Trouble

By Marcella Petillo

September Round-Up Challenge

The man rode slowly, making his way up the main street of the small town. Jenny could not take her eyes off him. She had never seen a more handsome man in all her young life, but that man was in trouble.

His hair, face, and chest, revealed by his open shirt, were wet with sweat. The shirt itself was soaked through with it. His green jacket lay crooked across the saddle. He looked exhausted, thirsty, and feverish. He slowly slid down from his horse and stopped to catch his breath, clinging to the saddle.

He coughed hoarsely and rested his forehead against the side of his Pinto, while fumbling to get his canteen and take a long drink. Jenny could no longer hold herself back and called to him from the doorway of her small hotel,

“Can I do something for you, cowboy? Do you need help?”

Joe turned his head and looked at her for a long time over his shoulder, as if he had just awakened from a dream, with eyes clouded by weariness and shining with fever. Unsteady on his legs, he entered the dimness of the entrance.

“A room, a doctor…and…I have to send a telegram to Ben Cartwright, of the Ponderosa…please…”

He dropped his saddlebags and canteen to the floor, and collapsed into the armchair near the reception desk, clutching his head in his hands and murmuring,

“Pa…please…I need help…”

*****

“When was Joe supposed to return?” Adam asked indifferently.

“Two days ago.” Ben frowned. “At least two days ago! He’s late, as usual!”

Hoss smiled as he shoved a piece of steak into his mouth,

“Little brother must have found a distraction; maybe a blonde with blue eyes!”

Loud pounding on the door made the three Cartwrights gathered for lunch jump. The thin boy standing in the doorway held out his hand, “Telegram, Mister Cartwright!” and took off again into town. Ben read it and let out a muffled exclamation, crumpling the paper between his fingers,

“He’s sick! Joe has gotten sick, maybe…maybe it’s swamp fever. He needs help!”

The brothers looked at each other in bewilderment. Adam shook his head, almost incredulous,

“Swamp fever? But there aren’t any swamps along his route; how could that be?”

Hoss said nothing, but he was worried; swamp fever was serious and debilitating. There was no sure cure, and Joe’s life could be at risk.

They quickly finished eating while organizing the rescue expedition. Adam took command of the ranch. Ben and Hoss hitched their best team to their large carriage, certainly more comfortable and faster than a wagon. Joe was definitely not in any condition to ride, and the padded leather seats would allow him to make a more comfortable and safer journey. In a short while, they were able to leave to bring Joe home.

*****

Jenny opened the window; the room smelled of sickness and medicine. The doctor who had examined Joe was not sure that it was really swamp fever, but the young cowboy was consumed by a high fever, shaken by chills, drenched in sweat. His splitting headache and nausea kept him from eating, and in any case he felt too sick even to try.

The poor boy was completely exhausted, and there was not much she could do to help him. The quinine the doctor had provided kept the fever somewhat under control, but it was not enough. Jenny, helped by Aunt Miriam, who ran the hotel with her, washed him, dried the sweat, placed ice-cold water compresses on his forehead, and tried to get him to drink a few sips of broth. She changed the sheets soaked with sweat, but she could do no more.

For three days, Joe Cartwright had been in that room, barely conscious, waiting for the help he had called for, longing for his father more than anything else in the world, afraid of dying without having seen him again.

In the delirium of the fever, he saw himself again escaping from the two comancheros who had targeted him along the road home. Those were savage beasts, and Joe knew it was better not to engage them in an open fight, so he had fled, sending Cochise into a mad gallop, counting on the speed of his horse to outdistance the outlaws.

*****

Ahead of him was a wood, and Joe plunged into it, looking for a hiding place, a shelter from which to face his pursuers. He looked around frantically; the forest was dark, the thick trees let little light through, and he needed a hiding place that could conceal his conspicuous horse as well. The still water of a pond barely reflected the light, but he saw a wide slab of rock jutting out over the water and decided to hide underneath it.

He went down shivering into the cold, muddy water, leading Cochise with him. Swarms of insects rose, swirling around them, and Joe waved his hands to drive them away. Small clouds of vapor rose from Cochise’s overheated skin, and the horse whinnied softly, uncomfortable from the cold and the insect bites. Joe calmed him, stroking him.

The comancheros entered the forest, shouting and cursing, looking for the man who had escaped them, knowing he had to be hiding somewhere there, but when they could not see him, they began shooting wildly, trying to flush him out. Joe lowered himself into the water up to his neck, keeping his gun dry, and holding back Cochise, who was kicking in the mud of the pond, unnerved by the gunshots.

A bullet struck the edge of the rock above them, sending stone splinters flying all around, and Cochise whinnied in fear. The outlaws shouted in triumph and rode toward Joe’s hiding place. He had no choice. Two shots in rapid succession, keeping his cool so he could aim without killing them. The comancheros were thrown from their horses and fell with a dull thud to the ground, crying out in pain.

Joe wasted no time; he drove their horses away to buy himself time and threw their weapons into the pond. The two men, still unconscious and wounded as they were, would have to seek medical attention and shelter, abandoning the pursuit.

*****

Joe set off again, soaked with water, without wasting time changing clothes. Toward evening, he made camp near a stream; fortunately, there was no sign of the outlaws. He lit a fire and washed himself in the stream to remove the now-dried mud and the stench of that stagnant water. The insect bites itched, and he scratched himself uncomfortably; then, after putting on his spare clothes, he prepared to spend the last night before returning home.

Dawn of the new day found him trembling with fever, drenched in sweat, with his head splitting. He struggled into the saddle and set off again while continuous chills shook his body. Joe had caught colds before; he had even had pneumonia, but nothing compared to how he felt now.

He felt so sick that he gave up continuing on to Virginia City and turned his horse toward the small mining town that was growing nearby. Riding along the main street, he first informed the sheriff of the comancheros’ whereabouts, then looked for a hotel where he could rest and find help.

*****

When Ben and Hoss arrived in the small town, they immediately looked for the doctor to get news about Joe.
“Mister Cartwright, your son has been sick for three days, very sick. He has a very high fever after being in the cold water of a pond where he was bitten by insects, so I cannot say for certain whether he contracted swamp fever or whether he became sick from being in the cold water. The symptoms are similar and serious. I don’t know Joe, but I can see that the boy is strong. I am counting on his constitution to get him through the acute phase of the illness. For now, his lungs are clear, and he is fighting, which gives me good reason to hope. He is weak from the high fever and continuous sweating. Unfortunately, his stomach can only tolerate a little broth, which is not enough to sustain him and compensate for the dehydration…that worries me.”

Hoss intervened impetuously,
“Doctor, you don’t know him, but my little brother is a born fighter; he never gives up! He won’t stop fighting, and I’m sure he’ll get well!”
Ben smiled at that unshakable faith in Joe’s ability to recover from every trouble,

“Can we see him now? Where is my son?”
“Come with me; I was just going to check on him.”

*****

Jenny welcomed them into her hotel, and as they walked down the corridor toward the room, she brought the doctor up to date on the condition of the sick young man. The fever had risen even more; the moment was critical. At the doorway of the room, she stepped aside and invited Aunt Miriam to leave the room, to leave the doctor and his family alone with Joe.

Ben and Hoss fell silent. Joe lay curled up in the bed, trembling like a leaf, shaken by violent chills. His gaunt face was ashen, and the large purple shadows beneath his eyes stood out against that unhealthy complexion. The effects of dehydration had made his veins along his arms and the backs of his hands clearly visible; his muscles were tense beneath the skin; Joe looked drained.

Ben knelt beside the bed, brought his lips to his son’s forehead, and felt it burning. Joe’s eyes slowly opened, unfocused, then widened, and looking his father straight in the eyes, he gasped,
“…You came…you’re here…I was afraid I’d never see you again…”
His hands searched for Ben’s, and squeezed them,
“Pa…I’ve never been this sick…Am I going to die?”
“No! You’ll be all right, you’ll get through this too and come home with us!”

Hoss bent over the bed, gently shook his brother’s shoulder, and smiled, trying to appear cheerful,

“Hey, short shanks, don’t even say that as a joke! Everything’s going to be all right, count on it!”

That very night, Joe reached the peak of the illness, and finally the fever broke in a lake of sweat. The following morning he was sleeping peacefully, and in the days that followed he managed to eat solid food, regaining some of his strength.

On the morning of the fourth day, Ben settled the hotel bill; they retrieved Cochise from the stable and hitched him to the back of the carriage, ready to leave.

Joe thanked Jenny and Aunt Miriam, kissing them on the cheeks, promising that he would come back to visit them. He was aware that without their help and dedication, he probably would have died.

*****

Sunset was falling over the Ponderosa. Adam and Dr. Martin waited impatiently. The telegram they had received announced the family’s return and the need for a medical checkup for Joe.

They arrived shortly afterward with Joe lying in the back of the carriage, under a blanket; he was sleeping deeply. Adam wanted to lift him into his arms to carry him into the house and put him on the sofa, and was surprised by how light he was; Ben and Hoss’s serious eyes put him on alert.

Doc. Martin examined him thoroughly; his thinness and exhaustion were evident. The young man was without strength and reduced to half his former self, but when the doctor straightened up and looked at the waiting family…he smiled!
“Joe has recovered! Now he needs to regain his strength and weight. He only needs rest and good food; he’ll be fine soon!”

Hop Sing chirped his delight in Chinese,
“I take care of it! I cook for Lil Joe his favorite dishes! Number three son be back in shape in no time, and we start right away: Everybody to the table!”

The End