Summary: A grateful Virginia City wants to both reward and exploit Little Joe’s valiant defense of the town, but Adam fears his young brother may be unable to handle his sudden newfound fame.  Written for BoNaNo 2021.

Rating: K+

Word count: 13, 175

The Town Hero

            Ben Cartwright charged up the Geiger Grade at a pace he would ordinarily have rebuked in any of his sons.  Hoss and Adam were right behind him, riding with only slightly more care.  None of them slowed down until they reached Virginia City and were forced to by the traffic in the crowded streets.  For Ben, even that much delay was agonizing, but he finally reached the side street he wanted and didn’t even bother wrapping his horse’s reins around the hitching post outside the office of Paul Martin, M.D.  He trusted his sons to take care of that insignificant detail as he rushed for the door and burst through it.  Seeing no one, he called out, “Paul!” and was rewarded by the doctor’s exit from the next room.

“He’s in here, Ben,” the doctor said and stepped quickly aside to avoid the one-man stampede he knew would ensue.

Adam soon followed, Hoss having delayed long enough to secure all three horses.  By unspoken consent, the brothers had divvied up the duties, with Adam accepting as the obligation of the eldest the unwelcome one of reining in their father, in the likely event that was needed.

Ben had, of course, gone directly to the cot on which lay his youngest son and by the time Adam entered the room, was stroking back the boy’s wayward chestnut locks from a pale forehead.  “He’s unconscious?” he asked anxiously.  The event he’d been told of must have happened hours before, and continuing unconsciousness would indicate serious injury.

“No, Ben,” Dr. Martin assured him.  “I sedated him; he’s sleeping.”

Ben exhaled the breath he’d been holding.  “Good, good,” he murmured, smoothing his gray hair back in unconscious imitation of the treatment he’d just given his slumbering son.  Then he gathered himself and asked, “How bad is it?”

Hoss came in just as the doctor answered, “Bad enough, but it could have been worse.”  Much worse, he might have added, but he knew Ben didn’t need to hear that.  He’d worry enough as it was.  “I removed three bullets . . .”

“Three!” Ben exploded.  “I was told he was shot, but not . . . three?”

“Three,” the doctor confirmed, “but by his legendary good fortune, none damaged any vital organs.  He’s lost a lot of blood, though.”

“But he’ll be all right,” Adam said, knowing his father would need to hear that reassurance.

“He should be . . . if he follows his doctor’s advice and doesn’t overdo it too soon.”  The doctor’s words were spoken in a tongue-in-cheek tone, for as everyone in the room knew, this particular patient was noted for doing the exact opposite.

“If he don’t, I’ll sit on him, Doc,” Hoss said.

Dr. Martin chuckled, “I wouldn’t recommend that, Hoss.  The damage was spread out enough that you’d be bound to put weight on some part you shouldn’t.”

“Aw, Doc, you know I wouldn’t,” Hoss protested.

“That’s enough foolishness, boys,” Ben said, earning a raised eyebrow from Adam, who was certain he hadn’t exhibited any.  “Can we take him home?”

“Not tonight, Ben.”  The doctor’s tone was almost scolding, but he moderated it as he continued, “It’s almost sundown now, and that’s a long, rough ride in the dark; besides, I’d like to observe him a little longer.  You’re welcome to stay here, of course, though you—as well as Joe—might be more comfortable at the hotel.”

Ben nodded.  “Of course.  Whatever you think best, doctor.”  Paul Martin was a friend with whom he was on first-name basis, but in medical discussions, he automatically adopted the more reverential title.

“Why don’t I go ahead and make the arrangements?” Adam suggested.  “Then we can take Joe straight to his room.”

“Yes, yes, that would be good.”  Ben was still a man in a daze, trying to absorb each new bit of information and fit it in with all he’d had to process since the messenger first arrived at the Ponderosa with the news of what had happened in town.

“I’ll go along with Adam, Pa, and see to the horses,” Hoss offered.

“Hmm?  Oh, yes, thank you, son.”  Ben turned back to his youngest, his hands again running over any uncovered bit of fevered flesh within reach.

“Whew,” Hoss said, once he and his brother were outside in the cool air of early evening.  “Sure wish Pa wouldn’t worry hisself to distraction.”

“Not unusual in the circumstances,” Adam observed, “especially given the unexpected number of wounds.  You gonna stay over tonight, too?”

“Reckon so,” Hoss said.  “You?”

“No real point in going back to the ranch, if we actually can take Joe home in the morning.”

“You don’t think we can?”

“Doc Martin doesn’t believe in giving false hope, so I think there’s a good chance,” Adam said, “but things can change overnight.  How does the kid always manage to get himself in the middle of things like this?”

Hoss’s shrug was almost undiscernible in the darkening streets.  “Magnet for trouble,” he said.  “Always has had sort of a leanin’ toward bein’ in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“That’s for sure!” Adam laughed, and the small joke at Little Joe’s expense released the pent-up anxiety in both older brothers.  The town bank, in the middle of a robbery, was, to say the least, the wrong place at the wrong time, and becoming the target for what was, evidently, a melee of bullets was just the sort of magnetism their little brother was famous for.

They separated at the International House.  “Once you get the horses settled,” Adam said, “hire a buggy and head back to Doc’s.  Easier on Joe that way.”

“Already thought of that,” Hoss said.  “I got a mite of sense, older brother.”

“I know you do.  Probably more than me when it comes to taking care of someone injured.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t say that.”  But Hoss flushed with pride at the praise.

“Don’t have to; I already did.”  With a clap on the shoulder, Adam turned and went directly to the clerk behind the registration desk.  “Hello, Tom,” he said pleasantly.  “We need some rooms for the night.  A quiet suite off the street and a double as close as you can fit us to that.”

“The suite for Joe and your pa?” Tom asked.

“Yes, that’s right, and the other for me and Hoss, so please make it separate beds.  I’d like a little room to turn over.”

Tom smiled perfunctorily at the time-honored joke about Hoss’s size, but his attention was elsewhere.  “Sure hope the boy’s gonna be all right.  Town owes him a big debt.  Why, that Clancy gang would have wiped us all out, if Joe hadn’t stepped in!”

“That’s what I hear.”  Adam still hadn’t heard the full story, of course, but while he knew Tom would have been only too eager to give him every detail, now wasn’t the time.  The clerk took two sets of keys from the rack behind him.  “This is our most comfortable suite,” he said, “and the other room is just two doors down.”

“More interested in the location than the comfort,” Adam said.  With any luck, Little Joe’d be heavily sedated enough to sleep through the night, and as for Pa, he probably wouldn’t touch his own bed.

“Quietest suite in the hotel—on the house,” Tom assured him.

“That really isn’t necessary,” Adam protested.  “I’m perfectly prepared to pay.”  Out of his own pocket, if Pa were too wrapped up in Joe to remember such mundane details.

“No, sir,” Tom insisted.  “Management won’t have it any other way.  Nothin’ but the best for our town hero!”

Adam arched an eyebrow at that phrase and prayed that his little brother would never hear it, but he accepted the keys with a smile and an acknowledging nod.  “We should be bringing him here within the hour.”

“Yes, sir.  We’ll be ready.”

Walking out onto the boardwalk, Adam exhaled slowly.  Now, what did that mean?  Hopefully, nothing.  Little Joe certainly didn’t need a welcoming party of hero worshippers, just a bed with clean sheets and pillows, and that was standard at the International House.  It occurred to him, though, that his brother might need another item or two, so even though it was late, he made his way to Cass’s Mercantile.  Will Cass was an old friend and would probably be willing to open up for a small purchase.

Fortunately, Will was just closing for the night when Adam arrived, and when he saw who was knocking, he quickly opened the door.  “Adam!  Good to see you, son.  Come in.”  He did, however, pull the shades down behind the door he closed behind them.  “How’s the boy?” he asked as soon as they were alone.

A wry grin lifted one side of Adam’s mouth.  News traveled fast in Virginia City, especially when the news was as sensational as a bank robbery, and more especially when a Cartwright was involved.  “Doc thinks he’ll be all right,” he said, “but he wants him to stay in town overnight, at least.  Sorry to bother you so late, but I wanted to pick up a few things for him.”

“Anything you need, Adam.  Town owes that boy a lot.”

Don’t say it, Adam begged internally.

But of course, Will did.  “Little Joe’s quite a hero to all of us, me as much as anyone.  Why, most everything I own, except what was in today’s till, was in that bank.”

Adam nodded.  Of course, and it was probably true for most of the citizens of the mountain-top town.  Their gratitude toward his brother was both natural and right.  “Well, with three bullets shredding his clothes, I’m afraid the hero is practically naked,” he joked, “so I’d like to get him a set of clothes to wear home and, perhaps, a nightshirt for tonight.”

“Sure, sure,” Will said.  “I know his size, so I can fix you right up.  No trouble at all.”  He rifled through a pile of nightshirts until he found the right size and laid it on the counter.  “What about the rest of you?  I figure Ben, at least, is stayin’ over with the boy.”

Adam laughed aloud.  “Oh, you could bet the bank on that one!  I doubt he’ll need anything, though.  Probably a waste of money getting a suite at the hotel, since Papa Hen will probably spend the night hovering over his baby chick.”

Will cackled right along with him.  “Probably got that right!  I’ll put a nightshirt for Ben in, too, though.”

“I really doubt there’s any need, Will,” Adam said, but the storekeeper cut him off.

“You can bring it back if he doesn’t use it.”

“Well, all right,” Adam agreed, thinking it was easier than arguing the point.  “Just put it on our bill, will you?”

“Nope,” Will said and when Adam started to remonstrate with him, raised a silencing palm.  “Like I said, I owe that boy plenty, and this ain’t much to repay him for what he saved me.”  He was pulling together trousers, shirt and socks in Little Joe’s size as he spoke, and as he laid them all on the counter, he asked, “Now, is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all,” Adam said.  He wasn’t about to mention that he and Hoss were staying over, too.  He understood Will’s need to express his gratitude, but there was no need to bankrupt himself doing it.

Will wrapped the package in brown paper, but just before he handed it to Adam, he snapped his fingers.  “I know just what you need.”

“Will . . . no,” Adam protested.

“No, no, you’re gonna want this,” the shopkeeper insisted.  “Little Joe’s gonna need to be kept quiet, ain’t he?  Sure, he is, and I just got a new shipment of Beadle’s books in.  Let me get him one or two.”

“All right,” Adam conceded easily.  Will’s point was well taken, and at a dime apiece, the gift wouldn’t cost the man much, unless he donated the entire library of the trashy little books Joe’s adventurous soul relished.

Meanwhile, Hoss had stabled his family’s mounts, happily finding his little brother’s beloved Cochise at the livery nearest the bank, where he suspected Sheriff Coffee had had him taken after everything settled down.  Hoss had hired a buggy at the same place and driven it back to the doc’s.  Just before stepping down from the rig, he took a deep breath and, lifting his face to the heavens, whispered a brief prayer of thanks.  Then he hurried inside, going straight to his little brother’s bedside.  “How’s he doin’, Pa?”

“Still sleeping,” Ben said.  “You have everything ready?”

“Yes, sir, the buggy’s right outside, if’n’ you’re ready.”

“Doctor?” Ben inquired.

“You can take him,” Paul Martin said, having checked on his patient no more than five minutes before.

Ben pulled back the covers and for the first time realized that his youngest son was clad in nothing but his underwear and socks.  “Where are his clothes?” he asked.

The doctor chuckled.  “In the rubbish bin.  What the bullets didn’t destroy, I cut off.”

“Oh, of course; I wasn’t thinking.  Unfortunately, we didn’t bring him a change of clothes.”

The doctor’s grin broadened.  “No reason you would have thought of that, not knowing the scope of his injuries, but it’s June, not January, Ben.  Just wrapping him in the blanket should be enough for a short trip.”

Ben didn’t exactly laugh, but for the first time that evening his lips turned slightly upwards.  “Yes, that should do, though nights are cool up here on the mountain, even in June.”

Perhaps it was the cool breeze through a nearby window on his bare flesh, but as Ben began to wrap his son in the blanket, Little Joe at last stirred.  His eyes fluttered open to rest on his father’s face.  “Pa?” he whispered.

“I’m right here, son,” Ben said.

Little Joe’s face wrinkled a bit.  “Sorry,” he said.

Ben smoothed comforting hands against his son’s cheeks.  “You haven’t done anything to be sorry for, Joseph.  Quite the contrary, from what I hear.”

For a moment the young man looked puzzled.  Then he said, “Worry.”

Ben looked at his boy with tenderness and love.  “Well, yes,” he said, “there is that.”  He chuckled softly.  “It’s all right, son.  You just rest, and I’ll do my best not to worry.”

“Deal,” Little Joe said, and his eyes closed as he again sank into exhausted sleep.

As quickly as they could, Ben and Hoss wrapped the boy up, and Hoss’s strong arms easily lifted and carried him outside to the waiting buggy.  Ben climbed in first and received his youngest son; then Hoss rounded the buggy and stepped in, gathering the reins for the ride to the International House.  Thankfully, it was a short one, because three on a seat made for a tight squeeze, especially when Hoss was one of the three.  Once they arrived, they reversed their actions, and Hoss carried his little brother through the hotel’s double doors.

The clerk came around the desk to meet them.  “Glad to have you with us, Mr. Cartwright,” he said.  Then remembering why they were there, he flushed.  “I mean, I’m not glad about the circumstances, but it’s . . . well . . . an honor to have you, and especially your boy, stay here.”

If he hadn’t been so concerned to get Little Joe into bed, Ben might have been amused by the stammering welcome.  As it was, he only said, “Thank you, Tom.  What room are we in?”

“Number 23, second floor,” the clerk said.  “Adam’s up there now.”

Ben nodded his appreciation and preceded Hoss up the stairs.  They quickly found the suite, and Ben opened the door, holding it for Hoss to pass through.

Adam stood from the settee in the main room.  He headed toward the bedroom on the right.  “I thought this would be best for him,” he said.  “There’s no window, so it should be quieter.”

“Very thoughtful, son.”  Ben went through the door, intending to turn down the bed, but saw that Adam had already foreseen that need.  His eyes fell on the nightshirt folded at the foot of the bed.  “Very thoughtful, indeed,” he said, thinking how typical it was of Adam to anticipate everything needed for his brother’s comfort.

Hoss laid Little Joe gently on the mattress.  Then, with Adam’s help, he got his younger brother dressed and situated comfortably in the bed.  “Has he been awake at all?” Adam asked, since Joe hadn’t stirred at all throughout the process of bedding him down.

“Briefly,” Ben said.  “Tired boy.”

“That’s natural, I think,” Adam said.  Blood loss, coupled with shock would account for the exhaustion.  He felt it himself, even without the added stress of three bullet wounds to drain his strength.  “The next room is for you, of course.  If you’d like to turn in, Pa, I can watch Joe.”

“No, I’ll stay with him,” Ben responded, pulling a chair up to the bedside.

Adam permitted himself a small roll of the eyes, although it was exactly the answer he had expected.  “How about something to eat, then?”

“Hey, I’m all for that!” Hoss said.

“You’re always all for that,” Adam said dryly.  “I was asking Pa.”

“No, I’m not hungry,” Ben said.  “You boys go ahead.”

Another predictable answer, so Adam didn’t argue.  “All right, big guy,” he said.  “Let’s head downstairs and see what’s on offer tonight.”

For a moment Hoss looked like he wanted to say something to his father.  Then, apparently thinking better of it, he agreed and quickly followed his brother out the door.  “Doggone it,” he said as soon as they were in the hallway.  “Pa ought to eat somethin’.”

“We’ll bring him back a sandwich,” Adam said.  “If he doesn’t have to leave his baby son’s side, he might discover he’s hungry, after all.”

A wide, toothy grin crossed Hoss’s face.  “Yeah, might at that.  He frets over that young’un somethin’ fierce, don’t he?”

“‘That young’un’ gives him plenty to fret over.”

“Reckon he does,” Hoss conceded.  “I also reckon neither you nor me would’ve done any different if we’d been in that bank.”

“Possibly,” Adam admitted.  He wished it had been him, instead of Joe, but he didn’t know that he could have handled the situation any more safely, especially since he still didn’t exactly know what the situation had been.  Maybe Joe’d acted hastily; maybe there’d been no other way.  What difference did it make, anyway?  No doubt his little brother had done the best he knew to do, and now certainly wasn’t the time for recrimination in any case.  Any lectures, if needed, could wait until later . . . much later.

Though it was still early, Hoss was yawning widely when the brothers came back upstairs.  “Reckon I shouldn’t have had that second piece of pie,” he said.  “Plumb makin’ me sleepy.”

“Want to turn in now?” Adam said.

“Figured to check on Shortshanks before I did.”

Adam fished the room key from his pocket.  “I can do that, when I deliver Pa’s sandwich.  It’s room 21.”

After trying futilely to stifle another yawn, Hoss took the key with a sleepy “Thanks” and headed for the room.  It wasn’t long before Adam joined him and, like Hoss, stripped down to his drawers before crawling between the clean sheets.  “Sure was good of you to fix Joe up with a nightshirt,” Hoss said, thumping his pillow.

“I would’ve fixed you up with one, too,” Adam said, “if circumstances hadn’t forestalled me.”  He explained about Will Cass’s generous offer to outfit the entire family and how he’d kept quiet about his own and Hoss’s intent to stay over.  “Tom insisted on free rooms for us all, too,” he commented. “Nothing too good for the town hero.”

“You jealous of Joe?” Hoss asked, forehead wrinkling at the note he’d heard in his older brother’s voice.  With Adam, it could be hard to tell the difference between wry and just plumb sour.

“Of course not!” Adam declared.  “He did the town a service, and he deserves some honor for that.  I just don’t want him getting too caught up in that ‘town hero’ business.”

“I hope he does,” Hoss said soberly.

Adam looked at him in surprise.  Then with the intuitive knowledge of each other’s thoughts that these two brothers shared, he smiled.  “You hope he can . . . as do I.  He’ll be all right, Hoss, but there is a difference between being all right and having a head the size of a hot air balloon.”

“Aw, Adam, he’s a good kid, and if his balloon needs puncturing’, I reckon, between us, we can tend to it.”

“I reckon you’re right.  Good night, Hoss.”

“Night, Adam.”

Hoss was soon rattling the windowpane with his snores, but Adam lay awake for a while, still hoping against all common sense that his youngest brother would never hear the adulation being heaped on his inexperienced head.  Pa’d always promoted the adage that too many sugar plums weren’t good for growing boys, and he hadn’t been talking solely about candy.  Hoss was right: Joe was a good kid, but he could also be a cocky one.  A diet heavy in hero worship might have a worse effect on him than that second piece of pie had on his other brother.  Still, he told himself, they were lucky, very lucky, indeed, to only have that to worry about . . . instead of what type of coffin to bury the kid in.

*****

It was still dark when Adam awoke.  He plumped up his pillow and tried to get back to sleep, but if anything, Hoss was snoring louder than usual, and with most of his weariness already assuaged, Adam couldn’t manage to drift off again.  Deciding there was a better use of his time, he rose and dressed and made his way down the hall to the suite shared by his father and brother.  He still had the key, having forgotten to give it to Ben, but he didn’t need it.  The knob turned easily in his hand, and he slipped quietly inside.  Passing the settee, he entered Joe’s bedroom, and by the light of the bedside lamp, he saw his father awkwardly sprawled in the chair.  He stepped quietly past the slumbering man and laid a hand across his brother’s forehead.  With a nod of satisfaction, he turned and shook his father’s arm, softly calling, “Pa?”

Ben jolted awake and his gaze flew toward the figure in the bed.  “What is it?  Is he all right?”

“He’s fine, Pa,” Adam soothed.  “Resting easy, and his fever’s down.”

Ben, of course, had to verify that good news for himself, and he exhaled with visible relief when he, too, placed his hand against his son’s forehead.  He smiled as he patted Little Joe’s cheek and started to sit back in the chair.

Adam stopped him with an outstretched palm.  “Why don’t you get some sleep, Pa?  There’s a perfectly good bedroom going to waste, and I can sit with Joe.”

“I know, but he’s my son, Adam.”

“And my brother . . . or don’t you trust me?”

As Ben stammered his protest against that accusation, Adam gave him his most persuasive smile.  “Then take advantage of that trust.  If you’re going to have anything left to give him today, you should see to your own need for food and sleep.”

“I ate,” Ben argued as petulantly as his youngest son might have.

“Half a sandwich does not constitute a meal,” Adam countered with a glance at what remained on the plate, although he was secretly surprised that even that much had been consumed.  “Half a night’s sleep isn’t much, either, but you need to take it while you can . . . unless you want me to call you Papa Hen to your face.”

“Instead of behind my back,” Ben retorted huffily.  “I know the three of you do that!”

“We do, with considerable justification,” Adam said with a crooked smile, “but I’m offering you the chance to prove us wrong.  Come on, Pa.  You know I’m right about the need for rest.  You’d insist on it for any of us.”

Ben raked a weary hand through his tousled gray hair.  “Oh, all right,” he conceded.  “I suppose it isn’t long ‘til morning, anyway.  You’ll wake me if he needs me?”  It was less a question than a command.

Adam resisted the temptation to salute and promised that he would.  Some jokes weren’t worth the cost.  Once his father left, he took one of the orange-backed books Will Cass had donated to his little brother and sat in the chair by Joe’s bed.    He sighed when he saw the lurid illustration on the cover, then shrugged and opened it.  It wouldn’t have been his normal choice of reading material, but as it was the only sort available, it would have to do.

He’d finished almost half of a tale totally inappropriate for a recovering invalid when he heard the first stirrings from the bed, and the faint moans brought him directly to Joe’s side.  With soft, soothing sounds he tried to ease him into rest, but at length a set of leaf-green eyes fixed on his face.  “Hey, Adam,” he heard.

“Hey, little buddy,” Adam said with a light caress of his brother’s curls.  “Little early for you, isn’t it?”  When Little Joe only looked puzzled, the older brother concluded it was, indeed, too early for the kid to take in the traditional jokes about his love of sleeping late.

Instead, Joe slowly gazed around the unfamiliar surroundings and asked weakly, “Where?”

“The International House,” Adam replied, and when Joe responded with a perplexed and slightly troubled expression, he quipped lightly, “Nothing but the best for the town hero.”  If he’d been given to such gestures, he would have clapped a hand over his errant mouth.  Exactly the words he hadn’t wanted Joe to hear from anyone, and he was the one who’d spewed them into the air!  No doubt that ridiculous Beadle’s dime novel was to blame, with its glorification of a young man whose heroism was noted for a reckless abandonment of self-preservation and good sense that might even exceed Joe’s own.

“Pa?” Little Joe asked.

Grateful Joe didn’t seem to have paid much attention to his careless remark, Adam said at once, “In the next bedroom, sleeping.”  More hesitantly, he added, “I can get him, little buddy, if you need him.”  A small, side-to-side gesture answered him.  “Hoss is close, too.”

A frown greeted that.  “Can’t . . . hear him,” Little Joe said.

Adam chuckled and patted his little brother’s arm.  “Couple rooms away.  Lucky you.  I was sleeping in the next bed.”

Little Joe smiled then.  “Lucky,” he said.

“You were, indeed,” Adam said, and he, of course, of thinking of luck far greater than escaping Hoss’s snores for the night.  Those thoughts he kept to himself as long lashes fell on his youngest brother’s cheeks and he again slept.

When Little Joe next woke, his entire family was with him.  Asked how he felt, he gave the typical response of “Fine” and followed it with the question that told all of them he actually was.  “When we goin’ home?”

“When the doctor says you may,” Ben answered.

“Pa.”  The whine, while soft, was drawn out and thoroughly petulant.

“When the doctor says, Joseph,” Ben repeated, more firmly.  “There are worse fates, young man, than having a breakfast in a fine restaurant.”

The pooched out lower lip was another typical response and, therefore, easily ignored, but Hoss decided to give breakfast a hearty endorsement.  “Sounds good to me.  How ‘bout steak and eggs, little brother?”

“Maybe something a little lighter to start with,” Adam chided.  “Not everyone has your unperturbable appetite.”

“I think that might be wiser,” Ben agreed.  “Scrambled eggs and toast?” he suggested to his youngest son and was pleased to see it met with a small nod and smile, both signs that the boy was, indeed, feeling better.

*****

It was midafternoon when Adam pulled the buckboard, complete with mattress and blankets, up to the front of the International House.  The whole family had waited for the doctor’s visit before making any plans for the day.  By the time he’d examined his patient and agreed that he could be taken home, if certain precautions were followed, it was closing on ten o’clock.  Adam had quickly volunteered to ride home and get the buckboard and apprise Hop Sing of their arrival that afternoon.  Except for their father, he’d spent the most time with Joe already and knew that Hoss would be happier if he could stay with their brother.  The bond between those two was something extraordinary, and each would benefit from the time together.  For his own part, Adam felt the solitude of the drive home had helped replenish him for whatever lay ahead, which he fervently hoped would be a straightforward recovery.

Seeing Tom again behind the desk when he entered, Adam stopped long enough to tell him that the family would be checking out soon and to thank him for the gift of such comfortable rooms.

“No trouble at all, Mr. Adam,” Tom said.  “Welcome to stay longer, in fact, if the boy needs to.”

“Dr. Martin feels he’s ready to go home,” Adam said, “Again, please thank the management for their kindness.”

“Anytime,” Tom said earnestly.  “Anything for the . . .”

Adam hurried up the stairs, hoping not to hear the predictable closing words.  He couldn’t get far enough fast enough, of course, but he settled for a wave of acknowledgement and a quick escape.  As he walked briskly down the hall, he wondered how they could possibly get Joe past the adulating clerk without his hearing them.

It proved to be more impossible than he’d imagined, for the word had gone out (Tom’s doing, probably) and a crowd awaited them, practically blocking the foot of the stairs.  As Hoss carried his little brother through the gauntlet of well-wishers, each felt compelled to say something to the young hero of the day or, worse, to clap him on the shoulder.  Hoss managed to protect the injured one, but Ben and Adam finally had to step between the crowd and the other two Cartwrights.  Clearly, a speech was called for, and Ben made it, thanking everyone for their kind words, but reminding them that Joseph was still recovering and needed to get home to his bed.  The crowd parted then and allowed the family through, but followed them out and sent them away with three cheers as they lined the porch of the International House.  Little Joe was all smiles and even managed a small wave with his uninjured arm.  More cheers followed that valiant effort.

Seated beside his father as he guided the horses down C Street, Adam glanced over his shoulder to gauge how his younger brother was handling all the attention and saw, with both relief and concern, that Little Joe was already asleep.  Ordinarily, the kid would be in his element, receiving accolades from—well, anyone—and it certainly wasn’t modesty that made him so indifferent to them now.  Modesty was not a trait the youngest in the family had in any great measure, whatever the circumstances, and Adam had also noticed that Joe made no objection when told Hoss would carry him downstairs.  That, in itself, had told the rest of them he was still weak from blood loss, and since they had a long drive ahead of them, it was best he spend it resting, if he could.

Adam drove slowly down the Geiger Grade and then at a steadier pace across the smoother ground of Washoe Valley.  He considered his efforts a success when Little Joe did not wake until they reached the rougher climb into the foothills leading to the Ponderosa.  There was no avoiding all the jolts then, and the winces that wrinkled the boy’s face and the occasional moans told them he felt them.  By the time they pulled up before the ranch house, he was obviously drained and again made no objection to being carried inside.  Better days would come—and worse; better for Joe, worse for them, as his strength improved and his disposition deteriorated.  Still, that was typical for Joe when recovering from illness or injury, and they were used to handling the ups and downs of his quixotic moods.

Little Joe, at first, accepted the coddling with good grace, but the compliant behavior lasted only a few days.  Then he began fussing to get out bed.

“And do what?” Adam asked pointedly.  “You can’t walk on that leg, not unless you want to open the stitches Dr. Martin so carefully put in.”

Little Joe pouted, mostly because he knew his older brother was right.  “I could rest on the settee, good as in bed,” he said, “and less trouble to anyone else if’n I was closer.”

“You’d have to be carried down,” Ben stated.

“And back up later,” Adam added.  “Scarcely fair to Hoss.”

“Hoss don’t mind,” Little Joe said confidently, and then fixing the eyes of a forlorn puppy on his next-older brother, asked, “Do you?”

“No, I don’t mind,” the ever-congenial Hoss said.  “Whatever makes you feel better, Shortshanks.”

“Well, all right then,” Ben agreed, while Adam rolled his eyes and wagged his head disapprovingly at his youngest brother, who was suddenly all smiles again.

The smiles lasted a few more days, and then the settee by the fireplace became too confining, too.  “I could ride in the buggy,” Little Joe pointed out.  “That wouldn’t strain my leg.”

“There is absolutely nowhere you need to go,” Adam stated flatly.

“I have to agree,” Ben said, and for a moment Adam looked triumphant.

Little Joe pouted, but everyone was pretty much invulnerable to that by this time.  “I was only thinking of going to church, come Sunday.”  His first thought had actually been the Bucket of Blood on Saturday night, but the second destination seemed more likely to succeed.

Neither Hoss nor Adam was fooled by that ploy, but Ben mellowed.  “Well, we’ll see how you’re feeling Sunday morning,” he said.

By Sunday morning Little Joe declared himself fit as a fiddle, and while no one believed that, neither could they deny that he seemed much better.

“I think it’ll tire you, son,” Ben said, “but if your desire for worship is that strong . . .”

“Oh, it is,” Little Joe insisted.  “I got a lot to be thankful for, Pa.”

Adam choked and Hoss grinned at what even he knew was a mouthful of soft soap.  They suspected Pa did, too, but he let the crafty kid get away with it.  Pa, after all, could be pretty indulgent with any of his sons at this stage of recovery, and of them all, Little Joe knew best how to play on Pa’s heartstrings.

If Joe found the long ride into town tiring, he didn’t show it.  Pride kept him from using a cane when he walked into church Sunday morning, but he did make use of Hoss’s strong arm for support.  When he walked slowly down the aisle, the crowd at first hushed in surprise and then erupted in applause.

Adam moaned under his breath.  When Pa had spoken, perhaps facetiously, of Joe’s strong desire for worship, he certainly hadn’t meant hero worship.  Immediately, Adam rebuked himself for the unworthy thought, for Joe looked just as stunned as any of them and, though he acknowledged the greeting with a smile and a nod, he seemed eager to take his place in the family pew.

The pastor went to the lectern and said, “We are, indeed, glad to welcome young Joseph Cartwright back to our services and happy to see that you are recovering, young man.  To express our gratitude to God, I suggest we change our opening hymn to “Now, Thank We All Our God.”  The suggestion seemed to have the approval of the congregation, who immediately launched into an exuberant rendition of the song.

At least, thought Adam, our young hero had enough grace to blush at this!

*****

Much to Ben Cartwright’s surprise, a trio of businessmen arrived at the Ponderosa the following Wednesday.  Since the prime hours of a working day were an odd time to pay a social call, he assumed they were there with some sort of business or political matter to discuss and wondered whether he should suggest that his youngest son retire to his room.  Little Joe’d already had a short nap after lunch and was now lackadaisically braiding a bridle in his father’s well-padded leather chair, so he couldn’t plead a need for rest.  He decided to take his cue from the other men.

His concern was first heightened and then relieved when Will Cass moved directly to the boy’s side and extended a bundle of orange-backed paperback books.  “Thought you might be ready for a new Beadles or two,” the shopkeeper said.

“Sure am,” Little Joe said with a grin.  “Thanks, Mr. Cass.”

“Least I can do,” Will said, taking care to pat the uninjured shoulder.

“Won’t you sit down, gentlemen?” Ben requested, gesturing toward the settee.  “I’ll have Hop Sing bring us coffee or whatever else you might like.”

All three men said coffee would be fine, so Ben nodded at the cook, who, typically, was hovering at the doorway between the kitchen and dining area.  Turning back to the trio of businessmen, he smiled and said, “I know you didn’t drive all this way into the country just for a cup of coffee, excellent as Hop Sing’s is.”

The men chuckled at the leading statement and Eli Henderson, the town’s chief greengrocer, said, “You guessed it, Ben.  We’re here to discuss a mite of business with you . . . and with young Joe here.”

“With . . . Joe.”  Ben felt a sudden fluttering of his father-hen feathers.

Will Cass, who knew him best, laughed at the instinct he was sure he had guessed.  “Now, settle down, Ben.  This is a good thing.  We wanted to talk about the Founders’ Day celebration.”

“Oh.”  Ben’s relief was evident.  “Yes, well, whatever I can do to help out,” he said, and then remembering the mention of Joe’s name, he added, “I don’t think Little Joe will be competing in the footrace this year.”

Little Joe grimaced.  He was the defending champion in that yearly race and hated to give up his title unchallenged, but he knew Pa was right.  He could barely walk without assistance, so running was definitely out of the question.

“No, no, of course not,” Henderson said with a nervous laugh.  “Wouldn’t expect it.  In fact, we’ve thought of a way the young’un can help out that don’t even involve walkin’.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s good.”  Ben spoke slowly, somewhat hesitantly, still wary of what might be asked of his son.

“Gettin’ the cart before the horse,” huffed the third member of the party, lawyer Jack Murray.  “First thing we want is to honor our town hero, present him a medal and a certificate of our thanks for what he did to save our town.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Ben said at once.

“Oh, no, sir,” Little Joe protested so quickly that Ben wasn’t sure whether he was speaking on his own or responding to his father’s reaction.

Murray patted the air with both palms.  “Now, now, modesty’s a fine thing, especially in a young fellow, but so is appreciation and we want to show ours.  Let us do this, Ben.  Whole town wants it.”

Ben doubted that the whole town had even heard this idea, but he’d overheard enough comments in town to judge that the councilmen were probably right about its universal acceptance.  Seeing Little Joe look to him for guidance, he slowly considered the proposition and even more slowly nodded his head.  “I suppose it would be all right,” he said, “but nothing elaborate, please.”

“No, no, nothing elaborate,” Murray promised promptly.

“Now, about our other idea,” Henderson began.

Ben responded with an arched eyebrow.  “Other idea?”  He couldn’t keep the note of suspicion from his voice or the concern that he was being led down a primrose path from his thoughts.

“Now, Ben, I mentioned it before,” Henderson chided.  “The way Joe here can help that doesn’t involve walking.”

“Oh, yes,” Ben said.  “I thought you meant the medal or whatever.”

Henderson’s laugh seemed slightly forced.  “Well, much as we want to do that, it doesn’t help raise money for the schoolhouse and town benevolent fund.”

“And your other idea will?  And without walking?”

“That’s right.”

“Glad to help if I can,” Little Joe put in.  Frankly, anything that got him out the house at that point was a welcome change, and while he wasn’t eager to get back to mundane chores, he’d welcome feeling useful.

“We can always count on the Cartwrights to support the town,” Will Cass said with the loyalty of a longtime friend.  “So, you know how we always set up booths along C Street, for selling pies and cakes and shooting galleries and kissing booths and such?”

“Yes,” Ben said.  His mouth quirked upward.  “Well, I for one would not want to taste a cake baked by my son, so I assume you want his help with the shooting gallery.”

“No, no,” Murray said.  “Your other boys can help with that if’n they want, but Joe here’s got different talents.”

“He does?”  The eyebrow arched higher, giving Ben a skeptical expression.

Will Cass laughed out loud.  “We want Joe for the kissing booth, Ben.  You gotta admit the boy’s got natural talent in that direction.”

“We’ll paint a banner—something like ‘Kiss the Town Hero’ and charge a dollar a kiss,” Henderson explained.  “I think it’ll be a real money-raiser.”

Ben’s head began to shake side to side.  “Oh, I don’t know about this.  Scarcely seems proper.”

“You’re not sayin’ the girls have done anything improper in selling their kisses in a good cause, are you, Ben?” Will asked with a twinkle in his eye.  “Why, my own Sally has done it, more than once.”

“No, no, of course not,” Ben said at once.  “That seems perfectly natural and civic-minded, but”—he looked at his son and was dismayed to find him grinning ear to ear.

“I can be civic-minded, too, Pa,” Little Joe declared.

Will Cass clapped him on the back.  “That’s the spirit, boy!”

Ben had sincere doubts about how civic-minded his son’s motives were, but he couldn’t think of any reason to refuse.  “All right,” he agreed, “but I want some regular rest periods planned into this enterprise.  I would remind you that my son is still recovering from his injuries and may tire quickly.”

The councilmen assured Ben that whatever Joe needed by way of rest and refreshment would be provided; then, well satisfied with their afternoon’s work, they left before the list could grow longer or further objections found.  They knew that, once given, a Cartwright’s word was a well-nigh-sacred bond.

*****

“You have got to be kidding!” was Adam’s explosive response to the latest news from the Founders’ Day committee when Ben announced it over supper that evening.

Ben chuckled.  “I assure you I’m not.”

Hoss gave the youngest Cartwright a wink, accompanied by a broad grin.  “Ought to be right up your alley, little brother.”

“Too far up his alley,” Adam muttered.  “Pa, you can’t let him.  It’s . . . it’s unseemly.”

Ben shrugged.  “Well, I admit that was my first reaction, but as Will Cass pointed out, no one thinks less of young ladies who do the same.  He even pointed to his own daughter as an example, and I couldn’t argue that it was any different for my son to offer his kisses in the same good cause.”

“You’re just jealous, Adam,” Hoss cackled.  “Me, too, Shortshanks.”

“I am not jealous,” Adam bit out, “and I’m a bit weary of that accusation from you.”

“Naw, it ain’t jealousy,” Little Joe said, a touch of bitterness in his voice.  “Adam here’s just afraid my head’ll blow up like a hot air balloon.”

Adam’s mouth dropped as he recognized his own words.  “Hoss shouldn’t have told you that,” he said.

“Why?” Little Joe demanded.  “Because it’s so much better for you to say it behind my back?”

“I took it for a joke,” Hoss protested.  “Didn’t see no harm in passin’ it on.”

“Oh, no.  Older brother was dead serious, weren’t you, Adam?” Little Joe snorted.

“What’s all this?” Ben demanded.  Three voices at once gave their individual opinions on that question until Ben raised a silencing hand at the cacophony.  “Never mind.  I’m sorry I asked.”  His pointed gaze fell on Adam as he said, “Whatever anyone thinks of this idea, I’ve already agreed that Joseph can participate, and we will keep that commitment.  If it feeds his ego to any serious degree, I will be the one to deal with it.  Is that clear?”

“Clear to me, Pa,” Hoss said, head bobbing rapidly up and down.

“I wasn’t worried about you, son,” Ben said, “but you other two hardheads had best quit locking horns, because come Founders’ Day, this family will present a united front to the citizens of Virginia City.  I repeat, is that clear?”  The firmness of his tone brooked only one answer, and his eldest and youngest son quickly and meekly gave it.

*****

Ben wasn’t sure what had wakened him in the middle of that night.  Fatherly instinct or, perhaps, years of experience, although he was sure those naughty boys of his would have made some crack about something ruffling his feathers.  Either way, as he made his way down the stairs, he knew: a son needed him.  So, he wasn’t in the least surprised to find one sitting on the fireside table, barefooted, chin cupped in hands.  Nor was he surprised by which son it was or that the boy didn’t stir until he sat beside him and snaked an arm around the slim shoulders.

“Hey, Pa,” Little Joe said softly, leaning into the embrace.

“Hey, Joe,” Ben said.  “Couldn’t sleep?”  He felt, rather than saw, his son’s head move sidewise against his shoulder.  “Would it help to talk?”

“Do you think he’s right?”

“He?” Ben asked, although he instinctively knew whom Joe meant.

“Adam.  Is he right?” Little Joe asked.  “Is all this hero nonsense makin’ my head swell?”

The very fact that his son could refer to the nonsense as nonsense canceled any concern Ben felt about where the boy’s head was, but he chose to deal with more important matters first.  “I don’t think Adam was saying that he thought you had a swelled head, but that he feared you might, if you listened to too much of the nonsense.”

“Same thing,” muttered Little Joe.

“No,” Ben said.  “You’re thinking that your older brother thinks the worst of you, when the truth is he thinks the world of you.”

“Sure must have a dim view of the world, then.”

Ben’s laugh was barely audible.  “Sometimes.  Certainly, it’s a less optimistic view than either you or Hoss share, but then Adam’s seen more of the world than either of you.  And sometimes, son, he’s seeing perils he feels prone to himself and wants to spare you from.”

“Like a big head?”

“Like pride, yes,” Ben said.  “That’s something he’s struggled with in the past.  Hard for anyone as gifted as Adam not to battle pride at some point in his life.  I think he’s managed it well, conquered his demons, but he remembers the struggle and doesn’t want that for his little brother . . . especially if what that brother feels pride in is recklessly risking his life, even in a good cause.”

“He don’t seem to worry about Hoss gettin’ prideful.”

Little Joe sounded so much like a petulant two-year-old that Ben again laughed.  “Who could worry about that with Hoss?  Despite his considerable gifts, he’s one of the humblest men I know.”  He paused and reached out to ruffle his youngest’s unruly mane of chestnut curls.  “As for you, young man, you’re more like your eldest brother than you know.  Although that might shock Adam as much as I can see it does you, I think he instinctively knows it, and it makes him all the more protective of a weakness he’s seen in himself and fears in you.”

“Maybe,” Little Joe conceded and then grinned.  “Between Papa Hen and Brother Hen, it’s a wonder I don’t spew feathers with every breath.”

“Oh, go on with you,” Ben chuckled.  “Seriously, Joe, go on to bed.  You probably need a week’s rest if you’re gonna have enough stamina for all the ladies who want to kiss the town hero.”

“That part I’m lookin’ forward to!”

“I know you are!  But you know, Joe, they won’t all be pretty, young girls.  Some may be old enough to be your grandmother and some, well, less than beautiful, to put it kindly.”

“I know, Pa,” Little Joe said.  “Fact is, I’ll be surprised if I don’t get more of that kind than the other.  Pretty young things got beaus of their own to kiss ‘em, but them that don’t and the grammas need kissin’ even more, don’t you think?”

Ben’s smile was warm with affection.  “I do, and the fact that you do tells me all I need to know about the size of your head, young man.  It’s just the size it should be, so you go ahead and enjoy all those kisses, son, and I hope there will be some young, pretty ones mixed in with ‘the other kind’ to reward your efforts with some well-earned pleasure.”

“Thanks, Pa.”  He stood and wrapped his arms around his father, and then side by side, they went up to bed.

*****

“Your suite’s ready for you, Mr. Cartwright,” said Tom as he handed over the keys to the rooms at the International House without even being asked.

“Same rooms as before?” asked Adam.

The clerk beamed.  “Yes, sir.  Quiet and back from the street, just like before.  Same terms as before, too.”

“Not necessary,” Adam said.  “Really.  Not necessary.”

Tom frowned at the slow, deliberate firmness with which each word had been said.  “Our pleasure,” he insisted.

Ben, who had never been told about the previous terms, looked puzzled, but anxious to get his youngest upstairs and settled in, he merely said, “Thank you, Tom.  The rooms were excellent before and I’m sure will be just what we need now, as well.”

Clearly happier with the more appropriate response, Tom grinned broadly and said, “Like I told Adam before, anything for the town hero.”

Cutting a quick glance at his older brother, Little Joe saw him roll his eyes, but otherwise make no response.  Over the week since the Founders’ Day committee had come to the Ponderosa, he and Adam had made their peace about the “hero nonsense,” and he was pretty sure that older brother now felt that younger could handle the attention without taking flight from the heights of Sun Mountain like a hot air balloon.

They all trooped upstairs to the second-floor suite, and Hoss carried his little brother’s carpetbag into the room he had occupied before.  “There you go, Shortshanks,” he said.

“Thanks,” Little Joe said.

Hoss flashed a toothy, teasing grin and pointed at the bed.  “No, I mean, ‘There you go.’  Pa said he wanted you lying down, soon as we got here, remember?”

Little Joe groaned.  “How could I forget?”  Papa Hen had laid down so many restrictions on his activities over the next twenty-four hours that he really did feel he was choking on feathers.

“Good to hear,” Ben said from the doorway.  “Lie down and rest until suppertime, son.”  His eyes twinkled as he continued, “Then, if you’re a very good boy, I won’t insist on you taking your meals in the room.”

“Always good,” Little Joe said, echoing a phrase for which he had become justly famous as a toddler.  “And I’ll trust the lovely ladies of Virginia City and the surrounding territory to reward me for my virtue tomorrow.”

“Oh, the surrounding territory now, too, is it?” Adam snorted, although he smiled immediately afterwards.

“Oh, yeah, Adam,” Hoss thrust in.  “The word’s gone out, and ladies is comin’ from far and wide to smooch our young hero.”

“Pa,” Little Joe said with exaggerated soberness, “I don’t see how I can be expected to rest with such foolishment goin’ on.”

“A point well taken,” Ben chuckled.  “We’ll clear out and let you rest.”  He motioned his older sons out of the room, and after Hoss had given his little brother one hearty slap on the back, they all left, closing the door behind them.

Little Joe stretched out on the bed, finally admitting, to himself at least, that coming to town the night before the big doings and the elaborate schedule of rest his father had dictated really was a good idea.  The trip to town had been pretty tiring, and as much as he liked kissing girls, two hours at a stretch was probably too much of a good thing.  Tomorrow, he’d willingly escape back to this room for the 30-minute breaks Pa had dictated to the committee, although he’d already enlisted Hoss to make sure he didn’t actually fall asleep and miss one minute of his commitment.  Commitment to kiss, he thought, yawning as his eyes closed.  Shame they ain’t all that easy.

*****

Little Joe noticed with some relief that a stool had been provided for him inside the kissing booth.  He’d already been standing for some time during the medal ceremony, and while he could walk unassisted now, too much time on his feet still made his injured leg ache.  From the size of the line queuing up to pay for kisses, though, he wouldn’t be making much use of that stool, at least for a while.  “Hello, Mrs. Jenkins,” he said to the first lady in line, a widow he would have put at 75 and not a day less.  “You gonna show the young fillies how it’s done?”

Gray-headed Mrs. Jenkins tittered into her cupped hand and then presented her puckered lips for what turned out to be a lingering kiss.

Little Joe whispered in her ear, “Thanks for bein’ brave enough to go first,” and was rewarded with a grandmotherly peck on the cheek before Mrs. Jenkins marched away, head held high.  Over her shoulder, she called boldly, “I’ll be back for more, sonny.  Got to get my cake entered in the contest.”

“Bring me back a slice, and the kiss’ll be free,” Little Joe said.

“I could get you a piece of cake, Little Joe,” said the next customer in line, as she swished her gingham skirt around her bony ankles.

Little Joe grinned at the twelve-year-old.  “Sorry, Lizzie,” he said.  “That was a one-time offer.  Can’t have me gettin’ to be size of Hoss, now can we?”

“You could never get that size, Little Joe,” Lizzie giggled, “but you’re ‘bout the right size for me.”

“I ‘spect you’re right,” Little Joe said and leaning in, he gave her an innocent kiss.  For the next couple of hours, one girl, woman or granny after another presented herself for a kiss, and the young hero made sure to gear what he gave to their age or marital status.  With the young ones or those who were married, he kept the kisses brief and circumspect, while he was especially indulgent with the widows or elderly ladies.  He figured they were the ones who hadn’t had a good kiss in a while, so he tried to give them one to remember.  Much as he wanted to do the same with the handful of unattached and lovely young women who stood in that line, he held back, not wanting his intentions to be misunderstood.

He was surprised when his father appeared at his side.  “Sorry, ladies,” Ben announced, “but it’s time our young hero took a break.”  Woeful sighs of disappointment rippled like a wave down the lengthy line of women.

Little Joe glanced up at the clock in front of the bank and noted, with surprise, that both hands pointed straight up at twelve.  Well, Pa had always preached punctuality, so he could hardly expect him not to practice it.  As another groan went down the line, he said soothingly, “Now, ladies, I’ll be back soon, rested up and ready to give you my best, and you’ll be first, Mrs. Ward.”  He winked at the lady who was first in line.  He turned to the sign behind him that said, “On break.  Back at” above a hand-drawn clock dial.  He positioned its moveable hands to 12:30.

Ben calmly reached over his shoulder and adjusted them to 1:00.  “This is your lunch break, young man,” he said in response to Joe’s protesting look.  “You need time to eat, as well as rest.”

“Aw, Pa,” Little Joe muttered.

“No argument,” Ben said, taking his young son by the elbow and escorting him up the street to the hotel.  Hoss and Adam fell into step as they neared the International House.  “Figured you’d be wantin’ lunch about now,” Hoss said with a toothy grin.

“And wanted to be sure you left plenty for him,” Adam put in.

Hoss’s appetite was a time-honored joke, so Little Joe smiled dutifully, but it was obvious to all of them that it was nothing more than duty.  “I’ll leave it all for him,” the youngest Cartwright said.

Ben’s brow furrowed in concern.  “You need to eat, son.”

“I just want to go up to the room,” Little Joe insisted.

“If you’re that tired, perhaps we should . . .”

“No,” Little Joe interrupted.  “I’m fine, Pa, just want a little time to myself.  You were right in sayin’ I’d need that, but I’ll be ready to go again after an hour.”

Seeing that Ben was still frowning, Adam suggested that they go ahead and eat and take a sandwich up to Joe afterwards.  “Pa’s right; you should eat something,” he told his brother, although, perhaps, the more pertinent audience was their father.

“That’s a good idea,” Ben said.  “Agreed, Joseph?”

“Sure, Pa; that sounds fine.”  The tone in which the question had been asked told Little Joe he had no choice but to agree, but once he’d said the words, he found that they did, indeed, sound like what he really wanted.

Watching as his son slowly climbed the stairs, Ben said, “I don’t know; he is tired . . . and favoring that right leg.”

Adam nodded.  “I noticed, but he’s got an hour.  That should help.”

“Enough?”

Hoss answered.  “It’ll be enough, Pa, and this kissin’ thing is doin’ him more good than harm.”

“I’m sure he thinks so,” Adam said, quirking a half-smile.

“Naw, I mean it,” Hoss insisted.  “The kid ain’t done much of nothin’ since that bank fracas, nothin’ fun, for sure, and he needs it, Pa, even if it does tire him some.  He’ll probably sleep clean ‘til noon tomorrow.”

Ben smiled.  “And, for once, I’ll let him.  Well, let’s get some lunch . . . and a nice thick sandwich to carry up to the room.”

*****

“Pa,” Little Joe all but whined as he left the hotel and started down the street under the protective wing of Papa Hen.  “I don’t need an escort back to the kissing booth.”

“I just happen to be going the same direction,” Ben argued, “but if you’re embarrassed to be seen with your father, young man, I suppose I can take another route.”

Little Joe rolled his eyes.  “I’ll make you a bargain, Pa.  You can walk alongside me to wherever it is you’re goin’, but you don’t need to show up when it’s time for my next break.  I can see the bank’s clock from my booth, and I can find my way back to the hotel all by myself.  I ain’t five nor six, neither!”

“Sometimes, Joseph,” Ben said, “you do sound all of five years old—or, perhaps, four— but to spare your manly dignity, I’ll accept your terms.”

His reward was a bright smile and an effervescent “Thanks, Pa!” worthy of a bouncing four-year-old.  Chuckling to himself, Ben gave his son’s backside a couple of light pats and turned to walk up to B Street, where the family barber was doing brisk business on this festive day.  Frankly, his young son’s lengthening locks could have used a shearing, too, but he’d let it ride a little longer.  “Papa Hen can be indulgent, even if that rapscallion of a chick doesn’t think so!” he muttered to himself as he climbed up the mountain.

Little Joe arrived at the kissing booth, setting off a ripple of excited greetings from the line of ladies already forming.  Seeing them start to surge forward in most unladylike fashion, he said, “Now, now ladies, no pushing.  There’s plenty for everyone.”  He spotted the face he was looking for and said, “There’s my girl!  Mrs. Ward, you’re first, like I promised.”

“Good to see a young’un can be a man of his word.”  With uplifted chin, Mrs. Ward marched past all the sighing young things that had tried to keep her from her rightful place.

The afternoon went much as the morning had, and though he still enjoyed the pleasure of kissing, Joe began to tire enough that he found himself looking fondly at the bank’s clock down the street.  With only twenty minutes to go, he looked into the eyes of a lovely girl he would genuinely enjoy kissing . . . except for one small problem.  “Uh, hi, Margie,” he said tentatively to his old schoolmate.  “Matt’s not—uh—with you?”

The flounce of Margie’s golden ringlets set them shimmering in the sun.  “He was,” she said, “but he’s so determined to win top prize at the shooting booth that he’s got no time for me, so I’m givin’ him a taste of his own medicine.  See how he likes bein’ ignored!”

Little Joe bit his lower lip.  “Hey, girl,” he said softly, “you sure you wanna play that game?”  Matt was a good guy, at least most days, but he had a volatile temper when provoked, as Joe had reason to remember from many a schoolyard battle.

“Somethin’ wrong with my money?” Margie demanded, waving a dollar under Joe’s nose.

“Looks fine to me.  Get a move on!” hollered the middle-aged lady behind her, who’d been waiting a good while for her chance at that handsome lad’s enticing lips.

Deciding the best policy might be to kiss and run, so to speak, Little Joe planted a chaste peck on Margie’s puckered lips and sent her on her way.  Looking up and down the street, he gave a sigh of relief when there was no sign of Matt and turned, smiling, to the next lady in line.  Since she’d been kept waiting and because she was one of the kind who “needed kissing,” he let his lips linger long enough to give her real satisfaction for her dollar and then it was on to the next one.  Fifteen minutes to go and then he could take a break.  He was ready for one.

The clock at the bank read almost two o’clock when Little Joe announced that he’d be taking a break after the next kiss.  “Only half an hour this time,” he promised, “and I’ve got your order memorized, ladies, so no cheating.”  If pushed, he probably couldn’t have gotten the order right, past the first half dozen, but he was trying to ward off any disputes.  Until this afternoon he’d never known that ladies could be so . . . well, unladylike when vying for a man’s kisses.  There were a few weak whimpers of disappointment, but no outright protests when Little Joe set the dial to show when he’d return and limped slowly down the boardwalk toward the hotel.  At the rate I’m goin’, it’ll be time to head back soon as I get there, he mused, rubbing the thigh that had taken a bullet in the bank fracas.

He was passing the final alleyway before reaching the hotel when a heated voice called out, “Hey, Hero!”

Little Joe instinctively turned toward the voice and involuntarily moaned, though so softly the other man didn’t hear, if he even could have over anger’s roar in his own ears.  “Hey, Matt,” Joe called back.  “How you doin’?”

A snarl curled Matt’s upper lip.  “What you doin’, kissin’ my girl?”

Little Joe spread his hands in a placating gesture.  “Hey, Matt, that was only for charity, you know, and she had the dollar in hand.  I couldn’t say no, could I?”

“Yeah, you could!”  To emphasize his point, Matt grabbed Little Joe and dragged him into the alley.

Unfortunately for Joe, the arm Matt had grabbed was the one injured in the bank robbery, and his treacherous leg took that moment to give way, as well.  This ain’t gonna go well, he thought as the fist plowed into his jaw.

*****

Hoss had no sooner seen the empty kissing booth and the dial set to 3:30 than he looked up and noticed his older brother, heading for the same destination.  Seeing him at the same moment, Adam started to chuckle.  “Oh, no.  Not you, too.”

“Huh?” Hoss said.

“Papa Hen send you to check on his chick, too?” Adam asked with a smirk.

“Oh . . . yeah.  The both of us, huh?”

“The both of us,” Adam agreed.  He’d deduced, more than been told, that Pa had promised Little Joe not to check up on him that afternoon, but he was evidently relying on the fact that neither of the boy’s brothers had made that promise.  What Adam had not deduced was that his father would exact the same pledge from Hoss, too.

“Looks like the young’un did like he was told,” Hoss said.

“Looks like.”  The arch of Adam’s eyebrow reminded his younger brother that looks could be deceiving where the youngest Cartwright was concerned.

“Think we oughta check the hotel?”

“Worth our lives if we don’t,” Adam said.

“Doggone,” Hoss groused.  “Joe ain’t gonna like that.”

Adam shrugged.  “If we’re lucky, he’ll never know.  Tom will have noticed if the town hero came in, so we can just ask at the desk.  Hopefully, he’ll have seen Joe, and we can slip away without the kid ever knowing we were there.”

A slow grin spread across the perpetually optimistic middle brother’s face.  “Yeah!  And I reckon he’ll be there.  He looked plumb tuckered at noon.”

“Cause for hope.”  After the laconic reply, Adam lazily laid an arm across the big man’s massive shoulders and steered him toward the boardwalk.  They had almost reached the hotel when the noise in the alley caught their ears.  Having served as big brother to Little Joe for eighteen years, they instinctively turned toward the sound and saw their little brother curled defensively on the ground as another fellow stood over him, repeatedly kicking his ribs.

They both ran into the alley.  Having reacted more quickly, Adam reached the combatants first, although in truth, Little Joe could scarcely be called one at this point.  Indignant that anyone would attack the boy in his weakened condition, Adam grabbed the assailant and plunged a rock-hard fist into his gut that doubled the man over.  Hoss took over from there, wrestling the man and pinning him to the ground while Adam moved at once to Little Joe and began checking him over.

“I’m all right,” Little Joe said, in a wavering voice that belied the words.

“Sure you are,” Adam said tersely and then called over his shoulder, “Get that trash to the sheriff, Hoss.”

“Aw, let him go, Adam,” Little Joe said as he struggled to rise.  “It was just a little misunderstanding.”

“No, Joe.”  Adam’s voice was firm.  Even a quick look had shown him that the other man, whom he now recognized as Matt Walters, had inflicted enough damage to warrant some time in the town lockup.  If Joe refused to press charges (and Pa let him get away with it), so be it, but he, at least, would set the example of justice served.  “Take him to Roy, Hoss; we’ll be at Doc Martin’s.  Then find Pa.”

Little Joe groaned but didn’t bother trying to talk his older brother out of a trip to the doctor or the worse fate that might befall him under the feathers of Papa Hen.  Hoss might have caved to a pouting plea for mercy, but Adam could be downright intractable once he’d taken a stand.  And when it came to intractable, they all had to give way to Pa, who could make even Adam look soft as a marshmallow.

*****

Even solid doors had to give way to Ben, who burst through the one to the examining room without so much as knocking.

Though startled, Paul Martin had the presence of mind to say immediately, “He’s all right, Ben.”

Ben was already at his boy’s side, checking for himself.

“I’m all right, Pa,” Little Joe said, deliberately echoing the doctor’s words.  “Don’t fuss.”

“I’ll fuss all I want to, young man,” Ben huffed, though he was beginning to breathe easier.  “What about his ribs?” he demanded, having seen the doctor binding the boy’s chest.

“Definitely cracked,” Dr. Martin reported, “but I don’t think there’s any broken.  Adam and Hoss got there in time.”

Ben sent appreciative looks toward his older sons.

“Nothin’ to keep me from goin’ back to my job, right, Doc?”  Little Joe tried to follow the question with a charming and confident smile, somewhat dimmed in its effect by his split lip.

“You are going back to the hotel, Joseph,” Ben said in his laying-down-the-law voice.

“No, Pa.”  Little Joe proved by his tone that he could be just as rock-hard stubborn as any other Cartwright.  “I got an obligation, and I’m already late gettin’ back.”

A collective family eyeroll met this pronouncement, and Ben spoke for them all when he said, “I think you’ve fulfilled any obligation you had to the women of Virginia City, young man.”

“No, Pa,” Little Joe insisted with even firmer determination.  “There’s only about an hour to go, and ain’t no reason I can’t do it.”

“Except, possibly, sore lips,” Adam observed dryly.

“They’ll be gentle, once they see I’m hurt,” Little Joe said with a worldly I-know-women air.

The others might have laughed, but for the fact that they’d all had some experience with how a man’s injuries could bring out the protective instincts in a woman, so their humor was only reflected in slight smirks.

“Doctor?”

If Ben had hoped for support from that quarter, his hopes faded when Dr. Martin chuckled.  “Well, I don’t suppose kissing should put too much strain on those ribs . . . provided you come up for air once in a while, Joe.”

“It wouldn’t be very heroic not to finish,” Little Joe put in, “and Cartwrights keep their word.”  Though Ben frowned, the granite of his resolve cracked in that moment.

It broke apart completely when Adam said, sounding serious, as only he could, “It would appear the hero’s reputation, as well as the family honor is at stake.”

“Oh, all right,” Ben said.  “I can’t fight the lot of you.”  He wagged a finger under his youngest son’s nose.  “However, one of your brothers will stay with you at all times, just in case some other fool decides you’re monopolizing too much of his lady’s attentions.”

Little Joe started to protest, but then a cunning look flickered briefly across his face.  “Sure, Pa,” he said, his pleading puppy eyes making him appear all the more vulnerable.  “In fact, can I have both of ‘em?”

“Of course, son.”  Ben looked concerned, but Cartwrights did keep their word and he’d already given his.  Besides, he knew he could trust his older sons.

*****

For the first time that afternoon there was no line at the kissing booth.  “Looks like business has plumb dried up, Shortshanks,” Hoss said.  “You wanna go on back to the hotel, lie down?”

“They’ll be back,” Little Joe said confidently, “and you promised to stay with me.”  He let his lower lip pucker out a little.

It did the trick.  “Oh, sure, sure,” Hoss said with an earnest bob of his head.  “You can count on me, little brother.”

“I hope I can count on both of you,” Little Joe said, taking a side glance at his oldest brother.

Adam nodded, but with a suspicious lift of one eyebrow.  He’d suspected little brother was up to something when he’d given in to Pa’s restriction so easily, but as was often the case with Little Joe, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Word quickly spread that the hero’s kissing booth was back in business, and soon that business was bustling again.  It didn’t take long for Little Joe to reveal what he had in store for both his brothers.  “Ladies,” he announced, “I’m not at my best this afternoon, and since we only have an hour left, I may not be able to accommodate all of you.”  A collective moan rippled down the line of women until Little Joe held up a quieting hand.  “Now, now, ladies, not to worry!”  Spreading both palms toward the brothers who flanked him on either side, he announced, “I’ve recruited some help from a couple of the best kissers I know.  So, take your pick, ladies.  One dollar to kiss the Cartwright of your choice!”

Excitement didn’t ripple, but roar as this invitation went forth.  “Joe,” Adam growled, while Hoss greeted the news with gaping-mouthed, but grinning surprise.  For good or ill, the offer had been made and there was no graceful way out for either brother.  The line divided into three parts, with Adam’s section being slightly longer than Little Joe’s, since many of the women had already kissed the younger man earlier in the day and were eager to try fresh meat.  Though Hoss’s queue was considerably shorter than either of his brothers, it represented more kisses than he’d ever enjoyed in a month, much less a single hour, and the lucky ladies who lined up before him got more than their money’s worth.

The only problem the big man faced was the sudden appearance of Bessie Sue Hightower, who plunked a silver dollar down on the board between them and said with a vinegary edge, “Never thought I’d have to pay for the privilege of kissin’ my man.”

Hoss turned beet red.  “Sorry, Bessie Sue.  I was just helpin’ out Little Joe, him bein’ hurt and all.  Didn’t mean to rile you none.”

“Aw, shut up and pucker up,” Bessie Sue commanded.  “I ain’t riled at ya.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hoss said and in sheer gratitude for her understanding, he planted a kiss on her waiting lips that was the envy of women at least six deep down the line.

At first, Adam had resented being roped into Little Joe’s scheme, but he soon found himself taking pleasure (as well as giving it) in kissing a number of attractive young ladies, the older widows and grandmothers still preferring the youngest Cartwright, especially now that he so obviously needed nurturing.  He’d just given his longtime friend Sally Cass an especially warm kiss when he caught sight of the next woman in line and blanched a sickly white.  “Miss Jones,” he croaked.  “I presume you’re here to check on how well we’re doing for the school fund.”  He presumed no such thing, but was praying he could divert her from what he feared she was after.

However, Miss Jones’ iron-willed purpose was not to be diverted.  She placed a twenty-dollar gold eagle on the counter and presented her puckered lips.

“Let me see if we have change for that,” Adam said desperately.

“I don’t need change, Adam,” the old maid schoolteacher said.  With a side glance toward the clock in front of the bank, she added, “I believe there’s just enough time left in this festival for you to give me what I’m due.”

As he surrendered to his disagreeable duty, Adam pondered just how long it might take his little brother to recover enough to take a well-earned thrashing.  Before he was halfway through the purchased endearments, he was calculating how successfully he might argue justifiable homicide before the circuit judge.

*****

Little Joe was completely done in by the time the three Cartwright brothers reached the hotel.  The ladies had been gentle enough, out of respect for the beating he and his poor lips had taken that afternoon, but the day’s events, both fair and foul, had been exhausting.  “Straight to bed,” Adam decreed, all thoughts of retribution lost in his solicitude for the boy, which was only heightened when his youngest brother acquiesced without argument.  He’d no sooner gotten Joe tucked in than Papa Hen showed up to cluck over his chick and insist on his having dinner in the room.  “And I do mean a full meal, young man,” Ben stated firmly.  “Nothing so paltry as a sandwich this time.”  Again, there was no argument, although Little Joe ate no more than half of his roast and potatoes.

Hoss, perched at the foot of his little brother’s bed, appeared to be deep in thought.  “Hey, Adam,” he finally said, “since we saved the hero’s hide, does that make us the heroes now?”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Adam said dryly.  “In fact, when the community realizes what we’ve foisted upon them, they might be more likely to put us behind bars than pin a medal on us.”

When Hoss laughed in hearty agreement, Adam started to amplify dramatically on that subject, but was silenced by a slender set of fingers wrapped around his lower arm.  “Don’t you know, Adam?” Little Joe asked with a quizzical cock of his head.  “You’ve always been my hero.”  His gaze moved to his other brother.  “You, too, Hoss.”  His eyes grew warmer still as they turned toward his father’s face.  “And you most of all, Pa.”

An “Aw, shucks,” expression moved across Hoss’s features, while Adam’s face, as he looked into his father’s eyes, clearly communicated, “What do we do with a boy like that?”  As for Ben, his face was filled with love for all his boys.  Little Joe released Adam’s arm, burrowed into his pillow and was soon asleep, dreaming of lovely ladies all night long.

The End

© January, 2022

Tags:  Family