by
Beppina
“Well, look at that,” Hoss Cartwright pointed across the snow-covered hillside towards the shimmering blue of Lake Tahoe, “there’s smoke coming up from that ridge, just shy of the line shack there.”
“Nobody’s supposed to be up here now,” Joe Cartwright twisted in his saddle to have a better look, “Pa said all the hands are either away with their families or hunkered down in the bunk house.”
“Let’s go have a look see then.”
With reluctance, both horses were turned down the snow-covered track, neither wanting to continue in that direction.
“It’s gettin’ colder,” Hoss called back, “an’ icy underfoot.”
“Yeah, too cold to be out. Let’s get there and then go home.”
Taking great care, the two Cartwright brothers edged through the snow-laden pine trees and along the narrow track. The snow had stopped, but now the wind had increased and blew icy needle-like blasts into their faces.
Joe’s face was almost invisible, with his scarf wound around his neck and ears, his thick woolly coat pulled tight to his face, and his hat wedged on his head. Thick leather gloves protected his hands, but now they had begun to feel the bitter cold.
Hoss too, was well-wrapped against the cold. A thick coat covered his bulky frame, making him resemble a big brown grizzly bear. The only giveaway was his tall white hat that covered the substantial wool scarf tied under his chin.
Joe cast a wary eye, first toward the smoke, then back the way they had ridden.
“I’ve got a feeling we’re being watched.”
“Yeah, my head’s itching too. Reckon you could be right, Joe.”
“How long till we reach the shack?”
“At this rate, dunno, half hour or so I guess.”
They were on high alert for any movement or sound out of place. The trees whistled and whined with the wind, but no other sound could be heard.
The horses picked their way through the snow. Cochise stumbled once, then found his feet and carried on.
“Don’t you fall, Joseph, we’ve got to get there and back yet,” Hoss warned, watching Joe calm his fretting mount.
“I know, I know.”
The shack came into view. There was smoke blowing from the chimney. Joe and Hoss couldn’t see any horses, but they could be tied in the lean-to at the rear. Joe pulled his rifle from its leather carrier. He was ready for any trouble. Hoss rode nearer to the wooden building.
“Hello, the cabin,” he shouted in the time-honoured greeting. The door opened a crack, and a shadowed face peered through the opening.
“Who are you, what do you want?” The voice was that of a young woman by the sound of it.
“We saw the smoke, Ma’am, an’ came to see what it was,” Hoss replied, his tone conciliatory, not aggressive.
“Who are you? I’ve got a gun aimed at you, don’t come no closer.”
“I’m Hoss, Ma’am, this is my brother, Joe. We don’t mean you no harm.”
Joe sat back, letting Hoss deal with whoever had taken up residence in the shack. He just kept watch on their surroundings.
A shot rang out in the stillness. Hoss turned to see his brother slump forward over his horse’s neck.
“Joe …” he shouted and turned Chubby back to his brother.
“Stay right there mister,” a thin-faced, young-looking man stood to one side, his pistol aimed at Hoss, “or you’ll get the same treatment.”
“Let me get to my brother, why’d ya shoot him? He’s just sitting on his horse. We ain’t here for trouble.”
“You’re trespassing!”
“Trespassing?” Hoss repeated and moved his mount nearer to Joe. Cochise edged towards Chubby, showing Hoss that Joe was conscious.
“This is our place,” the thin man announced, “you ain’t coming in here and moving us! You can just turn around and ride on out.”
“Well, Mister, we would’ve done, but now you’ve gone an’ shot my brother you’re stuck with us.”
Joe’s horse was now alongside Hoss’s big black, his left side hidden from the thin man’s view. With slow, careful movements, he drew his weapon from its holster, cocking it as he cradled it on his lap.
“I said get!” The man waved his rifle in the general direction of the track Joe and Hoss had followed. His back was turned towards Joe, still slumped over Cochise’s neck.
“I’d put that gun down if I were you,” Joe sat upright, his .45 pointed directly at the man’s head. “I won’t tell you twice!”
Hoss called to the woman in the shack, “You’d best come out here Ma’am and put that pistol on the ground,” his weapon aimed in her direction.
Hoss dismounted. With his .45 still pointing at the woman, he picked up her discarded firearm and then motioned for the man to join his wife at the water trough.
“Get inside,” he ordered, voice harsh and businesslike, “‘n don’t try anything. Joe, you okay?”
“I’ll live,” came back as Joe slid from Cochise’s back, “I’ll put the horses in the corral.”
Putting the horses up wasn’t as easy as Joe thought. The pain began radiating from his shoulder and down his right arm. Moving it up or down caused sharp gulps of air and made him take a few moments to catch his breath.
‘What a time to get shot,’ he thought, cursing himself for not seeing the man standing behind him. ‘Pa’s gonna love me, Christmas with my arm in a sling and in bed if he gets his way. Hope the doc is there when we get home.’
He made his way back to the shack; he’d tucked his right hand into his jacket to relieve the constant ache from the bullet. It was to no avail as pain throbbed in steady time with his heartbeat, which was thudding away quite rapidly. Joe grimaced at the sharp stabbing sensation as it moved across his back and into his shoulder. He fought the discomfort as he approached the shack, thinking, ‘Thank heaven it was my right side, not my left. At least I can still function without too much trouble.’
Joe pushed his way into the wooden building. The heat hit him like a thick blanket, causing his face to tingle as life as blood rushed back to his extremities. The smell of burning wood added to that of the human inhabitants. Could he detect a hint of coffee in the air? He glanced across at the stove and hoped the pot was on to boil.
The fire burnt bright and warm in the pot-bellied stove as it heated the small space considerably compared to the outside temperature.
Joe took in the pair that now sat under Hoss’s watchful eyes; his weapon was now safe in its holster. The girl, who was only about nineteen, appeared small and dainty aside from the slight bump in the front. Her blonde hair pulled up into a neat bun. Her dress looked rather grubby, a sign they had been travelling for a while. The youth looked a little older than she. He was much thinner, with pinched weasel-like features, his hair, short and straight, the colour of dirty dishwater. In Hoss’s opinion, a good meal would not have gone amiss for the pair.
“I’m sorry for shooting you,” the man offered Joe. “I thought you were robbers. I didn’t know you were the owners of this place. We only want to see the winter out.”
“Yeah. Next time ask before shooting,” Joe grumbled. “Hoss, is there any whiskey here?”
“Let’s get your coat off, an’ then I’ll check the stores.”
“I can make some coffee,” the woman volunteered and stood to check the pot that bubbled cheerfully on the stove.
“What’re you’re names, an’ what are you doing up here anyway?”
“Jess Mason, this is my wife, Amelia. We’ve eloped. Got married in California an’ trying to get away from her folk.”
Hoss had by now removed Joe’s outer coat. His green jacket soon followed. Both were damp from the blood soaking through from the bullet wound.
“Let’s get that shirt off, Joe,” Hoss pulled it away from the wound, and blood began to seep down the younger man’s back. “that bullet needs to come out, an’ soon.”
“Can you get it?”
“Dunno.”
Hoss pressed some clean rags against the opening, then ran a hand across Joe’s forehead. Sweat had already formed and glistened in the lamplight.
“You’re feeling a bit warm.”
“It’s warm in here,” Joe snapped back. “Where’s that whiskey?”
Hoss moved across to one of the two bunks placed by the shack walls. He pulled up the mattress and the baseboard,
“Here it is!” He took out a small box and a bottle of alcohol. “This’ll take the edge off the pain.”
A plentiful pour of whiskey found its way into the mug of coffee and was offered to Joe. Gratefully, he took a long drink before leaning back. The taste of alcohol hit the back of his throat and caused him to cough, then went warming its way down to his stomach. The coffee was bitter without sugar, but Joe drank it down and held the mug out for a refill.
“We can’t head back out now. It’ll have to be first thing in the morning. We might still make it for Christmas,” Joe rambled on. The whiskey had gone straight to his head, numbing his discomfort a little.
“That’s right, little brother. We’ll get home for Christmas. Now how about you let ole Hoss have another look at your shoulder.”
“Mr Cartwright,” Amelia Mason stepped forward, “I can help you get that bullet out. I worked with our doctor as a nurse for a while. I haven’t forgotten anything I learnt.”
“That would be useful,” Hoss was non-committal; he did realise it could make the operation a little easier.
The table was cleared, water boiled, and knives were found and sharpened. Joe was fed another generous measure of whiskey. He giggled as Hoss helped him onto the now scrubbed tabletop. His shirt was removed, and the pad covering the wound was discarded.
“Okay, Joe. You gonna lay down for me an’ I’m gonna get that bullet out. Miss Amelia here’s gonna help me. That’s right, you just lay there …”
Joe sighed and stifled another giggle, then rolled onto his stomach. Within minutes, Joe’s eyes were closed, and he was snoring deep alcohol-induced snores.
“You hold him down, Mr Cartwright. My hands are smaller than yours, it’ll be easier for me to find the bullet. Jess, you make sure there’s plenty of cloths when I need them.”
Gripping the sharp blade in her left hand, Amelia Mason placed it at the open wound. The blade moved down with the slightest of pressure while she enlarged the ragged hole. Joe jerked hard at the sudden pain, but Hoss held him still.
Amelia felt for the lump of lead with the thin tongs from the medical kit.
“I can’t find it,” she whispered as she moved to one side to allow more light to flood the still figure. “It’s deeper than we thought. I’ll try with my fingers.”
Hoss closed his eyes for a fleeting moment as she poked about in the bloody wound. He wasn’t a coward, but he did feel squeamish watching the messy intervention on his brother’s body.
“Try angling upwards. He fired up at Joe, not straight.”
Trying again with the tongs, Amelia continued to probe Joe’s shoulder. Too much crimson blood trickled down onto the rags her brother held. The flow worried her as it seemed to increase with every movement she made. She could feel the sweat trickle down her back where her dress now clung. Perspiration lined her top lip and brow as she concentrated on finding the still-hidden lump of lead. Her fingers shook in fear as she probed deeper into the willing flesh. The coppery smell of the fresh blood made her stomach turn and roil. Hoss bit at his lip and drew blood as he imagined what Joe experienced. He wished he could take the pain from his younger brother, but for now, he could only stand, watch, and help as much as he could.
“Found it! Now keep him still, it’s wedged under the bone.” Joe struggled against her actions. The whiskey had worn off, and now Joe was aware of every bone-tingling sensation. He cried out, sounding more like an injured animal than a human being. His face screwed up at the agony he felt as he fought to draw away from Amelia’s ministrations.
“Hold still, Joe.” Hoss encouraged his brother, “It’s almost over. Just hold on boy.”
“Hurts… Hoss,” was all Joe could murmur as he cried out from the excruciating sensations before passing out in a welcome faint.
“I’ll have to grip it with my fingers, it’s too slippery for these tongs. Hold him tight, he may still feel it. Are you ready?”
“When you are.” Hoss swallowed; he could taste Joe’s blood at the back of his throat. The sensation made him heave and want to vomit. He took deep breaths to clear his head and then closed his eyes in a quick prayer that he would not be ill. He nodded to Amelia as she readied herself to continue.
Slicing a little deeper, Amelia enlarged the opening. Joe tried to pull away from the physical intrusion, but Hoss’s bulk held him still. She eased her fingers into the wound. With care, Amelia moved her fingertips until she had located the piece of lead. Holding her breath, she tried hooking it out but failed as the dribbling blood covered the bullet.
“Blast!” She muttered, then tried again. “Got it!” she exclaimed jubilantly, “I’ve got it.” And pulled it free to drop in the bowl at her elbow.
“Pass me that needle and twine,” she ordered Jess, “I’m going to stitch him up while he’s still out of it.”
Half an hour later, Joe was cleaned up, sewn up, and wrapped in a blanket on the cot nearest the fire.
“He needs to sleep. I’ll get us something to eat then I’ll sit with him for a while.” Amelia felt Joe’s forehead and tucked the blanket up over his shoulder. She then crossed to the stove to prepare some soup.
“Well, Jess,” Hoss started, “you sure managed to cause a heap of trouble by stopping here. We have to leave tomorrow an’ you an’ your missus are coming with us. Joe’s in no fit state to travel, but that’s of no mind. We gotta get off the mountain and home. This ain’t the place to be. Come the January snow fall and freeze, I reckon you’d last a week, maybe. We don’t use this ‘un except in real bad emergencies.”
“You gonna turn me in?” Jess asked, “I didn’t mean to shoot your brother, just to scare you both off.” His face was white with worry, eyes wide at the thought of what could happen to him. How would Joe react, could they persuade him that he hadn’t intended to actually shoot him, only scare them off?
“You can ask Joe that, when we get off this mountain.”
Morning came. Cold and freezing. It hadn’t snowed, but the temperature had dropped. Ice had formed on the water trough. The horses were all blowing vapour as they stirred and then munched on the hay scattered in the lean-to. A quick breakfast was prepared while Hoss checked Joe and his wound.
“How you feeling little brother?” Hoss asked as he felt to see if Joe was running a temperature. “We’ve gotta get as far down as we can today an’ make it home tomorrow. Do you reckon you can ride?”
“Yeah, I can ride,” Joe groaned as he tried to sit up. “Dunno if I can ride all day. Geez, have I got a headache. What d’you give me yesterday?”
“Oh, just a bottle of rotgut. It knocked you out for most of it.”
“Thanks, brother.”
After coffee and the last eggs and bread were eaten, the shack was cleaned and prepared for the following user. Joe was bundled up in his spare shirt, jacket and coat. His right arm was tucked firmly inside. The Masons had packed their few belongings into a couple of carpet bags along with any spare perishable food they had left. The horses were soon saddled and ready to set off on their journey back to the ranch house.
Hoss helped Joe mount up, “Any problems Joe, you sing out okay?”
“Yeah, let’s get moving, we’re burning daylight.”
They started along the track, Hoss led, Jess and Amelia behind, and Joe coming up the rear. Neither Joe nor Hoss was happy with that arrangement, but both deemed it safer than one of the others being at the back.
It was a slow, torturous journey. The snow-covered ice made anything other than a walk too dangerous. All four mounts slid and stumbled as they picked their way. Their riders all shivered with the cold and hoped the track would improve as they reached lower ground.
Around three hours after setting off, Joe shouted for Hoss to stop. He needed to stretch a little, and his shoulder was giving him a lot of pain. They rested under the protection of a thick canopy of Ponderosa pines. A pale, insignificant sun fought to shine through the high clouds but failed to give any heat as they huddled together.
“I’ll get some wood; we can have some coffee,” Jess offered, “warm us up a bit.”
Hoss cleared some space and found some dry pinecones while Amelia collected the makings and pot for a hot drink to warm them all.
“You okay Joe?” Hoss asked as he started a small fire, “Come and sit by the fire.”
Joe moved across to his brother and felt the benefit from the beginnings of the flames. The cones popped and crackled as they warmed and were soon burning in the stone ring.
“Tired, cold, hurting. I’ll survive,” Joe grumbled. “I just want to get home.”
Jess reappeared, some dryish wood in his arms. “This should do to heat the water.” He placed it by the now blazing cones. “That looks welcoming.”
In what seemed to be only seconds, the coffee was consumed, and they resumed their trek. The lake was a constant on their left. The water was grey and flat, with no sunshine to brighten the blue. Only odd gusts of wind blowing waves across to the opposite bank created any movement. On their right, stand after stand of arrow-straight pine trees and scrubby vegetation. All were dressed in sparkling white; tiny needles of colour reflected where the light was able to penetrate the dense ceiling. Occasionally, they could see animal tracks, deer or rabbits, out searching for food in the undergrowth. Bird prints as they had picked the berries from the bushes beneath the trees. Joe noticed they had crossed their own tracks from a few days earlier when they had travelled to the North Ranch house. They had taken some small gifts to the family that took care of hands that lived in the bunk house there and some fancies that Hop Sing had prepared for their Christmas celebrations. He hadn’t noticed any smoke that day, or they would have investigated for sure.
Onward they travelled, ever heading downwards. The four weary humans and animals needed to sleep or rest, but it was not an option. They had to keep moving, nearer to the lake and to their destination.
They frequently stopped for Hoss to check on Joe. Who, in turn, grumbled every time he saw his brother ride back to him.
“I’m okay,” he muttered, “let’s get home.” Hoss nodded in acknowledgement, noting the flushed face and tight, white lines around his brother’s lips. He then returned to his place in the lead.
Lower and lower, the party rode until at long last, they were below the snow line and found much firmer ground.
“We ain’t gonna make it tonight. Joe, d’you reckon you can hold out till tomorrow? We should be home by mid-day latest.”
“Guess so,” came the reply, “we stopping soon?”
“Yeah, just a way further an’ we’ll make camp.”
The night was upon them by the time they had pitched camp under a good stand of trees that gave some shelter from the rising wind. Joe almost fell from his mount. He was burning with fever and now unaware of where he was. Hoss pulled his brother to one side, wrapped him in his slicker, and then made him sit against the dry side of the tree trunk. He set Amelia to boil up some coffee and broth and then sat holding Joe close to keep him warm.
The night passed without incident. They all dozed in fitful snatches. Joe mumbled, tossed and turned in delirium, while Hoss bathed Joe’s brow with canteen water and tried to cool him down. All the time, Hoss chattered away, offering encouragement and promising they would be at the house soon. Even with the frosty night air, Joe was burning up. Amelia pulled her blanket around her shoulders and joined Hoss at Joe’s side. She could see just how worried the older Cartwright was by the anxious expression he wore and the way he continued wiping his brother’s face.
“How’s Joe doin’?” she asked, sitting opposite him.
“Burning up. Must be an infection or something I keep trying to get water in him.”
“Let me try,” she offered, taking the canteen from his hands. Slipping a hand under his neck, she eased Joe’s head up just a fraction, then tipped a small amount onto his lips. Reluctantly, Joe swallowed, then sought another mouthful.
“Good boy,” she encouraged him “think you can drink a little more for me?”
Daylight was slow in arriving. The group had packed up and were ready to ride when the watery, hazy sun appeared over the mountaintop. The temperature was around freezing, but there was still no snow. Their progress would not be hampered by the weather.
Joe had recovered a little after drinking the water Amelia had fed him, then had managed to consume some jerky broth. With Hoss’s help, he mounted up, although now he allowed his brother to lead his horse on their journey homewards without complaint.
Jess rode to one side of Joe as Hoss rode the other. Both worried that Joe would slide from his saddle as he swayed with his mount’s movement. He had long since given up holding the reins and clung to the pommel as he slumped across Cochise’s neck. Hoss reached across to steady him on more than one occasion and coaxed him onwards. Amelia followed at the rear as they picked their way through the trees. Now the going was good, the ground firm and much easier to traverse. The lake was ever present on their left, and some open meadowland was before them. Home and help were only minutes away.
Tired and weary, the four horses and riders trudged toward the house. Hoss was dismounted in seconds and shouting for his father and some help to get Joe inside and into the warm. The front door swung open as Ben Cartwright stepped out onto the porch. Hop Sing followed close on his heels. “What happened? Never mind, let’s get Joe in the house,” Ben moved to the now semi-conscious son draped across his mount’s neck. With Hoss’s help, he soon had Joe cradled in his arms. Ben frowned as he took in the flushed and sweating face, and he took a deep breath as he saw the blood-stained coat. The deep red colour showed clear against the blue check. Ben’s jaw clenched tight; his face now rigid with concern.
“I’ve got you, son, you’re safe now.”
“Hi, Pa,” an almost unheard voice whispered, “glad to be home.”
With Hop Sing’s assistance, Ben laid Joe on the sofa in front of the fire. Between them, they stripped Joe of his outerwear and the bloody shirt, throwing it all to one side for washing or repairing. Ben eased his son onto his side just enough to look at the bullet wound. It was clear that it was swollen and an angry red in colour. Thin lines crawled like a spider web from the injury. And it showed how far the infection had already spread. With a sharp intake of breath, Ben frowned at the size of the injury Joe had sustained. He sank to the table top and then stroked his son’s cheek.
“Hop Sing make poultice,” the Chinese cook declared as he rose from the chair-side, “will draw poison out from wound.”
“Have one of the hands ride for Paul,” the worried father ordered, “we’ll do what we can while we wait for him.”
“You will be okay, Joseph. Paul’s on his way.”
Amelia moved to speak, “I did the best I could, Mister Cartwright. “I got the bullet out and cleaned it with alcohol before I stitched it.”
“What happened? How did this happen to Joe?” the question aimed at Hoss, who hovered at his father’s shoulder.
“A bit of a mix up, Pa. Jess here shot him, kind of by mistake.”
“Kind of a mistake? You don’t shoot someone by mistake!” Ben’s voice had increased in volume, fuelled by anger and worry.
“I can explain, Mister Cartwright,” Jess stepped forward into Ben’s line of vision. Jess stood before the Cartwright patriarch. His face was downcast as he studied his boots. Jess wasn’t particularly tall, around the same as Joe if they stood side by side. But now he looked as young as a naughty schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Please do.”
Half an hour later, Ben had heard the whole sorry story. Of their running away and elopement from California. To arriving on the Ponderosa and taking up residence at the line shack and the shooting of Joe. Ben shook his head in amazement at their tale. Enough that they had trespassed onto his ranch and taken up residence in one of the line shacks, but then to go and shoot his son, he was lost for words. When he did speak, his voice was low and calm. It was not a good sign. Anyone who knew him well would have certainly vouched for that.
“You come on my land. You move into my property and then you have the audacity to shoot my son. I’ll have Sheriff Coffee deal with you.”
“Pa, I know it weren’t right, shooting Joe and all, but he helped get Joe back here an’ Miss Amelia here probably saved his life getting that bullet out,” Hoss pleaded on their behalf.
Ben grunted, “That’s as maybe. Joe’s in a lot of pain, through no fault of his own. Where’s that doctor?”
“He’ll be on his way, Pa. You know how long it takes to get to town and back.”
“Yes, I know. He was coming for Christmas dinner and spending the night. I doubt he expected his doctoring services to be needed. I just hope he was already on his way. I’m sure he will get here soon.”
“Yeah, he will be,” Hoss comforted.
“A fine Christmas this has turned out to be,” Ben grumbled, “Hop Sing, how’s he doing?”
“Poultice is helping, but Little Joe still hot. Need fresh water to cool him down. Missy Amelia, you go fetch fresh water from kitchen please?”
Amelia looked around; she had no idea where the kitchen was. Hoss saw her confusion and pointed to the hall leading to Hop Sing’s domain. She was amazed on entering the cooking area. Every surface had prepared food in dishes and bowls. The red and white china was laden with tasty morsels ready for Christmas dinner. The smells made her tummy rumble in anticipation of eating later during the day. Mentally chastising herself for thinking about food while Joe was lying unconscious on the sofa, Amelia filled a small bowl with fresh draw water and hurried back to Hop Sing and Ben.
Joe tossed and turned in the depths of his fever. He could hear voices but couldn’t respond. He wanted to cry out but couldn’t form the words. Joe hurt from his shoulder to his waist. Every movement made sent daggers of agony shooting across his back. A large, meaty hand held him down as he fought to escape the constant pain.
“It’s okay, boy,” Hoss comforted his brother, “Doc’s on his way.”
The sound of a buggy pulling into the yard had Jess run to open the door. “Doc’s here,” he called back as he stepped to one side for Paul Martin to enter.
“Ben, Hoss,” he greeted as he moved to the group surrounding the still-restless Joe. “What have we here then?”
“Thanks for coming out early, Paul. It’s Joe,” Ben moved to one side as the doctor bent to Joe’s recumbent body. He removed the poultice and examined the open wound on his shoulder.
“Let’s get him up to bed, then I’ll see what’s causing the infection. When did it happen?” Paul asked no one in particular.
“Couple of nights back,” Hoss replied, “we got the bullet out straight away, but he started getting bad yesterday.”
With one easy motion, Hoss had his brother up into his arms. With Ben leading the way and Hop Sing following, Hoss soon had Joe in his bedroom and prone on the bed, ready for Paul to set to work on him.
Two hours later, the doctor was sat by the roaring fire. A large brandy in one hand and a sandwich at his elbow on the side table.
“Is he going to be alright?” Amelia asked as she glanced up the stairs, a frown on her face. She was worried. What if Joe didn’t recover? What would happen to Jess and to her?
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Hoss spoke, “Joe’s real tough. How many times have you patched him up, Doc?”
Paul Martin laughed, “I’ve lost count, Hoss. Too many times. And every time he surprises me and recovers in half the time of anyone else.”
Ben appeared on the top landing, “Joe’s sound asleep.” He joined Paul with a glass of brandy, then looked around at those gathered in the room.
“Make yourself at home, Paul. I’m going to sit with Joe for a while.”
“Call me if you need me.” Paul offered as Ben took the stairs two at a time. He then turned to the young couple. He was curious as to their involvement in Joe’s shooting.
Bit by bit, Jess and Amelia Mason retold their story. Paul listened without comment as they poured out their tale of woe. He had ascertained they were both in their early twenties and were from the same small mission in southern California. Amelia’s father was wealthy, whereas Jess’s family were just about getting by. They had met at the mission school as children, where their fledgling friendship had blossomed into a romance early on. Amelia’s father disapproved of Jess. So, they took things into their own hands, ran away and married. Ending up in the line shack had been a lucky break for them as they were ill-prepared for the onset of bitter winter. That Joe and Hoss had chanced upon them had been unfortunate for the runaways. But now they were safe from the inclement weather and would have to remain at the Ponderosa until they could travel.
“I see there is a child on the way,” Paul said, “when is it due?”
“Four months,” Amelia answered, “that’s why we ran away.”
A while later, Hoss took Ben’s place at Joe’s bedside. His father needed a break from his vigil, so he took over while Ben organised food for everyone.
“Hop Sing,” Ben called his cook from the kitchen.
“What do you want?” came the short question as the little cook appeared from his cooking duties, “Hop Sing preparing food for the family, why do you interrupt now?”
“I’m sorry, my friend. I was going to ask you to fix something to eat, but it seems you have beaten me to it.”
The Chinese man grunted, mumbled something about ungrateful bosses, and then returned to the kitchen!
Meanwhile, Joe had woken from his stupor. He realised he was at home, though he had no memory of getting there. His shoulder and back throbbed from the trauma of the bullet wound, operation and infection. Not only did Joe hurt, but he was thirsty and even a little hungry. When had he last eaten or had some water? Joe couldn’t remember. The young man looked around his room. He expected to see his father sitting at his bedside. He was a little surprised to find himself completely alone. Needing to relieve himself, he wriggled until he managed to sit up. He then swung his legs out of the covers and rested them on the floor. If everything were as it should be, the china pot would be just under the bed, ready for his use.
Sweeping the room with his eyes, he soon spotted his pants and shirt. With some difficulty, he managed to get the shirt on. Joe slid his good arm into the sleeve and pulled it across the injured limb to button it. One-handed, he wrestled with his pants until they were pulled up and finally buttoned. Barefoot, Joe reached his bedroom door. Using the furnishings and the wall to support himself, he worked his way to the landing and stopped to catch his breath. Joe felt dizzy and nauseous, his head swimming as he leaned against the wall.
‘Not such a good idea, Cartwright,’ he thought as he fought off the feeling of sickness that now had become overwhelming, ‘let’s get downstairs without falling.’
From the landing, he could hear his father’s deep voice as he spoke with their unexpected guests. Joe could tell by the tone Ben was not amused. It would be up to Joe to intercede on the Masons’ behalf to keep them from further trouble. Hidden from view, he looked down into the spacious living space. This was now dominated by the splendid Christmas tree placed on one side of the staircase. It was almost brushing the ceiling; it was that tall. He and Hoss had spent hours only days earlier dressing it with baubles and beads and popped corn strung across the boughs. Small unlit candles were attached to many branches, ready for a match to set them off. During their absence, Hop Sing had been busy decorating the room prepared for the celebrations. Joe could see from his vantage point just how much the little Chinese man had achieved while he and Hoss had been out visiting the North ranch. Pine boughs were draped over the bull horns above the hearth and fastened along the mantel shelf. Garlands hung from the wall lights, with a sprig or two of mistletoe hung in convenient places. Joe smiled through his pain. Once again, Hop Sing had done them proud.
Gripping the handrail, Joe edged to the top step. He managed down to the landing and then stopped.
“What the… what are you doing out of bed Little Joe? You’re supposed to be sleeping. Come on, let me get you back up to bed.” Hoss reached out and grabbed at his brother, “I left you for five minutes and you’re out of bed. Pa will be mad with you an’ me.”
“No,” Joe refused the help back to his room, “help me down, please.”
Now Ben was at his son’s side, Paul Martin alongside him. Both wore worried frowns as they reached out to the youngest son.
With great caution, Joe made it to the sofa. He flopped onto the seat in a sweaty heap as perspiration covered his forehead and trickled down his face. Hop Sing ran to Joe’s side, a warm blanket in his arms.
“Not get cold, Little Joe, here keep warm with this.”
“Thank you, Hop Sing, could I have something to drink please?”
Ben and Paul bent to check his temperature. Ben was ready to order his youngest to return to his room but held back as Paul did a quick once-over of the specific son in question.
“You can stay right there Joseph,” Paul Martin stated, “you move from that spot, and I will get Hoss to put you to bed. Do you understand?”
Weary eyes met the doctor’s glare, “Yeah, Doc, I’m not moving anywhere.”
“Do you think you can eat something?” Ben questioned, “I’ll get Hop Sing to fix you some eggs or broth.”
“No thanks, I’d like some of Hop Sing’s tea please.”
As if by magic, a mug of the special brew materialised and was in Joe’s hand in moments.
“Drink this, feel better chop-chop,” the little Chinese man bobbed down then up, “very good for sicky stomach!”
Ben perched on the table facing Joe, “I would prefer you to be in bed.”
“I’d rather be down here,” came the whispered response, “it’s warmer and it’s lonely up there.”
Ben nodded, “Very well. We’re going to have a bite to eat. Would you like us to have it here by the fire with you?”
Joe shook his head, then wished he hadn’t, as his headache returned like a dagger through his brain. “No, you go eat, I’ll be fine here.”
Rather than the expected Christmas Day feast, Hop Sing had put together a much smaller roast meal. Ben had instructed him to save whatever possible for another day when Joe could join in the celebrations. Knowing how quickly his son recovered from injuries, Ben guessed it would only be a day or two before Joseph would be back on his feet and raring to go, and in consequence, driving everyone mad in his one-handed frustration.
Joe ate a little of the soft eggs Hop Sing presented him, drank the magic potion and dozed before the blazing fire. The others soon polished off the substantial roast beef meal before them and enjoyed the apple pie dessert. From his cocoon on the sofa, Joe could smell the delicious aroma of the beef and potatoes. He would have loved to have joined them all at the table and partake in the food, but common sense told him it would not settle. When the odour of the apple pie wafted across, it was as much as Joe could do not to ask for a slice. He could hear Hoss tucking in with great enjoyment and felt quite jealous as his stomach rumbled and grumbled to itself.
Due to the circumstances, Ben had left the pile of gifts beneath the bright and laden tree. It was their usual custom to open the gifts after breakfast, but for now, they would do it another day. That was the part of the festivities they all enjoyed most, especially Joseph.
At twenty-four, a grown man, Joe still treated Christmas Day with childlike excitement. Ben didn’t want to miss that moment for anything.
Much later in the evening, all were relaxing before the fire. Joe still slept. His face was calm and peaceful after the trauma of the previous days. No bad dreams disturbed his sleep nor the peace of the family around him. The Masons conversed with Ben, both wanting to show they were not bad people and had not meant to harm Joe. Ben listened further to their history and began to feel his anger dissipate to be replaced by understanding and forgiveness. It would remain with Joe how things progressed, but for now, they were guests in his home and would be treated as such.
Ben glanced across at his slumbering son. He was surprised to see the signs the young man was awakening. Joe mumbled and muttered, then moved to sit up, only to stop and groan as his movement pulled on his injured shoulder.
“Welcome back, son,” Ben greeted as he moved to help Joe into a more comfortable position.
“Uh, oh, hi Pa,” Joe was confused, “I must have dozed off.”
Ben chuckled and nodded as he tucked the blanket back around his son.
“Little brother, you was snoring like an old bumble bee,” Hoss teased.
Joe stifled a grin, “Still not as loud as you, big brother.”
Paul and the Masons smiled at the sibling exchange, “You must be feeling a bit better, young man,” Paul reached across to test his temperature. “Yes, that feels about normal. Well, Joe, you’ve done it again. Your powers of recovery never cease to amaze me.”
“Made of strong stuff us Cartwrights,” came the swift retort, followed by Hoss’s laughter.
Ben, forsaking his own chair, sat beside his son, “Merry Christmas, Joseph.”
“I’m sorry I’ve messed up Christmas, Pa.”
“No mind son. We’ll have our celebrations when you are well. You’re here and you’re going to be fine. That’s all the Christmas I need.”
Joe looked up into his father’s face, “Thanks, Pa.” and allowed Ben to pull him into a warm hug.
“Merry Christmas, little brother,” Hoss called across from the dining room table as he snaffled another small cookie.
“Merry Christmas, Joe,” The Masons added from their seats near the fire, “we’re real sorry but we haven’t any gifts to share.”
Joe sat further upright; a flash of pain filled his eyes but was swiftly hidden as he turned to face them.
“The best gift you could give me is for you to go back to San Juan Capistrano. See Amelia’s father, explain yourselves. Tell them about the baby and see what happens next. You’ll need their help when the child arrives. You do that, and I’ll not let on about you shooting me.”
Amelia and Jess looked long and hard at each other. It would mean going cap in hand to her father. Maybe he would accept things between them, and they could make their life where they had grown up. The other option didn’t bear thinking about. Jess had shot Joe in the back. That, without a doubt, would be a prison sentence.
“Thank you, Joe,” Amelia whispered, “We’ll go home, and tell them about the baby. I miss my family, Jess misses his. We shouldn’t have run away. Should have faced my pa instead of running.”
“Good. I’ll check up on you, too.” Joe grinned. He was happy he didn’t have to involve the law. That the young couple would return to where they belonged. And to have the chance to thrive and prosper in the future.
The rest of Christmas Day passed in a gentle peace. Hop Sing kept them fed and watered. Joe managed another small snack of scrambled eggs but announced he would try a proper dinner the following day; could Hop Sing prepare something special? Paul flashed a look to the cook. With a slight head shake, he indicated that would not be a good idea.
“Wait until tomorrow,” Ben urged, “let’s see how you are first.”
A groan was heard from Hoss. He was happy his brother was on the mend, but he fancied a proper Christmas dinner with all the trimmings.
Much later that evening, Hoss, Paul and the Masons retired to their rooms, leaving Ben and Joe sat basking in the warmth of the still blazing log fire. Joe leaned against his father’s broad shoulder, now tired and needing to go to bed.
“I am sorry, Pa,” he started, “it’s not quite the Christmas we envisaged this year, is it?”
Ben looked down into the emerald-hued eyes. His smile, along with the dancing firelight, brightened the darkness of his own. “I know, son, but you’re home and in one piece. I can’t ask for more.”
Ben ran a gnarled hand through Joe’s wild, dark curls; he took in the tears poised to fall. With an arm around his son’s good shoulder, Ben pulled the younger man close,”You and your brothers are the greatest gift I could ever have wanted. You are my reason for everything, and I love you all very much. Merry Christmas, Joseph!”
The End
Just Joe Bonanza Fanfiction Library 