The Gifts

By Bakerj

“I just don’t see the need to go now.” With great patience, Ben repeated his statement for the third time. “It can wait a few more days until after Christmas.”

“How many head could we lose in that time?”

“It’s just one wolf.”

Ben watched his youngest stiffen with the effort to rein in his temper.  “We’ve got a break in the weather. Why not take advantage of it?  I’ll take a day or two, ride up there and do a sweep.”

Ben drew a deep breath and tried to think of another way to word his objections.  He couldn’t understand Joe’s persistence in the matter.  True, the reported carcasses proved the wolf a menace, but why his son felt the need to rush off a few days before Christmas to hunt it puzzled him.

Watching the back and forth between them, Hoss decided to get in on the conversation.  “Aww, Pa, let him go? He’s been cranky as an old grizzly with a toothache this past week.  It’ll do us good to have him out of the house.”

The indignant stare Joe shot at him made Hoss grin, and Ben had to hide a smile behind his coffee cup.

Ben couldn’t deny Hoss’ point.  Memories of arguments and slammed doors rushed back to remind him of Joe’s temper over the last two weeks.  A respite might indeed help.  He put down his cup. “You promise to keep an eye on the weather?”

“Sure, Pa.  Any sign of change, and I’ll head back.”

The harshest winter in years had resulted in them being cooped up for weeks.  It was also the first without Adam.  He’d left in the Spring to travel, and they hadn’t gotten used to the gap his absence left in the household.  The need for fresh air and space crept up on Joe, and his edginess made him itch to get out.  The sudden lull in the rampage of snowstorms and the reports of the wolf gave him the excuse he needed.

The wolf attacks were no surprise. The extreme weather drove the animals deep into the forests, and a lone wolf without a pack would find prey impossible to catch.  The lure of their beeves would be irresistible.  The animal could do a lot of damage.  Couple that with probable heavy winter losses meant the sooner it got dealt with, the better.

*****

The snow, knee-deep on Cochise, made the going slow, and the weak winter sun had peaked by the time he reached the high meadows, even though he’d left his camp before dawn.  Although they moved the herd down to lower pastures in the autumn, some tended to scatter and return, making them an easy target for predators.  He cussed when he spotted the three beeves.  He’d have to round the dim-witted beasts up and move them down.  When he reached for his rope, he froze.  The crack that rent the crisp air and echoed off the trees brought his head around with a snap.  In a flash, he headed toward the sound of the gunshot.

A startling scene met him when he broke through the trees.  Two men were dismounting from their horses.  On the ground, a Paiute Indian writhed in pain.  Next to him, he saw the mangled carcass of one of their beeves, and a few feet behind that, a dead wolf lay stretched out.

“What’s going on here?”

Pulled up short at Joe’s cry, the two turned.  He recognized them.  They worked at a neighboring ranch.

“Joe Cartwright! You got here just in time.  We’ve managed to bag ourselves a thievin’ redskin.”

The second cowboy waved his rifle at Joe in triumph.  “Caught him butchering a steer.”

Joe dismounted and walked past the dead animals.  They told their own tale.  Rips in the hide showed how the wolf brought the steer down before tearing out its throat and feasting on the flesh.  The arrow, protruding the wolf’s flank and blood around its neck where the knife struck, told of its fate.  A man must be desperate to fight a wolf for a half-eaten steer.

“We were just about to teach the Indian what happens when he kills our cattle.”

Joe didn’t hide the scorn in his words, “The Indian didn’t kill the steer.  The wolf did.”  His knee crunched into the ice-topped snow when he dropped beside the injured man.  The Paiute lay still, his eyes fixed on Joe.  “Do you understand me? How bad are you hurt?”

Sneers interrupted him. “Who cares iffin he killed it? The only good Injun’s a dead one.”

The Paiute’s eyes flickered and widened at the words.  He understood.  Joe raised himself with a smooth movement and faced the two men.  His jaw tightened in disgust, but he held his temper in check.  

“Thanks, but we’re on Ponderosa land, and that’s our steer.  I’ll take care of it.”

The two stared at him as if he was crazy.  “You mean you ain’t gonna kill him?”

Joe didn’t take his eyes off the cowboys.  He lived in a world where men could change from smiling friend to foe in a heartbeat.  Who’d stick a knife in your ribs or put a bullet in your back without a second thought.  His handgun tucked out of reach under his sheepskin coat left him vulnerable.  He chastened himself for not pulling his rifle.  At least the men’s pistols were under their coats too.

“That’s my business. You can move along.”

The two exchanged angry looks.  They couldn’t miss the authority in Joe’s tone.  The one holding the rifle moved it in his hands to a position that showed he was ready to use it.

“We heard about you Cartwright’s being Injun lovers. We caught that Injun.  We ain’t letting him go just coz you tell us too?”

The duo pulled themselves up to their full heights.  Big and brawny, they intended to intimidate.  Joe glanced behind him at the man on the ground, injured, desperate, and alone.  He could’ve gotten on his horse, ridden away, and not looked back, but Cartwrights weren’t grown that way.  He pushed back his shoulders.

“That’s right.”

Silence fell.  But it wasn’t a silence of calm, rather the quiet before a storm.  Every one of Joe’s nerves tingled, alert to any move.  The man holding the rifle moved.  Joe sprang, letting his momentum carry them over.  They hit the snow with a soft thud, and the weapon skittered away.  Joe rolled and leaped up, ready to meet the attack of the second man.  He dodged the fist that flew and sent a sharp punch into the man’s abdomen and another to his jaw. The other pulled himself to his feet and took a swipe at the interfering Cartwright.  Joe’s heightened senses warned of the bulk behind him, and he ducked.  The movement of air told him of the blow that had just missed.  Linking his hands into a club, he brought them down onto the man’s back with such force it sprawled the cowboy into the snow.  Snatching up the rifle, he scrambled to cock and level the weapon before they could be on him again.

“Hold it!”  The two froze in their efforts to get up.  “That’s enough. It’s over.  Ride out peaceable, an’ I mightn’t say anything to your boss.”

“All right, we’re going. We weren’t gonna do nuthin’.”

Joe snorted in disbelief.  The pair slunk to their horses.  When they rode off, he called after them, “When you want your rifle back, come to the ranch house to collect it.”

He watched them disappear before he turned his attention to the injured Paiute.  The bullet lay lodged in the man’s shoulder.  Joe grimaced at the blood.

“What’s your name?”  When he didn’t answer, Joe exclaimed, “C’mon, you understand me.”

The man held Joe’s gaze for a moment. “Tocho.”

“Tocho,” Joe acknowledged.  “We need to stop that bleeding and get you to Virginia City and a doctor.”

Long fingers captured Joe’s wrist in a desperate grasp.   “No! Take me home. My people starve.  If I am to die, I die with them.”

“You’re not going to die.  We need to get you to a doctor to get the bullet out.”

“My people do that.  Stop blood and take me to my village.”

“Where is it?”

It took a few questions for Joe to work out its position.  He sat back on his heels and pondered the journey.  It would take around four hours on foot to reach, and it was in the opposite direction to the Ponderosa.  Hesitation showed on his face.  

Seeing Joe’s reaction, Tocho implored, “Stop blood. Take me to village.”

Joe looked doubtful.  “I can bind it up, but I’m not- ”

“No,” Tocho interrupted.  “Use knife, burn wound.”

Joe’s stomach turned.  What Tocho asked wasn’t pretty.  Although he’d seen it done, he’d never done it himself, and he didn’t relish the thought.  But cauterizing the wound would at least ensure Tocho wouldn’t bleed to death until he could be gotten to help.

Finding wood dry enough to light a fire, he plunged his knife deep into the flames. Joe prepared himself.  Removing his gloves, he tore back the Indian’s buckskin to allow full access to the injury.  The blade burned red hot, and Joe drew it from the fire.  Their eyes met.  No words passed between them.  Joe sucked in a breath that went down to his toes and steadied himself.  When the nod from Tocho came, he slapped the weapon flat to the skin.  

Joe would never forget the sound.  Not from Tocho, who made no sound at all, but from the flesh that sizzled under the searing heat. He pressed down hard, making sure to cover the bullet hole. He didn’t want to repeat this ugly process.

It worked.  But the hand that wiped the sweat from his top lip still shook.  Joe took the opportunity of Tocho having passed out to bind the wound with the bandages from his saddlebags.  Then he looked around.  There was no Indian pony anywhere in sight, and Joe reasoned they must have eaten them when the game ran out.  That left him no choice.  He fetched the ax from his saddlebag and set about building a travois.

Seeing the transportation meant for him, Tocho told him with dignity, “I ride.”

Joe jumped; he hadn’t seen Tocho wake up.  He shook his head.  “Can’t risk it.”

“I ride.”

“No.”

“I ride!”

Joe sighed and stared at the insistent man.  “All right, but you’d better stay on.”

“I not fall.”

Joe smiled at the man’s certainty.  He untied the travois and helped Tocho to mount, and their long trek began.

*****

Chenoa waited at the entrance to her wickiup for her husband to return from the hunt.  Tocho and the other men left yesterday morning once again.  Chenoa’s husband was a good man.  Their wickiup always had meat.  But, the cruel winter and the white man had caused the prey animals to flee deep into the mountains.  Now the village starved.  

Chenoa honored her husband.  She’d given him three sons. Although one died two winters ago, the others were strong, but this winter may prove too much even for them.  Its bitter grasp claimed already an old man and a baby.  She turned to re-enter her wickiup when she heard it, the soft shush of many steps on snow.  She stilled, listened, and watched, the white cloud of her breath cutting the air.

Out of the darkness, the animal appeared.  Its white markings reflected off the snow and gleamed in the dark.  At the horse’s head walked a white man.  Proud and erect on the back of the pony sat her husband.  Relief flooded her heart, but she stayed rooted to the spot.  Her eyes widened like saucers.  Behind the horse, three beeves trailed.

Joe made sure to move slow when he led them into the light of the many small fires, surrounded by the little round brush huts the Paiutes called home in winter.  He noticed how Tocho pushed himself upright when he reached his home.  The camp lay still and quiet except for the soft cries of the little children.  From out of the wickiups, the people appeared.  Silent and amazed.  Joe stopped and waited for the Head Man to step forward.

“I’m Joe Cartwright.  I’ve brought Tocho home.  He’s injured.”

The Head Man turned and gave quick instructions.  Two men helped Tocho down and assisted him to his wickiup, where a woman waited to attend to him before turning back to Joe.  “I am Honi.  We have heard of the Cartwrights who are friends of the Paiute.  You bring Tocho back.  Thank you.  You must rest.”

Joe looked around the faces, mesmerized and fixed on the shifting cattle behind him.  He could see the famine and need in their eyes.

“Thank you, Honi.  Before I do, I need to tell you I’m sorry that Tocho was shot.  The men who did it mistook him for a cattle thief.  He wasn’t.  He’d fought and killed a wolf that had been attacking our herd.  Tocho did us a great service.  We owe him a debt of gratitude.”  Joe turned and waved a hand at the animals.  “I’ve brought these beeves for Tocho and his people to repay that debt.”

The elder Paiute straightened his back.  “I accept this payment.”

Without a word, another brave stepped forward.  Joe undid the rope and handed it to him.  The cattle led away; activity began.  Women dived into their wickiups to appear moments later with baskets and knives to follow the animals.  

“Cartwright will stay this night.”

Joe drew in an exhausted sigh.  “Is there somewhere I can take care of my horse?”

With great formality, the Head Man called forth another to do the job.  Joe hesitated, but he didn’t wish to offend and handed over the reins.  He then followed the Head Man to where he would spend the night.

*****

Joe awoke the next day to a leaden sky and an energized village.  One of the beeves butchered already the distributed meat was already cooking.  The smell of stew assaulted his nostrils and made his mouth water.  He gratefully accepted the bowl he was presented for his breakfast.  When the Head Man joined him, he asked in-between mouthfuls, “How is Tocho?”

“Come, see for yourself.”

When Honi and the white man entered, Chenoa ceased her ministrations of Tocho and withdrew quietly to the back of the little round lodge.  She would not shame her husband by displaying his weakness

Tocho held out his hand to Joe, who grasped it.  “Joe Cartwright. Thank you for bringing me home and for the meat.”

Joe grinned.  “You took care of that wolf for me.  It’s the least I could do.”

Chenoa stirred her stew and listened to her husband and the white man talk. They spoke of many things, and the stranger impressed her with his courtesy and respectful manner.

“I have to go now, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

Tocho smiled.  “Joe Cartwright is welcome in my wickiup.”

Tightening the girth on his saddle, Honi approached.

“Stay.  The storm comes.”

Joe scanned the horizon at the Head Man’s words.  He wasn’t wrong.  Dense, low clouds blocked the sun.  Snow clouds.  But, if he stayed to wait out the storm, it could be days before he could leave.  His eyes narrowed, and he weighed up the speed of the clouds.  He had maybe four hours, just enough time.  Anxiety to get home overcame any doubt.  Aside from the worry, his absence would cause, today was Christmas Eve.

“I reckon I can make it.”

*****

Joe cursed under his breath into the scarf he’d wound around his face and then his hat to keep it from flying off in the vicious wind.  You’ve done some stupid things in your time Joe Cartwright but this, this is the dumbest.  

“And why?”  he asked himself.  Because it’s Christmas, came the answer.

He’d almost made it home when the blizzard hit, but that proved small comfort to him now.  Unable to see further than Cochise’s ears, he found his way using sheer guts and Cochise’s sense of direction.  His only option, to keep going.

*****

Chenoa peeked out at the tempest that had raged for hours.  Her thoughts were heavy for the young man who’d brought Tocho safe home and food to their village.  She tugged the skins back in place and whispered, “Great Spirit, watch over the one who brought the gift of life.”

***

For the umpteenth time, Ben returned to the window and looked out at the dizzying whirl of white.  Behind him, Hoss jabbed at the logs on the fire with unnecessary force.

“Dadburnit, why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?  He wouldn’t be out there if I had.”

“You and I both know your brother can take care of himself.”  The anxiety that clawed at Hoss tore at him, but he tried to sound positive for Hoss’ sake.

“Aww, I know that. I just wish he were here.”

Ben smiled at these words.  “Me too,” he replied softly.  His eyes drifted back to the window.  His lips moved, and he sent up a silent prayer to his maker for Joe’s safe return.

*****

Fear burrowed its certain way into Joe’s heart.  He kept moving.  Doubt tore away the edges of his confidence.  Was he going the right way, or even in a straight line?  

This is crazy, crazy. You’ve gotta stop, find some shelter.  But what shelter?  It could be five feet from him, and he’d never know it in this white-out.  Maybe he should stop?  Dig a hole and bury himself until the storm passes.  Yeah, great idea, Joe.  Bury yourself in a grave to freeze to death.  The hideous vision of Pa and Hoss digging his frozen body out of a snowdrift struck him like a blow.  He shook it off, letting the determination fill his soul.  Frozen he might be, but a fire lit in his belly.  It wasn’t the Cartwright way to give up.  He leaned forward and gave Cochise a hearty pat to encourage them both before he shouted over the gale, “Come on, Cooch, we’re gonna make it.”

The flame inside him flickered low now.  The raw, penetrating air turned legs into icy slabs of flesh.  Numb fingers rasped the inside of his gloves, no longer able to feel the reins they held.  The snow-covered pair moved like a yeti through the landscape.  Slumped low over Cochise’s neck, Joe brushed a hand across his face to clear his ice-encrusted lashes.  

“We sure better get home soon.” The moisture of his words froze into his muffler.

When he saw it, he drew Cochise to a halt.  For a whole minute, he couldn’t do anything but stare at the fawn that stood and contemplated him.  Joe squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again.  He almost laughed to see it still there.  Joe’s befuddled mind didn’t question its presence or how the storm eased back around the delicate creature allowing him to see it.  He only had one thought – follow.

He made out the lights first, and then the dark form of the structures emerged.  The sight of the ranch house brought a sob into his throat.  Joe glanced around to see the deer had vanished.  Too numb to give commands, he couldn’t signal Cochise to stop, but the horse recognized its home and halted by itself in front of the house.  Joe sat there.  The wind howled around him, but he couldn’t dismount.  If he moved, he would fall.  He might die right there at his door.  The thought started a giggle deep in his chest.  Then, the door flew open.  He heard his name cried out as strong hands haul him from his saddle.  Hoss carried him inside like a babe and almost ran up the stairs with him.  When he deposited him on his bed, Joe managed to stutter, “C…Cooch?”

Hoss huffed down at him, “Iffin you don’t beat all.  Don’t worry. I’ll get him taken care of.”

Ben watched Hoss go and began to strip Joe of his snow-blanketed coat, before his boots and trousers.

Joe struggled to sit up and take charge. “I can do it, Pa.”

“Sit still.”

Joe wilted.  When Pa used that tone, he didn’t argue.  

His father gave him a look designed to wither him to the spot. “Young man, you and I are gonna have a long talk about what a change in the weather looks like.”

He couldn’t help himself.  Joe burst out laughing.

Joe was still snickering when Hoss returned. He raised his eyebrows and asked, “What’s got into him?”

“How’s Cooch?”

“Hanks takin’ care of him.  Don’t worry, that horse of yours is gonna get treated like royalty.  I’ve told Hank to give him extra blanket and grain.”

“Thanks.”  

Joe yelped at the punch in the arm Hoss gave him.

“Don’t you scare us like that again, you hear.”

Joe grinned and began to squirm.  In the warmth, the circulation returned to his thawing limbs, and with it came agony.  Joe grimaced and stuffed his hands under his armpits, desperate to resist the urge to chew at digits that throbbed and stung.  Hoss saw the move and sympathized.  He understood his discomfort and, yanking out one hand began to massage it.

“C’mon, Hoss, I don’t need- ”

“Aw, shut up.  You know this helps, so quit complaining.”

When Pa started on his feet and legs, Joe accepted he’d lost the battle for his dignity and gave in.  While they worked, Joe explained about Tocho.  He didn’t tell about the fawn, then or later.  Troubled by the encounter, over the next few days, Joe became convinced that he’d imagined it, and he wasn’t about to admit to anyone he’d followed some imaginary creature home.

“You don’t mind me givin’ them the beeves?”

“Of course not.  You did the right thing.”

The massage and warmth of his room worked their magic.  The pain eased, and Joe yielded to his fatigue.

Hoss smirked, “Say, Pa, take a look.  Little brother’s taking himself a nap.”

Ben smiled, tucked the blanket back around his son’s feet, and sent humble thanks for the miracle gift he’d received that Christmas.

*****

Chenoa taught the children their lessons while they sat around the fire.  Stories of Isa, and how his courage and bravery protected the Paiute people, and of his younger, trickster brother Coyote, whose foolishness put them in danger.  She taught about the Great Spirit and the forms he would take; bear, elk, eagle, and deer.  Along with these traditional lessons, she told them the story of the young white man who’d come to their village one winter and brought the cattle that saved them from starvation.  Her hair, now streaked with grey, she continued to tell her stories.  When they were moved to the reservation, she spoke of the white man that respected the Paiute.  Through the dark times, her tale reminded them not all white men hated the Indian, and every time she told it, she gave them the greatest gift of all – hope.

**The End **

December 2019