Pa Didn’t Say Not to …………

by Joefan1

Ben Cartwright mounted his horse, then turned to his two sons. 

“Hoss, you’ll be in charge while Adam and I are away in Sacramento.”

“And you,” he continued, eyeballing his youngest boy, “stay out of trouble. That means no gunshot wounds, no broken bones, no cracked ribs, no black eyes, no battered and bruised face, and definitely no bank robberies.”

“Yes sir.”

“Have a good trip, pa,” Hoss interrupted before his father could start up again. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on little brother.”

“See that you do,” Ben directed his son. 

“And both of you take care, you hear,” he added, smiling, as he and Adam rode off.

  As the two brothers entered the house Hoss turned to Joe, and said, “Maybe you should stay in bed until Pa returns. Oh wait, you’d probably fall out of bed and batter and bruise your face.” 

Laughing at his own joke, Hoss patted his disgruntled brother on the back. 

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“You not want  Hop Sing fix dinner?” the little servant asked a few days later.

“No, not tonight. Take the evening off,” Joe replied.

“Maybe Mr. Hoss want Hop Sing fix dinner?”

“No, Hoss is spending the evening with Mary Lou, and she’s making dinner for him.” Joe reminded Hop Sing as he reached for his gun belt and left for Virginia City.

  An hour later, Cochise was comfortably settled in the livery stable, and Joe was entering the Bucket of Blood, looking for a beer and a game of cards. He was in luck. Off to the side, a few of his friends were having a friendly game of poker. Signalling Sam to bring him a beer, he strolled over and joined them.

Time slipped by quickly, as it usually did when he was with his friends, and in what seemed like no time at all, Seth announced, “This will have to be my last game. It’s getting late.”

‘It is getting late,’ Joe mused, and as he contemplated his next move, he remarked, “This will have to be my last hand too.” 

‘Well, I’ll finish the night either as a fool or a great poker player,’ he decided, discarding one card. The dealer, regarding him curiously, dealt a replacement. Joe slowly lifted its corner, and delight surged through him. Great poker player, it was going to be! 

A few minutes later, as Joe raked in his winnings, Mitch, who had dealt the last hand, stared at him in disbelief. Shaking his head, he demanded, “Please don’t tell me you drew to an inside straight.”

“And won!” Joe grinned, then stood and took a bow. As he was gathering up his winnings, his hands suddenly went still. He had the oddest sensation that he was being watched. He glanced around the room, looking for the cause of his uneasiness, but everyone seemed to be engrossed in their own business. Shrugging it off, he turned his attention back to his companions.  

“Gentlemen,” he commented as he finished gathering up his winnings, “thank you for the game,” and smiling, he quit the saloon. 

He was making his way back to the livery stable, his thoughts on that last incredulous play, when he felt a searing pain in his back. His knees buckled, and he slowly sank to the ground. He attempted to rise and felt a ferocious kick to his stomach. Pain exploded in his midsection, and everything went black. He didn’t feel his night’s winnings being torn from his pocket. Nor did he feel himself being flung over a horse or, an hour later, being heaved unceremoniously into an old mine. 

When he regained consciousness a few hours later, he found his feet tied together and his hands secured behind his back. His whole body was one massive ache, and he felt warm, too warm. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself into a sitting position but the sudden movement caused him to feel dizzy and nauseous.  He sat still, taking shallow breaths until his head and stomach felt better. He then began to struggle with the restraints that bound his hands. He worked for what seemed like hours, trying to free them. But, despite all his efforts, the ropes refused to give. They were just too tight.

He glanced around the mine looking for something to cut the ropes with, or at least loosen them, and his eyes lit upon a pickaxe lying next to an old, decrepit ore cart. Hopefully, that would do the job. 

He eased himself over to the nearest wall, and pulling his feet closer to his body, he pushed himself up, gasping as his back scraped against the rock. 

Standing, he thought about his next move. With his feet tied together, he’d have to hop across the floor to the pickaxe. Steeling himself against the inevitable jarring of his stomach and back, he began the arduous journey across the mine floor. When he finally made it to the ore cart, he lowered himself to the ground. Reaching back, he scraped the ropes across the edge of the axe. He kept at it, sawing away at his restraints until the ropes shredded. His hands free, he untied his feet and stood. Using the cart for support, he gave himself a few minutes to collect his reserves and then began the long walk down the passageway.

Out in the open, the crisp, clean air cooled his warm flesh and swept the cobwebs out of his mind. He breathed in its freshness for a few minutes and then looked around. In less than no time, he had his bearings and began the slow-going journey down an old, overgrown trail. Consciously placing one foot in front of the other, he struggled along. 

He hadn’t gone far when something unnerved him. He stopped and stood motionless. He looked, he listened,  and his eyes darted from one spot to another. Then he heard it—a slight rattling sound. Keeping his body still, he scrutinized every inch of the area, looking for its source. A few seconds later he found it. Off to the side of the path, eight or nine feet in front of him, lay a sidewinder. Slowly and carefully, he backed up. Gradually, inch by inch, he moved off the path, never taking his eyes off the snake. 

Completely focused on the reptile, Joe didn’t see the log partially hidden in the grass. He tripped and crashed into a large pine, striking his head against the trunk. His vision blurred as he slid to the ground, and he sat there for a few minutes, waiting for his head to clear. Then, gathering together the little strength he had left, he struggled to his feet and slogged his way back to the path, well past the rattlesnake. 

He trudged along the trail, exhaustion and his injuries causing him to rest periodically. As he was leaning back, resting against a tree trunk twenty minutes later, his face lit up. There, a short distance ahead of him, was the road to Virginia City. He hobbled along the last bit of the trail and stepped onto the road. 

With a deep breath and a spark of hope, he began the trek to town. He pushed himself along relentlessly, but eventually his abused body refused to go any further. He stopped to rest, and as he leaned against an old pine, the trees started to dance around him. He closed his eyes and crumbled to the ground.     

When he came to, hours later, he was dressed in a nightshirt and lying on a soft bed. His eyes moved around the room until they came to a large man sitting in a not-too-comfortable chair. 

‘Hoss,’ he thought, ‘what was Hoss doing here? He was supposed to be having supper with Mary Lou.’ 

“Hey munchkin, how are you feeling?”

“Fine” he answered, but his pain filled face belied his words.

“Yeah, you look just fine too.” Hoss scoffed, placing the palm of his hand on Joe’s forehead. “Well, at least you feel cooler.” 

“How did I get here?” 

“An old prospector found you and brought you in.” Doc Martin explained as he entered the room. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, Doc, and I don’t need whatever it is you’re hiding by your side.” 

“Now what makes you think I’m hiding something?”

Scowling, and ignoring Paul’s question, Joe mumbled through closed lips, “When can I go home?”

“In about a month,”

“A month?” Joe exclaimed in horror, forgetting about the medicine that Paul quickly shoved into his mouth. 

“That was a dirty trick,” he growled at Doc Martin’s departing back.

“And it’s not funny,” he hurled at his laughing brother.

He lay on the bed and glowered at his older brother for a few minutes, then called out, “Hey doc, you were kidding about my being here a month, right?”

“Yes, you can probably go home tomorrow, provided the fever stays down,” Paul reassured him. “And you’re eating properly,” he added as he placed a lunch tray on Joe’s lap. 

“Thanks Doc,” Joe whispered and started in on the soup. 

Leaving Joe to eat his lunch, Hoss signalled to Doc Martin that he wanted to speak to him, and the two stepped into the adjoining room.  

“Are you sure he’ll be okay to come home tomorrow, doc? He’d never admit it, but he’s hurting bad.”

“I’ve no doubt he is,” Paul agreed. “And will be for the next few days. His stomach is badly bruised. He has a bump on his head, and I had to do some digging to clean out that knife wound in his back.” 

“How bad is the wound?”

“A knife wound is always serious, but it wasn’t too deep and didn’t hit anything vital. It should be fine.” Doc Martin reassured Hoss. “And yes, it’s okay to take him home tomorrow, barring complications. I’ll send along some pain medication. It’ll help him to sleep, and that’s what he needs right now.”

Early the next morning, Joe was staring down Doc Martin, and this time he wasn’t about to be tricked into opening his mouth. 

“Do you or do you not want to go home?”

Joe grumbled but took the disgusting concoction.

Paul turned to Hoss. “You’ll have to get a wagon or a buggy. I don’t want him riding a horse all the way to the Ponderosa. And make sure he stays in bed. I’ll be out sometime tomorrow to see how he’s doing.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Hoss, happy to be taking Joe home, went off to procure a wagon.

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Five days later, Ben and Adam Cartwright returned to the Ponderosa.  

“Well, the barn’s still here.” Adam remarked as they bedded down their horses. “Shall we go see how the house fared?” 

Ben frowned at his oldest son but headed for the house.

“You go back to bed. You stay in bed till doctor say okay to get up.” Hop Sing’s voice easily carried through the thick door to Ben’s ears. 

“I’m fine, Hop Sing. The knife wound is almost healed, the bruises on my stomach have faded, and the bump is gone from my head. I’m sure Doc Martin only meant for me to stay in bed until I felt better. And I feel fine.” 

‘That was definitely Joe,’ Ben thought, ‘and that was Hoss laughing’.

“Anyone who draws to an inside straight doesn’t have enough sense to know whether or not he feels okay, little brother.”

“Hoss right, you no sense. You go back to bed.” Hop Sing argued.

“Knife wound, bruised stomach, bump on his head–I  don’t believe you forbade him to do any of those things,” Adam quipped. 

Ben growled something incomprehensible, and the two men entered the house. Adam headed towards Hoss. He wanted to find out more about that poker game. Ben escorted Joe up to his bedroom. He wanted to see those injuries for himself and to do a little lecturing, perhaps a lot of lecturing.

The End