Summary:  Joe insists on accompanying Ben to Boston to attend the funeral of a long-time friend; only to become separated shortly thereafter.  This is story of fate, perseverance, and a family’s love.

Rating:  K+  (15,950 words)

 

The Triple Cord

 

The funeral of Captain Duncan McLeish was well attended by friends and family.  Over fifty people crammed themselves into Mrs. McLeish’s parlour and bemoaned his loss.   Ben Cartwright stood out amongst them just as much as a Ponderosa pine would effectively do in an orchard of apple trees.  Tall, tanned and at ease in his own skin, Ben mingled amongst the gathering comfortably.

 

It had taken quite a lot of time to get to McLeish’s funeral.   The town in which it was being held was a 2 day train journey from Boston, a sprawling metropolis to Little Joe Cartwright who had insisted on travelling east with his father.

 

“Someone has to make sure he gets there safely,” he had argued to his brothers, who had nodded and smiled indulgently as they agreed that he was right, of course.

 

As Adam said later to Hoss, the kid needed a break;  a change of lifestyle and climate.   Ben had later promised that they would visit old friends in Boston, which had the effect of adding further excitement to the adventure for Joe.   Adam had glowered and smouldered for a while but accepted the fact that it would broaden Joe’s horizons to see the old city.

 

Now here they were in the late Captain McLeish’s old house with some of Ben’s old friends from the days when he was a seaman.  They had given Ben a firm handshake in greeting, their weather-beaten faces ruddy from sea and storm. They had greeted Joe warmly, welcoming him as the son of an old companion.

 

Captain McLeish’s grand-daughter was a pretty green eyed slip of a girl with bright auburn curls teasingly kissing her brow.  As she walked around the room with trays of food which she offered to the guests, her eyes drifted over to the young man who stood by the door.  A handsome youth who looked poised for flight.

 

“I’m glad you came,” she said when she eventually reached his side, looking up into hazel eyes and then hastily lowering her own as a slight blush mantled her cheeks.

 

“Pa insisted on coming.  He had fond memories of sailing with your grandfather.”  Joseph replied and softened the words with a smile which made the green in his eyes twinkle as he looked at her with obvious admiration.

 

“Oh, I’m sure he did.   Grandpa was always talking about Ben Cartwright.  He was quite annoyed with him for going to Captain Stoddard.  But I believe there was more than one reason for his doing so,” now it was her turn to twinkle her eyes up at him and she smiled.  A dimple appeared in one cheek.

 

“You mean Pa’s interest in his daughter?” Joe sipped some of the wine and nodded, “Yes, I guess you could be right about that, she was a real pretty lady from the picture I’ve seen of her.”

 

“My father was quite enamoured of her, you know.  And you’re right, she was considered quite a beauty.” she looked over at the gathering of friends and old acquaintances, “Grandfather was hoping for a match there too, but more for business reasons than romantic ones.” she looked at him again with renewed interest “But she wasn’t your mother, was she?  You look too young  ….”

 

“No, she wasn’t my mother.  She died when my brother, Adam, was born.”  He swallowed more of the wine and sighed, “Not exactly the cheeriest conversation to have at a funeral, sorry.”

 

“Oh, no, don’t be…it was my fault, father always says I ask too many questions for my own good.”  she turned to face him and smiled once more, the dimple in her cheek flashed and she took his empty glass and carried it to a table, he naturally followed her after all she was the only one of his age group there, and not only that, she was an extremely attractive young woman..  She leaned towards him, “When did you actually arrive here?”

 

“Early this morning.   We came straight here from the hotel.”

 

“Oh, that means you haven’t been shown the sights yet then?” she blinked once or twice, fluttering her long eyelashes and appearing thoughtful and coy.

 

“Well, I think Pa intends for us to stay a week here, then travel on to Boston for a few days.  He wants to visit old friends there,” Joe took a nibble at a biscuit and frowned slightly, “It’s never much fun looking around anyplace on your own though.  You need to be with someone who lives there ..or here…to enjoy it.”

 

“Oh yes, I know,” she sighed and looked around the assembly as though seeking someone upon whom she could rely to perform the task.  Then she looked again at him, “I could show you.”

 

“Could you?” Joe replied eagerly, perhaps too eagerly and too loudly as people turned to stare at him before they resumed their own business, “That would be great.  I’m Joe Cartwright, by the way.”

 

“I know,” she smiled, “Rosemary McLeish.   Shall I meet you tomorrow afternoon?”

 

“Why not have lunch first?  There’s a fine restaurant on the corner of the street where we are staying.”

 

“I know it well.  I’ll meet you there at mid-day.”

 

Joe smiled and nodded. “I’ll look forward to it, Rosemary.”

 

She didn’t reply but her smile was enough to confirm that so would she and as she strolled away to talk to other guests, Joe thought with pleasure of the next day’s company.  Perhaps there was going to be some enjoyment in the trip after all, his Pa could spend time with his ‘old’ friends while he could pursue some youthful dalliance of his own; he was smiling to himself rather smugly when his father approached and stood by his side, a glass of wine in his hand and a frown on his face “Are you alright, Joe?”

 

“Sure, Pa, I’m fine.  Why’d you ask?” He reached out for a fresh glass of wine and sipped it slowly, searching for a sight of Rosemary among the throng of people around them. .

 

“Well, I was just a little concerned that you would be bored after all most of the people here are of my generation and I don’t think for a moment that you would find anything they had to say of much interest.”

 

Joe shrugged, grinned and sipped more wine “Don’t worry, Pa.  You just go ahead and enjoy meeting up with your old friends…” his grin widened when Rosemary turned and caught his eye, exchanged a smile and a slight fluttering of the eyelashes.

 

“Well, I won’t be much longer,” Ben assured him and catching sight of someone who had served with him on McLeish’s ship strolled over to spend some time with him.  Joe watched him with a smile on his face, much like the smile of a proud parent watching his child making a new friend at school and hoping the acquaintance would be a happy one.

 

It was an hour later before Ben finally pulled himself away from the few that remained to give their last farewell to Duncan McLeish; Joe had seen Rosemary briefly more than 30 minutes previously, and confirmed the arrangements to meet the next day with the blessing of her parents, a couple who were still emotionally in turmoil over the loss of a dear parent and confident that the son of Ben Cartwright just had to be a paragon of all the virtues.

 

Rosemary McLeish went to her bed humming a tune beneath her breath and dreaming about the handsome young man she had met, it just showed one should never assume that any social event – such as a funeral – would be utterly boring and without anything worth thinking about because here she was with just about so much to ponder over.  She smiled dreamily and closed her eyes .. she had to think about what to wear, what to say, where to take this handsome young man.

 

Ben smiled over at Joe as they settled back into the hotel room “I hope it wasn’t too boring for you, son.” he pulled off his black tie and threw it over the back of a chair, then began to pull off his jacket.

 

“No, it was fine, Pa… I told you already, didn’t I?”   Joe muttered and slumped down in a comfortable chair in order to pull off his boots, “Met a pretty girl there…” that was one off, and it thumped down on the floor “Captain McLeish’s granddaughter.”

 

“Rosemary?” Ben darted black eyes in the direction of his youngest and frowned “Yes, she is a pretty girl, takes after her mother.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t notice.” off came the other boot to be slung down beside the other, he tugged at his tie “She said she’d show me the sights tomorrow.”

 

“Oh did she?” Ben frowned a little more, “Just the two of you?”

 

“Well, she didn’t mention anyone else…”  Joe said slowly “Why?  Is it a problem?”

 

“Ermmm, hereabouts it would be frowned on, things aren’t done the same as in Virginia City, my boy.”

 

Joe grinned and shrugged, he had no intention of anything getting in the way of his enjoying his time with Rosemary.  He stood up and stretched “Well, good night, Pa.  See you at breakfast.”

 

Ben nodded and watched his son stroll to his bedroom.  At times, he thought, Joseph Francis was just too handsome for his own good, and sadly, he knew it.

 

Chapter 2

 

Ben Cartwright paced the floor anxiously glancing to the clock, to the door and then to the window as though each of these could answer the questions racing through his head.   The clock reminded him of the lateness of the hour.  The door assured him that his son would come bounding through at any time, apologising profusely for being so late in returning to the hotel.  The window reminded him that the hour was late, the sun had set and now stars twinkled along with the street lamps and the lights from many windows lining the streets of the town.He took a deep breath as though in resignation and paused to look down upon the empty streets.

 

A hansom cab appeared and for a moment his heart beat faster as he anticipated it stopping at the hotel entrance to deposit Joe at the door.  The thoughts that passed his mind of the things he would say to the errant youth were fleeting as the cab driver urged the horse onwards and into the distant shadows beyond the lights.   The sound of a train’s whistle echoed eerily through the darkness.

 

“Where is that fool boy?” Ben asked for about the hundredth time that evening.  He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head so that his chin rested upon the folds of his burgundy dressing gown.  “He should have been back here hours ago.”

 

His fingers clasped and unclasped in exasperation and frustration.  He should never have let him out of his sight earlier that day when Joe had insisted on meeting McLeish’s grand-daughter on his own.   Not that Ben had thought much about it at the time for he admired beauty in a girl as much as his son ever would, but now, with hindsight, Ben anguished over his negligence.

 

“He’s a grown man,” he told himself again, and again.  “He doesn’t need me to wet-nurse him.  He has the right to enjoy lunch with a pretty girl and a ride around the city.  After all, this is a once in a life time experience for him and he’d want to be able to tell his brothers about it all.”

 

He had said as much when he had met old friends that evening at a restaurant for supper. They had smoked cigars, drank good wine and eaten a fine meal. Talk had been about old times, ships and storms, of McLeish and the subject closest to Ben’s heart, his beloved Ponderosa.  This had led them to enquire about Joe’s absence and their agreement that oh yes, had they been young like Joe, they would much have preferred the company of a pretty young woman than that of a roomful of old sailors.

 

But that had been hours ago.  Ben had returned to the hotel expecting to find Joe in their suite of rooms but had found them empty.   The Hotel Clerk, upon enquiry, confirmed that he had not seen Joe since the young man had left prior to mid-day. The bass note of a church clock struck two.

 

Ben glanced once again at the little ormolu clock that stood on the mantle. Two o’clock had struck, a tinny echo of the bold chime from the church clock.   Rubbing his face with one hand, clasping and unclasping the fingers of his other hand, Ben paced up and down anxiously while he chewed on his bottom lip and asked himself once again … where could the boy be at such an hour?

……………..

 

Twelve hours had passed.  Ben Cartwright had listened as Miss McLeish confirmed what the Restaurant Owner had told him some hours previously, there had been no one of the name of Joseph Cartwright at the restaurant the previous day.

 

“I was so annoyed at him not being there Mr. Cartwright, that I didn’t think to come to the hotel and see you about it.  I just thought he had decided not to come and being – well – not a town person, had not thought of the polite way to send his apologies or excuses.  I thought if I came to the hotel and found him here, I would just be so angry with him.”

 

“You didn’t even see him?” Ben’s brow had wrinkled and the dark eyes had seem to pierce through to the girl’s heart as he turned the full force of his gaze upon her.

 

“Nothing at all.  I waited outside for a while, with my friends whom I had thought Joe would find pleasant company, and then we went back inside in case he was there and we hadn’t noticed but -” she sighed and had shaken her head, obviously embarrassed at the memory of what had happened after all no pretty woman likes to be left standing, obviously waiting for someone to come who has no intention of arriving. Worst still when in company with friends who had begun to wonder if such a person as Joseph Cartwright actually existed.

 

Back now in the hotel suite and Ben began to fear the worst had happened, he was attempting to collect his fears and worries together and formulate a plan to search for the youth when there was a light tap on the door. Momentarily Ben thought, ‘This is the scamp, lost his key and no doubt expecting me to welcome him with open arms.’ as he crossed the room and opened the door to find the Hotel Manager standing by the side of a uniformed law officer.  Both of them looked at him with a measure of gravity that caused Ben’s heart to sink.

 

“M. Cartwright?” the Hotel Manager stepped forward, followed by the lawman who seemed to be attached firmly to the Manager’s left arm.

 

“What’s wrong?  What’s happened?  Has anything happened to my boy?”

 

“Mr. Cartwright,” the lawman now spoke and produced a leather wallet, “this was handed in to us a short while ago.  I believe you came to the station to enquire about the whereabouts of a young gentleman?”

 

He stopped as Ben snatched the wallet from him and then, discreetly, kept silent.   The sight of distress in such a man was never pleasant.  It upset him very much every time he was in such a situation as this one.  He sighed and waited for the inevitable questions.

 

“Where did you find this?” Ben asked in a voice that trembled no matter how hard he tried to keep control of it.

 

“Not far from here, Sir.”

 

“Nothing else?” Ben asked, staring at the wallet as though it, and not the policeman, would supply him with the answers.

 

“Nothing, Sir.” McCarthy cleared his throat, “I’m sorry.”

 

“There must have been something?  My son couldn’t have just – disappeared?”   Ben looked from one man to the other, noticed a discernable shake of the head from the Hotel Manager and a droop of the shoulders from the lawman “Take me to where you found it.”

 

“It won’t do any good, sir.” McCarthy said quietly, “There really wasn’t anything else to be found, just this empty wallet and that had been kicked beneath a bench, it was pure chance that even that was found.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, I still want to see where you had found it.” Ben insisted and grabbed at his coat as he passed the chair towards the door, closely followed by McCarthy who was shaking his head in resignation.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

“I falter where I firmly trod,

And falling with my weight of cares

Upon the great world’s altar stairs

That slope thro’ darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith and grope

And gather dust and chaff, and call

To what I feel is Lord of all…

And faintly trust the larger hope”

 

Adam Cartwright opened his eyes and heard his own voice fading away.

 

Hoss Cartwright jerked upright and stared about him as though the shock of the roof falling in upon him had been the cause of this sudden unexpected arousal from a deep sleep. His head buzzed and his ears rang and his heart was pumping so fast that it was a wonder the thin fabric of his nightshirt could contain it.  He drew in his breath and forced himself to listen. Downstairs someone was moving very stealthily around the main room.  Hoss waited until his heart beat had steadied and he thought out who it was who could be creeping around the house at such an early hour. Very carefully he pulled open the drawer of the cabinet next to the bed and drew out a gun. With a steady and determined hand he pulled back the safety catch.  Stealthily he tip toed to the door of his room, opened it and with the gun firmly in hand he listened for a moment more. There was the sound, he shook his head and lowered the gun and refastened the safety catch, before going to the head of the stairs

 

“Hey, Adam…what you doing up so early?” he boomed and in the silence his voice bounced off the walls and even made him wince.

 

“What are YOU doing up so early?” his brother replied with a slight edge to his voice.

 

“That ain’t fair, I asked first.” Hoss grinned and came downstairs. Seeing his brother’s eyes fasten onto the gun in his hand he self-consciously brandished it and shrugged “I thought perhaps we had unwelcome guests.”

 

“Mmm.” Adam frowned and continued to pull on his jacket “So? What got you up then, Hoss? The call of the stomach?” he asked without even a smile and Hoss frowned.   Something, he surmised, was wrong.  He shook his head and narrowed his eyes

 

“What’s going on? Where are you going?” his eyes glanced rapidly to the clock, to Adam and to the bureau where only his brother’s hat and gunbelt now remained. Adam shrugged and looked down at his feet, and then at his brother. His brown eyes were thoughtful and he chewed a little on the inside of his cheek as though considering whether or not to reply.

 

“Well, the fact is, Hoss, I woke up reciting a poem from Alfred, Lord Tennyson, it’s called ‘In Memorium’ and  – .”

 

“Shucks, no wonder you woke up with that kinda stuff in yer head.”

 

“It jangled my nerves, and I got kinda spooked, you know?” he raised one dark eyebrow and Hoss frowned and nodded,

 

“That’s kinda odd,”  he murmured “I woke up feeling as though I were being pulverised by a steam engine.”

 

“And?”

 

“And I got  –  spooked.”

 

They looked at one another and frowned. Adam licked his lips and picked up his hat and looked at Hoss again, “How long will it take you to get ready?”

 

“Hardly any time at all.” Hoss replied, Adam nodded as his brother turned and took the stairs faster than one would expect a man of his build capable of moving.

 

“We’ll see if Pa has sent us a cable when we get into Virginia City” Adam said loudly enough for Hoss to hear “then we’ll cable him, even if he hasn’t.”

 

Hoss said nothing but yanked out his shirt and vest and hurried to dress, there was only one thought hammering through his brain at that moment and that was that, somewhere, their little brother needed their help.

 

Downstairs, impatiently waiting for his brother’s return Adam paced the floor in a similar manner to his father so many miles distance.  How could anyone explain something as irrational as ‘a feeling’?   How could anyone explain when a feeling was so strong that it pulled one to action, a conviction that drove a person to do something, anything, to protect those they love?  Was it blood calling to blood?  Did that explain it?  The fact that Hoss had felt the same compulsion at the same time must surely account for something, must surely explain the possibility that rationality didn’t enter into the matter of a bond that existed between brothers … could it?

 

He looked up as Hoss came downstairs “What kept you?” he growled and then turned towards the door only to be confronted by an irate figure in a voluminous nightgown holding a candle in his hand, the flame of which flickered and caused his face to look like some macabre death head.

 

“Where you go?  Why all noise for?  What happen?”

 

Hop Sing glared from one brother to the other, his black eyes glinting as the candle flame reflected upon them, Adam glanced over at Hoss who was now busily buttoning up his old brown coat, then he looked at Hop Sing “We have to check something out, Hop Sing.”

 

“Yeah.. make sure Little Joe is alright.” Hoss muttered as he stretched out a hand to pick up his hat.

 

Hop Sing scowled “Liddle Joe with Mr. Cartwright, he alright, no good you go now, you have water hole clean out, fence put in, calf to brand…you not get out of work so quickee quickee…no excuse now…you stay put.”

 

“Sorry, Hop Sing, no can do.” Adam replied as he raised the latch to the door and swung it open.

 

The fresh night air drifted in, snuffed out Hop Sings candle flame and caused his night shirt to billow out in the breeze, Hoss swept past him and nodded politely and then was gone, marching side by side with his brother towards the stable.

 

It wasn’t long after that when the sound of horses leaving the yard was heard as Hop Sing slowly closed the door and dropped down the latch, he sighed, shook his head and shuffled back to his bed where he fell to wondering what the brothers knew that he didn’t about the goings on concerning Joseph Cartwright.

 

They had not gone too far along the road before Hoss said “We could be wrong.   He’s probably having a great time, found himself some gals, getting himself all gussied up and fussed over by them fancy females, could be we’re jest over reacting.”

 

Adams face crumpled into a scowl “In which case we’ll find out for sure and then come back home to clean out the water holes, put the fences in and brand some more calves.”

 

Hoss decided that he’d say nothing more, for a while anyway.   “Could be indigestion.”

 

“I don’t get indigestion.”

 

“Shucks, no, you don’t do you?  Odd though…”

 

“What is?” Adam growled, as he urged the big horse onwards to town

 

“That we both had the same dream?”

 

“The same what?”  Adam looked over at his brother in astonishment “You were dreaming that you were reciting In Memoriam by…”

 

“Nah, not that, I weren’t dreaming nothing, I jest woke up feeling like – like -”

 

“Like?”  Adam gripped the reins tighter as Sport tossed his head and did a fancy side step.

 

“Like I had to get moving, Joe needed me.”

 

Adam’s lips firmed against his teeth, he lowered his hat and nodded, there was an echo there somewhere of how he had felt, it hadn’t been for Hoss or for Pa, but LIttle Joe …   how could anyone explain it?

…………

 

“Wal?  What’s it say?” Hoss said as he peered over his brother’s shoulder to stare at the words on the cablegram and Adam said nothing but passed it to him to read for himself.

 

There wasn’t much, just a few words and that was to the effect that Joe had disappeared into thin air, vanished …  a search had been made but the only clue had been that his wallet had been found in the railway yard of the town.

 

Adam was already inside the building sending a cablegram of his own winging its way back to his father.

 

Chapter 4

 

 

The foulest of smells hit his nostrils and as he gasped the stench wafted down his throat and made him retch. He put a hand to his mouth and tried to sit up and found it impossible to do so. He struggled and realised that there were no visible bonds securing him down, only pain and weakness that held him fast to stinking fetid straw scattered on thin planks through which cold draughts cut into his body. He closed his eyes and groaned.

 

“Is he alright?” someone whispered from the far corner.

 

“How’d I know?”

 

“Go and find out?”

 

“Come with me then…”

 

Two faces peered down at him. Two pale crescent moons that swam in a stagnant pool reflecting the greater glory above. Little Joe focused his eyes on them and eventually realised that two men were staring back down at him. He blinked.

 

“Wal, he’s alive” one man said slowly.

 

“Good. Last year I travelled with a corpse and it stank.   Hey, you…” a hand shook Joe by the shoulder, rattling the young man’s head and sending pain stabbing behind his eyes and down his neck “Hey, what’s yer name?”

 

“Name?” Joe gasped.

 

“What’s yet name?” the other, younger man asked thickly.

 

“Cartwright…Joseph Cartwright.”

 

“I’m Mick” the younger man said and he thrust out a mittened hand, “Good to see yer alive and kickin’”

 

“I’m Chuck.” the other man offered his hand,  “What you doin’ here?”

 

“Here?” Joe groaned and sat up only to fall back into the straw which was so thin that his head banged against the wooden plank . “I don’t even know where here is meant to be?” He was aware now of a strange noise. Whooshing and clanking and chugging. Machinery, he thought. I must have fallen down a well.   A mine?  He closed his eye.  There was a rhythm to the sounds, a regular chug chug chug.

 

“Do you do this often?” Chuck asked.

 

“Do what?” he muttered, his eyes still closed while the cold breeze froze his body and the regular chug chug made his heart pound.

 

“Ride the trains?”

 

“I don’t think so.” he sighed.

 

“What’s that surpassed ta mean?”

 

“I don’t know. What do YOU mean?”   Joe forced his eyes open and stared at them.    Now he realised in the cold light of the new day just how dirty and unkempt his companions actually were. He shook his head and everything inside his skull seemed to clang.

 

“Hitch a ride on a train, that’s what he means?” Mick said.

 

“No, I don’t.” Joe replied in a tone of confusion and irritation.

 

“Then what you doin’ here now?” Chuck asked.

 

“What are you talking about?” Joe forced himself up onto his elbows and screwed up his eyes to get them into focus “Where exactly am I?”

 

“You’re in a rail car of a train en-route to Boston” Mick replied.

 

“But I can’t be,” Joe heard his voice, like a scream, inside his head “I can’t be…”

 

“Most of us choose it this way.   It’s a good way of travelling around, free of charge” Mick commented, as though Joe had not spoken.

 

“I don’t understand,” Joe struggled upright and supported his head between his hands “This is a train?” he forced his voice not to wobble so that he could make some sense of what was going on. He had to have coherent answers, and if he sounded incoherent then what could be expect from his companions?

 

He glanced up at Mick and Chuck who surveyed him and then each other. Mick shrugged,

 

“Part of a train. We jumped it at Hillington, but you were already here. We thought you were a gonner for sure, fact is, we were going to throw you out in the next tunnel.”

 

“Throw me out?” Joe raised his head and stared at them in horror “You were going to throw me out?”

 

“It’s no good having a stiff as company. If we’re caught free loading a ride we get trouble, but with a stiff as well,” Chuck shook his head as though what was left unsaid was sufficient in itself.

 

“We get accused of murder.” Mick continued “No matter if the geezer died of cold or starved to death, they won’t take that into account. We jest git busted for murder and that means jail and hard labour.”

 

“Why am I here? How did I get here?”

 

“Who knows? Can’t you remember?” Mick asked.

 

“The last thing I can recall is chasing after some men who stole my wallet.”

 

“Where was that?” Chuck asked.

 

Joe frowned and cradled his head in his arms and began to think of the time prior to losing consciousness.   He could hear Mick saying how they had been travelling for two days.  Two whole days.    Joe’s brain nearly exploded in his skull at the thought. Chuck pulled a bag towards him, an old worn satchel thing that had seen better days, as could his clothes. Joe stared at them in horror as daylight flashed upon them in streaks through the gaps in the wagons walls.

 

Rather generously Chuck handed him an apple, some bread and a lump of rather woebegone cheese. Mick rummaged about in an equally awful carrier and produced a jerry can and poured Joe some water.   The youth drank it greedily and ate the food with a haste that would have done credit to a wolf.

 

“So you sayin’ some guys you were chasing caught you down a dark alley?” Mick asked.

 

“They gave you a beating that’s for sure.” Chuck murmured, looking at the handsome face with the bloodied cuts and bruises on it.

 

“Must have had time to change clothes with you too.” Mick tugged at the jacket that Joe was wearing. “I can’t imagine anyone wearing rags like them would have tempted anyone into thinking they had anything worth stealing.”

 

Joe glanced down at his clothes and was sickened at the realisation that the smell that had caused his initial revulsion actually came from the clothes he was wearing. His only comfort were his shoes, for some reason they were his own and still on his feet.

 

“We’ll jump off at Boston.   We’ll tell you when and how,” Chuck said with a kindness in his voice that quite belied his rough exterior.

 

“Sure, if you jump too soon you could lose your legs. I’ve known too many who have done that.” Mick whispered gently “But the best thing for you now, is sleep.   We’ve a while to go yet.”

 

Sleep?  It was impossible to sleep. Apart from the smells, and the hunger, and the pain that made every movement agonising, Little Joe was scared and confused. He could recall telling his Pa that he was going to a nearby restaurant.   He had promised to be back at a certain time.   But that was now two days ago.    He rubbed his temples and tried to still the throbbing behind his eyes while he concentrated on what had happened next.

 

He could remember walking to the restaurant. There was the noise of laughter behind him, but not at him.   Traffic going by sounded a little muffled because it was moving slowly.   A girl came towards him, smiling.    What had happened then? He struggled to remember beyond the time of the girl smiling at him as she approached.   Then someone had bumped into him and he had fallen back against someone else. Little Joe groaned aloud. What a fool, what a fool he had been to have gone off like some harebrained green kid. He remembered yelling at the men and running after them.  Then came the scuffling in the alley.

 

He relived the moment several times over before he finally succumbed, once again, to unconscious thought.  He never thought it possible to fall asleep in such dire circumstances. He had lain down shivering in the straw. He had stared at the flashing light gleaming through the walls and listened to the raw power of the train as its wheels ate up the miles of track.   Even as his brain repeatedly asked itself what it was going to do next, he had fallen asleep.

 

He woke up to see Chuck sitting in the door way, watching the scenery slip away while Mick slept and for a while Joe just lay still watching Chuck and the views as they flashed past them. He assured himself that everything would be alright. He had only to go to the law enforcement office in Boston.   Even check in at some of their old friends, Pa’s old friends, and Adams college contacts.   It would all be alright.

 

His eyes grew heavy and his head hurt terribly. He fell asleep again. He could not remember how often he woke and fell back to sleep.

 

Eventually Mick was shaking his shoulder and urging him to get a move on.   He found it extremely difficult to get his near frozen sluggish body away from the floor. He crawled his way to the door where Chuck was standing, his bag slung over his arm. Chuck looked at Joe thoughtfully and shook his head,

 

“I’m not sure you should try this. It may be better if you just let them find you.”

 

“Who are they?”

 

“The station police.” Mick said “They got dogs and come and search the rail cars.”

 

“I’ll jump with you” Joe said, having a sudden flash of insight into the reasoning of dogs and not having a high opinion of their ability to distinguish a decent law abiding citizen dressed in rags from a small time crook dressed likewise. “What do I do?”

 

“Jump and roll when I say” Chuck replied “Watch Mick first. When he rolls then you jump, roll, get behind one of them stacks of wood.   Right, get ready…”

 

Joe rubbed his face and hoped to bring some life and alertness into it. He watched Mick poise himself for flight and then throw out his bag before he jumped. Joe watched him land and winced.    It looked painful.

 

“Right…go..go…don’t wait..GO!” and a hand pushed him in the small of his back.

 

Chapter 5

 

Joe felt himself free falling from the confines of the train. His body hit the ground, he rolled, not so much from ability but because of the steep incline upon which he had landed. When he finally stopped he managed to scramble to his feet and shuffle to a stacked pile of timber planks behind which he wriggled into a gap and waited. He was not sure for what he was waiting but for some time he did not move.

 

He huddled up close against the wood and prayed for his head to stop pounding, while he cautiously began to touch various parts of his face to locate the bumps, cuts, bruises with his fingers.    He knew that he must look the worst kind of villain. He thought of his father and felt ashamed, knowing that Ben would be frantic with worry about him.

 

BY night fall he still hadn’t moved from where he had hidden himself by the wood stack, for some time he had expected to have been joined by Chuck and Mick but there hadn’t been any sight nor sound of them since he had jumped.  Physically he felt so ill and weak that he honestly felt that if he remained where he was for much longer he would stiffen and die so with the greatest reluctance he slowly crawled from the wood pile and staggered to his feet.  Within minutes of beginning his walk through the unfamiliar streets it began to rain.

 

People glanced over at him and looked away as though the sight of him embarrassed them with the result that he found himself naturally seeking the darker streets and the meaner alleyways, pulling at the thin remnants of clothing to shield himself from the relentless downpour that had soaked him to the skin within the short time it had taken him at leaving the train yard to get into town.   As he walked, paused, walked on a little more, hesitated to get his bearings he noticed a large sign just ahead of him,  It gleamed some message of hope and comfort for it bore the legend “Soup Kitchen”. Well, he thought, this would save a few nickels if he had any, apart from which it would provide some warmth and comfort as well as somewhere to sit and think of some way to get out of the mess he was in.

 

Men and women, and some children, tumbled down the rough steps. They were ill dressed and unkempt, and Joe realised with a jolt that among them he now no longer stood out as different in any way at all. In such a short time he had been stripped, not only of his clothing and money, but of his identity, and had been reduced to the lowest ranks of humanity. The rain trickled down his neck, and he shivered. A pain niggled in his chest and his legs demanded a rest. He turned slowly and made his way down the steps, being jostled and pushed about by the more knowing crowd, the regulars, who knew that first come, first and better served.

 

He had no energy to push and shove so trailed along behind them to the counter where several men and women were handing out food. Wooden trays were handed to them, and mugs, then a man filled the mug with something hot, someone else placed a lump of rye bread and a bowl of soup alongside the mug and then they were rushed to the tables. Several men and women were passing to and fro and refilling the bowls as they emptied, trying to look cheerful as though it was a far better task they were performing than if they were serving at the Mayor’s table for a seven course banquet

 

Joe took his tray and looked at the young woman with a mute expression on his face and she smiled at him. It was a blank non seeing smile.  More like a slap in his face for Joe had always been certain of some flash of recognition when he looked upon a woman with his sad hazel eyes.  He passed on and found somewhere to sit and stared at the tea, the bread and the soup.   After some seconds he began to eat and drink as greedily as any of the others there.

 

They tended to leave after the second helping as though knowing that the hour was all that they were permitted. The more people who stayed inside the cellar for warmth the more time it stole from others who had equal needs for some little warmth and nourishment. They left and others came.

 

Joe pulled the collar of the jacket he wore higher to stop the worst of the rain and wind drifting down his neck. He walked the wet streets between the tall buildings feeling as though he were trapped in a nightmare.

 

To Joe this was an alien world. This vast sprawling city that had been established even as far back as the American War of Independence.   Here were the buildings and streets of great age to prove it.   To his eyes, as the son of a man who had settled in the wilderness and who had seen the mushroom towns of the gold booms of the west, the enormity of this vast town made it terrifying.

 

He glimpsed his reflection in a shop window and drew closer to examine it. He was unable to believe his own eyes at the wild image that stared back, disheveled and ragged and bloodied.

 

Chapter 6

 

The Officer stared down at him from a desk that stood on a raised platform.

 

“I want some help,” Joe said honestly, wondering if his words made sense as they sounded mangled even to his own ears.

 

“Really? Name?” the Policeman paused and looked down at the youth “Your name?”

 

“Joseph Cartwright.”

 

“Joseph Cartwright?” He looked again at the ragged figure standing before him and sighed “Where do you come from, Mr. Cartwright?”

 

“I’m Joseph Cartwright.  My Pa is Ben Cartwright, from the Ponderosa ranch, Nevada.”

 

The officer wrote it down laboriously and then put down his pen and leaned forward to examine him, as though he were a new species of ant he had found crawling over his desk. To Joe, who was used to a more positive response when he mentioned the name of his father and the Ponderosa, the man’s total lack of interest was disconcerting.  He felt a sinking of the heart and shivered as much from apprehension as from the wet clothing that was doing little to cool his burning skin.

 

Finally the police officer spoke as though the silence had even got on his nerves, or perhaps, Joe hoped, he was actually interested “That’s a long way from here, Mr Cartwright, and how did you get here?”

 

“I came with my father. I mean, my father isn’t here, not with me. He’s still back at Slocombe. Why do you need to know how I got here?”

 

“I have to establish the fact that you are the person you claim to be, and with Virginia City being so far away, how are we going to be able to prove that?  Do you have any identification on you?”

 

“No,  I was robbed, these aren’t even my clothes. They stole my clothes and they stole my wallet.” Joe drew in a deep breath, he could hear the sound of his voice, it was getting too shrill, an indication that he was beginning to panic.  He licked dry lips “You could send a cable, send to my Pa, or my brothers.   Send to Sheriff Coffee in Virginia City?”

 

“When did this happen, sir?” the Police officer was still writing slowly on the paper, his eyes didn’t look down at Joe but were fixed to the paper and the words he was writing, he paused “This alleged attack…when did it happen?  Where did it take place?”

 

“I don’t know.   Some days ago…” he felt himself shaking now and his voice trembled, he could taste vomit at the back of his throat,   “I was attacked by two men. They beat me up and tossed me onto a train.   I got off when it stopped here.”

 

“And where’s your father? In Boston, sir?”

 

“No, no, I told you already, he’s still back there.” he had to get out, his head was spinning and his stomach turning cartwheels, “He’s with some friends.”

 

“Friends?  You seem to have a lot of friends, sir.  Where are these friends?”

 

Joe stared at the police man and frowned,  “Could you send him a cable.. and a cable to Sheriff Coffee?”

 

“Is there anyone I can contact to verify your story, sir?”

 

“Verify? What do you mean…verify?”

 

“Is there anyone I can contact who can confirm the truth of what you have told me?”

 

“I just told you…Sheriff Coffee in Virginia City, he’ll tell you who I am.” he paused, looked at the policeman who was staring down at him, “My Pa, cable him, he’s staying at the Hotel Majestic in Slocombe.”

 

“That’s a good two day journey from here, Mr. – er – Cartwright.” the ponderous voice boomed over his head wrapped in a long drawn out sigh of boredom.

 

“I know, I know that… but …if you could cable him to let hm know I’m here.”

 

Joe stared at him and the cold dark eyes of officialdom stared back at him.  It was then that Joe realised that the man did not believe him and had no intention of helping him. Had there been a fat wallet to flash about under his nose, or the names of people in town to use as an open sesame perhaps there would have been a difference.  He bit his lips and offered the names and addresses of some old friends of Adams.  He watched as the officer wrote them down on a sheet of paper as though doing so taxed his endurance to the limit.

 

“Come back in three days and we might have a reply.”

 

“Three days? But…”

 

“Three days.” the officer said and placed the sheet of paper on top of a pile of others and turned away, dismissing Joe from his mind and sight as effectively as though he had brushed a speck of dirt from his sleeve.

 

Joe stumbled out into the street, found a bench and sat down.   He closed his eyes. His head ached so much that he could not think of one coherent thought, apart from the fact that the soup kitchen would be open in five hours’ time. He felt the rain and cold seeping into his bones and with a groan he bowed his back and clutched the sides of his head between his hands as though that was the only way he would be able to keep it on his shoulders.

 

“Here, take a swig of this, it keeps the cold out.”

 

Joe glanced at the begrimed hand, the filthy face and shivered in revulsion. But he took the bottle and lifted it to his mouth. He swigged at it as he had been told. The raw alcohol burned his already raw throat, and he retched, coughed. The old man took the bottle back and began to talk and Joe listened, hugging his arms about his body to keep warm while staring through the rain at the people as they walked, ran, strolled through the park.  They had homes and could shake off the rain drops and sit by their fires and eat their food. Joe closed his eyes.

 

Hunger this raw was something new to him, and it came very hard.  O’Leary, the Police officer walked past, a tarpaulin cape keeping the rain from penetrating through to his uniform. When he saw the youth with the weathered old tramp he sighed.  So the lad had been lying after all, he mused to himself. He had hoped the boy to have been genuine, but then that sort would do anything for a dry cell and some hot food.

 

“Come on, move along there,” he yelled, his voice harsh in disappointment.

 

“C’mon, we got to move on” the tramp tweaked at Joe’s sleeve, but the boy said nothing, he was too numb with cold to reason why, or to argue.

 

When the old man got up to go, he did likewise and walked off, hunched over, behind him “What’s yer name?” the old man said as they walked quickly through the streets, away from the park and the grand big house and the shops.

 

Joe told him in a croak of a voice and the old man winked and nodded,

 

“I’m Fred.   Come with me.  I gotta nice billet, snug and warm and dry.” He grinned, his teeth blackened and his eyes shone like a rats.

 

Snug? Warm? Could such a place exist Joe wondered for the likes of them? Joseph shivered, and with his head bowed followed on behind the old man. They trudged through narrow streets that got steadily narrower and down steps worn from many years wear from millions of feet until they finally reached Fred’s warm and snug haven. It was actually a broken old celler in an empty tenement block long abandoned to the rats and vermin of both rodent and human variety.

 

Chapter 6

 

Men and women roamed there and slept there.  A fire constantly roared and blackened the walls.  When Joe saw the fire he felt happier and drew closer to the flames, he sat hunched over feeling the warmth of the fire and thought of his father, and of Hoss and Adam.  What would they be doing now? Would they be looking for him? How would they know where to look? He raised a hand to his face and realised that he was crying, like a girl.

 

Was it because he was afraid?  Or because he felt ashamed and everything was so unnatural in this strange world in which he found himself.   It all seemed so wrong and so unfair. He strained his brain to try and think of some solution, but it seemed elusive, hovering somewhere on the peripherals of his mind, seemingly within grasp but always slipping away.  HIs inability to think of some way out of the situation he was in created further panic in his head and his stomach went into turmoil as a result.

 

Fred nudged him and offered him the bottle. It was a kindly gesture, but he pushed the dirty hand away and buried his face in his arms. Tomorrow he had to find a way of getting back home. Drunks rolled along the streets or lay in the gutters, yelled at one another or snored themselves into oblivion. Some slept under newspaper, some died under newspapers. Joe listened to their yells and curses, their mumblings and the whispers, then he turned away and stared into the flames of the fire as he continued to clutch his head between his hands.

 

A man with a sack around his shoulders was kicking the wall with a shoe that had lost its toe cap. He was sniveling and his shoulders jerking in spasms. It made Joe sick to the stomach to hear the dull thud of the foot against the wall, and he wanted to yell to him to stop. He knew if he allowed that yell to pass through his lips it might never end.   He stared into the flames of the fire and thought of those he loved, and longed to see. He wondered if he would see any of them again as he clasped his hands about his knees, bowed down his head and closed his eyes and prayed.    He was cold, and hot, and very tired.

 

***********

 

He had had a plan but it had all gone wrong. A whole day spent trailing from one house to another.   The addresses of names that he could remember his brother having mentioned at some time or another. He never got beyond the front door. Not one person could be bothered to take his name, to listen to his plea or to believe that he was Adam Cartwright’s brother or Ben Cartwright’s son.  All he received in answer to his plea was a lift of the nose, the jut of the jaw and the disdainful cold eyes.  Never had he been more conscious of the truth of the proverb ‘Clothes maketh the man’ and he thought if a man were to be judged merely by the clothes he wore then what chance did he currently have, and what a miserable world to be born into.

 

Another night, it was dark but he was still alive.  During the day of stumbling about trying to find some form of help, he had slipped over and fallen prostrate in the street and the people who had been walking past him had scurried away as though the touch of a flailing hand or foot would somehow contaminate them..  Someone had come to help him up and given him a coin, pushing it roughly into his hand and saying   “Don’t spend it all on drink, young man, get something hot inside of you” and patted Joe on the shoulder.

 

Joe had been propped up against a shop window. He had been too weak to be angry, but had just stared at the retreating back.  The storekeeper had come out and yelled at him to clear off and somehow he had forced his feet to carry him away.

 

He had bought some food and now it was clutched in his hands as he stumbled towards the rail yard. Fred had found him a thick long coat and that had been a blessing.   How strange that those who had nothing were still so willing to give.

 

Chapter 7

 

There was sleet falling with the rain now and the coat seemed to hold the damp so that the young man felt cold to the bones.  He had left the shelter of the tenements and was now regretting it as it took him away from the food kitchen and the warmth there, plus the only hot food available.  He tried to imagine, as he slipped and slid along the sidewalk, how Hoss or Adam would have managed in this situation.  Probably better than he was doing and the thought niggled at the back of his mind and made him ache for the sight of them.

 

Sleet merged into snow and he stood still in order to get his bearings.  The realisation that he was lost came like a hammer blow to his hopes of leaving the sprawling town that seemed to be suffocating him with its lack of empathy and care.  He looked around him at the passers-by who hugged into their coats or hid behind umbrella’s with their heads down so that they saw nothing but their own feet hastening their way to their various homes.  Joe glanced around him and darted down a side alley which led to a huddle of houses with long gardens, a gate swung too and fro against the wind and buffeting snows, but in the corner he could see a shed, a small compact structure that would surely provide him some shelter for a short while at least.

 

His fingers were numb and he fumbled badly trying to get the door open and slip unnoticed inside….smells of earth and damp, things he’d not seen or thought of before drifted to his nostrils, but the most important thing was that it was dry and once the door had been closed, protected him from the winds.

 

After stumbling about for a few moments he found a corner into which he could huddle and sunk down gratefully, pulling the coat closer around him.  As he closed his eyes, for his weakness compounded his weariness, he thought of the soup kitchen, the kindness of the people there and as he slowly drifted into sleep he wondered, as he had every day of his going there, why the soup always tasted the same.  ‘Nothing like Hop Sing’s…’ was his last drifting thought as he slipped into sleep.

 

“Who’s there?  Come on… I know someone’s in there… come out, come out before I call the police…”

 

The door shuddered as a heavy fist beat upon it and startled the young man awake.  Befuddled and heavy eyed Joe rubbed his eyes, his face and struggled to sit up.  The voice beyond the door was thin, trembling “I can see your foot prints in the snow, I know you’re there…”

 

Another voice now, a patient chiding voice of a woman “Come along, father, come on in, it’s too cold for you to be here.”

 

“Someone’s in there, Flora.  I can see foot prints in the snow…  tell them to come out.”

 

The thin tremulous voice of an old man, Joe thought as he cringed into the corner and hugged his remnant of food into his chest, poor fellow, if he only knew he had nothing to fear, not really. “Come along, father, back indoors, it’s cold.  There’s no one there, you’ve just imagined it.”

 

Joe closed his eyes tight ‘Please, please don’t open the door, don’t come in…don’t come in and find me.’ he whispered.

 

A last stubborn thump on the door and then nothing… Joe, tense and fearful, waited but no one came, there was only the sound of the wind blowing snow against the little building so that it shuddered every so often against its malignant force.

 

As light seeped through the cracks between the wooden slats Joe crept out and away, better to go before the household wakened to find that there had been a stranger in their garden.  It would be unfair to die there and cause the old man nightmares forever after….

 

The snow was deeper, footprints followed him away from the garden and into the street so that they began to merge and mingle with the footprints of others who had made an early start to their day… perhaps on their way to their work, to something that would provide them with food, security, warmth.  Joe thought of all the things he had taken so much for granted, Hop Sings meals and he felt saliva gather in his mouth at the thought.  His room and comfortable bed for which his body now ached.  His brothers … and tears rose and fell from his eyes at the thought of Hoss and Adam working together on the Ponderosa, not knowing that their brother misssed them, loved them.

 

Head bowed he made his way through the streets, desperation enabled him to ask a passing man the way to the railway station and was grateful for the hastily provided directions.  At one time he paused and raised his eyes to the sky, an unfriendly sky that suited well such an unfriendly city, and from which snow tumbled unheedingly upon his face.   He had been lost before, but in the vast emptiness of a land that was familiar to him, but this vast sprawling monster of a city was like hell on earth to him.

 

Chapter 8

 

Ben Cartwright sat in the railway carriage and watched the view from the windows as the train sped along its way.  He pulled his coat more closely around him as the cold crept into his bones.  Snow splattered against the windows now and the ground wore a thin layer of the white sparkling stuff that would soon, he knew, become a thick blanket. He was exhausted.

 

The search for Joe had been emotionally and physically wearing to the extent that when Adam had urged his return, he had been weak enough to agree.  One positive had led to others however, one of the attendees of McLeish’s funeral had returned to his home in Boston, and had been told  by his son of a vagrant who had claimed to be Joseph Cartwright from the Ponderosa.  He had been sensible enough to send a message to Ben’s hotel in Slocombe just moments before the rancher was about to leave.

 

“Not very important in itself, my friend, but several others have reported the same thing.  A young man, barely out of his teens, with hazel green eyes and wild hair.  I believe he also approached several of Adam’s friends who, I understand, sent him on his way without hesitation. I am mentioning it now because I heard from Olsen that your son has actually disappeared for some days and caused great concern.

 

“Thinking this to be something of a co-incidence, but bearing in mind the great kindness you have extended to me in the past, I have made further enquiries on your behalf.  This has led me to discover that the same young man approached the local Police requesting help.   He gave his name as Joseph Cartwright, named you as his father, and the Ponderosa, Nevada, his home.  I write this in haste, Ben, as O’Leary, the Police Constable to whom I spoke, made further enquiries of his own, and has told me that this young man was seen hanging around the railway station and is understood to be considering returning home by riding the freight wagons.”

 

Ben sighed again and buried his chin into the fleece of his collar.  As he stared out of the window at the passing landscape, he recalled the days that had followed his arrival in Boston, full of hope and energy as he had fully anticipated meeting Joe on the platform at the railway station.   But there was no sign of his son there and with dread and dismay now filling his thoughts Ben had made his way to his friends’ home.

 

An interview with O’Leary had confirmed all his fears and trepidations.   In this vast sprawling city he knew his son was in great danger.  Lost, alone, and perhaps, even, very ill.

 

The soup kitchen had offered him some hope.  A young man of Joe’s description had been a visitor there for some days.  He had volunteered to do some menial jobs in exchange for a razor and soap.  Each morning he had arrived earlier than anyone else and had gone into the back room to shave and wash.  Then he had done the chores given him.  His reward had been a decent breakfast as well as the soup. It had encouraged Ben to hear of this initiative of Joe’s.  He may have been down but he was certainly not out!

 

It was when they had told him of Joe’s plan to get back to Nevada by jumping the trains box wagons  that Ben once again felt fear gnaw at his heart. He made his way to the station and paced up and down the platform.  He wandered around the box wagons, and peered inside those that were unlocked.   He scouted around the storage and packing freight abandoned there in the hope, a feeble hope, that he would find some evidence of his son’s whereabouts.

 

“The best thing is to get back home,” his friend advised him, “It strikes me that Joe is more like his father than you realise.  But he’ll need you there when he gets home.”

 

So, here he was, on this train.  On the long journey back home. Changing from train to stage-coach as the need may be.  He cabled all the stations from Boston onwards requesting them to keep a look out for Joe and to notify him should there be any sign of him.  To keep him safe, should he be found.

 

How his heart would have broken had he known that the day he boarded the train at Richmond his son was shivering in the corner of a wagon merely feet away from him.  In ignorance of this fact, all that Ben could do was exercise patience and faith that with God’s help he would reach Placerville in time to welcome his son home.

 

Chapter 9

 

Joseph Cartwright sat with his back against the walls of the rail car and munched on an apple which he ate in its entirety.   It had taken a while to work out how the railway system worked.  He had jumped one freight train and spent a day travelling back to his original destination.  Another time the carriage he had chosen had been uncoupled from the engine and left in a siding.  It had wasted time but he had gained in experience.

 

During the long days of travelling he had ‘changed’ trains several times.  Jumping from the wagons into emptiness and trusting to a higher power to keep him safe from broken bones as he landed.  Then he would scrabble to the train station and scrutinize the boards that told any honest traveler the direction to be taken by the trains due for arrival.

 

Day by day, mile by mile, he was getting nearer to home.  This last train would take him all the way to Placerville, a town that he could consider as home territory.   Once there, he told himself, he would contact his father’s associates for help.  It would take no time at all for them to cable through to Virginia City and then it would be just a matter of time before he was safely home at last.

 

He had seen the views change, and had experienced the change in weather.  From where he sat he could see the landscape flashing past him and everywhere was covered in a thick blanket of snow. The trees were bowed down by the weight of it and sometimes the train would halt while the track was cleared from it and he would bury himself between the piles of boxes and crates that formed the contents of this particular wagon. There was ample straw littered about and he had made himself a comfortable nest into which to burrow when he was too cold or too tired.

 

He lost track of how long he had been there. Sometimes when sleep was stealing up on him he would recall the days he had spent at the soup kitchen, the kindness that so many had taken for granted had impressed him considerably.  He often thought about that now, as the trains rumbled along and he had so much time to think back to those days in Boston, when the only kindness he had been shown had been by the very poorest among the populace, and the very self sacrificing men and women who had laboured long and hard preparing the food, meagre though it was, for the hungry.

 

He remembered one particularly bitterly cold day when he plucked up the courage to ask them if he could do some work, anything that would keep him in the warmth and perhaps enable him to gain an extra meal.  When they suggested that he chopped up the logs outside he set to with a will, seizing the axe with a determination that would have made his eldest brother smile.  He chopped so many logs that he gained two days of extra meals, he had also gained a measure of self respect when he had felt the lowest of the low, and had gained a little strength from the exercise.  Two days when he had been really warm, really well fed in comparison to the past week or so when tramping around that wretched city.

 

It had gone without saying that the volunteers there had asked questions… who was he?  Where was he from?  Why was he in Boston?  He had told them everything, perhaps he had hoped at the back of his mind that one day they would meet with Pa or his brothers, and tell them that he had tried his best to do what he could to improve matters.   One man there, elderly and stooped over, had loaned him a razor and suggested he ‘tidied himself up a mite’ which Joe was more than happy to do, relishing the touch of smooth skin as he ran his hands over his jawline.  That had brought more interest in him, from the female members who gave him extra bread, some fruit and one even gave him some money.

 

As Joe leaned against the wooden slats of the wagon in which he was travelling he recalled the way she had handed him the money, taken his hand and folded his fingers gently over it.  “It’s not much, but you have worked hard. Why not try the police again?  Perhaps they could help you.”

 

So much trust in the authorities, Joe sighed, but then those who have an address, a home, clean and pleasant clothes, look decent and honest, yes, they could trust because they would have been considered ‘trust worthy’.  The reminder of his previous brush with the law was still a bitter taste in his mouth and he just smiled and had nodded. “What will you do, Joe?  You can’t stay here throughout the winter.”

 

“No,” he had replied quietly “I need to get home.  I thought I’d catch a train …”

 

She had looked at him long and earnestly, knowing full well that the money she had given him would never cover the cost of a ticket to Nevada territory.  She sighed and nodded, “Be careful, Joseph, don’t take unnecessary risks.”

 

He had bought bread and pies and fruit for Fred with the money, it had been little in comparison to the extreme kindness the homeless man had shown him.  Fred had thanked him and shaken his hands, said he was a true friend, and had gathered everything together and shuffled off to where some others were crouched around the fire.  Joe had stood and watched as the old fellow had handed out and shared his bounty, and then, with a long sigh he had walked away and taken himself towards the rail yards.

 

So, here he was, it was boring and cold and the tension when the train did stop was unbearable. Several times the car door had slid open and a light had flashed illuminating the inside of the carriage and showing the guards faces like pale moons under their peaked hats. Then the doors would slide shut again and Joe was able to relax and force himself not to faint or pass out from relief.

 

 

Chapter 11

 

A tall broad shouldered man entered the small Post Office of a town that, were it not for the telegraph poles announcing its presence, could have been considered a forgotten speck on the map.   The clerk looked up and nodded when the stranger gave his name at the same time stamping his feet to remove the snow and blowing on his hands to get some warmth into them

 

“Cold day?” the clerk observed

 

Adam said nothing but nodded, almost impatiently he snatched the paper from the clerks hands and asked him when it had actually arrived, to which the clerk replied “Two days ago.”

 

Taking the paper with him the young man left the building and joined his brother who was standing with the horses outside, “Any news?” Hoss asked hopefully.

 

“Yes, a cable from Pa.” Adam replied as he pulled on his gloves and shivered.

 

“Nothing else?”

 

“Who else would know we’d be here, Hoss?” Adam snapped and immediately felt sorry for having done so, he nodded over at a restaurant that was tucked in a corner of the street “Let’s get something to eat and drink. We can read it in comfort, huh?”

 

“Sure, I’ll get the horses settled in the livery stable first, they deserve their oats today.”

 

Adam said nothing to that but took the reins of his own horse into his gloved hands and walked alongside his brother to where the livery and blacksmiths were, leaving the animals there with a request that they were well cared for and given a rub down with clean straw.

 

At last, in the warm confines of the small restaurant they ordered food and hot coffee, pulled out chairs and settled down at the table, Adam smoothed out the paper “Joe left Boston some days ago … thought to be headed for Placerville … I’m enroute to meet up with him there”

 

Hoss grimaced “We’re miles out of our way.”

 

“Hardly surprising, considering we didn’t know exactly where he was or where he would be headed.” Adam frowned and gulped down his coffee “I mean, we knew where he was headed, it was obvious he’d be trying to make it for home, but we just didn’t know from which direction he’d be coming from or how.”

 

“We’ll have to head back along and detour across open country to pick up the way to Placerville.” Hoss sighed and pulled his plate of hot beef stew towards him, “Don’t look too bad, nothing as good as Hop Sings though.”

 

Adam said nothing to that but stood up and strolled over to the Manager of the establishment who was sitting on a stool reading a newspaper “Excuse me, do you happen to have a map of the territory?”

 

“A map?”

 

“Hu-huh”

 

The manager nodded and clambered off his stool to go into a back room, he presently returned with a rolled up paper in his hand “This is the most recent ordnance map we have, the railway folk left it behind for us.”

 

Adam took it and carried to where his brother was just scraping his plate empty, pushing everything on the table to one side he unrolled the paper and after placing the salt celler and pepper pot on two corners to weigh them down and prevent it rolling back on itself, the two brothers leaned over it and located the town, marked with a red circle.  Adams finger traced the railway line to the adjoining settlements which he now saw would take them days away from their desired destination.  He nodded “Open country it is…”

 

“In this weather too,” Hoss grumbled and sighed, “Fact is, whether Joe’s at the end of this ride or not we’d have had to go in that direction anyway in order to get home.”

 

Adam nodded, his eyes still on the map as though seeking to imprint it on his memory.  “No point in complaining, Hoss. If we want to find Joe we need to cut across here and here -” his finger stabbed at two locations, “We’ll meet up with the railway track hereabouts … if he is on a train we may be able to board it just here and, who knows, might even find him on it.”

 

Hoss frowned “How’d he get the money to pay for a ticket?”

 

Adam  shook his head “Order another meal, Hoss, you’ll need more ballast inside you if we’re to ride out through this snow.” he rolled up the map and returned it to the manager before pouring himself some more coffee “There’s more than one way to ride on the trains, Hoss.  I think Joe knows all about that now…”

 

Chapter 11

 

As the train chugged away at the miles Joe sat with the cold wind blowing against his face marveling at the beauty of the land which lay spread out before him, a panoramic view of such splendour that he found himself envying those artists who could capture such beauty with a stroke of paint and a brush for all the world to see.   He took sips of water from the flask and then slowly made his way to the door and peered out. It was enthralling to see the views unfold before his eyes.

 

Joe sat still but was aware now of the train gathering momentum and power to climb a steep gradient and he wondered how long it would be before they reached the top.   After that there would be the rapid descent on the other side.  He waited and could sense when the train had reached the top of the gradient and began its descent. Brakes squealed and sparks hissed as the great wheels screeched along the snow covered tracks. The driver struggled to slow the speed knowing that he would have the added difficulty of a sharp curve before he reached the level track again, but he was approaching it far too quickly. . Brakes squealed and sparks hissed as the great wheels screeched along the snow covered tracks.

 

Joe stood up and leaned against the door frame. His coat billowed out about him like a cloak and slipstream stung his eyes and made them water. He put a hand to his face to wipe his eyes free and as he did so the train hit the curve. The passengers in the comfort of their carriages were thrown against one another rather unceremoniously and those sitting near the aisles found themselves actually prostrate in the aisles themselves.   The ladies screamed and the men shouted (and some men screamed and some ladies shouted) and children whimpered and shouted for their moms and pa’s.

 

In the dining cars cups and plates tumbled everywhere and smashed onto the floor.    Porters and guards were flung off their chairs and fell over themselves. Unlocked doors slid open and the rail cars shifted. It was during that instance that Little Joe was flung from the rail car and catapulted out into the air to land some distance from the track into thick snow.

 

No one noticed the dark shape apparently take flight from the rail car apart from a little boy who had been staring out of the window.  He saw the spectacle as ear of the train rounded the curve.   He saw a dark shape fly out of the carriage. It was to give him nightmares for many years to come being convinced that he had seen the devil himself and that was what had caused the near crash. But good had defeated evil, he had been cast out and the train had been saved.   Of course, no one took any notice of him and when he persisted in telling the story he would receive a sharp tap on the head to shut him up!

 

Chapter 11

 

Joe felt he was drowning in snow.   After struggling for some time to get to his feet the train was already a dark speck on the horizon with only a black trail of smoke and hot cinders in its wake. He glanced about him and above him and knew fear once again for the vastness of the land that had been so beautiful, and was still beautiful, was now also a monster unleashed upon the unwary and unprepared.

 

Every frontiersman knew the wisdom of never venturing out into the wilderness during the snows unless they were well equipped and preferably, had company. But Joe was not only totally unequipped, he was also well aware that he was miles from his destination and other dangers now beckoned before him.  Blizzards could whirl into existence with a suddenness that could paralyse a man.  Creatures roamed on four legs that would be happy to have him as dinner. Even now the sky was leaden with the promise of more snow.

 

Profound silence sifted about him and settled like a mantle everywhere. He felt the stab of the brutal coldness against his face, and pulled at the coat and held it close against him. If he reached the trees, he thought, then he could make himself a shelter. He could find dry kindling and make a fire. He was a westerner and he could survive. He felt safer than at any time since he had arrived at Boston

 

 

***************

 

Against the blinding whiteness of the snow the train cut a black swathe across the horizon as it continued along its way.  Plumes of sooty smoke billowed into the sky and hung like a dark pall in the azure blueness.  Adam Cartwright blew on his hands and pulled back his gloves as his eyes followed the trains progress to Placerville.

 

“Progress, huh?” Hoss shouted, “We should be on thet thar train instead of freezing to death out here.”

 

“The trouble is, Hoss, we could still miss Joe.  Pa said he was told that Joe would hardly be a paying passenger.  How do we know which train he’ll be hitching a ride on?”

 

Adam rubbed his face and narrowed his eyes against the shimmering white that surrounded them, “How can we find him, Hoss?  We’re struggling against the odds here as it is.”

 

Hoss nodded, understanding only too well what his brother meant.  It had been hard work ploughing through the snow, caring for both themselves and their horses.  He thought of his father, whom they had last seen some days earlier.  He had not admitted to Adam just how anxious he had felt about Ben, but the exhausted, sunken eyed man that they had met had caused him severe anguish of heart.  Now his greatest desire was to bring Joe safely home to him, and to see the light shine in those dark eyes once more.

 

“We’ve gotta have faith, Adam.  Shucks, I’ve bin prayin’ so hard to find Joe that if I didn’t think my prayers would be answered I’d turn right on back home and stay thar until the spring thaw comes.”  Hoss pulled off his mittens and blew on his hands, like his brother, the cold was beginning to bite.

 

“That wouldn’t help Joe much,” Adam said grimly, and he turned Sport away from the emptiness about them, and away from the sight of the train that was now a dark speck far out on the horizon.

 

“We gotta make use of the snow, Adam.  Everything is so white and unspoiled out thar, anyone would see a man …”

 

“A man?  Walking alone enjoying the sights, I suppose?” Adam’s voice had a touch of sarcasm that sharpened the words, and he shook his head, “I think we made a mistake riding out here.   Joe would stay in the wagons until he reached a station that would bring him to familiar territory. We need to ride on towards Placerville.”

 

“How’d we know he’d be heading for Placerville?” Hoss snapped, his temper fraying from the effects of the cold, hunger, weariness and anxiety. “Could be he changed his mind, could be …” he stopped himself from saying anything as his mind strayed into an area none of them permitted themselves to even consider.

 

Adam sighed and bowed his head, “We don’t know, Hoss.  We’ve only got what Pa assumed from what he’d been told back in Boston.  If Joe has changed his mind, we’ll soon find out.”

 

He urged the horse forwards, narrowing his eyes against the dazzling shimmer of snow.   He felt totally frustrated and lost.  No matter how he tried to imagine himself in the situation in which Joe was now placed, he kept finding countless little reasons that would prevent or forestall the solutions he created in his mind.

 

Countless questions reared their ugly heads to rip apart the practical or logical events that would bring his brother safely home.  “What if’s- “abounded. He raised a hand to his eyes and pressed his fingers against the aching orbs.  Joe, Joe…where are you now?“

 

He could have got off anywhere,” Hoss said for about the hundredth time that day.

 

“I know.  That’s what worries me.  But, Hoss, wouldn’t it make more sense to stay where you are reasonably warm and safe?   Stay put someplace until you reach a station near home?  Someplace where there would be a friend to bail you out, send Pa a cable, something like that?”

 

Hoss shook his head, and cast an anxious look at his brother.  It seemed to him that Adam was getting frayed around the edges more than usual.  But then, this was an unusual situation and Joe was never predictable.

 

“You thinkin’ of givin’ up?” he asked cautiously.

 

“That’s unthinkable, Hoss, and you know it.”

 

“Yeah, but there’s a whole lot of space out there.  How do we find one man amongst all that…” he swept his arm wide in a gesture that was to encompass the white wilderness.

 

“Exactly.” Adam said crisply, “No one would be idiot enough to step off a train and walk through this, so that means Joe would stay in the wagon and wait until he reached town.”

 

“Yeah, but which town?” Hoss’ brow furrowed in thought, and he sighed deeply.  It was so cold that his breath froze into gleaming diamonds of ice upon his muffler instantly.

 

Adam shook his head.  Which town?  Which train?  What day? How did he know?  How could he know? He looked up into the sky and searched for the shrouded haze of the sun.  He had to have faith.  He’d prayed, hadn’t he?  He’d begged God for direction and help.  He’d talked it over in prayer, putting forwards suggestions, and then asking for the discernment to act on what guidance he had been given.  Now he felt despair tug at his heart.

 

The horses would need to stop soon, they were struggling against thick snow and the cold and the strain was beginning to tell on them.  He knew how tired he and Hoss were, they were urgently in need of the warmth of a fire, something hot to drink.  It would all take more time.  The day was short enough as it was and Placerville was still some days travelling in this weather, under these conditions. He turned to look at his brother, who rode with his chin resting upon his well buttoned up coat and mufflers.   Hoss was strong, and determined, he would force himself onwards until he dropped, and that would be long after Chubb had collapsed.  He could see his brother’s eyes moving to the left, right.  Searching, seeking, hoping…

 

Of course, they could get to Placerville and find Joe had got there days before them.  Well, that would be good.  He would take himself off to friends they had in town and get taken care of, which would make the trip home far better. ‘But what if …’ promptly slipped into his mind, ‘what if Joe had got off elsewhere?”

 

“He could be dead.” Hoss’ voice broke into his reverie, so deep and sad that it sounded like a death knell amidst all that silence.  “He could, you know?”

 

“I’d already thought of that…” Adam snapped, and turned his head away from his brother, wanting to close his mind to the worse probability of all.

 

“He could have been dead a long time ago, and no one knew to tell us.” Hoss intoned, and he bowed his head and emitted a sigh that was so close to a sob that Adam’s heart quivered in his breast.

 

“You never gave up on me, did you?  That time I was in the desert with Kane?” Adam said sharply, “How did you know where to find me? Tell me, Hoss?  How did you find me in all that desert?”

 

“We jest did, thet’s all.” Hoss frowned, recalling those dreaded days when the heat of the day tormented them as much as the cold of this present day gnawed at them.

 

Ben had insisted, Hoss recalled, to search for one more day.  He’d prayed, and so had Hoss and Joe.  Then, when they were about to give up, Joe had seen them, a man walking, no, staggering as he pulled a travois with a dead man on it; staggering in the desert as close to death as a man could possibly be – but he had survived.

 

“You have to have faith…” Hoss said, quietly, as though to himself.

 

“If only I had a sign,” Adam said to himself, “to know that Joe was alive and safe.”

 

They pushed the horses forwards through the drifts.   Adam was becoming weak from exhaustion as the cold bit into his bones and tightened its grip around his skull.  He turned to Hoss, it was time to stop and make a fire.  He could stand the cold no longer.

 

“Look at that, over there.” Hoss pointed and Adam followed the direction of his brother’s hand, “I didn’t expect to see that thar.”A small cabin, and from the chimney smoke billowed in soft white clouds.

 

Adam felt strength flow through his limbs, as he turned his horse in the direction of the cabin, hope returned to warm his heart.

 

 

Chapter 12

 

The man who opened the door pulled it wider as he saw the two men dismounting.   He was still clad in thick outer garments and snow was still mounted on his boots like little hillocks.  He pulled the door shut behind him as he trudged up to the brothers, preventing the snow from entering the room behind him the warmth of which the brothers sensed rather than felt.

 

“I’ll see to your horses.  Get yourselves inside and warmed.  My wife has broth cooking.”

 

“Thank you” Adam muttered as he slid from the saddle rather than dismounted with his usual alacrity, his legs were frozen, “I wasn’t expecting to find a cabin hereabouts?”

 

“Just not long been here,” the man replied gathering the reins of the horses in his hands “I’m a surveyor for the Railway, they build this house for me and my wife so’s I can get a better idea of the area… best get inside, we can talk more when your mouths have unfroze.”

 

Hoss and Adam said nothing to that but like drunken men made their way to the door, which they pushed open.  The warmth in the room hit them immediately.  It bathed them in a glow that sent the blood pulsing through their veins.  Hurriedly divesting themselves of their outer garments they nodded over to the woman who was stirring food on the black stove that seemed to positively throb from heat.

 

By the time the surveyor had returned and assured them that the horses were well, Adam and Hoss were seated by the open fire, enjoying the pleasure of the flames that was warming them through so effectively.  The woman had spoken not a word but had simply nodded a greeting, smiled and indicated chairs for them to sit upon.

 

“The name’s McIntosh.” he extended a hand to them and shook their hands warmly, “Managed to get everything we needed before the storms blew up.”

 

“Cartwright – Adam Cartwright, my brother, Hoss.” Adam indicated Hoss with a grateful smile to their benefactor,

 

“Wouldn’t it have been wiser to have waited for the spring? Winters can be pretty mean out here.” Hoss ventured to say as he left the comfort of the fire to sit in the chair.

 

McIntosh nodded “Probably so, but me and the Missus had no other place to go between times so we said we’d like a start right off.  The railways stocked the place up for us so we don’t even have to go into town for staples.”

 

 

“Well, as I said before, we hadn’t expected to find your cabin here,” Adam said honestly, “It certainly came as a very welcome surprise.”

 

“No doubt,” McIntosh leaned towards the fire and held out his hands to the flames.

 

“Dinner won’t be long,” the woman said quietly from her place by the stove, “I’ll just take a small portion of it into the lad.”

 

“Aye, you do that, Martha,” McIntosh nodded over to his wife, and then looked back into the fire

 

.“You have a child?” Adam asked, watching as Martha filled the bowl with the broth and then carefully carried it into an area screened off by a heavy curtain.

 

“No, no.. in time perhaps,” McIntosh smiled dreamily, “No, I found another traveler today.  He must have seen the smoke from the chimney, like yourselves, and forced himself to get here.  Had I not been in the wood shed I would never have seen him as he fell back into the snow.  Perhaps his body would never have been found until the spring thaw.    Funny how things happen like that, you see no one for months and then our first visitors arrive in a batch of three.”

 

Adam felt his throat tighten and he darted a glance at Hoss who was already standing on his feet

 

“Can we … can we meet this traveler?” Hoss asked in a voice that seemed to come from the depth of his boots.

 

“Certainly,” McIntosh smiled and nodded towards where Martha had just gone, “He’s plain wore out.  Doubt if he’ll have much to say for himself, but go ahead.”

 

 

 

Neither man could at first believe that the youth sprawled on the bed, attempting to swallow the broth, was their beloved Joe.  Disheveled, bearded, with dark hollows around the sockets of his eyes, the poor youth looked a pale and sick shadow of his handsome self.  It was as he turned his head towards them that the gleam came into his eyes and he reached out a thin, gaunt hand.

 

“Joe?”   The voice whispered close to his ear and when he looked into familiar brown eyes that gleamed with what seemed tears.  But, exhausted even by the hope that he had felt surge through his body, he closed his eyes again.  “Joe?”

 

Now he opened his eyes, looked up and into those brown eyes and smiled, his one word came in a sob “Adam?”

 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, brother,” Adam spoke the words softly, as though had they been spoken too loudly his brother would have noticed the emotion in his voice

 

Hoss stepped forward, wiping his eyes and nose on a handkerchief and not ashamed to let them see the tears, honest heart felt as they were “Joe…it’s me… Hoss.”

 

Now Joe indeed did burst into tears, his weakness left him trembling with emotion, but the emotion he felt at the sight of his two brothers so overwhelmed him that he allowed himself to be engulfed in their arms …  eventually they released him as though realising that if they held him much longer they’d have suffocated him. he sunk back upon the pillows and his tear filled eyes looked from one to another of them “Is Pa here?”

 

“No, not yet…” Adam said softly

 

“He’ll be here soon as he knows you’re here, shortshanks.” Hoss whispered and patted Joes shoulder as though he had to touch him again just to make sure he was there, that it was real flesh and blood and not a mirage or hallucination.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“At the McIntosh place, about two days ride from Placerville.”

 

“How did you find me?” Joe’s voice trembled as he closed his eyes again.  This must be a dream brought about by the storm, lack of food.  Was it what happened before one died?

 

Adam smiled and looked up.  Hoss stepped forward and leaned down and looked at his little brother with a warm smile, his blue eyes twinkled.

 

“We didn’t find you, you found this place, the McIntosh’s cabin.” Hoss pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down at his brother’s side,  “You’ll soon be  feeling better now, Little Joe.”

 

“Better than I’ve been for a long time, Hoss,” Joe whispered.  How hard it was to get those words past his lips, but to hear their voices again was wonderful and his heart was aching with relief, joy and a whole tumult of emotions.

 

“You’re safe now, little brother,” Adam said in the gentlest tone of voice, one he knew how to use when comfort was needed.

 

“Adam, I never felt so alone before. I felt so ..so alone.”  Joe sobbed, his hands to his eyes as though ashamed that the tears hadn’t stopped yet and seemed to be an unending torrent.  Even the relief and joy of being found by his brothers seemed to weaken and exhaust him …

 

“You weren’t alone, Joe.” Adam squatted down on his haunches so that his face was level with his brothers and he stroked back the dark unruly mass of curls gently “Someone was there to care for you.  How else could you have ever have found us, huh? Now, get some sleep. You’re safe now.”

 

Within minutes they could hear the youth breathing evenly and steadily in sleep, a small smile on his lips.   They turned and smiled at one another and nodded, both feeling the emotions of the other, but not needing to find the words to describe them.

 

Finally Adam sat down and took the young man’s hand in his own and held it gently and whispered, as though in thankful prayer, …

 

“That friend of mine who lives in God,

That God, which ever lives and loves,

One God, One Law, One element,

And one far off divine event

To which the whole creation moves…….”

~The End

 

Tags:  Adam Cartwright, Ben Cartwright, Hoss Cartwright, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright