My Son

By Bakerj

***

Chapter One

Of course, if he’d listened to Hoss, none of this would be happening.  If he’d only listened to sensible, big brother Hoss, he wouldn’t be drowning.

Rounding up strays after early spring storms, Joe had elected to ride to Buckhorn Meadow on the eastern boundary, while Hoss had agreed to take the area further north.

“Mind now, stay away from the creek.  We’re likely to have flash floods after them storms.”

Joe had sent Hoss a carefree smile, “Don’t worry, Big Brother.  I don’t wanna get my feet wet.”  Giggling, he’d given a backward wave and ridden away.

He hadn’t lied, of course.  He’d had every intention of keeping clear of the creek, knowing only too well the perils of flash floods, and Pa had raised no fools, but then he hadn’t bargained on the calf.

He spotted the lowing cow standing on the bank of the creek, and when he tipped the rise, he saw the cause of her unhappiness.  Stuck in the mud was her calf, braying back at his mother.

Joe grinned and detached his lariat from his saddle.  “It’s all right, momma, don’t worry, I’ll get your baby. C’mon, Cooch,” he encouraged and maneuvered the horse into position.

With an efficiency honed over long practice, he had the lasso over the calf’s head and, backing up Cochise, began to haul the complaining animal out.  But in its keenness to rejoin his mother, the calf managed to get the rope tangled in the brush, snaring itself and the rope.  Joe blew out a breath, dismounted, and clambered down the bank. 

Freeing the creature first, he watched with gratification as it clambered up the slope and reunited with its mother.

A smirk settled on Joe’s face.  “There you go, momma, back safe and sound.”

He freed the rope and began to wind it, only for it to drop from nerveless fingers when the sound spun him around.  Terror slammed his heart against his chest.  A broiling deluge of water, mud, and debris careened toward him.  One word screamed through his mind.  MOVE!  Pumping adrenaline sent him scrambling up the bank.  Fingers clawed deep into the earth to pull himself clear, but his boots slipped in mud that denied him purchase.  Out of time, he flung himself flat and tried to hang on. 

The wall of water stuck like a train driving his legs from under him.  Still clutching handfuls of grass, Joe was yanked free.  Certainty vanished.  He couldn’t hear, breathe, or think in the maelstrom that drove him along, tearing him against the bottom before turning him again.  He fought for the surface to fill lungs that shrieked for air, but he had no idea which way was up.  He struck out, but it was a forlorn hope.  So, here he was, drowning.  Sorry, Hoss.

Pain slammed down one side when he crashed into the branch.  He clung on, pulled above the foaming surface, and gasped in the life-giving air.  When the branch snagged the bank, the force of the water crushed him against the gnarled bark while threatening to suck him under again.  He swung his head to clear the hair and water from his eyes and spotted the overhanging tree.  This was his chance.  He could pull himself out of the torrent if he could grab a limb.  

He stretched ‘till his muscles cracked but couldn’t reach.  Gritting his teeth, Joe swallowed the fear that rose like bile in his throat – he wasn’t a quitter!  He peeled off his jacket.  Raging water sloshed over frozen fingers that wrapped one sleeve around his left wrist so he could swing it up to the tree above.  Again and again, the jacket missed and tumbled back on him.  The flowing water battered him against the branch.  Every failed attempt saw his strength ebb away, and fear constricted his chest.

Then the miracle happened.  The jacket wrapped and caught.  Joe gasped with relief.  He hung for a moment, allowing his pounding heart and breathing to steady before beginning the tortuous haul toward the bank.

He didn’t see the upended tree with its roots rising out of the water like some grotesque starfish until it smashed into him.  The sleeve of his jacket ripped and sunk with him, leaving the rest flapping in the wind.

***

Chapter Two

Hoss had finished his swing and was heading back with the strays he’d found to meet up with the rest of his family at the chuck wagon for lunch.  He rode up to find his father and older brother already hunkered down by the fire tucking into their grub.

“Hey, sure hope you’ve left some for me.  It’s hungry work scrabbling in the scrub for those darn strays.”  Sitting down opposite, he began spooning the stew while he looked around the camp. “Say, where’s Little Joe?”

“Not back yet,” Adam said.

“Not back?  But he took Buckhorn Meadow.  He should’ve beat me back easy.”

“Well, you know our little brother.  Probably found himself a shady tree to take a nap under.”

Hoss caught the look their father cast Adam, and he raised an eyebrow at his brother.  Adam sometimes felt Joe had a cavalier attitude to his work.  He, and Pa, knew different.  Joe might be young and full of high spirits, but he was a hard worker, and he rose to Joe’s defense.  “Aww, Adam, he ain’t that bad.”

Adam gave a derisive snort.  But by the time they’d finished lunch, and there was still no sign of Joe, a scowl descended on Ben’s face.  Hoss exchanged a look with his brother realizing their erstwhile younger sibling could be in for trouble.

Ben tossed the dregs of his coffee into the fire.  “All right, let’s get to Buckhorn Meadow and see what that scamp’s been up to.”

***

The meadow stretched out before them, and while it looked sparse as it woke from its winter slumber, it would soon become a lush, abundant pasture.  Perfect for summer cattle grazing.  They rode across it, passing by the creek that meandered its way through.

Hoss pointed, “There’s Cochise.”

Adam shook his head.  “What did I tell you?  He’s probably forgotten all about the job he should be doing.”

“Now, son, let’s give him a chance to explain.”  Ben was always fair, but if Joe had been shirking off, he would soon set his youngest straight.

The three rode up to join the pinto, peacefully cropping at the sparse grass a short way from the creek bank.

Ben looked around for his wayward son.  “Little Joe, JOSEPH!”

Riding to the bank’s top, Adam called back, “Looks like a flash flood’s been through here.”  

Ben’s jaw set at the sight of the debris and carnage scattered around the creek.  If Joe had been caught in that?  He would not allow his mind to consider it.  

“I’m sure he’s okay.”  Ben knew Hoss sensed all their uncertainty, and his words were for himself as much as them. 

“Let’s take a look,” he told them.

They’d followed the creek for about two miles when Adam flung up a hand.  “Hold on!”

Ben’s hands shook when he took the jacket Adam retrieved from the tree.  He turned it, taking in every tear and rip, as his fingers lingered over the faded red stains that could be only one thing, his youngest son’s blood.  His throat closed around the lump that blocked it. 

“Looks to me like Little Joe was using the jacket as a rope to climb out, then the sleeve ripped.”

“Don’t mean nothin’, Pa,” Hoss mumbled and cast Adam a look that said he should keep his thoughts to himself. 

Whatever might have happened, Ben pushed it from his mind.  He had to focus on finding Joe, not thinking the worst.  

“Adam, you return to camp.  Tell Charlie to take charge and pick up supplies for three days, then catch us up.  Hoss and I will continue to follow the creek.”  Ben cast a look at the sky and scowled at the grey clouds forming.  “Looks like we’re in for more rain. We need to move before all the signs are lost.”

The rain came an hour later, just as Adam re-joined them. Stopping only long enough to shrug on their rain slickers, the three determined men continued their search.  Aware of how difficult the rain made their task, they would not stop until the light was gone, and it was impossible to continue.

***

Chapter Three

William Jennings pulled up his horses and clucked his tongue at the swollen stream.  Although the water had receded, he sucked his teeth and contemplated if his old nags could manage the crossing.  With reluctance, he climbed down to take a closer look.

Satisfied the water was low enough, he turned back to the wagon.  That’s when he spotted it.  A colossal tree root flung up the side of the bank.  Tangled amongst its shoots, William made out the form of what once had been a human being.

He approached with reluctance, not being sure he wanted to deal with a dead body but not having the heart to pass by the unfortunate soul.  He was missing a boot, and through the shredded clothes, grazes covered the body and the hair was a tangle of mud and matted blood.  Will lifted the head, sorrowed to see the man was barely more than a boy. 

Then, the corpse coughed.

***

Chapter Four

It was a quiet, depressed camp that the three Cartwright men enjoyed that night.  Little was said, each man being caught up in their thoughts and no one wanting to voice their fears.  Instead, they wrapped themselves in silence before settling for a sleepless night.

The day dawned flat and grey with no hint of the burgeoning spring in the sky.  By mid-morning, they had passed beyond the boundary of the Ponderosa.  Hoss pulled up Chubb as he spotted something.  Dismounting, he squelched over the mud to look.  An upturned tree root lay embedded in the side of the bank.

“What is it?” Ben asked.

Hoss hauled his prize out of the mud.  But it wasn’t a prize, more like a doomsday bell.

“It’s Little Joe’s,” he said, the words constricting his throat.

Adam’s ferocity bit the air.  “All that tells us is that he was in the creek!  We already know that.  He may have lost it climbing out.”

Hoss was startled at Adam’s sudden anger, but he didn’t argue with it.  The last thing they needed right now was to give in to their fears.

“Adam’s right, Pa.  Don’t tell us nothin’ we didn’t already know.”

Grateful for their reassurance, Ben managed to drag up a smile.  “C’mon, let’s keep looking.”

***

Chapter Five

Will lowered himself into his rocking chair with a sigh.  It had been a long day.  He looked over to the corner of the cabin to the cot where the boy was sleeping.  Turning back to gaze into the fire, he smiled.  He had been given a miracle.  God was giving him a second chance.

Freeing the lad from the roots and mud had not been easy, but Will persevered.  Back at his cabin, he roused the lad enough to walk inside, but the way he carried himself told Will he’d likely damaged his ribs, and, he discovered, that wasn’t all.  A nasty wound oozed behind his left ear, along with a multitude of gashes and bruises.  Overall, Will decided, he’d been pretty lucky.

Across the room, the focus of his attention shifted, and moaned.  Fetching a cup of water, he hoisted the lad against his chest. “Here’s some water, boy.  You need to drink.”

“Pa?”

“C’mon, son, drink this down.”  

The lad opened his lips and drained the cup.  When he finished, Will laid him back down, and kindness was in the calloused hands that caressed the boy’s face.  

“You rest now, son.”

“Thanks, Pa.”

Will smiled and went back to his chair.

***

The lad regained consciousness several times during the night and the next day, and each time he told the older man the same thing, hope blossomed in Will’s lonely soul.  But the lad was filthy, and the following evening the old tin bath got hauled out from the back of the barn.  Reluctant at first, he coaxed his charge into the tub and scrubbed off the mud. 

Laying the boy down after taking care of his injuries again, the young man put out his hand.  “Pa.”

Will took the hand in his.  “It’s all right, son.  You can rest now.”

The young man’s gaze searched his features.  A lean, long face stubbled with four days of growth.  Dull sandy hair lay flat and lank.  Worn down by hard work and sadness, it was an aged face and made William Jennings look older than his fifty-six years. 

The gaze lingered on his brown eyes before the young man said, “I’m sorry.”

“Fer what?”

“Not remembering you.”

Will smiled and ran a hand through the boy’s clean, soft curls.  “I told you.  It don’t matter none.  You had an accident.  A nasty fall an’ got a bang on the head.  People sometimes don’t remember things after that.  Don’t you worry.  You hear me?  Now, d’you think you can eat somethin’?”

Receiving a nod in reply, he went to the stove.

Trusting eyes followed Will.  No, he wasn’t worried.  He should be after waking up in a strange place, not remembering anything, even his name.  You’d think he’d be frightened, but he wasn’t because he was with Pa.  He knew he was safe.  He couldn’t remember it, but he felt the strength, the safety that came from his father deep down in his soul.  Unshakable certainty told him Pa had always been there for him and always would, and so long as he was, he didn’t have to be afraid.

The young man frowned as he felt the need to know one thing. “Pa?”

“Yes, son?”

“What’s my name?”

His father chuckled.  “I should’ve told you.  It’s Peter, or Pete as we call you.”

Pete rolled the name around his head.  To his disappointment, it didn’t strike a familiar chord.

He set this aside and asked, “We?”

“Your Ma and me.”

“Ma?”  Excitement crept into his voice, “She here?”

His father shook his head.  “She’s been gone nigh on six-year now.  Fever took her.”

Pete dropped his gaze.  “I don’t remember.”  Yet, in his heart, he was aware of the loss.  He could feel it acutely even though he had no picture in his head of the woman who caused these feelings.

“You sure take after her.”

“I do?  I wish I could remember her.  I think she loved me very much.”

“She did.  Now, let’s get some food into you.”

Will rocked in his chair and watched the sleeping figure on the bed.  Yes, God has given him a second chance.  His son was back, and this time things would be good.

***

Chapter Six

Pete’s recovery was rapid, and by the end of the week, despite some dizziness and headaches, he insisted on getting out of bed and helping around the cabin.

His ribs, which they decided were only bruised and not broken, were still sore.  However, Will could see Pete chaffed at the idea of sitting still and doing nothing, so he let him have his way.  But he couldn’t but chuckle watching the lad milking the cow and feeding and collecting the eggs from the chickens.  He also offered to make the dinner, but after one bite and much laughter, they agreed that would remain Will’s job.

“Sorry,” Pete giggled, “guess I’m not much of a hand with cooking.  You know you could’ve told me.  I don’t mind you saying if I ain’t good at something.”

Will grinned.  “Well, I guess I could, but where’s the fun in that?”

Pete’s high-pitched giggle broke out again.  Finding it impossible to resist, Will joined in.  He couldn’t remember an evening when he’d last laughed like this, all because his boy was home.

***

Over the coming days, Pete familiarized himself with the farm.  He was disappointed that he couldn’t remember any part of it, but he noticed how his hands easily turned to the work.  Although he had to take things slow because of his injuries, he knew what he was doing, which comforted him.

When he first curried the horses, a strong sense of familiarity struck him, but something different teased at the edge of his mind.  He’d tried to pursue the memory, but it slipped away, and a headache that split his brain like a spike replaced it.  He let it go.  There was no need to push things.  His memory would return when it was ready.

Straddling the fence one morning, he took a good look at the farm.  It was around two hundred acres, respectable in size and enough to provide a good living.  His experienced eyes took in broken fences, a barn roof in urgent need of repair, and fields that needed plowing ready for spring planting.

His brow furrowed further when he saw only thirty acres were ready for cultivation.  Another forty could easily be put to plow.  This would provide more feed for their animals, allowing them to increase their stock, and give a bigger cash crop.

But other concerns ran deeper.  Watching his father toil away, he wondered what kind of son he was.  How could he allow the farm to become so neglected?  Pa was doing the best he could alone, but what had he been doing?  He couldn’t shake the thought and asked his father outright about it that night.

Will shifted his food around his plate before answering.  “Well, you’ve been away.  We needed some extra money to cover the taxes, an’ you took a job to get it.  I know the place isn’t in great shape.  I’ve tried to keep up with the chores-”

Distressed to hear the shame in his voice, Pete laid his hand over his father’s to silence him.  “I’m not blamin’ you.  I know how hard you work and how difficult running this place alone must be.  I was just wondering why I wasn’t helping you.”

“You was helpin’.  I don’t wanna let you down.”

“No, Pa.  Never.  You can never let me down.  I might not remember, but I know it.  I’m back now, an’ I gonna do my bit.  Working together, we can get the farm back on its feet.”

Pete’s heart lifted to see the smile that swept his father’s face.

“Sure, son, you an’ me together.  We can do anything.”

***

Cool and moist, the soft earth crumbled between Pete’s fingers, good soil that would grow good crops.  Removing his hat, he wiped his brow, closed his eyes, and lifted his face to the sun, letting it warm his skin.  He took a deep breath.

A month had passed since the accident, and although there was no sign of his memory returning, he wasn’t worried.  His ribs, though still sore, were good enough for him to start the heavy work, and he was looking forward to getting on with it.  He was happy to be active again, but most of all, he was glad to be working with Pa.

During his inactive weeks, he’d had some ideas for the farm.  When Pa agreed, Pete was delighted.  The trust shown made his chest swell with pride, and he was determined not to let his father down and do better by him in the future.  Despite what Pa told him, he had a sneaking suspicion he hadn’t been as helpful in the past as he could have been.

Watching Pete from the cabin, Will smiled to himself.  It was so good to have his son back.  For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to the future.

***

Chapter Seven

The three tired horses halted in the yard in front of the big ranch house. Their fatigue reflected ten-fold in the three men who rode them.

They’d spent the last month scouring every inch of Buckhorn Creek and its surrounding countryside until there was nowhere left to look.  Now, at a standstill, they could do nothing but get back to work.  Though it ripped at his soul, Ben accepted they had no choice but to rely on getting information through other means.  He’d sent telegraphs and posters to every town in a hundred-mile radius offering a reward for any news and prayed this would get results.  

But life goes on.  They were in the middle of the spring roundup and branding season, which would require every man on the Ponderosa.  Ben recoiled at the thought of the one who wouldn’t be there.

The weeks passed into another month, then two and three, and Ben’s friends looked on in growing dismay.

Dr. Paul Martin watched the Cartwrights come into Virginia City every week.  Ben to check the telegraph office and Adam or Hoss to collect supplies.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen them go into the saloon, and no Cartwright had attended a social function since Little Joe had gone missing.  Paul shook his head when he observed his friend ride out empty-handed again.  It was time for a talk.

***

Ben tossed down his pencil and gazed around the large room.  The house was too damned quiet to concentrate, and there was the ever-present hope that Little Joe would come crashing in with spontaneous laughter and some outlandish excuse of where he’d been on his lips.  It was a hope that dimmed every day and took the light out of Ben’s life bit by bit.

The sound of a buggy drawing up was a welcome distraction, and he set aside his books to see who it was.

“Paul.  Come in and have some coffee.  What brings you out here?  You haven’t news of Joe?” he asked, sudden hope lighting his eyes.

Paul shook his head. “No.  It’s not Little Joe.”  Ben tried to hide the bitter disappointment that closed his throat and lifted a hand to offer his friend a seat.  “It’s you I’ve come to talk about.”

“Oh?” Ben bristled.  He felt interference coming his way.

“I’m worried about you.  All of you.  You can’t go on like this.”

“Like what?”

“It’s been four months since Little Joe went missing.  When are you going to accept he’s not coming back?”

Ben’s hands clenched on his knees.  “We don’t know that. I’ve got telegraphs out-”

“And how many replies have you had?” Paul interrupted.  He sat forward.  “Look at yourself.  Look at Adam and Hoss.  If you don’t face it for yourself, face it for them.  They can’t move on until they grieve.  None of you can.”

Ben flung himself out of his chair, unwilling to hear his friends’ words.  “I can’t.  I won’t give up on him!”

From where he had been standing, Hop Sing moved forward to lay the tray of coffee on the low, planked table.  His dark eyes flitted from Dr. Martin to his employer, who stood with his back to him, facing the fireplace.

“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Ben muttered over his shoulder.

Instead of returning to the kitchen, Hop Sing took a breath and spoke up, “Mr. Cartwright, you must listen to good Doctor.  Family need to heal.”  Ben turned a furious gaze on his cook, but the man pressed on.  “Hop Sing love Little Joe like he were son, but he gone now.  I need to say goodbye.  All need to do the same.”

Ben saw the emotion in Hop Sing’s face before he turned away and dashed back to the kitchen.  Shaken, Ben sat down.

“It’s not a betrayal to accept the truth,” Paul’s soft voice added.

Ben said nothing.  He couldn’t.  No words would come.  Paul got up, patted him on the shoulder, and left.  The coffee on the table sat untouched.

So much loss had been suffered already.  Three beautiful, wonderful wives, and now – now he had to surrender his youngest son?  Burying a child was the hardest thing a man could do, but many did it every day, so who was he to complain?  But at least they had a body to bury.  

Ben covered his face with his hands and wept.

***

Chapter Eight

Adam and Hoss rode into the yard, slowly dismounting before heading for the barn to take care of their horses.  The silence between them lay heavy like fog.

“Maybe Pa’s had some news today,” Hoss suggested with an effort.

Adam grunted.  He couldn’t bring himself to agree.  It went against his nature to pretend, but at the same time, he couldn’t tell Hoss he no longer believed there would be any news.  Since they ended their search, Adam’s rational mind had battled his emotional side and won every argument, forcing him to accept Little Joe was gone.  It hurt him more than he would have imagined possible, and having to hide his conclusion from his father and brother made it worse.  But how could he crush their certainty?  So, he grunted and kept his mouth shut.

Hoss sunk again into his morose thoughts.  He knew Pa would never give up on Little Joe, but his heart was breaking under the pressure of supporting him, finding it harder and harder to keep his hope alive.

From the window behind his desk, Ben watched his two sons trudge toward the house.  Hoss’s great body slumped, and Adam’s rigid.  Paul was right.  It was time.  Time to accept the loving, charming, infuriating ray of joy was gone from their lives.  Hearing the door open, he pushed back his shoulders and stepped out to greet them.  

“Sons, we need to talk.”

***

Chapter Nine

They might have had a month to recover, but Pete discovered plowing did his bruised ribs no favors.  He winced, readjusted the position of the straps around his chest, took a fresh grip on the plow, and urged Bertha forwards.

“Y’know, you never did like to plow lad, and them ribs are still sore.  Best let me do it.”

Pete scowled at his father, annoyed he’d let his discomfort show.  “No.  There’s too much for one man.  I’m fine.”

He saw the surprise on his father’s face.  Shame pricked him, and he wondered again how much help he’d been in the past.  Well, that was behind him.  From now on, he’d pull his weight.

With the wheat, corn, and potatoes planted, Pete turned his attention to the rest of the farm, and three months slipped past.  Looking into his cupboard, Will grimaced at his bare shelves.

“Gonna hav’ta take a trip to get supplies.”

“Fine.  Now will be a good time to go.  Everything’s in good shape, and we can both go to Carson City.”

“Well, I figured on goin’ to Dayton.”

“Dayton?”

“Yeah, it’s a might closer, an’ they’ll have all we want.”

Eager to visit any town, Peter missed the anxious look on his father’s face that vanished when he agreed to the change.  One town was as good as another, and they all had saloons.  He grinned, tilted his chair, and plopped his feet on the table.

“Yessir, I’m gonna get me the tallest glass of beer.”  

Bringing over the pot of stew, Will said, “Son, feet off the table.”

“Yes, sir,” Pete squeaked and dropped them to the floor. 

The room changed, and he looked at a broader, taller man with grey hair.  Pete knew this man, but he couldn’t see his face.  Recognition teetered at the edges of his mind, and he reached out to him.  His palms slapped to his forehead to hold back the white-hot pain that shot through his head.  Groaning, he doubled over.

“What is it, you sick?”

“Head … hurts.”

Will coaxed him to his cot to lie down before fetching a cold cloth.  Gentle hands rested on his forehead and rubbed his back.  He could feel the pain easing, and when he opened his eyes, Pa looked down at him, the concern showing in every line of his face.  The outline of the other man drifted away like smoke.

“You, okay?”

“Just a headache.”

“Good.  You rest awhile.  I’ll keep your plate warm.  You can eat later.”

Pete nodded and smiled at the man who always took care of him.

***

Thanks to their aged horses, the trip to Dayton was slow and required an overnight stop.  They arrived late morning and pulled up outside the mercantile.  

The owner greeted them with a stare.  “Surprised to see you back, Mr. Jennings, after what happened with them fellas from the Lazy Y.”

Will pulled the list from his vest pocket and thrust it at the man.  “I ain’t worried about that.”

When the man left to gather their goods, Pete asked, “What’s he talking about?”

“Oh, t’ain’t nothing.  I had me a spot of trouble a while back.”

“What sort of trouble?”  Will waved his hand and began to move away.  Pete caught his arm.  “Pa?”

“The Lazy Y’s a ranch near here.  You know cowboys.  Think they own a place.  They don’t take kindly to us farmers and gave me a hard time.”  Will patted his shoulder.  “It were just high spirits.”

Pete’s jaw clenched, but there was nothing he could do, and he let it go.

With most of the supplies packed up, Pete picked up the bag of flour when voices caught his attention.  He walked to the door to see Pa surrounded by three men.

“I told you to stay out of Dayton – dirt farmer!”  Turning the name into something offensive, the speaker stood between his two cronies.  Thumbs hooked into the front of his gunbelt and a sneer on his face.  He exuded arrogance.

“I … I don’t want no trouble.  I’m just leaving.”

The man cut a look at the water trough and grinned at his friends.  “What d’you say, boys?  We can’t let the dirt farmer leave without giving him a drink, can we?”

The men lunged, grabbing Will’s arms while the ringleader caught his shirt front.  

“Get your hands off him!”

Pete’s eyes blazed from under the shade of his hat.  Startled, the three cowboys glanced at each other.

“Look, mister, this ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”

“It’s everything to do with me.  That’s my pa.  Why don’t you pick on a younger man, or don’t you have the guts for that?”

A grin spread over the leader’s face. “Wait right here, boys.  This won’t take long.”

Furious he might be, but Pete was curiously conscious of not feeling scared.  Somehow, he knew he could handle himself. Taking the time to assume a prepared stance, he waited for the cowboy’s onslaught.  The words, ‘Keep those elbows in,’ and ‘Keep your guard up,’ flashed through his mind.

Dodging the punch thrown at him, Pete dealt the man a punishing blow to his midsection and followed this up with an uppercut to the jaw.  The cowboy went down. 

“You got something to add?”

The two others broke from their dumbfounded trance to shake their heads. 

Ignoring them, Pete went to Will.  “You all right, Pa?”

“No … no,” Will stammered.  “Let’s go home.”

Pete scooped up the bag of flour and dropped it into the back of the buckboard.  A crowd had begun to gather, interested in the commotion, which seemed to bother his father.  Casting one last look at the Lazy J hands, he clambered aboard, and Will shook up the team.

Bill Turner had been visiting his daughter and new grandson for the past few months and was waiting for the stage to take him home when the fight attracted his attention.

He broke out into a grin.  If there were a brawl, sure as eggs were eggs, Little Joe Cartwright would be at the center of it.   Hadn’t he heard he’d got himself into some trouble just before he’d left Virginia City?  He chortled at the thought of teasing Ben over this new piece of high jinks when next he saw him.

Intending to say hello, he made his way across the street.  But when he called his name, Little Joe didn’t seem to hear him.  Only the older man beside him looked around before whipping up his team.

***

Pete reached over to catch the reins and ease up the pace.  “Whoa, Pa.  Betsy and Bertha can’t keep this up.  What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, shaken up, I guess.  Thanks for what you did back there.”

Keen to release the tension, Pete furled up his eyebrows and joked, “What?  Defending my pa?  What self-respecting son wouldn’t have done that?”

To his surprise, Pa didn’t laugh.  Instead, he put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.  A rush of recognition snatched his breath with its intensity.  Will smiled, and Pete returned it.  No words were needed. 

“Sorry, you didn’t get your beer.”

Peter grinned.  “Let’s say you owe me one.”

***

Chapter Ten

Although purposeful, the three Cartwright’s steps were unhurried as if none were in haste to reach their destination.  The talk the day before hadn’t been easy, but they’d all agreed to buy a headstone and hold a memorial service.  They had a long way to go, but Ben felt a peace settle over them as they began to grieve.

When someone called his name, Ben turned to see Bill Turner with a wide grin on his face.  He remembered Bill had been away and didn’t know about Little Joe yet.   He found he was relieved not to have to deal with another sympathetic neighbor.

He took the man’s hand in a firm grip.  “Bill, good to see you.  How’s Sally doing?”

“She’s just fine, Ben.”

“And your grandson?”

Bill puffed up his chest with pride.  “Got the look of his grandpa about him.”

It was good to hear about a new life, and Ben smiled, pleased at his friends’ delight.  “That’s fine, fine.”

“He’s walking already.  Dashing all over the place, a regular little bundle of quicksilver.”  

The word sent a spasm of pain through Ben’s heart at the thought of the other quicksilver child he’d never see again. 

“Yeah, he’s gonna be a handful that one, which reminds me.  I just saw Little Joe in a nice little fight.  Boy, he polished that fella off easy.” At the shocked faces in front of him, he faltered.  “What’s the matter?”

Ben clutched Bill on either arm.  “You saw Little Joe?  When?  Where?”

“Yesterday, in Dayton.”

“Are you sure?  Are you sure it was Little Joe?”

“I’ve known Little Joe since he was knee-high!  I think I’d know him when I see him.”

Adam jumped in, “Was he alone?  Was he all right?”

“I told you he laid that fella out easy.”

“There’s no doubt it was Little Joe?” Ben asked again.

“Yes.  What’s this all about?”

Ben slapped his friend on the back.  “Bill.  You’ve just made this the best day ever.”

“Huh?” Bill gaped.  Baffled, he watched the three men run off down the street.  “If that don’t beat all.”

Adam glared over his saddle at his father.  “If Joe’s been in Dayton this whole time, why hasn’t he contacted us?”

“All that matters right now is he’s alive.”

The three men hurtled out of Virginia City to the Ponderosa to fetch supplies.  Then on to Dayton.  Where Ben hoped to find his missing son.

***

“Dadburnit Pa!  Somebody in this dadburned town must’ve seen Little Joe?” Hoss pushed back his hat and snatched up his glass.

So far, their search and questions had elicited little response or information, and they’d withdrawn to the saloon to ease their frustration with a beer.

Their first call to the sheriff set the tone.  He showed no interest in their problem, and the posters Ben had sent out sat on his desk, the top one ringed with marks from his coffee mug. 

Hustled out of the sheriff’s office by his sons, Ben muttered remarks about the man’s fitness to do his job on the way to the hotel.  Followed by a visit to the stables, doctor’s office, and mercantile.  Each time they came up blank

Ben made a growl in his throat.  “We’re not leaving ‘till we find him or get some information.”

The three drank their beers, and the saloon filled with the evening crowd.  Deciding to see what his reward would shake loose, Ben pulled out a handful of the posters he retrieved from the Sheriff.  

Going to the bar, he called for the attention of the patrons.  “Gentleman, my name’s Ben Cartwright, and I’m looking for my son, Joseph.  We’ve had word he was seen in Dayton a few days ago.  I’m offering a reward of five thousand dollars to anyone who can provide information that leads to him.  The details are on the poster.”

He laid the posters on the bar and returned to his seat.  Worth more than a year’s wage, the sum caused a stir of excitement, and several men got up to take a look. 

Hoss grinned at him when he sat down.  “That’s stirred them up.”

“Good.  Let’s hope it gets results.”

Abel Jennings nursed the single glass of beer he could afford and gathered in his resentment.  He’d just come from Virginia City and had heard all about the Cartwrights.  He knew they were rich, but not how much until now.

All his life, Abel had never managed to get his big break, find his big bonanza.  His last venture, silver mining in the Comstock, had died a death thanks to the lousy card sharp who cheated him out of his stake money.  Now he was down to his last few dollars and forced to visit his brother.  He could always squeeze a coupla of bucks out of Will.

Leaving the saloon, he stopped and picked up a poster, drinking in the information and, most of all, the reward.  He could sure use that kind of money.

***

Chapter Eleven

Sitting astride the fence, Pete looked over the newborn calves.  He chewed on the grass stalk hung from one side of his mouth while he summed up their condition.  Moving the cows to a pasture with better grazing had paid off.  Maybe next year, they’d have enough stock to send to market?  Pa had told him they’d never managed to do that before.  The idea they could put a smile on his face.

He also had an eye on a young bull he’d spotted in their neighbor’s herd.  Once he discovered the man had only moved in six months ago, Pete rode over and spoke to him about the animal.  Knowing the farmer had never met him made him feel easier.  He was embarrassed at this piece of foolishness over his memory loss, but he couldn’t help how he felt.  But, the conversation had gone well, and he was hopeful that they could afford to buy the animal with the money from the extra cash crop.  Then they’d be on their way to improving their stock.

Like a kid at Christmas wanting to surprise someone with a special gift, he hadn’t told his pa yet.  His grin widened, and his eyes sparkled when he imagined the look on his face.  Yeah, everything was going well.  

The clanging of the old bell told him supper was ready.  He sprang off the fence to swing mount Bertha and set her into a reluctant trot back to the cabin.  They’d just sat down to eat when the door crashed open.

“Howdy, brother, looks like I’m just in time for supper.”

“Abel,” gaped Will.  The man looked at Pete, frowned, and opened his mouth to speak.  Before he could, Will jumped up.  “It’s good to see you.  Pete, this here’s your Uncle Abel.  My older brother.”

Pete could see the resemblance, although Able was stockier than his pa.  His eyes also had a mean look that lacked his father’s warmth.  He didn’t take to him.

“Erm … Abel, why don’t you and me step outside for a moment?  Pete, go on an’ eat.  We’ll be back.”

The two men moved outside.  Pete sighed.  He knew Pa was taking him out to explain his memory loss since he didn’t want to upset him by doing it there.  He smiled, and his eyes softened as he thought of the consideration that showed.

“What in tarnation is goin’ on?” Abel demanded.

“Shush, please.  I don’t want him to hear,” Will begged, although he’d dragged his brother to the barn to be out of earshot.

“I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but I know one thing.  That kid in there ain’t your Pete!  The last time I saw that pig-nosed boy of yours, he had a shock of hair like straw, not brown curls!”

“I can explain.  I found the boy half-drowned.  I saved him, brought him back to life.  He can’t remember nothin’ from before an’ he’s mine now.”

Will stared at his brother, who fumbled in his pocket for a folded piece of paper.  He prayed that just this once, Abel would go along with him.  When a smile spread over Abel’s face, he swallowed – hard.

“Do you know who you’ve got there?  That’s Joseph Cartwright, one of the Ponderosa Cartwrights!  His pa owns one of the biggest spreads in Nevada.”  Abel held out the paper.  “He’s offering a five-thousand dollars reward for the boy.  That’s two and a half thousand each!”

Will’s eyes widened, and panic tightened his chest.  “No, Abel, no!  You ain’t takin’ Pete away from me!”

Abel waved a dismissive hand.  “What’re you talking about?  He ain’t Pete an’ that money-”

Abel broke off when Will grabbed the pitchfork.

“I ain’t losin’ him, Abel.  You got no right to take him.”

His brother’s eyes narrowed, and Abel swallowed again, trying hard to stop his hands from shaking.  He’d never stood up to him before, but Pete was his boy.

Able lifted his hands in a placating gesture.  “All right, brother, you win.  I won’t say a word.”

“You promise me now, Abel, ‘cause I ain’t joshing here.  That’s my boy, an’ no one’s taking him.”

“Yeah, if you say so.  C’mon let’s get some supper.  I’m starved.”

Relief swept through him, and Will put the pitchfork aside to return to the house.  He failed to notice the calculating look that crept into his brother’s eyes and the small smile that played on his lips.

***

Abel watched his brother and Pete head to the fields the next morning.  He needed to formulate a plan to get Will to give up Pete, or rather Joseph.

Walking around the farm, he was struck by how good it looked.  A lot different from how run down it had been the last time he’d visited, with Will struggling to keep it up on his own.  Pete was no help preferring to spend his time in Dayton or Carson City drinking and gambling.  Able shrugged, not that he could blame the kid for that.  He’d also hated farming, so he’d let Abel keep the farm after their pa had passed, although he’d milked it for money over the years.

Leaning on the fence looking over the cattle, he whistled in appreciation.  The place looked mighty fine.  He might be a rich kid, but the Cartwright boy could work.

Meandering about, he found himself at the small family cemetery.  Their parents and the grave of their little sister lay side by side.  Behind them was Will’s wife, Sarah.  He stopped and frowned.  Alongside hers, he saw a fifth mound.

Abel scratched his head.  It was a mound all right and fairly recently put there, but there was no cross.  Curious, he began to cast about and found it hidden under a bush.  A cruel smile stretched his thin lips when he read the wooden marker.  He had what he needed.  Will would do whatever he wanted.

***

“No!  I told you.  Nobody is takin’ Pete away!”

“He ain’t Pete, and you know it!”.

Will turned and glanced out the barn door to check Pete was still nowhere in sight.  He might have known Abel wouldn’t let this drop.  Five thousand dollars was too much money for him to forget.

“I took a walk earlier.  Tell me, brother, just who is it buried in that unmarked grave next to Sarah?”  The color drained from Will’s face.  Abel grinned.  “You don’t hav’ta tell me.  You shoulda done a better job of hiding the marker.”

“It ain’t what you think?”

“What?  That you killed him?  Why should I care?  But the sheriff would.  But there’s no reason for me to say anything with my share of five thousand dollars.  Just think what you could do with that money.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

Contempt bled through his brother’s features.  Will began to tremble, and then Abel smiled.

“Maybe you won’t hav’ta.  The kid can’t remember nuthin’, right?  So, we tell him it’s a scam.  That he looks like the Cartwright boy.  We hand him over and get the money.  Then he runs away back to you.”

“But what if he remembers?”

“Even better,” Abel carried on as if Will hadn’t spoken.  “Them Cartwrights are real rich.  They must keep more money in their house.  With the kid on the inside, he can get us in.  Just think, we can have the reward money and more.  Set us up for life!”

“No!  I can’t risk that.”

Before Will could move, Abel seized his throat and slammed him against the side of the barn. 

“You’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll get the sheriff out to look at that grave.  You’ll surely lose the boy then, and I’ll still get my reward.”

Will closed his eyes.  This was just like Abel.  Trapped, he gave in.  “What’ll we tell him?”

“Leave that to me.”

***

“I won’t do it!”

The two brothers gaped at Pete.  One in surprise, the other with annoyance edged into every cranny of his face.

“Son-”

“I’m not gonna pretend to be some poor man’s missing son so you can get a reward.”

“It’s five thousand dollars.  Just think what a difference that could make to the farm.”

“Pa, we don’t need the money!  The farm’s doing well.  ‘Sides, it’s a crazy idea.  How can I pretend to be Joseph Cartwright?”

“I told you.  ‘Cause you look like him!” Abel said.

“How can I possibly look like him enough to fool his family?  His own pa?”  Pete halted his pacing and whirled around to face his father.  “Wait.  When did you say he went missing?”

Before his father could speak, Able spoke up.  “About a month ago.  He went missing in the desert.  Everyone reckons he’s dead, but ole man Cartwright won’t give up on him.”

“A month?” Pete repeated.  He dismissed the thought that hadn’t yet formed and focused on the current contention.  “It doesn’t matter.  I ain’t doing it.”

Able slammed down his cup.  “Yes, you can.  I can tell you all you need to know.”

“I don’t care.  I’m sorry, Pa.”

The dismay on Pa’s face hurt Pete.  These were the first words they’d had, and he hated to argue.  But what they were asking was despicable. 

“Abel, give Pete an’ me a minute.”

Pete watched Abel rise.  He cut a look at Will but left them alone.

“Sit down, son.”  Too on edge to sit.  Pete resumed his pacing.  “Pete-”

“C’mon, Pa!  This is all wrong, and you know it.  We don’t need to steal to survive.  Maybe that’s what he does, but it sure as Hell ain’t what we do!”

Pete halted his pacing to stare out the window.  Any minute the rebuke would come.  Reproofing him for his tone and language.  When it didn’t, he turned.  The look on his father’s face dissolved his anger into concern.  Alarmed, he went and sat down.  

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry, son.”  The bleakness in Will’s voice chilled him, “I promised your uncle.  I owe him a debt.  A debt I hav’ta repay.”

Pete jerked up and strode back to the window.  Hands stuffed into the back of his oversized trousers, he looked out at their land.  So that was it.  But what kind of debt would make Pa do this?  He glanced back at his father, and the question died in the face of that desolation.  He turned away, unable to bear the sight.  He didn’t want to know.  But neither could he argue.  Debts had to be paid.

Defeated, he retook his seat. His final stab of resistance was a whisper, “I don’t know if I can do it.  Something so wrong.”

Will’s hands covered Pete’s, their thin bony fingers squeezing his, adding their silent entreaty to his verbal one.  “For me.  Can you try for me?”

“All right, Pa.  For you.”

***

From his rocker, Will watched his sleeping son.  He’d hated lying to him.  Unlike Abel, he wasn’t a man who found lying easy, but he was a lonely one, and loneliness was a powerful motivator. 

Ever since his wife died six years ago, he could go months without seeing a soul.  His son would show up maybe two or three times a year when his money ran out and leave as soon as he coaxed some out of Will. 

Until the accident, he’d still dreamed the boy would give up his life of carousing and gambling and return to the farm.  That he’d get back the laughing child, who’d once run so eagerly to help his pa and do his chores, but that was over and done.

Then the Lord, in his mercy, sent him a miracle.  The thought of losing Pete, this Pete, made it hard to breathe.  He’d already decided to let his brother keep all the money.  Pete wouldn’t want it, and with it, Abel would go far away.  Then they could return to the farm, and everything would be as it should.  They just had to get through the next few days. 

***

Chapter Twelve

“Four days! You’d think someone would have some news.” 

“Pa.  Why don’t you sit down?” Adam said from his position by the window.

Ben didn’t halt his pacing and repeated, “Four days!”

“We all know how long it’s been.”

“Perhaps I should speak to the sheriff again.”

“How will that help?  We just need to be patient.”

He knew Adam was right, but sometimes Ben wondered at his eldest’s ability to stay so calm. 

Rolling off the bed, Hoss said, “Well, I’m all for getting out of this room.”

The knock on the door froze them all before Ben ran to open it.  Disappointment rushed over him, seeing the man standing there.  He had the look of a drifter about him.

“Mister Cartwright.  Mister Ben Cartwright?” At Ben’s affirmation, he continued, “I’ve information about your son, Joseph.”

“Have you seen my son?”  Ben’s heart seemed to stop as he waited for the answer.  Could he cope with another letdown?

“Yes, Sir, I have.”

Reaching out, Ben dragged his savior into the room and ushered him to a seat.  The three Cartwrights formed an eager line in front of him.

“Where is he?  Is he all right?”

“He is now.  My name’s Bill Smith, and my brother rescued your son – pulled him from the river.  He’s been taking care of him on his farm.”

“It’s been four mouths.  Why didn’t he contact us?”

When Smith hung his head and looked ashamed, Ben regretted his question.

“You gotta understand.  My brother’s a simple man, and his farm’s a long way.  Plus, your boy was pretty banged up and too sick to leave at first.  My brother said he’d hit his head and said nuthin’ for a long time.  But you’re right.  He shoulda tried to contact you.”

“No.  Forget I spoke.  We owe your brother a great debt.”

“Well, talking of that.  The reward?”

“Of course, the reward is his.  With my thanks.  When can we go to your brother’s farm?”

“No need.  My brother’s bringing him.  His horses are a mite slow, so I came ahead to let you know and ease your minds.”

“Hear that, boys!  Little Joe will soon be home.”  

Slipping down the back stairs, Abel smirked to himself.  He’d had to do some fancy footwork to get the Cartwrights to agree to him bringing Joe to them, but the plan was working to perfection.  He laughed when he thought of the kid leaving them to return to Will.  Let Will have him.  Besides, he could always turn him over again in the future.

***

For two days, Pete listened to Abel droning on about the Ponderosa and the Cartwrights.  The unsettled feeling in his gut grew when the greedy light in the man’s eyes brightened every time he talked of their land and wealth.  When his uncle sprung his idea of robbing the Cartwrights, he’d been so enraged they would have come to blows if Pa hadn’t stepped between them. 

He tried to talk Pa around but finally gave up when he saw how distressed it made him.  Whatever happened, he was determined not to go along with any robbery.  No way was he going to let Abel drag his father deeper into trouble.  

Sitting next to him on the buckboard, they’d not said a word for hours until they almost reached Dayton when Pa said, “I know I’ve disappointed you.  But if we can get through this, we can say goodbye to Abel and get on with our lives in peace.”

He heard the regret and shame in his father’s voice and tried for a lighter tone, “Sure, together, we can do anything, right?”

He was rewarded.  Sitting up straighter, Pa smiled.  “That’s right.  We can.”

Abel was waiting for them in the alley at the edge of town.  When he turned to say goodbye to Pa, the worry on his face made him swallow down any further protests.

Pulled into a fierce embrace, his father whispered, “You come home soon now, y’hear.”

Pete managed a smile and a nod before walking away.

***

All three Cartwrights paced the floor.  Bill Smith had gone to meet his brother.  Ben wanted to go with him, but Smith was insistent.  His brother was a simple, retiring man who wouldn’t take kindly to people and fuss.  

When the knock came, Ben snatched the door open.  He didn’t see Bill Smith, his gaze riveted on the young man by his side.  The son he’d given up for lost.

Regardless of who could see, Ben reached forward, gathered his boy into his arms, and buried his face in Joe’s curls.  “Joseph.  Thank God.”

Ben pulled Joe into the room, stood back to let his brothers welcome him, and frowned.  Joe looked like a startled rabbit.

“You all right, son?”

“Oh.  Yeah.  I’m fine.” 

Smith stepped forward and took him aside.  “Like I done told you, Mister Cartwright, the boy were dazed and muddled up for a long time.  He don’t talk much about what happened.”

“I see.  Thank you, Mister Smith.  We owe both you and your brother more than you know.  With that in mind.  Five thousand dollars as promised.”

Ben placed the bills in the man’s trembling hands.  He knew it was more cash money than most farmers ever saw in a lifetime.  Grateful though he was, in his eagerness for them to be alone with Joe, he wasn’t sorry to see him out of the room.  Shutting the door behind him, Ben turned back to drink in the sight of his youngest.

He was relieved that Little Joe looked fit and healthy, but that’s where his relief ended.  Back held ramrod straight and hands clutched tight around his hat, Joe looked anything but happy to be back with his family. 

He caught the looks Adam and Hoss gave him and stepped forward to place a hand on his son’s shoulder.  “Well, I think we could all do with something to eat before we head home. How about it, Little Joe, you hungry?”

“Sure.  Sounds good.”

To Ben, it sounded like Joe thought it was anything but good.  Why did he look like he wanted to bolt?  Ben glanced at his other two, but they made no comment and gathered their hats.

***

Chapter Thirteen

Pete soon realized his uncle’s tutelage had been woefully inadequate.  Consisting of giving him their names and saying over again in different ways how wealthy they were, it left him with little to work with.  He did his best to appear relaxed, but he could wipe a sheen of sweat from his top lip by the time they stopped for the night.  He was sure the Cartwrights were wondering about him.  Worried looks were cast his way, and he’d catch them having quiet conversations that would stop as soon as he returned to camp after gathering wood or taking a pee.

He’d decided to hightail it out of there during the night.  The hideous thought of another day like he’d just endured urged him on.  Waiting until the camp was quiet, he sat up and slipped aside his bedroll.  He jumped when the soft voice came out of the dark.

“You all right, Little Joe?”

So sure they were all asleep, he almost cursed, “Err…yeah, Adam, fine, just found a lump.”

He slumped back on his saddle.  They were watching him closer than he thought.  The knowledge it was from concern made him feel physically sick.  When they found out the truth, it would kill them, and he wouldn’t blame them if they killed him when they did.

***

The Ponderosa stretched out before him, and Pete’s mouth dropped.  His uncle said it was a kingdom, and he hadn’t kidded.

“Good to be home, son?”

He drew breath.  “Yes, Sir.”

Although still comfortable and homely, the ranch house dwarfed his and Pa’s little cabin.  He chastened himself for the twinge of jealousy that shot through him.

The door flew open, and a small Chinaman raced out.  “Little Joe!  So happy you home!”

The Cartwrights laughed when the man dragged him inside, the whole time talking about all the food he’d prepared.

He was released from Hop Sing’s excited clutches by Ben.  “Whoa, Hop Sing, it’s been a long ride home.  I’m sure Joe would like a bath and a change of clothes before lunch.”

Pete had dreaded this part.  Having no idea of the layout of the house, he was sure to give himself away.  Hoss saved him.  With a slap on the back, he said.  “C’mon.  I’ll help you fill that bath, an’ you can have a nice soak.”

***

Pete wandered the bedroom, curious about his lookalike.  Since the Chinaman had snuck into the washroom and whisked his clothes away, he now wore Joe Cartwright’s.  But who was he?  He picked up a dime novel from the pile on the desk and smiled, then shook his head at the perversity of memory that let him recall he enjoyed these too and not his name.

Continuing his inspection, he made his way around the room until he came to the small frame by the bed.  His fingers ran over the portrait of a woman.  When they froze, he put it down with a snap.  Around him, the room closed in.  He gasped for breath and flung open the door to stagger into the hallway to drag in air and steady himself.  He wiped his top lip.  What the hell was that?  But he didn’t return to the room.  Instead, he shut the door and went downstairs, but the strange, unsettled feeling followed like a shadow.

On the half-landing, he stopped.  The conversation in the room broke off, and three pairs of eyes turned his way.

“Erm, I thought I’d get some air,” he muttered and rushed out of the house. 

Pete patted the silky neck of the pinto.  The animal was the one thing he truly envied Joe Cartwright for, and he’d have given anything to call him his own.  His hand moved in a soothing rhythmic motion, stroking the soft hair.  For the first time since he’d arrived, he relaxed.  Lifting the lid off a nearby barrel, he scooped out some oats.

“Here you go.  You’ll like these, Cooch.”  He frowned.  “Why did I call you that?”

He backed off from the horse, his skin tingling as the uneasy feeling returned.  He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed at his foolishness before moving back to Cochise.  Why wouldn’t he shorten the name?

“He’s sure glad you’re back.  We all are.  Course, I’m just glad I won’t be doin’ your chores no more.” 

Joe turned to see the biggest Cartwright peaking at him with upturned eyes and a crooked smile on his lips. 

Joe laughed.  “Thanks!” 

Guilt slugged him when Hoss broke into a grin.  “Lunch is on the table.”

His respite was over, and he followed Hoss back indoors.

After lunch, Adam and Hoss headed out to do chores.  Being alone with Ben Cartwright scared the heck out of Pete.  He decided to duck out.

“If it’s okay, I’ll go rest in my room.”

“Hold on, Little Joe, I want to talk to you.”  The hand he placed on Pete’s knee stopped his rise.  Feeling caught, he eased back down.  “Son, I know you’ve been through a lot, and I’m not going to press you to talk about it now, but I want you to know that when you’re ready, I’m here to listen.”

Pete’s throat worked.  He managed a strangled, “Thanks.”

He hoped that was it, and he could escape, but Ben added, “I thought I’d lost you.”  

Pete’s jaw tightened.  Disgust churned his insides.  He swallowed hard, afraid he’d lose his lunch right there.  When his eyes raised to Ben’s face, he looked away, horrified by the raw emotion he saw there.  He couldn’t bear it.  It took everything he had not to bolt up the stairs away from the kindness flowing off this man.  With a half-smile and a jerk of his head, he escaped.

***

Chapter Fourteen

Pete hid in his room and spent the afternoon composing a letter to the Cartwrights.  Consigning Abel’s plan to Hell, he’d decided to slip away that night but couldn’t do that without telling them the truth.  They were decent people and deserved that much.

He wasn’t entirely happy with his final effort, but it was the best he could do.  Folding the sheet of paper, he pulled open a drawer at the back of the desk and retrieved an envelope.  His hand froze.  How did he know that’s where they were kept?  The uneasiness that clawed at the back of his mind scratched a little louder.  The knock startled him so bad he jumped. 

Quelling his thumping heart, he called, “Who is it?”

The door opened, letting in the little Chinaman carrying a large jug.

“Supper ready.  Bring Little Joe water to wash.”  He set the jug on the washstand and added, “Wǒ hěn gāoxìng nǐ huíláile” (I’m glad you’re back)

Pete flushed and replied, “Xièxiè.” (Thanks)

Hop Sing gave him a beaming smile and left, not noticing the shocked expression on Pete’s face.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his shaking hand.  Fear prickled in his chest.  How did he do that?  Pete gave his head a shake.  Don’t be an idiot – think!

Of course! Pa had mentioned how much time he’d spent hanging around Chinatown in Dayton.  He’d said it was because he’d found the people interesting, but Pete suspected gambling had been the attraction.  To do that, he’d likely pick up some of the language.  He chided himself for getting spooked again.  Still, he’d be relieved to get back home.

***

Ben watched Joe pick at the food on his plate.  He couldn’t understand why he was so tense.  Everyone saw it, but they’d all agreed to ignore the issue for now and give Joe time to settle.  He smiled at Hoss, whose gentle flow of small talk kept the conversation going. 

When they moved to the living area, Joe’s gaze flicked from the clock to the stairs.  Ben wondered how long it would be before he excused himself.  Hoss challenged his brother to a game of checkers.  He was reluctant, but at least Joe agreed and was soon absorbed in the game.

The knock at the door broke the player’s concentration.  Joe looked up.  “I’ll get it.”

Ben noticed the check of surprise and puzzled look on his son’s face when he stood as if he questioned himself.  About to ask about it, Joe shrugged and moved to the door.  It opened to reveal two men.

“Is it just them?” said one who shouldered passed Joe.

When he recognized Bill Smith, Ben rose in welcome, but the smile on his face dropped seeing the rifle he was toting.  “What is this?”

Joe looked at the other man who said, “Abel thought it best not to leave you too long.”

Ben’s puzzlement deepened when Joe turned back to him.  Guilt edged into his face.  “I’m sorry, Mister Cartwright.” 

Smith jabbed Joe in the ribs with his rifle.  “Where’s the money?”

“I don’t know.  You haven’t given me time to find out.”

The rifle was swung to point at Ben.  “Cartwright, where’s your money?”

Hoss and Adam now stood beside him.  Expressions of disbelief on their faces.  Ben’s gaze stayed on his son when he replied, “In the desk.” 

The rifle waved in that direction, the three men moved, but Ben needed answers.  “Little Joe, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not your son.  It was a lie, a trick to get the reward money.”

“If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke, and I’m not Little Joe.”

Hoss waved a hand at him.  “Look at you.  Who else could you be?”

“I’m not.  I just look like him.  I’m sorry.”

The man waved his gun again.  “Never mind that.  Get that money – now!”

Ben cast him a look of contempt but did what he was told.  Removing the money pouch from the tin box, he dropped it on the desk in front of his son.

“It’s as much your money as mine.  You only had to ask for it.”

His son blanched at the words, but the other’s man’s eyes gleamed with greed.  “How much is there?”

“About a thousand.”

“Not much.”

Smith moved to grasp the pouch, but before he could get to the desk, Joe put himself between him and the money. 

“Pa, please, let’s not do this.”  Ben’s eyes widened in shock.  Joe wasn’t speaking to him.  When the other man didn’t move, Joe pointed to Smith.  “Abel can have the reward.  We don’t need-”

The butt of Abel’s rifle clipped Joe on the chin knocking him sideways to his knees.  “Shut up!”

Incensed, Ben went to help.  But the other man was before him, pulling Joe away from Abel, away from him.

“There’s no need for that,” he told Able and put a hand out to turn Joe’s face and examine the injury.

“I’m all right,” Joe replied and wiped the blood from his lip.

Ben’s world tilted, and he gripped the back of the desk chair.  This can’t be.  This is my son – must be my son.  The specter of loss loomed before him and opened the empty chasm in his chest.  Then he looked at the man squaring up to Abel.  Eyes blazing deep emerald, nostrils flared, chin jutting out, and lips pressed tight together.  A face he’d often seen on his hot-tempered, stubborn youngest through the years.  He glanced at Abel and Will and rejoiced.  They didn’t recognize that look or realize a powder keg stood before them.

“We’re not takin’ that money,” Joe told Abel, and there was cold fury in his quiet words.

“You givin’ me orders, boy?”

“That’s right.  You can have the reward, but no more.  Tell him, Pa.  We don’t need it.  Remember, together we can do anything.”

The pride on Will’s face wounded Ben.  Who was this man who looked at his son that way?  But in an instant, that look changed to one of horror when Abel laughed.  

“You dumb kid.  He’s not your pa!”  

“No, Abel.  You promised!”

“Don’t you get it yet?  You really are Joe Cartwright.”  Abel pointed at Ben and jeered, “He’s your real Pa!”

“Pa?”

Ben took a step forward, responding to that word and the torment in it.  But it wasn’t to him his son had spoken, and his heart ached for the anguish he saw in his face.

“He fished you out of a river.  You’d forgotten who you were.  So he kept you.  Tell him what happened to the real Pete.  Tell him who’s in that unmarked grave!”

Will whimpered under the battering of words and seemed to shrink in on himself.  When Joe went to him, Abel leaped forward to snag him under his arm and pull him close.  When Ben came around the desk, the rifle leveled at him.

“I reckon you Cartwrights are good for a lot more than that thousand, and now we’ve settled this one is yours, your gonna hav’ta pay to get him back ‘cause he’s coming with me.”

Ben felt the powerful presence of his sons at his back, ready to make a move.  All they needed was an opening.  When Abel backed toward the door dragging Joe with him, Will stepped forward.  His weapon pointed at his brother.

“No, Abel, I ain’t gonna let you do that.  We ain’t hurtin’ the lad no more.  Let him go, or I’ll kill you.”

The explosion ripped the air.  Shocked, everyone stood motionless for a fraction of a second.  Then things began to happen at once.

Joe cried out and broke loose of Abel to bolt toward the collapsed body of Will.  Hoss steamed straight at Abel and laid him out with a bone-crunching punch while Adam grabbed his rifle.  Ben followed Joe, who knelt beside Will, hands pressed to his chest to stem the blood flow.

Becoming aware of Ben’s presence, Joe turned stricken eyes to him.  “Please, help him.”

A surge of anger spiked through him.  How could Joe ask him that?  To help the man who had taken his son.  He had more reason to hate than help him, but then he looked into his son’s eyes and saw the frightened, desperate child begging for mercy.

He ran to the dresser and grabbed a handful of napkins.  As he returned to Joe, Hop Sing appeared chopper in his hand, ready for action. 

“Get the medical chest,” Ben told him.

Dropping on one knee, he pressed the cloth onto the wound and realized there’d be no need for the medical chest.

“Thank you.”

Being thanked like a stranger weighed heavy on Ben’s heart, and his gut constricted seeing the love in his son’s eyes for the dying man.  He’s taken that too.  He glanced up when Adam and Hoss joined them.  With a shake of the head, he indicated nothing was to be done.

“Pete … son.”

“No, Pa, don’t talk.  Lie still.  We’ll get a doctor.”

“No … no time.  I hav’ta tell you.  Make it right.”  Will drew in a breath, swallowed, and coughed.  Seeing the blood trickle from his mouth, Ben knew it wouldn’t be long now.  “Abel told the truth.  I killed my Pete.  Didn’t mean to, but I caught him tryin’ to rob me of the last money I had.  We fought, and he fell on his knife.”

“Oh, Pa, don’t ….” Joe’s voice broke as tears began to fall.  Stroking Will’s hair, he pressed his other hand on the cloth drenched in blood.

“When I found you, and you didn’t remember, I thought God had forgiven me.  Give me a second chance to do it right.”  With each breath more brutal than the last, Ben knew Will was fading.  Joe caught and held tight when Will tried to lift his hand.  “You were … the best son a man could have, and I were happy.  Don’t you forget that.”

When the hand he held slipped away, Joe’s trembling ones went to Will’s face.

“No, Pa, no!  Don’t die!  Pa!  Pa!”  

“He’s gone,” Ben told him.

Joe didn’t seem to hear and carried on patting Will’s face.  Adam leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder, “C’mon.”

Joe flung him off.  “Leave me alone!”

“Little Joe!  We’re just tryin’ to help you.  We’re your family.”

At Hoss’ words, Joe pulled himself upright and staggered away from them.  The terror in his eyes wrenched at Ben.  He stood and put out his hand.

“Joseph, what he told you was true.  You’re my son.”

“No, no, it can’t be.  Pa wouldn’t lie to me.”  Joe scrubbed his face.  His bloodied hands left ghastly, scarlet smears over his pale, sweating skin.  “It can’t be.  Can it?  I don’t remember.”

When Joe’s legs buckled, they rushed forward.

***

Chapter Fifteen

Sunlight teased its way through the gap in the curtains letting Ben know the dawn had arrived.  Joe hadn’t regained consciousness all night, and Ben was worried.

Adam appeared carrying a cup of coffee.  “Breakfast is on the table.  You should eat.”

Ben accepted the coffee but ignored the suggestion.  “What if we’ve damaged him mentally?  Trying to force him to accept who he is?  Dr. Hickman warns us not to do that with Hoss.”

“Yes, but Paul said some doctors believe telling amnesiac patients about who they are is the best treatment.”

Ben grunted and nodded, but the weight on his chest didn’t lift.  Adam drew the curtains letting in the insistent sunlight, and Joe began to stir.

Aware he was coming out of sleep, he snuggled further into his pillow, trying to reclaim his slumber.  He was bone tired and didn’t want to wake yet.  When the voice started, he grumbled.  “Go away, tired.”  When that didn’t work, he gave in.  It seemed less effort to obey than ignore the dogged demands. 

It took a moment for his eyes to focus.  The broad shoulders, greying hair, and brown eyes formed through the haze.  

“Pa?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“Pa, does he…?”

Joe frowned.  What was Adam doing here?  Was he sick or something?  He bolted upright.  The memories crashed in like a landslide.  How close he’d come to leaving his family behind – the look on Pa’s face when he’d denied him. 

“I remember.  Oh, God.  I’m sorry, Pa.”

Pa enveloped him in his arms.  There was no hesitation, no holding back.  Love and security flowed through him, and he shuddered at what he’d almost lost.  Breaking free, he looked into his father’s eyes and saw their history together.

“Welcome home, son.”

***

EPILOGUE

The two men stood in front of the grave.  Little Joe had insisted they return Will Jennings to his farm and bury him next to his wife and son, whose marker Joe reinstated.

Ben pushed aside his reluctance when he saw how much it meant to him.  He gave Joe whatever help he needed and hid the pain at seeing the thought, care, and love his son expanded on a man he felt had no right to them.

The burial was a small affair with only the Cartwrights and the Parson in attendance.  When the short service ended, they were left alone to have some private time at the grave.

Joe twisted his hat in his hands and cleared his throat, “It’s strange.  Even though my memories are back, I still feel something for him.”

Joe might have bowed his head so that Ben couldn’t see his face, but he knew Joe’s eyes were on the grave’s marker.  In truth, he still harbored resentment toward Will, but being a wise father, he kept this to himself.

“You can’t just stop caring for someone.”  

“But these feelings weren’t his by right.  They were yours.”  Ben saw the quiver in the chin as Joe fought to control his emotions.  “I’m sorry I betrayed you, and I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.

“Is that …?  Little Joe, don’t ever think that.  Because you didn’t.”  Ben put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and considered the grave.  They had to make their peace with this.  “As for Will, you did save him.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“You heard him.  You made him happy.  He died loving his son and knowing he was loved back.  No man can ask for more than that.”

“Thanks.”  Joe took a deep breath and looked around.  Through inquiries, Joe had located Will’s heir.  The cousin was a young man with a hopeful family working as a clerk in Genoa.  More than willing to leave his current occupation behind, he was keen to take on the farm.  “I’m glad his family is coming, and he won’t be alone.”

“C’mon.  Let’s collect your brothers and head home.”

They found Adam and Hoss chatting to the hand they’d hired to look after the place until the new owner arrived.  When they joined them, Joe gave the man some last-minute instructions.

As they rode out, Hoss asked, “Hey, Little Joe, you really do all that plowing and plantin’?”

“Yep, Big Brother.  I really did.”

Ben, who’d been impressed at the condition of the farm, added, “You did well here, son.  I’m proud of you.”

Joe smiled, and Cochise pranced on ahead.  Adam and Hoss joined him.  Ben hung back, content to watch his three sons.  They still had Abel’s trial to face, but they’d get through that together.  Together, he knew, they could do anything.

Hoss cracked a joke, and Joe laughed.  His high infectious giggle drifted back to Ben.  He drank it in like nectar.  Adam then said something, and Hoss’s loud guffaw joined Joe’s laugh, only to have Adam’s rich baritone added.

Ben frowned and urged Buck into a canter to catch up.  Those three were having altogether too much fun without him!

**The End**

[October 2019]

If you enjoyed my story, I hope you will consider leaving a comment.  Thank you.

Episode referenced:

A Stranger Passed This Way – Written by William L. Stuart