Chapter Two

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Joe sat glued to the saddle. He felt Cochise dancing sideways as if his horse could pick up on his rider’s tension. Becky was pulling at his arm and fresh tears streamed down her face. Her words floated away as if he had suddenly lost his hearing and he frowned at her, trying to grasp her meaning. Finally something in him snapped to attention and he slid from the saddle, almost collapsing onto the ground as his legs felt like rubber.

His thoughts raced and scrambled into such a mess that he would have been hard-pressed to tell anybody what his name was, if anybody had even asked. Which a jury would surely soon be asking. His full name. Joseph Francis Cartwright.

Son.

Brother.

Murderer.

He closed his eyes as he could see the headline of the Territorial Enterprise describing the short life and death of the youngest son of Benjamin Cartwright.

“Pa … I’m sorry.”

The thought was barely a whisper as Joe felt Becky tugging him towards the door. She fumbled for a lantern and matches as Joe stood just inside the doorway, uncertain of anything around him. He pushed the door closed as if he could shut out the outside world and what had just happened. Her voice finally broke through and he heard the terror in her words, if not the substance of what she was saying. As he looked at her and really took in the details, he noted the bruising across her face and the tattered state of her dress. He stared at her in shock while he tried desperately to form a coherent thought.

“Did he … did he hurt you?” He felt sick to the pit of his stomach as he stared at the frightened young girl in front of him. Flashes of her innocent laughter as she smiled at him mixed with her terrified screams and his hands clenched in fury. It was a stupid question, given her obvious state, but he couldn’t formulate the real question he wanted to avoid.

Becky shook her head as she futilely tried to pull the torn pieces of her dress back into place. Her hands shook as she tugged at the fabric and he instinctively grabbed both of her hands in his. As he felt her fingers curl around his, he suddenly saw the dried blood on his hands and he shrank back from her.

“I have to … I can’t stay … they’ll …”

Joe began to back towards the door as Becky grasped at him again. “Joe, wait!”

“You heard him. His brothers … I’ve seen how they deal with things … my brothers are both in danger.” Joe gulped a breath of air as if he was drowning. “I have to …”

“Joe, it was an accident! You were defending me! Sheriff Coffee will understand that.”

“But his brothers won’t see it that way. They won’t stop to ask questions. Adam … and Hoss … they’ll never …” Joe was breathing so hard that Becky was afraid he was going to keel over. “I have to leave. If they don’t know it was me then Adam and Hoss are safe. I have to …”

Neither of them heard boots on the wooden boards outside the door as Becky grasped at Joe once again. “Joe, no! Please don’t!”

The next few moments were a blur as Ed Longman burst through his front door. His little girl was almost hysterical and her dress was torn in several places. Afterwards, he would try to think if there was any other way he could have seen things, but in that moment, he saw his baby in the hands of a boy who had clearly overstepped the mark by a long shot. Joe’s shirt hung loose on his frame and Ed’s rage ran red as his mind filled in the blanks. He grasped at Joe’s shoulder and swung the boy towards him, before planting his fist squarely in his face. As Joe toppled backwards over the kitchen table, Ed had his gun in his hand while Becky screamed at him to stop.

“Papa! Leave him be!”

Joe scrambled to his feet and came face to face with the barrel of Ed’s revolver.

“Get out of here, boy, before I blow your head off!”

“Papa! Don’t hurt him!” Becky grasped at her father’s elbow and he forced his arm higher to wave her off. The shot went wild and lodged in the doorframe, splintering bits of timber onto the floor. Joe didn’t wait for a second shot to find its mark as he bolted for the door. Angry shouts followed him out into the evening as he threw himself onto his horse and raced wildly out of the yard. He had no idea where he was headed. All he knew was he needed to get away.

Ben forced himself to cut another piece of roast beef and bite into it, even as his thoughts were wandering elsewhere. After all, Joseph had told them all so many times that he was a grown man and could handle himself and Ben reasoned that he was trying to give him the room to do so. Being late to supper was not unheard of and it could be a simple reason why, but that did not stop a father’s heart from worrying. He glanced across the table and saw his own worry reflected back at him as the conversation had taken a decided lull. Adam would be the first to chastise Joe for being tardy, claiming the boy never could keep track of time, but even he looked concerned. Hoss was eating, but half his supper still sat on his plate and that was enough indication that he too was worried. Hop Sing had retreated to the kitchen, but even his surly mood had carried over into the dining room. He was not happy that number three son was not sitting where he should be.

“We’ll finish up and go and take a look for him.” Ben noted that both his sons looked relieved at the comment.

“He’ll be mad at us. Think we don’t trust him to finish a job on his own.” Hoss looked back at his father, internally weighing the cost against the possible gain.

“Yes, he probably will be. And if he’s just running behind, we’ll help him finish.” Ben forced himself to swallow a mouthful of potatoes through a very dry throat.

Becky pulled the edge of the blanket up around her shoulder and tried to stem the tears that still threatened. She felt exhausted and her eyes drooped closed. The sound of her father’s boots on the wooden floor startled her and she jolted awake again.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Ed sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers over his daughter’s hair. The eyes that looked up at him brimmed with tears and he silently cursed himself again for putting them there. For over five years it had just been the two of them and he would have given anything to protect his child. So how had he failed her so miserably?

“Papa … Joe really didn’t hurt me. He saved me from … that …” As the terrifying memories overwhelmed her once again, Becky turned her face into her pillow and began to sob. She felt herself being drawn into her father’s arms and she grasped at his shirt as she had done since she was a small child. The smell of his pipe tobacco mixed with his familiar scent and she felt herself slipping into the safest place she knew.

“I know that now. I’m so sorry, me darlin’. I’ll fix it with him tomorrow. Don’t you worry none. I’ll fix it.”

Ed felt his daughter relax against him and the sobs gradually subsided. He allowed himself to linger for a while longer, but knew that he still had another job to do. He slowly eased Becky back down towards the bed and pulled the blanket around her once again.

“I’m just goin’ up the road to ask Missus Morton to come down and sit with you while I go and see the sheriff.”

Becky grasped at his wrist as he went to stand up.

“She’ll be here real soon. I promise.” Ed leaned down and kissed the top of her head before making a show of tucking the blanket in again. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

It hadn’t taken long to ride to the neighbouring ranch and get the mother of six to come over and watch his daughter for a spell. Of course he hadn’t given much in the way of detail, but had explained his daughter had needed someone while he attended to an urgent matter. The woman had all but adopted his only child into her tribe and was only too happy to help. It had helped ease the guilt a little as Ed rode into the darkness once again, this time searching for the body of the man he had wanted to kill with his own hands. A part of him hoped to find the man still alive and suffering great pain, but he knew that a gutshot was almost always fatal. It had been hours since Little Joe had shot the man and he knew he was most likely looking for a dead man.

Based on the description that Becky had given him, it wasn’t hard to find the body right where he expected it to be. As he pulled his horse up and tethered her to a bush, he swung the lantern down low and glared at the features of the man he’d been stupid enough to employ only a short time back. Some of the year he ran his modest ranch on his own while other times required him to hire help. It was a fine balance between need and cost and Stan Hamilton and his brothers had presented themselves at the right time. Of course, he could only hire on one of them and had chosen Stan, more by whim than anything else. He sucked in a breath as he wondered out aloud what would have happened if he had hired another of the brothers. Would his little girl have been subjected to threats and such violence? Would Joe Cartwright have been forced to kill a man in order to save his daughter?

“Damn you, you old fool!” Ed mentally pounded himself as he kicked at the man’s leg in front of him. Images of his daughter in Joe’s hands flared in front of him and he once again kicked at the dead man’s legs. “This is all your fault! You made a fool o’ me and you dared touch my daughter!” His boot flew again of its own accord and he found his rage welling up as he smashed a fist into the dead man’s face. “You filthy excuse for a man!”

Finally he forced himself to stand up, his breath heaving in his chest. “That boy is more of a man than you ever were.”

Becky had told him, in halting steps, how Joe had ridden to her defence and taken a beating on her behalf. Stan had at least a hundred pounds and almost a good foot in height on the boy and he’d still tackled the man, to save his daughter. Ed mentally kicked himself once again, knowing what he had done to the boy himself, albeit while thinking he was protecting his own child.

“I’ll make it up to ya, son. I promise I will.” Ed leaned down and hoisted the dead weight of the other man across his pack horse. He wanted to pummel his fists into the face again, but managed to restrain himself. He’d already done enough punching for one day.

Ben leaned back in the saddle and looked across at his sons. There was no sign of Joe anywhere he should have been. While none of them had voiced it, each of them was more concerned than they had initially let on. Joe could be tardy when something else caught his attention, but he would not willingly be this late without good cause. The fact he had been trying so hard lately to prove how responsible he was only added to the concern. He knew that if he had skipped off somewhere on a lark, then his newfound label of responsibility would be very quickly revoked.

“Where to next, Pa?” Adam pulled his hat off and scratched at his forehead. There was enough moonlight to make out the surrounding area, but certainly not enough to track by. That would have to wait until morning and they all knew it.

“Into town. See if that youngest brother of yours decided he needed to stop off somewhere else on the way home.”

As Ben nudged his horse forward, he heard his sons pull into line alongside him. Neither of them were fooled by his comment, but he had to hold onto the hope that Joe had fallen back into old habits and really was just somewhere he shouldn’t be. He didn’t want to consider the alternative just yet.

Roy Coffee locked the cell door behind him and hung the key on the far wall. He’d had more than enough of the single occupant of the cell and was thoroughly tired of the three brothers. Since they’d arrived in town, they’d broken up the saloon several times, been in more fistfights than he could count and generally riled up the majority of the other cowpokes for several miles around. Ben had warned him, as had a few other ranchers, that the three were nothing but trouble. The one currently gracing his jail cell had been fired only hours before and had spent the last of his wages on a bender in the saloon before getting into a drunken brawl. He’d be nursing a fine hangover in the morning and Roy knew he’d probably be mopping out the cell at some point too. He left the adjoining door open in case he needed to hear from his prisoner.

He stopped in front of the coffee pot and swirled the dregs around before reaching for a mug. There was enough there to make a half way decent mug if he didn’t mind a few grounds in it. He was too tired to bother on a fresh pot and poured the black liquid into his well-used tin mug. He figured it was hot and strong enough to get him through another hour or so. Before he could turn back to his desk, the door pushed open and Ed Longman strode into the room. Roy was surprised to see him in town at this time of night, as his daughter would be home alone.

“Ed? Somethin’ I can do for you?”

“Roy, I got me a body out there. Need you to take the piece of filth off my hands.”

“You killed him, Ed?” Roy looked across at the man, stunned at the possibility his own question could be true. Ed was known as a normally peaceable man who kept to himself and ran his ranch. Never had Roy known the man to be in any kind of trouble before. Still, as a lawman, he had to ask the question.

“Nope. Little Joe Cartwright did that for me. Shot him in the gut, but I wish I’d gotten there first!”

Both the response and the venom behind it shocked Roy and he shook his head as if he’d not heard correctly.

“Little Joe! What are ya talkin’ about? Joe don’t even carry a gun, Ed. Ben won’t let him yet.”

Ed scrubbed a hand across his jaw and pointed a thumb towards the door. “Come with me, Roy and I’ll explain all you need to know.” He was already moving towards the door as Roy followed along behind him.

“Just who is it?”

“Stan Hamilton. My ex ranch hand!”

The two men moved out the door while Roy’s prisoner pulled himself upright on his bunk. His head wobbled on his shoulders as the sour taste of whiskey gurgled up his throat. He’d heard his brother’s name alongside that Cartwright brat, but his mind swirled in a sea of alcohol. As he dropped back to the thin mattress beneath him, he belched loudly and rolled over to go to sleep. His brothers could deal with the brat. After all, they’d deserted him when the sheriff had hauled him in again.

Ed stood in front of his horse as Roy inspected the body draped over the pack horse. He rolled the rough trail blanket back over the man’s face and pointed across the street.

“Bring him across to the undertaker and we’ll talk some more then.”

Ed unhooked his horse’s reins and nudged the animal across the street to the building where Roy was already hammering on the door. The mousey looking man that answered just nodded at the body and instructed them to bring him inside. It was a reasonably efficient process, given the cause of death was rather obvious, but Ed still felt his guts churning at the amount of dried blood on the body and across the blanket. Becky said Joe had wrestled with the man to get a grip on the gun and he sucked in a sharp breath. He could just as easily be delivering Joe’s body to the sheriff and his mind would not allow him to go to the possibilities of where his daughter might be.

Before he knew what was happening, he felt Roy steering him outside and back across the street. He had no idea what the man was saying about not talking inside the jailhouse, but he dropped onto the step in front of him and his head fell forward into his hands. Roy stood and waited as he pulled himself together.

“What happened, Ed? And where’s Joe?”

Ed swallowed a gulp of air as he thought about both questions. “I’m a fool, that’s what happened! I left my daughter in the hands of a snake!”

Roy had been at the wedding, the same as most of the town and he’d seen Joe and Becky on the dancefloor. He’d even nudged Ben a time or two and commented on his chances of red-headed grandchildren. Ben had glared back at him and declared his son far too young to be thinking anything of the sort. Roy had nodded and smiled and moved on to another conversation topic. He couldn’t reconcile the memory with Ed’s comment and yet he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Little Joe had killed a man either. He waited for the father to go on.

“I took on that … that animal and he attacked my daughter. Thank God that Joe came past when he did or …” Ed found his breath caught in his throat as he tried to continue on. His daughter’s hesitant retelling of her trauma made his fists clench again in rage. “He saved my Becky and I repaid him by hitting him!”

“Ed, you ain’t makin’ a whole lotta sense. Now what exactly happened to young Becky? And why’d you hit Joe?”

Before he could respond, the two of them were interrupted by three horses pulling up to the hitching rail. As Ben and his sons dismounted, Ed was on his feet and reaching a hand towards his friend.

“Ben, if you’re here to lay charges, I totally understand. I lost my temper and I’m real sorry about it. Joe didn’t deserve none of it and I’ll tell him to his face tomorrow.”

“Charges? What are you talking about, Ed? And where’s my son?”

Ed stepped back as the three men in front of him seemed to move as a cohesive group towards him.

“I just figured that Little Joe came and told you what I did to him. I’m sorry, Ben, but my Becky was crying and her dress was all torn up and I just … I just hit him.”

Ben felt like his heart had stopped beating as the details did nothing to calm his rising fear. He felt the solid presence of his two sons behind him and he somehow managed to keep a lid on his anger as he spoke.

“Ed, I have no idea what you are talking about! Joseph didn’t come home tonight and now you tell me he hurt your daughter! I simply don’t believe that.”

Roy had a hand on Ben’s chest and edged himself between the two fathers. “Now Ben, he ain’t sayin’ that at all. Just hear him out and we can sort this all out.”

“Then what exactly is he saying?”

“Ben, my daughter was attacked, but not by Joe!” He rushed to assure the three men before him. “In fact, he intervened. Saved her. He shot dead the monster that done it.” As emotion took over and he found himself struggling to speak, Ben leaned in again.

“What! Joe doesn’t carry a gun!”

Once again, Roy placed a hand on his friend’s chest and held him still as Ed continued on. “Ben, Becky herself said Joe done it, but she said it was self defence. He grabbed Hamilton’s gun from his holster ’cause he was bein’ choked to death.”

Ben felt a sound roaring in his ears.

Self defence.

Those words were used in front of a jury. His son was old enough to be tried in front of a jury. Joe’s own adamant words came back to hit him full force. His son was a man and could be tried as a man.

“Roy … where is my son?”