A Night at the Circus

by jfclover

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Today’s the big day, isn’t it, Elder Brother?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“That’s what Pa calls it.”

“Well then…”

“Hoss and I have the wagon loaded.  We can head out anytime you’re ready.”

“Good.  You two get going, and I’ll be along.”

“Gonna have a final talk with Pa?”

“That’s my business.  Not yours.”

I let Hoss drive.  He likes it that way, and I can sit back and enjoy the ride.  We are only going as far as Carson City, but it’s a big day for our older brother.  Leaving the Ponderosa would be a big deal for any of us, but Adam is the first.  Though I doubt that Hoss or I will ever leave, we’re more than happy to give Adam a proper send-off.  This is our home.  I was born here, and this is the only home Hoss can remember, but Adam’s another story.  After crossing the country as a youngster, wanderlust became part of his nature.  Just like Pa, who left his own father behind, my elder brother is doing the same, except he’ll only be a few miles down the road.  Whether it’s only a beginning to bigger and better things, we can speculate, but no one knows for sure.

After glancing up at Hoss from my seat on the buckboard, I ask,  “Are you trying to hit every rut in the road?”

Hoss steadies the reins with both hands.  “Think you can do better?”

“No, but I’m not getting much sleep.”

“Ain’t that a shame.”

As we bounce along the rutted road, I sit up taller when we reach Main Street in Carson.  Just past the Ormsby House, we turn left on Second.  My brother now owns a mid-sized Victorian that stands tall and is painted in a deep, earthy red with olive green trim that only a stately Victorian can withstand.  He and his new colleague, Jonathan Barry, a schoolmate who Adam has kept in touch with since his college days, is on his way to Nevada to join up with my brother in their new venture.  Their office space takes up most of the main floor, with two bedrooms and a washroom upstairs.  Although the kitchen is located on the first floor, clients won’t be privy to that portion of the residence.

Seeing Jonathan again and preparing for the new endeavor consumes my brother.  All he’s talked about for the last several months is Jonathan this and Jonathan that, and how the house on Second Street became available at just the right time.  Though Hoss and I are tired of the constant chatter, Pa enjoys every minute of his eldest son’s new plans.  A new architectural firm that will service Virginia City and Carson, and any other town within close proximity.  If leaving the Ponderosa will make his eldest son happy, then Pa’s behind the new venture one hundred percent.

The Victorian stands tall and elegant, more of an Eastern-style structure than something we don’t often see in the West, and maybe that’s why Adam chose this particular style over anything else.  Perhaps he hopes Jonathan will feel at home in Nevada.  The hedges along the edge of the walkways are trimmed to perfection, and two large rose bushes climb up trellises from the base of the front porch to the second floor.  Even though Adam’s friend has been out to visit twice since their college days, I don’t know if he expects anything so grand.  By the looks of it—and with the new paint job—Adam spared no expense.  The tall structure is a magnificent sight, the finest and most striking on the block.

“Might as well pull up here.” 

Hoss reins the horses to a stop in front of the fashion plate of the neighborhood.  Is Adam trying to impress Jonathan?  I didn’t ask, but his friend comes from money—old money—which seems to be a sight better than new money.  Don’t ask me why, but it does.

“Where’s Big Brother.  I thought he wanted to get here before we did.”

“Heck if I know.  His head’s been in the clouds for the past week.”

“Yeah.  You’re right there, Joe.”

“Sit back and relax.  We can’t do anything until he brings the key.”  Minutes later, Adam barrels down Second Street and pulls up next to the wagon.  “’Bout time you showed up.”

“You have something better to do?”

“A cold beer sounds good.”

“As soon as we’re finished.  My treat.”

“It better be.”

It doesn’t take long to unload the furniture and get down to the nearest saloon, but then it’s time to say goodbye.  Even though our brother is just down the road, not a half a day’s ride, it seems further somehow.  It feels like the end of an era.  No Adam on the Ponderosa.  Only the three of us now.  I wonder if Pa expects Hoss and me to take up the slack.  Ha!  Hiring a new man should be first on the list of things to do before weeks end.

As Hoss bounces along—with an empty wagon, we’re all over the dusty road—I lean back on the seat and remember the last time Jonathan came to visit.  There’s a peculiarity to the man.  I can’t quite describe it, but maybe it’s that Eastern breeding that gives him an odd quirk.  He’s too dainty to drive cattle or bust a bronc.  He never dresses casually, always a suit and tie—or cravat—depending on the occasion.  Even Hoss thinks there’s something not quite right about the Bostonian.  He’s too prim and polished for our taste, but if he suits Adam, who are we to complain?

The date has been marked on Adam’s calendar for months.  April 25^th.  And, on the 24^th, Adam rides back to the Ponderosa, borrows the buggy to pick up Jonathan, and since he and his friend have been invited to supper the following evening, he will return the conveyance then.  Pa insists that Adam should have some alone time with his old schoolmate before he’s confronted by the whole Cartwright clan.  I agree, though I could’ve lived through a thousand suppers without Mr. Prim dining at our table.

We dress in clean shirts and ties for Adam and Jonathan. Hoss and I think it’s a bit much, but Pa’s in charge, and he’s the boss.  It isn’t long after our guests walk through the door that Pa pours drinks, and we each take seats for a bit of chitchat before dinner is served.  Questions are asked.  When do they plan to open for business?  Are they going to advertise?  Do they have funds to sustain them until a client opts for their services? They are all general questions, and they all have a simple answer.  Whether Pa really cares to know or whether he’s just making conversation, I’m not sure.

Even after my father’s interrogation, Adam appears relaxed, as does Jonathan. It’s been at least two years since they’ve seen each other, and they seem to have picked up right where they left off.   Isn’t that what friendship is all about? I’m happy for the two of them. There’s no tension in the air.  No obvious regrets.

Dinner is served.  We all take our regular seats around the table and, as always, I have to share my side with our guest.  What Pa doesn’t realize is that sitting me across from Hoss gives the two of us a chance to roll our eyes or hide a cough or whatever might give us away if we carry on too much, but our guests are never privy to our antics.  We make sure of that. 

As supper comes to a close and before we move back in front of the fire for more boring chitchat, an uncomfortable situation occurs, and as far as I know, I’m the only one who’s aware.  Maybe it’s an Eastern practice, but I can’t imagine that any man my age would appreciate such an intimate gesture.

When Jonathan rests his hand on my right thigh, my leg muscles tighten involuntarily, and I’m not sure what to do.  I don’t want to embarrass our guest, but nothing about the situation feels right.  When he turns my way and smiles, I gently ease his hand from my leg.

“May I be excused?”

Pa’s put out by my question, but he grants my wish.  I push my chair back from the table and walk straight to the front door, onto the porch, and across the yard to the corral.   In my rush to escape, I don’t grab my jacket, and standing in just my shirtsleeves, I shiver, but the cool night air has nothing to do with my discomfort.

~*~*~*~*~

Since Adam left the Ponderosa, my eldest brother is no longer giving orders and contradicting every move I make.  I realize that Jonathan’s arrival has been a gift, not only for Adam, but my life has improved tenfold.  I’ve taken on jobs that I never would’ve before.  Hoss is the first to notice and makes a remark, but it’s more of a compliment than a grievance.  I take it to heart, but it doesn’t take long for me to figure out the obvious.  Without Adam holding me back, I’m free to set my sights on the job that needs doing and not have someone looking over my shoulder and waiting for me to fail.

Pa asks if I will head the upcoming cattle drive to Sacramento.  I’m so shocked by his request that the lump in my throat nearly prevents me from shouting at the top of my lungs.  “Yes!  Yes!  Yes!”

“Me?”

“Yes, Son.  You.”

This time I don’t hesitate.  My answer is loud and clear.  “I’ll be glad to, Pa.”

Pa claps my shoulder.  “Good.  I’m certain that you’re the right man for the job.”

Pa knows what a question like that means to someone like me, the baby of the family finally gets to prove himself in a big way.  Cattle drives are fifty percent of our yearly income.  Screwing up can prove disastrous, but if my father thinks I can handle the responsibility, I’m proud to take the job on and do the job right.

Since the drive won’t begin for another month, I have plenty of time to hire the drovers we need, get supplies in for Hop Sing’s chuckwagon, and have a successful round-up.  Even though we won’t be taking the youngest calves, they have to be branded and sent back to their mamas before the drive.  If they aren’t at least a year old, they’ll remain on the Ponderosa.

But before any of the drudgery begins, it’s Saturday night, and the Cattlemen’s Ball is calling my name.  Even Adam and Jonathan plan to attend.  Although Big Brother is living in Carson and has a whole new career ahead of him, he wants to show his friend that we aren’t totally backwoods, that there’s a bit of elegance in the West, and the Cattlemen’s Ball is the classiest social event of the year.

Pa and Hoss and I dress in our finest.  Though Hoss and I aren’t fellas who outfit ourselves quite like Pa, I’ll admit that wearing a silver vest that matches his silver hair proves that our father will be the most handsome gentleman of the evening’s affair.  After primping in front of the mirror for the last hour, we’re ready to jump in the surrey and make our way into town.  No filthy horse and saddle for my father on a night like this.

As Pa mentioned this afternoon, Virginia City had outgrown itself, and Hoss and I are quick to agree.  Though this is the event of the year, the ball is held at the Washoe Club, which can barely hold all the attendees.  Men will overflow onto the boardwalk and into the street.  Impatient cattlemen will give up the ship and head for the local saloons. They’ve come to have a good time, and whiskey is whiskey.  It doesn’t matter which watering hole they’ll exchange their hard-earned cash for a fresh, full bottle of rotgut.

After dropping the surrey off at the livery, the three of us march down to the Washoe Club, past the crowd already standing on the boardwalk, and through the front doors.  The music is loud and every color of fancy dress and pleated skirt whirls in a circular motion on the wooden dance floor. 

In Western towns like Virginia City, men outnumber women by a mile, so it isn’t surprising to see a huge outcropping of men hanging around outside the club.  The Cartwrights don’t help matters much.  None of us bring a date, and Jonathon will be escorted by Adam.  But that won’t hold us back.  Not every girl inside the club is attached, and I plan to sign my name to an excessive number of dance cards.

I haven’t seen Adam’s friend since they came to the house for supper, and when it was time for them to return home, I made myself scarce.  I don’t want Jonathan anywhere near me.  The guy gives me the creeps.  Men don’t touch other men like that unless … unless they’re of a different persuasion, and I don’t like it happening to me.

Sherry Carter is the first to hand me her card.  I smile at the pretty young lady and sign my name.  Next is Carla Overton.  I gladly sign, and the girls keep coming.  They hand their card to me and then to Hoss.  We’ll both be dead on our feet by night’s end and grateful that Pa insisted on driving the buggy.  After a couple of rounds on the dance floor, I escort Louise Morris to a chair by the back wall and head to the punch bowl. 

“Two, please, Mrs. Flannery.”

“Here you go, Little Joe.”

As I stroll back toward Louise, Adam and his friend slip through the front doors and take in the sights and sounds.  I haven’t mentioned Jonathan’s gesture at the dining room table to anyone, but I’ll be sure to keep my distance. When curiosity gets the better of me, I wonder if he’ll dance with a woman, or if he’ll hang out with a bunch of geezers who stand in the corner and watch rather than sign anyone’s card.  Every available young lady in Storey County has shown up, and there seems to be a suitable number of dance partners to go around.  Sign the gal’s cards and hit the floor with a flourish.  Adam knows the routine, and he’s damn good at giving instructions.

I have questions about Jonathan, but I don’t dare ask.  Adam won’t believe me if I say anything unsavory about his business partner, and I’ll become the black sheep of the family just for opening my mouth and asking fool questions.  That’s what they’ll all claim—fool questions.

As the evening winds down, I meet up with Hoss and Pa and hand them each a cup of punch.  By this time, Mrs. Flannery has done her duty and gotten the party off to a good start, but now it’s time for her to have a bit of fun.  As soon as she walks away, bottles of whiskey flow into the bowl like a mountain stream in springtime.  The ladies’ league punch is no longer alcohol free, but that’s the norm.  In fact, it’s expected.

I haven’t seen Adam or Jonathan on the dance floor all night, but I’ve been too busy with the ladies and their dance cards to notice much of anything.  When I stand next to Pa and Hoss at the punchbowl, I feel a pair of hands caress my shoulders and slip down the sides of my arms.  It’s an uncomfortable feeling, and I turn on my heel only to find that Jonathan is handling me again.

“What do you want?”

“Want?”

“Yeah.  Want.”

“I just came over to say hello.”

“What kind of stupid answer is that?”

“Joseph,” Pa says.  “Is something wrong?”

“No, Sir,” I lie, but I’m not about to hang around and have that man put his hands on me.  Pa doesn’t understand.  No one will, but Jonathan gives me the willies, and I don’t want him touching me.  He might be my brother’s best friend, but he’s no friend of mine.

Though he’s taller and thinner than Adam, Jonathan hides his facial features behind a black beard and lengthy, black hair that my father would disapprove of.  His deep, dark eyes are striking, and I hate the way he confronts me straight on.  He has the upper hand, or so he thinks.  He looks down on me, and a disturbing smile says it all.  If I’d ridden Cochise, I’d leave the party, but that wasn’t the case. 

My father is a gracious man, never ill-mannered or disrespectful, and after my rude comment, he tries to smooth things over with his son’s friend.  I take off, cross the dance floor, and sit next to Margie McCallan.  A gentleman would’ve brought her a cup of punch, but I’m not thinking straight.

“Something wrong, Little Joe?  You seem out of sorts?”

I drop my head. My hands dangle between my thighs.  “No.  Nothing’s wrong.  Just tired, I guess.”

“Then I shouldn’t expect another dance.”

I chuckle.  “Next time, Margie.  Next time.”

~*~*~*~*~

When a cattle drive is on the horizon, the world comes to a standstill.  I don’t have time for anything else.   No time for the ladies, and no time for sitting in a saloon with a handful of cards and a cold beer on the side.  Hoss has been more than helpful.  He wants me to succeed as much as I want to succeed.  Pa expects no less than as perfect a drive as I can manage.

Come Monday morning, I pray that the drovers I hired will show up, that the chuckwagon will be loaded and ready to roll, and that the cattle will be on their best behavior.  Cattle can be as ornery as hell.  Stampedes can turn a good drive into a disastrous situation in seconds, and being that this is my first time as trail boss, I don’t want to return to the Ponderosa with bad news.

By day three, there hasn’t been an incident that I can’t ride home and tell my father about.  No cattle lost crossing the first river, and no stampede so far.  Maybe I’m patting myself on the back too early on, but things are going well, and I can’t be prouder of the men I hired and the route I’d chosen.

Secondly, I’m happy to be miles away from Jonathan and his roaming hands.  I’ve lost sleep over the kind of man I suspect he is, and I want no part of his shenanigans.  The thing that bothers me most is confronting my brother.  I’ve lost sleep thinking about what I can say to Adam that would make sense and not make me look like a jackass in his eyes.  But right now, it’s all about the cattle and not Jonathan or Adam.  I need to keep my head on straight and leave those thoughts behind.

As I curl into my bedroll, I’ll try to dream about Margie McCallan, the prettiest girl at the Cattlemen’s Ball.  She suits my fancy more than any other girl in town.  Even though I’ve known her since my school days, she seems different somehow.  Not as needy.  She’s carefree.  And gorgeous. She isn’t as full of herself as she could be. 

The Ponderosa is a working ranch, and Ben Cartwright isn’t about to let his sons slide by and let the hired hands do all the work, but life under Mr. Benjamin McCallan, Margie’s father, is a different story.  His children have advantages that most kids only dream about.  They never lift a finger, but that’s what he shoots for.  Pampered and privileged.  Ben McCallan owns the Virginia City Bank and has partial interest in three other local establishments.  He’s a man of means, and Margie and her brother Ralph want for nothing, and I wonder why I haven’t noticed the adjustments in her demeanor until now.  I need to change that.  As soon as the cattle are delivered, I can set my sights on the lovely blonde.  It seems like the right thing to do.

Three weeks and one day later, we arrive and deliver the Ponderosa herd to Mr. Sam Brown, owner and operator of the Cattlemen’s Livestock Market just south of Sacramento.  After a bath and shave at the local barbershop, I send Pa a wire, and then Hoss and the boys and I are ready to hit the saloons.  The drive is complete without major incident.  We lost a two-year-old heifer crossing the Sacramento River, but for the most part, the drive is a total success.  Bonuses are handed out to the men for a job well done.  It also serves as a way to get those same men to return next year. 

I buy the first round.  The drovers are on their own after that.  They can ride out to destinations unknown or spend time in Sacramento.  Either way, their days with Hoss and me and the Cartwright herd are finished.  My brother and I will start for home first thing in the morning.

~*~*~*~*~

We learned last year that carrying a saddlebag full of cash after a major drive is a bad idea, and before I have the luxury of a hot bath and lathered-up shave, I deposit our earnings into the Bank of Sacramento.  The only thing I carry in my saddlebags is a dirty shirt, a sack of beans, and the receipt.   Though I’m proud of my accomplishments, I reserve that pat on the back until I hand the receipt over to my father.

After riding most of the day, I gather wood while Hoss takes care of the horses.  This will be our last night of sleeping on hard ground before we reach the ranch house, and both of us are ready for our soft, luxurious beds.  We make a good team, and by the time we settle back on our saddles for the night, our dishes have been washed, and the coffee pot is ready for our morning campfire.  Hoss doesn’t like delays when it comes to mealtime, so half the battle is won before we head to bed.  After closing my eyes and picturing Margie and me in a compromising position, I hear a twig crack.  As does Hoss.  We both sit up and draw our guns.

“Harry?  What’s this all about?”

“Drop the guns. Boys.”

I glance at Hoss and know he’ll err on the side of caution.   We drop our guns to the ground.

Harry and Clark are two of the drovers I hired for the drive.  I paid them well, including a bonus and first round at the saloon, but I have a hellish feeling that they’re back for more.

“Me and Clark come for the money, Mr. Cartwright.

“I’m sorry.  What money?”

“Don’t play dumb, Joe.”

I check my pocket and glance up at the two men, one tall, one short.  One dark, one light, as different as night and day.  “I have about four dollars and fifty cents.”

“Don’t give me that shit.  I want the money you got from that old man … Brown.”

“I’m sorry, Fellas.  That money’s sitting in the Bank of Sacramento. You’re welcome to the cash I have in my pocket, but I’m afraid that’s all you’re gonna get.”

The two would-be bandits glare at each other as if that hadn’t occurred to either of them.  Harry aims his gun and shoots at the dirt next to my left hip.”

“Hey! Cut that out.”

“I want the money, Joe.  I ain’t playing around.  The next round won’t miss.”

I flip my bedroll to the side and stand to my feet.  Hoss does the same.  “I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

Harry glances at Hoss then back at me.  “I don’t like liars.  Don’t like them at all.  How ‘bout you, Clark?”

“No, Sir.  Don’t like them at all.”

The next blast from Harry’s gun takes me down.

“You dadblamed idiot.   What’d you go and do that for?”

“I’m sorry, Hoss.  The gun … it just—”

Fire burns in my hip like no other pain I’ve felt before.  Hoss kneels down over me, and I hear the distant trod of hooves.  “They’re gone, Joe.  Just hold still.”

Tears burn my eyes, and I struggle to catch my breath.  Holding still isn’t an option, and I wither like a snake in dry grass.  I can’t lie still, and I can’t straighten my leg like Hoss wants.  He presses something against my hip, surely to stop the bleeding, but the agony is more than I can stand, and I shriek my protest.

“Easy, Little Brother.  Easy now.”

“Oh, God, Hoss.”

“I know, but you gotta hold still.  I gotta stop the bleeding ‘fore we head home.”

“Home?”

“I know.  It’s a long way, but we got no other choice.”

~*~

I’m determined to open my eyes, and when the task is complete, dirt and rock travel beneath the open slats that tear into my belly.  I wonder why the ground is so far beneath me and moves past my chest and toward my feet.  A cold wind rushes down from the north and chills the bones on my face, but I can’t lift my hands.  I can’t protect myself from the arctic blast, and I shiver. I must be dreaming, but dreaming with pain?  Pain I can’t control?  Nothing makes sense.  The earth moves when I ride Cochise, not when I lie flat on my belly on a cot in Roy Coffee’s jail.  My feet and my legs seem detached, but why is the earth moving?  Why am I in jail? I feel like I’ve been shot, but did I do the same to someone else?  I think I’ve gone insane.

“Joseph.  Wake up, Joe.”  I hear the words, but the dream scares me, and I refuse to open my eyes.  What comes next?  Why me?  “Come on, Joe.  Time to rise and shine.”

I’ve heard his voice a million times.  It’s Hoss, and I can leave the dream behind and head down the stairs for breakfast.  Pa will be happy to see us.  It’s been a long three weeks, almost four, and I’m anxious to tell him about the … wait?  Something’s wrong.  Something happened … and, with a heavy hand, a whack on the door, the fire-burning dragon is back.  Though my legs are pressed together as one, I want to leave the jail cell behind.

Time passes.  Though I’m oblivious to night and day, breakfast or supper, movement or lying still, I try to focus.  The jail cell travels across brush and dirt and twigs.  It makes no sense, and I cry out to the sheriff to halt the parade.

~*~

“Joe.  Little Joe.”

“Hoss?”

“I’m glad you ain’t dead, Little Brother.  Didn’t know what I’d tell Pa.”

“Funny, Big Brother.  You’re a laugh a minute.”

“You was really out of it for a while.  Not sure you was going to make it.”

My brother wipes my forehead with a red hanky he’s used many times before but never on me.  I feel the heat.  It burns through my body like a wildfire, but there’s nothing I can do.  Hoss makes me drink from the canteen.  It dribbles down my chin and lands on the dirt floor.  He checks my hip and loosens the tourniquet, but there’s nothing more to say, and the travois begins to move.  I can’t turn my head, but if Cooch is the one pulling, he’ll need a lot of extra attention when we get home.  I’m dead weight, and he’s not a large pony, but he makes me proud.

Sleep comes off and on.  Perhaps I’m awake, or perhaps I’m delirious.  Only Hoss knows for sure.  Only Hoss will keep my secrets.  I don’t remember him taking me off the travois, and I don’t remember him carrying me up the stairs and laying me on top of the mattress inside my bedroom.  What I remember is the doctor walking toward me and nearing my bed.  What comes next is too hard to describe.  The amount of alcohol Hoss pours down my throat doesn’t touch the pain.  It doesn’t provide enough relief that I don’t embarrass myself by clutching the bedsheets and cursing a string of words my father abhors.  Death suits me just fine, but that’s not Hoss’ plan.

~*~*~*~*~

“Good afternoon.”

I turn toward the familiar voice, but my eyes deceive me.  The new dream is more of a nightmare than a simple vision of jail cells and gunshot wounds.  Of blood and steel bars.  The walls surrounding me are familiar.  My room.  My window and a billowing lace curtain are familiar, but why?  Why is he here?  What have I done to deserve his time and attention?  Then comes the throbbing.  The ache.  The agony of not being able to move.  To run.  I’m paralyzed by a shattered hip and frightened by what might come next.  I can’t find my voice.  It’s buried deep inside, and I can’t form any words.  He stares into my eyes, dark and heavy.  He smiles.  But I feel sick and afraid.  Really afraid.

“Hoss has gone to town.  Seems he wanted to check the mail and pick up a few supplies.”

I try to answer, but the social graces escape me.  Is he familiar with the fear in my eyes?  How many others have feared his advances?  I want to roll on my side.  I don’t want him staring at me, but my wound gets in the way.  If I put pressure on my left hip, I’ll be crying out like a child, and I don’t want him to know how helpless I feel, or how exposed.  I consider myself a target, and I’m far from feeling that I can defend myself.

“You’re wondering why I’m here.”

Like a frightened child, I stare but don’t speak.  I still haven’t found my voice, but what does he expect?  If he thinks I’m happy, he’s mistaken.  If he thinks I want him gone, he’s right on track.

“You see, Joseph, unexpected things happen.  No one imagined that you’d get shot.  When you sent your father that telegram saying that you and your brother were heading home, your pa never expected that something so unfortunate might happen.  When he knew the drive had gone well, he asked your eldest brother to accompany him on a mission to … actually, I shouldn’t say any more.  I’ve said too much already.”

I continue to stare.  Pa and Adam?  That didn’t make sense.  Adam didn’t live here anymore and … I mean, why would they run off together?  I’ll never figure that one out.  And where the hell is Hop Sing?

“So, as you can see, your brother, Hoss, asked if I could come and stay at the house for a few days.”  Thanks, Brother.  Much appreciated.  “Of course, I agreed, but I’m running on now.  You must be starved.  I’ll be back with a tray.”

Jonathan rises from the chair and is out of my room in a flash.  To say he’s an odd bird is an understatement.  His movements are fluid, as though gliding through life on a feather.  Although keeping in mind that this is Adam’s closest friend is hard for me to understand.  I’ll never figure out my brother’s fondness for someone like the Bostonian, but Adam and I never had the same taste in men or women.  It doesn’t matter what or who.  We rarely agreed on anything.

When I try to sit up in bed, my arms nearly give way under the strain of trying to shift my dead leg further up on the bed.  It’s no use.  I can’t move a damn muscle on my own.  Weak as a kitten.  Isn’t that the old saying?  Well, that is me in a nutshell.  A damn kitten.

The pain in my hip drains all of my energy and keeping my eyes open is as difficult now as it was right after the operation.  I can’t stay awake to save my soul, but now that I know the circumstances—thanks to Hoss—I don’t dare close my eyes for fear that … I need to stay alert. 

But it can’t be helped.  After finishing the bowl of soup Jonathan brings up to my room, I’m a goner.  Too tired to control my eyelids, and off I go into an afternoon of slumber.  When I wake, my mind races with extraordinary thoughts.  I think back and try to remember if anything untoward … if I felt anything under the covers.  How will I ever know if something shameful happened while I slept?  I clutch the covers as close as I can. 

I hate my life! 

~*~*~*~*~

Doc says I can get out of bed and sit in my bedroom chair.  I should be excited, but after spending over a week in bed, I’ve lost all faith that I will ever get up and walk again.  Of course, I can’t toddle that far by myself.  Hoss, or my buddy, Jonathan, has to help me to the chair.  I’m not allowed to venture across the room on my own.  Do I sound hateful, sarcastic?  Maybe.   Between the pain and an annoyance like Jonathan, I’m in a very foul mood.

I’m able to sit up tall in the bed and rest a tray on my lap.  Thank goodness, I’m past the soup stage and can eat real food.  Come dinnertime, Hoss will bring two full plates and two cups of coffee upstairs so I don’t have to eat alone, and neither does he.  It’s a win-win.  Though he feels the need to finish off what I can’t eat, it’s another win for him. 

Without Hop Sing to care for us, Hoss has to do all the work.  And though the meals aren’t up to our cook’s standards, Hoss’ cooking isn’t nearly as bad as mine.  I have no reason to complain.  As long as my brother is at my bedside and not Adam’s dear friend, I’m happy as a prairie horned lark.

“Time to do dishes.”  Hoss sets his plate and cup on my tray and pulls the Territorial Enterprise from his back pocket.  “Thought you might need some reading material to pass the time.”

“Aren’t you coming back?”

“Got some chores to do first, Joseph.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m not much help.”

“That’s for sure.”  Hoss slaps my shoulder and gives me a genuine smile.  Don’t you worry none.  Your chance will come.”

With nothing else to do, I flatten the Enterprise out on my lap and start with the front page.  

~*~

BOY FOUND DEAD

A sorrowful discovery was made yesterday morning on the road leading to Carson City.  The lifeless body of a lad, believed to be about twelve/thirteen years old, has been murdered and tossed near a shallow ravine.  Mr. Albert Tilson, a transporter proceeding north with his freight wagon, covered the dead child’s body and alerted the sheriff.

The boy, who was plainly dressed, with brown hair and brown eyes, has not yet been identified.  Though Sheriff Braxton of Carson City is doing a thorough investigation, other than bruises on the boy’s neck due to strangulation, the motivation for the young man’s murder remains uncertain.

The sheriff didn’t mince words.  “I won’t rest until I catch the sonofabitch who done this.”

An examination of the ground discloses no immediate evidence, but the matter will receive the closest inquiry. The body is conveyed to town where it awaits identification.

~*~

The headline catches my eye, but why wouldn’t it?    Can it just be coincidence that Hoss hands me this week’s Enterprise, and the first thing I read is an incident involving a young boy?  The mind is a tricky thing, and I have more than enough time to think, and that’s when my thoughts go dark.  And though I try to shake them off, tell myself that it can’t be the person I first suspect, I have to know more.  I can’t accuse a man when there’s no evidence at all.

Jonathan is needed no longer.  Pa and Adam returned late last night and ended any more worry on my part.  Doc says I’m able to leave my room, go down the stairs and sit on the settee, at the dining room table, or out on the front porch. 

“No chores just yet, Little Joe.  Let’s not take any chances.”

I’ll never know if anything unpleasant happened while my eyes were closed, but I tell myself that Jonathan had been a perfect gentleman.  I have to believe that—true or not—or I’ll lose my mind worrying about what might’ve been.

When Hoss engaged Jonathan to help out, he’d been able to go to town and tell Roy what had occurred between Harry and Clark Anderson, and the Cartwright boys.  It was such a stupid move on their part, but I’m the only one paying the price.  I’d like them to do time. After all, they shot me in the hip.  I’ve been down and out for nearly a month, and Paul says my bronc-busting days might be over.  We’ll see about that.

Sitting on the front porch sunning myself has become my afternoon ritual.  With my left foot propped on the seat of a chair, I’m almost comfortable, but it takes no time before my leg becomes stiff, and I have to get up and move a few steps this way or that. It’s not an exciting life, but it’s one that the doc’s chosen for this week’s activities.

Since Pa and Adam’s return, my whole body relaxes when Hoss’ choice for nursemaid walks out the front door, and Pa—anxious to tend his broken son—sits by my bedside or works through a mound of paperwork, so he can keep me company on the front porch.  Though I fill him in on the drovers-turned-bandits, and after he cares for all my current needs, he mentions how proud he is, and then comes the apology. 

“It never occurred to me, Son.”

“Me either, Pa.  I thought they were decent guys, so don’t be too proud of me.  I’m not very good at hiring decent men for the job.”

“You couldn’t know, Joseph.  No one would.”

“I still feel like a fool.”

“Well, don’t.”

By week two, I’m given full rein.  I can walk or ride, and though dancing isn’t an option yet, I’m ready for almost anything else.  A date with Margie will have to go on the back burner for now, but as soon as I’m fully restored to the Joe Cartwright of old, I plan to make good on my decision to court the lovely young lady with sunny, blonde hair and crystal blue eyes.

I still take it slow, but I’m able to do much more every day.  Pain continues to shoot down my left leg, but Doc says that in time, that will subside.  Today, I plan to venture down to Carson City and talk to Sheriff Braxton. Pa and Hoss have business in town, and I don’t want to bother them with my suspicions.  Maybe I’m way off base, but I need to know more to make any kind of decision.

The ride isn’t as comfortable as I like.  Doc says the healing process takes time, but this is ridiculous.  I’m twenty years old, and most days, I feel like old man Cruthers, a Texas transplant who fought at the Alamo.  As he often tells the story, he operated one of the cannons, but a misfire caused an explosion, and his right leg was hit hard with shrapnel.    Although he can walk, he uses a crutch for support.  I’m not that bad off—yet—but there are days when I wonder if I’ll ever be whole again.

After tying Cooch outside the sheriff’s office, I stare at the steps leading to the boardwalk.  There are still times that my hip gives me fits, and climbing a short flight of stairs is one of those times.  After three steps, I’m breathing like Old Man Cruthers.  I hate that I’m so damn feeble.

~*~*~*~*~

“Howdy, Son.  What can I do you for?”

“Name’s Cartwright, Sheriff.”

“You’re Ben’s youngest, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’ve known your father for quite a few years.  Take a seat …”

“Joe.”

“Take a seat, Joe.”

Though I’m not sure how to start, I squirm some in my chair as I search for the right words to say.  “I read an article in the Enterprise, that’s our newspaper.”

“Yes, I know.”  The sheriff strokes the tails of his flowing mustache.

“Well, you’re mentioned … I mean, it’s about that boy who was killed.”

“How does that interest you, Joe Cartwright?”

I sit tall in the chair but try to relax.  “I’m not sure, but I find it curious that someone would kill a twelve-year-old boy.”

“I agree.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“Not a one.”

“Oh.”

“All I can say is that I hate to think what all that youngster went through.  Before he was strangled, the boy was disgraced.”

“Disgraced?”

“The boy was sodomized.”

“You mean…?”

“The sheriff nodded.  “I have to assume the killer used the boy for some sort of sexual pleasure before he killed him.”

As I swallowed the information, Sheriff Braxton leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk.  “There’s more.”

“What do you mean?”

“We found another young gentleman last night.”

“No ….”

“I identified the first boy as Johnny Talbot.  His father’s a miner down at the Yellow Jacket.  The second young man works part-time at the livery.  He’s older, seventeen, but he suffered the same fate as young Talbot.”

My mind is a flurry of activity, although without proof, I have to sever the thoughts I have and try to explain why I’ve come all this way to learn about a boy I’ve never met and know nothing about except the torture he endured on his final day.  The killer is cautious.  He’s killed two, but they won’t be the last.  There will be more, and if I look up at the sheriff, he’ll want answers that I don’t have.

“You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you, Cartwright.”

“Yeah.  I suppose.”

“Well?”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff.  I wish I could help, but I know as much as you do.”

“You’re sure?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“No, I said that wrong.  You see, I got shot, and I was bedridden for quite some time.  After I read about the boy, he’s all I could think about, and with nothing else to do, the story stayed with me.  Does that make sense?”

“I’m afraid it does.”

I stand from my chair and settle my hat on my head, and I feel my hip catch in that annoying way it tends to act if I sit too long.  The sheriff stands too.  He reaches out and shakes my hand, but before I turn to leave, I try to make light of the situation. “If the killer comes by the Ponderosa for a visit, I’ll make sure and let you know.”

“You do that, Son.” 

~*~*~*~*~

Saturday is my twenty-first birthday, and since Adam and Jonathan can’t attend the festivities until Sunday, Pa thinks it’s best to delay the celebration until everyone can join us at the table.  Every time a birthday rolls around, someone asks if I feel any older.  Older than what?  Yesterday?  The day before?  It’s not the dumbest question in the world, and maybe it’s only polite conversation, although I find it unnecessary.

But that’s not the real problem.  I haven’t seen Jonathan since I was laid up, and I’ve always been uncertain as to what might’ve happened when I was asleep.  I dwelled on it for days after he was gone, although what good did it do?   It still comes to mind, and I try to put it behind me, but that’s easier said than done. His face is always with me, and I don’t know how to change a darn thing.

While Hop Sing busies himself in the kitchen, the rest of us bathe and primp as though we’re courting pretty ladies to the annual ball.  According to my father, any celebration deserves a bit of overdoing, or it’s not worth the effort. 

“If we all sit down in our old work clothes, what will be the point of having a special day?”

And so we oblige.  My father’s traditions mean everything to him, and a happy father makes for a happy family.  Maybe I’ll do the same when I have a wife and kids of my own.  My future fantasy ends when the front door opens, and we all turn our heads.  Adam walks through the door, and Pa is the first to question Jonathan’s whereabouts.

“Are you alone, Son?”

“Jonathan is a bit under the weather and feels that a day’s rest might be best.”

“That’s a shame.” 

I sure as hell don’t feel the same way my father does about Mr. Roving Hands.  In fact, this might be the best birthday ever.  Just family.  Just as it should be, and when Pa and Adam and Hoss keep eyeing each other, I know something’s up, but what?  A man doesn’t turn twenty-one every day.  I’m legal.  I’ve reached majority, but that doesn’t explain an evening of sideways glances.

“You come now.  Get while hot.”

We never make Hop Sing holler twice, and we all move from the living room to the dining room, and to a table loaded with all my favorites.  Fried chicken, corn on the cob, fresh biscuits, and strawberry jam.    A meal fit for a king.

After topping the meal off with a large slice of chocolate cake, I pat my belly and thank our cook.  “You outdid yourself this time, Hop Sing.”

“Hope to make number three son happy.”

“You did good, My Friend.  Number three is very happy and very, very full.”

“Come on, Joseph.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Outside.”

I’m not alone.  The whole family trails Pa and me out the front door and into the yard.  Tied to the hitchrail is the most beautiful black and white Appaloosa I’ve ever seen.  She rivals Cochise.  I stop and stare and then look to my father for answers.

“She’s all yours, Son.”

My knees nearly give way, and I gather my senses before I fall to the ground.  The horse is tall and lean and has a youthful look.  “How old?”

“Three and a half.”

She holds her head high, and when she glances my way, I can’t help but take her up on her offer to become friends.  I let her sniff the palm of my hand, and then I’m able to stroke her muzzle and pat her neck.  She’s quite a beauty.  Her coat is as black as night, and her rump is pure white with distinctive white spots that mark her as an Appaloosa.

“Nez Perse?”

“That’s right, Son.”

“That’s why you and Adam couldn’t tell me.”

“Right again.”

Hoss sneaks off and grabs Cooches  blanket and saddle.  “Wanna try her out?”

“You bet I do.”

He hands me the saddle and throws the blanket over the horse’s back. I settle the softened leather and tighten the cinch.  The Appaloosa has been gentled, and there’s not a mark on her.  No whips or harsh restraints.  The Nez Perce respect their mounts.   Slow and easy.  No time constraints when calming a wild horse.

I mount the beautiful animal, give her a quick pat on the neck, and glance down at my father.  “Thanks.  She’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you like her, Son, but your brothers are in on this too.  The horse is from all three of us.”

After nodding at Adam and Hoss, I back her up and walk her to the edge of the barn, and then we take off.  I give a loud whoop so the family knows how pleased I am with the gift.  I don’t ride her but a couple of miles.  We’ll take a longer trip tomorrow, but tonight is about family, about the people I cherish the most.  The Appaloosa and I will have many opportunities to ride like the wind, to enjoy a long stretch of open meadow at our leisure, but not tonight. 

~*~*~*~*~

The following morning, I’m anxious to saddle my new mount, and I know right where I’ll head.  If Jonathan couldn’t be bothered to attend my party, then he must’ve had other activities to occupy his time. I don’t buy “under the weather” whatsoever.  Maybe my thoughts are careless and uncalled for, but I want to check in with the sheriff and find out if anything newsworthy happened while the rest of us enjoyed the party.

The Appaloosa’s Indian Shuffle leaves little to no bouncing in the saddle. The horse has a fast, smooth stride that the Nez Perce have perfected over the years.  I can sit on this little gal for miles and miles and never complain about a sore back or a tired butt.  My new mount needs a name, but it might take a while.  A name lasts a lifetime, and I’ll be damned if I pick something that’s unsuitable for such a lovely lady. 

I tie her to the hitchrail outside Roy’s office and give her a quick pat on the neck.  She’s such a beauty, I can barely take my eyes off her, but I’ll only be a minute.  A quick talk with the sheriff, and we can pick up the mail for Pa and head back home.

“Hey, Little Joe.  What brings you to town?”

“Nothing much, Roy.  Picking up the mail for Pa and—”

But Roy cuts me off.  “I got word from Sheriff Blackburn down Carson way.”

“Oh yeah?  What’s he got to say?”

“He mentioned that you’d been interested in one of his cases.”

“He told you that?”

“He did.”

“Strange.”

“Well, not really.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Same thing happened here last evening.”

“A boy?”

“That’s right.”

“Dead?”

“He’s dead all right.  Young Tommy.  One of Bill Anderson’s boys.”

“Tommy Anderson?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s only about ten years old.”

“Twelve, although he has a younger brother, Timmy.  He’s probably the one you’re thinking of.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“What do you know about all this, Joe?  Why so many questions?”

“I don’t know, Roy.  It started out as a lark.  Nothing really, but now the killer’s moved up here?  Why?”

“I’m hoping you can tell me.”

A nervous chuckle slips through.  “If I find out, you’ll be the first person I tell.”

“I hope so, Son.”

“Count on it.”

“All right.”

“I better get the mail and head back.”

“Tell your pa I said hello.”

“Sure thing.”

I walk the horse down to the Post Office, and the first thing I notice is a huge poster advertising the Lee and Ryland Circus.  Hoss loves the circus.  Adam, not so much, but at least two of us will attend.  It’s one of the highlights of the season.  We haven’t missed the last two, and I doubt we’ll miss this one.

After slipping two letters and this week’s Enterprise inside my saddlebags, it’s time to ride home.   My mind’s buzzing.  Curiosity is a funny thing.  I’m either way off base or right on target.  Wouldn’t Adam know?  Wouldn’t there be signs?  I don’t stop for a beer.   I’m not good company right now.  Halfway home, I pull the Appaloosa to the side of the road, reach inside my saddlebag, and retrieve the Enterprise.  Just as I thought.  Front page news.

~*~

Boy Murdered in Broad Daylight

Sheriff Coffee announced late last night that Tommy Anderson, son of William and Martha Anderson, had been strangled and left for dead at around five o’clock last evening.  The boy was left on the side of the road leading to Carson City.

“It’s a sad day when twelve-year-old boys are murdered in our fair city,” said Coffee.  “We’ll do everything we can to bring the culprit to justice.  I give you my word.”

Our prayers go to the Andersons.  The loss of a son is a terrible ordeal.  The boy’s funeral is set for Friday at ten o’clock in the morning at the Silver Terrace Cemetery.

~*~

After shoving the paper back inside the saddlebag, I push my hat low on my forehead and take the Appaloosa for a full-out run.  I’m not disappointed.   Across the open meadow, she runs like the wind.  She’s a mighty fine animal.  Pa and Adam deserve another thank you for coming up with such a glorious gift.

Since my time is my own, so to speak, I turn my new mount south toward Carson City.  I can thank my brother again and see if I can broach the tender subject of Jonathan.  I don’t know how to reference his oddities, but Adam has to know something.  He’s known the man for over a decade.  Surely, that’s enough time to … I don’t know.  It’s a hell of a subject to bring up.

I tie the Appaloosa to the cast iron hitch rail in front of the stately Victorian and head up the walk to the front steps.  I see my brother through the front window, and before I can reach the painted front door, it flies open.  “An unexpected guest.”

“Yeah, well, I was in the neighborhood.”

“Really?  What brings you down this way?”

“You.”

“I’m intrigued.”

In the middle of our polite conversation, Jonathan comes to stand behind Adam.  He rests his hand on my brother’s shoulder and tips his head.  “It’s good to see you, Joseph.”

Though I’m wordless, my father taught me to be polite.  “Jonathan.”  It’s the best I can do.

“Seriously, Joe.  What are you doing in Carson?”

“We gonna stand out here all day, or are you going to invite me inside?”

Adam chuckles and waves his hand in a grand gesture toward the front parlor of his home.  “My house is your house.”

“Thanks, Brother.”  I step inside and give the room a once-over.  “Looks like you’ve lived here forever.”

“That’s a good sign, I guess.”

“No, I mean it looks great.  It looks like you.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

If Jonathan realizes he’s a third wheel, he’s right. I don’t want him anywhere near me.  “I’ll make coffee,” he says.

Though I need private time with my brother, the kitchen isn’t far enough away.  Jonathan will hear everything I say.  “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Adam glances around the room.  “You don’t approve of my parlor?”

“No, that’s not it at all.  I need to talk private-like.”

“All right.”

Adam turns and walks into the kitchen.  When he returns, we head out the front door, down the front walkway, and onto the narrow street.  “Does an easy stroll around the block suit you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Your hip is doing well?”

“Well enough.  It gives me fits now and then, but what the hey.”

“Good to hear.”

“I want to thank you again for the Appaloosa.  She’s a fine animal.”

“I’m glad you like her.”

“I do.  Very much.”

“What’s on your mind?  Something’s bothering you.”

“It’s hard to talk about, Adam.”

“Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

I turn and glance over my shoulder at my brother’s house.  Jonathan stands on the front stoop looking our way.  He knows what I’m going to say.  He’s always a step ahead.  “This is going to sound odd, Adam.”

“Go ahead.”

“Has Jonathan ever been in trouble before … back in Boston?”

“Trouble?”

My brother always has a way of mocking me without really trying.  “Yeah, trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Trouble with the law.  Maybe of a sexual nature.”

“Exactly what are you asking, Joe?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Breaking the law?  Not that I know of.”

“Are you sure?”

Adam hesitates.  “There was an incident when we were in school.”

We’re getting somewhere now.    “What happened?”

“It doesn’t really matter.  Jonathan was cleared.”

“Tell me about it.”

By this time, we are walking down Main Street, and Adam points to a coffee house down the way.  “Coffee?”

“Sure.”  The outside tables are inviting, and we take a seat, and though I’m hungry for information, I’m starving too.  “How’s the food?”

“Very good.” 

Adam waits until our pieces of rhubarb pie and coffee are served before he begins the story of Jonathan.  The story I’m dying to hear.

“It happened when we were about twenty years old.  We’d been roommates that year, our junior year, and there was an incident involving a boy, a young freshman, a kid from Nebraska, I believe.”

“What happened to him?”

“The young man was killed.”

“Strangled?”

“As a matter of fact … but what makes you say that?”

“Just a guess.”

“Anything else?”

“You know how rumors spread.  Someone mentions sex, and everyone opens their minds to the world of smut.”

“Was the boy sodomized?”

“Rumor has.”

“What about Jonathan?”

“It’s silly, really.  Someone saw him out walking that night, but there’s a big difference between walking and killing, isn’t there, Joe?”

“Sure, there is.”

“He was taken in for questioning.  That’s all.  End of story.”

I contemplate all my brother says.  Unless he reads the Enterprise, then of course, he’ll believe his friend.  He has no reason not to, and if I come out with what I’m thinking, I’ll ruin Adam’s life.  He’ll hate me for interfering, and he’ll lose his best friend.  But what if his friend is a murderer?  What if I’m right?

“Is there more on your mind?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand, Joe.  What have you got against Jonathan?  Why all the questions?”

“I don’t know, Adam.  Just forget I said anything.”

“These are tough questions to forget.”

I say the same thing to Adam that I’d said to Sheriff Braxton.  “I spent a long time in bed and ….”

“If that’s all it is?”

“I assure you, Older Brother.  It’s forgotten.”

~*~*~*~*~

Friday night, Saturday night, and a Sunday matinee.  The Lee and Ryland Circus pulls into town, and the roustabouts will set up the tents.  Hoss and I will be first in line for the best show in town.  We won’t take dates this time.  We have in the past, and our evening of fun and games often became a disaster.  No, it’s just Hoss and me this year.

We don’t have to dress fancy.  It isn’t like we’re going to the opera house or Reggie’s for an expensive supper with the prettiest gal in town.  This is a fun-filled night of trained cobras and bearded ladies, of the tallest man in the world, and a shapely belly dancer.  It’s a night of pure entertainment, of oohs and aahs, of laughter and boos.  I love every minute of a circus.

Hoss and I ride in for the Friday night show.  If it’s as exciting as we anticipate, we’ll come back tomorrow.  Because we’ll be in town for an extended period, we stable our mounts.  Chubb and the Appaloosa.  I still haven’t found the right name.  Maybe one of the circus acts will stimulate the part of my brain that can think outside the box, a special name for a special horse.

The big show won’t start for another hour, so we buy our tickets and move through the smaller tents, and what’s first off?  The cobra.  Hoss nudges my side.  It’s the first of many, and by night’s end, I’ll have bruised ribs.  Every time we see something Hoss likes, his elbow will find its mark. 

Next up is counting the jawbreakers in a large glass jar.  Hoss hands the fella a ticket and takes a shot.  “Three hundred and three,” he says.  I look at him as if he’s gone loco, but to my surprise, bells and whistles begin to blow, and the man behind the counter shoves the jar toward my brother.

“How did you know, Big Fella?  Just a guess.”

“Really?”

I try not to laugh.  The guy hasn’t a clue how happy this prize makes my brother.  A week’s worth of fun for the big man.  Although he’ll have to tote the jar around for the rest of the night, I doubt I’ll hear a complaint.

“Ain’t it a caution, Joe?  Want one?”

“No,” I laugh again.  “They’re all yours, Brother.”

“Your loss.”

“Let’s hit the big tent.  The show’s about ready to start.”

We take seats up front so we won’t miss anything important.  Just as I suspect, a bearded lady waltzes around the stage.  She wears less than any saloon girl in Virginia City, and she sashays across the wooden floor like she owns the whole damn place.  Without the facial hair, she’d be quite attractive, but ….

Hoss’ elbow has already made contact, but it’s worth it to see him chomping on hard candy and still have enough energy to crack my ribs.  The next two acts, a weightlifter and a clown that walks on a ball, keep us in stitches, but then, the real entertainment flaunts herself on the stage right in front of Hoss and me.

She wears pink, but not very much of it.  I’m not a seamstress, but I know a little something about yard goods, and this little lady can easily get two or three outfits out of a yard of satin material.  Her legs are long and slim, and as she shimmies across the stage, her eyes are set on me.  Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t want to sound as though I’m full of myself, but it’s true.  A man knows these things.  By the time she finishes her dance, I can barely contain myself, and when she crooks her finger and motions me to join her backstage, I don’t have to think twice.  I’m out of my seat in a flash. 

“Be right back, Hoss.”

I leave my brother dumbfounded.  He doesn’t pick up signs from the opposite sex as well as I do, but I won’t be long.  Maybe a kiss.  Maybe a little more.  Who knows.  A man only lives once, and if the opportunity presents itself, he must take advantage.

“My name’s Joe.”

“Mama named me Penelope, but everyone calls me Penny.”  She’s young, no more than eighteen.  She’s a woman of few words, and that’s fine with me.  “Would you like to play a game?”

“Sure.  Whatever you like.”  I can’t pretend to know what she has in mind, but she has my blood rushing through my veins like a shooting star in anticipation of something more exotic than I can imagine.

“All right.”

After slipping through an opening at the rear of the tall canvas structure, the dancer—Penny—takes my hand and leads me to a storage room behind the stage.  There are mirrors of every size and shape.  The crazy distortions take me from fat to skinny and short to tall.  There are trunks, some open, some closed, and racks of clothes. She leads me to a single wooden chair with a table and lamp to its right. 

“Have a seat, Joe.”

I do as she asks.  She stands behind me, and after sliding the palms of her hands up and then down my chest, she grabs the back of the chair with both hands.  And after adjusting my problematic hip on the hard surface, I see that Penny remains behind the wooden chair and doesn’t give me time to think before pulling my arms behind my back and binding my wrists with the pink silk scarf she’d had draped around her swanlike neck.  “Too tight?”

“No.  It’s fine.”

I try to imagine what she has in store, what kind of game she wants to play.  I’ve never been tied up before, but I’ve never been with a circus performer either.  I’m sure she has her reasons, and before I can figure anything out, she ties another silk scarf around my eyes.  I’m as helpless as a newborn and at Penny’s mercy.

“I forgot something, Joe.  I’ll be right back.”

Since I can’t see a darn thing, when I hear a commotion, I believe it’s on the other side of the curtain.  Though I can’t be sure, I wonder what in the world she forgot.  Hopefully, she won’t forget about me, but then I hear footsteps.  I want to say something clever, but I have an eerie feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I’m not in control, and it makes me a little nervous. I’m blinded as to her whereabouts, although it’s not long before I hear a rustling sound and wonder what she has in mind.

She spreads my knees apart, lays her hands on my thighs, and shimmies herself between both legs until she’s kneeling before me. My breath catches in my throat, and that helpless feeling remains, but she’s just a little gal, a petit blonde that fancies me, wants to touch me, play with me.  Is there anything wrong with that?”

I think of the varieties of mirrors and wonder what I’d see if I opened my eyes.  Am I short and fat or am I tall and thin?  Does my head look like a length of sausage or big and round like a hot air balloon?  I realize she’s used to the mirrors.  They’re not a fascination for her like they are for an outsider, and so her mind is elsewhere.  She leans into me, caresses me, and takes no time at all contemplating her next move.

Both hands slide like butter from my knees to my groin, across my tightened thighs, and up my chest, and I realize this isn’t her first rodeo.  She takes her time freeing the ties on my jacket and unfastening the buttons of my shirt.   After drawing the shirttail from my trousers, she leans in again and lets her tongue play havoc with my nipples, but she’s far from finished.  Her lips follow an imaginary line down my torso toward my groin, and I wonder if she smiles when she sees that I’m fully aroused.  Though I’m sure that’s what she expects will happen, I’m still a bit embarrassed that I can’t curb my enthusiasm.

When my belt loosens, and the buttons of my trousers are released, I slip forward in the chair to ease the discomfort of a healing hip and a full hard-on.  With her hands caressing my face, her lips meet mine, and I feel the tip of her tongue begging for entrance.  I grant her wish, and any sense of control I might’ve had only moments ago vanishes.  I’m as hard as a rock.  Slowly her hands move down the sides of my face, and her fingers slide over each rib until I lift my hips off the chair and let her slip my trousers down around my ankles.

Letting a woman take charge is a new experience for me; it’s the most erotic adventure I’ll ever know.  I don’t know what she’ll do next, but I’m ready for anything she desires.  And then it happens.  Her entire mouth covers my shaft.  Her tongue is on fire, and the way she embraces my cock is like nothing I’ve ever known.  I could marry this girl tonight and live happily ever after for the rest of my life.  But there’s a cruel streak to the little dancer, and just before I come, she pulls back.  Any sense of pleasure vanishes, and I want to curse her for being such a tease. 

She moves behind me, and the ties begin to loosen.  First, my hands and then the blindfold, and though my eyes have yet to adjust, I wonder why she left me in such a state.  To my right sits the table and small oil lamp.  She turns up the wick, and that’s when my entire life crashes to the floor and lands with a thud.   The hand turning the wick isn’t soft and delicate.

When I jump up from the chair, my heart races like an untamed horse, and with my trousers constricting any movement, I fight not to tumble to the ground.  As soon as my pants are adjusted and my buckle fastened, I turn and face my worst nightmare.

“You!”

“That’s right, Joseph.”  Jonathan looks different, and I realize that he’s shaved his beard and had his hair trimmed up off his collar.  His eyes give off an air of bravado and then narrow to a world of disdain.  His smile has a sugary civility that makes my stomach turn.  “Why are you here?”

“You got too close.”

“I what?”

“Too close.  If it should happen that I’m put on trial, my intimate event with you will surface.  Every dirty little detail of our evening together.  You get my meaning, don’t you, Joseph?”

When he said those words—intimate event—I gulped back the unexpected fear of Jonathan opening his mouth inside a courtroom, but I had to know the truth.  “You killed those boys.”

“I did.”

“You killed the boy in Boston.”

“You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

“Why?  Why do you have to kill them?”

“They don’t want to play the game.”

“Killing is a game?”

“Don’t be silly, Joseph.  Killing is a necessary evil.”

“You’re a disgusting human being.”

“Just moments ago, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.  You liked the way I touched you, didn’t you?  Your arousal said it all.  The way my hands caressed your body, and the way my tongue—”

“You’re sick.”

“I’d be glad to finish what I started.”

“You’re kidding, right?  You think I’d let you touch me?”

“You already have, Joseph.”  He took a step closer.  “I could get us a room.  Would the International House suit your fancy?  My treat.”

“God.  What’s wrong with you?”

“I want you, Joseph.  I want you to know what real pleasure a man like me can provide.  I want you to experience everything I have to offer.” 

I back up until I reach the black curtain that surrounds the little room.  “Don’t ever come near me again.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Joseph.  Behave yourself, and no one will ever hear about you and me, and the intimacy we enjoy in private.”

~*~*~*~*~

Pa is the first to notice.  “You’re awfully quiet this morning, Son.”

“Just tired, I guess.”

“You boys didn’t get home that late.”

I fork some eggs and sip my coffee.  Everything is off.  My life, my appetite.  Everything that matters is turned upside down and will never be the same again.  In a million years, I never imagined that anything like last night could happen to me.  How can I have been so stupid?  Why didn’t I know?

“Excuse me, Pa.”  I stand from my chair.

“Feeling okay, Joseph?”

“Not really.”

I head outside and barely make it off the front porch before my stomach gives way, and I lose the little bit I’ve eaten.  My father comes up behind me and rests his hand on my back.  I flinch.  I don’t hear him come up, and I don’t want to be touched.

“I’m fine now.  Must’ve been something I ate last night.”

“Maybe you should rest a while.  Your brother can gather supplies without you.”

“Hoss is going to town?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“You sure nothing’s wrong?”

“I’ll just lie down for a while.”

Pa’s eyes track every move I make.  He’s like that.  When he thinks one of his pups is ill or ill at ease, he can’t help himself, but I can’t let on.  No one can ever know what that man … God, every time I think of his hands, his mouth … everywhere he touched me.  How long until the memory fades?  How long do I have to carry the image of Jonathan and his evil ways?   Would the young boys have kept their secret?  They lived through much more than I did, but did they cry out?  Did they ask to die?  How long would they have lasted if he’d let them live?

Jonathan has the upper hand, always will.  If things don’t go his way, if his partner isn’t willing, then he’s killed right on the spot.  How many more in Boston?  At least three in Nevada, and he’s only been here a few weeks.  The deaths will continue, and I’m the only one who can put a stop to his rampage.  Sitting on the edge of my bed, my stomach begins again.  It churns, but nothing’s there.  It’s empty.  I’m empty.  He knows I can never tell.  He’s a smart man.  He’s made sure that my lips are sealed.

Though I hadn’t planned to fall asleep, it doesn’t take much for me to drift off into la-la land.  I don’t wake until I hear Hoss pull the buckboard up outside my bedroom window.  I slip on my boots and head down the stairs.  The least I can do is help him unload.

“Hey, Brother.”  I pick up a twenty-pound sack of flour and heave it up over my shoulder.

“You here to help?”

“You bet.”

When we finish, I offer to put up the team.  Hoss doesn’t complain.  He’s ready for a cup of coffee and a giant slice of apple pie.  I curry the mounts and head back inside the house.  I could use a piece of pie too.  “Leave any for me?”

Pa sips his coffee.  “Don’t you want some lunch?”

“No.  Pie and coffee will do.”

“You seem in a better mood, Son.”

“I am.”

“I ran into Roy Coffee.” Pa and I both stare at Hoss.  “Remember that little dancing gal from last night, Little Joe?”

“Sure, I do.”

“She’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Someone strangled her right after her show.”

For the second time that day, I run out of the room, only this time, I make it to the outhouse and don’t embarrass myself in the front yard.  “Damn.  He’s an animal.  What had he promised Penny—the lovely girl in pink satin—to let him inside the tent, and why did he have to kill her too? That’s four.  Four innocent people.  Who’s next?”

~*~*~*~*~

If I keep this up, the whole family will know something’s wrong.  I’ll have to control my thoughts and my actions if I want to survive the insanity that runs through my head and ends up in my stomach.  Every time I think of Jonathan, and every time a new death presents itself, am I supposed to keep my thoughts to myself?  How long is that even possible?

It wasn’t that long ago that my father praised me for a job well done, and look at me now?  I’m a coward, and I don’t know how to right the wrong.  I don’t know how to stop the killings without the whole world knowing that I’ve been with a man.  That I let a man touch me.  That I didn’t fight back.  How’s that going to look to the fine citizens of Virginia City?

I dress and shave before Pa hollers up the stairs.  I want to do everything right, even if it means being on time for breakfast.  I put on a cheerful face and take the steps two at a time.

“Morning, Pa. Morning, Brother.”

“Ain’t you the cheery one.  What’s up with you anyhow?”

“Can’t a man come down to breakfast without being attacked by a grumpy older brother?”

‘”Not someone like you.”

“That’s enough, Boys.  We have plenty to do today.”

I dig into my ham and eggs with gusto.  Pa likes a hearty eater, and that’s my morning plan.  After my attack of nerves yesterday, I need to change my tune, or Pa will suspect I’m ill or worse.

“You can fix that fence up by Sattler’s Ridge, Hoss, and I have a job for you, Joseph.  Since you weren’t feeling quite up to par yesterday, I have a simple errand that won’t be too hard to complete.  I have some papers I’d like you to deliver to your brother, Adam.”

“Me?”

Pa stares at me like I have two heads.  “Yes, you.  Is that too difficult a job?”

“No, Sir.  No problem at all.”

The entire time I ride down to Carson, I think of Penelope—Penny—the lovely circus dancer.  I remember hearing a commotion, although I never expected that at that precise time, Jonathan had his hands around her neck and was choking the life out of her.  That had been his plan all along.  Had he paid her to lure me back to the hidden room?  Had he given her instructions to tie my arms, to blindfold me, and then what?  What did she think would happen next?  All I know about the poor girl is her name.  We didn’t chat.  We didn’t say more than two words, and then she’s killed.  Right under my nose.  Right in the rear passageway of the circus tent.  What a waste.  A beautiful young lady sentenced to death by a madman.

I saddle Cochise.  I haven’t ridden him for nearly a week.  It doesn’t seem fair, but I will learn to split my time between the two loves of my life.  Cooch deserves a good run.  I’ve been neglectful, and that ends today.  Being in a hurry to call on Adam isn’t a priority, and we take it slow and easy.  When we reach the tall Victorian, I hitch him to the cast iron hitching rail and make my way up the walk.

My worst nightmare.  Jonathan swings the door open.  “Joseph.  What brings you to my humble abode?”

“Cut the crap, Jonathan.  I need to see my brother.”

“Come.  Mi casa es tu casa.  Mi cama es tu cama.”

“What?”

“My bed awaits.  It means that my desire for you doesn’t fade.”

I sigh overloud.  What does a man as bold and as crass as Jonathan want me to say to a remark like that?  “Where’s Adam?”

Jonathan steps forward.  “You don’t desire me at all, Joseph?  You don’t want to pick up where we left off?  Granted, my actions behind the circus stage were spiteful, but I intend to make that right.  The young boys weren’t willing to see heaven, but you’re older, mature enough to know that I can take you to a place you’ll never want to leave.”

“Get this straight, Jonathan.  You’ll never touch me again.”

He reaches out for my right arm, and I turn my shoulder away.  “Adam!”

“Holler all you want, but no one else is here.”

“When will he be back?”

“Later.  We have plenty of time, Joseph.  Let me show you my room.  I’ve made it a sanctuary for just you and me.  We’ll find the delights of paradise that only comes when people like us are eager to develop their skills as lovers behind closed doors.”

“Shut your mouth, Jonathan.”  I turn and open the front door.  “I’ll come back later.”

“Come.  My favorite word, Joseph.  A simple word that takes on such an intimate meaning.   I’m sure you recall how easily I can render you helpless.”

I slam the front door.  Why do I say I’ll come back?  Why didn’t I hand him the damn papers and ride home?  Because he rattles me, and I can’t think straight.  His comments are designed to make me uncomfortable, and even though he knows I can’t stand that kind of talk, he enjoys watching me squirm.

The coffee house Adam and I chose last time seems like a good place to wait for my brother.  If Pa had told me what the papers were about, I’d know if they were important or not, but that’s the problem.  The envelope is sealed, and it’s not my place to dig into their affairs.  Even though it’s family, it’s not right.

I take an outside table, and moments later, a waitress, the same waitress as last time, greets me with a friendly, “Hello.”

I tip my hat.   “Miss.”

“Don’t I know you?”

“Not really.  My brother and I were here not too long ago, but I think that’s the only time—”

“Yes, I remember.  It’s nice to see you again.”

I try to tell her my name, but I can’t get Joe Cartwright past my lips.  Who’ll want to befriend a man who’s been touched by another man?   My thoughts aren’t mine anymore.  I can’t get past that night at the circus.  I can’t relax.  I can’t let my mind wander to a more pleasant time.

“Sir?  Are you all right?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“What can I get you?”

“Coffee and … I don’t know.  Pie?”

“I’ll be right back.”

The girl is only trying to be nice, and I can’t give her the conversation she deserves.  I need to get Jonathan out of my head.  I need to move on and forget that the circus night ever happened.  From now on, the man isn’t part of my world.  I won’t give him the time of day, in person or in my mind.

When she brings my order, she doesn’t hang around.  I can’t blame her.  After the way I treated her, she has no reason to waste time on a man like me.   After I straighten out my mind and start acting like a normal human being, I’ll come back to her little coffee house and ask her to join me for supper. 

She refills my cup more than once.  I nod my appreciation, but I remain silent.  Time.  Is that the right word?  Time heals all wounds.  I’m wounded.   My body and my mind have taken a hefty blow, but I’ll recover.  Recover and return.

I’m tired of waiting.  I’ll deliver the papers to Jonathan and be done with it.  Hopefully, he’s man enough to set the envelope on my brother’s desk and not let curiosity get the best of him.  After staring at Adam’s house for more than two hours, I’m done in, stimulated by too much coffee, but exhausted.

As I knock on my brother’s front door, my nerves approach the surface.  I can’t help myself, and I can’t live like this much longer.  With Adam on his heels, Jonathan answers the door.  I’m confused.  I’ve been watching the house for over two hours.  How did I miss my brother’s arrival?

“Joe.”  Adam reaches out to shake my hand.

“When did you get back?”

“Back?”

Jonathan’s grin lets me know I’ve been taken for a fool.  Adam’s been here all along.  I pull the papers from my pocket.  “These are from Pa.”

“Oh, Good.  Come in.  Have a drink.”

I shake my head.  “I have to get back.  Maybe next time.”

Adam’s brow furrows.  “Anything wrong?”

“No, I’m fine.”  When a finely dressed man comes up behind me, I move aside so Adam can greet his guest. 

“Howard.  My brother’s just leaving.  Come on in.  I have your papers ready to go.”

“I’ll walk him out.”

Though I don’t need a keeper, Jonathan finds it necessary to follow me to my horse.  “You know, Joseph.”  I keep my back to the man.  “I have these urges, and if you don’t want to play the game, I’ll have to find someone else.”

I turn in a flash.  “You mean you’ll murder another young boy.”

“It’s a possibility.  It’s up to you, Joseph.  It’s your call.”

I mount Cooch and ride back to Main Street, but I can’t go home.  My gut tells me what I have to do.

~*~*~*~*~

“That’s all I know, Sheriff.  I should’ve said something earlier, but I wasn’t sure.  I am now.”

Sheriff Braxton props his elbows on his desk, laces his fingers, and taps his thumbs to a rhythm inside his head, the rhythm of Jonathan Barry and his murderous ways.  Although I relay only the briefest of details, the sheriff is glad to hear as much as I want to tell.  He doesn’t hound me with unnecessary questions and knows where he can find me if he needs more information.  I stand to say goodbye, and he shakes my hand. 

“It’s most appreciated, Mr. Cartwright.  We’ll be in touch.”

“Right, Sheriff.”

After mounting Cooch for the second time that afternoon, I ride straight to Virginia City and take a seat in Roy Coffee’s office.  I tell him the same story.  I include Penny in the list of murders. 

“I don’t know what to say, Little Joe.  Does Adam know?”

“No, Sir.  He doesn’t have a clue.”

“What a mess.”

“Yeah.  What a mess.”  If Roy only knew the rest of the story.

“I’ll ride down to Carson tomorrow and compare notes with Sam Braxton.”

I nod my appreciation.  He doesn’t hound me either.  With the truth laid out straight on the table, there’s not much more to say.  Again, I stand from my chair.  I shake Roy’s hand.  My duties as an honorable citizen and a decent human being are complete, and I can ride home with a clear conscience.  My future will be tarnished forever.  Jonathan will see to that during the trial, but I’ll deal with that later.  I realize now that I should’ve said something to Adam, but Cooch is tired.  He can’t make another trip down to Carson today.  Maybe tomorrow.

The third person on the list is my father.  Since there will be a trial, maybe more than one, he’ll need to know what I know.  Now that the sheriffs are informed, there’s no turning back, but I still won’t disclose the entire truth.  I can’t bear the thought of seeing the look in my father’s eyes.  Even though I wasn’t the aggressor, even though I’m more of a recipient than anything else, there’s that image of Jonathan on his knees, his hands on my thighs, that will linger in my father’s mind forever.  I can’t let that happen.  I won’t make him picture what occurred inside a circus tent to his baby son, to the man who drove the cattle to market without a hitch, to the man his father praised for a job well done, to the man who feels he doesn’t deserve praise from anyone.

Pa sits forward in his chair.  “I’m not sure I understand, Joseph.  How long have you known?”

I stand up from the hearth and move to the settee.  If the questions turn into a lengthy conversation, I may as well get comfortable.  Pa’s not about to let this go without a complete understanding of the situation.  “I only found out today.  I told both sheriffs, and that’s the end of it.”

“The end of it?”  My father has a tendency to repeat.  “You take papers down to your brother, and Jonathan lies about Adam’s whereabouts, and then he volunteers that kind of information?”

“Pretty much.”

“And Adam knows nothing of this.”

“That’s right.”

Pa’s done sitting down.  I can almost see the cogs turning inside his head.   He stands and digs his hands deep into his pockets, then stares at the fire before whirling back on me.  “That’s the most cock-n-bull story I’ve ever heard, Joseph.”

“I’m sorry, Pa, but that’s exactly what happened.”  I’m not fooling my father.  The sheriffs don’t see the holes in my story, but Pa isn’t buying.  “I plan to ride down and tell Adam tomorrow.”

“That won’t be necessary, Joseph.  Tomorrow’s Sunday and Adam and Jonathan will be having dinner with us right after services.”

Shouldn’t the killer be arrested by then?  Surely, Sheriff Braxton will have him behind bars sometime today.   Doesn’t Pa realize what the outcome will be?  And he still thinks that my brother’s friend will be joining us for dinner?  One big happy family?

He doesn’t believe a word I say.  He knows a liar when he hears one, but he’ll need more proof, and it won’t be long before he drags the whole disgusting story out of a son he taught to tell the truth.

~*~*~*~*~

Sunday morning, I rise before everyone else.  Pa will be in a foul mood because I skip church service, but I dress, forget the shave, and I’m out the front door within minutes.  I saddle the Appaloosa, and we head toward Carson.  Adam needs to know before dinner is served.  He shouldn’t find out about his longtime friend during a social event.  Even if it’s only family, it’s unfair.

My nerves bounce off each other like flies buzzing a horse’s tail.  I keep my new mount at a steady gait and realize I still haven’t come up with a proper name for my beautiful Appaloosa.  It took me more’n a month to name Cochise, so I guess I’m okay for a while yet.

I think about Harry and Clark, the two numb skulls who tried to rob us.  If they’re smart, they’ll have ridden back to Sacramento or somewhere far from Virginia City.  Since they walked away empty-handed, I doubt that Hoss and I will ever press charges, but I can’t help but wonder if they’ve given up their life of crime and gone straight.

I turn off Main Street and steel my nerves.  The discussion won’t be easy, but … hold on.  Something’s wrong.  Roy Coffee’s horse is tied to the hitch rail.  The mount by its side must be Braxton’s.  I tie the Appaloosa in line with the rest.

The front door stands wide open.  I step across the threshold where office chairs are overturned.  China plates lie broken on the floor, and blood splatters the freshly painted walls.  The sheriffs kneel over a body.  Their backs are to me, but Roy reaches for his gun as he stands to his full height when he hears my boot heels hit the wooden floor.

“What happened?”

Roy holsters his gun and finds his voice first.  “It’s bad, Little Joe.  Real bad.”

“Where’s my brother?”

Roy grasps my arm to steady me.  “We just walked in, Son.  I haven’t had time to search the house.”

“I’ll check out back.”

After shaking off the sheriff’s hand, I dart into the kitchen, and that’s where I find Adam.  Lying face down, I fall to my knees and call out his name.  “Adam.  Adam, it’s Joe.”  A slight moan.   Thank God.  “In here, Roy.”

When the sheriff kneels next to me, we roll Adam over and see the damage done by a shot at close range.  A bullet wound to his right shoulder.  “He’ll live, Little Joe, but you best ride for the doctor.”

“What about … Jonathan?”

“He’s dead, Son.”

“Shot?”

“That’s right.  In fact, Sam and I heard both shots when we were tying our horses outside.  By the time we rushed through the front door … well, you and I both saw the results.”

I’m not a lawman, but I’m not stupid either.  I speculate, but I want to hear Roy’s theory first.  “What do you think happened?”

Roy steepled his fingers and pierced his lips before he spat out a few words.  “I think Mr. Barry saw us ride up, and he panicked.  It looks to me like maybe he tried to shoot hisself and your brother tried to stop him.  Adam got shot in the process, and then Mr. Barry turned the gun on hisself.”

I nod in agreement.  “Yeah.  I think you’re right.  There must’ve been some kind of struggle though.  The chairs and the dishes.”

“Yeah.  Adam didn’t go down peaceable.”

“No.  He put up a fight all right.”  I pull my hat low on my forehead and start for the front door.  “Take care of my brother.  I’ll get the doc.”

By the time Dr. Abrams and I arrive back at the house, the sheriffs have Adam lying on the sofa, his shirt’s been removed and a clean cloth presses against the wound.  He’s lost every ounce of color, but he doesn’t ride the range anymore, so maybe this is the sign of a man who works indoors.  Jonathan is wrapped in a white sheet and has been moved to the far side of the room.  Roy holds a Sharps double-barrel derringer in his right hand.  “If both slugs are .25s, this here’s the pistol that Mr. Barry used.”

After shooting my brother, it looks like Jonathan put the derringer to his right temple and pulled the trigger.  But why did he shoot Adam?  What purpose did that serve?  Could it have been a struggle like Roy said?  Adam knew nothing.  He was oblivious to Jonathan’s wrongdoings.  That’s why I’d ridden down to Carson.  If only I’d left the Ponderosa a half hour earlier.

Roy examined the gun with both hands.  “He must’ve seen me and Braxton ride up and knew why we’d come.”

When Adam moans, I step forward.  “Is he okay, Doc?”

“He’ll be fine, Son.  The bullet’s out.  I just need to clean the wound and bandage him up.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

Though I feel relief, I wonder what Adam knows, if anything.  Has Jonathan spilled his guts, come clean about his interest in boys and the murders that were a necessary evil?  Does he mention me?  It seems doubtful.  He never thought I’d tell the authorities.  He thought he had me all wrapped up in a neat little package, and that I would take his nasty little secret to the grave.

“Can my brother ride, Doc?”

“Why?  Where’s he going?”

“I’d like to take him to the Ponderosa so we can look after him there.”

After the doctor deposits his tools into his bag, he turns to me.  “I’d wait a couple of days.  That shoulder’s going to be mighty sore.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Then my answer is no.  I wouldn’t put him on a horse.”

I look toward Roy.  “If I stay, will you let Pa and Hoss know what happened?”

“As soon as we get the body down to the undertaker, I’ll be heading back, but I’ll stop and tell your pa on the way.”

“I appreciate it, Roy.  I owe you one.”

Electing a man like Roy Coffee is a gift that no one realizes until something personal happens.  He’s not just our sheriff; he’s a man with a conscience, a man who operates above and beyond the call of duty.

~*~*~*~*~

Being that he’s twenty to thirty years younger than Roy, Sheriff Braxton helps me get Adam up the stairs and into his own bed, and while I stay with my brother, the two sheriffs pack the dead man onto the back of a beautiful bay named Cleo that Adam selected for Jonathan before he arrived in Nevada.  When they finish, he’ll be ready to haul down to the undertaker.

I don’t have to watch them drag him out the front door, and I’ll never have to see the man again.  I’ll speak to Adam about the burial—when and where—and let him make the decision.  It won’t be easy.  Friends for so many years and then this.  Comedy or tragedy?  Maybe a little of both.

By late afternoon, my father arrives in Carson, and when I hear banging on the front door, I fly down the stairs and fling the door wide open.  Though I want to chuckle at the look of alarm on my father’s face, I don’t dare.  “I see you’ve talked to Roy.”

“What was your first clue, Joseph?”

Adam’s wound isn’t life-threatening, but after seeing Pa, you’d think he was knocking at death’s door.  I point up the stairs where I left Adam sitting up in bed, and moments later, my father has taken a seat on the edge of the bed and is getting all the details he can.

“I hope Roy didn’t go overboard when he told you I’d been shot.”

“Maybe a little bit, but you know Roy.  I thought maybe Joseph would need help.”

With my arms crossed, I stand in the doorway.  Adam glances up at me.  “No need for worry, Pa.  Your baby son has been the perfect nursemaid.”

I smile and take the compliment as it’s intended, but does he always have to think of me as the baby, the boy who will never become an adult like him or Hoss?  Does he even consider that I bossed a cattle drive?  I bust broncs better than anyone else on the ranch?  I’m one of the best horsemen in the territory.  What else do I have to do?  Is that what Jonathan thought too?  Is that why he gravitated toward me?  Why wasn’t satisfying himself with unknown young men enough?  What was the point of involving his best friend’s brother?

“Joseph?”

I left my musings behind and looked at Pa.  “What do you need?”

“Nothing, Son.”  Pa smiled.  “You looked a million miles away.”

“Guess I was.”

“Why don’t I stay here with your brother, and you can ride home?”

I glance at Adam.  He’s improved enough that I doubt he needs a nursemaid any longer, but my father … that’s never been his way.  He hovers until the very end.

“If that’s what you want.”

“Wait.”  All eyes turn to Adam.  “Let Joe stay, Pa.”

I felt nervous inside.  My father won’t take this well.

“That’s fine with me.  How about you, Little Joe?  You willing to stay?”

Though I’m touched by Adam’s invitation, it feels a bit odd.  He’s never preferred my company over Pa’s before.  Why now?  My God.  Thanks to Jonathan, I doubt everyone and everything.

“That’s fine.  I’ll stay.”

By day three, Adam and I are growing tired of each other’s company, but it’s that time of day, and I ask the dreaded question. “What sounds good for supper?  It’s either my scrambled eggs, or I can run down to the coffee house and get us something more edible.”

“Sit down for a minute, Joe.”

I park myself in an overstuffed chair and enjoy the cool breeze that blows through Adam’s bedroom window.  “What’s on your mind?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You and Jonathan.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think you know.”

“He’s no friend of mine.”

Adam groans and reaches for his bandaged shoulder.  “I feel the same way.”

I force a smile.  Jonathan shot my brother, his best friend.  “I bet you do.”

“We need to talk, Joe.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is.”

Adam can wind his way around a story and confuse the hell out of me.  God only knows what’s on his mind, but since I’m playing nursemaid, I can’t exactly walk out of the room and not come back.

“Okay.  What’s this all about?”

“I said it once before. Jonathan.  Before Roy and Sheriff Braxton rode up to the house, Jonathan had just begun telling me a story.  Of course, it’s a story you already know about, but I was just finding out.  It explains the question you asked about our school days in Boston.  You weren’t just fishing, were you, Joe?  You already knew.”

“I suspected.”

“But you didn’t go any farther with that information, did you?”

“No.”

“But you knew about the boy in Virginia City and the ones down here.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know it was him … at least, not at first.”

“But you suspected.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”  Adam tries to sit up taller, but with the shoulder wound still fresh, he isn’t able to move more than an inch.  “Need some help?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I see that.”  Adam gives me a look that says I shouldn’t be a smart mouth, but I shrug it off.  “I’m the only nursemaid you’ve got.”

“Jonathan had more to say, Joe.”

“Who cares?  The man’s dead.  He’ll be buried tomorrow.” 

“What about that night at the circus?”

~*~*~*~*~

Everyone has someone they call a hero.  My hero is my brother, Hoss.  Always has been.  Always will be.  But his life has never been easy, and I’m beginning to feel the same discomfort he’s felt his whole life through.  As the early morning sun lights up the tips of faraway peaks, I think back on my brother’s early days, the schooldays that were such a hardship for an oversized boy like Hoss.  I wasn’t old enough or smart enough to know what the bullies were saying — the ribbing, the playful banter that hurt a kid to his core.  It wasn’t until I started my own schooling that some of those hidden-away tales came to life. 

My brother was big.  He was born big and always looked older than his years.  He wasn’t a dumb kid.  He was as smart as a whip in some respects, but he was always expected to know more than he did.  The older boys made fun of his size.  The girls laughed at his expense.  Life wasn’t easy, but Hoss wasn’t one to complain. 

The ranch was in its infancy but growing by leaps and bounds.  There was much to be done.  My father didn’t have time to deal with schoolmate problems, especially since he didn’t know they existed.  Pa said he had to drag those particulars out of my brother, but by the time the stories were told, the initial problems had passed.  It was too late.  The damage was done. 

Jonathan broke me in ways I can’t explain outright.  Unlike Hoss and kids in the classroom, I don’t have to look at the man who took part of my soul, my good nature.  I don’t have to see him every day, but did Hoss feel the same way?  Did those kids damage his soul and change the man he might’ve become? 

Silly questions.  I have no answers for either of us, but when Adam signals to me that he knows everything, I run.  I leave my post as caretaker and take off like a scared little boy.  Adam will assume I’ll return home, and Pa won’t expect me for days.  Spending the night under the stars seems to suit my mood just fine.  What I didn’t know at the time is that Adam is tired of playing the invalid.  He saddles his horse and rides to the Ponderosa soon after I bolt out the front door of his fine Victorian.  He has a story to tell. 

All I have with me is a canteen full of water that’s baked in the sun since I rode down to Carson City and has taken on a harsh, unpleasant taste.  It’s no good to me, and since I haven’t made it anywhere close to home, I lead the Appaloosa down to the Carson River, strip down to nothing, and slip into the rambling current that will wash all my sins away.  Water cleanses, and I feel the grasp of Jonathan’s filthy hands wash away in time with the slow-moving current. 

When a twig snaps, I turn and search the immediate terrain where cottonwood roots angle toward the river and the low-growing brush is thick, but I see nothing, no one.  God knows I don’t want my adversary shadowing me, but then I remind myself that he’s dead.  He’ll be buried six feet under and can never come near me again.

I take a deep breath.  I feel revived and decide that I should head home.  Adam’s well enough that a nursemaid is no longer needed.  I don’t plan on answering his questions, so there’s no reason to stay in Carson.  I prefer to let the night at the circus go to the grave with Jonathan.

The Appaloosa is ready for a good run, and so am I.  I climb aboard, and once we hit the road heading home, I’ll let her find her own pace. When I think back to the circus, I can’t help but remember the lovely girl—Penny—who gave her life for a few measly bucks that I imagine Jonathan slipped down the front of her little pink costume.  She had no idea that Friday night would be her last. 

With a blackened sky, I wait for the rain to come.  It doesn’t take long before a strong wind blows in from the west and brings with it a steady downpour.  Within minutes, I’m soaked to the skin.  I voice my complaint, but the Appaloosa seems to enjoy the cool breeze and softened ground.  She never breaks stride.  She’s having the time of her life—dancing and prancing—and that’s when it comes to me.  I don’t know why I thought it would be difficult to find the perfect name, but out of the blue, it comes to me, and in honor of the fallen stage performer, I name my mount Penny, the dancing, prancing horse.

After leading her into the barn, I’m glad to be out of the rain, but I’m not sure she feels the same.  “I’ve had enough fun for one day, and so have you.”  I remove the saddle and blanket and take to her with a dry towel.

“Always take care of your horse first.”  I was around five years old the first time I heard those words, and my brothers and I have always heeded Pa’s advice.  We’ve rarely had a sick horse.  Stone bruises, yes.  Split hooves, yes.  Shin splints, yes, but we care enough for our stock that they’re always good to go.

My father comes out to greet me.  “Wondered if you were going to make it home.”

“I made it.”

“Take good care of that horse.”

“I plan to.”

“I’ll have Hop Sing heat some water for a bath.”

“Sounds good, Pa.”

~*~*~*~*~

When I lay in bed that night, I recall Pa’s and my conversation.  He couldn’t wait until I was out of the bath.  His curiosity got the best of him, and instead of bringing me a clean towel and setting it on top of my quilt, he took a seat on the bed and held the towel with both hands as though he had a nervous habit that needed calming.

“Adam stopped by yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Why can’t he leave things alone?  Why does he always have to butt in where he doesn’t belong?

“He thought you might have something to tell me.”

“Is that all he said?”

“Yes.”

I dunk my soapy head in the lukewarm water.  When I come up for air, I look strait at Pa.  “Beats me, Pa.  I can’t think of a darn thing.”

My father doesn’t believe a word I say.  The questioning look on his face says it all, and I keep scrubbing my already clean body.  I don’t look him in the eye.  He knows a fib when he hears one, and he won’t let it go.  He’ll dig long and hard until he discovers the truth.  My fleeting interval of kept secrets was shortened after my brother and his big mouth paid Pa a visit.

“You want to try that again, Son?”

‘I don’t know.  I guess he’s talking about the murders.”

“And?”

“And nothing, Pa. Hoss brought me the Enterprise when I was laid up.  That’s how it all started but you know that already, don’t you?”

“Yes.  Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know.”

I reach for my towel, and Pa hands it over.   I say nothing as I dry and dress and run a brush through my hair, but my father doesn’t leave.  He remains seated on my bed, waiting.

“What do you want from me?”

“I’m not sure, Son.  The truth?”

“Why?  Why is it so important?”

“Something’s bothering you, Joe.  I’d like to help.”

“Don’t you understand?  It’s no one’s business but my own.”

Pa stood from the bed.  “Joseph.”

“He touched me, Pa.  Are you happy now?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Good.  Then it’s settled.”

“What’s settled, Son?”

I turn my back and face the tub of cold bath water.  “Jonathan.  He touched me, Pa.  He touched me in ways a man shouldn’t touch another man.”

I don’t see the look on my father’s face.  I don’t want to see the disappointment he sees in his baby son.  Something like this would never happen to Hoss or Adam.  Only the youngest.  Only the baby of the family.

“Oh, Joseph.”

“Don’t say it, Pa.  Don’t say anything.”

I sidestep my bed and my father and race out of the room.  Pa’s voice trails me down the stairs, but I don’t turn back.  He hears all he’s going to hear.  The subject is closed.  Jonathan will be buried on Thursday, and the secret that I want to keep hidden will go down with him.

~*~*~*~*~

I have two horses to tend, and that’s how I plan to spend the next hour of my life.  Two lovely mounts that don’t ask questions, that don’t look at me as though I’m not the man I used to be.   Being that they’re both black and white is just coincidence, or maybe Pa and Adam and Hoss planned it that way.  I don’t know, and I don’t care.  And though their color patterns are far from the same, they seem to know that they belong together, that living in adjacent stalls, sharing a half wall and sharing a blanket and saddle is all part of the deal.  The Appaloosa will learn the ropes soon enough.  What I don’t teach her, Cochise will.

Beginning with the little lady, I take the brush to her right flank and begin a ritual I’ve used for the last ten years.  She’s happy to have the attention, but I laugh when Cooch lets me know his displeasure. 

“Not to worry, Big Fella.  You’re next.”

When I take a minute to glance up, I see my father standing in the open doorway.  The bright light behind him shadows his facial features and leaves me to wonder if there’s a smile or a frown lurking in the darkness.  I doubt he’s thrilled with my behavior, but it can’t be helped.  How would he feel if he were in my boots?  How would anyone feel?  I’ve tried to put that night behind me, tried to let it go, and even though Jonathan’s dead, his face lingers in my mind day and night.

“Go away, Pa.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my son.  Because something that shouldn’t have happened did happen, and because you feel you were at fault.”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Of course not.”

“You don’t understand.”

Pa stepped up to the stall.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think that would help?”

“It’s over and done with, Pa. End of story.”

“It’s not over, Joe.  I see it in your eyes.  I saw signs of discontent that night at the Cattleman’s Ball.  I knew something was off, but I couldn’t work out the problem.”

I swipe at Penny’s black coat.  I want her to shine like the night sky.  “And now you know the whole story.”

“No.”

“I figured Adam filled you in on everything.”

“No.  He left the telling up to you.”

“I messed up, Pa.  I went backstage to meet a girl.”

“And?”

“She tricked me.  She …” I couldn’t repeat the damn story.  Not for my father.  “Just let it go, Pa.  It’s over.”

“I can let it go, Son, but can you?”

~*~*~*~*~

I saddle Cochise.  Even though I’ve just returned home, it doesn’t mean I have to stay home.  Pa won’t be happy, but I need a little time and a little whiskey to cool the demons that won’t leave me alone.

I hitch Cooch at the old wooden rail and step inside the Silver Dollar.  “Give me a bottle, Sam.”

I find an empty table at the rear of the saloon.  Although it’s late afternoon, the crowds haven’t flocked into the drinking establishments like they will in an hour or two.  Men from outlying ranches will soon be riding into town for a little nighttime entertainment, but that’s not why I came to town, and when Miss Lila puts her hands on my shoulders in a seductive way, I push her away. 

“Not today, Lila.”

“Something wrong, Little Joe?”

“Just not in the mood.” 

I hand the barmaid a silver dollar, and after dropping it down the front of her bodice and patting her sizeable breasts, she thanks me, “Thank you, Little Joe,” twirls, and walks away.  The girl has to make a living, and just because I’m not willing, just because I’m not in the mood for anyone to touch me, doesn’t mean she has to starve to death.

I pour a second shot, and then a third.  The whiskey goes down smooth.  It sets my mind at ease, and then, without asking permission, my thoughts change direction and questions I try to avoid slip in and do their best to torment me.

Why is my father always right?  Just because I can’t face the truth, I begin to wonder if I need someone on the outside who will miraculously heal me on the inside.  I need to feel whole again, but if I’m honest with myself, I already know parts of the answer.

I need love.  I need to be wanted and appreciated.  I need approval and respect from my father.  I work hard at proving I can handle any job given to me on any given day.  Maybe I work too hard, and maybe there’s something wrong with me that I’m not satisfied until everything falls together, and I’m praised or congratulated or told I’ve done a fine job. 

I also need women in my life.  When a woman presents herself, I jump into the fire like a wildcat, never giving a thought to how right or wrong the outcome may be.  Wanting and needing are a part of my nature, and as much trouble or danger or difficulty as it provides, I can’t change what I am or how I feel.

My father wants to help.  He’s always been that part of my life—perhaps my conscience and nothing more—and he always gets me through the rough times, yet I refuse to let him in and let him handle some of the burden.  He’s willing.  He’s always willing, yet I back away.  I always have.  Maybe it’s time to leave the past behind.  Maybe it’s time to confide.  Maybe I’ve carried the weight of Jonathan long enough.  I cork the bottle and hand it over to a swamper named Jake, who works damn hard for a few coins to toss in his pocket and a fresh, new bottle of rotgut. 

“Here, Jake.”

“Thanks, Little Joe.  You’re a good boy.”

“Yeah.”

~*~*~*~*~

Pa knows that there’s still a decent person inside the flesh and bone of a son who carries guilt and has let it damage his heart.   A son who’s lost and afraid but can be restored back to the man he used to be. 

I let it all out, not only to my father, but Hoss sits in silence and makes no comment as the story is told.  Relief washes over me, although the quietness of the room tells me that nothing has changed, not really, not to the extent I hoped it would.  I’ll carry that night at the circus inside me forever, but my family will always be around to catch me if I fall.  And though my father’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, he doesn’t think any worse of me and neither does Hoss, and that’s the relief that I cherish.  My family will always stand behind me.  They won’t judge or consider me a worthless failure, at least over a deviant creature like Jonathan.

Hoss doesn’t say a word, but I can tell that he’s holding back tears.  Pa stands.  The telling is finished, and I stand up also.  Though he doesn’t crowd me, he clasps my shoulder with a solid grasp and looks me in the eye.  “Thank you, Son.”

I shake my head.  “For what?  For being an idiot?  For being a dumb kid that didn’t catch on until it was too late?”

“For having the courage it takes to tell such a story.”

“It’s not one I’m proud of.”

Pa smiles.  “You’re the same Joe Cartwright you were before all this happened.  Jonathan will be buried tomorrow, and the evil he brought into this world will go to the grave with him.  Only the family knows, Joe, and as far as I’m concerned, the events of that night at the circus are dead and buried as of this very minute.

I nod.  I have nothing more to say, and neither does Pa.  We’re all talked out.  “I’m for bed.”

“I think we all are, Son.”

“I’ll bank the fire,” Hoss says.

Pa and I head up the stairs.  I stop at my door, and Pa gives my shoulder another gentle squeeze.  “Goodnight, Son.”

“Goodnight, Pa.”

I’ve just kicked off my boots when I hear a knock on my bedroom door. I figure Pa has more to say, although I thought everything had been said.  I thought we’d ended the story of Jonathan forever.

“Come in.”

Hoss stands outside my bedroom door for several seconds before the knob turns and he lumbers inside.  “Joseph.”

“What’s up?”

He digs his hands deep into his pockets and takes a couple of steps forward.  He strives for the right words to say.  “I ain’t smart like Adam or have the kind of wisdom it takes to raise three fine sons.”  He stares straight into my eyes, and his lips form a straight line.  “But I come here to say my piece.”

“Go on.”  My hands dangle between my legs, and I wait for Hoss to tell me what a louse he has for a brother. 

“I’m proud of you, Joe.”  I want to laugh but think better of it.  Hoss still struggles for the right words to say, and I shouldn’t make fun.  “No one gets in more scrapes than you do, but this tops them all.  I don’t know how you manage to get yourself in such predicaments, but you’re a good person, Little Joe, and good people win out in the end.”

From the edge of my bed, I stare up at my brother.  He may not think it, but he’s the smartest man I know, and his words mean everything to me.  “Thanks, Brother.”

“God might strike me down, but I’m glad the Bostonian is dead.  He won’t never hurt you or nobody else again.”

“God’s gonna get me too, Brother.  I feel the same way as you.”

Hoss nods.  His lips form that straight line again, and he turns and starts for the bedroom door.  “Oh, there’s something I forgot to tell you earlier.”

“Yeah?  What’s that?”

“When I was in town getting them supplies for Hop Sing, Miss McCallan ran across C Street waving her white-gloved hand above her head to get my attention.”

A smile crossed my face.  Margie ….

“Course I stopped what I was doing and tipped my hat.  She’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she, Little Joe?”

“She sure is.”

“Anyway, she asked me to pass on a message when I saw you next.”  Hoss scratches his thinning hair.  “Let’s see if I can remember—”

I put on my angry face.  “Will you cut that out?”

“Oh, yeah.  I remember now.   She, I mean Miss Margie, that is, says she’s anxious for that dance you promised her.”

I chuckle at the thought. True or false, Hoss knows the right thing to say. It’s high time to bury the past and move into the future, and Margie McCallan and her sky-blue eyes could be a big part of that future.

“I’ll have to take her up on that.  Isn’t there a dance this Saturday night in Ned Baily’s barn?”

“Matter of fact ….”

“Good.  Think I’ll take Miss McCallan.”

“That’s right smart of you, Little Brother.  Right smart.”

The End

9-2026