Summary:  When everything you care about is taken from you, you have nothing left to lose.

Rating: M (violence)
Word count:  3305

There’d been trouble for weeks. Steers separated from the herd, torn apart and left for the varmints to feast upon. A stream the Cartwrights frequented was spiked with sharpened sticks claiming both cattle and horses. Good roads were found blocked by rockslides. Wagons recently repaired lost wheels. Individually, each incident could have been put down to bad luck. Taken together, there was just too much bad luck for coincidence. No one knew who was behind the trouble or why they went to the trouble. Somehow, it all felt personal.

This time there was a note –tucked inside the pocket of one the Ponderosa’s cow hands. Bill had been beaten until he was nearly unrecognizable and placed back on his horse just conscious enough to give the Cartwrights the crumpled paper: “Get to the old Drake homestead by 9:00 unless you want to find a man dead next time.”

There was never any question they would go. That it was a trap went without saying. Didn’t matter– no one else would suffer if the Cartwrights could prevent it.

They settled Bill in the guest room with Hop Sing in attendance. Two men were sent into town to fetch the doctor and the sheriff. Out of caution, the rest of the scant crew were left to guard the house.

Just because they knew they were riding into a trap didn’t mean they had to be stupid about it. They spread out along the trail with Adam and Joe ghosting in and out of the tree lines, on either side of Pa and Hoss. Watching for a blur of motion. Listening for the snap of branches under foot. Guarding each other as they had always done and would always do.  Alert and silent, they made good time. Adam’s pocket watch confirmed that it wasn’t quite 9:00 when they arrived in the vicinity of Mel Drake’s abandoned cabin. Dismounting, they crept the remaining yards on foot.

The cabin, finally revealed under a pale moon, had been etched in silver and shadows when they’d arrived. The windows were boarded over, with the only door creaking and swinging on rusty hinges. The dwelling reeked of old smoke and turpentine. A peek inside the house confirmed their impression that the place was deserted. Not a soul in sight. The ground around the cabin and its well appeared undisturbed.

“What do you think?” Adam’s voice was so quiet it could be carried away on a breeze.

They all took a moment to consider. What were they facing here? What was the best move? Ben’s quick gestures to spread out and take cover decided the matter. They didn’t ride all this way to turn around and leave without answers.

Answers came a heartbeat later. A rifle shot cracked, and Hoss grunted in pain. The big man stumbled and fell, clutching his right leg.

“Go!  Move!” Ben shouted. “Into the cabin!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

It had always been Adam’s belief that when things went to hell in a handbasket, they went there fast. Moonlight and cicadas one minute; the next minute a brother is bleeding in the dirt.

More rifle shots from their unseen adversary whistled through the air over the sound of Pa’s shouts to get inside the cabin. Obedience seemed like the smart move. Counting on Joe to cover them, Adam scuttled over to help Pa get Hoss up and into the building. Grunting, he and Pa propped themselves under Hoss, forming human crutches, and the three men moved as swiftly as the wounded man could manage.

Pushing Hoss and his father into the building, Adam lost his footing and dropped his pistol just outside the doorway. Continuing without a firearm was unacceptable. Crouched so low he was nearly on his belly, he slithered through the opening in his best impression of a lizard, grasping the pistol in one hand and hissing in pain as his upper arm encountered a sharp edge. Aggravated, he looked for the source of his pain and found a small axe shoved half under the cabin’s foundation. Never one to leave a good potential weapon behind, he grabbed that as well. Bullets peppered the ground in front of him encouraging his retreat back into the cabin while Little Joe shouted at him for putting his head outside. At least the kid was still alive and fussing.

“Adam, get inside here, and help me tie something around Hoss’s leg.” Pa was putting pressure on the bloody spot blooming at the back of his brother’s right knee. Hastily, Adam pulled the bandana from around his neck and helped his father tie it into place.

“Y’all can stop carryin’ on.” Hoss was panting with the pain and shock.  “I can feel it even if I can’t see it.  Ain’t no bullet inside me. Went straight through. Shouldn’t have even fallen.”

“Hush, son. Just take it easy. Adam, can you see what’s happening?”

Hoss was trying to get his attention. “This feels like just one man out there to me. Must be hiding in a real good spot, but just one man.  Can you spot him?”

Adam hadn’t even seen Little Joe since the shooting started, much less their attacker, and he said so.

Why they hadn’t been shot down twenty times during their awkward journey from yard to the house, Adam couldn’t figure.  It wasn’t like they were a small target. Except for the bullet wounding Hoss, every round fired at them struck dirt and rocks. Even with Joe’s covering fire,  it was a wonder they made it inside in (almost) one piece.

Lord, the place reeked of turpentine.  Holding a hand over his mouth and nose to block some of the stink, Adam cautiously peered through the door. Movement at the corner of his eye was closely followed by the sound of pounding hooves and panicked shouts from Little Joe.

“Shoot him, Adam! For God’s sake, shoot him!”

A rider was galloping straight for their sanctuary, a blazing torch held high. Adam steadied himself as best he could and took aim. Eyesight ruined by the bouncing flame, he didn’t even come close to hitting the mark. There was no time to adjust and try again. The rider was on top of them, tossing the torch inside and veering away to gallop out of danger.

The fire caught and blazed in an instant, burning hot and fast, turning even the turpentine fumes into choking, searing agony.

The cabin was full of dark thick smoke, flames spread up the walls and into the rafters. There was no way out except through the door – blocked by flames and the killer outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Joe threw his useless weapons aside, his pistol and rifle empty of ammunition, and darted to the cabin. Heedless of the possible danger, he dashed around the place, looking in vain for some point of escape. He shouted words of encouragement to his family and imagined he could hear their voices in return.

The smoke belched black, choking, poisonous clouds. Flames leapt as high as nearby treetops, snapping and popping. His family was going to burn to death unless he could figure out some way to save them.

God, the well, he’d forgotten the well. Joe pelted to the front of the house, dropping the bucket and rope down into the water. He’d just started to bring a bucket back up when he was abruptly reminded of the cause of this horror. A rope snaked through the air and caught him around the middle, pinning his arms against his sides and knocking him to the ground. The rope grew taut as he was pulled, kicking and screaming, further from the conflagration a few yards away.

The man on the horse was huge, bigger than Hoss. Silhouetted by the flames and smoke, his darkened form was faceless, his actions heartless. He dragged a sobbing Little Joe to a vantage point where it was evident that the fire was fully involved –an inferno in which survival was impossible.

Joe could see his captor more clearly, an ugly face festooned with greasy long hair and a scraggy beard. His mouth was set in a malevolent grin. His small eyes were nearly black, the pupils blown dark with arousal at the horror he’d instigated.

Grief choked Joe as he watched the flames consume the cabin. Remembering his pa’s lessons, he prayed for them—his father, his brothers – as the monster beside him rocked and moaned in profane ecstasy at the scene.

“That was better than I hoped for,” the man muttered. “Come on, boy.” Putting his heels to his mount, the man jerked the rope, dragging Joe away from his family.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When the torch hit the turpentine-soaked wood, Hoss reacted. Down on the dirt floor was the only place to be, and he knocked his father down beside him. Together, they dragged Adam into the dust.

Breathing as shallow as he could manage, Hoss took charge.

“Check for gaps, varmint holes, anything.” The three men, crawled around the perimeter of the small building, staying with arm’s reach of each other, knowing that losing sight of one of them in the smoke would mean losing him.

They could hear Joe’s panicked screams. His pa started to answer, to shout to his youngest, but went silent at Hoss’s sharp reminder to save his breath.

“There!” Adam had spotted a weak place in the back corner, some rotted boards close to the ground. Hoss didn’t remember Adam packing an axe for the journey, but there it was, and his older brother was hacking a hole into the wall as the fire began to steal what little air they had left.

“Let me!” Ben cried, and he began to kick at the loosened boards. It was a race against time, and Hoss wasn’t at all sure it was a race they were going to win. Each kick widened the opening a bit. Each kick added to the sway of the bonfire they were trapped inside.

“Now, go!” The hole was as good as it was gonna get. Adam moved first, shimmying though and catching his gun belt on one of the jagged edges for a heart stopping moment.  As soon as he was out, Hoss manhandled his father through the opening; he pushed and Adam pulled.

Hoss knew good and well that hole wasn’t big enough for him. He also knew that to be a Cartwright meant he was ready to die trying. Adam was whaling at the side of the cabin with that little axe, trying to widen the hole.  The roof was burning through, dropping burning debris around him.  Just as Adam threw the axe aside and his father reached for him, the entire cabin collapsed in a fiery heap consuming everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Joe’s throat felt like it’d bled raw from emotion and the smoke drifting in gray plumes around them. He’d screamed himself hoarse from the moment he’d seen the cabin catch fire. He’d shouted blasphemous words and cried, begging Heaven for curses awful enough for the man who’d done it.  He’d been dragged from the burning homestead, fighting and kicking every step of the way until they’d reached a cleared scrap of dirt and boulder that was evidently the villain’s campsite. He was so exhausted that when the big man wrestled him to the dirt and tied him down spread-eagle, Joe’s resistance couldn’t even be called token.

To be honest, a lot of the fight had gone out of Little Joe Cartwright.

Down there in the dirt, spread out like a chicken ready to fillet, Joe pulled at the tight rope, serving only to  tear the sensitive skin at his wrists and ankles. When he gazed up into the night, the smokey haze barely obscured the obscene crimson pulse of the fire they’d left a mile behind them.

The man squatted, watching Joe cry and pray for his family.

“What’s the matter, boy?  Thinking how your family cooked inside that cabin? A fire like that burns hot and fast.  A man’s hair catches fire just from the heat. Bet their clothes caught fire right away. Can’t you see it?  Them rolling around, screamin’ in mortal agony as the fire took them, burning ‘em to a crisp, leaving ‘em nothing but a blackened corpse? Hell, what am I sayin’? By morning, the sheriff won’t find nothin’ bigger than a knuckle bone in all the ash”

God, yes, Joe could see it. Seeing it in his mind’s eye brought the bile up and out, and he vomited weakly over his shoulder.

“Who are you?”

“Me? I’m the undertaker. I’ll admit most undertakers wait until a body’s stopped kickin’ an’ breathin’ before they do their work. I like to start a mite earlier.” The Undertaker cocked an eyebrow at Joe, wanting to make sure he’d gotten the joke.

“What did we do to you?”

The Undertaker pulled a large knife from his pack, and taking up a hunk of wood, proceeded to shave thin slices from the stick. “I’ve been hearin’ about you Cartwrights for some time. Even been collecting pieces from the newspaper.  Wait a minute, I’ll show you.”

The Undertaker turned back to his pack, withdrawing a small wooden box, filled with newspaper clippings.

“Listen here, this one is about your pa talkin’ about running for governor.  This one is how your brother, Adam, helped that German feller figure out a way to work the mines. All this about your family. All. About. Cartwrights.

So, I said to myself.  Here’s a bunch of folks who thinks themselves pretty special. Thinks they can do and say and get what they want. I can’t abide that. People like you, you’re not special. You’re liars. You’re hypocrites.  There ain’t nothin’ I hate worse than lyin’ hypocrites.”

“You’re not going to get away with this. The sheriff knows where we were headed. They’re probably already on their way.”

“Of course, they’re on their way! What good would it do unless everybody knew what happened? Don’t you worry about me. I’ll get away just fine. Even got plenty of time to do what needs to be done with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

That last mighty tug pulled Hoss free and brought the house down nearly on top of them.  Ben was a firm believer in Providential assistance, but at the risk of being ungrateful, this felt too close for comfort.

Urging his sons to roll or crawl into the brush as far from the fire as their battered bodies could manage, they rested because they couldn’t do anything else.

Ben listened while his youngest screamed and called out for them because not one of them had the breath to respond.

They watched as he was dragged away by this demon in human form. They watched because they couldn’t follow. Yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Undertaker gathered his newspaper clippings and tucked them back into the wooden box.

“Here’s what I’m thinking, Cartwright. I’m gonna leave you here for the posse to find. They shouldn’t have no trouble. Bet you can see that fire for miles, and a blind man could follow us this far.

I could leave you dead.  Make a real mess of you with this here knife. Wouldn’t be pretty, and you’d bleed out long before they got here. That’d send a reasonable warning to all the other liars and hypocrites.

Or I could leave you here alive, in a manner of speakin’. That’d send a different sort of message, I reckon.

It would be easy enough to take this knife to one of your legs. Put the sharp end right, here, around the joint. Hah, that made you jump! I’d have that leg off in no time. Done it before. Probably do it again.

What would you do with no leg? Couldn’t ride and wrangle steers, could ya? Couldn’t dance with the local belles. Would you sit and beg for whiskey in the alley and street?

I could take off this hand, right there. I could trace a cut right around your wrist. I’d watch the blood seep and drip down your arm.  See how pretty that looks? After this first cut, it’s short work and I’ll have that hand off. If I took ‘em both, you’d be the worst sort of cripple. Couldn’t dress yourself. Couldn’t take a piss by yourself. Gotta tell you I was planning that before I got a look at you.

Now, seeing what a nice-looking feller you are, I’m thinking about working on your face.  I can flay you to the bone, cut off your nose and ears, gouge out your eyes. Your days of coaxing pretty young things into haylofts romps are over.

I’m feelin’ generous. Anything you think you could lose? Something you think you can live without?”

To his great surprise, his victim began to laugh. It wasn’t the hysterical laughter of a mind coming unhinged with fear.  It wasn’t a sardonic chuckle of false bravado. This was the sound of genuine amusement.

“You sorry son of a bitch. I’ve already lost everything. Take what you want.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

They weren’t well enough to ride. Their burns needed tending. Hoss’s wound needed stitching. Lungs seared by fire needed time to mend. They’d been through hell, and they needed to recover.

Recovery would wait until they’d rescued Joe.

They heard his cries of anguish as they neared the camp. They rode in fast and hard, guns blazing and the Undertaker fell, his lifeless eyes staring at the night sky with the bloody knife clutched in his hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t that the pain stopped, but the Undertaker wasn’t hurting him anymore. Hands touched him gently and tended his wounds. Familiar voices soothed and prayed for him, Joe would know them anywhere. This was his family. He’d seen them die, but here they were.

Thank God. Joe thought he’d lost everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“That the Cartwright kid?” Albie Schwartz jerked his thumb in the direction of the man sitting in the buckboard outside the mercantile.

Roy paused sweeping around the front door of the jail. “Yeah, that’s him. Why do you wanna know?”

“No reason,” Albie was trying his best to stare without looking like he was staring. “Just heard, you know, stories.”

“People would be better off mindin’ their own business.”

“Yeah, sure, no doubt.” Albie didn’t want no lawman irked with him, and Roy looked just a mite put out. Trouble was, Albie never had a lot of success minding his own business . . . or even, just keeping his mouth shut. “Thing is, lots of people say young Cartwright used to be something, um, before . . . you know, he lost . . .”

The words died in the drifter’s throat when Roy dropped that broom and stepped real close.

Whatever the sheriff had been about to say was interrupted by a bark of laughter from young Cartwright.  He’d been joined by an older, white-haired man and two younger fellows. Even from a distance, Albie couldn’t have missed the signs of camaraderie, the gestures of affection, and the mingling of voices that spoke volumes of loving support.  That was a family, pure and simple, in the best definition of the word.

It was a scene worth watching, and so Roy and Albie watched until the wagon was packed, horses were mounted and the group took their sweet time starting on a journey made better because they were taking it together.

Roy gave a hard sniff and a swipe across his face.  He stepped away from Albie a bit, making his next words more conversation than threat.

“See, Albie, that’s where everyone is wrong. Cartwright ain’t lost nothin’ important.”

The End

Author’s Note:

Written for the 2021 Ponderosa Paddlewheel Poker Tournament.   The game was Five Card Draw and the words and/or phrases I was dealt were:

Undertaker
Under a pale moon
Alley
Fire
Hayloft