By Bakerj

“I just don’t see the need to go now.” With great patience, Ben repeated his statement for the third time. “It can wait a few more days until after Christmas.”

“How many head could we lose in that time?”

“It’s just one wolf.”

Ben watched his youngest stiffen with the effort to rein in his temper.  “We’ve got a break in the weather. Why not take advantage of it?  I’ll take a day or two, ride up there and do a sweep.”

Ben drew a deep breath and tried to think of another way to word his objections.  He couldn’t understand Joe’s persistence in the matter.  True, the reported carcasses proved the wolf a menace, but why his son felt the need to rush off a few days before Christmas to hunt it puzzled him.

Watching the back and forth between them, Hoss decided to get in on the conversation.  “Aww, Pa, let him go? He’s been cranky as an old grizzly with a toothache this past week.  It’ll do us good to have him out of the house.”

The indignant stare Joe shot at him made Hoss grin, and Ben had to hide a smile behind his coffee cup.

Ben couldn’t deny Hoss’ point.  Memories of arguments and slammed doors rushed back to remind him of Joe’s temper over the last two weeks.  A respite might indeed help.  He put down his cup. “You promise to keep an eye on the weather?”

“Sure, Pa.  Any sign of change, and I’ll head back.”

The harshest winter in years had resulted in them being cooped up for weeks.  It was also the first without Adam.  He’d left in the Spring to travel, and they hadn’t gotten used to the gap his absence left in the household.  The need for fresh air and space crept up on Joe, and his edginess made him itch to get out.  The sudden lull in the rampage of snowstorms and the reports of the wolf gave him the excuse he needed.

The wolf attacks were no surprise. The extreme weather drove the animals deep into the forests, and a lone wolf without a pack would find prey impossible to catch.  The lure of their beeves would be irresistible.  The animal could do a lot of damage.  Couple that with probable heavy winter losses meant the sooner it got dealt with, the better.

*****

The snow, knee-deep on Cochise, made the going slow, and the weak winter sun had peaked by the time he reached the high meadows, even though he’d left his camp before dawn.  Although they moved the herd down to lower pastures in the autumn, some tended to scatter and return, making them an easy target for predators.  He cussed when he spotted the three beeves.  He’d have to round the dim-witted beasts up and move them down.  When he reached for his rope, he froze.  The crack that rent the crisp air and echoed off the trees brought his head around with a snap.  In a flash, he headed toward the sound of the gunshot.

A startling scene met him when he broke through the trees.  Two men were dismounting from their horses.  On the ground, a Paiute Indian writhed in pain.  Next to him, he saw the mangled carcass of one of their beeves, and a few feet behind that, a dead wolf lay stretched out.

“What’s going on here?”

Pulled up short at Joe’s cry, the two turned.  He recognized them.  They worked at a neighboring ranch.

“Joe Cartwright! You got here just in time.  We’ve managed to bag ourselves a thievin’ redskin.”

The second cowboy waved his rifle at Joe in triumph.  “Caught him butchering a steer.”

Joe dismounted and walked past the dead animals.  They told their own tale.  Rips in the hide showed how the wolf brought the steer down before tearing out its throat and feasting on the flesh.  The arrow, protruding the wolf’s flank and blood around its neck where the knife struck, told of its fate.  A man must be desperate to fight a wolf for a half-eaten steer.

“We were just about to teach the Indian what happens when he kills our cattle.”

Joe didn’t hide the scorn in his words, “The Indian didn’t kill the steer.  The wolf did.”  His knee crunched into the ice-topped snow when he dropped beside the injured man.  The Paiute lay still, his eyes fixed on Joe.  “Do you understand me? How bad are you hurt?”

Sneers interrupted him. “Who cares iffin he killed it? The only good Injun’s a dead one.”

The Paiute’s eyes flickered and widened at the words.  He understood.  Joe raised himself with a smooth movement and faced the two men.  His jaw tightened in disgust, but he held his temper in check.  

“Thanks, but we’re on Ponderosa land, and that’s our steer.  I’ll take care of it.”

The two stared at him as if he was crazy.  “You mean you ain’t gonna kill him?”

Joe didn’t take his eyes off the cowboys.  He lived in a world where men could change from smiling friend to foe in a heartbeat.  Who’d stick a knife in your ribs or put a bullet in your back without a second thought.  His handgun tucked out of reach under his sheepskin coat left him vulnerable.  He chastened himself for not pulling his rifle.  At least the men’s pistols were under their coats too.

“That’s my business. You can move along.”

The two exchanged angry looks.  They couldn’t miss the authority in Joe’s tone.  The one holding the rifle moved it in his hands to a position that showed he was ready to use it.

“We heard about you Cartwright’s being Injun lovers. We caught that Injun.  We ain’t letting him go just coz you tell us too?”

The duo pulled themselves up to their full heights.  Big and brawny, they intended to intimidate.  Joe glanced behind him at the man on the ground, injured, desperate, and alone.  He could’ve gotten on his horse, ridden away, and not looked back, but Cartwrights weren’t grown that way.  He pushed back his shoulders.

“That’s right.”

Silence fell.  But it wasn’t a silence of calm, rather the quiet before a storm.  Every one of Joe’s nerves tingled, alert to any move.  The man holding the rifle moved.  Joe sprang, letting his momentum carry them over.  They hit the snow with a soft thud, and the weapon skittered away.  Joe rolled and leaped up, ready to meet the attack of the second man.  He dodged the fist that flew and sent a sharp punch into the man’s abdomen and another to his jaw. The other pulled himself to his feet and took a swipe at the interfering Cartwright.  Joe’s heightened senses warned of the bulk behind him, and he ducked.  The movement of air told him of the blow that had just missed.  Linking his hands into a club, he brought them down onto the man’s back with such force it sprawled the cowboy into the snow.  Snatching up the rifle, he scrambled to cock and level the weapon before they could be on him again.

“Hold it!”  The two froze in their efforts to get up.  “That’s enough. It’s over.  Ride out peaceable, an’ I mightn’t say anything to your boss.”

“All right, we’re going. We weren’t gonna do nuthin’.”

Joe snorted in disbelief.  The pair slunk to their horses.  When they rode off, he called after them, “When you want your rifle back, come to the ranch house to collect it.”

He watched them disappear before he turned his attention to the injured Paiute.  The bullet lay lodged in the man’s shoulder.  Joe grimaced at the blood.

“What’s your name?”  When he didn’t answer, Joe exclaimed, “C’mon, you understand me.”

The man held Joe’s gaze for a moment. “Tocho.”

“Tocho,” Joe acknowledged.  “We need to stop that bleeding and get you to Virginia City and a doctor.”

Long fingers captured Joe’s wrist in a desperate grasp.   “No! Take me home. My people starve.  If I am to die, I die with them.”

“You’re not going to die.  We need to get you to a doctor to get the bullet out.”

“My people do that.  Stop blood and take me to my village.”

“Where is it?”

It took a few questions for Joe to work out its position.  He sat back on his heels and pondered the journey.  It would take around four hours on foot to reach, and it was in the opposite direction to the Ponderosa.  Hesitation showed on his face.  

Seeing Joe’s reaction, Tocho implored, “Stop blood. Take me to village.”

Joe looked doubtful.  “I can bind it up, but I’m not- ”

“No,” Tocho interrupted.  “Use knife, burn wound.”

Joe’s stomach turned.  What Tocho asked wasn’t pretty.  Although he’d seen it done, he’d never done it himself, and he didn’t relish the thought.  But cauterizing the wound would at least ensure Tocho wouldn’t bleed to death until he could be gotten to help.

Finding wood dry enough to light a fire, he plunged his knife deep into the flames. Joe prepared himself.  Removing his gloves, he tore back the Indian’s buckskin to allow full access to the injury.  The blade burned red hot, and Joe drew it from the fire.  Their eyes met.  No words passed between them.  Joe sucked in a breath that went down to his toes and steadied himself.  When the nod from Tocho came, he slapped the weapon flat to the skin.  

Joe would never forget the sound.  Not from Tocho, who made no sound at all, but from the flesh that sizzled under the searing heat. He pressed down hard, making sure to cover the bullet hole. He didn’t want to repeat this ugly process.

It worked.  But the hand that wiped the sweat from his top lip still shook.  Joe took the opportunity of Tocho having passed out to bind the wound with the bandages from his saddlebags.  Then he looked around.  There was no Indian pony anywhere in sight, and Joe reasoned they must have eaten them when the game ran out.  That left him no choice.  He fetched the ax from his saddlebag and set about building a travois.

Seeing the transportation meant for him, Tocho told him with dignity, “I ride.”

Joe jumped; he hadn’t seen Tocho wake up.  He shook his head.  “Can’t risk it.”

“I ride.”

“No.”

“I ride!”

Joe sighed and stared at the insistent man.  “All right, but you’d better stay on.”

“I not fall.”

Joe smiled at the man’s certainty.  He untied the travois and helped Tocho to mount, and their long trek began.

*****

Chenoa waited at the entrance to her wickiup for her husband to return from the hunt.  Tocho and the other men left yesterday morning once again.  Chenoa’s husband was a good man.  Their wickiup always had meat.  But, the cruel winter and the white man had caused the prey animals to flee deep into the mountains.  Now the village starved.  

Chenoa honored her husband.  She’d given him three sons. Although one died two winters ago, the others were strong, but this winter may prove too much even for them.  Its bitter grasp claimed already an old man and a baby.  She turned to re-enter her wickiup when she heard it, the soft shush of many steps on snow.  She stilled, listened, and watched, the white cloud of her breath cutting the air.

Out of the darkness, the animal appeared.  Its white markings reflected off the snow and gleamed in the dark.  At the horse’s head walked a white man.  Proud and erect on the back of the pony sat her husband.  Relief flooded her heart, but she stayed rooted to the spot.  Her eyes widened like saucers.  Behind the horse, three beeves trailed.

Joe made sure to move slow when he led them into the light of the many small fires, surrounded by the little round brush huts the Paiutes called home in winter.  He noticed how Tocho pushed himself upright when he reached his home.  The camp lay still and quiet except for the soft cries of the little children.  From out of the wickiups, the people appeared.  Silent and amazed.  Joe stopped and waited for the Head Man to step forward.

“I’m Joe Cartwright.  I’ve brought Tocho home.  He’s injured.”

The Head Man turned and gave quick instructions.  Two men helped Tocho down and assisted him to his wickiup, where a woman waited to attend to him before turning back to Joe.  “I am Honi.  We have heard of the Cartwrights who are friends of the Paiute.  You bring Tocho back.  Thank you.  You must rest.”

Joe looked around the faces, mesmerized and fixed on the shifting cattle behind him.  He could see the famine and need in their eyes.

“Thank you, Honi.  Before I do, I need to tell you I’m sorry that Tocho was shot.  The men who did it mistook him for a cattle thief.  He wasn’t.  He’d fought and killed a wolf that had been attacking our herd.  Tocho did us a great service.  We owe him a debt of gratitude.”  Joe turned and waved a hand at the animals.  “I’ve brought these beeves for Tocho and his people to repay that debt.”

The elder Paiute straightened his back.  “I accept this payment.”

Without a word, another brave stepped forward.  Joe undid the rope and handed it to him.  The cattle led away; activity began.  Women dived into their wickiups to appear moments later with baskets and knives to follow the animals.  

“Cartwright will stay this night.”

Joe drew in an exhausted sigh.  “Is there somewhere I can take care of my horse?”

With great formality, the Head Man called forth another to do the job.  Joe hesitated, but he didn’t wish to offend and handed over the reins.  He then followed the Head Man to where he would spend the night.

*****

Joe awoke the next day to a leaden sky and an energized village.  One of the beeves butchered already the distributed meat was already cooking.  The smell of stew assaulted his nostrils and made his mouth water.  He gratefully accepted the bowl he was presented for his breakfast.  When the Head Man joined him, he asked in-between mouthfuls, “How is Tocho?”

“Come, see for yourself.”

When Honi and the white man entered, Chenoa ceased her ministrations of Tocho and withdrew quietly to the back of the little round lodge.  She would not shame her husband by displaying his weakness

Tocho held out his hand to Joe, who grasped it.  “Joe Cartwright. Thank you for bringing me home and for the meat.”

Joe grinned.  “You took care of that wolf for me.  It’s the least I could do.”

Chenoa stirred her stew and listened to her husband and the white man talk. They spoke of many things, and the stranger impressed her with his courtesy and respectful manner.

“I have to go now, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

Tocho smiled.  “Joe Cartwright is welcome in my wickiup.”

Tightening the girth on his saddle, Honi approached.

“Stay.  The storm comes.”

Joe scanned the horizon at the Head Man’s words.  He wasn’t wrong.  Dense, low clouds blocked the sun.  Snow clouds.  But, if he stayed to wait out the storm, it could be days before he could leave.  His eyes narrowed, and he weighed up the speed of the clouds.  He had maybe four hours, just enough time.  Anxiety to get home overcame any doubt.  Aside from the worry, his absence would cause, today was Christmas Eve.

“I reckon I can make it.”

*****

Joe cursed under his breath into the scarf he’d wound around his face and then his hat to keep it from flying off in the vicious wind.  You’ve done some stupid things in your time Joe Cartwright but this, this is the dumbest.  

“And why?”  he asked himself.  Because it’s Christmas, came the answer.

He’d almost made it home when the blizzard hit, but that proved small comfort to him now.  Unable to see further than Cochise’s ears, he found his way using sheer guts and Cochise’s sense of direction.  His only option, to keep going.

*****

Chenoa peeked out at the tempest that had raged for hours.  Her thoughts were heavy for the young man who’d brought Tocho safe home and food to their village.  She tugged the skins back in place and whispered, “Great Spirit, watch over the one who brought the gift of life.”

***

For the umpteenth time, Ben returned to the window and looked out at the dizzying whirl of white.  Behind him, Hoss jabbed at the logs on the fire with unnecessary force.

“Dadburnit, why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?  He wouldn’t be out there if I had.”

“You and I both know your brother can take care of himself.”  The anxiety that clawed at Hoss tore at him, but he tried to sound positive for Hoss’ sake.

“Aww, I know that. I just wish he were here.”

Ben smiled at these words.  “Me too,” he replied softly.  His eyes drifted back to the window.  His lips moved, and he sent up a silent prayer to his maker for Joe’s safe return.

*****

Fear burrowed its certain way into Joe’s heart.  He kept moving.  Doubt tore away the edges of his confidence.  Was he going the right way, or even in a straight line?  

This is crazy, crazy. You’ve gotta stop, find some shelter.  But what shelter?  It could be five feet from him, and he’d never know it in this white-out.  Maybe he should stop?  Dig a hole and bury himself until the storm passes.  Yeah, great idea, Joe.  Bury yourself in a grave to freeze to death.  The hideous vision of Pa and Hoss digging his frozen body out of a snowdrift struck him like a blow.  He shook it off, letting the determination fill his soul.  Frozen he might be, but a fire lit in his belly.  It wasn’t the Cartwright way to give up.  He leaned forward and gave Cochise a hearty pat to encourage them both before he shouted over the gale, “Come on, Cooch, we’re gonna make it.”

The flame inside him flickered low now.  The raw, penetrating air turned legs into icy slabs of flesh.  Numb fingers rasped the inside of his gloves, no longer able to feel the reins they held.  The snow-covered pair moved like a yeti through the landscape.  Slumped low over Cochise’s neck, Joe brushed a hand across his face to clear his ice-encrusted lashes.  

“We sure better get home soon.” The moisture of his words froze into his muffler.

When he saw it, he drew Cochise to a halt.  For a whole minute, he couldn’t do anything but stare at the fawn that stood and contemplated him.  Joe squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again.  He almost laughed to see it still there.  Joe’s befuddled mind didn’t question its presence or how the storm eased back around the delicate creature allowing him to see it.  He only had one thought – follow.

He made out the lights first, and then the dark form of the structures emerged.  The sight of the ranch house brought a sob into his throat.  Joe glanced around to see the deer had vanished.  Too numb to give commands, he couldn’t signal Cochise to stop, but the horse recognized its home and halted by itself in front of the house.  Joe sat there.  The wind howled around him, but he couldn’t dismount.  If he moved, he would fall.  He might die right there at his door.  The thought started a giggle deep in his chest.  Then, the door flew open.  He heard his name cried out as strong hands haul him from his saddle.  Hoss carried him inside like a babe and almost ran up the stairs with him.  When he deposited him on his bed, Joe managed to stutter, “C…Cooch?”

Hoss huffed down at him, “Iffin you don’t beat all.  Don’t worry. I’ll get him taken care of.”

Ben watched Hoss go and began to strip Joe of his snow-blanketed coat, before his boots and trousers.

Joe struggled to sit up and take charge. “I can do it, Pa.”

“Sit still.”

Joe wilted.  When Pa used that tone, he didn’t argue.  

His father gave him a look designed to wither him to the spot. “Young man, you and I are gonna have a long talk about what a change in the weather looks like.”

He couldn’t help himself.  Joe burst out laughing.

Joe was still snickering when Hoss returned. He raised his eyebrows and asked, “What’s got into him?”

“How’s Cooch?”

“Hanks takin’ care of him.  Don’t worry, that horse of yours is gonna get treated like royalty.  I’ve told Hank to give him extra blanket and grain.”

“Thanks.”  

Joe yelped at the punch in the arm Hoss gave him.

“Don’t you scare us like that again, you hear.”

Joe grinned and began to squirm.  In the warmth, the circulation returned to his thawing limbs, and with it came agony.  Joe grimaced and stuffed his hands under his armpits, desperate to resist the urge to chew at digits that throbbed and stung.  Hoss saw the move and sympathized.  He understood his discomfort and, yanking out one hand began to massage it.

“C’mon, Hoss, I don’t need- ”

“Aw, shut up.  You know this helps, so quit complaining.”

When Pa started on his feet and legs, Joe accepted he’d lost the battle for his dignity and gave in.  While they worked, Joe explained about Tocho.  He didn’t tell about the fawn, then or later.  Troubled by the encounter, over the next few days, Joe became convinced that he’d imagined it, and he wasn’t about to admit to anyone he’d followed some imaginary creature home.

“You don’t mind me givin’ them the beeves?”

“Of course not.  You did the right thing.”

The massage and warmth of his room worked their magic.  The pain eased, and Joe yielded to his fatigue.

Hoss smirked, “Say, Pa, take a look.  Little brother’s taking himself a nap.”

Ben smiled, tucked the blanket back around his son’s feet, and sent humble thanks for the miracle gift he’d received that Christmas.

*****

Chenoa taught the children their lessons while they sat around the fire.  Stories of Isa, and how his courage and bravery protected the Paiute people, and of his younger, trickster brother Coyote, whose foolishness put them in danger.  She taught about the Great Spirit and the forms he would take; bear, elk, eagle, and deer.  Along with these traditional lessons, she told them the story of the young white man who’d come to their village one winter and brought the cattle that saved them from starvation.  Her hair, now streaked with grey, she continued to tell her stories.  When they were moved to the reservation, she spoke of the white man that respected the Paiute.  Through the dark times, her tale reminded them not all white men hated the Indian, and every time she told it, she gave them the greatest gift of all – hope.

**The End **

December 2019

By Bakerj

Chapter One

A charging bear couldn’t have startled Joe more than Hoss erupting through the trees.  His mouth dropped open.  In his arms, his brother carried a woman.  

Hoss stampeded toward their horses.  “Mount up!  We’ve gotta go.”

Without a word, Joe ran to grab Cooch.  Everything about his brother said ‘trouble’ was on his heels.

***

“We gotta stop!” Joe yelled, and again Hoss shook his head.  “Hoss.  Chub needs to rest.”

“Keep going.  We can’t risk them catching up.”

Joe scanned the disappearing terrain.  The landscape behind them lay quiet and serene, their galloping horses the only movement.  He hadn’t seen a sign of anyone.  Not when they raced away from the stand of trees they’d been marking for felling, and not now.  

He shot another glance at Hoss.  Eyes fixed ahead, mouth drawn in a tight line, shoulders forward, and back stiff, his brother powered Chubb on and showed no signs of easing.  The horse had been running flat-out for almost two miles carrying two riders, and foaming sweat flecked his heaving chest.  Joe pursed his lips and edged Cochise over.

“We’ve gotta stop.  Chubb can’t keep this up.”

“No!”

What the heck?  This wasn’t like Hoss.  But Joe wasn’t taking no for an answer!  Catching Chub’s rein, he hauled both horses to a halt.

“Get your hand off!”

Joe stared into the angry face.  “What’s the matter with you?  You’re killing Chub.”

Hoss looked down at his panting horse.  His grip on the reins relaxed.  Finally, he seemed to be listening.

“Okay.”  Looking around, Hoss pointed through the trees to a creek.  “We can camp there.”

The woman cradled in his arms moved.  Curving away to see Hoss’ face, she spoke, and Joe caught the urgency in her voice, “We can’t stop.”

“Sorry, ma’am.  But Joe’s right.  I’ll get you where you need to be, don’t worry.”

Joe’s curious gaze ran over the woman.  She seemed young, but he couldn’t see much from under the hood of her cloak.  Chubb turned, and he followed, keen to get answers to the questions that plagued him.

***

Chapter Two

“Look, explain it to me again ‘cause I don’t get it.”

“I told you.  She were being attacked.”

“But who were they?  What were they doing out here?”

While he filled his canteen, Hoss kept checking on the woman sitting on his bedroll.  Joe couldn’t understand why Hoss was being so cagey.  It wasn’t every day his brother rescued a girl.  If it was him, he’d tell the story to anyone who’d listen.

Hoss flicked him an impatient look.  “It don’t matter.  All that matters is I rescued her, and she’s safe.”

“Fine.  But what did you mean you’d get her to where she needed to be?”

“It ain’t important.”

“But—”

“Drop it!”

Hoss stomped away to offer the girl a drink.  Joe slammed the stopper of his canteen home.  Maybe she could give him answers?

“Hi.  I’m Joe.”  He took a step back from the hostility in her gaze.  Pulling himself up, he stood his ground and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Maga.”

“Who were the men who attacked you, Maga?”

“Why?”

“Well, did you know them?  Are they gonna come after you?”

“Joe.  I told you to drop it.  Maga’s been through enough.  She don’t need your questions.”

Joe rolled his eyes and watched Hoss walk away toward the horses.  What was wrong with asking the obvious questions and wanting answers?

He glanced back at Maga.  Her eyes stopped him in his tracks.  Except for the golden lights that flickered at their edges, they were a deep, fathomless black.  Mesmerized, he watched the lights begin to dance and grow brighter.  His head started to swim as an abyss opened before him.  He plunged toward it.  A horse whinnied.  Startled, Joe stepped back, breaking their gaze.

“I’ll go help, Hoss,” he stammered and wiped away the sweat on his forehead.

He scurried to his saddle, fighting the sense of panic and need for distance from her.  Untying the ax he’d used for marking trees, he headed out to collect firewood.

***

The ax swung again, its honed edge burying into the wood.  Around him, the signs of the changing seasons revealed themselves.  The leaves of the Aspens showed off their russet colors of fall.  Flowers had closed, retreating to sleep out the winter, and squirrels busied themselves, preparing for the oncoming snows.  The world was the same, but something felt different, out of place, as if he teetered on the edge of a cliff.  The crack from the tool he wielded bounced off the trees and snapped through the air.  Each stroke slammed with determination, cut deeper into the fallen branch, and sliced through the unpleasant feeling curling around his insides.  Joe figured they were stuck with Maga, but so what?  Why did the idea bother him so much?

Gathering the chopped wood, Joe straightened.  The hazy orb of the orange sun sunk toward the horizon, taking the warmth of the day with it.  A fire would be welcome.

Despite the chill, Maga had discarded her cloak revealing the plain, grey homespun dress that fit her slender figure in all the right places.  Raven tresses shrouded angular bony shoulders.  She was both young and pretty, but something about her repelled him.  He’d never reacted this way to anyone, let alone a woman, and it made him uncomfortable.  Yet he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling.

“Pa ain’t gonna be happy we didn’t finish the job.”

Hoss shrugged.  “He won’t mind once he knows about Maga.”

Joe had to agree.  He struck again at the flint held next to the kindling before glancing back at the silent figure.  “Those men rough her up bad?”

The blank look on his brother’s face puzzled Joe.  Slowly Hoss’ hands formed into fists, and the dark look that came whenever he encountered cruelty descended on his face.  “Yeah.  That’s right, they did.  It weren’t right.  Hitting and pushing around a little thing like Maga.”

Joe bit his lip and looked at the girl again.  For someone who’d been mishandled, where were the signs?  Not a bruise or a scratch on that chalk-white skin.  His gaze ran over those smooth locks, not even a hair out of place.

“You ever gonna get that fire going?”

Pulled back to his task, Joe shot Hoss a quick smile and pushed his concerns away to concentrate.

***

Chapter Three

Hunched over his plate, Hoss ate in silence.  Joe wondered about the change in his talkative, affable brother.  Ever since he returned with Maga, he’d been acting like a different person.  The story they’d told him didn’t ring true, and the suspicion he was being lied to, like a greenhorn being sold a lame horse, wouldn’t leave.  But why?  Why would Hoss make up something like that?  With Maga there, it was impossible to ask.  Her presence felt like a wound between them that couldn’t be touched.

When Hoss took the dishes to the creek, Joe followed, seeing it as his chance to talk.  Sloshing their tin platters in the water, he watched Hoss do the same with the pot. Hoping to lighten the mood, he said, “My cooking ain’t improving.  We’ll hav’ta talk Hop Sing into coming with us next time.”

To Joe’s relief, Hoss chuckled.  “Imagine Pa’s face if he weren’t there to make him breakfast.”

Joe gave a mock shudder.  “Yeah.  I’d rather eat my beans.”  They both laughed.  Glad to see Hoss relax, he ventured his next question.  “Don’t you think it’s strange that Maga didn’t get bruised?”

“Huh?”

“Well, for someone who got beat up the way you said, she’s not gotta mark on her.  Don’t you think that’s—”

Hoss lurched and grabbed Joe’s collar to pull him onto his toes.  Cut off, Joe yelped and gaped into eyes that glittered with fury.  Their faces almost touched, and the shadows from the dusk deepened the angry lines marring his brother’s face.  Joe swallowed, for the first time unsure what Hoss might do.

“You calling me a liar?”  Hoss didn’t wait for an answer.  With a flick of his wrist, he shoved Joe away.  Joe toppled back and landed in the creek.  Freezing water hit his skin with an intensity that drove the air from his lungs and soaked his pants and coat.  “Stop questioning me about Maga.  I helped her, that’s all.  If that ain’t good enough for you, ride out and camp somewhere else!”

“Hoss — wait!”  But Joe called out to empty space. 

Worry now piled on top of his questions.  His brother had always been a man who took the long road to losing his temper.  What was going on?

After hauling himself out of the icy water, Joe collected the scattered dishes and squelched back to camp.  He flung a resentful look at his brother.  “That weren’t funny.  You got me all wet.  I could freeze to death.”

Grabbing some lumps of wood, Hoss tossed them on the fire.  “There.  Now quit your whining.”

Joe scowled and started to strip off his sodden clothes.  When he got down to his drawers, he turned to reach for his blanket to preserve his modesty and jumped.  At the firelight’s edge, Maga stood watching him.  With her cloak wrapped tight around her sinewy frame, she appeared almost one with the blackness.  Only her waxen skin shone in the firelight and the gold of those eyes that gleamed like an animal’s. 

More than the cold made him shiver, and he rubbed himself warm with the blanket before spreading his pants and long johns to dry.  By the time he huddled beside the fire, Maga’s scrutiny burned the back of his neck.  He turned and asked, “Something wrong?”

“No.”  Joe almost recoiled at her smile, but at least she slunk back to the fire.  Settling on the blanket, she asked Hoss.  “You’re sure we’ll reach the town tomorrow?”

“Town?”

Maga ignored his question.  “And there are lots of people there?”

Hoss nodded, “Virginia City is chock full of people.”

Joe looked from Maga to Hoss.  “But we’re heading home tomorrow, right?”  He winced, hearing the desperation that seeped into his question.

Hoss poked the fire.  “You can.  I promised Maga I’d take her to Virginia City.”

“You can do that later.  Let’s get home first.  Tell Pa what’s happened.”

“You can do that.”

“But Pa will want to meet Maga.”

Maga’s hand drifted to Hoss’ arm.  “There’s no time.”

Joe strained to hear her words, spoken softly for Hoss’ ears only.  Baffled, he asked, “What d’you mean?”

When Maga turned to him, Joe shifted and looked away, avoiding her gaze.  Her hand closed around his brother’s arm.  The stick Hoss held between his fingers snapped.  “I’m taking Maga to Virginia City, and there ain’t nuthin’ to talk about.”

Joe dragged his blanket tighter, hunched a shoulder at the pair, and threw himself down against his upturned saddle.  If Hoss didn’t want to tell him what the heck was going on — fine!  He’d had enough.

***

Chapter Four

The penetrating cold reached into Joe’s mind and pulled him awake.  One eye cocked open to see the dying embers of their fire.  Grumbling to himself, he sat up.  Hoss must’ve forgot to stoke it.  With a look of irritation at his brother’s sleeping form, Joe grabbed wood off the pile and tossed it onto the fading pyre.  Sparks spiraled into the sky and lit their camp.  The sudden glow revealed an empty place.  He looked up to see Maga’s thin form fading into the trees.

Most likely, she was slipping away to take care of personal business, but this was a dangerous area to wander alone at night.  Someone needed to go after her and see she didn’t get into trouble.  He pondered, waking Hoss.  But with the mood big brother was in, Joe thought better of it.

He twitched his blanket back and followed in the direction he’d seen Maga go.  Moving to the edge of their camp, Joe halted, allowing the dark to pull back and the moonlight to take over.  The welcome glow of their fire receded as he moved further into the forest.  Why would she go this far to pee?

Around him, the silence and trees pressed in.  Above their swaying heads, the moon snatched chances to punch its brilliance through the heavy canopy.  Its light played with the shadows and shimmered against the trees in silvery pools.

He spotted Maga ahead and opened his mouth to call her name.  The word died unspoken.  Her gliding form moved with purpose deeper into the woods.  Curiosity aroused, he decided to keep his presence unknown.  Staying low, he crept behind her and didn’t hesitate to follow when she broke through the tree line and moved out into a clearing.  When she stopped, he dropped to the ground.

The moonlight lit the space and rippled in soft waves over the raven hair of the unmoving girl.  Anticipation sang within Joe, and he quivered like a bowstring.  What happened next made him gasp.  Undoing the buttons of her dress, she drew it off her shoulders to let it gather at her feet.  Underneath, she wore no camisole, petticoats, or drawers, and the move exposed her nakedness.  Breasts and buttocks glimmered as moonbeams caressed her skin in soft puddles.  Joe dropped his gaze, and shame castigated him for spying on her.  But how could he know she’d strip buck naked?  Uncertainty washed through him.  He squirmed at the trouble he was in.  Revealing his presence would mortify her.  But would there be any chance of sneaking back to the tree line without being spotted?

Before he could decide, Maga’s fingers went to work again.  This time they dug into the flesh at her collarbone.  The hairs on the back of Joe’s neck rose.  His breathing quickened.  The same way he’d skin a rabbit, she peeled off her skin.

Joe’s eyes squeezed shut.  This couldn’t be happening.  People can’t — don’t remove their skin!  He had to be dreaming.  That was it, a dream.  The dark pushed back the shock.  His mind calmed as his breathing slowed.  The woody, acrid smoke from the fire tingled his nostrils, and the warmth radiated off his cheek.  Rhythmic snores from his brother mingled with the wind that feathered through the treetops.  He was still in camp, and this was just a dream.  

Then he opened his eyes.

At her feet lay the pale mask Maga had removed.  In its place, cadaverous tissue, slick like decaying mushrooms, stretched tight over bone and sinew.  Long, spine-like claws dripped toward the ground from the fingertips of a creature that resembled a human in shape alone.

His stomach lurched, and he swallowed the fear that rose in his throat.  The wind shivered through his hair, tightening his scalp.  He dug his fingers deep to burrow out of sight, releasing the pungent scent of pine, earth, and rotting organisms.  When he flattened further, twigs pushed their sharp prongs through his pants into his flesh.  The snap of one brought Maga’s head around. 

Predatory eyes scoured the clearing.  Maga (could he even call it that?) dropped to all fours.  Elbows and knees splintered out into the dark at piercing angles.  Joe’s eyes widened when the creature moved.  Jerking so fast from one place to the next, he didn’t see it leave the last.  It was like the phantasmascope he’d seen in San Francisco that took a picture of a horse and made it run.  The entity jolted like the images did when the carousel first turned before it blended into fluid movement.  Every judder brought the nightmare closer.

“Stay put.  Don’t fly like a duck and give yourself away.”  His brother’s words raced around his head, fighting his instinct to run.  He clung on and pushed himself flatter.  Cold sweat slivered down his spine.  Taut muscles trembled from the tension, but like one of Medusa’s statues, he lay frozen.

The creature stopped.  The silence that hung in the air was total.  Joe thought it couldn’t help but hear the thud of his heart against his chest, so hard his ribs hurt.  Maga crouched lower, and the air thickened until he could taste the malevolence.  When the tips of her flowing mane touched the ground, a breath of horror shuddered over his lips.  Long fingertips like black molasses bled out to spread over the ground, engulfing the earth and swallowing the light.

He pressed his cheek hard into the bracken and shut his eyes.  The movement from beneath made him open them.  Beside him, the undergrowth heaved.  He shifted his hands.  Under and over them, every bug imaginable scuttled and scurried.  Spiders’ delicate legs fluttered over his skin in their stampede to evade the expanding blackness, which clawed closer and closer.  Joe hitched his breath.  Inches away, any moment, the probing tips would discover him.  Then — they stopped.

Nothing stirred in the clearing.  No sound whispered on the breeze to indicate a living soul lay hidden or something else crouched motionless and waiting.  Only silent prayer echoed in the heart of one, but it didn’t disturb the aching stillness.

The ink-black fingers retracted.  Finally, Joe dared to lift his gaze.  When the spectral form receded, it took with it the foulness that had permeated the air.  Joe filled his lungs and waited to be sure Maga wouldn’t return.

He crawled back to the trees.  Pine needles shifted and dug into his palms with every inch won with low, cautious movement.  Once under their cover, he stood.  Then he turned and bolted for camp.  

***

Chapter Five

“Hoss!  Wake up.  We’ve gotta go.”  Joe grabbed Hoss’ shoulder when he protested and tried to swot him away.  “C’mon.  We gotta leave.  Now!”

Hoss sat up.  “What’s going on?  Where’s Maga.”

“That’s why we’ve gotta go.  It’s Maga!  She’s – I don’t know what she is, but she sure as hell ain’t human.”

“What?  Joe, you ain’t making sense.”

Joe was grateful that despite his protest, Hoss stood.

“Don’t ask questions.  Just believe me.  We gotta go.”

Hoss nodded.  Thanking God that big brother wasn’t arguing, Joe turned.  Eyeball to eyeball with him was Maga.

Palms slammed his chest, lifting him off the ground to send him flying across their camp.  Before he could recapture the breath knocked out of him, Maga pinned him down.  Rapier-like nails punctured his coat, and her lips drew back over jagged fangs.

Joe ripped his gaze from the terror that loomed over him to his brother, who stood motionless watching.  “Hoss!”

Twisting her neck in a way no human should, Maga laughed.  “He won’t help you.  He’s mine.  He’s taking me to the people.  But you, I don’t need.”

Hoss hadn’t moved, and Joe gave up on any help.  Under his coat, ice-cold fingers fumbled for his colt.  “What are you?”

“The last thing you’ll ever see.”

The teeth plunged toward his neck.  Joe’s fingers squeezed.  Point-blank, he fired into the creature’s chest.

Maga toppled forward.  Shouldering her aside, Joe freed himself and scrambled to his feet.  The hand that wiped his top lip shook so hard it barely made contact.  He staggered over to Hoss.  His brother stared at nothing, and Joe gave him a shake. 

“C’mon, buddy.  You’ve gotta snap out of this.”

The relief when Hoss looked at him disintegrated when his brother’s gaze shifted and focussed on something behind him.  Alarms clanged through Joe’s head like the sirens from a mine cave-in.  He swung around.  Not fast enough.  Hurled aside, he landed on the fire.  Flames engulfed him.  He kept rolling, scattering the woodpile before coming to a stop.

In a blur of obsidian, the creature pounced.  Joe’s muscles cracked, holding the vile, seething mass at bay.  He wanted to turn from the blazing eyes that burrowed into his head and the breath that tore the back of his throat with its foulness.  Hope drowned in fear.  Without help, he was going to die.

“Get off him!”  

Freed from the assault, Joe looked into his brother’s blue eyes.  His heart leaped.  Hoss was back!  

The creature swirled around, and Joe yelled a warning.  Too late, it sprang and toppled Hoss to the ground.  Joe reached for his gun but halted.  A bullet hadn’t killed it before.  Why would it now?  

He scrambled to his feet and almost tripped over the handle of the ax left by the wood pile.  Snatching it up, he buried the weapon into the writhing back of the creature.

A shriek split the air.  The creature’s arms thrashed, but it couldn’t dislodge the ax.  Then it swiveled.  Joe staggered away from the contorted face that fixated on him.  The world tilted when he caught a log with his heel and tumbled backward.  Like a spider towards its prey, the monster advanced.  Joe pulled his gun to have it knocked aside.  Silence embraced their camp when Maga hung suspended over him.  She smiled to relish her victory.  His chest heaved, and his fingers groped for a weapon — anything he could use.  They closed around the burning bough like a falling man clutching a ledge. 

They both moved at once.  Joe drove the torch into the monster’s face.  He hadn’t expected much and what happened next horrified him.  The flame erupted, engulfing the creature.  Sitting up, Hoss stared back at him.  Together they watched whatever Maga had been combust before them.  

In a few seconds, nothing but ash remained.

***

Chapter Six

Pa looked at them with bemused anxiety and Adam with open skepticism, but they were determined to finish their story.

They’d packed and left the camp, arriving home disheveled and still spooked.  It wasn’t until they’d washed up, climbed into clean clothes, and eaten that they’d settled down enough to tell their tale.  

Joe recounted his part while Hoss looked on with a frown before adding, “All I remember were checking the trees, and then, there she was.  Those big eyes of hers staring at me.  After that, it was like sleepwalking.  I could hear myself talking, but I had no control.   Little Joe, I’m sorry.”

Joe waved a dismissive hand.   They’d already had this out on the ride back.  “I told you, forget it.  I just wish I knew what she was and where she’d come from?”

“I can think of one solution.  You know what the night before last was, don’t you?”  The intensity on Adam’s face caught their complete attention.  Entranced, they sat forward to listen.  “All Hallows Eve.  The night when the veil between our world and that of ghosts and ghouls is at its thinnest.  A time when dark creatures can break through to wander the earth.  Ravaging it at their will and consuming the flesh and souls of men.”

The words uttered with spectral emphasis turned both men pale.  

“You don’t think?”

Joe shook his head.  “I don’t know.  Whatever she was, she sure didn’t come from around here.”

Adam rolled his eyes, shut his book, and got up.  “I prefer to listen to Edgar Allan Poe’s advice, ‘Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear.’  You two idiots should try doing the same.”

“Now, wait a minute.  You saw our coats.  They were clawed to ribbons,” Joe protested.

“I’m not denying you were attacked by some animal but as to the rest?”  Adam snorted and continued up the stairs.

The look Joe exchanged with Hoss told him he felt the same about their older brother.

Ben chuckled.  “Think I’ll turn in too.”  Stopping at the stairs, he asked, “You two didn’t put something in your food?  Y’know, by accident?”

Hoss’ eyes popped wide.  “Pa!  We didn’t eat loco weed, iffin, that’s what you mean.  We know better than that.” 

“Well, whatever happened, I’m just glad you got back safe.”

Left alone in the great room, Joe crossed his arms.  “I don’t think they believed a word.”

Hoss blew out a breath in disgust.  “We know different.”

Joe tightened his arms and gazed into the fire.  “I guess we’ll never know what Maga was or where she came from.”

“No, but I’ll tell you one thing.  Next All Hallows Eve, I’m stayin’ right here.”

Joe nodded in agreement, and they fell silent, brooding on what they’d seen.  When the logs on the fire collapsed, sending sparks exploding up the chimney, they jumped.  

Hoss got up.  “That does it.  I’m for bed.”

Joe glanced around the room.  Shadows flickered up the walls and lurked in every corner.  Jumping up, he dashed after his brother.  “Wait for me!”

The End

October 2022

By Bakerj

Chapter One

I couldn’t stop the blood.  It bubbled up between my fingers no matter how hard I pressed.  My chest pumped like I’d run a mile, and I needed to focus hard to hear Pa’s calm words.

“Little Joe.  Fetch some napkins.” 

He’d had to repeat his instructions before I heard him.  It took every ounce of determination to remove my hands.  When I did, my heartbeat increased along with the flow of red liquid.  I scrambled to the dresser, yanked open the drawer, and grabbed a handful of the neatly folded clothes.  I turned back to the chaos of the room.  Blood was everywhere.  On the floor, furniture, walls, me.  How had this happened? 

*****

Hop Sing visiting relatives in Chinatown meant we were on kitchen duty when the hammering came on the door.  I’d thrown Pa a look that said, ‘I wondered who that could be,’ and left him to put away the last dish while I answered.

Mordecai Wright shoved me aside as he barreled through the door.  Rifle in one hand, he pulled his daughter in behind him with the other. 

He bellowed for Pa, who came out from the kitchen.  “Mordecai.  For heaven’s sake, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you, Ben Cartwright.  Your son has defiled my girl.  Take a look.”

He pushed Ruth ahead of him into the middle of the room.  We both stared.  Dragged out without a coat, I could see how the poor girl shivered.  Arms wrapped around her, head down, she curled in on herself.   

Pa’s jaw locked.  His gaze snapped from Ruth back to her father.  “For God’s sake, man.  What are you talking about?”

Mordecai reached forward and pulled Ruth’s arms down.  “Let them see your shame.  You can’t hide it anymore.” 

Ruth’s loose homemade dress could no longer disguise the swelling underneath.  I turned my head and dropped my gaze.  Pregnant and without a husband was the worst situation a girl could land in.  But Mordecai was plain wrong about Adam or Hoss.  They would never do such a thing.

Pa stepped forward.  “Are you saying one of my sons is responsible?”

“There’s going to be a wedding today, and he’s gonna make things right by my girl.”

My mouth dropped when Mordecai swung his musket and pointed it at me.  A rush of panic swept through me like the breath I sucked in.  “Pa …  I swear—”

Pa’s raised hand cut me off.  “I know, boy.  Mordecai, Joe wouldn’t do this.”

“Are you calling my girl a liar?”

Ruth wrung her hands together and moved toward me.  The desperation in her eyes pleaded with me.  “Joe.  Please.  Help me.  You promised.”

What was she saying?  I’d never touched her, let alone promised her anything.  Then I remembered the day we’d all gathered at a neighbor’s house for the Christmas service.

Returning from the outhouse, I spotted Ruth sitting alone.  I’d always had a soft spot for Ruth.  Her ma died when she was ten, yet her Pa didn’t give her a drop of affection.  We hadn’t been best friends, but I’d kept an eye out for her.  I even fought off a few bullies at school.  I’ll never forget the delicious cookies she’d baked to say thanks.  I’d decided to check on her.

“Aren’t you cold?  Come inside.”

“Is the service starting?”  Her voice was soft and tremulous like a mouse that crept through the house afraid of the cat.

“Not yet.”

“I’ll come back in when it does.”

I sat down beside her.  “Something wrong?”  Ruth drew up her knees and tucked her skirts around her thin legs with her little, bony hands.  “Hey, we’re friends, ain’t we?” I prompted.  She smiled, but the bleakness of it touched my heart.  “You can tell me.”

Leaning forward, she rested her chin on her knees.  “Have you ever been in love?”

The question took me by surprise.  Since I’d turned fourteen, girls had shown an interest in me.  At sixteen, I enjoyed talking, flirting, and especially kissing girls, but … love?

“No.  I guess not.”

“Pa never lets me talk to men.”

“Well, I guess he’s being protective.”

“I’m fifteen.  Old enough to wed.”

“That’s still pretty young.”

“Pa says men only want one thing, and they’re all liars.  Is that true?”

“I guess some men are like that, but not all.”

“I didn’t think so.”  I was glad to see her smile.  But as soon as it appeared, it vanished.  Tears pooled in her eyes.  “Would you help me, Little Joe?”

“Sure.  How?”

“Not now.  But, maybe, in the future?  If I’m in trouble, would you help me?  Even if it was big trouble?

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“You promise?”

Of course, I promised.  Heck, how much trouble could a little thing like Ruth get into?  Now I knew.  I began to feel sick.

“Ruth.  I can’t.  I’m sorry.”

“But … you promised.”

The look of rejection on her face increased my nausea, but no way was I taking the blame for her baby.  The sudden movement at my side made me turn my head, straight into Mordecai’s rifle.  I went down like a sack of potatoes.

The light danced around me.  My vision cleared enough to see Ruth on her knees at my side.  Her face scrunched and anxious.  Sounds buzzed in my ears in waves that made no sense.  Odd words filtered through the haze, ‘decent, liar, truth.’

Mordecai’s voice rose over Pa’s.  “I don’t care what you say.  That bastard ruined my girl’s honor, and he will make it right.”

Pa turned to the quivering girl at my side.  “Ruth, please.  Tell your pa the truth.”

I tried to lift my head, to move, to add my plea to Pa’s. The spinning room stopped my efforts.

Mordecai moved to the door.  “I’m taking them to the preacher.  He’s gonna say, ‘yes’ to my girl, or I’ll put a bullet in him.” 

Pa tried again.  “Let’s calm down and talk about this.”

He leveled the musket at Pa.  It was typical that Mordecai still carried an old Springfield and not a carbine.  But I’d seen men fire off three shots in under a minute with one of those, so I didn’t take it any less lightly.

“You try and stop me, Ben, and as God is my witness, I’ll put a bullet in you too.”

Ruth jumped to her feet.  “Stop it, Pa!  Joe ain’t lying.  It wasn’t him.”

“What?”

“I lied.  I was scared to tell you the truth.  It wasn’t Little Joe.  It was Bobby.”

“Bobby Harper?  That no-account drifter I let work for us?”

“He weren’t no drifter.  He was on his way to a job, and we love each other.”

“I shoulda known, seeing the way you mooned over him.  Didn’t I warn you?  He’s like all men, after one thing.”

“That ain’t so.  Not all men are like that.  Bobby wants to marry me.  Once he’s fixed up, he’s gonna come back for me.  He promised.”

“You believed that and let him touch you without a ring on your finger?”

“He weren’t lying.  He’s honest and kind, and gentle.  He told me.  He truly loves me!”

“You stupid, little whore!”  The slap sent Ruth staggering back.  Pa reached forward to steady her.  “You couldn’t wait to let a man bed you.  What did you do?  Bring him into my home behind my back?  Soil my house with your fornication?”

Ruth wrenched away from Pa.  Fists clenched.  She glared at her father.  “No!  We fucked in the barn like animals!  We did it every chance we got, and I liked it!”

“You filthy harlot!”

The quiet following the explosion that buffeted off the walls was tremendous.  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the ragged hole in Ruth’s back.  Around it, her yellow dress turned scarlet.  Then she breathed one word, “Papa?” and collapsed like a rag doll.

Pa swayed and dropped to the ground next to the sofa.  “Dear God.  What have you done?  You killed her.  You’ve murdered your daughter.”

Mordecai didn’t reply.  A frozen monolith, he stared at Ruth’s body.  Then, with grim determination, he set the butt of his musket on the floor and began to reload.  Terror crushed my chest and robbed me of breath.  My eyes darted to the credenza.  I hauled myself over, and my fingers groped for my gun belt.  Behind me, Pa yelled at Mordecai, asking what he was doing.

I didn’t stop to wonder why Pa didn’t move.  All I knew was that I couldn’t let Mordecai hurt him, but he’d already rammed his shot home and filled the frizzen pan with powder.  I freed my pistol from its holster as Mordecai pulled the cock back, swung the weapon around, and put it in his mouth.

This time I jumped when it went off.  Hair, skull, brains, and blood hit the ceiling, walls, and door.  I’d never seen a man with the back of his head blown out before.  I never wanted to see it again.

“Little Joe.  Joseph!”  I pulled my gaze around to Pa.  I frowned.  The way he leaned against the end of the sofa wasn’t right.  My eyes traveled down.  The hand pressed into his side ran red with blood.

Now, here I was, holding cloth after cloth over the hole in my father’s side that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

*****

Chapter Two

“We’ve gotta get you to the doctor.  I’ll hitch the buckboard.”

Pa’s hand closed over mine, holding me in place.  “I’ll never make it the way I’m bleeding.  The bullet needs to come out, and the wound cauterized.”

I stared at Pa, and my insides twisted into knots.  I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth.  “I don’t think I can.”

“Yes, you can.  I trust you.”

I took a breath.  He was right.  It had to be done, and there was no one else.  I clamped down my panic.  Pa wouldn’t bleed to death because I didn’t have the guts to help him.

My hands shook while I pumped water to put on to heat.  My heart beat so hard I felt sick.  I’d seen Pa and Hoss do what I was about to, and Hoss talked me through the process the last time.  But watching wasn’t doing.  Dammit!  Why had Adam decided to negotiate changes to the timber contract?  If he hadn’t insisted on Hoss going because he would be ‘less of a distraction,’ I’d be in Placerville now.  Hoss would be here to help Pa.  Instead of a dumbass who couldn’t stop his hands from shaking.

I grabbed the medical chest and went through the knife drawer to find the two I needed, a wide flat one and a smaller sharp one.  I tested the blade with my thumb.  Was it sharp enough to …?  I decided not to take the chance. 

Using the front door meant moving Mordecai’s body, so I slipped out the side door from the kitchen.  The sharp morning air hit my skin like a slap, and my stomach somersaulted.  I made it to the side of the house before I retched.  The knife stayed clutched in my hand while I hung onto the side of the house and lost my breakfast.  When it was over, I slammed my back into the wall for support and bit down on my lip until the wave of dizziness passed.  I had to pull myself together.  I couldn’t afford to be weak now.

After staggering to the trough to throw water on my face, I sat down at the whetstone.  The treadle pumped under my foot.  I didn’t think about what I would be doing with the knife.  I’d break apart then and there if I did.

I’d gathered all I needed.  It was time to get back to Pa.  I went to pick up the bowl of hot water and froze.  Revulsion rose in my throat.  I grabbed the lump of lye soap by the sink and scrubbed my hands.  The pump rose and fell so fast it rattled in protest.  I washed until all traces of blood had vanished.  My cuffs and sleeve were soaked.  That didn’t matter.  I folded them up before going back to the table and collecting the bowl.

*****

I was ready.

Pa’s eyes met my gaze, and he could see the fear I failed to hide.  He squeezed my arm.  “You’ll do fine.  I’ll talk you through.”

Unable to trust myself to speak, I pursed my lips and gave him a feeble smile.

I removed the cloth to expose the hole where the bullet had entered my father’s body after passing through Ruth’s.  I needed to make it bigger and picked up the knife I’d sharpened.  The blade hovered over the wound.  My hand began to tremble.  Like a miracle, when I needed them, Hoss’s words returned to me, “You can’t be shy about this, Little Joe.  They’re already hurtin’, so don’t worry about what you’re gonna do.  When you cut, make it firm and steady.”  I took a breath, tightened my grip, and positioned the knife.

Pa did his best to hide the pain I inflicted on him, but his back arched like a bowstring when I slid my finger into the wound.  It was all I could do not to pull back.  That would have meant starting again.  I couldn’t have dealt with that.  So I kept pushing.

I probed for the bullet and tried not to think what I was feeling were Pa’s insides.  Then my fingertip touched the hard shell of the ball. 

“I’ve found it.”  Blood followed the withdrawal of my finger, filling the hole.  I grabbed the forceps.  The bullet rose through the sea of red like a breaching whale.

“Good … good.” Pa’s words were snatched like the breaths he was taking.  “Now, clean the wound and stop the bleeding.”

Mopping away the blood, I grabbed the whiskey from the medicine chest and poured it into the hole.  Pa stiffened, but I wasn’t done.  I reached for the blade that glowed red hot in the fire.  We looked at each other.  I don’t know who was breathing harder, him or me. 

“Ready?” I asked.

“Press down firm,” he instructed.

I did.

*****

Chapter Three

With the bandage tied, I grabbed the blankets I brought down and covered Pa.  “Would you like a whiskey?”

“Thanks.”

Handing the glass to Pa, I watched him down the contents before adding, “I’ll clear this stuff away.”

I made it to the kitchen table, where I dumped the bowl down and sank into a chair.  Pa’s scream reverberated around my mind, and the smell of his burned flesh filled my nostrils.  I stared at the quivering fingers that could inflict such suffering.  Bile filled the back of my mouth.  I fought it down.  My hands entwined, and I prayed.  I prayed for strength, that Pa would be all right, that there wouldn’t be any infection.

When I returned to the room, Pa opened his eyes.  He took one look at me and frowned.  “Take care of that wound.”

“What?”

“Your head.”

My hand went to my forehead.  The injury surprised me, and I winced when my fingers found the cut.  But any bleeding had stopped.  “It’s fine.”

Pa shook his head, but he was too exhausted to argue and closed his eyes again.  I looked around the room.  Something needed to be done with the bodies.  I trudged up the stairs and pulled a couple more blankets from the chest in the hall.  I turned my head away when I flung the blanket over Mordecai. 

Ruth’s eyes were open, and I closed them before covering her.  My heart broke at the waste of these two lives.  I’d promised to help her.  Why hadn’t I?  Ruth and her baby would still be alive if I’d gone along with the lie. 

I scrubbed my hand over my face.  God, I was tired.  Tilting my head back, I gathered my strength.  The room was a mess, but that would have to wait.  Getting Pa to the doctor came first, and Mordecai had to be moved.  I grabbed his legs and hauled him away from the door.  When I yanked it open, the sight of his buckboard sent me slumping against the door frame with relief.  I could use it and save valuable time.

Once I’d finished loading hay, blankets, bandages, and canteens into the back, my head pounded fit to explode.  I pressed my palms tight against my skull as if that would hold it together.  I needed to shake it off.  We were ready to go, and I wasn’t about to let a headache delay us.  I went to collect Pa.  

*****

“Pa, please, lean on me.”

“But ….”

“You gotta.  You won’t make it if you don’t.  I can take it.”

We made it outside.  After some awkward maneuvering, I got Pa into the bed of the buckboard.  I frowned at the beads of sweat on his brow and the crease on his forehead.  I wished I could take his pain away.

When I jumped back down, my knees almost buckled.  I managed to stay upright only by clinging to the wagon.  I cut a look back to make sure Pa hadn’t seen.  His eyes were closed.  He’d missed the whole thing.

I hauled myself onto the seat and gathered the reins.  As I raised my hands, I cursed at what I’d forgotten.  The effort to climb down again almost made me forget the whole idea, but I couldn’t go without leaving a note.  There was a good chance my brothers or Hop Sing would return before we got back. 

My scrawled message propped on the credenza, I gave one last look around the room.  The idea of abandoning Ruth and Mordecai didn’t sit well.  But what choice did I have?  They were beyond mortal help, and Pa was more important.  I closed the door behind me.

*****

Chapter Four

The road down the mountain was rough. I had Pa well-padded in the back amongst the hay and blankets, but that wasn’t enough to save him from being tossed around.  Plus, I was driving an unfamiliar team.  I caught my bottom lip between my teeth and focused. 

Pa taught me to drive a two-up at ten and Adam a four-up at fourteen.  From them, I learned the how.  Hoss, however, taught me intuition. 

“It ain’t about knowing.  It’s about feelin’.  You gotta pay attention.  Listen to them reins.  If they tense or start to jiggle, settle that team down.  Horses can go from nervous to flat-out panic in a flick of a cat’s tail, an’ once you lost them, you ain’t never getting back control.”

My head jerked up.  The slackened reins between my fingers had allowed the team to pick up too much speed.  Cursing, I tightened my grip easing them back.  Not too fast.  Slow was the key.  Too quick, and the team might spook.  Sweat pricked my top lip as I adjusted the pull on the leather.  Bit by bit until they were back to a walk.  A breath shuddered through my lips, and I chided myself for almost dozing off.  It couldn’t happen again.

The road continued to drop away, and I worked hard to keep the team at a steady pace.  White-hot pain lanced down my neck and across my shoulders by the time we hit the flats.  My brain pulsed, smashing my skull. 

I drew to a halt and reached for a canteen.  I squeezed my eyes shut to clear my blurred vision before taking a gulp and dousing my head.  I hoped it might help.  It didn’t.  Pink drops of water ran down my face.  I wiped them off and clambered into the back to offer Pa a drink.  My stomach lurched.  His flushed face betrayed the fever that gripped him.  I held the canteen to his trembling lips and breathed easier to see him swallow.  I soaked a bandage to cool his skin before grabbing another blanket to tuck around Pa’s shivering frame.  I wanted to stay right there with him, but Pa needed that doctor. 

*****

Hotter than I’d ever known it, the spring sun beat down, sending rivulets of sweat down my neck and back.  I peeled off my coat, allowing the breeze to cool and dry the droplets on my skin.

Dust coated my mouth and turned my throat raw.  I wanted a drink bad, but I needed the water for Pa.  Every time I stopped to rest the horses, I gave him some and doused the bandage again.  All I could do was brush the stinging salty moisture from my eyes and keep going.

The steady drum of hooves and rattle from the harness became the journey’s song.  Every mile harder than the last, I fought the hypnotic rhythm that threatened to seduce me into merciful sleep.  The breaks to take care of Pa kept me focused.  I had one job, one goal.  Get Pa help.

Knives pushed deep between my shoulder blades into my back by the time Genoa came into view.  My excitement traveled to hands blistered and red from the leather and sweat, allowing the horses to break into a faster trot. 

I thumped on Doc Martin’s door and yelled for help. 

“Little Joe?  Good Lord, what’s going on?”

“Pa’s been shot.  You gotta help him.”

“What?  Wait.  What happened to your head?”

“Nuthin’!  I’m fine.  You have to take care of Pa.”  I brushed his hand away with impatience and dragged him through the door. 

Once he saw Pa, Doc galvanized into action.  He called for help to carry Pa inside.  I trailed behind.  The fireworks in my head were getting louder.  They took Pa straight to the doc’s examination room.  I stood in the doorway and watched him undo the bandage.  Around me, the world took on a pink hue and tilted in and out.  The thrum in my ears increased.  Doc Martin turned toward me.  His lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear one word.  Then, it all went away.

*****

Chapter Five

I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar room and Doc Martin. 

“What happened?” I asked.

“You passed out.  Thanks to that knock to your head.”

“How long?”

“You’ve slept twenty-four hours straight.”

“What?”

A hand on my shoulder restrained my upwards jerk.  “Whoa there!  Take it easy.”

“Where’s Pa?  Is he all right?”

“Your pa’s fine.  The fever’s down.  But what I want to know is, did you drive from the Ponderosa with that head wound?”  I winced when he slapped away the hand I put up to feel my head.  “You leave that alone.  I’ve put a few stitches in there, and you’re not messing up my good work.”  

“Sorry,” I mumbled.  “Can I see Pa?”

I entered the doc’s little recovery room.  Evening sunlight basked the interior in a warm glow and illuminated the bed.  When he saw me, Pa smiled, and the weight pressing on me lifted.  He held out a hand.  I grasped it and sat on the edge of the bed.

“How are you?”

“I’m good.”

Doc Martin explained, “I found a tiny piece of cloth embedded deep in the wound.  Most likely from your Pa’s shirt.  That’s what likely started the fever.  But I removed it before infection set in.”  The doc patted my shoulder when I groaned.  “You did a fine job.  You saved his life.”

I shook my head, feeling like an incompetent fool.  The squeeze Pa gave my hand cheered me.  “When can I take him home, Doc?”

Doc Martin chuckled.  “Let’s give it a few days.  I don’t want to risk opening up that wound.”

The image of the bodies lying on the floor of our home came back to me.  “I’ll have to go, Pa.  To take care of things.”

A shadow crossed Pa’s eyes.  He understood what I meant.  “Go via the East camp.  Get a couple of men to help.”

“Okay.”  I bit my lip and glanced at the Doc.  He took the hint and excused himself.  When I looked back at my father, his intense gaze rested on me, wondering what was wrong.  “I’m sorry.  This is all my fault.”

“No … son.”

“Yes, it is.  I talked to Ruth at Christmas.  She asked if I’d help her if she ever got into trouble.  That’s why she came to me.  If I’d just stood by her, like the friend, I said I was.  Lied about the baby.”

“It was too much to ask.”  Pa’s words helped but didn’t convince me.  He laid a hand over my knee.  “No one’s to blame except Mordecai.  He’s the one who should’ve stood by her.”

“Do you think he was sorry?  Is that why he ….?”

“We’ll never know.  But, yes.  Once he realized what he’d done, I believe he couldn’t live with himself.”

Did it help to know that?  Maybe later it would.  Right now, Pa being okay was enough.

We spent the evening together.  Pa wasn’t up to much, so I passed the time by reading to him.  Mrs. Martin brought us supper, and with my appetite back, I tucked into my stew with relish.  Pa watched me with envy in his eyes as he spooned down his broth.  I didn’t stay late since he was tired.  I took the book and returned to my room to read.  The morning would come soon enough, and I wasn’t looking forward to the task that lay ahead.

*****

I slept late and threw on my clothes in a guilty rush.  Pa didn’t mind my oversleeping, and we ate breakfast together. 

We talked about my going home, and he told me again to fetch help from the East camp before adding, “And if you want to wait with the burial ….”

“No.  It’s okay.”

Clamoring voices outside caught our attention.  I grinned at Pa.  Adam and Hoss had arrived.

My brothers hurtled through the door like hound dogs in heat.  Adam spotted his quarry – me!  “For heaven’s sake, Little Joe!  If you’re going to leave a note, at least leave one we can read, and that makes sense.”

Following them in, Doc Martin jumped to my defense.  “That’s enough, Adam.  Joe suffered a nasty concussion yet still managed to save your father’s life and get him here.”

I leaned back in my chair and allowed myself to enjoy the moment.  It wasn’t often older brother found himself on the wrong foot.  His humility didn’t last long, being swept away in the bombardment of questions.   But I needed to know one thing.

“What have you done with them?”

They stopped talking.  For a fleeting moment, their faces reflected their reaction to the sight they walked in on when they arrived home.  I got why Adam had bitten my head off.

He answered, “I’ve had them taken back to their place to be buried next to Mrs. Wright.”

Having that taken off my hands was a relief.  But I made a silent vow to visit Ruth as soon as possible.  “Sorry about the mess.”

Hoss squeezed my shoulder.  “You took care of Pa.  That’s more important.  We left Hank and Tex cleaning.  The place should be spick and span when you get back.”  He then fixed the doc with his penetrating gaze and asked, “When can we take ‘em home?”

I laughed.  We, Cartwrights, were all the same.

*****

Epilogue

I answered the door and smiled at the somber, young cowboy standing on our porch.  “Can I help you, mister?”

“My name’s Bobby Harper.  I’m hoping you folks can tell me what happened to Ruth Wright.”

*****

The warm breeze stirred my curls.  My nostrils filled with the smell of the earth, rich with the scent of pines, aspen, cow parsnip, yarrow, and buttercup.  It seemed strange to enjoy the last pleasures of spring after passing on the news of a person’s death.

Pa’s elbows came to rest next to mine on the uneven wood of the rail.  I wasn’t surprised that he’d joined me. 

“Did we do the right thing?” I asked.

Pa’s arms slipped around my shoulders.  “I believe so.  Knowing about the baby and what happened to Ruth would only have brought him guilt and pain.  However, a sudden, quick illness?  He can accept that and move on.”

Pa was right.  It was enough for Bobby Harper to know he’d lost his love.  The rest would’ve been a burden.  If we spared him that, all to the good.  Deep inside, I held onto the guilt of letting down a friend.  Never would I let that happen again.  If a friend needed me, I’d be there no matter what. 

That was a promise I pledged to keep.

** The End **

May 2022

By Bakerj

Joe finished bedding down the horses and gave the barn one final check.  As usual, his gaze lingered a few seconds longer over the empty stall where Chubb had previously stood.

Turning up his collar, he raced towards the house.  Joe didn’t stop to admire the stars glittering in the clear night sky, the air being too bitterly cold for stargazing. Besides, it was Christmas Eve, and he was needed to help decorate the Christmas tree.

The tree had almost been forgotten.  Bringing one home was a tradition for the Cartwright brothers, ever since they were old enough to go into the forest without Pa and bring it back alone.  But this Christmas, the first since they’d lost Hoss, Alice, and his unborn child, somehow, it hadn’t been mentioned.

The night before, Joe had caught Jamie looking wistfully at the spot where the tree traditionally stood, and the realization of what had gone unspoken hit him. Guiltily aware that respect for his feelings was probably the reason for the oversight, he cleared his throat.  “Y’know it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow.”

“Yes?” Pa prompted when he didn’t say anything more.

“Well, don’t you think it’s time we went and got the tree?”

“You mean it?” Jamie asked.  A grin spreading over his face.

“Sure.  We’ll go tomorrow morning.”  Joe looked at his father, “You wanna come?”

“Oh no.”  Flinging up his hands, Pa chuckled, “My days of chopping down Christmas trees are long gone.  Besides, you boys have always done it by yourselves.”

So now, a fine tree stood in the living area, waiting to be decorated.

Joe had left Pa, Jamie, and Candy to bring down the decorations while he took care of the barn chores.  By this time, they’d have them all ready and waiting for him.  Shrugging off his coat, he became aware of the commotion in the room.  Pa, Jamie, and Candy seemed to be turning out every box of decorations spread around the room.

“Check that box again, Jamie.  It must be here somewhere.”

Joe heard the hint of desperation in his father’s voice and caught the look from Jamie, which clearly said, Help!

“What’s up?” he asked.

“We can’t find the star,” Jamie explained.

Joe’s face fell.  The star.

Memories of last Christmas came flooding back. The Angel that had adorned the top of the tree for over thirty years had finally broken. Bought by his mother her first Christmas on the Ponderosa, everyone had been upset at losing such a treasured piece.  Hoss had saved the day by carving a Christmas Star and presenting it to Pa. 

It was a beautiful piece of carving, and Hoss was rightly pleased with it.

“It’s the best thing I ever whittled,” he’d told them.  “But something kept telling me I needed to make it special.”

Joe remembered how Pa had run his hands over the wood feeling its fine shape, lines, and curves, so impressed and proud of his son for carving such a fitting replacement for the angel.  It had been a handsome addition to their tree.  It can’t be gone too!

“I’ll go check in the attic. Don’t worry, Pa, I’m sure it’s just fallen out of the box.”

After turning up the lamp, Joe checked the area where the boxes of Christmas decorations had stood. Finding nothing, a sense of panic began to take hold.  Dropping to his hands and knees, he started a closer search of the floor.

His chest tightened when failure met his efforts.  He grabbed boxes and tossed them aside while sweeping his hand over the split, rough, wooden boards.  He began to move in a frantic circle when his foot pushed and nudged a large chest.  Glancing back over his shoulder, he stopped and let out a sigh of relief.  The movement revealed one of the points of the star from under the trunk.

“There you are,” he muttered with satisfaction.

Still, on his hands and knees, he shuffled over to the box.  To his annoyance, when he reached for the star, rather than catching hold, he only pushed it further under the chest.

Kneeling up, Joe realized what was inside this box.  Chinese lanterns and ribbons. The last time they’d used them had been on his wedding day. He didn’t care if he never saw those lanterns again.  Putting his hands to the heavy chest, he gave it a firm shove.  With a shudder, it moved over the wood, revealing the star and…

Joe dropped back on his heels.  Touching the star was a small leather-bound book.  The book of verse Alice had since a child. He’d last seen it on his wedding day.  She’d carried it all that day, and he remembered how upset she had been when she couldn’t find it afterward.

His hand shook when he picked it up and turned it in his hands to caress the bumps and cracks in the soft brown leather with his thumb.

The terrible fire had consumed everything, leaving him with nothing of hers.  Nothing to hold, nothing to cherish, and now, here was this most treasured possession. 

Joe’s gaze fell again to the Christmas star.  Hoss’s star had led him to Alice’s book.  His fingers tightened around both precious objects, and he clutched them to his chest, head bent as tears began to brim in his eyes.

“Thank you, Hoss,” he murmured.  “Thank you for my gift.”

Around him, the dust motes dancing in the gleam of the oil lamp stilled and froze like snowflakes in a painted winter scene.  Perhaps it was merely a shift in the air and the whisper of the wind in the rafters, but in that moment, he felt that familiar hand on his shoulder and the soft voice in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Punkin.”

Releasing the breath he held, the moment was gone, but his heart swelled with warmth.

Getting up, Joe tucked the book into his pocket and headed down to his family.  When he reached the top of the stairs, he called out with joy, “It’s all right, Pa, I found it.  I found the star!”

***The End***

December 2018

By Bakerj

He was still miles from home on Christmas Eve, but he couldn’t return empty-handed, not again.  His family depended on him, and the thought of facing them with failure on his lips. No. He couldn’t, wouldn’t do it.  Not again. Bad enough the specter of starvation in his children’s eyes, but Mary was too good a woman.  She never looked at him with disappointment or said a word of reproach.  Somehow, that made it worse.

He pulled his horse up when the ranch house came into view.  Why was he here?  He wasn’t sure.  No.  That wasn’t true. 

On his way back from his futile trip to find work in Placerville, the conversation overheard in Virginia City returned to him.  The men, laughing and joking how the Cartwrights had been to town and bought up half the store for their Christmas party.  That’s when he’d turned his horse toward the Ponderosa.  Rich men in a big house.  Rich men with money he didn’t have.  Yeah.  He knew why he was here.

*****

“Dadburn you, Little Joe.  You throw another snowball, and I’m liable to knock you into next week!”

Joe’s merry laugh got louder seeing the grin Hoss couldn’t keep from his face.  He turned back to the job of shoveling while contemplating how long to wait before getting Hoss again.  A pile of snow descended on his head.  He let loose a yelp!  Falling on his butt, he squirmed as frozen sludge slipped past the woolen collar of his coat and down his neck.  Behind him, Hoss roared with laughter.

Joe spun around.  The look in his eyes backed Hoss away fast.  His hands held out in front of him.

“Hold on, little brother.  Don’t go doing something you’ll regret.”

“Oh no.  I’m not gonna regret this one bit.” 

The smile that accompanied these words had his brother searching for an escape route.  Escape didn’t come.  Instead, he found Pa on the porch with his arms crossed.  That familiar look on his face warned them they were heading for trouble.

“Oh, hi, Pa,” Hoss uttered with a feeble smile.

“Aren’t you two a bit old for snowball fights?”

Joe scrambled up and brushed off the snow before standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Hoss.  When dealing with Pa, brothers stuck together.  He gave him a brilliant smile.  “We’re almost through clearing the snow to the barn.  Look … see?” 

With his best cherubic look on his face, Hoss nodded in agreement and asked,  “How’s Adam?”

Little Joe glanced at Hoss with approval.  Mentioning older brother was the perfect distraction.  Adam had been laid up for two weeks with a chest infection.  Today was to be his first day out of bed. 

“Good.  His chest is still clear, and he’s downstairs.  So you two hurry and finish.”

“Anything you say, Pa,” came the united reply.

Hoss set down his shovel and announced, “I’m done.  You coming?”

“I’ve just gotta tidy a couple of things in the barn.”

“Don’t be too long.  Hop Sings been baking those special Christmas cookies all morning.”

“Don’t you eat them all!” Joe called and turned, racing to the barn like a kid again. 

Joe loved Christmas, and he wasn’t too old to admit it.  Everything about the season excited him.  He enjoyed the anticipation of what he was to receive and the expression on his family’s faces when they opened his gifts.  He reveled in the family traditions he’d taken part in ever since he could remember.  Bringing home and decorating the tree, nailing the socks over the fireplace, and tonight, they’ll all be listening to Pa read the Christmas story.  The only difference?  He’d settled down to hear it with a glass of brandy rather than a mug of hot chocolate. 

He especially enjoyed the tradition of their annual Christmas party, which had been held two nights ago.  He leaned on the rake and bit the corner of one lip, letting the memory return.

     He welcomed their friends and neighbors and heard their ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ when they saw the great room transformed.  Conifer boughs decorated with colorful paper bells and stars hung from the mantle, rafters, and banisters.  Thinking ahead, Joe had made sure to entwine mistletoe within their spiky fronds in strategic positions.  The Christmas tree stood decked out in finery, like a princess attending her first ball.  Strung with popcorn and shiny ornaments, it shone from the glow of the candles.  The smell of the pine mixed with the heady fragrance of the rum from Pa’s best punch, which sat on the table groaning under the food Hop Sing had spent the last three days preparing. 

     The room filled to bursting point, and Joe soon shed his jacket in the heat.  Conversation and laughter rang in the air.  They’d pushed back the furniture to allow space for dancing, and the thuds from the boots pounding on the wood floor almost drowned out the musicians.  Old Jake gave him a wink every time they were about to play a waltz, and Joe swooped in on another pretty girl.  He encircled her slim waist with his arm, holding her close while they spun around the floor before making good use of his mistletoe.  He didn’t need the punch for the intoxication of the event to capture him.

What a party it had been.  But, the idea of those cookies disappearing off the plate brought him back to now and powered Joe through his chores. 

The creek of the barn door caught his attention.  He turned to look.  No one was there.  He stood and watched for a moment before dismissing it with a shrug.

Joe picked up the bridle.  The supple leather ran through his fingers only to stop when they came across the piece of encrusted dirt he’d missed.  He grabbed a cloth.  The rough material worked at the clump until it crumbled away to dust. 

Satisfied, he went to hang it on the peg when the noise brought his head back around.  His eyes narrowed when they rested on the wooden doors that hung motionless.  There was no mistake.  He’d heard something this time.  Staring, he scoured the gap for a movement, a shadow, something to reveal someone was lurking.  He smiled.  Was it Hoss trying to sneak up on him? 

The vision of his brother relaxing on the settee, stretched out to warm his toes on the fire, popped into his mind.  Who was he kidding?  Once settled, nothing could move that Missouri Mule.  He’d be chowing down on Hop Sing’s cookies for sure.  Breathing in, he could almost smell those baked circles of deliciousness, the sharp tang of ginger, the spicy comfort of cinnamon, and the sweet enticement of molasses.  The thought made his mouth water and drove everything else from his mind.  

Joe hung the bridle on its hook.  Glanced about to give the barn one last check, then gave Cooch’s rump a triumphant pat when he headed past him out the door.

“Don’t move, and keep your hands where I can see them.”  Finding the business end of a gun pointing straight at his chest, Joe did as he was told.  “Back up.”

The man wore rough work clothes and a shabby coat.  His muffler wound around his face hid his features.  He’d pulled his hat well down for good measure, but that voice was familiar.  Joe frowned in the effort to place it.

“What do you want?”

“We’re going to the house, and you’re gonna do exactly what I say.  Y’hear?”

Joe’s gaze fixed on the only visible part of the man’s face, his eyes.  It couldn’t be!  Bob Rickles was one of the miners at the Ophir Mine when Adam got buried in a cave-in.  He’d worked alongside Hoss to dig Adam out after everyone else had given up.  Pa had made sure to meet all the men, and Joe had been right beside him to thank them.  But whether right or wrong, Joe decided now wasn’t the time to speak out.

“Whatever you say.”

*****

The wall of hot air hit Joe when they burst into the house.  Frigid wind swept through the door past them, but that wasn’t what froze the looks of horror on his family’s faces.  It was the muzzle of the pistol pressed against Joe’s chin.

“Don’t move!”

It was a needless instruction.  Once on their feet, none of them intended moving.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Pa demanded.

“Hand over your money.”

Hoss stiffened.  His fists curled into tight balls.  “Mister.  You don’t wanna be doing this.”

Terrified his brother would try something and get himself killed, Joe almost gasped with relief when Pa put his hand on Hoss’s shoulder.

“That’s right.  You do like I tell you, and nobody gets hurt.”

Pa gestured and said, “The money’s in the desk.”

Joe’s captor dragged him back so he could view the office.  “Get it.”

His father moved with caution.  Cold sweat trickled down the man’s face onto Joe’s cheek, stress tightening the muscles in the arm wrapped around his neck.

The tin box clattered on the desk.  Pa grabbed the bundle of notes and moved back, proffering the money.  “Here.”

“How much is that?”

“Three hundred dollars.”

“What?  I heard you Cartwright’s had thousands.”

Pa’s hand dropped a fraction in dismay.  “I don’t keep that kind of money on the ranch.  This is all I have.”

There was a beat when everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath.  Then, the arm around Joe’s neck jerked. 

“Take it.”

Pa edged forward, allowing Joe to reach.  He did his best to return the reassuring smile his father gave him.

“What shall I do with it?”

“Put it in my pocket.”

Joe fumbled around to slide the money inside.  His fingers touched something else – a small wooden animal. 

His captor snapped, “Hurry up.”

Pulling out his hand, they backed toward the door.

“We’re leaving.”

Shock surged through his family.

“No!  Wait.  I don’t care about the money.  You can have the money.  I give it to you.  Just don’t take my son.  I promise we won’t come after you.  Just leave him here.” 

Joe dared not move.  Would Pa’s heartfelt words work?  The man’s muscles eased.  Joe’s gaze shot to meet Pa’s, excitement growing in his chest.  Then hope died. 

“More cookies!”

The thief whirled to face Hop Sing, who appeared from the kitchen.  His arm tensed and cut off Joe’s windpipe.  The muzzle against his skin twitched.  Joe’s heart leaped to his throat.  This guy was wound so tight he’d pull the trigger by accident.

“It’s only my cook!”

The fear in Pa’s voice halted Hop Sing and pacified Joe’s captor.  Although allowed to breathe again, Joe knew his chance of release had passed. 

“We’re going.  I’ll let him go soon as I’m clear.”

“No, please.  I meant what I said.”

“I ain’t taking chances.  The kid’s coming.”

Pa’s face darkened as he pulled up to his full height.  “All right, but you get one thing straight.  You harm my son, and I’ll find you.  There won’t be any rock small enough on this earth for you to crawl under where I won’t find you.  And, God help me, when I do, I’ll kill you.”

Joe knew Pa would never kill a man in cold blood, but, damn, at that moment, he believed it.

When they backed again, Joe glanced at Hop Sing to see his stricken expression.  His heart went out to the man.   No way was he leaving his friend thinking all this was his fault.  He mustered up a smile and a wink. 

“You come after us.  I’ll kill him, y’hear?”

On those parting words, they left the house.  Pa’s gaze stayed with him until the last second.  This was turning into one hell of a Christmas.

*****

Riding two-up, Joe found himself crushed into the saddle horn in a position that went beyond uncomfortable.

Life could sure turn on a dime.  Yesterday had been the best of days. He’d been enjoying a sleigh ride with his girl.  That morning had been just as beautiful. 

     Turned to crystal by the sun, the snow dusting the trees sparkled.  The air was heavy with the scent of wood and pine needles.  So sharp you could almost taste it.  The sleigh cut a line through the pristine snow.  As it whooshed along, the air rushed past, turning their cheeks rosy red.  Joe didn’t mind the chill since Milly cuddled closer, allowing him to steal some kisses.  The blanket spread over their knees hid her hands, and they roamed places they wouldn’t normally dare go.  Joe had to work at focusing on his driving.  Pulling up to admire the view, he tied off the reins and gathered Milly into his arms.  Now, he’d make good use of his free hands-

The sharp jab of the gun muzzle in his back shattered his reverie.

“I’ve gotta rest this old nag.  He ain’t used to carrying two.”

Covered by his captor’s gun, Joe dismounted and moved to a handy rock to seat himself.  The fresh pile of snow provided a cushion between him and the granite.  He perched himself with care, keeping his coat between him and his pants.  The last thing he needed was a wet butt during the long walk home.  Joe turned up his collar and waited for the other man to climb down.  Not that he was about to try anything.  Three hundred dollars wasn’t worth risking his life over.  But this was his chance to do some talking.  Bob wasn’t a bad guy.  He’d taken a wrong turn, that’s all.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Huh?”

“Rob us.  Why?”

“What do you care?”

“Guess I wonder what makes a family man take to thieving.”

“What makes you think I have a family?”

“That toy animal in your pocket.”

Bob’s hand closed around his coat where the wooden object nestled.

“I got tired of watching my kids go hungry.  That’s why.”

“Why the heck didn’t you tell us that?  My pa’s never turned away a hungry man.”

“Easy ain’t it, for rich folks to hand out charity.”

“A helping hand ain’t charity.”

“Some of us won’t be beholden.”

“You’d rather steal than accept a little help?”

“I’ve got some pride left!”

“Pride!  C’mon, Bob, that makes no sense.”

“You know me?”

Shit! 

Bob jumped up and stared at Joe.  “You know me?” he demanded again.

“Yeah.  I know you, and I know you’re a decent man.”

The hand that yanked down his scarf shook, and his voice filled with panic.   “This weren’t supposed to happen.  You weren’t supposed … I can’t let you tell the sheriff.  Mary and my kids would find out … ”  The light in Bob’s eyes hardened and turned to stone-cold murder.  “I can’t have you telling.”

Now he’d done it.  They’d gone beyond the theft of three hundred dollars.  This was about a man keeping the respect of his family, and Joe stood between him and that goal.  He doubted promising to keep his mouth shut would make much difference. Hands raised to his side Joe inched upright.  The gun leveled at him wasn’t one of the new Colts like his, but an old Smith and Wesson.  Big, clumsy, and inaccurate.  Jumping aside would likely get him shot as standing still. 

“I was wrong about you.  What does it take to turn a man from thief to murderer?”

“You gotta understand.  I don’t wanna shoot you, but you ain’t given me no choice.”

“You be sure and remember that when you kiss your kids goodnight.”

Joe stared into the soul of his would-be murderer.  The breath in his throat slowed as the air around him crystallized.  Nothing moved while he waited for the finger on that trigger to squeeze and send death to greet him.

*****

His father turned first.  When he saw them come around the barn, he cried out his name before leading the stampede toward them.

Joe wasn’t surprised to find his family about to mount up, although he wondered how Adam had persuaded Pa to let him come too.  He slipped from Bob’s horse and found himself grabbed and pulled into his father’s arms.

“You all right, boy?”

“Yeah, Pa, I’m fine.”

On Bob in an instant, Hoss yanked him from his saddle and shook him like a freshly plucked turkey. “Bob Rickles!  You did this?  Why you no good- ”

Joe pushed Hoss back.  “Don’t!  Bob brought me back.” 

Puzzled, his brother let go. Bob hung his head and looked shamefaced at Ben.  “It’s true, Mr. Cartwright.  I had to come back.  What I did was wrong, real wrong.”

Before his father could reply, Joe jumped in, “Pa.  Bob’s been telling me what a tough time the miners are having.  The men not installing that new square-set timbering are out of work.”

“But … Adam, didn’t you say they were to be paid while that was done?”

“That was the idea.”

Joe shook his head.  “It’s taken longer than expected.  The owners got together and agreed they couldn’t afford to pay men for sitting around.”

Bob carried on the story, “Most of us haven’t had a wage for over three months.  We can’t buy food.  There are no critters left to catch.  Families are at the end of their rope living off roots they grub up.  I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright.  I don’t know what came over me when I decided to rob you.  The thought of my family starving at Christmas was too much.  But I’m shamed at how close I came to doing something terrible.”  The man held out the money he’d stolen.  “If you want to turn me over to the sheriff, I’ll understand.”

“What do you think, Pa?  Can we forgive and forget?”

“He broke into my home and took you at gunpoint!  You expect me to forget about that?”

Omitting any mention of Bob’s intention to shoot him (Pa had his limits), Joe pleaded, “He was desperate.”  Then he played his trump card.  “I know that’s no excuse.  But it’s Christmas.”

Pa cut him a look.  Joe basked him with a persuasive smile, crossed his fingers, and gave his father time to take a breath.

“You say your family has no food?”

“Yes, Sir.  But Joe’s right.  I know that ain’t no excuse for what I did.”

“And there are other families in the same position?”

“Yes.”

The hope in Joe’s heart bloomed.  His crossed fingers tightened.

“Put the money back in your pocket.  See to it, everyone has food on their tables this Christmas.”

“But… ”

“Say you won it in a poker game.  Just make sure everyone gets food.” 

Bob’s hand trembled when he folded the notes.  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Do as I ask.  That will be thanks enough.”

“You don’t have to worry.  I won’t let you down.”

Climbing back on his ancient horse, Bob touched his hat and rode out. Behind him, the four Cartwrights came together. 

Joe smiled when his father’s arm wrapped around him.  “Thanks, Pa.”

“Every man deserves a second chance, and if you can’t give him that at Christmas, when can you?”

Joe slipped his arm onto Pa’s shoulder.  His father was a man among men. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside and tell Hop Sing you’re all right.”

“I hope there are some of those cookies left.”

Hoss ruffled his hair.  “If there ain’t, I reckon Hop Sing will cook you up a fresh batch special.”

Joe laughed and ducked away only to be pulled back into his bear-like grip.  Sandwiched between Pa and Hoss, they followed Adam toward their home.  The warmth of the fire awaited them.  But nothing warmed Joe’s heart more than the generosity and love of his family.  It was going to be a great Christmas.

  The End 

December 2021

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