Summary:  Danger lurks in a single wound.

Rated:  T

Word Count:  3925

“That’s one of them phoby cats,” said Tex.  He was a new hand on the Ponderosa, known only by the moniker of his home state, but he had several years of ranching experience under his belt.

“A what?” asked Joe as he tried to move half a ton of cow away from a skunk that was behaving as if it had drained the Silver Dollar of cheap whiskey.

“If you ain’t careful they’ll jump up and bite you right on the nose.”

Calvin Ferguson, a sixteen-year-old man with a couple years worked already on the Ponderosa, said, “A skunk is a skunk, no matter what you call it.”  He kicked at it with his boot, hoping it would wander off but the skunk stood on its forelegs, tail at the warning.

The cow, intent on protecting her calf, didn’t budge as Joe pushed against her.  She swung forth a foreleg, bowling the skunk over.  A stench arose and the cow snorted then lowered its head to show the skunk she meant business with her horns.  The calf, curious at what the small creature was doing, gave the skunk a shove with its nose. The skunk sank its teeth into the calf’s nose.  Men and beasts were enveloped in parfum de skunk as the calf bawled and shook its head to rid itself of the stinking vermin.  The cow’s bellows added to the cacophony.

“I told you it’d go straight for the nose,” said Tex.

Calvin grabbed the skunk by the tail and yanked.  He figured it’d let go of the calf so he could then toss it as far as he could throw it.  He figured wrong.  It let go all right but the varmint squealed as it flailed in mid-air, held prisoner by the pressure on its tail.  Joe shielded his eyes with his left arm to avoid a mist of skunk spray to his eyes but dropped to a knee while holding his breath to avoid a lungful of stench. The skunk’s front claws dug into Joe’s jacket and the skunk sank its teeth into Joe’s calloused left palm, on the fleshy pad at the base of the thumb.

“Dammit! Get it off!”

Calvin yanked the tail hard and the writhing creature loosed a burst of foul odor as it let go of Joe. Calvin dropped it in hopes it’d scurry off but the cow took her vengeance upon the skunk, stomping it into a gory mess.

The cow, seemingly satisfied that her work was done, mooed for her calf and headed off to graze.  Joe wiped his hands on his chaps then got to his feet.  He inspected the ragged, bleeding holes in his palm and shook his hand to relieve the throbbing.

“What did you mean by ‘phoby cat’?” Joe asked Tex.

“A skunk what’s got hydrophobia.”

“It wasn’t slobberin’ like a dog with rabies,” said Calvin.

“Never can tell with them phoby cats,” said Tex.

Joe pulled a bandana from his back pocket and used his teeth to hold the fabric in place as he knotted it. Satisfied the knot would hold, Joe said, “We’re burning daylight.  These calves aren’t going to brand themselves.”

Tex mounted up and headed for the herd to cut another calf.

Calvin slapped Joe on the back.  “You alright?”

“Yeah, just hurts is all.  Wish Hoss was here instead of Carson City—he probably would’ve had that skunk tame as a kitten.”

Both men laughed as they waited for Tex to return.

After taking a too-deep whiff, Joe said, “Come back to the house when we’re done.  Sulfur soap is the only thing that’ll get this kind of stink off.”

“I got a spare shirt in my saddlebag,” said Calvin.  “I’ll just clean up in the creek.”

“Suit yourself.”

Joe shook his hand and flexed it a few times as Calvin stoked up the branding fire so they could get back to the business at hand.  The two men worked methodically, one holding the calf, the other wielding the iron.  After an hour of steady work, Calvin noticed Joe unsuccessfully trying to make a fist.

“You’d best go into town and see the doc.”

“I’ll be fine.  Hoss probably has some liniment that’ll fix me right up.

**********

Tex brought in the last calf as the sun rested just above the horizon.  Calvin leaned against his horse as Joe seared the Ponderosa brand onto the calf’s hip with his right hand, leaving the pine tree outline leaning a bit.

Finished with the day’s work, Joe said, “Get this fire out.”

Calvin pushed a few swipes of dirt with his boot to dampen the dying flames. Tex spit a long stream of tobacco juice then poured some water on the smoldering wood before kicking on dirt.  The Texan stomped the embers for good measure.

“Offer stands to come on back to the house to wash up,” said Joe, knowing Calvin had already made up his mind and Tex was as cantankerous as a mule.

“Nah,” said Tex, “I’m lookin’ forward to a few days’ peace and quiet.  Won’t man nor beast bother with me.  I’ll just stake out a place near the herd in case any of them phoby cats come by.”

“They might think you’re one of them and crawl into your bedroll,” said Joe as he mounted his horse.

“I’ll bite them critters on the nose instead of the other way around,” said Tex as he picked up his horse’s reins and headed off into the fading light.

**********

A metal tub full of water sat in the front yard of the Ponderosa when Joe arrived.  Light spilled forth from the doorway then was briefly snuffed out by Hoss’ bulk.

“You should’ve come out and helped with the branding,” said Joe.

“I smelled you halfway between here and Carson City.  Figured it best you clean up out here.  Hop Sing’s liable to walk all the way to San Francisco if you stink up the bath house.”

“You got a better sniffer than a bloodhound,” said Joe.

Hoss guffawed as he drew his handkerchief from his pocket in attempt to block out the natural cologne sitting heavy in the night air.

Despite his clumsiness from his swollen hand, Joe was out of his shirt faster than a saloon gal refilling a man’s empty glass.  He bent over and dipped a hand into the cold water. He shot Hoss a scowl. “You could’ve heated it up.”

“I got better things to do than nurse a tub of water.  Just scrub fast.”  Hoss thought it odd Joe was trying to unbuckle his chaps right-handed.

“Need a hand?” Hoss asked.

Joe stopped what he was doing.  “That skunk bit me.  Hurts somethin’ awful.  You think some liniment will fix it up?”

Hoss stuffed his handkerchief into his vest pocket and motioned for Joe to step over to the porch.  He unwrapped the bandana and Joe hissed through gritted teeth as Hoss straightened the swollen fingers. Hoss let out a low whistle at the sight of the bruising around the deep punctures in Joe’s palm.

“You ought to see the doc.  Liniment won’t do nothin’ for this.”

“It hurts something awful.”

Hoss went through his brief mental inventory of what was in the barn for the critters.  Man was just another kind of beast but he didn’t figure that any of the ointments or tablets would do a whole lot of good.

“Mama used to have some pills she took regular for headaches.  I think they’re in a trunk up in the attic.”

“Help me get my gear off first,” said Joe.

“I ain’t helped you undress since you were a little shaver, Shortshanks,” said Hoss as pulled Joe’s boots off then pulled his younger brother’s trousers down. “You get in that tub before I toss you in.”

As Joe settled into the tub, Hoss headed inside to search for the trunk in the attic.  He picked up a match by the fireplace to light the lantern that hung on a nail in the attic.

Pretty sure Joe wouldn’t drown before he made it back to the yard, Hoss headed for the attic door.  The entry always felt a might too small for Hoss as he turned sideways to enter the darkness.  The musty smells were a reminder of his pa’s past, the life Pa had led before building the Ponderosa and of the women who’d borne his sons.  He blew out the match once the lantern glowed with a cheery light and surveyed the contents of the room.  His father’s sea chest, darkened with age, gathered dust as did his own mother’s trunk packed for the voyage West.

Marie’s trunk sat in a corner, covered by a tattered lace tablecloth.  Hoss sneezed as dust motes stirred by his movement drifted in the lantern light.  The trunk opened with a squeak of rusting hinges.  He fished around until his fingers connected with cool glass.  Holding up his prize, he verified its contents by the printed label—morphine.   With a shrug, he pocketed the bottle, figuring pills didn’t go bad sitting in a closed trunk.

The lid closed with a thump and Hoss blew out the lantern before stopping in Pa’s room on the way to the stairs.  He leaned out the window overlooking the front yard to check on his younger brother.  “Keep scrubbin’, Joe, I can smell you yet.”

“Ha, ha,” yelled Joe.

Hoss fetched Joe’s robe before descending the stairs and he picked up the brandy decanter on his way to the yard.  He figured Joe would need something to wash the pills down with and the brandy would keep Joe from getting a chill from the cold water.

“Took you long enough,” grumbled Joe.  He accepted the uncorked bottle and shook a couple of pills into his mouth then raised the decanter to his lips.

“Pa sure would have a fit if he saw you drinking straight from the decanter,” said Hoss.

“You should’ve brought a glass.”

“Hmph.  I figure you’re likely about as sweet-smelling as you’re gonna get.  Come on outta that tub.”

Hoss took the decanter from Joe then offered an arm for Joe to hang onto.  He wrapped the robe around Joe once the younger man was out of the water then put a large arm around Joe to steer Joe into the house.

“I ain’t drunk,” Joe said through a yawn.

“You probably wish you were,” said Hoss.  “How’s the hand?”

“Hurts,” said Joe.

Hoss kept a steady pressure against Joe’s back as the two ascended the stairs.

“You gonna tuck me in and read a story?”

“You mind your elders or I’ll tan your hide.”

“I’ll tell Pa,” Joe mumbled before collapsing onto the bed.  “Night-night,” he said as he rolled onto his back.

Hoss turned back at the doorway, a frown creasing his forehead.  Joe’s swollen hand wasn’t nearly the size of his own but it was larger than it should be.

“Sleep tight,” he whispered as he headed to his own room.

**********

Joe woke a few times during the night, mostly when he rolled over onto his left hand.  In the morning, he had a few bites of breakfast and some coffee to wash down two or three morphine pills before returning to his room.  He swatted at Hoss whenever his older brother came by and set a hand against his forehead to check for fever.

Late in the afternoon, Joe rose from bed and washed down a couple more pills but with water this time.  He settled into bed before the sun was down, unable to get comfortable as his hand throbbed even though he had it resting atop a pillow.

**********

Joe awoke in the middle of the night, a sensation in his hand that he initially couldn’t place.  He cradled his injured hand and examined the throbbing, swollen flesh of his palm in the dim lamp light.  “Can’t be!” He squeezed his eyelids tight and shook his head.  He cracked open an eye and screamed in terror at the sight of maggots wriggling out of the wounds.

There was a thump then Hoss was beside him.

“Joe!”

“Get ‘em off!”

Joe showed Hoss his hand but his brother didn’t make a move to help him.

“Right there!”

Joe pointed at the oozing holes with a shaking forefinger.  He pressed his finger next to one of the wounds and a sob escaped his throat.

“It’s maggots!  They’re eating my hand!”

Joe pressed into the headboard and tried to get away from his outstretched arm.  The room grew brighter and Joe was sure Hoss would see the maggots slithering across his skin.

“Don’t you worry none.  I’ll pick every last one of them out.”

Joe turned his head as Hoss drew his arm to the side.  He felt his brother’s fingernail scraping against the palm.  He gulped in a deep breath of air then a ragged sigh escaped his parted lips.

“That’s the last of them,” Hoss said as Joe’s breathing slowed down.  “You lay back down and I’ll just sit here to make sure nothing else bothers you before morning.”

“You’re the best brother ever,” said Joe as he lost the fight against the pull of sleep, unaware of the fear in Hoss’s eyes.

**********

Joe woke to the sound of birdsong.  He opened his eyes and blinked several times as the ceiling appeared blurry.  His hand throbbed with each beat of his heart.  He unsuccessfully tried stifling a moan when he dragged the palm against the quilt over his belly and shut his eyes in hopes of pushing back the pain.

Hoss’s warm hand pressed into Joe’s forehead, a sheen of sweat covering his brother’s face.  He carefully lifted Joe’s hand by the wrist and winced at the bright red flesh surrounding the punctures.

Joe cracked open one eye and studied the lines creasing Hoss’s forehead.

“Bad?”

Joe pressed the back of his head into the pillow at his brother’s nod.  It was beyond bad if Hoss couldn’t even say it.

“You got to see the doc.”

Joe shook his head.  “Herd to check.”

“The boys’ll see to the cattle.  Up and at ‘em, Joseph.”

Joe licked his lips. “Water.”

Hoss obliged his brother’s request but also poured a measure into the bowl to wipe down Joe’s face.  He raised Joe’s head but only allowed a trickle of water to pass into Joe’s mouth.

“More.”

“Take it slow.”

Hoss set the empty glass on the night table then wrung out the washcloth.  “You look bad off, Shortshanks.”

Joe’s neck briefly tensed as a shiver took him when the cool cloth brushed over his face.  His feet found purchase against the floor as Hoss supported him with an arm around the waist. A gurgle rose from his belly then water vomit splattered against the floor.  Joe’s legs gave out and he collapsed into the puddle, the weight of his body resting on his swollen hand.  His scream faded into a series of whimpers as he rolled onto his side.

“No sense in dressing you,” said Hoss.

“Ain’t going naked,” Joe replied through gritted teeth.

Hoss plucked up the robe from the end of the bed then draped it around Joe’s shoulders once he had Joe on his feet again.  There wasn’t time for a leisurely breakfast, especially as he’d have to cook it himself since Hop Sing was off visiting a cousin.  He scooped Joe up from the floor and got the good arm through a sleeve before tying the robe belt in a tight knot.

Joe slid his feet against the smooth floor boards as Hoss supported him to the top of the stairs.

“Put me down,” Joe said as Hoss slid an arm behind Joe’s knees to carry him to the first floor.

“Better than lettin’ you tumble through the landing. Pa will figure we were just roughhousing and give us a lecture while we fix it.”

A giggle bubbled out of Joe before a wave of pain washed over him.

“I’ll have to leave you here while I hitch up the buggy.”  Hoss eased Joe into Adam’s blue chair and rested the back of his head into one of the chair wings.

The sound of hoofbeats carried in from the yard.  Hoss reached the door before the second knock.

“What’s wrong?” Hoss asked Calvin.

“The skunk that bit Joe bit one of the calves yesterday.”  Calvin peered around Hoss to see Joe seemingly asleep in the chair by the fireplace.  “Calf is dead.”

Joe’s eyelids popped open and fear raced through his veins, beads of sweat dotting his forehead.  “Tex said that skunk had hydrophobia.”

“He didn’t know that for certain,” said Calvin.

“Get the buggy hitched up,” Hoss said.  “I got to get Joe to the doc.”

Calvin reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.  He kissed it then crossed the room to press it into Joe’s good hand.  “This is my good luck piece. You hang on to it, hear?”

“Move!” Hoss ordered.

Calvin leapt for the door to do as told.

Joe focused on the ticket and tried to ease up his breathing.  The writing was barely legible on it but he made out one complete word – Adah.  Calvin’s good luck piece was a ticket for Adah Menken’s play that she’d put on at Piper’s Opera House several years back.  A brief thought flickered through Joe’s mind – if Pa had married her, Adah would be his mother. Joe longed for his mother’s touch and whispered promises that everything was going to be all right.

“C’mon, Shortshanks.”

Joe didn’t have time to protest as Hoss scooped him out of the chair and carried him to the waiting buggy.  He slid across the seat from the right side to avoid having to use his injured hand to pull himself in.

“You ride on into town, tell Doc we’re coming,” said Hoss.

Calvin tipped his hat and did as told.

Hoss clambered aboard and pulled Joe against him.  He wrapped an arm around his shivering brother, silently thanking his Swedish forebears for the height and reach as he took up the reins and encouraged the horse to make haste for town.

**********

Hoss tried to keep up a conversation on the journey into town but Joe wasn’t interested in talking about gals who needed escorting to dances or possible crimes Roy Coffee needed help solving.  He told several long-winded stories full of convoluted twists that even Hoss, as the storyteller, had a hard time keeping track of.

“You got quite the memory for detail,” muttered Joe as Hoss added yet another twist.  “How about you give my ears a rest?”

In a last-ditch effort to make sure Joe stayed awake and alert, Hoss drilled his younger brother with math problems.

“Better than Adam,” muttered Joe after solving an easy multiplication problem.

“Who’d’ve figured you been hiding this talent for math all these years?”

Joe’s jaw muscles quivered as his teeth chattered from the fever wracking his body.  “Keeps Pa from telling me to balance ledgers.”  He let out a weak giggle.

“Well, you solve this one and I won’t tell Pa you’re a near genius.  The Ponderosa has 825 steers worth four dollars a head.  How much money would they fetch?”  There was no response.  “Joe?”

Hoss glanced down at the curly head resting against his chest.  He flicked the reins and hollered to encourage the horse to run for town.

Joe’s life depended on it.

**********

Hoss pulled the horse up with a yank of the reins and was relieved to see Dr. Martin coming through the door.

“Let me do a cursory exam,” said the doctor as he reached across Hoss to get a look at his patient’s hand.  The swelling stretched the fingers to appear more like sausages than fingers and the puncture wounds on the palm were surrounded by crusty, dried, blood-tinged fluid.  “Get him inside.”

Joe drifted in and out of consciousness as medical smells assaulted his nose.

“Can you save his hand?”

Joe’s heart thumped a hard beat as if it was trying to get out of his chest. “Don’t take it off,” he mumbled over and over.

Joe tried to roll away from the pressure on his hand as the doctor inspected the wounds.  Someone was crying but Joe didn’t know why Hoss was being such a big baby.

The doctor motioned for Hoss to follow him to the other side of the room and he spoke in a whisper.  “Calvin said he suspects the skunk had hydrophobia.”  He took a deep breath and said, “I can’t cure him if he has it.”

“How long until you know?”

“Could be weeks or even months.  Best I can do is try saving his hand.  I’m warning you – if gangrene sets in, I’ll have to amputate.”

Joe studied the doctor’s face through eyelids barely cracked open.  A flicker of hope sprang to life in his belly since the doctor didn’t look at all worried.

“This, my boy, is going to hurt.”

Joe’s belly felt as if it were filled with tons of raw ore.  Screams faded in the distance.

**********

Joe drifted on the sea, resting on a piece of a crate that floated along with debris from a ship that had been smashed apart.  Despite the wreckage he clung to, evidence of a violent storm, he felt peaceful as the waves carried him to . . . .  He didn’t know where.  A deep voice called his name.  A faint yellow that could be an island shimmered in the distance.  He wanted to stay here where pain didn’t exist.  God spoke his name again.  Joe raised his head and judged the distance to the possible island.  There was time to turn around, head back out to where the sea creatures told tales of mermaids.  Lord, let me go.

A wave lifted him and set him on a course for land.  He didn’t resist.

**********

Joe deeply filled his lungs then opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to dispel the blurriness.  Snores caught his ear and he turned his head.  Despite the dim light, he made out a bulk in the corner that could only be Hoss.

“Joseph,”

Joe’s brows drew together as he remembered drifting along on the waves.  “God?”

“No, son.”

A warmth radiated out from Joe’s chest and one corner of his mouth quirked up as he turned to meet his father’s gaze.

“How long?”

“Five days.  Paul’s kept you sedated so you wouldn’t fight him as he scraped your hand each day.”

Joe tried flexing his fingers.  There was some resistance but not the pain that had felt as if heated pokers were pressed against his palm.

“What about hydrophobia?”

“Tex looked that calf over real good and said it more than likely died from tick fever.  Looks like you’ll be running cattle through a sulfur dip when you’re up and about.”

Joe sighed deeply and relaxed into the pillows.  “Pa?”

“Hmm?”

Joe’s mouth gaped open as he yawned.  “You know Hoss is a near genius when it comes to math?”

“Is he?”

“Yup.  Said he’d like a crack at the ledgers.”  Joe’s lips turned up into a smile as closed his eyes and fell into a natural sleep, his own breathing falling into the same rhythm as his snoring brother.

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:

Memory for detail
Math
Rabies
Morphine
Ticket