75. The Day of the Battle 

“It’s like a madhouse out there,” Little Joe grumbled and put on his gun belt.

“You’re darn tootin’.” Hoss chewed down the last bites of his sandwich and took a glimpse through the open door. “Still dadburnin’ pitch-dark outside. Won’t see our hands in front of the eyes, or nuthin’ else for that matter.” He grabbed for his own gun belt and buckled it. There was no rhyming or reasoning with their Pa. They had done their best and all they had achieved was making him even angrier; the worst of it had been when they had tried to keep him from eating that roasted chicken. He had eaten it anyway and nothing had happened. The avalanche of fatherly fury was on its roll and there was no stopping it. All they could do was tag along.

The yard in front of the ranch house was humming like a bee-hive, with about 30 riders milling around. And those were only the men Frank Miller and William Simmons had brought along, as well as the Ponderosa hands. The sheriff with his posse of concerned townsfolk and small local ranchers was still to be expected. Hop Sing whizzed all about, serving coffee that he had brewed in his biggest kettle. Some of the men drank it from mugs since they hadn’t enough cups.

“Here he comes!” A call from somewhere near the barn sounded up. “The sheriff’s here! Sheriff Coffee has arrived!”

The sheriff’s whole posse didn’t fit in the yard anymore, and he himself had some trouble sidling his way through the crowd to reach the house’s doorway where Ben Cartwright stood in conversation with William Simmons and Frank Miller. Henry Miller followed closely after the sheriff.

“Roy! Henry!” Ben greeted his old friends. “Good to see you two.”

“Ben!” The sheriff dismounted and looked about him. “That’s an army you’ve got here! One could think you’re going to war.”

Ben let out a dry laugh. “Believe me, I’m not hankering for a shooting war with my own son – rather the opposite, I’ll prevent one this way.” He handed both men a mug of coffee. “I told you about that promontory. If Adam is stubborn and digs his heels in – and it very much looks like he does – we’d have no chance to get anywhere near him or those sheep unless we can storm the place like we did with those landgrabbers back then. That’s the reason for all those men, because now we can put a swift end to this whole travesty. It’s been going on for too long already.”

The sheriff wearily nodded his head. “Ben, it’s hard to believe it went this far. I reckon I never thought to ever see such a quarrel between you and one of your boys.”

Ben’s face had darkened. “Neither did I, Roy, neither did I. But I’m sick and tired of that boy giving me the runaround. I’m still that young man’s father, and it’s time he remembers that! And by hook or crook, I’ll teach him to try and outfox an old fox! Do you have that writ from the judge?”

Sheriff Coffee tapped against his vest. “All nice and legal like.” His gaze fell on William Simmons. “William, you’re not thinking of coming along with that ankle of yours? It’s a hard ride up to that mountain.”

Simmons let out a snort. “You bet I come along – I’ve lost a dozen good head due to those blasted sheep! Besides, my ankle is much better, and I don’t have to walk up there.”

“We shouldn’t ride too hard, anyway,” Frank Miller chimed in. “It’s a long and tough way of six or seven hours, mostly uphill, and it wouldn’t be wise to wear down the horses too much. After all, we’ll have to ride the same way back again.”

“Right!” Ben nodded his head and turned to Henry Miller. “Henry, I have to tell you how very thankful I am for all of Frank’s help. He was absolutely indispensable to me the last few days.”

The old rancher didn’t seem much impressed, merely grunting something opaquely. Maybe it was a tad too early for him. From the looks of it, he hadn’t even shaved this morning. His son’s smile faded a little at his old man’s grumbling.

“Ah, ease up, Henry!” Ben put his hands on Frank’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll personally make sure that your boy will mind his chores on your ranch once this day is over. Is that understood, Frank?”

“Certainly, Sir…” Frank answered with his smile restored. “Besides, Dad, I did my chores at home. I even fed your prize bull before I started.”

A few yards back Little Joe pulled a sour face. “Reckon they’ll get him the ‘Perfect-Son-Award’ any time soon now,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for his brother to hear. “Slicker than skunk grease…”

“Never mind him, Joe,” Hoss answered just as quietly. “Keep your eye on that Billy Buckley feller over there, can’t stand the sight of that one. He started all that Indian talk, he and Cass. What’s he doing hangin’ ’round here anyway, ain’t got no cattle or anything.”

“Concerned townsfolk.” Joe blew out a breath.

“Didn’t come with the sheriff, he was here already.” Hoss squinted. “Reckon he came with the Miller bunch. Joe, he’s still workin’ in Cass’s store’n they’re selling loads of poison. Arsenic, fer instance.”

“You still…” Joe broke off and forced his voice to a whisper. “You still think that grain was poisoned? Hoss, Pa ate the chicken! All of it!”

“Prob’ly wasn’t time enough for any poison to work,” Hoss muttered. “Reckon them grains was still in its crop and Hop Sing threw that out along with the guts.”

“You’re telling me now…” Joe mumbled. His father’s scathing blast as he had kept his youngest from riding into town to get Doc Martin still rang in his ears. Yet on the other hand, it did mean that Hoss’s theory about the poisoned cattle wasn’t entirely off the cards. And Billy Buckley did hate Adam’s guts.

“Hoss, Joseph!” Ben covered the few yards to his sons. “Have you saddled our horses yet?”

“Uh… we were just about to do that, Pa…” Joe hastened to wriggle his way through the crowd to get to the barn, Hoss following at his heels.

Ben heaved a grumbling breath. One would think that with the posse ready to go, the Cartwright horses should’ve been long standing there ready to be mounted. Instead, it looked like they were the last and they were keeping all the others who had gotten up two or three hours earlier to reach the ranch on time waiting. Maybe it was high time for him to change tune and get a little tougher with the boys, all three of them. They needed a strong hand or they were about to go to rack and ruin.

“Reckon it’s still early enough for us to start.” Sheriff Coffee had approached him, still holding his mug. “If I remember right, we’ll need a little more than an hour until we reach the thick woods, and by then we should have daylight or we won’t find our way through the underbrush.”

“You’re right, Roy.” Ben regarded the first reddish glint of the dawn illuminating the skies above the mountains. “Guess I just was a little impatient seeing them idling around.”

“You can’t really blame them for not being all that keen going after their own brother,” the sheriff remarked casually.

“No.” Ben felt a sharp pang in his heart. “But what does it help? What needs to be done has to be done! And they should know better than anyone what it means to have those sheep up there! They saw what happened to the water when those land grabbing miners fouled it up!” He exhaled a long breath. “But, by Lord, Roy, no one will be happier than me when this whole unfortunate escapade is finally behind us and we can all return to normal.”

Sheriff Coffee didn’t answer. There were times he was downright glad he’d never had children.

* * *

It was as peaceful and beautiful a morning as any morning could be. The sun sent her first golden rays across the mountain ridges, dotted the tips of the dark pines with bright sparkles and turned the lush grass of the promontory into a glistening sea of emerald green. The birds all around had reached the pinnacle of their morning song and even overpowered the bleating of the sheep. The sheep themselves were a joyful sight, now having lost almost all traces of the dirty dust gathered down in the dried out plains, their wool looking whitish and fluffy and their eyes bright with enough feed and water. The never-tiring lambs bounced about even livelier than the day before, leaping along like they wanted to fly, chasing each other all over the place.

Lilyah sighed a little. She and Adam had had such a wonderful night, a night filled with tenderness and love. It should have been an equally wonderful morning, but Adam had been tense from the moment he’d gotten up. They hadn’t even had breakfast yet and he was already gone, somewhere in the woods with Pico.

“Take a little more water, Child. It will make the dough easier to knead.” Esma bent forward to pour a little water into Lilyah’s bowl.

“Thanks.” Lilyah continued kneading her dough. “And this is all it needs? Flour, water, baking soda and salt?”

“That’s the basic recipe for a quick traveller’s bread.” Esma nodded her head and pulled the grindstone closer, giving it a few turns to empty it out before she filled in coffee beans. “There are more things you could put in for variety, but I think your first bread should be a basic one. You still can add a little extra flavour to it with a spoonful of rosemary in the pan.” The grindstone slowly began its whirring.

“Rosemary…” Lilyah wistfully smiled to herself, inevitably humming the melody of their old song. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…

The whirring of the grindstone stopped.

“What’s the matter, child? What’s weighing down your spirits?”

Lilyah pressed her lips together. She hadn’t been aware that her mood was so obvious. “It’s Adam…” she finally said. “There’s so much tension in him… he’s barely smiled this morning.”

“Well…” Esma gave the grindstone a few more turns. “If his instincts are right, he might have a serious quarrel with his father today or tomorrow. That’s worrying him.”

“Yes…” Lilyah kneaded her dough, barely noticing that the matter slowly began to take on the desired consistency and finally stopped sticking to her fingers. “But why has it to be that way? Why is his father so bitter about us? Why is he even bitter about a harmless flock of sheep? Do you know that he even was angered over Chai running around free in his yard? Chai is a horse with a pedigree dating back to the days of Sultan Ahmed al Mansour Eddahbi!”

A small smile hushed over Esma’s lips. “He’s a cattle rancher, Child, a man of the West. These men are often dead set against sheep on or near their land, and they somewhat lack the proper appreciation for a horse’s noble pedigree. And they certainly don’t like anything running loose, they want everything to be in the proper place they themselves have assigned to it.” She slowly kept turning the grindstone. “But I think his anger doesn’t have much to do with you, or your horse, or our sheep. Those are all but straw puppets, things that get picked up to tie the anger to, anger whose real roots he doesn’t want to see.”

Lilyah’s hands lay still, her fine brow had furrowed. “What are these roots?”

“Who can know? He’s certainly a very stubborn, hot-tempered man, who is used to have everything his way, and his way alone.”

“Hmm…” Lilyah continued to knead. “That doesn’t explain it, Esma. My father was a very stubborn, hot-tempered man, too. He was Arab with Bedouin roots, he had a temper for ten, and he also wanted everything his way. And we also had fights – oh, and what fights we had!” She laughed a little at the memory. “We would scream and holler and throw things around, I would stomp my feet and he would hammer his fists against the furniture, and we would yell at each other at the top of our lungs – so much that Marfa started lamenting and my mother would lock herself up in her rooms after announcing that she didn’t want to have anything to do with us savages.” A warm smile spread over her face. “But then, all of a sudden, in the midst of the biggest noise, we would look at each other and start laughing. None of our fights ever lasted longer than an hour or so, and we never, ever held a grudge. And the only time we couldn’t come to terms with our quarrel, we went to the imam to sort it out for us.”

Esma laughed. “That sounds very much like my Goran and me when we were young – minus the imam.” She stopped turning the grindstone and knocked against the box beneath it that had gathered the ground coffee. “But it’s very different with your Adam and his father. Remember the words Adam said to him when they last met – those were words that must have been hidden away and smouldering in him for years, maybe ever since he’d come of age. And his father still refused to hear them.”

Lilyah silently looked down on her hands. “But why? Why can’t he just listen?”

“Who knows? Maybe it’s as simple as that he doesn’t want to lose the little boy he still sees in his son.” Esma pushed back the grindstone and squatted next to the fireplace. “I think your dough is ready now, Child. You can heat up the fat in the pan.”

Lilyah put the pan into the fire while Esma fastened another grating into the tripod, lower than the one the day before.

“Adam once told me he never smashed a tea pot in his life…” Lilyah took the knife to push the chunk of fat in the pan around. “He never really rebelled before, and maybe that’s why his father never learned to listen. My father wouldn’t have learned it either had I always been quiet and behaved myself.”

“That’s very true, Lilly. Sometimes it needs a thunderstorm to clean the air.” Esma gave her a smile. “As soon as the fat is hot enough and the rosemary has simmered a few moments, you put the pan up – you wouldn’t want your bread to burn.”

Lilyah went about it with great care, not wanting to repeat her mistakes from the day before when she had allowed the fat to burn twice before she finally had picked the right point to put in the chops.

“Now form buns from your dough and put them in,” Esma went on as the pan was on the grating. “Take the knife and make a few cuts in them, so the dough can cook evenly.”

“How long will they take?” Lilyah carefully put the buns in the pan.

“It varies. They are ready to turn when they are golden-brown on the bottom.”

Lilyah wrinkled her brow. “But how can I know how they look at the bottom?”

Esma laughed. “Watch them, and move them a bit now and then. You will notice a golden-brown crust at the edges and by then the top will be hardened, too. That’s when you turn them.”

“Grandma, Grandma!” 

It was Pico’s voice and the boy came shooting up to them like a canon ball. “Grandma, I will be our lookout! Adam has prepared a hidden lookout and I will be there! That’s immensely important and I have a big, big responsibility!”

“Oha!” The old woman gave the boy a good-natured knock. “He must think very highly of you if he gives you such an important task!”

“Oh yes!” The boy seemed to grow a few inches, his black eyes glittering with excitement. “And as soon as I hear something, I’ll come running like the wind! Our safety will depend on that.”

“That’s great, Pico. And now run and get your Grandma some water for the coffee!” She put the coffeepot in his hands.

“Yes, Grandma!” Pico jumped off.

“From the spring!” Esma called after him. “Not from the pools you’ve muddied up so thoroughly!”

“Yes, Grandma!”

Lilyah chuckled over the boy, but her eyes looked out for Adam who had followed more slowly and approached the fireplace just then.

“Attention to your bread, Lilly. You don’t want your husband to have charcoal for breakfast.”

“Did I hear breakfast?” Adam squatted next to Lilyah and kissed her temple. “Hm, I’m hungry.”

“It will take a while…” She moved one of the buns, but there was no sight of any golden-brown crusts yet. Her slight disappointment faded as she saw the smile playing around Adam’s lips, lifting her spirits immensely.

“Looks good already.” Adam looked from one to another. “Can I help something?”

“Yes!” Lilyah remarked with a smirk. “You can shave!”

He laughed and strolled off to the pools while the women’s attention was diverted to Ruby who came from the sheep, carrying a small bucket.

“We’ve got milk!” the girl announced happily. “It’s not much, I only took a few squirts from each nursing ewe, but it’s almost half a pint for every one of us.” She laughed with joy as she turned to Lilyah. “We hadn’t had any milk for us for weeks! We just couldn’t take any as the ewes scarcely had enough for their lambs.”

“Very good!” A smile lit Esma’s weathered face. “Their udders are filling up with the good feed. In a few days we have milk enough to make cream and cheese again. Lilly! Mind your bread!”

Lilyah smiled and attentively watched her buns. It could be a beautiful morning, after all.

* * *

“Ho, Chai!” Lilyah halted her horse as the barely recognizable criss-cross path through the woods completely lost itself in deadwood and underbrush. It didn’t help any that the tall pines grew closer and closer together, the farther off they were from the promontory. The ground also fell quite steeply, not as steeply as the mountainsides they had climbed up before, but still steep enough to make riding tricky. It was so thickly covered with pine needles that it felt like dough.

“Looks good, eh?” Adam smirked, but his brow didn’t really smooth out. “It has become considerably worse since the last time we’ve been here, and Pico and I have allowed ourselves to drag up some additional deadwood this way.”

“You think it will hold them up?”

“No. But they’ll have to dismount and clear the way, and that will likely make some noise, especially when the first riders will have to warn off the trailers. The lookout is about 400 yards from here and I’ve already found out that Pico has ears like a bat.” He chuckled as he turned his mare around. “The best part of it is that it probably looks like that all the way down. I don’t think they’ll be in the best of moods when they arrive. Come on, let’s ride back!”

Lilyah couldn’t quite make up her mind whether it was a good or rather a bad thing if the posse came up in a foul mood, but ever since Adam had outlined and explained his plans during breakfast she had lost a great deal of her fears and worries. He himself seemed much more relaxed once he had come to his decisions, but she could feel that the tension inside of him was still very much there.

“I can see you, I can see you!” 

Pico’s bright voice rang through the woods after they had come about 300 yards. “And I heard you all the time!”

“Pico!” Adam laughed. “You don’t have to sit there all forenoon! They won’t come until the sun is at its highest in the sky.”

“You never know!” The prompt answer came.

“Oh, I think I do.” Adam turned around to Lilyah and pointed upwards in the direction of the promontory. Only after a few dozen more yards she could see glimpses of a large, overgrown boulder through the trunks of the trees, but she couldn’t see the boy – not even after they had reached the massive rock and were right in front of it. At this point the woods had thinned out and offered more space to dwell, but it was still a good hundred yards to the rocks surrounding the entry.

“Can you see me?” Pico’s voice came from above.

Adam soundlessly laughed into himself. “Nope.”

“Good!” The boy finally poked his head through the foliage of the crooked oak that had practically embraced the boulder. “I’ll take Bobby with me here, too, so I won’t have to run all the way back.”

“Up there?” The sparks exploded in Adam’s eyes. “I hope Bobby can climb that well.”

“Not up here, silly!” Pico laughed. “Down there where you are right now.”

“Thats a good idea,” Adam agreed. “But really, you can come down now. If they come today and have started at the earliest dawn, they won’t be here for at least three more hours.”

“I’m practising! Sharpening my eyes and ears to not miss anything!”

“Of course.” Adam threw Lilyah an amused gaze before he looked up to the foliage in which the boy had disappeared again. “But I guess you’ve got to come down, anyway, and be it just to get Bobby. I also recommend a good plunge into the pool. An excellent lookout needs to be fresh and alert.”

“Really?” The boy’s head appeared again, with shining eyes. The pools still had not lost their fascination for him.

“Really!”

Pico finally climbed down from his lofty hideout. “But if Grandma catches me for any chores, it’s your fault.”

Adam bit down a laugh. “Just tell her that your bath in the pools is of paramount importance for our security.”

“Papara…what?”

“Paramount – that means enormous,” Adam explained.

“Oh… that’s good! That’s real good!” Pico beamed and finally ran off to the promontory.

Lilyah laughed softly and maneuvered Chai closer to Mariah to put her hand on Adam’s arm. “I’m afraid Esma might still get him to do a chore or two before she allows him the bath.”

The dimples were still deep in his cheeks. “Oh, I hope she does. Three hours with nothing to do but waiting for something to happen can be an eternity for a little boy.”

“Not only for a little boy…”

Adam smiled and reached for her hand on his arm, tenderly caressing her fingers. “Don’t you worry, Lil. This will pass and nothing bad will come to us. I promise.”

She hesitated before she softly said, “But you might burn bridges you didn’t really want to burn.”

“I’m not taking any chances.” He searched her eyes. “Besides, we’re not really left any. If he comes up here, he won’t come for a friendly talk and a cup of tea. If that were the case, he would come alone.”

“Maybe he does…”

“That would be a surprise.” Adam withdrew his hand and urged his mare on to ride along the outer boundary of the promontory, as far the the wild shrubs and bushes growing between the woods and the rocks allowed. It wasn’t very far and there wasn’t much of a chance that any rider could overcome the barrier protecting the grassy fields. For the most part, the rocks and vegetation were so high as to prevent even a glimpse, with only a few lower spots through which one could see.

Lilyah pensively stroked Chai’s mane and felt a slight sadness growing inside of her. Adam’s more relaxed mood stemmed largely from his confidence that now he could win. And she harboured the growing suspicion that neither of the two men really looked forward to talk anymore. They both only wanted to win.

* * *

“Fire and brimstone!” Ben Cartwright angrily reined in his buckskin as the way ahead was once again barred by huge heaps of brushwood. As so often before, the men had to dismount to clear the way, cussing and swearing, shouting warnings to the trailers farther behind and losing ample time as the whole posse came to a halt. He had planned to reach the promontory by high noon but that was already past. His only comfort was that the way back would be a lot easier.

“We’re almost there!” Frank Miller called out, his hand pointing up and forward. “The woods are getting lighter up there.”

“That’s good to hear.” Ben bestowed the young man with a grateful look. Frank had been untiring all the long way, never once losing his spirits, boosting the posse’s morals and always the first to get off the saddle and help clearing the way, just as he had been this time, diligently dragging the bulky deadwood out of the way. Very much unlike his own sons who showed much less enthusiasm. Hoss at least had bothered himself to help clearing away the rubble, albeit with an air of blatant fatalism to it, but Joe merely sat in the saddle and watched. Not to speak of the son who was the reason for the whole endeavour.

“Here, Ben, take a swig!” William Simmons offered him a flasket. “You look like you could use one.”

“Thanks, William.” Ben took a good swig and mutely asked Simmons’ permission before he handed the flasket to Henry Miller who in turn did the same before he handed it to the sheriff. It then wandered all the way back to its owner.

Simmons stashed it back into his pocket. “One thing I swear,” he muttered. “When this is over, I never want to hear the word ‘sheep’ again!”

Ben blew a dry laugh. “Let’s hope it will be over and they haven’t done more damage than we can cope with.”

“Ben…” Frank had mounted his horse again. “I’ve been thinking. If the worst comes to happen and the water supply on your southern pastures becomes unusable, we could fence off the brook and provide the cattle with water from barrels. I know it sounds a bit weird and like a lot of work, but maybe Dad and I can spare a few hands from our ranch and help. I’d volunteer!”

Ben couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, my boy, and it doesn’t sound as weird as you think.”

“Probably won’t be needed, though,” Henry Miller dryly threw in. “The water travels a long way from the Zephyr mountains and I reckon the sickest sheep haven’t made it up there, anyway.”

“I hope by God you’re right, Henry!” Ben urged his horse forward. “And let’s make sure the rest of them won’t have a chance to get that sick!”

With the way cleared, the posse continued on its burdensome way. They were close to their destination, the woods became lighter and lighter and the trees grew wider apart. The men spear-heading the posse nudged their horses into a slow jog. By now they had space enough to ride side by side and the drawn-out line of riders began to form itself into several groups. The first foliage trees appeared between the sparser growing pines, indicating that they would soon be out of the woods. Ben could already see glimpses of rocks lying in bright sunshine further ahead. The promontory was close by. Still under the cover of the trees, he halted his horse and raised his arm, waiting for the men to come up.

Frank stopped his palomino next to Ben. “That’s it?”

“That’s it!” Ben’s eyes narrowed as he heard the first sounds of bleating sheep coming from somewhere in front of them. While he had known all along they were there, the confirmation still drove the blood to his face. You just wait, boy! he thought grimly as he reined in his horse and rose in the saddle. More and more riders caught up and assembled around and behind him. The men had their instructions and would follow them to the spot. No one would shoot until he had presented Adam and the sheep folks with the judicial writ, but they would still have conquered the promontory with their vast superior numbers, and it would be him calling the tune. It would be swift and and it would be decisive, and he wouldn’t waste any time arguing with that stubborn, muleheaded son of his. Ah, he still could teach that ornery wolf pup a thing or two!

“Alright, men, now!” His voice thundered all over the place, his arm shot foward. “CHAAARGE!”

There was no charge.

The next thing he heard was a thunderous explosion high over his head that sent the horses into fits of panic. All of a sudden he had his hands full fighting down his wildly neighing, rearing buckskin and he didn’t need to look around to know that all the horses had gone mad. A second explosion blasted off and a third one and black smoke billowed up high in the trees. The treetops and branches above them were shaken, releasing a hail of pine needles and pine cones, small twigs and pebbles raining down.

Still fighting to calm his frantic buckskin, Ben realized that no one was seriously hurt and that the worst that had happened was that some men had fallen from their horses – among them a loudly lamentating William Simmons. Most men managed to get their mounts back under control, others were busy catching the lose ones.

“Alright, men, now you listen to me!” That was Adam’s voice, loud, clear and sharp.

Ben looked up and saw his eldest standing on top of the rocks lining the promontory, almost casually in his typical lean – and with a bottle in his hand. From the corner of his eye he saw a veiled rider on a black Arab horse at the promontory’s entry, bow and arrow at hand.

“These bottles are filled with black powder, grime and pebbles,” Adam went on, loud enough so everyone could hear him. “Up to now, we’ve only thrown them high into the trees so no one got hurt – but I hope you all can figure what would happen if we threw them at you.”

The posse’s eagerness to storm the promontory fell rapidly.

Ben sat in the saddle, dumbstruck, and yet with freshly rekindled anger simmering up to its boiling point. “How… DARE YOU???” His eyes shot flashes. “Adam, you put that down and COME DOWN HERE! THIS INSTANT!!”

Adam did not move. “You can’t be serious!”

“You just wait, son, and I’ll SHOW you how SERIOUS I am!” Ben inadvertently yanked the reins which didn’t exactly add to his horse’s barely restored poise. Stomping on the spot, the buckskin began to chew for his bit. “Adam, those sheep you’ve got there infect the water source for the southern pastures and put ALL our stock there at SERIOUS RISK and…”

“Oh, come on, Pa!” Adam cut him off, exasperated. “Your obsession with those sheep borders on the pathological! They’re harmless and have no infections of any kind and they’re on a spot here for which you have no use whatsoever, so would you please just leave them alone, for God’s sake!”

“You have NO IDEA what you’re talking about!” Ben thundered at the top of his lungs. “Those blasted critters are spreading ANTHRAX ALL OVER the Ponderosa! They’ve ALREADY infected the open range! We’ve had an OUTBREAK there!! We’ve LOST nearly a THIRD of the longhorns!!”

Adam’s eyes had narrowed. “Is that true?”

“You’re doubting YOUR FATHER’S WORD? Of COURSE it’s true!” Ben bellowed, noticing with grim satisfaction that his son seemed to be taken aback.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Adam’s full voice had lost some of its sharpness. “But whatever caused the outbreak, you can take my word for it that it wasn’t this flock!”

“Oh, you stubborn, obstinate, incorrigible, thick-headed doubting Thomas, you…” Ben swallowed the rest of his grumbled outburst and raised his voice again. “Alright, Adam, alright. We DID have a VETERINARIAN confirming that IT IS anthrax indeed, and that it was spread about by those sheep!!”

“Without even seeing them?” Adam shot back. “Now where have you dug out that sort of quack?”

Ben slumped back in the saddle, steaming. “Adam, I’ve told you before and I’m telling you again, I’ve just had about enough of your CONTINUED DISRESPECT!!”

“And I’ve just had about enough of your continued foolhardiness!!”

“Adam, I’m not tolerating that TONE of yours any longer, you hear me? And I’m not putting up with that impertinent smart talk of you, either, and I’m NOT willing to have ANY of my decisions put in ANY question! I’m still your father, young man, don’t you FORGET that!”

“And don’t you forget that I’m not a ten-year-old boy anymore that you can take to the barn for a talking-to!” Adam snapped back. “I’m a grown-up man in my own right and if I find your decisions are based on sheer bloody nonsense I’m telling you so!”

“Hoho!” Ben guffawed, meanwhile purple in his face. “So now the egg thinks it’s smarter than the chicken, does it? Now you listen to me, boy, and you listen…”

“I’m done listening to your tirades!” The acerbic sharpness in Adam’s words easily matched the anger expressed in his father’s shouting. “Learn to talk to me man to man, then we can go on!”

“How DARE you talk to me like that? How DARE YOU??”

“I DOUBLE DARE!”

“Ben, Ben…” Sheriff Coffee had maneuvered his horse next to Ben’s and put his hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Ben… let’s stick to the matter at hand, shall we?”

Ben’s head snapped around, shooting daggers at the sheriff. “What?”

“The sheep, Ben,” Sheriff Coffee reminded kindly.

Ben let out a grumbling snarl and turned to his son again. “AND I’m NOT tolerating those BLASTED sheep on my land any longer!!”

“I’ve got just about the same right to decide on that as you have!” Adam shouted back.

“Oh so? OH SO??” Ben flared up. “You’ve just forgotten that it’s ME who runs this ranch, and ME who calls the tune on this land, AND we haven’t talked yet about your SKULLDUGGERY down at the valley!!”

“Ben…” The sheriff increased the pressure of his hand. “Let’s focus, shall we?”

“I AM focused!” Ben was more angered by the interruption than anything else, until the sheriff slowly and deliberately pulled the judicial writ from his vest. Yet before he could open his mouth again, the sheriff had already called out.

“Adam, I’m here in my function as the sheriff! I got this here judicial writ signed by Judge Hapshaw. It says that those sheep have to be evicted from Ponderosa land and in case they’re ill and their presence poses a risk of any sort to Ponderosa lifestock, they have to be destroyed.”

Adam had listened and bowed his head in affirmation before he replied, “I want to see this writ!”

“I’ll show it to you alright!”

“Yes!” Ben clutched his reins. “Let’s show it to him!”

Sheriff Coffee sighed. “Ben, I’d prefer to ride without you.”

“What?” Ben nearly bolted in the saddle. “Roy, with all due respect, but this is MY land, and you know diddlysquat about livestock, and those sheep…”

“Right so far,” the sheriff cut him off. “And you’ve got a point there, of course. But in all honesty, Ben, I’d like to have a more calmer, more neutral man with me.”

“More… neutral?” Another thunderstorm brewed up in Ben’s face as he glowered at the sheriff. “You’re saying I’m not NEUTRAL? OR CALM??”

“Let’s put it this way…” The sheriff did not turn a hair. “I’m in no particular mood to wait three or four hours for you and Adam to get hoarse and stop yelling at each other!”

Ben opened and shut his mouth, flabbergasted and almost a bit embarrassed, but still stabbing the sheriff with the fiercest glare.

“Roy!” Henry Miller had nudged his horse closer. “I’m an old rancher, one of the oldest here, and I reckon I know somewhat more than diddlysquat about livestock…”

“Dad…” Frank seemed rather uncomfortable. “I don’t think we should meddle.”

His father threw him an unfathomable look. “Seems like it runs in the family, doesn’t it, son?” He turned his attention to Ben. “Ben, I’ve been in the ranching business all my life, longer even than you’ve been, and while I don’t have that much experience with sheep, I still can tell a sick critter from a healthy one, no matter the sort. I hope you’ll trust my judgment.”

“Of course, Henry… of course…” Ben was rather thrown off track. “I sure do. It’s up to Roy, though.”

“Fine with me!” The sheriff contentedly turned to Adam. “Adam, Henry and I are coming up. You’ve got my word that while we’re there, no one else will approach or take any action against you or that place.”

“Alright, Roy!” Adam waved his hand in agreement.

Sheriff Coffee and Henry Miller urged their horses forward and rode up towards the promontory.

* * *

76. Iago 

Adam had left his spot on the rocks and mounted his horse to receive the two men at the entry. He knew he could rely on Roy Coffee’s word.

“Roy, Henry…” He halted the mare and gave the old rancher a wry grin. “I guess you’re here to check on the sheep.”

“You’re guessing right.” Henry tipped his hat in the direction of Lilyah who still sat in the saddle close to the entry, veiled up to her eyes. “Miss Lilyah – I always admire that stallion of yours.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied politely.

“Miss Lilyah!” The sheriff also tipped his hat.

Adam felt a bit disturbed by the ‘Miss’, but decided to let it pass. “We better ride a few yards up to the flock then. They went for the farther off parts after the bottles went off.”

“Can’t blame them,” the sheriff remarked and spotted Esma standing further back. He tipped his hat to her as well and said ‘Ma’am’ even though she hardly could hear him.

Henry Miller followed suit. “Ma’am.”

“Can I see the writ?” Adam asked.

The sheriff handed it over and Adam studied it closely while holding the reins with one hand. “It defines the sheep as the flock belonging to one Mister Dobroshow.” He gave the sheriff a sidelong glance while one of his eyebrows climbed up. “The name should be Dobrachev.”

The sheriff pursed his lips. “Nice try, Adam. But no judge would rule this out merely because the name is misspelled – after all, it’s quite clear who is meant, and those foreign names are always sorta hard to write down.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure if a good lawyer couldn’t do something about it,” Adam remarked. “Anyway, Mister Dobrachev is since deceased.”

“And it’s equally clear that his belongings went to his widow, Mrs. Dobrachev,” the sheriff retorted. “That includes the sheep.”

“Right.” Adam’s eyes glided over the paper. “It orders said Mister Dobroshow, or in an assumed extension, Mrs. Dobrachev, to immediately remove her sheep from Ponderosa land and submit them to be destroyed on the spot when they are found sick.”

“That’s what it says,” the sheriff confirmed.

Adam handed back the writ. “The problem with this is – Mrs. Dobrachev does not have any sheep on Ponderosa land. Those are my sheep!” He fingered a slip of paper from his pocket and proffered it to the sheriff. “The bill of sale. All nice and legal!”

The sheriff’s mouth fell open while Henry Miller seemed to suffer from a sudden coughing fit.

“Adam, you darn-blasted son of a gun!” The sheriff’s moustache started twitching up and down. “Boy, if your father hears about this, he’ll explode with a bang that makes your gunpowder-bottles sound like baby rattles!”

Adam chuckled. “Then I suggest you better jump for cover after telling him the good news.”

“I sure hope I’ll be fast enough,” the sheriff quipped and halted his horse. They had reached the first sheep. “You better check on them anyways, Henry. There’s a lot of uproar about them in the area and I’d like to put that to rest once and for all!”

“That makes two of us.” Henry had dismounted and began walking through the flock, checking a sheep here and a sheep there, looking into nostrils and at backsides, even examining the droppings he found in the grass.

Adam and Sheriff Coffee had also dismounted and watched.

“They seem fine enough to me.” The sheriff turned around himself. “Quite a difference to what they looked like down in the plains when we first saw them.”

“Good feed and water.” Adam glanced about the flock. The sheep were back to their sweet old bleating, munching, ruminating selves after the thunderous blasts from the bottles had temporarily paralyzed them into a state of petrified shock. Too bad that he had been too busy with his father to enjoy those three full minutes of bleating-free silence.

“How many have you lost on your way up here?” Henry asked.

“Not one. We even brought one with a gunshot wound with us. It’s over there if you want to check – it’s the children’s pet sheep.” He regarded the old rancher. “Henry, they’re healthy, I’m sure of that. I wouldn’t have helped get them all the way up here if they weren’t. I wouldn’t let our horses graze with them if there was the slightest doubt in my mind.”

“And I presume you wouldn’t have bought them,” the sheriff added with a rather facetious undertone.

Adam pursed his lips. “Of course not.”

“And your judgment, Henry?” Sheriff Coffee asked.

“Perfectly healthy and happy sheep! And I’d take every bet they’ll look even better in a week or two with this good pasture here. Ben told me this promontory is lush, but I wouldn’t have thought it this fertile.” Henry squatted down and brushed over the grass where the sheep had grazed.

“It’s false rumour that they eat the roots with the grass,” Adam remarked casually.

The old rancher blew a dry laugh and got up again. “Yeah. There are too many rumours floating about. But at least we can tell for sure now it wasn’t them spreading any murky diseases around.”

Adam’s eyes became attentive. “What was that about an anthrax outbreak on the open range?”

Henry thoughtfully weighed his head. “The night after you and those sheep disappeared from the Ox-Bow valley, about 150 head of your father’s herd on the range fell seriously ill. Many of them died within a couple of hours, the rest had to be shot the next day. Of course everybody and his dog cried ‘anthrax’ and blamed the sheep.”

“Ugh…” Adam rubbed his neck. “It couldn’t have come from the sheep. Were there any new additions to the herd?”

“Not that I know of,” Henry replied. “And I don’t think so. Your father would’ve thought of that.”

“Yah.” Adam furrowed his brow. “What about the rest of the herd? Is the outbreak under control?”

“The outbreak is over. They drove the unaffected ones off to the other side of the range and none of them have shown as much as a snotty nose since. And the more I think about it, the less I think it was anthrax at all. Seems like whatever it was, it’s gone.”

Adam let a sigh of relief. “Thank God for that. What about that veterinarian my father mentioned?”

Henry blew a contemptuous breath. “Like you said, some sort of quack. I couldn’t get a hold of him and from what I’ve gathered, he told everybody just what they already thought they knew, or whatever they wanted to hear.”

The men returned to their horses and mounted.

“You’re planning to keep them here?” Henry looked about the flock.

“Sure.” Adam wheeled the mare around. “The grass here will last them for weeks, if not months, and they can do with some fattening up. Besides, there is no other use for this promontory, it’s too far off and too hard to reach. It’s not like I’d be taking a blade of grass from any Cartwright cattle.”

“Sounds reasonable enough to me,” the sheriff mused. “And the longer those sheep stay out of sight, the more folks will simmer down and forget all their trumped up anger over them.”

“You can say that again.” Adam nudged the mare forward and his features warmed up as his gaze fell on Lilyah, still seated on Chai. She had kept her distance, but he knew well that she had kept a close eye on him and every movement around him, as well as she had carefully watched the entry. Catching her glance, he sent a reassuring smile her way as the three men rode back to the promontory’s entry.

* * *

“Well, Ben, good news first.” The sheriff halted his horse. “You’ve got no more reason to worry about your water sources or your southern pastures. Those sheep are as healthy as a fiddle! Ain’t they, Henry?”

“They are!” the old rancher confirmed. “I’ve checked on them, Ben. No signs of sickness whatsoever, they’re sound and sturdy. Besides, they wouldn’t have made it up these mountains with nary a loss if they weren’t.”

“So that’s the good news.” Ben’s voice resembled the growl of a bear. He hated it to be constrained at the sidelines, relying on conclusions and results brought on by others – even old friends. “What’s the bad news?”

The sheriff cocked his head. “If you can call it that – the bad news is that your judicial writ is null and void.”

“WHAT?”

Sheriff Coffee produced the writ. “The writ identified the sheep by their owner – it had to, that’s the way of the law. All things must be properly identified in order to…”

“I know the law!” Ben hollered. “Would you just come to the point!!”

“Well…” The sheriff’s moustache twitched a little. “The ownership has changed since – Adam’s bought them sheep for himself… here, he gave me a copy of his bill of sale!”

“He… WHAT??” Ben ripped the papers from the sheriff’s hand and glared over them. “That’s a TRICK! Flim-flammery, skullduggery! And YOU FELL for it?” He furiously tore the papers to shreds and threw them about. “Can’t you just SEE it? Are you BLIND? He’s hornswoggling us!”

“It’s still a perfectly legal bill of sale – the original, that is.” The sheriff remained his usual, friendly self. “And with the writ null and void, there’s nothing I can do. My job’s done here.”

“That writ still holds power!” Ben fumed.

“No, it does not,” the sheriff calmly retorted. “Besides, you’ve just ripped it to pieces.”

For one moment Ben was speechless, staring from the sheriff to Henry and back again, until his eye caught Adam who had resumed his old spot on the rocks – in what appeared to Ben as a rather unseemly gleeful and inappropriately triumphant manner. His face darkened considerably.

“Ah, come on, Ben, old friend.” A wry grin threatened to sneak up into Henry’s weathered face, as much as he tried to keep it hidden. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. And who knows, sheep might as well be the livestock of the future. They can use all the remote, far-off spots in the mountains cattle can’t reach.”

“Oh, yes.” The sheriff nodded his head. “And I reckon there’s some good money to make from their wool.” A barely concealed smirk stole across his lips. “I can already see it! With Adam’s keen sense of business, the Ponderosa might soon become the biggest sheep farm this side of the Sierras!”

Ben’s eyes bulged and for a short while it looked like he was on the verge of a serious heart attack. The constant bleating of the sheep in the background seemed to swell considerably in loudness, at least in his ears. Blowing a furious breath, he angrily drove his horse a few yards forward.

“ADAM! I will NOT ALLOW any sheep on this land! This is a CATTLE ranch!”

Adam threw up his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “Well, I reckon we’ll just have to do without your permission, then!”

“And DON’T you believe for one moment you can FOOL ME for one SECOND with those sneaky tricks of yours! I can see RIGHT through you! I’m still your father, you hear that, son?”

“Oh you tinselled trumpets of glory, here we go again…” the sheriff mumbled with just a whiff of innocent amusement to it.

Henry bit down a chuckle. “They’ll sort it out, eventually.” He turned his horse. “Let’s talk to the men!”

* * *

Little Joe was on alert, even though he could not really tell what had set him off. He had no patience with Hoss who just gave him another knock in the ribs to get his attention. While Hoss’s gloomiest mood had been eased the very moment Henry Miller had told them that the sheep were harmless and healthy, the furious exchange between their older brother and their father still made him seriously unhappy.

“Too dadburn stubborn for their own damfool good, both of them…” he mumbled. “Joe, I jest don’t get it. I get it Pa’s mad at Adam goin’ about his own ways and not carin’ much what Pa thinks about it and I get it that Adam’s all fired up ’bout Pa’s bossin’ round ‘n not bein’ sweet with his little lady’n all which I sure think is a darn shame’n all and I woulda been mad about that too were it my little lady’n all and I sure reckon ole Adam’s dead-plum right ’bout a lotta things he’s sayin’ and I sure can see that’s kinda hard for Pa to swallow but I jest don’t get it that they plum can’t just sit down and talk about it! Hey, Joe, you listenin’?”

Joe exasperatedly maneuvered his pinto a few yards off to escape another punch, firmly keeping what little he could still see of a horse’s golden backend with a white tail in his eye. Ever since Henry Miller had told his son off and accompanied the sheriff to the promontory, Frank Miller’s mood had changed in an irritating manner. Joe had heard old Henry’s words and couldn’t see anything too harsh about them, and yet Frank had looked as if he’d gotten the rudest blow to the face. Since that moment, he had been pale and withdrawn, looking like he’d been on the verge of either a crying fit or a temper tantrum, clutching his reins that the whitening of his knuckles could be seen from afar. There had been something unsettling in his eyes, something that almost gave Joe the creeps.

And while Little Joe couldn’t really put his finger on anything, he had also noticed that Frank had begun to move his horse. Stealthily, covertly, never really going for another position openly, but inconspiciuously forcing the palomino backwards and sideways. Most of the time Joe hadn’t even seen him moving in the busy place overcrowded with about 50 riders, but whenever he had looked, the palomino had stood a few yards farther away, closer to the shrub-covered side of the promontory.

“Hey, watch out where you’re going!” An unwilling voice tore him out of his thoughts as Cochise had bumped into another horse. It belonged to Prescott, one of the men who wasn’t exactly pleased by the sheriff’s notice that the raid was off and they could all ride back home again.

“Sorry…” Joe forced Cochise backwards to get him away from the other horse. And then he froze in place.

The golden backend with the white tail he had kept in his eye didn’t belong to Frank Miller’s palomino. It was another, very similar looking horse. Frank Miller was nowhere to be seen.

Joe felt his hair bristling in his neck. For just one or two heartbeats he sat still, trying to fight down the rapidly growing sense of danger, trying to tell himself that he didn’t really have any logical reason to be on alert at all. But then his instincts won out.

“One side!” Joe rudely drove his pinto through the dense crowd of riders, not minding who he pushed and shoved, not minding the angry calls and even punches he received. “Out off my way!” He recklessly hit against men and horses until he finally was out of the bulk and forced his snorting horse through a bunch of bushes in hasty acceleration.

There was the palomino. Riderless. The scabbard at its saddle was empty.

Joe sprang from his horse and ran.

And he came just in time.

“Frank!” Joe threw himself at the young man who had just been taking aim across the rocks that were considerably lower at this point. He took one look at what Frank had been aiming at and it confirmed his worst suspicions. Adam made a perfect target from there, and he was too far away for Joe to call out for him.

But that one look in Adam’s direction was Joe’s mistake. The butt end of the rifle hit against his chest with brute force, knocking the wind out of him, throwing him off his feet. He scarcely had the time to flank out from under a second blow aimed at his head. It hit his shoulder instead and temporarily paralyzed his left arm.

“Bastard!” Frank kicked him in the head and then hastened to bring his rifle to his cheek again, aiming at Adam.

Joe knew he couldn’t get up in time, not even get his gun out in time, not with his right hand. He merely threw himself against Frank’s legs, hoping to avert the shot as the rifle bellowed up.

He heard Adam scream out and it drove the blood in his eyes. A second scream followed, more louder and more horrified, doubtlessly from a woman. Joe was on his feet in an instant, saw that Frank took aim again with his face distorted into such a hate-filled grimace that it bordered on madness. His left arm still numb, Joe somehow managed to get his gun out with his right hand, but he didn’t get to shoot, or to even utter a word.

A distinctive hissing sound swished through the air and he saw an arrow hit Frank’s chest.

Joe’s head flew around and he saw the black stallion whirling around himself, saw Lilyah jumping from the saddle and running towards Adam who slowly fell. He also saw his brother clutching his left upper thigh and endless relief rose inside of him. It hadn’t been a fatal shot.

Frank Miller had sunk to his knees, the rifle still in his hands, his face still a grimace of hatred beyond sanity. “That… goddamn Injun whore… bastards… bastards…bastards…”

* * *

Ben had just been in the midst of another holler when the shot was fired. The last word stuck in his throat as he watched his son wavering, crouching and finally falling. He sat in shock, unable to move.

“Adam… ADAM! Are you alright? Adam? ADAM? ADAM!!”

“Goddamit, leave me alone! I’ve had enough already!” Adam’s answer was strained, but rather angry and loud enough to cover 50 yards, loud enough for Ben to hear. “Ride back to your ranch, old man!”

Ben, who had just urged his horse forward, pulled up again; his figure, which had just risen in the stirrups for better sight, slumped back into the saddle. For a long moment he just sat there before the commotion behind him finally crept into his awareness.

“Who’d fired that shot?” Sheriff Coffee’s voice drowned out all others.

“Frank Miller has been shot!”

“Frank’s been shot with an arrow!”

“T’was that Indian woman!” Billy Buckley drove his horse toward the promontory, with Prescott following close behind. “That does it, men! Let’s get ’em!” They didn’t come very far.

A thunderous gun shot bellowed up and Adam’s spot on the rocks was occupied by a rather fierce looking old woman, pointing a monstrous shotgun. She didn’t look like someone to mess around with.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you, you hapless owlhoots!” Her deep voice was almost as thunderous as her shotgun. “We’ve also got some more of our funny little bottles for you gloryholers!”

“Buckley! Prescott!” Sheriff Coffee’s tone was sharp. “We’re done here! And it seems Frank shot first.”

“He did! He shot at Adam!” Little Joe’s voice almost skipped over. “He shot at Adam! He tried to kill him! Henry… honestly… he shot at Adam!”

Ben finally managed to collect himself, to shake off the effects of Adam’s words, to direct his attention to the group that had assembled around Frank Miller who lay on the ground. Even Prescott and Buckley were drawn to it and dismounted like everybody else. The men silently made way for Henry Miller whose face was ashen and whose broad shoulders were slumped as he slowly dropped to his knee next to his son. Frank was barely conscious, muttering intelligible murmurs, and yet the word ‘bastard’ could be heard again and again.

“We’ll get him to a doctor, Henry…” William Simmons tried his best to sound convincing, but he knew as well as anyone that it was too late. It wouldn’t have helped even if a doctor were nearby. The arrow stuck too deep.

“Henry, I swear, he shot at Adam and he aimed at him again! He tried to kill him…” Joe went on in a pleading tone. As little as he had liked Frank, he had a great deal of respect for his father. And there was the arrow.

“It’s alright, Joe…it’s alright.” Henry heaved a deep breath. “I know… and I reckon it wasn’t the first time he did that.”

“Wha…” Joe broke off.

“Henry… what are you saying?” Ben had almost whispered and still his voice seemed loud in the stunned silence of the group.

Henry sighed. He suddenly looked years older than he was. “I had my first suspicion in the desert. Something wasn’t right. The way he behaved… that look in his eyes…” He shook his head and it took him some effort to continue. Someone offered him a wet kerchief and he wiped his son’s face with it. “Those comancheros… I don’t think they picked Adam out of a whim… you saw them, they were mercenaries.” He paused, every word seemed unbearable for him, seemed to take years of life out of him. “But I didn’t want to believe it, I just couldn’t. Even though he had taken a large sum of money from my account, with my forged signature, and lied to my face about it. But I hoped, and I prayed, that it was for gambling again. He’d done it before, often enough. I reckon I’ve fooled myself. I just couldn’t believe he had that in him… until now.”

No one knew what to say. Ben pressed his lips together, Hoss clenched his fists, but any anger they felt died off at the sight of this broken man. Sheriff Coffee sadly shook his head.

Henry didn’t notice any of it, his eyes were fixed on his son’s face. Frank seemed conscious, his eyes open and his lips moving, but it was hard to tell if he had even heard his father’s words, or if he even saw him.

“The question is, why?” Henry took another deep, almost trembling breath. “Why, Frank, why? What has Adam ever done to you?”

“Adam!” Frank’s face distorted, he spat out the word. “Adam! Even now… you’re just thinking of Adam!”

“What?” Henry was clearly bewildered.

Frank let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “Adam! The good son… no gambling, no drinking, no high times in the city. eh? The clever one… talking ranching stuff with you… warn of overgrazing… all that goddam lousy ranching stuff!” He tried to roll on his side, to push himself up in an outburst no one would have thought he still could muster, hitting at his father as Henry futilely tried to make him lie flat again. “The always working son… ‘Oh, look, Frank, that’s what a hardworking young man looks like’... hahahaaah!” His hysterical laugh ended in coughing up bloody foam, and he desperately tried to catch his shortening breath. “That dirty, sweating goddam bastard wading through cow dung stinking like a goddam shitting horse but that was the son you wanted to have! That BASTARD!”

“Frank! Frank!!” Henry forced him back on the ground.”What are you talking about? Frank, you… you…” He broke off, visibly shaken.

“And he got away… every… goddam time…” Frank retched, spouting more bloodied foam. “Not even the coman… cheros could… and they told me… they were the best.” He coughed up more blood.

Henry’s face lost the last bit of life. Almost as if there had yet been a last wisp of hope that his suspicions were wrong, a father’s last shred of desperate hope which now was crushed.

Frank looked up to him, his face distorted to a quivering mess. “And you… you… even when… he got himself that Injun whore… everybody was aghast… the whole town… his own father turned his back on him… but not you. Oh no, not you! ”Look Frank, that’s a man who stands up for what he believes…” He tried a bitter laugh but just sputtered another gush of blood. “You loved him more than you ever loved ME!”

“Frank, that’s nonsense, that’s just not true!” Henry shook his head in despair. “I do think highly of Adam, yes, he’s a fine young man – but you are my son! You are the boy I brought up! Don’t you believe I loved my own son?”

“No… no… no…” Frank rolled his head from side to side. “You only loved the son you wanted me to be… the son you wanted to have… but… you never even saw the son you actually had…” His head lay still.

Henry closed his eyes, his broad fingers trembled as they touched his son’s face, wiped the blood from his mouth.

And just as everybody thought it was over and the men started pulling off their hats, Frank’s voice sounded up again, very faint and strangely childlike.

“Dad… Dad, I fed your prize bull this morning…”

“That’s good, son…” Henry choked up. “Good…”

But one look into the broken eyes told him that Frank couldn’t hear him anymore.

The men stood silent for several minutes, their hats in their hands. William Simmons was the first to turn away, mutely motioning his men to lead their horses a few dozen yards off before mounting and starting the ride back. Several members of the sheriff’s posse did likewise, barely making a sound.

Ben slowly bent down to Henry, placing his hand on the slumped man’s shoulder. “Come, Henry…” he said softly. “We’ll bring him home.”

Henry laboriously got up, his movements were like that of a very old man. “Ben…” He searched for words. “Had I been sure… had I been really sure, I would’ve told you. But I needed to be sure first…”

“I understand,” Ben said simply. “And I know you would have told me.”

Hoss nodded his head. “We all know that, Henry.”

“Yeah,” Joe added.

Henry bent down and broke off the end of the arrow to throw it into the underbrush. His gaze met Roy Coffee’s and the sheriff understood without words. There wouldn’t be any accusations. Someone brought the palomino and they placed the body across its saddle.

Sheriff Coffee mounted his horse and rode back to the promontory, but he didn’t get much further than past the entry which was guarded by a young girl aiming a rifle at him, resolutely ratcheting the lever.

“Ho, young Miss, hold it there. I’m the sheriff!”

“It’s alright, Ruby.” The old woman called over, yet without lowering her own guards one bit. “Adam allowed him in before.”

“Miss… Ma’am…” Sheriff Coffee tipped his hat and slowly rode a few more yards along the inner rocks until he could see Adam, sitting against a boulder and being tended to by his young lady.

“You alright, Adam?”

“Yeah, I’m alright…” Adam’s face was strained. “It was Frank Miller, right?”

“Yeah, it was him,” the sheriff confirmed.

“Roy, she shot in self-defense.”

“Don’t you worry none about that, Adam. No one’s pressing any charges. Any word I could say to your father?”

“Nope.” It was hard to tell whether Adam’s frown stemmed from the pain of the wound or a sudden bout of stubbornness.

The sheriff thoughtfully nodded his head and tipped his hat to all three ladies before he turned his horse and rode back, leaving the promontory behind.

Back at the edge of the woods, everybody had mounted their horses and most of the men had already ridden off to start their long way back. Ben was next to Henry Miller who sat slumped on his horse, the reins of his son’s palomino in his hand. The body across the saddle was covered with a blanket.

Hoss watched the sheriff approaching. “Adam’s alright?”

Sheriff Coffee could literally see Ben Cartwright perking his ears, even though the rancher didn’t look and pretentiously fumbled with his reins. He deliberately answered just a tad louder so that more than just Hoss could hear him, “He’s alright, wounded in the leg, but well taken care off by those ladies.”

“Good to hear!” Hoss exclaimed with relief.

Ben visibly exhaled a deep breath, but stayed at his old friend’s side as they set their horses into motion, without looking back. Sheriff Coffee and Hoss followed silently, in deference to a man who had just lost his son.

Little Joe was the last to ride off, his gaze wandered to the rocks lining the promontory. The heavyset old woman with the shotgun still stood there as a silent guardian, the seams of her colorful skirts, her headscarf and long, gray hair moving in the wind. She didn’t look hostile, merely watchful. Joe awkwardly tipped his hat before he nudged Cochise into a canter and followed the others.

But he would be back.

* * *