Summary: Adam and Joe find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Rating and Reader Alerts: PG (violence)  Words:  39,145

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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.

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NEMESIS

I

The three men slumped tiredly in their saddles and watched as a fourth crouched on the ground, the reins of his horse loosely held in one hand as he reached out with the other to lightly finger the tracks in the dirt.

 

“C’mon, get a move on; we haven’t got all day. D’you know which way they went or not?” grumbled the oldest of the four, standing in the stirrups as he tried to ease the ache in his joints. The group had been riding hard for a long while now and he reluctantly admitted to himself that he was getting a little long in the tooth for this game.

 

The man on the ground straightened up. He was tall, muscular and hatless. A gloved hand shielded his eyes from the relentless glare of the sun as he scanned the scenery ahead to where the scant vegetation gave way to large granite boulders littering the valley floor, which ended at the base of a rugged rock face.

 

“They’ve taken cover in that lot over there. By the looks of it, one o’the horses is lame too. There’s no way they can make a break for it without us seein’ them,” the man answered slowly as if warily considering every word before uttering it. He turned to remount.

 

“Well that’s just dandy,” snorted the youngest man. “We cain’t get any closer. If they’re holed up in them rocks, they can pick us off any time they want.” Holding a grimy brown hat, he wiped the back of his hand across his brow and then rammed the headgear on his sweaty blond hair. “Never figured on this turning into a game o’ hide an’ seek, Pa.” He threw a disgruntled look in the direction of the oldest man.

 

“Quit your griping, boy. They ain’t goin’ nowheres with us sittin’ here. ‘Sides, we wouldn’t be here now if it warn’t for your stupidity.”

 

The boy opened his mouth to object but a gunshot silenced him. Startled, he looked towards the last member of the group who was taking careful aim again at something in the distance. The scream of a horse in distress was cut short as the gun fired a second time.

 

A couple of hundred yards away in his concealed vantage point, Adam Cartwright sank back against the rock and closed his eyes as the odds stacked even higher in the favour of the pursuers. Part of him gave silent thanks that he had not been riding Sport that day, yet he hated the callous waste of a good animal. Now all they had was a mare too small to carry them both, even if she had not thrown a shoe and damaged the hoof in their flight to safety.

 

“We’re safe here, aren’t we, Adam? We can sit it out and they’ll get fed up and go away.”

 

Adam opened his eyes and looked into the eager, hopeful face of his little brother and, in an instant, he had to make a decision. Was he to lie and shield the youngster for as long as possible from the truth or help him to confront the stark reality of their situation?

 

They had one lame horse between them, less than a canteen of water, a little beef jerky, one handgun, a rifle, not much ammunition and they were trapped.

 

He smiled gently and reached out a hand to clasp the nape of his brother’s neck affectionately. He drew the fifteen-year old to him and hugged him close.

 

“They won’t leave us, Joe. They can’t.” His dark eyes were sad as he whispered, “We know too much.”

 

II

“Just one mouthful,” Adam ordered as Joe unstoppered the canteen and raised it to his lips.

 

The boy took a mouthful, desperate to swallow more but mindful of the fact that it was all they had. It was stale, warm and failed to slake his thirst but he was not about to complain. He handed the canteen to his brother but Adam shook his head.

 

“I’m okay,” he insisted, shifting his position to peer round the rock that shielded him. Almost immediately, a shot fired, the bullet gauging out shards of rock inches from his face and causing him to duck.

 

“You didn’t have a drink last time,” Joe pointed out, knowing full well what his brother was doing for his sake. As soon as they had taken cover in the rocks with their paltry rations, Adam had insisted that they had to restrict their intake and so far he had taken nothing.

 

“I know, but I’m fine for now,” he lied, well aware that he was sweating far more fluids than he was drinking. If they were to be stuck here for any longer than a day, what remained in the canteen was insufficient for one person, let alone two, and he told himself that he could probably struggle against the pounding headache and dizziness he was already experiencing from dehydration far better than his young brother.

 

Adam swatted at, and missed, a persistent fly that repeatedly settled on his arm, savouring the sweat that dampened his skin. He ran a drying tongue over his lips and tasted salt; another tell-tale sign that he would soon be in serious trouble. He resolved to take water in an hour and then wait until nightfall when the temperature would drop significantly.

 

“What are we gonna do?” Joe asked, hazel eyes fixed trustingly on his older brother. Adam always knew what to do; he always had an answer for everything and Joe had no doubt now that he would have a solution to extricate them from their current predicament.

 

“Right now? Nothing.”

 

“Nothing?” Joe repeated disbelievingly.

 

“Nothing,” Adam firmly reiterated. “We only have to move an inch and they can pick us off. I’m not firing on them unless absolutely necessary. They’ve got to be well in my sights and within range because I’m not wasting any ammunition. I don’t know how Storm got free but they had no hesitation in shooting him and if their tracker is any good, he’ll have picked up that Moonshine is lame.

 

“They reckon on us being trapped here and so we are, leastways in daylight. It’s not going to be easy but we’ve got one of four options left open to us.”

 

“And they are?” Joe’s eyes widened eagerly as the hope that he believed in materialised.

 

“I think they’ll stay where they are for now. They know we can’t move so they’ll try wearing us down. They‘re vicious killers; they can’t wait around too long so it’s more likely they’ll attack tomorrow at sun-up. Option one is we stay put and take our chances in a shootout.”

 

“I don’t fancy that idea,” Joe announced.

 

“Neither do I. No offence, little brother, but you’re not that handy with a weapon yet and as I can only use one at a time, the odds’ll be a mite uneven against four of them.”

 

“Option two?” Joe prompted.

 

“We wait until nightfall and then sneak past them.”

 

“Bit risky.”

 

“They’re all risky, Joe,” Adam warned him. “Thirdly, we climb out the valley …”

 

“No way,” Joe interrupted, his fear of heights spurring him into a flat refusal before he could think things through.

 

“Or we make for that cave further along the rock face and try to defend ourselves there,” Adam finished, striking out once more against the annoying insect.

 

“Why didn’t you say so before?” Joe asked, his eyes following the rapid movement of the fly until it finally settled. Suddenly, Joe’s hand slapped at the ground. He drew back his fingers, revealing the squashed insect.

 

Adam raised an appreciative eyebrow. “Option four it is then.”

 

Joe frowned. “You don’t think we’ll be trapping ourselves even more by being in a cave?”

 

“Can we be any more trapped than we are now? Maybe they’ll think we’ve gone for options two or three or that we’re sitting here waiting for them to charge us because we’re too scared to do anything else. Besides, have you any better ideas?” Adam allowed himself a wry grin, his first since their nightmare had begun.

 

Joe shook his head. “Can’t say’s I can but then you’re the one supposedly with the brains.”

 

“That’s settled then. We’ll move under cover of darkness and maybe that cave’ll lead into a system of tunnels where we can hide out long enough for them to figure out that they have to move on if they’re going to get away with what they’ve done.”

 

“Yeah,” Joe gave a weak, unconvinced smile. He wished that he could share Adam’s enthusiasm but as he thought of that cold, dark cave, he could not shake off the feeling that their situation was about to become a whole heap worse.

 

III

In the fading light, with his mouth set in a grim line and his eyes narrowed in concentration, Adam stared one last time at the route he had plotted through the rocks towards the cave. He judged distance with an accurate eye, trying to identify areas of potential danger – loose stones that might betray their position, uneven ground that might twist an ankle, unstable ground that might give way. They were going to move under cover of darkness. There would be little light from a moon on the wane to illuminate their path. It would protect them from visible detection but it would heighten the risk of making a careless and therefore noisy move.

 

Joe was talking, chattering in soft tones, and had kept up a predominantly one-sided conversation for the best part of an hour, oblivious to the fact that his brother was not responding. Adam knew why Joe was doing it; the boy was scared and felt that the alternative – the enveloping silence -was threatening, so Adam bit his tongue and refrained from making a cutting remark, anything that might spark an argument. Joe, under pressure, would explode and Adam had to remind himself that his little brother was only fifteen. At least Joe had the presence of mind to keep his voice low but the fierce whisper was wearing on Adam’s nerves.

 

Gradually, Joe’s words filtered through and, in the gathering gloom, Adam smiled to himself. Trust Joe! He was in a tight situation yet his thoughts were on a forthcoming dance in Virginia City and his desire to invite Mary Beth to accompany him. She was proving to be a very popular young lady since her folks had moved into the area to run the mercantile. Adam had thought he was besotted with Laurie. Ah well, that was young love for you, or at least for Joe. With his hazel eyes, mop of tousled chestnut hair and an endearing smile, it was little wonder that he was always facing the problem of one girl too many. He was too much in demand and too weak to make choices; he hated to upset any of the girls who clamoured for his attention.

 

Suddenly, Joe’s voice caught, the change in the boy’s tone immediately alerting Adam. His head snapped round and he looked at his youngest brother.

 

“I’m sorry,” Joe whispered, his eyes brimming with tears.

 

“What are you sorry for?” Adam had not being paying enough attention to understand the cause of this new direction.

 

“I’m being stupid, aren’t I? Talking on and on about the dance when it’s more’n likely we won’t be around to see tomorrow, let alone Saturday. You reckon Pa’s looking for us yet?”

 

“Quit talking like that,” Adam ordered as gently as he could. He berated himself for ignoring the boy for so long that the fears had had the chance to take hold. He took a deep breath and injected his voice with some confidence. “We’re not finished yet, Joe, not by a long way and yeah, Pa’ll be out with Hoss right now.”

 

“But we’re nowhere near the trail we should be on.”

 

“They’ll be looking for us, Joe.” Adam sounded firm, insistent, and he found himself willing his words to be the truth. They had to believe, the pair of them, that they were going to get out of this. Maybe their Pa would get to them before much more time had elapsed but in the meantime, they were on their own. They had to look out for each other; he had to look out for Joe. He’d promised his Pa always to keep the boy safe and he was not about to break that promise now.

 

“Why don’t you scoot on over here?” he suggested, edging to his left to make room for Joe. “I want to show you what we’re gonna do and we have to be quiet. We move as soon as it’s properly dark. I don’t want them getting any notion to creep up on us.”

 

“I thought you said they wouldn’t come for us until morning?”

 

“Probably at dawn; enough light so’s they can see what they’re doing. They’ll hope to catch us napping. They’ll move up at night though, to the base of the rocks so that they’ll be in a better position. They’d be too exposed in daylight; they’d expect me to pick ’em off.”

 

Joe nodded and crawled to his brother’s side, watching him with eyes that conveyed unquestioning loyalty and trust.

 

“Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do. See that rock to the left that looks like the huge slice of Hop Sing’s apple pie that Hoss cut himself for a snack last night …” Here, he pointed into the fading light, picking out landmarks as he explained the path he had chosen for them both and his heart lifted as he heard Joe’s soft snort of suppressed laughter at the images he created.

 

IV

Seth Walker huddled a little closer to the fire and pulled up the collar of his sheepskin jacket round his ears, cursing the cold that seeped into his ageing bones.

 

“I ain’t spending another night out here. We go in an’ get ‘em in the mornin’, soon as it’s sun up and then we high tail it outa here,” he announced to no one in particular, his voice gruff with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. He cleared his throat, turned and spat into the dark earth at his side.

 

“Don’t rightly know why ya didn’t do that this afternoon,” another voice said eventually. It was deceptively soft – a throwaway comment – but it was spoken by the one who had brought down the fleeing horse earlier in the day.

 

“Didn’t see you leading the way, Walt,” Walker observed. The challenge was unmistakable.

 

“Just waiting for the word, Seth; just waiting for the word.” Again there was the lilting cadence of the southern drawl. Its owner, Walt Mitchell, stretched out his hands towards the fire and rubbed them together briskly, appreciating the warmth that began to restore feeling to his otherwise numb fingers.

 

“Since when did that stop you?” the big tracker demanded, reaching for the metal coffee pot that warmed on the stones encircling the burning wood.

 

“Quit bellyachin’,” Walker ordered, “and pour me a coffee.”

 

“You reckon they’ll try an’ slip past us in the dark, Pa?” The youth joined the group, crouching on his haunches and running a hand through his dirty blond hair.

 

“Maybe, Billy boy, but you keep your voice down and take the first watch and then p’raps you’ll hear ’em creepin’ past.” Walker’s voice dripped with a biting sarcasm.

 

“We shouldn’t give them the chance. When it gets dark enough, we oughta move in a little closer anyways,” Mitchell suggested.

 

“Since when did you get to be leader and start giving orders?” The tracker demanded, failing to mask his animosity towards the other man.

 

“Settle down, Nate. Walt’s just making a suggestion, is all. Ain’t that right, Walt?”

 

There was a long pause until Mitchell gave a loud sigh which diffused the tension. “Yeah, that’s right.”

 

In the fading light, he looked long and hard at the older man who had saved his life some four years before and whom he had unquestioningly followed ever since, but Seth Walker was getting older and with his advancing years, he was getting slower and more careless. Things were not helped by his headstrong and reckless son. It had been a thoughtless deed by the boy that had led to the unfortunate yet necessary deaths of the Wilkerson family and then those other two had ridden up, interrupting the proceedings.

 

In an instant, Walt Mitchell had recognised the man in black and knew that he would have no peace as long as the arrogant, self-righteous Adam Cartwright continued to breathe. There had been a brief exchange of bullets and then Cartwright and the runt with him had made a bid for freedom, no doubt to report the crime they had discovered. The chase had gone on for several hours until they had reached the current impasse.

 

The hunters could not remain in the area beyond this night. It would only be a matter of time before someone else paid a visit to the Wilkerson ranch, discovering its grizzly contents, and the gang’s tracks were still too fresh. Not only that, but if Cartwright’s rich daddy got to missing his little boy, he’d not waste time sending out the search parties. Once Mitchell had identified one of their quarry and mentioned the name Cartwright, Nate Walker had fixed on the notion of taking the rancher’s son hostage and demanding a ransom but Mitchell had immediately dismissed the idea: holding someone captive and making contact with the family would take too long. Old man Walker had chosen to ignore his nephew and had sided with Mitchell, thus initiating the tension but the decision was made. Cartwright must be silenced, permanently, along with whoever it was that rode with him.

 

Mitchell turned to look in the direction where he knew his prey was hiding. He had heard a lot about Cartwright and was convinced that Walker was underestimating the young man, giving him the chance to slip away under cover of night. Flight would not be easy; he – Walt Mitchell – had seen to that when he cut down that splendid creature. It was a shame for he could have made good use of a fine piece of horse flesh like that but the two runaways were down to one mount and, if Nate had done his tracking properly, that was showing signs of being in trouble too. Mitchell’s eyes bored into the gathering darkness.

 

“Now what would I do if I was you, Cartwright?” he asked himself quietly, imagining himself inside the head of the man he hunted. He weighed up the options of trying to creep past the camped group or of climbing out the valley without light. Both had elements of the suicidal in them but, equally, they had the opportunity of success if Walker and his men did not move closer when they had the opening.

 

There was also the cave. Mitchell had spotted it as daylight was diminishing. If Cartwright and the other one made it in there, they could defend themselves for longer and take out some or all of Walker’s group in the attempt. There might be tunnels that could lead to freedom elsewhere or at least provide a labyrinth of hiding places, wasting more valuable time in the hunt.

 

No, Mitchell sighed again. The end, when it came, had to be quick. His hand surreptitiously slid under the flap of the leather saddlebag on the ground by his side and his fingers closed over the remaining crude explosives that were concealed there.

 

“You go into that cave, Cartwright, and I guarantee you won’t be walking out again.” Walt Mitchell’s jaw muscles tightened with determination as he whispered his ominous words into the darkness.

 

V

In the oldest yet best restaurant that Virginia City could boast, Ben laid the fork on his empty plate and dabbed at his lips with the chequered napkin before giving the smile of a man contentedly replete.

 

“Ah, that was an excellent meal,” he commented and then shot his middle son a warning glare, “but don’t go telling Hop Sing I said so.”

 

“More than my life’s worth, Pa,” Hoss agreed amiably. “Goes without saying I want to stay on your good side but I sure don’t want to upset the little guy by repeatin’ your words. He’ll only up and decide to take it out on me by givin’ me bread and water rations.”

 

Ben laughed at the thought of his big son being restricted to such a meagre diet. “I believe that’s a case of ‘don’t shoot the messenger’.”

 

“Whatever you say, Pa,” Hoss said, only half listening. He was concentrating too hard on the dessert section of the menu. “I think I’m gonna get me some of that blueberry pie,” and he craned his neck in search of the petite local girl who waited on tables. Even as he raised his hand to attract her attention, the door to the street partially opened and a face appeared, eyes sweeping the room and settling on the Cartwrights. The face disappeared and the door opened wider as Sheriff Roy Coffee entered and threaded his way through the tables to where father and son sat in the farthest corner.

 

“Evenin’, Sheriff,” Hoss greeted him with a broad grin.

 

“Roy, good to see you.” Ben’s welcome was warm and enthusiastic as he looked up at his old friend. “Pull up a chair and join us.”

 

“Hoss, Ben.” The Sheriff nodded to each in turn but remained standing, his face grim and his fingers picking with an uncharacteristic nervousness at flecks of dust on the hat he held.

 

With an instinct born of many years of fatherhood, Ben knew that something was wrong and his breath caught as fear gripped him.

 

“What is it, Roy?” His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

 

“Not here, Ben. I’d sooner we talked about this down at the jail,” and Roy made a move back towards the door.

 

Hoss watched the sheriff walk away and looked back at his father, mouth open in undisguised surprise. “Now what do you reckon that was all about?”

 

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling your brothers are involved.” Ben threw the napkin on the table and rose to his feet, his eyes fixed upon the sheriff who glanced back at him with an odd expression.

 

Hoss wondered fleetingly what kind of mischief his siblings might have got themselves into and was about to make a barbed comment when he noted his father’s hesitation and realised that this was not the moment to try to be amusing.

 

“You go on, Pa, and I’ll take care of things here.”

 

Ben nodded briefly in acknowledgement and strode after the lawman even as Hoss pulled some folded bills from his vest pocket, selected several, and scattered them haphazardly across the tablecloth. In a matter of seconds, the big man was heading down the boardwalk towards the jail in the wake of his father and the Sheriff.

 

The two older men had covered the short distance in an uneasy silence, Ben’s mind racing with all manner of problems that might have beset his sons. His breathing quickened and his heart pounded as he recognised that Roy had to be the bearer of bad news if he were so reluctant to divulge it in a public place. All he could think of was the fact that Adam and Joe had happily ridden out together on business two days earlier and were due back today. Indeed, after the impromptu meal in town, Ben had expected to find them at home waiting for him and Hoss.

 

“Okay, Roy, out with it,” he insisted as soon as they were alone. He took the proffered seat against the wall and waited as Roy Coffee settled himself with a sigh behind the huge pinewood desk.

 

“A rider came in about half an hour ago with some news from up Silverton way. Seems like the bank there got held up late yesterday by a gang of four – real desperate characters. Shot one of the bank tellers for no reason – just wanted to show they were in control, I guess. From there, they lit out and ended up at the Wilkerson ranch; holed up there overnight. Anyways, it got out of hand and they turned on the family, ranch foreman and one of the hands some time mid-morning and..” Here Roy’s voice trailed off as he fought to find the words. “Things were going bad when your boys rode up, Ben.”

 

Ben gave an involuntary gasp and struggled to ask what he needed to know, yet dreaded hearing. “What about Adam and Joseph? Where are they? What’s happened?”

 

“Now that we don’t rightly know, Ben. There was a bit of a shoot-out but both boys were fine when they were seen riding away from the house. Trouble is, the gang took off after them. Reckon they think the boys had seen more than they should.”

 

“But how do you know this much?” Ben demanded, his voice resonating with a new-found strength as he absorbed the information that his sons had at least survived the encounter at the Wilkerson spread.

 

“The foreman, Pete Mason, didn’t die straight off. He was still alive an hour later when another hand returned for something and found them all. The family were killed outright …”

 

“All of them?” interrupted Hoss in horrified disbelief as he thought of the large Wilkerson clan: John and Martha and their brood of five little ones, the oldest being no more than nine years old.

 

“All of them,” Roy confirmed, “and the ranch hand, but Mason was badly wounded in the attack. It was only the arrival of Adam and Joe that stopped the gang from finishing him off there and then. Mason lasted long enough to give a description of the gang and said how the boys had been there. The ranch-hand knew of you, Ben, and sent another guy this way to deliver a message while he rode back to town and told the sheriff.”

 

“Didn’t this messenger see any trace of Adam and Little Joe on the way here?”

 

“No, Hoss. Seems like they were driven off in another direction.”

 

Silence fell upon the room as each of them digested the information and the implications it held for the two missing brothers.

 

“Where’s this hand who brought the message?” Hoss asked eventually.

 

“Over at the Bucket of Blood. He looked like he needed a drink,” Roy explained.

 

Hoss eased himself to his feet and donned his hat. “I’m gonna head over there then.”

 

Ben looked at him with irritated surprise. “Your brothers are in danger and you head to a saloon,” he snapped.

 

Hoss knew that it was only his father’s worry for his other two sons that made him level such an unreasonable accusation. He sighed with infinite patience and spoke softly. “Now, Pa, you ain’t thinking right or you wouldn’t say such a thing. I’m gonna go over just long enough to lay some money on the bar, buy this man a drink. Least I can do after the hard ride he’s had in bringing the news of L’il Joe and Adam.”

 

Ben gave him a weak smile of apology. “You’re right, son. I’m sorry.”

 

“That’s mighty kind of you, Hoss,” Roy added.

 

“Don’t be long though. We need to make a start,” Ben called as an afterthought as Hoss left the room.

 

“Just where d’you think you’re going at this time of night?” Roy asked.

 

“Heading out to the Wilkerson ranch to pick up the boys’ trail from there.”

 

“In the dark? Jest how much of a trail do you expect to find?”

 

“I have to do something, Roy; I can’t just sit here when a desperate gang is after my sons. If I ride out to the Wilkerson place now, I can start from there at first light.”

 

“The boys weren’t headed back this way but we don’t rightly know which direction they took. I’m coming with you and I’m telling you this straight; we head off in the dark and we could miss their trail, destroy it even. We go tracking come tomorrow when we haven’t tried to get some rest and we could miss a whole heap more. We‘ll be ready to leave here at sun-up so we can make the Wilkerson place well before noon.”

 

“That could be too late,” Ben objected, his dark eyes reflecting the depths of his pain even as he noted the wisdom of Roy’s words.

 

“It was this morning when the boys were last seen.” Roy paused and then added quietly, “I hate to say this, but it could be too late right now.”

 

VI

In the recesses of the cave, Adam sat with his back against the hard rock and rubbed yet again at tired eyes before glancing in the direction of what he knew to be the cave mouth. He was not imagining it: dense blackness was surreptitiously giving way to a lighter colour and he knew that dawn would not be long in coming, bringing with it an inevitable attack.

 

It had been a long night and one where he had had no rest, consumed as he was with a sense of foreboding. On reaching the sanctuary of the cave, he and Joe had soon realised that it was not as vast or deep as they had hoped and the euphoria at discovering the reassuring presence of two tunnels was short-lived as they both abruptly came to dead-ends. He had swallowed his disappointment but it had proved too much for Joe, coupled as it was with the terrifying events of the day. The worst had undoubtedly been arriving at the Wilkerson ranch in time to witness a scene of utter carnage. The boy had later sat in the darkness in an uncharacteristic and unnerving silence, despite efforts on Adam’s part to engage him in conversation. It was an irony not lost on the older Cartwright when he considered how he had ignored his youngest brother’s earlier chatter.

 

Sounds reached them of the gang moving up to the base of the rocks from their previous camp and with it came the knowledge that the pursuers were fearless and brazen, so sure were they of their supremacy of fire-power and intimidation. Adam had heard his little brother emit a low whimper and reached out a hand to offer some comfort. He chewed on his bottom lip in suppressed anger at his followers as he felt the boy’s chilled and frightened trembling. He moved closer, hoping to impart some of his own body warmth but, as the hours slipped away, the night temperatures had dropped significantly and he struggled to control his own shivering. At last, Joe had fallen into a restless sleep, his head cushioned against Adam’s shoulder.

 

Now, Adam tentatively altered his uncomfortable position, carefully stretched numb limbs and fought the desire to check weapons one last time. He had done that through the night on countless occasions; deft fingers and the experience of years making up for a lack of sight presented by the darkness. For now, it was enough that Joe slept – there was no telling what the next hour might bring – and Adam did not want to disturb him.

 

*****

Nate Walker lay wrapped in his thin blanket, eyes wide open as his mind wrestled with what had happened to bring him to his present situation. Sleep had not been forthcoming because of the recurring, invasive images of the murdered family. As a thin glimmer of light heralded a new day, he yawned loudly and, with a booted toe, poked viciously at the figure lying at his side. Billy gave a loud yelp and sat bolt upright, wakening his father as he did so and thus putting an end to the sonorous snoring that had infuriatingly permeated much of the night.

 

Running a hand through his shaggy, grey hair, Seth Walker tried to ignore the aching stiffness in his joints but, as he slowly and painfully gained his feet, he silently conceded that sleeping on the ground was not the place for an old man and he gleefully rubbed some feeling back into his hands as he realised that, with the takings from the bank robbery, he could buy some land and build a place at last. Nights spent roughing it in the open were soon to become a thing of the past.

 

“Where’s Walt?” he demanded, his voice rough with sleep and his eyes blinking rapidly as they grew accustomed to the limited light. The fourth member of the group was conspicuous by his absence.

 

Nate nodded in the direction of the cave. “He slipped off some ten minutes ago. Guess he wants to take care of Cartwright all by himself.”

 

“That ain’t fair,” Billy whined as if deprived of some light-hearted entertainment.

 

“Suits me,” Walker growled. “Saves me the effort.”

 

“Maybe he’ll do us all a favour and get himself killed in the process,” Nate muttered.

 

“Don’t hear no shots,” Billy added.

 

“You won’t.” Nate held up Mitchell’s empty saddlebag. “He’s taken the last of the explosives.”

 

Silence ensued as the three Walkers thought about what Mitchell was undertaking.

 

“Guess we’d better get our heads down and wait for the big bang,” Billy shrugged and sat back on the ground.

 

*****

 

In the first slivers of dawn over Virginia City, three horses stood outside the jail, saddled and ready for a hard ride. One shook his head and stamped a hoof, as eager as his master to be off. He whinnied a soft greeting as the door to the sheriff’s office opened and three men emerged, carrying canvas bags.

 

Mouth set in a thin line of grim determination, Ben Cartwright gave his horse an absent-minded pat on the neck and silently swung himself into the saddle. He was already heading down Main Street before his son and companion had secured the supplies and mounted. Hoss and Roy shared worried glances and spurred their horses into motion.

 

If the truth be known, all three had had minimal rest during the night as each pondered the fate of the missing Cartwright brothers and, as Roy drew level with Ben and cast him a sideways look, the Sheriff noted that circumstances were already taking their toll on his friend. He always had such a dignified air but now, with his eyes dark-ringed and heavy from lack of sleep and shoulders slumped with worry, he had the demeanour of an old man.

 

As the three rode west, leaving the outskirts of Virginia City behind them, the sky was noticeably lighter.

 

*****

 

“What’s keeping him?” Nate grumbled from his secure position behind a large rock.

 

“Don’t rightly know,” Billy countered, “but if somethin’ don’t happen soon, I’m goin’ in shootin.”

 

“Hush your mouth,” Seth Walker warned. “Walt’ll do things in his own good time. Any problems an’ we’ll either hear it soon enough, or he’ll be back to tell us.”

 

*****

 

Adam tried to wake the sleeping figure as gently as he could. “C’mon, little brother.”

 

Joe groaned and blearily looked around, disorientated. Adam gave a wry smile; Joe could never be described as a ‘morning person’.

 

“It’s dawn, Joe. We’d best make ready.” Adam pushed himself up and

stood over his younger brother, hand extended to help him to his feet.

 

*****

 

The blast, when it came, was much larger and louder than any the Walkers could have envisaged. Although at a relatively safe distance, they cowered behind their respective cover, hands over heads as some minor detritus fell around them, but it was some time before the rumble of collapsing rock gave way to the lighter shower of small pebbles and even longer before the dust had settled.

 

They were startled as Mitchell materialised beside them, slapping dirt from his shirt with ill-disguised satisfaction.

 

“That should have taken care of Cartwright,” he smirked, nodding back the way he had just come.

 

As one, their heads slowly rose above the rocks and they stared, open-mouthed, at the newly formed wall of boulders and smaller debris which completely sealed what had once been the opening to the cave.

 

VII

Joe opened his eyes; or at least he thought he did, but when he encountered an impenetrable wall of darkness, he began to have his doubts. He took a deep breath and struggled to calm his furiously beating heart as panic threatened to overwhelm him. Gradually, he recalled that he and Adam had taken refuge in the cave overnight. There had been very little to see then either. He remembered being gently shaken awake by Adam and he was just growing aware of his big brother bending over him when there was a deafening noise and then …

 

He was conscious of a weight lying across him, pinning him to the ground and the familiar surge of fear swept over him again. He now realised that there had been an explosion and a cave-in. Incapable of moving, he sensed that whatever it was that immobilised him was not part of the rockfall. It was heavy, admittedly, and chilled but it was pliant.

 

He reached out a tentative hand and made contact with rumpled fabric. Gaining courage, he spread his fingers and gripped a muscular forearm.

 

“Adam? Adam!” Joe gasped, running his hand up the arm to the shoulder and to the nape of the neck. His brother was lying across him face down, his torso covering Joe’s body. Joe frowned. Had Adam known what was about to happen and thrown himself over Joe or had the blast knocked him off his feet, only for him to fall in this protective gesture?

 

Instinctively Joe stroked the hair, gritty with rock dust. “Adam!” There was still no response. His mind began to race. Supposing Adam was badly injured; supposing he was even …? Joe shook his head furiously, refusing to face the alternative. He took several deep breaths as he considered what to do next.

 

“Adam?” he tried again and this time controlled his disappointment when there was no answer. If Adam were hurt, at least he was unconscious so that when Joe attempted to push him off, he could not be caused any more pain and if he were … Joe still could not bring himself to even think the word. Well, then it would not matter anyway but it was imperative that Joe extricate himself to see if there were any chance of escape.

 

With grim determination and grunting with effort, Joe pushed his brother further down and across his thighs. That done, Joe gingerly sat up, bracing himself for the pain he expected and was pleasantly surprised when there was none forthcoming. His head ached a little and exploratory fingers to his temple came away sticky and wet; he did not have to see to know that it was blood but, he conceded, things could have been worse. He gave a low, hollow laugh, far removed from the contagious giggle his family heard so often.

 

How much worse could things get? He and his brother had spent several hours being pursued by a gang of ruthless, murdering outlaws before hiding first behind a pile of rocks and then in this cave. Bad move! Something had caused an explosion and a rockfall, effectively trapping them. He had a crack to the head and Adam …. Well, dark or not, Joe had to find out.

 

In a burst of energy that was a combination of adrenaline and frustration, Joe pushed hard against his brother and struggled to free his legs. It seemed to take forever but was little more than a couple of minutes. Scrambling back to his brother’s side, Joe carefully rolled him over on to his back. Between them, the Cartwright brothers had taken enough knocks and injuries over the years that Joe had frequently seen his father’s work-roughened hands suddenly become gentle and patient as they examined his boys for anything serious. Steeling himself for the worst, he slowly felt his brother’s body and was relieved to discover that none of the limbs were at an awkward angle, there were no breaks through the skin and the clothing was dry to touch so no open, bleeding wounds were apparent. Why would Adam not wake up?

 

He felt again for his brother’s wrist and searched his mind for what he had seen Doctor Martin do more than once to him and his brothers. After several attempts, he found what he thought was the pulse spot. The cave filled with the boy’s rasping breathing, punctuated by desperate sobs as he could not detect the familiar throb. His fingers moved to his brother’s neck but, in his panic, he could not remember where he was supposed to touch. Frantic, he laid his head on Adam’s chest, held his breath and prayed.

 

It was there – the heartbeat. It was there! Not just threadlike and weakening, threatening to give up altogether. Instead, it was strong and rhythmic. Immediately, Joe was reminded of those times when he was very little and his oldest brother had held him close. The child had been mesmerised by the seemingly loud thumping in his small ear and had listened in fascination as Adam had explained to him what he was hearing. To Joe, all those years ago, it had been magical, the essence of his brother’s vitality and powerful presence and now he wept with relief that it continued to beat so firmly.

 

The elation was temporary. Knowing the canteen was empty, incapable of seeing what ailed his brother and wondering what to do next for the best, the short-lived confidence and determination petered out as Joe grabbed his brother’s shirt front and shook him frantically.

 

“Adam? You hear me, Adam? Answer me!” he ordered. “Damn it, Adam!” he yelled. In the recesses of his mind, he hoped vainly that his brother would hear the profanity, open his eyes and correct him. Any chastisement or lecture would be welcome right now.

 

There was only silence.

 

Suddenly, in utter despair and helplessness, Joe scrabbled over the rough ground on his bottom until his back came against the wall. Knees drawn up and arms wrapped tightly around them, he rocked as he fought against a devastating tide of conflicting emotions.

 

“Don’t do this to me, Adam. Please, wake up and talk to me. Tell me what to do. Boss me about; I won’t mind,” his voice faded to a whispered plea. “Just wake up, please.”

 

He looked towards what he thought was the mouth of the cave and he held his breath in disbelief. “Adam, it’s daylight. I can see daylight. I couldn’t have been out of it as long as I thought. The sun’s up and there’s light, Adam. Not much, but it’s there.”

 

The wall of boulders was not as solid as he had feared and, with renewed hope, he looked to where delicate shafts of sunlight split the air between rocks up near the cave roof. He pushed himself to his feet and picked his way carefully towards the rockfall.

 

“I’ll get us out of here, Adam. I swear it, and when we’re well clear, we’ll tell Pa and Roy and anyone else who needs to know just what those outlaws did. They won’t get away with it, Adam. None of it. What they did to the Wilkersons; what they’ve gone and done to us. They’ll pay, Adam; so help me, they’ll pay.”

 

 

VIII

It was late morning when Ben, Roy and Hoss pulled up at the Wilkerson spread, currently being used as a base by the local sheriff and his posse. To the north of the house, seven fresh mounds of varying lengths and marked by crudely fashioned, temporary crosses were the only evidence of the recent tragedy. Two more graves, those of the ranch hand and Mason, were set a short distance apart from the others.

 

The three newcomers stood briefly, hat in hand, paying their respects to the innocent family so viciously cut down.

 

“How could anyone do that to those little ones?” Hoss whispered, his voice catching and his clear blue eyes misting over as he stooped to lay a wild flower on freshly dug earth no more than two feet long. It was the last resting-place of young Lottie, a bright-eyed child with a mass of blonde curls and destined never to see her second birthday. For Hoss, the big-hearted middle son of Ben Cartwright, the pain and injustice of this proved too much and a lone tear tracked its way down his cheek, testimony of a sorrow for a family wiped out in minutes and with no other relatives to mourn their passing.

 

“It’s senseless killing for the sake of it,” Roy answered, his tone embittered.

 

Seeing the graves of this unfortunate family reinforced Ben’s fear that his two sons were in terrible danger. The outlaws that pursued them would stop at nothing to maintain their own freedom. There were to be no witnesses to their heinous act. Adam and Joe had chanced to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Ben suspected that they would pay dearly for that, if they had not already done so.

 

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

 

The three turned to see a tall, well-built man approaching them, his right hand resting lightly on the butt of his gun in warning, the star pinned to his leather vest signalling his authority.

 

“Roy Coffee, Sheriff of Virginia City.” Roy indicated his own badge. “This here’s Ben Cartwright and his son Hoss.”

 

“Clay Fraser, Sheriff of Silverton,” the man announced, extending a hand in greeting to the other lawman. “Cartwright?” He looked thoughtfully as he gave Ben a firm handshake. “They your boys the outlaws went after?”

 

Ben nodded. “Have you found anything yet?”

 

“Sorry. The Wilkersons were a good family. What happened to John and Martha was bad enough but the folks of Silverton took it bad when they heard tell of what happened to the little’uns. A lot of men downed tools and shut up their businesses to come and help so I’ve got three groups of them out in different directions looking for the trail. Mason was able to say that your boys took off in a northerly direction so that’s our main focus.” Fraser pushed his hat back on his head to scratch at his forehead as if puzzling over his plan of action.

 

“We need to think about where they might have headed,” Ben’s mind was racing as he tried to fathom Adam’s thinking. His worry was that the boys’ flight had been so desperate that Adam had just headed in any direction, Joe following, and they had subsequently ridden into some unknown territory, which added to their difficulties.

 

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of six men from the north, their ride surprisingly unhurried considering the circumstances until Ben noticed that one of the men was leading a saddled mare in some distress; it was obvious that she was lame.

 

“Moonshine,” Hoss breathed, recognising the horse immediately as that ridden by Joe. He and Ben crossed rapidly to the animal and while Hoss checked on the cause of the lameness, Ben swiftly examined her for any other injuries.

 

“She threw a shoe, Pa; that’s all,” Hoss told him.

 

“There’s no other hurt,” Ben confirmed, “nor is there any sign of blood anywhere.”

 

“So we can hope that Little Joe’s okay?” Hoss asked.

 

Ben looked at him closely, saw the eager desire for reassurance and smiled weakly. “Yes, son. We can hope that. Where did you find her?” He fired the question at the man who led her.

 

“Just over an hour north of here; she was coming towards us,” the man answered. “Was easy to get a hold of her. If anything, she seemed pleased to see us.”

 

“She’s got a good temperament,” Hoss explained.

 

“Don’t know how long she’d been free and roaming. ’Bout another hour north of where we caught her, at her speed, the main trail forks. She could have come from either direction or she could have been goin’ round in circles. We have no way of knowin’ for sure.”

 

“But it gives us a starting point,” Ben said with renewed hope. Looking around, he took a few steps and picked up a sharp-ended segment of wood discarded as unsuitable for the makeshift crosses.

 

Crouching, he used the wood to draw a rough map in the loose soil. Silverton was a long, hard ride northwest of the Ponderosa and between. almost in a direct line, lay the Wilkerson spread and then Reno. From where he placed their current position, he added another line at an angle and from its uppermost point, he drew a fork. If the boys had gone to the left, they were well on their way north; if they had headed to the right, they were on another trail roughly parallel to the Silverton- Reno route and so they were at least heading in the rough direction of home. He sighed; it would take them through some very inhospitable country and they would end up joining a main trail some forty miles north of Virginia City. He raised his head and looked in the direction his sons had travelled when they had fled the ranch as if he could see exactly where they were.

 

“Did you have to take the long way home, boys?” He whispered to no-one in particular.

 

******

In a saloon on the outskirts of Reno, four weary and dishevelled men were drinking their fill of cheap whisky when a dapper little man in a grey suit and black ribbon tie burst through the swing doors and approached the bar.

 

“Well look at you!” the bartender exclaimed, pouring a beer unbidden and pushing it across to the new arrival. “How come you’re dressed up like a dandy, Samuel?”

 

“I had me some business in Virginia City and the whole place is buzzing’.” Samuel visibly glowed with pride as he imparted his valuable news. “Seems like that Ben Cartwright has got himself a whole heap of trouble again. He and his middle son – you know, the real big guy – and Sheriff Coffee took off early this morning.”

 

At the Cartwright name, men stopped their talking to listen closely, some even picking up their drinks and leaving their tables to encircle the messenger, intent on not missing a word. The Cartwrights were well known in the area and, whether some liked it or not, they brought a lot of business to Reno as well as the bigger Virginia City.

 

“His other two sons have gone missing – had themselves a run-in with some bank robbers.”

 

Walt Mitchell set his glass down on the table and concentrated. So the little runt was a Cartwright as well.

 

“Those Cartwright boys are more’n capable of looking after themselves,” another voice cut in.

 

“The youngest is only a kid,” someone objected.

 

“Yeah but that Adam Cartwright has a good head on his shoulders. He’ll look after the youngster all right.” Yet another man spoke up.

 

“You’re right there. Have yet to meet the man who can best Cartwright. I’ve known him take a bullet or a beating and he’s always come back for more. He’s like the cat with nine lives.”

 

“One of these days he’s gonna use up number nine.” At that prophetic announcement, the gathering laughed.

 

“He just did,” came the drunken mumble from Mitchell’s left so that he could just hear it. He had not realised that Seth Walker had been listening in on the conversation as well. As he looked at Walker, the older man raised his glass to him in a silent toast.

 

Mitchell was not so forthcoming in his celebrations. A sudden niggling fear gripped him. Admittedly he had blown up the entrance to the cave and the rocks had sealed the entrance but he had not seen a body. In fact, he had just assumed Cartwright was dead. Now the words of these townsfolk who knew the young man well threw doubt in his mind. He had thought the Adam Cartwright problem was solved but now he was not so sure and, to make matters worse, the boy with him was his youngest brother and their father, mobilised by worry for his sons and with any amount of money backing him, was on the move.

 

If the old man were to find where his sons were and either one of them had survived … His thoughts trailed off. What should he do?

 

The temptation was strong to go back .

 

 

IX

Joe was still staring at the thin shafts of sunlight when there was a low moan behind him. Wheeling round, he scrambled back, hands outstretched, to where he believed his brother lay. His fumbling fingers found a hip, a shoulder. Adam was sitting up.

 

“Adam? At last! I thought you were never going to wake up.” His relief was evident.

 

“If I’d known I was waking up to this headache, I wouldn’t have bothered,” came the caustic reply.

 

“Maybe you’re concussed.” Joe was trying to be helpful.

 

“I’ll live.” Adam’s voice softened. “What about you, little brother? You okay?”

 

“I cut my head but it’s stopped bleeding now. I’ve been looking for a way out and I reckon we can clear some of that smaller rubble near the cave roof. We’ll let in more light and we’ll be able to go on from there.” Joe was warming to his subject and eager to prove to his brother that he had not been wasting any time.

 

“Good work, Joe.” Adam staggered to his feet and groaned at the movement. Joe put out a steadying hand. “I’m okay,” he stressed. “Let’s see about getting out of here.”

 

Carefully, they made their way to the base of the rockfall. It sloped out at the bottom but was precarious. The instant Adam applied his weight to the lower boulders, they shifted and the brothers had to leap back as some larger rocks rolled to their feet.

 

“I’m lighter than you. Let me get up there,” Joe offered.

 

Adam hesitated. The rockfall was unstable and he could not bear to think of Joe coming through the initial crisis relatively unscathed only to suffer serious injury now, but he knew Joe spoke sense and that they had no other alternative.

 

“Just go slow and steady,” he advised, clenching his teeth and breathing heavily with anxiety as Joe began to clamber up the steep slope to the meagre gaps some eight or nine feet above the cave floor, the danger heightened because of the lack of visibility.

 

They worked together; Joe handing down the small rocks to his brother who took them off, one by one, creating a new mound some distance away. Frustration and impatience ate at Adam as Joe passed him another rock and he suppressed the urge to hurl it aside but years of mining experience had taught him that the state of the cave was unpredictable. Whilst he could not see clearly, he did not know whether a further section of roof might collapse and he was angry with himself that the bulk of the hard work was being undertaken by his younger brother.

 

It was a good two hours later before more rays of light punctured the darkness to provide an eerie gloom. Joe sat down to take a rest and ease the kinks out of complaining muscles. He watched as Adam remained standing, arching his back against the aches and pains. All the while, the elder Cartwright was studying the roof and the wall of fallen rocks.

 

“What do you reckon?” Joe asked.

 

“I reckon the guy who set the explosives didn’t really know what he was doing.” Adam looked at Joe and grinned broadly. “Either that or he was too scared of us to come any closer.”

 

“How d’you make that out?” Joe watched as his brother lowered himself to the ground beside him with a groan.

 

“He laid it outside. Most of the blast went outwards and not into the cave itself. It’s brought down mainly external rock with only a bit collapsing inside the mouth itself.” They fell silent as each thought of the narrow escape they had had.

 

“I’m sorry, Joe,” Adam said eventually, his voice soft and tinged with sadness.

 

“Why?” Joe was not expecting an apology.

 

“It was a stupid idea to come in here. I led you into a trap and it nearly got both of us killed. Heck, we’re not out of trouble yet.”

 

“That what you’ve been brooding about? Adam, if you hadn’t had the idea to head here, they’d have shot us for sure this morning. We didn’t have the ammunition to last long. Mind you,” he shrugged, “I wasn’t expecting the ceiling to come crashing down but we’re still breathing so I’m not complaining.” He looked at his brother and began to giggle. Adam raised an eyebrow quizzically but Joe laughed even harder.

 

“You want to see yourself,” he spluttered. Adam, usually so clean and smart, was covered in a cloying grey dust that discoloured his torn clothing and aged him prematurely. Looking down at himself, he understood what Joe meant.

 

“You’re no oil painting either,” he countered. “Anyway, let’s get back to it.” He stood and pulled Joe to his feet.

 

“Okay, Boss,” the youngster quipped. “What’s next?”

 

Adam was at the centre of the slope and, getting a secure foothold, began to gingerly climb. “We’ve got rid of the small, loose stuff so now I can come up and help out. It’s time to make us a bigger hole, little brother, and rejoin the outside world.”

 

“I’m with you there.” Joe flashed him an encouraging smile and started his own ascent.

 

*****

It was not to be that easy. After what seemed like hours of hard graft resulting only in bruised and bloodied hands, they sat again, chests heaving and sweat-soaked from the exertion. An air of despondency shrouded them.

 

“We’d better give it another try,” Joe said tiredly and attempted to move but Adam’s hand snaked out and caught his arm, holding him back.

 

“No; we’ve shifted all we can between us and we just have to face it, we haven’t the strength to do anymore.”

 

“Then we’ll rest and we’ll start again,” Joe insisted. “We have to make a hole that’s big enough.”

 

“It’s big enough now, Joe – for you.”

 

Joe stared open-mouthed, unable to break away from Adam’s steady gaze. “What are you saying?” he whispered.

 

“You can get through now. There’s probably a couple of hours of daylight left for you to cover some distance.”

 

“No. No, I’m not going to leave you.” He grabbed Adam’s shirtfront as if to prove his point.

 

“You have to. There’s no point both of us staying here when you can escape and get some help. You’re my only hope, Joe. I need you to go.”

 

Adam slowly prised Joe’s fingers open and pulled free of the intense grip.

 

In his heart, Joe knew his brother was right. The hole they had made was large enough for Joe to wriggle through with a few scrapes but all his pushing or pulling would never help Adam to worm his way through the space with his broader frame.

 

He took a deep breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. This was the hardest thing his big brother had ever asked him to do but he would do it; he had to. Adam’s life depended on it.

 

“I know Pa doesn’t let you use a gun but you know how to and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind this time. You take it with you and its ammunition.” Adam pressed the weapon into Joe’s hands.

 

“No, I can’t. You might need it; there might be rattlesnakes or something.”

 

“Joe, if there were rattlers in here, don’t you think we’d have heard them by now? They wouldn’t be too happy with the noise we’ve been making. Besides,” and he paused to give a low laugh, “I’ve got a pile of rocks to throw at them or I could hit them over their heads with the rifle!” He was rewarded by a spontaneous chuckle from Joe. “You might be in more need of it.”

 

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he saw Joe’s eyes widen in terror at the thought of the outlaws possibly still being in the area.

 

“You’re more likely to see the snakes,” Adam hastily added.

 

The separation was a long time coming as Adam continued to convince the youngster to climb to safety and familiarised him with the route back to the trail they had left. Eventually, there was a final embrace and Joe’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears as he looked back from the entrance to the hole and down at his brother.

 

“Go on, Joe. I’m counting on you, little brother,” Adam smiled encouragingly.

 

“I won’t let you down, Adam,” Joe vowed.

 

“I know you won’t.”

 

And Joe was gone.

 

Much later, when the sun had gone down and the cave was once more plunged into a suffocating blackness, the strain of the past two days took its toll. Adam shivered in the cold of the night and gasped as he tried to flex numb, torn fingers encrusted with dried blood. His insides ached with hunger and thirst but, more than that, there was the pain of self-doubt and guilt. He had sent Joe wandering off in open country, with no water, a gun and a few rounds of ammunition. Would the boy have the strength to walk the necessary miles for help? Adam did not believe the outlaws would still be around … but supposing they were? There were plenty of other dangers out there for Joe to face and Adam was no longer with the boy to look after him. What other choice did he have? He was consumed with an overwhelming sense of failure; he had broken his promise to his father to protect Joe. Adam had never felt so alone as at that moment and he felt the first pangs of a gnawing fear that could only worsen with the long lours of waiting.

 

“Pa,” he whispered as he thought of the man he adored and badly wanted to hear his deep, familiar voice reassuring him that everything would be okay. Broken by an uncharacteristic despair, Adam Cartwright bowed his head and wept.

 

 

X

It was the early hours of the morning before Ben allowed himself to give into the exhaustion that consumed him and it was all too soon that Hoss was shaking him awake with a welcome mug of strong, black coffee. Easing himself into a sitting position and trying to ignore the aches garnered from a restless night on a hard floor in the Wilkerson ranch house, Ben smiled gratefully at his middle son and winced as he took a sip of the scalding liquid.

 

“Figured you’d not got much sleep again so I tried to leave ya as long as I could, Pa,” Hoss explained squatting down beside his father. “The sheriff’s wanting to get everyone out in the next half hour.” The big man grinned. “Just gives us time to get ourselves some breakfast.”

 

Ben suddenly became aware of the smell of frying bacon and he looked across the room to where two men stood cooking at the range. Even as he watched, he noted that they did their task with unusual and infinite care as if they were afraid to incur the wrath of the departed Mrs Wilkerson by damaging any of her equipment. It did seem odd, making themselves at home working at the stove of a murdered woman but the men gathered in pursuit of justice on her behalf needed the sustenance to see them through the day. Ben doubted if Martha Wilkerson would mind.

 

By the time he had freshened up and had a shave, Hoss had saddled their horses, fastened the bedrolls and retrieved two plates of bacon and bread for them both. They were eating in silence when Roy joined them.

 

“Morning, Ben. You look like you got a bit of sleep last night. Jest as well as it might be a long day. Sheriff Fraser’s given out the areas that still need to be covered. He figures we should head on out to that part you drew on that map yesterday an’ he ‘s given us another three men. Doesn’t want us to run into that gang an’ be outnumbered right from the start.”

 

“Not like the boys were,” Ben observed, his mood already darkening.

 

“No,” Roy agreed warily. “But heck, Ben, them boys o’yourn are more than capable o’ lookin’ after themselves. The last they were seen they were hightailin’ it outa here and they were as right as rain. We’ve not heard anythin’ that tells us otherwise.”

 

“Roy’s right, Pa. Big brother’s gotta good head on his shoulders an’ he’ll make sure they stay away from that gang. I reckon he and L’il Joe are probably back home by now an’ wonderin’ what all the fuss is about,” Hoss threw in optimistically. His father nodded but Hoss knew from the tightly drawn brows that Ben remained unconvinced.

 

“The other men are outside and saddled up so we’ll hit the road as soon as you’re ready,” Roy encouraged.

 

Ben looked down at his half-eaten breakfast and found that he had suddenly lost his appetite. Throwing a chunk of bread on the plate beside some cooling bacon, he set the whole thing to one side and rose. Grimly, he donned his hat and headed for the door. “I’m ready right now.”

 

 

XI

Little Joe blinked hard in the heat of the midday sun and, with the back of a grimy hand, wiped away the stinging sweat that had trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. He squinted and tried to focus on the object in the distance, unable to determine whether it was moving towards him or away.

 

Stumbling, he struggled to maintain his footing, fearing that if he went down, he might stay there, such was the extent of his exhaustion. He stopped, his breathing heavy and laboured as he fought the desire to curl up and rest. There was no time for such a luxury. When Adam was out of that forsaken tomb, then there would be plenty of time to rest. As it was, several hours of inactivity had been forced upon him during the night. Severe cloud cover had obliterated what little moon there might have been and he was afraid that he would miss the trail or fall and injure himself, rendering him incapable of securing help for himself or his brother, and so he had snatched some restless sleep before the dawn had allowed him to continue.

 

Licking his dry lips, he started forward, concentrating only upon putting one foot in front of the other and desperately trying to banish all thoughts of Adam, trapped and alone. He, too, was alone but at least he was on the move and able to do something, unlike Adam who was utterly helpless.

 

Joe fought to suppress his anger. Maybe he and Adam should have tried again, harder. Perhaps they had given in too soon. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it and cast a glance down at his bruised and cut fingers, hurt when he had torn at the rock with his bare hands. They had done what they could with their combined strength and shifted all the rock that was possibly moveable.

 

Adam trusted him and it was now up to him to find some assistance. The opening they had created between them had ensured that some fresh air was entering the cave and, if necessary, Adam could climb to the gap in the rock, but the eldest Cartwright son had now gone almost two days without water and slightly longer without food. With the exertion of his enforced walk, Joe was feeling the effects of lack of sustenance himself, enough to cause him to sway light-headedly.

 

He paused again and stared ahead, a vain hope causing his heart to skip a beat as he realised that whatever it was, it was definitely approaching. Gradually, as he waited, it took on a more recognisable shape, that of a man and two mules. The stranger sat astride one and led the other.

 

Joe waved his arms wildly and let out a cry, “Hey! Hey! Over here,” but all that he could muster was a dry, rasping croak. He broke into a run, tripped, fell headlong and scrambled to his feet again.

 

The grizzled old timer was singing loudly and tunelessly to himself as he rode along so that he could not hear Joe’s feeble attempts to attract his attention and his short-sightedness meant that he was almost upon the boy before saw him. Surprised as he was, he hung on the rope that passed for reins and struggled to steady the mule as it executed a sideways manoeuvre and brayed noisily at being startled by the youth who leapt in front of it. The old man nervously eyed the gun hooked into the top of Joe’s pants. Even buckled on the last hole, Adam’s gunbelt was too big and threatened to slip down over Joe’s slender hips so it had been left behind.

 

“Please, you’ve gotta help me,” Joe gasped, sinking to his knees in relief.

 

“Well now, young’un; you’re a mite outa your way out here. What’s happened to your horse and what kinda help might ya be needin’?” The old man slipped from the mule’s back and unhooked a canteen of water before closing in on Joe.

 

“I’m Joe Cartwright; my Pa owns the Ponderosa,” Joe introduced himself, eyes fixed upon the canteen.

 

“Cartwright. I reckon I know the name,” and the old man held out the water. Joe seized it and took several consecutive mouthfuls, mindful that he should not gulp down the precious liquid in case it sickened him. “So how come you’re out this way on foot?”

 

Quickly, Joe related the basic details of what had befallen him and his brother. It seemed so long now since they had arrived at the Wilkerson ranch to witness the immediate aftermath of nothing short of a massacre, or so it had seemed to Joe. Even the ensuing flight from the outlaws had faded in his memory. All that was uppermost was the night spent in the cave and then the explosion intended to incarcerate the Cartwright siblings for eternity. Now Joe had had the good fortune of crossing the path of one Jedediah Theakstone: explorer, odd-job man, prospector and free spirit.

 

“I need you to help me get my brother free,” Joe insisted, having told Theakstone about Adam.

 

“Now then, young Joe, I’m a-reckoning that I ain’t that strong if’n your big brother’s weight couldn’t shift no more o’ that stuff. What say you climb up on ol’ Bessy here an’ I’ll ride Dolly an’ we’ll light out back the way I come. I passed a spread a few hours back an’ there was a whole heap of activity goin’ on there; don’t rightly know why but there was lots o’ men there and maybe they can give us some help.”

 

Joe thought for a moment, struggling to get his bearings. A shiver ran down his spine as it struck him that the spread in question belonged to none other than the Wilkersons; he was heading back to where the atrocity had occurred and every instinct informed him that he did not want to go back and see that place again.

 

He took a number of deep breaths to control his shaking. Somehow he had got turned around from the instructions Adam had given him. The intention was that he should get back to the trail and continue heading in the direction of home which would take him through a small town, but he had missed it. Instead, he had been heading back along their original route and straight to the scene of the awful murders If that was where the men were – probably a sheriff and his posse looking for the outlaws – then that was where he had to go for assistance, as much as he did not like the idea.

 

Joe studied the mule intended for him to ride. With its morose expression and head hanging low, it did not look the most reliable beast to take his weight but it was infinitely better than walking. Even by mule, the journey was likely to take over four hours as it was. With a deep sigh, Joe approached the animal and stroked its nose. He picked up the rope round its neck and made to climb on its back.

 

“Bessy you say?” He looked to the old man for confirmation and Jedediah nodded. “Well, Bessy, you an’ me are going to be together for a few hours and I need you to get a move on. No fooling about, you hear me?” and he scratched at one of the mule’s ears as he clicked his tongue and touched her sides with his booted heels. As if sensing the urgency in his voice and the tension in his body language, the mule shuffled into motion and headed off down the trail, going back the way she had just travelled.

 

 

XII

“You’re loco. You can’t go back there,” Seth Walker hissed, the smell of alcohol strong on his already rancid breath.

 

“I have to know,” Walt Mitchell insisted as he made sure his bedroll and meagre belongings were fastened tightly to the back of his saddle. They were gathered outside the saloon where they had drunk their fill.

 

“What’s there to know? Cartwright’s in his grave and that’s all there is to it. Listen to me,” and he grabbed Mitchell by the arm, turning him to look into his face. “You’ll be heading into all sorts of trouble. You go back to that cave and like as not, Cartwright and his kid brother were dead right from the explosion but there’s a posse after us, as well as Cartwright’s old man. They catch sight of you in the area and it’s well and truly over for you – and for us.”

 

“You saying I’ll talk?” Mitchell’s eyes hardened, his voice filled with antagonism.

 

“Course that’s not what I’m saying. You wouldn’t tell no-one; leastways not intentionally, but there’s no knowing what they might do to get you to talk, especially if the ol’ man reckons there’s any chance of findin’ his boys still breathing. Then there’s what he’d do to you if’n he found ‘em already dead.”

 

“But if he finds one of them alive, then he’ll still want revenge and they know what we look like. They saw us without masks, remember? Besides, that posse is looking for four men riding together. Well, now that li’l skunk is spreadin’ the word all over Reno about the Cartwright boys and them bank robbers, how long d’ya figure it’s gonna be before folks start puttin’ things together and takin’ a closer look at us strangers – all four of us?” Mitchell countered, leaning in closer to keep his voice low. He was aware of Nate and Billy lounging against posts on the periphery of his vision and carefully watching the tense exchange between the two men.

 

Walker gave a low, rough laugh. “Then we’ll mosey on outa here, easy like. We was always just passin’ through.” His laugh cut off abruptly, “But we all ride together, got it?” His tone oozed an unforgiving menace and Mitchell saw the two younger men straighten from their positions, their hands hovering round the guns strapped to their thighs.

 

“Easy, boys,” Walker warned. “We don’t want no fallin’ out and shootin’ here in Reno’s main street, do we? Don’t want to be drawin’ any more attention to ourselves. Walt here is just thinking things through, sortin’ out his head, but he’s all right now, ain’t you, Walt?”

 

Outnumbered for now, Walt Mitchell nodded his head submissively but inside, he was in turmoil. The tension within the group had been mounting and he knew now that he had to watch his back. Billy and, more likely, Nate would be looking for a chance to bring things to a head and put a bullet in him. Money from the heist split three ways was a lot more lucrative than that split between four. He wasn’t family, as they constantly reminded him, and the resentment towards him whenever he tried to put forward a point of view was worsening.

 

The Walkers just could not see that the robbery was bad enough but the trail of devastation they had left in their wake – at least ten dead and possibly twelve – meant that there was no way they could escape the hangman’s noose if they were caught. The dead teller in Silverton was down to trigger-happy Billy and he had gone on to start the shooting at the Wilkerson ranch. Mitchell had been prepared to do most things to defend himself but the slaughter of small children was beyond being despicable, even in his eyes. It had seemed to give Billy Walker a sickeningly perverse pleasure – the boy wasn’t right in the head.

 

Then Adam Cartwright had ridden in and Mitchell knew their situation had gotten a whole lot worse. He’d heard of Cartwright’s reputation and it frightened him for here was a young man who would not let it rest until those who had slain the Wilkersons were brought to some kind of justice. That’s why Mitchell had set the explosives. It was going to solve all their problems but now he was not so sure.

 

If Cartwright and his kid brother were dead, then Mitchell would have to outrun the wrath of a grieving father for the rest of his life and if, somehow, Adam Cartwright were to survive and make it out of the cave, then he would hunt Mitchell down himself.

 

Walt Mitchell sighed. He had made a terrible error of judgement when he laid that explosive. Far from bringing him the peace of mind he had expected, he realised that he could never rest until he knew, one way or the other.

 

He had no chance right now to head back to the valley where the cave was, but from here on in, it was him against Adam Cartwright, the man or the memory.

 

 

 

XIII

One minute Joe was seated on Bessy, his head nodding with the rhythmic sway and plodding of the beast as exhaustion threatened to claim him, and the next he was in the dust on the ground.

 

Bessy had come to an abrupt halt, her seventh in almost five hours, and the boy had slid off sideways to his right, his left leg still uncomfortably vertical against the animal’s side. As he shook his head in frustration and squinted up at the sun, a face peered down at him, apparently upside down. The lips parted in a toothless grin and a whiskey-laden chuckle only served to fuel Joe’s mounting wrath.

 

“Watcha doin’ down there, boy? You’re the one who’s been insisting you’re in such a big hurry and now you wants to take a rest.”

 

Spurred on by fury, Joe rolled over and leapt, screaming, to his feet. “Help me get the crazy animal moving! I could walk faster than this!”

 

He grabbed the rope and pulled, his heels finding purchase in the ground as he leaned back at a precarious angle but the mule lowered her head. A tug-of-war ensued as she resolutely refused to budge.

 

Joe’s feet slipped from under him and he sat down with a bone-jarring thud. Angry tears filled his eyes. “You said you’d help me. We have to rescue my brother.”

 

“Ya oughta know by now that when Bessy gets it in her head to take a little rest, but nothin’s gonna shift her. She’ll move in her own good time,” Jedediah advised him, lowering his frame to the yellowing grass beside the trail and amusedly watching events unfold.

 

“Time is what Adam doesn’t have,” Joe spat out from between gritted teeth.

 

Moving around to the rear of Bessy, he slapped her hard on the rump but she merely threw back her head and brayed loudly an objection. He tried a different tactic, applying his shoulder to her tail and shoving, his feet scrabbling in the dust, but still she did not move.

 

He persevered for several more minutes but to no avail and so resumed his efforts at the head end, once more hanging on the rope.

 

Jedediah continued to scrutinise the entertainment and retrieved a half-filled whiskey bottle from an ample pocket. He had taken a long swig when the sound of a gun being cocked alerted him. Lowering the bottle, he paid closer attention to the furious young man who had drawn the weapon from his waistband and had aimed it squarely between the eyes of the recalcitrant mule.

 

“Now I suggest you start taking me seriously,” Joe said slowly and softly with an unmistakable edge of menace. “I swore to my brother that I’d get help and be back and I don’t aim on letting him down so you’d better put that bottle away and lend a hand. If you don’t get this mule moving, then I’ll make sure she stays here … for good. D’you understand me?”

 

Joe waited for a reply but none was forthcoming. He thought the old prospector must be more drunk than he had at first appeared because now he seemed to be ignoring Joe completely, looking past him in the direction they were supposed to be heading.

 

“You understand?” Joe demanded, his voice rising. “I’ll put a bullet in her,” he threatened.

 

“There’s no need for that, son.”

 

Joe swung round at the familiar voice that came from behind him and knew, in an instant, that everything now would be fine. A flood of confused emotions washed over him. He was relieved to be passing on the responsibility yet fearful at imparting the news about Adam. He was anxious for his brother’s well-being and still guilty at having left him but he recognised the timely arrival of invaluable assistance. Then there was the violence which he had witnessed at the Wilkerson spread, his own narrow escapes from death and so much more.

 

Incapable of moving, just like the mule, he sank to his knees. He was desperate to move into the reassuring embrace but content to know that it would come to him.

 

He cried out one word. “Pa!”

 

 

 

XIV

When he rounded a bend in the road, the last thing Ben expected to see was his youngest son apparently in the process of breaking the law as he very loudly threatened to blow out the brains of a stubborn mule, whilst shouting at and intimidating an old man who sat on the ground swigging alcohol straight from the bottle. Ben’s words, spoken calmly yet clearly, rapidly diffused the situation as Joe reacted to the familiar voice.

 

It crossed Ben’s mind to ask what Joe was doing with a gun in the first place but a gut feeling told him that it belonged to Adam. Quickly, Ben’s eyes raked the area but there was no sign of his other son and he was almost afraid to ask Joe what had happened, but his anxiety was tempered by the immediate relief at the sight of the boy who seemed unharmed by the outlaws.

 

As Hoss yelped his delight at spotting Joe, Ben covered the ground in long strides and reached him first. Dropping in front of him, Ben held wide his arms and Joe threw himself at his father, comforted by the man’s presence and thankful that he could relinquish the problem of Adam’s predicament to someone else. As they knelt together on the ground, Joe spilled out the story of what had happened between breathy sobs and occasional questions from Ben to clarify the situation.

 

An hour later, Ben sat back and watched his youngest boy ravenously tuck into a plate of beans and bacon, part of the supplies they had brought with them. It had been a hard decision on his part to stay where they were and make camp for the night but he had to be realistic. Once he had satisfied himself that Joe was free from serious injury, he had bathed the boy’s hands and applied some liniment in the hope that it was not too late to stave off infection. Less than an hour of daylight remained and he knew they stood no chance of reaching Adam that night.

 

He was reassured from Joe’s tale that there was a sufficient opening in the rocks for a fresh air supply for Adam but it was now some twenty-four hours or more since Joe had left his brother and Ben silently prayed that there had been no subsequent rock falls to deprive his eldest son of his precious air source. He was quietly relieved that the notion did not seem to have occurred to Joe.

 

Ben sat, lost in his own thoughts. At twenty-seven, Adam was level-headed and self-sufficient, more than capable of looking after himself but he was in a situation over which he had no control. Joe’s story had demonstrated how his eldest brother had looked after him throughout their ordeal and for that Ben was eternally grateful but he could not help wondering what might be going through Adam’s mind at this juncture. By the time they got to him, at least two days and three nights would have passed; not life-threatening in themselves as a man could go longer without food and water, but it would be a frightening period.

 

A number of people deemed the oldest Cartwright son a cold-hearted, emotionless young man but Ben knew otherwise and shuddered at the thought of the fear that Adam must be feeling. He was not to know that Joe had got the much-needed help.

 

As much as Ben wanted to find Adam and hold him close, another sensation was taking hold – that of deep, uncontrollable anger at the men who had done this to his sons. The four outlaws had embarked on a three-day spree of law-breaking with far too many victims and, until they were caught, there was the continual risk of more innocent souls who would be terrorised or worse.

 

Ben allowed himself a smile. On the other side of the fire, Joe sat close to Hoss who was watching him protectively. The boy’s head nodded and sank against his brother’s shoulder. Hoss caught his father’s gaze in the firelight and grinned broadly; he would make sure that no harm befell Joe, not now.

 

Ben’s smile faded away as his thoughts returned to his fiercely independent son trapped in a cold, dark cave somewhere out there in the night. How he missed him: the dark hair curling softly at the nape of the neck, the rare smile and the dimpled cheeks, the rich baritone voice and those dark, intense eyes! He missed his sharp mind, quick wit and strong support. Ben missed him by his side. For so long, Adam had always been there, except for those years when he had gone back east to study and, for Ben, it had been an interminably long separation. Now he dare not consider the possibility of a permanent parting and he offered up a silent prayer.

 

At length, he whispered into the night air. “Just hang in there, Adam. Be brave, son. I’m coming.”

 

 

XV

The only noise in the otherwise silent house was the gentle chink of plate against plate as Hop Sing put away the china he had so carefully washed and dried after another solitary meal in the kitchen. His tasks all done for the day, he re-aligned a salt jar on the shelf, sighed and extinguished the lamp.

 

Closing the door on the kitchen he wandered into the main room and aimlessly circumnavigated it, running fingers over surfaces and inspecting them for dust. Of course there was none. The room had been cleaned that morning and remained free of its usual daily grime without the constant traffic of various family members bringing it in on the soles of boots and liberally coated clothing.

 

It was now three days since Mr Cartwright and Mr Hoss had gone into Virginia City on business and determined to stay there for an evening meal, giving Hop Sing the time to himself. Not that he minded the cooking. He loved preparing meals for the family, especially Mr Hoss, whose vast appetite and simple tastes meant that he appreciated whatever Hop Sing set before him.

 

Three days since Mr Cartwright and his middle son had gone; two days since they had sent him a hastily written message to say they would be gone for a while as they were looking for Number One son and Li’l Joe. They were in trouble and Mr Cartwright was going to find them, no matter how long it took but he had not elaborated on the type of trouble and Hop Sing was worried.

 

He suddenly shivered, not because the room was cold but because it seemed so forlorn, so empty without the family gathered there, relaxing in the aftermath of a satisfying dinner. Easing himself into the high-backed blue chair favoured by the eldest son, Hop Sing surveyed the room.

 

It was not uncommon for him to be alone in the house for days at a time as the Ponderosa was so large and its work so diverse that it was impossible for the Cartwright men to always get back to the comfort of a bed. Camping or a night in a line shack were the only alternatives but at least Hop Sing knew why they were away and roughly how long they would be gone. Then there were the lengthy cattle drives but, more recently, Mr Cartwright had tended not to accompany his sons.

 

This kind of absence was different, though, and gave him a bad feeling. There had been other occasions when a Cartwright had gone missing and he had waited anxiously as the others had searched but there had always been the happy resolution, even if there had also been weeks of nursing and convalescence following an injury. Remaining at home, he always tried to keep himself busy but his fears prevailed that this would be the time perhaps when one of them would not return.

 

He could not dispel those misgivings even though he had worn himself out with chores. All the bedrooms had been cleaned and aired, the bedding changed, the dirty linens washed and dried. No clothing remained to be laundered and every conceivable item or surface that could be polished now gleamed. Windows sparkled and kitchen cupboards had been emptied, cleaned and refilled. He had completed a frenzied baking and then, having delayed the task, he had checked the small, wooden chest for sufficient bandages, liniments and lotions, before sorting through his own store of herbal medicines. Hop Sing was prepared for every emergency. His knowledge of ancient remedies had often been invaluable in those tense hours between an accident and the arrival of Paul Martin, the sole doctor for a huge area.

 

Hop Sing tightly curled himself in the warmth of the chair’s upholstery. On the other side of the room was the chequer board where Joe and Hoss regularly challenged each other nightly and, if the occasional laughter and shout were anything to go by, Li’l Joe had attempted to cheat. Ah, that boy was always into mischief! Where was he now? Was he safe? Hop Sing sniffed, the prospect of the boy being harmed was too much to bear.

 

Mr Cartwright would sit on the sofa or in his red chair, sipping a brandy and reading the paper. Number One son would be in this chair engrossed in a favourite book, long legs stretched out towards the fire. The chair was old and the fabric worn in places where a weary body had rested, the cushioning shaped to accommodate its usual occupant who steadfastly refused to replace it. The chair had a history and many a story to tell.

 

Hop Sing smiled to himself as he thought of the past when he would find Mr Adam asleep in the chair, head against the unruly curls of his youngest brother who slumbered in his lap. Many was the time when the little cook had come across the young man staring unseeing into the fireplace as he mentally solved a ranch problem or battled silently with his own inner demons. During the years when Mr Adam had gone back east to study, Ben had adopted the chair as his own, as if using it would somehow bring him closer to his absent son.

 

Hop Sing wondered when the boy would next occupy his chair. He nestled comfortably down into the cushions, resolved to watch and wait for the family he had adopted as his own but as the hours passed, his head nodded and the weary eyelids closed.

 

XVI

“…as we forgive them that trespass against us …”

 

Try as he might, each time the prayer rose unbidden in his mind, Adam Cartwright faltered at that exact same spot. As the dawn broke after his third night in the cave, he could not find that forgiveness for those who had ‘trespassed’ against him. On the contrary, he had spent part of his incarceration planning what he would do to the outlaws when he caught up with them and in his thoughts, it was always ‘when’, never ‘if’.

 

In his more lucid moments, Adam knew that his plight was growing ever more serious. Three nights without sleep, slightly longer without water and longer yet without food were all taking their toll. Hunger gnawed at his stomach so that loud and ominous rumblings periodically broke the silence of his imprisonment, drawing from him a wry and slightly hysterical chuckle. Severe dehydration had brought on a relentlessly pounding headache, a rasping throat and a furred tongue that now seemed too big for his mouth. His lips were dry and splitting whilst the abrasions on his hands throbbed mercilessly.

 

For the fifth or sixth time – he could not exactly remember – since Joe had left him, he renewed his efforts with the rockfall, endeavouring to displace a little more so that he might affect his own escape. Within minutes, he lay full length across the rocks, uncomfortably jagged edges threatening to pierce his flesh as he drew in agonised breaths. All he had done was expend more energy than he could spare and intensify his already raging thirst. Efforts to increase the size of the opening had failed yet again but this had not deterred him from trying to squeeze his lean frame through the available space. The result was a shirt and pants in tatters and more of his body scraped raw; the cuts on his hands had reopened to the point that he could hardly touch anything.

 

Time had ceased to have any meaning. Of course he knew when it was night for the cave was plunged into such an impenetrable darkness, that he literally could not see the hand in front of his face. So he had sat, for three nights now, shivering uncontrollably as the temperature plummeted and he regretted leaving his thick coat tied to the back of his saddle. It reminded him of Storm, stretched out on the valley floor, nothing more than carrion now. The cold had permeated to the core of his being and as the daytime heralded the sunshine, it failed to penetrate much of the north-facing cave. There was little that could alleviate his misery and he had long given up trying to guess at the passage of time by the small pool of light afforded by the limited opening.

 

He was increasingly aware that hours were lost to him as he sat wrapped in his own thoughts, his isolation and mood swings destructive in their intensity. Anger was directed externally towards the outlaws for the suffering they had inflicted upon the Wilkersons, Joe and himself and, in rational moments, he was uneasy with the potency of his feelings. He wondered if Joe had managed to reach safety, not merely because he could secure help for Adam, but for the boy’s sake, and their father. The loss of one son would be a hard enough burden in a life already ridden with tragedy but to lose two – especially Joe – would utterly devastate him and Adam feared that his father might never recover from such a bitter blow.

 

It was another indication of his failing reasoning that he could not see that his father would be equally distraught at losing him, the firstborn, who had accompanied him on the protracted journey westwards.

 

Then the anger was turned inwards, primarily upon himself as he examined his choices and found himself at fault. If he had not been so eager to get home, they would have had a more leisurely breakfast and would not, perhaps, have arrived at the Wilkerson spread until after the murderers had left. Had Joe and Adam been much delayed by their food, then they may have avoided the ranch altogether. Then, when they were running, what had possessed him to take the right fork in the road? Something in his mind had told him the other route would have taken them too far to the north, would have taken them longer to get home. He snorted disdainfully at the irony. It was more than likely that, in his current predicament, he would never get home at all. Finally there was his stupid, stupid decision to head for the cave …

 

Regret and sorrow mingled together as he thought of the massacred family and the subsequent horror Joe had experienced. Joe. Adam would have done anything to have spared his youngest brother that sight and the fear over the ensuing hours. As he slid down the rocks in despair to sit on the hard ground, he found the words to mouth a silent prayer that Joe would find rescue and be reunited with their father and brother.

 

“Forgive us our trespasses as we … forgive them … that trespass… forgive …against …” The words stuck again in his throat and he let out a low moan of desolation, his eyed squeezed shut but he did not even have the moisture left in his body for tears. Why could he not say the words?

 

“Deliver us from evil,” his mind flitted and he took up the prayer a little further on. “Deliver me from here, please,” he whispered.

 

XVII

The first meal of the day was a hasty affair as the men were greeted by a grey dawn threatening rain. Ben kept his temper in check but none could fail to pick up on his tension and eagerness to be on the road again, each step bringing him closer to the son who was trapped.

 

He was frustrated by the slow pace of Jedediah’s mules and the old man’s insistence that he accompany them. Ben suspected that this was the most excitement the ancient prospector had seen in years and that was why he wanted to be in on it. He had helped Joe when the boy most needed it, and for that Ben was grateful and unable to bring himself to turn the man away despite the hindrance he was creating. Besides, the outlaws were out there somewhere and no-one was safe from their seemingly unprovoked attacks. There was safety in numbers and so it was that Jedediah Theakstone stayed with the group.

 

The country around them grew more rugged, luscious grass giving way to thin soil levels, bare rock and scrubland. The group paused at the entrance to the expansive valley, their eyes scanning the distance for any sign of other riders; all knew that it was only a precautionary measure as the gang would have been long gone.

 

“Well, Joe?” Ben asked softly of the boy mounted behind him. Joe leaned out to peer past his father.

 

“We were riding hard, but I reckon we couldn’t have gone much more than half an hour before we took cover in rocks to the right,” and he nodded to the imposing rock face that rose up nearest to them. It had been an obvious choice rather than head out across the exposed valley floor to the northern ridge. Too long in the open, and they could have fallen easy prey to a lucky bullet.

 

“Given our speed, we can double that time easy,” Hoss reckoned.

 

“At least,” Roy confirmed, glancing behind him as Jedediah caught up with them yet again, the two mules finding breath enough to noisily bray their opposition to being driven at such a relentless pace.

 

“Why don’t we get one of Fraser’s men to stay back with him while we ride on?” Hoss suggested.

 

“No,” Ben said sternly. “We keep together.”

 

“But, Pa ..,” Joe began.

 

“We stay together.” Ben sounded curt. “We are not going to weaken our numbers, not until we know for certain what’s out there. Someone’s going to have to go back to the Wilkerson ranch at some point anyway. You can’t ride double with me all the way back to the Ponderosa, Joe, and we haven’t got a mount for Adam.”

 

“He may not be able to ride, Pa,” Hoss said gently.

 

“In which case, we’re going to need a buckboard,” Ben snapped. The thought had already occurred to him but he was not going to dwell on it until he knew one way or the other. “For now, we stick together,” and he spurred his horse forward. Joe and Hoss exchanged worried glances before urging their mounts to follow.

 

 

XVIII

In the cave, Adam was trying to logically think through his situation. He and Joe were long overdue by now and his father would no doubt be looking for them – and praying for their safe return. At the thought of his father, Adam’s agony was all-consuming.

 

His father had always been there for him, had always made everything all right again. In the discipline, there had been the unstinting love and whenever he had self-doubts, his father unfailingly found the right words of encouragement. Ben had nursed him through fevers and injuries, his work-hardened hands taking on an unexpected tenderness, and when the pain was emotional, Adam knew that once he was ready to drop his fiercely independent defence, his father was there with words of solace and wisdom. Usually reserved, Adam found himself strangely longing for the strength and reassurance of his father’s arms and the boy in him silently cried out for that comforting touch.

 

He leaped to his feet and instantly regretted it as his head swam and he thrust out a hand to the rock to prevent himself from falling. His equilibrium restored, he paced the cave, chastising himself for his weakness.

 

“Pull yourself together, Cartwright,” he hissed angrily. “This will not get you out of here.” The words of the prayer invaded his thoughts again. ‘Forgive them that trespass …’ and he screamed harshly into the empty air.

 

“I can’t, Pa. I can’t forgive them. Not for what they did to that family, what they put Joe through, what they’ve done to me. If I die here, Pa, I can’t forgive what they’ll have done to you.” For now, his anger fuelled his desire to survive.

 

In the dim light and with renewed determination, he sat down again and picked up the box of shells for the rifle which was propped against a low outcrop. He tipped them into his hand and counted them once more, slowly, even though he remembered from his preparations two nights before exactly how many remained. He laid them out on the ground in twos, a plan formulating in his head. If Joe had survived the march for help, then he could well be guiding those same rescuers to him right now.

 

Adam would curb his eagerness and wait approximately another couple of hours when it would roughly be midday. Then he would climb the rocks with the rifle and fire it out into the open. Waiting about five minutes, he would fire again so that if any rescue party was in the vicinity, he would alert them to his presence. The process would be repeated every hour or so, as far as he could gauge the time. When the shells had all been fired, that would be the end of the daylight and he would be facing yet another chilling night.

 

Six pairs of shells and one extra were laid out carefully whilst he meticulously ensured that they were exactly in line. The odd one annoyed him and he stared irrationally at it, as if willing it to split into a second matching shell. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it of an encroaching fog of exhaustion and a relentless throbbing that was making it harder to think lucidly.

 

He picked up the extra shell and slipped it into the breast pocket of his shirt. As he patted it gently, his mind raced as to its possible use. There was the fleeting comfort that it could put an end to his suffering but he dismissed that notion almost immediately. By the time he accepted that there was no assistance coming, he would either be too weak or beyond all rational thought, thus rendering him incapable of helping himself. His top lip curled in a grimace; perhaps he was already beyond rational thought for even entertaining the idea of using it on himself.

 

His hand felt for the shell again and in an instant, he was convinced that he would survive and regain his freedom for if that one piece of ammunition was ever to be used, then he knew exactly who the recipient would be. Strangely, he felt an equal conviction that it was only one of the four outlaws; just one man who was destined to be his nemesis until justice was exacted somehow.

 

It was for the man who had set the explosives.

 

 

XIX

Over an hour after entering the valley, Ben and the others were moving slowly along the base of the rocks as Joe walked ahead of the horses , desperately searching for anything that might look familiar but with no success. He suddenly stopped, hands on hips and head bowed as he fought back the hot tears of disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him.

 

Ben softened and put a reassuring arm round the boy’s shoulders as he looked back at the accompanying group.

 

“Let’s take a short rest. We know we’re headed in the right direction,” he added optimistically. The men dismounted, no words exchanged, the only sounds being the jingle of harness, the creak of leather and the boot on hard ground.

 

“I’m sorry, Pa,” Joe whispered.

 

“It’s okay, son.” Ben answered. “We’ll find him.”

 

“But it all looks the same.”

 

“Course it does, L’il Joe,” Hoss said lightly. “You had other things on your mind when you rode in. Nobody expects you to have been studying what the rocks looked like an’ when you got out, it’s understandable you were concentratin’ more on headin’ fer help. We ain’t holdin’ it against you, Shortshanks.” He looked to his father for confirmation.

 

“Of course we aren’t, Joe. Now stop worrying and have some water. It might take a bit longer, but if we have to cover every inch of those rocks, starting back at the beginning, then we will, but I tell you this. We are going to find your brother. You hear me?”

 

Joe nodded, took a deep breath and was about to respond when Hoss spoke.

 

“Will ya look at that,” and they turned as one to see where he pointed. Buzzards circled in the air ahead of them.

 

“No!” Joe wailed, convinced that it could only mean one thing. He had failed Adam. He could not understand why Hoss was grinning wildly.

 

“Now hang on a minute there, L’il Joe. Weren’t you tellin’ us how the outlaws had shot Storm?” Hoss queried.

 

Realisation dawned and Joe sniffed, his eyes widening with renewed hope. “But of course,” he shouted excitedly.

 

“That means we haven’t gone far enough yet,” Ben added. He swung on his heel to take in the group. “Let’s mount up and get going.”

 

Even as he prepared to swing up into the saddle, a single gunshot was heard and all of them drew handguns and rifles and threw themselves onto the ground. They searched the area but could see nothing wrong and when there were no further shots, they cautiously got to their feet again.

 

“Cain’t be the outlaws,” Jedediah declared.

 

“Someone shootin’ at the buzzards?” Joe hazarded a guess.

 

“Unlikely,” Roy cut in as he slipped a foot into the stirrup and pulled himself up into the saddle. He was waiting for the others to mount up and still looking in the direction in which they were to go when another shot sounded, unsettling some of the horses as the noise once more reverberated along the rock face.

 

“It’s Adam; it has to be,” Ben breathed.

 

“Now, Ben, it sure is possible but don’t you go getting your hopes up too much,” Roy warned.

 

“Who else would it be then? We’re assuming the gang’s long gone and there’s not much to hunt out here. It can only be Adam,” Ben insisted.

 

“Only two shots though,” Roy pointed out.

 

“He’s not going to his ammunition all at once,” Joe explained. “He was already low on it when we were in the cave.”

 

“Ol’ Adam will have worked out something, you mark my words,” Hoss declared as he set off in the direction of the buzzards and the rifle shot. He crouched briefly beside the remnants of a fire, scooping up some of the fine ashes between his fingers and sniffing at them.

 

“That was where the outlaws made their camp and waited that first night,” Joe confirmed. “Storm has to be close.” He looked around wildly. “There,” and he indicted a large form, dark against the ground a few hundred yards from the position of the fire. With a good rifle, it would have been easy to pick off the frightened animal.

 

It was not long before they were gathered around the grisly remains of the horse, the buzzards having begun their work. Hoss’ nose wrinkled in disgust at the stench of rapid decay as he unbuckled the saddle and set about pulling it from the carcass. Ben stooped to help, a strange wave of emotion enveloping him as he saw Adam’s belongings, including his bedroll and coat, still fastened to the leather.

 

“It’s along there!” Joe yelled, heading towards the rock and both Hoss and Ben ran to catch up with him as he scrambled over the rocks in search of something. Suddenly he gave a whoop of exultation, disappeared from view, and then just as suddenly straightened up, holding aloft a canteen.

 

“My canteen,” he said breathlessly as they drew level with him. “I ran out of water first. There wasn’t much point carryin’ it after that. This is where we holed up.”

 

“They were shooting at you,” Hoss announced, deftly fingering a crease in the rock, not realising that it was the one behind which Adam had concealed himself three nights before. Ben tried to block out the thoughts of his sons crouching there and fearing for their lives.

 

“We’re close,” Ben declared. “I know he’s not far away. Think, Joe. What did you do next? Where did you go from here?”

 

Joe’s eyes narrowed in deep concentration as he thought back to that first night. “Adam had seen the cave and he said we had to learn the route so that we could move quietly. We had to go to the left of Mrs Pinkerton’s hat and to the right of Hop Sing’s apple pie,” and he set off to cover again the path he had taken that night, leaving behind a group of bemused men, shaking their heads.

 

“Mrs Pinkerton’s hat?” Hoss asked, hoping that his father could explain but Ben merely shrugged.

 

“Don’t ask,” he ordered as he picked his way over the rocks to where Joe had halted.

 

“This wasn’t here that night,” he commented.

 

“This is fresh rockfall,” Hoss noted, picking up one of the smaller, jagged pieces and turning it over in his large hand, comparing the colour with the bigger boulders they had just passed.

 

“This is it then,” Ben said, his heart suddenly pounding as he surveyed the steep slope of debris that was the result of the explosion. To say that the boys had been fortunate was an understatement.

 

“It is. Look up there. There’s the small opening we made for me to get out.” Joe was about to start climbing when Ben’s hand shot out and stopped him.

 

“No, Joe. You wait here. I’m going up,” and he removed his hat, gunbelt and jacket, dropping them to the ground.

 

This was the moment. This was when they would find out whether or not Adam still lived and, as his father, Ben knew that it was his task, and his alone, to make that discovery.

 

XX

The four outlaws had taken their time riding east from Reno; sore heads and complacency rendered certain members of the group into the arrogant belief that they had lost their more serious pursuers, but it was not a view shared by Mitchell.

 

He sat slumped in his saddle, his mind filled with misgivings about the people with whom he travelled to the point that he had slept little, not daring to close his eyes in their presence in case a night’s sleep became something a little more permanent. Ever watchful, he waited for the moment when he could make a break for freedom; it had to come.

 

Ignoring the ribald banter of Billy and Nate and the distasteful habit of Seth Walker as he repeatedly cleared phlegm from his throat and spat, Mitchell tried to focus on the land through which they were riding. Storm clouds were gathering once again and the sky was dark with the threatening rain even though it was only just after midday. The chill in the air was ominous and the menace of thunder imbued the day with a heaviness that detracted from the beauty of the landscape.

 

Off to his right, ponderosa pines were in stark silhouette against the purple and grey of the lower slopes of distant mountains, white capped with the early snows whilst the ground he was crossing was deep green and verdant pasture, ideal for grazing cattle. His mind flitted back to a time, not so distant, when he had been on a cattle drive himself, lured by the promise of freedom, crisp air and the romance of teamwork as a group of otherwise disparate men joined forces to move the herd. Instead he had been maddened by the hard graft, long hours in the saddle and the utter tedium of the task. He had completed the drive out of a need for completion of something in his life but on the day that he had drawn his wages, he had vowed not to spend his life in the saddle. The irony was that, since meeting the Walkers, he had spent almost as long on horseback as he had endeavoured to keep one step ahead of the law.

 

“Hey, dinner!” Billy yelled and veered off in another direction. Mitchell reined in his horse and watched as the youngest Walker spurred his mount in the direction of a small group of grazing cattle. Nate and Seth cheered him on and the startled animals began to run but that did not deter Billy from giving chase, firing indiscriminately at the frightened creatures. The steer bringing up the rear suddenly stumbled, its front legs crumpling beneath it. It struggled to get back to its feet and staggered another few paces but Billy fired again and it collapsed, lying still on the ground. Mitchell felt a cold chill run down his spine as he was taken back to another time, another place when a horse was brought down by his own bullets. His sense of unease grew at the uninvited memory and his thoughts strayed to a man in a cave. He shook his head, trying to dispel the image of a shadow constantly following him.

 

He and the other two joined Billy who was triumphantly standing over his trophy and wondering how to begin to prepare the beast for cooking.

 

“Thought I’d get mo some steak for dinner,” he announced, his features splitting into a broad grin.

 

“Best get a fir goin’ then,” ordered Seth. “Nate, boy, head on over there and see what you can find.”

 

Mitchell watched him ride off to the nearest trees – ponderosa pines – in search of firewood. Ponderosa pines; there was something about the name but Mitchell could not make the link.

 

“It’s not a maverick,” Seth Walker stated looking down at the carcass. “Got itself a fancy brand.”

 

“Never mind about that, Pa. We can add cattle stealin’ to our talents,” Billy snorted.

 

Mitchell was staring down at the brand. The stylised tree design looked vaguely familiar. He shot a wary glance again in the direction Nate had ridden and studied the trees with their tall, slender trunks. A ponderosa pine! That was the brand of the Ponderosa ranch. He had seen it before, burnt into the hides of the fattened cattle that had been the first to arrive at the rail head at the end of a long trail. In painful slow motion, another image from the past reared its head; an image of a young man, clad entirely in black, shaking hands with a cattle buyer as he closed on a lucrative deal and Mitchell had heard the name for the first time: Adam Cartwright.

 

Ever since that initial encounter, Mitchell had heard more about the Cartwrights and their Ponderosa ranch but it had been the eldest son who was the more prominent of the family and it had been this knowledge, together with infrequent sightings, that had enabled Mitchell to recognise him when he had ridden into the Wilkerson yard. Was it really only three days ago?

 

Two days ago, he had believed that he had killed Adam Cartwright but shortly afterwards the doubts had begun. With the realisation now that he and the Walkers had inadvertently ridden onto Cartwright land, he had the sickening conviction that the young man was still alive and he wondered just what the future might bring.

 

*****

 

Home alone, Hop Sing pottered round the ranch house, ensuring that all was in order to provide comfort for the family when they eventually returned. His fears for all the Cartwright men persisted but, in particular, for the two missing brothers.

 

He was in the yard out the back of the house and feeding the chickens when he heard the gunshots. They were very distant but he frowned at the sound, carried in the cool, clear air. According to the foreman earlier that morning when he stopped by the house to see if anything had been heard of the family, none of the hands were working in that direction for the next couple of days so who could be firing a weapon?

 

Head cocked to one side, he strained to listen for any more shots but there was only silence. They had been in the far distance after all. Shrugging, he tipped the last of the feed onto the ground and headed back into the house.

 

Shutting and securing the door, he was oblivious to the fact that the bad men responsible for endangering the lives of the two Cartwright boys were a lot closer than anyone knew.

 

 

XXI

Ben scrambled up to the small opening, ignoring the concerned warnings from his other sons to take care on the unstable rocks. Blocking the sunlight with his frame, it was impossible to see down into the cave below despite the desperate craning of his neck to convince himself that he must have just spotted a movement in the shadows.

 

“Adam! Adam!” he called worriedly. “Adam, you there, son? Answer me, Adam, please.”

 

“You see him, Pa?” Hoss called up from behind him and was rewarded by the frantic wave of a hand for silence. Ben could not be sure, but he thought he had just heard some smaller rocks sliding from position inside the cave.

 

“Adam,” he tried again. “It’s your Pa. If you’re there, son, please answer. Adam!” He inched closer to the gap and waited once more, ever conscious of four pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head from the ground below as they, too, waited for some sign that the eldest Cartwright son was indeed there, ready with some biting quip about having been left for so long.

 

Hoss was fully expectant that his brother’s temper would be far from sweet at the delay in his release and he could hardly blame him. The middle Cartwright brother was very fond of his food and when Joe had explained the last time that Adam had had any sustenance, Hoss’ eyes had widened, convinced that had he been in the same situation, he would have most certainly starved to death long before now.

 

Joe was anxious that Adam did not think he had been deserted. There had been unavoidable delays in getting back with a rescue party and he prayed that nothing dire had happened to his brother in the meantime but Joe had promised to come back and here he was.

 

Roy pulled his hat down further over his eyes and watched his old friend peering through the gap in the rocks and offered up his own silent prayers that they had, in fact, returned to the right spot; but what was taking Adam so long in giving an answer? As the seconds ticked away, Roy could not help but fear the worst, although he was not going to express any of those fears aloud, not just yet. There could have been another rock fall, crushing the boy or depriving him of much needed oxygen.

 

Roy had known the Cartwrights a long time, had seen the boys grow up and he was proud to rank the family amongst his few very close friends, but he had to confess that, of all the sons, it was for Adam that he had a particular fondness. Given the boy’s background and all that he endured during his informative years, he had matured under his father’s watchful eye into a man of integrity, with an unwavering sense of honour and justice and an enviable business acumen. Reticent and brooding, he never gave his trust and friendship easily but, once bestowed, they were unshakable and Adam Cartwright was a friend for life. Roy had had occasion to call upon him more than once in a professional capacity, riding beside him in a posse or swearing him in as a lawman when Adam’s quick, logical mind, fast draw and leadership skills had served him well.

 

The Sheriff did not like to think of anything adverse happening to the boy at any time but to think of Adam ending his days entombed in a cave was too cruel for he was an intelligent young man with a bright future ahead of him. Roy’s jaw tightened with anger as he thought of the worthless beings who had been responsible for this and so many other needless deaths.

 

Ben’s breathing seemed unnecessarily loud and he held it, conscious only of the rocks beneath his hands, gripped so tightly that his palms ached but the sensation anchored him in reality, the here and now, as he awaited any indication that Adam was there.

 

Suddenly a hand reached out to him from the darkness, fingers outstretched, and he seized upon it, breathing out simultaneously with something resembling a sob of relief and anguish. Although he had instantly recognised the tanned, long fingers and the work-calloused skin, he had not anticipated the torn and bloodied flesh, the broken nails, far worse than Joe’s had been and he had thought them bad. In that instant, he knew that Adam had continued to try to dig his way out. He could not begin to imagine the terror and desperation that must have been going through his son’s mind, believing that he was possibly in his last resting place.

 

“Pa?” The voice was nothing more than a low croak from a dry throat but to Ben it was the most beautiful sound in the world. He quickly weighed up the options between passing in a canteen or immediately setting about freeing his trapped son, and decided upon the latter.

 

He was loathe to hold the hand tight, fearful that he might cause additional hurt, but those same long fingers curled around his and squeezed hard.

 

“It’s all right, son, we’ll have you out of there soon,” Ben assured him, his voice quavering with emotional laughter. Still hanging on to his beloved son, he half turned to the others. “Hoss, get on up here. We have to start moving these rocks.”

 

Hoss let out a triumphant shout and began to climb up to join his father and survey the situation.

 

“Pa, you’d best get Adam to move down away from here. I’ll be careful but I can’t guarantee some of those rocks might not tumble down his side and I don’t want ta hurt him none.”

 

Reluctantly, Ben encouraged Adam to lower himself to a safer distance. There was a pause before Ben’s hand was released and he could not swear to it, but he thought he had felt a slight increase of pressure before Adam disappeared.

 

“It won’t be for long, Adam. I promise you, son. We’re going to get you out of there,” Ben called.

 

With much of the heavy work done by Hoss as he manhandled the rocks, prising them from position and letting them hurtle towards the ground, Ben, Joe and Roy had access to the newly revealed smaller debris and, working as a team, it was barely half an hour before a much larger opening had been created, the sharper debris having been removed.

 

“We sure could have done with you in the cave in the first place, brother,” Joe observed, slapping Hoss on his back in clear admiration. “We all would have been out a long time before this.”

 

“Jest glad to be of service,” Hoss grinned, breathing hard from his exertion and rubbing the sweat from his face with his shirt tail.

 

“Let’s get him,” Ben insisted. He got back into position. “Adam, climb up, son. You can get out now.”

 

It seemed an age before Ben heard a figure climbing up the rocks towards him again and the hand once more came into view. It was followed first by a grime-covered arm, then the other hand and then Adam’s head. Ben and Hoss grabbed him by his upper arms and dragged him from his imprisonment whilst the willing hands of Joe and Roy helped to lower him over the rocks to the ground. Ben hurriedly scrambled to join them and, in unspoken agreement, they withdrew to allow him access at last to the son he had feared lost.

 

Shivering in the early evening temperatures and his teeth chattering uncontrollably, Adam lay on the hard earth but Ben instantly gathered him into his arms and held him close to his chest, rocking him gently.

 

“I’ve got you, son. It’s all right now. I’ve got you,” Ben whispered. He took the unstoppered canteen that Joe held out to him and put it to Adam’s lips. “Steady on now, Adam. Just a mouthful,” he warned as Adam tried to swallow thirstily, his head following the canteen as Ben pulled it away. “Easy, son. You’ll make yourself sick. Take your time.”

 

“Joe.” It was little more than a hoarse whisper as Adam’s eyes searched in vain for his youngest brother. Intent upon calming his agitation, Ben called Joe over and sought to reassure his son.

 

“It’s okay, Adam. Joe’s safe, he’s here,” and Ben reached out a hand to draw Joe to him, that Adam might see he was alive and well. “Look, Joe’s fine.”

 

Adam struggled to focus on the figure that dropped to his side. “Joe,” he mouthed, the faint ghost of a relieved smile playing on his lips.

 

Joe laid a hand on his shoulder and felt the violent trembling beneath the tattered shirt. “You’re safe now, Adam. It’s okay.” I kept my word, he added silently.

 

Sighing, Adam nodded, took another couple of sips of the water and sank wearily against his father, his chilled frame trembling fiercely.

 

“Hoss, get the blankets,” Ben ordered as he began to furiously rub one of Adam’s arms in an attempt to instil some warmth into him.

 

“I’m on it, Pa,” and Hoss was gone.

 

“Jedediah and I’ll get a fire going,” Joe volunteered and soon he and the old prospector were off to search for anything that might burn.

 

“When they’ve done that, I’ll get the coffee and food on. Something hot inside him’ll help,” Roy offered, helpless for the time being as he crouched at Ben’s side and felt some of the relief that his friend was experiencing.

 

XXII

It had been so easy to overcome the little Chinaman. They had watched the house for in excess of an hour to ensure that all of the ranch hands had vacated the bunkhouse and the area immediately around the barn and house were clear before they made their move. Billy and Nate had circled round to the back, whilst Walker and Walt Mitchell had brazenly ridden up to the front door, assuming the identity of lost travellers in need of some guidance.

 

Mitchell had stayed in the saddle, hand resting warily on the butt of his gun, eyes forever searching for any sign of impending trouble, as Walker pounded on the stout wooden door. They had surveyed the house, front and back, for long enough to realise that there should have only been one occupant. After all, two Cartwright kids were supposedly dead and Pa Cartwright and his remaining brat had ridden off with Virginia City’s sheriff in search of the other two. At least, that’s what Walker had surmised when Mitchell had eventually explained where they were.

 

They had originally dismissed the idea of holding the eldest Cartwright boy to ransom and Walker had chafed against the decision for a long while as a lost opportunity. Now this was their chance to rectify matters. They had gained entry to the Cartwright castle, the centre of the family kingdom and they were unlikely to be disturbed at least for one night, when they could forget that they were hunted men and pretend that they were kings.

 

Keeping a gun trained on the family retainer, Nate supervised as Hop Sing reluctantly prepared them a tantalising meal that was a far cry from cold beans or the butchered steer of the previous evening. Billy had settled himself on the settee, feet on the table as he made short work of a bottle of Ben’s best brandy.

 

Seth Walker had ensconced himself at Ben’s desk and was sifting through a pile of paperwork, not sure what he was looking for but conscious of the significance of the documents. It seemed unfair that one family could own so much and that he should have so little, apart from what he took. It never occurred to Walker that what the Cartwrights had amassed over the years was as a result of a lot of hard graft and considerable business acumen. The trail of figures across the page indicated that the Ponderosa was a huge working concern with a substantial financial outlay, but one with equally impressive rewards. Walker’s only problem was how to access some of those same rewards. Although he had found the safe secreted in a cupboard behind the desk, there were no keys hidden in drawers – he had already rummaged for them – and Mitchell had used the last of their explosives on the cave entrance.

 

There was little ready cash on the premises but a thorough search of the house during the preceding hour had been profitable. A cache of valuable personal items belonging to the Cartwright men had been taken from the various rooms and now lay in a discarded pile on the low table before the hearth. Billy had already eyed the array of rifles in a gun cabinet and was set to retrieve them by any means possible after he had eaten.

 

As the Walkers occupied themselves in a gloating destructiveness, Mitchell quietly retraced his steps to a particular room upstairs. The moment the tall Texan had opened the bedroom door, he knew instinctively the identity of its regular occupant.

 

Now he re-entered the room and shut the door behind him. He stood in the middle of the room and slowly turned through three hundred and sixty degrees, carefully studying the furnishings and decor.

 

“Okay, Cartwright,” he breathed, his words drawn out in his distinctive drawl. “Let’s see what you’re really like.”

 

The bed was covered in a strongly coloured quilt, the blankets and sheets neatly tucked in and all material smoothed flat. A desk beneath the window had two drawers, their contents organised and tidy. Ink, fountain pens and pencils were immaculately lined up on the top and pristine sheets of white paper were neatly arranged. He cast his eyes over the books which adorned the shelves on one wall; he had heard of some of them, like that Mister Shakespeare, but they were not to his taste. He pulled one down; leather bound and looking brand new. The print was small and close. He tried to spell out some of the longer words and gave up, slamming the book shut in frustration. Reaching up to return it to its place on the shelf, he stopped himself and took a perverse pleasure in dropping the text on the desk top. So Cartwright was an educated man!

 

In one corner of the room were several rolled-up documents and he opened one. They were architect’s plans for some sort of building. Losing interest rapidly, he was about to lay it down when the initials, written in pencil in a neat hand, caught his eye – AC. Quickly, he unravelled the other drawings; they were all done by Adam Cartwright.

A guitar stood propped against a chair and pictures of diverse scenes were hung on the walls, along with a framed certificate. He had graduated from a school back east. Was there nothing this man could not do?

 

Mitchell opened the wardrobe to reveal a rail of neatly hung pants and jackets, mainly dark, sober colours. In the bottom were several pairs of boots, mainly black and mostly expensive, hand-crafted leather. A chest of drawers contained undergarments, socks, night wear and an array of carefully folded shirts, separated by colour and thickness according to the seasons.

 

Mitchell frowned and lowered himself onto the bed, not bothering to remove his boots as he stretched out his legs across the quilt. Slowly, deliberately, he grabbed a handful of the material and pulled, smiling at the disturbed and wrinkled bedding. He lay back against the pillows, just as Adam Cartwright must have done, each and every night before this, and looked around the room.

 

“I want to see things through your eyes, Cartwright. I want to know how you think.” His piercing gaze settled on the items on the table beside the bed, the most prominent being an ornately carved musical box. Curious, he lifted the lid and immediately the gentle strains of a melancholy melody filled the air. He allowed himself a wry grin as he considered what he had learned about the other man. Cartwright was intelligent, talented, ordered and meticulous in his mind but there was a grain of sentimentalism there and that spelt weakness that could only work to his advantage for as he lay there, he felt the instinctive conviction that Cartwright was undoubtedly alive.

 

The door suddenly burst open and the angry little cook stood there.

 

“They send me to get you, say dinner on table. You get outa here, no touch Mistah Adam’s stuff.”

 

His eyes burned with indignant fury but his arrival had startled Mitchell, who sat up hastily, his flailing arm catching the little music box, knocking it from the table.

 

As it hit the floor, it broke and the haunting tune was abruptly silenced.

 

 

XXIII

As darkness fell, the makeshift camp was filled with the muted yet cheerful sounds of men content in the knowledge that their quest had been successful. They may not have caught up with the gang but at least there was not another name to add to the list of victims. As they ate the hastily prepared meal, they cast occasional glances across the fire to where Ben sat in the lee of some rocks, his back supported by the rough outcrop as he held Adam who was barely visible beneath the blankets that Hoss had heaped upon him. Once he had embraced his eldest son, Ben steadfastly refused to let him go, imparting some of his own body warmth to the shaking figure.

 

“How’s he doin’, Ben?” Roy asked quietly, approaching with two tin mugs of steaming coffee and setting one down beside his friend.

 

“He’s warmed up some,” Ben answered with a reassured smile, “and he’s drifted off to sleep.” Adam was half sitting on Ben’s right, held fast in his father’s arms, and all that was visible from beneath the covered mound was tousled black hair, lighter now with fine rock dust.

 

“I’ll drink this then. Don‘t see the point of waking him for some coffee,” Roy grinned and started to sip the strong, black drink. He noticed Ben wince suddenly from sitting in one position for too long.

 

“He’ll be getting’ heavy. Want me to help you settle him down?” Roy offered.

 

Ben hesitated, reluctant to let go of his boy just yet. Heaven alone knew when the boy had last had any decent rest but the first task had been to bathe the bloodied hands and remove some of the grime from his face. At the first opportunity, Ben knew that Adam would be heading for a hot bath and he certainly needed one but Ben did not mind. The filth that covered his son was testimony to his struggle and the rank odour of dried sweat only served as blissful proof that he was still very much alive.

 

Common sense prevailed; after all Ben did need to eat something himself. “Okay, but it’s not going to be easy,” and Ben pulled down the top blanket to reveal the sleeping figure.

 

Head burrowed against his father’s chest and his breathing deep yet relaxed, Adam’s right hand held tight to a fistful of Ben’s shirt. His last conscious thought before warmth flooded his cold body and welcome slumber engulfed him was the knowledge that the man who had constantly been in his mind during his captivity, who had never failed him in his life, had come through once more. The young man had been physically trapped but the boy in his heart had cried out for his father who had secured his rescue. Exhausted and emotionally drained, he had sunk, relieved, into his father’s welcome embrace, no shred of doubt remaining that all would now be well.

 

“Way he’s hangin’ on, Ben, I reckon he doesn’t mean you to go anywhere,” Roy whispered, a gentleness in his face and voice.

 

“He hasn’t done this for years,” Ben admitted, fondly stroking dark tendrils of hair back into place and smiling softly at the vivid memory before sharing it.

 

“Before Hoss was born, when it was just the two of us on the trail, we’d gather with others round the camp fire of an evening and just talk about our dreams or tell tales. He’d be tired out with the day’s travelling and would climb into my lap to listen but his eyes would grow heavy and his head would nod. I tried more than once to put him down to sleep but he’d hang on tight, not wanting to miss anything. As soon as I tried to prise open his fingers, he’d be wide awake and objecting strongly so I got to the point where I just held him and let him sleep until I was ready to turn in myself.”

 

“Well I guess after all those days stuck in that cave, he wants to make sure he doesn’t miss out on anything now,” and Roy gave a low chuckle.

 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ben agreed, but deep inside he knew, he understood. Adam would never express his fear in so many words, even as a young child, but it would be there and Ben pictured the past with the momentary widening of the dark eyes, the small hand slipping into his, the biting of the bottom lip as the boy tried to suppress any frightened murmur. Ben had seen it again today, just after they had hauled Adam from the cave and lowered him to the ground, and as Ben had caught him up in his arms.

 

As much as the son had needed and clung to his father, so the father felt the need to hold tight to the son; he had come perilously close to losing him altogether.

 

With Roy’s aid, Ben extricated his shirt from Adam’s grasp and the two older men laid him down, tucking the blankets around him. Ben picked up his coat from where he had discarded it and fashioned a makeshift pillow. Adam did not even stir as Ben gently lifted his head in order to position the coat.

 

Pushing himself up and stretching to alleviate the ache in his back, Ben looked down at his sleeping son and murmured, “He didn’t even stay awake long enough to eat anything.”

 

“You can feed him up tomorrow, Ben. Right now, I reckon it’s the rest that he needs most. He’ll be fine; you can leave him while you come and get yourself a plate of stew,” and Roy guided his friend over to the campfire where the other two Cartwright sons patiently waited. Hoss grinned encouragingly at his father and passed him a full plate. The family was reunited at last and, for a few hours at least, all was right with the world.

 

 

XXIV

Hop Sing sat bound to a wooden chair in a corner of the dining area and scowled at the men who sat at the table, devouring the fried chicken as if they had not eaten properly for days which, unknown to the little cook, was not too far from the truth; the exception being the prime Ponderosa beef they had devoured the preceding evening. He scowled at them, offended by their lack of table manners as he drew yet another comparison between these intruders and the Cartwrights.

 

These four were unwelcome, taking places at a table which they had no right to occupy. Out of habit more than anything else, Hop Sing had set the table with a cloth, a range of matching crockery, silverware and glasses but these men were worse than animals, eating with their fingers, a trail of carelessly dropped food staining the white cloth. Having helped themselves to some of the better wines from Ben’s store and more of his brandy, they drank straight from the bottles, passing them round to each other with raucous laughter and cheap jibes.

 

The alcohol loosened their tongues and they relaxed, gesticulating wildly with chicken pieces as they talked with their mouths full, bragging of their more recent activities. As they gloated, Hop Sing’s blood ran cold. Upset as he was at his inability to defend the Cartwrights’ house and possessions, he realised that he was in grave danger. It was soon apparent that they were frightened by no-one and would stop at nothing to secure their own safety. Their boasts were of a trail of dead from Silverton eastwards as they developed a habit of leaving no witnesses.

 

What was even more chilling was the lengthy discussion of an encounter at a rock face in a valley. Hop Sing listened with mounting horror as he realised that the men were possibly responsible for the cold-blooded murder of two of the Cartwright brothers. He did not want to believe that the boys were dead but three of the gang were convinced that an explosion would have proved fatal. It was only the strange hesitancy of the fourth member of the group – a man with a strong southern drawl – that gave Hop Sing any element of hope, even if the others constantly derided the man for his doubts.

 

The alcohol flowed and the men gradually sank into an intoxicated stupor. The oldest man had collapsed onto the sofa, his head back, mouth open and emitting loud snores. The youngest slept where he had earlier eaten, his plate pushed to one side as his greasy head rested on his forearms on the table. Complaining that he was off to find himself a bed, the largest of the four had headed unsteadily towards the stairs, as had the dark haired southerner whom Hop Sing had found in Mistah Adam’s room. He could not bear to think of the young man’s sanctuary being invaded yet again, especially after the damage that had already been done. Hop Sing knew the significance of the music box and feared what Adam’s reaction would be should he survive and return to discover it in pieces.

 

The night wore on. The fire died away to glowing embers and the oil in the lamps ran low and eventually were extinguished. Hop Sing sat alone in the near darkness, the snores of the two drunken men his only company as he flexed and relaxed his muscles in an attempt to ease the ropes and escape. and contemplating what he had learned so far about his captors. Careless talk had inadvertently led to confessions within his hearing and he knew their names. In the early hours of the morning, he fast drew the conclusion that this was likely to be the last dawn that he would ever see. His hopes faded with the grey light as the ropes held him fast and he had no way of alerting any of the hands in the bunkhouse. With the Cartwrights away, the ranch foreman would have little reason to come to the house, although he had been stopped by the house tha previous couple of mornings to ask after the absent family. Here lay a glimmer of hope. Perhaps the foreman would knock on the door before the gang had a chance to dispose of Hop Sing and their presence would be known. It was, Hop sing admitted to himself ruefully, a very slender chance.

 

With the morning, departing hooves signalled that the hands were off to check cattle. The outlaws gradually awoke and demanded that he prepare some breakfast for them. Under the watchful eye of Nate, he cooked up eggs, ham, grits and toasted bread, as well as pots of hot, strong coffee. His chance for escape was minimal and he knew that he would soon outlive his usefulness.

 

Having eaten, the gang reluctantly acknowledged that they had to keep moving. They packed their spoils which they had stolen from the family and ransacked the kitchen for food to take with them. Quietly, from his chair in the corner to which he was once again bound, Hop Sing sat quietly and hoped they would forget about him as they busied themselves.

 

“Wait!” Billy shouted as the others were halfway through the door. “What about him?” he asked, indicting Hop Sing with a jerk of his thumb in the direction of the cook.

 

Walker looked back at their captive, his expression one of disgust at the prospect of another problem that needed solving. “You know what to do.” Billy whooped with delight and immediately drew his gun. “Jest keep it quiet,” Walker ordered, concerned that some of the hands might be working within range of the house and hear a shot.

 

Hop Sing straightened in his chair, straining against his bonds. He was thinking about the family he had served for many years – the man who had been so kind to him and the boys he had watched mature – and he thought about how they would react if they were in the same situation. Although they were not there with him, he felt their presence all around him in the house and he determined to meet his fate in the same brave manner he would expect of them.

 

“No, leave him to me. He’s mine,” Walt Mitchell declared, drawing a knife. “You go on ahead and I’ll catch you up,” he added.

 

“Oh, Pa. I wanna take care of things,” Billy objected, sounding more like a spoilt child deprived of a toy rather than a man prevented from making yet another killing.

 

Walker studied Mitchell and noted his defiant stance and firm set of the jaw. “No, Billy. Guess Walt here wants to do his share o’the work so we’ll let him. We’ll head on out, like he says.” He turned to leave but hesitated just long enough to give Mitchell a parting instruction. “Mind you don’t take too long about it.”

 

Mitchell watched them go and an unnerving silence fell upon the house. Hop Sing held his breath against the rising tide of terror as this man with his impenetrable mask slowly moved towards him.

 

 

XXV

Adam was the last to wake and sat, propped against the rock and his father by his side busily plying him with coffee and breakfast as the other men prepared to break camp. Although hungry, he ate sparingly, his stomach complaining at the prospect of too much food all at once and although disappointed at the half empty plate, Ben remained quiet, understanding that it was early days.

 

There was to be no buckboard; Adam spurned the idea, insisting that he was quite capable of riding. They would slowly backtrack to the Wilkerson ranch and pick up additional mounts there before the onward journey to the Ponderosa. It was a round-about route but it was likely to be the shortest to get more horses. It was also a trail with which they were very familiar by now and at least they knew there should be no run-ins with the outlaws. They all wanted to see the men brought to justice but Ben’s main priority was to get his sons home.

 

It was the parting of the ways with Jedediah. He had done his bit to help and his curiosity was satisfied for they had found the oldest Cartwright boy alive, if not totally well, and the old timer had no desire to pursue a murdering gang. Besides, he was wise enough to know that he and his mules were slow; they did not need him to hold them up any further.

 

The farewells were brief but Hoss knew that the handshake between his father and the grizzled old man was fractionally longer than necessary, a hold that spoke volumes of the rancher’s appreciation for the help given to his youngest boy and facilitated the passing of a small pecuniary reward.

 

At last, Ben leaned over in the saddle and reached down a hand to help Adam mount behind him. Shifting his weight so that he was comfortable, Adam slid one arm round his father’s waist and looked first at the cloudless sky and then at the opening in the rock face behind which he had been entombed. His free hand suddenly patted the pocket in his shirt front and he felt the hardness of the cartridge he had placed there. There was a moment of grim satisfaction when he realised that, whilst he slept, his father had not inadvertently found it and removed it.

 

“Let’s go home, Pa,” he said softly into his father’s ear. Ben nodded and turned his mount to head out of the valley, a place that would forever hold dour memories.

 

It was after midday when they reached the Wilkerson ranch once more and Ben felt Adam stiffen behind him as they passed the poignant row of graves and stopped before the low cabin. Clay Fraser was there with some of his men and it was obvious that they were clearing out. The hunt in the area had been exhaustive and fruitless and it was time to catch up with those who had spread further east. Roy Coffee brought him up to date on their own search for Adam, while Hoss set about procuring mounts for his brothers. Moonshine was improving, stabled as she was in the barn, but she still could not be ridden. Maybe one of the few remaining Wilkerson hands would bring her over to the Ponderosa when she was ready and Hoss found himself wondering if any of the men could be offered work on his father’s ranch.

 

Some had already left in the aftermath of the shooting but there were some, undecided about their futures, who had felt duty bound either to join the posse or take care of the livestock and land until buyers could be found. If someone were to take over the spread soon, perhaps they might want to take on what was left of the existing work force as well. It would have to be a quick sale though; no man could work for nothing for too long.

 

Ben watched from a respectful distance as his other sons stood together at the final resting places of the massacred family. He could only guess at the thoughts that must be going through their minds as, heads bowed, they relived the horrors of the preceding days and made their own silent prayers. He had lost count of his own intercessions and grateful thanks to the Almighty since this nightmare had begun. Rather than the overwhelming relief that he knew he ought to be experiencing now that he had all three sons back together, he was aware of a growing sense of trepidation, as if all could not be well until he had them firmly ensconced back in the Ponderosa ranch house, its stout door locked against the dangers and lawlessness of the west.

 

Even standing as he was behind his boys, he knew from Joe’s bowed head and the sudden movement of his left hand that his son wept for the lost family. Adam slipped an arm around the shoulders of his young brother and Ben’s heart warmed at the sight. Ever present, protective and always strong, that was Adam. Joe turned into him, his long slender arms wrapping themselves around his brother’s waist as the boys embraced. Ben smiled briefly at the tender scene and turned away. It was a private moment and he did not want to intrude upon this healing process as they released the grief, the shock and tension of shared danger and the recognition of what might have been.

 

As they readied themselves to travel the final miles, Fraser stood by Ben’s horse and looked up into the dark eyes of the rancher and raised his hand. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you found both your boys, Mr Cartwright. There aren’t always happy endings in this job and that makes them all the more special when they happen.”

 

Ben looked down and smiled, moved by the man’s words and sincerity. “Thank you, Sheriff, for all your help. If I can return the favour at all, you only have to ask, and remember, if your search takes you near the Ponderosa, you and your men will be welcome.”

 

Fraser nodded his appreciation. “I’ll remember. Now you get on home and take those boys with you,” and he slapped the rump of Ben’s mount to encourage it to move.

 

It was mid-evening before the exhausted group rode into the yard. Ben had prevailed upon Roy to accept the hospitality of the Ponderosa for the night rather than make the journey back to Virginia City when he had already spent so many hours in the saddle and the weary lawman had readily accepted.

 

“You don’t need to ask twice,” Roy grinned.

 

“Why hasn’t Hop Sing got the lamps lit?” Hoss asked, puzzlement etched into his tired features as he dismounted.

 

Joe glanced at the dark house as he tethered his horse to the rail. “Guess he wasn’t expecting us back. He’s probably in the kitchen.”

 

“Shouldn’t we be able to see some light from there?” Hoss persisted, the edge in his voice bringing all the men to a heightened state of alertness. Drawing their weapons, they instinctively fanned out. Hoss and Joe faced the barn and bunkhouse, thus covering the backs of the others while Roy studied the trees and bushes that bordered one side of the yard. Adam was already at the ranch house door as Ben eased himself into the shadows behind him. With gun cocked at the ready, Adam threw a perplexed glance over his shoulder to his father and pushed open the door. It had not been latched.

 

Nodding to Ben to cover him, Adam threw himself into the room and hit the floor, rolling to one side to find concealment behind the sofa. When there was no retaliatory gunfire, he risked peering over the furniture but he could make out little in the darkness. He heard a match being struck behind him and a warm glow illuminated the room as his father lit the lamp that stood on the desk.

 

Getting to his feet and holstering his weapon, Adam was the first to see the little Chinese cook gagged and bound to a chair in the corner of the room beyond the dining table.

 

“Hop Sing, you okay?” he demanded, crossing to the man in long, easy strides and pulling the gag down over Hop Sing’s chin before turning his attention to the ropes that bound the wrists.

 

“Hop Sing okay. Hear Number One son come in; keep quiet; no want to get shot.”

 

Adam chuckled as he threw one set of ropes to the ground and drew his pocket knife to cut those round Hop Sing’s feet. There was wisdom in the cook’s words. On hearing any sound, Adam was so rattled by recent events that he could easily have opened fire and lived to regret it.

 

Hoss lit more lamps whilst Joe and Roy went to stable the horses as a worried Ben helped Adam move Hop Sing to a more comfortable chair. He was stiff after so many hours of immobility and the ropes had chafed his skin as he attempted to escape his bonds. Ironically, this had been the one day when the ranch foreman had not bothered the cook with his concern for the Cartwrights or his decisions about what needed to be done and so the invasion of the Ponderosa ranch house had gone unnoticed as the gang had tethered their horses way out of sight of the bunkhouse.

 

Plied with a brandy as Adam gently bathed the abrasions left by the ropes and applied some of Hop Sing’s own ointments, the cook recounted what had happened, the tale being somewhat protracted for the English was periodically punctuated by a stream of unintelligible Cantonese as he gave vent to his anger at the gang’s audacity and destructiveness.

 

Roy offered to help him prepare some food as the Cartwrights began the slow process of restoring their home to order and taking stock of what had been stolen and damaged.

 

Ben breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered that the three silver frames containing the portraits of his late wives remained on his desk. It soon became clear that the gang had taken smaller valuable or more practical items including hunting knives, weapons from the gun cupboard with ammunition and a little cash from a drawer. They had apparently been incapable of opening the safe; not that their efforts would have been profitable if they had – it did not contain the quantity there might have been towards a month end when the men’s wages would be stored there. Once done, the family separated to take inventory of their more personal items in their rooms.

 

XXVI

Some time later, Ben was standing outside Adam’s bedroom. The door was ajar and Ben knocked on it gently but, when no answer was forthcoming, he pushed it open, speaking as he went.

 

“We were wondering what was keeping you. Have you lost much, Adam?” His tone was quizzical, perplexed even as he saw Adam sitting on the floor on the other side of the bed, his back to the door.

 

“They didn’t take anything that couldn’t be replaced.” His voice sounded odd, charged with emotion. “They got a small amount of cash that I had in a drawer, my best watch, a new pair of boots and a change of clothes.” His flat tone and the fact that he refrained from looking at his father were a clear indication that there was something more and Ben waited.

 

“Look what they did, Pa,” Adam said huskily and his father rounded the bed to see what was so upsetting. The moment he saw what Adam held tenderly in his hands, saw the open lid but heard no melody, spied the broken casing, he understood his son’s pain and sank onto the bed at his side, a consoling hand on his shoulder.

 

“Oh, son, I am so sorry,” he said softly. “I promise you we’ll do everything we can to get it fixed, no matter what the cost. We’ll take it to San Francisco; there are some excellent music box makers there. Somebody ought to be able to make the necessary repairs. Let me see,” and he took the box carefully from Adam’s hands to examine the damage.

 

“Leave me, Pa, please,” Adam said, his voice so low that Ben had to strain to hear him. “I just want to be on my own.”

 

Ben’s heart ached as he knew that he could not ease Adam’s suffering. His eldest son had been through an emotional wringer over the past few days and that was without the physical hardships he had had to endure. Ben had hoped that when he got the young man home, Adam would rest and recuperate but they had arrived only to discover that the Ponderosa – their very own sanctuary – had been violated. Knowing what the gang was capable of achieving, their relief that Hop Sing had survived unscathed had been an incalculable blessing but there remained the disappointment and anger when they discovered personal items that had been stolen and now, the damage to the precious music box was incomparable. It was such a little thing but it meant so much and was irreplaceable.

 

Ben rose to go and stopped in the doorway to gaze back at his son. Adam remained sitting on the floor, his face buried in his arms that rested on his drawn-up knees. There would be no more discussion; his body language was a sure indication that his battle for self-control was one that he was determined to struggle with alone.

 

An hour or more passed before Adam rejoined his family and Roy Coffee as they sat around the table for a late supper.

 

“I jest don’t know how he does it,” Hoss breathed in appreciation as he eyed the table laden with a makeshift meal.

 

“Hop Sing had some help this time,” Joe grinned as he glanced across at Virginia City’s sheriff who still sported an apron.

 

Suddenly realising what had amused the boy, Roy removed the symbol of domesticity and shook his head. “Uh-uh. Hop Sing only had me peeling potatoes, setting the table and washing up the mess those ….” His voice trailed off. The mood at the table was a little lighter than it had been since they all arrived at the house and he had not meant to remind them of what had gone on in their absence.

 

Ben recognised his friend’s awkwardness and sought to reassure him while passing a platter of cold meats. “It’s okay, Roy. I’m sure the potatoes will be very good and I for one am happy to see a fresh tablecloth and clean silverware.”

 

The recent presence of the gang hung over them all like a cloud though and it was not long before conversation returned to the fugitives.

 

“What are you gonna do next, Roy?” Hoss asked, helping himself to a second slice of apple pie.

 

“Make an early start and get back to town. I’ll need to send messengers after Clay Fraser and let him know what’s happened here. Seems like those outlaws are heading east all the time so they’re gonna be on Ponderosa land for a while yet. In the meantime, I’ll round up what men I can in town and start searching while I wait for Fraser to arrive.”

 

“We’ll help,” Joe volunteered.

 

“You most certainly will not, young man,” Ben ordered.

 

“But, Pa …” Joe tried to object.

 

“Don’t you ‘but, pa’ me, Joseph. Have you forgotten already what that gang has put you and your brother through? I can not believe you would even entertain the idea of encountering them again. I want you here on the ranch where I can see you.”

 

“Bet you let Adam go,” Joe muttered under his breath but his words were heard.

 

Ben let his gaze rest on his firstborn and saw immediately that the defensive wall was very firmly back in place. To those that did not know Adam, it would be impossible to believe that he had just come through several days of physical deprivation, witnessed utter carnage and endured personal trauma. Although not his usual self in terms of family banter and still pale from his ordeal with dark-ringed eyes, he participated in the discussion at the table as though it was an informal gathering and Roy was a dinner guest who happened to pay a call.

 

“That’s for Adam to decide,” Ben declared, knowing instinctively what his eldest would want to do and yet wishing that he could keep Adam there on the ranch beside Joe.

 

At the mention of his name, Adam’s head shot up and his expression was inscrutable. “I’ll be joining the posse.” With his impassive tone, he might just as well have announced that it had started to rain.

 

“Then you’ll take Hoss with you,” Ben said simply. Father and son locked eyes and, unlike his youngest brother, Adam knew there was no point in arguing; there had just been an unspoken compromise. His father did not want him to ride with the posse at all, preferring him to stay at home to nurse the shock and the damaged hands, to be fed by Hop Sing and, more than anything else, to be safe. Adam could understand that and appreciated that his father’s concern was just another demonstration of his love but there were things that needed to be done and Adam knew Ben respected that. He would be allowed to go, with the proviso that Hoss accompanied him to watch over him and make sure that he was not reckless, and that was the only condition. In that instruction, Ben knew that the boys would look out for each other. As Adam had protected Joe, so he would not do anything rash to endanger Hoss, either directly or indirectly, and with that Ben had to be satisfied.

 

He had not reckoned, however, with the depth of Mitchell’s paranoia as far as the eldest Cartwright son was concerned.

 

They were still at the table, relaxing over coffee and brandy when Hop Sing began to clear away the dishes around them. It was late, far later than a sensible rancher usually retired on a work night but these were not normal times and they seemed reluctant to go to their beds despite complaints from their weary, aching bodies.

 

“We have much to be thankful for,” Ben suddenly said. “My sons are safe and my old friend was spared,” and he raised his glass to Hop Sing who bowed in acknowledgement of the toast. Ben stood and took the pile of dirty plates from the cook’s hands. “Come sit, Hop Sing, and share a glass.”

 

Moved by the rancher’s gesture, the little man tried to protest, but Joe added his insistence to his father’s invitation and Hoss was already pulling up an extra chair to place the cook directly opposite Adam.

 

As they replenished their glasses, it was Adam who broke the silence. “I’m greatly relieved that you are safe, Hop Sing, but it was a miracle that they let you live. They have been so careful to remove any witnesses; that’s why they came after Joe and me.”

 

Hop Sing paused, the glass halfway to his lips. He set it down again, carefully considering his answer. “They would have me dead but one – they leave him behind to kill me – he have message,“ and he raised his dark, almond-shaped eyes to meet the steady gaze of the eldest Cartwright son. “For you.”

 

His pronouncement certainly created a reaction and he was bombarded with questions by all except Adam. He sat still and silent, almost as if he had expected this turn of events.

 

Eventually he leaned forward in his chair. “Go on,” he prompted.

 

“Others go,” Hop Sing continued. “He stay, join them later when he kill me. So he say. I think he mean to do it. Then he stop and talk. He know your name and make sure he tell me his – Walt Mitchell. He say he blow up cave; he want you dead.”

 

“Who is this Walt Mitchell?” Hoss interrupted.

 

“Why’s he want you dead in particular?” Joe asked, confused.

 

“I don’t know.” Adam was genuinely puzzled. “I don’t recall the name.”

 

“It sounds as if it goes a bit deeper than what happened at the Wilkerson place,” Roy observed.

 

“You sure you don’t know of him?” Ben pressed.

 

“Sure as I can be,” admitted Adam and turned his attention back to the cook. “Go on.”

 

“He think you dead but then he feel you here,” and Hop Sing patted his heart with the side of his clenched fist, “and he know you still alive. Hop Sing happy but then he say he have message for you.” He hesitated, not sure how his words would be received.

 

“What was this message?” Adam urged.

 

“He waiting for you, and he go on waiting – until it’s over.”

 

The peaceful atmosphere round the table erupted. Joe and Hoss were on their feet asking questions simultaneously, Roy was demanding a more detailed description from Hop Sing who chattered away excitedly in Cantonese whilst Ben promptly changed his mind and insisted that Adam stay home the following day. They fell silent, though, as soon as he stood and looked down at them all.

 

“The gang is on the Ponderosa and we’ve got an early start tomorrow so I suggest we all turn in.” There was no mention of Mitchell or his ominous message before Adam gave a curt nod and headed for the stairs, leaving his family to stare after him as he disappeared and contemplate the notion that what had begun with a bank raid in Silverton was far from over yet.

 

 

XXVII

Roy took his leave just after dawn the following morning, the arrangement being that he would return with a posse as soon as possible and swing by the ranch house to collect Adam and Hoss. Ben was reluctantly going to remain at home but he wanted Joe close at hand to supervise the safety of the boy. The house had already proved to be vulnerable and although he did not think it likely, he did not want to run the risk of the gang coming back and renewing their terror tactics on his unprotected son and the family’s cook.

 

Ben re-entered the house and was just in the process of shutting the door when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Adam descended, fully clothed and buckling his gun belt around his hips. It was indicative of the danger the family felt still existed that they deemed it necessary to sleep with their firearms in their rooms when the general rule of the house dictated that they were left on the credenza inside the front door.

 

“Morning, Pa,” he greeted, moving to the table and pouring himself a hot coffee without taking a seat.

 

“Morning, son. I didn’t expect you to be up this early. Roy’s only just gone; it’ll be a while yet before he gets back with the posse so I was hoping you’d take advantage of the rest time.” He watched as Adam tied the thong around his thigh to secure the holster and his blood ran cold. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“We can’t afford to lose any more time and it’ll be hours before Roy even gets back here. You know how long it can be when he’s trying to get a posse together and we have no way of knowing where Fraser and his men are right now. Those outlaws are a good day ahead of us. Someone has to pick up their trail before it gets washed out. You saw those clouds as we rode here yesterday. It’s been threatening rain for a while and we don’t need the weather to conspire against us now. I have to get an idea as to where they are; we can’t afford to lose them.”

 

Ben studied him closely. “What you mean is you can’t afford to lose that Mitchell.”

 

Adam hesitated. “Maybe.”

 

Ben moved towards him and lay a restraining hand on his arm. “Don’t do this, son. This is not a personal vendetta.”

 

“Isn’t it, Pa?” Adam’s eyes flashed with anger. “Didn’t it become personal when Mitchell blew up that cave mouth and nearly killed me and Joe?”

 

“I thought I brought you up to believe that justice was the answer, not vengeance,” Ben reasoned.

 

“You did, Pa. You also brought me up believing that when needed, we take care of our own. Those killers are on our land and I’m gonna track them down, but I’m not a fool, Pa. There’s four of them and one of me and I know first hand just what they’re capable of doing. I’m not going to take them on single-handed but I want to know where they are, what they’re doing and where they’re headed. Now Hoss can come with me, just like you wanted, as long as he’s ready to go by the time Hop Sing’s packed us some food and I’ve saddled the horses. As soon as we know where the men are, I’ll send him back with information and I’ll stay and watch. Satisfied?”

 

Ben was not sure. “You promise me you won’t make a move against them until the posse’s there?”

 

“I promise you I won’t fire the first shot.”

 

With that cryptic answer, Ben had to be satisfied. He nodded. “I’d better make sure your brother’s up.”

 

It was another half hour before Adam and Hoss were on their way. Being dragged, metaphorically, from his bed before he was ready had had little or no effect on the amiable mood of the younger Cartwright although he did repeatedly cast surreptitious glances at his brother.

 

“Quit staring at me,” Adam eventually ordered, his tone not as fierce as his words.

 

“Jest making sure you was okay,” Hoss said defensively.

 

“I’m fine,” Adam retaliated. “You just keep your eyes on the trail instead of me and look for signs of that gang.”

 

They rode on in companionable silence for a while until Hoss suddenly reined in, swung down from his saddle and inspected the ground more closely.

 

“Anything?”

 

Hoss looked up at where his brother sat atop the large sorrel. “Horses; four of them. We’re on it; they came this way.”

 

The tracks proved easy to follow – the gang members were either very foolish or brazen – and the brothers made good progress in their pursuit, coming across the ashes of their campfire from the previous evening before midday.

 

“They don’t seem to be hurrying none,” Hoss observed as he took a swig of water from his canteen and passed it to his brother.

 

Absentmindedly, Adam took a mouthful, stoppered the canteen and handed it back, all the while looking in the direction taken by the outlaws. “I know,” he conceded.

 

“Why d’ya reckon that is?” Hoss was puzzled. To his way of thinking, he expected anyone who had committed such acts to run and keep running.

 

“They’re tired; leastways their horses are. I can’t understand why they didn’t take fresh mounts from our stock unless they figured our brand would be too easy to recognise in these parts. They probably don’t even know they’re still on the Ponderosa; all they see is plenty of wide open spaces to get lost in. Some of them at least figure Joe and I are dead in a cave somewhere and that Pa is busy looking for us. That much is plain from the way they used the house. I think they believe they don’t have to hurry for the time being. We’re heading south east now so they are avoiding Carson City,” Adam explained.

 

There was another option that he dare not voice aloud; Mitchell was deliberately slowing them down because he was wanting to be found. Adam shook his head; now he was being fanciful. He caught Sport’s reins and pulled himself up onto the animal’s back with ease.

 

“They might only be about four hours ahead of us now so I’ll keep tailing them while you go back and meet up with the posse,” he announced.

 

Hoss looked unsure about this sudden proposed change in arrangements. “I dunno about that, Adam. Pa wanted me to keep with you.” He hesitated, not convinced how he should proceed.

 

“We need to make sure the posse’s following as easily as we are and that they get a move on. I can leave an even clearer trail if necessary but I want to know where that gang is. I promise you that I don’t intend doing anything stupid.”

 

Adam tried to reassure him, but as his eyes constantly roved in the direction the outlaws had taken, Hoss could tell that he was anxious to be on the move again. He may not have it in mind to engage the men when he caught up with them, but there was the ever-present risk that they might discover him and take him unawares. Adam had just been released from one dangerous situation so Hoss was not keen to let him walk into another.

 

The younger of the brothers rarely got the better of the other when it came to matters requiring thought but, for a long time now, his was the superiority where muscle and brawn counted. Hoss took a deep breath. “I sure hope I ain’t gonna regret this. I’ll head back and meet up with the posse but I’m warnin’ ya, Adam, if’n you get yourself in a ruckus with them outlaws, it ain’t gonna be Pa you’d better be worried about; it’ll be me.”

 

Adam flashed him a broad grin, appreciative of his brother’s apprehension. “I’ll bear that in mind, but for now, get going. Every minute we’re stuck here talking, they’re getting further away.”

 

Hoss pulled on the reins, turning Chubb’s head. His expression was serious as his eyes met those of his older brother. “You take care of yourself now, you hear me?”

 

There was the merest dip of the head in response. “I will.”

 

The brothers gazed at each other in silence for a few more moments and then Hoss urged his horse into motion and was gone. For the second time in less than five days, Adam watched as one of his brothers left him and he was surprised by the feelings that hit him in the ensuing quiet. A sense of loneliness, rarely felt before the spell in the cave, spread insidious fingers around him and he shuddered just as if the day had suddenly grown cold or an icy hand rested on his back. He attempted to shrug off his feeling of foreboding but it held him fast to the spot and, for some minutes, he stared at the empty trail along which Hoss had ridden such a short time before.

 

“Snap out of it,” he chastised himself, a light touch of his heels and a flick of the reins being all that were necessary to spur Sport into movement. His words, spoken aloud, cut through the silence of the countryside, sounding invasive and out of place. He shook his head to dispel wild thoughts and imaginings and took a deep breath to slow the sudden racing of his heart. Control; that was it. He needed to be back in control but ever since the encounter with the gang at the Wilkerson ranch, it had seemed to evade him and he found the continuing sensation more than a little unsettling.

 

Who was Walt Mitchell? Ever since Hop Sing had spoken the name, Adam had wracked his brains but could not place the man in any past event, either recent or long gone. He wondered if he had crossed paths with another member of the man’s family in less than savoury circumstances so that Mitchell felt duty bund to seek retribution for this slight, but the name remained elusive.

 

That Mitchell wanted some sort of confrontation was clear and this alone was disturbing. As he rode, Adam scanned the open country around him for any sign of the other men, his eyes repeatedly flitting to the ground as he followed their trail; the ease with which he identified their route only serving to make him more wary. These men were highly dangerous and, when caught, were destined for the hangman’s noose – just payment for the people they had killed mercilessly. Had he not seen examples of their work? They certainly had not baulked at putting an end to him and his youngest brother back in that valley. It was without question that a posse would be after them but they seemed to be making very little effort to cover their tracks and confuse their pursuers. Had they really reached the point where they no longer cared and were prepared for a final shootout when the posse eventually caught up with them? Or did they somehow believe that they were invincible? From Hop Sing’s description, Adam did not think most of them sounded too bright so perhaps they had a misguided faith in their own abilities to avoid the law, but Mitchell was another matter.

 

Everything about the man bothered Adam. It was undoubtedly he who had set the explosives; that was clear from information garnered by the Cartwrights’ cook when he overheard their conversations. Their loose tongues convinced Adam that Hop Sing was not supposed to have been left alive and yet Mitchell had spared him deliberately so that specific information would be imparted to Adam. But for what reason? For the life of him, Adam could not fathom the man.

 

What would he do when he caught up with Mitchell? That was the dilemma facing him now. It had been so clear when he had been trapped in the cave – he wanted the man who had left him there and who could have killed Joe – but his father’s words of that morning were going round and round in his head. Was it really only a few hours ago? His father’s wisdom had always been a calming influence on him, presenting alternatives and questions that often made him pause and rethink his actions, and it was no different now.

 

Was he on a personal vendetta? Did he want revenge more than he wanted justice? He felt himself relax in the saddle as he began to rationalise the situation.

 

An innocent family had been terrorised and killed. The foreman and a ranch hand, along with a bank teller, had also died unnecessarily. Joe had been frightened and endangered whilst Hop Sing had endured extreme intimidation. His family had been robbed and their home invaded, and had he not suffered also? A large posse was in pursuit so he did not have to take the law into his own hands. Was that what he was trying to do? Be sheriff, judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one? For years he had upheld the law, assisted it when needed, and believed that it was an essential part in civilising the newly settled areas of this vast and violent land.

 

His mind came full circle and he faced again his initial question. What would he do when he caught up with Mitchell? What if he killed the man, shooting him from a distance? The satisfaction would be short-lived. There would be no doubt that the lawmen, on their arrival, would regard it as justified; just another murderer brought to book, and at least it would save the honest citizen’s taxes from paying for a trial. However, he was not the only one to have been a victim of the gang in some way and perhaps it would bring closure to many more people if Mitchell and his buddies were left to swing at the end of a rope.

 

An even wilder thought began to pervade his reasoning. He wanted to know why Mitchell wanted him so badly and the only way he could do that was if they were to meet face to face, although he did not know at this stage just how he would bring that about without giving Mitchell the advantage of putting a bullet in him first. He had promised his father that he would not fire the opening shot; that did not mean he would not retaliate if the need arose. Perhaps he could wound Mitchell, incapacitating him enough so that he could still question the man, for if he waited for the posse to catch up with him, how could he put his proposal to them that he did not want Mitchell shot dead? This was a ruthless gang and if its members put up a strong fight against being captured, no member of a posse was going to waste time trying to wound a dangerous fugitive. They would have to be brought down – permanently.

 

Adam had to face it; he might never know what had turned Mitchell against him but he also knew now that he would not be the one to fire the fatal bullet unless driven to it. He feared that, with recent events, he sounded irrational; a contradiction when it came to Adam Cartwright but his curiosity was a more powerful force than the urge to kill a man outright. He had the sense, though, not to do anything rash to risk his own life unnecessarily; that much he had promised both his father and his younger brother.

 

His left hand found his shirt pocket and extracted the cartridge he had secreted there at a time that now seemed so long ago. It lay harmlessly in his palm as he made a further decision. He had intended to save it for one man but now he had other plans, if at all possible.

 

Standing in his stirrups, he drew back his hand and hurled the cartridge as far from him as he could. He watched it arc through the air and descend into the ragged brush some distance from the trail. It could not be used on Mitchell now.

 

 

XXVIII

Mitchell stared into the camp fire in a brooding silence, unaware that the others watched him with attitudes ranging from derision to mild concern.

 

“You still thinkin’ about that Cartwright?” Billy scoffed.

 

The only response was a glare; the question did not warrant any words but the Walkers had not finished.

 

“Jest what makes you reckon he’s still alive?” Nate demanded, curious as to why Mitchell had been uncomfortable since that day in Reno when he expressed a wish to return to the valley, its cave and its occupant.

 

Mitchell did not know how to explain his gut feeling or why he had allowed his resentment of Cartwright to fester and grow, eating away at him like a disease. He did not expect any of the Walkers to understand but he had to try and so he began his tale. He told them about the ill-fated cattle drive when he discovered that his efforts of several weeks had been in vain and pay was consequently minimal because another drive had beaten them to the best prices; a drive whose boss was Adam Cartwright. He also related some of the stories he had heard about the eldest son over the intervening years; of an honest businessman who brooked no nonsense and whose word was his bond.

 

“Sounds too good to be true,” Seth Walker snarled.

 

“Yeah, well you’d better believe it. You heard what they were sayin’ about him in Reno,” Mitchell reminded him.

 

“Nobody can be that good,” Billy sneered. “A fella has to have some faults somewhere along the line.”

 

“Well, seein’ as how you’ve got more’n ya fair share, maybe you picked up what shoulda been Cartwright’s,” Nate goaded. Seth roared with laughter at the prospect just as Billy good-naturedly swiped at his cousin with his hat.

 

“They do say as how he can be a bit of a cold fish. You know, thinks he’s better’n ever’body else on account o’ the learnin’ he picked up back east,” Mitchell continued, warming to his subject and thankful that the atmosphere with the Walkers seemed definitely lighter.

 

Their mood had been significantly more amiable towards him since the night spent at the Ponderosa ranch house and the free access to some good quality alcohol. Once there was no more talk of his going back, the potential threat that he posed seemed to have passed and much time had been spent dreaming about what they would do with their individual shares of the heist. They had seen firsthand the wealth of the Cartwright family and it had stimulated ideas of a grandeur far in excess of anything achievable from the bank robbery but they saw no harm in the dreaming.

 

Seth Walker and Walt Mitchell were the only ones to actually plan and consider what they might do in the long term, each envisaging a little plot of land they could work and where they hopefully could lose themselves from the law. They were realistic enough not to expect anything on the scale of the Ponderosa and the demands it made on the men who lived and worked on her for they knew that the Ponderosa was extensive – what they had not realised was the fact that they were still on Cartwright land even as they camped for the night. Had Mitchell been aware of this, it would have added to the angst he was already experiencing in regard to Adam Cartwright.

 

“I never held with no book learnin’ m’self,” Nate announced.

 

“We know; you stayed at school jest long enough so’s you’d be able to read about yourself on the wanted posters,” Billy teased, getting his own back at the earliest opportunity.

 

In response, Nate lunged at him and the pair rolled on the ground in a light-hearted tussle. Mitchell watched, unable to determine whether he was envious that they could put recent events behind them for long enough to indulge in some horseplay, or angry that they appeared oblivious to the seriousness of their situation.

 

“Them Cartwrights sure do have a life o’ luxury with their fine house an’ all that land. Seems like the sons are gonna do all right for themselves outa that rich daddy o’ theirs,” Seth mused.

 

“I always thought we oughta take the eldest one alive and get a whole heap more money for him,” Nate pointed out.

 

“He’d have been more trouble than he was worth,” Mitchell announced. The others rounded on him, surprised. “Everyone keeps on about how smart he is with his brains and his mouth; he’d have just caused too many problems for us. He’d be tryin’ his darndest to escape all the time and maybe doin‘ ever’thing he could to finish us off, one by one.”

 

“You sayin’ that after all we’ve done, four of us couldn’t have taken care of one of him?” Nate was insulted by the suggestion of their inadequacies.

 

“You shoulda left him to me. I could’ve taken care of him real good,” Billy boasted.

 

“You reckon?” Mitchell snapped. “Word is Cartwright’s fast with a gun too. Maybe he would’ve been takin’ care of you.”

 

“What’s with you and this Cartwright?” Seth suddenly asked. “Oh I know what you’ve been tellin’ us about the drive and how good he is at business and working things out, but he’s only a man. Sure, he’s got a nose for interferin’ in other folks’ business but that’s all it is.”

 

“He’d say he’s doin’ right by the law, helpin’ folks an’ all,” Mitchell went on.

 

“Course that’s what he’d say. He’s got the money, the land an’ the book learnin’ to back up his mouth, is all; that an’ all the good folks round here lookin’ up at him an’ his rich daddy because they’re too scairt to do anything else. I seen the likes o’ the Cartwrights before; they got plenty and all they want is more an’ they’ll do anythin’ to get it. They get a hunger in ‘em for power and they think nothin’ of steppin on the likes o’ you an’ me. We’re nothin’ to them jest so long as we tug a forelock when they pass by and do as we’re told.”

 

Billy and Nate listened to the other Walker’s words with wrapt attention while Mitchell felt a growing sense of unease, convinced as he was that Seth Walker was seriously underestimating the Cartwrights. Nothing he had heard suggested that they were a money-grabbing and power-crazed family.

 

“They sure have a lot that we don’t,” Billy noted. “I’d like me some o’ them fine things they had in the house.”

 

“What for?” Nate asked. “What would you do with ’em?”

 

“Nothin’, I’d jest look at them a lot.”

 

“What’d be the point o’ that?”

 

“I dunno, but maybe I’d start to use ’em an’ if they got broke, I’d have me the money to go straight out and buy me a new one,” Billy declared. It all seemed so simple to him.

 

Nate laughed. “You’d be so high an’ mighty, ya wouldn’t need to go do the buyin’ yerself. You could jest give an’ order an’ someone’d be more’n happy to go get it for ya.”

 

Billy frowned as another thought struck him. “Say, Pa, how come some folks get rich like the Cartwrights while the rest of us has nothin’?”

 

“That’s easy, Billy. Money always comes to them that have it but to start with, they steal the land an money an’ make folks work fer them an’ they take all the credit,” Seth announced, convinced that he had understood the character of the Cartwrights.

 

“So now we’ve been an’ done the stealin’, we’re jest gonna get richer too.” Billy whooped with delight at his own reasoning and brought a laugh from the other Walkers.

 

Mentally, Mitchell disassociated himself from them, regarding them with a renewed and mounting disdain. When would they realise that there was no such thing as a ‘get rich quick’ scheme for the likes of them? Their fate was sealed as soon as the first shot was fired when they went into the bank. Heck, they were doomed as soon as they concocted this hare-brained idea to do the robbery and they had nobody to blame but themselves.

 

For all that he had said about Adam Cartwright, the Walkers had not heard properly. The young man did not seize and grab whatever he wanted; all that he took were the opportunities when he saw them. It was a measure of the man that he made of them what he did and this, Mitchell realised, was what he resented. Cartwright had the opportunities – probably made some of them too – and he, Mitchell, had squandered his and given up every step of the way whenever the going got tough. No, there was no shortcut to riches and there were consequences to every action that sought the easier way. Cartwright, on the other hand, did not appear to be one who ever shied away from hard work and getting his hands dirty, no matter what the Walkers thought.

 

He had heard so much of the character of Cartwright, had seen the respect ordinary people felt for him, a respect that had been earned and not won by intimidation – and Mitchell was jealous. There came to him the sudden understanding as to why he hated this other man so much: Adam Cartwright was everything that Walt Mitchell was not – nor could ever hope to be. In that instant, he was filled with self-loathing and looked down at himself with a shiver of revulsion. What had he been thinking when he stooped so low as to put on the man’s clothes? What had he hoped to gain? This was not a second skin that would aid him in adopting the personality and aptitude of Cartwright just by the wearing of it.

 

There were no two ways about it – he hated Adam Cartwright and he hated himself.

 

The carelessness of the group knew no bounds for, unbeknown to any of them, in the trees, little more than thirty feet away from them, lay a figure who watched them closely and had heard every single word. He had left his mount tethered and grazing at a distance and upwind of the other horses before circling round the camp and creeping up on the men undetected.

 

His body hugged the ground but Adam was unaware of the discomfort meted out by the hard, uneven surface. After all, it was nothing in comparison with the other conditions he had endured in recent days. He was more preoccupied with what he was hearing and struggling to control a cold anger that rapidly spread through him. His eyes narrowed dangerously and his hand closed over the gun lying fully loaded in readiness before him. Surprise would be on his side should he choose to act. He had a clear, uninterrupted view of the men, all illuminated by the glow from the fire. Four quick shots were all that were needed; the men would not even have time to react. Had they not just been discussing his prowess with a weapon?

 

But he had made a promise and he would endeavour to keep it: that was one of the many things that set him apart from these men. He removed his hand from the gun and shifted position in an attempt to make himself a little more comfortable; it was going to be a long night but there had been many of them recently. It was ironic that the situation had begun with four men playing a waiting game and watching for him and Joe several night ago. Now the tables were turned and it was Adam watching them.

 

For now, he was content to wait.

 

XXIX

Ben, too, was staring into a fire; one that roared in the huge hearth and threw a cheering light and warmth around the great room but he was unaware of anything. For one night he had had all his boys safely beneath the same roof and now two of them were gone again. Not for the first time that day he questioned the wisdom of his decision not to join the posse as it rode through mid-morning. It was a source of some relief that it had not taken Roy as long to gather a sizeable group of men as Adam had initially feared. Some four to five hours behind the boys, the posse could make up a little of that time if it rode at speed.

 

A hand touched Ben on the shoulder and he realised he was being handed a coffee. He smiled up at the little man who had spent the day profusely apologising for not having better protected the house in his absence.

 

“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Ben smiled, wondering how much more coffee he could possibly drink for the cook had kept him plied with it on a regular basis since Hoss and Adam rode out. It was Hop Sing’s way of feeling useful, of showing his concern and, despite the reassurances from Ben that his sense of guilt was unfounded, of easing his conscience. Ben did not want to offend him and, consequently, kept drinking.

 

“Where do you suppose they are now?” Joe asked from his perch on the coffee table, not far from his father. A discarded book – one of Adam’s, Ben noted – lay open and face down on the table beside him . Joe had tried for a little while to occupy himself with reading, his choice drawing him closer to his absent brother but either the contents or his distracted thoughts had rendered the book incapable of maintaining his interest and he had set it aside with a deep sigh.

 

“I don’t know,” Ben answered simply.

 

“Do you reckon they’ve caught up with those men and are heading back with them?” Joe continued.

 

“I don’t know that either.”

 

“Do you suppose they’re all right?” Joe turned anxious eyes on his father who, despite his exasperation at the nature of the questions, suppressed his annoyance in the face of his son’s worry.

 

“Think, Joseph,” he said gently. “How am I supposed to know the answers? I know as much as you do and I’m just as worried because of it.”

 

“I’m sorry, Pa.” The boy edged closer. “It was pretty thoughtless of me.”

 

Ben reached out and ruffled the already tousled curls. “Not at all, son. It’s understandable.”

 

There was a pause before Joe spoke again. “Do you think …,” and let his words trail off as he realised what he was about to say.

 

Ben grinned encouragingly. “Go on,” he prompted, thinking that it was probably more beneficial for the boy to voice his worries, even if there were no guaranteed assurances forthcoming.

 

“D’you think Adam’ll be all right? I mean, he’s not exactly given himself time to get over what happened in the cave an’ all.”

 

Ben frowned; Joe’s worries were the same as his own. “I would’ve preferred it if he had stayed home but we can take comfort in knowing that Hoss is there looking out for him. We all know what Adam can be like. I reckon for him to really get over what’s happened, he has to see it through until the end and then he’ll rest, in mind and body. We’ve seen how far he can push himself, way beyond the point where many other men would have given up. He’s had some sleep but not enough yet his determination will drive him on until he’s ready.”

 

“And then he’ll drop,” Joe pointed out.

 

“Probably,” Ben agreed, “but we’ll be there to catch him, so to speak. Then we can make sure he gets all the rest he needs and feed him up some. That’ll also give his hands time to heal; which reminds me, young man, how have your hands been today?”

 

Joe held them out for his father’s inspection. “Getting better all the time, Pa. Hop Sing’s had me bathing them several times in a special solution he’s done and then he puts ointment on them. They’re not so sore but he says I’ve gotta keep them clean for a couple more days, otherwise he’s gonna make me wear some funny kind of gloves.”

 

Ben wanted to laugh at the unspoken and innocent desire to circumvent the work situation. With both Adam and Hoss away, there was more to be done, but it was important that Joe’s hands were given every opportunity to heal completely. “Then we’d better make sure that you keep them clean then. No chores tomorrow and we’ll rethink the situation the day after.”

 

Joe’s eyes lit up at the prospect of having time to himself but Ben was one step ahead of him, “And that means no riding either. We don’t want to run the risk of the reins rubbing or re-opening any of those cuts.”

 

Joe’s face fell but he knew better than to object in light of his father’s present worries about Hoss and Adam. “No, Pa,” he said softly.

 

“Now, off to bed with you, and I’ll be up soon to say goodnight.”

 

“Sure thing, Pa,” Joe said, a little too quickly, and disappeared up the stairs.

 

Ben smiled at the departing figure, knowing full well what the boy was doing. This ready submissiveness rather than the usual battle about riding and bedtime was a small but valued attempt on Joe’s part not to add to his concerns and Ben was grateful.

 

In reality, it did little to alleviate his qualms regarding his other sons, especially his eldest. Despite his attempts to reassure Joe, Ben was very worried about Adam. He was far from fit: one night on a hard ground had done little to assuage his exhaustion and he could have had no more than five hours in the comfort of his own bed last night. He had eaten sparingly since being freed from the cave and, already weakened, he had had a long day in the saddle yesterday and was likely to have had another one today. How much more time would elapse before he returned home to the rest his body must surely crave?

 

Having dissuaded Joe from riding because of his injured hands, Ben dared not think of the state Adam’s would be in by the time he came back. They must hurt him. Another thought struck Ben hard and his breath caught in his throat in muted shock. If Adam’s hands were that painful, could he hold a weapon to defend himself if need be? Supposing Ben had let him ride out when he was totally incapable of looking after himself? Yes, Hoss was with him but, if they got into trouble, could he adequately protect them both? Adam had proved himself capable of firing the rifle from the confines of the cave, but he could have supported it with rocks if he could not actually hold it. Without the need to aim it at a specific target, he could have pulled the trigger with the fingers of his other hand, or perhaps it had just been easier when he had not had a further two days in the saddle.

 

Ben chided himself; he could not spend the time thinking of such things, but he did remember the rifle; it had been left behind in the cave. It did not matter for he would buy Adam a replacement. The weapon was nothing when compared with his son’s life.

 

Ben’s heart sank and he shut his eyes to the threat of sudden tears as one more fear seized him. His son was alive yesterday but was he still living now? Could the same be said for this time tomorrow? Ben found himself cursing the Walker gang and someone called Walt Mitchell.

 

 

XXX

The large posse, led by Hoss, Coffee and Fraser, rode hard across the open ground towards the lone, mounted figure in the lee of a small rise.

Hoss merely nodded his greeting, the relief evident in his eyes that his brother was unharmed.

 

“Good to see you, Adam,” Roy said.

 

“Likewise,” Adam looked past the lawmen at the sizeable and formidable group riding behind them. “You’ve made good time.”

 

“Thanks to Hoss here. Knowing where you were headed and what the going would be like, he kept us moving for quite a while after dark. Slowed us some on account of safety but we were able to make up considerable distance,” Roy explained.

 

Hoss, embarrassed by the praise, felt the blush creep up his neck and he lowered his eyes. “Shucks, weren’t nothin’. Just figured we had to get to ol’ Adam here as quick as we could.”

 

Adam studied his younger brother with a quiet intensity, his dark eyes flashing his appreciation.

 

“How far ahead are they?” Fraser asked looking at the hill beyond as if he could see through it to the men they were pursuing.

 

“Less than an hour, by my reckoning. I was almost on top of them last night, managed to get as close as that there,” and Adam indicated a nearby tree to give the gathered men some indication as to his proximity to the outlaws. Hoss took a deep breath – it was very close. “They’re fond of talking; seems they’re going to keep heading south and east. One of them at least is a Texan.” Adam glanced at Hoss and added, “Mitchell. He was sayin’ that he’s going back; he’s not in any trouble there apparently. The others hadn’t up their minds whether to stick with him or maybe strike out further south when the time’s right so I reckon we shouldn’t have any real problem catching up with them before they decide that it’s the parting of the ways.”

 

“Let’s get a move on then,” Roy said and the group solemnly headed off in the direction that Adam had indicated. They topped the rise and, as they began their descent, they spotted the dust trail thrown up by the gang not much more than a couple of miles in the distance as they crossed a large expanse of open plain.

 

“They’re heading for those hills; we could lose them,” Hoss called out.

 

“Then we’d better not lose them,” Adam asserted, his words sounding like they came from between gritted teeth as he raced ahead and the posse followed in his wake.

 

There was no way that they could cover the ground unnoticed if any of the gang happened to glance behind them and, from the outlaws’ abrupt change in behaviour and weaving, they had just spotted the posse. The chase had just taken a serious turn.

 

*********

 

Ben laid his fork down on his plate and pushed it away, the food barely touched.

 

“You not want?” Hop Sing asked, frowning at the sight as he scurried in from the kitchen with fresh biscuits and honey. The only response was a slight shake of the head.

 

Joe was in a quandary. A growing lad who was still catching up on his food intake after his recent experience, he was hungry and could easily eat more but he was afraid that his father might misread his healthy appetite as a sign of unconcern for his brothers’ well-being when nothing could be further from the truth. Then there was the disappointment that Hop Sing would feel if his culinary efforts were neglected. The little cook was often quick to take offence and it was an unwritten Cartwright rule -mainly thought up by Hoss – that Hop Sing should be kept sweet at all times. That Hoss was often the one who did the upsetting on account of his frequent visits to the kitchen to see what was on offer was a fact of life and it was regularly left to Ben or Adam to placate the little Chinaman.

 

Deciding that it led to a quieter life if he appeased the cook, Joe helped himself to the biscuits and poured himself an ample helping of the honey. He was comforted by an approving nod and grunt from Hop Sing en route to the kitchen.

 

“I reckon Adam and Hoss’ll be back in time for supper tonight,” Joe announced between mouthfuls.

 

Ben suddenly seemed to notice the presence of his youngest son for the first time. “Oh you do, do you? And how do you make that out?”

 

“Stands to reason. They left sun-up yesterday with fresh horses. Riding hard, they know the land and could make up a lot of ground on that gang. Once Roy and that other sheriff’s with ’em, those men don’t stand a chance. They’ll be surrenderin’ quick as you like.” Joe flashed his father an anxious look, to see if his attempt at reassuring the man had been even remotely successful.

 

Ben realised from the tone of bravado what Joe had been trying to do and a sense of warm gratitude spread through him at the thought of the fifteen year-old’s efforts to provide a shoulder of strength on which his father could depend.

 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Ben replied.

 

“So maybe you could manage at least one of Hop Sing’s biscuits?” Joe pushed the plate in his father’s direction, eager for him to eat.

 

Now Ben was the one who was indecisive. The appeal in the boy’s hazel eyes was hard to ignore but such was his concern for his other sons that the food was a sickening prospect.

 

“Please, Pa,” Joe tried again.

 

Ben gave a weak smile and reached out a hand, his mind made up. “Well maybe just the one.” He struggled to dismiss the image of what might be happening elsewhere on the Ponderosa whilst he sat eating biscuits and honey.

 

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

 

The gunfire was heavy and deafening in the early afternoon sunshine and it had soon become evident that there was to be no negotiation, no surrender. During a brief cessation of shots, Roy Coffee had made a futile gesture to get the gang to give themselves up but his instruction to throw down their weapons was only met with a contemptuous and retaliatory volley.

 

“They’re gonna fight to the end,” Hoss noted sombrely from the only place to afford him any shelter. He was lying flat on his stomach in a dip in the ground, created by erosion from the run-off of water from the lower slopes of the hills after heavy rain.

 

“Reckon so,” Adam agreed, standing with his back flattened against a nearby tree for protection as he took time to reload. A bullet gouged into the trunk by his right ear and splinters erupted.

 

“You okay?” Hoss called, worried by the sight of blood trickling down the right side of his brother’s face.

 

“Just some splinters,” Adam curtly answered, wincing as he wiped at the sticky substance.

 

“Lucky they didn’t get your eye,” Hoss observed.

 

“Yeah, lucky,” Adam agreed and, throwing himself round and hugging the tree with his left hand to steady himself, he fired off several shots in quick succession.

 

Sudden movement ahead and off to the right caught his attention. One of the gang was shifting position. Keeping low to the ground, the man was moving with determination. But why? Adam looked further to the right and in the direction the man was heading. A lone horse stood uneasily, obviously disturbed by the barrage of gunfire. The outlaw was making a break for freedom; an outlaw who was dressed entirely in black.

 

The remainder of the posse stretched out to Adam’s left and was kept occupied by the remainder of the gang whilst he, Hoss and Roy were the ones on the flank

 

In an instant, Adam had made his decision. With a quick turn of the head, he ascertained where Sport was.

 

“Cover me,” he yelled at Hoss.

 

“Why? What’ya gonna do?” Hoss’ eyes widened in alarm. What was Adam thinking of now?

 

“Cover me,” he insisted and, without further explanation, took off at a sprint across the open ground to Sport and swung gracefully into the saddle.

 

“Why you …” Hoss could not find the adequate words to level at his brother before Adam broke from cover with a yell and, lying low over Sport’s neck to provide as small a target as possible, he raced to intercept the fleeing outlaw who had also reached his mount.

 

With a roar, Hoss fired repeatedly in the direction of the nearest outlaw, intent on distracting him.

 

“What does your dang fool brother reckon he’s up to?” came the shout from Roy Coffee as he watched Adam’s departure with incredulity.

 

“Don’t rightly know, Roy, but I’m goin’ after him,” and Hoss began to scramble backwards across the ground towards his horse.

 

Roy stared in disbelief and then sighed. “Not without me, y’aint. Don’t rightly know what your Pa’d make of these downright stupid notions. He’ll only take it out on me if’n I don’t turn up with your sorry hides in one piece when all this is over an’ I ain’t standing fo’ that.”

 

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

 

“Pa, for pity’s sake, let me get on with this. I’ve been chopping wood for longer than I can remember and I don’t need any more reminding on what to do,” Joe begged, driven to distraction by his father’s presence for a usually simple task.

 

“Sorry, son.”

 

“Why don’t you do some paperwork? It must have built up some over the past few days,” Joe suggested.

 

Ben shrugged. “I can’t settle to it. There’s too much Adam would have done by now.”

 

“Go and talk to Hop Sing then. He’ll make you some fresh coffee if you ask him.”

 

“I don’t want any more ‘fresh coffee’, I’m awash with the stuff,” Ben snapped. At the sudden hurt in Joe’s eyes, his voice softened. “Besides, he’s already thrown me out of the kitchen. Says I get in the way. I suppose his grumpiness is because he’s worried too.”

 

“Then why don’t you find Charlie and see how things are gettin’ on in the north pasture?”

 

“I don’t want to be too far from the house. I want to be here when …” Ben’s voice trailed off.

 

Joe held out the axe to him with a beguiling grin. “You’re all so fired up with how the chopping should be done, Pa. Why don’t you carry on here? I’ll go on into the barn and start mucking out the stalls. That way we’re both here when Adam and Hoss ride in and until then, we can talk to each other when we want to.”

 

As Ben watched his youngest disappear into the barn, he wondered when his little boy had suddenly grown up.

 

*******

 

The pursuit was both relentless and reckless for the horses were being ridden crazily over uneven ground. One misplaced hoof and horse and rider would go down, rolling with the momentum, the man inevitably crushed by the beast even if his neck were not broken on impact. In a moment of clarity, Adam measured the risk and hoped he did not have an unrealistic faith in Sport’s sure-footedness, but he brushed any doubts aside.

 

He had to get Walt Mitchell, for he knew that was the identity of the man in front. If nothing else, he knew from the clothing, recognising it immediately, recalling exactly where in the closet the black shirt and pants had hung and imagining the feel of the close fitting leather boots, similar to the ones he wore now.

 

Mitchell was leading him away from the others deliberately and, equally deliberately, he followed. It would be soon now, this final altercation between the two of them and Adam fought to quell the angry fire burning within him. He had to make sure that once more he was in control for he could not afford any mistakes. He must not underestimate his nemesis, not now. The confrontation was imminent and would be decisive – it had to be. Yes, in his gut, he knew it was Mitchell; the same as he knew it was foolish of him to think there could be time to spare for questions and answers, for hearing the reasons behind Mitchell’s hatred.

 

With a kick of his heels, Adam spurred on his mount. With a burst of discovered energy, Sport surged forward. Adam tensed as the horses drew level, let go the reins and prepared himself. There would be no time now for explanations.

 

As Adam Cartwright launched himself from his saddle and threw his entire weight at the other man, he did not care.

 

**********

 

When Joe finally completed clearing out the stalls in the barns, he let himself into the house and threw his hat on the credenza. Hop Sing immediately barred his way with a glass of cold milk and a plate of freshly baked cookies. There were no prizes for guessing how the little cook had been trying to occupy himself during the afternoon.

 

“Thanks, Hop Sing.” Joe went to take the proffered refreshments but Hop Sing held on fast. He nodded his head to where Ben’s desk stood and Joe followed his gaze. “Okay, I‘ll deal with it,” he whispered in acknowledgement and Hop Sing released his grasp.

 

Ben sat, left elbow on the desk, the palm cupping his chin as he tapped out an inconsistent rhythm with a pencil on the ledger in front of him. He stared, unseeing, at the figures on the page before him as another pot of coffee grew cold by his side.

 

“Thought you weren’t going to worry about the paperwork,” Joe commented as he perched on a corner of the desk, set down the plate and sipped at the milk.

 

“What?” Ben suddenly came out of his reverie, aware that he was being addressed. “Oh sorry, Joe. I didn’t hear you come in.”

 

“Obviously,” Joe chided and studied his father carefully. “Pa, I know you’re chompin’ at the bit, wonderin’ what Hoss and Adam are up to. Why don’t we saddle up and ride out to meet them? If they’re gonna make it back for supper like I said, we ought to get together with them in a couple of hours.”

 

Ben saw the eagerness in his young face and softened. He rose and put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, son, but we are going to say right here. Your brothers are quite safe with Roy, Sheriff Fraser and the others, and they’re after some pretty dangerous men. We don’t want to go adding to their troubles if they have to then start looking for us. It’s hardly likely that the gang would double back on themselves but you never can tell, so we are not going to take any silly risks. We’re going to remain here and look after Hop Sing and each other. Your brothers are counting on us being safe here and we don’t want to add to their concerns. We’ll just wait it out, until they come back when their job’s done.”

 

Ben pulled the boy close in a hug and could not help wondering when he would be able to do the same with his two older sons.

 

**********

 

The fight was brutal and bloody and well underway when Hoss and Sheriff Coffee found them. At that moment, Adam threw a well-placed punch which caught Mitchell off-guard and sent him sprawling to the ground. Dazed, the man pushed himself up on one elbow and shook his head, leaving Adam swaying on his feet and making the most of the pause to catch his breath.

 

At the sight of Mitchell scrambling to his feet, Hoss, concerned for his elder brother, moved forward to intervene.

 

“Stay outa this, Hoss,” Adam snarled just as Mitchell threw himself at him and brought him down.

 

Halted by his brother’s command, Hoss watched helplessly as the two rolled over and over in the dirt, pummelling each other with vicious blows.

 

Roy Coffee laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Let him do this, Hoss. We jest have to make sure it‘s as fair a fight as it can be.”

 

The outlaw was straddling the elder Cartwright, hands tight round his throat as he attempted to squeeze the very life out of him. Disturbed, Hoss was about to shrug free from Roy’s grasp and help when Adam, hand pressed against Mitchell’s face, summoned up the last vestige of strength and, with a roar of anger, pushed his attacker over backwards.

 

Scrabbling away on all fours, Adam coughed and spat, drawing in rasping lungsful of breath, his face red with exertion. He was just straightening up when Mitchell launched another attack, a hard right to the jaw sending Adam reeling backwards. He briefly rubbed at the spot, shook his head, and threw a ferocious punch of his own.

 

Hoss looked on, breathing heavily, and frantic to come to his brother’s defence. He willed Adam on, mimicking the frightening fight with his fists clenched and striking at the air. The two men were evenly matched in height, weight, build and ability, the similar clothing a cruel mockery as they traded blow for blow. They were tiring, sweating and stained with blood, whether their own or their opponent’s or both, neither Hoss nor Roy could tell for certain as the combatants locked together once more in their desperate struggle.

 

A brutal punch to the stomach caught Adam by surprise and, winded, he sank to his knees. His head snapped back as Mitchell caught him on the jaw with a well-aimed kick and he slumped to the ground dazed.

 

Mitchell leaped on him, pulling him up by the shirt collar and delivering several fast punches to the head. Hoss was just fearing that his brother had been knocked senseless and was about to take over when a black-clad knee came up and caught Mitchell in the groin. With an agonised yell, Mitchell fell back and positions reversed as Adam moved in for a counter-attack.

 

It was Roy who was the first to see the fingers of Mitchell’s outstretched hand scrabbling for the rock, who saw the outlaw grab it and swing it with all the strength he could muster at Adam’s unprotected head.

 

Then everything seemed to happen at once. A gunshot sounded and Mitchell’s body jerked, deflecting the force of his strike a little but the rock still connected with Adam’s skull. With a pained gasp, he collapsed sideways and lay beside Mitchell, the pair of them disconcertingly still.

 

“Adam!” Hoss yelled and dropped at his brother’s side, fearful at what he might find.

 

“He wasn’t fighting fair,” Roy mumbled as he poked at Mitchell with the toe of his boot. The outlaw remained silent.

 

“Adam,” Hoss murmured, pulling off his bandana and dabbing gently at the blood that ran into the black hair as his brother lay unmoving and unresponsive.

 

 

 

XXXI

Joe was wrong. His brothers did not reappear in time for supper and by midnight, Ben conceded that they would not return that night and he reluctantly retired.

 

It was mid-morning of the following day before he heard the sound of horses entering the yard. Abandoning the paperwork yet again, he rose from the chair behind the desk and quickly went out to meet the riders, desperately hoping that it was the returning posse with his sons in one piece. He was holding his breath as he opened the door, fearful that the body of one or both of his sons might be slung over the backs of their horses. Joe was hard on his heels with Hop Sing bringing up the rear.

 

The breath escaped him like a whisper of relief as he saw both boys sitting astride their mounts, although Adam’s head was bowed and he slumped in the saddle but Ben assumed it was tiredness; he had pushed himself to the limit and beyond over the past week.

 

A morose air hung over the group of exhausted men and Ben ran a quick eye over them as Hoss began to dismount. All who had left the Ponderosa with Roy Coffee were present, although one had his left arm in a sling and another looked a little bloodied. They led four horses; three carried the shockingly familiar sight of their dead riders, shrouded in blankets and tied across the saddles. The fourth was ridden by a blond-haired, scowling youth, not much older than Joe, whose wrists were heavily bound.

 

“I’ve brought your boys home, Ben,” Roy announced grimly. “We got the gang. Three of ‘em are dead and that one there will no doubt hang.” His words triggered a mocking laugh from his prisoner, who was suddenly silenced by a back-handed slap delivered by the man who rode beside him.

 

“Enough!” Roy ordered. “Whatever he does, you keep your tempers. I intend for him to get to the jail, be tried and hang for what he’s done. I don’t want him to have any opportunity to say he’s been mistreated by anyone. Is that clear?” he demanded and stared round the group, waiting for each man to nod his assent.

 

“I’m glad it’s done,” Ben acknowledged. “It’s been hard, Roy. You and your men are welcome to stay a while and take some refreshments.”

 

“Thanks for the offer, Ben, but I won’t rest easy until he’s behind bars.” Rou made to swing his horse round and suddenly stopped. “Your boys did well, Ben; real well,” he added simply, nodding in the direction of the Cartwright brothers. Hoss was standing beside Sport and looking up at Adam who had neither spoken nor moved since the group had halted.

 

“Yeah, real well,” Billy Walker sneered, his voice taunting. “The great Adam Cartwright does it again! Mitchell was right about you all along. Ya jest cain’t do a thing wrong, can ya? Pity he didn’t take care o’ you in that cave. It’s on account o’ you that my Pa’s dead and Nate’s gone too,”

 

“Hush your mouth, boy,” Roy ordered sharply. “Someday you’ll realise you brought this all on yourself.”

 

Ben watched as Roy led his men, the prisoner and the laden mounts out of the yard on their way to Virginia City. Billy Walker’s malicious voice carried back to where Ben stood.

 

“You jest watch out, Cartwright. You’re so high and mighty but you’re gonna take a fall. Ya hear me? An’ I sure hope I’m there. You’re gonna get what’s comin’ to ya.”

 

“C’mon, big brother. Don’t mind him none. He’s jest shootin’ off his mouth. There’s not much he can do now. It’s time to get down. I’ll take care of ol’ Sport for ya,” Hoss urged. He held out a helping hand as Adam finally swung out of the saddle in an agonising slow motion. Standing on firm ground, he swayed uncertainly and shrugged off Hoss’ stabilising grasp. “You jest take your time and get on in the house,” Hoss advised and cast a despairing look in his father’s direction.

 

It was only when Adam moved towards the house, his footsteps faltering and unsteady, that Ben realised all was not as well as it first appeared. As Adam moved to pass him, Ben stepped into his path. With a finger under Adam’s chin, Ben raised his head gently to force eye contact.

 

That was all Ben got, contact with the left; Adam’s right eye was swollen shut, the bruising below it and elsewhere on his face already a dark purple-blue. His mouth was cut and puffy, the blood dry and flaked where he had put his teeth through his upper lip. An ugly gash on his left temple had bled profusely, the remainder of a dark trail snaked down his cheek and encrusted his hair.

 

“He’s hurt, Pa, and he’s bein’ downright mule-headed about it,” said Hoss softly by way of explanation.

 

“Adam!” Ben said, laying a hand gently and carefully on his eldest son’s shoulder, ever mindful of the possibility of more extensive injuries given the stiff way in which he moved.

 

Adam pulled himself up to his full height and tipped his head so that he could study his father with his one good eye. “It’s over, Pa,” he announced as clearly as he could through split, painful lips. “Mitchell’s dead.”

 

Ben merely nodded, his heart too full with events to find expression.

 

“I didn’t kill him,” Adam added slowly. “Roy did.”

 

“You had a darn good try though, brother,” Hoss commented.

 

A part of Ben did not want to hear what had transpired between Adam and Walt Mitchell at the end but he knew that he would sit and listen if Adam ever wanted to tell him. Hoss could be guaranteed to divulge what had happened anyway.

 

“All that matters is that the whole thing’s over, like you said. Mitchell’s dead and you’re home. What say we get you in the house and cleaned up?” Ben suggested.

 

Adam nodded carefully, took a step and stumbled but his father was immediately there, catching him and taking his weight. Hoss was at his other side, ready to offer more support.

 

“Steady, son. Take your time,” Ben instructed as they moved off slowly in the direction of the house with Joe and Hop Sing following in their wake.

 

All his boys were home safely once more and Ben could relax. In time, they could discuss the exploits of the Walker gang but his priority now was to tend the physical wounds and Adam certainly had enough of those although, thankfully, none appeared serious. The gang had been caught; three of them were dead and one would stand trial. It was, indeed, over.

 

**********

In the jail at Virginia City, Billy Walker was making himself as comfortable as he could on the low cot in the stark cell. Roy Coffee turned the key and studied him thoughtfully through the bars. Shaking his head in bewilderment at how a young boy could go so wrong, Roy walked into his outer office, pulling the door closed behind him.

 

Billy sat on the cot, back against the wall and knees drawn up, feet splayed and braced on the thin blanket. There was just a hint of a smile at first but then his face broke into a broad grin of self-satisfaction and he whispered at the sky through the window beyond the cell.

 

“You’d better watch your back, Cartwright; Mister High-and-Mighty Adam Cartwright with all your fancy book learning and Daddy’s money. I bet ya think it’s all over, what with Walt being gone an’ all that, but I’ve got news for you. I ain’t done for yet an’ I’ll be comin’ for ya. This ain’t over, not by a long way, not yet!”