Summary:  di-ver-sion  noun  1. an instance of turning something aside from its course.  2. an activity that diverts the mind from tedious or serious concerns; a recreation or pastime.

 Rating:  K+

Word Count: 6673

It was a fact that if a man didn’t care for summers hot enough to cook the blood from his very bones, Virginia City was, perhaps, not the ideal location. It was also a fact that a man born in the locale should have long been accustomed to the climate.  Some might say that man should have already figured out that feeling ornery and out-of-sorts because of the weather was a poor use of time. The way Joe saw it, those folks could keep their opinions to themselves.

It was one of those days when rain was a threat that should have been a promise. There might be sporadic streaks of lightning illuminating the dark clouds clustered around distant mountain tops, but in town there were only gusts of hot wind lifting the dust and muck of C Street high enough to coat the back of Little Joe Cartwright’s neck with grit.

Sweat dripped and spread from his neck down under the tan shirt making his back itch like no one’s business.  Rolling his shoulders in frustration, he looked around for something to ease his general level of aggravation at the world. Fortuitously, quite a big target stepped out of the mercantile with a large sack of grain balanced on each meaty shoulder.

Hoss heaved the grain sacks into the back of the wagon hard enough to nearly shake Joe off the wagon seat.  Maybe big brother was a feeling a touch out-of-sorts himself. He sure didn’t look his usual sunny self.

Hoss’s shirt was sweat-soaked and clung to his chest and arms. Fat drops of stinging moisture rolled down his forehead into the blue eyes. Giving up on all pretense of not seeming affected by the heat, Hoss leaned over the side of the wagon, dropped his head onto his arms and breathed hard.

Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, Joe hopped lightly down from the rig, giving Hoss’s ribs an affectionate pat. After sliding the big man’s hat off his head, he fanned the back of his brother’s neck vigorously for a few moments- so vigorously the tall white hat slipped right through Joe’s fingers and fell to the ground.

“Sorry, brother” Joe said, “I’ll just brush this off.”  Poor old Hoss, too overheated for a proper response, grunted in response.

Quietly, quietly (and Little Joe could be very quiet when properly motivated), he stepped over to the horse trough and dragged Hoss’s hat through the water. He lifted the hat, heavy now with less than pristine water, and tossed the contents over the unsuspecting man’s neck and head.

The resulting howl was a satisfying diversion. Joe laughed until he had to sit down, still giggling and clutching his aching sides.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do ya?”  Joe didn’t have to actually answer to assure Hoss and the crowd gathered to watch the fun, that yes, he did think it’d been funny.

“Let’s see how you like it.” Before Joe had a chance to make a run for it, he was grabbed and tossed over Hoss’s shoulder like one of those blasted sacks of grain. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what brother had in mind.  Joe’s squirming and hollerin’ didn’t do a bit of good.  He found himself tossed into that same horse trough – clothes, hat, boots, and gun belt soaked through – to the general amusement and applause of the crowd.

At least he was cooler.

**********

“If you two clowns are through making spectacles of yourselves, the stagecoach has just pulled up. Think you can make yourself presentable, Joseph?”  Adam wasn’t fooling anyone. He’d enjoyed the “spectacle” as much as anyone.

Could he make himself presentable? Guess it depended on your definition of presentable. Suppose he had to give it the old Cartwright try.  Squeezing handfuls of his hair eliminated some of the moisture. He even took a couple of minutes to dump the water out of his boots for all the good it did.  He still made squelching noises with every step.

By the time he made it to the stage, his brothers had found the package Pa had sent them for and a couple of old friends to boot.

One of his favorite people in the world, Constance Milner, was there—in dusty, creased traveling clothes yet busily fussing over Hoss, patting his shoulder and trying to smooth his thin, damp hair back to respectability. Her abundant blond hair, coiled neatly under her bonnet, might now be more streaked with gray than gold, but in his mind’s eye, she would always be the prettiest and liveliest of his mother’s friends.

She and Joe had known each other his entire life. More than happy to preserve Marie Cartwright’s memory and step in to help as needed, “Aunt” Connie had been a sympathetic port in many a childhood storm for all three brothers. Adam had even been the best man at her son, Riley’s, wedding.

After influenza swept through the area, all four Cartwrights had been pallbearers at the funerals of Riley and his young wife, Catherine.

Riley’s only child, Jude, was nearby, rattling off a long-winded story into Adam’s willing ear.

“Little Joe, darling!”  Connie’s gimlet eye took in his sorry state, and she wheeled around to chastise the person responsible for his condition.

“Adam Cartwright! Where were you when your brothers got into such a state?  Look at poor Joe, soaked to the skin and filthy besides.  I taught you better than that.  These two scamps are your responsibility.”

Connie slapped Adam’s shoulder with her fan while he helplessly shrugged at the rebuke.  There was no use arguing with Connie when she had a head full of steam.  “Now, don’t pout, sweetheart. I’m sure you do the best you can. They’re a handful, I know.”

“Joe, come here, and give me a hug.  Careful, dear, don’t ruin my dress.” Joe obliged his favorite lady of a certain age while taking enormous pleasure in making faces over her shoulder at Adam, who reciprocated by mouthing dire threats of retaliation.

“Grams! Grams!” Jude hated to see anyone else (even Cartwrights) monopolizing his grandmother’s attention. “Ain’t it time to see Grandpa?”

“Hush, child. Virginia City is loud enough without you adding to the noise. Jude, stop pulling at grandmother’s sleeve; yes, it’s time to go see your grandfather.  Hoss, dear, would you grab up that yellow and black trunk?  Thank you, you always were the sweetest boy. Now, how did Oren look the last time you all saw him?”

How did Oren look?  Joe wasn’t sure about his brothers, but the last time he’d seen Oren Milner was months ago when they’d all put Connie and Jude on the stagecoach to visit Jude’s other grandma in St. Louis.

“Aunt Connie, I can’t remember the last time I saw him. Why ain’t Oren here to meet you?”

“I suppose your paths just haven’t crossed, Hoss. I didn’t telegram him that we were coming.  I wanted it to be a surprise. He just loves surprises!”

Aunt Connie knew her husband better than anyone else, Joe supposed. Connie loved surprises, no doubt, but he would have guessed that Uncle Oren didn’t like surprises at all.  Unexpected situations seemed to unsettle him.

“How do you intend to get home, Aunt Connie?” Trust Adam to be practical.

“I was planning on renting a rig.” That wouldn’t do at all.  No Cartwright worthy of the name was going to allow an honorary aunt to drive herself and a seven-year-old boy down those dusty trails home to a man that wasn’t even expecting her. Nope, Joe and his brothers had Connie and Jude (along with their trunk) in the wagon and pointed toward home before she could think of a good reason not to go along with them.

**********

“ . . . and my cousin, Len, he’s sixteen-years-old, he was showing me how to do leatherwork.  He says I got a talent for it . . . look here at this piece . . . I braided it myself mostly . . . do you think I got a talent? Len gave me a whole pouch of leather pieces so I can make more stuff—woah, that was a big bump. We’re almost there, aren’t we?”

The good thing about having a conversation with Jude was that a feller didn’t have to say much to hold up his end of the talk. A “yup” here and there, and maybe throwing in a “ya don’t say” kept the little guy going without hardly stopping to take a breath. It left Hoss plenty of time to slap the reins, keep the wagon on the road, and enjoy the day.

If the heat hadn’t been so oppressive, the journey to Connie and Oren’s farm would have been perfectly pleasant. After all, their day’s chores were accomplished, and they had the unexpected diversion of spending time with their dear friends.

The conversation was lively, between Connie’s expert storytelling and little Jude’s unintentional witticisms, the miles flew by. The entire party was looking forward to a joyful reunion with Oren, and the closer they got the more eager everyone became.

They’d just come up on the farmhouse, pretty as a picture with flower boxes overflowing with blooms wilted from the heat and chickens pecking away at the grass in front of the house, when Hoss felt a little something tickling the back of his throat. Something sweet-sour and not at all pleasant.  A side glance at the young’un confirmed that Jude was busy jawing at Little Joe, who was riding alongside the wagon. Aunt Connie looked about ready to jump down from the wagon before the wheels even stopped moving, her face alight with excitement at the prospect of seeing her Oren.

“Adam?” His brother glanced at him, concern etched over his face. Maybe Adam smelled it, too. Bringing his horse over to Hoss’s side of the wagon, Adam leaned in to speak in a soft voice.

“Why don’t you keep Connie and Jude here while Joe and I check it out?” Hoss gave a yank on the reins, slowing the wagon to a smooth stop.  A quick word from Adam had Joe trotting alongside him and up to the porch.  They both dismounted and went into the house, calling for Oren.

“Hoss?” Connie’s eyes weren’t eager and tender now; they were shining with terror. The handkerchief she pressed over her mouth and nose suggested she’d picked up on what had likely happened. She had young Jude’s wrist in a firm grip, preventing him from leaving her side. The three of them watched Joe step back out onto the porch.  Hoss knew it was bad news just from the way his brother moved, head drooped down to his chest, sleeve swiped across his mouth and nose.

When Joe caught their eyes, he gave a solemn shake of his head. That’s all it took to make poor Connie sigh and fall weakly into Hoss’s arms.

**********

Things had gone all fuzzy and dark. Then, she was back – out of the wagon now and lying under that redbud tree Oren had planted the year Riley was born.  She hadn’t been out too long; she was certain.  Long enough for Jude to fall into a tizzy.  He was pressed against Little Joe’s shoulder while Hoss wiped a wet cloth against her face and Adam patted her hand.

Thinking of dear Riley always did make her heart clench, and now Oren . . . Connie squeezed her eyes shut again and prayed to the Holy Mother to give her strength to withstand this new pain.

“I’m all right,” she said. Saints above, she barely heard her own voice. Tried again. “I’m all right.” That was better, stronger.  Hoss and Adam helped her to sit up while she sipped at the water fetched by Little Joe.

“Tell me.” And so they did. Adam and Joe had found Oren in bed, clad in his nightshirt with his rosary clasped in his hands and a carved wooden box at hand. The boys thought he might have been dead for a day or two.  Oren must have had a feeling about what was coming, she reckoned. If only she had sent word that they were coming home, maybe he could have held on a little longer, maybe he could have passed away in her arms rather than all alone . . .

She came back quicker this time. Poor Jude was sobbing hard now. She’d probably scared him   . . . thought he going to lose his grandma, too.

What was Adam saying to her?  It was so hard to concentrate.

“Connie, Hoss and Little Joe are going to take you and Jude to the Ponderosa.”

“No, no, no! We can’t leave him. We can’t leave Oren. I need to take care of him . . .”

“Shhhh. It’s all right. The house isn’t in a fit state for you and Jude right now.  I’ll stay right here with Oren until Pa and Hop Sing get here. We’ll take care of everything.”

She understood Adam was right, but, oh, she didn’t like it one bit.  She should sit with Oren until the priest came.  But, she could trust the Cartwright boys, and honestly, she didn’t have the strength to fuss about it.

“Adam, I need . . .  the carved box you said Oren had near him . . . we need a priest . . .  Oren has a plot for us in the Silver Terrace cemetery, next to . . . Riley and Catherine.

That was all she could manage, and it had to be enough.

**********

Ritual accompanies death. Lord knows, Adam was familiar with it. Seemed the people you cared about were hardly there any time at all before it was time to say good-bye.

He’d figured out long ago that attending to practical things helped – provided grief-stricken folks with a diversion. So, when Connie had gone mute with grief, Adam had taken charge.  He’d retrieved the items Connie had requested.  He’d helped Hoss get Connie and Jude into the wagon and started them toward the Ponderosa.

Little Joe had been sent to Virginia City to fetch the priest and whatever else might be required.  Oren and Connie weren’t the sort for a few words said over a rustic grave. She wanted Oren to have a funeral mass at St. Mary’s and be buried in the Catholic part of the Silver Terrace. Adam could help that happen.

He figured he’d see Pa and Hop Sing coming along soon.  Maybe Hop Sing could think of some way to freshen the air in the house. Adam had every window wide open, and he’d borrowed some of Connie’s cologne to sprinkle on the handkerchief he tied around his face whenever he went inside.

While he waited for help to arrive, he fed and watered the animals.  They’d suffered a just a little from the unintentional neglect.  He pumped water and brought it inside to use later. As twilight started to descend, he tied that perfumed cloth around his face so that he could light a lantern near Oren.

As the bright, heated day softened to a warm moonlit night, Adam sat down on the porch steps and watched the stars appear.  If he shed a few tears for the dear old man who’d been part of their lives since his boyhood, well, no one was there to see.

**********

It had been one of the longest nights he could remember. Hoss had gotten Connie and Jude to the Ponderosa just as Hop Sing had supper laid out. Telling Pa about Oren had been hard, those two had been friends since before Little Joe was born. But Pa always knew what to do and when to do it.  It wasn’t the time to sit and grieve.  It was time to take care of Oren, Connie and Jude.

Hop Sing was a whirlwind of decisive action when things got rough.  Hoss’d explained as best he knew how about the condition of the farmhouse and Oren’s body and Hop Sing had taken care of the rest.  One of the hands had unloaded the wagon, and then loaded it back up with the supplies Hop Sing had chosen.  He and Pa had rattled out of the yard not much more than an hour after hearing the sorry news.

Feeding everyone helped a little. Maybe no one had much appetite, but that didn’t mean they didn’t need food. Bringing in their luggage gave them a sense of order.  Placing Connie and Oren’s carved box carefully on Pa’s desk provided comfort.

By the time, Hoss had settled Connie and Jude in the guest room (they couldn’t bear to be apart), he was shaking with the kind of emotion that keeps a feller up all night even when his body begs for sleep.

So, Hoss put that emotion to good use. He made some strong coffee, cleaned up the dishes and kitchen, lit lamps in the family room and porch, and pulled the blue velvet chair to face the front door.

He’d be ready to greet and comfort his family members as they straggled in through this long night.

**********

It was well into the afternoon before Joe stumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed and sweating from the heat of his bedroom. His growling stomach reminded him that the sandwich Hoss had made for him in the wee hours of the morning was long gone.

Of all people, Connie met him at the foot of the stairs, with a pot of coffee in her hand.

“I thought I heard you stirring around,” she told him quietly as she shooed him toward the front porch.  “I don’t want to wake up Hop Sing. He and your pa didn’t make it back until the gray of dawn”

Outside on the porch sat Jude and Hoss at a table loaded with fried potatoes, ham and biscuits.

“Did you cook all of this?” Joe was amazed . . . and grateful and a little ashamed of himself for being amazed and grateful. “We should be taking care of you.”

Connie waved off his concern. “You all have done nothing but take care of  me and Jude since we rolled into town yesterday.  It’s the least I can do.” She sighed as she dropped into her own chair. “Besides, it helps a little to bustle around.”

Joe couldn’t think of a thing to say to ease the tension. Luckily for all of them, Hoss had it well in hand.  He asked Jude about his cousins, what sort of animals they had, and by the way, when did he lose that tooth? The story of the loose tooth, a long string and a slammed door had them all laughing hard.

It all felt so easy and natural that Joe forgot why they were sitting together, and when he remembered, he began to feel a little ashamed again. What was he doing laughing and enjoying himself when they had just lost Oren?

He’d forgotten how deeply Connie understood him.  It always seemed like she could see right through to his heart.  She let Joe finish his food in silence, and she fussed at Hoss and Jude until they swore they couldn’t eat another bite.

“Yes, Jude, you may be excused.  Can you find something quiet to do outside?” The little boy showed her the pouch of leather pieces and scampered over to the bench under the big pine in the yard.

Joe watched her stacking up the dirty dishes to take inside. He knew she was going to tell him how disappointed she was in his behavior.  He thought Hoss might be a little worried, too.  His brother was worrying at a little jagged piece of wood sticking out of the table and avoiding Connie’s eyes.

“Boys, having Oren . . . Riley and Catherine . . . Marie “ she reached out and grasped Joe’s hand, “in my life was such a blessing.  To have known them and loved them, what more could I ask?”

“I just wish,” Joe said, “it could have been longer.”

“So do I, and I won’t pretend that my heart doesn’t ache and my tears aren’t ready to spill. But . . .” and she took hold of Hoss’s hand as well, “that doesn’t mean I don’t want to remember the good times and the fun. Do you remember what Oren used to say about tears and laughter?”

Hoss remembered first, “He said, that laughter and tears were two sides of the same coin.  You can laugh until you cry, and cry until you laugh.” Hoss nudged Joe’s shoulder gently. “And Oren always said a sincere man shouldn’t be ashamed of his laughter or his tears.”

“That’s right,” Connie said. “He wouldn’t want anyone to pussyfoot around all down cast  . . .  just . . . because he wasn’t here to share in the joke . . . because . . . believe me . . . boys . . . he’s here laughing with us . . . and crying with us . . . just like always . . . I don’t need to see him to know that.”

Joe gathered his favorite aunt into his arms while Hoss patted her back.  They all had a good cry and felt better afterwards for it.

**********

“Joe! Hoss! Look what I brung for you!” Jude dashed onto the porch, nearly  knocking over a chair in his excitement.

“ ‘Brought’, not ‘brung,’ child.” Connie corrected him, “What have you got there?”

“I made ’em. One for Hoss and one for Joe. Look.”  Jude thrust two lumps of braided leather out for inspection.

“Well, Jude, those . . . look mighty fine. Don’t they, Joe?”

“I never saw anything like ’em.” Joe glanced at his brother for help. Hoss shrugged, seemed he didn’t know what they were looking at, either.

Jude’s face was alight with pleasure. “I made ’em because you all have been so nice, and I love you.  I got more for your pa, Adam, and Hop Sing.  You can keep ’em in your pocket in case you get in trouble and need them.”

“Like, like a rabbit’s foot? For luck?” Hoss, bless him, was trying to figure out where the boy was coming from.

“Nah, a rabbit’s foot is for kid’s stuff. This is for real help, you know, like when things are going bad, and you’re praying hard to make things right.  Like the feller I’m named after.”

“Saint Jude,” Connie said.

“Yeah, him.” Jude must have noticed how puzzled Joe was because he leapt right into an explanation. “Jude was a good friend of Jesus, and he’s in Heaven with him.  He hears real good, especially when people say his name.  And when they ask for a miracle, sometimes that’s what they get.”

“Saint Jude sends a miracle?”

“Noooo,” Young Jude must have thought Joe was incredibly thick not to catch on to his meaning. The boy sighed, “He goes over and asks Jesus for a miracle. He might say, my friend has been having a bad time and don’t know what to do.  Then, Jesus thinks about it, and lots of times sends a miracle because St. Jude asked him.”

“Okay.” Joe accepted the leatherwork and tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll remember that in case I ever need a miracle.”

It must have been the right thing to say because Jude absolutely beamed. After giving Joe and Hoss quick hugs, he started to the front door.

“Don’t you dare, young man!” Connie stopped the boy in his tracks.  Apparently, she could read Jude’s mind as well. “Mr. Cartwright and the others are tryin’ to rest. You can give them their gifts at supper. Go see if you can help out in the barn.”

**********

Connie sat down carefully in Ben’s leather desk chair- a bit shy of borrowing the place she was so accustomed to seeing Ben command.  The boys had insisted, though, just like they’d insisted on clearing the table and doing the washing up.

She placed the carved wooden box in front of her and opened it with shaking hands. This was, perhaps, the last thing Oren had touched before he died.  What had been on his mind?

Oh, darling man . . . even in his last hours, he’d thought of her and Jude. On top lay the photograph made in Carson City when Jude was just a baby. Riley was so handsome . . . looked just like his daddy. You could really see it with the two of them posed side by side. Catherine had held Jude so carefully; she looked awestruck and besotted at the same time as if she couldn’t believe this infant wrapped in yards of linen and lace was really hers to keep. Connie could remember that day so clearly, and she could almost feel Oren’s hand on her shoulder now, just as it was in the photograph.  It would be so easy to get lost in memories when she really needed to look through this box.

Beneath the photograph was a copy of Oren’s will – a glance told her it was the same document she was familiar with so she put it aside for the time being. Tucked inside the same envelope was a copy of the receipt for their plots in the Silver Terrace Cemetery along with a short note on the sort of coffin he preferred. That man always did make her smile with his organized ways. She sure would miss it.

At the bottom of the box was something she didn’t expect at all.  Oren had gathered up an assortment of lead soldiers that had been Riley’s and put them all in a new leather pouch along with –

“Hop Sing’s up and done chased us out of his kitchen.” Hoss told her.  She hadn’t heard the two boys come into the room.

“I hope he got a bit of rest,” Connie said. “Boys, do you remember seeing something like this?”

“Hah! That looks like one of those ‘treasure’ maps that Oren would draw for us when we were young’uns.  See that, Joe, a map with an ‘X’ on it.”

Connie smiled at their excitement. Oren had loved children, and he’d loved to feed their imaginations.  Treasure maps were something of a specialty of his. He’d draw a map and hide a little something – toys or a book – for the children to find.  He’d done it for Riley and Adam, and then for Hoss and Joe.

The last time they had talked about it, Oren had feared Jude was too small for treasure hunting. It looked like he’d changed his mind.

“Is this a new map?” Joe asked, “Do you think it’s for Jude?”

“I’m sure of it. See . . . here’s a bag full of Riley’s old toy soldiers. Oren had been saving them to give to Jude . . .  on a special occasion.”

Oh, getting choked up now wouldn’t do.  She took a moment to breathe and compose herself.

“Where does the map start?” Joe had loved those excursions. Connie could tell he was excited on Jude’s behalf. Rather than trying to explain, she merely handed the map to Joe and Hoss.

“Look, Hoss, the starting point is ‘Marie’s Place.’  That’s what he used to call the Ponderosa.”

“Where’s the map tell ya to find the treasure?” She had to smile. Hoss was getting into the spirit of the game – so much so that he snatched the map from his little brother.

“Looks to me like “X” marks a spot somewhere around Drifter Creek. Funny how close this is to the Ponderosa. I’d have figured he’d make the treasure close to your place.”

Connie knew now just what Oren had in mind. “I think he counted on you boys to take over this tradition with Jude, and this was a good way to get started.”

“Aunt Connie, can me and Hoss have this map and the bag? So we can plan the treasure hunt for Jude?”

Connie never could resist Joe’s puppy dog eyes.  She surrendered the items gladly, confident that her Cartwright boys would honor Oren’s wishes.

**********

Joe tugged at Hoss’s elbow until they were both back on the front porch.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“I don’t have the energy for your shenanigans today.”

“Come on,” Joe said, “this is for Jude.  Let’s take this map and go hide the treasure.”

“Ya mean, now?”

“Sure, that way when everyone comes back here for the wake, you and me can take Jude out and let him find his Grandpa’s last gift.”

“Joseph, take a look at the sky. It’s gonna start raining any time now.”

“We have to do it now! The funeral’s tomorrow afternoon, and there won’t be time to do it otherwise.”

“We can do it first thing in the morning.”

“Can’t. We’ll never be able to slip away from Jude in the morning.”

“No. It’s a bad idea.  We can do the treasure hunt some other time.”

“Fine,” Joe huffed at him. “It’ll be your fault when poor little Jude is cryin’ and depressed during the wake.  Nothing else to think about except his poor old grandpa is gone.  Nothing else to do than let ladies come up and pinch his cheek.”

“C’mon . . .”

“Or . . . we can take him to find the treasure, and he’ll have a nice warm memory of his Grandpa Oren planning this for him.”

“All right, all right. Let’s get a move on so we can be back before the storm.”

“I knew you’d see the light. Don’t worry, I’ve got just the spot, and it ain’t too far away.”

**********

Hoss knew this had been a bad idea. Why couldn’t he have just told Joseph, “No” when the kid came up with this hare-brained idea. Oh, right, he had said, “no.”  He even said it several times.  Problem was, at some point, he’d said “yes.”

Joe hadn’t noticed yet, but a powerful storm was just about to kick their butts. By the time they’d reached the place Joe had decided would be the treasure spot, it’d been raining for a quarter of an hour. Just a light rain, mind you. In a lot of ways, it felt good to have fresh air and a cool rain blowing across their faces. The horses liked it, too. Their ears perked up, and they were stepping a bit livelier.

The thing was, Hoss had started seeing flashes of lightning in the western sky, maybe two to three minutes apart. The sky had gotten a lot darker too, like it was almost twilight—though Hoss knew that wasn’t so.  When the wind picked up strong, he decided to put a stop to things.

“Joe, hold up, we need to find some sort of shelter. We’re fixin’ to be in the middle of a bad storm. Don’t know about you, but I don’t aim to be a lightning rod.”

Joe obediently pulled up, but Hoss could tell he didn’t understand how serious things were getting.  Rather than scouting out some place to ride out the coming storm, he slid off Cochise’s back, grabbed that little pouch of lead solders, and jogged downhill toward a little ravine.

“No . . . Joe, come back here right now.” That kid didn’t have a lick of sense.  Apparently, he’d had seen the right spot, a depression under the roots of a big ol’ pine tree. He tucked the little pouch under the tree and came trudging back, whistling a tune like there was all the time in the world.

Something in the air changed right about then, and Hoss witnessed firsthand what he’d only heard his father tell stories about.

To his amazement, there was a blue-violet glow around the brim of his brother’s hat, especially bright and even crackling sparks at the point of the crown. To his horror, Hoss saw the same glow lighting up the tips of the horses’ ears.  He knew what this was, just couldn’t remember what was it called . . .  St Elmo’s Fire. Lightning!!

Hoss was off his horse faster than he could blink.  He gave both horses hard swats on the rump to get them moving anywhere their native wisdom would take them.

Meanwhile, Joe was staring at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. Hoss figured his own hat must be glowing, too.

“Down, boy! Throw off that gun belt and crouch down like I showed you to do.”

Hoss didn’t waste any time following his own instructions. His gun belt was on the ground before he’d finished talking. Thank God, Joe had finally snapped to attention. He’d shed his belt and was crouched down, face tucked down on his knees, arms wrapped around himself—the only part of him touching the ground was his boots. Good, that was good.

The sky was flashing with bolts of fire too numerous to count. Rain pelted the ground as Hoss lowered himself into the crouch.  Too bad he wasn’t as skinny and limber as his brother. It was a little hard to stay low and small like that, balanced without touching the ground or anything else with his hands. When the hair on his arm started to stand up, Hoss knew it was gonna be close.

When the lightning stuck, it hit a lone pine tree about two hundred yards from them, turning the timber into a Roman candle of fire. The explosion of heat, fuel and water was deafening, throwing dirt and debris in a wide circle.

Hoss had been prepared to see the strike; he’d forgotten about the sound. When that blast came, it startled him so bad, he slipped in the mud and fell flat on his back-arms thrown wide open.

That turned out to be about the worst thing that could have happened. Almost as soon as he hit the ground, he tasted metal and felt an enormous punch down low on his back.  His whole body felt tight, his ears were ringing like nobody’s business, and he saw nothing but white light until he saw nothing at all.

**********

The rain was pounding down, hitting the ground so hard the soil was being churned into mud.

Lord, that strike had been close. Joe had had his eyes shut the whole time, and when the bolt of lightning hit the tree, he’d missed the show. When the explosion had come, he’d squeezed his eyes closed so tight, they were still aching.

At first, he couldn’t see anything through the onslaught of rain but a cloud of smoky haze around the burned tree. Luckily, the rain was putting out the fire.  A blessing for sure, the heat had dried up the forest something awful. It wouldn’t have been the first time that lightning had started a big fire.

It took him too long to find Hoss. Funny how it never occurred to Joe to be afraid for his brother. After all, the lightning hadn’t hurt him at all. But when he saw Hoss unmoving on that muddy ground, arms flung wide open, he got real scared, real fast.

It was hard to stand up; his legs wouldn’t seem to hold him he was shaking so hard. He scrambled over to his brother’s side and shook those big shoulders just as hard as he knew how. He shouted his name and even slapped the full cheeks. It did no good.

Hoss was gone.

Panic stole his breath. Remorse sent him to his knees.  Grief covered his face with tears. Through it all, he stared at his brother’s corpse—sightless eyes open and unblinking despite the downpour, skin gray with death.

Why? Why!?!  He couldn’t have listened to reason. Nope, just had to charge ahead and take Hoss with him. But . . . dear Lord, how could he have known?  He’d only wanted to create a little distraction, a little break from everything.  This . . . shouldn’t have happened.  If he could only go back and make things right. Stupid, stupid. There was no making this all right, nothing would ever make anything all right again. What could he do . . .?

The godawful rain was making such a mess, splattering Hoss’s dear face with mud. Joe dug into his pocket to pull out his handkerchief. The least he could do was wipe the mud away. When all Joe came up with was the lump of braided leather, he wanted to scream with frustration.

Dear God, what did it matter? The very worst of worst things had happened. It would take a miracle, and Joe hadn’t thought to put a miracle in his pocket. Except . . .

Joe crawled over and covered Hoss’s cold body as best he could –protecting him from the downpour, even though it probably didn’t matter.  He let the rain pelt down on his own head and back while he prayed harder than he’d ever prayed before, “Please, please, please . . .”

**********

The rain slackened to little drips and drops, like it tends to do. Summer squalls were known to blow through in a few minutes. The air felt cooler, and the sunlight burst through the clouds bright enough to sparkle in the shallow puddles.

Hoss hurt all over, and he didn’t mind admitting to it.  His eyes were full of grit, he was laying all sprawled out in the mud, and for some reason Joe was sprawled on top of him, muttering and crying at the same time.

“Joe,” he wheezed and then coughed, “Joe, are you hurt?”

Joe stopped his muttering and pushed up so he could look Hoss in the face. “What did you say?”

“I said,” Hoss put some volume into his voice this time. He knew that a lightning strike could damage a man’s hearing. “Are you hurt?”

What Joe did then convinced Hoss that his little brother must have taken a knock to the head in the storm. Joe took Hoss’s face between his hands and started kissing his cheeks and his forehead. It was embarrassing, and Hoss didn’t know what to make of it. Finally, he caught hold of Joe and pushed him back a mite.

“Cut it out! I ain’t that kind of a girl! What’s got into you?”

Instead of explaining, Little Joe hopped up and threw his arms wide and with his face turned to the sky, he shouted, “Thank you!”

**********

Jude was taking his role of treasure hunter real serious. He’d turned that map every which way and studied it with a serious eye until Hoss had shown him how to orient the map to the terrain. When Jude felt like he understood, he pointed his team of treasure hunters in the likely direction, and the three of them set off for adventure.

With very little coaching, Jude managed to follow the trail shown in the map.  The young-un was gonna be good at this someday. The three of them made it to Drifter’s Creek without any trouble, and when Joe lowered the little boy to the ground, he shot off like a fox after a rabbit.

“Jude, hang on there! That ground is wet as all get out, and you’re liable to slip.”

Looked like Hoss was a prophet ‘cause Jude hit a thick patch of slippery mud and slid down that hillside on his backside.  By the time, Hoss and Joe caught up with him, the child was cryin’ and holding onto his ankle.

It didn’t take Hoss long to check him over; the little guy’s ankle wasn’t broken, probably not even sprained.  More than likely, Jude was just a little unsettled by the unexpected turn of events, as anyone would be.

His waterworks shut off right quick when Joe nudged him and pointed toward the edge of the pouch which could just be seen in a hole underneath a big pine tree.

Jude’s face was sticky with mud and tears, but he was laughing with joy at finding his treasure. When he poured those little soldiers out in Hoss’s hand, Jude saw right off that they had been his pa’s toys. If they all got a little watery over that—well, it was nothing to be ashamed of. It was just two sides of the same coin.

The End

Author’s Note:

Written for the 2022 Ponderosa Paddlewheel Poker Tournament.   The game was Five Card Draw and the words and/or phrases I was dealt were:

lightning
leatherwork
photograph
bones
a map with an ‘X’