Summary:  Men of color are hired on at the Ponderosa.  How far will the Cartwrights have to go to defend their hired hands?  Rated: MA Word Count: 18,200

                                                    The Third Warning

They had made a conscious decision. They would not be swayed by threats, either real or imagined. But it wasn’t imagined when the rock had sailed through the dining room window and skittered across the table. It broke china and scattered silverware in its path before it came to a stop in the center of the table. The four Cartwrights had looked at one another for a long stunned moment before Hoss had reached over and picked up the rock. All could see the piece of paper wrapped and tied around it. Hoss carefully extracted the paper and handed to his father. Joe and Adam disappeared out through the kitchen and ran searching the yard for the one responsible but there was no one to be seen and they returned quickly into the house.

“I guess I should be glad that I was late getting to dinner,” Ben quipped as he watched Hop Sing trying to mitigate the damages on the table. But the humor disappeared as he read the note.

‘Get rid of the coloreds. We only give you three warnings. You got forty-eight hours.’

“Succinct and to the point,” Adam allowed and took the note from his father’s hand. The writing was rather unschooled and sloppy. Adam considered that had the slant been backward, Joe could have been the culprit but then Joe would have never written something like this. The paper was ordinary brown paper like the merchants in town used to wrap packages. And the string was simple twine.

“Any idea who’d write somethin’ like that?” Hoss asked looking over Adam’s shoulder.

Adam shrugged and returned the note to his father. He couldn’t help but notice that his father’s hands shook just a tiny bit but Adam passed it off to a delayed reaction.

“Well, it doesn’t matter who wrote it or why. The Logans are good hands. They stay.” And Ben would say no more about the father and two sons that had ridden in a week ago looking for work. The father, Jeremiah Logan, was an imposing man physically, standing close to Hoss’ height but had a more lean and muscular look to his body than Hoss. He had stood there in the main room of the Ponderosa ranch house with his hat in his hands and with a deep resounding voice, asked for wrangler work for himself and his sons. When Ben had asked where he had worked before, the man had listed off a half dozen ranches in Texas and down in the Territories. He gestured towards the young man who stood behind him to his left and introduced Samuel, his eldest son. Samuel, he had said could read and write and knew his numbers so he would be helpful in keeping the tally book. Samuel had respectfully dipped his hatless head and smiled a small fleeting smile. The other man, the one to Jeremiah’s right, was every bit as imposing as his father and was introduced as Solomon. When Ben had extended his hand to the young man, Solomon had stepped back and ducked his head.

“You’ll have to excuse my boy Solomon, Mistah Cartwright. He won’t shake hands with no white man. He got beat real bad when he was a young’un for touchin’ a white person and it kinda left a mark on him.” Jeremiah explained.

Ben had drawn himself up and carefully scrutinized the three men. Although their clothing was of poor quality, they were clean and mended. Their demeanor was respectful but proud all the same. But long experience told Ben that it took more than appearances to make a good wrangler. It was on his lips to turn the men down when Hoss had come barreling into the house. Introductions were quickly made with Hoss asking if the three horses out there in the yard belonged to them. When the reply came back yes, Hoss had turned to his father and said that he had to see those horses.

The horses indeed had been beautiful animals. All three were a rich strawberry red with white rumps spotted liberally with red marks. They stood close to sixteen hands or maybe a little more with powerful hindquarters. As the two admiring men had run their hands over them, they had stood stock still but just looking at their ears told that the horses were carefully watching the proceedings.

“They’re appaloosas, Mistah Cartwright. They’re bred by the Nez Perce Indians.” Jeremiah had explained.

“I’ve heard of them, just never seen one close up. They sure are beautiful animals, Mr. Logan. Heard they make good cattle horses. That so?” Ben quizzed, wondering how much his guests knew.

“Any horse makes a good cow horse iffen he’s trained right. These fellas here are good just about everywhere but we prefer to use Texans. Ever seen one of them, sir?”

“You mean the ones King and them down in Texas are breeding now days? Yes, I’ve seen them. My son Joseph managed to buy some breeding stock off King a few years ago. We’ve had some success with them but its still a little early, if you follow my drift.”

Jeremiah Logan smiled broadly, his white teeth making his whole face glow. “You hear that boys? Mistah Cartwright’s son bought some of Mistah King’s stock! Excuse me, Mistah Cartwright, but we worked for old Mistah King once and iffen your son got good stock from him, well, I guess what I should say is that we’d best watch out or he’ll be after our ‘loosas, too!” Hard pressed to do otherwise, the two younger men tried not to laugh.

Deciding that the three men did know wrangling, Ben smiled as broadly as Jeremiah and again extended his hand to the man. “Mister Logan, you and your boys are hired. Pay is thirty a month, beans and a bed. You can start tomorrow. We are preparing a herd for market that we want to move out in a month. You want a job on the trail wrangling, it depends on well you work out here just tending herd. Agreed?”

Jeremiah looked over his shoulder before he took Ben’s hand in his to seal the pact. Both the sons had nodded briefly.

“And I’ll make sure Joseph knows your horses are off limits,” Hoss added.

In the week that had followed, the Logans had proven to be every bit as useful as Ben had thought they would be. They were conscientious of the animals they rode while rounding up the herd. They took orders with a smile and a nod. And when other men shared a bottle at night in the bunkhouse, the Logans stayed with the growing herd. Jeremiah had explained it easily to Ben: someone needed to nighthawk the herd and since they wouldn’t be easily tolerated in the bunkhouse, they were the natural choice. When Ben had voiced the opinion that they would be accepted, the other patriarch had simply shook his head and said “No, suh. We been down that road before,” and went back to his work.

Now the thrown missive told the Cartwrights to dismiss the Logans.

“We watch things a bit closer, boys,” Ben admonished later that evening as they sat in front of the fire. “Any one of you see someone going after the Logans or even saying something untoward concerning them, put a stop to it. Fire the man if necessary.”

The next two days went by as though nothing had happened but word of mouth had spread the story anyway. Nothing was said directly to the Logans but they heard of the threat and that second evening found Jeremiah in the Cartwrights’ home again, offering this time to leave.

“I’ve seen this happen before, Mistah Cartwright. So, we’ll just collect our pay and be on our way, suh.”

Ben had bristled a bit then jammed his hands into his pockets. “Mister Logan, there is something you need to know about us. We don’t take threats lightly, of course, but we also don’t give in to those who make them. From what my sons tell me, you and yours have been doing a great job and there is no need for you to leave. Whoever is behind this, we’ll find them and they will be the ones to leave.”

“But this rarely stops with a rock through a window pane, suh. No, it’s best that we move on.”

Adam came to stand beside his father, hands on his hips. “Are you saying that who ever is behind this will come after you? Is that what you’re afraid of Mister Logan? That someone will hurt you or your sons?”

The other elder man looked Adam in the eye, the expression on his face that of hurt pride mixed with determination. “No, suh, Mistah Adam. I’d be more afraid that they would hurt folks like you and yours. That way the message gets out faster.”

“What message?” Ben asked, becoming increasingly disturbed by the undercurrent.

“Why you think we worked so many places? Folks like you give us work then folks who don’t want no coloreds around start making trouble. ‘Fore we know it, we need to leave just so’s the good folks don’t get hurt none. But iffen one of ’em do, there ain’t another soul in the county give us work ’cause they’re scared,” Jeremiah explained.

Ben pursed his lips and thought for a few long moments after hearing the explanation. “Do you have any idea who these troublemakers might be?” he asked finally.

“No suh, not exactly but I can tell you this: they might be your neighbors and it would be hard for a man like you to turn against his friends over someone like me and my boys. They might be long time hands out there in your bunkhouse right now. Men that have worked for you lots of years and given you good service for their pay. Would be mighty hard to turn a man like that out, wouldn’t it? No Mistah Cartwright, we’ll be leaving.”

Ben turned and sought the face of each of his sons. He knew what was in his heart to say but wanted to see it in his sons’ as well. Hoss’ gaze never wavered as he looked at the big dark-skinned man he had worked with and grown to admire for his sense of right and wrong. Adam likewise merely raised his chin and gave both his father and Jeremiah an even level look. And across the room, Joe had given the logs in the fire a prod and stood with the poker in his hands. With it bouncing lightly in his hands, Joe gave a half smile to his father then seemed to speak for all of them.

“Mister Logan, if it is a neighbor, they aren’t friends. If it is a hired hand, I don’t want to work with ’em. So I guess you could say that in a fair fight we’d take your side over theirs.”

Jeremiah Logan looked at his worn boots and beyond that, at the waxed pine floor. He knew that he and his sons needed the work and they had hoped that the hatred and prejudice hadn’t come this far west yet. They had been proven wrong. This threat to these good people showed it, even if they couldn’t understand the depth of it. He considered his next words carefully before he spoke them. “What if it ain’t a fair fight?”

“Then we will fight fire with fire, Mister Logan,” Hoss avowed and a glance at the other men in the room showed Jeremiah Logan that they would too.

But it wasn’t fire they fought. Bright and early the next morning, Adam and Joe opened the front door to find the butchered carcass of one of their prize bulls on the front porch. And painted with its blood on the door was the numeral one.

Word spread rapidly in the bunkhouse and hands stood about in the yard as the three Cartwright sons worked to remove the body. When Joe and Adam hadn’t appeared on schedule at the herd, the Logans had come to the house, fearing the worst. And only they had helped.

Pail after pail of water washed the blood from the porch but Ben had stopped Hop Sing from scrubbing it from the door.

“Gather all the men,” he instructed his sons and once all the men were assembled there in the yard, he stood tall on the porch to address them all, his sons at his back, their sidearms plainly visible.

“Now I am going to ask this just once. Did anyone of you hear anything or see anything last night?” Ben watched the faces of the men and heard the denials that came too easily. “Any of you know who’s behind this?” Again the denials came. “All right then. You will know this: We do not take kindly to threats made against us or any of our employees. When we find out who is responsible, they will be turned over to the law and appropriate charges brought. And I have no doubt that the person or persons will be found guilty and spend time in the Nevada State Prison.”

One man towards the back ducked his head and said something to the man beside him so low that standing on the porch Ben couldn’t hear him.

“You!” and Ben pointed to him, “You got somethin’ you wanted to say?”

The man straightened and spoke up clearly. “Said spending time in jail would be preferable to spending time with your niggers.”

Silence fell over the yard. Men shifted from foot to uncomfortable foot.

“Anyone who believes that can pick up their pay and leave,” Ben said evenly but inside he was seething at not only the words used but the accusation of ownership as well.

In the end, they lost four hands that day. Two were honest enough to say that they didn’t like working with the likes of the Logans and even though Ben offered them jobs on other parts of the ranch, they declined. The other two claimed they were frightened and wanted no part of what they saw as a useless fight. With that reduction in manpower, Ben had his horse saddled and headed out to help with the roundup himself.

As he sat overlooking the broad valley where the herd was being gathered, Ben felt a huge sense of accomplishment and pride. Below him was easily a herd of several hundred prized beef cattle ready to hit the trail for market. He knew they would bring a high price. They always did. But it was something more than that. As he watched he saw his sons working: Hoss was doing the branding of the young calves off to one side. His tall white hat easily seen and his hearty bellow keenly heard above the noise of the herd. Across the herd, Ben caught sight of Adam’s tall chestnut horse standing riderless while Adam bent to get a cup of coffee from the campfire there. Ben scanned the area and saw Joe’s familiar black and white pinto burst from the underbrush, Joe leaning against the horse’s neck, a half-grown steer in front of the white hooves.

“Yes suh, they’s mighty fine boys we got,” came Jeremiah’s deep voice behind then quickly beside Ben. It startled Buck and the horse danced but Ben brought him back under control easily.

Looking across the herd again, Ben sought out and found both of the Logan brothers helping Hoss, Solomon dropping the calves to their sides and readying them for the iron as his brother Samuel roped another from the herd. Their movements were sure and steady, never in a hurry nor slacking off the pace. It reminded Ben of watching the gears operate in a clock.

“But,” Jeremiah’s voice dropped, “what are we gonna do when it ain’t a steer butchered on the front porch? Like I said, I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before, Mistah Cartwright.”

“You think that the next warning will involve one of our sons, Jeremiah?” Ben turned, his eyes narrowing.

“No suh. I know it will and it will be one of your sons,” he said then urged his appaloosa down the slope, leaving Ben alone on the rise.

Throughout the remainder of the day, Ben made it a point to talk to his sons alone. Their reactions had been typical, a gun slipped from the holster and checked surreptitiously then slid back. Hoss had patted his father’s back and turned back to his work, shouting for a calf. Adam had rubbed a hand across his chin and looked beyond his father, obviously studying the men around him, judging friend and foe. Joe had smiled briefly and told his father not to worry before he gigged Cochise back into the bushes for more strays. None of their actions had instilled the least bit of ease in their father.

For the next few days, Ben felt like they were all walking on eggshells. Tension and fear had begun to creep into their conversations. Never once did they say anything in anger but it lay just below the surface like a rattler ready to strike. Beyond that however, each knew the others were watching his back as well as their own. Ben continued to help out with the round up for two reasons: first he felt the overpowering urge to protect his sons and he couldn’t do that if he was in the house or town. And secondly, he felt safer with their presence and their guns close-by. He had thought about the situation and figured that Joe, popping strays from the bushes would be the most likely target. Often isolated from the others, he would be easier to take. So Ben had taken on the arduous task of helping Joe.

Together they had just flushed a mother and calf from the bushes when Ben called a halt to catch his breath.

“What’s a matter, Pa? Old Buck having trouble keeping up?” Joe teased when Ben suggested they stop for a cup of coffee to give the horses a break.

A sharp snort showed Joe just what his father thought of that idea as he retrieved the cup his father had poured him. Squatting on his haunches, Joe looked up at his father and smiled.

“I’d like to see the day when Buck and I couldn’t work you and that flea-bitten nag of yours into the ground,” Ben challenged back. Joe laughed aloud and Ben joined with him, both knowing the truth was far different from what Ben had just attested to. As Ben sipped his coffee, he scanned the area, automatically searching for Hoss and Adam.

“Hoss is over by the remuda,” Joe offered, not even having to look at his father to know what he was doing. But then of course, Joe had the knowledge simply because he had done just what his father was doing when they had ridden in. “Didn’t see Adam. Want me to go look for him?”

“No,” Ben said slowly, still surveying the area. He did a quick head count and found all the men there that were suppose to be there. Except Adam. “Let’s go talk to Jeremiah. He keeps real close eye out for things going on.”

“Saw Adam headed back towards the house about an hour ago, Mistah Ben,” Jeremiah replied to Ben’s question of whether he had seen Adam or not.

Turning in his saddle, Ben ordered Joe to stay with the herd. “Probably being overly cautious,” he admitted.

“Nope. I’m going with you, Pa.” Joe stubbornly refused.

Pulling up into the yard a short while later, both father and son felt a sigh of relief. Sport stood tied to the hitching rail at the front of the house and the yard was all quiet with just a few of Hop Sing’s chickens scratching in the dirt.

“While we’re here, I suggest we get a bite to eat before we head back. Water the horses, would you son?” Ben suggested as he swung down off his horse and handing the reins to Joe, headed into the house. He had just stripped his gunbelt off when he heard Joe’s cry for him come from the direction of the barn.

When he ran into the barn, the sight that met him stopped him cold. Hanging there, stretched between two uprights, was Adam. His back was a bloody mess, his shirt in torn strips attesting to the fact that the whip that lay at his feet had been used on him. Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, Ben moved to support Adam’s limp form as Joe began cutting the rawhide that bound Adam’s hands. When the last of the rawhide parted, Joe moved to help his father, but Ben stood, gamely holding Adam’s heavy inert body to him, unwillingly to let anyone else help him or even touch his eldest.

“Pa,” Joe whispered gently, “We need to get him into the house then I’ll go get Doc Martin. Pa? Come on, let me help you with him.”

That seemed to stir Ben’s thoughts into action and with Joe’s help, they managed to get Adam not only into the house but into his room as well.

“Go on now, Joe. Go get the doctor. I can handle it from here.”

Joe stepped back away from the side of the bed. He knew he could have screamed bloody murder and his father wouldn’t have heard him right then. But he also knew that Adam needed a doctor. His decision made, Joe bolted from the room. He would ride for the herd and Hoss first, then the doctor. He had to know his father and brother would be protected before he would get that far away.

Ben lit the lamp and set it beside the bed. The illumination it brought to Adam’s shadowy room did nothing to improve the sight before the father’s horrified eyes. Carefully, he began peeling away the remains of the black shirt from Adam’s back. The only sound Adam made during that whole time was to groan softly just once. His father quietly shushed him then resumed his work. Once the shreds were pulled away, Ben gently removed the rest of the shirt by simply pulling away. Not wanting to disturb Adam, Ben pulled out his pocketknife and slit the broad belt and reaching under him pulled it away as well. Moving rapidly, Ben slit the outside seam of both jean legs and removed Adam’s boots, careful not to pull too hard. Once he had Adam’s bloody clothing removed, he pulled up the quilt to just below where the lash marks stopped. He poured water into the bowl and took up the towel and washcloth there. Speaking softly, Ben began to wipe away the drying blood, his mindset far from the gentleness his hands displayed.

Far too soon for it to be Joe returning with the doctor, Ben heard a horse gallop into the yard. He reached for his gun, only to remember that he had left it downstairs on the credenza by the door. Panicked that it might be Adam’s attacker returned and he had no weapon for defense, Ben grabbed up the pocketknife. Then Hoss’ bellow made the rafters tremble. Just the sound of it brought relief to Ben and he called out for Hoss to come upstairs.

Nothing Joe could have told him prepared Hoss for what he saw when he pushed Adam’s door open. Just the sight of his brother’s back rooted him to the floor with fear. Fear for the life of his brother. Fear for himself for if he had the person who had done this to Adam, for he wasn’t sure he could have kept from killing that person. It was just his father asking for him to help that cut the roots and forced the fear away.

“Hoss, son, please get me some clean hot water. We need to get this cleaned up as best we can before Paul gets here.”

Once Hoss had left with the pitcher, Ben turned his attention back to Adam. Hesitantly, he stroked the glossy black hair, his hands shaking. Adam stirred, his head moving a tiny bit as though in remembrance of his father’s touch of long ago and seeking it again subconsciously.

“Just stay still, Adam. You move and these places are gonna open up and start bleeding again. Just lay there. Shh, son, everything will be all right. You just leave everything up to us, now, you hear? Joe’s gone for Doc Martin and you know the way that boy rides, he’ll have Paul back here in no time flat. And Hoss is downstairs now and nothing will get passed him.”

Adam struggled to regain consciousness. He could feel his father touching him, could hear his father’s voice trying to reassure him but he had to tell his father something important. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force his eyes open and couldn’t make his voice heard. It hurt to simply breathe and it took all his concentration to not cry out in pain when his father resumed wiping away the dried blood from his back and shoulders. Most of all, he wanted to open his eyes and not be in the barn. Every time he let himself fall into the oblivion of unconsciousness, when he resurfaced it was to the panic that he was there again and would feel the lash biting into his flesh again. And that he would hear that laugh again.

The afternoon deepened into evening and still Joe had not reappeared with the doctor. Hoss had helped his father change the linens under Adam’s ravaged body and removed the bloody remains of his brother’s clothing. Standing in the living room before the fire burning brightly there, Hoss had nothing to do but pace and worry. His keen hearing told him that upstairs, Adam still had not regained consciousness and that outside, no rapid hoof beats that said Joe was home either. He felt that this forced inactivity was going to make him crazy, with his loyalties to his brothers torn.

“Hoss! I need you up here, son!” his father’s frantic shout came and Hoss took the stairs two at time.

Adam, out of his mind with pain and a rising fever, lay thrashing on the bed, one hand clawing at his father’s arm. New blood leeched onto the sheets, making obscene red rivers on the starched whiteness of them.

“What do you want me to do, Pa?” Hoss asked, sure that even just to touch Adam would be to hurt him. And Hoss wasn’t sure he could ever do that to one of his brothers intentionally.

“Just hold him down. Maybe I can get him settled down. Where is Joe and that doctor?”

Grabbing up a pillow that had been shoved to the floor, Hoss placed it against Adam’s thrashing torso and held it there. As to Joe’s whereabouts, Hoss was beginning to worry that whoever had done this to Adam had gotten their hands on Joe as well. But that he couldn’t say to his father.

“Adam!” Ben finally shouted, holding Adam’s angular face between his hands, forcing his eyes to focus on his face. Slowly, Adam calmed, his breathing slowed and he allowed his father to help him lay on his side. As though he needed to anchor himself, Adam reached for his father’s hand and grasping it, held it so tightly that Ben nearly winced in pain.

“It’s all right, Adam. Hoss and I are both here.” Ben slowly stroked the side of Adam’s face, seeing the panic creeping from the dark ebony eyes. Still allowing Adam to hold his other hand, he tried to wipe away the tiny beads of sweat on Adam’s brow but every time he blocked his son’s view of his face, Ben could feel Adam stiffen slightly. “Joe will be here soon with Doctor Martin and Doc will take good care of things. You know that he will. Hoss, will you get Adam a little brandy? I think it will help things a bit if he can relax.”

Adam gratefully sipped the brandy, letting it spread warmly down his parched throat.

“Pa,” he managed to croak out, fighting the waves of nausea that threatened his stomach. “Need… to tell… you …” He struggled with the words, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, you need to lay back and rest. Paul Martin will be here and we can talk after he tends to you. That’s enough! I am still your father, remember?”

The half smile Adam gave Ben nearly broke his heart.

“What took you so all fired long?” Hoss spat at Joe once Paul Martin and their father were out of hearing range. “‘Bout drove me nuts, thinkin’ maybe who ever done that to Adam had a hold of you too!”

Standing in the kitchen sipping a glass of water, Joe rolled his eyes at Hoss’ angry words. “Like I said, Doc wasn’t in town and I had to go find him. Do you know how far it is out to the Hurley’s? Well I do! And it ain’t a hop, skip and a jump, ya know!” he shot back, letting his own frustrations show just as plainly as Hoss’.

“Well let me tell you, when Adam come to and tried to come off that bed, it took everything Pa and I had to keep him from hurtin’ hisself more. What’s more, I know Pa was worried that Adam was gonna do more damage.”

Slamming the glass down on the sink top, Joe turned to face Hoss and show him just how much damage he could do. But standing there in the kitchen doorway was Jeremiah Logan so Joe curbed his temper.

“I heard about Mistah Adam,” the big man said softly, his eyes shining in the thin kitchen light. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Hoss shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to smile for he could see how uncomfortable the other man was having walked into what he must have thought was a family fight. “Doc is upstairs with him now. We won’t know anything for a while, Mister Logan. I want to apologize for leaving the herd so fast this afternoon. Did your son finish the tallying?”

“Yes suh, he did. Mistah Adam must have thought a lot of my boy to let him do such an important job. But tell me, Mistah Hoss, they said your brother was whipped. That so?”

“That’s right. Looked like whoever was trying to make us kick you off the ranch caught him. Pa and I found him.” Joe’s eyes narrowed as he watched Logan’s expression change from concern to something Joe wasn’t able to put a label on but thought it looked suspicious.

“Well then, that settles it. Iffen you could give me the pay my boys and I have earned, we’ll move on. We don’t want to cause trouble this way. Been tellin’ Mistah Ben that from the get-go,” the dark man seemed to almost plead with his voice but Joe kept watching his eyes. What he saw there didn’t seem to match the voice.

“Mister Logan, whoever this lowdown scum is that’s done this is gonna be made to pay for it. But more than anything else right now, we need men that we know are on our side. I certainly hope that includes you and your sons,” Hoss insisted.

“But Mistah Hoss, this ain’t over. That note said three warnings and you ain’t had but two. I’m afraid if we stay that the third time around, these here fellas will kill one of you good folks. I couldn’t stand that on my conscience. No suh, just pay us what we’re owed and we’ll be on our way and you won’t have to keep looking over your shoulder.”

Hoss half turned so he could see Joe’s face and possibly read his thoughts. But Joe was looking at the floor so Hoss turned back to Jeremiah Logan.

“Tell you what, you and your boys stay till the end of the week. That should get us through round-up pretty much and there’ll be a good size bonus in it for you. And don’t worry Mister Logan, us Cartwrights, when we stand together, there ain’t much can get by us.”

Joe wanted to point out that one Cartwright was already out of action. Without thinking of what he was doing, he caressed the pearl handle of his revolver he still wore. It didn’t go un-noticed by Jeremiah Logan.

“Roy, I don’t know what to tell you,” Paul Martin shook his head as he spoke. Standing on the front porch of the sprawling ranch house, it felt good to breathe in the cool night air. “All I know is that Adam Cartwright was whipped. Some other bruises and contusions tell me that he put up a fight beforehand. Right now, I am going to keep him sedated pretty heavily.”

“Well, I want someone with him all the time,” Roy’s finger emphasized his words.

“That ain’t gonna be a problem. You couldn’t pry Pa away from him,” Hoss needlessly explained.

“And that’s going to be another problem, Hoss. Your father needs to rest as well!”

“He will, Doc, don’t worry. Hoss may have to hog tie him and carry him out of the room but Pa’ll rest. Can’t say how much-”

“That’s another thing, Joe! How come you didn’t report all these goings on before it got to this stage?” Roy whirled on the younger man. “Something like this and I would have thought you boys or your Pa would have been in town talkin’ to me!”

“We didn’t think it was gonna go this far, Roy. Besides, if we came running to you every time someone threatened us, we’d be in town all the time,” Hoss allowed but even to him, the excuse sounded weak.

“Well, it did go that far, Hoss. What are you gonna do now?” Roy asked testily.

“Can tell you one thing, I am not going to show this bastard, no matter who he is, one lick of fear. Pa and Hoss can stay here and take care of Adam but I am going back out to the herd tomorrow morning bright and early. I’m gonna show this scum that what they’ve done is not going to stop the Ponderosa. And that we will not have our decisions concerning who we hire and fire dictated through fear,” Joe spat his words out, realizing too late that the men standing before him were not the ones he was angry with.

“It ain’t showin’ fear to be smart, Joe,” Roy cautioned but figured he was just throwing away his words.

It was on the tip of his tongue to come back at the sheriff but just then the two Logan brothers rode slowly into the yard. From where he had been listening, their father rose from the rocking chair and strolled out to talk with them. The four men on the porch watched and although they couldn’t make out any words, had the feeling that Jeremiah was giving them instructions. They turned their horses back around and headed out of the yard, leaving Jeremiah standing alone.

“I told them to watch the herd extra careful tonight for you, Mistah Hoss. Sometimes these sorts of folks will try to go after the things the man has, like his house or his cattle. You know, things a man values,” Jeremiah explained, his hands spreading wide before him as he spoke.

“You’ve experienced this sort of thing before, Mister Logan?” the sheriff queried.

“There isn’t a colored man alive that hasn’t in some form or another, sheriff. My own boy Solomon was beaten bad a few years ago by some folks that didn’t think we needed to be where we were. I’m sorry that Mistah Adam got hisself torn up like that but it could have been worse.”

“Mister Logan, I’ve seen men beat with a whip before and for what I saw upstairs in that room, it couldn’t have been much worse,” Hoss’ voice shook with barely controlled anger.

“Yes, it could. When you want to kill a man with a whip, you tie him to a tree or a rock or even the ground. That way, the body has to take the full force of the whip. When a man is hung like Mistah Adam was, the body can move away from the whip. And that is the difference, Mistah Hoss. I’ll be saying goodnight now. My boys are waiting for me out at the herd.” And touching the brim of his hat, he moved off into the night.

“Well, boys,” Paul Martin adjusted his coat as he addressed Hoss and Joe. “If there’s any change in his condition, you know where to find me. Good night. Comin’ Roy?”

Roy patted Hoss’ arm and moved off to follow the good doctor. Hoss watched them mount up and leave, the dark moonless night swallowing them quickly. As he stood there, something kept nagging at him but he couldn’t quite put his finger to it. One thing he did know, he could practically scrape the anger off Joe, it was laying on him so thick.

“Joe, promise me that you ain’t gonna do what you said you was,” Hoss half pleaded.

“You mean about going back out and working? I meant it, Hoss, every word. Just like we aren’t going to let the Logans be run off the ranch with their tails between their legs, I ain’t backing down one bit either.” Joe huffed once and turned quickly to go back into the house. It had been a long day and felt like it was going to be a longer night.

It hadn’t been easy but Hoss had finally convinced his father to rest. As Hoss now sat beside Adam’s bed, he heard the clock downstairs chime twice then fall silent. He rolled his shoulders, seeking for a little release of the tension he felt. Since he had taken over an hour or so ago, Adam had stirred a time or two but each time had dropped back out. Hoss figured it had to be from the sedative Doc had given him but Adam was fighting its effects. He would move an arm or a leg and then mumble in his sleep. Hoss at first tried to make sense of what Adam was saying but then gave up completely. Adam was just out of his head was all. He picked up the book he had been reading and tried to get back into the story, muttering that he never understood what Adam saw in Shakespeare. But Adam’s movement and mumbling seemed to be intensifying so he set it down on the nightstand and leaning over closer to his brother’s head spoke softly, trying to calm him. It didn’t work. But Adam seemed to be saying the same thing over and over again so Hoss listened closely. But it just seemed that Adam was saying something was crooked.

Sitting back, Hoss pondered Adam’s slurred words ‘crooked’ then he always started the next word with an ‘s’ sound but he never finished the word. “Crooked shoe? The man who did this, Adam, his horse have a crooked shoe? But how could you have told that about his horse.?  Did the man have a crooked shoe? That could be it!”

On through the night, Hoss Cartwright ran down a mental list of everyone that they had contact with and found not one person who he thought had a crooked shoe. Weary from the strain, he finally let the thought go completely; figuring Adam was just rambling.

With the first break of day, Joe Cartwright pushed his pinto down the slope and into the cow camp. Dismounting, he stopped by the ever-present coffee pot and poured himself a cup. As he sipped the bitter black brew, he let his eyes roam across the camp and herd, looking for the least little thing out of order. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or not that he found nothing. Jeremiah Logan and his son Solomon were moving along the outskirts of the herd while Samuel was headed directly for him.

Samuel pulled his horse to a stop beside Joe and reaching into his vest pocket pulled out the tally book. “Reckon you’ll be wanting this today, suh,” he offered to Joe.

The motion seemed disturbing to the big appaloosa Samuel rode and the horse danced to one side. Instinctively, Joe put out one gloved hand to the animal’s shoulder to keep from getting stepped on. His brow knotted in surprise. The horse was heated up pretty good. Too hot to have been just riding slow around the herd night hawking. Joe thought. More like he had been run hard. But just as quickly, Joe flashed a smile at the other man and told him ‘thank you’. Solomon dipped his head and went back to the edge of the herd.

Standing behind Cochise so no one could see what he was doing, Joe opened the tally book. On each page, there were the solid straight hash marks, four rigidly straight and one slanted across with four sets to a line. On the top of several pages in Adam’s concise hand was the date. When the day was finished, at the bottom would be a total. Flipping to the last pages, Joe saw that while Samuel had copied Adam’s method of counting, he wasn’t near as neat as Adam was. But something nagged at Joe about it. Then it hit him. All of yesterday’s tally was done in Samuel’s uneven hand. That can’t be right! Adam was working the book yesterday morning. I know he was. I saw him writing in it. Joe rifled back a few pages but Adam was nothing if not consistent. Just before Samuel’s page, there was a total on the page before it, signifying the end of a day’s count. Going back, Joe added all the totals in his head. He chewed on his lower lip in thought then dumping out the last of his coffee, tucked the little book into his jacket pocket then swung onto Cochise.

Slowly Joe circled the herd, passing other drovers and merely giving them a nod of his head as they greeted him. After an hour, he was more confused than before. His quick count of the herd gave him far fewer cows than what the tally book had. He pulled it out and looked at it again, adding the numbers there once more. Closing it, he scanned the herd again. Sure, he reasoned, some cattle would stray away from the gathered herd but that many? As close as he could figure, there were at least fifty if not closer to a hundred head missing. He scanned the herd again this time, looking for one cow in particular. She was a big old cow Joe remembered for a few very simple reasons. She nearly always had twins, there was one horn that was twisted slightly at the tip and her brand wasn’t straight. Grimacing, Joe rubbed his side recalling the day they had branded her years before. She had slung her head around and that twisted tip of horn had sliced through Joe’s jacket and shirt, grazing his flesh. The cut wasn’t bad but Joe was reminded of it every time he had seen the cow. And yesterday, she had been in the herd. Now she wasn’t. And she wasn’t one that strayed, preferring the company of her kind.

Joe was about to swing around the herd again when it dawned on him. The pieces of the puzzle began falling into place as rapidly as snow piled up in the mountains in winter. The Logans preferring to do night work, Samuels’ hot horse, the tally book and the missing cattle. With the pieces all laid out before him, Joe could see a larger picture but some pieces still escaped him. Those pieces he felt sure Adam had. They had to do with why the Logans were rustling cattle and Joe intended to return to the house and ask his brother.

Across the backs of the cows, Jeremiah Logan had been watching the youngest Cartwright carefully all morning. Although he still appeared to be tending the herd, he was crawling with tension, knowing with innate certainty that the young man was on to something. When he saw Joe whirl the pinto around and head up the slope and towards the road back to the main house, Jeremiah was sure. A quick whistle caught the attention of his sons and an arm flung towards the retreating rider communicated all they needed to know.

“Joseph, that is nonsense!” Ben rebuked his son. “The Logans are just as much victims in this as your brother is. I don’t know how you can say that in good conscience!”

“Pa, would you look at the damn facts?! We have cattle missing, the tally book has been tampered with and the only ones we aren’t watching are the Logans!”

Ben shot Joe a dark warning look. “You mind your tongue, young man. And you have no proof of anything!”

“How much more proof do I need? You want me to go out there and find the missing cows? I will and I’ll bet you that the prints around them come from a couple of big appaloosas. But more than rustlin’ I think they’re behind Adam’s being hurt yesterday.”

“And just what makes you think that? Adam hasn’t been able to communicate anything. I am sure once he’s able, he’ll point the finger at those responsible. And when he does that, we will let the law handle it.”

“What makes you think that the Logans aren’t guilty?” Joe’s heated response made Ben’s brow furrow and his eyes harden but Joe pushed on. “Because every time there’s been one of these warnings, Pa, they’ve been here asking for their pay and saying they’re leaving? What better disguise than that?”

“Joseph! Enough of this! You have no proof to back up your suspicions.”

“Fine. I’ll go and get-” Joe started only to have his father’s hand reach out lightning fast and grab his arm to stop him from turning away.

“No!” Ben said low and even. “I want you here. Do you understand me?”

“I can’t sit here like a little scared rabbit in his hole waiting for the badger to reach in after me, Pa.” pleaded Joe, his voice not belying the actual fear he did feel.

Grasping both of Joe’s upper arms, Ben fought to keep his temper in check. “Sometimes, son, it takes more bravery for that rabbit to sit and wait than it does the badger to prowl. I want you and Hoss both here. With me. I need to take care of Adam, give him my whole attention and I can’t do that if I know you are out tearing up the countryside looking for non-existent proof of a non-existent crime. But more than that, I need to know that you and your brother are here to protect Adam and I should these monsters come back. There isn’t anyone I trust other than you two right now. Do I make myself clear?”

Finally Ben saw the acceptance come into Joe’s eyes, despite the set to his mouth. He gave the shoulder under his hand an affectionate squeeze.

“But I am not going anywhere without my gun, Pa. So hold off on your fussing about wearing a gun in the house.”

A slight smile and another squeeze to the shoulder told Joe that his father agreed at least with that.

By mid-morning, Joe’s skin was fairly crawling with anxiety. His pacing the living room floor seemed to intensify it. He wished Hop Sing wasn’t in far off San Francisco visiting some cousin so he could at least have someone to talk to who he thought would understand his concerns better. Hoss, having spent most of the night with Adam, Joe could hear snoring away upstairs. Twice he had taken his father coffee while he sat with Adam. And Adam hadn’t moved once as far as Joe could see. Finally unable to stay in the house another moment, Joe had escaped to the yard. More firewood chopped seemed to be the best way of working off his nervous energy so Joe attacked the logs there.

“Shame you don’t work like that all the time, little brother,” Hoss teased as he strolled out into the yard, a cup of coffee in his hand.

Joe smirked at him then resumed his swing of the ax. When it thumped into and split the log in front of him he had decided on a comeback. “If my older brother didn’t sleep half the day away, I wouldn’t have to work so hard!” And another log parted. “How is Adam? Still out of it? Think he’s gonna be able to identify who it was that did that to him?” Joe hefted the ax again and eyed Hoss carefully.

“Don’t know about that. Last night he was talkin’ out of his head. Kept saying somethin’ about a crooked shoe. I couldn’t make heads ner tails out of it. Guess we’ll have to wait till he comes around.”

Two swings of the ax later and another log split. Joe paused and wiped at the sweat forming on his forehead.

“Pa told me that you went out to the herd this morning early. Come back spoutin’ off somethin’ about the Logans being rustlers.” Hoss tossed the last bitter remains of his coffee to the ground. “You wanna give me your version? I thought last night you’d promised to stay close.”

“I promised no such thing. And I’m right about Logans but I can’t prove it by being here!”

Hoss’ hands patted the air in front of him. “Easy there. I’m on your side. But Pa is right. We got no proof of anything.”

Joe set another log on the chopping block before him. With one smooth motion born of years of practice, the ax swung into the air and buried its head with a solid thunk in the log. With a deft twist, Joe pulled the head out and hit the same spot again, this time parting the pieces easily. He tossed both halves to the side and set another log up. This time, before he swung, he inspected the ax head.

“Tell you what Hoss. I’ll tell you what I think if you tell me what you think. But you gotta sharpen this ax first.”

The bigger man snorted and chuckled. “I do believe that is the first time in your life that you have worked an ax hard enough to blunt it, little brother.” He took the ax from Joe and inspected it. “Looks like the handle’s splitting too. Get me the tools from the barn and I’ll fix it while I’m at it. Can’t let all this energy of yours go to waste.”

Rolling his eyes to the heavens, Joe turned and went into the barn. He had picked up a new handle there and was starting back outside when a thought attacked him. He stopped and looked back to the uprights where just yesterday about this time, he had found Adam hanging. For a fleeting moment, Joe could see him there again. He clearly remembered calling, no, screaming, for his father then he had raced to Adam’s side. Joe could almost feel his brother’s flesh beneath his hands again as he had tried to lift him enough to take the tension off the rawhide strips binding him to the uprights. Again, Joe relived the panic as he had at first tried to cut the bindings away from Adam’s wrists then realized that he risked cutting his brother’s wrists so he had turned instead and cut the bindings at the posts.

And with that thought, Joe froze. A sound came from behind him and Joe had whirled, his gun leaping to his hand as he did.

“Geeze, Joe! You are touchy, ain’t you?” Hoss backpedaled.

Joe swallowed hard and reholstered his gun. “Hoss, that’s it. Logan was here. He was the one who beat Adam! I know it!”

“Calm down and tell me how you know it then.”

Joe turned on his heel and went to the upright post. “When I found Adam, he was here. Between these two posts. I had to cut the leather strips holding him at the posts to free him. At the posts, Hoss! When we took Adam into the house, the bindings went with him because they were still on his wrists. So how did Logan know Adam had been strung up spread-eagle? He said last night, when he was telling us about being whipped, that a body hung like Adam was, can move away from the whip. Like Adam was, those were his words, but how did he know that? He was supposed to be down at the herd all afternoon, wasn’t he? How could he know how we found Adam?”

Hoss shook his head. Pa had been right about Joe. “Joe, Jeremiah Logan was down at the herd when you rode in to get me, remember? He and I had been working together most of the morning.”

“Then one of his sons! They’ve been riding herd nights so they sleep most mornings. Did you see them both yesterday? Both of them?”

“Can’t say I did, Joe but that still don’t mean nothin’,” Hoss uneasily admitted, his face screwing around in thought. “Besides, why would they want to do that?”
“I can’t answer you on that one, Hoss,” Joe replied, shaking his head.

“I can,” a third voice echoed through the silence of the barn. It was followed by an ominous click, the sound the hammer on a gun makes being pulled back. “Put your hands in the air, both of you. Now!”

Slowly, both brothers raised their hands above the level of their own guns. The cold washing over them both was fear. And anger as both recognized the voice of Jeremiah Logan. As the big man moved out of the shadows, his revolver held in front of him held their attention.

“Pull their guns, boys,” he ordered and two other dark shadows emerged and coalesced into his sons.

“Just what are you gonna do, Logan?” Hoss bit his words off.

“Terrible tragedy out at the Ponderosa, wasn’t it, boys? Somehow or another, fire burnt the house to nothin’ but cinders. And the family, all of them good people, dying like that? Why that was just terrible too. All the hands were down at the herd so nobody could help them until it was too late. Yes suh, terrible tragedy.”

Hoss had watched as Logan and his sons had slowly encircled them. “There’s only one problem with that. I can guarantee you that we ain’t gonna go without takin’ some of you with us.”

Logan gestured with his gun for them to lead the way from the barn. “I doubt that, Mistah Hoss,” he replied, his contempt obvious as he spoke. “Seeings how we’re the ones with the guns. Now unless you want to die right here in the yard, I suggest you get on into the house.”

“Seems to me it don’t matter one way or another, Logan. All that matters to me is how many of you I take with me.”

“Big words for a man with three guns on him,” Samuel taunted, jamming his pistol into Hoss’ broad back.

Hoss whirled on the man and with the move, blocked the three of them. Joe took his cue and dived behind the water trough. In the momentary confusion, Hoss was able to slam one gun away completely and another fist stunned the senior Logan. Joe raced for the house and had nearly made the kitchen door before one of the Logans got off a shot. It went wide.

“After him, damn you! And when you find him, kill him!” Jeremiah shouted then rounded on Hoss again with a drawn gun. “How does it feel to know you’ve just killed your brother?”

Before Hoss could form a reply, two shots rang out from inside the house. Logan smiled and gestured again for Hoss to continue into the house. This time, he would keep a respectful distance.

Inside the house, both of the younger Logans met their father with a surprise of their own. When he had heard the first shot, Ben had raced from Adam’s room and been met by Solomon’s massive frame. It didn’t take but an instant for Ben to realize the situation was beyond his control. And then the second shot had rung out. That moment’s pause gave the big Logan son all the time he needed to slam his pistol butt into the white hair of the man before him. Then he had simply drug the older man down the rest of the stairs and let him fall to the pine floor beside the limp body of his youngest son.

“You sorry son of a bitch. When I get my hands on you, you’re gonna wish you’d never been born,” Hoss seethed seeing his father and Joe laid out on the floor. Already there was a growing pool of blood coming from under where Joe lay face down.

But Jeremiah Logan just laughed. “You’ll never get that chance, big man. Samuel! Get upstairs and drag the other one down here. Family this close deserves to die all together, don’t you think?”

Hoss took one menacing step forward but Logan made sure his cocked gun was aimed at his gut.

“Why? We treated you fair, Logan, you and your boys. You come asking for work and we gave it to you.” He had to know but wasn’t sure the knowledge would give him any peace. All Hoss really wanted was time to figure out a plan of action. He knew only one thing for certain, the man in front of him was a walking dead man as far as Hoss was concerned. It was just a question as to when the body would fall to the ground.

“Maybe you’re paying the price for someone else. All our lives, we been movin’ from one place to another. Never had the chance to have ourselves a big house like this ‘un. Never had the chance to have nuthin’! Nuthin’ but maybe a week’s pay at the end of a drive, but then lots of times, the trail boss would say we’d slacked off and not pay us all we was owed. All our lives, we been somethin’ less than you white folks. Never good enough to sit at your table and eat with you, even.”

“You never asked,” Hoss countered hearing a scraping noise overhead.

“Decided I didn’t want to eat with white folks. Especially not after a white man near beat my Solomon to death. And for what? Because he dared to try and protect himself! Threw his arm up to keep the man from strikin’ his face and accidentally hit the bossman.” The man turned at the sound at the top of the stairs but the gun stayed leveled in Hoss’ direction.

At first Hoss couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Samuel. The man stumbled on the first step, his gun hanging at an awkward angle while his other hand was pressed to his chest. It must have concerned his father as well because Jeremiah’s eyes widened. Then Hoss saw it. There between Samuel’s fingers was the slim handle of his father’s pocketknife. And beneath the hand was a growing red stain.

The gun barrel pointed at him dipped and Hoss sprang into action. One massive fist clamped over the gun and he twisted it with all his might. The other hand he shoved into Jeremiah’s face, fingers clawing at the other’s eyes. He put all of his strength into his hands, knowing that he would only get one chance.

And it would have worked if he had been fighting only the father. A shot that tore through the air brought his attention back to the full present.

“Turn him loose or the next one goes through him,” Solomon warned when Hoss had turned enough to see that he stood over Ben’s body, his gun pointed down directly at the back of Ben’s skull.

Reluctantly Hoss let go. Jeremiah sneered and using the gun he held, clubbed Hoss hard beside the head. Hoss staggered back a step, stunned. God help me, but if I don’t do this, we’re all dead men anyway, he thought and lunged at Jeremiah’s laughing face. He ignored the shot fired, concentrating on wrestling the gun from his adversary. When it went clattering to the floor, Hoss shoved a fist at the other’s face. He felt a fist connect to his jaw but gave it no concern as he ripped with his own fists at the midsection before him. Eventually, the other man stepped back but Hoss pressed on, heedless of the fists that struck out at him, rocking his head from side to side, bouncing off his chest. Hoss concentrated on one thing and one thing alone: he was going to kill Jeremiah Logan with his bare hands. Whether he died or not in the process was not his concern. With his father now probably dead as well as Joe, Adam would be soon to follow if Hoss didn’t put a stop to it.

Hoss never heard the shot that ended the fight. Suddenly he was standing in what remained of the living room and Jeremiah Logan had fallen backward into his father’s red leather chair, his eyes wide open in disbelief as blood ran down from a hole in his forehead. Hoss turned around quickly, searching for Solomon. But the other man was nowhere to be seen. Frantically Hoss looked for him then a noise on the stairs caught his attention.

It was Adam. White-faced with pain, Adam grasped the stair railing with one hand, in the other hand, the gun he had used to shoot Jeremiah Logan. Adam blinked his eyes once and swallowed hard. He tried to force enough air into his lungs to call for Hoss but the darkness reaching for him got in the way and he slumped to the stairs.

Making his feet move, Hoss headed for the stairs and his brother. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the spot there at the end of the sofa where he had last seen his father and Joe. He just knew that if he did, he would see what remained of his father, figuring Solomon had gone ahead and put a fatal bullet into his father. But a motion there caught at his attention and drew his eyes unwillingly.

Joe was trying to pull himself up on the arm of the sofa, a gun held in one shaking hand that he was aiming across the back of the sofa. Hoss whirled to see who Joe was aiming at and saw the back of Solomon Logan disappearing through the door just before a bullet from Joe’s gun went wide, gouging a long splinter from the oak planking. Then Joe sank back. Before Hoss could get to him, he saw his father thankfully begin to move. Hoss eased Joe back down to the floor to lie beside his stirring father.

“Get Adam!” Ben’s insisted and Hoss was never so happy to hear a voice in all his days.

Leaving Joe to his father, Hoss took the steps two at a time. Just before Adam would have slid any further down, Hoss was able to catch him under the arms and pull his body towards his own chest. Awkwardly, Hoss held Adam against him as he tried to figure out how to get Adam back in bed without hurting him any further. There didn’t seem to be any way. Hoss muttered an apology that he hoped Adam heard and started to lift him and carry him over his shoulder. A hand to his arm stopped him. His father, white with obvious pain, was there to help.

“Hold still, will you?” Roy Coffee admonished, smacking at the big hand reaching up to explore the bruised cheek. “You put that hand up here again and I’ll put handcuffs on you, Hoss Cartwright! Now I know what Doc Martin has to go through with you Cartwrights. Might be I’ll cut him some slack next time we play cribbage.”

“Aw Roy, that stuff just stings bad,” bemoaned the biggest Cartwright son, his hand reaching again.

“How’s Joe?” Roy asked over Hoss’ head as Paul Martin came down the stairs.

The doctor stopped and studied the bandaging job the sheriff had done on Hoss’ hand. “He’ll be fine. Bullet missed any vital organ by a country mile. That’s a small miracle in itself, considering the size of the body. He’s sleeping right now. I stopped by and took a look at Adam too. Got to have me some coffee then I’ll go back and restitch those places he tore open. Now then, Hoss, if you can see to getting your father away from Adam, I’d like to take a look at that knot on his head. Looks to me like Roy has you pretty well cleaned up and taken care of.”

“You just better watch it Doc or Roy here’ll be hangin’ out another shingle,” Hoss bantered as the sheriff took another swipe at the cut on his cheek with the alcohol-laced cloth.

“Could use the help,” Paul muttered then left the room, headed for the kitchen.

“Go on! Do what he tells you to! I got to talk to your pa so send him down,” Roy sighed.

Hoss tapped on Adam’s door before he eased it open. He called to his father softly but Ben didn’t respond.

“Pa?” Hoss tried again, this time gently touching his father’s shoulder to get his attention. “Pa, Doc wants to see you now.”

Ben’s head shot up, his eyes wide with concern. “Joe?” he breathed.

Hoss shook his head no. “Joe’s gonna be okay, Doc said. But he said he wanted to take a look at your head and that he needed to sew Adam back up.”

“I’ll wait until he’s done with Adam,” Ben answered back shortly, reaching out to touch the still sleeping Adam. A part of him still quivered with the memory of how he had helped Hoss carry the unconscious Adam to his room, feeling the blood running down his arm from torn places on his son’s broad back. “I need to be here for Adam.”

“You need to be here for all of us, Pa,” Hoss counseled gently. “Don’t make me get Roy after you. He can be a mean son of a gun when he gets his hands on a bottle of liniment.”

Adam stirred and the bantering Hoss had been doing fell away in a heartbeat. Ben leaned forward, willing the dark eyes to open, a hand caressing the dark hair. Adam groaned, the sound a deep rumble in his throat. He reached as though to massage a throbbing temple and found his father’s hand there instead. His lips moved as if he were going to smile, feeling his father take his hand in his, then Adam took a deep breath and dropped back asleep. If his father were there, everything would be all right.

Reluctantly, Adam opened his eyes. They were the only thing on him that it didn’t hurt to move but even those, he wasn’t completely sure about. He was sure of several things, though. One, that he was in his own bed. The feel of it beneath his chest and the crisp linen pillowcase told him as much before he even stirred. And the second was that his father was there beside him. The scents of Bay rum and pipe smoke said that. And even though he didn’t need to open his eyes to know these things, he did anyway.

“Morning, son,” the father greeted him with soft words and an even softer touch to his shoulder. “Don’t try to move.”

“Pa,” he croaked, his voice raspy and rusty. “Logans-” but his father shushed him

“We aren’t going to be troubled by Jeremiah Logan anymore,” Ben shot a warning glance at Hoss to keep the big man silent “so just relax, Adam. Everything is going to be all right,” murmured his father, his fingers slowly massaging Adam’s neck.

“Samuel, crooked son of a-” Adam tried to explain again.

“Shh!”

“Tally book…numbers…rustling…sure of it,” but that was all he could get out before the effort to speak became too great.

“I know, son, I know. I don’t know why they did what they did but I know they were stealing cattle. And I know one of them did this to you. I should have let them go at the first sign of trouble, but I thought we could stand up to the threat. I didn’t fully understand the situation until it was too late. I’m sorry, Adam,” Ben admitted, half repeating the words he had told Roy Coffee.

He started to sit back in his chair, thinking Adam had dropped off again but Adam had grasped at his hand and held it. Surprised by the motion, Ben had welcomed it too. How responsible he felt for all that had happened, he couldn’t put into words. The Logans had staged the whole thing from the beginning. That was becoming abundantly clear. Joe had been right. They had watched everyone but the Logans and that had allowed the Logans to do as they chose. Ben, looking at the tally book earlier, was sure that Adam had come to the conclusion he had: the numbers hadn’t added up. He had even just now called Samuel Logan ‘crooked’. Why Adam had returned to the house, Ben wasn’t sure, but it had opened the door for the second warning to be delivered by one of the Logans and the only one not accounted for had been Solomon. But why had they returned to the ranch? To deliver the third warning? Ben shuddered to think what the third warning would have been. Then stroking the back of the long-fingered hand he still grasped, he prayed it had been delivered, but not by the Logans, but by the hand he held. For Adam had fired the shot that killed Jeremiah Logan. Ben prayed that it was over but knew that as long as Solomon Logan was free, there would always be the possibility of his return.

“Pa,” Hoss broke into his father’s thoughts, his huge hand nearly engulfing Ben’s shoulder with its grasp. “We need to talk. Downstairs. Come on. Adam will be okay for a little bit. Come on.”

“I don’t want-” but with Hoss’ hand clamping down on his shoulder, Ben relented.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Ben demanded not half way down the stairs. Joe was in the blue velvet chair, laid against its high back, his legs stretched out to rest on the square table and covered by a quilt. “You have no business being up. Come on, you are going back upstairs this instant!”

Joe shook his head just once and, looking up at Hoss, told him “I knew it wouldn’t work.”

“Just what is this all about?” Ben inquired, coming to a halt just in front of his youngest, his hands on his hips.

“I got Joe out of bed for a reason, Pa,” Hoss confessed.

“He was shot not a day ago! Come on, son,” and Ben began to pull at Joe’s arm to help him stand.

“I’m all right, Pa. Long as I sit still, I’m fine.” Joe knew it was a lie but he had to say the words anyway. The incision where Doc Martin had removed the bullet hurt like Hell. He had checked and made sure that he wasn’t bleeding but it sure stung. And low down on his left side like that, it made it hard to sit straight up so he was more reclined. But with his father hauling him forward, it bent him in half and made him more than a bit uncomfortable.

“You are not ‘all right’, young man! One look at you and I can tell that! Now come on, let’s get you upstairs-”

“Pa!” the chorus of voices stopped Ben.

“Like I said, I got Joe up and brought him down here. And I did it for a reason,” Hoss tried explaining, grimacing for Joe as his father let him sag back into the chair.

“This had better be good,” Ben hissed. There was no reason under the sun he could imagine moving Joe at a time like this. Just looking at Joe, he couldn’t help but see how pale and shaky the boy was!

“Solomon Logan,” Hoss said firmly. “He’s still out there.”

“Tell me something I am not acutely aware of!” Ben’s hands both shot into the air, punctuating his statement with his exasperation.

“Well, I’m goin’ after him.” Hoss looked to the floor rather than meet his father’s steady glare.

“I don’t think that is wise at this time, Hoss.”

“Why not? He’s just getting further and further away the longer we don’t go after him!”

Joe shifted in his chair. “Or he’s right outside planning to come back and finish what he and his family started.”

“All the more reason for Hoss to be here! Have you both taken leave of your senses? No! Don’t answer that question. Either one of you! Besides, Roy Coffee is out there right now combing the bushes for him!” exclaimed Ben, his rising exasperation apparent.

“PA!” Hoss finally shouted and watched his father turn his glare from his youngest brother back to him. “Roy Coffee and his posse aren’t gonna find that boy and you know it. And pretty soon, he’s gonna be out of places in his jurisdiction to search. All Solomon has to do is lay low and wait. He’s got time on his side. We don’t. Fact is, we’ve lost too much as it is.”

“So you think the answer is to go out looking for him? The two of you? That is utter nonsense, Hoss. And I will not allow Joseph on a horse under any circumstances. He can barely sit in that chair and you would have him in a saddle?”

“No, sir. What I had in mind was for just me to go looking for Logan. And I brought Joe down here so he could watch out for Logan if he should come back while I wasn’t here.” Hoss tried to explain and with his father now looking into the fire, wasn’t sure if he was buying into it.

“It doesn’t take much to handle a gun, Pa,” Joe muttered. “I can do that much.”

“But Adam-” Ben stammered.

“You stay upstairs and take care of Adam. We can’t move him. And that way if Logan does get by Joe…” Hoss let his words trail off, realizing there was only one way that would happen.

“Hoss, this man is dangerous. You realize that, don’t you? He is not thinking right and for you to go out there alone–well, I don’t like the plan, son,” Ben pleaded.

“I didn’t ask you to like the plan, Pa. I’m only askin’…we’re askin’ you to understand what we’re doin’,” Hoss’ great patience was wearing thin, knowing that minutes mattered most. It had only been Joe’s insistence that they tell their father what was going on that had made Hoss say anything to Ben in the first place. Otherwise, he would have been out the door and long gone on a trail he hoped wasn’t too cold.

Ben shook his head and moved away from the warmth of the fire. It wasn’t but two steps and he had Hoss right in front of him. The blue eyes looking at him held no fear. He could see that plain enough but something about the set of that jaw made him afraid. He was certain that had Solomon Logan been in that room right then, he would have been a dead man.

“Son,” Ben started softly, seeking for the words that would rein in the anger he saw before him. “Solomon Logan-”

“Is just a man, Pa. And he and his pa and brother did more than trick us into thinkin’ they was innocent people. They hurt Adam bad. Samuel shot Joe, could have killed him. Solomon hisself would have killed you. And Jeremiah may as well of been holdin’ the whip or the gun. I’m glad Adam put that bullet ‘tween his eyes. But all that don’t matter ’cause Solomon is out there and he can come back and try it again. And maybe this time, finish the job. No, Pa, I got to find him before he can do that.”

“Or before he can do it to someone else,” Joe finished for Hoss.

Ben shoved his hands into his pockets and turned from one determined son to the other, studying them and their words. Hoss was a force to be reckoned with that was for certain. But Joe, weakened by loss of blood and pain, made for a poor first defense, he thought.

“All right but on one condition,” Ben conceded. “Joe goes up to stay with Adam. I’ll stay down here.”

Both sons shook their heads ‘no’ at the same time.

“You’d have your mind on Adam and Joe upstairs most of the time. And you’d be thinkin’ about bein’ up there with them. No, Pa, Joe stays.”

“I can’t see Joseph-” Ben started to complain again but again Hoss cut him off.

“Show him, Joe.”

From beside him in the chair, Joe pulled up a double-barreled shotgun, cracked to show two slugs poised in the barrels. With just a flick of his wrist, the gun was slammed shut and aimed at the front door, his finger on the triggers.

“Just remember to holler before you come in the door, Hoss,” Joe warned mirthlessly.

“That’s only two slugs. What if you miss, Joseph?”

Joe smiled tightly for his father. “Have you ever known me to miss at this range? I can hit anything from this chair to the barn with my forty-five so I’d say from here to the door with two slugs from this shotgun and Solomon Logan is a dead man.” Ben knew Joe wasn’t boasting. His aim was deadly accurate. His determination was too. “And if Logan does come back here, he’ll think the same thing you did, Pa. That a man shot like I was is pretty defenseless. I think I just proved otherwise.”

“I don’t like this.” Ben’s words were bitten off, succinct and clipped.

“Pa,” Hoss shook his head then continued, “Ever since I can remember, you been saying that the worst tasting medicine is sometimes the best for what ails ya. We ain’t askin’ you to like the plan like I said. Just understand that Joe and I ain’t gonna sit here and let this go. We’re gonna do what we can to make sure this monster don’t hurt someone else like he’s done, Adam. Now I’ve said about a hundred times more words than I wanted to. Little brother, I’ll be back by nightfall tomorrow night. Anybody else come through that door ‘tween now and then, I trust you to handle ’em.”

Even though he called his middle son’s name twice before he got to the door, Ben knew he couldn’t have stopped Hoss. He turned angrily back to face Joe when he heard the boy grunt. Joe stopped rising half way up, a hand pressed to his side as he bit down on his lip.

“What do you think you are doing?” Ben demanded, sure that his entire family had gone berserk over the situation.

“Think we can move your chair over here for me to sit in? It would be a whole lot more comfortable,” Joe whined. The huff he heard come from his father proved his thoughts right: give Pa something else to fret over and he would put aside a greater fear for only a minute. And Joe was sure that would be all Hoss would need to get out of hearing range.

Hoss patted Chubb’s neck before he urged the big black down the rough path through the scrub brush. The carrion birds high overhead had alerted him and led him to the box canyon. Their sheer numbers made him think that it was more than just a dead rabbit that had piqued their interest. As he rounded the final boulder and dropped down onto the canyon floor, he saw he was right.

Before him lay the carcasses of more than a few cows. In the late afternoon sun, they lay bloating, and when the wind changed direction, the stench nearly overpowered Hoss. Chubb shied, not wanting to go on but did as Hoss asked him, picking his way carefully through the slaughter of nearly a hundred head of prime Ponderosa beef cattle. From his saddle, Hoss could see how the animals had died. Not disease or accident, but with bullets. It was as though someone riding through the herd had systematically shot each and every cow. The idea that someone would do this so sickened Hoss that he didn’t finish inspecting the killing field but turned Chubb and rode out of the canyon quickly.

At the rim, Hoss looked back over his shoulder. Part of what he had seen made sense. These were the cattle the Logans had stolen. Now bereft of help to move the animals, Solomon had killed them rather than return them to the larger herd. But the wanton killing of innocent animals appalled Hoss and made no sense to him.

“But then a lot of what they did don’t make no sense, so why should this?” Hoss muttered to himself. He nudged his horse into a slow walk around the rim of the canyon, his eyes to the ground to catch a hint of the trail. On the far side, he found it. There, the ground was littered with spent shell casings. This was where Logan had stood to finish the massacre of the helpless animals below. Leading from the site, Hoss saw the tracks of three horses. Only one of the three had tracks deep enough that Hoss thought it was ridden. That made sense: Logan was leading the other two appaloosas that had belonged to his father and brother. Dismounting, Hoss studied the tracks. One horse ran to the side of the others, its front left foreleg track had a faint swish mark to the outside. The second trailed horse had an overstepped track. But there was nothing distinctive about the track of the third horse, the ridden one, other than the fact that the tracks were deeper. If Logan stayed on that horse and went into a well-traveled area, Hoss wasn’t sure he could follow it.

“Well Chubb,” Hoss addressed his horse as he swung back into the saddle, “Let’s just hope he don’t head no where but like he is: into the high country. He head there and he’s mine ’cause that’s my country up there.”

By nightfall, the tracks had led Hoss into his beloved high country. For a few hours, he let his horse rest. He made a small camp and fixed himself some coffee and chewed jerky to appease the growling in his stomach. His normally demanding appetite seemed to be feeding on something else during those hours as he rested. Not usually one to demand revenge and restitution, Hoss found himself wondering what he would ultimately do when he caught up to Solomon Logan. The first urge he was sure was to put a bullet in the man but he had been long taught that the law was the only way to deal with people like Logan. But the charges Hoss knew would be brought in this case wouldn’t match what he wanted to have happen. Rustling and attempted murder weren’t capital crimes and as such, Logan would most likely receive a jail sentence of a few years at most. Then he would be back out and free to do this again. No, Hoss thought the man deserved more but could he scare the man the way Adam would be now? Could he shoot the man the same way he had Joe? Could he even begin to think about shooting him the way he had threatened his father?

When the moon rose, Hoss resaddled his horse and began to follow the tracks again, no closer to answering his own questions than when he had asked them.

The tracks now meandered, following no set course as they had earlier. To Hoss, it meant only one thing: Logan, unfamiliar with the area, was lost. He hadn’t stopped with the coming of dark like Hoss had, trying to find his way through the dense woods instead. Twice Hoss had had to backtrack and find where he had left the trail only to have the tracks loop back around and then head off in a different direction.

In the bright moonlight, the white rump on the horse stood out boldly. Hoss dismounted immediately when he saw it. Carefully he eased his rifle out of its scabbard, removed his tall white hat and then crept forward. Every nerve ending alert, Hoss soundlessly stepped towards where the appaloosa lay in the small clearing. Here would have been the prime location for an ambush and Hoss listened to every night bird call intensely. But nothing was out of place and no bullets ripped through the air around him. A quick glance down showed Hoss that the horse’s throat had been cut, its blood soaking the ground at his boots. And the body of the animal was cold to the touch so Hoss knew he was several hours behind Logan.

“One down, two to go. But why’d he do this? The more I know about you, Solomon Logan, the more I don’t like you.”

On into the night, until the moon fell from the sky, Hoss rode. The tracks, like a silvery thread, led him on higher into the mountains. When the moon dropped, Hoss pulled up to rest himself and his horse again. Sipping his coffee, Hoss was tempted to give into the weariness that a night on the trail left him with. He longed for the freedom to roll into his blankets to sleep for a while. But he was sure he was gaining on his prey.

Trying to think the problem through logically like he thought Adam would do, Hoss got caught up in his own thoughts and reactions. To him, the mere fact that Logan had ridden on through the night showed Hoss that Logan knew he was being followed. Why else continue to run in terrain he wasn’t familiar with? Hoss knew these mountains well, having hunted in them all his life. That gave him an advantage. His one disadvantage was that he had a single horse. How far did he push that one animal, risking it and therefore his search? Looking over at the black, Hoss saw the head hung low, the front hoof cocked, resting that leg. As much as he wanted Logan, he didn’t really want to kill his own horse to do it. But he thought again of how he had seen Adam’s flayed back, and how he had lifted Joe’s bloody hand away from the wound in his side.

“Sorry Chubb,” Hoss whispered into the still predawn darkness, “But we got to.”

He pulled his blanket up over his shoulders and hunched towards the warmth of his small fire. He wouldn’t try to think it all through like Adam would. No, that only worked when dealing with logical men and Hoss was becoming more and more certain that Solomon Logan was not a logical man. Hoss wasn’t even sure any longer, seeing what Logan had done, that Logan was a man. No, don’t think of him as a man. Just think of him as an animal. A possibly rabid one. Just get him in your sights and pull the trigger. You do that and Pa and Adam and Joe will be okay. Just kill the animal….

His eyes snapped open. He hadn’t meant to sleep but he had. The sun, now halfway to its apex, shed a warm yellow glow on the thick pine needle carpet at his feet. But overhead, Hoss saw clouds, heavy with rain, which were pushing at his back, urged on by a cold wind. He dumped the cold coffee onto the few coals remaining of his fire and hurriedly saddled his horse. The rest had been good for the horse and the man but possibly disastrous to his following Logan. Don’t think of him like that. Don’t give him a name. He’s just ‘prey’.

This time, when Hoss swung into the saddle and sought the trail of the other two horses, the trail was harder to discern, the light growing weaker and weaker as the storm grew. He nudged Chubb with his heels and followed what scant trail there was, now over the crest of the rise until he was looking out over the blue of Lake Tahoe. Here he paused to get his bearings, seeing in the windswept dirt that his prey had done the same.

What he saw bothered him. In the night, they had circled the north end of Lake Tahoe and now Hoss sat looking at the eastern shoreline. In the distance, he could make out the line of smoke that came from the fireplace he had grown up in front of. The Ponderosa was the only place where that smoke could be rising from and while that should have given him a little peace of mind, it didn’t. Logan, in his lost flight, had almost made a complete circle.

Hoss pushed his horse down the rocky wooded slope towards the lake. He was sure that the animal that wore a man’s name and face that he tracked would be searching now for food and shelter. And the nearest location of that food and shelter, whether Logan realized it or not, was the last place Hoss wanted him to go: the Ponderosa’s main house.

He stood and stretched, his back making tiny popping noises as old joints were pulled into alignment. Ben ran his hand back through his silvered hair as he walked to the window. There, rivulets of rain running down the pane told him why his joints ached. A quick glance at Adam showed that he slept, and a hand placed cautiously on his exposed cheek felt no heat of fever. Ben raised the light blanket covering Adam’s back and he checked the bandages for bleeding. There was none.

“Good,” he said to himself, “the two things Paul warned about aren’t there.”

Adam stirred and Ben replaced the blanket gently, urging his son to sleep with just the gentlest of touches.

“In a little bit, I’ll wake you up, son. Get something to eat in you, something to drink too. But before then, I need to get something made. I sure wish Hop Sing was here right now.”

Once again stretching, Ben made his way out into the hallway and he headed towards the stairs. A few steps down and he paused, studying the room that lay before him. All he could see of Joe made him think that Joe was asleep and that thought made him extremely uncomfortable. He went on down the steps but this time a little more cautious. If their guard dog Joseph was asleep, trouble could be in the house and ready to be discovered. Ben finally slipped into the kitchen, having found nothing amiss.

He pulled the kettle of hot water aside and made a cup of Hop Sing’s green tea, liberally laced with honey. Finding other ingredients close at hand, Ben began preparations for some beef broth: a large chunk of beef, chopped into squares sizzled in a skillet with a chopped onion. He also made up a pot of coffee and set it to brewing on the front of the now warm cookstove.

Leaving his kitchen duties behind for a few minutes, Ben retrieved the still hot tea and went back into the living room. Indeed, Joe’s chin was resting on his chest, and Ben could see that his eyes were closed. He set the tea down and threw more wood on the fire before he sat down next to the propped feet in the square table.

“Joseph?” he called softly. With Joe notoriously bad about waking up, Ben again considered what Hoss and Joe had talked him into to be foolish. But this time, the green eyes popped open immediately. “Some watchdog you are!” Ben teased, his hand jiggling the leg closest to him.

“You stopped at the third step from the top. Waited for about thirty seconds. Then you went into the kitchen and put on some coffee and some beefsteak on to fry. Then you came back in here and put wood on the fire before you sat down and touched my leg. How’s that? Did I miss anything?”

“This,” and Ben offered his son the hot green tea.

Joe made a face at the tea but drank it anyway. He could feel his father’s eyes on him as he did. There was no way Joe could hide his exhaustion from his father. He knew that. But he would do whatever else he could to hide the pain radiating up his side from the bullet wound. That was what had kept him awake and aware most of the night. But the effort of controlling that two-edged sword was wearing him down rapidly. He wished Hoss would get home soon since he didn’t know how much longer he could go on.

“I want you to lay down for a bit, Joe. While I’m down here fixing something for Adam and you to eat, I think we can safely let you stretch out on the sofa, don’t you?”

Joe set his cup aside and without giving his father an answer, tried to pull his legs off the table. A quick grimace the motion brought to his face told his father more than Joe wanted him to know. But Ben let it slide without comment. Instead, he helped Joe lower his legs then pulled the younger man up easily and half-carried him to the sofa. There was just the barest hint of a fever that Ben could feel through the thin fabric of Joe’s shirt. He eased Joe onto the sofa, laying him back gently then began tucking the quilt around his son. Once Joe’s head hit the small pillow Ben placed there behind it, Joe was asleep. Chuckling shortly, Ben pushed at the wild errant strand of hair that fell over Joe’s forehead only to have it fall right back. Joe sniffed once and rolled to his side and Ben pulled the quilt up a little higher, shaking his head as he did so.

“So much for our first line of defense.” Ben picked up the empty teacup and putting the shotgun Joe had held at his side all night under the square table, went back into the kitchen.

For the remainder of that hour, Ben kept on the move. Cooking for a bit in the kitchen then returning upstairs to check on Adam then back to the kitchen, with a side stop by the slumbering Joseph on the sofa. He also slipped out to the barn and checked on the horses, giving them feed and clean water. He didn’t stay long enough to clean the stalls but promised all three that it would be done before the day was over. On his way back into the house, he stopped by the woodpile and gathered his arms full before he entered the kitchen. He had just checked on the simmering broth when he heard a noise from the living room. Joe can’t be waking up this soon he thought at first then immediately went on the defensive when the noise continued.

Ben looked around the corner of the kitchen entrance into the main room. There was no one there. The quilt lay haphazard across the square table, the pillow where Joe’s head had rested was almost at the foot of the stairs. Trying to swallow his fear, Ben edged around the corner, listening for any sound that would tell him where Joe was. He slipped Joe’s revolver out of its holster as it lay on the credenza and paused to listen again. Then he heard a sound from overhead. It could only mean one thing to Ben: someone was in the house and for the first time, Ben saw the muddy footprints that led from the door he had unlocked to go out to the barn to the sofa. There the prints were smeared as they continued up the stairs. In his mind, Ben could see Joe’s body being drug after those footprints.

As silent as a mouse hiding from a wary cat, Ben eased up the stairs, stepping along the edges to avoid any telltale creak that would give him away. At the top, he lowered his head to just about knee high before he looked around the corner. There in the hallway, Joe’s body lay sprawled face up at Adam’s doorway. From where he was, Ben could see the spreading red stain of blood on his youngest’s side. He was about to jump and go to him when he made out a sound coming from Adam’s room. Words muffled followed by a gasp of pain that to Ben could only have had one origin. It galvanized him into motion.

In one seemingly fluid movement, Ben was in Adam’s room, the revolver he carried ready. But there was no one there except Adam, and he had been half pulled from his bed. Totally confused, he uncocked the gun and laid it on Adam’s nightstand. He bent and using as light a touch as possible, raised Adam up to get him back onto the bed. But Adam lay heavy in his arms and Ben’s care made him awkward. He had just about made it when he heard an ominous click: the hammer of a gun being cocked in close proximity.

There at the open door to Adam’s room, his body partially sheltered by Joe’s own, stood Solomon Logan. He used one massive arm across Joe’s chest to hold a semi-conscious Joe against him while the other hand held Ben’s own revolver.

“Ain’t this a touching family scene?” he sneered. “A pa carin’ for his one son while the other lays dyin’ just a few feet away. Don’t matter none. All ya’s gonna be dead ‘fore too long. I sees to that. This’n,” and he gestured towards Adam, “he be first to go, old man. I saw him kill my pa so he gonna die fust. Then this one,” and he jerked at Joe, bringing a fresh blossom of blood to Joe’s shirt, “he like my brother Samuel. My pa always did cotton to him more’n me. Pa was always fussin’ over Samuel, same as I seen you doin’ earlier. But that leaves you and d’ big ‘un. Which one am I gonna do fust?”

“Hoss isn’t here. You know that. And you also know that you do what you say you are, and Hoss will hunt you down. You kill his brothers, you kill me and there is nothing can stop him from killing you. Nothing.” Ben warned, trying to edge away from Adam and reach the revolver he had left on the nightstand behind him.

“So maybe I don’t kill you right off like you folks did my pa. Maybe I takes you wit’ me for a spell.” Solomon seemed pleased by his own thoughts.

“You kill my sons and you will spend the rest of your days having to watch me like a hawk because I will kill you. Slowly, I’ll kill you. Just for the sheer pleasure of watching you die because you killed two helpless men, I’ll draw your death out. I’ll make you cry for death. Do you want that, Solomon? Kill my sons, and I will kill you just like that. I promise.” Ben kept his voice low and menacing, intent on keeping the other’s attention on his words, not his actions.

“Ain’t no white man ever’ touch me again!” Solomon shouted and Ben saw the glimmer of insanity in the man.

The lump in Ben’s throat grew, nearly suffocating him as he watched the dark eyes glitter and the spittle form at the corners of Solomon’s mouth. Ben’s fear doubled. Before he had thought to distract the man long enough that should he get his hands on the gun behind him, he could then dissuade the other from pulling the trigger. But now, watching the other and seeing the insanity in him, Ben knew that the only way out of the situation was to shoot. He knew he could kill Solomon Logan but feared in the spray of bullets that would happen, that one or both of his sons could be hit as well. As his fingers touched the cold pearl handle, Ben swallowed hard and sent a prayer heavenward.

Before he could grasp the gun, Logan must have sensed the impending danger and began firing wildly. Ben dived to the floor, taking the gun with him. He rolled to his feet and brought the gun up in one smooth motion but found the doorway empty. In that moment’s hesitation, Ben heard a dull thud in the hallway and heedless of the danger, rounded the doorway, his gun cocked and level, prepared to fire.

At the head of the stairs, Ben could see that Joe had regained consciousness and was struggling with Logan, his hand shoved into the bigger man’s dark face, fingers like talons searching for the eyes. Logan had shifted his arm up further and was choking Joe. When he heard the sound of Ben behind him, Logan turned, placing his still struggling captive in the direct line of fire.

“Go ‘head, white man. Shoot! Kill me and you kill your boy too!” Logan shouted, his grip shifting and tightening.

Joe closed his eyes and let his body go limp, dragging Logan’s arm down even tighter on his own throat. He knew it was the only chance that his father would have to shoot Logan and not shoot him. But he could hear no retort of a gun being fired so he used his last surge of energy to slam his elbow into Logan’s belly. Together, they fell down the stairs, sliding then rolling. Somewhere close to his head, Joe finally heard the blast of a gun going off but with darkness reaching up and snagging him, he decided that he must be dying and didn’t care.

From his position by the open front door, Hoss stood watching in horror as the animal he had tracked right back to the house came tumbling down the stairs and burst, carrying his youngest brother’s body with him, into the landing’s railing then onto the floor. He heard a gun go off and feared that in the wild melee of arms and legs, that it hadn’t been Joe’s hand on the gun. A quick glance at the top of the stairs brought Hoss’ gun to bear but he saw his father there and Hoss held his fire.

Hoss crossed to the two bodies and still holding his own cocked gun, pulled at the animal’s body, trying to free his brother. The other came away easily and Hoss thought of the man as just that: a man. A man whose eyes showed white and clear and who, even as he died, smiled broadly.

“Mistah Hoss,” Solomon said, clearly and plainly without a trace of insanity, “you’se a good man to work wit’. Yah suh, a good man.” And with his last effort, patted Hoss’ arm companionably.

Ben dropped down and pushed away the rest of the body of Solomon Logan. Beneath his hand, Ben could feel the rise and fall of his son’s chest so he knew Joe was alive. Carefully, wary of any other damage Joe might have incurred, Ben pulled him onto his back. The wound, reopened previously, still pumped sluggish blood. Ben rocked back on his heels. Held loosely in Joe’s hand was the gun Logan had held.

In the quiet dark of the night, Hoss returned from caring for the horses in the barn to find his father standing before the bright fire in the hearth.

“Thought you’d be upstairs with Adam or Joe,” Hoss seemed to suggest.

“Paul’s with Joe for the moment. And Adam is back sleeping. Glad we were able to get something into him food-wise but Paul thinks it’s still to be expected that he sleeps a lot.” Ben couldn’t bring himself to look any place but the flames before him.

Hoss sidled up beside his father. He could feel his father’s discomfort and thought he knew the reason behind it. Just like his father would have done to one of his brothers or himself, Hoss decided a good talking to was in order.

“Pa, Solomon Logan needed to die.” Hoss started but his father cut him off short.

“No man like Solomon Logan needs to die. He needed help.”

“Does a rabid animal need help? You heard what Roy Coffee said. You read them wires he got from them folks in Texas. The Logans, all of ’em, weren’t right in the head. Somethin’ pushed them over the edge and made ’em do stuff like they done here. Pa, that one sheriff down there in the Territories had a warrant out for them for killing six members of the same family. And I saw the cattle they stole from us. What sane person does that? And he killed his own horses to boot! The first one I figured because he’d pulled up lame. But the other two? He killed ’em not a mile from here. Both of ’em! If he’d ridden in here instead of walkin’–“, Hoss let his sentence end awkwardly, thinking that if Logan had ridden in, he wouldn’t be having this conversation with his father. Some things you just thank God for and go on about your life, he thought then turned back to listening to his father.

“I can’t help but think that there had to be another way for this to end,” Ben poked at the logs burning with the same intensity he prodded his own soul. Hard.

“No sir, there weren’t no other way for this to end but with either them dead or us.”

“We should have tried to treat them differently. Showed them that we respected them. That we were different!”

Hoss pulled his face into a tight grimace. If there was one thing his family stood for it was treating all men alike but now to hear his father say this hurt. “Pa, you think we didn’t treat them different? I sure did. When we thought other folks was wantin’ them gone because they was coloreds, I did my dad-blamedest to look beyond that fact. We all did. Tried to not see that they were different from us but in doing that, we did treat ’em different. But all that don’t matter one bit. The Logans saw themselves as different and used that against not just us, but ever’body. They used bein’ of a different color to stand apart. And not just apart but above. Above the law and above everythin’ else decent in this world.”

For several long moments, father and son stood looking into the flames of the bright fire, each seeing something different. At last, Hoss put his arm around his father’s shoulders much as his father would him.

“What we have to do now is not judge all men like them like them. There’s good men and bad men out there that are of both colors. We’ve got to treat them all the same as we did the Logans: as friends until they show us otherwise,” Ben acknowledged but secretly wondered if he would be able to follow his own advice.

Hoss didn’t answer him but just nodded his head once.

“Ben,” Paul Martin called out from the top of the stairs, “Joe’s awake. He’s asking for you.”

Patting the big hand that had dropped over his shoulder, Ben turned and headed up the stairs. Until they show us otherwise, he mulled over his words as he went. That is the third warning the Logans gave us. And we didn’t heed it either. But we will in the future. As difficult as it may be, until they show us otherwise, we will deal with all men as friends.

The end

November to December 2001

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