Summary: Joe is ambushed by a group of rogue indians and saved by a vagrant named Drifter. Befriending the stranger, Joe quickly learns that his young friend is running from something dark in his past. Can Joe figure it out before it catches up to them both?

Rated: T (19,335 words)

 

 

Gunslinger

You can’t run away from trouble. There ain’t no place that far.

~Uncle Remus

—

Thirty miles was enough to leave any man exhausted, any horse for that matter, too. The Nevada desert was a harsh mistress, merciless and wicked to the roving travelers.

The sun blistered and baked the dry earth. Heat waves flourished from the arid soil and made everything in the distance shimmer in distorted outlines. The air was thick and stale, even with the soft gale that whistled through the dusty knolls there seemed to be little reprieve from the sweltering weather.

The old bay beneath the man shuttered once, twice, his nostrils flaring wildly to suck in enough breath. The gelding’s sides heaved with effort; flanks twitching in discomfort and fatigue, body slickened with sweat.

The man perched in the saddle wasn’t faring much better than his mount. His arms were trembling from holding the reins and his shoulders straight, sweat beaded on his brow and trickled across his face that was also covered in filth and dust. His clothes were in poor condition, encrusted with days of dirt and sweat, the once gray shirt and black pants now fairing more of a tawny brown.

“Easy boy, easy,” The man slid from the saddle, running a hand back through his dirty-blonde locks, gazing out ahead from beneath the brim of his russet Stetson. He tipped the hat over and pulled the canteen from his saddle, pouring a generous amount of liquid into it and offering it to the horse.

If one were to look at the man and his horse, it would be obvious to everyone that the man was a drifter, a vagrant. The quality of his clothes were poor and in desperate need for a good laundering. As for his horse though, the young bay was in twice as good condition as his rider. His tack was well cleaned and his coat was groomed.

The horse drank up the water hastily; smacking his lips after the man drew the hat back, sighing as he dumped the Stetson onto the saddle horn.

“Good boy, we just got a little more to go-“

The sharp retort of a rifle reverberated across the hills.

Being more instinct than actually thought the drifter threw his hand to his hip, drawing his own pistol as he spun in the direction of the shot. Moments later another shot echoed across the desert and then another, and another.

Part of him told him to turn away from the sounds, there just wasn’t any good for a drifter to go and get tangled up in any more trouble. It seemed they got into enough trouble on their own. Not many people liked drifters. But there was a feeling in his gut, something that told him to check it out to see what was transpiring beyond the crest of the hill in front of him.

The drifter snatched up the reins of his mount and crept over to where he heard the sound of shots and as he grew closer to the crown, the sound of battle whoops echoed in the air and the drifter instantly felt himself stiffen. His dark brown eyes opened in shock at the sight before him, swallowing in vain attempt to smother the fear that swelled in his chest.

Below in the valley was another man, crouched low in an outcropping of rocks. Even from where the drifter was stooped he could see a large mass of blood soaking through the green jacket in several different areas, including his shoulder and side. There was a pinto beyond the boulders, prancing nervously as the bullets continued to pepper the air.

Across the way from the pinned down man was a trio of Indians. They didn’t wear any of the traditional garments that would identify them as Apache or Paiutes, they had to be rouges. The three warriors were perched on another pile of rocks, shooting back at the lone man.

For a long time the drifter just sat there and watched the scene play out before him, contemplating whether or not to join in the scuffle. A drifter didn’t mess in people’s business, no matter the circumstances but it wasn’t like he had much a choice to begin with.

Another bullet roared from one of the rogues and it leveled heavy into the man’s shoulder, knocking him clear off his feet. He didn’t get up.

“To hell with it,” The drifter hissed as he rose up from his hiding place. His gun was leveled firmly in his hand and he sent a volley of bullets blazing at the Indians. They were startled, to say the least, but they didn’t even have a chance to fire back before the drifter had all of them cut down.

When the danger had been eliminated the man turned his eyes steadily to the fallen stranger, he had still yet to move. Trepidation guided his actions as he moved down beside the wounded man, pushing his bay off away from the wounded along with the pinto.

At a closer look, it became apparent that the man wasn’t a man, but a boy. Though, the drifter had little room to be using such a description. From the looks of it, the fallen lad was only maybe two or three years younger than the wanderer himself.

Blood blossomed steadily across the green jacket, mixing with the dirt and saturating it into mud. Sweat glistened across the boy’s forehead and matted his dark curls to his face. Already his features were drawn and growing pallid from the loss of blood and the heat that still roasted the desert wasn’t doing the injured boy much good.

The drifter was reaching to remove the boy’s jacket, to tend to his wounds, when the lad suddenly sprang to life and landed a heavy left-handed hook across his jaw.

The man flew back, more startled than actually hurt, eyes wide as the boy tried to drag himself up to his feet.

“Get away from me!” His voice was pathetic, raspy and hoarse. The boy’s eyes flickered, the emerald green irises narrowing in warning at the stranger.

“Take it easy, boy,” The drifter said sternly, straightening himself as he gently settled the boy back against the rocks, “You’re not doin’ yourself much good movin’ around like that.”

The initial shock of the situation dulled and the boy slumped into the rocks, panting lightly as he watched the man in front of him with a skeptical stare.

“Now hold still,” The vagrant peeled away the jacket, grimacing at the blood that made the cloth cling to the boy’s slender frame. “I gotta get a look at those wounds.”

“I’m fine,” The boy tried to utter but it came out barely a whisper.

“Sure you are kid, sure you are.”

Lucky enough for the boy, though, there were only two major wounds from the bullets, the third had barely grazed his right shoulder. All through and through.

The man gathered up his saddlebags and removed a roll of gauze and clean linen and some alcohol. Cleaning the wounds in the dead of afternoon proved to be more a task than the drifter was prepared for, his muscles aching already from the ride from early that morning.

He’d managed to get the boy to lay down enough to give him full access to the wounds, wrapping them tight and with a deftness that proved that he was used to dressing wounds and injuries.

“Where’d you come from?”

The man was so immersed in his work he nearly missed the boy’s words.

“Just riding- happened to hear your…scuffle.”

“Well, I guess I’m right glad you did,” The boy flashed a smile and the drifter couldn’t help but offer a thin smirk in return.

“The name’s Joe Cartwright, friend. Most call me Little Joe. What do they call you?”

The word struck something odd in the stranger because he grew rigid, eyes focusing sharply on the gauze that was still lingering in his hands.
Finally he spoke.

“Ain’t rightly got a name,” The young man rose his mahogany brown gaze to the other, “Most call me Drifter.”

 

“You don’t have a proper name?” Joe’s brows twitched in uncertainty.

“Nope.”

“You don’t have one or you don’t want to tell me?”

“I don’t have one.” The reply was curt and dripping in with a forewarning to the younger man.

Joe caught something in the man’s eyes, a dithering emotion that he couldn’t rightly place. It looked like fear, almost, or maybe anger, sadness perhaps? It was a swelling mixture of passion, so muddled and diverse it just felt like he was staring into the darkness of night, so dark and mystifying he couldn’t read it.

Mysteriousness radiated from Drifter. Yet despite the obscurity of the man, Joe was curious and grateful for his actions. Vagrants weren’t apt people to go and push their noses into the business of others and Joe was thankful that this particular drifter had done just that.

He wondered pensively what had compelled him to stop.

A noisy gasp erupted from Joe’s lips as Drifter cleansed the wound in his shoulder, gritting his teeth hard to prevent from crying out.

“Easy there, kid,” Drifter’s free hand instantly snapped to Joe’s good shoulder, keeping him steady as his eyes remained focused on the graze across his opposite shoulder.

“I ain’t a kid,” Joe grunted through his teeth.

Drifter actually chuckled at that, snickering at the boy as he wrapped the gash, “Sure looks like you are to me.”

“I’m 18 years old, I ain’t a kid.”

“I’m sure your family would think differently,” Drifter murmured as he eased back and stared hard at the boy.

The intent look on Drifter’s face made Joe feel anxious, shifting uncomfortably beneath the gaze. It was the same thing that caught his eyes earlier, some unexplained emotion that swelled in his dark eyes that made it hard to look into for long.

“W-well,” Joe fought the uneasiness in his voice, “You don’t look much older to me.”

“Says you,” Drifter leaned on his haunches, examining the previously wrapped wounds, quite pleased with himself as he noticed the bleeding had been staunched. “Now I need you to stop talking and rest, you’ve lost way too much blood for your own good.”

Joe’s eyes were glazed with pain, his features still pale though his wounds had been tended to. Joe was on the verge of complying when he suddenly sat up, proving to be too much and he swooned, arms flailing out to catch himself, watching the ground rush up to meet his face.

But he never landed; instead a pair of large, weather worn hands caught him and eased him tenderly to the ground.

“Whoa, boy. Calm down.”

Little Joe could see Drifter leaning over him, worry etched in his features, the first real emotion he’d seen on his face besides his stoic indifference. The other man was beginning to fade, his outline growing bleary and he saw shadows encroaching his eye sight.

“My Pa….my brothers…home,” Joe rasped weakly.

“Hold on, stay awake. Joe?”

It was too late because Joe could only hear his name fading into the abyss of unconsciousness.

 

—-

When the tendrils of unconsciousness unraveled from his mind the first thing that Joe became aware of was the comforting warmth that encompassed his weary body.

Barely managing to crack open his eyes, he discovered a worn blanket tucked up around his shoulders, shifting he could feel the plushness of a bedroll beneath him. His brow scrunched in concentration, forcing his eyes to focus.

Just a few feet across from him Joe found himself staring into the glimmering flames of a campfire.

Confusion was weaved into his still jumbled thoughts, lingering in the state of semi-consciousness, still drowsy from his sleep. Questions began to develop in his thoughts when a shifting shadow temporarily blocked the flames from his face.

When Joe’s eyes set on Drifter again, the memory of earlier that day came rushing back to him.

The hunting trip Pa had sent him on to clear his head, that deer, and then those damn rogue Indians. He recalled the feeling of bullets piercing his flesh and then calm hands stemming the flow of blood.

Drifter.

The name appeared through the fog of his mind and he quickly shifted his gaze to the stranger bent over the fire.

This was the first time that Joe actually had a chance to observe his rescuer.

The dirt had been washed away from his features, or at least a good amount of it, revealing a face that was young, but not quite as young as he had expected. There were some bitter lines there, lurking around his dark brown eyes. Scars as well. That hadn’t surprised him, though.

There was one thin line peeking from the edge of his hairline, creeping down the angle of his temple to the corner of his right eye. There was another scar, jagged and rough, that slithered across his left jaw bone down to the curve of his neck, disappearing below the collar of his shirt.

Even with Drifter crouched over the fire; Joe could see the man was of a rather high stature. His shoulders were broad, slightly barrel-chested with a pair of long arms and legs. He had to reach at least six feet tall, but despite his height, his build was relatively lean.

Regardless of the youthful age of the man, Joe could see the years that had hardened his rescuer’s face, harrowing years by the look in his dark eyes.

“About time you woke up, kid.”

Joe was startled by the words, jumping and instantly regretting it as his shoulder and side burst into an explosion of pain. The anguish stole away his breath, grinding his teeth together so tightly he was sure they would shatter.

“Easy there, hot shot,” It was Drifter and he’d moved away from the fire to hover with concern over the suffering boy.

Eventually as the pain eased away, Joe opened his eyes again to gaze up at the man, offering a tight smirk.

“You sound like my brothers.”

“Must be right smart men, I assume then,” Drifter tried in vain to hide the concern that made his brows knit together, tenderly guiding the boy onto his back. His fingers pulled lightly at the blankets to expose the bandages, checking the bleeding.

“How are you feeling, kid?”

Little Joe was probably the worst liar when it came to this question. No matter what sort of suffering he would be experiencing, there was always the simple answer of, “I’m fine.” He used it on his family and of course they had learned to just accept their brother’s selfless antics.

Joe had every intention on answering just as he normally did, but that look in Drifter’s eyes, the one that never seemed to leave had him pausing for a moment.

It was like a silent warning, but far from a threat. It was a familiar stare, one he could easily link to his eldest brother, Adam. Joe had seen the same look in his brother’s eyes before. It was like Joe could hear his voice in his ears, “Don’t try your games on me, kid. I know better.”

“My shoulder smarts a bit.”

It wasn’t the entire truth but it wasn’t a lie either and it seemed to satisfy the older man just fine.

“It should smart a bit, you took two bullets to it,” Drifter paused, clearly pleased with the fact that the wounds were still fairing quite well. The kid would definitely need a doctor soon, but for the time being, all was alright. “Say, kid, what were you doing out here by your lonesome anyway?”

“Joe.”

“Pardon?”

“My name is Joe, not kid.”

Drifter countered with a snort, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Sorry. What were you doing out here by your lonesome anyway, Joe?”

Joe flashed a wide grin, rather satisfied with himself, which only made Drifter groan inwardly.

“Well, my Pa sent me off to take some time off from our ranch, go hunting. Said I needed a break, a breather,” Joe paused and instantly grimaced.

“You hurtin’?”

A breathy chortle erupted from Little Joe that left Drifter dumbfounded, arcing a skeptical brow.

“Not anymore than I am already, but I’m just fearin’ what my Pa is going to do with me when I get home late,” Joe fell back against the bed roll, throwing his arm across his face. “I was supposed to be home tonight.”

“I sure your Pa’ll understand- seeing as you got pegged pretty hard in the shoulder,” The older boy lowered on his haunches, leaning against an old stump as he looked into the fire. “If you’re feeling up to it in the morning, Joe, we can ride for your ranch. Where is it?”

“We’re kinda on it right now. My Pa owns a whole bunch of land,” Joe sighed as he turned to look up at the stars.

“The Ponderosa?”

“You’ve heard of it?” There was twinge of excitement that peeked in Joe’s voice and Drifter just rolled his eyes in good humor.

“’Course I have, who hasn’t heard of the Ponderosa and the mighty Ben Cartwright?”

The strange and aloof air that circled Drifter slowly began to fade, like some outer wall was being chipped away at, bit by bit.

Joe had a feeling Drifter really hadn’t come into contact with many people lately…

“So, Drifter,” It still seemed odd to feel the name come from his own mouth, “Where are you from?”

The blockade that Drifter had began to let fall suddenly returned, the easiness of his face hardening into an appearance of a lack of interest. The vagrant obviously did not like to speak of himself…

“I’m from a little town in Arizona.”

“What brings you out here?”

Drifter had ever intention on changing the subject, but when he turned his eyes to the wounded teenager there was a genuine interest and curiosity that glimmered in his jade green eyes. He was momentarily baffled by the gaze, swallowing several times before he was forced to look away.

“I guess the same reason your Pa sent you out here to go hunting, I needed a breather.”

“That seems reasonable enough,” Joe fought hard to stifle a yawn but couldn’t prevent it from emerging, “So, you going anywhere in particular?”

“No, just riding is all.”

The boy continued to try and make small talk with the other man, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was exhausted. Joe had to fight constantly to hide his yawns behind his hand, but the effort was fruitless and Drifter quickly noticed the fatigue that plagued the lad.

Drifter rose silently, guiding the blankets back up to Joe’s shoulders, tucking them beneath him. The firm look on his face had fallen; leaving behind a calm that Joe couldn’t rightly remember seeing the drifter wearing.

“Go to sleep, Joe. We got quite a ride in the morning. You need your rest.”

Rising up to his feet, Drifter was surprised to find his wrist snagged by Joe’s, pulling him back.

“You need something, kid?”

“There you go again,” Joe scolded lightly, but the look of amusement quickly left his eyes and a seriousness set in.

Drifter almost couldn’t find his voice to speak when that somber tone cover the youth’s face, “What’s wrong, Joe?”

“Nothing, It’s just I never got to properly thank you for what you did back there. You saved my life.”

“Now Joe…”

“No, please,” Drifter felt obligated to be quiet and listen to the boy. “You didn’t have to stop, but you did. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

“Like I was gonna leave your sorry hide to fend off those Indians alone? I’m always one for an adventure,” Drifter offered a small smile, one that caught Joe by surprise, but was glad to see the stranger relaxing.

Drifter grew solemn shortly after and nodded again, “You’re welcome. Now get to sleep.”

“Yessir.”

“Sweet dreams, kid,” Drifter muttered as he made his way to his bed roll, trying to remember exactly what compelled him to get mixed up in this mess.

—-

“You doin’ alright? Do you need a break, kid?”

“I’m fine,” Joe’s answer was breathy.

“We’re stopping, pull over there at that rock shoulder.”

“But I’m fine…”

“I said pull it over, Joe.”

When the duo had managed to roll out of bed and mount up, the sun was already climbing toward noon.

Drifter was grateful for the respite though, sleeping in was just what he needed to ease away the aches that plagued his muscles.

Even if the kid wouldn’t admit it, Drifter knew Joe needed the sleep just as much, even more, than he did. Drifter wasn’t a stranger to the fatigue and anguish caused by a couple bullet wounds, so he understood the fact that the ride they would be making today would be a slow and painful one for his “friend”.

Joe was probably the most stubborn little cuss he’d ever had the pleasure of riding with before. They’ve already had to stop several times since they set out that morning but that was after Drifter had spent a good ten minutes or more arguing with the kid about it.

It was like Joe was trying to prove something by trying to ride longer than his body really could handle. It was foolish and unwise to put his already weakened body to such stress and Drifter was becoming increasingly agitated with the fact.

But it wasn’t only Joe’s mule headed ways that was making Drifter irritated.

No, what was really upsetting Drifter was the fact that he cared that the kid was pushing himself the way he was. Drifter felt a genuine concern for the Cartwright boy and he couldn’t rightly explain why. It was an unnatural emotion to him, one that Drifter had very rarely come across in his years of working and wandering.

When you were in the line of work he was in…well, it was safest not to go and try making friends.

Friends were weaknesses and weakness lead to…deadly consequences.

It seemed too late though now, because when Drifter slid off his bay and went to aid Joe from his own horse, when he saw the way his young face contorted with pain- his heart clinched and he swore quietly under his breath.

Whether he liked the idea or not, it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t going to change anything.

You can’t make your mind tell your heart what to do.

“Easy goes it, Hold on to me,” Drifter was gentle as he wrapped his arms around the kid’s waist, guiding him gently to the ground. Once free of the saddle the vagrant was quick to find him a shady area to sit and rest, settling the boy down in a clump of rocks as he retrieved a canteen.

“How’s that shoulder treatin’ ya, Joe?”

“Never better,” Joe’s features were pulled into a tight scowl as the water was handed to him, not even bothering to look up, “You don’t have to baby me, you know?”

‘That ornery little cuss…’ Drifter thought with a snicker.

“I could have ridden all the way back home if you didn’t insist on stopping so often.”

“I ain’t babyin’ you, Joe and quite frankly, I’d rather take a breather every once and a while rather than have to carry your carcass all the way back to your house. It was hard enough getting you to camp yesterday; I’m thinking you should lay off the flapjacks, kid.”

“HEY!”

Drifter chuckled, “Besides, I’m more worried about the horses than you.”

That seemed to suit Joe just fine, leaning heavily into the cool rocks as he watched Drifter go about and water the two mounts before returning to the shade himself, a sheen of sweat coating his brow.

“You about ready to go? My Pa is gonna throttle me when I show up late,” Joe was ever eager to return home. The idea of lying in his bed with a mound of quilts, it was a comfort he couldn’t wait to indulge in.

“Yea, yea. Hold your horses kid, let me have a breather,” Drifter ground out with a curl of his lip, using his neck cloth to swipe away the sweat on his face. “What did you do so bad that your Pa sent you off, anyway?”

It was Joe’s turn to snicker now, shrugging his shoulders lightly as he inclined over his knees with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“I’ve been getting into it with my oldest brother, Adam, lately,” Joe paused as he looked up at Drifter, “He’s so stubborn and hard-headed, he just thinks he’s always right- he kinda reminds me of you actually.”

“Now wait just a minute!”

Joe giggled into his hand, entertained by the scowl that Drifter sent him, “Anyways, I got into a fight with him and some of the ranch hands and well, my Pa thought it’d be best for me to take a break from the Ponderosa for a few days and go hunting.”

“And get attacked by some rogue Indians and almost get yourself shot to death?”

“Hey now, I was doing just fine until they showed up. Almost got a deer.”

“Sure you did, kid. Sure you did.”

“I did!”

First concern, now jokes, the conflicting emotions that Drifter was experiencing was becoming a whirl he could barely comprehend. It had been years, yes years, since he had a normal, friendly relationship with anyone. It was a foreign feeling but it was far from an uninvited one. But as much as he wanted to have that friendship, Drifter knew he couldn’t dabble in something so trivial as an amity.

This Joe Cartwright was a good kid, you’d have to be downright blind to miss that fact and that was exactly why Drifter couldn’t keep such goodwill and cordial relations with him. His past would draw alongside him soon enough and Drifter would be damned to lose another friend in the chaos of his life.

He had enough blood on his hands as it was.

They sat like that for a while then, quiet as they reveled in the reprieve from riding. Drifter hadn’t even been the one injured and he still was grateful for respite from the countless hours on the trail, something he wouldn’t openly admit and he was sure Joe Cartwright wouldn’t either.

He was a brave, kid, courageous too. Especially trying to bunker down against those Indians the way he did, most would have just ran.

That was good to see in a youth as young as Joe, bravery that is, but there was also that stubbornness, the mule-headed ways that would end up getting the kid into way more trouble than he would bargain for.

The same tenacity that had gotten Drifter into a few scraps when he was younger. Recollecting the past, a smile curled his lips slightly.

Joe watched a tiny smirk cross Drifter’s features as they sat there in silence, tipping his head in curiosity.

“Whatcha smilin’ about?”

It looked like Drifter was startled by the sudden absence of quiet, looking over at Joe from beneath the brim of his hat, his smirk remaining on his lips.

“Oh, nothing really,” Drifter lied. “Just thinkin’ about how dang irritable you are and it’s no wonder why your family sent you off.”

The scowl returned to Joe’s face and Drifter chuckled again, rising up to his feet as he stretched.

“You ready to get going, Joe? You’ve been biting at the bit all dang day to get home,” Drifter led Cochise and his old bay away from a sapling a few feet off.

“Absolutely, better to get home and get an earful from my Pa than sit here and have you grind on me all day,” Joe grunted but there was clear amusement in his eyes. With some help from Drifter, Joe was saddled up and inching Cochise toward home with the other man right beside him.

It had only been a short time the two had been in each other’s company but there was an irrefutable bond the two shared. What it was built on was mutual trust, gratefulness, and an underlying of unexplainable loyalty. Joe had always been one to quickly win over friends, but the strength of this acquaintance was hard to comprehend.

The young Cartwright’s eyes glanced over at Drifter, the vagrant’s gaze lost on the horizon before them. Joe had seen the concern and protectiveness the man had for him when he first found him hovering over him after the attack.

That deep look in his eyes, a look of concern that could easily match any of his family’s gazes…that’s it!

That profound depth to the dark mahogany gaze, those swirls of emotions that Joe couldn’t rightly place. Something dark lingered in Drifter’s past, something traumatic and sinister that forced Drifter to feel a blend of fear and guilt. Whatever had made those emotions shimmer in his eyes seemed to be compelling and fueling some protectiveness that Drifter felt for Joe.

And it looked like he was holding onto that feeling for dear life- like he owed it to the world.

Now that Joe could distinguish the emotions that Drifter so desperately tried to hide, he couldn’t help but be taken aback by the underlying longing that lingered in his friend’s eyes. He was lost and running from something…but what?

Joe made an oath right then and there to find out what it was and help save this man’s life- just as he had done for him.

“Drifter?” Joe ventured boldly, swallowing away any second-guesses.

“Hmm?” Drifter seemed perfectly content in that moment jus to ride, though his eyes slid to Joe, to make sure the kid was doing alright.

“You got any family, back in Arizona, I mean?”

The at ease look that had been on the man’s face just moments before suddenly vanished and was replaced by a blockade of slight panic, fingers tightening around the reins.

When that look of alarm and dread passed over the man’s face, Joe almost regretted his asking, but he continued further.

“You have to have some family, somewhere, right?”

It didn’t look like Drifter was bound to open up to Joe, staring ahead without even chancing a glance at his younger riding companion. Defeated, Joe sighed and turned his own eyes toward the horizon.

“I have some family in San Francisco, my older sister,” Drifter’s voice was quiet, almost whispering. “She’s the only family I got left.”

Little Joe didn’t dare interrupt the other male, watching as tension left his shoulders and the panic that filled his face moments before shifted into sadness.

“My Ma and Pa, well, they died a long, long time ago. I had a little brother too, though. You remind me a lot of him, little rapscallion was always getting into some sort of trouble.”

That explains the surging sense of protectiveness that Joe witnessed on Drifter’s face before. This off-handed similarity to Drifter’s younger sibling had triggered that overwhelming sense of duty, the same responsibility Joe felt to his own brothers. Joe understood that need to protect your own but that sorrow that now shimmered in Drifter’s eyes- it appeared like he had failed that basic need…

“What happened to him?” Joe inquired sympathetically, seeing the obvious pain that was now clouding the older man’s face.

“He died.”

The blatant way Drifter spoke the words had a chill running up Joe’s spine, visibly shivering as he forced himself to avert his eyes ahead of him. There was surely something beyond that to the story but he hadn’t even the time to think of a response before Drifter changed the subject.

“How much longer till we reach your home, Joe?”

In all honesty, Joe hadn’t even expected to get that much out of the drifter, so instead of pressing the subject further he was quick to comply with the change in topic.

“Just a little while longer, see that ridge over there? It’s just over there.”

“Good,” Drifter fought hard to ignore the pain that swelled in his heart, swallowing the bitter memories down as he refused to let them bring him down. “You’re gonna need some rest and a doctor’s mending to get that shoulder back to normal.”

“I won’t need a doctor that bad- looks like you did a might good job patching me up,” Joe offered the smallest of smiles, something that only seemed to make the tension mount further.

“Did the best I could, I suppose.”

Silence filled the air again.

“You plan on sticking around Virginia City?” Joe blurted a second before he could stop himself, cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment, “I mean…if you are, I’m sure my Pa wouldn’t be too opposed to you staying out at the Ponderosa. In fact, he’d probably want you to.”

“I don’t plan on sticking around anywhere long, Joe,” Drifter said with a low sigh, choosing to ignore the silent hope that sparkled in Joe’s eyes.

The kid wanted nothing more than return the help he had been given but Drifter wouldn’t allow it- he wouldn’t go having another kid get in the way of his life and end up paying the price for it.

Not again.

“Not even a chance to rest? You’ve got to be tired, especially dealing with me,” Joe tried hardily to bring humor into his words, apparently doing the trick because Drifter cracked a half-smile. “Your horse probably needs a good night’s rest too.”

“He ain’t some worthless nag, Joe. He can ride longer than just a few miles. He’s carried me much further before in a day.”

“I wasn’t sayin’ that-“

“Joe,” Drifter warned. A sternness grew in his voice that silenced Joe, similar to the voice his Pa or Adam would use on him when he was arguing. It was deep and full of authority and he dare not cross it.

Another wave of quiet seemed to descend upon the two riders, at least an hour passing before either one of them decided to speak once again. Even when Drifter had chosen to spoke then it had only been to ask if Joe needed a break but the kid was ever persistent so they continued on for another two hours without a break.

Joe just wanted to get home, even if his body was starting to ache and his shoulder smoldering in pain. Once home, maybe he could convince Drifter to stay or have Pa try to get him to stay. Pa was always good with words and Joe would be damned if he let his friend get away without the help he needed.

“Is that it, Joe? That ranch house there?” Drifter leaned forward in the saddle as he stretched out an arm to point at a building that appeared below the crest of the hill they were perched on.

Joe couldn’t possibly recall the last time he had been so joyful to see his house, even from a distance he could see his brothers just in the clearing in front of the abode, his Pa coming from the barn with Buck in tow.

Then, as if he had stumbled head on into a wall, the fatigue from riding and the pain from the bullet wounds assaulted Joe full force. In utter exhaustion and joy to be home Joe swayed in his saddle, overcome by weariness. He probably would’ve even fallen out if it weren’t for Drifter’s steadying arm looping around to steady him.

“Whoa, there. Hey, Joe?” Worry made Drifter’s voice waver for a moment before he controlled it enough, shifting to lean heavily to the side in his saddle to keep Joe upright, “Easy there, kid. We’re almost there.”

It was of little use because as Drifter tried to edge the horses on, Joe would slip further and further from his arms.

“Dammit kid,” He hissed as he leapt from his horse onto Cochise’s back, wrapping his arms around Joe as he slumped forward on the horse’s mane. Snagging his own mount’s reins, Drifter turned Cochise toward the home and the awaiting family.

There was alarm smeared across the faces of all three men as Drifter came riding down that path, the three of them sprinting up to meet the mysterious rider, trepidation seizing them up at the appearance of their youngest family member.

“My god,” Ben whispered at the sight of his youngest son’s body, his face pallid and his jacket resting across his shoulder was bulging oddly. “What happened to him?”

Hoss was right next to the horse and pulling his brother gently from the stranger’s grasp, the man sliding out of the saddle to take the reins of both horses, clearing his throat.

“Came across him the other day, got pinned down by some rogue Indians- took two bullets to his shoulder, one to his side. I did the best I could,” Drifter was careful to keep the concern from his features as Hoss cradled his brother and made his way to the house, Ben not far behind.

“Adam, send Hank off to get the doctor.”

“Yes sir.”

It had been only a matter of minutes before everyone was gone, leaving Drifter standing forlorn and overlooked in the clearing with the horses.

Uncertainty plagued the traveler, unsure of what to do from here. He had done everything possible to aid Joe, the best he knew how at least. He’d cleaned the wounds, gotten him home.

With a wistful sigh the man walked to the hitching post and tied the horses before he hesitantly moved to the house.

Adam returned a few moments later from sending one of the men off to fetch the doctor, coming up to the stranger as he stood at the frame of the front door.

“You found him like that?”

Drifter whirled around at the voice, fingers twitching toward the colt at his side, forcing himself to relax though; he eased his hands across his hips, giving a rigid nod. “I suppose you could say that.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Drifter wasn’t one to be intimidated easily. He was a relatively tough man, hardened by the years he’d spent alone on the trail. But even that couldn’t keep him from taking a step back from Adam, seeing the warning that lingered in his eyes. This had to be Joe’s older brother, no doubt. The protectiveness that smoldered in his gaze was enough to tell that.

“I was riding when I heard the shots, Sir,” Drifter was quick to defend. “I came across when he was pinned down by the Indians, I cut them down and I helped him is all. Cleaned his shoulder best I knew how.”

“Any sign of infection.”

“No sir.”

It was like Drifter had been torn down into a child, shifting nervously as he did his best to keep his gaze locked with the dark eyes across from him.

“What did you say your name was, kid?”

Drifter snorted at that, shaking his head, “I didn’t.”

—

“Pa,” Joe mumbled as Hoss gently placed him on his bed, pulling away the jacket and shirt to expose the crude bandages on his shoulder.

“Shh, Joseph, be still,” Ben cooed as he helped Hoss to remove the bandages, sending his middle son off to retrieve some supplies to hold Joe over until the doctor arrived.

“No, Pa,” The boy’s words were slightly slurred but he forced his eyes opened the same. “Drifter, Pa.”

“Drifter?”

“The man who saved me, Pa, from the Indians,” Joe made an effort to sit up by his father was quick to push him back.

“Joseph,”

“He needs help, Pa. He needs help,” Joe’s eyes flickered open and regarded his father steadily, through the pain; there was a genuine concern for his rescuer.

“Quiet, Joseph. You need to rest, the doctor’s on his way.”

“Pa, please,” Joe groaned, “Need to keep him here, Pa.”

“Alright son, we’ll get him to stay here. Now just rest.”

“Needs help, Pa,” Joe continued to whisper until he slid into unconsciousness.

—

“We’re lucky you came along Joseph when you did…Drifter, was it?” Ben eased down in his leather chair, his eyes skimming over the dusty boy across from him.

“Yes sir,” He replied shortly.

“Lucky those bullets didn’t do much damage too,” Hoss was quick to add, leaning against the fire place.

“Most of them were just scrapes,” Drifter added quietly.

“Scrapes or not, we’re ever grateful that you’ve helped Joseph,” The eldest Cartwright rose from his feet and offered the young man his hand. Though reluctant, Drifter accepted the hand of the other and nodded solemnly.

“It was my pleasure, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“You don’t plan on leaving do you?” Hoss said, clearly bewildered as he looked out the window, the sun beginning its descent to the horizon. “Aren’t you gonna rest up a bit?”

“I’m gonna head on out, give Joe my regards, would you?”

“And where would that be, exactly?” Ben inquired with an inquisitive tip of his head.

“Well…ugh…” Drifter stammered, frowning.

“That’s what I thought,” Ben said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms across his chest. “You got nowhere to go, do you, boy?”

Drifter’s eyes shifted to his feet for a moment.

“No sir,” He whispered.

“And how old are you, boy?”

“22, sir.”

“You got no right to be going around like some beggar, especially now. It’s the least we could do but to offer you some room and board here, even a job.”

“I ain’t no charity case, Mr. Cartwright” The ease that Drifter had felt with the youngest Cartwright was destroyed as he stood before the eldest members of the family. “I can handle myself.”

 

“That’s strange,” Ben said, seemingly undeterred by the wall Drifter had thrown up defensively, “I seem to recall Joseph saying the same thing before he left for the hunting trip and if it weren’t for you, my son would be dead.”

—

It was at least two weeks before the Doc gave Little Joe the okay to go back to his normal work schedule and it’d been a whole month since the incident itself. The boy was incredibly lucky to have had Drifter stumble upon him when he did, he probably wouldn’t even be alive now if it weren’t for the roaming traveler.

But God must have been looking out especially for Joe that day because with the extra care Drifter had managed to give him on the trail home coupled with the doctor’s valiant efforts, his wounds were quick to heal, much to Joe’s benefit.

The kid just outright hated being stuck in the house all day with not much to do but lay around. Sometimes he would sit up on the porch and watch his Pa and brothers work, wishing he could be helping but with his busted shoulder, he would have proven only to be a nuisance.

Fortunately, though, Joe didn’t have to spend all of his time alone. Of course his family would come visit him in their off hours but it wasn’t their company that had the lad especially ecstatic.

Drifter, when he was done with whatever work his brothers or Pa had allotted him, would always come visit the healing Cartwright. Play a game of checkers or cards, sometimes he would just sit and listen to the kid rant about being bored.

How Pa did it, Joe was never really sure, but he didn’t rightly care for the specifics. All he knew is that Drifter did give it some fight but his Pa apparently had won out, like always. He knew that they had given Drifter a chance he didn’t truly have any other place whether he admitted it or not.

It didn’t take long for Drifter to fall into line with the ranch work, obviously not the first time he’d worked on one. Quiet and reserved at first, it was only a week before he started to form some good friends amongst the other working men. Even from the porch, Joe could see the barrier his friend had built slowly chip away, revealing a young man you wouldn’t think twice of had been a wandering tramp.

Even Pa, Adam, and Hoss had warmed up to the new hand, though it was obvious that Drifter was still a bit jumpy around the older men, much the same way a mouse would be skittish of an old barn cat.

Though with Joe, they were as close as ever. It was like having another brother around the Ponderosa for Joe, really. Drifter would tease him, always giving him a hard time about the ladies who swooned over him in town. The protectiveness that Drifter had showed on the trail hadn’t changed much, however. A few barroom brawls have given him an earful not only from his Pa and his brothers, but from Drifter too.

Regardless, Joe was quite happy to be back to work…well, as much as he could be after taking a particularly hard fall from the bronc he had attempted to bust.

“You know Joe, the idea of riding is to keep the horse between you and the ground,” Drifter was perched up on the top railing of the corral, just as dusty and worn as Joe as he picked himself up off the hard ground.

“Oh, shut it,” He grumbled as he staggered up to the fence, running a hand across his face.

“You know, that’ll be your sixteenth bronc today, I’ve done about ten now- you wanna call it quits before you hurt yourself?” Drifter reached out and ruffled Joe’s hair with a snicker.

After the first few weeks of working on the Ponderosa, it became clearly apparent that Drifter would be best for busting the broncs and herding the larger droves of cattle. The years traveling on horseback had made him quite the rider, almost up to Joe’s standards.

An inkling of a smirk caught Joe’s face as he climbed over the fence, “Oh, I think so. I might have caught a concussion with that last fall…what did you say your name was again?”

Drifter guffawed, shaking his head as he slid over and began to swagger toward the hitching rail, “Nice try, kid.”

“Oh, come on,” Joe pleaded, his voice taking on the tone of an upset child. “You’ve been here a whole month and you still haven’t told us your real name,” He pouted.

“What makes you think ‘Drifter’ isn’t my real name,” He mused as he pulled himself up into the saddle.

“No one names their kid ‘Drifter’, now why don’t you tell me your real name?”

The entire month Joe had been digging for more information about Drifter but the other man was never one to go spilling his guts. Joe had managed to get a few hints here and there. The biggest find was that his parents had died when he was about fifteen years old and that he and his older sister had to take care of their youngest brother, but beyond that, he didn’t get a thing.

Drifter wouldn’t even tell him his real name.

“Let’s go home. I think we have to go into town and get some supplies today anyway.”

“Ugh supplies,” Joe grumbled, scrubbing at his nose as he pulled up on Cochise.

“Oh no need to whine, it’s just some grain. Afterward we can stop at the Saloon and get some drinks,” Drifter offered a wide smile.

“Pa never likes it when we linger around more than we need to.”

“Well then, I guess that we’ll just make getting a drink something we need to do.”

Joe’s face broke into a wide grin as he laughed merrily, “I sure am lucky you came along, finally someone that’s gonna take things easy. All Adam does is work and get me into trouble,” He grumbled. “Maybe we can see if Hoss wants to come with us.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

A wicked leer grew on Joe’s face as they trotted toward the house, glancing at Drifter with a devious glint in his eyes.

“You know, if you don’t tell me your name, I’ll just make one up for you.”

“What?”

“I’ll call you…Larry, or ugh…maybe Ace.”

“Watch yourself kid,” Drifter warned as he turned into the clearing of the house.

“Watch what?” Hoss came meandering from the barn as he saw the two dismount.

“The kid’s after my name again.”

“No, I got it Romeo,” Joe giggled as Drifter surrounded him in a firm glower.

“Joe,” Hoss cautioned as he saw the glint that now wavered in Drifter’s eyes, one he knew too well.

“No! Even better, Juliet- mmmph!”

Joe had barely enough time to grunt out the name before Drifter had him tackled and pinned to the ground. A whoop of laughter erupted from Hoss as Joe and Drifter began to roll around one another, trying to pin the other.

“You’re gonna pay for those names, Little Joe!” Drifter declared as he went sailing over the boy, sliding to a stop just in front a pair of black boots he recognized with a grimace.

“What are you boys doing?” Ben demanded, steadying them with a firm stare as they scrambled to stand back up, dusting themselves off.

“Ugh…nothing, sir. Just a little fun,” Drifter stammered with an innocent smile, nudging Joe to do the same.

“Well, save that for later, boys. I need you two to go into town and get some supplies.”

“Yes sir!” Joe and Drifter chorused together, not wasting much time to throw themselves right back onto their horses.

“Hoss, you better go with them to keep them out of trouble,” Ben advised as he turned to his middle son, who nodded knowingly.

“Yes, Pa.”

Since Drifter had come to stay on the ranch with his family, Ben had noticed the boy slipping away from that mysteriousness he had arrived in. Despite this though, Ben realized that his son’s friend was still running from something, dark and evil. He had yet to approach Drifter on the fact but a feeling of trepidation told him he should soon.

He just didn’t realize how soon it was going to be.

—

The sun had peaked and slowly began its trek toward late afternoon, the crippling heat of the day just leaving as the three men finished loading the wagon with the needed grain for the stables.

In a heap of exhaustion, Drifter collapsed on the edge of the wagon, throwing his arms across the back to keep himself upright, “I’m so tired.”

Hoss was leaned heavily into the back, using his neck scarf to dab away at the perspiration that gathered on his brow, snorting at the younger man, “You just ain’t used to all this hard work just yet.”

“Yea, well I’ve been doing this a while and I’m still beat,” Joe groaned as he straightened himself, loading the last of the palette. “I could really use that drink now.”

“I don’t think I can move,” Drifter grumbled with a yawn.

“Oh, come on, stop being such a baby,” Hoss chided playfully as he slapped Drifter’s back with a chuckle. The ranch hand only groaned in response, sliding away to stand straight again.

“Let’s go, we don’t have all day,” Joe whined as he already was prancing closer toward the saloon.

“Don’t get too excited there, Little Joe,” The slightly older man warned as he shuffled around the back of the cart, “Besides you got to give me some time, I ain’t as young as I used to be. It takes me a while to get around with all these brittle bones.”

Joe and Hoss couldn’t help but erupt into a fit of laughter, snickering as they began their own trek toward the saloon, leaving Drifter leaning against the wagon with a playful scowl.

“Oh, yea, Drifter,” Hoss guffawed, “You and me both, kid.”

“Are the two of you gonna keep yammering or get a drink with me?” Joe was obviously impatient as he was already across the street and waiting expectantly on the edge of the saloon board walk.

“We’re coming along, don’t fret so-“

The sound of a gunshot ricocheted off the buildings within Main Street, the deafening sound accompanied by the shrill screams of a woman and men shouting.

All three men froze as they saw another male stumbling down the dusty street. A money bag was swung over his arm, his other arm wrapped tightly around the throat of a young boy and his hands were trembling, the gun still held tight in his fingers.

“What in tarnation?” Hoss’ voice had dwindled into a whisper as the man halted suddenly in front of them, swinging the gun around and pressed it forcefully against the boy’s throat. The kid didn’t even look to be but 14 years old, eyes wide with fright, tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Put your hands up or I’ll shoot ‘im!”

Shock had fallen across the features of the two Cartwright men, raising their hands slowly as their faces tightened into firm glares as they regarded the man with steely eyes.

Drifter’s arms remained stalk still at his sides, drawing the attention of the thief as his eyes locked onto him.

“I said put your hands up,” He growled again.

The good-hearted smile that had graced Drifter’s face not moments before had swapped with a baleful look, his eyes were so dark and threatening that it didn’t even look like the young man. The bitter lines of his life suddenly hardened across his forehead and his irises began to swell with utter loathing.

He didn’t even move until the little boy whimpered and ever so slowly he complied, raising his hands as he watched the man with a critical eye.

“You’re not gonna get out of town with that boy or that money,” Drifter’s voice was grave and forbidding, eyes flickering across the boy, who trembled with fear, before returning his sharp stare to the thief’s face, “I can guarantee you that.”

The street fell into a dead silence except for the wailing sobs of the boy’s mother as she was held back. The thief and Drifter stood as if in a duel, eyes focused solely on the other as neither seemed to even breathe. It was like they were sizing one another up, gathering some unknown information just from their staring contest.

Hoss swallowed uneasily as the men beside him seemed lost in some strange battle of will, eyes glancing uncertainly toward Joe, seeing his brother inching forward, eyes locked onto the thief.

The older brother wanted nothing more to warn his brother but he knew it would draw unwanted attention to the youngest Cartwright.

What happened next, no one seemed to see coming, left with a conclusion that had many reeling.

Joe Cartwright sprang from the saloon stairs, arms reaching out to yank the boy away from the thief’s grasp.

The man seemed to see what was coming though because he whirled around just as Joe had leapt for him, his gun swinging to aim at the approaching teen’s chest.

Hoss’ cry to his brother echoed with the sound of two more gunshots.

BANG! BANG!

“JOE!”

Women were screaming. Men were shouting.

Little Joe’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the barrel of the gun aiming toward his chest, shutting his eyes and waiting for the inevitable, flinching when the sound of shots hit the air.

He felt nothing.

Bewildered by the fact, Joe just stood motionless, almost too afraid to open his eyes to see what had happened. The feel of his brother’s large, beefy hands on his shoulders convinced him enough to open his eyes.

“Joe, you okay?”

“I’m fine. What happened?”

Hoss’ face turned into a somber mask, glancing back as Joe followed his gaze, gawking at what lie before him.

The boy’s mother had come rushing from some unknown place, clutching her boy to her chest as she thanked God for returning her boy to her unarmed, cradling the sobbing child as they were guided away from the scene.

The thief lay on his side, legs twisted up and his arms thrown high above his head. Already there was a thick pool of blood staining the middle of the road, muddying the dirt. His shirt front was covered in the same crimson fluid, weeping continuously from a pair of bullet holes. They were not more than an inch apart, lined up exactly with his heart.

Joe’s eyes turned slowly to the man across from the dead male, eyes soaking in the bleak expression that was left in the wake of the shooting.

Drifter’s arm was still stretched out, his pistol steady in his hands as it remained leveled where the thief had once been standing. He didn’t even seem to be blinking, looking down at the fallen man before he slowly allowed his arm to drop, releasing a long held sigh.

His face was so vacant Joe almost felt afraid of the man but as he watched Drifter tuck away his gun, the bare expression was lost. His eyes suddenly swelled with something that resembled wanted revenge but it was smothered with woe and heartache.

Joe and Hoss could only watch as Drifter approached the fallen man with a wistful look in his eyes.

“Drifter?” Joe was amazed at how confident he sounded.

“Leave him be, Joseph,” Hoss warned quietly.

“It’s fine, Hoss,” Drifter stepped away from t he man and turned back to the other two men, swallowing as he refused to meet their eyes, “I’m just gonna head home. I just…I need to be alone.”

“Drifter?” Joe tried again.

“Leave me alone, kid.”

—-

“That man just came out of nowhere, Ben,” Roy was throwing his arms about in exasperation as he paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, “He didn’t waste no time. Just rode into town, right into that bank with that gun. Snatched up that money and that boy and started running.”

Ben’s lips were pulled tight into a frown, “How much did he take?”

“He tried to get the whole bank safe in that bag. I don’t even want to know what would have happened to the town if that hand of yours hadn’t taken those shots.”

“Boy, Pa, you should have seen those shots too,” Hoss shook his head as he still tried to wrap his mind around it. “It didn’t even look like he was trying but sure enough before that thief even had the chance to pull the trigger, Drifter already had him gunned down.”

Ben watched the two older men in front of him before his gaze slid toward Little Joe. His youngest son was perched by the window, staring out toward the barn. There was a small silhouette of light coming from the barn door, a shadow moving back and forth within.

“Is Drifter still in the barn, Joe?”

“He hasn’t come out since we rode home today,” Joe answered with a sigh, looking up to his father.

“Well, when he does come in, do tell him that we’re mighty grateful for what he did today,” Roy requested as he turned from the house mounting up, riding back into town.

“Joe?” Ben ventured closer to his son.

“It was like he was trained or something, to shoot like that, Pa,” Joe whispered as he glanced back at Ben, apprehension in his eyes, “He looked so shaken up afterward though…what do happened to him, you think, that made him learn to shoot like that?”

“I don’t know, Joseph. But if you want any kind of answers you’re going to ask your friend, not me.”

“Yes, Pa.”

“And Joseph,” Joe stood up and moved toward the front door, pausing as he turned back to his father, “Don’t press too hard, son. If he doesn’t want to talk, then he doesn’t want to talk.”

As he walked out to that barn, Joe felt his heart throb heavily in his chest. Anxiety clutched his lungs and he almost turned right back around. He couldn’t find any plausible explanation but he was genuinely frightened to face Drifter.

All his life Joe had wanted to become a great shot, best gunman there was to offer. He often envied those who could handle a firearm like an expert gunman.

But when he saw how Drifter gunned down that man, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be the best shot. It was obvious that something horrid had happened to his friend to make him learn to shoot like he did and Joe didn’t want to have a memory like he was sure his friend had now. It wasn’t worth it.

Peeking through the open doors Joe spied Drifter in the stall with his old bay. The horse’s coat was gleaming in the low lamplight, shimmering with a fresh washing and brushing. His eyes focused solely on the hide of his animal, fingers running along continuously like he was lost in some sort of trance. His gaze was glassy and his eyes swollen and red.

Gathering as much courage as he could, Little Joe finally spoke.

“You know, if you keep brushing him all his coat is liable to fall off,” He offered a thin smile, trying to ignore the way Drifter jumped and fingers twitched toward his gun.

Tension that held his friend’s shoulders taut loosened as he regarded Joe with a steady stare, snorting at him.

“Probably not the best to go sneaking up on men like that, Joe,” He advised as he stepped out from the stall, “Might get yourself into some trouble you don’t want.”

The forbidding tone he spoke with made an unwanted chill crawl up Joe’s back.

“Why are you even out here, kid? Why don’t you go on and get yourself some sleep,” Drifter saw that look on Joe’s face and knew exactly why he was out here.

“I got to know, Drifter.”

“Know what?” The older man hissed, fingers clutching into fists.

“Don’t even try that,” Joe’s voice suddenly grew hard and he held a firm glare with his friend, “I want to know. Where’d you learn to shoot like that? You don’t learn that just traveling.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drifter grumbled as he turned his back to the youngest Cartwright, head tipping toward his chest as he returned to his horse. “I shoot just like any other man.”

“That’s a lie!”

Drifter was startled by the volume Joe’s voice took, spinning around sharply.

“I’ve seen no man before able to shoot like that. Your shots landed not more than half an inch apart, right into his heart! You could shoot the eyes out of a rattler with that kind of aim.”

“Wow, big brother,” The young boy’s face was bright with enthusiasm as he saw the new gun hanging from his brother’s hip, “That’s the best firearm I’ve ever seen! I bet you could nail a rattler right in the eye!”

Henry…

“But you know what, forget it,” Joe’s cheeks were flush with frustration, throwing his arms up in defeat, “I don’t even care. You don’t want to tell me? Fine!”

“Joe,” Drifter’s words were hushed, unsure, and frightened, “Wait.”

Little Joe turned around and was startled by the guise that had solidified and stolen the anger that had been on Drifter’s face and replaced it with one full of remorse and distress.

“When I was a kid, probably about 16 years old a man gave me these scars,” He whispered, leaning heavily on a bale of hay, collapsing into a seat. His finger tips slipped over the thick scars that peeked from his hairline and coursed down his chin and throat. “He robbed the bank and just like that man today, he grabbed me and used me as a shield.”

Joe fell silent, gulping past the lump that had caught in his throat. Calmly he lowered and sat next to Drifter, seeing his friend’s eyes glimmer with tears that he refused to let flow.

“He had a knife on my throat and a gun pointed at anyone who dared come close enough,” Drifter heaved a sigh and swiped angrily at the tears that had threatened to spill over, “I was just going into town with my brother to get some supplies and this new gun,” Drifter removed the weapon from his holster and turned it over and over again in his hands. “It was supposed to be a good day, a day to relax but that day changed my life forever.”

“Oh, Drifter,” Joe moaned. “I didn’t know…”

“I lost my brother that day,” Drifter’s voice trembled, “My brother tried to save my life and everyone was too frightened to shoot that man holding me, afraid they’d hit me, they didn’t even try to shoot that rustler. That bastard had my brother gunned down before I even had the chance to call his name.”

Pity filled Joe’s eyes, squeezing his friend’s shoulder as some sort of attempted form of comfort.

“I was supposed to take care of him and I failed.”

This day was special. This day was a time of relaxation and to enjoy one another’s company.

Ever since their Ma and Pa had died in that stage coach crash the two oldest siblings had been left to take care of their baby brother. Sarah was the oldest, already 20 years old. She had a boy of her own, had a life all planed out, but it was all ripped out from under her when their parents died.

Drifter felt extraordinarily bad for his older sister. She had to give up everything to stay behind and put off marriage so she could take care of them despite how many times the 16-year-old boy would protest.

“I can handle the farm and I can handle Henry,” Drifter would always tell her. But every time she would just smile sweetly back at him and shake her head, “No, brother, we are going to do this together.”

This seemed to be the first time in months for Drifter to get a chance off from work to spend the day just running a few simple errands. Probably the first time in weeks since he had gotten a chance just to be with his little brother.

“C’mon Henry,” Drifter turned around in the saddle to look at his brother, snickering at the way the ornery little cow pony refused to plod any faster. “By the time we get into town it’s gonna be dark!”

Henry’s brow pulled down with a pout, “It’s not my fault he won’t go any faster!”

There wasn’t a whole lot they had planned on doing in town. Just send a few letters and pick up some extra food supplies for the house. Not to mention the shiny new pistol Drifter had saved up for the past six months which he strapped to his waist proudly, grinning over at Henry, whose eyes opened wide.

“Wow, big brother,” The young boy’s face was bright with enthusiasm as he saw the new gun hanging from his brother’s hip, “That’s the best firearm I’ve ever seen! I bet you could nail a rattler right in the eye!”

Drifter laughed as he ruffled his brother’s hair affectionately, handing him a few extra pieces of coin.

“You know, I think that candy jar on the mantel has been empty for quite some time. Why don’t you get some to fill it up?”

“Really? You sure we shouldn’t save that extra money for some seeds?”

“I’m sure, Little brother. Now get that candy picked out and meet me by the horses, okay?”

“Sure thing! Thanks, brother!”

Drifter didn’t know that was the last thing he would ever hear his brother say.

Stepping out to the mercantile stairs, Drifter barely had the chance to take notice to the shouts in the streets before he felt someone wrap their arm tightly around his throat. The sharp edge of a blade scraped across his brow and he released a gasp of fright, temporarily blinded by the pain and the hasty movements of whoever held him.

He was dragged out into the middle of the street, eyes adjusting to the brightness and finally observing what was happening.

Drifter was frozen in fear when he felt the blade bite into the flesh across his chin, trailing down to lay against his throat, blood pooling from the thick cuts and streaming from the open wounds.

He tried to scream but all that erupted from his lips was a raspy plea, “Help…”

“You try to get away or reach for that gun, boy, I’ll cut yer head off right here,” The man behind him was large and stank of alcohol and sweat. His arm was wrapped tightly around his chest while his hand curled around and pressed the knife against his neck. His free hand was swinging a gun around, aiming it at any man who dared to creep too close.

“If any of you get close I’ll blow you away and then I’ll kill the boy!”

There was a bag, swollen with money that hung from the man’s shoulder, pressing firmly across Drifter’s back. Too struck with fear the boy did as he was instructed, scuffling along as the man behind him edged them closer to a pair of horses.

“I’m riding out of this town and if anyone comes after me I’ll kill the boy! You wait in town and eventually I’ll let him go!”

The young man tried to roll away from the man’s clutch but the knife only dug deeper into his skin, a fresh wave of blood spilling.

Pain shot through Drifter’s body and he arced against the hold on his arms, whimpering and trying to close his eyes to the horror that had seized this easy day and destroyed it.

Drifter didn’t expect to get out of this situation alive. At the moment he realized that escaping with his life was a farfetched dream, he first thought of his family. He prayed that the man would only shoot him in the heart; he didn’t want his brother and sister to see his face ruined by a bullet. No one deserved to see their loved ones like that, a bullet to the head that would cave their skull in so bad no one would be able to identity their body.

He opened his eyes again, hoping to see his brother one last time before he was taken away.

It didn’t take long to find him. He was standing on the porch of the store, the bag of candy clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turned white. Henry’s eyes were wide in terror and remained focused and unblinking on his brother.

That was when Drifter saw that look in his brother’s eye.

No…

Drifter didn’t even have a chance to call his brother’s name, it all happened in a matter of seconds but when he remembered the event, it played in slow motion.

Henry leapt from the stairs. The bag slammed against the wood and the confections scattered into the cracks and into the dirt.

Drifter remembered hearing screams and shouts, all silenced by the echo of a gun.

BANG!

“HENRY! NO!”

“He was only 14 years old. He wasn’t even out of school yet.”

The sound of tears soaked Drifter’s throat.

“And when that man had that boy today, it reminded you of that day?” Joe’s inquiry was confirmed with a slow nod.

“When you dove for that boy, it was just like Henry… but this time I wasn’t going to give that man the same chance my brother’s murderer got.”

“What happened to you and your sister, after it happened?” Joe tried to ignore the look of grief and mourning that marred his friend’s face, keeping his hand on his shoulder to offer what security he could.

“Well, that man still managed to get me out of that town without anyone gunning him down. He dropped me in the middle of the desert two days later and it was another day before anyone found me,” His eyes slid gradually to look at Joe, nodding his thanks for the comfort before continuing, “My brother was already dead and buried by the time I got back.”

Joe shuttered at the idea.

“My sister was overcome with grief and left with her fiancé to San Francisco.”

“She left you alone?”

“I don’t blame her, really. I was supposed to watch out for Henry and I let him get killed.”

“There was nothing you could have done, Drifter,” Joe insisted, shaking his head. “What did you do after she left?”

It was clear now why Drifter had been so shaken up about the shooting in town, but the mystery as to how he acquired such skill had yet to be answered.

“I became a gun hand.”

Startled, Joe tried to veil the shock of the revelation but Drifter saw right past it. He gave the young Cartwright a bitter smile.

“I wasn’t a bad guy at first, mind you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just became a bodyguard at first. I worked for some politicians and lawyers, even a judge or two. I was there to keep any criminals or convicts from seeking some sort of revenge or assassination; I was good at my job too. I guess I chose it to get away from my home town, away from the memories. I wanted some sort of closure too, so I guess I got it from killing criminals and murderers.”

Drifter ran a hand across his face, releasing a breath that made his shoulders shudder as he held back his emotions.

“At the time I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I know I was just as bad as those other men.”

“Bodyguards get good money, don’t they? How’d you become…”

“A drifter?”

Joe nodded.

“I was about 18 years old when I got tangled up in some trouble. I was approached by a gang in some old Arizona town; they offered me a lot of money to just keep their backs covered when they went into towns. I didn’t have to do any of the robbing or whatever they did, I just made sure no one put a bullet in their back when they would go gambling and drinking.”

“What happened?”

Drifter exhaled unsteadily, “When I was about 20 they made this huge scheme to rob a very prominent bank in San Francisco. They had the whole thing planned out and this time, I was supposed to help.”

“And,” Joe swallowed uncertainly, “Did you, did you rob that bank?”

A bitter chuckled left Drifter’s mouth, shaking his head.

“No, I chickened out, I guess you could say. When they found out that I wasn’t going through with the heist they tried to kill me because they knew if I ever wanted to, I could turn them in. I knew their names and I knew their faces.”

“But you got away and you stayed on the road,” Again Joe’s assumption was answered with a nod.

“I ran and started running. When I would ride I would stop and get a few jobs here and there, work on a ranch, on a farm. Whatever work I could handle. But I knew they were on my trail so I would always keep going. That’s where I got the name Drifter, actually.”

“If you were so worried about them catching up, how come you stopped running to help me? I mean, you could have left after you got me home.”

“Truthfully, well, I was tired of running and you reminded me so much of Henry…I just couldn’t keep going. I even thought I escaped my past until I had to kill that man today.”

“You saved that boy’s life, Drifter,” Joe offered a tender smile, “And mine.”

Drifter returned the smile, “You sure do owe me quite a life debt, Little Joe,” He laughed softly but it wasn’t long after that his features grew serious again, “I just wish someone could have done the same thing for my brother.”

Suddenly, the barrier that Drifter had held up for so long broke. Tears spilled silently from his eyes and trickled down his cheeks to disappear into the stubble of his chin. “I don’t want to go back to that life, Joe. I’m tired of it but it seems as soon as I think I’ve escaped it, it comes back. I can’t seem to run far enough.”

“You can’t run away from your past,” Joe sounded a whole lot older than he was, watching Drifter for a moment before continuing; “You don’t have to run. Just accept what happened and start anew. You got a new job and new friends,” He smiled. “You don’t have to run anymore because you’re not alone.”

It took some time but Drifter finally turned his eyes to his friend, returning the gentle smile. “Thank you, Joe. Thank you.”

“No problem,” He slapped the man’s back with an odd sort of side hug, “It’s what friends are for. Now let’s get inside and get some sleep.”

“Yea,” Drifter stood and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He followed Joseph back toward the Ponderosa, his eyes focused on the house but his thoughts were lingering on his friend’s words.

“You don’t have to run anymore…”

His heart so desperately wanted to believe it but his mind refused to let him.

—

Somewhere off in the desert of the Ponderosa there was a group of rugged men gathered around a campfire. They were rugged and dirty from a long day’s ride. The single thing they had in common was the black scarf that was tied across their waists.

“And you’re sure it’s him?” The largest man inquired, one of his eyes covered with an eye patch and his head clean shaven and gleaming with sweat in the light of the fire.

“As sure as the sky is blue, Jesse,” The next man uttered, looking out toward the town that lingered in the distance. “Two bullets to the heart, that’s the kid’s signature shot. I even glimpsed him as he was riding off with these two other fellas.”

“Who were these men?” A third man asked gruffly.

“I reckon they’re the Cartwrights. I heard around town that the kid got a job out on the ranch, he’s even been living with them.”

The bald man laughed heartily, gathering the attention of the other three men who sat around him.

“What’s so funny, Jesse?”

“The kid thinks he got away, hiding away with a horde of rich folk. We’ll just have to go pay him a visit.”

“Pay him a visit,” A dark sneer covered the face of the other men. “We’ll teach him to mess with the Slater’s gang.”

Jesse rose to his feet, gazing out toward the Ponderosa ranch with a malicious glint in his eyes.

“That kid better enjoy his last night on earth.”

—

It had been about a week after the incident in town. The initial shock of the event had managed to dispel but the rumors that had began to swoop over the citizens had yet to cease. Even the Ponderosa’s ranch hands had fallen prey to the gossip. They all watched Drifter with suspicious glances and guarded stares.

Stories sprouted like weeds. There were depictions and tales fabricated of Drifter’s past. Some had been very bizarre, some saying that the boy had actually been raised by Apaches, but others were disturbingly close to being fact. Some rumored that he was an assassin while others surmised that he was a treacherous leader of a horrendous gang.

The gossip had steered Drifter clear from the town, for the fact he did not want to fuel them any further but also that most of them were pretty damn close to being correct.

That was why Drifter had opted to do most of the work at the corral where they busted their broncs. There wasn’t a great need for a lot of the new horses to be broken so luckily the young man was given the chance to work on his own or with a few men who didn’t rightly care about the rumors spreading. He kept mostly to himself though, in attempt to avoid any unwanted attention, especially from his fellow workers.

Ben had seen the worry from Drifter but also the wariness of his men, so until the gossip disappeared he moved Drifter from the bunkhouse and into their home. It was the first time the young man had ever accepted an offer from the patriarch without fighting or downright refusing, utterly grateful for the temporary move.

It was obvious that being nearer to the Cartwrights was easing his mind somewhat, the ranch house serving as a refuge from the prying eyes of the community.

Joe felt sorry for his friend’s distress; it just didn’t seem the other boy could ever catch a break. He had finally managed to cope through the haunting memories of his past and it seemed that the population wouldn’t let him live it down. They should have been grateful for what he did- he saved two lives that day, but instead they bombarded him with meddling questions and harsh assumptions.

Mounting onto Cochise, Joe rode out toward the corral. The longer the gossip lingered the more Drifter would work, using the manual labor as some sort of escape. He was plum near working himself to death and on more than one occasion one of the Cartwright men would have to drag him back to the house for food or sleep.

This time it was Joe retrieving his friend for lunch.

Coming around the corner, Joe spotted Drifter clambering up onto the top post of the old corral, dusting off his pants as a pair of men totted off one of the new stallions.

“How’s it coming along?”

Drifter looked up with a smile, nodding toward his friend as he swung over and approached the rider, “Pretty well if you ask me, Little Joe. That new passel of horses are just about broken, just a few more runs before they’re all ready.”

“That’s gonna have to wait then, Drift,” Joe hitched his thumb toward home, “Hop Sing’s gone and made a huge lunch and Pa says you better show up for this one.”

“But Joe I’m so darn close-“

“Hey, its Pa’s orders- not mine. Now c’mon, if we don’t hurry Hoss is liable to eat it all himself anyhow!”

“Sure, sure,” Drifter groaned, rolling his eyes much like an exasperated child. The ranch hand climbed up onto his bay and turned toward home with Little Joe at his side. “Let’s get going.”

Just as they were heading home a group of workers came riding past. They stared intently at Drifter and just as soon as they passed they began to whisper and utter quietly to themselves, but not nearly soft enough.

“That Cartwright kid better watch himself riding with that guy…”

Drifter’s fingers tightened around the reins, eyes narrowing ahead of him.

“Don’t listen to ‘em, Drift,” Joe frowned as he patted his friend on the shoulder, “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Doesn’t really matter, Little Joe. They’ll just go spreading whatever they think is true.”

“Just don’t let it bother you.”

“Yea,” Drifter laughed bitterly, “I’ll give that a try.”

Joe was clearly unsatisfied with the answer but as they rounded the last bend in the road, they turned into the clearing of the house that was currently occupied by a group of horses that Little Joe did not recognize.

“You recognize them horses, Drift?”

There was only silence that answered him back and Joe quickly turned around to make sure his friend had heard him.

Absolute terror clouded Drifter’s eyes, gulping as his hands began to shake, the reins trembling in his hands.

Oh, God…no…

“Drifter? What is it? Whose horses are these?”

Joe was suddenly frightened, seeing the horror that covered Drifter’s face. He was prepared to repeat himself when Drifter suddenly urged his horse forward, bashing his old bay into Cochise’s side. Cochise whinnied in fear and began to prance away.

“Ride, Joe! Ride quick! Get the Sheriff! GO!”

A thousands different questions erupted in Drifter’s head but a single primary instinct solidified in his head.

Get Joe out of here.

“Get Joe- Agh!” A black blur erupted from the barn and in a massive leap knocked Drifter to the ground. The men tangled in a dusty mess of fists and legs, fighting desperately for control.

Joe bound off of his saddle, reaching for his gun when he felt a familiar feeling in the crook of his back.

“You move a muscle, boy, I’ll splinter your spine.”

The rustler reached around and pulled the gun out of Joe’s holster, tossing it away.

Drifter continued to struggle with the second man on the ground. Even from where Joe was standing he could see blood coating both fighters’ faces as they thrashed back and forth. They were tangled in what seemed like a fruitless battle for as soon as one would get the upper hand the other would come back just to strike them down.

A third man appeared from the barn, groaning as he stepped past Joe and his captor as he reached down and wrenched Drifter from the ground by the collar of his shirt. He curled a fist back and sent it smashing against the ranch hand’s face, sending him sprawling right back into the dirt but this time he didn’t spring back up.

“That kid still has a lot of spunk,” The fighting rustler picked himself up and wiped the blood away from his busted lip, giving Drifter a firm kick to the ribs as he straightened himself.

“Would you stop messin’ around. Jesse is gonna want to see the kid.”

Together the two men gripped Drifter by the arms and yanked him up, pushing him forward toward the ranch house as the first man pressed his gun deeper into Joe’s back and commanded him to move forward.

There was a moment of hesitation from Joe and the man behind him growled again, demanding he move forward.

“Don’t fight them, kid.”

The youngest Cartwright’s eyes instantly snapped toward his beaten friend, grimacing as Drifter managed to pick his head up and glance beyond his shoulder. Blood was dribbling from his nose and his left eye was already swelling but he still held a stern look toward his younger friend.

“Just do what they say, Joe. Do what they say.”

“But Drift,” Joe whispered, trying to ignore the damage that had been done to his friend’s body.

“Joe, just do it.”

For the sake of his friend, Joe really did mean to listen to his warning. The last thing he wanted was Drifter to get hurt more because of something foolish he did.

But Drifter was barely through the threshold of the house when a large bald man came storming from within the front room. The man gathered Drifter up with one hand wrapped around his collar while the other balled up tightly into a fist.

“Long time,” The man cocked his fist back before he sent it smashing into Drifter’s stomach, causing the young ranch hand to double over in pain, gasping through the agony.

“No see!” Again the fist was doubled up but this time it was sent smashing across Drifter’s cheek bone and as the man hit him he released his hold and Drifter collapsed in a heap at his feet.

An angry rage washed over Joe and he couldn’t even make a coherent thought beyond the ones of hatred he felt for the men who savagely beat his friend.

In a sudden burst of fury, Little Joe leapt from his captor and nailed him in the jaw with a precisely aimed left hook. The other two men who had held Drifter before now attacked Joe. He hadn’t a chance from the beginning that much he knew but nothing was going to prevent him from trying to aid his fallen comrade.

Fists and boots pummeled Joe into the hardwood floor. White hot agony erupted from every inch of his body, staring exploding in front of his eyes as the sharp edge of someone’s foot connected with the back of his head. Already he could feel the warmth of his own blood beginning to smear across his cheeks and make his hair cling to his head.

There was too many of them too fight off, the best defense the youngest Cartwright had was to curl into himself and bite his lip to keep from crying out.

Joe was on the edge of unconsciousness when he felt the hands on him disappear. Suddenly he felt a strong presence just above him and ever so slowly he willed himself to look up at the man who stood over him.

It was Drifter, one arm clutching his stomach while the other pushed the men away feebly. They could have tore into Drifter the same as before but with a wave of their boss’ hand they held back, snickering at the way the kid swayed on his feet.

“Leave him alone,” Drifter’s voice was low and his words slurred, “He ain’t a part of this.”

The room erupted into a chorus of malicious laughter, all the men quite amused at Drifter’s attempted words of warning.

Ignoring the men, Drifter lowered next to his beaten comrade. He was quick to remove his jacket and rip a thick strip from its sleeve. Joe was teetering on the edge of consciousness, blinking through the black smudges that began to intrude the young boy’s gaze.

“Drift…?”

“Easy, Little Joe. Just take it easy,” His words were soft and spoken gently, much the way a man would calm a skittish horse or a father would comfort a son. “I got you, boy. Just hang on.” The young man used the strip of his jacket to press against the bleeding wound, wincing as the fabric quickly was saturated with blood.

“Who, who are they?” Joe managed to murmur, fighting off the pain in attempt to keep lucid.

“They’re nobody, Joe. Just, hold still.”

“Oh, now is that a way to treat your old friends, Drifter?” Jesse called to him.

“You were never my friends,” Drifter was quick to return, hissing as he continued to mop away the blood on Joe’s brow.

“No, I guess you’re right,” The ringleader shrugged as Joe continued to struggle with his fight for wakefulness, “But you’re the boy’s friend, right? He deserves to know what kind of murderer you were when you ran with us, don’t he?”

“G-Gang?” Joe sighed.

“Yes, Joe. It’s them, now don’t you worry. I’m gonna get you out of this, you’re gonna be fine.”

The boy tossed his head to the side in a fit of agony, Drifter’s promise lost on deaf ears.

“Pa,” Joe whispered painfully, groaning as his head burst in misery, whimpering. “Hoss…Adam?”

“Where are they?” Drifter’s eyes suddenly snapped to the men around him, fists clutching at his sides. “None of them are a part of this. What did you do to them?”

The ringleader stepped forward with a devious, toothy grin.

“Oh, boy, you got that all wrong,” Jesse mocked, swaggering forward and watching with a malevolent pleasure as Drifter instinctively grew rigid, fingers curling protectively across Joe’s shoulder. “They became a part of this as soon as they took your sorry carcass in.”

“What did you do to the others?”

“We set fire to one of the bunk houses near the mine,” One of the rustlers beamed, snickering at the vehemence that covered Drifter’s face, “The whole lot of ‘em went out to help stop it. They won’t be back for quite some time.”

“You bastards,” Drifter barked.

In a sudden rush of movement he jumped to his feet, throwing his hand to his vest.

Beneath there was a chest gun holster carrying his firearm safely tucked to his side. After the rumors had began to surface around town he had chosen to hide his gun, carrying it out of sight in attempt to deter any further spread of gossip.

“Gun!” One of the men shouted, the other two members rushing forward and knocked Drifter to the ground before he even had the chance to pull his gun from its place.

“That was a stupid move, kid,” Jesse hissed as he ripped the gun from the holster, “You should think before you act.”

Jesse raised the gun to strike the ranch hand, but paused, a wicked grin brightening his eyes as he turned toward Joe. The young Cartwright was still managing to drag himself up in the midst of all the excitement, almost making it to his knees but was knocked down as Jesse pistol whipped him.

The pain in his head multiplied and he couldn’t help but cry out. The cloth that Drifter had used to ease the bleeding fell away and a new wave of blood began to coat the side of his face.

“I said leave the kid alone,” Drifter tried so desperately to sound harsh but watching his former gang members drag Little Joe’s limp body away, his voice quivered in concern. “Just leave him be, please.”

“Please?” Jesse rumbled with mirth, watching at how defeated Drifter looked as he watched his friend, “You sure have lost your gusto, Drifter. You’ve gone soft, and for what, some fool kid? He don’t care about you, none of ‘em do- you’re just another work hand to them.”

“You’re a liar.”

All eyes sought out the voice, landing on the young beaten boy who was tumbling out of his unconscious fog.

“Joe, be quiet,” Drifter warned but if Joe had heard him, he made no indication so.

“He’s my friend,” Joe mumbled, blinking frivolously to clear his vision. “And I care.”

Drifter strained against the man who held him, glowering in the direction of the two other men who dragged Joe’s body up to his feet. The youngest Cartwright’s head lolled with fatigue, face ashen and masked with blood that continued to weep from the gash on his head.

“What did you say, boy?” Jesse growled as he ventured closer, ignoring the protests that were coming from Drifter.

“I said,” This time Joe picked himself up, straightening the best his mangled body would allow, “I’m his friend and I care.”

“Well, well, looks like you got yourself an ally here, Drifter,” Jesse mocked, raising a hand to backhand the boy. Joe’s head snapped to the side, groaning as he fought to remain awake.

Drifter’s anger came in waves as he watched the abuse that Joe was subjected to do to him, biting his cheek to will himself to keep his rage under control, but watching the hand connect with Joe’s head had broken that line of control.

With much more strength than even Drifter thought he possessed, he threw his elbow back and leveled it solidly into his captor’s stomach. With the hands that were holding him in place lost, Drifter rocketed forward. His arms stretched out and snagged Jesse’s collar and in one sweeping movement he tossed the large man into one of the arm chairs, sending the ringleader toppling over and landing heavily with a shout of surprise.

“Get that little whelp and tie him up!”

Joe crumpled as the men rushed to do their boss’ bidding, forcing Drifter back as the third man came up behind him. In a rotating motion the man twisted Drifter’s arm behind his back and in a moment of silence, the entire room could hear the resounding snap of Drifter’s elbow shattering.

His scream echoed in the small enclosure of the front room.

The rustlers ignored the pain that had put upon their captive, wrenching his other arm and securing his arms beyond his back with a thick length of rope.

“Drifter?” Joe called out but his friend couldn’t hear him through his agony, thick tears trailing down his cheeks. “Drift!”

“You’re turning out to be a lot more trouble than you’re worth, kid,” Jesse snarled as he picked himself up, dusting himself off as he glared at Drifter who continued to writhe in pain. “So we’ll go ahead and make this quick.”

The men all split up at this point. One man still held onto Drifter while a second retrieved Joe and dragged him to stand next to his friend, while the third moved out toward the horses.

“You’re hurting pretty bad, aren’t ya, Drifter?”

The question was answered with a snarled curse as Drifter fought off the nausea that assaulted his stomach from the pain, glowering. Joe shuffled closer to his friend, keeping his eyes focused ahead as he dubbed it his time to be strong for the other.

“Don’t you worry too much though, I’m gonna need your help solving this problem and if you help me this whole mess will come to an end.”

The third man stepped through the threshold of the house, a noose clutched tightly in his hand as he rounded in front of the others.

Simultaneously, Little Joe and Drifter’s skin drained of color.

“You see we have this little situation,” The horror that crossed his captives faces only seemed to fuel his grotesque humor and thirst for blood. “We came across this wonderful noose here and we’d hate for it to go to waste.”

Drifter bristled as he realized what was happening, his heart shuddering in his chest so hard that he was sure the organ was bound to crush his already broken ribs.

Joe swallowed in vain attempt to smother his fear, but it was useless.

The more the two realized what was happening, the more frightened they became and the more malicious their kidnappers became.

“So, Drifter, I’m gonna give you a choice,” Jesse took the noose from his man’s hand, holding it in front of Drifter’s face. “Who’s gonna test this out for me? You or the boy, here? If you hang we’ll let the boy go and if you choose him, well, we’ll let you go too.”

“You’re a deceitful little son of a b-“

“Now, now, Drifter! Language, you don’t want the boy here to learn any bad words.”

Joe glanced to the side, seeing that dark look in his friend’s eyes he recalled from their first meeting.

Oh, God. No, Drifter, no…

“So who’s it gonna be, Drift? You or the boy?”

“You know who, Jesse,” Drifter grumbled, keeping his head down as he felt Joe’s eyes lock onto him. “Me.”

“No! Drifter, no! You don’t have to do this!” Little Joe struggled as best he could but his waning strength was little against his captor, watching in horror as Drifter was lead out to the old oak in the yard without even a single ounce of struggle.

It didn’t take long for the men to rig up the noose, lifting Drifter up into the saddle and tying the rope around his neck.

Joe had still yet to cease his fighting.

“Drifter, stop! Don’t do this, you don’t have to do this.”

“Joe,” Drifter was amazingly calm as he regarded his younger friend with a calm stare, shaking his head. “I do have to do this, Joe.”

“No you don’t!” Joe was growing desperate, watching with anxiety as Drifter’s horse began to prance back and forth in the excitement of the clearing. “You don’t owe this to anyone, Drift.”

“But I do, Joe.” A bitter sweet smile touched Drifter’s lips, “I owe it to my brother, and I owe it to you.”

Tears welled in Joe’s eyes as Jesse stepped around and raised his hand.

“Joe, without you, I never would have had the chance to live again. Thank you.”

“Drifter, no!”

Joseph’s scream was lost as Jesse clapped the horse’s flank, a shriek of fright emerging from the mounts lips as it bolted.

Drifter’s body vaulted from the saddle and the rope grew taut with a dull twang.

—

Sheer horror flooded Joe’s veins, fighting frantically to keep the bile from rising up in his throat. In desperation he turned away from the heinous image of his friend dangling lifelessly from the end of the cord. Dread forced him to wait with baited breath, pausing in dismay for the stomach-churning sound of Drifter’s neck snapping.

“Oh God,” Joe cried hopelessly in the silence of his own thoughts, “Please, just don’t let him feel anything.”

Yet as he remained silent, the sound of bones creaking did not follow, instead there was a gargle, a shuddering, choked gasp for air.

The Lord had not heard Joe’s distraught prayers, it had seemed.

Joe gaped in helplessness, sensing the blistering of his stomach acid tearing at his throat as he watched in terror as Drifter’s body convulsed against the noose.

“DRIFT!”

Drifter’s eyes went unfocused, blinking furiously until his bulging gaze locked with Joe’s. His mouth was agape, gulping futilely for air that wouldn’t come.

“STOP IT! LET HIM DOWN!”

It seemed that even the anguish that was seethed across his broken arm was proving little to daunt his struggle, because with each second that passed, the more Drifter’s body would convulse involuntarily against its restraints. His fingers furled and clawed in attempt to reach his bindings, desperate to claw at the rope that was restricting his oxygen.

“God, please,” Joe wrestled with his captor, overlooking every sliver of pain as he cried out to his friend, “Drifter…please, just stop it!”

Drifter’s eyes clenched in misery but couldn’t control the tears seeping from the corners as they coursed down his dirty cheeks.

Breath, now, even was difficult for Joe. With each writhe of pain and desperation that Drifter would tremble with, Joe felt his throat constrict in hopelessness. A sob was lodged in his craw and through the sorrow that encompassed him, Joe barely managed to whisper, “Drift…please.”

As if he had heard the breathless plea, Drifter’s filmy gaze returned as his eyelids fluttered. Blinking leisurely, his body began to droop and the droplets of tears grew into streams as they coated his cheeks in wetness. The seconds seemed to drag on like eons and with each passing moment, Drifter’s muscles spasmed less and less, his once gaping mouth shrinking as his lips closed into a thin line.

In one last attempt for breath, Drifter’s chest hitched. Once, twice and then he grew ominously still. Joe watched, feeling the dread that had been constricting his lungs multiply, crying out as Drifter’s mahogany gaze disappeared beyond his eyelids.

His head dropped and a quiet breeze wafted through the clearing. The branch creaked and the leaves rustled peacefully. Drifter’s body swayed with the wind.

The deep, malicious laughter of the gang rumbled in the calm.

“NO! DRIFTER!” Joe was screaming, over and over again. It had reached such a level that he thought his throat would give way to the volume that erupted from his chest but it didn’t matter. Nothing he did mattered because he could fight with all the gumption he had but nothing was going to bring his friend back.

Drifter was dead and he had sacrificed himself all for Joe.

No, not just Joe, but Henry and his sister too. Drifter had been carrying such a burden of guilt over the years, carrying the blame for the death of his brother, a death that sent his sister running from her past.

Joe was floored with the realization that no one had tried help him carry that burden. The one person he probably needed the understanding from so much, his sister, had ran out on him.

The realization had all the air from Little Joe’s chest whooshing out , biting his tongue. That was when he knew he couldn’t give up, not yet. Drifter had given his life to save Joe and the least the youngest Cartwright could do in return would be to cut him down…give him a proper burial.

“Drift,” Joe gagged on his own grief, “I don’t even know your real name to put on your gravestone…”

That thought sent a deep sense of despair spiking through his heart, teeth grinding together as his fingers curled into fists, knuckles growing white.

Unexpectedly Joe reared with anger, cocking back his fist as he sent it smashing into the rustler’s stomach. Joseph dove forward with an unexplainable vigor, ignoring the protests to his already aching body, crying out to his friend.

No, he wasn’t going to give up, not now. Joe had seen many miracles in his life. He’s seen men step out of the corral after being trampled by a horse, he’s seen men crushed by rockslides and live to tell the tale. Drifter could lick this one, he had to.

Joe was reaching for Drifter’s legs when the retort of a rifle blast echoed in the clearing and he felt the bullet splice through his side and knock him to the ground. Fire-hot pain as sweltering as he was sure hell to be erupted and he couldn’t bring himself to bring himself to stand again.

Tears of defeat clouded his eyes, attempting to drag himself across the dirt but it was no use, the pain was just too much.

“Boy, you really got yourself into quite a mess here,” Jesse ventured casually across the opening, “But now you don’t have that man there to be your shield.”

Joe shut his eyes in preparation for what he knew was to come.

The sound of gunshots didn’t startle him, no, but what did was the lack of pain to accompany his already wounded side.

Rifle fire ricocheted across the small area and the sound of men shouting and horses galloping added to the growing chaos but Joe didn’t notice. He slowly managed to roll onto his side, gazing up past the blazing gunfire to stare at Drifter’s body.

He wasn’t sure how long he had lay there just bleeding and watching but the next thing Joe acknowledged was his father’s looming figure, wrapping his frail body up in his strong arms. He was whispering to him, offering comforting coos but Joe didn’t hear him, barely even saw him.

Joe was transfixed on Drifter’s body as it was slowly lowered from the tree, cradled in Hoss’ big arms like he was some sort of sick child. Adam was there too, guiding the body to the ground with a grim expression on his face. Together they removed the bindings that held Drifter’s arms behind his back, taking extra care with the mangled limb like it actually mattered now.

The last thing Joe remembered before the abyss of unconsciousness rushed up to meet him was Adam lowering his ear to Drifter’s chest, eyes widening in surprise.

—-

When he awoke, Joe felt the rigid pressure of bandages on his chest and side. His mind felt hazy and it ached dully with a receding headache. His eyes fluttered to find low lamplight illuminating a figure at his bedside.

“Joseph,” His Pa’s voice rumbled with familiarity, a normally soothing tone but Joe couldn’t seem to find comfort, not this time.

“Pa,” Joe wasn’t the least bit surprised to feel his throat strain with the simple word, dry and scratchy from neglect and disuse. It was only a matter of moments before his father had his head gently inclined to accept a sip of water, relishing the feeling of the cool water as it bathed his throat.

“How long have I been out?”

“About three days…How are you feeling, son?” Even in the dimness of the light Joe could see the lines that creased his father’s brow with worry, stroking his son’s hair affectionately. “You took quite a beating.”

“Lousy, Pa, I feel lousy,” He admitted, his voice soft and defeated, refusing to meet his father’s gaze. Already in the short moments to awaking Joe’s heart began to pang painfully in his chest, the image of Drifter’s body swaying in the wind burned into his memory.

As the image continued to replay, over and over again in his head, Joe felt his stomach roll and he could have sworn he was going to upend all the contents of his stomach but there was a cool cloth that swept across his brow that pulled his attention away from his own dark thoughts.

“Do you know who those men were, Joe?”

There was a stiff nod but Joe didn’t go any further.

“Who were they Joseph? Why did they hurt you and Drifter?”

Joe would have laughed if he had the heart to do it, which he didn’t. Hurt?

If only they had just hurt his friend, if only.

“You know how Drift told me about being a gun hand?” Joe was surprised at how easy his words seemed to come despite the sadness that seized his lungs in an iron tight grip.

“Yes, son.”

“That gang he used to run with, before he left, that was them, Pa. That was them.”

“Oh dear,” Ben’s words were released on a heavy exhale, reaching out to cup his son’s shoulder.

“They wanted to kill, Drift. They knew he could turn them in if he wanted. God, Pa, I sure wish they would have.”

At any other time Joseph was sure he would have been scolded for using the Lord’s name in vein but Ben must have sensed his son’s anguish and remained silent.

“They came after me too, because I was with him,” Joe’s face suddenly welled into a look of immense pain, but it had nothing to do with physical anguish. Tears sprang from his eyes and before Joe could do anything about it he was weeping like a newborn babe, unashamedly sobbing as he revealed the horror he had experienced.

Ben remained silent as his son vented and cried out what the rustlers had done to both he and his friend, a hand resting on Joe’s shoulder to offer comfort.

“He saved me, Pa. They said it was me or him to hang and he chose himself. He chose himself!”

Joe tossed his arm over his eyes to hide his tears, shaking his head back and forth in some sort of denial.

“He died for me, Pa. Why did he have to die? He was just getting used to living here, just starting to forgive himself.”

“Little Joe,” Ben ventured but it didn’t seem Joe wanted to hear it.

“He said he needed to, Pa. Said that without me he wouldn’t have had the chance to live again.”

“Joseph, calm down,” This time his father’s voice was firm enough to catch Joe’s attention, peeling his arm away to gaze up at his father.

Ben opened his mouth to speak but the door to the room creaked open and drew his attention.

From where he lie, Joe couldn’t make out the figures, squinting through the darkness.

“He’s supposed to be in bed, Adam,” The eldest Cartwright was suddenly up out of his seat, moving forward but Adam’s voice halted him.

“He’s refusing to take any of his medicine or rest before he sees Little Joe, Pa,” Adam sounded exasperated, guiding the figure away from the door.

Joe felt his heart shudder and almost completely stop when the figure was lowered into the seat Ben had been occupying just moments before, tears of disbelief blurring his vision.

His face was ashen and layered with bruise upon bruise, his eyes ringed with dark circles. His hair was twice as messy as it usually was, ruffled and spiking up in tangled patterns. His throat was wrapped in a massive bundle of gauze and his arm was strapped to his chest in a sling.

“Hey,” Drifter’s voice sounded like he had just spent the past few days gargling sandpaper, and though it sounded painful to speak, he offered a bright smile.

“Now, Drifter, the doctor said you shouldn’t be speaking,” Ben chided but the smile on his face proved that wasn’t going to do a thing to reprimand the boy.

“Drift?” Joe gaped in disbelief, eyes roaming his friend’s body as he made sure that he wasn’t dreaming. “But…how?”

Drifter opened his own mouth to explain but when he tried to speak the only sound that escaped was a dull wheeze and he looked utterly exhausted just to do that.

“Adam managed to get his heart started again,” Ben smiled proudly at his eldest son before looking at Little Joe.

“I tried to get to you,” Joe whispered, swallowing down his excitement. Drifter seemed amused by the fact and shook his head.

“You…were…hurt,” Drifter rasped. “Couldn’t…do…much.”

“Thank you, Drifter. Thank you.”

Drifter reached forward with his good hand, wrapping his fingers around Joe’s hand as he shook it with a growing smile.

“Any…time…kid.”

Joe chuckled in return.

Silence soon lapsed into the room but Joe and Drifter didn’t need any more words, sharing a bright grin between the two of them was just enough and more.

—

“Are you sure you should be riding so soon with that arm?” Hoss was leaning against the hitching rail as Drifter continued to move and load his horse with supplies, rolling his eyes at the largest Cartwright.

“I’m fine, it’s been near three weeks now,” He looked down at the sling, “I could ride with no arms if I needed to!”

Joe emerged from the house with Drifter’s saddlebags in hand, loading them onto the back of his bay.

“Where are you heading again?” Joe asked with a little frown.

“I think I’m going to go to San Fransisco, visit my sister,” Drifter’s fingers patted the saddle before rotating to face his younger friend.

“You gonna come back and visit us?” Hoss questioned.

“Of course, I ain’t gonna leave forever,”

“You promise?”

Drifter observed the saddened look that lingered in Joe’s expressive gaze.

“You know I do, Little Joe.”

With the aid of his friends, Drifter was soon placed up in his saddle, grinning down at them.

“You take care of yourselves, you hear? I don’t want to come back and hear that the lot of you have gotten into a ton of trouble.”

Hoss guffawed, “You have our word.”

Joe offered his hand to the rider and Drifter gladly accepted it in his own.

“You take care of yourself, Drifter.”

“No,” Joe’s face twisted in confusion but Drifter’s smile only seemed to grow wider.

“Daniel Alan Helm,” He said, “My friends used to call me Danny.”

In sudden realization, Joe’s eyes widened in excitement and shook Daniel’s hand enthusiastically.

“Take care of yourself, Danny.”

“I always do.”

Epilogue

Months later, the only thing that Daniel would have to show from his experience on the Ponderosa was a pair of new scars and the stories of a wonderful family and the new friends he had made. He stopped running from his past and accepted what had happened. Daniel was reunited with his sister and for the first time met his brother-in-law and his nephew. Together Sarah and Danny visited their old home town and their brother’s grave, the first time in six years.

Fully healed, Daniel took up a solid job as a Pony Express rider and became one of the fastest riders in the outfit. His name traveled almost as fast as his horse and it wasn’t long before everyone knew who “Danny Boy” Helm was. But even with this newfound “fame” Daniel wasn’t one to break a promise and visited the Ponderosa many times on his runs.

Chapter End Notes:

Thanks so much for reading my story!