Summary:  Ever wondered about the Cartwright’s Indian painting and why it moves around so much? This story should answer your questions if you have

Rated: K+ (10,345 words)

The Indian Painting

1843

 

“Ben, I absolutely insist,” said Stephen Hawkins as he showed the other man through the front doorway of his house. “You’ve been so good to me over the years since I arrived here, that it’s the least I can do. Besides, I painted it especially for you.”

 

 

 

“This really isn’t necessary,” insisted Ben as he walked into the living room of the small house and looked around. “My goodness Stephen, you’ve certainly done a lot.”  He viewed the many paintings that were propped up against the wall of the small room appreciatively and shook his head. “Wonderful work! Truly wonderful!” he added.

 

 

 

Stephen grinned. “I’m flattered that you think so,” he said. “You know Ben, many people don’t appreciate real art …. Especially out here. When I first came I just knew that I had to use my painting skills to capture what this area is really like.” He indicated a rather large painting of Lake Tahoe with a rise of tall pines in the background. “Recognise this?” he asked.

 

 

 

“That’s looking over The Ponderosa from this side of the lake,” said Ben, hoping that this was the painting that Stephen meant to give him. “It truly is beautiful. You’ve really captured it well.”

 

 

 

“Thank you,” said Stephen. “I’m rather proud of that one.” He started to shift several canvases as he spoke. “Now … where is that one I … ah! Here it is.” He held up a painting of a rather stern looking Indian brave and Ben swallowed at the sight of it. “You like it?” asked Stephen. Ben nodded, not quite knowing what to say and desperate not to hurt the other man’s feelings. He supposed that it was well painted, but it was just so …. So … he wasn’t sure quite what it was … but the way Indian stared back at him menacingly sent a shiver down his spine.

 

 

 

“I know how much you admire Chief Winnemucca,” continued Stephen. “So I couldn’t think of a better subject for a painting to give you. I did it from memory. I’ve only seen the chief once, but I have rather captured his pride and leadership abilities don’t you think?”

 

 

 

Ben nodded again. “Yes,” he managed to say. He glanced at all the fine landscapes around the room and wished that he could swap the Indian painting for one of them. “I don’t know what to say Stephen,” he said truthfully. “Really I don’t.”

 

 

 

“Then don’t say anything,” said Stephen happily, handing Ben the painting. “Just take it home and enjoy it … with my compliments.”

 

 

 

“Thank you,” said Ben, taking the painting gingerly and wondering what Marie’s reaction to the painting would be.

 

 

 

 

 

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“I don’t care who gave it to you! You are not bringing that ugly thing into my house Ben Cartwright!” Marie stood with her hands on her hips and glared at her husband who was holding the painting up in front of him to show her.

 

 

 

“Be reasonable Marie,” Ben pleaded. “I had no choice but to accept it. Stephen’s pride would have been hurt if I hadn’t.”

 

 

 

“Well accepting it is one thing,” his wife replied, looking at the painting distastefully. “But its another thing completely to hang it up anywhere in the house.” She shuddered. “Why on earth would anyone want to paint a subject like that?”

 

 

 

Ben bristled. “Chief Winnemucca is a fine man,” he said defensively. “A great leader of his tribe.”

 

 

 

“Well he might be a great leader and a fine man,” replied his wife. “But you must admit that he’s not the handsomest of men.”

 

 

 

Adam giggled. “I think he’s downright ugly,” he said.

 

 

 

Ben gave his eldest son a stern look. “That will be enough out of you, young man,” he said. “I’m sorry Marie, but the painting goes up. I have to do it. What if Stephen comes out here to visit one day and doesn’t see it hanging on the wall? He’d be offended.”

 

 

 

“Well I’ll be offended if I have to look at that … that thing every day,” she said haughtily. “Put it up then if you must, but put it somewhere where I don’t have to see it.”

 

 

 

Ben kissed the top of her curly hair. “Thank you my love,” he said. “I’ll find a place for it where it won’t offend anyone, I promise.”

 

 

 

Marie sighed as her husband walked upstairs with the painting. “I just don’t understand it,” she said to Adam, who was standing beside her. “Why paint an ugly Indian when there are so many other beautiful things around here to paint?”

 

 

 

Adam shrugged. “Mr Hawkins paints lots of things,” he said. “He’s got tons of landscapes and other stuff in his house you know. Some of em look real good too.”

 

 

 

Marie shook her head. “And he had to choose that one to give to Ben,” she said, as she looked around the large room. “Now a landscape we could have used.” Suddenly there was a faint crying sound from upstairs and she sighed again. “It sounds as if your baby brother is awake,” she said. “Go and do your chores before supper please Adam.”

 

 

 

“Yes ma’am,” said Adam and made his escape from the house and his step-mother’s bad mood in a hurry.

 

 

 

Marie walked upstairs to the baby’s room and was surprised to see the door standing open, as she was sure that she’d closed it when she’d put baby Joe down for his nap. She blinked a couple of times to see Ben standing in the middle of the room gazing at his screaming son in his crib. The painting was still in his hand and he held a nail and a hammer in the other one. “No!” she said firmly as she went to pick up the crying baby. “You’re not putting that thing in my baby’s room Ben!”

 

 

 

Ben gave her a frustrated look. “Well a baby can’t object to looking at it,” he said reasonably. “He’s too young to appreciate bad art.”

 

 

 

“Don’t you be so sure about that,” said Marie, rubbing the still-sobbing Joe’s back. “Look at him …. he’s frightened by it.” She made soothing noises to the baby. “And I don’t blame him,” she added.

 

 

 

“Oh, all right,” said Ben in a resigned fashion. “I’ll put it in one of the guest rooms then.”

 

 

 

“Never you mind little one,” said Marie to the baby as she continued to rub his back. “Papa has taken the ugly man away.” Baby Joe’s sobs gradually lessened as he listened to the soothing noises that his mother made into his ear.

 

 

 

 

 

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1845

 

Ben held the painting defensively in front of him as he gave his wife a frustrated look. “I have to Marie,” he said. “Stephen is coming today and he’ll be offended if he doesn’t see it down here.” He put his arm around his wife’s waist and gave her a smile. “It’s only for this afternoon,” he said. “I promise that I’ll put it back upstairs when he leaves.”

 

 

 

“Well,” she said reluctantly. “All right. As long as it’s just for the afternoon.”

 

 

 

Ben kissed her. “That’s my girl,” he said. He looked around the room. “Now let’s see … where to put it?”

 

 

 

Hoss came out of the kitchen eating a cookie, followed as always by his little shadow known to the family as Little Joe. “How come you’re putting that ugly Indian painting up down here Pa?” he asked, spraying a mouthful of cookie crumbs onto the floor.

 

 

 

“Mr Hawkins is coming this afternoon,” explained his father as he took a painting of a clipper ship down from the wall in his study and put the Indian painting up in its place. “It would be nice for him to see it down here.”

 

 

 

Hoss wrinkled his nose in disgust. “But its so ugly Pa. Do we haveta?”

 

 

 

“Ugwy Papa,” agreed Little Joe, not sure what the word meant, but wrinkling his nose in imitation of his brother’s anyway.

 

 

 

“Yes we do,” said their father firmly. He took a couple of steps backwards. “It might be ugly, but it’s staying down here for the rest of the afternoon. There …. now that looks all right.”

 

 

 

Hoss looked at Joe and shook his head. Little Joe shook his head in imitation of his brother.

 

 

 

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Ben smiled as he hid the painting of the clipper ship behind the credenza. “There’s Stephen now,” he said. He straightened his bandanna and then opened the door. “Stephen!” he said. “Nice to see you. Come on in.”

 

 

 

Stephen Hawkins entered the room. “Thank you Ben,” he said. “Nice to see you too.” He held out his hands to Marie. “And your lovely wife of course. How are you Marie?”

 

 

 

“I’m fine thank you,” she replied, smiling at the man. “Please … come and be seated.”

 

 

 

“You know our two youngest boys of course,” said Ben, indicating Hoss and Little Joe. “Say hello to Mr Hawkins boys.”

 

 

 

“Hello Mr Hawkins,” said Hoss dutifully.

 

 

 

“Lo Mis H’kin,” repeated Joe.

 

 

 

“Hello boys,” said Stephen Hawkins. His eyes immediately fixated on the painting over Ben’s desk. “Well I see you have my painting down here,” he said with a huge smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

 

 

 

Ben cleared his throat, ignoring the look that Marie gave him. “Oh we like it just fine,” he said.

 

 

 

Marie smiled in her gracious way. “We think its … most interesting,” she said.

 

 

 

Stephen’s smile broadened. “Don’t you think it’s a shame to have it over there?” he said. “Why don’t you put it out here in the living area where you can get a better view of it?”

 

 

 

Ben opened his mouth to speak, but Marie got in first. “Oh Ben just loves looking at it while he’s working over there in his study,” she said. “I wouldn’t dare deprive him of it in his special area.” She gave her husband a smug look.

 

 

 

“Nonsense,” said Stephen, standing up and walking over to the study. “That’s not the Ben Cartwright I know. Such a generous man as yourself should be glad to share this with everyone in your family Ben.” He reached up and took it off the wall, handing it to Ben. “Here … why don’t you put it over the credenza in the entry?  That way everyone can see it as they come in.”

 

 

 

“What a good idea,” said Ben half-heartedly, avoiding the look that his wife was giving him.

 

 

 

“You can take down that disturbing landscape,” said Stephen brightly. “It’s a bit sombre, don’t you think?”

 

 

 

Marie’s eyes went steely green and she clenched her fists. “Ma picked that one out,” said Hoss. “She ordered it from San Francisco.”

 

 

 

“We quite like it,” said Marie stiffly.

 

 

 

Stephen shrugged, not looking the least bit embarrassed. “Well, each to his own taste,” he said. “There … now doesn’t that look better?” He beamed around at them all as Ben hung the Indian painting on the wall over the credenza.

 

 

 

Little Joe stepped forward, his finger in his nose as he stared up at the painting. “Papa say ugwy,” he announced.

 

 

 

Stephen laughed. “What did you say little man?” he asked, his eyes twinkling at the small boy.

 

 

 

Little Joe took his finger out of his nose and repeated again in a louder voice. “Papa say ugwy.”

 

 

 

Marie went slightly red and picked up her child. “I have to see to something in the kitchen,” she said and whisked Joe away before he could say anything else.

 

 

 

“What was that the little one said?” Stephen asked Ben.

 

 

 

Ben cleared his throat. “Oh, you know how children are,” he said weakly. “Just some baby talk is all.”

 

 

 

“He said ….” Hoss piped up, but Ben silenced him before he could finish.

 

 

 

“Don’t you have chores to do young man?” he asked.

 

 

 

Hoss shrugged and headed for the door. “Yes sir,” he muttered.

 

 

 

Ben gave Stephen an apologetic look. “Boys,” he said, shaking his head. “What do you do with them, eh?”

 

 

 

 

 

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1847

 

Ben opened his eyes as he heard a scream coming from down the hallway. He wearily put his feet onto the floor and reached for his robe as he gave a loud yawn. He did up his robe with one hand while opening his pocket-watch with the other. Three o’clock! What on earth ….

 

 

 

He rubbed his eyes wearily as he made his way down the hallway to what he thought would be the source of the noise. Sure enough, as soon as he opened his youngest son’s bedroom door, the screaming increased and he saw the little boy hunched over as he sat in the middle of his bed. His face was tightly pressed against his knees as he hugged them towards his chest and even from a distance, Ben could se that the little body was trembling.

 

 

 

“What’s the matter?” he asked as he lit the lamp and sat down on the edge of the bed.

 

 

 

Little Joe looked up at his father, his tear-streaked face looking woeful in the lamplight. “Make the bad man go away Pa!” he cried.

 

 

 

Ben reached for his son and put him on his lap, holding him close. He could feel his little heart thumping against his own chest and tried to still the trembling of the small body against his. “Did you have a bad dream?” he asked softly as he rested his head on top of Joe’s curly one.

 

 

 

“Uh huh,” whimpered Joe, putting his thumb into his mouth and sucking on it furiously.

 

 

 

“Do you want to tell Pa about it?” asked Ben.

 

 

 

Little Joe nodded. “Uh huh,” he said again. “The bad man was chasing me Pa.”

 

 

 

Ben smiled in the semi-darkness. “Well there’s no need to be afraid now,” he said. “He’s gone away and Pa’s here to look after you.”

 

 

 

Joe sat up straight and looked at his father. “Nuh uh!” he declared. “He ain’t gone away.”

 

 

 

Ben smoothed down the child’s curls. “Yes he has,” he said gently. “It was only a dream Little Joe. He can’t hurt you. He isn’t real.”

 

 

 

“Yes he is,” declared Joe, pointing at the painting of the Indian on the wall facing his bed. “He’s over there!”

 

 

 

Ben looked and cursed himself for hanging the painting up there. It was just that he had been tired of Adam and Hoss’ complaints about having it downstairs. “Pa will take him away. Would you like that?” he asked.

 

 

 

“Uh huh,” replied Joe, still sucking on his thumb. “Take him a long ways away Pa,” he said earnestly. “He’s a bad man.”

 

 

 

Ben lay the child down in his bed and smoothed the curls again. “Now you go back to sleep,” he said as he turned the lamp down. “And don’t you worry about it anymore.” He walked over and took down the painting of the Indian and carried it out to the hall with him.

 

 

 

“Did he have another nightmare?” asked Adam from his doorway.

 

 

 

“Yes,” replied his father. “It seems that this painting was giving him bad dreams. He’s all right now though.”

 

 

 

“I’m not surprised,” said Adam. “It’s bad enough to give anyone bad dreams. I don’t know why you put it there in the first place Pa.”

 

 

 

“I got sick of you and Hoss whinging about it being downstairs,” replied his father. “It has to go somewhere. Besides, how was I to know that it would give the child nightmares?”

 

 

 

“Well don’t put it in my room,” said Adam. “I’m not having it.”

 

 

 

“I’ll put it in the downstairs guest room,” replied Ben. “At least it might be appreciated down there by some of our guests,” he added huffily.

 

 

 

“And we won’t have to look at it,” grinned Adam. “Admit it Pa, you don’t like it any more than the rest of us.”

 

 

 

“That isn’t true,” said Ben, sounding huffy. “Now go back to bed before you freeze to death.”

 

 

 

Adam grinned at his father again and walked into his bedroom. Ben looked at the painting in his hand. “Chief Winnemucca is a fine man,” he muttered. “He can’t help his looks.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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1850

 

“Thank you for coming out in such bad weather Paul,” said Ben as the two men walked down the stairs together.

 

 

 

“No problem Ben,” replied the doctor. “He’s breathing a lot easier now, but I’m glad that you called for me. This influenza is taking hold of a lot of people in the district and it’s particularly difficult for children.” He put his hand on Ben’s arm as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Joe will be fine, I’m sure and Hoss is doing a lot better now.”

 

 

 

Ben nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “Please make use of our guest room Paul. It’s really too late for you to return to town tonight and the weather being what it is …”

 

 

 

Paul smiled. “I’d be happy to Ben,” he said. “I wasn’t looking forward to the trip, I can assure you. Besides, I can check on the boy before I leave in the morning.”

 

 

 

Ben showed the doctor towards the guest room. “You wash up and I’ll see Hop Sing about getting some supper. One thing about having both the boys in bed with this influenza is that I’ve been eating a lot by myself lately. I’ll certainly enjoy your company tonight.”

 

 

 

“How is Adam going?” asked Paul as Ben opened the door and showed him inside. “Have you heard from him lately?” He stopped and stared at the painting of the Indian on the opposite wall.

 

 

 

“He’s doing fine,” said Ben, noticing the slight frown that passed over the doctor’s face as he looked at the picture. “Enjoying college immensely.” Paul nodded, dragging his eyes away form the painting. “I’ll get some hot water for you,” said Ben quickly and disappeared. Paul walked over to get a better look at the painting and was still staring at it some minutes later when Ben reappeared carrying a pitcher of hot water. “Here we are,” said Ben. “Hop Sing will have supper on the table in a few minutes.”

 

 

 

“Unusual painting,” remarked Paul as he rolled up his sleeves. “Who did it?”

 

 

 

“Stephen Hawkins,” said Ben. “Before he went back East.”

 

 

 

Paul nodded. “I see,” he said and began to wash his hands. “It’s different, isn’t it?”

 

 

 

Ben glanced at his friend. “Yes, it certainly is,” he said. “I can’t say that it’s one of my favourites,” he added.

 

 

 

Paul breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank goodness,” he said. “I wasn’t really sure how to put it … but …”

 

 

 

“You thought I liked it,” Ben finished for him.

 

 

 

“Well, yes,” said the doctor as he picked up a towel. “I mean, a man usually puts a painting on a wall in his house because he likes it; doesn’t he?”

 

 

 

“I suppose so,” sighed Ben. “But the truth is that I’ve never known where to put it. I thought that here in the guest room it would be … well …”

 

 

 

“Unnoticed?” said Paul with a chuckle. “How many people have you had to stay here at The Ponderosa over the past few years Ben?”

 

 

 

Ben shrugged. “Quite a few,” he said. “Why?”

 

 

 

“Well have you stopped to consider that every time someone sleeps in this room, they think that this is your taste in art?” Paul indicated the painting with a flourish of his hand. “Only they’d be too polite to mention it of course.”

 

 

 

“I never thought of that,” admitted Ben, staring at the painting and shuddering slightly as the Indian stared back at him. “To be honest, I don’t know why I even bother to have it hung up now that Stephen has gone back East. He’d never know if I had it hidden away.” He strode over the painting. “That’s it!” he said firmly. “I’m not having all my acquaintances talking about my bad taste behind my back. This painting goes up to the attic tonight … and there it stays!” He laughed. “Marie always hated it, you know …. and it used to give Little Joe nightmares a few years ago.”

 

 

 

Ben walked out of the guest room holding the painting and propped it up against the wall just as Hop Sing put a platter of vegetables on the table. “What for you do with painting?” Hop Sing asked.

 

 

 

“I’m taking it out of the guest room,” said Ben firmly. He stopped for a minute and stared at Hop Sing hopefully. “You wouldn’t like … I mean … would you like to have it up in your room Hop Sing?”

 

 

 

Hop Sing gave him a dark look and muttered in Chinese as he shook his head. He stomped out of the room still muttering and for once, Ben didn’t have to wonder what he was saying … he could well imagine.

 

 

 

 

 

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1853

 

“Welcome home son,” said Ben, opening the door to Adam’s bedroom and ushering him inside. “Hop Sing has aired your room just yesterday and it’s just as you left it.”

 

 

 

Adam grinned as he put his bag down and looked around. “I can’t believe that I finally made it,” he said. “Three years at college and it seems like a lifetime since I’ve been gone.” He walked over to the window and looked down onto the front yard and beyond the barn to Lake Tahoe, which was shimmering in the distance.

 

 

 

“Can we open our presents now?” asked Joe, climbing up onto his brother’s bed and bouncing on it several times.

 

 

 

“What makes you think that I’ve brought you presents?” asked Adam teasingly.

 

 

 

Joe’s face dropped for a moment and then he grinned. “Cause you said you was in one of your letters,” he said. “Where are they?”

 

 

 

“Joseph!” said his father sternly. “That’s not very polite.”

 

 

 

“Why do we haveta be polite?” Joe asked his father. “Its just Adam, not company.” He began to rummage in his brother’s bag expectantly.

 

 

 

Adam snatched the bag from his little brother. “Get out of there,” he said. He took out two small parcels and held out one to Joe and one to Hoss. “Here,” he said. “Just something small. The rest of my presents are in my trunk, so you’ll have to wait until that arrives next month.” He turned to his father. “I’m sorry Pa, but I couldn’t fit in …” His eyes nearly popped out of his head as he suddenly realised what was on the wall behind his father. “What the h … I mean, what is that doing here?” he asked.

 

 

 

Ben gave his son a broad grin and put his arms around his shoulder as they both gazed at the Indian painting on the wall. “We got it down from the attic, dusted it off and put it up here as a surprise for you,” he said. “When you wrote about Stephen Hawkins and his success with his paintings back East, I thought I should put it out on display again. After all, it’s not everyone who can boast a Hawkins original painting in their home.” He hugged Adam around the shoulder. “We talked it over and we thought that you’d be the obvious one to enjoy it, seeing as how you’ve been back East among all the finer things in life.”

 

 

 

“Yeah Adam,” said Hoss as he held up a belt buckle. “Thanks for the buckle … it’s a beauty. We figured that you’d appreciate the painting more than any of us.”

 

 

 

“You’re welcome,” replied Adam vaguely as he continued to stare at the Indian. “But that’s not really fair,” he added feebly. “I mean, just because Stephen Hawkins is doing well with his paintings back East doesn’t mean that I should …”

 

 

 

“Gee …. thanks for the model ship Adam! It’s great!” interrupted Joe. “I still reckon that Indian painting is right ugly, but Pa says its art now.”

 

 

 

“You’re welcome,” replied Adam, still staring at the painting. “It is,” he added. “Hawkins’ paintings are considered very fine art back East.”

 

 

 

“I’m glad that he’s done so well,” said his father. “And now you can enjoy it every day. It’s so good to have you home again son.”

 

 

 

“Good to be here Pa,” said Adam, finally dragging his eyes away from the painting and trying to look grateful. “Good to be here.”

 

 

 

 

 

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1857

 

“But I can’t stand it no more Pa!” objected Hoss earnestly. “Honest I can’t! That Indian painting plumb turns my stomach!”

 

 

 

“You’re lucky to have it,” said Adam huffily. “I had it in my room for years and I appreciated it. Now it’s your turn brother.”

 

 

 

“Still don’t see why I hadta get it when you’d finished with it,” muttered Hoss.

 

 

 

“I didn’t finish with it, as you so eloquently put it,” said Adam in that superior way he had of speaking at times. “I just didn’t have room for it in my bedroom any more. All those beautiful paintings I’ve been collecting on my trips to San Francisco had to go somewhere, didn’t they?”

 

 

 

Hoss gave his brother a dark look. “I reckon you done bought all them paintings just so you’d have no room fer that darned Indian!” he said.

 

 

 

Adam looked shocked. “Hoss!” he said. “What a thing to say! You know that I appreciate all art. Why, that Indian painting is just … “ he swallowed as he tried to think of just the right word, but failed. “It should be doing you good looking at such fine art every day,” he finally said.

 

 

 

Hoss didn’t look convinced. “Well fine art or not, I still can’t stand it. Please Pa? I’ve had it on my wall fer two years. Can’t Joe have a turn now?”

 

 

 

Joe nearly choked on a mouthful of his breakfast. “Not me!” he said firmly. “I had my turn with that thing when I was little. It damned near …” He stopped and glanced at his father who was frowning at him. “I mean …. It used ta give me nightmares. I remember!”

 

 

 

“Everything used to give you nightmares,” muttered Adam. “We were forever going into your room to shut you up.”

 

 

 

Joe shot his brother a dark look and kicked out at him under the table. “Now that will do!” said Ben sternly. “I’ve had just about enough of hearing about that painting! It is a wonderful piece of artwork and that’s all there to it. We should count ourselves lucky that we have it!”

 

 

 

“I totally agree,” said Adam.

 

 

 

“Then you have it in your room,” said Hoss quickly.

 

 

 

“Haven’t we just been through all that?” asked Adam. “I told you … there isn’t any room for it. I have every wall covered with something else.” He hesitated as he thought of how long it had taken him to save the money to get all the artwork just so that he had an excuse to get rid of the Indian painting from his wall. “I’d gladly have it in my room if there was room,” he added. “I appreciate art.” He gave everyone around the table a smug look.

 

 

 

“I don’t reckon you like it any more that the rest of us,” interjected Joe. “I think you’re just pretending to because you think its art.”

 

 

 

“Well I don’t really care what …” Adam began.

 

 

 

Ben put up his hand. “All right, all right, he said. “You can put it down in the guest room again Hoss. At least our guests will know that we have a Hawkins painting in the house and they might appreciate it.”

 

 

 

Hoss stood up and wiped his face with his napkin. “Thanks Pa,” he said. “I’ll take it down straight away.” He moved away from the table quickly and Joe reached over and took a bread roll that was sitting on the side of it.

 

 

 

“Hoss must really hate that painting,” he said. “I’ve never seen him leave food for nothing before.” He buttered the bread roll happily while his father glared at him. Joe grinned back at Ben as he popped half of the bread roll into his mouth.

 

 

 

 

 

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1860

 

Joe kicked Hoss under the table. “Hey Hoss!” he whispered, pointing to the wall behind the saloon bar. “Do ya see what I see?”

 

 

 

Hoss looked. “Huh?” he said.

 

 

 

“The painting!” hissed Joe. “Look! It’s our Indian painting on the wall behind the bar!”

 

 

 

Hoss looked confused. “Hey, so it is!” he said. “What’s it doin here Joe?”

 

 

 

Joe shook his head. “I dunno, but I aim ta find out,” he said, standing up and gesturing to Hoss to follow him. He walked over to the bar and leant on it. “Hey Sam!” he called. “Where’d ya get the new painting?”

 

 

 

Sam the bartender grinned at them. “I got it from some guy over in Carson City,” he said proudly. “It’s a genuine Hawkins ya know.”

 

 

 

“Yeah we know,” said Joe, his eyes narrowing. “What guy?” he asked.

 

 

 

Sam shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “Some guy who was passing through. Said he knew Stephen Hawkins way back and got it from him. Cost me quite a bit too.” He looked at the painting. “It’s right fine, don’t ya think?”

 

 

 

Hoss gave him a strange look. “You really like it?” he asked.

 

 

 

Sam nodded. “It’s worth a lot of money Hoss. Course I like it. I know expensive art when I see it and this is right expensive so it must be good.” He moved down the bar to serve another customer and Hoss nudged Joe who was staring at the painting and seemingly lost in thought.

 

 

 

“What do ya reckon Joe?” asked Hoss. “How do ya reckon our painting got here?”

 

 

 

“It’s obvious,” said Joe. “Whoever this guy in Carson City was … he musta stolen it from our place.”

 

 

 

“Strange that no one noticed,” said Hoss. “How do ya figure that Joe?”

 

 

 

Joe gave his brother a frustrated look. “Well Pa has it in the downstairs guestroom don’t he?” he said. “Now how often do any of us go in there?”

 

 

 

“Not often,” admitted Hoss. “In fact, now that I think about it, hardly ever.”

 

 

 

“That’s right,” said Joe. “Which is exactly why Pa has it down there … So we don’t haveta look at it.”

 

 

 

Hoss took of his hat and scratched his head. “That still don’t explain how this fellar from Carson City happened ta get hold of it,” he said.

 

 

 

Joe pulled his brother closer by the collar of his shirt. “Hoss …. where is the downstairs guest room?” he whispered.

 

 

 

Hoss thought for a moment. “Downstairs?” he said finally.

 

 

 

Joe rolled his eyes. “Well of course it’s downstairs,” he said. “But where downstairs? Think Hoss!”

 

 

 

Hoss thought and then shrugged his shoulders. “Gee, I dunno Joe,” he said finally.

 

 

 

“It’s right at the front of the house near the front yard,” said Joe. “If Hop Sing was in the kitchen and all of us were out at work, then this guy could have just walked in and helped himself to it without any of us being the wiser.”

 

 

 

Hoss scratched his head again. “Yeah …. but why would he wanna do that Joe? I mean …. well, look at it!”

 

 

 

Joe looked at it and shuddered slightly. “I know what you mean,” he said. “But it’s worth a lot of money Hoss. You heard Sam say so just now.”

 

 

 

Hoss nodded wisely. “Yeah,” he said. “I reckon you’re right Joe. So what are we gonna do now?”

 

 

 

Joe shook his head. “I dunno,” he said. I haveta think on it a while.”

 

 

 

“Hey Joe,” said Hoss suddenly. “Why don’t we just leave it be? After all, none of us really like the painting …. and Sam does … and he paid a lot of money fer it and all. Why don’t we just let him have it?”

 

 

 

Joe looked frustrated. “We can’t do that!” he said. “It’s worth a lot of money Hoss. Sides … it ain’t ours ta give him. It’s Pa’s!”

 

 

 

Hoss nodded again. “Yeah,” he agreed.

 

 

 

“Hey Sam!” called out Joe suddenly. “How much did ya say ya paid for this here painting?”

 

 

 

“I didn’t say,” replied the bartender. “But if you must know, it was two hundred dollars.”

 

 

 

Joe whistled. “Two hundred dollars!” he said.

 

 

 

Sam nodded. “And worth every cent,” he said smugly.

 

 

 

Joe nudged Hoss. “Give him two hundred dollars,” he said.

 

 

 

Hoss’ eyes boggled. “What?” he said. “I ain’t got two hundred dollars Joe!”

 

 

 

“You got the money Pa gave us fer paying the feed bill, haven’t ya?” asked Joe.

 

 

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

 

 

“Then give it to Sam fer the painting,” said Joe.

 

 

 

Sam put up his hand. “Now hold on there fellars,” he said. “This here painting ain’t fer sale.”

 

 

 

Joe beckoned Sam closer. “Take the money Sam,” he said. “We don’t wanna embarrass ya, but the painting actually belongs ta us.”

 

 

 

Now it was Sam’s turn for his eyes to boggle out. “To you!” he said. “How do ya figure that Joe?”

 

 

 

“This fellar from Carson City who you bought it from musta stole it from our ranch,” said Joe. “It’s rightfully ours.”

 

 

 

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Now you see here,” he began. “I bought that painting fair and square and that’s that young Cartwright.”

 

 

 

Joe pulled the man close by the collar. “Now listen here Sam,” he said.

 

 

 

Sam shook himself loose. “Don’t you listen here me you young Cartwright,” he said. “Get on out of my bar this minute!”

 

 

 

Hoss leant forward. “Now see here Sam,” he began.

 

 

 

“No,” said Sam. “Both of you get out!” He leant over the bar and hit Hoss on the side of the face. Hoss looked stunned for a moment and then he shrugged at Joe. Joe shrugged back at him and then took off his hat …..

 

 

 

 

 

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Ben paced up and down in front of the fireplace, his fists clenched and his breathing heavy as Joe and Hoss both stood with their hands behind their backs watching him. Adam sat on the sofa with a smirk on his face, ready to enjoy the scene that was about to unfold in front of him. The moment his two younger brothers had presented themselves at the front door with all those bruises on their faces he knew that his father would be in a foul mood and those two would bear the brunt of it.

 

 

 

“So, tell me again,” said Ben in a measured tone. “You say that it all started over the Indian painting?”

 

 

 

“That’s right,” said Joe, bringing it out from behind his back and showing it to his father. “And you should be right proud that we got it back for you Pa.”

 

 

 

Ben gave him a steely look that made Joe take a step backwards and put the painting behind his back again. “Proud is not exactly the word I’d use at the moment,” said his father in a flinty tone.

 

 

 

“But Pa,” began Hoss.

 

 

 

Ben turned and pointed his finger at him. “You be quiet,” he said. “Your younger brother was explaining this …. Go on Joseph.” He sat down on the arm of the blue chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Please continue,” he said sarcastically.

 

 

 

Joe looked at Hoss and then swallowed. “Well, when we saw the painting there we offered Sam two hundred dollars for it …”

 

 

 

“You what?” thundered Ben.

 

 

 

Joe looked at Hoss again. “Go on little brother,” said Hoss. “Speak right up and tell Pa why.”

 

 

 

Joe swallowed. “Well …” he began. “I … that is … we …. knew that you wouldn’t want Sam to be out of pocket Pa. Not fer something that weren’t his fault.”

 

 

 

Ben held up his hand to stop him. “Let me see if I have this right,” he said. “You offered Sam two hundred dollars for a painting that I already own?”

 

 

 

“Well, yeah,” admitted Joe. “On account of that guy what sold it to him.”

 

 

 

Ben shook his head. “The man who sold him my Indian painting?” he said.

 

 

 

“Yeah,” said Joe.

 

 

 

“Adam,” said Ben, motioning to his eldest son. “If you please.” Adam grinned and got up, going into the guest room and coming out with the Indian painting in his hand.

 

 

 

Joe and Hoss looked at it in amazement. “But … how …” Joe’s eyes bulged as he took the Indian painting out from behind his back. “How …” he looked at his father.

 

 

 

“Did it never occur to you that the man from Carson City might have been telling the truth?” asked Ben sarcastically.

 

 

 

Joe slowly shook his head, looked at the Indian painting in his brother’s hands and then at the one in his own hands. “Nice going little brother,” said Hoss.

 

 

 

“You mean there are two of them?” asked Joe in amazement.

 

 

 

“That’s exactly right little brother,” said Adam, putting the first Indian painting down and leaning it against the wall. “Stephen Hawkins obviously painted two of the same subject. Next time you might check these things before you jump to conclusions.”

 

 

 

“But how … I mean ….” Joe shook his head. “How was we to know that?” he demanded defensively.

 

 

 

“You weren’t,” said his father. “None of us did until now. But instead of checking that our painting was here first, you jumped in and got yourselves into a fight, didn’t you?”

 

 

 

“Hoss started it,” said Joe defensively. “He threw the first punch. I only got involved to protect him!”

 

 

 

Hoss snorted and gave his younger brother a dark look. “The day I need you ta protect me little brother will be a cold day in hell,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t start it …. Sam did.” He fingered the bruise on the side of his face ruefully.

 

 

 

“Well I don’t much care who started it,” said Ben sternly. “You two will march yourselves back into town this instant and apologise to Sam and give him back his painting … is that clear?” He looked from Joe to Hoss and then back again. “And be mighty thankful that he let you bring the picture home without handing over that two hundred dollars.”

 

 

 

Joe looked at Hoss and then back to his father again. “Well, not exactly,” he said.

 

 

 

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean not exactly?” he asked.

 

 

 

“We kinda had ta pay him the two hundred dollars for it in the end,” said Joe.

 

 

 

Ben nodded. “I see. Well, take it back and just pray that he gives the money back to you. Otherwise it’ll be coming out of both your pays … and be thankful that it was only two hundred dollars you’ll be up for.”

 

 

 

Joe looked at Hoss and then back to his father yet again. “Well, not exactly,” he said again. Ben’s eyes narrowed and he continued to stare at his youngest son. “We kinda broke up a bunch of chairs and a couple of tables,” admitted Joe. “And some drinks,” he added when his father said nothing. “Well a lot of drinks actually,” he finished lamely. “We owe him another two hundred dollars on top of the first two hundred dollars we gave him for the painting.” He took a step back as his father pinched his nose between his fingers and shook his head.

 

 

 

“Go,” Ben said. “Get out of my sight right now.” He looked up as Joe pulled Hoss towards the door. “Oh … and Joseph?”

 

 

 

Joe stopped and looked at his father apprehensively. “Yeah Pa?” he said.

 

 

 

“I would hate any of our visitors to make the same mistake that you did son. Anyone who stays in our guest room from now on could assume that we took the Indian painting from the saloon, so from now on it belongs in your room.”

 

 

 

Joe’s mouth dropped open and he took a step forward. “But that ain’t …” He dropped his head as his father continued to stare at him. “Yes sir,” he mumbled. “Come on Hoss.” The two of them left the room.

 

 

 

Adam picked up the Indian painting and looked at it. “You want me to put it in Joe’s room now Pa?” he asked.

 

 

 

“Yes,” answered Ben. “I would hate anyone to see it and be reminded of that boy’s stupidity. The whole of Virginia City will know about this before the week is out. Looking at that painting every day might just be a reminder to him to stop and think before he acts in future.”

 

 

 

Adam pulled a face. “I think it might take more than this painting to achieve that,” he said as he walked up the stairs with the painting in his hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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1863

 

“But it just ain’t fair!” said Joe. “I’ve had it in my bedroom for close on three years! I’ve done learned my lesson from it now Pa!”

 

 

 

Ben raised an eyebrow. “That is debatable Joseph,” he said.

 

 

 

“You should be grateful to have it,” interrupted Adam. “There are a lot of people who would like to have an expensive painting like that in their bedroom.”

 

 

 

“Yeah?” replied Joe. “Well I ain’t one of em. Please Pa?”

 

 

 

“Joseph, it has to go somewhere,” replied Ben wearily. “And to tell you the truth I’ve just about run out of places to put it.”

 

 

 

“We could put it back in Adam’s room seeing as how he’s so keen on it,” suggested Joe quickly.

 

 

 

Adam shot his younger brother a dark look. “And what about all the fine art work I already have on my walls?” he asked.

 

 

 

“I’ll swap you fer one of em,” suggested Joe.

 

 

 

“You keep your grubby hands off my art,” said Adam and went back to reading his book.

 

 

 

Joe frowned. “Well what about Hoss’ room? All he’s got up in there is some Indian spears and his mother’s picture.”

 

 

 

Hoss looked shocked. “Ya ain’t suggesting that I take down my Ma’s picture I hope!”

 

 

 

“No,” said Joe quickly. “But the Indian painting would look right nice next to them spears Hoss. They’d fit together real well … you must admit that.”

 

 

 

“There’s no room,” sniffed Hoss. “Them spears take up the whole wall.”

 

 

 

“That’s opportune,” said Adam in a low voice as he turned a page.

 

 

 

“What?” asked Hoss.

 

 

 

Adam looked up. “I said that there’s no opportunity to put it up in there,” he replied.

 

 

 

Hoss nodded. “Yeah,” he said.

 

 

 

Joe got up and started pacing up and down in front of the fireplace. “Well someone else has to have it,” he said. “It gives me the creeps! How would any of you like it staring down at you every night?”

 

 

 

“It did used ta give him nightmares when he was a little’un Pa,” said Hoss.

 

 

 

Joe’s eyes lit up. “Yes it did,” he said eagerly. “I remember that. It could make me start having them again.” He looked at his father hopefully, but Ben merely went on smoking his pipe. “Come to think of it, I haven’t been sleeping too well lately,” added Joe for effect.

 

 

 

Ben took his pipe out of his mouth. “You’re too old for nightmares now,” he said calmly.

 

 

 

“I don’t know about that,” said Joe meaningfully. “I could start having them again.”

 

 

 

“Is that a threat?” asked Adam.

 

 

 

Ben took his pipe out of his mouth again. “All right,” he said, putting up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I give in. Put it in my room Joe. At least it will be appreciated there.”

 

 

 

Joe clapped his hands in glee. “Thanks Pa,” he said, springing towards the stairs. “I’ll do it right now!”

 

 

 

“Are you sure?” Adam asked Ben as his younger brother bounded up the stairs two at a time.

 

 

 

“I’m sure,” said Ben, putting his pipe back in his mouth. “It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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1866*

 

 

 

It had been a long, long day and Ben was bone weary. He rode into the front yard and dismounted, walking towards the front porch slowly. All he wanted was to sink down under the covers and close his eyes …. A girl’s high-pitched giggle make him look up and he noticed Joe and Peggy Miller sitting on the front porch together.

 

 

 

“Hey Pa,” called Joe, grinning at his father. “You’re home early.”

 

 

 

Ben smiled at Peggy. “Hello Peggy,” he said politely.

 

 

 

“What happened?” asked Joe. “Did the meeting break up?”

 

 

 

“No, it’s still going on,” replied Ben. “But I got tired. I’m bone tired. Do me a favour will you? Put up my horse?”

 

 

 

“Yeah sure,” said Joe. “Have a rest. Be back in a minute,” he aid to Peggy. “I’ve got a great one.”

 

 

 

“Oh Mr Cartwright?” said Peggy as Ben walked towards the door. “Is my father still at the meeting?”

 

 

 

“Yes, he’s still there,” replied Ben. “He’ll be along after a while. Don’t you worry.”

 

 

 

Peggy gave him a huge smile. “Oh I’m not worried,” she replied. “Little Joe and I are having a wonderful time! He tells the best jokes I’ve ever heard.”

 

 

 

Ben smiled at the young girl. “I know,” he said. “Good night Peggy.” He walked into the house and saw Adam sitting in the living room strumming on his guitar. Ben wearily took off his gun-belt. “Adam,” he said, nodding to his son.

 

 

 

“Oh, hi Pa,” said Adam, continuing to strum on his guitar. “How did the meeting go?”

 

 

 

“Oh, all right I guess,” said Ben, stifling a yawn. “I left early.”

 

 

 

“Something wrong?”

 

 

 

“Hmm?” Ben shook his head and stifled yet another yawn. “No … no …. just tired I guess.”

 

 

 

“Well it’s no wonder, the way you’ve been driving yourself lately,” replied Adam.

 

 

 

Ben nodded. “Soon as I get some sleep I should be all right I think,” he said. “I think I’ll hit the hay right now. Goodnight.” He walked slowly up the stairs, feeling each one harder to climb than the one before. As he passed Hoss’ bedroom he heard his middle son snoring loudly and he stopped momentarily to listen. In a resigned fashion, he entered the room and with a bit of difficulty, turned Hoss onto his side in the bed. “Come on boy,” he said softly. “On your side.” Hoss snuffled a couple of times and was then silent.

 

 

 

Ben undressed and got into bed, feeling the softness of the mattress with a great deal of joy. He sighed as he snuggled down under the covers and closed his eyes ….

 

 

 

Suddenly he heard Hoss snoring again from the next room. Ben opened his eyes and stared straight at the Indian painting on the opposite wall as he listened. Funny how that painting had never really bothered him before, but tonight it seemed to be looking straight at him. Hoss’ snoring became louder and Ben could also now hear the strains of Adam’s guitar from downstairs. He closed his eyes again, but couldn’t seem to stop listening and opened them to see the Indian staring straight down at him again.

 

 

 

Suddenly there was the sound of the dinner gong from downstairs and a girl’s high-pitched scream. Joseph!

 

 

 

Ben sat up in bed and stared back at the Indian on the wall. He got up and put on his robe and boots and walked towards the door. As he looked back over his shoulder, he could have sworn that the Indian’s eyes had followed him and he shuddered. No wonder Joe had said that the painting had given him nightmares! There was something about it …. Ben shook his head. It was just because he was so tired, he reasoned.

 

 

 

Ben went into Hoss’ room and turned his son over onto his side again, but before he had even left the room Hoss had rolled back onto his back and had begun snoring again. Ben turned back into the bedroom wearily and began to shake Hoss. “Hoss! Hoss!” he said.

 

 

 

Hoss grunted and opened his eyes. “What … what’s the matter?” he asked sleepily.

 

 

 

“Could you mange to sleep a little more quietly?” asked Ben.

 

 

 

Hoss blinked a couple of times. “What was I doing?” he asked.

 

 

 

“You were snoring,” said Ben.

 

 

 

Hoss gave a chuckle. “Aw Pa … I don’t snore!”

 

 

 

Ben sighed. “Whatever it was you were doing then, will you please stop it?” Hoss nodded and Ben left the room and headed down the hallway, stopping at the top of the stairs. “Adam!” Adam stopped playing his guitar and looked around the side of the blue chair on which he was sitting. “If you have to play that … that thing, keep it down please,” said Ben.

 

 

 

Adam put down the guitar. “Oh … sorry Pa,” he said and picked up a book instead.

 

 

 

Ben nodded and went back down the hallway towards his bedroom, glancing at the Indian painting as he walked over to the window. “Joseph!” he shouted loudly as the dinner gong sounded again, accompanied by Peggy’s screaming.

 

 

 

Joe looked up at his father’s bedroom window, a big fat frog in his hand which he had been scaring Peggy with. “Hey … did you call me Pa?” he asked.

 

 

 

Ben frowned down at his youngest son as he rested his hands on the windowsill. “If you have to tell stories at this time of night, tell some quiet ones!” he yelled sternly.

 

 

 

The frog in Joe’s hand croaked and Joe looked at it. “Shh,” he said to it. “Pa’s trying to sleep.” He grinned up at his father again. “We’ll be quiet Pa,” he shouted and then made a face at Peggy. “I think we’d better play checkers,” he said.

 

 

 

Ben sighed and took off his robe and boots, trying to ignore the feeling that the Indian in the painting was still watching him. He got into bed and snuggled down again, but the silence around him seemed to weigh heavily on him and he lay in the bed without closing his eyes. He suddenly felt very guilty that he had yelled at his sons as he had and ….

 

 

 

Ben looked over at the Indian painting on the wall and shuddered. For a moment he could have sworn that he saw it’s eyes move. He frowned. Don’t be stupid, he thought to himself. You’re reacting like a child, Ben Cartwright.

 

 

 

Ben closed his eyes again, but try as he might he couldn’t shut out the Indian’s face. He opened them again to see the piercing eyes glaring at him through the dim light and he sat up in his bed. He leant to one side and found that the Indian’s eyes followed him and the back to the other side …. Only to see the eyes looking at him from that angle as well. Ben shuddered and got out of bed. He walked to the window and back again, the Indian’s eyes upon him all the while. After a few moments he shook his head and began to get dressed again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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As Ben entered town, he heard quite a bit of noise coming from the saloon and wondered momentarily if he would have been better off staying at the ranch after all?  His guilty conscience and that blasted Indian painting had driven him away though and now that he was here he had better make the best of it.

 

 

 

Getting to the hotel was easier said than done, however. By the time he’d sidestepped an altercation with a drunk and greeted Roy Coffee who was doing his rounds, not to mention avoiding the widow Jenkins who had her eye on him, he was ready to sink down into the first bed that he could find. The desk clerk hadn’t been terribly helpful either, and had merely told him to get rid of the drunk that he’d found blissfully sleeping it off in his bed.

 

 

 

By the time that Ben sat down on the edge of the bed and began to take off his boots, he thought he might be seeing things when he glanced up and caught sight of the Indian painting staring down at him from the wall. Ben shook his head and rubbed his eyes for a minute before looking at the wall again. Sure enough, there was the stern-looking Indian staring at him still. He blinked several times. Hadn’t he left that darned thing at home? How on earth had it managed to follow him here into the hotel?

 

 

 

With a weary sigh, Ben put his boots back on and walked downstairs. “Excuse me,” he said to the desk clerk. “There is a painting of an Indian on the wall in my room?”

 

 

 

“Yes sir,” said the clerk, looking at Ben expectantly. When Ben said nothing, he added. “And your point is sir?”

 

 

 

“Why is it there?” asked Ben with a yawn.

 

 

 

The desk clerk looked confused. “Why is it there sir?” he asked.

 

 

 

Ben nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “Why my room of all rooms? Why does it have to be on my wall?”

 

 

 

The desk clerk looked even more confused. “I don’t understand sir. Do you have an objection to the painting being on that wall?”

 

 

 

Ben nodded again. “Yes,” he replied. “You could say that. Can you have it removed please?”

 

 

 

The desk clerk looked shocked. “But sir!” he said. “That is a very valuable painting. The owner of this establishment bought it from the bartender across the room for a very large sum of money when he realised how famous it was. It’s a genuine ….”

 

 

 

Ben put up his hand. “I know,” he said. “It’s a genuine Hawkins.”

 

 

 

The clerk nodded. “Yes sir,” he said. “And I can’t remove it without the owner’s permission.”

 

 

 

Ben leant on the counter and got closer to the clerk. “Well then get the owner’s permission,” he said.

 

 

 

The clerk shook his head. “At this hour?” he said. “I’m sorry sir, but I can’t disturb him until morning. I’ll have it removed for you first thing tomorrow.”

 

 

 

“But I’m only staying one night!” spluttered Ben. He sighed. “Oh never mind … forget it. I can see that Chief Winnemucca and I are destined to spend the night together, whatever I do.”

 

 

 

The desk clerk looked shocked. “Sir?” he said.

 

 

 

Ben waved his hand at the man. “Never mind,” he said wearily. He climbed the stairs slowly and headed back to his room. He sat down on the bed and looked at the painting and then got up again. He walked over to the painting and turned it to face the wall. “Well I might have to spend the night with you,” he said firmly. “But I certainly don’t have to have you looking at me.” He sat down again and wearily began to take off his boots once more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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1867

 

“How come we’re all going this year Pa?” asked Hoss as he rode alongside his father. “You usually just take one of us on your annual trip ta see the Paiutes.”

 

 

 

“I just thought it would be a good opportunity for all you boys to learn some of the Indian ways,” said his father. “None of us really appreciate our neighbours as well as we should.”

 

 

 

“The chief is sure gonna like them two steers you got fer him this year Pa,” said Hoss, looking over his shoulder at the two large steers that Adam and Joe were driving behind them. “And that tobacco too, sure enough.”

 

 

 

Joe giggled. “I wonder if he’ll have another wife fer you like he did last time Pa?” he said.**

 

 

 

Ben shot a dark look over his shoulder at his youngest son. “You be quiet,” he said. “I don’t want to even think about it.”

 

 

 

Adam glanced at his father. “I still don’t understand why you’re giving the chief that painting,” he said. “There are other ways to get rid of it Pa. It’d fetch quite a bit of money if you sold it you know.”

 

 

 

“I’m not getting rid of it!” declared Ben huffily. “It just stands to reason that it should go to the person who is the subject of it. It’s a fine study of Chief Winnemucca and he’ll be proud to own it. Besides,” he added, looking over his shoulder at Adam. “I would never sell it. It has great sentimental value and not everything can be measured in financial terms son.”

 

 

 

Adam shrugged. “If you say so Pa,” he said.

 

 

 

“Yeah,” piped in Joe. “Besides, who’d buy it anyhow?”

 

 

 

Ben held up his hand for silence as they approached the Paiute camp. They stopped in the middle of a clearing and waited until several Paiute braves rode out from behind the trees to meet them. Ben put up his hand in greeting. “Ben Cartwright and his sons brings greetings and gifts to Chief Winnemucca,” he said.

 

 

 

One of the braves nodded and gestured for them to ride on. “Chief Winnemucca welcomes you to our camp,” he said. Ben urged his horse forward in the direction to which the braves had pointed, followed by first Hoss, then Joe and Adam bringing up the rear with the two steers. They rode on for several minutes until they spied the Paiute camp in the next clearing.

 

 

 

“Let me do the talking boys,” said Ben. He stopped his horse beside a weathered old Indian who was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, watching them as they came into camp. “Greetings,” said Ben, holding up his hand to the chief. “My sons and I bring you gifts Chief Winnemucca, as a sign of our friendship.”

 

 

 

The chief nodded and uncrossed his arms. “You and your sons are welcome Ben Cartwright,” he said, gesturing to the campfire. “I also give you greetings.”

 

 

 

Ben dismounted, as did his three sons. “These steers are for your tribe,” he said. “I hope that they will provide many meals through the winter for you.”

 

 

 

Chief Winnemucca walked over to inspect the animals. “Don’t he look just like his picture!” Joe whispered to Hoss as he stared at the chief. “Real ugly.” Hoss motioned for him to be quiet and glared at him.

 

 

 

“I give you thanks,” said the chief, indicating that they should sit down near the fire. “I too have gifts for you.” He clapped his hands and three braves appeared, each carrying an armful of animal hides that they lay down in front of Ben.

 

 

 

“I also give you thanks,” said Ben, smiling at the chief. He drew from his pocket a pouch of tobacco. “This is for Chief Winnemucca,” he said and the chief smiled at him before pocketing the tobacco. Ben next held out the painting, which was wrapped in brown paper. “This is also for Chief Winnemucca,” he said. “It is a likeness of the great chief.”

 

 

 

Chief Winnemucca looked slightly puzzled and then, at Ben’s urging, took off the paper wrapping around the painting. He stared at it for several minutes before looking at up Ben again. “This is painting of Chief Winnemucca?” he asked.

 

 

 

“Yes,” said Ben with a huge smile. “It was painted by a white man.”

 

 

 

The chief looked at the painting again. “Why he make Chief Winnemucca look ugly?” he said finally. “Is Ben Cartwright making insult?”

 

 

 

Ben’s smile faded. “No … no … chief! I assure you that it is meant to be a compliment,” he said quickly.

 

 

 

Chief Winnemucca handed the painting back to Ben and frowned. “Ben Cartwright take ugly painting back,” he said sternly. “Chief Winnemucca not like insult.”

 

 

 

“The chief don’t know it looks ugly just like him,” Joe whispered to Hoss, who shushed him again.

 

 

 

Ben hesitated and then took the painting from the chief. “I thought you would like it,” he said. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant to be an insult. It was painted as a compliment.”

 

 

 

Chief Winnemucca shook his head firmly. “Is no compliment,” he said, standing up. “Ben Cartwright take insult back to white man. Talk is over.” He walked away, followed by all the braves until only the Cartwrights were left.

 

 

 

Ben looked at the painting in his hands. “I was sure that he’d like it,” he said sadly.

 

 

 

“Maybe he ain’t never looked in a mirror?” suggested Joe.

 

 

 

Ben shot his youngest son a dark look. “Come on boys,” he said, getting up. “Let’s leave before the Chief decides that he wants to return the insult in some way.”

 

 

 

“I think we can thank Stephen Hawkins for single-handedly setting back relations with the Paiutes a good ten years,” said Adam sarcastically as he mounted his horse. “What are you going to do with it now Pa?”

 

 

 

Ben was silent as they rode away from the camp. His fingers itched to hurl the Indian painting down the side of the hill, but he refrained from doing so only by sheer willpower. He muttered something under his breath.

 

 

 

“What was that Pa?” asked Hoss.

 

 

 

“Nothing,” replied his father.

 

 

 

“Hey Pa?” said Joe, coming up to ride beside his father. “I’ve been thinking. Have you made a will?”

 

 

 

“Of course I have,” replied his father, giving him a strange look. “Why do you ask?”

 

 

 

“Well I was just wondering … seeing as how that painting is gonna stay in our family and all … who have you left it to? I mean … I wouldn’t want to be greedy or nothing, so I’m happy for you ta leave it to Adam or Hoss if ya like.” He smiled at his father.

 

 

 

“So generous of you,” muttered Adam sarcastically.

 

 

 

“Well you appreciate fine art and all,” countered Joe. “I just think Pa should leave it to you …. Don’t you agree Hoss?”

 

 

 

“Fer sure,” said Hoss quickly. “Leave it ta Adam Pa. He’ll appreciate it more.”

 

 

 

“I have enough art already,” said Adam quickly. “One of you two should get it.”

 

 

 

Ben shook his head and spurred his horse forward, riding away from his arguing sons with the painting still in his hand.

 

The End

* The 1866 segment is based on the first few scenes from the episode: “A Good Night’s Rest”.