from the stage. With a triumphant smile Jacobs turned towards the house and began to inch his way to the edge of the seat. An object caught his eye, and he stopped, looked around and reached for the double-barreled shotgun nestled among the luggage.

Alarmed, Adam shouted, “Jacobs, don’t!” But it was too late; gunfire erupted from the shadows of the hill. Jacobs’s eyes widened in surprise, and he dropped the shotgun he had just picked up. He pressed his hands to his chest and looked in wonder at the blood that seeped between his fingers. He turned to the house and held up a bloody hand before he too fell into the bags, dead.

Mrs. Mosby screamed, and Adam pulled her away from the door, away from the sight of her nephew. Her face was buried in his chest as he stroked her back, trying to calm her as she sobbed. He heard more shots and looked up to see Morris firing from the doorway.

\\\\\/////\\\\\\/////

It took some time to calm the distraught Mrs. Mosby; she continued to sniffle as she held her son tightly to her. The men couldn’t think of anything to say to ease her pain. Offering meaningless platitudes to the woman who had just watched her nephew die a senseless, violent death seemed wholly inappropriate, so they remained silent as they considered their situation.

From the corner of his eye, Joe watched Adam stare at the floor, deep in thought. “Guess they didn’t want the money.”

Adam looked up from his reverie, “No,” he stated plainly.

“So what do you think they want?” Joe asked as he kneaded his thigh in an attempt to ease the throbbing in his knee. Moving to catch Barrett from witnessing the death of his cousin had done it no favors. Hearing the boy ask his mother why anyone would want to shoot Alistair had been even more painful. He was, at least, thankful he had been able to move quickly enough to stop the boy from witnessing the violent death.

Adam’s hushed voice returned him to their present conversation. “That’s what I can’t figure. This obviously isn’t just a regular stage robbery.”

The brothers sat in silent contemplation for several minutes, each mulling the possibilities. Finally, Joe spoke, “Well, if they aren’t after money or cargo, maybe…maybe it’s someone they’re after, one of us.”

Adam nodded his head in agreement; he had been thinking the same. He looked up to meet Joe’s eyes, “Then the question is, who do they want?”

Joe shrugged, “Can’t figure that one.”

“Me neither, but I think it’s time I had a talk with Mr. Morris.” Adam pushed himself up to a standing position.

Morris stood at the edge of the room, near the collapsed wall, and looked through a broken window. His gun was drawn as he kept his eyes on the hillside. He saw Adam approach but did not move from his position.

“Any movement?” Adam asked.

“Nah, they haven’t done anything since they killed the kid.” He turned to spit and placed his gun in his holster. “Cowards!” Morris reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pouch of dip snuff. He took a pinch and then offered the pouch to Adam.

“No thanks.” Adam watched as Morris placed the tobacco in his cheek. “So, you have any theories as to what it is these men are after?”

Morris removed his gun once again. He slowly spun the cylinder, checking to make sure each chamber was full and then snapped it shut. “I got a theory,” he said, finally.

Adam narrowed his eyes as he watched Morris. “Your theory have anything to do with you being a lawman?”

Morris stepped away from the window, surprised by the question. After a brief moment, he looked at Adam with a new appreciation. He stroked his mustache, and his lips curled into a grin, “Now, just what gives you that idea?”

Adam gave him a smug smile, pleased his hunch had been correct. “Well, for starters the way you carry your gun. You’re either a lawman or a hired gun. But, considering you don’t have any modifications to your holster or gun, I’ll stick with the former.”

Morris smiled, but his eyes did not reflect his supposed good humor, “Well, friend, I am impressed. And you’re right; I am a US Deputy Marshal.”

Adam crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, “Well, now that we got that out of the way, how about you tell us why these men,” he waved his hand to the hill, “have been shooting at us?”

Morris considered Adam for a moment before finally nodding his head in acquiescence. “I haven’t gotten a good look at them, but they may be part of a small outfit called the Butler Gang. I stopped a robbery of theirs, killed one of them awhile back.”

“So you think they’re after you for… revenge?” Adam asked. He was not at all sure he believed Morris, and he certainly didn’t trust him. In fact, as he thought about the day’s events, he began to grow angry at Morris’s behavior. “Why didn’t you say anything? Jacobs is dead because we thought they were after money!”

Morris lifted his chin in defiance, “I didn’t know who, or what, they were! I only just started putting it all together. You think I wanted that boy to die?”

Adam held Morris’s gaze, taking measure of the man. While his explanation made some sense, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that he had known who these men were from the moment they had attacked the stage. Finally, Morris looked away and turned his attention back to the hillside, making it clear their conversation was over.

Joe watched his brother walk toward him and then plop down beside him. Judging by the twitch in his jaw, Adam was clearly frustrated by the conversation with Morris. “Well, what did you find out?” Joe prodded.

Adam bit his lip as he considered his answer. “Our friend Morris is a marshal. He thinks these men are part of some small gang he busted awhile back.”

Joe pondered the implications. “You believe him?”

Adam took a deep breath and lowered his voice, “I don’t believe that’s the whole story, but after I accused him of letting Jacobs die, he didn’t want to say much more to me.”

“Well, at least we know what these men want.” Joe jerked his head toward the stage driver who still sat quietly against the wall; “Cal ain’t doing so good. We need to get him to a doctor. We’ve only got one canteen left of water.” Joe paused before he asked the question that had been on his mind from the beginning of this ordeal, “You figured how we’re going to get out of here?”

Adam ran his hand through his hair and gave his brother a mirthless smile. “I haven’t, but I’m certainly open to suggestions.”

Joe shook his head; he had thought Adam would have a plan already in formation. “Well, that’s a first!”

Adam raised a questioning eyebrow to the statement. Joe smiled, “You admitting you don’t know what to do!”

Adam rolled his eyes but said nothing. The brothers fell silent; the only noise in the small dwelling came from the quiet sniffles of Mrs. Mosby and her son, still grieving their loss.

Minutes later, the heavy silence in the homestead was broken by shouting from outside. “MORRIS! Morris, you know what we want! You come out here and face us, and we’ll let the others go!”

Adam quickly jumped to his feet and, in a few swift, long strides, was by Morris’ side. He peered through the window, looking for the source of the voice, but could see no one in the fading afternoon sun. Morris, his gun still drawn, took aim and fired – his answer to the gunman’s request.

“Well, seeing as they know who you are, I’d say we have our answer as to who they are.” Adam observed dryly.

Morris narrowed his eyes at the comment but kept his focus on the hillside. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“And just what do you propose to do about it, huh?”

The men were unprepared for the soft, determined voice that intruded on their conversation. Both looked up in surprise as Mrs. Mosby, her eyes red and swollen from her grief, addressed the marshal, “Just what are you going to do, Mr. Morris? How many are you going to let die for you?” Her questions dripped with bitterness as she drilled the man with her dark brown eyes. “The Cartwrights? The driver? My boy? How many are you going to send to their deaths like you did Alistair?”

Morris stepped away from the window and squared his shoulders. “Ma’am, Alistair’s death was… unfortunate. I never wanted that, that boy to die.”

The woman took a step towards Morris, “I think you know why these men are shooting at us, and if I had any choice in the matter, I certainly wouldn’t regret letting them have you!” With that the petite woman turned on her heel and returned to look after Cal and her son.

Morris let out a slow breath as he watched her leave. He closed his eyes as if to summon the last of his courage. Finally, he turned to Adam, “And what about you, Cartwright? You of a mind to turn me over too?”

Adam ran his hand over his eyes and massaged the ache in his temples. Removing his hand he looked to the hillside as he spoke, “No, even if you deserve it I couldn’t let that happen.”

Morris nodded, “Well, that’s good to know. Now, how about you and I put our heads together and figure out just how we’re going to get out of here.”

Adam pursed his lips and shook his head in agreement. The two men stood by the window and, together, formulated a bold plan of attack.

\\\\\/////\\\\\\/////

From his post near the door, Joe could hear Adam’s heavy footsteps. He looked up to see his brother squat next to him. “Have you seen anything from this side?” Adam asked.

“Nah. They’re just biding their time. They know we can’t last too long in here.” Joe answered. “You and Morris were talking for a long time; did you come up with a plan on how to get us out of here?”

Adam ran his hand over his mouth and scratched his cheek. “Yeah. We move at dusk,” he stated simply.

Joe looked quickly to his brother, clearly annoyed with Adam’s vague answer. “Care to share a few more details there, brother?”

Adam smiled, “Sorry, guess I got a lot on my mind.” He moved to sit down next to Joe and make himself more comfortable. With his legs stretched out before him, he removed his gun from its holster and checked each chamber, filling the empty ones with the last of his spare ammunition. “We decided we’re going to have to charge the hill. Morris is going to go up and around while I head straight up and try to distract them. There are only three left. We figure when they see us try to charge one of them will attack from the front and try to take the house. But they won’t get far because you’ll be here with the rifle guarding the door.”

“Adam, I’m not sure about this...” Joe frowned, “Sounds pretty risky to run straight at ‘em.”

“I know it, but I don’t see any other way to get us all out of here. Do you?” Adam looked Joe in the eyes and gripped his shoulder. “Joe, if anything should happen… make sure you stay with the Mosbys and get them town. Get on that stage and don’t look back.” He paused to make sure his brother understood his meaning and the far-reaching implications. “Promise me, Joe.”

Joe stared into his brother’s pleading eyes. He wanted to object, to tell his brother that he vehemently opposed ever leaving without him, but seeing the determined, earnest look in his brother’s eyes, he knew that only one response would ease the anxiety he found there. He swallowed and looked away, offering the only response he could muster – a short nod.

Satisfied with Joe’s answer, Adam slightly relaxed. The brothers fell into an uneasy silence as they waited for the sun to continue its descent to the horizon; its fading light cast the makeshift shelter and the surrounding hills into a world of shadows.

\\\\\/////\\\\\\/////

Adam was growing incredibly impatient in the small confines of the house. No longer able to sit, he decided to check on Cal, who was seated next to Mrs. Mosby. The woman had tended to him several times throughout the afternoon: checking his wound, giving him water, and doing her best to comfort the wounded man. Adam supposed that the woman’s ministrations also provided distraction from their dire state of affairs.

“How is he?” he asked quietly.

Mrs. Mosby sat, staring absently at some unknown object, stroking the hair of her sleeping son who lay curled next to her. She seemed startled by the question, but after a brief moment, her eyes, holding back unshed tears, found Adam’s. “Barrett is frightened, confused… he wants his father.” She smiled slightly at the statement before adding, “As do I.”

Adam kneeled next to her and Cal and spoke softly, “That’s understandable. Just a little while longer and we’ll all be on our way.”

The woman gave a silent nod and took a deep breath as she summoned the last of her composure. After a short pause, she found her voice again, “Cal is holding his own. There isn’t much more I can do for him; he needs a doctor…”

The driver had said little since they had crudely patched him up earlier that same afternoon. To Adam it seemed an impossibility that their ordeal had started no more than three hours before. He squatted next to Cal, taking in the pale complexion and labored breaths. The stage driver did not look like he would be long with this world. His grim thoughts were interrupted by a gruff voice, “Stop looking at me like that Cartwright. I ain’t dead yet.”

A bemused smile touched Adam’s lips, “What are you talking about you old goat? I was only gettin’ worried you won’t be able to drive us out of here; I’ve got places I need to be!” The smile nearly fell from Adam’s face as he listened to the weak chuckle from the driver, but he did his best to hide his concern.

“Listen here, just cause you’re some big augur don’t mean the stage’ll be running on your schedule. We got our own timetable!” Cal swallowed; amusement faded from his eyes as pain replaced it. “Sure could use me some bug juice, Adam. Just a hooter would be real nice ‘bout now.”

“I wish I could help ya, fella,” Adam said as he gave a squeeze to the man’s good arm. “Best I can do is a hooter of water. But I promise, once we’re out of here, I’ll buy you a whole bottle of the best damn whiskey in Virginia City!”

Cal visibly brightened at the offer, “Well, what are we waitin’ on? Let’s get movin’! You sure do know how to speak to a man’s heart, Adam!”

“I thought that might brighten your spirits,” Adam chuckled. He picked up the canteen that lay next to the wounded man and helped him take a drink. “We’ll be making our move soon, Cal. Once we take care of our new friends, we’ll all be on our way, don’t you worry.”

Cal pushed the canteen away and attempted to sit up a little straighter, “I appreciate all you done, Adam. You and your brother, ya always been good people.” He closed his eyes and laid his head against the wall, his energy spent, “Even better when I get my bottle of whiskey…”

Adam chuckled softly, “Thanks, Cal. You just hang on a bit longer, and I’ll be sure to make good on that promise.”

“Cartwright. It’s about time for us to make our move,” said Cornell Morris as he stepped away from the window and into the center of the room.

The sun was nearly behind the surrounding mountains, casting the homestead and its surroundings into long shadows. The hillside, next to the house, was a mix of indistinguishable shapes. The rocks, trees, and brush worked to create a maze of darkness that would, hopefully, provide much needed cover.

Adam walked to the lone window and mentally mapped out his plan of attack. He would be in a vulnerable position, he knew, but he had no choice. He took a deep breath, steeling his determination.

Morris stood next to him, “Just like we planned, Cartwright.”

Adam nodded then turned to look at Joe, who sat by the door. “Remember what we talked about, Joe…”

“I know. Be careful, Adam.” was the quiet response.

He reached up to adjust his hat, then thought better of it. He removed it and, with a few quick strides, was next to his brother, “Here. No point in keeping it; it’ll only make me a bigger target.” He smiled as Joe reluctantly took the hat, “Keep your ear to the ground, brother.”

Joe nodded, “You too, Adam.”

“All right, let’s get this over with.” Adam said as he unholstered his gun and walked back to the collapsed wall. “Ready?” he asked Morris, who now stood next to him.

Morris responded with a clipped nod, and with that, the two men, guns at the ready, stepped through the gap in the wall and ran toward the hill. Morris went to the right while Adam, crouched low, ran straight up the incline and to the waiting gunmen. His job was to keep the remaining men’s attention, while Morris worked his way up and behind them.

To Adam, it seemed as if it was hours before the gunmen started to fire their guns. But, he knew it had only been seconds. He felt extremely vulnerable out in the open and pushed himself hard to reach a large boulder a quarter of the way up the hill. A bullet kicked up dirt to the side of him as he dove for the cover of the boulder. Breathing heavily, he looked for a sign of Morris’ progress. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that he couldn’t see him.

Adam refocused his attention on the men farther up the hill, who were still firing their guns at him. He was able to get off one or two shots of his own before he took off at a run for a cluster of trees and thick brush that would provide his next cover. It was this way that he zigzagged up the hill, one quick run at a time. Several times he felt the heat of bullets as they zipped by. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he ran his shirtsleeve across his brow to stop the annoying trickle before it reached his eyes.

He looked back to the homestead in time to see a man running toward the front of the house. The man rounded the corner and was quickly out of sight. Adam held his breath as he waited for the sound of the rifle that Joe held. He hoped his brother was still keeping watch on the front of the house and was not distracted by the melee on the hill. He was rewarded with the distinct sound of a single rifle shot; he knew Joe had taken care of the man.

Assured his brother was all right, he took a deep breath and prepared to make another dash up the hill. His next goal would be to reach a large fallen oak. With one more glance to the house, he exhaled heavily before he took off once again. As he ran for cover he was surprised to find that this time, there were no more shots fired in his direction. Hunched low, he threw himself on his belly and waited, listening for any indication of the gunmen.

After several seconds he lifted his head and looked over the log, still no shots were fired. Perplexed, he slowly rose to his feet, ready to drop at the slightest sound. Gun in hand, he carefully started to walk up the hill, mindful that he made a nice big target for any remaining gunman. Perhaps Morris had already reached the men and had somehow disarmed them with little effort.

With half an eye on the loose gravel and uneven terrain, he worked his way up the hill. Still, there appeared to be no sign of the remaining gunmen. He had just come around a large boulder when he spotted Morris standing over another man on the ground some distance away. As he continued toward the men, he saw Morris raise his gun; his eyes shone dangerously as he said something to the man. Adam quickened his pace, but before he could reach the men, Morris fired, killing the man where he lay.

“Morris!” he yelled as he broke into a full run.

Adam stopped in his tracks as Morris turned and lifted his gun. “What did you do?” Adam asked, nearly spitting out the words, disgust evident in his voice. “You didn’t have to kill him!”

A menacing smile touched Morris’s lips as he answered, “No, Cartwright, you’re wrong. I did exactly what needed to be done.”

Adam was about to reply when he saw a shift in Morris’s eyes. His words of reproach died on his lips as he felt the impact of a hard object to the back of his skull. Before his world faded to black, he realized he now knew where the third gunman had gone.

\\\\\/////\\\\\\/////

From his place near the window, Joe Cartwright anxiously watched the hillside for any sign of what was happening. He had heard nothing for nearly fifteen minutes, and it worried him to no end. He tested his injured leg to see how much weight it could bear and grimaced. Should he attempt to walk up the hillside, it was not going to be an easy, nor painless trek.

“Joe? Joe, do you think they’re all right? Do you think they got those bandits?”

Joe closed his eyes and exhaled slowly before he turned to address young Barrett Mosby. There was no point in pretending with the boy; Barrett had already seen death that day. “I don’t know. But I aim to find out if I don’t hear something soon. How’s your—“

Two shots echoed through the dry summer air and cut off his query. Joe cast his attention to the rock-strewn hill and prayed that those shots were from his brother, not for him

\\\\\/////\\\\\\/////

“I ain’t got nothin’ else to lose, do I? You already took what’s most important to me…”

Butler’s trembling hand lifted the gun just the slightest bit, and in that brief moment, Adam knew he had to act. It was a desperate move, one fueled by instinct. He rolled to his side, and with as much strength and speed as he could muster, he reached for the left ankle of Wade Butler. He grasped the ankle and pulled, while, at the same time, rolling his own legs around to kick at the man and bring him to the ground. Somewhere in his addled brain, he registered the sound of a shot. He wasn’t sure where it had gone or who had fired it, and frankly he had little time to devote to the matter. He was in his own desperate struggle to disarm the man who had held him at gunpoint.

Bringing Wade Butler to the ground had been surprisingly easy, as the man had not been expecting the attack. He had been keeping his focus on his nemesis, Marshal Cornell Morris. He attempted to push off Adam, who had somehow rolled on top of him and now held him by the shirt collar. Adam drew his arm back to give the man a punch when he heard his name, “Cartwright! That’s enough, move out of the way.”

Breathing heavily, Adam was reluctant to move from his position to clobber the gunman, but hearing the strong, menacing voice of Morris, he turned his attention to the man who stood off to his left, his gun aimed at the two men.

“What are you doing, Morris?” Adam asked.

“I’m doing what needs to be done; now MOVE, Cartwright!”

The distraction was enough for Butler to send a knee into Adam’s stomach, leaving him gasping for air. As he rolled to his side, Butler’s fist connected with the side of his head. Though it was a glancing blow, it was enough to nearly send him back to unconsciousness. Through his hazy vision, Adam could see Butler rise to his feet, bringing his gun up with him.

“Butler! NO!” Adam gasped as he struggled to his knees. The sound of another gunshot echoed through the woods. He was too late.

Adam watched as Butler dropped to his knees letting his pistol fall to the ground. His eyes glazed with pain; he took in a deep shuddering breath. “You ask him, Cartwright. You ask how he planned the whole heist. How he shot my kid brother in the back… double-crossed us. You ask him.” His strength gone, he fell limp to the ground as his blood continued to spill from the wound in his chest. He weakly turned his head to Adam. “Ask him,” he whispered before his eyes closed and he breathed no more.

With Butler’s body blocking Morris’s view, Adam wrapped his hand around the gun Butler had dropped. Still on his knees, he looked up to see Morris standing with his gun drawn.

“So that’s what this was all about? A robbery? Only you didn’t stop them did you? You planned it all. This,” he indicated the surrounding carnage, disgust evident in his voice, “This was all about your greed?”

Morris took a menacing step toward Adam, his mouth set in an evil smile. “Isn’t that what it’s always about, Cartwright? These men, deserved to die…”

“What about Alistair Jacobs; did he deserve it?”

Morris paused as remorse flickered across his face, “I regret that boy dying, but I had to be sure whom I was dealing with.” His lament did not last long as his countenance took on a determined look, “But you…. You know too much, Cartwright. Most men would be content with a share, but I know you aren’t the type to be bribed. No, you’re much too noble for that.” He smiled as he lifted his gun and pulled back the hammer with his thumb, “Don’t worry though, I’ll be sure to tell your brother of your tragic, heroic death.”

Adam saw Morris’ finger tighten on the trigger; instinct yanked Butler’s big revolver up, and he fired. U.S. Deputy Marshal Cornell Morris’ eyes widened in surprise and then lost their focus as he dropped to the ground, falling next to the lifeless body of Wade Butler.

His head still swimming, Adam painfully rose to his feet and stumbled to where Morris fell. He turned over Morris’ flaccid body and checked for signs of life. Though he felt no real love for the man, Adam regretted to find he was dead.

Adam ran his hand over his face as he thought about the unpleasant tasks ahead. He began to search Morris’s pockets and found the man’s wallet, along with his U.S. Deputy Marshal badge and identification. He set the objects aside and took interest in a small velvet sack. He untied the strings keeping it closed and carefully poured out the contents into the palm of his hand. He whistled as gems of the highest quality created a sizable mound in his hand. There were enough diamonds in the sack to make a man wealthy for the rest of his living days; it was no wonder there had been so much bloodshed. He carefully replaced the sparkling stones into the sack. Given the amount of diamonds in the sack, there was little doubt that finding news of the robbery Morris had orchestrated with the Butler Gang would be a relatively easy undertaking.

\\\\\/////\\\\\\/////

With Barrett’s help, Joe had finally managed to find an acceptable scrap of wood to use as a cane. It had been nearly an hour since Adam and Morris had attempted their charge of the hill with no visible signs of the outcome – only an ominous cessation of gunfire that gnawed at Joe’s nerves. Though it was slow going, he was several yards out of the homestead when he spotted his brother emerge from the shadows left by the setting sun. Adam walked slowly and stiffly towards the house. In fact, Joe thought he looked downright unsteady, so Joe pressed on, hoping to meet his brother.

“Adam!” Joe yelled. “Adam, you all right? You’re bleeding!”

Adam looked up and gave his brother a small wave and smile as he neared the house. “I’m fine, Joe. Just moving a bit slow.”

“What happened? I heard the shots. Where’s Morris?” He looked to the hill but didn’t see anyone else following.

“He’s dead. They’re all dead.”

Joe’s mouth fell open in shock, “All of them? But-“

Adam shook his head, patted Joe on the arm and turned him toward the house, “Let’s see about getting out of here first. I’ll tell you what happened on the way to the station.”

Epilogue

Joe sat outside the Sheriff’s office, his right leg stretched out before him. It still ached but wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been two days before. He frowned as he saw an incoming stage round the street corner. He and Adam were supposed to continue their journey home today, albeit by a rented carriage, and he was quite anxious to get home.

Three days before he and Adam had brought the stage into Carson City. Aided by a nearly full moon and cloudless sky, they rolled into town in the early pre-dawn hour. They had just turned onto Main Street when the sheriff and the stage line manager met them. The men had already started to put together a search party for the overdue coach. One look inside the coach by the sheriff and they were all ushered to doctor’s office for treatment.

After the doctor examined his patients and the sheriff had taken their statements, they had all, with the exception of Cal, been sent to the hotel to get some much-needed rest. It was at the hotel that the Mosby family reunion took place later that afternoon. By all accounts, Addison Mosby had burst into the hotel demanding to know where his family had been taken. Overjoyed to see his wife and son, their reunion was bittersweet as he also learned of the death of his nephew.

Joe sighed as he recalled the tearful reunion. He and Adam had been eating lunch when Mr. Mosby found them, his wife and son in tow. He was a handsome man, dressed in a fine navy suit; gray hairs peppered his dark hair. He removed his hat, and with tears in his eyes, he extended his hand. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch. My name is Addison Mosby.” Both Adam and Joe stood to greet him, “My wife tells me it’s the two of you I have to thank for her and my son’s safe return.”

“We only did what any man would have done, Mr. Mosby. And I have to complement you on your brave son and wife. If it wasn’t for your wife,” Adam looked over Mosby’s shoulder and into the eyes of his wife, “Cal Hendricks never would have made it.”

“And can I just say, we’re both sorry for the loss of your nephew, Alistair. He died trying to help us,” Joe added, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

Mrs. Mosby stepped from behind her husband and approached Adam and Joe, “Thank you, both, for everything,” she said softly and then stood on her toes and gave them each a kiss on their cheek. The family had left shortly after, leaving the brothers to their lunch.

From his spot in front of the sheriff’s office, Joe watched as the stagecoach was prepared for the next leg of its journey east. Luggage was unloaded and new bags were put on. A new team of replacement horses was brought from the stables. Each harness checked as the team was secured to the coach. Joe’s thoughts turned to Cal as he watched a new driver and shotgun rider shake hands with their counterparts.

Cal was lucky. Though his condition was grave it looked like he would pull through. He and Adam had stopped by early this morning to check on the driver, who had been declared well enough to receive visitors. Joe laughed as he recalled Cal’s reaction to seeing Adam, “Ah, there you are, Adam! I thought you’d have skipped town just ta avoid that promise you made me! Ya didn’t forget did ya?” Adam had laughed and promised the driver he would not only get his whiskey, he would get a whole case, which had brightened his spirits greatly.

Joe tapped his left foot impatiently. It was already mid-morning and his brother was still talking to Sheriff Mitchell. If they didn’t leave soon they wouldn’t make it home before dinner. He was about to get up and go into the office when he heard the door open.

Adam bade the sheriff farewell and closed the door behind him. Placing his hat on his head, he nudged Joe’s shoulder. “Sorry, I took so long. You ready to go?”

“Am I ready? I’ve been ready since we got up this morning!” Joe reached out a hand, Adam took it and helped him out of his chair. Joe limped to the buggy and carefully climbed in.

They were on the main road to the Ponderosa before Adam spoke. “Sheriff Mitchell said the diamonds were stolen from a broker in Oregon Territory. Killed three men in the process. It seems the broker was a friend of Morris, who made the unfortunate mistake of telling him about the shipment. Counting the three deaths during the initial robbery, plus Alistair and the young Butler kid… about ten men dead in all.” Adam fell silent and after several minutes he added, “There was a reward for returning the diamonds.”

Joe scratched his chin thoughtfully, “Really? What did you do with it?”

“Put it in the bank, of course!” Adam said, giving his brother a wink.

“You mean you kept it? I wouldn’t think you’d want to have anything to do with that money…”

“I don’t. I told the sheriff to give it to Cal.”

“Well, if anybody deserves it he does,” Joe said as he watched the road. He was tired, and judging by the dark circles under Adam’s eyes, so was his brother. Joe knew Adam’s desire to be home was as strong as his own. “Think we’ll be home in time for supper?”

“Joe, we are getting home today even if I have to carry your sorry hide the rest of the way.” Adam urged the horses to a faster pace.

Joe shifted into a more comfortable position and pulled his hat over his eyes. “Wake me when we get there, will ya?”

THE END

NOTE: This story has been adapted from an episode of "Lonesome Dove-The Series" which I saw several years ago and thought would be perfect for the Cartwright boys. After 8 years of sitting on my various computers it's finally done!

Thank you to my very helpful and patient beta-readers Linda J, Jeanie C, and Gwynne L!

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