Chapter 2

 

Late Wednesday night

Hoss handed his pa a cup of coffee.  Smiling slightly, Ben accepted the tin cup.  “Thanks, son,” he said, holding it without drinking.

“Pa, he’s fine,” said Hoss.  “You know Little Joe.  He may be foolish at times, but he ain’t reckless.  You taught him better than that.”

Ben shook his head.  “I just can’t believe he’d do something like this,” he said.  “What on earth was that boy thinking?”

“He wasn’t,” said Adam with a touch of heat.  Even if he hadn’t already been worried sick, he’d be ready to turn the kid over his knee just for what this was doing to Pa.

“Adam, that ain’t fair,” Hoss protested.  “You don’t know why he done it.”

“I can guess,” said Adam.  “A brand-new gun, maybe a dime novel, and a best friend who was just as gung-ho as he was.  Add it all up, and you get Little Joe Cartwright, range detective.”

“Y’know, Adam, I know it’s hard for you to remember right now, but he ain’t stupid.”  Hoss was trying to hide his irritation so as not to upset Pa.

“You’re right, Younger Brother,” said Adam, tossing the last of his coffee into the fire.  “That’s very hard to remember right now.”  He met Hoss’ gaze squarely.  “Our fifteen-year-old brother and his fifteen-year-old friend are out here somewhere, tracking men who rob banks and steal horses.  Between them, they have one gun, a handful of bullets, and maybe their schoolbooks.  You tell me.  Just how smart is Little Joe?”

Hoss grabbed Adam’s arm and hustled him away.  “Smart enough not to say things like that in front of Pa,” he said.  “Pa’s already worried sick, and you ain’t helpin’.”

“I’m not saying anything Pa hasn’t already thought of,” said Adam, trying unsuccessfully to escape Hoss’ grip.  “Let go of me, you big galoot.”

Instead, Hoss tightened his grip.  “You ain’t gonna say nothin’ else like that in front of Pa, you hear me?  He’s got enough on his mind without you remindin’ him what Joe and Mitch ain’t got, or anythin’ like that.”  He squeezed harder.  “You hear me?”  The menace in his tone was unmistakable.

“I hear you,” Adam said quietly.  Hoss released him, and he rubbed his arm.  “But just because I don’t say it, that doesn’t mean it’s not true,” he reminded his brother.

Hoss looked at Adam for a long minute.  Then, he turned away.  “I know,” he muttered.

* * * * * * * * * *

Thursday

“Hey, kid.  You want some food?”

For a second, nothing made any sense.  Then, Joe blinked hard and remembered why he couldn’t move his arms:  he was tied back to back with Mitch.  One of the bank robbers–he couldn’t remember which one-was kicking the sole of his boot.

“Duke here made some grub,” the bald man said.  “You oughta eat something.  Your folks ain’t gonna pay for you if’n you starve to death.”

Joe dug down deep in his memory for the name of the other one.  Clyde.  Duke and Clyde, the bank robbers.  And Joe and Mitch, the damned fools, his mind added.

He wondered if Cochise had gotten home with the ransom note yet.  By his reckoning, they were less than a full day’s ride from the house.  If Cooch had run, he’d have gotten home before sunup.  At that point, Pa and Adam and Hoss were probably already saddling up to go and look for him, so the timing would be perfect.  They’d see the note and know to follow Cooch’s tracks, and they’d be here by nightfall.  No problem–at least, not until Pa got his hands on his youngest son.

Not thinkin’ about it, he decided.  He had more important things to worry about, like how to get free.

“Hey, kid!  You deaf?”

“No, I ain’t deaf,” snapped Joe.

“I said, d’you want some grub?”  Clyde was peering at him like maybe the boy wasn’t as smart as he’d looked.

“Sure,” said Joe.  He could feel Mitch turning around in protest, and he elbowed his friend.  No point in starving while they waited.  Besides, maybe if they ate a lot and used up all the grub, Clyde and Duke would want to get rid of them sooner.

A germ of an idea started to grow.  “You’re gonna have to untie us,” Joe pointed out.  He wiggled his fingers on the ground as though Clyde might not understand.

Clyde swore under his breath.  “You better not try anything,” he warned.  “Don’t forget, I got your gun.  Hey, what did I just say!”  He grabbed Joe’s arm as Joe tried to stand.

“I gotta. . . .”  Joe jerked his thumb toward the woods.

“Me, too,” Mitch chimed in.

“Dadburn kids,” muttered Clyde.  “All right, but one at a time.  The other one stays right here with me, just so nobody gets any funny ideas.”

“You go first,” Joe said generously.  He figured that Mitch knew enough to take his time.  No point in rushing to get tied back up.

As Mitch headed off into the woods, Joe took advantage of the chance to look around the campsite.  Much as he hated to admit it, the robbers had chosen well.  He could hear a stream nearby, and the clearing was pretty small, but at the same time, you couldn’t get here from Virginia City or the Ponderosa without traveling over rock.  Even Hoss wouldn’t be able to track them over rock.

So, somehow, they were going to have to outsmart Clyde and Duke.  Getting mad hadn’t helped last night, and Joe had a pretty good sense that the puppy dog eyes weren’t going to get him anywhere, even if he could bring himself to use them on these yahoos.  So, that left plain old cunning.

He figured he’d start by shaking the old guy up a bit.  “You been doing this long?” Joe asked as casually as he could.

Clyde looked startled.  “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Bank robbing,” said Joe, just like they were at the Silver Dollar, leaning on the bar and having a couple of beers.  “I mean, this isn’t your first time, is it?  How many banks have you robbed?”

“What in tarnation–what kinda question is that?”  Clyde’s jaw dropped like Joe had asked how many teeth he had.

“Just making conversation,” said Joe.  “I figure it beats standing here, looking at each other.”  He caught himself starting on a variation of puppy dog eyes which involved simple innocence, just as sunny and wide-eyed as if he’d never heard the word “no.”  Unlike puppy dog eyes, innocent eyes only worked about half the time, although it was true that his success rate was better with people who didn’t know him.  Innocent eyes almost never worked on Adam.

Just then, Mitch came crashing back out of the woods.  “Your turn,” he said.

“Hey, are we stayin’ around here?” Joe asked as though Mitch hadn’t reappeared.

“What d’you mean?”  Clyde looked nervous, like he thought Joe didn’t intend to head into the woods for his private matters after all.

“I mean, is this gonna be the campsite, or are we gonna be moving on?”  Joe allowed his eyes to widen just a bit-not all the way to full innocent eyes, but closer.

“We ain’t decided,” said Clyde.  “Now, git!”

Joe shrugged.  “Okay,” he said, sauntering toward the woods.  Once safely out of view, he took care of business and then settled in to think.  He could hear the bank robbers complaining about something or other, but he didn’t hear Mitch talking.  Clearly, he was going to need to let Mitch in on the plan.

“Hey, kid!  Get out here!” shouted one of the robbers.

“I’ll be right there!” called Joe.  He nibbled on a pine needle as he considered the situation.  On the plus side, he had his gun if he could get it back, and he had Mitch.  On the minus side, he had Clyde and Duke.  In the middle, there was the money that was hidden somewhere and the Belles’ ponies.  The posse that was tracking them was another plus, although when Pa caught up with them, it would be a definite minus.

So.  He had to figure out how to get him, Mitch, the ponies and the money out of here without getting any of them shot.  The notion of maybe having to shoot Clyde and Duke made him unexpectedly queasy for a minute, but he told himself firmly that if they shot at him and Mitch first, there would be no choice and he’d be able to do it.  He wondered where the posse was.  If they were close enough, the sound of gunfire would draw them, but if they weren’t, it would just be foolish to start up such a thing and waste his bullets.

“Hey, kid!  You get out here, or I’m comin’ in!”

“I’m coming!” snapped Joe.  He had half a mind to wait a little longer now, almost like a dare to see if they’d try it.  After all, nobody barged in on a man doing his business.  It was just one of those things you didn’t do, no matter what.  He’d certainly spent enough time with Adam banging on the door of the outhouse to know.  If anybody was going to barge in, it would be Adam, and even he never did more than rattle the latch.  Older Brother might stand out there and fuss and fume all day, but he wouldn’t open the door.  He’d gripe and complain about what had ever possessed Pa to go and have a third son and how they ought to just send the boy off to boarding school while Joe took his sweet time–and, in all honesty, sometimes sat around when he was done, just to make Adam pay for his remarks.

And at that memory, a grin spread across Joe’s face.  If being obstinate could make his own brother want to get rid of him, then just maybe there was something to be done here.

He got to his feet and allowed himself a good long stretch.  As slowly as though he had the whole livelong day, Joe ambled out of the woods, scratching his belly and yawning.  He wandered into the clearing with a smile as amiable as if he was in his own living room.

“So,” he said brightly.  “Where did you tell my pa to leave the ransom money?”  He smiled brightly as he kept innocent eyes focused on a dumbstruck Clyde, but as soon as the older man looked away, he flashed a quick wink at Mitch, who had looked flummoxed at his sudden change in attitude.  He was gratified when Mitch nodded.  He could always count on Devlin.

This was going to be fun.

* * * * * * * * * *

“You see anything?” Ben asked for the thirtieth time.

“Nothin’, Pa,” said Hoss wearily.  If he’d been Adam or Joe, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hold his tongue by now.  He knew how anxious Pa was, but that didn’t make it any easier to find tracks on freshly rain-washed roads.

He heaved himself back into the saddle.  There had already been at least a dozen false starts since daybreak.  He’d seen some broken branches at one point, but following that trail had only led to a couple of stray cattle.  Another time, he saw a hoofprint, but it was leading the other direction, and he felt pretty certain that the bank robbers wouldn’t be heading back toward town.

When he got his hands on Little Joe, he was going to thrash that boy to within an inch of his life.  What had ever possessed him to think that he should be out chasing bank robbers?  His new gun, Hoss’s mind retorted.  And the fact that he thinks he knows how to use it.

Hoss kicked Chubby’s sides a little harder than necessary.  He hadn’t admitted to Pa that he’d shown Joe how to use the gun.  He’d caught Adam looking at him last night with that expression that said as clear as words that Older Brother knew something was up.  And then, as Hoss was unfolding his bedroll, he’d heard Adam say quietly, “It’s not your fault.”

Hoss had looked up, startled.  Adam’s eyes were somber as he said, “I showed him how to load it.”

Hoss couldn’t help grinning.  “So did I.”

Adam raised an eyebrow.  “You teach him how to fire?”  When Hoss nodded, Adam admitted, “So did I.”

Hoss couldn’t help chuckling.  “You suppose he let Pa teach him, too?”

“Knowing Joe, I’d say it’s likely,” said Adam.  He shook his head ruefully.  “When I catch up with him, he’s going to be standing up for a week.”

“Well, I don’t reckon that’ll be much of a problem since he ain’t gonna have time to sit down anyway, seein’ as how he’ll be doin’ all my chores and all yours,” Hoss pointed out.

Adam grinned.  “How did we end up with a brother like him, anyway?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” said Hoss, grinning at the memory of some of Joe’s schemes.

Now, in the mid-morning sun, Hoss wasn’t feeling nearly as lucky.  Why in tarnation couldn’t he have had a brother who actually used his head for something besides holding up his hat?  Little Brother, you’d better be all right, he warned silently.  He didn’t even want to think about any other possibilities.

Roy Coffee and three other men came galloping up just then.  “You find anything?”

“Nothin’ yet,” said Hoss wearily.  Dadburnit, why couldn’t the rest of them track anything?  He was about to let something like that slip when a curious track caught his eye.  He reined in his horse and dropped to the ground.

“What’s that?” demanded Ben.

“Shoe with a nick in it,” said Hoss.

“Doesn’t Little Joe’s horse need a new shoe?” asked Adam.

Hoss nodded, not looking up.  “Left front, if I recollect.  This could be it.  But-”  He squinted at the track, his fingers not quite touching it.

“But what?”  The sheriff leaned over.

“If this is Joe’s mount, it’s headed back toward the ranch,” Hoss said.  “Track’s new since the rain stopped last night.”  He looked up at his father and brother.  “You reckon Joe gave up on the bank robbers and went home?”

“Joe?  Give up on something?”  Adam sounded incredulous.

“He might’ve if’n he come to his senses,” Roy pointed out.  “Mebbe he lost the trail and figgered he was in enough trouble already.”

“What about Mitch’s horse?”  Mitch’s father dismounted to squat beside Hoss.

“I don’t see but one set of tracks,” said Hoss.  “Would Mitch have cut off earlier to get to your place?”

“He could have gone over by Buckhorn Meadow,” Ernie Devlin nodded slowly.  “When I get my hands on that boy. . . .”

“Well, it sounds like these two done given up,” said Roy.  “Ben, if you and your boys want to head back to the Ponderosa, me and the men’ll keep lookin’ for the robbers.”

Ben hesitated.  He knew he ought to lend at least one of his sons to the posse, but right now, he just wanted all of them under his roof.  It was one of those things he wouldn’t ever have admitted out loud, but the fact was that he knew he worried about his boys more than the average father.  Yes, Hoss and Adam were men and Little Joe was almost a man, and they could all handle themselves, but when all was said and done, he was never quite comfortable with having them too far away.  He knew from hard experience how fast things could change, and even though he was well aware that sometimes a man just couldn’t protect the people he loved any more than he already had, it didn’t mean he had to be happy about putting them in the way of avoidable harm.

He looked up to see Roy studying him.  He and the lawman had been friends for a long time, and they’d seen each other through a lot of dark nights.

“If you’re sure you don’t need us. . . .”  The offer trailed off.

Roy nodded.  “There’s plenty of us to find two bank robbers,” he said.  “You get on home and deal with Little Joe.”

“That, we will,” said Adam.  “Come on.  Let’s go see that kid.”

It was late afternoon when they rode into the yard to see Joe’s pinto standing by the hitching rail.  Relief flooded through them all, with fury close on its heels.

“Joseph!” bellowed Ben before he’d even dismounted.  “Is it too much trouble to stable your horse?”

But there was no answer.  No lithe young man came running out of the barn with a wide, innocent grin.  No worried face peeked around a doorway, cringing at what was sure to follow.  No jaunty wave greeted them from the upstairs window as though nothing could possibly be wrong.

Instead, Hop Sing came running out of the house, his face grim.  “Li’l Joe not here,” he said.

“What do you mean?  His horse is here,” Ben pointed out, refusing to understand even as his heart began to pound.

Hop Sing shook his head.  “Horse come back, no Li’l Joe.  Just paper.”

Ben snatched the note from the cook’s hand.  His face went white.  His mouth opened, but no words came out.

“What is it, Pa?”  Adam leaned over and took the paper.  In the next moment, he was sitting upright, fire in his eyes.

“What?”  In his gut, Hoss already knew, but he had to hear somebody say it out loud.

“Little Joe’s been kidnapped.”  Adam turned to Hop Sing.  “Are the supplies ready?”

Hop Sing nodded vigorously.  “All ready.”  He scurried back into the house, and Adam and Hoss dismounted.

“We’ll need fresh horses,” Adam said.  When his father didn’t move, he said in a louder voice, “Pa, I’ll get you a fresh horse.”

Ben remained motionless.  Hoss reached up and rested a hand on his father’s arm.  “Pa,” he said gently.  Ben looked down at him, his dark eyes brimming with yet another tragedy.  “Pa, Buck needs a rest,” Hoss said.  Eventually, Ben nodded and dismounted, and Adam led the horses into the barn.

“He’s gonna be all right,” said Hoss softly.  “You know Joe.  He gets himself tangled up in the dangedest things, but he always comes out of it all right.”  He laid his arm around his father’s shoulders, and after a minute, Ben looked up.

“Let’s go get those supplies,” he said hoarsely.

Hoss nodded.  He wanted to say something else, but there was nothing he could say that would take that look out of his pa’s eyes.

Only Little Joe, safe and sound, could do that.

* * * * * * * * * *

Thursday night

“Easy, Ben,” said Clem.  His deputy’s star gleamed dully in the lamplight as he stepped in between the rancher and the banker.

“Ben, I’d give it to you if I had it,” said Josiah Morrison.  “I just don’t have the money.  Have you forgotten that it was my bank that was robbed?”

“And what am I supposed to do?” demanded Ben.  “Those men are holding my boy hostage!  If I don’t show up with the money by noon tomorrow, they’re going to–”

“Easy, Ben,” said Clem again.  He’d been saying that a lot ever since Ben Cartwright had ridden into town and pounded on the Morrisons’ front door.

“Don’t tell me to take it easy!” snapped Ben.  “My boy’s life is at stake!”

“Ben, Roy and the posse are out looking for those robbers now,” said Clem.  “If they’re the same ones who kidnapped Little Joe and Mitch, he’ll find them before you get out to Turner’s Crossing anyway.”

“If!”  Ben’s eyes blazed.  “We don’t even know if these are the same men.  All we know is that two young boys are out there being held hostage by somebody.”  He took a deep breath to steady himself at the mental picture of his son tied up in some outlaw’s camp.  In a more controlled voice, he said, “All right.  All right.  If you don’t have the money, where can I get it?  Who in this town has that kind of money?”

Morrison swallowed hard.  “To be honest, Ben-the first person I’d think of would be you.”

Ben took another deep breath, and another.  “I told you, I don’t have that kind of cash in the house,” he said.  “I have fifteen hundred dollars.  Devlin had two hundred.  That means we need thirty-three hundred dollars, and we need it in time to get to Turner’s Crossing by noon.”

“Ben, there is another way,” Clem said.  “You could drop off a sack of paper, and we’ll hide nearby and then when the kidnappers come for it, we’ll catch them and get the boys back.”

Ben glared.  “I don’t care about the money.  I’m not playing games with my son’s life.”

“He’s not suggesting playing games, Pa,” said Adam calmly.  “He’s suggesting that if you can’t get all the money in time, you need to try something else rather than simply not show up because you’re still trying to raise the rest.”

“Besides, if you can get them to show themselves, we can catch them and make them take us to Little Joe,” Adam continued.  “I don’t get the sense from their note that these are professional kidnappers.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Clem curiously.

“For one thing, it doesn’t look like they planned this particularly well,” said Adam.  He picked up the torn paper on the desk.  It had been ripped from the book of poetry that Abigail Jones made all her students memorize.  Across the top of one of Shakespeare’s sonnets was scrawled in pencil, “If you want to see your boys alive again, have $5000 at the bridge over the gully at Turner’s Crossing by noon on Friday.”

“Maybe it’s just me, but if I were planning to kidnap somebody, I don’t think I’d rely on the idea that he’d have a schoolbook with him that I could use for writing a note.” Adam turned back to the others.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if this was just an idea somebody had once they happened upon a couple of kids they weren’t expecting.”

“You mean. . . .”  Hoss’s eyes narrowed.

Adam nodded.  “I think our little brother may have found the bank robbers after all.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Joe and Mitch were straining their ears, but they were having a hard time hearing.  They’d caught a couple of snide remarks about how nice it was that those danged kids had finally shut up, but other than that, Clyde and Duke seemed to have enough sense to keep their voices down.

Blast.  Of all times for those yahoos to have gotten some common sense.  Joe had spent an entire day waiting for them to either throw them out or at least say something about the ransom.  He’d yammered on so long that he was sick of the sound of his own voice, but he hadn’t gotten much for his efforts besides the satisfaction of being a pain in the robbers’ backsides.

Joe and Mitch had kept up their routine the whole livelong day.  Between chattering and going to the woods and eating everything they could get their hands on-and, at one point, Joe singing until Clyde threatened him-they had done their utmost to be the most aggravating hostages in history.  Luckily, their captors were so befuddled by this behavior that it didn’t seem to have occurred to them that they could have just gagged the boys, cut the rope in two, and tied them up on opposite sides of the camp.  Joe figured that Clyde and Duke probably didn’t have any more experience being kidnappers than he and Mitch had being hostages.  The difference was that Joe had fifteen years of experience in the one area that mattered most right now:  annoying the people around him.

The only problem was that they were still here.  Keeping themselves amused had been all very well and good, but it hadn’t gotten Clyde and Duke so fed up that they’d kicked them out of camp.  Joe and Mitch were going to have to manage that on their own.  Either that, or wait for a ransom that might not come in time.

Because Joe knew enough to see the problem.  Depending on how long it had taken their horses to get to their respective homes and how long it would take to get the money together, Joe didn’t figure anybody would be able to deliver the ransom until the next day at the earliest.  He knew that Pa would move as fast as he possibly could, but even he couldn’t create money where it didn’t exist, and he and Mr. Devlin were going to have the devil’s own time getting money out of a bank that had been robbed.  It looked like Clyde and Duke had shot themselves in the foot this time.  Just goes to show, Joe mused.  Adam always complained that Joe didn’t think ahead.  Well, at least Joe wasn’t the only one with that little flaw.

At first, he’d been surprised that they weren’t packing up and moving on.  Then, in one of his many trips to the woods, he’d figured it out:  the ransom drop must be nearby.  Besides, with four men and only two horses, they couldn’t hope to move fast enough to make it worth the effort.  The best they could probably do was to stay right here and try to look innocent if anybody came along.

Innocent.  What a joke.  What kind of innocent mountain men would have a pair of matching bay ponies and two kids as well known as Little Joe Cartwright and Mitch Devlin?  The first time anybody laid eyes on this camp, it was going to be the end of Clyde and Duke.

Unless nobody was going to see those two kids. . . .

Joe’s eyes snapped open.  Clyde was pretty dumb and he truly didn’t seem to mean them any harm, but Duke had a mean streak.  Joe didn’t reckon Duke would kill them in their sleep, but he wouldn’t have put it past him to try something at first light, especially if the posse was getting close.

“I’m sorry, Pa,” he whispered.  All of a sudden, what had seemed like a terrific game was terrifyingly real.  Money had been stolen, boys were held hostage, ransom had been demanded–and before it was all over, men could be shot, and even killed.

Including his own family.

“No,” Joe muttered under his breath.

“What?”  Mitch’s whisper was faint enough not to be heard, but Joe nudged him anyway as a warning.

Okay, think like Adam, he told himself.  Annoying the robbers hadn’t worked.  They needed a new plan.  What would Adam say now?  He waited, and then he heard his older brother’s voice like Adam was standing in front of him.  Figure out what you know and what you need to know, Adam always said.  Piece by piece.  What do you know, and what do you need to know?

I know-I know we’re hostages, Joe told him silently.  I need to know how to get out.

Piece by piece, Joe.

Joe looked around the camp.  There are two men.  They’re drinking.  There’s a lot of money hidden nearby.

Nearby?

It has to be.  Otherwise, they wouldn’t have stopped here.

Go on.

They’ve sent a ransom note.  Pa’s going to go someplace with the ransom money.

When?

They didn’t say–

When, Joe?

Probably tomorrow.  They wouldn’t stay around longer.

What else do you know?

Joe looked around again.  There are three guns-their two and mine.  Mine hasn’t been fired, so it’s all loaded.  One rope, Mitch’s-that’s what’s holding us.  Two horses.  He heard the unmistakable pop of a cork coming out of a bottle.  And pretty soon, they’re gonna be drunk.

Good.  What do you need to do to get out of here?

I don’t know.

Think, Joe.

I don’t know.

Look around you.  What can you use?

He peered through the dim light to where Clyde and Duke were passing a bottle back and forth.  Then, he smiled.  He knew what he could use.

He waited until the bottle had been passed back and forth at least a half dozen more times before he made his move.  “Hey, mister!” called Little Joe.

“Whaddya want now, kid?”  These blasted hostages were more trouble than enough.  If he’d known what these kids were gonna be like, Clyde would have asked for a lot more than five thousand dollars.

“Um, I gotta-you know.”  Joe tried to sound as apologetic as he could.  He elbowed Mitch, who was trying not to laugh.

“What is it with you?  You just did that!” grumbled Duke.

In his most plaintive voice, he said, “I’m sorry, mister.  I’m tryin’, but-well, I got a-a medical condition.”  He elbowed Mitch harder as he felt his friend’s back shake with mirth.  This was serious now.

“A what?” snapped Duke.

“You’re not gonna make me tell you all about it, are you?”  Little Joe whined.  When neither of the men answered right away, he decided to make them suffer for their silence.  “I was sick a while ago, and–oh, this is so embarrassing.  See, when I was sick, it kinda messed with–well, that part of me, and now, when I gotta–well, it ain’t like it used to be–now, it’s more like-”

“That’s enough, kid!”  Clyde and Duke yelled almost in unison.  The last thing they wanted to hear about was some kid’s private matters.  “Go do what you gotta do,” growled Duke.  “Just–don’t talk about it, okay?”

“Thanks, mister.”  He waited a minute before he said, “Uh, mister?  You gotta untie me.”

“This better not be a trick,” grumbled Clyde.

“Oh, no, mister, I wouldn’t do a thing like that,” Joe said earnestly as Clyde approached.  He favored the robber with puppy dog eyes this time and was gratified to see that the look worked just as well on bank robbers.  It occurred to Joe to wonder whether puppy dog eyes would have the same effect on the Belles, but he reined himself in.  That was a matter to save for another time, when he could concentrate.

Clyde untied Little Joe, and the boy smiled up at him.  “Thanks, mister,” Joe said breathlessly, rushing into the woods as if trying to avoid an embarrassing situation.

After a few moments, Little Joe started to groan.  He could hear the robbers talking.  He groaned louder.  “Oh, no!  Oh, it hurts!  Somebody help me!”  The robbers stopped talking.  In response, Joe fell to the ground and made the loudest rustling noises he could manage.  “Somebody help me, please!”

“It’s okay, Joe, hang on!” called Mitch.  “Mister, can you untie me?  I gotta help my friend!”  Joe could hardly keep from laughing at the urgency in Mitch’s voice.

“This is a trick, ain’t it?” demanded Duke, his voice harsh and slurring.

Sure, ’cause we’d tell you if it was, wouldn’t we?  Joe was truly rolling around on the ground now as he stifled sudden, absurd giggles.  “Help!” he called in his most pitiful voice; luckily, the laughter had made him breathless, and he sounded almost as bad as he wanted to.

“Mister, somebody’s gotta help him.  Him and me’s been friends a long time, but-well, do you wanna do it?”

Duke and Clyde blustered.  “That’s okay, kid, you take care of your buddy,” Duke said hastily.

Moments later, Mitch ran into the woods.  “Joe, are you okay?” he called loudly.

“Oh, Mitch, thank God you’re here,” Joe said as pathetically as he could while still making his voice carry.  “Help me, will you?”

“What do we do now?” whispered Mitch.  “Just run?”

“Not both of us,” whispered Joe.  “You’re gonna run.  I’m gonna get my gun back.  You head up through the pass, and I’ll meet you there with the horses.”

“Cartwright, it’s just a gun,” said Mitch, his voice rising slightly.

Joe shoved him.  “Look, Devlin, without the gun and horses, we don’t have a chance of getting out of here,” he hissed.

“Then we should both stay and get the horses,” said Mitch.

Joe shook his head.  “Too dangerous,” he said.  “If you run, that way one of us’ll be out there.  If something goes wrong here, you can go for help.”

“I don’t like it,” said Mitch.  “How’re you figuring to get the gun and the horses?”

And then, Little Joe Cartwright spoke the words which would, in years to come, strike fear deep into the hearts of stalwart men:  “I have a plan.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Joe could hear the bullets whistling past him as he bent low over the horse’s neck.  Exhilaration coursed through him.  He wanted to turn and shoot back, but he was on horseback, and they were still tied up, and he knew that the wisest thing was to get out of range.

It had been almost too easy.  A few well-timed screams as though he were in pain, and drunken Clyde had come rushing into the woods to see what was wrong.  Mitch, perched out of sight on a stump, had hit the bald man over the head with a chunk of wood, just as hard as he could, and Clyde dropped like a stone.  “Run!” Joe hissed.  With only one hesitant backward glance, barely visible in the moonlight, Mitch ran.

After that, all Joe had to do was keep silent.  Eventually, drunken Duke came stumbling into the woods to see what was going on, and Joe dropped him the same way Mitch had dropped Clyde.  They were pretty heavy as dead weight, and it was a struggle to tie them both up in the dark, but he’d managed to tie the last knot just as they were coming to.

“Where’s the money?” he demanded.  Not the smartest thing to focus on, he realized later, but at that moment, he was furious.  All this trouble and danger for money.  These idiots deserved to rot here in the woods.

“You little-”  If they hadn’t been drunk, they probably could have gotten themselves on their feet a lot faster.  But Joe wasn’t about to wait around to see how long they took.  He threw a saddle blanket and saddle on each pony, and he grabbed one of the canteens and the saddlebags.  A quick look inside revealed that these fools hadn’t even bothered to hide the money; it was all right there.  Disgusted, he flung himself onto one of the ponies.

Then, he flung himself off again.  “Where’s my gun?” he demanded.

The epithets that issued from the woods weren’t particularly helpful, but he threw their gear all over the campsite until he found it.  Then, he buckled on the gunbelt and marched into the woods.

“People worked hard for that money,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt as he held the gun them.  “You don’t deserve to live, but I’m gonna let you.  And don’t worry.  The posse’s on its way.  They’ll get you back to town for trial.”  He threw the other canteen at them, turned on his heel and marched back out, ignoring the curses that darkened the night air.

He swung into the saddle again as the rustling behind him told him that they were figuring out a way to stand up.  “Let’s go,” he muttered to the horses.  He was just reaching for the other horse’s reins when the realization of what he’d forgotten hit him like a fist in the gut.  Even as he muttered a curse word of his own, he prayed that he would get clear of the camp before their drunken fingers found the guns that were still in their holsters.

He heard them yelling and shooting as he started down the hill.  Then, just when he thought he was clear, he felt an explosion in his right calf, just above his boot.  He couldn’t have said for sure, but he thought he saw a blinding flash of light all around him as something slammed into his leg with enormous blunt pressure.  It was as if the other horse had pounded up against him, except that that horse was following on his left.  The shock of the impact nearly flung Joe from the horse.  The entire leg went instantly numb and useless, paralyzed.

Instinctively, he tried to grip with his legs, but the right leg wouldn’t respond.  Confused by his shifting weight and his contradictory leg signals, his mount veered to the right, and the other horse followed.  Little Joe twined the fingers of his right hand into the horse’s mane, grasping as tightly as he could and reining to the left to get back to the road.  His mount responded, and the other horse nearly ran into them.  He couldn’t figure out how to correct the horses.  It was as though whatever had hit his leg, had hit his brain.

All this took but a few seconds.  The clear part of his mind told him to slow the horses.  The shooting appeared to have stopped.  Still clutching the mane, he leaned back to slow his horse.  With only one good leg, though, his balance was off, and he nearly fell.  He maneuvered the horses off the road, into a little copse of trees, and took a second to look at his leg.  All he could see in the moonlight was a dark splotch on his pantleg.  Blood, but not an impressive amount.  He didn’t really feel anything at all in his leg, even though he couldn’t seem to make it move.

So, this is what it’s like to get shot, he mused.  I don’t know what everybody complains about.  This ain’t so bad.  I can handle this.

It was like the hot lead in his leg had been waiting for just such a damned dumb thought.  In the space of a heartbeat, the pain began, starting low and flaring to white-hot, like when he turned up the flame on a lamp.  It caught him by such surprise that he bent low over the horse’s neck, fighting not to pass out.  He held as tightly as he could to the mane and leaned over, barely clear of the horse, to retch.  Afterward, he rested his head against the horse’s neck.  No coherent thought was in his mind, but something inside him demanded to know why he ever, in a million years, thought that trying to catch bank robbers was a good idea.

Little Joe didn’t know how long he stayed there.  Later, he figured he must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, dawn was breaking.  At least he hadn’t fallen off the horse.  He didn’t know if this was Floyd or Feather, but whichever one it was, it was now second only to Cochise on his personal list of fine horses, solely because it apparently hadn’t moved since he’d stopped.  If he fell off, there was no way he’d ever get back on.  Except for maybe a tiny bit of his thigh, the right leg was useless-the effort of holding the leg straight was torture, and bending the knee was beyond excruciating.  There was no way that he could put weight on that leg without passing out.  At the rate he was going, he’d be lucky to get to Mitch.

Mitch.  Damn.  He probably heard the shooting.  When Joe didn’t show up, Mitch would likely think he was dead.  Joe straightened up as best he could.  He had to get up to the clearing.  He hoped that Mitch hadn’t come down and tried to look for his body or something stupid like that.  Little Joe had heard of war widows doing that kind of thing, looking for their dead on battlefields.  Mitch’d better not have tried anything so dumb.  He needed to stay out of sight just in case Clyde and Duke got free and came after them.

“Okay, let’s go.”  His voice was strangely breathy even to his own ears.  The horse gave no sign of having heard him.  He clucked to the horse and kicked with his left leg.  The horse considered the odd signal for a moment before moving forward, its companion following.  He didn’t dare urge his mount above a walk for fear that he would lose his balance and be trampled by the other horse.  That would be just his luck today.

Slowly, painfully, Little Joe held on as the horses sauntered back to the road and ambled along until they reached the trail.  As they began to climb, he began to grow light-headed.  Almost of its own volition, his right hand dug deep into the horse’s mane, fingers twisting around the rough hair.  He could feel himself sliding back toward the horse’s rump as the trail grew steeper.  Still holding the reins in his left hand, he twined the fingers of that hand into the mane and let go with his right.  He leaned forward, reaching under the horse’s neck with his right arm, his cheek almost resting in the mane, in an attempt to keep from falling off.  A strange, clear corner of his brain reminded him that, if the horse should toss its head, he would probably be knocked out, and almost certainly off, but he had no choice.  Just a little further, he promised himself.

The sun was shining brightly by the time Little Joe reached the clearing.  He didn’t see any sign of Mitch.  He tried to push himself up, off the horse’s neck, but dizziness seized him, and he slumped back down.  It felt much colder up here.  He listened for any sign of life, but the roaring in his ears blocked out whatever he might have heard.

“Devlin!” he hissed.  Unless he just plain fell off, he wasn’t getting down without help.  “Devlin!”

“Cartwright?”  Mitch appeared from the shadows of a rock.  “Where the devil you been?”

“I’m shot.”  Little Joe’s breath felt ragged.  “Right leg.”

Mitch walked around to the far side of the horse and peered at the leg.  “You sure are,” he agreed admiringly.  Then, he sobered.  Joe’s pantleg was soaked with blood, as was the horse’s flank.  His friend’s face was white and drawn.  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Help me down.”  Little Joe pushed himself up again by sheer will.  He had held onto the horse’s mane so tightly that his left hand had cramped, and he had to use his right to straighten the fingers enough to let go of the reins and the mane.  He tried to move his right leg to dismount, but the slightest attempt to move the muscles sent flames through it, and he gasped, doubling over.

“Can’t move it,” he managed.  “I’ll get down on the right, but you have to catch me.”

“Okay.”  Mitch braced himself and reached up, supporting his friend as Joe swung his left leg over the horse’s rump.  Joe was nearly as big as Mitch, though.  His weight was too much for the other boy to bear, and they both fell.  The wounded leg slammed into Mitch’s knee, with Joe’s full weight behind it.

Never in his life had he felt such violent, blinding pain.  It was as if a sadistic hand was ripping his leg open and shoving a branding iron deep into it.  He heard someone screaming in agony.  He felt himself being rolled onto his left side so that nothing pressed on his right leg, but the screaming and the searing torture went on until all knowledge ceased.

* * * * * * * * * *