Summary:  Adam and Joe struggle to avoid the unthinkable . . . dying alone!

Rated:  T  WC  8800

Story Notes:  A summer 2011 Round Robin Challenge.  BB writers were invited to submit an opening chapter.  Members voted on their favorite with the top three vote-getters becoming the first chapter in their respective chains.  Additional authors joined to complete each story.

The participants in this story were (in alphabetical order):  AnnieK, BnzaGal, Dancediva, Destiny, Frasrgrl, MicheleBE, Patina, and sklamb.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 Dying Alone

Adam was with him. He hated that fact and yet was comforted by it at the same time. He wasn’t alone. He wished he were, but he was glad he wasn’t. Joe had always been afraid of dying alone. 

It wouldn’t be much longer now. Joe could feel his strength ebbing out of him. Adam lay next to him, the harsh rising and falling of his chest was the only thing that let Joe know his brother hadn’t already gone on before him. 

Was it selfish to want to go first? Adam hadn’t opened his eyes in nearly twenty minutes. He wouldn’t even know if Joe slipped off without him, before him. Joe, on the other hand was still awake, still in torment. How he longed for black unknowingness, and yet fought against it with all his remaining strength. He would know. He would watch Adam die, and then it would be his turn. Only he would be dying alone. 

Would they ever be found? Would they ever receive a proper burial? He doubted it. Doubted he would be laid in the ground next to his mother on that beautiful point looking out over Lake Tahoe. Pa and Hoss would search franticly, maybe for weeks, but how could they find him and Adam all the way out here so very far from where they were supposed to be? 

Most likely their bodies would be covered in leaves as fall came and slowly go back to the dust. Isn’t that what the preacher always said at funerals? Dust to dust. Maybe someday a hunter or a trapper would stumble across their remains and wonder at them. He would probably draw a scenario in his mind as to the events that had brought two young men up onto this mountain to die. Joe was sure that no matter how horrifying the scenario he came up with was it would still be far from the truth. 

Why hadn’t he listened to Adam? Why? Joe felt tears of anger against himself well up in his eyes. At his insistence, they had come here. It was his fault that he and Adam would die; his fault that Pa and Hoss would have to eventually give up searching and accept that they were forever lost. 

Adam groaned in his unconscious state. Joe turned his head to watch and listen to his brother’s ragged breaths. Reaching out a hand, Joe grasped Adam’s fingers. Joe could barely feel his arm anymore, but the action calmed him anyway. They were together. 

Maybe, if God was as merciful as the preachers claimed, he would allow them to die at the same time, so neither of them had to be alone.

 

***

Adam knew that something was wrong.  He knew it before he knew anything else.  Something had happened, they had been doing something and it had gone wrong. 

He was cold.  That wasn’t unusual though, he had spent a lot of time being cold in his life.  He remembered the trip west when he was just a boy, hours huddled in the back of the wagon, not even Pa’s body heat or the thick quilt blocking out the chill. 

Then again, it was kind of strange; Hop Sing usually did a good job of keeping the house warm, always keeping the fires going, even in the coldest months.  And something had happened, he could feel it. 

He suddenly felt icy fingers grab his own.  He tried to pull away, and then realized that he couldn’t; his arm wouldn’t move.  Feeling the first rise of panic, he tried to open his eyes; he had to see what was happening.  Why wouldn’t his arm move, and more importantly, who had grabbed his hand? 

Opening his eyes took a lot more work than he expected, and it was painful.  He groaned as his head protested.  He felt like he had been slammed into a tree headfirst. 

“Why won’t you just listen to me for once?  Why do you always think that you’re better than me? This is important, and it won’t take that long. 

“Did you even think that maybe this would take too long, Joe?  No, you didn’t, because you never do.  You never think at all!”

Adam briefly realized that he sounded a bit childish only a second before he felt hands grabbing his jacket and he was shoved.  Pain laced through his head and it collided painfully with the wheel rim on the wagon.  “What the –“

Okay, so it wasn’t a tree after all. 

“Adam?”

Joe’s exhausted and pain-filled voice confirmed Adam’s suspicion.  Joe was hurt. 

His eyes finally opened, he opened his mouth to call for his brother, but he couldn’t.  Frustration wormed through his mind.  He had to help Joe, he had too. 

“Adam . . . you awake?” 

Yes.  He tried to say it but it wouldn’t come out.  He blinked, and saw Joe’s worried face huddled over his.  He looked about as bad as Adam felt.  “What happened?” he tried again, and was rewarded when he heard sound. 

Joe looked away and didn’t answer. Adam caught a brief glimpse of guilt in his brother’s eyes.  Adam’s breath caught as the memory came back to him.

“Adam!” 

Adam groaned, pain spiking through his head.  He shrugged away his brother’s attempts to help him up.  “I’m fine,” he grunted.  This was all Joe’s fault anyway.  “Why don’t we just get this stupid job of yours done and get back home.  Pa will be really angry if we’re late for supper.”

Joe bristled at Adam’s tone.  Fine.  If the jerk didn’t want help, it’s not like he could force him.  He hopped onto the wagon seat and waited as Adam got to his feet, hand briefly going to his head, before returning to his side like he didn’t want Joe to know that his head hurt.

“Move over, Joe.”

His brother gaped at him.  “Adam, you just hit your head on the wagon wheel, you can’t drive!”

“Joe, it’s just a bump, I’ve had far worse, now move over!”

Adam looked at his brother, grimacing as his head complained.  “Joe, did I drive us off the road?” he whispered.  His head couldn’t handle anything louder.

Joe reluctantly nodded.  “We were . . . going ‘round a curve an’ . . . the wheels slipped in . . . the mud,” he gasped. 

Adam gently pulled Joe down so that he was lying down again; the kid looked like he was going to pass out.  “Where are the horses?”

“Gone.” 

Adam could see that Joe was fading fast.  Though it took a couple of minutes, he managed to prop himself up on one arm.  With his other arm, he felt along his brother’s body, looking for injuries.  He felt something sticky on Joe’s lower left leg and pulled back his hand.  Blood. 

“Joe, what happened to your leg?” 

But Joe didn’t answer. 

 

***

The route was familiar: ten steps from the desk to the stairs, five steps to the fireplace; nine steps to the door and finally, seven steps back to the desk.  After all the time he had spent pacing it in the last twenty years, he was surprised there wasn’t a path worn in the wood. 

Ben glanced at the clock in the corner again.  Joe and Adam should have been home over two hours ago. 

Adam often told him that he worried too much, and he was often reminded that even Little Joe wasn’t so little anymore and that he could look after himself.  And if he was honest with himself he would admit that most of the time the boys were just fine. 

There’s no need to worry, they’re just running a bit late.  They’ll be home before long. 

Ten minutes later, when Hoss came in with the report that the horses came back with no sign of Adam and Joe, Ben realized that he had been right to worry after all.  

***

Once the sun set, the warmth of the day was snuffed out like a candle leaving the brothers feeling much the same . . . used up and cold.

Adam had long ago stopped trying to rouse Joe from his half-dead sleep, and instead he sluggishly joined him. 

For sleeping let them get away from their hurts, but not always their fears.

***

They moved on, encouraging Chub and Buck into a lightning gallop, until finally there was no choice but to stop for a rest.

The fire roasted them, warming up their healthy bodies.

Ben stared off into the flames, worry sketched across his face.  Where can they be? Are they hurt?

Hoss eyed his father’s expression and innocently spoke up. “Pa. Why don’t ya have somethin’ ta eat? It ain’t goin’ ta help any if you’re on an empty stomach.”

Ben snapped out of his thoughts, and glanced up at his son. A grin appeared on his face as if nothing had been happening.

“I guess you’re right, son,” Ben replied. Taking Hoss’ advice, he picked up a bowl and filled it with the last of the cooked beans.

***

Adam moaned in his sleep. His fears kept creeping into his imagination; the terrors attacking him like death. He couldn’t forget the pain of it, the emotions gnawed at him this way and that until he couldn’t handle it any longer.

“Adam!” Joe yelled trying to get a hold of the reins. “Adam, would ya slow down!”

“I know what I’m doing Joe!” Adam argued back at his brother, who had a pale look to him. “What—”

Joe flew off the wagon. Blood surrounded him the moment he landed.

“Joe!” 

Adam broke free from the remembrances of what happened to him a day ago.

He ignored the headache that still throbbed involuntarily and instead focused his attention on his brother.

***

Hoss scrubbed the pot with sand and stole a sideways glance at Pa.  The dancing flames cast his father’s face in light then shadow, the worry lines etched across his brow like narrow trails.

The horses didn’t have any blood on them, so that had to be a good sign.  Well, maybe not good but at least it didn’t mean his brothers were dead or dying.  Knowing Adam and Joe, they were probably walking home right now, arguing over who didn’t check the harnesses or make sure the hitch was tight. 

A log popped and both men nearly jumped out of their coats.  Hoss snorted and said, “I’m as jumpy as a rabbit near a wolf’s den.”  Silence quickly returned.

“Pa, you know Adam and Joe can take care of themselves.  Those horses don’t mean . . .”

Ben picked at the beans, moving them around rather than eating.  “I know,” he whispered as he set the plate near the fire.  He pulled the collar of his coat up before retreating to his saddle to lie down.  Staring at the heavens, he prayed silently for his boys to be kept safe from harm.

***

Adam lightly squeezed Joe’s wrist in hopes of hearing a moan again.  They had to stay awake, or at least take turns in case someone was searching for them.   

He tried to catalog his own injuries as a way to pass the time.  The headache was probably from banging into the wheel before they’d got started but the throbbing was most likely from a concussion.  Did he hit a rock?  Good thing his skull was made of granite.  Breathing caused pain in his left side but stopping his lungs wasn’t an option.  

His eyelids closed in attempt to lure him into sleep but he couldn’t give in—he had to stay awake until he had the strength to get help for Joe.  Adam recited the alphabet in Greek, suppressing a chuckle at the thought of the hands telling him there was no use for his “fancy education” on the Ponderosa.  He said eta through a yawn and shifted in discomfort.  A few more minutes of rest and he’d see what could be salvaged before getting Joe home.

A distant memory of Joe flying through the air surfaced through the haze of pain.  His brother launched himself from the loft, arms spread wide, a large smile plastered on his cherubic face.  Gravity seemed to lose its hold on the boy for a full minute even though it couldn’t have been more than a fraction of a second.  Adam’s throat choked off his voice as a dam would hold back a river while a gale of childish laughter rained down on his ears.  The loud rustle of hay brought Adam out of his trance and he climbed over the side of the wagon to see the devilish gleam in Joe’s eyes as the boy looked up at the dark opening under the barn’s eaves with thoughts of leaping again. 

The sound of rustling leaves was carried on the still night air.  Adam awoke with a jerk and let go of Joe to draw his pistol.  The familiar weight wasn’t there—it must have been lost with the wagon.  His body tensed and he whispered a prayer for strength in Latin as the noise grew louder. 

***

He’s coming after us.

The thought surfaced without any warning and snapped Adam’s mind into clarity like a bucketful of cold water. His cloudy memories acquired new meaning in the same instant.

Joe hadn’t jumped from the loft the way he used to as a child, but been thrown down, to wind up folded over the tail-gate of their waiting wagon, screaming, “Go! Go now!” as Adam tried to get between the wagon and whatever had attacked him. There’d been a momentary glimpse of someone larger and broader than Hoss, though savage as Hoss at his angriest had never been, before the monster had picked Adam up and tossed him head-first after his brother, crashing into the wagon’s iron-rimmed wheels. Joe’d shrieked in pain, but somehow managed to catch hold of Adam’s collar, pulling him up into the back of the wagon as the panicking horses leapt forward. Hot blood was pumping from Adam’s scalp, but everything else was so cold . . . .

Then before Adam could pull himself together and crawl forward to the driver’s seat had come that first slick curve in the trail, and the wagon swinging wide to smash against a tree . . . and a second hard fall, this time away from the wagon instead of into it, but no less violent than the first. No wonder neither one of them was moving much.

 

He tried to think further back to why they’d been at the old deserted barn in the first place, but drew a blank. Joe’d refused to tell him anything beyond, “It’s important, Adam, honest it is,” and his brother’s obviously genuine anxiety had finally worn him down into agreement. Oh, there’d been an argument along the way, when one of the horses had started limping a little and he’d got down to take a stone out of its hoof, but an argument with Joe was hardly the same thing as—

Hands on his jacket, picking him up as if he’d been a child. Throwing him like Hoss could throw a forty-pound bag of potatoes. Joe had sailed through the air so lightly, and landed so hard, and the blood . . . and now the monster was after them again, not satisfied even now . . . .

Adam pulled his thoughts back from that nightmare to the urgent present. A gun. They needed a gun. Maybe Joe’s pistol? Adam rolled over gingerly, trying not to jar his bruised ribs or his brother’s injured leg, and felt for his brother’s holster. There it was . . . and there was something hard and cold within it . . . with cautious fingers Adam worked the gun free. The feel of its weight in his hands gave him back some badly needed confidence.

Come on, then. See if I’m so easy to surprise a second time.

But the leaves had stopped rustling again. Maybe it was only some scavenging animal that he’d frightened away with his movements.

Somewhere nearby, a twig snapped. Maybe it’s not, Adam admitted a little ruefully, and braced his elbows against the ground so he could keep the pistol steadier.

The voice that whispered, “Joe?” wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. It was a grown man’s voice, though a young one’s, and it was flat terrified. Not an emotion Adam had ever expected to recognize in the man who finally emerged from the shadows, face bruised enough it looked dark even in full moonlight.

Joe had heard his name and was stirring again, eyes blinking up from a face every bit as battered as the newcomer’s. The sight of his brother wrung Adam’s heart so much he found himself snarling protectively, “Didn’t I tell you never to get mixed up with the Bonner brothers, Joe?” But even as he spoke another part of his brain was insisting, That wasn’t any Bonner you saw back there in the barn. Even Rick’s not that big.

***

Hoss didn’t even bother to lie down; he knew he wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon. Instead he squatted by the fire, poking its coals from time to time with a stick and staring into the sullen flames without really seeing them. Now that he wasn’t straining after the faint imprint of a hoof, or a fragment of wagon, or an oddly broken shrub, he was beginning to wonder why a simple trip hauling lumber to be sold in Virginia City had ended almost on the other side of the Ponderosa. Frightened horses, in his experience, always headed directly for home. Something didn’t add up—Joe and Adam must have taken a very roundabout way home, but Hoss couldn’t think of any reason why.

They’d made camp in a patch of open land and the skies were clear enough for Hoss to confirm his bearings. It wasn’t exactly the route they used for driving cattle into California, but close enough that the mountains had their familiar shapes once his eyes had adjusted from the firelight.

He put a lot more thinking into their location before he was ready to test his theories out. The fire had died down to embers when he finally said, “Pa?”

His father sighed, but not in the way of a man just awoken. “What is it, Hoss?”

“I been remembering . . . when Joe got back from town yesterday—no, day afore that now—he started talkin’ ’bout places you could hide out if you was watchin’ for the  Placerville stagecoach, and then he shut up again right quick when Adam came in. You don’t suppose they got themselves mixed up with bandits or something, do you?  ‘Cause that’s the way we’re heading—up towards the pass to Placerville. If’n them horses hadn’t left such a clear trail I’d never have come this way looking for ’em.”

Ben sat up slowly. “You’re right, Hoss—they had no reason being out here. Bandits . . . well, that seems a little unlikely, but . . . there used to be homesteaders on some of this land, before we bought it.  Quite a few of the old cabins are left.  Maybe the boys heard in town that someone needed help out here, and came to see what they could do.” He looked up at his remaining son, almost pleading for agreement.

“Which way’s the nearest of them cabins?”

“Up near the top of that mountain.” Ben pointed without hesitation. “More of a farmstead, really. Not much left of the house any more, but the barn’s in good shape. Been thinking of using it for the campsite when we come to log this section.”

Hoss knit his brows with the effort of memory, then nodded. “Why don’t we just head up there soon as there’s light enough to travel by?”

***

Old man Bonner and his sons had been ranching their land almost as long as the Cartwrights had the Ponderosa. There had been a time when the Bonner brothers’ free-and-easy attitude towards life—not to mention good manners and the law—had seemed refreshing to the more tightly wound Adam, but it was ancient history now. He’d suspected for a long time they’d be the worst kind of companions for his youngest brother; he hadn’t guessed that his youngest brother might discover that they were every bit as susceptible to a hare-brained scheme as Hoss could be.  If things hadn’t turned so dangerous, Adam would have found it hard to keep from laughing at the explanation Jeff Bonner was trying to provide.

“Look, this bunch of crooks—the Jameson Gang—were mouthing off about robbing the stagecoach from Placerville the next time it’s carrying bullion for the banks, and Rick ‘n I figured we’d do us a good deed and rob the robbers.”

“It never occurred to you to pass the word on to Sheriff Coffee and let him handle things the way he’s paid to?” Adam interjected.

“Now, Adam, what would have been the fun in that?” Jeff protested. “Rick had it all planned out, sweet as sugar. And don’t go glaring at me like that; we wasn’t planning for your precious brother to be running any risks. All you two was gonna have ta do was bring it all back t’ town in your wagon. Hell, we was even goin’ ta split the reward with you!”

“How generous,” Adam said dryly. “And when did you discover the giant at the top of the beanstalk—or in the hayloft? Was he one of the robbers?”

“Hell, no. Never saw that brute afore today. You think we’d ‘a wanted ta tangle with him?”

“He might not have seemed so dangerous when he wasn’t trying to tear someone apart—when he was calmer,” Adam pointed out in an attempt to be fair—or at least rational.

“Trust me, he don’t come calmer,” Jeff grunted, echoing Adam’s private thoughts. “He needs to be locked up somewhere . . . someplace a sight more solid than old man Coffee’s jail.“

Joe blinked up at them both and let out a pitiful attempt at his usual cackle of laughter. Adam glanced at his brother reprovingly before turning back to Jeff Bonner. “Maybe you’d better tell me what this sweet-as-sugar plan of Rick’s involved.”

Jeff cautiously eased himself to the ground. “Wasn’t what you’d call anything fancy, I guess. Rick figured out where they was holed up, and he was gonna draw off as much of the gang as he could an’ get them chasing him over towards Virginia City. I was ta stay around here an’ deal with whatever guards they left with the loot in th’ barn, and all you two was gonna do when ya got here was load the bullion in the wagon, drive it back downtown, and tell old man Coffee how we found it.”

Well, that makes sense, Adam admitted to himself.  Joe had taken a quick glance around the bare boards of the main barn and said firmly, “It must be up in the hayloft,” but still wouldn’t say what “it” was. And then, of course . . . Adam hastily wrenched his mind away from the memories that still troubled him more than the pain in his side. Jeff was rambling on, gradually seeming to get a tiny bit more hopeful himself.

“Rick’s gonna be mighty angry we ain’t shown up in Virginia City yet. Maybe he’ll come find us.”

“Rick’s sitting in Sheriff Coffee’s jail with a bullet in his leg, madder ‘n a whole nest of hornets at you,” Joe mumbled faintly. “Saw him there this afternoon, while Adam was selling our lumber.”

Didn’t say a word of it to me, of course, Adam reflected. And Hoss says I’m the sneaky one!

“Reckon he’s better off ‘n us, at that,” Jeff sighed, from which it was clear there was no fight left in him. Up until then Adam had never heard of anything one of the Bonners considered worse than being put in jail. Not even hanging—or so they’d said often enough. Looking him over more closely, Adam could tell Jeff was holding his right arm funny. Dislocated shoulder, it looked like—most men would be howling with pain. Say what you like about them, no one ever accused the Bonner boys of not facing up to a licking. And any man could be forgiven for not outwrestling a human grizzly-bear.

But if Jeff’s our best hope of getting out of here, then we aren’t going anywhere.

*** 

“I’m sorry, Adam. I never meant for this to happen,” Joe apologized and he tried to push himself up into a sitting position.

“Stay put, Joe,” Adam instructed as he put his hand on Joe’s shoulder to keep him from moving. He looked over at the other man huddled across from them. “You want to tell me what happened, Jeff? Why were we attacked?”

“I don’t know, Adam, none of this makes any sense. Near as I can figure that Jameson found out what we were gonna do,” Jeff paused, looked at Adam then at Joe. “Rick was shot, they found where I was hiding and attacked me, and then you two were attacked.”

Adam looked out into the inky, black night that surrounded them. The only light they had was from the half-moon overhead. It was getting colder and that added to Adam’s already long list of worries.

“We need to figure out how to get help. But for now we need to get a fire going or we’re not going to need that help.” Adam surveyed Jeff’s injuries and took due note of the damaged shoulder and battered face. He also cataloged his and Joe’s injuries and knew Jeff was the only one able to fulfill their needs. “Do you think you can gather some wood, Jeff?”

“I can do it, A’am,” Joe volunteered.

“Sure you can, and pigs can fly,” Adam said dismissing his brother.

“I can get the wood, but how are we going to start it?” Jeff asked.

“I have some matches,” Adam grunted as his body protested against his movements when he tried to reach into his pocket.

“You ‘kay, A’am?” Joe slurred.

“I’m fine, Buddy.” Adam didn’t like how Joe was starting to sound, and he reached over to feel Joe’s forehead. Oh, God, he’s burning up. “Jeff, see if you can find the canteen we had in the wagon as well.”

“A’am?”

“I’m right here, Joe. Everything’s going to be alright,” Adam reassured. “You just rest.”

Jeff was soon back with a load of wood. “I lucked out. The canteen was lying over next to the rest of the wreckage.” He handed it to Adam, who took it gratefully.

“Joe, I need you to drink some water.”

“’Kay,” Joe mumbled. With shaking hands, he took the canteen from his brother and took a deep drink while Adam supported his shoulders.

Lowering Joe back to the ground he pushed the sweat soaked curls off of his brother’s forehead. “Go to sleep, Joe, tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

With a sigh, Joe closed his eyes and drifted off into the warm, pain-free arms of oblivion.

***

Joe woke with a start, confused to find himself sleeping on the ground. Looking around he tried to get his bearing, the fire had burnt down to little more than embers, but it was still enough to cast a golden glow over the sleeping men.

“A’am?” Joe’s voice was no more than a whisper. He could hear Adam’s ragged breathing and knew his brother was still with him.  By the sound of it, Joe suspected his brother had some broken ribs. Painfully, he pushed himself up onto his elbows to get a better look at Adam. A gasp of pain escaped him as pain tore through his left leg. He looked down, and for the first time got a look at his ripped, blood soaked pants. Pushing his own pain aside he turned back to Adam. In the dim light he could see Adam’s ankle, it didn’t look broken, but it was swollen. A fine pair we make. There was also a lump and some deep bruising on Adam’s forehead.

Looking across the fire, Joe could barely see Jeff lying there fast asleep. Jeff? What—? Memory of the attack and subsequent crash came flooding back to Joe. He remembered lying next to his brother waiting for death to take him and hoping that he would be the first to go. He knew he was being selfish, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of being alone when he met death.

We need help. I gotta get help for A’am, Joe thought to himself.

Painfully, Joe rolled over and pushed himself first to one knee, making sure he kept his left leg as straight as he could, then finally to his feet. He had to bite his lip to stifle his groans of pain, for if either Adam or Jeff woke up they would never let him do what his fever-ridden mind told him he needed to do. He took a step and almost collapsed, the only thing that kept him on his feet was the famous Joe Cartwright stubbornness and determination. From the pain and the way it hurt to breathe, he knew he also had some cracked ribs.  Looking around the crash site he could see where the wagon was lying in pieces. Knowing he needed something to help him walk—or he wouldn’t get very far—he limped over to the wreckage, dragging his injured leg behind him, and started looking for a suitable piece of wood to use as a crutch, finding one, he braced it under his arm and painfully hobbled away from the makeshift camp. If I’m going to die, it’s going to be trying to get help for Adam.

***

It was late morning when consciousness slowly returned to Adam; his first thought was to see how his brother had faired through the night. He started to turn in that direction when a blinding pain shot through his head causing him to clench his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut until it passed. After what seemed like hours to Adam—but in reality was only a couple of minutes—he cautiously opened his eyes and slowly turned his head to the side. Blinking several times didn’t change what Adam was seeing.

The ground next to him was empty.

“Joe?”

Forgetting about the pounding in his head and ignoring the pain lancing through his ankle, Adam pushed himself up to look around. “There’s no way he could have gotten up, not in his condition.”

“JOE!”

The only answering sound was that of the birds in the trees. He looked across the now dead fire and saw Jeff huddled on the ground fast asleep.

“Jeff! Jeff, wake up!” Jeff didn’t even flinch no matter how loud Adam yelled.

Determined to find his missing brother, Adam started pushing himself to his feet. He didn’t get very far before collapsing back to the ground.

“Damn that boy!” he muttered in defeat.

***

Pure determination and nothing more kept Joe on his feet; it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. His shirt was drenched with sweat and it was also trickling down his face, mixing with the dried blood from the gash on his cheek, which had started bleeding again. Reaching up once again Joe wiped his sleeve across his face, adding more blood to the already soaked sleeve.

Stumbling over something on the ground sent Joe crashing to the forest floor. He grabbed his leg as unbearable pain shot through it, and he could feel the warm flow of blood seeping through his fingers. He tried to push himself to his feet, only to collapse to the ground again. As darkness crept in on him, one thought kept repeating itself before he surrendered himself to the warm arms of oblivion.

I’m going to die alone after all.

***

When Ben and Hoss reached the cabin, the sun had just cleared the treetops painting the the yard in a crimson haze.  All was quiet around them; too quiet.  Ben, who was a little ahead of Hoss, pulled Buck up short.  What they saw made the blood freeze in their veins: four bodies lying in various positions all with horror-filled unseeing eyes that stared up at the sky.  Dismounting and tossing Chubb’s reins over the hitch rail, Hoss knelt by the nearest corpse.

“Neck’s snapped.”  With a gentle hand, he closed the man’s eyes.

“This one’s, too.”  Ben called from his position near another still form.  Blood covered everything and even the water trough was filled with the scarlet liquid.  Peering at each of the dead men, neither of them found any sign of bullet wounds, knife cuts or anything else to explain the gory mess.  A trail finally presented itself and the two Cartwrights followed it until the smears of red lead them to the door of the barn. They glanced at each other, knowing what they were about to discover would not be pleasant, but it must be done. Taking a deep breath, Ben pushed the barrier wide; he nearly gagged at the gruesome scene before him.  As Hoss took a step forwards to look into the room, Ben put a hand out.

“You don’t want to go in there.”  He closed the door quickly, turning about and taking several deep breaths before speaking again.

“Burn it.”  Without a word Hoss obeyed, lighting a match and tossing it onto the dried out pine planks. The flames swallowed up the small building within minutes. 

“They must’ave robbed the stage.”  Hoss murmured, holding up a smashed crate with the words Wells Fargo emblazoned on the rough surface. Ben nodded.

“Yes, but who would do this?” He gestured to the figures strewn about in the tall brown grass.  He wanted answers just as much as Hoss did, yet at the same time he didn’t want to know. It was an odd feeling and one that Benjamin Cartwright never wanted to feel ever again.

* * *

Burying the other bodies took a great deal of time, but once the task was completed and the nameless crosses were pounded into the earth, father and son stood silently before the graves.  No words came, no prayers flew heavenward; only the cry of a mockingbird broke the stillness around them . . . a mockingbird and the echoes of a far off gunshot. Jolted by the noise, Hoss searched the surrounding woods, trying in vain to figure out where the firing had come from.

“A hunter?” He said, doubt creeping into the words. A moment later and another shot filled the air.

“A hunter doesn’t use a .45, not unless he has to.” Hoss tried desperately to tamp down the fear edging its way into his heart and failed miserably.

Adam, Joe . . . where are you?

* * *

“JOE!” 

Adam bolted upright and instantly regretted it.  Pain laced through his skull sending a hoard of black spots dancing before his eyes and he groaned. The dream had been so real and he knew that he had to find his brother before the nightmare became reality. Dragging his bruised and battered body over the rough ground, he slowly eased himself next to Jeff, intent on waking the sleeping man.  A branch snapped and Adam’s head jerked towards the noise, heart in his throat.  Relief flooded through him as he recognized the unexpected visitor.

“Christopher Bonner!  What are you doing sneaking around? I thought—” Adam’s voice trailed off as he saw the muzzle of a gun slowly swing in his direction.  Puzzled, he stared straight into the youngest Bonner’s eyes and what he saw chilled him to the bone. 

“Chris?”  Jeff—awakened by his companion’s voice—leaned on his good elbow, confusion written all over his handsome face.

“What—”

“Jeff, get outta here before he comes.” The young man’s hands trembled violently, yet the barrel never moved away from Adam.

“I will not! Tell me what the heck you’re doing before I take you over my knee!” Anger kindled in Jeff’s eyes as they bored holes into his little brother, pinning him where he stood. 

“I can’t, there’s not enough time!”

“You better!” Something in his older sibling’s tone must have struck a chord, for Chris opened and closed his mouth several times before words poured out tumbling over one another.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this! They said no one would get hurt if I just told them.  I—”

The bushes rustled violently. Whatever was coming their way terrified the sixteen-year-old.  His frightened gaze locked with the oldest Cartwright boy.

“Adam, I’m sorry.” And then he pulled the trigger.

***

Just as the gun went off, Chris was tackled from behind.  The bullet whizzed by Adam’s right ear and harmlessly lodged in a tree behind him.  Joe—determined no one should die alone—had found the strength to drag himself back to Adam and Jeff just in time to observe Chris ready to murder Adam.  With one last spurt of adrenaline, he had knocked Chris to the dirt and collapsed on top of Adam.

Gosh little brother, when did you get so heavy, Adam thought as he tried to dislodge himself from under Joe’s dead weight.  Adam was pinned to the ground, the only time Joe could do that to Adam conscious or unconscious.  “Jeff . . . give me a hand with Joe, will you?”

Adam pushed as Jeff rolled Joe off, then he gingerly reached for Chris’s gun which had fallen close to him and Joe.  At least the Bonner kid was no longer a threat.

“Is Chris all right?”

“Yeah.  He’s out cold, but he seems okay.  Musta hit his head,” Jeff responded.  He retrieved the canteen and both brothers set about tending their younger siblings.

Joe’s breath was ragged, but he was breathing.  Adam forced some water into his brother and was relieved when at last hazel green eyes stared at him—fevered though they were.

“That was a damn stupid thing you did, wandering off like that,” Adam growled as he wiped the sweat from Joe’s face.  “What were you thinking?”

“G-get help f-for you,” Joe mumbled, brushing the back of his hand against his brother’s chest. 

Adam grabbed Joe’s hand and held it firmly in his own. “You came back.”

“C-couldn’t let you d-die alone.”

“No one’s going to die, Joe.  I know you feel like it right now—hell, we both feel like it—but we’re going to get out of this . . . you, me, the Bonners.”

“Whatever you say, A’am . . . .” 

“Jeff, what was Chris talking about?” Adam asked after Joe settled down. 

“I don’t rightly know, Adam,” replied Jeff.  “As near as I can tell, he must have gotten in with them bank robbers.  They must have promised him a cut of the money, saying it would be easy and no one would get hurt.”

“But why kill me?” Adam asked.  He was beginning to believe his head ached more from trying to figure out this convoluted mystery than from his injuries.  

“I don’t rightly know, unless there’s more to it.  Let’s see if we can wake my little brother up and get to the bottom of this.”  Try as he might, however, Chris was still unconscious.

“None of this makes sense. Let’s go over it again,” Adam sighed. 

“Rick drew the robbers off as planned and sure enough, you predictable Cartwrights heard the shootin’ and came to see what was going on.  You helped me with them guards, but one of them must have escaped and warned the rest of the gang.  We didn’t notice him cuz we was too busy loading the wagon with the bullion to take back to Virginia City.”

“What about those other bodies; they couldn’t have all been a part of Jameson’s gang,” Adam asked doubtfully. 

“Dunno.  Not likely, I guess.  Mebbe they was some dumbass passengers on the stage and got theirselves kilt doin’ somethin’ stupid.  We, that is, Rick and me, never counted on you Cartwrights goin’ after the robbers with that wagon of bullion.  Talk about a dumb ass idea!  You were driving that team hell bent fer leather.  I had to stop you, so I forced you off the road at a full gallop.  I never expected the wagon to tip over, honest!  What jackass decided to go after them robbers anyway?”

Adam groaned!  It all came back to him!  JOSEPH!  &*#$

Jeff was right.  Of all the idiotic ideas of Joe’s, this one took the cake!  Joe had grabbed the wagon reins wanting to chase after the bank robbers.  He must have hoped to turn in not only the bullion but the robbers as well!  JOSEPH! &*#$.  Only his little brother could come up with an idea like this.  Adam had expected they’d bring the bullion to town.  But Nooooo!  Joe wanted to be the hero so all the girls would swoon over him later on.

If Adam hadn’t been so badly hurt, he’d have hit himself in the head for allowing Joe to grab those reins.  Adam could hear Hoss in his head:  “Sucker!”
***

Chris’ eyes didn’t open slowly like a man’s normally did after whacking his head real hard. They flew open like a man fearing for his life.

Jeff tried to hold his brother back as he bolted up in terror. “Slow down there now, Chris.”

“Don’t let him get me.” The plea was a pathetic one, escaping through his lips like a whimper.

“Don’t let who get you?” Adam frowned.

Chris looked into his brother’s eyes, “I ain’t lyin’, Jeff, honest.” He licked his lips, “There’s this man bigger’n Hoss and meaner than . . . than anything.” A shudder ran down his back and he reached up to grasp his older brother’s arm.

“You mean he ain’t on your side?” Joe moaned from where he lay near Adam.

“He ain’t on any side.” Chris closed his eyes, fighting against the anvil that pounded in his skull. “He showed up just after the robbery. The gang was storin’ the gold in the barn and he tore in like something mad.  He ripped two of the guys to pieces before he just up and disappeared.” Chris was pale more from the memory than from the blow to the head. “We tossed the bodies into an old barn. No one wanted to look at them long enough to get them in the ground.”

“I swear if we make it out of here alive I’m going to turn myself in, Jeff.” Chris opened his eyes and focused in on his brother. “Just don’t let him get me.”

“Where’s the rest of the gang?” Jeff covered his brother’s hand with his own.

“They lit out after that big guy came back a second time. Jameson swears he shot him but the guy wasn’t actin’ hurt at all. They was runnin’ scared. Didn’t even care about the gold, they was so scared.”

“Why did you try to shoot me?” Adam couldn’t hold back the question any longer.

Tears welled up in youngest Bonner’s eyes. “Jameson said there was only one way to get rid of that monster of a man, if he really is a man.”

“What in tarnation are you talking about?” Jeff glanced over at Adam and Joe and saw the same confusion in their eyes.

“There’s a legend in these parts about a beastlike man who will only be appeased by a human sacrifice, killed especially for him. Otherwise he’ll kill everyone himself.”

“Perfect.” Adam rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes. “Just perfect.”

***

Every bush seemed to come alive shaking its leaves with an imaginary presence. Every twig on the forest floor seemed to snap beneath a weight that wasn’t there. At least, that’s what it felt like to the four young men as they listened for signs of a giant lurking nearby.

Adam’s rational mind worked overtime to explain away a mysterious mountain giant who easily tore men apart, if Chris was telling the truth, that is.  He seemed to be. The poor kid was shaking. “It was probably just some miner. We’re probably too close to his claim. Some guys go a bit crazy over the hidden location of their mines.” Even as Adam said it he knew it sounded ridiculous. The more he thought about it the more he decided it might have been the most ludicrous thing he had ever said.

Joe looked at his brother incredulously, “You saw him. He threw you against the wagon wheel. Don’t you remember the size of him? The smell?” Joe rolled his eyes, “He wasn’t a crazy old miner.”

“Then what explanation do you have?” Adam nearly growled.

“When I come up with one I’ll let you know, older brother.”

“You reckon your Pa is out looking for you yet?” Jeff’s eyes took on a measure of hope. “Your Pa’s got a way of showing up just when you need him.”

A smile started on Joe’s lips, faint at first but then growing into a grin. “Adam, how many bullets do you reckon we have?”

***

Ben and Hoss tensed as more shots echoed through the dense woods. “Where’s it coming from?” Ben searched for a path that might lead them to where the shots were fired from.

Hoss frowned as he listened to the shots, “It’s Adam and Joe.” The realization failed to bring a smile to his face. “They’re in trouble.”

Ben looked at his middle boy incredulously, “You can discern all that from a couple of gunshots?”

“Not a couple, Pa, four.” Hoss mounted his horse and pointed him in the direction he was sure the shots had come from.

“Four?” Ben followed his son.

“Two shots spaced in real quick together followed by five seconds then two shots sorta further apart.” Hoss reined in as the same succession of shots were fired again. This time the direction they had come from seemed clearer and Hoss led the way forward.

“What does it mean?” Ben felt helpless as he followed his son.

“It means it was Joe that fired it and . . .” Hoss didn’t have to turn back to look to know the effect his words would have, “they’re hurt.”

“You and Joe have more than one signal?” Ben sent a prayer heavenward for his sons, the knowledge that they were hurt making him itch to spur Buck into a dead run.

“You always said you could never be too prepared.” Hoss turned back to look at his Pa. “Joe must have come up with a signal for everything from ‘I’m over here,’ to ‘I’m powerful hungry.” 

Ben gave a faint smile, “Joe came up with all of them?”

“Well, maybe not the powerful hungry one.” Hoss could close his eyes and see the way Joe had rolled his eyes when he had suggested that signal. One shot. A pause. Two shots. Another pause. One shot.

Hoss raised his gun in the air and fired a sequence of shots into the air.

“What did you say?” Ben watched Hoss re-holster his gun.

“I said we were coming.” Hoss kicked his horse’s sides. His brothers were close and they needed him.

***

“Was that Hoss?” Adam looked down at Joe, hope lingering in the corners of his eyes.

Joe smiled, “Told you it would work.” Joe saw Jeff relax at the news of their coming rescuers. “Fire some more so they can be sure not to miss us.”

Adam raised the gun above his head again to fire the pattern his brother had instructed him in.

“Adam, wait.” Joe grinned. “Give Hoss a different message.” He talked Adam through the next series of shots. One shot. A pause. Two shots. Another pause. One shot.

Joe settled back and imagined his brother’s grin as he heard the message.

***

Roy Coffee was still confused. No matter how hard Hoss had tried to explain the mess that had resulted in much injury and the recovery of gold stolen from the stage, the sheriff still had a perplexed look on his face.

 

“I’m supposed to believe that the Bonners and your brothers stole the gold back from the murderin’ mess of heathens that killed all the people on that stage?” He shook his head. “I’ve known you a long time Hoss Cartwright, but how on God’s green earth am I supposed to believe that. Adam’s too sensible a person to try somthin’ that crazy. Now if it had been Joe alone . . .”

“Joe kinda tricked him into it. Adam didn’t know what was happening until it had already gone haywire.” Hoss raised his eyes to the ceiling and hoped the sheriff wasn’t going to ask him to repeat the whole story again. It had taken them hours to sort out the mess themselves. With so many knocks to the head, Hoss was surprised his brothers’ stories fit together at all.

“How are those brothers of yours anyways?”

“Doc said with a lot of time and rest they should both make a full recovery.”

Roy nodded and took the hat off his head, his mind switching from concerned friend back to sheriff. “And what about that big man who wreaked havoc?” Roy sank down in the chair behind his desk.

Hoss dropped his hat on the desk, “I don’t know about that, Roy. All four of them saw him and Pa saw what he did to those fellers in the barn.”

“What Chris claimed the guy did to them,” Roy interrupted. “He is the one I would suspect most of lying.”

“And if it weren’t for what Adam and Joe told me I’d think he was lying too. It is a pretty wild story.  But besides all that . . .” Hoss hesitated and sat down on the corner of Roy’s desk.

“What, Hoss?” Roy frowned questioningly.

“When I got back with the wagon to where Pa was waiting with the four of them I was almost sure there was somethin’ watchin’ us. I didn’t want to say anything. Chris seemed about as spooked as a turtle in a stampede.”

“Did you see anything?” Roy leaned toward Hoss.

“I can’t be sure.” Hoss scrunched his face. “I thought for sure I saw these eyes. Big brown eyes watchin’ me.”

“Could have been an animal.” Roy suggested.

“Maybe.” Hoss stood. “Guess we’ll never know.”

“We could go out looking for it.” Roy grinned. “Man or beast it should leave a trail easy to follow, if it is as big as they claim.”

Hoss frowned briefly. “Whatever’s up on that mountain you’d better leave it up there, Roy.”

“But from Chris’ story it’s a dangerous, attacking murderer and I’m bound by law to bring him or it in to face trial,” Roy grimaced.

“You can go up there if you need to, Roy.” Hoss headed for the sheriff’s door. “But I doubt you’ll find a trace of it.” He paused, his hand on the door. “This may just be one of those cases when only God knows.”

Roy watched Hoss leave then sat staring at the door of his little jail house for a while, his mind pondering the story he had no doubt would expand in magnitude and ferocity amongst the drinking partners at every saloon before the day was out. 

“Those Cartwrights,” the sheriff murmured to himself as he took up a pen to write out his report, “they sure do stir up trouble wherever they go.” He shook his head and touched pen to page.

When he was finished he leaned back in his chair and read what he had written. His eyes lingered briefly on one statement and he unknowingly said it aloud. “Only God knows.”

Could it possibly be . . .

THE END?