OH, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, tho’ they come from the ends of the earth!

“The Ballad of East and West” by Rudyard Kipling

Martin Lindsay pulled his horse to a stop in front of the Ponderosa ranch house and dismounted, wearily wiping his dusty face with his bandana. Appears that I’m the first one back, he thought with satisfaction.

The yard was quiet and the barn empty. He unsaddled and brushed out Slow Bob, and then, with the stealth of a hunter, he checked for signs of any Cartwrights. As he approached the house, he could hear the muttering and clanking of Hop Sing and his pots in the kitchen. He smiled-so far, so good. The first one back got the first turn in the bathhouse, and he had been anticipating a long soak in the tub all afternoon.

Twenty minutes later, he relaxed back into the hot water, closed his eyes, and sighed with
pleasure.

Twenty-two minutes later, an icy blast of water shocked him from his reverie, and he shot to his feet in the tub, gasping and dripping.

He didn’t need to hear the characteristic giggle to know who was responsible.

“Joseph Francis Cartwright!” Martin shouted, automatically imitating Joe’s family in the use of his full name. He sputtered, flinging the water out of his eyes as he stood and glared at the youngest Cartwright. Joe stood in the doorway, holding the handle of a bucket with one hand.

“Hop Sing said you might want more hot water,” Joe said. “So s-sorry, Martin, I must have grabbed the wrong bucket.”

Martin’s face twisted and he brought his leg over the side of the tub. Joe prudently dashed from the bathhouse. Funny as it might be to be chased through the yard by the furious, naked Easterner, Joe had learned the hard way that Martin’s long legs made him the winner of any footrace. Besides, their fathers would be home soon, and Joe was well outside his father’s good graces these days. Better not escalate this particular prank.

Martin Lindsay had arrived at the Ponderosa early in the summer, reluctantly spending time on the ranch of his father’s old friend. Although Martin, at sixteen, was close in age to fourteen-year-old Joe Cartwright, the animosity between the two boys and Martin’s lazy arrogance threatened to make everyone’s summer miserable. Joe’s attempt to shorten Martin’s stay backfired, resulting in Martin’s return to the ranch, accompanied by his father, Elliot Lindsay. Elliot, in an effort to reclaim his relationship with his son, declared they would finish out the summer as working guests, much to Martin’s disgust.

Likeable, congenial, British-born Elliot Lindsay had thrown himself into ranch work with gusto, working hard to relearn his skills as both a ranch hand and as a father. As a result, Martin and Elliot came to understand each other better, and Martin became more tolerable to be around.

To everyone’s surprise, Joe and Martin slowly became friends. To everyone’s dismay, the two boys began an exchange of tricks, pranks, and general shenanigans at a level previously unheard of, even in the Cartwright household. If they weren’t fooling each other, they seemed to be competing to see who could perform the most tricks on others.

No one was immune. Each and every ranch house or bunkhouse resident became a victim sooner or later. Everyone walked warily these days, glancing carefully at the tops of doors as they stepped into rooms, searching their bed linens before settling in for the night, sniffing their food before eating. To Martin’s surprise and annoyance, his father seemed to take particular, disloyal enjoyment anytime Martin was the brunt of a joke.

The last few days had seen a remarkable amount of laundry drying on the clothesline. Hop Sing’s larder was raided more than once, only to have the missing item turn up later cascading over the victim’s head. Buckets suddenly became scarce, turning up on the tops of partially open doors, balanced on the hayloft ladder, or perched on the edge of the porch roof. One bucket was found hanging precariously by a rope over Martin’s bed.

And of course, there was water-ditch water, pond water, wastewater from the kitchen, water from the horse trough-dropped from the roof, dripped from the rafters, splashed from around corners. Anything wet was a potential weapon in the prank war.

Martin pulled his foot back into the tub and sat down. Joe Cartwright was begging for his comeuppance, as Hoss would say. And Martin fervently wanted to be the one to bring it to him.

**********

The next day, Martin stood near the corral, coiling his rope.

“Hey, greenhorn! Lindsay!”

Marin’s head turned.

Shorty, one of the Ponderosa cowhands, was standing around the corner of the bunkhouse, furtively gesturing.

“What do you want?” Martin said warily.

Shorty looked around, and then gestured again. “Come ‘ere for a minute!” he hissed.

Curious but wary, Martin stepped closer. Shorty backed up, until they both were hidden from the main yard.

“What do you want?” Martin said again. “If this is some trick…”

“No,” Shorty said in a low voice. “I wanna ask a favor.”

“A favor?” Martin said. “You’ve got nerve, I’ll grant you that! You’ve done nothing but make life difficult for me, and you want me to do you a favor?”

“I-I’ll pay you,” Shorty said, scuffing his boot in the dust. “I’ll give you ten dollars next payday.”

Martin just stared. He knew very well what Shorty earned, even as a top hand, and for him to offer to pay for a favor…

“What kind of favor?”

“I need-you’re educated, right? You been to a fancy school and all?”

Martin nodded. His ‘schooling’ had been a source of ridicule all summer.

“I want you to help me write a letter,” Shorty burst out the statement, as if he had been holding back a wild animal.

“What kind of letter?” Martin said. If it were something ordinary, Shorty wouldn’t be sneaking around to ask him.

“A letter to-” Shorty’s eyes darted back and forth, checking for any nearby listeners. Satisfied, he continued. “A letter to a girl.”

Martin glared. “You want me to help you write a love letter?”

“Keep it down,” Shorty growled.

“Why me?” Martin said, not bothering to lower his voice. “Why not one of the Cartwrights? Adam’s been to college. Hoss-well, maybe not Hoss-but even Joe could put down the words-“

“And I’d never hear the end of it, if they did! I know you can keep your mouth shut! Besides, you won’t be around after the summer’s over.”

Martin didn’t reply. The silence stretched out for several minutes.

Shorty pulled his hat off and threw it down in frustration. “If you don’t want to, just say so, but say somethin’, one way or t’other!”

Martin looked at Shorty, considering. “All right,” he said. “But I don’t want money. I’ll help you on two conditions.”

It was Shorty’s turn to look suspicious.

“What conditions?”

“The first is-you stop calling me greenhorn.”

Shorty nodded. “All right, greenhorn.”

Martin turned and started to walk away.

“Hold it, hold it, I was just funnin’-come back here, gre-Lindsay!” There was just a touch of desperation in Shorty’s voice. “I promise, I’ll stop callin’ you that. What’s the other condition?”

Martin told him.

Shorty’s face changed with dawning understanding. “Sure thing, gre-Lindsay. I can do that.” Shorty’s grin stretched his face wider.

“Then I will help you,” Martin said.

Shorty eagerly reached picked up his hat and pulled a paper from the inside. “Let me show you what she wrote to me.”

**********

It took just one evening in the bunkhouse to draft Shorty’s letter to his Emmalou. Bunkhouse life clashed with Shorty’s desire for secrecy, so it wasn’t long before the other hands learned what Martin was doing. Instead of the ridicule Shorty expected, however, other hands asked Martin for his help writing letters, too. Martin discovered a hidden world of love letters flying between ranch and town. The more sentimental drivel he could come up with, the better the hands liked what he wrote.

“Thanks, Professor,” one of them said in an awestruck voice after he provided a flowery sentence about, well, flowers. That was all it took. He was “Professor” to the bunkhouse crew from that moment on.

“There are worse nicknames,” Adam pointed out, when Martin complained about his new moniker over dinner. He nudged Hoss’ elbow. “Like the hand that had the run-in with a skunk. He’s been “Stinky” ever since. I honestly can’t remember his real name.”

“You could be stuck with a name like Little Joe,” Joe grumbled. Adam and Hoss exchanged a grin.

Hoss reached across the table to ruffle Joe’s hair with his big hand. “Remember when the preacher’s wife came across Bernard Hawkins takin’ a bath in the stream? She hollered ‘blessed saints above!’ when she saw him in all his glory, and he’s been Blessed Barney ever since!”

Easy laughter rumbled around the table. Martin had come to associate the dinner table with good-natured laughter, and he suddenly realized that he would miss this very much when he went back to school.

“But why do the hands seem intent using nicknames for everyone? It’s quite common here in the West. Some of the men don’t even admit to having surnames,” Elliot said.

“Many hands would rather not have their real names known,” Ben replied. “They’ve come west to escape their pasts.”

“Out here, if a feller’s given his real name a decent burial,” Hoss said, “it’s likely he don’t want it resurrected any time soon.”

“A nickname is also a sign of acceptance,” Adam added, his eyes twinkling. “You should feel honored, Martin. By giving you a nickname, the hands have accepted you as an equal.”

Martin straightened in his chair, struck by this thought.

“Pretty soon you’ll be so equal, they’ll be offerin’ you a chaw of tobacco and invitin’ you to their poker games!” Joe said.

The horrified look on Martin’s face caused more laughter to rumble around the table.

“Don’t worry, Martin,” Hoss said. “With a name like ‘Professor’ they won’t expect you to learn to spit!”

**********

The next morning, Adam, Hoss, Joe, Martin, and Ben surveyed the breakfast table with disappointment. Oatmeal again.

Mindful of his sons’ scrutiny, Ben sat down without comment, reaching for the sugar bowl.

Hop Sing bustled out of the kitchen and snatched the bowl from his hand.

“No use, no use! Funny joker put sugar in salt shaker and salt in sugar bowl!” Hop Sing said. “No use on oatmeal! Hop Sing bring sugar back from China if he ever return!” He ran back into the kitchen. The men around the table winced at the crashing and muttering that followed.

“I’ve had just about enough of these idiotic pranks!” Ben shouted, slapping his palm on the table. “You, Joseph, and you, Martin, will cease and desist any further dowsings, startlements, or attacks involving inappropriate use of food! Get up to your rooms, both of you! Elliot and I will be up to deal with you later!”

Both boys left without protest, sealing their guilt in Ben’s mind. He waited until they had gone up the stairs and he heard the closing of two bedroom doors. “And you, Hoss-“

“Me, Pa?” came the startled response from a partially filled mouth.

“Yes, you!” Ben glared at his middle son, pointing his spoon for emphasis. “Don’t think I don’t see your encouragement, in the form of nudges, winks, and laughing!”

“Aw, Pa, I’m just an on-looker; Little Brother has brought this on all by himself.”

“Just an on-looker!” Ben roared. “Joseph seems to have made it his mission in life to draw that laughter out of you-he sees it as a form of approval, and you egg him on every step of the way!”

A suspicious smothered sound was heard from Adam’s direction.

“And speaking of eggs, who was it that pelted those two ruffians with nearly a week’s supply from the henhouse? Adam, we all have you to thank for the monotonous breakfasts for the last few days!”

A clatter a pans and a rush of Chinese words were heard from behind the kitchen door.

“Wait a minute, Pa-” Hoss said, with a glance toward the kitchen. He lowered his voice, trying to stave off any worsening of the breakfast situation.

“Adam was a might put out because Joe and Martin sawed partway through the rungs of the ladder he was using to fix the chicken coop roof. You’d’ve been mad too, if’n you ended up sitting in Henrietta’s layin’ box! He just grabbed the closest weapon to hand.”

“Why, thank you, Brother,” Adam’s deep voice sounded sincerely grateful, if muffled, behind his newspaper.

“Well, there is going to be a laying down of all weapons-” both brothers smirked at this- “or I’ll tan the lot of you!”

A sound like a snort came from behind the newspaper. Ben snatched the paper away, revealing his unrepentant, smirking oldest son.

“Pa,” said Adam, “I don’t think you are being quite fair to Hoss-“

“You’re not innocent of inciting those two, either, young man!” Ben waved his finger at Adam. “I’ve seen you consulting with Martin, whispering into Joe’s ear, pointing out the latest trap to one or the other of them. You and Hoss are bent on keeping these childish pranks seething all summer, and I’ve had enough!”

Adam was openly laughing now, and Hoss admired his older brother’s bravery in the face of their father’s wrath.

“Pa, you can’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed the jokes, too,” Adam said. “You thought it was hilarious when Hoss and I were coated with flour as we walked through the kitchen doorway last week. You said we looked like the walking undead. Did you warn us what was coming, or put a stop to it? No! You and Mr. Lindsay deliberately set your chairs facing the doorway to enjoy the show as we came through! Even Hop Sing laughed!”

Ben’s frown lightened, remembering. “I have to admit you looked like wonderfully startled ghosts!” He schooled his face back to its previous stern, lay-down-the-law expression. “However, I will not have my household continually disrupted, and Hop Sing upset!”

Adam smirked. “Upset? Who do you think supplied the flour? He’s getting just as much enjoyment of the pranks as you are.”

A smothered laugh was heard from the confines of the blue chair. The three Cartwrights got up from the dining room table and circled around the chair to find Elliot Lindsay, his hand pressed over his mouth.

“Elliot, not you too!” Ben said. “It’s difficult enough to maintain any, any-decorum with this pack of mule-headed, smart alecks without providing an appreciative audience!”

“Pot calling the kettle black, I think, Ben,” Elliot said, laughing back at his friend. “You can’t enjoy the joke one minute and be outraged the next.”

“He’s got a point, Pa,” Hoss said bravely.

“Be quiet!” Ben roared.

Hoss retreated back to the dining table.

“The pranks have all been harmless,” Adam pointed out. “Nothing to lose any sleep over.”

“Not yet!” Ben said, heading towards the stairs and his youngest son’s room.

**********

Ben stalked into Joe’s room without knocking, closing the door so carefully behind him that Joe’s heart sank. When Pa was this deliberate, it did not bode well.

Ben said nothing at first; he merely paced back and forth from the door to the window. Five steps, turn, five steps. After ten or twelve turns, Joe couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“Pa, I’m sorry-“

Ben stopped, hands on hips, and glowered from under dark, pinched eyebrows.

“Joseph, you have gotten into so much trouble this summer, and if I didn’t know the reasons behind most of it, I would start to think you were trying to provoke me on purpose! This latest trick at the breakfast table may be the last straw!”

“No, Pa, I didn’t mean-it’s not you, please don’t think-“

Ben held up a hand. “Stop before you strangle on your own tongue. I know your initial purpose was to involve Martin in family games, but isn’t it time to stop with these ridiculous pranks?”

“Pa, most of the time, it ain’t me!” he said, turning pleading eyes to his father. “I done some of them, sure, but after the first few, everything kind of snowballed. Like that sugar bowl this mornin’-I don’t know who done that! I won’t say I wouldn’t have tried it if I had thought of it, but that wasn’t me!”

Ben looked hard at his son. “I acknowledge that you are not responsible for all the pranks, but be warned, young man! My patience is just about at its limits! Now get out to the barn and start your chores!”

**********

A similar conversation was taking place across the hall.

“I have to admit, on the whole, these pranks are undignified and childish, Pa,” Martin said a trifle self-consciously. He had begun to copy the Cartwright sons’ way of addressing their father, but it was still new to his tongue. “Three months ago, I would have been appalled if anyone suggested I would perform such base tricks. But Pa, they are such fun!”

Elliot smiled at the youthful glee in his son’s tone.

“I know I’ve been acting like a mischievous twelve-year-old,” Martin rushed on, before Elliot could reply, “but-well, if only you could have seen the look on your face when you sat on Hop Sing’s pincushion! Once I start at the university, I don’t know that I will ever-” and his voice faltered.

Elliot grinned at his son. “I’m just delighted to see you laughing again, Martin. Although some of these tricks your mother would definitely not approve of.”

At the look on Martin’s face, he hastily added “Not that I approve of them, either! But I understand that you want to be carefree and maybe a little silly before you must enter the rarified academic atmosphere.”

“About that, Pa,” Martin said, hesitating. “I was hoping to talk to you about delaying the start of my studies.”

Elliot looked at his son in surprise. “I thought that starting in the fall was important to you. You worked so hard to gain early acceptance, a year ahead of your classmates at the Academy.”

“I know,” said Martin. “But this summer I realized that I’ve been missing out on some important things.”

Elliot smiled, and sat down beside his son.

“I’m actually quite pleased to hear you say that,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “I think the time you have spent here this summer has been-well, beneficial for both of us.”

Their eyes met, each in complete understanding of the other.

“I’d like to stay a while, and join Joe and his brothers on their fall hunting trip. Besides, there’s something I need to finish-” Martin stopped, unsure of how much more to say.

“The culmination of The Great Prank War?” Elliot guessed.

Martin smiled, a smile that grew larger and more boyish as he realized his father was merely observing, not disapproving.

“I’d like nothing better than to see the results of your scheme,” Elliot said. “I am afraid, however, that I will have to persevere with my own plans and begin my journey home at the end of the week. I have some fence-mending to do with your mother, and some business obligations that cannot be put off any longer.”

Martin’s faced dropped.

“I’d like it if you could spend some time with your mother and I before going on to university,” Elliot said softly. “We have not been together as a family in a long time.”

Martin nodded. “I’d like that, too.”

Elliot cleared his throat. “So, tell me what you have in mind for poor Joseph.”

“The preparations are nearly complete,” Martin said eagerly. “I’ve set everything up very carefully, and I have nearly all the participants prepared. I’ve been calling it The Big Dowse….”

**********

Elliot’s last evening on the Ponderosa was celebrated with a dinner that rivaled the best any San Francisco restaurant had to offer. Hop Sing worked hard all day, cooking and chasing Cartwrights out of his kitchen. The result: a feast of various roasted fowls, seasoned garden vegetables, corn roasted on the cob, and the lightest, most delicately crusted cherry pie for dessert. For once, the meal was not affected by any pranks.

The Cartwrights and Lindsays lingered over their coffee, content with their full stomachs and the congenial conversation.

“Being a Westerner is a hard thing to define,” Adam said, in answer to Elliot’s question. “There’s a certain attitude that Westerners have that sets them apart from the folks back east. It’s more than just using a different vocabulary, like calling the corral a barnyard.”

Adam winked, but Martin’s face reddened at this; he had just used that term yesterday.

“Take the typical cowhand, for example,” Adam continued. “When a man rides for the brand, he is loyal to that brand, no matter what his personal opinion is of the owners’ decisions. They take self-sufficiency for granted; they expect hardships and they look down on anyone who complains about a difficult task or a minor injury.”

Elliot nodded. “I think we’ve all seen examples of that. Why just the other day, Lem broke his collarbone, but the only concession that he made to his injury was to switch jobs with another rider, so that he became a drover rather than a roper.”

“Well, you can carry that kind of thing too far,” Ben said, picking up his cup and glaring at Joe. “It’s next to impossible to get any hand, or any of my sons for that matter, to admit to any hurt or pain that would stop them from riding. Spartan soldiers could learn a thing or two from a Ponderosa cowhand.”

“I’ve certainly found that to be true,” Martin said ruefully. “I made the mistake of saying that I thought completing a section of fence before dark was a near impossibility, given how tired we all were, and Charlie let me know I was, well, inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” Joe said. “Charlie never said a word like that in his life!”

Elliot laughed and looked pointedly at Martin. “I believe his exact words were ‘You better swallow your troubles, boy; no one wants to hear about your half-digested problems.'” Elliot mimicked Charlie’s accent and tone so perfectly that the Cartwrights erupted into laughter. Martin squirmed in his chair.

“Just when I think I understand how to talk to the men, something like this happens,” he grumbled.

“Just keep doing your job, Martin. The men respect an honest effort and hard work more than anything,” Adam said.

“That and skill,” Ben added. “You are becoming quite adept at driving cattle and mending fences, according to Charlie.”

“Charlie said that?” Martin’s boyish delight in the praise made him lose his usual languid tone.

“He did. Although if you ask him, he will deny it,” Ben said.

Elliot nodded. “Taciturnity. Another western characteristic.”

“Charlie ain’t tassi-whatever it was you said!” Joe said hotly. “He ain’t got a mean bone in his body!”

“Doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, Joe,” Adam said. “And taciturn simply means Charlie doesn’t talk much.”

“Oh,” Joe said, sinking into his chair. “Sorry, Mr. Lindsay.”

Elliot’s eyes flashed with humor. “I think Charlie would be glad to hear that you defend your friend.”

Joe gazed at his plate, embarrassment tingeing his cheeks. Martin quickly changed the subject.

“I understand an autumn hunting trip is an annual Cartwright tradition. I was hoping to join in if I might, before my return to Boston.”

Ben set his cup in its saucer. “We haven’t talked about it yet, but yes, we usually plan a trip into the mountains in the fall, hunting deer, or bighorn sheep, or even bear.”

He looked around the table, his brows tight over his nose. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I think now would be an excellent time for the four of you to go hunting. I could certainly use a break from these ridiculous pranks!”

He glanced over at Elliot, who was grinning like a smug, canary-filled cat.

“If you weren’t leaving tomorrow, Elliot, I’d send you with them,” Ben said. “You’ve been enjoying these pranks a little too much, to my way of thinking.”

Elliot merely laughed, and winked at his son.

**********

They retired to bed late, each reluctant to end the evening. Eventually, quiet settled over the ranch house. Until-

Bam, bam, bam, bam!

Slam!

“What on earth-“

Slam!

“Hey! Stop it! Lemme out!” Hoss yelled.

Slam!

“Stop pulling on my door!” Adam shouted.

Ben’s bedroom door flew open, and he stood in his dressing gown, lamp in hand. “What is going on?” he shouted. “Do you realize it is three o’clock in the morning?”

Slam!

“Stop slamming those doors and get back to sleep!” Ben bellowed.

“I’m not-” Adam shouted from his room, and yanked his door partially open. Hoss’ door promptly slammed shut.

“I ain’t slammin’ it, Pa, someone else is pullin’ it out of my hand!” Hoss shouted from his room.

“Why was someone pounding on my door to wake me in the first place?” Adam said through the open few inches.

“Someone was pounding on my door, too!” Hoss shouted from behind his closed door. He cautiously turned the knob and gently pulled. Just as gently, Adam’s door swung shut. Adam cautiously opened his door, and Hoss’ door swung shut.

Ben raised his lamp, revealing a slackened rope stretched across the hall, tied to the doorknobs of both Hoss’ and Adam’s rooms. As each tried to open his own door, he would pull the rope taut and yank the opposite door shut.

Ben glanced around the hallway. Elliot was leaning against the doorframe of Martin’s room, laughing silently. Joe’s door was closed.

“Joseph!” Ben bellowed.

Adam’s door slammed shut again.

“Hoss!” Adam said with muffled exasperation. “Just hold on! Stop trying to come out until I can get my door open.”

Ben strode to Joe’s door, but before he got there, the door opened and a yawning and tousled Little Joe blinked out at them.

“What’s going on?” Joe said.

“Joseph, are you responsible for all this banging?”

“What banging?” Joe said.

“Uh-uh, definitely overplayed, Little Brother,” Adam said, reaching around to untie the rope from his doorknob. “An innocent person couldn’t sleep through all that racket. You should have come out with the first slam.”

“I didn’t hear anything!” Joe protested. “At least, I heard Pa yellin’ for me. That’s what woke me up.”

“Joseph, I have had about enough-” Ben began again.

“But I didn’t do anything!” Joe protested.

“Pa, you know how hard it is to wake Joe once he’s asleep,” Hoss said, finally able to open his door wider than a few inches. “Besides, Joe ain’t the only one pullin’ pranks around here lately.”

“Yes, where IS Martin?” Ben asked, looking around.

Joe shrugged. “He and his pa switched rooms tonight. He’s sleepin’ in the room downstairs.”

Four pairs of eyes turned toward Elliot.

“One of the b-benefits of an English P-Public School Education!” Elliot gasped, nearly doubled over with laughter. “Dormitory pranks!”

“You, Elliot?” Ben said, holding his lamp higher to peer at his friend more closely. “We are all awake because of your-your-this was your doing?”

Joe’s giggle was quickly muffled behind his hand. Adam rolled his eyes and grinned across the hall at Hoss.

“You-you’ve made a point of telling me to make your home my own,” Elliot gasped. “That Martin and I were to be treated just like one of your boys.” His eyes danced in the lamplight.

“I meant as far as work was concerned,” Ben growled. “And this is hardly setting a good example-” but all three of his sons grinned.

“I think it’s a great example!” Joe said, assessing the length of the rope for future reference. “Martin’ll be sorry he slept through this!”

“I didn’t,” Martin’s voice called from the stairs. “Well done, Pa.”

Joe, Hoss, and Adam burst into laughter.

“That were a good ‘un, Mr. Lindsay, no doubt about it,” Hoss guffawed, holding out his hand to Elliot. “You got us all good with that one! Especially Pa!”

“You are all the most-I’ve never seen such-oh, go to bed!” Ben strode back to his own room, and slammed his door behind him.

**********

Elliot Lindsay had left that morning, and Martin, who never used to worry over separation from his family, had felt sad and irritable all day.

Ben, after seeing his friend off, strongly suggested that his sons plan their hunting trip. “Now.” Adam, Hoss, and Joe immediately began preparations for the trip, beginning with tasks that would keep each of them out of the house for the better part of the day. Adam went into town to complete some last minute business, Joe went to the barn to sort out the packs and equipment they would need to carry, and Hoss took several rifles and a shotgun to the front porch, settling in to clean and check the weapons.

“What kinds of wildlife can we expect to see in the mountains, Hoss?” Martin watched Hoss deftly push the cleaning rod and patch through the barrel of the rifle with in the well-practiced ease of someone who’s done it all his life.

“This time of year, deer or elk. All kinds of varmints, like weasels, otters, maybe a beaver or two. Doubt we’ll see a bear, but you never know.” Hoss set the rod down and peered down the rifle barrel.

The sound of a crash, a splash, then Shorty’s voice shouting from the barn “Consarn you, Little Joe!” made Martin and Hoss smile at each other.

“Do you think the pranks will be over once we go hunting?” Martin asked.

Hoss grinned. “Don’t you believe it. Pa’s tired of ‘em, and wants to sleep one night without doors slammin’ or someone hollerin’ about a snake in his bed. But he don’t expect miracles by sendin’ us off-he just wants a good night’s sleep. Pranks might be worse than ever once we’re out of Pa’s sight.”

Martin smiled. “Then Joe’s promised ‘snipe hunt’ really is as I suspected-another excuse to ridicule the tenderfoot.”

Hoss grinned knowingly. “Have snipe hunts back east, do you?”

“Yes, but I was usually the one arranging them, not the victim of them.” Martin tapped his fingers on the table absently. “Joe doesn’t know that, though.”

Hoss laughed. “I’ll just bet you did. I can’t help but think that Joe don’t know what he’s in for, settin’ up a snipe hunt for you.”

Martin produced his haughty, holier-than-thou expression. Hoss wasn’t fooled.

“See how much you’ve learned this summer, Martin?” Hoss winked an eye. “Besides learnin’ a new profession, you’ve learned to read Little Joe. You’re one step away from arrangin’ your own snipe hunt for my little brother.”

“Oh, I’ve got something in mind for Joe, all right,” Martin said. “And if it works, everyone will get their revenge.”

“Don’t tell me about it,” Hoss said. “I’d rather enjoy the surprise.”

“I’ll need your help when the time comes,” Martin warned. “This is Joe we’re talking about! This is not a one-man job!”

“I’ll be ready,” Hoss said solemnly, and then spoiled it by grinning widely.

Hoss set the rifle down and picked up a shotgun, separated the barrel from the stock, and began applying the cleaning rod and patch.

“You got a warm jacket and gloves, Martin?” Hoss asked. “It gets pretty cold up in the mountains this time of year. Wouldn’t be surprised if we got some snow while we’re up there.”

Martin looked around at the lengthening shadows of the sultry September afternoon. “Is this another joke?” he asked warily. “It’s as hot as it was on the fourth of July.”

“Nope, I’m dead serious. You’ll need warm clothes. If you ain’t got anything suitable, then we’ll make a trip to town. I don’t think anything of Joe’s will fit you.”

“I have suitable clothes for the trip. But if I come downstairs in the morning decked out in woolens to find you all in your shirtsleeves…”

Hoss set his cleaning rod on the table. “The pranks have made you a suspicious man,” he said mournfully, shaking his head. “You’re startin’ to think everything anyone tells you is a trick. It’s a sad, sad thing to be so cynical-especially sad to suspect your ol’ friend Hoss.”

Alarmed, Martin’s eyes darted to Hoss’ face. “I didn’t mean any disrespect-“

Hoss’ belly laugh stopped any further apology, and Martin relaxed.

Hoss winked. “You just keep on suspectin’. It’s the only way you’ll survive my little brother’s friendship.”

**********

Martin spent the better part of Saturday assembling the participants for The Big Dowse.

Shorty, called upon to repay his letter-writing debt, did not need to be prevailed upon to participate. As a matter of fact, he practically demanded to be included after he walked into the bunkhouse, dripping and shivering, a three-time victim of the bucket-of-water-on-top-of-the-barn-door prank in as many days.

Charlie was “happy to oblige” after spending hours searching for his favorite saddle, only to find it high in a tree near the corral.

Hoss merely grinned and nodded at the role Martin proposed to him. No persuasion needed-he’d just discovered all his shirtsleeves had been mysteriously sewed together.

Adam was harder to convince. Not because he didn’t think Joe deserved it, but he felt an obligation to set an example for the younger boys. Until a fistful of butter mysteriously appeared in his boot. Joe’s denial and overly innocent face locked in his oldest brother’s participation.

The irony, a very delicious irony to Martin’s way of thinking, was that none of these pranks were actually Joe’s doing. Martin had carefully engineered them to throw the suspicion on Joe and gain the others’ cooperation. The more Joe protested his innocence, the guiltier he seemed.

Martin made the rounds of all the assigned hiding places, checking that his warriors were in position. By the shadowed side of the barn, he handed a jug of honey to Charlie. He glanced toward the house, where Adam saluted mockingly from beside the porch, a pillow-Joe’s, no doubt-in each hand. Hoss peered out from behind the bunkhouse door, stirring a mixture of molasses and melted lard that he’d kept just warm enough on the back of the bunkhouse stove to maintain a runny, liquid state. Shorty stood waiting near the corral with a bucket of oats, ostensibly feeding the horses, the only participant in plain sight.

When he was satisfied that all was ready, he rode out of the yard to await Joe’s return.

About fifteen minutes after Martin rode out, Joe rode in. His appearance signaled Martin’s soldiers to take the next steps.

Hoss took his bucket off the stove, dipping his finger in to make quick sure the contents weren’t too hot.

Adam crouched lower, using his knife to slit open the end of each pillow.

Charlie yanked the cork out of the jug with his teeth, his eyes intent on Joe’s position.

Shorty shook his bucket, making sure the oats were loose and unclumped, then waved Joe over.

“Everyone set?” Joe called to Shorty as he dismounted.

“Yep,” Shorty said. “The Professor ought to be returning real soon.”

Joe glanced around the yard. He could see Adam, Charlie, and Hoss in their various positions, and he grinned in anticipation.

“You sure had a good idea for gettin’ back at ol’ Martin,” Joe said, watching Shorty carefully.

“Gettin’ dowsed for the third time was what you might call inspirational,” Shorty said, his gaze steady.

Joe smiled. “All right, I’ll call him over, and keep his attention. As soon as he’s facing away from the others, you give the signal to attack.”

Shorty nodded.

A few minutes later, Martin rode into the yard, whistling innocently as he ambled toward the corral.

“Oh, Martin,” Joe called, as Martin stepped down from his horse. “Could you come here for a second?”

“Certainly, Little Joe,” Martin said amiably, and Joe nearly smirked. Both boys had the same thought: Everything is going exactly according to plan.

Shorty stepped back as the two boys approached each other. When they were only a few feet apart, the plan suddenly changed.

There was a whsst! and a loop of rope settled around both boys. The loop slammed them together, belly-to-belly, arms pinned to their sides. The loop was tightened expertly before either boy could react.

Shorty set his bucket down, picked up a lasso, threw his own rope around the two boys from the opposite direction, and quickly tied it off to the corral fence.

It had only taken seconds. Martin and Joe were held helplessly immobile in the middle of the yard.

Joe twisted and pulled, trying desperately to see who had thrown the first loop. The roper stepped from behind a pile of hay and snubbed the rope around a post, leaning his weight back to keep the rope taut.

“Pa!” Joe said in utter disbelief. “What are you-How-?”

“Mr. Cartwright!” Martin said. “You-we-“

Ben calmly tied off his rope, and dusted his hands together. He waited as Adam, Charlie, Hoss, and Shorty strolled slowly toward the two boys, idly swinging their ‘weapons.’ Hop Sing emerged from the kitchen door and hurried over, carrying a cast iron pot with both hands.

“I hope you don’t mind, Shorty,” Ben said, “but I invited Hop Sing to participate.”

“The more the merrier,” Shorty grinned.

“Gentlemen,” Ben said. “They’re all yours.” Without a backwards glance, he strode into the house.

“Pa!” Joe called, struggling futilely against the rope, desperation taking over as the others surrounded them.

“There’s been a misunderstanding!” Martin said. “Adam, it’s all a mistake! Hoss, Joe’s the one who-! Shorty-you-you turncoat!”

“Oh, no, I’m followin’ the plan, just like you said, Professor,” Shorty said. “You said we would be getting back at the one doin’ all the pranks. And now, I believe the plan calls for you to go first, Charlie.”

“I believe you’re right,” Charlie said with a small bow, and stepped forward. He carefully removed each boy’s hat, and then dumped the contents of the honey jug liberally over the heads of the two boys.

Joe and Martin gasped, and then both closed their eyes, resigned to the inevitable.

“My turn!” Hop Sing said, and threw what appeared to be a mixture of dishwater and chopped cabbage over the two boys.

“I think you’re next, Hoss,” said Charlie.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Hoss said, and poured a steady stream of warm molasses and lard over Martin and Joe, circling around them several times.

“Very nicely done, Hoss,” Adam commented. “A very even distribution of stickiness.”

“Why thank you, Big Brother,” Hoss said. “I believe it’s your turn.”

Adam stepped forward, and waited. When nothing happened immediately, both boys opened their eyes. As soon as he saw they were watching him, Adam began to sprinkle the feathers from the first pillow over the boys, taking time to cover all sides evenly, then picking up the second pillow to go back over areas that he missed. He paid particular attention to the boy’s faces, patting a few loose feathers into place on Joe’s cheeks. When both pillows were empty, the two boys stood, leaning back as far from each other as the rope allowed, fluffy white feathers coating them from head to boot.

“Shorty?” Adam said.

Shorty placed two crates on top of each other, and stepped precariously on top of them.

“Little Joe, Professor,” Shorty said, nodding to each boy as if he were greeting him on the street in town. He sprinkled oats from his bucket, concentrating on the tops of their heads.

When his bucket was empty, Shorty stepped down. The five combatants shook hand all around.

“Well,” said Charlie, “I’ll see y’all later. Shorty and me got work to do.” He and Shorty mounted their horses and rode out of the yard.

“Hop Sing very busy, too!” The little cook headed back to the kitchen, carrying his pot.

“Adam, I was wonderin’ if you would help me with somethin’ in the barn,” Hoss said.

“I’d be happy to, Hoss,” Adam said, and joined his brother as he strolled to the barn door.

“Adam!” Joe wailed. ” Hoss! Come on, turn us loose!”

“Please, Hoss!” Martin called. “Adam, please!”

The older brothers paused and looked back at the younger boys, held tight by ropes stretched in opposite directions, stickily coated with feather and oats.

“Adam, please,” Joe called, trying to sound as pathetic as he felt. “It’s startin’ to itch!”

“And there’s FLIES!” Martin said, shuddering.

Laughing, Hoss and Adam took pity and released the ropes. As soon as he was free, Joe bolted for the horse trough. Martin, batting at insects around his head, stepped out of the rope loops and raced after him. Each boy jumped into opposite ends and sank underneath the water.

Hoss began to coil the ropes, whistling as he strolled back to the barn.

**********

After much splashing, under-voiced cursing, and sneezing, Martin climbed out of the trough and headed dripping toward the bathhouse. Adam, lounging against the corral fence, carefully observed Joe, still sitting in the water trough. Joe was watching Martin walk away with an unguarded look of satisfaction on his dirty face.

When Martin disappeared into the bathhouse, Adam strolled closer to his youngest brother, who immediately began sputtering and splashing, grumbling as he attempted to haul himself out of the trough.

Wordlessly, he held out his hand to Joe. Joe eyed his hand for a moment, then grasped it and allowed Adam to help him to his feet. Something in Adam’s face made him wary.

“Thanks, Adam,” he said, pulling some feathers and oats from his dripping hair.

“We really got you with that one,” Adam said, but his mild tone and twinkling eyes held Joe’s gaze for a moment.

“Yeah, you got me good,” Joe laughed, wiping his face with the empty flour sack Adam held out.

“It was a near perfect set-up, too,” Adam continued, leaning back against the corral fence. “Well, I mean, except for Pa’s little surprise. Martin couldn’t have set it up better. As a matter of fact, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I might’ve thought it was one of your schemes.”

“That Martin, he’s a quick study,” Joe said, avoiding his brother’s gaze. “He picked up on how to play the best jokes, and turned the tables on me.”

“Yes, I see that,” Adam said. “He certainly took advantage of his opportunity. You must’ve been careless, Joe, to give him the idea on how to set this up.”

“Well, you’re always sayin’ I’m not thinkin’, Adam,” Joe said uncertainly. The conversation was becoming slightly uncomfortable.

“Yes, that’s true,” Adam said, narrowing his eyes. “And it certainly seems to have been the case this time.”

“Yeah,” was all Joe could think of to say.

Adam grinned and ruffled his brother’s wet, oat and feather-filled hair.

“Good job, Little Brother,” he said.

**********

“I thought your father did not allow you to touch guns,” Martin said, watching Joe slide a small caliber rifle into his saddle scabbard.

Both boys were assembling their equipment for the hunting trip, saddles, saddlebags and various items spread on the floor of the barn.

“He doesn’t let me carry a sidearm,” Joe said. “I can carry a rifle or bird gun when I’m working. I’ve been huntin’ with my brothers since I was ten.”

Joe looked over at Martin’s pile of equipment. “You gotta have a rifle, too, Martin.”

“Yes, and I’m looking forward to shooting. It’s been a while since I’ve fired a rifle.”

“Let me guess. You won prizes for shooting in school?” Joe smirked.

“Yes, as a matter of a fact,” Martin said. “I was long-target champion my last year at the Academy.”

“We’ll have to have a little contest, then,” Joe said. “But I’ll warn ya, nobody hits what they’re aimin’ at better than Hoss.”

“We’ll see,” said Martin, a wide grin on his face.

“You ever been huntin’ before?”

“No, but I can hit a moving target with near perfect accuracy at fifty yards.”

“It’s a little bit different shootin’ at a living target rather than a paper one,” Joe said.

“I’m sure I am up to the challenge,” Martin said, and there was a touch of his old arrogance in his tone.

Joe shook his head. “It might not be what you expect,” was all he said.

Joe began to tie his bedroll onto the back of his saddle. “Are you sure you want to take Slow Bob huntin’?”

“I’m sure,” Martin said, slinging his saddle onto Bob’s back.

“I don’t see why you are so attached to that horse,” Joe said. “He’s thick-skulled when it comes to workin’ cattle and he’s as stubborn as the day is long. He’s a good trail horse and a pretty fast runner, once you convince him to run, but there’s lots of other horses that don’t need convincin’.”

“He’s taught me quite a bit since I’ve been here,” Martin said.

“Slow Bob taught you?” Joe’s voice rose in disbelief.

“He doesn’t mind that I don’t know what I should,” Martin said, rubbing his palm over Bob’s nose. “He waits for me to figure things out. He doesn’t correct my mistakes. He does exactly what I ask him to do, and he just makes mistakes right along with me.”

Joe thought about this. He knew what it was like to be in tune with his horse. He nodded.

“Well, a man should choose his own horse,” he said, and began to lead his pony into the yard.

“Good boy, Bob,” he heard Martin say in a low voice behind him, “That’s a very good boy.”

Joe smiled to himself. He never liked Martin more than he did at that moment.

**********

The first night, they set up camp early, near the lakeshore. The site they chose was a favorite, at the top of a steep rim, about eight or ten feet above the water. Adam made a fire and started water boiling for coffee, while Hoss set up a tie line for the horses. Joe and Martin wandered toward the edge of the lake, drawn by the picture of pine-framed blue water studded in the center by green-wooded island.

“One of the best views in the whole world,” Joe said, reverently, almost to himself. Martin mentally agreed. He’d never seen anything as beautiful in his life.

“Hey Joe,” Hoss’ voice called from the campsite. “Water might be cold, but swimmin’ might clean some of this trail dirt off’n us. What do you say we try it out?”

“Sure thing, Hoss.”

Joe smiled toward the sound of his brother’s voice. “Now, Hoss,” he said to Martin, in a quiet tone, “one of my favorite things to do with him isn’t fishin’ or swimmin’, although we like to do that. No, my favorite thing with Hoss is to make him laugh. When he’s got a big belly full of laughin’-I don’t know-I just feel good.”

Martin smiled to himself. He remembered a similar conversation with Hoss, who claimed that hearing Joe laugh was one of his favorite things. He looked down at where Joe stood at the edge of the drop, then at the water. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hoss approaching.

“Well,” said Martin, and waited until Joe turned toward him to hear the rest of his statement. “Let’s enjoy one of your favorite things, then.” He pushed in the center of Joe’s chest. Joe, overbalanced, leaned backwards over the lip of the jutting shoreline, just as Hoss came up behind Martin.

Joe’s arms wind milled dramatically in a futile attempt to stop his tumble. He teetered on the edge, wavering for a full 2 seconds before falling backward into water.

“I meant after we had a chance to strip down,” Hoss called to Joe, winking at Martin. “Joe, what are you doing, boy? Looked like you was trying to signal somebody.”

Splashing and sputtering was the only reply.

“Maybe while you’re down there,” Adam said, raising his voice above the splashing, “you can look for your balance-looks like you lost it around here somewhere.”

Hoss’ guffaw caused the splashing to stop, and then a reluctant giggle was heard from the water.

“Come on in, Hoss,” Joe said. “It’s not all that cold.”

“Now, why don’t I believe him?” Hoss mused.

“Oh Martin, could you give me a hand up?” Joe called sweetly.

“Oh, no, I think you can climb out by yourself, Joe,” Martin called back.

“Gettin’ wise to the ways of Little Joe, ain’t you Martin?” Hoss winked broadly. “I do love to see folks learnin’ new things.” He stepped closer, and with no further warning, grabbed Martin’s belt and collar and tossed him into the lake.

“Looks like he still has a thing or two to learn about you, though, Hoss,” Adam said.

The splashing and sputtering magnified, with muttering and “give me a hand up, will ya?” followed by another round of splashing.

“Martin, consarn you, you did that on purpose!”

Martin’s laugh carried above the bank’s edge. “Yes I did, Joe, both times! Look out oomph!” and there was yet more splashing.

Hoss turned back to the campfire. “On second thought, I think I’ll wait on my dip in the lake,” he said. “There’s some noisy critters disturbin’ the water.”

“Yes,” said Adam, handing his brother a cup of coffee. “You never know what wildlife you’ll run across up here.”

**********

“What kind of signs are we looking for?” Martin asked. He watched as Hoss scraped the remains of their evening meal into the fire. “Come to think of it, what exactly are we hunting for?”

“We’re hunting for a way to stay out of Pa’s hair for a few days,” Joe said.

Adam and Hoss grinned.

“We’re hopin’ to see some grouse, or pheasant, maybe mule deer, or an elk,” Hoss said, stirring the fire to life. “Pa sure likes Hop Sing’s way with grouse. He likes a venison steak in the winter, too-makes a change from beef. It would go a ways toward makin’ him forget about all them pranks if we was to pack home meat for the smokehouse.”

Adam smiled. “I think he’ll be satisfied with our absence.”

“If Pa has his way,” agreed Hoss, “we should stay gone for at least a couple of weeks.”

“We might see a big cat, or even a bear,” Joe said, looking at Martin from the corner of his eye. “There’s a pack of wolves with a territory in the high meadow, too.”

“Ain’t too likely to see a bear,” Hoss said. “This time of year they’re starting to look for a place to hole up for the winter. And most big cats and wolves skirt around people rather than meeting up with ’em.”

“Well, we could see something else dangerous,” Joe insisted. “There’s Paiutes. They’d be real tempted to try for our horses on a dark night. And don’t forget about snipe,” Joe lowered his voice, trying for a menacing tone. Martin tossed his empty tin cup at Joe’s head. Joe deftly caught it as he fell backward off the log he was sitting on.

“Don’t try the snipe hunt on me, Joe Cartwright,” Martin said. “I might be new to hunting, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve sent more classmates on snipe hunts than you have fingers and toes.”

Joe sat up, reached for the coffee pot, and poured. “Coffee, Big Brother?” he said mildly, holding the now-full cup to Adam.

“Thank you, Little Brother,” Adam said. Martin glared, and realizing he now had no cup of his own, reluctantly got up to search the supplies for another.

“What about wolverines, Hoss?” Joe asked, trying once more to impress Martin.

“Wolverine?” Martin asked. “That sounds like another made-up name to scare the easterner.”

“It’s somethin’ you don’t want to run into,” Hoss said, and there was no smile or lightness to his voice any more. “A wolverine’s a scavenger, meaner’n a bobcat, and smarter than a fox.”

“Hoss is right,” Adam said. “A wolverine is a relative of otters or weasels, but it’s fierce and vicious. For all our exaggeration of the dangers of the wilderness, that’s one animal that lives up to most stories. If there’s a wolverine in the area, put as many miles between it and you as you can.”

“What does it look like?” Martin asked.

“Well, it looks a little like a bear,” Hoss said. “Ain’t near as big, though – runs about thirty-forty pounds. Runs low to the ground, and is bolder than a two-tailed peacock.”

Martin looked skeptical. “That’s no bigger than a cattle dog.”

“Big don’t matter,” Hoss said, turning his stick to poke some life into the coals. “They’ve got long, sharp claws, and they’re as mean as they can be, owin’ to the fact that nothin’ hunts them in return. They’ve been known to take down deer. I’ve seen one take on a black bear, and end up chasin’ the bear down the side of the mountain.” Hoss paused for dramatic affect. “That was right before it chased me near all the way home.”

Martin watched Hoss as he spoke, judging the veracity of his words. He glanced at Joe, who was intently listening.

“He’s serious,” Joe said, tossing an apple Martin’s way. “No foolin’ around when it comes to wolverines.”

Martin caught the apple and looked from one brother to the other.

“We ain’t likely to see one,” Hoss said cheerfully. “They stick to their own territory, up in high country. We’re goin’ high, but we ain’t goin’ that high. Our trail takes us around the base and lower slopes of Calhoun Mountain. We’ll likely get our fill of game without havin’ to go up toward the pass.”

“We’ll set up a base a few days from here in a cave we often use, and fan out from there,” Hoss continued. “If we get an elk, or sheep, or a deer or two, we’ll dress it out as best we can, and make a cache in the snow if there is any.”

“We’re mainly here to take a break, enjoy the mountains,” Adam added. “Any meat we can pack home will be secondary to a vacation for both us and Pa.”

“I bet Pa’ll be missing us before too long,” Joe said. “Much as he complains about the noise, he complains about the quiet more when any one of us is gone.”

“You’re right about that, Little Brother,” Hoss said. “Although I think it’s Adam’s singin’ of an evening he’ll be missing rather than your arguin’ about goin’ to bed.” He deftly caught the apple thrown towards his head.

**********

Martin had to admit their camping preparations kept them quite comfortable. Although the air was getting colder the higher they went, they had plenty of hot food when they stopped for the night. Hoss’ skill at choosing campsites kept them sheltered and dry. He showed Martin how to cushion his bedroll with pine branches, and he fell asleep each night, pleasantly tired, with the clean scent of pine filling his nose.

He found he woke promptly at sunrise without any assistance, gratefully sniffing fresh coffee and bacon. Joe still needed rousing, however, and by unspoken agreement, they took turns waking him each morning, two of them watching while the third chose his own method of rousing the youngest brother. Tickling his nose or ear with a twist of grass (Adam), slowly dripping water on his head (Martin), sliding his entire bedroll, with him still in it toward the lakeshore (Hoss)-all methods were variously successful and amusing to everyone but Joe. Splashing water in his face was an old favorite, and always worked when other methods failed.

They took an easy route because they were in no hurry, winding through a meadow at the base of the mountain before heading up a gradually climbing trail. Four to five days to reach the cave, four to five days of hunting, four to five days to return meant they’d be gone about two weeks.

Martin spent much of the trail time riding with Hoss. Martin had always like the amiable middle Cartwright brother, but he gained even greater respect for his wilderness skills and instinctive knowledge of the world around them. He listening raptly as Hoss pointed out signs: tracks, scat, antler marks on trees. He explained the habits of different game and non-game animals. Hoss is perfectly suited for this wilderness, Martin thought.

As they rode one afternoon, Hoss had Martin listening to birds, and talked about how to identify different types of birds by their songs. When Martin marveled about Hoss’ skill in birdsong identification over dinner that night, Hoss looked modest, but Adam and Joe laughed out loud.

“How would you prove him wrong?” Adam pointed out. “He could say any chirp was a yellow-bellied sapsucker or a red-breasted booby hatch and you wouldn’t be any the wiser.”

Hoss harrumphed and stomped away to check the horses, which only made his brothers laugh more.

**********

“Keep in mind the way the wind is blown’,” Hoss said in a low voice. They had paused on the trail in a stand of autumn-yellowed aspen for a little lunchtime target practice. Hoss wanted each of the younger boys to have a chance to get used to the rifles’ sites. He set up several small target pieces of wood on a fallen log. Adam rested against another log near the horses, leg stretched in front of him, reading a book.

Martin looked at the quaking tree branches, studying their movement in the breeze.

“Not only for shootin’ but considerin’ the animal’s nose,” Hoss added. “Most critters can smell you a mile off, if the wind is right. You’ll never sneak up on a deer that’s down wind from you.”

Joe and Martin eagerly took their rifles from their saddle scabbards.

“Hold on, Little Joe,” Hoss said softly, as Joe brought his rifle to his shoulder.

Hoss silently pointed into the wind, and sure enough, about thirty yards away stood a deer, eyeing them uncertainly.

“She don’t see as good as she can scent or hear,” Hoss whispered. “Wind’s blowin’ this way, so she ain’t too sure what we are.”

“Aren’t you going to shoot it?” Martin asked.

“Naw,” said Joe. “It’s a doe. Besides that, I don’t really have a shot.”

“What do you mean? Surely it’s close enough!”

“I’d likely wound her from this angle,” Joe said matter-of-factly. “Unless I’ve got a clean, killing shot, I wouldn’t shoot, even if it were a 10-point buck.”

They all waited until the deer suddenly raised her ears and bounded away through the trees.

“Wind’s shifted,” Hoss said. “She must’ve caught our scent.”

Hoss took a box of shells from his saddlebag. “OK boys, let’s try out them rifles.”

**********

Martin proved that the prizes he’d won target shooting at the Academy were well deserved. Woodchips scattered as block after block flew from the log each time he stepped into position. They moved back another ten yards, then twenty more, but it made no difference to Martin’s accuracy. Joe acquitted himself well, but Martin never missed.

“You ain’t never been huntin’ though, Martin?” Hoss said. “You surely are a good shot, but it ain’t quite the same when you’re shootin’ at somethin’ alive.”

“So Joe tells me,” Martin said, but he clearly did not believe it. Joe rolled his eyes; Hoss decided to let it go.

“If you are through announcing our presence to every deer, bear, and Paiute horse-thief in the vicinity, I’d suggest we get back on the trail,” Adam said. He closed his book with a snap.

“Sorry, Adam,” Hoss said, somewhat sheepishly. “I guess we got carried away at challengin’ Martin’s aim.”

Martin moved to re-saddle Slow Bob, but something Adam said stopped him short.

“Paiutes?” he asked. “Really? I thought-I mean, how much of a threat are they? We’ve only seen the occasional Paiute all summer, and they seemed like harmless, defeated sorts of people.”

“It’s a mistake to judge a bunch of people based on seein’ one or two,” Hoss said, staring into Martin’s eyes pointedly. “No one should know that better’n you.”

Martin flushed, and looked away. “You’re right, I spoke too hastily. I’m just surprised; no one worried about Paiutes while working the ranch all summer. Now you are suggesting they might steal our horses.”

“We ain’t gonna be on the ranch much longer,” Hoss said. “It’s wild mountain country, and we could be prey just as easy as being the hunters.”

“Paiutes are good at scenting, too,” Joe chimed in. “Better’n we are, anyway. Out here, you always gotta be wary of varmints, either the human or the animal kind, and keep your gun handy.”

“You keep that in mind, and be ready to do what Adam or me tells you, without argument,” Hoss said. “I ain’t foolin’ when I say that, neither.”

Hoss’ sober statement captured Martin’s attention. He considered how Hoss cautiously cleared their campsite each morning, burying their ashes and removing any obvious signs that they had been there. He thought of the night watch Adam had insisted on, starting last night. He noticed how all three brothers carried their rifles with them as they moved around the camp. It seemed the Cartwrights felt the possibility of meeting up with Paiutes was very real.

**********

On the fourth morning they set off as usual, meandering up the uneven trail. Late in the afternoon, Hoss pointed out a spiky rock formation and told Martin they were nearly at their destination.

“We’ve made good time to reach Needle Rock in less than five days,” he said. “The weather’s been in our favor, and looks to be good for a day or so yet.”

“We ain’t seen much game yet,” Joe grumbled. He was riding a horse-length or two behind his middle brother, keeping his horse close to the cliff-face to the left to avoid looking over the sheer drop on the right.

Hoss turned in the saddle, grinning back at his younger brother.

“Jest you wait, Little Joe-” but before he could say more, the brush near his horse’s hooves exploded with drumming wings and feathers. A large blue grouse flew directly up into Huckleberry’s face, and the big horse shied, rearing slightly and skidding backwards on the narrow trail. Hoss tried to steady his mount, but he was off-balance in the saddle, and his efforts drove the horse to scramble backwards. Huck’s back feet slid off the trail, and the horse panicked. Joe swung down from his own horse and ran to try to catch at Huck’s bridle, as Adam turned his horse back toward the commotion. Before Joe could get close, Huck regained his feet on the trail, but reared again, overbalancing and falling backwards onto his rider.

“Hoss!” Joe shouted, jumping backwards himself as Huck rolled off his rider. The horse got to its feet, trembling and snorting. Joe dodged around him and crouched next to his brother.

Hoss was making small gasping sounds, struggling mightily to regain the breath that had been pressed out of him. His eyes were round and Joe could see white all the way around the blue as he tried to control his panic at not being able to breathe. Adam was suddenly behind Joe, speaking calmly.

“Relax, Hoss, you’ve just got the wind knocked out of you,” he said, and Hoss grasped at him, working his hands on Adam’s shoulder. With a deep groaning shudder, Hoss struggled to inhale.

“Try blowing out,” Adam said, and his calm voice steadied his brother. Hoss puffed out, and then was able to gasp an inhalation; finally filling his lungs and panting the breath back out. Adam reached down and felt along his ribs, pressing lightly on his hips, running his hands all along, checking for injury. Hoss groaned again, breaths coming even faster, his lips blue-ish gray.

“Help me sit him up, Joe,” Adam said.

“Won’t that hurt him? He’s hurtin’ awful bad–” Joe’s voice wavered.

“I think he’ll breathe better if his head and shoulders are higher,” Adam said, gripping Joe’s arm gently. “Can you brace him by sitting behind him?”

Joe nodded and scooted toward Hoss’ head.

“Here we go,” Adam said and pulled Hoss’ shoulders forward slightly. Hoss moaned loudly, causing Joe to cry out, too.

“Behind him, Joe!” Adam said, when Joe, clearly distressed, didn’t move. “Hold him up and it’ll ease the pain.”

Joe slid behind Hoss, tears running down his face as he put his arms around his brother’s chest.

“Martin!” Adam said, straightening up a little. “Toss me your canteen, then tie off the horses before they stray.”

Martin started, and then jumped to follow Adam’s orders.

“Hoss, try to slow your breathing down, it’ll take the strain off your ribs,” Adam said, putting a hand on Hoss’ face to get his attention. “Joe’ll hold you steady; you can lean back against him, relax, there you go-sit up straighter, Joe. Martin, hand me one of the bedrolls. Here, Joe, this’ll help prop you up.”

Hoss’ breaths slowed, and color eased back into his face. Adam sat back, breathing shakily himself, now that Hoss seemed less distressed.

He looked around. Martin had managed to tie up all the horses, including the packhorse. They were on the narrowest part of the trail, brush and rock lining either side, about a mile or so from the cave where they planned to set up their base camp. The sun would set in about an hour. That didn’t leave much time.

The best thing to do would be to get everyone to shelter quickly, reassess Hoss’ injuries, and go forward from there.

“But Hoss can’t sit a horse,” Joe said, “and even if he could, getting him on one would make him hurt worse.”

Adam hadn’t realized he had voiced his plan aloud, but Joe was right. Hoss needed to be kept as still as possible. But they couldn’t stay where they were; there was no shelter from the wind on the narrow, exposed trail. They would have to move Hoss, and the only way to do so was with a travois.

“Joe, Martin and I are going to get the makings of a travois to bring Hoss to the cave. You stay here. Use Hoss’s gun to summon us back if you need help.”

Martin was still looking back and forth, struggling to absorb what had happened. Adam turned him toward the wooded hillside further down the trail.

“Come on, Martin. We need to cut some sturdy saplings.” He uncovered the canvas on the packhorse and pulled out a small hatchet, then picked up his rifle as he passed. Pushing the stunned Martin ahead of him, he soon vanished into the woods.

“It’s OK, Little Joe,” Hoss wheezed. “I’m doin’ good, don’t you fret.”

Joe tried to suppress his sniffs. “I’m s’posed to say that to you, you big lug. Just be quiet and let me comfort you!”

Joe felt a quiver run through Hoss’s chest. “Don’t make me laugh, Joe, can’t stand to laugh right now, kid.”

“S-sorry, Hoss,” Joe said miserably. “Just rest easy, we’ll get you to the cave real soon. You’ll feel better sittin’ in front of a nice fire, and we’ve still got some of that dried stew Hop Sing sent along.”

“Been lookin’-f-forward to that all-a-afternoon,” Hoss said faintly. Joe bit his bottom lip to hold back any sounds that might distress his brother, but the truth was, he was as close to panicking as he had ever been. Never, in his entire life, had he ever seen his strong big brother weak and helpless, and the sight scared him to his very bones. He knew Adam was scared, too, but Adam had reined in his fear and done the next thing. That’s what he’d need to do now, too.

“We’re in good shape, we just need to get you settled,” Joe said, rubbing his brother’s shoulder.

“How’s H-Huck?” Hoss said, trying to raise his head. He let it fall back on Joe’s shoulder with a grunt.

“Just sit still!” Joe’s voice was a little shrill. He took a deep breath, taking his voice down a pitch or two.

“Huck’s right over there, looking kind of embarrassed, if you ask me. Never known that horse to be caught off guard like that.”

“Ever’one has an off day,” Hoss said defensively, but his voice was a little stronger.

Adam and Martin returned in a short time, each dragging a tree-trunk about ten feet long and five or six inches in diameter. Most of the main branches had already bean cleared from the trunks; Martin continued clearing the remaining branches while Adam began assembling ropes and bedrolls to make the travois sling.

“Huck don’t seem to be hurt,” Joe called to Adam, “and he’s done some pullin’ before.”

Adam merely nodded.

“Gonna have-to t-turn-me a-around,” Hoss panted. “That H-Huck dumped me off-f-facin’ the -the wrong way.”

“Shh, hold still, Adam’ll figure it out,” Joe said, his fingers patting Hoss’ shoulder gently. “And now we’ll get to see some engineerin’,” he added. He realized he was babbling a little, but unable to stop. “Not many people get to have a genuine, college-educated architect make them a traveling bed. He’ll have you packaged prettier than a Christmas present before you know it. Heck, I might even s-save unwrapping you ‘til then.”

“Joe,” Hoss said. “Ease me u-up a bit, can you?”

Joe wedged himself further under his brother’s back, and pressed up, trying to brace himself against the cliff wall. Hoss began to cough, and Joe held his bandana to his brother’s mouth. It came away with spots of red.

“Adam!” He hollered, fear in his voice. “ADAM!”

“Dadburn it Joe!” Hoss said faintly, “don’t be yellin’ in my ear!”

Adam straightened immediately and hurried back to them. Martin dropped his hatchet and followed.

“Hoss is coughin’ up blood!” Joe said. He held out the bandana in a shaky hand.

“Just calm-be easy, Joe,” Hoss wheezed. “S-some ribs prob’ly cracked-when-when Huck came back on me. It ain’t -too-bad.”

Adam ignored him. “Joe, I’m going to wrap his ribs. I’ll have to ease him over onto you a little more; Martin, get me one of Hoss’ shirts.”

“It ain’t b-bad, Adam,” Hoss tried insisting.

“Shut up, Hoss. The day you can see bones through flesh is the day I’ll listen to your assessment.”

Hoss rolled his eyes, and Joe smiled faintly. “There’s no arguin’ with him when he’s like this; you oughta know that by now.”

“I know it,” Hoss said. “But I d-don’t have to like it.”

Martin came back with two shirts.

“M-Martin?” Hoss said. “You ain’t said a word in the last hour. Y-you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Martin said through tight lips, and his voice had a faraway quality. “Just-Just stay still, Hoss.”

“Tear that into wide strips,” Adam said, focusing them back on the task at hand. He grasped Hoss’ shoulders and chest, easing his weight off Joe. “Scoot down, Joe, I’m going to roll him a little on his side.”

Hoss groaned deeply as Adam shifted him. Joe slid further down. Adam wound the shirt strips up and over, threading them between his brothers’ bodies. He wrapped several more strips, pulling them tight.

Adam let out a relieved breath. “OK, get back in your brace position; I’m going to ease him back.”

Joe scrambled back under Hoss shoulders. Martin propped him up with a couple of bedrolls.

“Thanks, Martin,” Joe said.

Martin only nodded. Joe looked at him more closely; his face was pale and he was blinking hard.

“F-feels better, thanks Adam,” Hoss wheezed. “Martin, I hope y-you didn’t u-use up all my clean d-duds.” Martin didn’t seem to hear him.

Adam stood up. “Martin, help me lash these blankets to the poles.”

Joe listened to Hoss’ breathing as Adam and Martin worked on the travois. It sounds like he’s broken some ribs, Joe thought. How could he not be busted up, with a horse as big as Huck comin’ over on him?

It had taken them four days to get where they were; the going would be much slower pulling a travois back over the trail. With broken ribs, Hoss would be feeling every jolt. Joe closed his eyes, unconsciously tightening his grip on his brother.

We’ll see how things stand when we get to the cave, he thought. Adam will know what to do.

**********

In careful, coordinated stages Adam, Joe, and Martin eased Hoss onto the travois, rolling him gently to slide it underneath. Joe could see the effort Hoss exerted to keep from crying out, tears streaking down his face without his control. They eased the travois around until it faced the right direction. Joe ran to Huck, and began backing him into position.

“You got a lot to answer for, you clumsy, two-ton oaf,” Joe surreptitiously wiped his own eyes as he murmured to the horse, and his soothing tone belied his words. “Back. Back. Come on Huck, back, that’s it, one more step. Now, stand.”

Huck snorted and rubbed his head against Joe’s chest, obedient and remorseful.

“Tell ‘im-if he knows what’s go-good for him, he’ll hold off on any ma-anure-spreadin’ he’s got planned for the next hour or so,” Hoss hissed from his position beneath the horse’s switching tail.

“He’ll have me and Martin to answer to if he don’t,” Joe grinned, and he winked at Martin. It was a relief to see a faint grin echoed on Martin’s face.

Hoss was unable to disguise the painful groan wrenched out of him when they lifted the ends of the travois and placed them through the stirrups. Adam lashed the pole ends firmly to each stirrup, pulling a few times to check them. When he was satisfied, he stood.

“Joe, I want you to lead Huck, nice and easy,” Adam’s face was creased with dusty lines of strain. “I’ll walk on ahead to the cave, clearing any obstacles from the trail. Martin, you bring up the rear with the rest of the horses.”

The sun had sunk behind the mountain, and purple shadows dimmed the trail. Martin kept his eyes on Hoss’ face, taut and grimacing at any slight bump. Huck plodded steadily, responding to Joe’s ceaseless encouragement.

When they reached the cave, the light was nearly gone and the half-full moon had yet to rise. Adam had already started a fire and cleared the cave of debris, smoothing a place for the bedding. They settled Hoss by the fire and unpacked the horses. Joe hastily set up a rope corral while Martin started some water to heat. Adam searched for the medicines and bandages Hop Sing always insisted on packing, never more grateful for the little cook’s stubbornness.

Joe braced Hoss once more while Adam checked his bandaged chest. By the time he was finished, Hoss was panting and sweating.

At Adam’s direction, Joe helped him drink a mixture of tea and herbs. Martin stirred the dried stew into the remaining hot water, and they all sat back for a moment.

“Well,” said Adam, “We will start back in the morning.”

No one answered.

“We’ll take the same trail back. It’s narrow at some spots, but I think the travois can get through.”

Joe fidgeted. Martin stared into the fire. Hoss’s eyes were closed.

“I could ride on ahead,” Joe began.

“No. We’ll stay together, at least until we’re back on Ponderosa land.” And out of Paiute territory was the unspoken end of the sentence.

Martin ladled some stew onto the plates and handed them around.

“We’ve enough food for a few days, yet, before we need to hunt for meat.”

The fire snapped and crackled, and crickets chirped outside the ring of firelight.
“We’ll keep watch again tonight.” Adam’s tone invited no argument, and he got none. “Martin, you’ll take first watch, I’ll take the middle, Joe the last. Martin, do you have a timepiece?”

Martin nodded.

“Wake me in three hours. I’d suggest we all get as much sleep as possible.” He rose, leaned over to check Hoss, and settled down into his blanket.

“Face away from the fire, Martin, to keep your night vision,” Joe said. “You’re listening as well as watchin’. If you get sleepy, walk around, check on the horses. And pay attention to the horses; they’ll likely know before we do if anything’s wrong.”

Martin nodded again, and picked up his rifle. “I think I’ll walk around a little right now.”

Joe patted his shoulder and settled himself into his blankets, arm’s length from Hoss.

**********

All too soon Adam was shaking Joe awake for his turn at watch. He woke at once and untangled himself from his blankets without protest. Adam settled back into his own bedroll.

The moon was up now, casting dim shadows around the low cave entrance and the area just outside the entrance where the horses were held. Joe stirred and fed the fire, stretching his back and walking along the picket rope to rub the horses’ noses. Assured that all seemed well, he settled on a rock near the cave entrance, keeping his eyes moving across the small clearing.

After the third time he made his rounds, something caught his attention. Unsure what he had heard, he stayed still for a moment, holding his breath to listen. He could hear Hoss’ uneven breaths, Martin’s wheezy snore. No sound from where Adam was sleeping, if he was sleeping. The fire was merely coals now, smoking a little as the last glowing embers flickered.

There it was again. A brushing against a dry leaf; then an uneasy sidestep of one of the horses. Joe raised his head and looked toward the cave. The fire glow caught a flash of Adam’s eyes. Seeing that his brother was awake, Joe stepped toward the sound.

Under the cover of the blanket draped over his shoulders, Joe cocked his rifle, and at the sound, Adam rolled out his blankets. Joe shrugged the blanket away, pulling the rifle to his shoulder, facing the horses.

Ranger’s whinny snapped his eyes toward the dark end of the picket.

“Paiutes!” Joe shouted. “They’re after the horses!”

An unearthly screech accompanied his shout, but he held his fire; he couldn’t risk shooting one of the horses. Adam shouted something, and Martin rolled around, cursing his blankets, trying desperately to untangle himself. Joe gave up trying to see a target and ran toward the horses. He heard Adam cock his rifle as he ran out of the cave.

Joe saw two dark shapes near the tiny rope corral. He ran towards them, tripping and stumbling. He heard Martin swearing behind him and then Hoss’s voice joined the general din.

“There’s two of ‘em!” Joe shouted, and the two were already on the horses’ backs, whooping and swiftly heading away from the cave. Joe saw rider-less one horse join the rush.

He could hear Adam cursing as he and Martin ran past.

“Joe!” Adam shouted. “Stay here! Martin, with me!”

He heard crashing footsteps-Adam and Martin-and looked quickly around. A frightened whinny, and a horse swung into him-Huck, with a dark form bent over his neck.

His brother’s horse about to be stolen, the long hours of fear, the restless night-it all boiled up inside him and he dropped his rifle and leaped at the shrieking rider.

He grasped the Paiute’s arm with both hands. The rider shrieked again, slashing down with his free arm. Joe’s left hand slipped and the Paiute dug his heels in, swinging the horse around and pulling Joe off balance. Huck leaped forward with a squeal and Joe’s feet were yanked off the ground. He lost his grip completely then, and fell forward onto his belly, sliding a bit. When he pushed himself up onto his elbows, spitting dirt from his mouth, all the horses were gone.

He felt around for his rifle, still spitting, and got to one knee. There was a sudden shot-a handgun, from within the cave.

“Hoss!” Joe screamed, and scrambled toward the cave, one hand pushing him up from the ground.

Another screech and a dark figure slammed into him, knocking him onto his back. The Paiute’s weight held him down, his foul breath caused him to gag. Both of the Paiute’s hands grasped his rifle, but Joe held on, rolling back and forth. Another shot and the Paiute grunted, releasing his hold on Joe’s rifle. The Paiute rose from a crouch and scooped up something from the ground. He paused to kick into Joe’s side and limped into the darkness.

“Joe!” Hoss shouted.

Joe felt a shiver of relief. He rolled to his feet and hurried to the cave.

Hoss lay on his side, struggling to pull himself toward the cave entrance, pistol smoking in his hand. Worry stabbed to Joe’s belly and he ran to place both hands on Hoss’ shoulders.

“Joe-Joe you OK?” Hoss could barely whisper, but he reached for his brother.

“Stay still, Hoss, stay still! I’m OK.”

“You-you sure?” came the wheezy gasp, and fingers pulled at Joe’s sleeve.

“Yeah,” Joe said. “I’m good.” He laughed a little shakily. “Not that Paiute, though. I think you nicked him-way he was limping, you caught him in the rump.”

He felt Hoss relax a little, arms going limp.

“Let’s get you settled back down. They’re gone, now there’s nothin’ more we can do,” Joe said.

“Bu-but the horses!” Hoss gasped, pushing ineffectually at Joe’s restraining hands. “Joe, we need them horses!”

“I know it, Brother, I know it” Joe said, unconsciously imitating Adam’s tone in an attempt to sound soothing. “Adam and Martin are lookin’ for ‘em. You settle back down real quiet for me, will ya?”

Hoss’ wheezing breaths allowed him to do little else. He let his little brother ease his shoulders back, grunting with the effort.

“I’m all right, Joe, just leave me be for a minute,” Hoss said. “I think my breath ran out after them horses, too-lemme try to catch it up.”

Joe managed a feeble grin at Hoss’ thin attempt at humor.

“All right, Hoss,” he said.

Something warm wet was running down his left hand; Joe stood and turned away from Hoss, keeping his back turned. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he shrugged his arm out of the jacket sleeve. His shirtsleeve was dark and soaked through. Knife wound, maybe? He wasn’t even sure which Paiute had slashed him-it hadn’t hurt when it happened, but it burned and stung now like fiery nettles had been dragged across his flesh.

He bent over the pack that held Hop Sing’s medicines, darting glances at Hoss. He folded a bandage into a quick pad, grabbed another bandage and wound it tight over the pad, pulling it tighter with his teeth. When he was satisfied the bandage would hold, he eased his arm back into his jacket sleeve. There wasn’t much blood on his jacket sleeve and the slash was on the inside of his arm-unlikely Hoss would notice anything in the dark.

Adam stomped back to the firelight, shirttail flying. He carried a rifle in one hand, handgun in the other. Martin was slightly behind him, carrying the bird gun, and even in the fire glow, Joe could see Martin’s face was pale.

“They took them all!” Martin said. “Even the packhorse! All gone!” He dropped to sit on his heels.

“Uh, Adam, there’s so-somethin’ else,” Hoss said, his voice trembling.

Adam looked up, his face expressionless. Joe knew that gaze well; he bit the inside of his cheek.

“What else?” Adam said quietly.

“One of them -Paiutes got into the cave while you was ch-chasin’ after the others,” Hoss whispered. “I couldn’t-he g-got away with the extra a-ammo and some food.”

Adam took a step toward him in alarm. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, b-but-

Adam gritted his teeth. “How much did he get?”

“Not m-much f-food, but-I fig-figure all’s the ammo we g-got left is the shells that’s still in the guns.”

Adam turned and kicked the coffee pot into the fire.

“I’m sorry,” Joe said, squeezing his eyes shut. The words came rushing out of him. “I should have grabbed ‘im better-I couldn’t hold him-I should have grabbed the bag-“

“No, Little Joe, he was twice your size,” Hoss said. “I’m the one that sh-should have-” but he coughed and wheezed, unable to continue. Joe grabbed a canteen and knelt, raising Hoss’ head gently, trickling a little water into his mouth.

“We’ll see if we can pick up their trail at daylight.” Adam watched his brothers intently. “If we could get even one horse back-” but he didn’t finish his thought.

Hoss’ coughing eased and he relaxed back onto his bedroll.

“Thanks, Little Joe,” Hoss whispered, and for once, Joe was happy to hear his nickname. Joe smiled and patted Hoss’ cheek.

Martin quietly retrieved the coffee pot, absently setting it on its warming stone. “Surely your father will come looking for us,” he said, his voice uncertain. “Shouldn’t we just wait for rescue?”

“It’ll be ten days or more before Pa realizes we’re late,” Adam said, his voice controlled. “Then another few days to get a search party anywhere near here.”

Adam saw the two younger boys staring at him, eyes wide. He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath.

“Let’s try to get some rest,” Adam said. “The sun will be up in about two hours or so. Joe, you continue your watch. Martin, Hoss, try to sleep.”

Joe nodded, and grabbed up his blanket. He’d have Adam look at his arm later. Now was not the time to add to his oldest brother’s worries.

**********

Adam and Martin set off in the morning to check for signs of the horse thieves. They didn’t return until mid-afternoon, dragging their feet and not meeting Joe’s eyes.

“Any luck?” Joe croaked, but he could clearly see that Adam had not returned with a horse.

Adam didn’t bother to answer, but went back to kneel beside Hoss, who seemed to be dozing. Joe sank to the ground on the other side of Hoss, and watched Adam carefully.

Adam scrubbed a hand over his face, fully conscious of the close scrutiny of the others.

“Well,” he said, “without the horses, there’ll be no travois.”

Joe was secretly glad-he thought a travois would be extremely hard on Hoss, and hated the thought of causing his brother days of more pain.

“Joe,” Adam said, but his eyes were intent on Hoss’ face. “Come daybreak tomorrow, you and Martin are walking out of here.”

“Adam-“

“No argument. You’ll take provisions to last you a week. Traveling the meadow trail on foot it will take you about five to six days to get back to the Ponderosa.”

“But Adam, it’s only about two-three days on foot over the pass-“

“The pass is too risky this time of year,” Hoss said, his voice strained. Adam and Joe went still.

“How are you feeling, Hoss?” Joe asked quietly.

“You heard me Joe.” Hoss said.

“I heard you,” Joe said reluctantly. “But you need help, the fastest help we can get.”

“And you’ll get it for me, Little Brother,” Hoss said softly. “But not over the pass.”

“I’ll get you help, I promise,” Joe said.

Joe saw Hoss take a deep breath to press his point, and quickly interrupted. “There’s no chance at getting a horse back?”

Adam shook his head. “Looks like it was a small raiding party-they got what they came for. They were miles away by the time there was light enough to see their tracks-what tracks there were to see.”

Adam’s grip tightened on the piece of firewood he was holding, then he tossed it savagely into the fire, sending sparks into the clear, blue sky.

“With a horse or two, we could have used the travois to take you down the mountain. But there’s weather threatening, and it would be foolish to risk pulling a travois ourselves if the snows hit. No, it’s safer for everyone if you two boys go for help.

“In the meantime,” Adam continued, “Joe, I’d like you and Martin to lay in as much firewood as you can carry-It’ll save me from having to go too far from the cave if the snow comes.”

Both boys nodded and split off into two different directions.

**********

Adam waited until the boys were out of sight, then he sat down by Hoss.

“Adam,” Hoss’s voice was low and pushed between gritted teeth. “Don’t let the boys see how bad off I am.”

“Hoss-“

“I mean it, Adam.”

“Hoss, I am sending Joe and Martin for help. But I fully expect that help to be able to get you home and sitting in front of the fireplace before the next snowfall-“

“Don’t, Adam,” Hoss said. “Don’t pretend to me. You been honest with me all my life-don’t start lyin’ now.”

Adam’s silence was all the truth Hoss needed.

“Look, I know h-how things stand.” He paused, trying to suppress the urge to cough. “My ribs are s-stove in, so bad I can’t breathe good and I’m c-coughin’ up blood. There’s no way to get me outa here without h-horses, but our horses are st-stolen. The Paiutes that st-stole ‘em might still be a-around, waitin’ for a ch-chance to steal our guns. We’re likely to see some sn-snow in the next day or two.”

He looked hard at his brother. “Did I say a-anything that ain’t true?”

Adam shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“Five or s-six days h-home, five or six days b-back. Maybe l-longer if the snow h-hits early. I’m not s-sure I can l-last that long in this thin air, ‘sp-specially if it gets cold.”

Adam looked away.

“I’d ask you to leave, too, but I know you won’t.”

Adam glared at his brother. “If you think I’d leave any wounded man, let alone my own brother, by himself in the mountains-“

“H-hold on, I kn-now it,” Hoss said, and there was a trace of amusement in his pain-filled eyes. “I j-just said I ain’t askin’ you to. Just get Little J-Joe outa here, and soon, before-” but his coughing stopped him from completing his sentence.

Adam waited until the coughing subsided. “I’ll do it, Hoss, but you have to promise me something in return,” he said.

Hoss merely widened his eyes to ask ‘what?’

“You’ve got to promise not to give up; that you’ll keep on fighting.” Adam held his brother’s eyes with his own, demanding an answer.

Hoss stared back, then swallowed and nodded.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Adam whispered fiercely.

**********

Joe closed his eyes against hot tears and stepped back into the shadows at the edge of the cave. His chest ached as he struggled to hold back sobs that threatened to take over his breathing. He concentrated on stopping himself from crying, pressing on his arm fiercely, willing the pain of the knife wound to distract him from what he had just heard.

He tried to think things through, tried to see what to do, but his thoughts circled around and around. He collected wood automatically, moving through the brush like a sleepwalker. He stayed away for a long time to compose himself and try to come up with another option.

After all his thinking, he didn’t have an answer, but he knew one thing for sure: Nothing, nothing, would ever get him to accept that there was no hope for his brother. Nothing.

**********

“The meadow trail’s pretty clear,” Adam said. “Just backtrack the way we came up-“

“But Adam, if we go over the pass-“

“No!” Adam took a deep breath. It wouldn’t be good to show Joe just how worried he was about sending the two boys home alone. He lowered his voice. “That trail’s too steep and uncertain this time of year.”

“But the meadow trail will take a lot longer-“

“Joe, I do not want you to even think about taking the pass! If the weather changes or the Paiutes double back, you’ll be in real trouble! You will go across the meadow trail!”

“Adam, Hoss needs help fast! I can save three days, maybe more-“

Adam’s dark eyes snared Joe’s gaze and held it steady. “I want your solemn promise, little brother, that you will not attempt the pass.”

“Adam-“

“Your solemn promise, Joseph!”

“I-I promise I’ll do my best to help get Hoss home.”

“Joseph-!”

“Adam, Hoss is asking for you,” Martin said in a low voice. Adam threw a warning glance at Joe, and then turned back to the cave. Joe breathed a sigh of relief.

“I take it we are to try the pass?” Martin said, leaning closer.

Joe darted his eyes up, meeting Martin’s steady gaze.

“The trail over the pass is a lot shorter. But just so you know, it’ll be hard goin’.”

Martin merely nodded. After a long moment, he said “I think Hoss is pretty badly hurt, Joe.” There. He’d come right out with it.

“I know it,” Joe said. Martin looked at him in surprise.

“I’ve got eyes,” Joe said. “I know my brother. He’s tryin’ not to show it, but he’s hurtin’. I can tell when the two of them are teamin’ up ‘for my own good.’ And I think”- but he stopped when his voice grew too husky to continue.

“You think what?” Martin said gently.

“I think he and Adam think he’s dyin’.”

Martin’s blood froze and he stared at the younger boy. “What-What do you mean? Surely the situation isn’t that grave-“

“They won’t tell me the situation,” Joe said, frustration sharpening his tone. “I’m figurin’ based on how they’re actin’. ‘Don’t let the boy know.’ ‘Get the young-un out of the way.'”

“They actually said that?”

“Hoss did. And it’s one time I wish I hadn’t overheard somethin’.”

Martin stared back towards the cave where the twilight cast the older Cartwright brothers into silhouette.

“Neither one of them thinks we’ll get there and back in time-” Joe’s breath caught. “But I ain’t followin’ Adam’s plan.”

Joe stopped and looked straight into Martin’s eyes, fiercely defiant.

“Goin’ over the pass will save three days. I’m givin’ those three days to my brother.” Joe looked back to the fire. “I’m tellin’ you so you can decide. You don’t have to come with me.”

“Don’t worry,” Martin said. “I agree with you. This is no time to keep ourselves safe. We need to get help as fast as we can.”

Joe looked away for a moment, and then glanced back at Martin. “You think about it tonight, and then decide. If you’d rather take the meadow trail, I’ll set you on your path, and no hard feelin’s.”

Martin nodded and turned away from Joe. He grimaced as he bent to stack some more branches on the brush pile, but he had already made his decision. A fine time for protective feelings to show themselves, he thought wryly. But there was no way on earth he would let Joe Cartwright take the trail over the pass alone.

**********

“You got ever’thing you need, Little Brother?” Hoss said. “You r-remember the trail?”

“Stop fussin’. I been over this already with Adam.”

“You should l-listen to him, he’s just th-thinkin’ of what’s best for you.”

“I do listen, but he ain’t always right.”

“He’s-right this t-time.”

“No he ain’t,” Joe said fiercely. “And neither are you.”

“It-it’s important for you to be c-careful and get home s-safe.”

Joe stared back at Hoss, at the pale, pinched look to his lips, his struggle to breathe.

“I know what’s important,” he said.

They didn’t speak for a while as Joe rolled up his blanket and tied a piece of rope around it to sling over his shoulder.

“Joe.”

Joe didn’t look up or stop what he was doing.

“Little Joe, I w-want you to know somethin’-

Joe squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t, Hoss.”

“I gotta t-tell you-I m-might not-“

“No!” Joe said. “You tell me when we get home! I ain’t listenin’ until then!” He picked up his blanket and pack and strode out of the cave.

**********

Adam stood in front of Martin and Joe in the pre-dawn light.

“Take this, Joe.”

“I can’t take your coat, Adam.”

“You need to layer on the clothes to stay warm. I’m perfectly comfortable, and I can throw on a blanket if need be.”

He helped a reluctant Joe into the larger coat. Joe held still as he put his left arm into Adam’s coat, but Adam didn’t notice anything amiss.

“Martin, take Hoss’ coat.”

Once the younger boys had coats and hats in place, Adam put a hand on each of their arms.

“Listen, now, I want you to remember. This is the most important thing.” He waited until two pairs of eyes stared back at him solemnly. “You must keep warm. Conserve your body heat. Make a fire when it’s safe to do so, keep your feet dry. When you have to rest, pick a spot where you can stay warm. And rest. Exhaustion is your enemy. If you push yourself too hard, you won’t do anyone any good.”

Joe nodded. Martin’s eyes were riveted to Adam’s face, intently absorbing every word.

“I know, Adam,” Joe said. “I won’t let you or Hoss down.”

“Good man,” Adam said, and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s get you started on the trail.”

**********

Martin let Joe set the pace, determined not to be the one to slow them down. They moved briskly through the brightening morning light, always on the upslope. The air grew colder and the trees sparser, allowing the wind to cut through their jackets.

They took turns carrying the small pack of provisions. Each boy also carried his own bedroll, wound with a sling of rope, and a canteen. Joe slung a rifle over his shoulder.

Joe was glad now of the extra layer that Adam had insisted on. He heard Martin’s wheezing behind him, and hardened his heart to it, pressing on until he stumbled for the third time. Looking around, he led the way to the lee of a tumble of rocks, and dropped into the sheltered spot. Martin sank gratefully beside him, both of them panting and bone weary.

“I didn’t know how tired I was until we stopped,” Martin murmured.

“It’s the altitude-steals your breath away,” Joe said. “No wonder Hoss is havin’ so much trouble.”

They both sat still, recovering their breath.

“We’re making good time,” Joe said after a while. “We’ll spend the night somewhere on the other side of the pass and work our way down trail by mid afternoon tomorrow.”

Martin pulled drink from his canteen. “Will we be home by tomorrow’s sunset?”

“No.” Joe shook his head regretfully. “But we’ll be on the regular trail. Once the moon rises we’ll be able to push on, with any luck at all. We’ll likely be home before noon, day after tomorrow.”

Joe wiped his arm across his forehead.

“Damn those thievin’ Paiutes,” Joe ground out. “If we had even one horse-“

“Are you all right, Joe? There’s blood on your glove.”

“Just a scratch,” Joe said impatiently. “It ain’t bleedin’ no more.”

Joe pulled himself to his feet. “Rest time is over. We’d better be movin’.” He hitched the rope and bedroll and pack higher on his shoulder, picked up the rifle and started up the faint trail once more.

Martin couldn’t see Joe’s face, but his tone so resembled Adam’s that he was sure his expression did, too.

“Yessir,” Martin said. “Whatever you say, sir.”

“I’m glad you know who’s in charge,” Joe called back cheekily.

“Don’t press it,” Martin growled.

**********

Martin couldn’t see the trail Joe was following; after what seemed a long time, he asked if Joe knew whether they were headed the right direction. Joe’s answer was an exasperated “I know where I’m going!”

The second time he asked, Joe’s answer was merely “Shut up!”

The air was colder, the wind sharper, the higher they went. They stopped for short breaks every two hours or so, taking measured sips from the canteens. All too soon for Martin, Joe would declare the break over and start walking again.

Rocks and the steeper trail slowed Joe’s pace, to Martin’s relief. He was breathing hard, and he could feel a slight wheeze each time he inhaled.

Funny, he thought, I haven’t noticed the wheeze for several weeks. He hadn’t even thought about it. I guess Pa was right-this western air has been good for my health. He snorted to himself, amused at the thought. Western air combined with hard physical labor and being kept busy with the concerns of the Cartwrights’ ranch, the bunkhouse letter writing, and the prank war.

Three months ago, I never did anything without considering how much exertion it would require, he mused. When did I stop thinking that way? When did I stop worrying about getting dirty? When did I stop caring about my own comfort-well, he did still care for that-but not as much as before I came here.

It was true. The most important thought, his most urgent, fervent need, was to get help for the gentle, injured Hoss. He understood Joe’s desperation-he felt desperate himself, when he finally understood their situation clearly. His stomach hadn’t stopped churning since Hoss fell. Yet he kept going, not complaining, not demanding his comforts be considered.

When Joe revealed his intention to take the shorter trail over the pass, he had never considered an alternative. Not really. He applauded Joe’s risky decision.

When did I start to think like Joe Cartwright? He wondered, and the thought actually made him laugh out loud.

“What’s so funny?” Joe said, panting. He had stopped to wait for Martin to join him.

“Nothing,” Martin said, but he was still smiling. “Just an amusing thought.”

It was an indication of Joe’s focused worry that he didn’t press further.

“Look,” Joe said, and pointed to the western sky. “There’s a storm coming. They come on fast in the mountains. I figure we’ve got a little while yet, before either the weather or sunset forces us to stop. You tired?”

“No, I’m good,” Martin answered quickly. He was bone-weary, chest tight from exertion in the thin air and muscles aching from the continuous upward climb. But he could see that Joe was just as tired, pale-faced and breathing hard. He’d keep going as long as the younger boy did.

Joe nodded and started climbing again.

**********

It was more of an overhang than a cave, but it was out of the wind and would keep the off the worst of any rain. Both boys were exhausted, breathing hard in the thin, cold air. Joe felt hot-exertion, he supposed-and Martin was dragging his feet.

The bare trail yielded little fuel for a fire. They collected as much as they could, and Joe built the meager fire at the edge of the overhang. The fire wouldn’t last more than a couple of hours. They huddled beneath their bedroll blankets, sharing each other’s warmth. Both were asleep within minutes.

**********

Joe roused before dawn, pulled awake by the constant throbbing heat of his left arm. He peered out from between the rocks and was surprised to find snow covering the trail, large flakes falling thickly from the graying sky.

It took him two tries to rise stiffly to his feet, and he had to grasp the rock to steady himself until the lightheadedness faded. His left arm felt thick and his fingers clumsy, but there was no more bleeding. He used the rocks behind him to push himself, sliding around Martin and out away from the trail to find a spot to relieve himself.

Returning to their meager shelter, he looked around. Gray shadows and colorless rocks stretched as far as he could see. The snow changed the appearance of the trail, covering the familiar landmarks and changing their shape. They had not reached the highest point of the pass yet, and he bitterly regretted his decision to stop for the night. Perhaps if they had pressed on, they would be heading down, beyond the line of snow. Or they might be lying at the bottom of a crevice, having missed their footing in the dark, an Adam-like voice reminded him. And there was no way to tell how far down the mountain the snow had spread. No matter the choices they had already made, they needed to get moving, now.

“Martin!” Joe said nudging the older boy with his foot. Martin started violently, jerking upward with a sharp wordless cry.

“Sorry,” Joe said, knowing he really wasn’t. “But we gotta get movin’. It’s snowin’, and looks to be settlin’ in to snow all day. We gotta get over the pass and start down off this high trail.”

Martin stood quickly, alarmed at Joe’s words.

“Snow!” He said, and his voice squeaked slightly.

“Yeah,” Joe said, scrubbing his hand over his face. He bent and nearly overbalanced as he reached for the small pack. Martin steadied him absently, staring out into the now blowing snow.

“I’ll pack up,” Joe said, bending one knee. “We’ll eat jerky on the trail. Do whatever you need to do, and let’s get going.”

Martin’s face was flushed and he stepped away from their shelter.

By the time he was back, Joe had repacked their few belongings and re-tied the rope slings on the bedroll. He handed Martin the small pack and a bedroll, pressing a strip of dried beef into his hand. Joe slung his own bedroll over his shoulder, and then reached for the rifle.

“Wait a minute,” Martin said. “I think I should carry the rifle.”

Joe stared back at Martin in surprise. His first instinct was to refuse. But the rifle was heavy, and his left arm felt achy and weak. Besides, there was no denying Martin was an excellent marksman.

“OK, Martin, you carry the rifle,” Joe said. “Just remember, four bullets is all we got. Don’t waste any shots.”

**********

Neither of them saw or heard the Paiute until he jumped onto Joe’s back, knocking him flat on the snowy trail.

Martin had been walking about a dozen yards behind Joe, a blister on his heel making him step gingerly with his right foot. He jumped back at the screeching cry, watching as the braided head bent over Joe, muscled arm raised.

“Martin!” Joe screamed. “Shoot him! Shoot, Martin!”

Joe bucked up desperately under the heavier man, causing him to lurch and place a hand on the ground to regain his balance.

Martin cocked the rifle and put it to his shoulder. He fired deliberately over the Paiute’s head, once, twice.

“No!” He heard himself shouting. “No, leave him alone!”

The Paiute’s arm rose again.

Joe twisted, squirmed, and wrenched himself backwards just as the Paiute’s arm came down, the knife missing its target and imbedding itself in the ground. The Paiute abandoned it, and Martin fired again, the shot closer but still wide of the mark. Joe threw his head back hard, connecting with the Paiute’s chin. There was a sharp clunk as the Paiute’s teeth snapped together and he rolled off Joe, holding his face. He looked up, into Martin’s eyes, into the mouth of the leveled rifle, and screamed in defiance. He leaped to his feet and ran unevenly through the rocks. Martin fired again, but the Paiute was gone.

Martin dropped the rifle, his arms suddenly weak.

Joe rolled onto his back, holding his left arm, struggling for breath. He sat up after a moment, and gingerly touched the back of his head. A lump was forming and his head hurt, but the relief he felt was better than a tonic.

“Thanks, Martin,” Joe said. “You scared him away. He left us his knife, too.” He reached over and pulled it out of the dirt. “I doubt he’ll be tryin’ that again.”

Martin sank to his knees. “Joe-I’m-I’m sorry, I couldn’t-” A sob wrenched out of him and he dropped his face into his hands.

Joe had tears in his own eyes, but he brushed them away.

“You done all right,” he said shakily. “You fired when you needed to, and you had a good aim.”

“Yes,” Martin said, “an excellent aim! I missed him every time!”

“You didn’t hit me, did you?” Joe said, smiling slightly.

Martin shook his head, unable to speak further.

“Martin,” Joe said softly. “It ain’t easy to set out to kill someone. You did fine. Your shooting scared him off.”

“We’re out of cartridges, now,” Martin said bitterly. “I wasted every one we had.”

“Well, he don’t know that,” Joe said, rising to his knees. “And we got his knife.” He held out his right hand to Martin.

Martin took his hand and Joe pulled him to his feet.

“Come on,” he said. “Another hour’ll see us off this trail and further away from Paiute territory.”

**********

The walking was easier, now that they had topped the pass and were headed down. When they stopped for the night they were well below the tree line and the snow was not as deep. They found plenty of dead branches for a fire, but when Joe opened the pack he found the side of the pack slashed. The small wrapped bundle that held their ration of jerky was gone.

“Must’ve happened when that Paiute jumped me,” Joe said sorrowfully. “Never thought I’d regret not havin’ jerky.”

He glanced up at Martin’s stricken face.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Adam sent some cord along in the pack-that’s still there. I can make a snare. We still got the two canteens. We might be a little hungry tonight, but with any luck, we’ll be eatin’ rabbit for breakfast.”

They sheltered under a wide pine tree, where the ground was dry and snow-free. Martin piled up boughs for bedding and while Joe built the fire. The crackling orange flames cheered them considerably. For once they were warm, warm enough to take off their jackets.

Joe rigged a couple of snares from the cord, and disappeared for a short time to set them. Martin stayed tense until the younger boy returned to the fire. They took turns on watch, but neither able to relax fully when it was his turn to sleep.

**********

As soon as the sun peeked over the foothills, they checked the snares. The first was empty, and Joe gathered it up without comment. The second, however, held game; they could see the jerky movements of the trapped rabbit a dozen yards away. Martin started to stride forward to retrieve it, but Joe grabbed his arm.

“What is it?” Martin whispered.

Joe shook his head. Something wasn’t right. He crouched low and pulled Martin down with him.

Martin looked to where the snared rabbit flopped in the snow. “Let’s just go get it,” he hissed impatiently. “What are you waiting for?””

“Somethin’s after our kill,” Joe said. “Hear how still it is?”

Martin looked around, scanning the underbrush.

“We need that rabbit!” he said, a little frantically. “We can’t let something take it away from us!”

Joe nodded abstractedly. “I know. But if there’s somethin’ out there, we ain’t in a position to fight.” They listened for a long moment, and Martin could hear his own breath as his stomach tightened in hunger and fear. There was a slight rustle to the left of the snare.

“What do you think it is?” Martin whispered. “Paiute?”

Joe shook his head. “Bobcat, maybe. Not coyote or wolf, though-gotta be something that hunts alone.”

Martin looked longingly at the rabbit. He was so hungry he could scarcely think straight.

“I’ll go get it,” he said, forgetting his reluctance to touch a flea-infested rodent. “You keep an eye out for any predator.”

“No!” Joe hissed. “Just stay still!”

“Why not? We can’t just let it sit there!”

“We can’t fight nothin’ either, not with no bullets left and only one knife apiece.” Joe took a shaky breath, wishing his brothers were here. He felt all the responsibility-for Martin, for getting help for Hoss, for risking their lives on the shortcut home-press heavier on his shoulders than any pack or saddlebag he’d ever carried.

“We gotta be patient. Plus, I got a funny feeling about this, and Hoss always says to trust those feelin’s.”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than a growling started, and two gleaming eyes briefly flashed briefly a few inches above the rabbit. The growling grew louder, with other sounds that made it clear that something was tearing through their rabbit. Right in front of them.

“It’s stealing our meat!” Martin shouted, reaching for a stone. Before Joe could grab his arm he pulled his arm back and fired the stone toward the rabbit snare. There was a yip, then a snarl, and a low, dark shape with a broad tail bounded forward on the trail.

“Wolverine!” Joe shouted. “Up the tree! Quick!” He pushed Martin frantically back toward the pine tree they had sheltered under. “Come on! Climb up!”

Martin was slow to react, but Joe’s frantic pushing finally communicated the urgency he needed and he leaped for a branch. Joe boosted him up then grabbed another branch swinging his legs up just as the snarling animal on the ground struck.

“Keep climbing!” Joe shouted. “Wolverines can climb, too! With any luck he’ll remember he’s hungry and go back to the rabbit!”

Joe could hear Martin’s wheezing breath over the snarls of the angry wolverine. The animal circled the tree, sniffing around on the ground below them, before using its claws to mount the trunk. Joe heard Martin’s wheeze change to a gasp, and he reached for the knife in his belt. But the wolverine abruptly dropped back to the ground and ran back to the dead rabbit.

“We ain’t got time for this,” Joe muttered. “Eat it and get out of here!”

Martin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the low, dark shape with the lighter stripe down its sides. The snarling sounds, the long curved claws, the musky presence of the animal frightened him more than he cared to admit. It’s no bigger than a dog, yet we are cowering in a tree, and glad to be here, he thought. I’ve never seen anything like it.

When it was finished with the rabbit, the wolverine came back to the base of the tree, and began circling it.

“It seems to have an extremely malevolent spirit,” Martin panted.

“Yeah,” Joe agreed. “And it’s pretty mean-acting, too.”

Despite his fear, Martin smiled.

“What should we-” the words stuck in Martin’s throat as the wolverine began to climb their tree again.

Joe began to holler, tearing off branches and hurling them at the climbing animal.

“Don’t, you’ll just make it angrier!” Martin hissed.

“Don’t think that’s -possible,” Joe panted. One of the tossed branches caught the animal in the side, and knocked it from its perch.

The wolverine fell onto its back, snarling and growling. Joe readied another branch to throw, but there was a sudden crashing sound from the clearing beyond the tree trunk. Now what?thought Joe.

A black bear emerged from the bushes where he had set their snare, and sniffed at the remains of the rabbit on the ground. The wolverine ran, quick and low, away into the woods.

Joe looked back down.

“Well,” he said, “that scared away the wolverine. But it don’t get us any closer to the ground, now does it?”

Martin began to laugh, a little hysteria in his voice.

“Out of the frying pan into the fire,” he wheezed. “What could possibly come next? Oh, that’s right, we haven’t seen a lion yet. Or a tiger. Or an alligator. Or a leviathan-“

“Just hold it together, Martin,” Joe said warily, trying to soothe his friend. “Take it easy. Mountain lions ain’t interested in people. We don’t have tigers or alligators out here, and I’m pretty sure there ain’t any of that last thing you said, either. We’ll just wait on the bear to leave.”

Martin laughed again, with genuine humor this time. “What makes you think he’ll just leave peacefully?” Martin said, in between deep, harsh breaths.

“Well, I aim to help him along, if he gets too close to our tree.”

“Joe, I don’t think provoking an animal that big is a good idea-“

“Don’t worry, black bears’d just as soon not come face to face with us, either. And he’s not much of a meat eater-he won’t be interested in us or the remains of the rabbit. He’s just checking everything out. He’ll most likely leave when he’s a mind to.”

“But I ain’t waitin’ too long,” Joe said reaching for another branch. “We got some time to make up as it is.”

Instead of throwing the branch at the bear, however, he tossed it into the brush well beyond the base of the tree. The bear swiveled his head in the direction of the sound, and took a few steps in that direction.

“That’s it, you flea-bitten son of an overgrown fur coat-you need to see what’s over there,” Joe whispered in encouragement.

And as if it were listening, the bear moved toward the sound, and stepped into the brush, out of sight.

The two boys waited, unconsciously holding their breaths. Martin finally wheezed a breath in. “Let’s go,”

“One more minute,” Joe said. “I don’t aim on having to climb back up here if I can help it.”

They waited, and Martin could hear Joe counting under his breath. When he reached one hundred, he signaled Martin to wait, and began to climb down, using only his right hand, pausing every few branches to listen.

“Looks like it’s gone,” he said. “Come on down.”

Martin’s shaky knees made the climb down from the tree slow going. By the time he reached the ground, Joe had inspected what remained of their snared rabbit.

“Not enough to cook,” Joe said in disgust, cutting the bloodied portion of the snare away and coiling the remaining cord. Martin was secretly glad; his appetite vanished when he saw the wolverine, and bile rose in his throat at the idea of eating the ravaged rabbit.

“Looks like we’re hitting the trail hungry,” Joe said.

**********

The snow had fallen all through the woods and steep trail they descended. They didn’t stop for more than a few minutes, pressing on, at Joe’s insistence, until after sunset.

“It’s going to be difficult to get a wagon back up the trail,” Martin mused. “The snow must be a foot thick, even at this elevation.”

“Quiet!” Joe said, pushing at Martin’s shoulder.

Martin’s hunger, his weariness, his blister, combined to fray his temper, and the push was just about enough.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Joe Cart-“

Joe put a hand over Martin’s mouth and pulled him down in the underbrush.

“Shut up!” Joe hissed. “Listen!”

Martin held his breath, listening intently. After a moment, he heard the unmistakable thunk of a hoof against a rock.

“There’s someone on a horse,” Martin whispered.

“Well, a horse, at least,” Joe whispered back. “With or without a rider, we need to get him.” He took Martin’s bedroll as well as his own and untied the two rope slings, undid the looped ends and then tied the two ropes together. When he was through, he had fashioned a short throwing rope.

Another snorting breath sounded in front of them. Silhouetted against the dimming sky was a horse’s head, which suddenly tossed, causing another snort. They could hear the jerky, uneven clop of hooves where the wind had scoured the snow from the trail.

“He ain’t bein’ rode,” Joe whispered.

“How do you know?” Martin whispered back. “It’s too dark to see whether there is someone on the horse’s back or not.”

“See the way he tosses his head every few steps, and hear the uneven gait?” Joe said. “He’s steppin’ on his own reins. No rider would let that happen. He’s loose.”

Joe stood up quietly. “I’ll circle around to the right and try get this loop on him. I’ll yell out when I’ve got him. You stay here. Whatever you do, don’t let him get past you.” Joe slipped forward, lost to Martin’s eyes in an instant, before he could even acknowledge the plan.

Martin stood, stepped to the center of the trail, and spread his arms, hoping to appear bigger than he was. He wasn’t sure how Joe expected to get a rope on the horse’s neck in the near dark, but he’d learned enough about Joe Cartwright in the last two days to be sure that he was likely to do what he set out to do.

“Whoa, son, whoa,” he heard Joe’s quiet murmur. There was a whooshing sound as Joe swung the rope. “Good boy, son, hold steady-got him!” Joe called. The horse whinnied in protest, and Martin saw his head and neck as it reared up, dark against the night sky.

“Help, me Martin, I can’t hold him!” Joe was panting with exertion. Martin ran forward and snatched at the horse’s head. By sheer luck he felt one of the dragging reins, and pulled the horse’s head around to the side. The horse answered the bit, swinging sideways and he heard a pained grunt from Joe. Martin felt the rope and grabbed at it also, pulling the horse’s head down.

“All right, all right, easy” he murmured, and at the sound of his voice, the horse immediately stood stock-still. Martin felt down the horse’s nose, feeling the familiar dish shape. When the horse, in turn, pushed his head against his chest, he laughed out loud.

“It’s Bob!” Martin called joyfully to Joe. “It’s Slow Bob! Oh, good boy! You tossed that Paiute, didn’t you, boy?” Martin crooned to his horse, and the relief at seeing him sent new energy through his veins.

“That’s the first bit of good luck we’ve had,” Joe said faintly, and from the level of his voice, Martin could tell he was on the ground. He was breathing hard, and his voice sounded strained.

“Uh, Martin,” Joe said, “I know you’re glad to see your horse and all, but could you help me up? He knocked me right on my butt, and I don’t seem to be able to get my feet under me.”

Martin laughed again, suddenly and cheerfully sure they were going to be fine.

**********

Now that they had Bob, the worry that tightened Joe’s gut lessened, but so did the adrenaline rushes that had allowed him to push and keep moving. His arm was suddenly so painful he could hardly bear the pressure of the jacket sleeve. He sat down on a rock. It would be dark soon, too dark to see the extent of the neglected wound. Biting his lip, he grabbed Martin’s arm.

“I need you to help me with this, Martin.” His voice was quiet, with no inflection.

“Hmm?” Martin said, stroking Bob’s nose. He looked over at Joe.

Joe slipped his right arm out of Adam’s jacket, and with a small hiss, pulled the left sleeve and jacket completely off. He then shrugged out of the second jacket the same way, gingerly tugging to pull the left sleeve free.

Joe had been moving a little more stiffly, perhaps, but not with any real difficulty. So he wasn’t prepared for the sight of Joe’s arm.

“My God!” Martin said.

“Shut up. If you can’t help me, just say so, but don’t act like a hysterical female-I ain’t got the energy to tend to you, too.”

Martin snapped his mouth shut. Joe’s right, he thought. Hoss needs help, Joe needs help, we’re in the middle of the wilderness with no supplies – histrionics will only make everything that much worse. He tied off Bob’s reins and knelt beside the younger boy.

The arm was wrapped in a crusted bandage that looked to be several days old. It unwound easily and there was a makeshift pad of cloth underneath, stiff with brown and crusted blood. He pulled the cork from his canteen with his teeth and dribbles water on the edges of the pad, working it gently until the pad came away. Fresh blood welled up, and he could see Joe’s shirtsleeve glued to the wound like a stiff carapace.

“You didn’t even roll up your sleeve when you bandaged it-” but a glance at Joe’s face made him bite back the rest of his admonishment. Martin took a breath, proud that his hands didn’t shake. Time to show Joe Cartwright he wasn’t the only one who could deal with a crisis.

“You said it was just a scratch,” Martin said softly, glancing up at Joe. Joe had turned his head away and was staring stone-faced into the evening shadows.

“Wasn’t too bad to start with, but throwin’ that rope opened it up more. Tie it off for me, the blood’s making it hard for me to keep my grip.”

Martin bit his lip to hold back a retort. Keep his grip? There was open flesh on his arm and he was only worried about losing his grip?

“Martin!” Joe’s voice was sharp. “I need to you bind up my arm, and then we’ve got to keep on movin’!”

Martin pulled his spare shirt from the pack. Joe glanced at him, wondering, as he tore the yellow cotton into strips. Folding a sleeve from the shirt into a pad, he held it tightly against the torn arm.

“Hold this.” Joe’s bloody right hand held the pad in place and Martin turned to tear more strips from the shirt.

“You brought a shirt like that on a hunting trip?” Joe asked, amused. “Who’re you thinkin’ to impress? The wolverine?”

“I think we’re both glad I brought it right now,” Martin said, “so I’d shut up about the color if I were you.”

“Besides,” he continued, winding the new bandage. “It’s one of my best shirts. No one can say you’re not dressed in the latest in Eastern haberdashery.”

“Not sure what you just said, but I think you made a joke, Martin,” Joe said.

Martin tied off the makeshift bandage. “I guess I did, at that.” Pale gray eyes met weary hazel eyes, and both boys smiled faintly.

**********

They were nearly on Ponderosa land, by his reckoning, land he knew well enough to press through the knee-high snow by moonlight.

“Come on,” said Joe. “Now that the moon is up, we’ve got a ways to go before morning.”

Martin didn’t argue.

They walked at first, not wanting to tax Bob until they needed to. The knee-deep snow was hard going, but Joe thought they would reach the summer grazing land in an hour or two. From there they could push Bob hard. He thought they might get home before midnight.

Joe started up the trail first, leading the horse, breaking through the knee-deep snow. Martin suggested Joe ride, letting him lead for a while, but Joe shook his head.

“We need to save Bob for hard ridin’ when we’re on flatter land. Besides, I know the way and you don’t. I need to lead when the trail ain’t so clear.”

Although Martin was in better shape physically that he had ever been in his life before, he was bone-weary and staggering when the horizon started to gray around the edges. He had long since stopped paying attention to his surroundings, just concentrating on stepping in Joe’s footprints as they trudged through the moonlit snow. When Joe finally halted, he didn’t notice and walked right into his back, causing them both to stagger.

“Sorry.” Martin said, but Joe just shook his head.

“Maybe we should stop for a while,” Martin said.

“Can’t,” Joe whispered. “If I sit down I won’t be able to get up again. ‘Sides, we’re not that far from the Truckee River-it’s a clear shot for home from there.”

Joe didn’t tell Martin that it was another ten miles down the river to the Ponderosa, ten miles that he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to make. He just needed to hold on until they reached the river, he told himself.

“Listen, Martin,” Joe said from what seemed like a long way away. “I’m goin’ to ‘splain the way home, case you gotta find th’ way by yerself.”

Martin looked at him and felt his face grow cold. For the first time since he had rebandaged Joe’s arm, he looked closely at the other boy.

Joe’s face was pale gray, a color not entirely due to the moonlight. Deep lines next to his mouth told of pain. Martin glanced at his arm and saw that Joe’s hand was bloody again, and there was a fresh shiny spot on the jacket sleeve. The pad must have slipped; the yellow bandage was drooping beneath the sleeve.

Martin felt a surge of anger at the younger boy for not speaking up sooner, but another glance at his face made it clear that Joe had no notion about the state of his bandages. He was swaying, barely aware of his surroundings. Stupid, gallant fool, Martin thought, grinding his teeth.

“Lie down here, Joe,” Martin said, not letting any of his frustration into his voice. He eased the younger boy down in the snow. “Rest a minute while I look at your arm.”

Joe’s weight sagged onto Martin’s arm, and then suddenly the boy’s eyes rolled up into his head and his limp body pulled Martin down with him. Although the younger boy was much slighter than Martin, his weight on Martin’s ribs pushed the breath out of him with a startled whoosh of breath.

Frantically, he placed a finger at the boy’s neck, pushing and muttering ‘come on, Joe, come on’ as he felt for his heartbeat. In his panic his fingers slipped and shook, and it was several seconds before he could assure himself that the boy still lived.

Stupid! he told himself. He’s just fainted. You’ve done it often enough yourself when you were a kid, you should recognize the signs.

Martin arranged Joe’s limbs and settled his head onto his hat on the snow, then jumped up to get the pack from the horse. He slid Joe’s arm out of the jackets and quickly rebandaged the boy’s arm, holding it high above his body and watching for any bloody seepage through the bandage. After several minutes, when he was sure that the wound had stopped bleeding, he laid the wounded arm back on Joe’s chest, and sat back on his heels with a sigh of relief.

The horizon was pink and purple-orange now, with a yellow glow that signaled the sun would soon be above the horizon. The frantic fear for Joe had sent a rush of ice through his veins; he might have been half asleep just a few minutes ago, but he was wide-eyed now, heart pounding. He took several deep breaths and felt better; he felt even better when Joe stirred and tried to move his left hand towards his face.

Martin grabbed Joe’s injured arm and eased it into the front opening of his shirt, a makeshift attempt at immobilizing the arm.

“Keep still, Joe.” Martin didn’t recognize his own voice. Joe moaned and raised his head.

“What happen’d?” Joe’s words were slurred. This is what he will sound like when he’s drunk, Martin thought inconsequentially.

“We’re taking a rest,” Martin said. “Just lie there for a few more minutes and enjoy another of your mountain sunrises.”

To his surprise, Joe did just that. They both watched the sun slip above the eastern ridge, neither of them saying a word until Slow Bob snorted into Martin’s ear, causing them both to start.

“Even in the present circumstances,” Martin said in an almost reverent tone, “battered, exhausted, so fraught with anxiety that I can hardly think, with only one horse between us, miles from home, I still marvel at how the tyrannical sun paints a blaze of purple and orange and scarlet across the eastern horizon. Undoubtedly an advantageous portent.”

“Maybe it’s because you don’t see too many sunrises, sleepin’ as late as you do,” Joe said with a faint, but unmistakable grin. “And you’d have to get up pretty early if you’re going to say all that about it. Now if you don’t mind helpin’ me up, we’d best be on our way.”

“You need to rest, Joe,” Martin said placing a hand on Joe’s shoulder to hold him still. “Take a few more minutes.”

Joe shook his head. “It’s bad enough I keeled over just now.” Joe started to gather his feet under himself again. “By the way, Martin, what’s ‘an advanta-geous portent?'”

Martin glared back at him. “A good omen. Don’t try to distract me-you need to rest now.”

“I need to get us down to the river-it’s a straight shot from there. I’ll rest when we get to the river.”

“How straight of a shot?” Martin asked suspiciously. There was something about the way Joe said it that made it seem like he wasn’t telling him everything.

“So straight that even an eastern tenderfoot with broken boots and a sour disposition could find the way.”

“Very funny.” Martin wasn’t going to give up. “Just how far are we from the ranch house?”

“Once we get to the river, you just stay on the right-hand bank until you hit the Virginia City road. Can’t be a plainer trail than that.”

“You didn’t answer my question. How far is it to the ranch?”

Joe looked away towards the sunrise. The sun was completely above the horizon now.

“The ranch house is a little over ten miles from the river.”

Martin sank further onto his heels. “My God,” he said. “More than ten miles?” Joe waited while he absorbed the bad news. He wasn’t sure how Martin would take it, but there was worse yet to come.

“Once we get to the river, you need to take the horse and get help, ” Joe said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk or even sit a horse for very much longer.”

Martin just stared back at Joe.

“You’ve got to go for help,” Joe repeated.

Martin shook his head. “No.”

“We’re almost home. Bob can run faster with just one rider.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“Martin, the sooner you get home, the sooner help starts back to Hoss.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’ll just slow you down.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“You can send someone back for me in just a few hours-“

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“Can’t you say anything else?” Joe said in exasperation. “It’s like arguing with one of those talking birds we saw in the Medicine Show.”

“The sooner we get home, the sooner help starts back to Hoss.”

“Martin-“

“Your arguing is slowing me down.”

“Now you’re throwing my own words back at me! Can’t you argue with your own words?” and the peevish silliness of this statement made Martin laugh out loud.

“Come on, Joe, let’s get you up on Bob,” he said gently. “And I’ll warn you, you are going to see this horse run as he has never run before.”

Martin pulled Joe to his feet as he spoke, guiding him over to the horse and clasping his hands together. “Give me your knee.”

“I never met such a consarn stubborn mule-” Joe muttered, but he grasped Bob’s mane with his right hand and pushed his left knee into Martin’s hands. With a hop and boost from Martin, he managed to swing his leg over Bob’s broad back. Martin led Bob over to a stone and used it as a mounting block to swing onto the horse’s back behind Joe.

“Hold on,” Martin said, and kicked Bob’s sides, snapping the trailing end of the reins across the horse’s neck. Joe leaned forward, automatically balanced, and allowed himself to feel miserable.

“Martin,” Joe said. “Thanks for everything-I couldn’t have-“

“Shut up, Joe,” Martin said.

**********

The longer they rode, the more Joe’s weight eased back onto Martin. Joe didn’t seem to notice; he kept a drowsy-sounding commentary about the trail, using landmarks that Martin couldn’t see. He seemed sure of himself, however, so Martin followed Joe’s directions, steering Bob mainly with his legs and heels, using both arms to hold Joe steady in front of him.

Joe made a choking sound, pushing back a little.

“Are you all right, Joe?” Martin said. “Do you need to stop?”

Joe shook his head, but his shoulders were shaking. Martin squeezed hard with his legs.

“Whoa, Bob.” Obediently, the horse stopped, and then turned his head to look curiously at his riders. Martin put a hand on Joe’s face. Joe batted it weakly away, and Martin could hear a dim version of his characteristic giggle.

Relieved and annoyed, Martin said sharply “WHAT is so funny?”

Joe’s laugh grew stronger. “The-the Paiute!” he gasped, and leaned forward over Bob’s mane.

“What?” Feverish, Martin thought, he’s out of his head.

“I just realized-he’s the same one that jumped on me at the cave!”

Martin shook his head. “What difference does that-“

“You think we’ve had a tough time-think about-about that Paiute!” Joe was laughing louder. “He tries to steal our food, and he gets shot in the rump by Hoss. He steals Slow Bob, who don’t want to be stole, and between his sore butt and Bob’s contrariness, he likely gets bucked off. His friends ride off and leave him. Then he sees someone comin’ down the trail, jumps ‘em, and it turns out to be the same fellas he was stealin’ from before, only now they don’t have nothin’ to steal! He gets shot at again, head-butted, barely gets away, and to top it off, loses his knife!”

Joe lay limp over Bob’s neck, giggling. Martin couldn’t help but smile in response. The Paiute had indeed had a run of unfortunate circumstances, from that point of view.

“And now-” Joe gasped and laughing. “Now we got the horse he stole, too!”

**********

Bob’s smooth lope ate up miles along the river path, then onto the Virginia City road. The early snowstorm had extended its reach to the Ponderosa, but even in the moonlight, covered with snow, the landmarks were recognizable to Martin. They were nearly home.

“Martin?” Joe said.

“Save your breath for the story we’re going to tell when we ride in.”

“I-I don’t-I’m scared,” Joe said.

Martin gripped his legs and tightened the reins in surprise.

“Scared?” Martin scoffed. “We’ve been chased by Paiutes, a wolverine, and a bear. We’ve been caught in a snowstorm, and nearly frozen on the trail. We’re almost home-what more could possibly happen to be scared of?”

Joe didn’t answer.

“Joe?”

He felt a tremor go through the younger boy.

Joe took in a deep breath. “I’m scared that we’re already too late. I’m scared that Hoss’ll be gone by the time we get back to him.” He sounded much younger and uncertain than he ever had before.

Martin swallowed hard, tightened his arm around Joe’s waist. “Hold on, don’t want to slide off, when we’re almost home,” he said gruffly.

Joe ducked his head and wiped his cheek on his sleeve.

“Stop your daydreaming, Bob, get up,” Martin said.

**********

Joe became heavier and limper and Martin kept both of them on the horse for the last few miles by sheer stubbornness. When Slow Bob, still gamely loping through the snow, finally reached the yard, he nearly sobbed from relief. Lamplight spilled out of the door as Ben ran out. He must have been listening for us, Martin thought, a giddy laugh nearly escaping.

Arms reached up and took Joe from the horse. He leaned forward and let himself slide sideways, knees buckling as his feet hit the ground. It was Hop Sing’s shoulder he leaned on as the world tilted, then steadied. The little cook said something to him, but there was a rushing sound in his ears and he had to stand still for several minutes while his head floated.

A door slammed, followed a moments later by the sound of a horse running from the barn.

When he and Hop Sing entered the house, the main room was empty, the smell of smoke from Ben’s pipe the only sign that anyone was in the house. Hop Sing settled Martin on the settee and ran quickly up the stairs.

Within minutes, Ben Cartwright ran back down the stairs and out the door, shouting as he ran to the bunkhouse. Martin closed his eyes. Ben knew. Help would be headed out soon for Hoss and Adam.

“Martin?” He felt a hand on the side of his neck. “Martin? Open your eyes, son.”

Martin obeyed, and found a glass of brandy near his lips. He reached for it, gratefully drinking it down in one gulp.

“Martin?” Ben Cartwright’s voice was strained, tight. “Joe said Hoss was hurt. Can you tell me what happened?”

Joe must not have been able to tell him! Martin thought wildly, sitting up and pushing Ben’s hands away.

“They need help!” Martin said. “Hoss’ horse fell on him-he’s badly hurt! They’re in a cave, on the other side of Calhoun Mountain, and it’s been snowing, and Hoss couldn’t breathe right, and Adam thinks he is dying-“

Ben’s faced paled, but he stroked Martin’s arm, trying to calm the young man.

“I’ve sent for the doctor, and we’re getting a wagon and supplies ready. We’ll bring help as soon as the doctor gets here.”

Martin let his head fall back.

“Take another sip of brandy,” Ben said soothingly, pouring a smaller amount this time.

Martin did so, and found the world was steadier. Joe’s Pa can take care of things now, he thought.

**********

There were two men in the buggy that arrived several hours later. One was Doctor Hickman, and the other a much younger man, whom Ben also addressed as “Doctor.” Doc Hickman went upstairs with Ben to see to Joe. To Martin’s surprise, however, Ben was back downstairs shortly, buttoning an under jacket and carrying gloves and a muffler. He spoke briefly to the younger doctor, and then came over to Martin.

“Doctor Clinton and I are heading up out to Hoss and Adam as soon as it’s light enough-in about half an hour.” Ben looked Martin over quickly, as if checking his first assessment. “Are you hurt at all Martin? I assumed you were just exhausted, but-“

“I’m not hurt,” Martin said, and he sat up on the settee. “Just tired.”

“Doc Hickman is tending Joe’s arm-“

“Is Joe all right?” Martin broke in.

Ben closed his eyes. He felt a strong need to be three places at once. “He’s very sick and weak from the infected wound. His fever is very high-he-he’s out of his head.”

Martin’s stomach lurched. One glance at his face and Ben thrust Martin’s head down between his knees. He gasped for breath, the lightheadedness fading after a moment or two.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said as he sat up again. “It’s just-the brandy-I -I tried so hard to get him home!” and he was crying like a child, his head on Ben’s shoulder, not an ounce of strength in his muscles.

When he recovered from his outburst, embarrassed and chastened, Ben released him.

“Thank you, Martin,” Ben said, “for bringing Joe home. Both of you have given Hoss the best chance possible.”

Martin nodded.

“Get some rest,” Ben said. “I’m heading up to the cave by sleigh as soon as it’s light. We’ll take extra teams to spell the horses and get there as fast as we can. We should have Hoss back home before you know it.”

Martin nodded, closing his eyes.

“Go to sleep, son,” Ben said, and it was the last thing he heard in a long while.

**********

Adam brushed the snow away from the cave entrance with the branch he had trimmed for that purpose several days ago. The snow’s been light, he thought. I hope Joe and Martin were able to stay warm these last several nights.

Days of enduring pain were contributing to the weakening of his once-powerful brother nearly as much as the actual damage from the injury. Hoss continued his wheezing breaths, but he coughed less than he had been. Adam wasn’t sure if it was because he was weaker or his congestion was lessening.

Adam looked at the notches on his measuring stick. Six notches. Six days since Joe and Martin had set out for home. He estimated that they would have gotten home yesterday, or today at the latest, if they had not run into any trouble. Four or five more days should see Pa here with help, he thought. Four or five more days.

They had fallen into a routine of sorts, not saying much to each other-Hoss because his voice tended to betray his pain and he didn’t want to worry his brother-Adam because his churning, guilt-ridden worry kept his thoughts turned inward. He would wake, clear the cave entrance, and take care of camp chores until Hoss awoke. He would help his brother with necessary and personal tasks, each well beyond embarrassment. He would exchange the warming stones around Hoss’ back and feet. Then Adam would check the snares, venture out to hunt, perhaps, but never going far from shouting distance from his brother. Not that Hoss would shout for him. Adam grimaced. Hoss was well aware of the limits of the help his brother could provide.

Adam reviewed his decisions yet again, an exercise in futility that had also become part of his routine. Was sending Joe away the right thing to do? Was Martin a skilled enough companion, with his limited wilderness experience, to help their progress, or would he prove a burden to Joe? Joe knew the meadow trail; he was not concerned that the younger boys would become lost, but other things could happen. What if the Paiutes came down the mountain and caught the boys on the trail? What if they could not find adequate shelter, and could not stay warm? What if their meager supplies were lost or they were attacked by-

“They’ll be OK,” came Hoss’ tired voice from behind him. “The boys’ll make it h-home just fine. J-Joe knows what to do. He knows the t-trail. I ‘spect Martin’ll be a bigger help than even Martin could p-predict. Heck, they’re p-probably just wakin’ up, snug under a juniper b-bush, grousin’ about havin’ to get up so early.”

Adam smiled faintly at the picture Hoss painted. “I’m sure you’re right about Joe not wanting to get up in the morning, no matter where he sleeps.”

“I figure they’ll be g-getting home by today for sure,” Hoss continued, echoing Adam’s thoughts. “We’ll be out of h-here before you know it.”

Adam stood up. “Time to change those warming stones and turn over for a while.”

“I know it,” Hoss sighed. “Even up here, you k-keep to the schedule.”

Startled, Adam looked at his brother. “What schedule?”

To his surprise, Hoss chuckled. “Your schedule. Somethin’ Joe said once. He s-said you’ve got schedules for e-everything. He says you’d p-probably tell the devil he was l-late comin’ for you when your time on earth is up.”

Adam laughed, in spite of himself. “That little-he’s one to talk! He couldn’t keep a schedule if you glued it to his forehead with sticking-plaster!”

“Oh, no, d-don’t make me laugh, Big Brother,” Hoss groaned.

Immediately, Adam knelt at his brother’s side. “I’m sorry, Hoss, are you all right?”

Hoss managed to grin, but didn’t answer as he hugged himself tight to stop any movement of his ribs.

Adam bent to help brace him until the spasm of pain passed.

“Thanks, Brother,” Hoss said. Adam patted his shoulder lightly.

“Rest,” Adam said. “Just rest. The schedule can wait. I’ll check my snares. You just see if you can think of another way to cook rabbit.”

Hoss nodded, but his eyes were closing. Adam pulled the blanket he’d been using as a coat over his shoulders, placed his handgun near Hoss’ hand, picked up his rifle and headed out of the cave.

**********

The snow muffled sound, but he still heard it: the jingle of harness and calls of encouragement to horses. His heart leaped, and he ran toward the sound, shouting recklessly. He didn’t much care who they were-they were Hoss’ salvation and they weren’t getting away without helping.

“Hey there!” He shouted, slipping and sliding along the trail. “Here! Over here!”

“Adam!” came the shout back, and Adam’s legs turned weak with relief.

“Pa! Here, Pa, over here!” Adam’s voice broke, and he swallowed and blinked. Then they were in sight, a wagon with four men, two on the seat and two riding alongside. Each of the outriders was leading a team of horses. The wagon’s wheels had been replaced with sleigh runners, and it moved steadily over the drifted snow.

“Adam!” Ben Cartwright’s relief was evident in his voice. Adam reached the side of the sleigh; to the grinning ranch hands on horseback, his father and a man he didn’t know perched on the sleigh’s wide seat.

“How’s Hoss?” Ben called urgently.

“He’s badly hurt, Pa, trying to stay in good spirits, but he’s getting weaker-” He ran a hand over his face. “We’ve been living pretty snugly in a cave just a little further along.”

“Climb up, son, and show us where to go.”

Adam stepped on the sleigh brace, then up to stand behind his father.

“Adam, this is Doctor Clinton.”

Adam wrung the young man’s hand. “Dr. Clinton, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. So glad!”

Ben clucked to the horses and they leaned forward into the traces.

“Dr. Clinton is new to Virginia City, and has been making the rounds with Doc Hickman,” Ben said. “He was kind enough to agree to my request to treat Hoss immediately, rather than waiting until we could get him home.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Adam said. “Hoss certainly needs your help.”

The powerful percherons made light work of the trail back to the cave. Before the sleigh was pulled to a stop, Adam leaped down and ran into the cave.

“Hoss!” He nearly tripped over the packs and bedrolls, his blanket trailing off his shoulders.

“Hoss, they’re here! They’re here! We’re heading home, Hoss!” He dropped to his knees beside his brother, and reached over to gently grip the large man’s shoulder. He felt someone kneel beside him, and saw his father’s hand slide up Hoss’s cold cheek.

Hoss’ eyes cracked open at the touch. “Pa,” he breathed. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too, son.” Ben’s voice was tender. “Let’s see about getting you out of here.”

**********

“Broken ribs, collapsed lung, he’s at risk for pneumonia,” Dr Clinton said in a low voice. He stood with Ben and Adam outside the cave. “You were right to have me come-any further delay to treatment and-well, your son is a very strong man, but I doubt he’d have lasted another four or five days at this altitude breathing the way he is.”

Adam closed his eyes, the phrase “any further delay” repeating in his head.

“I was able to relieve the pressure with a simple needle puncture, and his lung seems to have re-inflated as a result. His breathing is much improved and far less painful. Additional pain relief will allow him to take deeper breaths, and perhaps avoid further impairment or pneumonia. But he needs to be moved-carefully!-out of this thin air, and treated in a warm bed.”

Ben shook the young doctor’s hand, and began the preparations for bringing Hoss home.

**********

Adam hadn’t thought about it until Hoss awoke and asked, his voice stronger than it had been in days.

“How’d you get here so quick, Pa?” Hoss said from his bed in the sleigh. “I been counting the days and I figured Joe and Martin would just be gettin’ home today.”

Ben’s lips tightened, and Adam stared intently, waiting for his father’s reply.

“The boys managed to recover a horse,” Ben said at last. “They found Slow Bob wandering free and managed to catch him.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then,” Hoss said sleepily. In a few moments, he was gently snoring.

Adam looked from the young doctor, who refused to meet his gaze, to his father.

“Tell me how they managed to get home so quickly,” he said slowly, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. “Even with a horse, they would have just gotten off the meadow trail yesterday, and it’s at least four days back by sleigh. They had to have gotten back on Monday for you to be here-“

“Sunday,” Ben said. “They rode in late Sunday night.”

“Sunday!” Adam said with gritted teeth. “The only way they could have gotten home Sunday would be to take the shortcut over the pass!”

Ben didn’t reply.

“That little liar, that-when I get my hands on him-“

“Adam.”

“He stood right in front of me and promised, promised, that he would take the meadow trail. With all the snow we’ve had, those boys could’ve frozen to death! And the Paiutes were likely on that same trail-they could have run into the boys, or-“

Ben waited until Adam’s words slowed.

“Your brother made a dangerous choice, Adam, but I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have done the same if I had stood in his boots. I know you would have.”

Adam clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Are they all right?” He asked at last.

Ben glanced down at Hoss, making sure he was still asleep.

“Martin is a little worse for the journey, but on the whole, he’s fine. But Joe-Joe’s very sick. He had a knife wound on his arm that became badly infected. Martin managed to get them home, bless him, but he’s had a high fever and his wound-well, the doctor is watching it carefully.”

Adam sat back, stunned. “Knife wound! But he was fine! When did-I didn’t-Hoss was hurt, I didn’t check him-“

Ben put a hand on Adam’s arm, stopping the self-recrimination. “He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t even tell Martin until he was so weak he couldn’t stay on the horse.

“He said if he had told you, you wouldn’t have let him go for help. Hoss needed your strength, and Martin doesn’t know the trail well enough to go it alone. He figured he was the best man for the job-his words-and that he could make it if they didn’t have to be too long on the trail.”

Ben looked into Adam’s troubled eyes. “He wanted to save his brothers. That’s what he kept saying. He had to save his brothers.”

Adam closed his eyes against his father’s compassionate gaze. “How was he when you left?”

“The doctor thinks if he can get the fever down, he may save his arm.”

The words hit Adam like a blow to the gut, and he doubled over in the wagon bed. It was a long time before he could speak again.

**********

For three days they followed the snowy trail back home, stopping every few hours to switch the teams and heat more stones. Ben drove the horses hard; the weather held and they made good time following the previously broken trail. They pushed on well into each night, following the moonlit trail nearly as easily as they had during the day.

The doctor kept Hoss as comfortable as possible, and Ben was extremely grateful for his expertise. Still, it was a tedious and tense journey. The worry over Hoss’ condition did not abate; neither did the worry over the unknown condition of the youngest Cartwright.

They came into the yard well after dark, horses steaming and blowing and every man drooping with fatigue. Martin came outside at the first sound of the sleigh runners, wearing a jacket over his nightshirt. He reported that Joe was sleeping, still feverish, but better. Adam dashed in the house and up the stairs ahead of everyone. He reappeared a few moments later to help bring Hoss into the house.

Once Hoss was settled into his own bed, the hands went off to care for the teams of horses before returning to the bunkhouse. The doctor shooed Adam, Ben, and Martin out of Hoss’ room with an exasperated “Go to bed!”

Ben said goodnight to Martin, then steered Adam to his room. He helped his son remove filthy clothes and wash up a little before settling him into bed. Adam grabbed Ben’s arm as he dimmed the lamp.

“It’s good to be home,” he said simply. Ben merely patted his hand and nodded. Adam was asleep before Ben crept from the room.

He met Hop Sing in the hall.

“Father of sick sons need rest, too,” Hop Sing said. “I fix hot drink and bring to you in bed.”

Ben smiled. “I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to, Hop Sing. But I’d welcome something hot. I’m going to sit with Joe for a while, then I’ll spell the doctor with Hoss.”

Hop Sing nodded. “Ten minute, Hop Sing bring hot tea.”

Ben opened the door to Joe’s room, wondering vaguely why they hadn’t heard Joe demanding information on Hoss.

The rumpled bed was empty.

A surge of anger and fear pushed up into his throat. He took a deep, calming breath, counted to ten, and headed to where he knew his youngest son would be.

Doctor Clinton was dozing in a chair just out of the circle of lamplight, snoring softly through his wispy moustache. Joe sat opposite the doctor in a straight chair pulled so close to the bed that his right elbow rested on the quilt. Joe’s eyes were worriedly intent on Hoss’ face. Ben watched Joe grimace as he eased his left arm slightly in its sling. His right hand rested feather-light on Hoss’ chest, and he looked to be counting his brother’s breaths.

The floorboards creaked and Joe’s head snapped up. His eyes pleaded understanding, unshed tears glittering in the lamplight. Ben walked around the end of the bed to stand beside Joe and placed a hand on his right shoulder. He could feel the heat of fever through the boy’s nightshirt. He squeezed gently, and said simply “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Joe stood gingerly, gulping a little, and walked back to his room a few steps in front of his father. Neither spoke as Joe climbed back into bed and Ben settled his bedding around him. He sat on the edge of Joe’s bed, reaching for Joe’s right hand. He didn’t have long to wait.

“Is he going to be all right?” It was the small voice of a little boy to his father.

“I hope so, son. You gave your brother a very good chance, getting home so quickly.”

Joe shook his head. “Adam’s mad at me for it.” He looked straight into Ben’s eyes defiantly. “But I did the right thing, and I’ll never be sorry for it.”

Ben rubbed his thumb across the back of Joe’s hand. Joe looked down at the quilt.

“He ain’t been to see me since you all got home.”

“He came up here first thing,” Ben said.

“Not while I was awake,” Joe said. “He was just makin’ sure I hadn’t run off somewhere.”

Ben sighed. “Now that’s rather childish, don’t you think? He was worn out, son, tired and worried. He’ll be in tomorrow when he’s rested.”

Joe leaned back against the pillows. “I thought Hoss was gonna die.” The little boy voice was back. “He-he couldn’t breathe right, and the Paiutes took the horses, and I was on watch and I couldn’t stop ‘em and Hoss had to shoot-” and the story tumbled out, disjointed sentences punctuated by sobs and hiccups. Ben stroked his hand until Joe spoke about the Paiute jumping on him at the pass.

“Wait a minute, Joe!” Ben interrupted urgently. “A Paiute at the pass? You were attacked a second time?”

Joe wiped his nose with the sleeve of his nightshirt. “Yeah, and he was the same one-“

But the rest of the sentence was lost. With a strangled exclamation, Ben gathered Joe tight in his arms, his eyes squeezed shut. He had come close-so very close-to losing not only Hoss, but Joe as well, and not just once, but several times over.

“Pa, you’re squashing me,” came Joe’s muffled voice. Ben loosened his grip, but only slightly.

“Tell me the rest,” he said, and Joe told the rest of the story, his voice muted against his father’s chest.

He poured out his heart-wrenching fear, the strain of guiding them home, then the week of waiting, feverish and in pain, to find out if his sacrifice had made any difference.

The words slowed, then stopped altogether, although the hitching breath continued for a while.

“Pa?”

“Hm?

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Joe?”

“For-for everything.” Another hiccup. “I just feel so sad and sorry about it all.”

Ben kissed his son’s curly hair. “Everyone’s home, now,” Ben said softly. “Adam and Hoss, you and Martin.” He shifted Joe, sleepy and limp in his arms, back onto his pillows. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Go to sleep, now. Everyone’s home.”

**********

Adam came to Joe’s room shortly after breakfast.

Ben had already been in and had given Joe strict orders: Stay in bed. Do not take off the sling. Stay in bed. Take your medicine. STAY IN BED.

By contrast, Adam didn’t say anything for a long while; he just stood, hands on the footboard of Joe’s bed.

“How’s Hoss?” Joe said finally, hoping to head off his brother’s questions for a moment.

“He’s better, Doc says,” Adam’s face was stiff, his eyes hard to read. “The pain medicine is helping and the coughing is just about gone. Hop Sing’s cooking is working wonders. The ribs will be a long time healing, however. Three broken on the left, one on the right. One of them may have nicked his lung; that’s why he was coughing up blood.”

Adam clenched his fists around the footboard rail. “You broke your promise, Joe.” His voice was deep and tight.

“I didn’t,” Joe said. “I promised to do my best to help get Hoss home. I kept that promise.”

Adam snatched his hands away and began to pace back and forth. “You know what I mean! You deliberately stepped around the issue, and ignored my instructions!”

Joe looked down at his hands. “I couldn’t take the long trail, Adam. I just couldn’t.”

Adam stopped his pacing and sat next to Joe on the bed. He pulled the edge of the sling back gently, and looked over the bandaged arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” Adam whispered.

Joe looked away. “It didn’t seem so bad, at first. The horses were gone and Hoss was-” He took a deep breath. “I saw how you was worried, but you kept calm, and told us what to do. You was thinking and doing what came next. So I made myself do that, too. I thought about it, and I could see the best chance for Hoss. I’m not strong enough to move him or bandage him up, but I knew I could run for home.

“Don’t you see, Adam,” Joe said, a little desperate to make his brother understand. “There’s things worth takin’ risks for, and gettin’ help for my brother is one of them.”

Adam did see, and for a moment, he had to close his eyes against the sight.

“Joe, you could have died from leaving this wound untended. Do you have any idea how I felt when I found out how sick you were? When Pa told me the doctor was hoping he could save your arm-” There were tears in his older brother’s eyes. Tears for him.

“Adam.” Joe looked straight into his brother’s eyes. “I would give up my arm to have Hoss back, that’s easy. I would give any part of me for Hoss, or for you, or for Pa. Would you do any less, Big Brother? Because I just thought about what you would do, and that’s what I done.”

This time it was Adam who looked away. Joe waited.

“It’s what I would have done, too, Joe,” he finally admitted. “It’s what I would have done, too.”

**********

“Remind me never to ask you to make a decision that requires common sense,” Martin said. “I don’t think you have any to spare.”

“Huh, you sound like Adam,” Joe said.

Joe was propped up on three pillows, still looking pale and weak, although his fever had nearly gone. His arm was still swollen and very painful, but the wound was showing signs of healing. Doc Clinton was optimistic that his only remembrance of his ordeal would be a long, jagged scar.

Martin had spent time each day sitting with Joe. Now that Joe was feeling better, he wasn’t one to let an idea go. “I still don’t understand why you couldn’t take the simple precaution of cleaning the knife wound. You put yourself at risk unnecessarily-“

“It didn’t bother me much until I roped Bob-I guess I was so worried about gettin’ home, I just-well, I just didn’t feel it much.”

Martin didn’t look convinced.

Joe plucked at his blanket. “You sure pulled through for us, Martin. If it hadn’t been for you-well, I wouldn’t have gotten home by myself.”

Martin’s face reddened. “Well, as I told your father, there really wasn’t any other option.”

“What did Pa say?” Joe asked, curious.

“He–he thanked me,” Martin said softly. “He said that shooting at the Paiute, keeping you on Slow Bob-that-that I- “

Joe waited.

“He-said-I-saved-your-life,” Martin finished in a rush.

“‘Course you did,” Joe said matter-of-factly. After a moment, he smiled, and looked up at Martin. “Did you ever think you could do somethin’ like that?”

Martin shook his head. He thought about the hunting trip, the harrowing journey home. He looked at his friend, who was willing to give everything for his brothers. Martin had never thought that he would risk his life for anything, but now that he knew differently, now that he had, he was content with the knowledge.

“We never know how strong we are until we are tested. We never know how high we are until we are called to rise,” he said.

“That sounds like poetry or a quote or somethin’,” Joe said.

“I guess it could be considered a quote,” Martin said.

“Who said it?”

“I did.”

“I know that, I mean who said it first?“

“I told you-I did.”

Joe looked at his friend with admiration. “Well Professor, you caught my meaning exactly. I see why all the hands want you to write their letters.”

Martin smiled. “I’m glad to hear you think there’s some merit to an eastern education, after all.” He ducked away from the pillow before it hit him in the head.

**********

Martin and Joe stood on C Street, waiting for the stage. Martin fussed with his luggage for a while, stacking and restacking each case just right, while Joe scuffed his boot in the dirt. Eventually, Martin sorted out all his cases and stood, facing Joe.

“Martin,” Joe said, jumping into the breach. He held out his right hand. “I’m real sorry to see you go. Never thought, when you stepped off that stage at the beginning of the summer, wearin’ ruffles and looking down your nose through that looking glass, that I’d ever say that!”

Martin laughed a little shakily as he clasped Joe’s hand. “I never thought I’d be sorry to say goodbye to an untutored barbarian with dusty boots and ink-stained fingers, either.”

They stood awkwardly, neither of them able to meet the other’s eyes.

“Martin-“

“Joe-“

They laughed. “You go first,” Joe said.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Martin said. “I can’t tell you how much-” but his voice gave out.

Joe cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, me too.”

Distant shouts and the jingle of a four-horse hitch announced the pending arrival of the noon stage.

“Martin,” Joe said. “I wanted to give you somethin’-somethin’ to remember us by. My Pa said it was OK-“

“Joe, you don’t have to-“

“I wouldn’t want you to be forgettin’ all the things you learned-“

“As if I ever could-“

“-and when you’re back east-“

“Joe, I don’t think-“

“Will you shut up and let me say it?” Joe said, taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair. “I want you to have Slow Bob.”

“What?” Martin whispered.

“It’s all arranged. Our neighbor, Mr. Carver, is headin’ to St. Louis in a week or so to buy some cattle, and he agreed to take Bob to the railhead. He can go by train to Boston from there.”

“You’re giving me Slow Bob?”

“Well, he ain’t really mine to give, more like he belongs to the ranch, but Pa said it was all right, so-” Joe stopped talking at the sight of Martin’s eyes filling with tears. He looked away, pretending he hadn’t noticed, but he smiled to himself. He’d guessed right; it was the exact right gift for Martin.

Ben joined them, extending his right hand to Martin.

“Goodbye, Martin,” he said. “You and Joe have certainly enlivened our summer. I hope you come back to stay again.”

“I’d like that,” Martin said, surreptitiously wiping his eyes and nose. With his sleeve. Joe’s jaw dropped. He had never seen Martin, the proper Easterner, do anything like that before.

“Joseph!” Ben said in the exasperated tone he reserved only for his youngest son. “Didn’t Doc Hickman say you were to wear your sling for another week?”

“Aww, Pa, I don’t need it no more, honest!”

Ben untied the bandana from around his own neck. “Put this on, young man. And don’t let me see you without it until the doctor says it’s OK!”

“Yessir,” Joe said, subdued, and pulled a sour face. Martin Lindsay laughed.

**********

Epilogue

Joe clattered down the stairs to join his family around the large fireplace. Each was pursuing his own evening activity: Hoss was stretched out on the settee, braiding leather reins, Adam was sitting in the blue chair reading a cloth-bound book, and Ben was sitting in the leather chair near the fire, paging through a week-old newspaper.

Joe spent several long weeks of recovery time before he was allowed on a horse and sent back to school. Then he caught a cold and spent another long week in bed. He was up and around again, but he still had a tendency to tire easily, and much to his annoyance, his father and brothers were still watching him carefully.

Recovery had proven even longer for Hoss, who was still confined to the house as his ribs mended.

“Joseph?” Ben said. “Before you sit down, would you get me a fresh cup of coffee?”

“Why do I always have to-“

“Uh, Joe,” Adam interrupted, hoping to head off the approaching storm. “I picked up the mail in town today and you received a letter from Martin Lindsay.”

“A letter for me?” Joe said, taking it from his brother’s hand.

“Perhaps you’d like to share it with us,” Ben said, folding his newspaper and setting it aside.

“Sure would like to hear what ol’ Martin has to say,” Hoss said, looking up from his work. “He’s been gone near two months, and I never thought I’d say it, but I kinda miss seeing him and Slow Bob headin’ out in the mornings.”

Adam marked his page and gave Joe his attention. “Go ahead, Joe.”

Joe sat on the hearth, tore open envelope, and unfolded the pages inside.

“Dear Joe,
I hope this letter finds you and your family well, especially Hoss. Please give him by best wishes for a continued recovery.

After a lengthy and tedious stage and rail journey, I arrived at University in good time for the Winter Term.

Boston is just as cold and bustling as I remembered. Although I don’t miss the biting cold of the mountains, I do miss the pristine openness of the Sierra vistas.”

“What’s he mean, Adam?”

“He misses the Ponderosa scenery.”

“Oh.” Joe’s eyebrows creased over his nose. “Why don’t he just say that?”

“He did,” Adam said.

Joe glared at his brother, then turned his eyes back to the letter.

“Although it is difficult to start in the middle term, it has been surprisingly easy to acquaint myself with my fellow classmates. Ironically, I am considered somewhat of a Westerner here, for all I was considered an Easterner in Virginia City. I find that the slightest mention of my work as a cowhand makes me the center of attention at social gatherings. The stories of your ‘shootout’ with Mitch, the snake in the jar, and our hunting trip, have served as after dinner entertainment on several occasions. Of course, I am careful not to embellish -“

“What’s embellish, Adam?”

“Exaggerate. Stretch the truth.”

“-Of course, I am careful not to embellish the facts; even so, I had a hard time convincing my peers of the difficulties of attempting to face down a safely en-enscon-ced-“

Pause. “Adam?”

“Ensconced. It means protected.”

“-ensconced rattlesnake, or a not-so-safely confined wolverine.”

“No need to trim up those stories,” Hoss agreed. “Little Brother, the unvarnished truth of your whole summer with Martin is plum near unbelievable.”

Joe grinned at Hoss over the pages of his letter, and then bent his head to continue.

“Please thank your father for arranging Slow Bob’s delivery to St. Louis; he reached Boston safely by train just two weeks after my own arrival.

“Slow Bob and my western ac- coot-ter-accoo-“

Joe looked at Adam expectantly.

“Accoutrements. His rig. The saddle and the other gear you sent along.”

“-accoutre-ments have proven to be a minor attraction on Sunday afternoon rides on the Common, especially among the fairer sex.”

Joe grinned at the laugh this sentence sparked around the room.

“Oh ho!” Hoss said. “I always knew Slow Bob was a good horse!”

“It’s strange to think that Slow Bob and I have so much in common,” Adam said. “We are both dependable on the trail, we’ve both lived in Boston, and we both have a way with young ladies.”

A scrap of Hoss’ leather reins hit Adam in the back of the head.

“Boys!” Ben said mildly. “Continue please, Joseph.”

“My modesty prevents me from going into detail, but suffice it to say, your prediction was correct: the ladies do admire the chaparreras.”

“It was very generous of you to give Martin your chaps,” Ben said.

“Well, uh,” Joe said.

Three pairs of eyes pinned the squirming Joe to his seat on the hearth.

“Joseph?” Ben said.

“Well, Pa, I couldn’t really give him my chaps, him being so much taller than me,” Joe began.

Adam stood up. “Whose chaps did you give him?” he said ominously.

“Well, Hoss’ were too big, but yours were just right-“

Hoss burst out laughing. “It’s just like Goldilocks and the three bears. ‘These are too small. These are too big. These are j-u-u-ust right!”

Adam lunged at Joe, who dodged behind his father’s chair.

“Adam!” Ben said. “Sit down! I will not have any roughhousing indoors! If Joseph wishes to be generous with his friend, I think that is commendable.”

“But Pa-” Adam said.

“And since Joseph will be providing you with a brand new set of chaparreras-“

“But Pa!” said Joe, as Adam smirked and returned to his chair.

“-there’s no need for further interruption of Martin’s letter,” Ben continued.

Joe slumped back down on the hearth and picked up the last pages.

“Please give your father and brothers my best regards. I cannot hope to convey how the sharing of your home and the example of your family has helped my father and I. I can only say thank you: words that are inadequate to express my true feelings.

However, in an effort to exhibit my gratitude (and perhaps help attract the attentions of the Virginia City ladies), I am sending the latest fashion in waistcoats for you, your father, and your brothers. I am also sending a gift for your entire family; each time you look at it, I hope that you remember

Your grateful friend,
Martin Lindsay”

“What’s he mean, Little Joe?” Hoss said.

“A crate accompanied the letter,” Ben said, pointing with his pipe to the dining room table.

Joe ran to the kitchen and returned with a pry bar. The family gathered round as he pulled open the top of the crate.

Wrapped in protective paper were the four waistcoats, each uniquely embroidered. The four Cartwrights eagerly tried on the finery; there was a minor scuffle for position in front of the hall mirror.

“Don’t we look elegant?” Hoss said, marveling. “And they all fit just right, too!”

“We certainly do! What else was in the crate, Joe?” Ben asked.

Joe ran back to scatter the packing material as he pulled out another flat box. Prying it open, he froze as he looked at its contents.

“What is it?” Adam asked.

“It-it’s a painting,” Joe said, wonder in his voice.

“Let’s see it, Little Brother,” Hoss said, reaching into the box.

“It’s wonderful,” Ben said. “It’s a landscape by Albert Bierstadt.”

“It looks just like Eagle Ridge in early morning,” Hoss said.

“It IS Eagle Ridge,” Joe said, unable to take his eyes away from the painting. “And it’s the same sunrise Martin and I saw when we were trying to get help for Hoss. He must’ve told the painter just what to paint.” His voice cracked. “Martin said anything that beautiful had to be a good sign, a-portent, he called it- and that meant we were bound to get help in time.”

“And so it proved to be,” Adam said softly.

There was silence for quite a while as each Cartwright remembered the hunting trip and its outcome.

“Well, Joseph,” Ben said, finally, briskly cheerful. “If it’s all right with you, I propose that we hang Martin’s gift right here in this room.”

“Yessir,” Joe said. “I’d sure like that.”

“Was that the end of the letter?” Hoss asked. “Looked like there was another page to it.”

“Yes,” Joe said. “There’s a post-what do you call it, Adam?”

“A postscript.”

“Yeah, a postscript,” Joe said, and picked up the last page.

“P.S. Remember, Joe, that you promised to ask your father about visiting me here in Boston. My parents have a house here, and I would be delighted to show you the wonders of the East, as you have shown me the wonders of the West. Be sure and emphasize the educational opportunities, but no need to mention our plans to-“

“Uh, the rest is um, personal,” Joe said, hastily folding the letter and returning it to its envelope.

Ben’s steady look from under furled eyebrows caused Joe to fidget. Adam and Hoss grinned.

“What did Martin mean, Joseph?”

“Um, how about if I get you that coffee, now Pa?” Joe said, and he leaped up and ran to the kitchen.

“Come back here, young man!”

“Uh, Pa, it looks like Joe has other plans,” Adam said, and Hoss’ delighted guffaws rang through the house. In the kitchen, Joe smiled.

The End

Author’s Note: Martin’s ‘quote’ is part of a verse from “Aspiration” by Emily Dickinson; here is the complete verse:

We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies.

Many, many thanks to pjb for acting as midwife to this story, and coaching me through the labor pains.

Thanks, too, to Terri for staying up late to read this story with wonderfully sharp eyes.

August 2007