Summary:  Little Joe finds himself desperate for his father’s help to save his life after the evil doctor Steven Hale gets a hold of him and injures him in an act of revenge. Rated: T, WC 28,000 Links to stories in the series included within.

Best Medicine Series:

Best Medicine
Malice Aforethought
Coup De Grace

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Malice Aforethought

 

Malice Aforethought

The thin stream of light slid underneath the partially closed door. With a gentle tug, dull reality pulled Joe out of the haze in his mind and he squinted towards the shaft of light. His body fought to take him back under to where there was peace waiting. How long he had been in the land of Morpheus, Joe had no clue. If it were not for the passionate soul that he possessed, he would have surrendered to his fate and ceased trying to escape. But, blissful surrender was not a state that Joe Cartwright had ever known. Hadn’t he just tried to get off the table? Or, was that yet another one of the tricks his mind had been playing on him?

Joe turned and caught a glimpse of the leather restraint, which held his left wrist. The material was half chewed through, telling the young man that he had indeed made an attempt to flee earlier. His head turned again, this time towards his right hand where he noticed the restraint on that wrist was pristine. Here we go again. Joe mused weakly as his teeth bore down on the left strap. Gnawing while yanking his head trying to free his imprisoned wrist,

Joe’s will to live took center stage once more. Why is this happening?   Why did he leave me here—like this? Joe’s anger grew each time he sank his incisors back into the awful tasting leather. The pain shot up from his left leg, like a projectile aimed at his mind. He struggled to stifle his screams. If someone had done this to him intentionally, Joe was terrified that they might just come back if they heard his screams of anguish.

Stay focused, Joe—come on—you’ve been in worse scrapes than this! He urged his mind to stay off the pain and not take him back under to the black forest of unconsciousness. Finally, after great effort, the leather restraint gave way and Joe allowed his head to fall back onto the pillowless table.

He tried to regroup his emotions as well as his strength before going after his right wrist. Sweat poured from his brow, showing the advance of infection, which had already claimed his body. Let’s get the hell out of this place! Joe again rallied himself for the task ahead of him and his dominant left hand slowly untied the other restraint. Groaning loudly without any control of it, he pulled himself to a seated position on the table.

Joe could feel his head swimming from the simple act of sitting upright. It had been too long, lying as he had, flat on his back. The blood drained from his face and he had to fight with all that he had left inside to prevent falling back down. From his perch on the table, Joe looked towards the floor and tried to come up with a plan that would work.

There was a heavy plaster cast, bigger than he had ever seen in fact, surrounding his left leg weighing it down. He figured he could probably ease off the table with his right leg leading the way and then somehow maneuvers the cast-held leg off gingerly to the floor. It’s worth a shot—sure as hell can’t stay here and die. Joe thought as he began to descend from the table.

His right leg cooperated fine, but as soon as the heavy cast, aided by his two hands, came off the table, he found himself laying face down on the floor. Joe sucked in a breath, trying his best not to scream, though tears stung at his eyes from the searing pain. He had expended his last bit of strength already and still there was a good six feet of floor to get across before making it to the outer room which then would lead to freedom.

Joe stayed on his stomach, knowing good and well there was no way he could pull himself to standing and make the trek across the room. With the determination born of the exotic mixture of both New England and Creole blood which flowed proudly through his veins, Joe inched himself towards the door. His palms wet with perspiration, and only the sound of his heartbeat for company, the young man pushed forward. Suddenly, the overwhelming assault of stabbing pain swimming upward from his left leg made him scream out in spite of himself.

Then, without any warning, total blackness claimed his mind and soul. With his left hand stretched out towards the direction of freedom, Joe’s body fell victim to the cold wood floor. There would be no escape.

Ben Cartwright pulled up the collar to his coat in order to ward off the brisk fall winds as he surveyed his surroundings. The small cow-town of Sand Dust loomed in the distance and the sight of it increased the worry he had felt in his heart since leaving the Ponderosa ranch. Kicking lightly at Buck’s sides to pick up the pace, he closed in on the town where his youngest son lay hurt. The whole incident thus far had been odd, to say the least.

Joe and one of the ranch hands had ridden to a ranch twenty miles south of Sand Dust earlier in the month in order to purchase a string of horses. Cliff, the hired hand, and Joe had proceeded with their business with little event until just outside of the Filmore ranch, where the horses had been purchased,

Ben’s son had taken a fall off his pinto. Cliff knew it was a bad break, one glance at the protruding bone had told him that, and he brought Joe into Sand Dust for immediate attention. Once he had Joe in capable hands Cliff left for the Ponderosa due to the young man’s urging. Joe had insisted he would be fine and that once a wire had been sent home he knew his father and brother Hoss would head out after him.

When Cliff had protested leaving the young man there he had a huge argument on his hands. Joe wasn’t about to let an injury interfere with the horses not being delivered home as planned. After some lengthy, as well as loud discussion, Cliff had relented and headed back to the Ponderosa. The strange thing was that no telegraph had been sent to Virginia City and that Ben only learned of his son’s injury when Cliff arrived back at the ranch over a week later. Under questioning by his boss, Cliff had insisted that he had left the telegraph with the doctor who had assured him that it would be sent that very day. Now, almost two weeks had passed and Ben was hoping with all of his heart that it had all been just a strange coincidence and that Joseph would be found alive and well and recuperating from his injury.

His eyes scanning both sides of the city’s streets, Ben tried to locate the doctor’s office. He had no luck and finally rode over to the local livery stable in order to do some asking around. Dismounting just outside the double doors of Wilson’s Blacksmith and Livery, Ben called over to the man who he spied coming around the side of the building.

“Hello? Can you help me?” Ben sang out.

The smithy turned towards the silver haired man and smiled, “Yes sir—what can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for the doctor’s office—can you point the way for me?”

“Well—it’s down yonder,” the man replied and pointed towards the end of the street, “but you’re out of luck if you need to see Doc Simpson—he just done left for Placerville three days ago.”

Ben stood there opposite the man and his face took on a puzzled appearance. “I’m sorry, mister, sorry I never even asked your name. I’m Ben Cartwright—and you?” Ben asked as he held out his hand to shake.

“Jake Wilson—pleased to meet you,” the smithy said, returning Ben’s handshake. “You from over Virginia City way?”

“That’s right—have a ranch there—” Ben started but the other man cut him off in mid-sentence.

“I know—the Ponderosa! My cousin worked for you a few years ago. You remember Hal Wilson?”

“Of course, he was a fine worker too. I’d sure like to chitchat with you, Jake, but fact of the matter is I came here because of my youngest son. He was laid up with a broken leg a couple of weeks ago and one of my hired hands left him with the doctor. You know anything about it?”

“No, sorry, Mister Cartwright, never seen your boy. Far as I know Doc didn’t have no patients he was tending when he left, neither.”

“Maybe he had a nurse or somebody else that he left my son with?”

“Not likely—didn’t have no nurse that I know of.”

“I’d better get down to his office and try to find out what happened to him. Maybe he was taken to the hotel before the doctor left,” Ben said, mostly to himself, as he moved back over to his horse.

“Want me to come along?” Jake asked.

“Don’t think it would hurt—thanks!” Ben nodded and slowly began the trek down towards the end of the street with Jake walking alongside of him.

The doctor’s office was positioned so that the entrance faced the alleyway between the mercantile and the bank. The shingle still hung on the wall and the name was clearly carved in the wooden sign; Doctor Hosea Simpson. Ben realized he hadn’t noticed the office due to where it sat sandwiched between the two other buildings and its odd placement towards the alley.

“You wouldn’t even know this place was here if you didn’t know better,” Ben mumbled as he tried the doorknob.

“Well, sometimes we get in some pretty rough fellows—and they always liked the fact that they could come and go from the office unnoticed.”

“No doubt outlaws who need a bullet dug out of them while on the run, huh?” Ben frowned as he tried to peer in the window. He couldn’t see a thing due to the carefully placed blinds.

“Yeah, we get some of them criminals coming off the border running from either an angry sheriff or a rowdy bounty hunter,” Jake nodded. “Doubt your boy is here—don’t look like nothing’s going on inside. I don’t think Doc would’ve just left someone anyhow.”

“What do you think?” Ben asked as he looked at the other man. “Should I try the sheriff’s office or the hotel next?”

“Well, if we walk down this way we’ll run into both of them places. Hotel is first.”

“Let’s go,” Ben insisted, and picked up his pace. He was starting to have even stronger vibes over there being something greatly amiss in the town.

 

The Arcadia Hotel sat in the middle of the town of Sand Dust. Its name was much more elaborate than the interior. Hardly the ornate International Hotel, Ben thought to himself as he and Jake moved towards the desk and rang the bell for service. Within a couple of minutes a short portly man who introduced himself as John Casey, began a brief conversation with the two men. Ben insisted he check his register even though the man protested that no one had checked into the ten-room hotel in the past two weeks. After thumbing through the book himself, Ben sighed and turned for the door. With Jake Wilson following close behind, Ben walked towards the jailhouse.

Samuel Hazelton watched from the doorway of his office as the two men approached. As a seasoned lawman, he had honed the skills over the years and instinctively knew when there was trouble brewing. He slowly placed his right hand over his holster and waited.

“Sam—this here is Ben Cartwright of the Ponderosa,” Jake said and introduced the sheriff.

“Sam Hazelton,” the sheriff nodded towards Ben. “What’s the trouble gents?”

“My son was left here with your doctor about two weeks ago. I just arrived in town and can’t find the boy. The hired hand who left him here said he left him in the care of Doctor Simpson.”

Sam scrubbed at his beard and stared down towards Ben. The sheriff stood six foot seven and was a hulking figure of a man. Ben wasn’t short by any means, but the man loomed over him and was an overbearing presence.

“Don’t reckon Doc said nothing about having no patient. As far as I know last man he treated was Pete O’Brien about two days before he left town. I saw him coming in from O’ Brien’s ranch on Thursday. Next time I saw the doc he was getting on the stage to Placerville.”

“Did he have someone with him?” Ben asked, full of suspicion.

“Nope—just him—was the only person in the stage when it headed out of here. You say your boy was laid up?”

“Yes—had a busted leg. He couldn’t have gotten out of here on his own if that’s what you’re thinking,” Ben replied.

“Well—let’s go have a look at Doc’s office. Maybe he left some notes or something that’ll help.”

“The office is locked up tight,” Jake threw in as the three men headed down the walkway.

“There ain’t a door in this town I can’t get into, Jake!” Sam laughed.

The sheriff’s statement proved to be accurate, though it had taken a strong shoulder and a hefty kick at the door to spring the lock. Shrugging off the jolt, Sam moved into the darkened foyer of the doctor’s office.

“Let’s get some light on the situation,” the sheriff said and drew out a match.

Soon the room was bathed in the glow of an oil lamp and Ben moved closer to the doctor’s desk to see if he could find any clues to his son’s whereabouts. Coming up empty handed, he then followed the sheriff and Jake into the examining room. Jake held the lamp high in the air as they all approached the operating table that sat in the middle of the room.

“Joseph!” Ben cried out, fear controlling his tone.

There, on the floor lying in a crumpled heap was Ben’s youngest son. All three men rushed to his aid and knelt down next to the young man.

“Joe? Can you hear me?” Ben choked out as he gingerly rolled his son over to his back.

“Best get him some water—If he’s been in here like this for a couple of days,” Jake mentioned and walked over to the water basin sitting up on a small counter in the examining room. He was back quickly with a full glass of the liquid and handed it to the boy’s father. Ben took a hold of it, though his hand was a bit shaky. He lifted it to Joe’s lips and after a few moments of incoherent muttering, the young man finally began to drink.

“Can’t believe Doc would leave the kid here like this. I ain’t never seen nothing like it. With his office all locked up and such—we’d never have known he was here,” the sheriff said shaking his head in disbelief.

“Joseph? What’s happened to you?” Ben asked as he drew his son’s torso closer to his own chest trying to shelter him from the anguish he had endured.

“Pa?” Joe whispered as his eyes fixed on the lamp in Jake’s hand. “Where—w—where am I?”

“You’re in Doc Simpson’s office,” Sam answered the boy.

Joe closed his eyes as his body involuntarily shuddered. He reached his left hand up towards his father’s face and said, “Pa—Pa get me outta here. I’ve been trying for the longest time—but with this cast weighing me down I haven’t gotten far.”

Ben’s eyes tracked down to his son’s left leg and could see the enormous plaster cast that encircled it. He could tell by the feel of Joe’s forehead that his son was fighting some kind of an infection and even when he grasped the boy’s hand into his own he could feel the weakness in his hold. Furthermore, Joe’s hair was matted and his eyes, even by lamplight, seemed sunken. It looked as though the very life flow had ebbed from his body.

Normally having brilliant glowing hazel eyes, now it was almost impossible to detect their shine. His son’s body, for all intents and purposes was totally emaciated Ben remembered Jake saying it had been three days since Doc Simpson had gotten on the stage to Placerville. Oh Joseph! You’ve been lying here three days unattended? You’ve been locked in here the whole time—what if I hadn’t come today? Ben tried to figure out what had been done to his boy and why. Why would any doctor—a man who swears an oath to take care of people—leave a patient in such horrible shape and just disappear?

“Mister Cartwright—don’t mean to rush you—but looks like this boy needs some tending. I’ll go tell John Casey to get a room ready for you. Jake—you help him get the kid there okay?” Sam said as he headed out of the office to see the hotel manager.

“Thank you—thank you both,” Ben whispered, fighting the battle in his soul to control his anger towards whoever was responsible for his son’s condition. If it turned out to be Doctor Hosea Simpson, and him alone, Ben vowed to himself that he would go after him no matter how well he hid. After he was done with the man, he would turn him over to the state of Nevada to deal with. One thing for sure, Ben promised, there was no way possible that Doctor Simpson would ever practice medicine again; not after what he had done to Joseph Cartwright!

Aided by Jake Wilson who held onto the leg that was encumbered by the heavy cast, Ben carried Joe in his arms down the street and into the Arcadia Hotel. Just inside the foyer, John Casey, along with a woman, waited to assist the men up to the room that they had set up for the injured boy and his father. Taking the stairs carefully, Ben and Jake, followed by the sheriff and the rest of the entourage, soon had Joe placed carefully on a bed. The woman introduced herself to Ben as John’s wife Helen, and told him that she would help in any way she could. She mentioned the fact that they had a son around Joe’s age and that they were aghast to learn that such a young man could have been treated so dreadfully by their local doctor. Ben half-listened to the woman as she rambled on and on and handed him a washcloth dripping with cold water.

“I thank you, Mrs. Casey—and your husband as well. Right now, my only thought is to see what I can do to bring this fever down. Is there another doctor in the area?” Ben asked while mopping his son’s brow with the cool cloth.

“Not one for fifty miles I’m afraid,” Jake piped up.

“Still don’t figure Doc doing this to the boy,” Sam reiterated as he stood back to give Ben and Mrs. Casey some room to get Joe settled.

“How long has he been a doctor here?” Ben asked frowning.

“Like unto three years now—never had no complaints about him neither!” Sam answered brusquely.

“Well you have one now,” Ben fumed. He watched as his son fell off to sleep after only muttering a few unintelligible words.

“Anything I can do for you, Mister Cartwright?” Jake asked as he moved towards the door.

“It’s Ben, and yes there is as a matter of fact,” Ben replied and dug into his vest pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He pulled out ten dollars worth and moved over to the smithy. “I want you to take this for your trouble. You helped me find my son—and I’ve cost you a whole day’s work.”

Jake waved it off and said, “Ben—you’d have done the same thing—from what I hear tell of the Cartwrights. Now—I’ve just got a couple of horses to shoe and that won’t take me no time. I’ll come back up here later—to see if you need some help.”

“Much obliged,” Ben nodded to the man as he left the room. He then turned his attention on John Casey. “Might I have something to write a telegraph with?”

The hotel manager strode across the room over to the desk and pulled open the drawer. Removing a piece of paper and a pencil, he then handed it to Ben. “Here you go—you write it and I’ll have it sent pronto!”

Ben sat down on the bed alongside his son and rested his elbow on the nightstand. He knew he needed professional help and there was only one man who came to mind at the time.

To Doctor J. P. Martin, Virginia City, Nevada. Paul, in town of Sand Dust, Joe injured badly running high fever. No doctor in area, suspect Doctor Hosea Simpson who tended Joe and ran off might have caused more damage. Left leg broken, high fever. Please advise. Appreciate your help as always, Regards, Ben Cartwright. Care of Arcadia Hotel, Sand Dust, Nevada.

 

Ben handed the note to John and he and his wife left the room. Sheriff Samuel Hazelton pulled a chair up next to the bed and stared over at both father and son. He was trying to take it all in. There had to be a logical explanation for Doc Simpson to have tended the young man and then left for Placerville, but he couldn’t come up with any. Ever since the doctor had hung his shingle in the town of Sand Dust he had proven to be a thoughtful and well liked man of medicine. The citizens of the town had grown to depend on him and, as far as Sam knew, Hosea had never betrayed the trust they had given him. What could have changed all that?

“I’m gonna do some more checking into this, Ben, it might take some digging but there’s got to be a reason behind it. I don’t want to sell the Doc short without knowing all the facts.”

“He left an injured boy locked in his office and simply left town. Sorry, but I can think of nothing that could explain such negligence,” Ben replied, with anger apparent on his face. After all, there was all the proof he needed lying in the bed. Joseph was seriously injured and had endured some kind of imprisonment. It was a good thing Doctor Simpson had left town. A damn good thing as far as Ben was concerned. Because if the man were to walk into the room at that moment he wouldn’t have stood a chance with the furious father.

“I’ll have Helen rustle up some broth for the boy. When he comes around maybe you can let me know so I can ask him some questions, okay?”

“I’ll send word,” Ben nodded, “I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for your help, ‘cause I am. It’s just that—”

“It’s just that your boy is hurt and you’re worried,” Sam interjected. “I can understand that. You just take care of him and let me do my job. If there’s any word back from Virginia City I’ll bring it right over.”

“Thank you,” Ben nodded towards the man as he stood and approached the door.

“See you later,” Sam said as he walked out of the room.

Ben spent the next hour acclimating himself to the room and tending his son. There really wasn’t much he could do for the boy at the time, other than bathe his forehead and neck with cool water in an attempt to reduce the raging fever. Helen Casey had come back up to the room, along with her husband, and they brought with them some broth for the injured young man and Ben’s saddlebags which Jake had removed from his horse. John told Ben that Jake had stabled Buck and that the smithy would return later in the evening to see what he could do. Ben accepted the broth for his son gratefully and set it aside. There would be no getting fluids into Joe until he regained consciousness.

Taking the time to wash some of the trail dust off of his own body, Ben poured more water into the basin and rinsed off. It wasn’t helping the boy’s fever any, the fact that the room was stifling hot. Ben thought back to another time, and another injury that his son had suffered.

Though Joe had often fallen victim to an accident or illness and pulled through just fine, it didn’t make it any easier for his father this time. Ben remembered when his son was seventeen and had dove in front of a bullet that had been meant for him not Joe. It was hot as hell then too. Ben had labored trying to keep the boy’s fever at bay while waiting for Doctor Martin to arrive. And, just as now, the faithful caregiver was nowhere to be seen and instead another doctor had been brought in as a replacement. Poor replacement at that. Ben sighed as he thought back on the doctor who had sutured the boy only to have the stitches unravel a few hours later leaving it in the anxious father’s hands again.

That was the first and thankfully the last time that Ben had to suture one of his own sons. Fortunately, almost every time since that terrible injury, Paul Martin had doctored Joe and always brought him back from the precarious edge of death. If only Paul were in Sand Dust—If only Joe had waited until he was home to take that fall from Cochise—if only there had been a competent doctor to tend Joe—if only if only—so many of them. Ben shook his head wearily and placed the wrung- out cloth on his son’s forehead.

“Chestnut—chestnut—and black—” Joe mumbled, and the sound caught his father off guard.

“Joseph? Joe, you back with me?” Ben asked as he sat next to the boy.

“Chestnut—and black—two good ones, Pa. Good horses,” Joe continued.

Ben still wasn’t too sure whether his son was coherent or perhaps just trapped in his mind somewhere, but he knew Joe was talking about the string of horses, which he had purchased from the Filmore ranch. “Yes—you did a wonderful job choosing those mounts, Son. The horses arrived home fine—so did Cochise. Now don’t you worry none—you just settle back.”

“Burr under the saddle—not her fault,” Joe continued to converse, but his voice was both hoarse and his words broken.

“Cochise? Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Didn’t see it till too late—not her fault.”

“I know—she wouldn’t throw you on purpose—not that horse of yours!” Ben smiled and slowly stroked the boy’s head of curls.

Joe reached for his father’s hand and stared up at the man with great confusion in his eyes. “Pa? You’re really here?”

“Yes—been here awhile—we’re gonna get you all fixed up—now don’t you worry.”

“I thought—thought I dreamt it—like before,” Joe replied as his eyelids began to droop once more.

Ben squeezed the boy’s hand, trying to assure him that his father was indeed there at his side. “Right here, Joseph—don’t worry—just rest.”

“So tired—leg hurts—so tired,” Joe whispered and his mind crawled back underneath the blanket of sleep.

“I know—I know, Son,” Ben sighed again and repositioned his son’s arm down alongside his body.

Joe continued to slumber and even when his father attempted to awaken him, he was unresponsive to his calls. Ben wanted to get some fluids into the boy, he knew of no other way to help bring his fever down. A mixture of frustration and worry filled his mind and soul as the afternoon passed into evening. Afraid to pack Joe up and try to take him back home, Ben knew he had to do whatever he could to help him. He was just about ready to send John Casey to check with the telegraph office when Jake came walking back into the room holding in his hand a response to the telegraph that had been sent earlier in the day.

“Here you go, Ben—just came!” Jake called over to the other man.

“Thank God,” Ben replied and brought the wire over to the nightstand where the light was better. He studied Paul’s response and then looked up at the smithy and asked, “Jake, do you have an apothecary here in town?”

“Yeah, he one Doc Simpson uses—Peter Cantrell runs the place. It’s just the other side of the mercantile.”

Ben walked to the desk where John had earlier pulled out some paper. He quickly wrote a note for Jake to take to the pharmacist. “Here—will you get this for me? The doctor I wrote to in Virginia City says this medicine might help bring down Joe’s fever,” Ben explained and handed the paper over to the man.

“I’ll get it right over there, Ben. Be back soon!”

“Thank you very much,” Ben smiled, so grateful to have someone to help him with the errands. In a strange town with a sick child, it was nice to know that a stranger would take the time to help.

Ben sat down in the chair next to the bed and read over Paul’s lengthy reply. The medicine part was the most imperative item at the moment, but once Jake was on his way to tend to that, he now tried to grasp what Paul had said. I just don’t understand. Hosea Simpson died years ago? Paul says here that he knew him personally—how could that be? If the doctor who treated Joe wasn’t who he said he was—then—who was he? Was he even a real doctor?

Ben pondered the situation as he shot a glance over at his son. Sam said that the doctor had been here for years, treating folks. I just don’t understand. Frowning now, Ben folded the telegraph and stuffed it inside his vest pocket. There were far too many questions and far fewer logical answers to the whole situation. If Paul says to get you back to Virginia City, Joe, then that’s what we’re gonna do. Everything else—well—will have to wait. If that medicine works, we’ll catch the next stage out of here. I just hope and pray it brings down your fever—can’t get much worse. Ben winced his face when his right hand touched the boy’s brow; he was burning up.

“NO! Let me go—let me go!” Joe shouted and strained against the tight hold.

“Joseph—it’s Pa—relax—I have to get this medicine down you—It’s okay,” Ben insisted, struggling with the boy. He sat on the bed easing his son against his shoulder trying to get him to swallow the medicine that Jake had brought back from the apothecary.

“Let me go!” Joe screamed again.

Jake saw the difficulty that Ben was having and joined him on the other side of the bed. He could tell that the young man was delirious and had to be fighting unseen demons. “It’s your father, simmer down now,” Jake called to Joe calmly as Ben again tried to coax his son to drink the liquid.

Joe’s energy dwindled due to the infection, which ravaged his body. His head turned towards the scent of bay rum and it was a subconscious reminder of who was now holding onto him. Easing back against the man, Joe seemed to realize he was in familiar arms.

“That’s it, Son, you just settle down and drink this medicine—it’s going to help you get that fever down,” Ben spoke out soothingly and Joe finally began to drink from the glass. “Just a little more—there—all done.”

“Pa? I didn’t know it was you—I thought it was him,” Joe whispered, and then lost all his residual strength. His body sagged down against his father.

Ben moved from behind his son and settled him back down on the bed. Returning the cold cloth to the boy’s head he sighed; mission accomplished. “You don’t have to worry—no one’s going to hurt you, Joseph. You go on back to sleep.”

Sam stood in the doorway watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes. He had noticed the fear that was written all over young Cartwright’s face. Sam could tell that part of the boy’s distress had to be due to the fever he was battling, but obviously some of it was due to something altogether more sinister.

“Ben? How’s the boy doing?” Sam queried, walking towards the bed.

“Fever’s still high, but we just got the first dose of medicine down him. Hopefully it will do the trick,” Ben answered and sank down into the chair exhausted mentally.

“He sure was frightened,” Jake commented as he moved to stand next to the sheriff.

“Think I have an idea as to why,” Sam responded grimly and then pulled two objects from his coat pocket. He handed them over to Ben.

Ben took a good look at the two leather straps. It was clear that one of them had teeth marks on it, and was literally ripped to shreds. He knew what it meant and yet was almost afraid to ask for confirmation from the lawman. “Where did you get these?”

“Doc’s office—looks like he tied the kid up—left him there. Guess that’s why Joe couldn’t get out of the office or make a racket to draw attention so someone could find him there. It’s starting to paint a rather ugly picture of the man we all thought we knew. I don’t have a clue as to why he would do such a thing, but there’s no question that it was intentional,” Sam explained.

Ben eased back over to the bed and took a good look at his son’s wrists. He had been so worried about the boy’s broken leg and his fever that he hadn’t even noticed the clear signs of leather burns on both of Joe’s wrists. “No question at all,” Ben grumbled, his stomach churning with rage over what had befallen his boy. “But, I’ve got a lot of other questions though. Like what kind of an animal could do this to my son and why? His fever is so high it makes me wonder what’s exactly under that cast too. Did your doctor butcher his leg before tying him up and leaving?

“I don’t know—guess none of us will find out until the cast is taken off,” Sam sighed, hoping that what they would find wouldn’t be nearly as awful as what they already had witnessed.

“I’ve got news for you too. Your Doctor Hosea Simpson was an imposter!” Ben growled vehemently.

“What?” Jake and Sam asked in unison.

“That’s right, when I mentioned the doctor’s name to our family physician in the telegraph he informed me that he knew Hosea well. He also said that the man died years ago! So now—what we have is someone pretending to be a doctor—doing God knows what to my boy—and then tying him up and leaving town. Now what do you think of the man?”

“I think I never knew him,” Sam insisted.

“Doc set my nephew’s arm last spring, Ben. He did a good job of it—the boy is fine now. I’ve seen some of the kids he’s brought into the world too—they’ve all done okay too,” Jake added.

“Yeah, and Martha Thompson—she had her appendix taken out last winter. If he was pretending to be a doctor—well he did surgeries pretty damn well!” Sam continued.

“If he was that good then why did he do this to my son?” Ben asked again, as he felt of Joe’s forehead again. No change yet, still hot to the touch.

“I wish I knew—I wish I knew,” Sam shook his head discouraged by the strange turn of events. “I’m still checking on things—sent for some information on Hosea. His diploma is still on the wall so I’ve sent a wire to the university where it was issued. Hopefully they can shed some light on some of this. If it’s true that the real Hosea Simpson is dead we should have another confirmation soon.”

“Doctor Martin in Virginia City advised me to get Joe home as soon as possible. If this fever comes down a bit, I will need arrangements to head out on the next stage. Will you see what you can do for me, Sam?” Ben asked wearily.

“Should be one out of here around two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I can make arrangements and hope that your son rallies before then,” the sheriff agreed.

“Let’s hope so. If we get out of here, will you wire the sheriff in Virginia City of our travel plans? His name is Roy Coffee. If you’ll just let him know so he can be sure that the doctor will meet us when we arrive I’d appreciate it.”

“No problem. I’ll also keep him posted on this end about what I find out about all this.”

“Thank you,” Ben nodded the sheriff’s way.

“Ben—I can find someone to bring your horse back to your ranch for you. Might take a few days to get someone but I promise they will be trustworthy,” Jake assured.

“That’ll be fine, Jake. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you and the sheriff here—and the manager and his wife as well, hadn’t helped with all this. I’ll forever be grateful for what you’ve done.”

“Like I said before, you’d do the same I reckon,” Jake smiled.

“Just sorry that you had to come to Sand Dust under these circumstances, Ben. Not really a bad town—just happened to get hold of a rather shady doctor,” Sam apologized as best he could.

“IF he WAS a doctor, Sam,” Ben reminded the man. “I just pray that my boy’s leg is going to be all right.”

“I’d appreciate it if you would send word to let us all know how Joe does. I’m going to go and check on the stage time for you now,” Sam said and headed for the door.

“I’ll send you a wire once we’ve made it into Virginia City. Maybe we will have some good news,” Ben replied, hoping for the best but he still had a nagging feeling that he might be far too optimistic over his son’s prognosis.

“Let me stay here with Joe while you go on downstairs and get some dinner,” Jake offered.

“No—I really should stay.”

“Now the boy ain’t going nowhere—and I can mop his brow just like you, Ben. Go on now—you’ll have him on your own for three days on the stage. You’re gonna have your hands full then—so go take a little break. I promise I won’t leave Joe’s side,” Jake argued.

“All right—just long enough to eat some dinner,” Ben finally conceded and walked over to where the sheriff was still standing. “Thanks, Jake.”

“You’re welcome—now get!” the smithy ordered and sat down in the chair Ben had just vacated.

While darkness fell over the desert town of Sand Dust Ben kept constant vigil over his injured son. He had been able to get three doses of the medicine down Joe with little event but the boy’s fever still hadn’t eased up. Ben fought to keep his eyes opened, his body playing out on him after such a long and frustrating day. Finally, he settled down on the bed alongside his son. With a pillow propping him up against the head board Ben waited for morning. He had no idea as to how long he had been asleep when his hand, which he had left gently planted on Joe’s forehead, told him that the fever was giving up its hold on the boy. The slight but very welcomed temperature drop on the palm of his left hand instantly brought Ben back to reality. Blinking his eyes open he heard his son’s faint mumbling.

“Pa? Pa you awake?” Joe spoke out quietly.

“Yes—I am now. How are you feeling?”

“Kinda fuzzy—how long have I been out?” Joe asked and then tried to move up in the bed some. The pain from his leg stopped him and he groaned.

“You’ve been in and out of it all day and night, Joseph. Don’t try and move that leg either!” Ben ordered and eased carefully off the bed so that he wouldn’t jolt his son’s injury.

“Leg’s killing me, Pa—feels like a knife—cutting through me,” Joe said wincing his face.

Ben poured another glass of water and added the medicine to the liquid before handing it over to his son. “Drink this—don’t think it’s going to help with the pain but it seems to be doing the trick with your fever. You were burning up earlier.”

Joe drank the full contents of the glass and handed it back to his father. Ben poured himself some water and polished it off in a couple swallows. The air in the room was just as stagnant as it had been earlier, though the room temperature had gone down a bit that night. Taking a seat in the chair next to the bed, the worried father gazed over at his boy.

“You awake enough to tell me what in the devil has gone on here in this town?” Ben asked.

Joe rubbed at his left wrist and shook his head. His thoughts were filled with horrible events, sights, and sounds he’d just as soon forget. But, he knew that they had to be told in order to seek revenge on the person who had caused so much damage to his body and psyche.

“I wanna go home, Pa,” Joe whispered and closed his eyes to block the images that had been resurrected.

Ben reached over, took his son’s hand into his grasp, and stared into the boy’s frightened eyes. “We’re going to leave this afternoon—I’ve just been waiting for your fever to come down. I wired Doc Martin—he needs to see you as soon as possible to check out that leg. There’s no doctor anywhere around here.”

“You can say that again!” Joe replied, anger in his response.

“Tell me about it, Son,” Ben asked patiently. He knew that Joe had suffered some kind of terrible trauma at the hands of the person who had pretended to be Hosea Simpson. Reaching across to the nightstand Ben retrieved the two leather restraints and showed them to his son. “The sheriff found these in the doctor’s office.”

Joe studied the pieces of leather, which had held him a prisoner for days. Taking them into his trembling hands, he closed his eyes again and felt as though he was propelled back in time. He could see the man who had passed himself off as being Doctor Simpson. Pain, the depth of which could never be completely explained away in words, came to the forefront of Joe’s mind and it was fierce enough to temporarily take his breath away. His eyes flew open and he had to reach out for his father’s arm to make sure he was there and that it all wasn’t one of the wishful dreams he had encountered during his captivity. Pa was there, he was really there. He had to keep assuring himself that safety was his at last.

Ben watched his son, wounded in spirit and in body trying to get the words out. His son was brave, that was a given. He had endured more triumphs and tragedies than a man twice his young age. Worried that it might not be such a good idea to force the boy to remember such awful events quite so soon Ben was just about ready to call it all off when Joe piped up.

“I—I guess I need to start at the beginning,” Joe began and paused momentarily.

“We can wait on this if you want,” Ben offered sympathetically.

“No—no, Pa—I gotta get it out of my head or it’s gonna eat me alive.”

“Go on.”

“Cliff dropped me off at the doctor’s office. I told him I’d be okay—boy was I wrong! Anyway—right away the doctor insisted on giving me something to knock me out. He said it was needed so he could set my leg. There was talk about a telegraph being sent to you—did you get it?”

“No, I didn’t. If I had I sure would’ve been here sooner, Joe.”

“Figures,” Joe replied bitterly. He knew now that the doctor deliberately neglected to send the wire to his father. It had afforded the man more time to do further damage to his patient. “I don’t know how long it was before I came back around. I do know that my leg was hurting like hell,” Joe paused again and looked directly into his father’s eyes to see if his choice of language had bothered him.

Ben smiled and nodded towards his son, “I expect to hear some choice words this time, Joseph—go ahead.”

“Well, I complained that my leg hurt even worse than it had when Cliff brought me into the office. The doctor just said that it was a bad break and that it would ease up. He offered me morphine, but—well, you know I refused it.”

“Good,” Ben replied thankfully. Joe had suffered years before due to the affect of the drug and they didn’t need another go round.

“So, he gave me something else to take the edge off. He gave me water and he fed me but when I asked if I could move to the hotel, he got angry. The explanation that he offered was that he wasn’t certain that the set had worked and needed to monitor my progress for a few days. I wasn’t suspicious at the time—didn’t have no cause to be I guess,” Joe stopped and reached down towards the heavy cast and it showed on his face the pain he was still suffering.

“So the first week he just kept you there in the office and watched you?”

“Yeah—but every time I talked about moving to the hotel he would sedate me. It was starting to make me worry that all wasn’t right. But, I figured that you had gotten the telegraph and would be showing up at any moment—so I thought I could wait him out.”

“I didn’t even know about your accident until Cliff showed up with the horses. As soon as I spotted him coming in with Cochise in tow—I knew there was trouble. I headed out that evening. Wish I could’ve gotten here sooner, Son.”

“I know, Pa, it’s okay. Anyway, the days are kinda hazy after the first couple of them. The only way I knew the passing of time was from the light at the bottom of the door. He kept it so dark in the room where I was held I couldn’t see anything else. Finally, I told him I had had enough of it and wanted out! Guess I should’ve kept my head, but well—you know how I get when I feel confined.”

“Yes, I know,” Ben grinned, knowing how hard it had been to keep his son in line in the past when he was injured.

“Well, he got mad, Pa—real mad! Then he said that my leg needed to be re-broken,” Joe said and his face took on an even more horrified expression. “Pa, that was so awful—I can’t tell you.”

“Why did he do it? Furthermore, how would he have known if the leg wasn’t setting properly after such a short time?”

“I don’t know; I don’t even know if he was honest about it being in bad shape. He gave me something to knock me out.”

“At least you were spared going through it again—since you were sedated,” Ben sighed.

“No, Pa—that’s the bad part.”

“What?”

“He waited until I came back around—to do the breaking. And I couldn’t do nothing about it either—he had my hands tied down with these!” Joe implicated the restraints.

“Joseph? Are you—are you telling me that he didn’t even give you anything for pain when he re-broke that leg?” Ben asked, his voice quivering.

“Yeah—he waited until I was fully conscious, Pa. I tried—tried hard to get out of there—but I couldn’t—then he—he broke the bone—I lasted until I felt that—and then I passed out from the pain I guess.”

That was it! Ben could no longer sit calmly by and listen to Joe’s rendition of the awful treatment he had endured at the hands of the evil imposter. He stood and began pacing the room. With his hands clenching into fists he moved away from the bed and over to the window. Ben’s stomach churned and the blood in his veins turned stone cold. He had to think of his son, and not do what he wanted to at that moment. Ben knew that as bad as he needed to seek vengeance against the man who had hurt his son, he was needed to care for the boy far more.

Joe watched as his pa walked back and forth. He could tell that the man was waging a battle in his mind to retain possession of his soul. Joe knew his father and with that knowledge came the understanding that Ben Cartwright would never allow a son of his to be treated in such a terrible manner as Doctor Simpson had treated his youngest. All the signs were there, the furrowed brow, the clenched fists, and the tight way in which his father held his mouth shut. Joe was in a lot of ways a replica of the man in front of him now. The only difference between them was the fact that Joe would not have been able to control himself. Pa was just more seasoned to the reality of life and injustice, though it didn’t make it anymore tolerable.

“Pa? You okay?” Joe finally broke the mounting silence in the room.

Ben heard his son’s voice calling out to him, but he waited a few moments before turning towards the sound. He had to try his best to gather his internal fortitude; he had to pull himself together. How could he ever expect his youngest son to show restraint if he, himself, could not do it?

“No, I’m not—actually, Joe. Sorry,” Ben muttered and returned to the chair slowly. “I’m almost afraid to ask you to finish—but guess we need to get this all out on the table.”

“Could you get me some water?”

Ben poured his son a glass and handed it to him. He could see the glistening of tears in Joe’s eyes and knew why they were there. His youngest son was no mystery to him anymore. Though he had spent the better part of his life covering his feelings, Joe had later relented and allowed his father a view into his soul that no-one else had ever seen. That was the bond, and it was unbreakable. Ben could simply take one look at his youngest and know what he was feeling inside. And, remarkable as it was, Joe could do the very same thing with his father. Now the room was filled with a mutual pain, just as if it wasn’t one soul, which had been injured, nor one body, which had felt the harsh brutality. As each new detail was revealed by his son, Ben shared the experience as if he had been the one lying in Doctor Simpson’s office and not Joe.

“Thanks, Pa,” Joe said and handed his glass over to his father. He settled back against the pillows, which had been propped up behind his head and readied to continue. “So, he broke my leg—I passed out—then I came back around to find I was still tied. The only thing I could do was to talk to the doctor and try to reason with him. I felt that the man must have gone crazy or something! Why else would he have kept me a prisoner? Why else would he have tied me up and broken my leg while I was fully awake? He answered my pleas by drugging me. Don’t know what he gave me—or how much of it. I spent the next few days in a drugged stupor I guess. I don’t remember even eating—just downing whatever he gave me to drink.”

“He never told you—anything—that would tell you why he was doing this, Joseph?” Ben asked incredulously.

“No—not that I didn’t ask him a million times! Each time I’d get loud, he would sedate me—even when I refused to drink his concoctions he would inject my arm with some stuff. I’m just glad it wasn’t morphine,” Joe sighed as he pulled the sleeve to his shirt up higher to give his father a glimpse of the needle marks.

“You sure—sure it wasn’t?” Ben replied shakily.

“No—If it was—bet you I’d be having withdrawal symptoms by now—and I don’t. Just hurt like hell—my leg feels like something’s cutting away at it.”

“Maybe when he set it—It might not have done well—and there’s a bone spur?” Ben asked as his eyes trekked down to the enormous plaster cast.

“Yeah—unless—unless he did something when he cut into it,” Joe frowned. He was just about ready to get into the worst part of his explanation. Joe wondered how Pa would take the rest of the story.

“He cut into it? What are you talking about?”

“You aren’t gonna like this part, Pa—trust me,” Joe tried to warn the man.

“I don’t like ANY of this, Joseph!” Ben exclaimed and tried to hold down the volume to his voice. It was very early in the morning and he didn’t want to awaken anybody in the hotel with his anger but was finding it more difficult now to hold in his feelings.

“Me neither,” Joe quipped and reached for his father’s hand and squeezed it. He knew it was his turn to try to calm down the situation. Pa looked like a loose cannon at the time, about ready to explode at any moment.

“Go on—let’s hear the rest.”

“A couple of days after he reset my leg he said that it was showing signs of infection. I was terrified that he was gonna try to re-break it again! But, he said it wasn’t the set—that it must be something inside of my leg—like you just mentioned—a bone spur or splinter. I was not going to lie there and let that man cut into me—no way! I tried to get the restraints off me, but I couldn’t. Then, I decided that if I made enough of a racket that maybe someone would hear me and come to my aid. I was able to reach a pitcher and I managed to throw it across the room. That wasn’t such a good idea I guess—’cause it only made him angrier. So—he gagged me with a cloth so no-body could hear my screams. He tied the restraints tighter so I couldn’t try to throw anything else too. That’s when he began his little operation.”

Ben reached for his son’s chin and turned his face so he could look directly into his eyes. “Oh—Joseph—don’t tell me that he operated on your leg—with you wide awake!”

“Yep,” Joe nodded as tears involuntarily rolled out of his eyes and slid down his cheeks. He had held it in long enough, there was little point in pretending now. No brave countenance was needed. Pa knew, Pa understood. In fact, it had been Ben who had gotten through to him many years ago that showing one’s emotions was not a sign of weakness but, on the contrary, was a show of strength of character.

Joe’s tears were due to the intense pride he had inside of himself, the kind of pride that refused to let anyone get the better of him. The alleged doctor had put him in a position where he had no control over his fate and that had hurt Joe’s soul almost as much as the man’s inhumane methods had injured his body. Instinctively knowing what was needed at the moment, Ben pulled his son into his arms to shield him from the awfulness of his ordeal. “Pa—it hurt so bad—I felt every inch of the incision—he carved deep into my leg—I prayed that I would pass out—but it didn’t happen that time. I’ve known pain before—you know I have—and I’ve dealt with things that would have driven other people insane—but this—this was pure torture,” Joe whispered and clung to his one means of support and strength; his pa.

Ben pulled back a little from his embrace on his son and stared once again into the desperation which Joe’s hazel eyes conveyed. “You don’t have to tell me, Joseph, you don’t have to apologize or explain in any way—I know what you’re made of. I just wish to God that I could have stopped that bastard from doing this to you. Just the fact that you are still here with me now shows me how strong you are, Son. But, you aren’t alone any more. Let it out.”

“Why would anyone—especially a doctor—do this to anyone, Pa?” Joe asked earnestly and looked to his pa for an answer.

“I just don’t know,” Ben whispered and shook his head wearily. “But, I will promise you—right now—as God is my witness I will find him and make him pay for this.”

“Pa—I’m afraid of what he’s done to my leg—It doesn’t feel right. I’ve had broken bones before, and I know what they feel like when they are mending. This is different.”

“Did you see if he pulled anything out when he did his operation?”

“No, I couldn’t watch,” Joe replied and hung his head sadly.

“Hey—” Ben started and forced his son’s gaze, “I wouldn’t have been able to either, Joe—so don’t feel bad! I probably wouldn’t have stayed conscious either.”

“Not like I was trying to, Pa,” Joe insisted wryly as he pushed away his tears. He was starting to feel better, at least in spirit. But, then, Pa was good at making him feel good, always had been. “I don’t know what he did—he just kinda cut the hell out of my leg, then stitched it up. That’s when he finally shot something into my arm. Next thing I knew I woke up to this monstrosity on my leg. Have you ever seen such a big cast before?”

“No—no can’t say I have. I just pray that whatever is under it is healing,” Ben replied and then wished he had phrased it a tad better. Joe didn’t need any more worries at the present.

“I wanna go home, Pa,” Joe whispered and settled back on the bed. He was pretty much spent from the rehashing of events.

Ben pushed aside the curls, which had fallen down onto his son’s forehead and pulled up the sheet to cover the boy’s shoulders. There was still so much he wanted to know about Joe’s ordeal but he got the general drift now and it was heartbreaking. Ben decided the remainder of the story could wait until his son was a bit more healed emotionally.

“We’ll leave later today. Now you close those eyes. Get as much rest as you can before that long stage ride. Before you know it we’ll be back home and you’ll have a real doctor to fix you up properly.”

“Remind me to tell Doc Martin how sorry I am,” Joe muttered as his eyelids slowly closed.

“Sorry for what?” Ben asked, confused by his son’s statement.

“Sorry for never appreciating his bedside manner. After this doctor—or whatever he was—I’ll never complain about anything Doc Martin does to me again.”

Ben smiled as he watched his son fade out. No matter what the boy had been through, he would somehow be all right. His son was a creature of habit and that showed in the way he joked to allay his father’s worries. Joe had always used humor as a catalyst to break the tension in a bad situation, this time was no different. The boy was tough, as tough as they come; Ben thought as he settled down in the chair and waited daybreak.

Watching from his vantage point inside the stagecoach Ben had seen more desert and sagebrush than he ever remembered in his life. The three-day journey back to home turf had been a hot one and the constant rocking back and forth inside the coach didn’t do much for Joe’s leg injury either. Before they had left Sand Dust, Ben had taken the time to wire the sheriff in Virginia City and asked his old friend to get a hold of Hoss.

He knew that middle boy of his would be up at the timber camp by North Shore, but once he learned of the trouble that his father had encountered, he would head back home quickly. Sam Hazelton had sent his own wire earlier that same day. He had told Roy Coffee in the telegraph all the particulars of the man who was under suspicion.

Giving the sheriff a complete description, Sam also told him that he would keep him apprised of any further information that he came up with in the hopes of capturing the imposter. Ben wanted to catch the so-called doctor himself, but he would have to put that desire on the back burner. His main worry was the boy who was sleeping soundly to his left side.

It was a stroke of luck that there hadn’t been any other passengers taking the stagecoach west so that it would afford both Cartwrights more room. Ben had propped his son’s heavy cast held leg on the step that the driver used to board passengers. It had helped some, but Joe’s fever and his pain were back in full force, especially on the last day of the journey.

His father had tried to cool off the boy’s brow by using water poured onto his neckerchief, but it was having little effect. One of the canteens had been filled with a mixture of the medicine and water and Ben made sure to give it at two hours intervals to his son. He could not help staring down at Joe’s cast nor extinguish the haunting thoughts as to what might be underneath the plaster. Had the evil man carved into the boy’s leg on purpose, or was it in a real effort to help the injury? Ben scowled to himself just thinking about the operation which had been done without the aid of sedation. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could do such a thing to another human. Ben would have been more humane to an animal than the alleged doctor had been to his son.

The humid air and the constant motion finally lulled Ben into an uneasy slumber. Hours passed and even the one stop over at the way station couldn’t awaken both Cartwrights. Soon the stagecoach was closing in on the mining town of Virginia City. The sun had just started to set behind the expansive mountain range in the distance when the main road of the town came into view. Ben became suddenly aware of the commotion on the street and gently nudged his son’s arm to waken him.

“We’re home, Joseph,” Ben whispered and watched as the boy’s eyes blinked open.

“Home?” Joe muttered and tried to pull himself upright in the seat. He saw the sheriff’s office and then the mercantile and soon they were pulling up in front of the Overland Stage Depot.

“You just sit tight—I’ll get someone to help me down with you,” Ben ordered as the stage came to a halt.

Ben waited for the driver to come down from his perch and open the door to the coach. He handed the step, which had held the weight of Joe’s leg for days, down to the man. Ben then turned around and descended. As soon as his boots hit the street, he felt a tap on his back and looked over at the smiling face of Paul Martin.

“Paul, am I glad to see you!” Ben exclaimed and shook the man’s hand.

“How is he?” Paul said, getting right to the concerns of his patient.

“I’m going to need help with the boy—the cast on his leg is very cumbersome.”

Paul climbed up into the stagecoach and stared over at Joe. “Well, Young Man, you want to come down or are you too comfortable where you are?”

“I’m ready to come down all right—and go home too!” Joe replied and tried for a weak smile to show the doctor how glad he was to see him.

“I’m going to get your shoulders and your pa is going to get that leg. You just ease back and let us do the work, okay?”

Joe nodded and with just a bit of maneuvering the two men had him back on solid ground. He tried to maintain his balance, but was weaving from the effects of his injury and his mounting fever.

“Let’s get him over to my office. You carry him and I’ll get that leg,” Paul directed

 

If it had been any other time, and if Joe had been able to hold up his own weight, he would have protested vehemently the carrying of his body across the street. But, he wasn’t feeling well and hoped that he could make it to Paul’s office before his stomach let loose of the small amount of lunch he had eaten. Carefully the team of Cartwright and Martin made their way across the street and soon had Joe spread out comfortably on the examining table.

Paul washed his hands and approached his patient. He took a close look into the boy’s eyes and then listened to his heart before turning his attention to the injured leg. Ben watched speechless as the doctor went about his examination. He hoped to catch an expression on Paul’s face, which would lead to what the man thought of Joe’s condition. It didn’t look good. By the time Paul had tested each one of Joe’s exposed toes for signs of circulation, his face was scrunched up like there was a terrible prognosis forthcoming.

“Joe, now what are you doing getting all banged up where I can’t fix you anyhow?” Paul smiled and walked across the room in order to prepare the medication he would need for his patient.

“Wasn’t my choosing, Doc,” Joe muttered and stared up into his father’s eyes. He could read the worry and knew that something was going on that neither of the two men was planning to tell him. “So—what’s going on anyhow?”

Paul carried a glass full of a milky looking substance over to his patient and replied, “Now, Joe, I haven’t had time to even catch my breath from lugging you across the street. Give me a minute will you? And, in the meantime, drink this. It’ll help with your pain.”

Ben helped to lift his son’s head up higher so that he could swallow the contents of the glass and then eased the boy back flat on his back once it was polished off.

“Doc, feels like a knife’s gone through my leg and stuck halfway in it,” Joe explained.

“In a couple of minutes you aren’t going to feel anything, Joe. You just relax and then I’ll see what’s under that cast. It sure is a big one, isn’t it? Why I bet that doctor used up every ounce of plaster this side of St. Louis!” Paul mused, trying to ease the boy’s mind.

Joe’s eyelids slowly closed and he could feel his father’s hand on his arm. Then there was a gentle pulling feeling in his brain and nothing more. He was out like a light, which was what the doctor had hoped for.

“I need to tell you what that man did to the boy, Paul. You’ll need to know before you cut that cast away,” Ben stated grimly.

Paul pulled up a chair and pointed for the anxious father to do the same. Slowly and with a controlled anger to his voice, Ben told the doctor of everything that had happened to Joe. Paul listened intently and did not interrupt. He could tell that his old friend needed to get some things off his chest and the only way to do it was to vent. Knowing Ben Cartwright more years than Joe had been alive, Paul could tell that he was also injured in spirit over what had befallen the lad.

There was nothing that Ben valued over his sons and that was what had caused the damage. Paul knew that Joe’s ordeal had eaten away at the worried father and he wanted so badly to make someone pay for it.   Paul felt close to the same way, after the full facts had been told. Joe Cartwright was a good kid, and Paul thought of him as the son he had never had. He had spent so many hours over the years in patching the rambunctious youngster up, that Paul knew him very well. Now, the doctor was starting to feel a dread inside his heart that he might not be able to pick up the pieces and patch the boy this time.

The telltale signs of advanced infection showed on Joe’s mottled skin and in the way his toenails had not sprung back to a healthy pink shade when he had pressed on them earlier. Paul was afraid that the boy might very well lose his leg. He couldn’t picture that. Joe Cartwright was a perpetual motion machine. He was the kind of kid who could spring onto his pinto without ever touching the stirrups. What would Joe be like if that was taken from him? Paul shivered at the very thought of it.

“One thing I can tell you for a fact, it was not Hosea Simpson who treated this boy, Ben! I knew the man well and I even attended his funeral about five years ago. And there’s no doctor I’ve ever known who would have done such shoddy work. I can’t imagine the horror Joe endured in having a leg re-broken and later operated on without any sedation. That was barbaric to say the least! It’s one thing, on the battlefield when you don’t have the proper instruments or supplies, but with an apothecary there in town I can’t believe anyone would do such a thing. He sure gave Joe enough injections at other times, from what you’ve said. It makes no sense!”

“Yes, his arm has quite a few syringe scars on it, I just thank God that he didn’t use morphine or we’d be contending with even more than we are already,” Ben fumed.

“Well, you know it’s bad—I don’t have to tell you that. How bad exactly we won’t know until that cast is cut away. Joe’s got some deep infection going on there, his circulation doesn’t look well at all. I think we need to move him to the hospital, Ben. This is going to be quite an ordeal before it’s over with.”

“Paul—you don’t think— Joseph won’t—I mean his leg—” Ben trailed off. He was afraid to say what he had been thinking for days. If his son were to lose his leg he wouldn’t want to live, Ben knew that.

Paul knew what Ben was going to say, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t finished his question. “I wish I could answer that. I know you’ve been around long enough to know what can happen when infection is running rampant in a person’s body for too long. Right now, to be totally honest with you, I am worried about saving this boy’s life. Of course I will do everything in my power to try to save his leg, but there might not be an option to it.”

Ben could feel the tears leaving his eyes and he didn’t give a hoot about it at the time. He loved his son; he loved all three of them. But, this was his youngest. This boy had overcome great odds in the past and had always sprung back with a vengeance. Joseph deserved better than this, if only because he gave his all to everyone he came into contact with. He deserved better if only because he was a good, trusting soul who cared so much and had risked so much over the years! It wasn’t fair; none of it was fair! Why did he have to suffer such cruelty when he possessed such an honest and open heart?

Paul read the total devastation on his friend’s face. He moved towards the man and offered him comfort. Dropping his hand down onto Ben’s shoulder he said, “Joe’s like my own son—you’ve known that for awhile now. If he were my son, I would get him to the hospital and try to save his life. If that means him losing his leg, well—we can help him to deal with that later.”

“There’s got to be something else we can do!” Ben pleaded with the man.

“I’ll send a wire to Harold Peele in San Francisco—perhaps he knows a surgeon who can assist us in this? Meanwhile, we get that cast off and see exactly what we’re dealing with. Who knows? Maybe it’s not as bad as I think it is. I have been wrong in the past, you know.”

“I trust you, Paul, always have. You’ve saved this kid time and time again. We’d better not waste anymore time getting to this. Let’s get Joseph to the hospital and then you can get that wire to Harold,” Ben insisted as he moved next to his son and ran his hand across the boy’s cheek.

“Be right back—I’ll send someone for my carriage. I gave Joe enough sedation that he won’t even feel the move over to the hospital,” Paul replied and headed out into the street.

Ben stared down at the injured leg and pushed aside his tears. I promise you, Joseph, we’ll do everything we can to save you and that leg. I also promise you that I will kill the person who did this to you! Ben vowed.

The Sisters of Mercy Hospital stood just on the outskirts of Virginia City. Less than a year old, the modestly equipped twenty-room hospital had been entirely funded through the local Catholic Church and several wealthy benefactors who lived in the Washoe Valley. Doctor Paul Martin had been the impetus behind the building being constructed and had begun to staff it with doctors he had hand picked.

Most of the physicians however, were just out of medical schools in the New England area and had much to learn. Paul knew all that would come in time and what with the population of the mining town growing in leaps and bounds, ever since the Comstock Lode was discovered, he realized the hospital would be a tremendous asset to the area. Personally, he loved being a country doctor and still insisted on keeping his practice. But, he was there to assist at the hospital as needed and was soon to be appointed chief of staff. Paul was going to accept the position with the provision being that he retain his current patients in Virginia City and would not have to spend more than a couple of hours at the hospital during the week.

 

Ben Cartwright’s Ponderosa ranch had provided much of the materials needed to build the hospital and he knew it well. His eldest son, Adam, who was away in Europe at the present time, had drawn up the plans for the health care facility. Ben never looked at the hospital without having great pride in his son’s ability to create something both esthetically pleasing as well as practical. However, by the time Paul’s carriage pulled up in front of the hospital, his thoughts were only on saving his youngest son. He had never thought about one of his sons being confined inside the place and as they carried the boy into the hospital Ben felt as though his heart dropped in his chest. It was only a grim reminder of past tragedies and past hospitalizations that Joe had endured. Paul was quick to acquire a stretcher, and before they had made it halfway down the corridor Joe was whisked away to one of the two operating rooms leaving Ben standing alone. He could tell by the way the doctor had yelled for the attendants that Paul wasn’t wasting any more time. Ben stood there, leaning heavily against one of the walls and stared down towards where they had taken his boy. He closed his eyes in prayer; there was little else he could do at the time. Before long, he felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see Sheriff Roy Coffee standing alongside of him.

“How’s Joe?” Roy whispered.. He could read the dread on his friend’s face, but still he asked.

“We don’t know for sure—his leg, well—we’ll know soon.”

“I got most of the story from the sheriff in Sand Dust. He’s sent me several wires telling me what that yahoo did to Joe. Hoss came on in to town the day after I got your message. I got me a posse together and he headed out with them. Just got back a little while ago,” Roy explained.

“Is Hoss back?” Ben asked hopefully. Somehow being able to put his arms around his middle boy might take some of the burden off them both. There was strength in numbers and Hoss contained more strength alone than a dozen men.

“Naw—stayed out there—reckon when I told him what that doctor done to Joe he had blood in his eyes. Well, you know how them boys of yours are! Don’t matter if they fight and scrap amongst themselves—when one of them’s hurt the other will do what he can to fix it.”

Ben smiled and nodded; Roy had described his sons to the tee. Good sons, all of them. Fortunately, all that he had tried to teach them about loyalty and family had sunk in over the years. But, he was scared for Hoss’ sake now. Ben sure didn’t want another boy to get hurt at the hands of the maniac who had butchered Joe.

“Did that –that—so-called doctor get off in Placerville? Is that where Hoss has gone off to?”

“No, that’s been our only piece of luck so far. I sent some telegraphs when I first got word of all of this. The stage driver knew who I was referring to and he sent word from Placerville a couple of days ago. That Hosea Simpson—or the guy who assumed his name—got off in Genoa. So—we’re hunting him down in these parts now.”

“How many men you got out there—’cause I can get some hands together—” Ben trailed off. The price of revenge—It meant nothing if Joe were to die or to lose his leg. No matter what he could do to the imposter, it would never make up for such a loss.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got two sets of men—all taking shifts—don’t need no Ponderosa hands right now. Ben—Joe in surgery?”

“Well, Paul’s taking that cast off to see what’s under it. That pseudo doctor re-broke Joe’s leg—and then did some kind of a hack job on it too. All without sedation by the way!”

“Yeah, heard that from Hazelton—he said you told him before you left—can’t hardly believe anyone would want to do that to your son. Especially a pure stranger doing it!” Roy said with disgust.

“Just find him, Roy,” Ben replied with a coldness that couldn’t be hidden.

“How ‘bout you and me go get some coffee? Like as not Doc will be in there some time, Ben.”

Ben’s eyes trekked down to the end of the corridor before giving Roy his reply, “I can’t leave—I’ve got to be here—just in case.”

“Well, I’ll go fetch you some—be right back,” Roy said with another quick pat to his friend’s shoulder. He should have known better than to ask Ben Cartwright to leave his post. Nothing shy of the Almighty himself could drag the man away when he didn’t know what was happening to his boy.

Roy waited patiently in the corridor with Ben for the better part of two hours. They drank coffee, they talked, and they prayed. Finally, the door to the operating room opened up and Paul walked alongside the stretcher.

“Paul?” Ben began.

“Follow me down to his room—we’ll talk in there. You come along too, Roy—there’s some things you’re gonna need to know,” Paul responded cryptically.

The two orderlies carefully placed the sedated patient into a hospital bed and covered his body with a sheet and blanket. They removed the stretcher from the room and took their leave. Paul, Roy, and Ben stood next to Joe’s bed. He looked even worse than he had when he had gone into surgery and his father fought to withhold his tears at the sight.

“He had a tough time, Ben,” Paul began and motioned the men to take seats. Ben pulled one up closer to the bed and reached for his son’s right hand. He held it in his own and then turned to look over at the doctor.

“What did you find out? I see you removed that cast—how’s his leg?” Ben asked.

“Joe’s leg—the broken bone—isn’t too bad. Though I doubt it needed to be re-broken—at least it’s set well enough that we don’t have to do that again,” Paul replied and tried to think of the positive to begin with. There was far more negative pieces of information forthcoming, he wanted the worried father to have something to draw hope from.

“And the incision? Did you find out why that was done?”

“Yes—I know why,” Paul nodded and then reached over to the bed and pulled up the sheet to expose Joe’s leg in order to show the extent of the surgical cut. It was a good ten inches long and showed signs of advanced infection. “This is the problem. It’s that incision that has caused the infection to run rampant all throughout Joe’s leg.”

“Why was it done?” Ben demanded an explanation. He could see the horrid scar that the so-called doctor’s scalpel had made and it made him sick inside. Ben thought back on what Joe had told him about going through the surgery totally coherent. He remembered Joe saying that he felt every inch of the cut. It made Ben want to do the same to the maniac who had done that to his boy; that and worse.

Paul reached inside his white lab coat and pulled out an instrument. He then reached over and handed the cool metal scalpel to Ben.

“What’s this?” Ben asked, confused.

“That’s what was left inside your son’s leg. That’s what caused the infection. It was purposely sewed up under the sutures,” Paul replied and watched the flames of outrage burn in Ben’s brown eyes.

“He what!” Ben thundered and it took both Paul and Roy to keep the man inside the hospital room. He had jumped from his seat and headed for the door in a blind rage. All he knew at the time was that he wanted to kill someone.

“Ben, please—you’re not going to help your son by going off on a rampage. Now try to simmer down!” Roy pleaded.

“Simmer down?” Ben asked incredulously. “Simmer down when someone—some sadistic son of a bitch—cut my boy—stuck that scalpel inside him—and sutured it up. Simmer down when my boy might lose his leg, and maybe his life!”

“Come on, Ben, let’s sit down,” Paul urged his friend quietly and Ben reluctantly took a seat.

Roy asked to see the scalpel and Ben handed it over to him. After a few minutes the sheriff said, “Paul, did you see these markings?”

“Yes, I noticed them. It looks like a scalpel that a doctor gets when he first attends medical school. I still have my first one too; and it has my initials on it.”

“What? What are you both talking about?” Ben asked.

“This,” Roy explained and showed Ben the two initials carved into the handle of the scalpel. There on the bottom were the faint but still discernable letters, S and H.

“S H?” Ben whispered, trying to take the information into his brain and process it. “Then he wasn’t using Hosea Simpson’s instruments—maybe he was a doctor?”

“The way those sutures were done—the precise way the incision was cut alongside the bone—I would say he was a surgeon, Ben,” Paul threw in.

“You happen to know any doctors with those initials, Doc?” Roy asked.

A strangely familiar face came to mind as both Ben and Paul looked at each other. There was a doctor, a doctor of whom they both had tried to get the medical board to revoke his license many years ago. The doctor had actually sutured Joe when he was about seventeen years old. He had come to the ranch, done a shoddy job, and then left with no thought as to the boy’s well being. Paul had been away at the time, but, as soon as he heard what the man had done he joined forces with his friend, Ben Cartwright, to try to keep that doctor from ever practicing medicine again.

“Steven Hale,” Ben muttered and noticed Paul nod his way. “Could it be? After all these years?”

“Don’t know—possibly. He would have a reason, sadistic as it might be, to go after Joe. We were the ones who ran him away and tried to get his license revoked, Ben,” Paul replied.

“Not without justifiable cause, Paul! He not only almost allowed my son to die, but there were others who had claim to file suit against him for doing just about the same thing!” Ben complained.

“I know that—I am not disagreeing with what we tried to do—I’m just saying that he would have motive for hurting Joe.”

“He sure would. If only we had a good description of the doctor who operated on Joseph,” Ben sighed.

Roy pulled a telegraph out of his vest pocket and looked it over before handing it to Ben. “You think this could be him? I don’t rightly remember Hale too well myself. He wasn’t around these parts too long.”

Ben studied the description and then passed it to Paul.

“Other than the beard, I’d say it very well could have been Hale,” Paul remarked and handed the paper back to the sheriff.

“Well my posse men all have this description with them, if it’s him then I know we have a good chance of getting to him!” Roy exclaimed.

“Pa? Pa where am I?” Joe’s voice sounded out, though it was faint at first.

Ben had been so caught up in the discussion that he hadn’t noticed his son was coming around. He hurried to the boy’s side and placed his hand on his arm to gently coax him back to reality.

“You’re in the hospital, Joseph, it’s okay,” Ben whispered and then turned towards Roy and Paul. He gave them a warning look. The last thing they needed was to get the kid upset. He was in far too rough a shape at the time.

“Heard you—heard Doc—and Roy,” Joe continued.

“Oh that’s ‘cause we’re nothing but old men who can’t talk quietly,” Roy smiled over at Joe.

“Leg—doesn’t feel like anything’s cutting into it—what happened?” Joe asked.

Paul and Ben exchanged exasperated glances. Here Joe had been saying for the longest time that he felt as though something was cutting into him and they hadn’t caught onto the fact that his description was absolutely correct. But, no one ever presumed anyone could do such a dastardly thing as to seal a scalpel under the boy’s skin.

“We fixed you up a bit—still have some work to do on that leg—but we’ll get you better as soon as we can, Joe. We just need you to lay there and rest easy,” Paul insisted. He wasn’t about to tell his patient how precarious the situation was.

“Heard the name—you said it—didn’t you? Hale?” Joe questioned.

Ben pushed the hair back from his son’s forehead and nodded, “Yes—we mentioned that name. I guess you wouldn’t remember him though, Joe—you were about seventeen when he came to the ranch to suture you up. You know, the time you jumped in front of that bullet to save me? You were asleep most of the time Doctor Hale worked on you.”

“Remember—remember his voice, Pa—thought on it—all the time—in Sand Dust—guy there—who cut me—sounded like him. Said his name was Simpson—but—I remember one thing—his medical bag—had two letters printed on it. They were the letters S and H.” Joe explained.

The three men standing around the boy’s bedside all looked at each other. It seemed as though they might actually have discovered who the imposter was. They kept the information about the scalpel from Joe for the time being. Hopefully, when he was healed, they would be able to explain the rest of the facts. But right now, they needed to keep him calm.

“Well, that’s a good clue for me, Joe, thanks—maybe I’ll go work on it some,” Roy nodded towards the boy and then looked at Ben. “I’ll let you know when the posse comes in. Oh—and I let Hop Sing know you got in today. I betcha he’ll bring Joe over some good home cooking soon!”

“Thanks, Roy,” Ben replied, grateful to have such a good friend in the sheriff.

“See you three later,” Roy said and headed out of the room.

“Am I gonna be all right?” Joe asked weakly. His head was swimming from the medicine the doctor had given him earlier.

“Sure you are,” Paul grinned and patted Joe on the shoulder as he placed two fingers over the boy’s right wrist to check his pulse. It was weaker than usual, and that made the doctor worry even more. “Now, your father and I are going to head down the hall for a minute and bring you back something to drink. You stay there and enjoy the fact that you don’t have a cast for now.”

“Be right back,” Ben whispered and bent down towards his son’s forehead. He planted a gentle kiss on Joe’s brow and then turned to leave the room.

Outside in the hallway the two men discussed the next step in dealing with Joe’s injury.

“How bad?” Ben asked solemnly.

“Bad enough. I’m going to send that wire right away to Harold. We need to get a surgeon who is more skilled than I am to try to save Joe’s leg. I did what I could in there—scraped away some of the infection but there’s a whole lot more. I put in a couple of drains which might buy us a little time until we can find someone with a bit more experience to operate.”

“How much time, Paul?” Ben asked warily.

“If something isn’t done in the next two days—he’s not going to keep that leg. And, beyond that—he might die if we don’t take the leg. Ben—I’m sorry, no time to stand around and second-guess this. I’ll be back in a few minutes—have to get that wire sent!”

“What do I tell Joseph?” Ben called to the doctor as he hurried down the corridor.

“Tell him anything—anything but the truth!” Paul answered as he rounded the corner headed towards the nurse’s station.

When Ben walked back to the hospital room, he was surprised to see that a nun had come in and was standing next to his son’s bed. She was assisting Joe with a drink as Ben moved in closer.

“Excuse me, Sister, I’m Ben Cartwright and this is my son,” he introduced himself politely while wondering where the woman had come from so fast.

“Yes, I know,” the nun smiled, “Doctor Martin told me all about you and your son. My name is Teresa—Sister Teresa.”

“What do you have there, Joseph?” Ben asked indicating the glass in his son’s hand.

“Lemonade, sure is a nice change from that canteen water,” Joe replied, trying his best to sound chipper, though he could tell that his condition was worsening.

“I’ve brought a pitcher in, Mr. Cartwright—if you’d like some?”

“Thank you, but I believe I could use something a tad stronger after such a long day,” Ben grinned wryly and took a seat next to the bed.

Sister Teresa laughed and said, “I wish I could offer you something more to your liking, but I’m afraid you’d have to go over my head for that!”

“Thanks just the same. How are you feeling, Son?” Ben turned his attention back to Joe.

“Well, better than I have been here lately—leg’s not smarting too much right now.”

“I’ll leave the two of you gentlemen alone for now—just let me know if you need anything,” the nun said and moved towards the door.

“We will—thank you again,” Ben called after her and then focused back on his son.

“Pa?” Joe whispered and reached for his father’s hand. Ben was quick to return the gesture and gazed into his son’s eyes.

One look into the sad hazel eyes lent way to the notion that the boy had something troubling him. “Yes, Joseph?”

“Pa, if I asked you something—would you answer me honestly?”

Ben smiled to relieve the mounting tension in the room. He figured that the boy was about to ask about his prognosis. Ben remembered Paul’s words, the ones about not telling Joe the truth for his own good. Still, theirs was an open and honest relationship, and Pa hated to hedge when he was asked earnestly for an answer. Ben hoped he could just stall for time if the question Joe had for him was about his leg.

“Now, Young Man, when haven’t I told you the truth?” Ben asked and tried to feign surprise in his tone.

“I’m serious this time, Pa, I wanna know.”

“Know what, Joseph?” Ben replied, holding the boy’s hand but trying to avoid his stare.

“My leg, Pa, you’re not going to let them take it, are you?” Joe begged for an answer.

“Now, why would you even ask that?” Ben dodged the question as best he could.

“You just answered me with a question. From past experience I figure that’s a bad sign,” Joe frowned.

“Now, Joseph, you just stop worrying about things, okay?”

“Tell me the truth—I have to know, Pa. I’m not a little kid anymore—I have the right to know!” Joe argued and pulled himself up in the bed to a seated position. What little color he had on his cheeks seemed to vanish from the movement he had made.

“Just settle down, Joe! Doc wants you to stay still!” Ben protested and moved to sit next to the boy. He eased down next to Joe and gently moved him back in to a reclining position. “Now—that’s better. Remember your leg is out of that cast—you can’t go jostling it right now.”

“You’re gonna let them,” Joe whispered and soon tears were falling from his eyes at the thought of losing his leg.

Ben shook his head wearily and tenderly brushed the tears aside which had fallen from his son’s eyes. “Joe—it’s not the time to get into this right now—you’re very weak and you’ve had a long trip. You need rest.”

“I don’t want to live without my leg, Pa—please—don’t let them do it!” Joe pleaded.

“Joseph—you know I’ll do everything I can to prevent that—” Ben paused and fought with himself internally. Joe wasn’t a little kid, he had been right about that part. He was a young man, and it was his own leg he was worried about losing. But, as his father, Ben felt he had to do everything he could to shelter his son from what might end up being the inevitable. “I don’t think we should even be talking about such drastic measures right now, Son. You’ve just got that cast off—Paul’s still trying to get that infection under control. You know he won’t let anything happen to you— you are his favorite patient you know?”

“Pa—you won’t let them do it—you won’t will you?” Joe wasn’t about to let the topic slide. He needed reassurance; he needed the truth. The unknown was almost as frightening as the actual confirmation that he might lose his leg to amputation

Ben drew his son into his arms and held him close. If only he could protect him from the awful possibilities! If only his embrace could chase away the infection that ran rampant throughout the boy’s leg. All the terrified father could offer his son was his love and the safety of his embrace. If only that was enough to work a miracle.

Joe momentarily stopped his emotional tirade about whether or not everyone was conspiring to remove his leg. He chose instead to draw from the strength his father offered him. Resting his feverish brow on Pa’s shoulder, Joe had his answer. The fierce grip around his shoulders told it all; Pa was scared too. At that moment it was almost as if Ben and Joe were alone in a lifeboat clinging tightly to each other in order to prevent the brutal assault of a raging sea. They knew that together they could survive anything; they had proven that fact so many times before! The silence of the hospital room made it possible for Joe to hear his father’s heartbeat. It was rapid and gave the young man pause. Pa was definitely holding back information that was evident in his grip, his pulse and in the few tears whose source were eyes other than Joe’s.

“Joseph—” Ben finally broke the silence, which had fallen, over the room. “If it were me—instead of you—with the chance of losing my leg—not yours—and you had to make the decision of whether to let them take my leg or let me die— what would you choose?”

Joe, who still held firmly onto his father, choked out his reply, “I wouldn’t want to lose you, Pa, no matter what—I couldn’t let you die!”

Ben pulled his son back a bit so that he could look intently into his tear-filled eyes. He spoke out directly from his heart, “You couldn’t let me go—you wouldn’t want to risk losing me. If you feel that way—then can you imagine how I feel now? I love you so much—I could never let you go!”

“Oh—Pa—” Joe sobbed and dropped his head back onto his father’s strong shoulder. “Just don’t let them—not unless it absolutely comes to it—please!”

“I won’t—I won’t, Son, that’s a promise,” Ben replied softly. The words had been spoken, though Ben wished it hadn’t been necessary to do so. In spite of what the doctor had said, Pa knew that being honest with his son was the right thing to do since he had posed the question to him. They stayed like that for a long while, held in each other’s arms, until fatigue got the better of the injured boy and Ben slowly eased him back against the pillows. “Rest now, Joseph. Let tomorrow worry about itself. Right now you are with me and that’s all that matters,” Ben whispered as he watched Joe’s eyes close for the last time. Soon his son was fast asleep and the anxious father continued to sit next to him and pray.

Doctor Martin stopped by the room several times during that afternoon and early evening to check on Joe’s progress. It appeared that the drains he had placed strategically in the boy’s wound were working, but not nearly enough to rid him of all the severe infection. Paul spoke with Ben for a few minutes and watched as Joe continued to sleep. A tray of food had been ordered for the patient but Joe had refused it earlier. Paul didn’t expect the boy to want to eat, not with all that had happened that day. He hoped Joe’s appetite would come back once his fever died down and the infection let loose its hold. The doctor knew Ben Cartwright, and how he would never agree to leave the hospital room, even though visiting hours had been over for awhile. Using his authority as soon to be chief of staff, Paul ordered a cot to be brought into the room and insisted firmly that his friend get some rest. Ben resisted at first, but when the doctor promised that he would have the man thrown out of the room if he didn’t get some shut-eye, he soon relented.

“Mister Ben?” Hop Sing’s soft voice whispered as he bent down next to the cot where the weary father slept.

“Hop Sing?” Ben asked confused and pulled himself up on this cot. “What time is it?”

“It almost midnight, good doctor let me in after doors close to sit with Little Joe.”

“You didn’t have to come here this late— I am looking after the boy,” Ben insisted as he rubbed his eyes and then stared over at his son.

“Brought Little Joe food he like—when wake up—he eat for Hop Sing. Doctor say he not eat much all day!”

“It’s his fever I’m afraid,” Ben sighed as the palm of his right hand touched his son’s forehead.

“Hop Sing bring things to help that.”

“Still, couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow? It’s awfully late for you to be coming out here. I know you must be tired, Old Friend.”

“Hop Sing sleep plenty early—so can watch Little Joe. Mister Sheriff wait for you out in hall—say you come to jail. Mister Hoss capture bad man who do this to our boy!” Hop Sing explained, and even in his ebony eyes Ben could discern anger over what had befallen his surrogate son. The man had helped Ben raise the boy from infancy and he knew how much Hop Sing loved Joe.

“They caught him? When?” Ben replied. He couldn’t help feeling a rush of adrenalin over the thought of seeking revenge for the cruelty shown his youngest son by the pseudo doctor.

“Just come in—you go—you go now. Little Joe be fine—Hop Sing make sure!” Hop Sing insisted as he settled down in the chair next to the bed. He set his basket of food on the table next to the new pitcher of water that the nun had brought in moments earlier while Ben and Joe had slumbered on.

“Okay—won’t be long—you keep an eye on “our” boy,” Ben smiled and nodded as he patted Hop Sing’s shoulder. He reached across the table to where he had earlier set his gun and holster. Ben Cartwright wasn’t taking any chances.

Roy Coffee had taken it upon himself to borrow Doc Martin’s carriage and had it parked right out in front of the hospital in order for him and Ben to make their way back to the jail house. Most of the saloons had already sent away the last patrons and the city streets were empty as they made their way down C Street. Ben spotted Chub, his son Hoss’ horse, which was tied in front of the jail. Just seeing the sturdy mount made the weary father smile in spite of himself. At least he knew Hoss was okay. Roy and Ben jumped down from the carriage seat and headed inside to the sheriff’s office. As soon as Ben cleared the doorway he was grabbed up into a fierce bear hug by his middle son.

“Pa! Boy, am I glad to see you! How’s Joe doing?” Hoss sounded out loudly.

“Are you all right, Son? You didn’t get hurt did you?” Ben asked when he broke from their embrace.

“Yeah, I hurt my hand—” Hoss paused and then broke out in a big grin. “Hurt it on that yahoo’s jaw!” Hoss indicated the prisoner who had been locked up already in one of the back cells.

Ben smiled and patted Hoss’ shoulder, so relieved that he was not harmed during the hunt. “You did huh? I hope you got in a couple of good licks for me and your little brother!”

“Yeah—actually Jed stopped me before I kilt the guy—I sure wanted to hurt him for what he done to Joe!” Hoss suddenly turned deadly serious. “Pa? Joe is gonna be okay—right? How’s his leg?”

Ben sighed and put his arm around his son’s shoulder and tried his best to sound optimistic. “Joe’s holding his own right now—he’s got some pretty bad infection in his leg—hopefully we can get it under control.”

“Yeah—Roy told me why he got that infection too! It’s a danged good thing I didn’t know nothing about the scalpel when I caught that son of a gun—or I’d have buried something in him too—like my foot!” Hoss replied vehemently.

“I know exactly how you feel, Hoss,” Ben frowned and then cast a glance Roy’s way. “I want to see him!”

“All right, Ben, I brung you here so you could identify the man. You and Doc will be able to tell me for sure if this fellow is Steven Hale. The boys found Hosea Simpson’s credentials on him—and that medical bag that Joe described. I’m gonna take you back there, but you need to hand me that gun—you too Hoss!”

“But Roy—” Hoss started to protest but his father stopped him.

“Do as Roy says, Son. If we go in there armed no telling what we’ll do to that man!” Ben said as he removed his holster and handed it to the sheriff. Hoss followed suit and then the three men walked into the back room.

In the back jail cell sat a man who seemed both calm and smug when he glanced over at his visitors.

“That Hale?” Roy asked Ben.

Ben stared through the steel bars of the cell and nodded. “Little older—has a beard—but it’s Hale all right,” Ben stated, trying to control the rage he was feeling.

“I want to see an attorney—I have my rights!” Steven Hale shouted out to Roy.

“Now you just pipe down! It’s the middle of the night—you’ll get your representation—but not until daybreak!” Roy hollered his response.

“You’re gonna pay for what you did to my little brother!” Hoss fumed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hale replied, but he had a smile on his face to show them all he knew what charges would be hurled at him by the local court.

“Hale—it’s a damn good thing you’re behind bars—but let me catch you alone sometime and we’ll do some settling up!” Ben yelled towards the evil man.

“Settle up, Ben? Oh yeah—we do have some settling up as a matter of fact. Hey Sheriff Coffee!”

“What?” Roy asked tersely.

“I seem to have misplaced my scalpel—would you mind asking around if anyone has found it?” Hale asked and then began to laugh.

Ben charged the cell bars and reached for the man, who was now standing about an arm’s length from the angered father.

“You son of a bitch!” Ben shouted and tried with all his might to grab onto the man.

“Come on, Ben, he’s not worth it—let’s go—” Roy urged his friend and grabbed his arms.

Ben broke from Roy’s hold and charged the cell bars again. “You’re a coward, Hale! You only go after sick or injured people—why don’t you come closer— or are you afraid to go after someone who’s healthy?”

“Go away, Cartwright—go see to your boy. I understand the poor tyke might just lose a leg!” Hale grinned as he responded to Ben’s words.

That remark sent Ben back towards the man and Hoss had to pull his father away. He had no doubt that his father’s rage would be strong enough to break through the steel bars after hearing the taunts Hale had thrown his way.

“Come on, Pa, let’s go see Joe. This guy’s gonna be looking at some serious jail time. Whenever he gets out though—he’s gonna have to watch his back for the rest of his life. If I see him somewhere he’s all mine!” Hoss thundered out of the room with his father and Roy in tow.

“We’ll see about that—yes we will see about that!” Steven Hale muttered smugly as he sat back down on his cot.

Doctor Paul Martin walked the hospital corridor as if in a daze. It was six a.m. and the man had gotten little sleep the night before. Holding a badly needed cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of paper in the other, he stopped directly in front of Joe Cartwright’s hospital room.

Paul shook his head in disbelief as his eyes scanned the response he had received from Doctor Harold Peele. The man was chief of staff at the well-known St. Francis Hospital in San Francisco, and Doctor Martin trusted him both as a doctor and as a friend. Harold had almost single handedly saved a nineteen year old Joe Cartwright from succumbing to a rather nasty morphine addiction a couple years earlier.

Paul had recommended both Doctor Peele and his hospital and it had proven to be a wise choice. Joe returned months later healthy and fully recovered. Paul knew that the man had taken a special interest in the boy, and anyone who could pull Joe from the depths of certain death was all right in Doctor Martin’s book! Now, yet another crisis concerning the youngest member of the Cartwright clan had come up, and he needed to again turn to the good doctor Peele to seek advice. But, the information there in his hand had shaken Paul to the marrow. How was he going to tell Ben the news? Paul dreaded doing that.

Peering into the room, he noticed that Ben was asleep on the cot and both Hop Sing and Hoss had dozed off in chairs pulled closely up to Joe’s bed. Making his way quietly into the room, Paul checked his patient’s pulse after feeling the boy’s forehead to detect fever. The pulse was just as weak as it had been on the previous day and Joe’s fever had evidently elevated during the night. Paul knew what that meant. They were running out of time. If something wasn’t done soon Joe Cartwright might die with or without the removal of his leg.

A brief check on the drains in the boy’s leg indicated to Paul that they were doing very little to stop the infection from spreading. It was a good thing, Paul concluded, that the family members were deep in slumber, including his patient. He wouldn’t want any of them to witness the dread painting his face at the time.

Deciding the news, which the telegraph had yielded, could wait until a little later, Paul turned and walked stealthily out of the room. He would handle the situation himself and after ascertaining some vital information from the man who was held in Roy Coffee’s jail cell, Paul would return to the hospital to clue in the Cartwright family. Six a.m. and already the day had started off on a somber note.

Roy was seated at his desk beginning his duties when Paul walked into the office. The sheriff stood and waved towards the doctor.

“Hey, Doc—just about ready to down my second cup of coffee—how ‘bout joining me?”

“Maybe in a bit—right now I need to talk to your prisoner, Roy.”

“Don’t know if he’s awake just yet.”

“Then I’ll wake him,” Paul replied gruffly. He didn’t have the luxury of time anymore; he had to talk to Steven Hale.

“Okay then—let’s go,” Roy answered and walked with the doctor through the door that led to the back jail cells.

Steven Hale was awake, lying on his cot staring towards the ceiling when Roy and Doc made their appearance. He pulled himself to seated and grinned, like a Cheshire cat, towards the two men.

“Well if it isn’t my old friend Paul Martin!” Steven laughed and stood to approach the bars of his cell. “Been quite awhile—how you doing, Paul?”

“I’ve come to speak with you—” Paul began but was cut off by the prisoner.

“Joe Cartwright—yeah I figured you’d be coming to see me about the boy!” he grinned menacingly.

“I trusted you—years ago—to help with my patient load when I had to be gone. You misused that trust—don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” Paul asked, trying to fight the anger he held towards the doctor.

“Oh—I see—you want me to explain—is that it?” Steven mocked the other man.

“Yes—I want you to explain to me how a man—a man who took the very same vow that I did—could purposely injure a patient!” Paul replied, his voice now raised.

“Are you talking about recently—or are we going back in time a couple of years?”

“Why—just tell me why you gave up being a doctor! You were a fine surgeon—you were a trusted doctor. You gave up your position at St. Francis—just up and left years ago—then came out here. Why?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Paul,” Steven replied hotly.

“I helped you when you came to this area—you told me then that you wanted a simpler way of life. I understood the pressures of being a surgeon who was on call every single day and held people’s lives in his hands in the operating room! You said you wanted to get away from all that—and live the life of a country doctor. But—even that—wasn’t what you wanted—was it?”

“Oh yes—the country doctor—the fine symbol of patience and tolerance and poverty! Just like you, Paul! You’ve martyred yourself out for years—tending to families—but never even having one of your own. You think it was worth it? You think you have anyone who will care when you die? Oh sure—your patients might mourn you—but as soon as another fool fills your position they won’t even drop a flower off at your grave! You tell me if it was worth it to you? Staying up till all hours to deliver a baby who will someday get shot and you will be digging a bullet out of the kid! Tell me if the chicken and pies and I O U’s are worth never being able to sleep a solid eight hours?”

“You knew all this coming into it—we all know it when we take our Hippocratic oath! And—for your information—I never considered myself a martyr! The people I have tended the past forty years having given me far more that I have given them. There’s not a one of them that I couldn’t turn to if I needed help!” Paul defended his life’s work.

“You are a fool Paul! I was too—for awhile—when I still had that starry eyed notion that I really could make a difference in this world. All that ever got me was tragedy. I lost my wife—my child—while I was out there doctoring a kid who never should’ve been running around with outlaws. I came home to find them both dead—dead from an Indian attack! You know what the parents of that boy—the one I had saved—gave me? They gave me a pot pie and an I’m sorry!”

 

Paul listened to the other doctor’s description of what had happened to him over the years and he could see the bitterness on his face. He had not known about Steven losing his wife and child, in fact he had never known that the man had been married.

“I’m sorry for your loss—and I can understand your anger over what life dealt you. But, you continued to practice medicine after that happened—and you did it in a haphazardly way that could have killed others. You know the charges that were waiting for you four years ago when you ran out of this town! But, instead of staying to face them—you ran off—and took another doctor’s identity—and continued to work as a man of medicine. Why? If you hated it that much—why did you continue?”

“Because I could,” Hale stated bluntly. “I gave the people of Sand Dust what they wanted—they got a doctor. You won’t find one person there who could complain about my work either. I was a good doctor!”

“There’s one patient laying over at the hospital down the street who could argue against that logic!” Paul indicated Joe Cartwright.

Steven Hale settled back down on his cot and glared over at both Paul and Roy. “Yeah, the Cartwright kid—the one who started all my problems. Not doing so good is he?”

“You know why, you caused it in fact,” Paul replied vehemently.

“Poetic justice don’t you think? I mean—it was that boy’s father who lead the campaign to have my license revoked!”

“He couldn’t have gotten it revoked if you had acted according to the oath you took!” Paul reminded the man.

“I know why you’re really here, Paul—so you might as well cut to the chase. Didn’t you have a little favor to ask me?” Steven grinned sadistically.

“You knew what would happen if you sewed that scalpel up in that boy’s leg. You know the infection is spreading throughout his leg!”

“Well—suppose—and I am reminding you that I am not confessing to this—but just for argument’s sake—suppose I knew that. And, just suppose I knew that his father would go and bring him back here to you—seeing as there were no other doctors around. Then—wouldn’t you “suppose” I would realize that there’s no one in this area who could fix him—who was skilled enough as a surgeon—other than me?”

Paul listened to the man’s words and turned to face Roy Coffee. He read the confusion in the sheriff’s eyes. Paul knew that Roy was trying to figure out what the evil man was talking about.

“That ain’t true—is it, Doc? There’s somebody else you can get to fix Little Joe, right?”

Paul looked down at the floor and sighed before replying, “No—Roy—nobody who can get here in time. I just got word back from Doctor Peele in San Francisco. There’s three surgeons he said he would trust to save Joe’s leg—two of them are at least four days away from here—the other—well—you are looking at now,” Paul pointed towards Hale.

The cell echoed the laughter of Steven Hale as he witnessed the looks that went back and forth between the sheriff and Doctor Paul Martin.

“Ironic isn’t it, Sheriff? Here I sit—locked up—not even having had my day in court—and Paul here wants me to go save that kid. Am I right, Paul?”

“I haven’t told Joe’s father yet—I am sure he won’t want you anywhere around his boy!” Paul replied angrily.

“Oh yes—old Ben Cartwright —he loves those boys of his so much—he’d do anything to save one of them. I expect a visit from Ben today—but you tell him not to wait too long. I might just have to up my price!”

“Your price!” Roy shouted and gripped the bars of the cell. He was a patient man, he was a man who could refrain from brutality even when it was warranted. But, his best friend’s son had been hacked up on purpose and now the man who had caused the injury was trying to blackmail Ben into making him fix Joe’s leg. The whole situation was just too much. “You butchered that boy’s leg—and by all that’s holy—if you can fix it you will!”

“If the price is right. Remember, I never said I did anything—I just said “suppose”.” Steven reminded the sheriff. He had chosen his words carefully so that they would fall short of a confession.

Roy turned back towards Paul and asked, “Doc—you sure—sure you can’t patch Joe yourself? You sure you need this—this—man?”

“I’m afraid so—Harold mentioned Steven Hale in his wire. He also said that the surgery can’t wait—or we will risk Joe dying from the infection. It has to be done today.”

“Well—then—I think you’d better get going there, Paul!” Steven called across the cell as he eased back into a reclining position. “Go bring Ben Cartwright over here and we will discuss terms for surgery. Now—I need to rest—so if you both don’t mind—leave!”

Paul tugged on Roy’s arm to get him to remove his hands from the bars of the cell. He rarely, if ever, had seen the sheriff so angry. “Come on—let’s go.”

Roy reluctantly walked out into his office along with Paul. He dreaded what was going to happen once Ben Cartwright heard the news. It would be similar to one of the explosions that were felt under the mining town daily.

Hop Sing wrung out the cloth he had been using in an effort to ease Joe’s fever. Settling it gently onto the young man’s forehead he turned towards Ben and the expression he wore was glum. Hoss moved in closer to his brother and placed his hand on the boy’s arm.

“You’re gonna be fine, Short Shanks—Doc Martin will have you up in no time!” Hoss tried his best not to show the worry in his voice.

“Sure Big Brother—I’ll be up at the timber camp helping you before the month’s out,” Joe replied weakly. Even the brave smile that Joe had mustered showed that he was fading fast.

Ben joined the family at his son’s bedside. He had stood at the window deep in thought for the better part of an hour. As soon as he had awakened earlier, he knew that his youngest son’s health had taken a turn for the worse. All he could do was to pray to a God who had always saved the boy in the past. Ben prayed for divine intervention since medical science had yet to help Joe.

“Can you drink a little more for us, Joseph? We’ve got to get that fever down,” Ben asked as he brushed the hair away from his son’s eyes affectionately.

“I can try—feel kinda sick—don’t want it to come back up like the last time, Pa,” Joe offered.

“Hop Sing bring ginseng powder from ranch—I go to kitchen and try to make some tea. Always ease Little Joe’s stomach before!” the Oriental member of the family insisted and turned for the door.

“Hear that, Joe? Hop Sing’s gonna fix you up with some tea,” Hoss smiled and patted his brother’s arm.

“You need to let him fix you some breakfast, Hoss—you too, Pa. You both look almost as bad as I do,” Joe tried to joke, though he felt like hell warmed over at the time.

“Now, don’t you worry about us, Young Man,” Ben insisted and was about to offer Hoss the chance to get out of the room for awhile when Doc Martin made his entrance.

“I saw Hop Sing a minute ago,” Paul began and made his way over to his patient, “he was talking about getting this boy some tea.”

“Hop Sing and his teas—the man has a million home remedies!” Ben played along with the doctor. He could read on the man’s face that trouble was brewing and that Paul was trying his best not to clue Joe in on it.

“Don’t laugh, Pa! I remember Hop Sing patching you up a time or two with those concoctions of his!” Hoss grinned.

“You’re right there, Son,” Ben nodded.

Paul removed the cloth from Joe’s forehead and checked his neck and cheek for signs of fever. The cool compress had done little to ease the increased heat that Joe’s body was giving off. He then checked on Joe’s pulse and his injured leg. He cast a worried glance towards both Ben and Hoss, but hid it well from his patient.

“Ben—if Hoss will stay with Joe for a few minutes I need to talk with you,” Paul announced.

“You don’t have to leave—I want to know what’s going on. I’m getting worse, right?” Joe asked.

“Joseph Cartwright—I don’t recall seeing your medical credentials hanging anywhere,” Paul laughed and set the cool cloth back on the boy’s forehead.

“Tell me,” Joe reiterated, with fear apparent in his eyes.

“You haven’t gotten any better—that’s true—but you are holding your own—so I’d take that as a good sign. Now—I’m going to talk to your pa about the prisoner we have over at the jail, not your condition.”

“You caught him? I thought I heard Pa and Hoss talking about it last night—but figured I was dreaming or something.”

“You weren’t dreaming Joe, we got him,” Hoss replied.

“I hope they send him away for a long time—he’s nothing but a butcher,” Joe said angrily. Then it was as if the wind had been knocked out of his body rendering him as weak as a kitten. Slowly he closed his eyes.

“Just weak,” Paul whispered when he saw the concern spread across both Hoss and Ben’s faces. “Come with me down the hall for a minute, Ben.”

Before Ben could reply Hoss grabbed a hold of his father’s elbow and looked intently into his eyes. “I’ll stay with Joe—you go on and find out what Doc wants to tell you. It’s best we don’t talk about the prisoner around Joe anyhow—he might have heard too much last night as it is.”

“Be back in a little while,” Ben nodded and walked out of the room with Paul.

Doctor Martin’s office in the hospital was sparsely decorated. He had volumes of medical books and journals lining his bookcase, but little else. Paul hadn’t planned to spend too much time there in the room during his hospital visits, so he had opted to have only the tools of the trade around, no pictures or fancy knickknacks. He settled down in his chair and looked across his desk at the anxious father. Paul knew that what he had to tell the man would be both difficult to say, and excruciating emotionally for his friend to hear.

“Paul, Joe’s looking worse—have you received word back from Harold Peele?”

“Yes, I have,” Paul answered and then cleared the emotion out of his throat. “Ben—you are not going to like what I have to say—but I need you to listen carefully for a few minutes. Don’t interrupt me until I’m done, okay?”

“You’re scaring me, Paul—is there bad news? Can’t a surgeon get here in time to save Joe’s leg?” Ben asked, his voice trembling.

“Hear me out,” Paul insisted and watched as his friend sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“Go ahead.”

“Harold said there aren’t many surgeons around who might be able to save the boy’s leg. Almost all of the ones that he did mention in his wire—well— are at least a three or four days ride from here. There’s not enough time to wait. Something has to be done today. There was one—and only one surgeon who he mentioned by name that is in the area.”

“So? I don’t understand, Paul? If there’s a surgeon anywhere around here who Harold trusts enough to save my son—well—what’s the problem? Let’s go and get him!” Ben broke into the doctor’s story, in spite of promising him not to interrupt.

“That man is in the jail, Ben,” Paul replied grimly.

Ben’s face changed from confusion to outrage in less than a minute’s time. He bolted up out of his chair and shouted, “I don’t believe it! Hale? No—it can’t be!”

Paul reached inside his coat and revealed the wire, which he had received from Harold Peele. “Here, see for yourself.”

Ben took the piece of paper and read it several times before looking back over at the doctor. His mouth hung open in disbelief.

“I don’t care if he was a surgeon at St. Francis—and I don’t care if he was a good one—he’s the animal who hurt my boy! He’s the one who caused the infection that might be killing my son! You expect me to let him operate? You think I would let him near my son with a scalpel after sealing one up in the boy’s leg?!”

Paul stood from his desk and approached his friend. He knew how disgusting the whole idea of having Steven Hale operate on Joe was for Ben. Paul remembered the anger he had felt earlier when he had read the telegraph and knew that Hale was their only hope. But, Paul wasn’t going to let Joseph Cartwright die; not if he could help it.

“Ben—I know how you feel—I feel the same way. I wish I had the expertise to repair Joe’s leg myself—but I don’t. We don’t have the luxury of time now—we don’t have the luxury of shopping around for a surgeon either. Joe’s fever is worse, the infection is spreading. He has to have the surgery today or we might lose him along with that leg!”

“This is like bargaining with Satan himself!” Ben shouted.

“I know,” Paul whispered. He had to let the man before him rant and rave awhile. Paul knew Ben could not make a decision until he had addressed his feelings on the subject.

“Paul—that man is evil—evil incarnate! He butchered my boy—he caused this infection on purpose. Even if I wanted him to operate—and I don’t—what makes you think he would?”

“Because I spoke to him earlier today. As soon as I got that wire I went to see him.”

“What did he say? Did he admit to doing all this to my son—or is he lying still?”

“He alluded to having caused all this, Ben. He watched how he phrased it to Roy and me—but he knew you would bring Joe back here to me to tend to. Hale’s not stupid—unfortunately as a healer you are as knowledgeable as to what it takes to injure, as well as what it takes to fix someone. He knew that it was Joe—and figured that you would be coming to Sand Dust to rescue him. Hale took that opportunity to do the damage. As bizarre as this whole thing is—I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew that we would have to later turn to him to save the boy.”

“Did you ask him about the surgery?” Ben asked, his eyebrows narrowing as his anger heightened. The more he heard about Steven Hale the more he despised the man.

 

“Ben, he said he would do the surgery, but he said there would be a price. He told Roy and me to get you over there so he could talk terms with you,” Paul explained and watched Ben’s face take on a deep red appearance. The doctor had been right earlier, it did look as though Ben was going to explode from within.

“That—that— bastard—he has the audacity to blackmail me—after all he’s done to my son!” Ben shouted and clenched his fists. At the time he wished he had the man in front of him so he could throttle him and then tear him limb from limb.

“I know —I know this is awful—I know that morally and ethically this is too much to even comprehend. But—having said all that—there’s a boy who might not make it to see the end of the week if we don’t get into that operating room and try to save him now. Let’s go and see Hale—hear what he has to say.”

“I’ve never wanted to kill someone more than I do right now,” Ben whispered, trying his best to control the advanced hatred he felt controlling him.

“Your love for Joe is stronger than your hatred towards Hale, Ben. You know that! Now let’s go,” Paul urged the other man towards the door. They both headed down the corridor.

Ben Cartwright stood with his hands clenching the bars of Steven Hale’s jail cell. He could not speak at first. Just staring in on the wicked man was more that he could tolerate. Ben didn’t know if he could stand asking the man for help, not after he had been the cause of Joe’s problems. Roy stood to one side of his friend and Doc Martin flanked them both. Together the three men fumed at the very idea of setting Hale free.

“How’s your boy doing, Ben?” Hale smiled and stood from his cot.

“You know how he is,” Ben replied, staring piercingly towards the man.

“Yes—as a matter of fact I do. So, how about we just get on with this—you want the boy to live, right?”

“What are your demands?” Ben fired back at Hale, the anger was well written across his face and in the tone of his voice.

“Let’s see,” Steven paused and scratched at his chin, as if in thought, “I see you have your two friends —guess they will serve as proper witnesses. Yes—they will do fine—the honorable Sheriff Coffee and the diligent and kind Doctor Paul Martin.”

“Get on with it, Hale! The man asked you what your terms are!” Roy exclaimed.

“Now now—you wouldn’t want to make me mad at this point—none of you—or I might just sit here and await due process,” Hale warned.

“Joseph Cartwright needs immediate surgery—let’s get on with it,” Paul tried his best to restart the conversation.

“Okay—here’s what I want,” Hale nodded and walked closer to the cell bars. “Ben, I want you to give your word—in front of these two men—that you will not press charges against me for anything that you think I might have done to your boy.”

“What else?” Ben replied coldly.   He knew he wasn’t going to get the doctor’s compliance that easy.

“Well—I want you —and Paul—to remove any complaints on my record that stems back from the last time I practiced here.”

“I can’t do that! You know it’s a matter of record now,” Paul insisted.

“Paul—you forget that I was a member in good standing with the medical review board in California—I know that all it would take is for you to send word that you were mistaken and cancel your request for revoking my license. So—you go and do that. I will insist on seeing that letter sent before I leave here. Now, for the rest. I want your word, Ben Cartwright, that you will not personally or legally go after me once I perform the surgery on your son. I want you to swear it before God and all of those in this room.”

Ben broke eye contact with Hale, staring down towards the floor boards he tried to pull from an inner strength. He had to keep reminding himself that Steven Hale held all the cards now. No matter how much he personally wanted to kill the evil doctor, Joe’s survival had to come first.

“Well? You gonna do it, Ben?” Hale asked.

“Is that it?” Ben replied sharply.

“No—that’s most of it—but not all. You and Doc here drop all previous and current charges against me—write that letter to the board—then you swear not to come after me once this is all over—and one more thing. Since Joe’s coming to Sand Dust ruined a lucrative position as the doctor of that town—and since I now have to start all over again—I’m going to need some funds to get settled. I figure five thousand dollars is a good price—I could ask for much more—but I’m not greedy!”

The knuckles on both of Ben’s hands were now solid white. He could only cling tightly to the bars of the cell to display his anger over all the man had said. Hale’s demands seemed beyond belief, considering he had caused all the damage. Ben felt it was almost as if he would be rewarding the man for burying a scalpel in his son’s leg by agreeing to his demands.

“Well? Yes or no—tell me now—’cause the price is only good for the next couple of minutes!” Hale warned again.

Feeling Paul’s hand on his elbow, Ben spun around to look at the doctor.

“We’ve got to operate soon or this will all be a moot point, Ben,” Paul cautioned.

“What guarantee do I have that you will save my son?” Ben asked Hale.

“What? You mean you doubt my ability as a doctor?” Hale responded, feigning shock.

“Can you save him?!” Ben shouted and moved closer to the bars.

“Yes—I can—and I will—as long as you do what you’re supposed to. You can start by swearing before these two witnesses that you are not going to press charges and that you will not seek revenge once I’ve operated.”

Ben cast an exasperated glance towards the sheriff and Paul. He could tell by their expressions that they were both appalled to have to let the man go. But with the choice being freedom for Hale or death for Joe, all three men had to agree on the terms he had called for.

“I swear—” Ben began but Hale cut him right off.

“No—you swear to God—and to these men—I know how you are—you’d never go against a promise to God—that’s where you and I differ!” Hale yelled.

“I swear to God—and these witnesses—that I won’t press charges for what you’ve done—” Ben was cut off once more.

“Both past and present, Ben—don’t forget that!” Hale corrected the man.

“I won’t press charges for what you’ve done either past or present—and that I will not seek revenge against you once the surgery is over,” Ben spoke the words, though each distinct syllable burned his tongue.

“Okay—and you Paul—you swear that you’ll send that letter to the review board dismissing your earlier charges against me!” Hale turned towards the doctor.

“I swear I will send the letter—withdrawing my charges against you,” Paul nodded.

“Now—we just have a little matter of money—Ben. You go on over to the bank while the good sheriff gathers my possessions and Paul and I will head over to the hospital. I will meet you outside the operating room,” Hale smiled, so happy to have gotten exactly what he wanted. It was wonderful to have seen Ben Cartwright humbled.

 

“I’ll go get the money,” Ben mumbled and hurried out of the room.

The way in which Ben had shot past both Paul and Roy let both of his friends know how angry he was at the time. Neither could blame Ben Cartwright, they knew how much he had wanted to prosecute Steven Hale for hurting his boy. Roy went about the awful chore of releasing the man from his jail. It was a rarity. Roy Coffee was well known as a sheriff who stood behind the law, enforcing it to his death if necessary. Now, he was but a pawn in Steven Hale’s blackmail plot. The hardest part of the dilemma was that Roy knew that there was nothing he could do about it. Within a few minutes, the sheriff had handed over the items which had been taken from Hale by the posse and the evil man was standing outside the office. He was free and there wasn’t anything anyone could ever do about it. Paul reluctantly escorted Steven Hale over to his carriage and they sent the team of horses down the street towards the hospital.

Ben Cartwright’s boot steps echoed down the long corridor leading to his son’s hospital room. Standing just outside the door, he spied Hop Sing and Hoss. He picked up the pace and was soon standing next to his hulk of a son.

“Hoss? What’s going on?” Ben asked, slightly out of breath from all the activity.

“I was just gonna ask you that, Pa. Doc Martin said for us to wait here while they get Joe ready to take into surgery. Where did you find a surgeon this quick?” Hoss replied staring into his father’s eyes.

“I’ll explain all that in a minute—you stay here with Hop Sing,” Ben insisted and entered the hospital room.

A nurse stood on one side of Joe Cartwright, while Doctor Martin finished injecting the young man with some sedation medicine. Ben was quick to go to his son’s aid. He looked down at his boy and wondered if he could possibly hide his fear for the lad.

“Pa?” Joe asked weakly. “I was worried you weren’t gonna see me off. Doc says you found a surgeon who can fix me.”

Paul shot Ben a strange glance, cluing him into the notion that he hadn’t gone into specifics with Joe about who would be performing the operation to save his life.

“Me not see you off?” Ben said with a smile, “Since when would I miss one of your many operations?”

“Who’s doing the surgery, Pa?”

“Oh just someone that Harold Peele found for us. Now—looks like you are about ready to head down the hall to the operating room. And, I’ll be right next to you when you come around. Paul said it won’t take too long—right?” Ben asked, facing the doctor and hoping he would jump to his assistance in calming Joe.

“Not long at all—you’ll be awake soon and then you’ll start complaining about me keeping you in bed, Joe!” Paul smiled and moved towards the door.

“Pa?” Joe whispered and motioned with his hand for his father to draw closer.

Ben bent down so he could hear what his son was saying. “What is it, Joseph?”

“My leg—they’re gonna save it—right?” Joe asked, his voice steeped in emotion.

“They’ll do everything they can—and what with everyone praying for you—I am quite sure you’ll be all right. Now stop fighting that medication the Doc just gave you and close those eyes. You’ll be sound asleep before you make it out to the hall,” Ben reassured his son.

Joe reached down and felt of his bandaged leg, his face scrunched up in pain and then he looked back towards his father with tears evident in his eyes. “I’ll see you when I wake up. I love you, Pa.”

“I love you too—see you in a bit, Joseph,” Ben whispered and placed a gentle kiss on his son’s brow.

Joe closed his eyes for one final time and was fast asleep. Paul, the nurse, and an orderly gathered the young man up and moved him to the waiting stretcher.

“Hale’s waiting right outside the operating room for you, Ben. I’m going to get Joe down there then he’ll come in. Don’t worry—I won’t take my eyes off this boy —not once—during the whole operation.”

“Thank you, Paul,” Ben nodded and watched with great despair as his son was removed from the hospital room. He briefly dropped his head in prayer before leaving to address the surgeon.

“Pa?” Hoss said as his father walked out into the hall. “What’s going on—I can tell by your face that there’s trouble. Is it Joe? Are they gonna take his leg?” Hoss asked with dread in his tone.

“Hoss—let me go talk to the surgeon—then you and Hop Sing meet me in the waiting room. It’s just down the corridor and to the left,” Ben answered and pointed towards where he wanted his son and Hop Sing to go. He knew if he paid Steven Hale the blackmail money in front of Hoss that there would be an enormous scene. That was the last thing anyone needed at the time.

Hoss and Hop Sing reluctantly followed instructions and headed down to the waiting room while Ben turned the corner in the opposite direction. In front of the double doors that led to the operating room where Paul had taken Joe, stood Steven Hale. He was dressed in the appropriate scrubs to ready for surgery, but his facial mask hung loosely around his neck.

“I take it that all five thousand is in here,” Hale said as Ben handed him over an envelope.

“It’s all there,” Ben answered, trying to hold back his ire.

“Then—I need to go see to my patient,” Hale smiled and began to turn away.

Ben’s right hand shot out and stopped the other man’s progression. He spun Steven around and forced his gaze. “I just want you to know that if my son dies—or if he loses his leg—that I will kill you before you even make it down this corridor,” Ben warned.

“Is that a threat, Cartwright?”

“No, it’s a promise! Now, go save my boy!” Ben fumed.

Hale turned back and straightened his surgical gown. Without another word he walked into the operating room. One thing he knew for a fact and that was Ben Cartwright kept his promises.

Hoss paced the waiting room and every now and then glanced towards the doorway hoping to see his father. The family caretaker, Hop Sing, sat patiently and waited to hear news of how Joe was doing. After many prayers to God as well as his ancestors, the Chinaman knew somehow the boy would pull through. He was, however, concerned with the possibility that Joe might lose his leg. Hop Sing just couldn’t fathom the wild rambunctious young man being hobbled by such a terrible loss.

“Tell me what’s going on—this time I want the truth!” Hoss insisted as his father made his way into the waiting room.

Ben approached his son and motioned him to sit next to Hop Sing. Reluctantly the big man obeyed and soon the three men were facing each other. Hoss had seen worry on his father’s face before, more so when one of his son’s were in jeopardy, but along with that worry he could detect anger in Pa’s deep brown eyes.

“I didn’t want Joe to know any of this going into surgery—but I’ll tell you both now. You won’t like what I’ve done anymore than I do,” Ben began and saw Hoss and Hop Sing exchanging confused glances. “Doctor Peele wrote Paul back—there was only one surgeon who could do this surgery—all the others that he trusted were too far from Virginia City. I had no choice—I had to agree with it or we not only risk Joe’s leg, but his life as well.”

“You’re not telling me that—” Hoss stopped and shook his head trying to remove the slightest bit of doubt as to what his father was saying to them. There wasn’t a chance that Ben Cartwright would have made a deal with Steven Hale; not a chance in the world.

Ben could see it on his son’s face, and nodded his head towards Hoss, “Yes—Hale is operating on your brother.”

“What!” Hoss’ voice thundered out in disbelief.

“I had no other choice! What would you have me do, risk your brother’s life while we waited for another surgeon?” Ben defended his actions, though he couldn’t fault his son for his outburst. He was just as outraged over the whole situation as Hoss was at the time.

Hoss knew his father’s painful decision had to have come out of the fact that he had been backed into a corner. It hurt to even look at Pa at the time, he looked enraged and hurt. “But Pa, he’s the one who did this to Joe—how could we chance him hurting him more?”

“Paul is in there with him—watching his every move—and I warned Hale that I would kill him if Joseph doesn’t come out of there alive. If there had been another way—” Ben trailed off when he felt two hands coming around his shoulders. There was Hoss’ massive right hand and Hop Sing’s smaller left hand. Both men were forming a protective circle, trying their best to ease the burden that had fallen on Ben Cartwright’s shoulders.

“Confucius say—some battle not worth loss of soldier—nothing worth loss of Little Joe. Revenge not for Cartlights this time—maybe not Hop Sing either—must wait higher power. If doctor is only chance, father must take it,” Hop Sing stated with great compassion.

“He’s right,” Hoss agreed and watched his father ease back against the chair. “What did it take to get Hale to do the surgery, Pa?”

“We had to drop all charges—and promise not to go after him once the surgery is over. I also had to pay him five thousand dollars,” Ben replied grimly.

“Five thousand dollars! And—we can’t even go after that vermin?” Hoss exclaimed.

“Is any amount of money—or even revenge—worth the life of that boy?” Ben asked his son.

Hoss dropped his head and sighed. He knew what his father was trying to tell him, but the thought of the man getting away with all he had done to Joe ate straight through to Hoss’ heart. “I just want him punished—for what he did—it’s not fair.”

“That’s the way of things, Son, sometimes in life—it seems like things aren’t fair. I know you want vengeance, I want it even more—but I can let that go if it means that Joseph survives. Can you?”

“Yes, Sir—if we have to. I just wish there was something else we could do.”

“There is,” Ben paused, dropped his head down, and began to pray. Hop Sing and Hoss followed Ben’s actions and together they prayed for Joe’s recovery and for the ability to let their anger go.

The minutes ticked by slowly, almost as though time had stopped all together. Ben and Hoss continually paced the waiting room while Hop Sing’s gaze never fell off the doors to the operating room. By the time Joe had been in surgery for almost three hours, Ben finally gave in to exhaustion and sat numbly in a chair. Every few minutes he would open his pocket watch and check the time. Looking inside the gold cover his eyes fell on the single word that his father had engraved on it before giving it to him so many years ago. That one word said it all; faith. Ben had hoped to give the watch to his youngest son on his next birthday. Now, with the boy in the next room struggling for his life, Ben wasn’t at all sure if Joe would ever have the chance to accept the gift.

“Pa,” Hoss whispered and touched his father’s arm as soon as he spotted the door opening at the end of the room. Ben looked up to see a very weary Paul Martin walking their way.

Hoss, Ben, and Hop Sing all stood and approached the family physician afraid to utter the words they wanted to ask the man.

“He’s going to be all right,” Paul smiled and shook the outstretched hands one at a time. “Joe’s had a rough go at it—but he’s going to be okay.”

“And—his leg—Paul—” Ben stuttered.

“Hale is one miserable human being—but Harold Peele knows his surgeons—and the man did a wonderful job on your son. I know I couldn’t have saved Joe’s leg—but then, I haven’t the experience that Hale has had. Trust me, I kept my eye on everything he did—just to be sure!”

“It’s a shame that someone who is so good at healing is also equally as good at harming people,” Ben added. “Thank you, Paul, for watching over the boy for us.”

“You knew I would,” Paul grinned and patted Ben’s shoulder before turning back towards the operating room. “We’ve taken Joe to recovery—Ben you come along—and when we get him back to his room Hoss and Hop Sing can come on in.”

“See you in a bit, Pa—think Hop Sing and I will go get a drink!” Hoss smiled and put his arm around the Chinese member of the family.

“Mister Hoss know Hop Sing don’t drink!” Hop Sing protested.

“Then I’ll buy you some of that herbal tea and you can watch me drink—come on!” Hoss laughed and walked out of the room with Hop Sing at his side.

Ben sat next to the hospital bed and stared over at his son. He looked so pale, so lifeless, that he had to keep reminding himself that Joe would be okay. Paul and a nurse had been in to check on the boy several times and had reassured the anxious father that his vital signs were good and the wound was doing fine. Ben knew the prognosis and was thrilled that his son was going to recover but he wouldn’t be totally convinced until he could see the color of his son’s eyes and the smile that could melt a glacier.

Almost an hour after Ben had begun his sentry duty, Joe started to stir in bed giving the subtle signs of coming back around. Ben leaned in closer and took his son’s left hand into his own and whispered his name.

“Joseph—Joe—take it easy—everything’s okay.”

“Pa?” Joe mumbled and his eyes opened and closed several times. He tried to pull himself from the drowsy lull of sleep but was having trouble focusing in on his pa’s face. Joe broke from his father’s grip on his hand and slowly eased his palm down to his left leg. His eyes still closed, he felt the bandages and then moved his hand down lower and felt his kneecap. A smile faintly pulling on his lips, Joe realized his leg was intact.

“Yes, Son, it’s still there,” Ben smiled and eased the boy back to a more reclining position. “Now you stay still, Young Man.”

“It’s still there,” Joe repeated his father’s words until they sunk into his brain. “Thank God,” he whispered.

“Yes, thank God,” Ben sighed and leaned over and kissed his son’s forehead.

“Must’ve been a good surgeon,” Joe muttered as his eyelids began to slowly close once more.

Ben’s heart fell in his chest. Good surgeon indeed! But, he wouldn’t say the words, or do any explaining. Not now, not for a long while. Joe didn’t need to know anything other than the fact that he was going to be all right.

“You sleep now, Son. I’ll stay with you.”

“Thank him for me—Pa—thank the doctor—okay?” Joe asked and then turned his head to the side and went back to sleep.

Ben pushed back his fallen tears and watched his son slumber on peacefully. He would not be honoring Joe’s request. Hale may have saved the boy’s leg, perhaps his life too, but he was also the cause for the whole awful event. Ben sat in the chair and thanked God instead.

 

Epilogue:

Joe’s recovery was slow going at first, but after a week spent in the hospital, Paul finally allowed him to return to the Ponderosa. The release was based on several promises gleaned from his patient that the boy would stay put in his room and not even think about getting out of bed. Joe was eager to be back home in his own room and agreed to all the provisions Paul Martin had laid down.

The leaves were beginning to turn colors as the fall was in full bloom by the time the Cartwrights drove Joe via buckboard back to the ranch. Hop Sing sat guard next to the young man and made sure that his leg wasn’t jarred during the trip. Hoss and Ben had done their best to avoid filling Joe in on all that had happened behind the scenes during Joe’s hospital ordeal. They thought it would be best to wait until he was home and stable before releasing information about Steven Hale which would most likely upset the boy.

Propped up against a mountain of pillows Joe glanced around his bedroom. He was so happy to be home, even if he had to be somewhat confined at the time. Hop Sing had helped him into a night shirt and gently placed him under the heavy quilt to ward off the chill in the bedroom. Hoss had also been up to talk with his brother and the two young men talked for a while about plans for winter when Joe would be up and moving around again.

Realizing that his brother was tiring, Hoss had made up an excuse to go downstairs for a bit, hoping that Joe would get some sleep. Though he had tried, that wasn’t happening. Joe’s leg throbbed; the stitches were pulling from the incision that had been cut length wise under the calf of his left leg. It didn’t feel as bad as it had almost two weeks prior when he had arrived back in Virginia City, but it still hurt. Joe hoped that he would finally be getting the whole story from his father and planned to ask him about it as soon as he came back up into the room.

“Thought you’d be needing this,” Ben smiled as he made his way into his son’s bedroom with a load of firewood held in his arms. “It’s going to be a cold one tonight—we sure don’t want to take a chance of you getting sick on us now!”

“Thanks, Pa,” Joe nodded his father’s way and watched as he went about setting the wood in the fireplace and getting it lit. Soon the room was bathed in a soft amber glow.

Ben, satisfied that he had a roaring blaze going and that the room would soon be warm and cozy for his son, settled down in the chair next to the bed.

“So, how are you feeling? I know that was a long ride home and you haven’t slept all day.”

“I’m okay.”

“Joseph?” Ben restated, and raised his eyebrows in gesture.

Joe smiled sheepishly and replied, “Okay, I am kinda tired—and my leg smarts a bit, but I am okay.”

“Those stitches come out in a couple of days and then Doc is going to cast your leg. Before long you’ll be as good as new.”

“You know I’ve got a bunch of questions—questions that you’ve avoided for a whole week. How about leveling with me, Pa?”

Ben sighed and leaned in towards his son. He knew the truth wouldn’t wait any longer, nor was it fair to hold it back from Joe. “You’ve been through so much, Joseph, and you’ve no idea how bad off you were a week ago. We almost lost you.”

“I know, and I also know how bad I worried you and the rest of the family. But, you said I’m gonna be all right—so let’s hear it.”

“You want to know who operated on you—is that it?”

“That’s one of the questions—let’s start on what happened to my leg first though. Why did my leg get infected? I mean—did you find out why Doctor Hale operated on my leg in the first place?” Joe asked, his eyes burning through his father’s heart seeking the truth from the man.

“What we found out, well—what we found out when Hale was taken into custody—was that he purposely hurt your leg,” Ben stuttered, finding the explanation to be even harder than he thought it would be. By telling his son the story, he was forcing them both to relive terrible truths about the vile man who dared call himself a healer.

“He operated on me to make my leg worse? Why?”

“Well, you said you vaguely remembered that man’s voice—from several years ago when you were shot, right?”

“Yeah, the time he came out here and did a rather shoddy job on my stitches. I remember you and Doc got angry with him—and tried to take away his license to practice medicine. But why—after all these years would he do this? I mean, he was practicing medicine in Sand Dust—so whatever you and Doc tried to do —didn’t stop him anyhow.”

“Hale figured I would come for you—and he wasn’t sure if you knew who he was. He wasn’t taking any chances at the time. We believe that he purposely injured your leg—that he caused the infection. Doc and I also believe that he knew that—” Ben stopped, he wasn’t ready just then to tell Joe it was Hale who had done the surgery in Virginia City.

“You knew what?” Joe caught on to the abrupt way in which his father’s sentence had been cut off.

“Well, I suppose that first of all—I’d better tell you how you got that infection,” Ben began again, and cleared his throat of pent up anger.

“I figured it was the botched job he did on my leg—wasn’t it? I mean he hacked into it—and then stitched me up.”

“Joseph, he opened your leg—not because of any bone spur—or any fragments that he was concerned over. He, well—he purposely cut into your leg to bury a scalpel underneath the skin.”

Joe looked over at his father like he had told some dreadful lie. He tried to picture a scalpel being imbedded in his leg, and didn’t think that there was any possible way that it could be hidden.

“He did WHAT?” Joe burst out with his question.

Ben dropped his hand down onto Joe’s arm and eased him back against the pillows. “This is why I didn’t want to get into this—you’re getting far too upset!”

“No—no I wanna know, Pa!” Joe insisted.

“It’s not a rational thing—so it’s not easy to explain to you, Son. But, if you’ll settle back and stop yelling I will continue,” Ben bargained with his boy.

“Okay, go on,” Joe nodded, and forced a calm to his voice.

“Hale buried that scalpel underneath your skin—then sutured you up and then put that enormous cast over it all to hide what he’d done. He figured you would be brought back home and that once Doc Martin examined you—well—he’d know that it had all been a deliberate act.

“So—there was that knife—that scalpel—under there the whole time?” Joe asked in shock and disbelief.

“Yes,” Ben nodded and gave his son some time to grasp what had happened to him.

“Hell—no wonder I felt like something was cutting me all that time!” Joe retorted angrily, but then looking into his father’s eyes, he tried to lower his tone again. “But didn’t he think he’d get caught, Pa? I mean—once we put two and two together and all—how did he think he’d get away with what he had done?”

“It ties into your other question I’m afraid, Joseph.”

“Huh?”

“You asked who performed the surgery at the hospital,” Ben replied cryptically.

Joe sat there for a few moments trying to figure out where his father was going with what he had said. How had Hale played a factor in who had performed the surgery?   Suddenly, dull awareness hit Joe over the head like a bolt of lightning.

“You don’t mean that Hale was the one who fixed me up!” Joe exclaimed.

“Settle down,” Ben warned and moved to sit on the bed next to his son. “This isn’t helping you—getting riled—and you know it.”

“Pa—” Joe whispered and reached for his father’s arm. He stared into his eyes and could see the intense sadness that was mixed with a fierce and uncontrollable anger. “Hale saved my leg?”

“Yes, there was no other way—you know—I didn’t want him to—but,” Ben stopped. He had to get his emotions in check or he wouldn’t be able to continue. He had tried for over a week to find some peace in his heart over the many decisions he had made but it had yet to work. Ben had prayed to God for the solace to forget going after the man and to just be thankful that his youngest son was still alive. “Joseph—I couldn’t risk losing you—I wish it hadn’t come to that, but Hale was our only chance.”

“But why? Why would the man who caused all my problems agree to fix me back up? I don’t understand,” Joe said confused by all he had just heard.

“Harold Peele had wired Paul sending word of several doctors whom he deemed qualified enough to perform the surgery. All of them—with the exception of Steven Hale—were days away from here. There wasn’t any time to get them here either. Paul was afraid we would not only lose your leg—but that you wouldn’t survive another days wait. So, that being said—we went to the jail and had to deal with Hale. Believe me—bargaining with that—that—monster—was the last thing that I ever wanted to do!

“I know—I know, Pa,” Joe nodded and patted his father’s arm. He could tell that the man was still fighting with himself over his decision and didn’t want to make him feel any worse about it.

“Hale demanded that Paul and I drop any old charges we had against him—and that we wouldn’t add any new ones either. He made Paul write a letter to the medical board withdrawing any old complaints. Hale also made me give him five thousand dollars—what he deemed to be expenses to get settled some place else. But worst of all—” Ben stopped and put both of his hands on Joe’s shoulders and forced his gaze, “worst of all he made me promise—swear to God—that I would not seek any type of revenge once you were operated on.”

Joe took in the last details and thought on them before speaking. He had no idea that the family had gone through so much grief while he was trying to recover from his injuries. Joe hurt for his father and the rest of his family. But, slowly, like an undercurrent, outrage began to flow through his own veins.

“You mean—he butchers me—sticks that scalpel in my leg—causes all this—then—he’s the only one who can fix me—and now he’s just gone away Scott free?” Joe asked, his voice shaking with rage.

“Yes.”

Joe shook his head in disbelief and stared back into his father’s eyes to read what was in them at the time. The anger reflected back could well have been his own, and not that of Pa’s. Not being able to find any words that could adequately describe how he felt at the moment, Joe sank down further into the pillows releasing his father’s hold.

“All that matters now is that you get better, Joseph,” Ben whispered and tenderly placed the palm of his right hand against his son’s left cheek.

“Pa, what if my leg isn’t completely healed? What then? I mean—what if he messed it up more when he re-broke it? What if all he did affects me later when I start to walk again?”

“Paul thinks you will be fine—there’s no reason right now to think otherwise,” Ben reassured his son. He could see the depth of despair in the hazel eyes and knew that part of his son’s soul had been harmed along with his body.

“If I have any problem—if my leg isn’t exactly the way it was before all this; I’m going after him, Pa!” Joe warned.

“Joseph,” Ben said and gripped his son’s arm a little rougher than he meant to at the time, “I promised him that I wouldn’t seek revenge. I gave my word.”

“Yeah—YOU did—I didn’t promise nothing!” Joe retorted angrily.

“It’s over,” Ben responded with a low and serious tone. “You’re going to be fine—that leg of yours is going to be fine. It’s over now.”

Joe closed his eyes for a few minutes to stay his tears. He didn’t want to shed any over the evil man who had hurt him so badly. Joe could feel his father’s gaze, even with his eyelids closed at the time. The last thing he wanted was to upset Pa. He figured that he had been upset enough over the last two weeks and didn’t need any more grief. Joe knew what it had taken out of his father to make such a bargain with someone as sadistic as Steven Hale. Joe knew that his pa wouldn’t have made such an awful deal unless there was no other way to save his son’s life. He owed his father more than he would ever be able to repay in life and he didn’t want to make matters worse for him, even though he was personally outraged over what had happened.

“Okay, Pa, whatever you say,” Joe conceded and opened his eyes. He forced a calm expression to his face in the hope that he would both look and sound sincere.

Ben took a good look at his son and hoped that the boy was truly ready to accept the reality of what had transpired. It was never all that easy to tell with his youngest any more. When he was younger, he had been easier to read, but now the older Joe got the more skilled he had become in hiding old wounds from his pa.

“Let’s just concentrate on getting you all better, okay?” Ben sighed and pulled the covers around his son’s shoulders. “I almost lost you this time, Joseph—and to be totally honest—if it meant dealing with Satan to save you—well—it was worth it to me.”

“I understand—really,” Joe nodded and watched his father move off the bed and turn the wick down in the lamp on the night stand. “Think I’ll get some sleep.”

“I’ll be back up in a bit—rest well, Son,” Ben whispered and combed his fingers through Joe’s unruly hair before turning towards the door.

Joe waited until he heard the door close and the sound of his father’s boot steps as they made their way down the hallway. He allowed his left hand to drift down to his bandaged leg and rubbed at his injury. Joe’s face scrunched up into a scowl and he whispered, “It ain’t over till I say it’s over, Pa.”

The End

 

Note from author: This concludes part one- it was written prior to my surgery this past summer. I hope to eventually continue the saga with a part two, that will hopefully tie up some loose ends. I have four sisters to thank this time. The growing sisterhood that has meant the world to me, and of whom I wouldn’t want to exist without their love, friendships and talent. This is for you, Deb, Leesa, Carol and Jane. Thanks for everything guys! Love Terri aka Wrangler

 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.