Summary: With patients like the Cartwrights on your books, work can be never ending….
Rating:  G     Words:  3,980

The Brandsters have included this story by this author in our project: Preserving Their Legacy. To preserve the legacy of the author, we have decided to give their work a home in the Bonanza Brand Fanfiction Library.  The author will always be the owner of this work of fanfiction, and should they wish us to remove their story, we will.

A Doctor’s Work is Never Done

It was a ride in the buggy that Doctor Paul Martin would have preferred not to make but even so, he flicked the reins and hollered at his horse, urging it on as fast as he dared over uneven ground in the gathering gloom of an early spring dusk. He shivered inside his greatcoat, longing to rearrange his muffler closer to his throat but not prepared to risk losing control over the animal as it surged onwards with a new-found burst of energy, as if sensing the urgency.

Had it really been less than an hour since Jack Hayes out of the Ponderosa had burst through the door, breathless and red-faced from a ride at break-neck speed to summon him? Paul Martin had been treating little Emmy Patterson’s ankle at the time and reassuring her mother that the child only had a sprain. There was no break and certainly no need for worry as she would be racing around as usual within a few days. That was when the dishevelled cowhand had exploded into the room, shouting incoherently and startling the already overly sensitive mother and child.

The next few minutes were consumed with quietening the excited young man, soothing the agitated mother and calming the hysterical little girl. So it was that, in the midst of all the mayhem, Doctor Martin only gathered part of the story but enough to realise that his presence was required immediately out at the ranch for there had been a terrible accident, the real nature of which was lost in the ensuing chaos.

Before the Doctor could stop him, the cowhand had gone, announcing that he had a message for the Sheriff. Whether this was in relation to events out at the ranch or totally unconnected was not clear but Paul Martin was not about to wait around to find out as he ushered his patient and her mother out the door and hastily followed, doctor’s bag in hand.

His mind was racing as he headed out to the large spread that belonged to his good friend and castigated himself for not finding out more information. He did not know who had been injured, the extent of those injuries and how they had been obtained, although Hayes definitely said there had been an accident.

Between them, the three Cartwright sons kept him busy, especially the youngest. Ranching could be a dangerous business and, without looking at his records, he knew there had been a catalogue of broken and dislocated limbs, cracked ribs, concussions and a plethora of deep cuts needing stitches. These were par for the course when dealing with cattle and breaking horses but then the Cartwrights were also involved in the mining and timber industries and there had been instances of cave-ins and calamities at the lumber camps when one or more of the brothers was affected. Then, of course, there were the fights. They did not go looking for trouble, but it seemed to find them and they were not afraid to defend themselves or innocent others, giving rise to bruises and lacerations, or worse. Paul Martin knew every bullet he had extracted and from which young man.

Each time he was summoned to the ranch, he wondered what he would find. Oh there were the occasions when he had more advance information than he had received today, but he still dreaded the time when he would arrive at the ranch house only to discover that there was little he could do or say. Ben Cartwright was devoted to his boys and the prospect of losing one of them was beyond contemplation.

As the buggy entered the yard, he could not help but look up at the windows that overlooked the front of the house and behind which lay the bedrooms of the two younger sons. There was no light. Whatever had happened had not befallen Hoss or Joe – unless one of them was laid out on the sofa in the great room or the guest room downstairs. So what had Adam done now? Filled with trepidation, he climbed down from the buggy into a yard eerily quiet and devoid of any movement; none of the ranch hands was to be seen.

With a sigh, Paul Martin gripped his bag and headed for the stout, wooden front door. He had not even knocked when it was thrown open from within and his greeting died in his throat at the sight of the young man before him. The black shirt was torn in several places and liberally coated in dust and something that looked suspiciously like dried, crusted blood. His? It was possible if the jagged, dirty cut on his forehead was anything to go by, but even more alarming was the manner in which he ran a distracted hand through his hair and the fact that his eyes – so often guarded – were wide and filled with what the doctor could only describe as fear.

“I heard you arrive. Thank goodness you’re here, Paul,” Adam stood to one side to let him enter and Paul Martin caught sight of the family’s cook hovering in the background and appealing to Number One Son to sit himself down so that his injuries could be treated.

“Not now, Hop Sing!” he snapped, much to Paul’s surprise. As if he realised that he had been too harsh, Adam’s tone softened, an uncharacteristic quiver entering his voice. “It’s not serious. It’ll keep until later,” and he headed for the stairs, unable to hide his gasp of pain or his pronounced limp.

“Adam,” Doctor Martin began, realising that he had one patient here that needed looking after but the eldest Cartwright boy rounded on him.

“Later,” Adam insisted, his whole stance radiating tension and his eyes filled with anguish. “You have to come quickly, Hoss and Joe are waiting.” He took a deep breath in a vain effort to still the turmoil that threatened to overwhelm him. “It’s Pa and he’s hurt bad.”

****************

The great room of the Ponderosa ranch house was silent as each of its three occupants was lost in his own thoughts and fears. Periodically, one of them would look towards the staircase, believing that he had heard the doctor descending, but it was always a mistake. Paul Martin had not finished his work.

Adam stood by the huge fireplace, one foot poised on the hearth, a hand resting on the stonework as he stared into the fire, oblivious to the dancing flames and their heat that usually brought comfort to the huge room. He refused to let anyone bathe his wounds, nor had he made any attempt to change his clothes and his younger brothers were too caught up in their own misery to fight with him about looking after himself. When he refused their offers to help him for the third time, they gave up persisting, content with the knowledge that he was still walking and talking. Therefore he could not be that badly hurt.

Unlike their father.

“What’s taking so long?” Joe complained from his perch on the edge of the coffee table. Impatient as ever, but now with very good reason, he leapt to his feet and began pacing the room nervously. Adam turned his head to watch as Joe began a circuit of the room but he had neither the words or the energy to offer any consolation and so he merely lowered his head again and resumed his study of the fire.

“Quit the pacing, Joe, and set down,” Hoss instructed, at the same time indulging in the annoying habit of cracking his knuckles.

“How can I sit down when Pa’s up there and we’re stuck down here an’ don’t know what’s going on? Anything could be happening. He might even be …” His voice trailed off, not wanting to put into words his deepest fear. His father might be dying. It was a thought that he could not bear but even worse was the prospect of his father breathing his last with none of his sons around him to say their farewells.

“Well you wearin’ out the floor ain’t gonna change any o’ that now, is it?” Hoss said softly.

“I just don’t understand how it happened,” Joe began.

“Leave it, Joe.” A warning edge crept into Hoss’ voice as he shot a wary glance at his older brother. Even in the depths of his despair, it was obvious that Adam had heard Joe’s comment for his back visibly stiffened.

“But what caused the log pile to slip? Why weren’t the horses tethered or at least unhitched from the buckboard?” Joe persisted, pausing in his walk to rest both hands on the arm of the sofa and lean in Hoss’ direction.

“You know as well as I do that we don’t always unhitch the horses when we’re unloadin’. Heck, we don’t bother about tethering ’em each and every time neither. We reckon on them being well trained enough to stand still and that’s what they usually do, ’cept when they’re spooked like that.” Hoss tried to explain reasonably.

“But that still doesn’t account for why the pile slipped. Weren’t they stacked right?”

Adam reeled round to face his youngest brother. “Why don’t you come right out and say what you’re thinking, Joe?”

“Aw, Adam, he ain’t thinkin’ anythin’ right now. He’s too upset about Pa,” Hoss intervened, trying to defuse a situation before it erupted.

Adam stepped forward, his voice low and filled with menace. “No, he’s thinking plenty. Aren’t you, Joe? You’re thinking that a job hasn’t been done properly and as the sawmill’s my responsibility, it’s my fault. Am I right?”

Joe’s eyes widened in horror as he realised how Adam had misinterpreted his questions. All he wanted was to know how such a terrible accident could have come about; it had certainly never occurred to him to lay blame on his brother. He shook his head, denying the accusation.

Hoss rose to stand between his two brothers and laid a conciliatory hand on Adam’s chest. “Now calm down, big brother. Joe ain’t sayin’ anythin’ o’ the kind. He’s jest puttin’ into words what we all wanna know, yourself included. This terrible accident happened as accidents do. It’s not a case of anyone not doin’ their job and we ain’t blamin’ anyone. If’n anyone’s doin’ the blamin’, then I reckon it’s you bein’ hard on yourself as usual when they ain’t no call fer it, but we can worry about how it all happened when we know Pa’s gonna be all right.”

The voice of reason prevailed. Joe exhaled the heavy breath he had not even realised he was holding and perched on the arm of the sofa as Adam, shoulders slumped in weary resignation, sank into a chair, his mind racing.

Hoss was right; accidents happen, but Joe was right too. Log piles do not just slip. Something was wrong and he aimed to find out what but in the meantime, as he had oversight of the sawmill, then the responsibility stopped with him.

If something had not been done properly and it had caused his father serious injury, then all the reassuring words in the world could not alleviate the guilt he was feeling. If his father died, then it would be his fault ultimately. he shivered, despite the heat emanating from the fire to his left, and he shut his eyes to his aching body and the throbbing pain in his head.

A sound on the stairs brought the three brothers to their feet, and worried eyes watched the doctor at last come into sight.

Paul paused and held onto the banisters tiredly as he looked down on the pale, anguished faces of the Cartwright sons. In an instant he felt a pang of envy at the bond within this family; these boys were devoted to their father as he was to them. Threaten or remove any one of them and he dare not think about the consequences.

“I’ve set your Pa’s leg and bound his cracked ribs. There’s no internal bleeding as far as I can tell and I’ve cleaned up all those cuts, stitching the biggest ones. That thick Cartwright skull saved the day yet again. It’s going to take time getting him back on his feet – the leg was broken in a couple of places – but he’s going to be fine, boys. I know it looked bad but it could have been a whole heap worse.” Paul’s weary face broke into a relieved smile as he saw the immediate change his news wrought in the young men before him.

Joe and Hoss grasped each other by the shoulders and jumped up and down, whooping quietly in deference to their father’s health. Adam let out a huge sigh of relief, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Paul stood to one side on the stairs as Hoss and Joe rushed past him to see their father and convince themselves that he was on the mend. Only Adam remained where he stood, a frown clouding his features, his left hand rubbing at his temple.

“Now, Adam, do you want to see your Pa first or shall we get you cleaned up so I can take a look at that gash on your head?” the Doctor asked.

Later, Paul Martin would recount that there was no warning but even as he moved, he saw Adam’s eyes roll in his head, his knees buckled and he crumpled with a graceful slow motion to the floor.

*************

Down by the corral, Joe leaned on the top rail and rubbed a hand over tired eyes. What a night! He, Hoss, Hop Sing and Doctor Martin had taken turns to sit with the two Cartwright patients. In fact, the Doctor had only just departed, having snatched a couple of hours’ sleep in the guest room and a couple of cups of Hop Sing’s strong, hot coffee.

The joyous news that their father was not as badly hurt as they first feared had been tarnished when, seconds after entering his room, they had heard Paul Martin’s cry of alarm from the room below. Not knowing what had happened, they allowed themselves a brief, reassuring look at their father who was sleeping comfortably and headed back to the stairs. Whatever they might have been anticipating was nothing compared with the shock of finding the Doctor kneeling uncomfortably beside the prostrate form of their older brother. Somehow, he had gone down between the sofa and the coffee table and had been fortunate in that he had not done himself any more serious damage.

Joe remembered that the next few minutes had been unmitigated mayhem as he and Hoss bombarded the bemused Doctor with a torrent of anxious questions, the noise bringing a startled Hop Sing from the kitchen. He had then added to the chaos with a stream of rapid Cantonese as his concern manifested itself. Joe had dragged the sofa back to make more room and Hoss moved in so that, with a nod from the Doctor, he could gather his older brother into his arms and carry him up to his bedroom. Joe shut his eyes to the memory of Adam’s head lolling back limply over Hoss’ arm, his face frighteningly ashen so that the gash on his head – which until now they had ignored – became a screaming mockery.

They processed up the stairs, Hoss leading the way and gently carrying his precious burden as if Adam weighed little more than a child. The Doctor followed with Joe and Hop Sing in his wake.

Indeed, it had been a long night!

Meanwhile upstairs, Ben eased himself into a sitting position for the first time since his accident the day before. “You’re sure he’s all right?”

“Now quit your fussin’, Pa,” Hoss ordered, plumping up the pillows behind his father and expertly balancing a breakfast tray on his lap. “Big brother’s gonna be fine.”

“But what did Paul say?” Ben demanded. Hungry as he was, he was incapable of swallowing a morsel until he had more news.

Straightening up, Hoss sighed. “Pa, I done tol’ you twice already.” Realising that his father was not going to eat without some persuasion, he picked up the fork and handed it to him.

“Tell me again.” Ben folded his arms and scowled at the fork s if it were somehow at fault.

“Adam’s got himself a whole heap of scrapes and bruises. He’s gonna be sore for a while but there was nothin’ broken and he didn’t even need stitches in his head. Seems the wagon caught him as he was tryin’ to get you outa the way, took him clear offa his feet. No-one recalls him being knocked out. Folks was kinda concerned about you and the next thing anyone knows, he was givin’ orders and sortin’ out the mess so everybody figured he was fine. Worst thing he’s collected is one heck of a concussion. Seems he’d been pushing himself outa worry fer you after that and as soon as we got the news that you’d be all right, his body kinda gave up on him, what with the relief an’ all.”

Ben started to push the tray to one side.

“Now where do ya think you’re goin’?” Hoss demanded, pushing his father back as carefully as he could and replacing the tray in its former position.

“I’m going to see Adam.” Ben insisted.

Hoss gave another exasperated sigh. “An’ just how d’ya reckon you’re gonna do that? The Doc says you’ve to stay in bed at least a week. You can’t think of using crutches yet with your ribs the way they are and I sure ain’t gonna carry you.”

“Hoss …” Ben began, his voice adopting a low rumble of warning that Hoss knew so well, along with the narrowing of the coal-black eyes and the drawing together of the eyebrows, but for once, Hoss was undeterred.

“Now, it ain’t gonna do you any good lookin’ at me like that, Pa. The Doc says you’re both to stay in bed and that’s final. Maybe, if he’s up to it, I’ll help Adam come and see you later tonight but Joe and me have got more important things to do with work, what with you two bein’ laid up the way y’are, without having to worry about whether or not the two of you are where you’re supposed to be, an’ that’s in bed. Any trouble, an’ I’ll set Hop Sing on the pair o’ you.” He smoothed the coverlet over his father and tucked it in firmly at the side of the bed, as if by way of further restraint.

Ben glowered at him and then realised the sense of his big son’s words. With two of them out of commission, it did seriously add to the workload of his other two sons and he did not want to increase their problems.

“Now are you gonna eat that?” Hoss prompted, nodding at the food. Ben forked up some scrambled egg.

“You’re sure there is no serious head injury?” Ben tried again. “He has been conscious?”

“You two are as bad as each other; there’s no mistakin’ where he gets it from.” He saw but chose to ignore his father’s frown. “You’re all out tryin’ to get ta him and I’m fightin’ hard to stop him from comin’ to see you. He’s conscious an’ downright ornery. only the way big brother can be. He sure ain’t sweet tempered right now, but I reckon that’s on account of L’il Joe an’ me jes’ followin’ Doc’s orders and wakin’ him up every coupla hours through the night; that an’ the fact that the crack on the head has left him feelin’ more than a mite sick an’ dizzy. Maybe that’ll be enough ta keep him in place fer the rest of the day.”

Hoss was getting into his stride and enjoying this rare feeling of authority over his father and older brother, and he was determined to milk it to the full.

“If there’s nohtin’ more that you’re wantin’, Pa, I need to go an’ get me some breakfast. Joe an’ me have a very busy day ahead of us. Hop Sing’ll be up soon to take the tray an’ help you with the necessary. I’ll leave the door open, same as I’ve done with Adam. happen later, if’n he’s not sleepin’, you can call out a little to each other, pass the time. Leastways, Hop Sing’ll hear if ya need anything.”

Thoroughly business-like, Hoss dipped his head in his father’s direction and was gone. Silence flooded the room after his departure and Ben suddenly felt very alone.

“Adam?” he called softly, gazing at the open doorway as if expecting his older son to materialise. “Adam?” He tried a little louder but again there was no response. Perhaps the boy was sleeping; he chastised himself for being so selfish. Adam needed all the rest that he could get.

Ben shifted in the bed and winced. His leg and ribs hurt but not as much as they might have done had the dose of medication that Hoss had given him not kicked in already. This sense of frustration and helplessness did not sit easily with him.

Seemingly noticing the tray in his lap for the first time in ages, he raised the fork to his lips and grimaced. The egg was cold,

“Hop Sing!” he roared, hoping that the little cook could hear him and would provide him with a fresh, hot breakfast. He was, after all, very hungry.

“Pa!” The voice that hollered back was unmistakable, as was the woeful ‘Ouch’ that immediately followed. Too much noise for too bad a headache! “Can’t a man get any peace around here? All I want to do is get some sleep.”

The volume was lower but the complaint still drifted through Ben’s open door, and he smiled for the gruff tones were like music to his ears. Adam was going to be fine.