The Cost of Victory

by janajinbc

I have seen Joe Cartwright furious, worried, frustrated, even scared, but his response in every case is action and optimism. Impossible odds? Jump on in. Impenetrable unknowns? One step at a time. Danger? Acknowledge—or ignore—and move on. Dead ends? Find a different approach. But this is territory I simply don’t recognize. Joe Cartwright looks …beaten. Hopeless.

He doesn’t know I’m watching him and I feel uncomfortable to see him looking so vulnerable. It’s been a hellish two weeks, though, and he’s been carrying a heavy load. My approach is deliberately noisy, and he turns away to lean against the corral, gazing toward a barn he doesn’t see.

I stand back a bit, giving him space, not something I usually think about with Joe. Questions about how he is, what he’s thinking, what we do next don’t seem helpful at this point, so I settle on a simple assurance, trite though it is.

“We’ll find them, Joe. We’ll keep looking as long as we need to.”

“What if we don’t, Candy?” Joe murmured over his shoulder. “What if we don’t? I just don’t know where else to look or what else to do. This whole thing makes no sense.”

Joe had come home from San Francisco two weeks ago after winning a railroad contract for lumber and cattle. He found the Ponderosa empty, no sign of Mr. Cartwright or Hoss, and nothing to indicate where they’d gone. By the time I’d returned from a trail drive the next day, Joe had been to Virginia City and sent wires around, with no luck. No one had seen either of them for days. The day after that, we found the first note tacked to the front door.

That first time, they wanted money, and the demand was specific as to time and place. Joe complied with everything, and we waited that night, hoping it was enough. It wasn’t. The next note demanded that the new contract be canceled and the one after that was for more money. Joe was kept on the go, trying desperately to meet the deadlines and timelines while I tried to watch his back or keep an eye on the drop-off locations. Others, including Sheriff Coffee and a few trusted friends, searched in and out of town hoping to find where the missing Cartwrights were being held. Now, two weeks later, there were no more demands and Ben and Hoss were still missing.

“There’s something odd about it, that’s for sure,” I agreed. “We thought it was all about that railroad contract, but even after it was canceled, other demands kept coming.”

Joe nodded. “And no one knows it wasn’t really canceled. The wires back and forth were between Roy Coffee and the railroad agent. They agreed to the pretense until I get back in contact with them.”

“You know, Joe, it’s almost like this is about you. They’ve kept you running around in circles, watching you jump on demand. You make any enemies on that trip, or before you left?”

Joe was silent. The truth is he’s had no time to think things through at all. There were never any promises or explanations in the demands, just orders that kept him busy all day, every day – and many nights. But two days without contact has changed that. He nodded.

“You’re right. I’ve been thinking about that, too. It’s not about the contract, and I don’t think it’s about money, either. The amounts they asked for were relatively minor. Maybe it is about me.”

And, as quick as that, Joe Cartwright was back. Amazing what hope can do. Gotta admit, I was feeling a lot more energized myself. We don’t have an answer, but we have a direction.

Neither of us is much good in the kitchen, but we threw together some sandwiches and spent the evening batting ideas around and trying to remember Joe’s activities from a month back. Finally, we called it a night, deciding to pick things up again in the morning. I heard him moving around in the middle of the night, though, and wasn’t surprised to see him at his Pa’s desk, coffee in hand, when I went downstairs. He looked like he’d had some productive thinking time. I fetched my own coffee and joined Joe in the study where he was intent on a map spread on the desk. He looked up at my approach, focused and determined.

“I know who’s responsible for this, Candy. You were right. It’s been aimed at me all along.”

Joe described his meetings in San Francisco with the railroad agent and his assistant, Matthew Jenkins. Matthew was apprenticing, learning negotiation strategies, and was given responsibility for several meetings with Joe and the other bidders. He was less than proficient, not surprising for someone new to the process, but became aggressive and angry when his proposals were not readily accepted. He particularly resented Joe, his own age and clearly respected by the other men at the table.

 “Matthew was shut out of negotiations after that; I heard he was demoted to a clerk position. After I closed the deal, Matthew showed up and insisted on driving me back to my hotel. He seemed smug and confident, but I wasn’t paying much attention. Just before I walked away, though, he said it was too bad I’d never be able to fulfill the contract; that I should have stuck to being a cowboy. It was weird, but I ignored him. I shouldn’t have.”

 “It explains everything,” Joe went on. “He’s been watching us and running us from Carson, not Virginia City. He mentioned a property his family owned near Carson City and I bet that’s where Pa and Hoss are being kept. I doubt Matthew would kill them, but he might just leave them to die.”

“Roy is supposed to meet us here this morning. I’ve left a note to let him know all this, but I’m not waiting. Let’s go, Candy. Let’s bring Pa and Hoss home.”

The End