The Lost Son

by littlejoefan

Ben’s Story

Chapter One

“Desperate straits. Can you spare a son immediately? Forever grateful.

S. Davis”

I scrunched the paper in my hand. Saul Davis! It must be more than twenty years since we had anything to do with each other and we did not part on friendly terms. And now he had the nerve to ask me for help! I was not inclined to indulge him.

As I rode home it all came back to me, the violence, the pain. We were both younger then, of course, and Marie was so beautiful. But she was my wife, not his. 

He thought himself in love with her. She rejected him way before she accepted my proposal, but he never lost hope. He challenged me to a duel but I had only just fought one and merely laughed at him. He never forgot the insult. He even slapped me with a glove which simply led to a fist fight. I was tired. Moreover I was in love and wanted to take my new wife home. He followed us all the way from New Orleans and I was astonished to see him in Virginia City. 

He was determined to have his way. He dogged me and persisted in aggravating me. I still refused to fight him. To my dismay he bought a piece of land nearby and started to build a house. He was determined to cause as much trouble for me as he possibly could. As Marie was expecting a baby, I was needed at home now more than ever.

First of all it was missing cattle. Then he lured some of my best workers away with promises of higher wages. He even tried to take Hop Sing! I’m proud to say my old friend rejected him in no uncertain terms, despite his sweet words. 

When he tried to burn my hay stacks it was the last straw. We had another terrible fight which wound up with a busted jaw for me and a broken arm for him. Saul’s jealousy and hatred knew no bounds.

This was over twenty years ago. After that last battle with him he sulkily accepted the situation. But here he was, asking for help, from me, of all people! I could not help laughing at his bare-faced cheek. I resolved to talk it over with my sons that very evening and get it sorted out the next day.

*

Joe’s Story

Chapter Two

He leant back and I glanced at Hoss.

“Well, I say no, Pa. He gave you and Ma a lot of grief. Let him fend for himself.”

“Aren’t you intrigued, though, even a little bit?”

Pa laughed. “To be honest, Joe, I am a bit.”

“You’ll see him in the morning, Pa?”

“I’ll go over there first thing.”

So I had to wait. It fascinated me about this stranger who had been in love with my beautiful mother, had wanted to fight my father in a duel, and had engaged in such dirty tactics. A fight that had ended in a busted jaw and a broken arm! I could not help but laugh. And he had been telling me from early childhood to control my temper and not to fight!

*

I had started out early but was still on the Ponderosa even though it was nearing nine o’clock by my pocket watch. I sometimes forgot just how big the ranch was. And how beautiful. I had left the pastoral lands behind me and was looking out onto a field of corn. Come fall we would have to harvest it for fodder. The sweet smell assaulted my nostrils and I paused, taking in the attractive scene before me as the green plants waved in the breeze. After another half-hour I came to the woods which marked the boundary of our ranch and the beginning of open land.

I knew my journey was almost over.  I cantered through the arid, rocky terrain until I saw Mr Davis’s fields in the distance.

He was not doing well for himself. I skirted his arable lands and was shocked at the neglect. Even from a distance i could see that many of the plants were stunted and blighted by disease. Others rotted where they stood, the weeds high in the field. His cattle were thin and lifeless and as i eventually drew up at the house I saw that it was in such a state of dilapidation it was almost falling down. 

I dismounted Cochise, tied him to the rail and knocked on the door. After a few moments it opened a crack and I saw the end of a double-barreled shotgun pointing straight at me.

“What do you want? Who are you?”

“Mr Davis?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Joe. Joseph Cartwright.”

There was a pause. “Ben Cartwright’s boy?”

“That’s right.”

The gun lowered, the door opened fully. Saul Davis was as slovenly as everything else. Unwashed, unshaven, with stains down his clothes, he stood in front of me, a small, seemingly quarrelsome man.

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“You didn’t give me much of a chance, sir!”

“Hm, so I didn’t. Well, come in, come in, don’t just stand there!”

He settled me down in his filthy parlor and insisted on fetching some coffee although i demurred.

“Nonsense, boy! You’ve come a long way.”

“I have. Do you know it took me almost four hours to get here?”

“Hmph. Considering you own half of Nevada, it’s not surprising!”

He was determined to be disagreeable. I held my tongue and heard him crashing about with cups and saucers in the small kitchen off to one side. I was expecting the drink to be as disgusting as everything else here but I was pleasantly surprised. I sipped, then sipped again, then finally drained the cup.

He saw the look on my face and smiled for the first time. “The one thing I do know how to do, boy, is make coffee. Another?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

After I had drunk my fill, he sat back. I could barely make him out in the semi-darkness for the curtains were closed and the windows so filthy they barely let any light in.

“Well, I’m surprised you’re here.”

“Why, sir?”

“Your father didn’t tell you anything of our past?”

“He told me a bit.”

“Ah. You know, then, why I’m surprised.”

“I suppose so.”

“Your father and I have a…history.”

“I know. About my mother.”

“Marie DeMarigny was your mother.”

“Yes, sir. Marie Cartwright.”

He seemed stupefied. “She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen in my life. I loved her so much. But then she went off with that…that…your father.”

“Why did you come to us for help, Mr Davis?”

He was silent for a long time. “As you can see,  Joe, I have not done well here. There was not enough work and too much of the bottle. I have to be honest. I know no-one, or at least I have no friends even though I’ve lived here for over twenty years. At least your father knows me. He probably hates me, but at least he knows me.”

“I think the hate died a long time ago, Mr Davis.”

“If he pities me, that’s worse.”

“It’s the curiosity more than anything. Why did you reach out to us after all this time?”

“Because he’s the only honest man I know, damn him! There, I said it! I hated him but I always knew he was honest. He was a man of his word.” He started to laugh and I joined in. “He said he’d beat me to a pulp and he did!”

“From what he told me, you beat each other to a pulp. You busted his jaw.”

“And he broke my arm.”

“It was a fair deal.”

“I did everything I could to provoke him. Any other fellow would have killed me. And because he was so good, it made me worse. I stopped because I was tired. I knew I would never win her heart. When I heard she died it almost broke mine.”

I lowered my head. “Pa’s too.”

“Yes, your Pa’s too…I, too, have no hate left. Perhaps I should have reached out before.”

“Yes, perhaps you should.”

“But I didn’t think he could forgive me, you see.”

“Pa doesn’t hold grudges. Nor would he turn anyone away that needed help. Besides, as I say, he’s curious.”

He leant back and settled down to tell me his story.

*

“I kept up with your father. His successes, his triumphs. He became the richest man in Nevada. And there was me, not forty miles away, struggling to make ends meet. For a long time, my hate deepened. But that all changed when your mother died. Something died in me as well. I suffered. It was years before I could admit how much your father must have suffered too. He already had two sons and then he had you. I knew you all grew up to be fine, upstanding men.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I hated him even more.” He paused. “But hate destroys. It hurts the hater far more than the hated. Through suffering I learned to accept.”

“And you, Mr Davis?”

“I got most of my solace through this.” He reached out to the dresser by his chair and picked up a half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Never start, Joe. It’s a hard lover.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“I met someone, thought I had better settle down and marry. I never loved her, not like I loved your mother.  We had a son. Joshua, his name is. I love him so much. But he grew up in chaos, and just as you three grew up straight and true, he…well, he didn’t.”

“What happened?”

“We fell out. It was when his mother died. He blamed me. He was only fifteen and he screamed at me that it was all my fault. I’m afraid I…hit him.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Five years. I haven’t seen him since. Of course I’ve heard about him. Unfortunately he followed my example. Started drinking, whoring, up to no good. I knew he didn’t have a decent job but I didn’t know where he was getting his money from. Now I do. Now he’s gone off.”

“And you want me to find him?” He inclined his head. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Neither do I.”

“And what do I tell him if I do find him? I can’t make him come back.”

“Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I…love him. If he can forgive me, I want him to come home. Please try, Joe. I beg you.”

They used to tell Hoss he was the patron saint of lost causes but sometimes I thought I should have that moniker. The man’s misery enveloped me. 

“He left you because you drank. You’re still drinking.”

“I know.”

“You know he won’t come back. Or at least he won’t stay if you’re still doing it.”

“I want to stop.”

“That’s a start.”

“But I don’t know how.”

“One step at a time. With help maybe you’ll have a chance.”

*

Mr Davis showed me the telegram, dating from a week back.

“Josh gone. Joined up with Paulson gang. Sheriff following.

Gloria.”

“Gloria?”

“His woman. When I got this telegram I wept. I’ve failed him completely.”

“Do you know her? Where she is?”

“She’s a saloon girl over at Lake’s Crossing.”

“I’ll find her.”

“Thank you, Joe. You out of anyone owe me no favors.”

I laughed. “That’s me. Patron saint of lost causes.”

I nudged him so he would know I was joking and to give the man his due, he laughed.

*

I started early the next morning, making my way directly north to my destination. By midday I could see the little settlement in front of me. Not so little any more – it was growing fast. Railway tracks had already been laid, I could see the depot, newly built. There was a grist mill, hotel, livery stables, a couple of saloons, even a sheriff’s office and jail. I was pretty impressed, it really had mushroomed since I was last here. I dismounted outside one of the saloons. Despite the early hour it was already under full swing. A tinny piano was playing, a swell of voices, and when I entered a gale of alcohol and cigar smoke assaulted my nostrils.

“Beer, please.”

“Coming right up.”

“Looking for a girl.”

“You’ve come to the right place, mister!” The barkeep nodded to the interior of the room where a few women in revealing sequined dresses were nonchalantly doing the rounds.

“A particular woman. Gloria.”

“Gloria Taylor?”

“I don’t know her surname.”

“She don’t work here no more. We had to let her go. Little problem, you know…” He touched his stomach and then moved his hand out a few inches.

The girl was going to have a baby. This was worse than I thought.

“Where does she live?”

”We don’t follow up on our staff once they’ve been dismissed.”

His attitude was dampened by my level stare.

“Really,” I responded coolly.

“Really. Ask across the street. They might know. She went to work over there after us until it got too obvious to ignore.”

I finished my drink and crossed the dirt track. The saloon was quieter although I could see a few miners in the corner playing cards.

“I’m looking for Gloria Taylor.”

“Don’t work here no more.”

I was getting tired of it. “I know that. I want to know where I can find her.”

“What do you want with her?”

“That’s none of your business. Just tell me where I can find her, would you?”

“Alright, mister, keep your shirt on. She hooked up with a fella called Davis.”

“Josh Davis?”

“That’s right. Know him?”

“By name.”

“Davis is no good. Leading her a merry dance, he is. There she is, ready to pop and he goes off. Dean Paulson, if you please, of all people. I suppose you know him too?”

“Heard of him.”

“You’re in luck. The sheriff’s going to call a posse. There was a stage robbery yesterday, a man was shot.”

“Dead?”

“Injured. Let’s hope he lives for their sakes. It could mean the difference between jail and the rope.” The man leaned forward on the counter and poured a whiskey.

“I didn’t ask for a drink.”

“On the house.”

His face was so genuine I gave a smile. “Do you make a habit of handing out free whiskey?”

“Not usually. Truth is, I feel a bit sorry for her. She was a good worker but I couldn’t keep her on, you understand. She’s staying over at the hotel for now. I don’t know what she’s going to do. In her condition, her man running from the law. Anyway, the sheriff’ll be out shortly so if you want to see him you ain’t got much time.”

“I need to see Gloria first. Thanks.”

*

She was older than I had expected. She stood in front of me in a demure gray dress, a cape drawn over her extended figure. She blushed as she saw me and I found her shy manner appealing. She did not go on like a saloon girl.

“Yes?”

“I’m here about…Josh.”

“Are you a friend of his?”

“Not exactly. I’m a friend of his father’s.”

“That no-good – “ She caught herself. “I’m sorry. Josh didn’t have anything very good to say about his father.”

“And yet you contacted him.”

“Well, yes. I thought he had the right to know.” She sighed and gestured me in before sinking onto the bed wearily. “I’m tired, Mr…?”

“Cartwright. Joe Cartwright.”

“Mr Cartwright. I’m so – “

“Just call me Joe.”

“Joe. I’m so bone weary I can’t tell you. Josh has done it now. Someone was shot last night and now he’ll have a price on his head…He said…he said to me that he was going on one last job and then he’d go straight. We’d have enough money to move away, we could get married, I could have the baby in peace and happy ever after.”

“And you believed him?”

“Deep down? Not really. But you see, I wanted to believe him because I love him. He keeps telling me he’s going to change his ways. No more drinking, no more women, no more crime. And I always believe him. I’m an idiot, huh, Joe?” She gave a bitter laugh.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is. It’s my fault for believing him.” She put her head in her hands and gave a shudder. “Oh, what am I going to do? If that man dies he could hang.”

“He’s not dead yet,” I said firmly. “Josh’s father sent me to find him.  He has a message for him. He says he’s sorry. He loves him and won’t he please come home.”

“Too little, too late. Josh was always going on about his father, about how worthless he was, how he never loved him. The trouble is, he wants his love. Badly. It’s just he never felt it. It’s why I contacted him because he had the right to know.”

“The only way I can find him is to go with the posse. I may be able to stop him from getting hurt. I want to talk to him, tell him about his father. He’s in a bad way, Gloria, and he needs help. It sounds as if Josh does, too. And you.”

“The best Josh can hope for is jail.”

“Better that than a bullet or a rope, surely. If I can get him to give himself up it would go better for him.”

“The Sheriff’s due back shortly.” She went over to the window and looked out. “Look,” she said, showing me a group of men hanging around the jailhouse, “the vultures are already there.”

“Where’s he gone?”

“He went out to see the driver of the stage. He’s the one who got shot. Ah, here he comes.”

I quickly said good-bye to her. 

“Joe?” she said, taking my wrist as I turned to go. “Please…tell him to give himself up. Tell him I love him and need him. Please don’t let him get himself killed.”

I touched the tears on her cheeks. “I’ll try,” I whispered.

I looked up to her window as I hurried across the street and saw her forlorn face behind the drapes. I felt quite sorry for her and decided then I would help her whatever happened. Pa was right. I was the patron saint of lost causes. And I was a sucker for a woman’s face, pretty or otherwise, when she was in distress. 

Chapter Three

I sighed, drinking copious amounts of liquid from my canteen and wearily dismounted. We had been searching for seven hours and tracked them down to a disused trading post on the California Trail. After yelled interjections back and forth, it was obvious they were not going to come out.

We had surrounded the building. The sheriff, four others and I were ensconced behind the tree-line opposite.

“No-one leaves,” said the Sheriff. “They have got to come out sometime, if only to use the well.”

“We can’t just wait them out,” I said. “It could take forever.”

The sun was already setting to the west, lowering behind the mountains. The air was cooling and it would soon be dark. I could smell the pine from the woods and shivered, although not with cold. We decided to form a plan. We would enter into a parley with the robbers while a man would approach from the back and try to gain access. Before anyone could interject, I quickly volunteered. The sheriff and two others would approach via the front, helped by the darkness and bushes. We would wait an hour and pray for clouds to cover the moon.

I rode out in a large circle around the outpost so they would not see me and met up with the men around the back to tell them of the plan.

“Alright, we’ll watch you,” said one grizzled old-timer. “If we see any movements we’ll start shootin’!”

His friend laughed and whacked him on the back. “You like the action, don’t you?”

“They’re outlaws. May as well have them dead as alive.”

“Yeah, well, be careful,” I said. “It’s me out there and I don’t want to be shot in the back by one of my so-called friends. Even if you hear gunshots from the other side, do not start shooting until they start coming your way and I’ve well and truly ducked!”

I could hear the shouts around the other side and knew the sheriff would be making his move. There was about fifty yards of open space between our lookout and the building. I stooped and started running at an even pace. I saw the door in the white stucco wall and I waited behind it, my heart hammering in my chest.

“You’ve got no chance! If you come out, no-one’ll get hurt!”

“Who are you kidding? The man’s dead. The only thing you want is to see us swinging on the end of a rope!”

“He’s not dead! I saw him earlier. He’s very much alive!”

“You say!”

“It’s true!”

I heard movements inside and my hand crept to the handle. I started to push and found myself in a little passage behind the main room. At least I had the element of surprise. I hastily viewed the whole room.

“Hands up!” I cried. There were two men by the window with rifles, their weapons too large and unwieldy to use quickly. A third was peeking around the open front door.  A fourth was crouched by the shadows of the wall. “DON’T!! Don’t make me use this!”

“Dean! It’s a trick!”

The man by the door crouched and aimed, then shrieked as my bullet pierced his hand. The revolver fell from his nerveless fingers.

“Drop ‘em! All of you!” I raised my voice to a yell. “It’s Joe! Hurry! You’re all covered!”

The man in the shadows threw out his gun while the two others placed the rifles on the floor.

“We’re done for!” the bleeding man gasped, rolling in pain.

“No-one’s done for. They were telling the truth. The man’s alive. You’re going down for robbery, not murder.”

The men came in the front and tied up the prisoners and I gestured to my companions still behind the hut.

*

“Which one of you is Josh Davis?”

“Who wants to know?”  The man, who was obviously Paulson, already had his hand wrapped in a handkerchief and his wrists bound lightly in front of him. 

“Are you Josh?”

“Like I said, who wants to know?”

“My name’s Joe Cartwright. I have a message from Josh’s father.”

There was a pause.

“My father?” 

The question was a whimper. The young man by the wall leaned forward. He was gaunt, unshaven and in the candlelight I swore I could see a greenish tint to his skin. He was younger than me but he looked older. His eyes had a haunted, harried look.

“Yes, your father. He’s not doing well, Josh.”

Josh gave a bitter laugh. “Well, tell me something I don’t know!”

“Sheriff, I really need to speak to him. Could you take the others? We’ll follow in a minute.”

“OK, Joe,” the Sheriff said, patting me on the back. “You did well back there, fella. You were very brave.”

“Thanks.” I waited until they had gone and sat Josh at the table, taking a chair next to him.

“Listen, Josh. I’m not gonna lie to you. I don’t know you but you have heard of me, haven’t you? At least, my family.”

He shrugged. “Sure I have. Who hasn’t? The high and mighty Cartwrights who own most of Nevada.”

“There’s history between my father and yours. I won’t bore you with it, maybe you already know. Your father gave me a message.”

“Yeah? I’m waiting.”

“He loves you. He’s sorry and he begs you to forgive him.”

“Is he still drinking?”

“No more than you, I shouldn’t think.” I viewed the whiskey bottles on the table, having already noticed the alcohol on his breath.

“Touché!”

“Josh, I don’t know what’s gone on between your father and you. But he reached out to my father, a man he counted as an enemy for many years. And you know why?  Despite the anger, despite the hatred, he trusted Pa. Called him an honest man. And also…your Pa is begging you to come home.”

For a moment I thought I had hit the mark. Josh gave a deep groan and looked down. “It’s too late, Cartwright. You’re right, you don’t know the half of it.”

“And then there’s Gloria.”

His head snapped up. “Gloria?! What about her?”

“I talked to her.”

“Is she alright?”

“Yes. For now. But she had a message for you too.”

“Which is?”

“She told me to tell you that she loves you and needs you. She begged me to try and get you to give yourself up.” I gestured to the rope around his wrists. “Not that that matters any more. All that mattered to her was that you didn’t get yourself killed. She’s a nice girl, Josh. She and the baby need you more than anything.”

Another groan. “How can I help her? I’m no good, Cartwright. She should get someone better than me.”

“It’s you she loves, Josh. You’ll have to serve time, of course. I dunno, five years? We can help. We can make sure Gloria and your father are alright. But Gloria needs you.”

“You’d…you’d really help us?”

“Sure.”

“But why?”

“Because you need it.”

“I don’t see why you should care, out of all people. Seeing how our fathers feel about each other.”

“That’s our fathers, Josh, that’s not us.  Will you? Will you go back to Gloria? Your father? They both need you so much.”

He did not answer but as I took him out to his horse, he smiled at me and nodded his head.

*The End*