Spring – A Season For Miracles

By Joefan1

Spring had arrived. The pines were loaded with small purplish cones, and the meadows were a lush green dotted with yellow, pink, and white wildflowers.

‘Hoss would have loved this,’ Joe Cartwright thought as he rode along, enjoying the soft touch of a warm breeze against his skin. ‘Hoss.’ He smiled gently as memories of his brother and best friend drifted into his consciousness. The smile slowly broadened as a childhood memory crept into his thoughts. He and Hoss had found an injured racoon behind the bunkhouse and had smuggled it into his brother’s bedroom. Later that night, the patient had decided to explore the rest of the house, starting with their father’s bedroom. Joe laughed softly at the memory. The racoon had been quickly relegated to the barn, and he and Hoss had been firmly told that animals, hurt or not, belonged in the barn. So that was where they kept the injured skunk they found a couple of weeks later. Why they had not been sprayed, Adam had not been so lucky, was a secret known only to the skunk.

“Whoa, easy there, Cooch.” Joe, pulled out of his reverie by the paint’s sudden movement, calmed the anxious animal. He glanced around, checking out both sides of the road. His eyes widened. Slithering into the brush, not far away, was a large sidewinder. “Good boy, Cooch,” he praised the gelding, gently stroking his neck. Then, with a click of his tongue he put him into an easy trot. 

He had been riding for about twenty minutes, enjoying the delights of a spring day, when he caught sight of a small town just down the road. 

“What’d you say to a clean stall and some hay and grain, Cooch?” 

Cochise eagerly nodded his head. Joe laughed. “I wouldn’t object to a soft bed, a hot meal, and a warm bath myself,” he said and headed for town. 

“The soft bed you’ll find in room thirteen,” the clerk at the Palace Hotel told Joe, handing him a key. “The Golden Nugget, next door, serves a good meal, and there’s a bathhouse just down the street.”

Joe nodded his thanks.

“Tails, warm bath first,” he told himself as he glanced at the coin in his hand. 

‘Lady Luck made the right choice,’ he mused as he immersed himself in a large tub filled with warm, soapy water. He leaned back, and his whole body slowly relaxed as the soothing warmth of the water seeped into his muscles. His eyes drifted shut.

“Don’t fall asleep, little brother. You’re as like to slip right under that water,” a familiar voice whispered in his ear. 

Joe’s eyes flew open. He shot around and looked into a face he thought he would never see again. “Hoss, w what, how? You drowned!” he said. “We buried you!”

Hoss couldn’t stop the happy grin from spreading across his face as he looked at his little brother. “I’ll explain everything,” he promised, handing Joe a towel. “Meet me in the Golden Nugget, in ten minutes. By the way, my name is James Miller.” 

Joe stared at him questioningly. 

“I’ll explain that too,” he said, and still grinning he left the bathhouse.

Joe stood motionless, staring at the door, not sure whether to believe his eyes. Then, at a speed that would have dumbfounded his father and brothers, he grabbed his clothes, dressed, hurried down to the Golden Nugget, and dashed inside. 

  “You said you’d explain. Well, I’m listening,” he told his big brother as he sat down across from him. Hoss took a swig of his beer, smiled, and started his tale, “If you remember, I had gone to Arizona on a business trip for Pa.” 

“Yes, you were to meet with Henry Baker about some horses Pa wanted.”

“Well, we met, and me and Mr. Baker were in the Last Chance Saloon, finalizing the deal, when a ruckus broke out on Main Street. I stepped out to have a look. People were running in all directions. Someone was yelling that the bank had been robbed, and six or seven riders came galloping down the street, heading out of town. The last man turned and took a shot at me. I dove for cover and fired back, hitting him. He died instantly. And that was when everything went sideways.”

“Because you shot a bank robber?” Joe asked, confused.

Hoss nodded. “Have you heard of a man called Brett Hogan?”

Joe’s eyes widened. “Yes, who hasn’t? He’s a thief and a killer. Lawmen have been after him and his gang for over a year. Even the Pinkertons have dealt themselves in.” 

“The thief I shot was his younger brother.”

Joe frowned. “He came after you?” 

“Yes,” Hoss acknowledged. “The very next day, someone took a shot at me while I was walking down Main Street. He missed but wounded a passerby. After that, it seemed that every dark corner, every tree, and every blade of grass had a man with a rifle hidden behind it. The man was relentless, and Joe, he didn’t care how many innocent people he hurt or killed trying to get at me. When he followed me into Nevada, I was terrified he’d hit the Ponderosa to draw me out.”

“So you decided to fake your death.” Joe speculated, understanding and sympathy written on his face. 

Hoss’ lips curled into a wry smile. “That came about by accident. About a week after the hold-up, I reached the White River. The water was swift and already running over its banks. But despite this, a family of maybe five or six was trying to get across. Their wagon hit something under the water, lurched sideways, and an old woman fell off. One of her sons jumped in after her, but the river grabbed hold of him too. Dagnabbit Joe, I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. I rode into the water and got the woman to safety, but I couldn’t get to her son in time.  

His name was James Miller. It was one of his brothers who, after hearing my story, suggested I should trade identities with him. Since Miller was as big as me, and his face had been battered by being tossed around in the river, he thought I could get away with it.”

Joe, bewildered, looked deep into his brother’s eyes and asked, “Why didn’t you come home if Hogan thought you were dead?”

Hoss paused for several moments and then spoke, “I thought about it. But Joe, someone might have recognized me, and if they did, it would have got back to Hogan. I couldn’t take that chance.”

“But Hoss?”

Hoss, adamant, shook his head. “Until Hogan is dead or in jail, Hoss Cartwright is dead. Joe, you can’t tell anyone, besides Pa, that I’m alive. I want your promise.”

Joe nodded, reluctantly. 

Hoss reached out, placing his large hand on Joe’s smaller one. Then, with glistening eyes, he squeezed the hand and stammered, “I love you, Little Brother, but I have to leave.” 

Miserable, Joe watched as Hoss headed towards the doors and out of his life. ‘Not again,’ he thought. ‘Not again!’ He’d had enough of losing people he loved, and he was going to do something about it “Hoss, I’m going after Hogan,” he shouted at his brother’s back. 

Hoss stopped and spun around. “Oh, no, you’re not,” he thundered, stomping back to his brother. Putting his hands flat on the table, he leaned forward and stared furiously into his little brother’s face.

Joe stared right back, determination and stubbornness rampant in his eyes.

Hoss sighed. He knew that look only too well. He had seen it often enough. He shook his head, remembering the time Joe, barely seventeen, had defied Pa, Older Brother Adam, and himself to do what he felt was right—to the point of pulling a gun on their father.

“Look, Joe,” he began in a calm and reasonable voice, but then suddenly his whole demeanour changed. He became quiet and tense. “Joe,” he whispered, “does that man sitting over there in the corner look to you like he’s a little too interested in our conversation?”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Joe agreed and started to rise. Immediately, Hoss pushed him back into the chair. 

“We’ve already attracted enough attention,” he murmured. “Give me your key and meet me in your hotel room in twenty minutes.”

Joe gave a slight nod of his head and inconspicuously slid the key across the table.

“Twenty minutes,” the big man stressed, and walked out. 

Joe sat staring at the swinging doors, lost in thought. ‘Hoss, Hoss was alive,’ he thought, happiness bubbling up inside him. 

“What do you know about the Pinkertons?”

“W what?” Joe stammered, startled by the voice whispering close to his ear.

“Allan Pinkerton,” the man introduced himself, sat down, and slid his badge across the table.

Joe looked at the tin star and then back at the man.

“You’re the one who was listening in on our conversation.” 

“Yes,” the detective admitted, “and I’d like a few words with you.”

Joe gave a slow nod, and Allan Pinkerton, head of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, began to talk. Close to an hour later he stopped and waited patiently for an answer.

“Okay,” Joe finally replied, “I’ll take you to him, but I want your gun first.”

Pinkerton hesitated for only a few seconds before handing over his weapon.

  Hoss fumed as he paced the floor of Joe’s hotel room. “Twenty minutes. I told him twenty minutes, and it’s been nigh on to an hour. Dagnabbit, he’s probably gone and got himself into a mess of trouble.”  Buckling on his gun belt, he stomped over to the door and yanked it open.

“What the #$@!” Joe yelped as he flew across the room.

“Where in tarnation have you been?” Hoss growled.

“Talking with Allan Pinkerton, he’s going to help us.”

“Or at least give it a try,” Pinkerton qualified from the doorway.

Hoss shot around, hand on his gun. “Who are you?” he demanded. 

Joe quickly stepped between Hoss and the detective. “I just told you. He’s Allan Pinkerton, of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

Hoss looked at Joe and then back at the stranger. “Help us do what?” he asked.

“Help you get your life back,” Pinkerton declared as he entered the room. 

“And just how do you plan on doing that?” a skeptical Hoss inquired.

“By using you as the bait in a trap, with your permission, of course,” Pinkerton said and waited for a reaction. It wasn’t long in coming.

“Bait! You never said anything about Hoss being bait.” Joe, temper flaring, pulled open the door. “I think you’d better leave.”

“No, I wanna hear what he has to say, Joe.”

Smiling, Allan Pinkerton sat down and laid out his plan, thrashing out the details with his two new allies.

“All that’s left is to find a suitable spot,” Pinkerton finished looking at the two Cartwrights inquiringly.

“We should do it on the Ponderosa,” Joe suggested immediately.

Hoss shook his head. “I’ve told you, Little Brother. I’m not putting anyone on the Ponderosa in danger.”

“Is there someplace on your ranch that’s fairly isolated, where there’s little danger of someone else getting hurt?” Pinkerton intervened.

“That old abandoned line shack in the north section,” Joe thought aloud.  

“Yes,” Hoss agreed. 

“Okay, then that’s settled,” Pinkerton commented, and, ten minutes later, he left with a map of the line shack and surrounding area in his possession. 

Several days later, the aroma of strong coffee and sizzling bacon filled an abandoned line shack in the north section of the Ponderosa. But the two cranky cowboys sitting down to breakfast barely noticed it.

“It’s been over a week,” Joe griped as he dished out the eggs and bacon. “Maybe Hogan needs help finding us.”

Hoss eyed his little brother suspiciously. “What do you have in mind?”

Joe moved his chair next to Big Brother’s. “You remember how Pinkerton said Hogan had eyes and ears everywhere?”

Hoss nodded. “Yea.”

“Well, what if I were to ride into town and sneak around, buy some supplies—enough for two people, and maybe some very large shirts?” Joe looked at his brother, waiting for his reaction.

“Bring back some sweetening and a checkerboard.” 

“All your favourites—that should really set tongues wagging.”

And wag they did. Within an hour of his arrival in Virginia City, store clerks, bartenders, and even some of his friends were gossiping about Little Joe’s strange behaviour. 

“Hey Joe, what are you doing skulking around town? I thought you were on holiday.” Pete commented as he sat down beside his friend, hoping to glean a few bits of information. 

“Um, just had to come into town to get a few things for, uh, a friend,” Joe replied. “Say Pete, could you do me a favour? Don’t mention to anyone that I’ve been in town.”

“Of course,” Pete promised. 

Joe smiled to himself as his friend left a few moments later. If there was one thing Pete couldn’t do, it was keeping a secret. 

“How did it go?” Hoss asked as Joe rode up to the shack.

“Hard to tell, but… ” 

“Hold it a moment. No sense in having to say it twice, and that looks like Pinkerton riding up.”

“Where did you disappear to?” the detective demanded, reining his horse to a stop.

“Good evening to you too,” Joe retorted, “and I was in Virginia City.”

“Good evening,” Pinkerton said pleasantly. “Now why did you go into Virginia City?”

“He wanted to give Hogan some help finding us,” Hoss interjected with a smile on his face. 

Pinkerton looked from one brother to the other, wondering if his leg was being pulled, and decided it wasn’t.

“And did you?” 

“There were a couple of strangers in town. One of them seemed inordinately interested in what I was doing, but he didn’t make any move to follow me. Thought I’d go back and try again in a couple of days.”

“Yes,” Pinkerton said, lost in thought. “Could you make them believe that you’re harbouring your brother?” 

“Already done. I…” 

Pinkerton listened with a smile on his face.  “Excellent, see you in a couple of days then,” he remarked and rode off. 

A large orangish sun was resting on the horizon when Joe rode in a couple of days later.

“Hello, Brother,” he called out as he dismounted and turned Cochise out in the small corral.

“How’d it go this time?”

A huge grin spread across Joe’s face. “Two men followed me back.”

Hoss smiled and followed Joe into the line shack. 

“I bet that’s Pinkerton,” Hoss said, hearing the sound of hooves pounding the ground a few hours later.

Joe glanced out the window and nodded.

“Coffee?” he asked as he opened the door for the detective. 

“Thank you,” Pinkerton said and sat down. “You’re aware two men followed you back?”

Joe gave a slight nod.

“They watched the place for about an hour and then left. You can probably expect some company in two or three days,” he told them, and pulling a small hand-drawn map from his pocket, he spread it out on the table. “Have a look at this and tell me what you think. I’ve placed men here, here, and here.”

“You might want to put a few men here, as well,” Joe said, indicating an area on the map. “What’d you think, Brother?”

Hoss nodded. “One or two would be enough.”

Pinkerton marked the change on the map and returned it to his pocket.

“You all set here?” he asked as he finished his coffee.

“Yes,” Joe replied. “Hoss?”

“Yep”

Pinkerton nodded and left. 

Mid-morning, three days later, Brett Hogan shouted from the back of a large black horse, “Cartwright, you know who I am?”

“Brett Hogan,” Hoss shouted back.

“You know why I’m here?”

“Hogan,” Pinkerton called out before Hoss could answer. “This is Allan Pinkerton. Drop your guns and surrender.”

The bandits immediately drew their guns and opened fire. The fight that ensued was short and fierce. When it ended, Hogan was dead, and his men were either dead or prisoners. 

“You’re back early,” Ben Cartwright remarked, “I wasn’t expecting you till the end of the week.”

“Yes, well, umm.” Joe stood there staring at his father, trying to decide how to tell him about Hoss.

“Pa, do you believe in miracles?” he finally asked.

Ben looked at his son, quizzically, and answered, “Yes.” 

“Have you ever seen one?”

“What’s all this about miracles, Joe?” a perplexed Ben asked.

“He’s trying to tell you that I didn’t drown,” Hoss called from the doorway.

Ben’s face turned ashen as the son whom he had buried almost two years ago entered the great room. 

“How? When?” he whispered, and tears flowed down his face as he stumbled from behind his desk.

“Sit down and Hoss’ll explain everything,” Joe promised as he and Hoss helped their dazed father to the settee. 

Ben pulled his middle son into a warm, loving hug and then allowed himself to be seated on the settee. Hoss pulled up a chair and began his story.

Epilogue

The story of Hoss’ return spread quickly through Virginia City and the surrounding area. And as it spread, it took on a life of its own. By the end of the year, men and women all over the state of Nevada, were telling the tale of how the Cartwright boys had faked the death of one of the brothers (which brother changed with every telling) to set a trap for the notorious Hogan Gang and how they had, without firing a single shot, brought the ruthless gang of killers to justice. 

The End