Chapter 3

Ben looked around as he set the bag by the bridge.  He climbed back up the gully and mounted his horse.  As though he intended to ride back to the ranch, he started down the road.

Less than a quarter of a mile away, he veered off into a copse of trees.  “I didn’t see anybody,” he said.

“Neither did we,” said Clem.  He had placed Adam and Hoss on two bluffs with mirrors to flash in the event that they saw anybody approach.

“They’re probably waiting until we leave,” said Ben.

“Probably,” said Clem.

“So, what happens when they don’t see me go?”

“They’re not here,” said Clem.  “So they won’t know you didn’t leave.”

“Unless they’ve got someone posted farther down the road who’s going to report back,” said Ben.

“What are you saying?  You think you should go back?”

Ben held his gaze.  “I’m saying that my boy wasn’t there.  I’m saying that I don’t know where he is.  And I’m saying that I’ll do anything it takes to get him back safely.  If that means riding ten miles down the road so that somebody can see me leave, then yes, I’ll do it.”

Clem regarded him for a long minute.  “Do it,” he said.  “You never know.  Worst thing that happens is you have to come back the long way around so they don’t see you.”

Ben’s jaw was set.  “That’s hardly the worst thing.”  He kicked his mount’s sides and rode off before Clem could respond.

* * * * * * * * * *

Friday night

When Little Joe awoke, it was dark except for the flickering campfire.  He blinked hard, trying to focus.  Beyond the firelight, he could see someone.  He reached for his gun, but his holster was gone.  He patted his pockets and tried to sit up, but movement brought fresh pain, and he fell back.

“Joe?  You awake?”  The figure moved closer and leaned over him.

Little Joe relaxed.  It was Mitch.  What the dickens is Mitch doing here?  Where’s here, anyway?  He managed a sound, but it made no sense, even to him.

“How’re you feeling?” asked Mitch.  He sounded terrified.  Joe wanted to tell him to relax, that everything would be just fine, but he couldn’t make his mouth form any words.  “Here.  You want some water?”  Mitch uncorked the canteen and lifted Joe’s shoulders a little bit.  Joe braced himself on one elbow, grasped the canteen and drank.  He’d had no idea he was so thirsty.  After a minute, Mitch took the canteen away.  “You can have more in a little bit,” he said, helping Joe to lie back on the ground.

“What day is it?” whispered Joe.

“Friday,” said Mitch.  “You’ve been out most of the day.”  He looked like he might have been crying.  Joe felt very old and wise.

“I’m okay,” he said as reassuringly as he could, considering that he couldn’t seem to work up anything more than a whisper.

“‘Course you are,” said Mitch.  He sounded like he was lying.  Joe felt his stomach pitch.

“I’m just shot, right?”  Maybe something else had happened that he didn’t know about.

“As far as I know,” said Mitch.

“All right, then,” said Little Joe.  “If that’s all, I’m okay.  Stop looking so worried.”  He knew that bullet wounds could be serious, but he couldn’t imagine it was too bad if he was just shot in the leg.  He remembered the time, a couple years earlier, when Adam had been shot in the back.  Now that was bad.  Pa sat up with him for days, it seemed, and Doc Martin didn’t leave the house for so long you’d have thought he moved in.  Little Joe took over all the barn chores while Hoss did his best to oversee the hands.  It took a good couple of months before Adam was even able to do light ranch work.  A bullet in the leg wasn’t nearly as bad as all that.  Mitch was fretting about nothing.  And even though Joe felt cold and foggy and weak, and his leg was hurting more than he’d ever imagined a leg could, he wasn’t about to say otherwise.

“I ain’t worried!”  After a minute, Mitch said, “Well, maybe I’m a little worried.  We ain’t gonna be able to get you back on a horse, and you need to get home.”

“I shouldn’t’ve gotten down,” said Joe drowsily.

“You didn’t have much choice,” Mitch pointed out.  “You were about to fall off anyway.  Guess we should’ve left the horses and both of us cut up through the pass.”

“No,” said Joe.  “Couldn’t leave the horses.  Clyde and Duke would’ve gotten away.  Belles would’ve been upset.  Had to get the horses.”

“Where are Clyde and Duke?”  Mitch’s eyes grew round.

“Dunno,” said Joe.  “Dunno if they got untied.  They shot at me, so maybe.  Couldn’t have gotten too far on foot, though.”

“I just hope they don’t come up here,” said Mitch.

The thought reminded Joe of something.  “Where’s my gun?”

“I got it right here,” said Mitch, patting his waistband.

“How come you got it?”

“‘Cause you were out.  Didn’t make much sense to leave it with you when you couldn’t do nothin’ with it.”

“You just wanted to try it out,” Joe muttered.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“‘Sides, even if I did, it’s only fair,” said Mitch.  “You’ve gotten to do all the shooting since this started.”

“It’s my gun,” Joe pointed out.  “When you have your own gun, you can do all the shooting.”

“When I have my own gun, we ain’t gonna be out on fool’s errands like this, that’s for sure,” said Mitch.

“What fool’s errand?  We got the robbers and the horses and the money, didn’t we?”  Little Joe blinked hard.  He wasn’t sure if he’d dreamed that part or not.

“Yeah, we got ’em, but now, we gotta figure out how to get back,” said Mitch.  “Lemme see your leg.”

Like you know all about bullet wounds, Joe wanted to say.  With two older brothers, he figured he knew a lot more about getting shot than Mitch.  He moved the saddle blanket covering him to see how bad his leg looked.  “Who did that?” he asked, surprised.

His pantleg had been torn off above the knee.  His boot was gone.  Something–probably the pantleg–was wrapped around his leg.

“I did,” said Mitch.

“Why’d you take off my boot?  My foot’s cold.”  His sock, which was wet anyway, also had a hole in the toe that he’d meant to have Hop Sing fix.

“‘Cause your leg’s all swelled up, you jackass,” snapped Mitch.  “Look, Cartwright, I did what I had to do.  You’d be hurtin’ a lot more if that boot was still pressing on your leg, so just shut up.”

Mitch never talked to him like that.  Little Joe looked closer at his friend.  Devlin had definitely been crying.  He guessed that Mitch was a lot more scared than he was.  It wasn’t like Joe was going to die or anything, but maybe Mitch didn’t understand that.  Well, maybe it was sort of scary, being out here all alone with a fellow who’d been shot when you didn’t know what to do about it.

“Sorry,” Joe muttered.  He noticed for the first time that Mitch’s jacket was draped over his shoulders like a second blanket.  “Put this on,” he said, trying to sound tough as he held it out.  “You’re gonna freeze.”

“I’m fine,” said Mitch.  “We got a good fire here.”

“Well, you ain’t goin’ nowhere without your jacket,” said Little Joe.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere anyway,” said Mitch.  “The posse’ll find us soon enough.  I ain’t leaving you here all alone.”

“Don’t be dumb,” said Joe.  He tried to sound bossy, like Adam, but it was hard to do when he barely had the strength to draw breath.  “If you go out and find them, they’ll be back here that much sooner.  They’d have to track us over rock to get here otherwise.  Hoss is good, but even he’s gonna have a hard time with that.  If you don’t go out to meet them, we could be here for days.”  He didn’t say what he was thinking, that the posse might not even be anyplace near them.  If they’d gone east instead of west back at the box canyon, they were getting farther away every minute.  Going over the pass might not have been his best idea.  They should have gone the other way, toward Turner’s Crossing.

Mitch handed him a piece of jerky.  “Here,” he said gruffly.  “You gotta eat something.”

“You sound like my pa,” said Little Joe.  “Where’d you get this?”

“In their saddlebags,” said Mitch.

Joe nodded approvingly.  He took the jerky and wrestled a bite.  This must be old jerky.  It wasn’t his favorite food by a long shot, but he didn’t remember it being so hard to bite off.  Just a couple of bites, and he was too tired to keep eating.

“I’m gonna take a little nap,” he murmured.  He closed his eyes, wondering as he did what Pa had thought when there was nobody to pick up the ransom money.

* * * * * * * * * *

Saturday morning

Joe opened his eyes to see Mitch watching him.  “Sorry,” he said.  “Must have dozed off.”  Darkness had given way to light while he slept.

“Yeah.”  Mitch looked serious.  He’d built the fire up more.  Joe dragged himself a little closer.  If there’d been a way, he’d have jumped right in the middle of it, just to get warm.

Joe tried to figure out what time it was, but the sky was so overcast he couldn’t find the sun.  “Looks like rain,” he said.

“Yeah,” Mitch said again.

“Guess you’d better get on your way,” said Joe.  “Try and get as far as you can before it starts.”

Mitch looked at him like he was crazy.  “I’m not leaving you here,” he said.

“You gotta go,” said Little Joe.  Mitch looked unconvinced.  “How much jerky do you have?”  Mitch drew a handful of strips out of his pocket.  “That’s not even gonna last us another day.”

“I’ll shoot us some game,” said Mitch.

“And then what?  Say you get a rabbit.  How’re you gonna skin it?  Neither one of us has a knife now.  Everything was in our saddlebags.  These yahoos didn’t have much of anything in theirs except the money.  Face it, Devlin.  The only way we’re getting out of this is either ride out together or you find that posse and bring them back here.”

“I can make a travois and haul you out of here,” Mitch pointed out.

“No knives,” Joe reminded him.  Next time, he was definitely carrying his knife in his jacket.  At least that way, if his horse got spooked and ran off, he’d be able to eat.  Maybe the Indians had the right idea.  He’d heard they carried their knives on their belts, sort of the way he carried his gun.  He’d have to look into that.  “Besides, there ain’t no way a travois is gonna get down that trail,” he added.  “It’s way too steep and narrow.  Plus, it’s all rocks.  I’d be better off sitting on the horse.”

The boys fell silent.  Finally, Mitch said, “You wanna try that?”

“Sure.”  It was clear Mitch wasn’t leaving him if there was any choice.  Slowly, Joe pushed himself into a sitting position.  Bracing himself with one hand, he reached up with the other.  He tried to hold his right leg steady, to keep it from touching the ground as Mitch took his hand and attempted to pull him up.

“Okay, I think we got it this time,” said Mitch after several tries.  He pulled, Joe pushed, and finally, Little Joe was upright, his arm around Mitch’s neck.  “There!  You see?  We did it!”

“Yeah, we did it.”  Little Joe wasn’t about to admit that he was exhausted just from trying to stand.  He looked at where the horses where tied.  It was only about twenty feet away, but it might just as well have been miles.  By sheer will, leaning heavily on Mitch, he held his right leg out enough that it didn’t touch the ground as he tried to hop on his left foot.  He hadn’t gotten more than three steps before he was struck by dizziness so fierce that he felt like he was inside a tornado.  “Mitch, put me down,” he managed before darkness overtook him.

When he came to, he was lying beside the campfire.  The makeshift bandage on his leg was wet and red.  Mitch’s face was wet and white.  “I’m sorry, Joe,” he said.  “I’m real sorry.”

“It ain’t your fault,” said Joe.  He could barely do more than whisper.

“I thought I killed you,” Mitch confessed.

“Better luck next time,” said Joe.

“That ain’t funny!” snapped Mitch.  Joe tried to shrug off his jacket.  “What’re you doing?”

“My leg’s bleeding again,” Joe said.  “You gotta change the bandage.  Use my shirt.”

“I’ll use mine,” said Mitch.

“No,” said Joe.  “I’ll be here by the fire, and I got the saddle blanket.  I’ll be warm enough.  You gotta stay warm out there.”

“I’ll be fine,” protested Mitch.

“It’s November, you jackass,” said Joe.  “It could start snowing any minute.”  Mitch raised an eyebrow and laid a hand on Joe’s forehead.  Joe slapped the hand away.  “It could,” he insisted.

“Cartwright, it’s nowhere near freezing out here,” Mitch said.  He didn’t say what they both knew, that Joe felt so cold because his fever was climbing.  Without another word, Mitch ripped off his shirtsleeve and started to unwind the blood-soaked bandage.

“Then you’re taking your jacket,” said Joe.  Mitch nodded.  The die had been cast.

After he had rebandaged Joe’s leg and spread one of the saddle blankets over him, Mitch stood.  “Here,” he said.  “You might need this.”  He laid the pistol down next to Joe.

“You take it,” Little Joe protested.  “You’re going out where there’s the likes of Clyde and Duke.”

“Yeah, but if I run into them, I can ride away,” Mitch pointed out.  “If they come here, or some animal does, you can’t go anywhere.  You’re gonna need something.”

Joe considered this.  “Just find the posse,” he said finally.  “My pa and brothers will be riding.”  He closed his eyes for a second as the notion of resting in his pa’s arms washed over him.  The next moment, he opened his eyes, steeling himself against softness.  He couldn’t afford to think like that.  He had to stay alert, strong, tough.

“I’ll find ’em,” promised Mitch.  He laid down the canteen next to the gun.

“What’re you doing?  You take that!  You’re gonna need water!”  Mitch Devlin was a good friend, but sometimes, he was just the dumbest fellow Little Joe knew.

“There’s lots of streams around,” Mitch said reasonably.  “If I get thirsty, I can get water there.  You’re the one who’s gonna need the canteen.”

“Oh.”  Okay, maybe he wasn’t so dumb.  “Is it full?”

“Filled it myself.”  Mitch grinned.  It looked forced, but Little Joe played along anyway.  “You warm enough?”

“Now you really sound like my pa,” said Joe.  The truth was that, even if he was freezing, there was nothing they could do about it, so there was no point in saying so.

Mitch chuckled.  It sounded a little bit more real than the grin looked.  “Okay, there’s wood for the fire right here, and I put some of the jerky in your pocket already.  If your brother’s any kind of a tracker, they should be almost here, so I won’t be long.”

“My brother’s the best danged tracker in these parts, and don’t you forget it,” warned Little Joe.

“Then I’ll be back in no time,” retorted Mitch.  He swung up onto one of the horses.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“Which one is that?  Floyd or Feather?” Mitch stared at him.  “How the hell would I know?”  He rode out of the clearing, and Little Joe listened as the hoofbeats faded.

Mitch was barely gone when the rain started.  As the first drops began to fall, a word.

Pa would definitely not have approved of escaped Little Joe’s lips.  He debated for a moment whether to hover over the fire as long as possible or to get under cover and possibly stay a bit drier.  He was so cold already.  He reached under the blanket to feel his leg.  The heat was intense, throbbing, like a blacksmith’s forge.  As long as he didn’t move, though, it wasn’t unbearable.

The drizzle increased to a steady downpour.  Cursing under his breath, Little Joe dragged himself back from the fire, to the shelter of a bush.  Exhausted by his efforts, he listened to the sizzle of the drops, and he watched as the water overcame the fire.  With nothing else to do, he waited for Mitch to return with help.

He drifted in and out of consciousness as the hours passed.  His leg was hot, but the rest of him shivered violently.  He couldn’t remember ever feeling so miserable.  When he thought of it, he took a sip of water or a bite of jerky.  He didn’t feel hungry or thirsty, but he knew he needed to keep up his strength, such as it was.  If something had happened to Mitch, he was going to have to figure out a way to get on that blasted horse and get out of here.  He looked across to where the horse was tied.  The horse wasn’t that big–a pony, really–but at that moment, to the boy lying on the ground with no way of getting up, it might as well have been a hundred feet tall.

The wet gray light of day was fading fast.  Mitch had been gone all day.  Little Joe couldn’t figure out where he could have gone.  If Hoss was tracking, there was no way they wouldn’t have been here by now, even without Mitch to show them the way.  Maybe the rain had washed away the tracks.  Maybe something had happened to the posse.  Maybe Clyde and Duke had shot everybody.  Maybe his dadblamed foolishness had gotten everybody killed.

“Stop it!” he said out loud.  Adam always said his imagination ran away with him.  “They’re all fine.  Everybody’s fine.  They just-they’re just someplace else.  Or something.”  He set his jaw determinedly.  He was not going to fall apart.  He just wasn’t.

Little Joe pulled the brim of his hat down over his face as the rain drummed on and the last daylight quietly vanished.  Mitch had been gone forever.  He listened carefully.  He heard nothing but the rain.  He was all alone.  It was pitch dark.  He couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face.  Mitch would never find his way back here.  Joe was going to die a slow, agonizing death from an infected bullet wound, and Pa wouldn’t even have anything to bury, because he was so well-hidden that nobody would find his body before he was eaten by a mountain lion that had smelled blood-that is, if Pa and Adam and Hoss hadn’t already been shot and killed by Clyde and Duke.  And it was all his fault, every last bit of it.

Feverish and freezing, soaked and exhausted and frightened beyond anything he’d ever known, with his head pounding and his leg screaming and slick with blood, Little Joe Cartwright finally let the mask drop.  Scalding tears spilled over at last as his body shuddered with sobs.  It was a mistake, the whole thing.  They should never have done it.  They should have stayed at school.  He didn’t care if Clyde and Duke escaped.  He didn’t care what happened to the money.  He didn’t even care if the Belles got their blasted horses back or if the Watson brothers won the Belles.  He just wanted to be home with his family, warm and dry and safe.

The hollow sound of hoof on rock caught his attention.  Furiously, he scrubbed at his face, wiping away any signs of tears.  He cocked his pistol and waited.  He could hear a voice, but it wasn’t loud enough for him to make out the words.  It was hard to tell over the noise of the rain, but it sounded almost like Mitch.

Then he heard it.  The voice he’d waited for so desperately.  The voice that meant that everything would indeed be all right.

“Joseph!”

His father’s unmistakable baritone resonated, deep and strong and sure, tinged with panic.  Little Joe closed his eyes, gratitude and relief pulsing through him.

“He’s over here!”  He could hear Mitch clearly now over the hooves coming up the trail.  He laid his pistol down.

“Pa!”  He tried to shout, like everybody else, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate.  He didn’t know whether they’d have heard him if they’d stood right next to him.

It seemed forever before he saw them.  “Down here!” he tried to call out as their lanterns drew closer.  He rustled the branches above him to show where he was.  He wanted to get up, to run to them, but he couldn’t move without the agony in his leg breaking loose.  In the end, though, it was all right, because Pa and his brothers did the running for him.  Pa fell to his knees beside him and held him close, knocking his hat off and whispering his name over and over.  If Joe hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn that Pa was crying, right there in front of the whole posse.

“I’m sorry, Pa,” Joe whispered into his father’s chest.  “I’m so sorry.”  His fingers fumbled for something to hold onto–Pa’s vest, his coat, anything that would anchor him.  Pa wrapped his warm hand around Joe’s cold one and held it tight against him.  Joe could hear the beating of his father’s heart, strong and steady.  Tears leaked out, and he didn’t even try to stop them.  It wasn’t like anybody could see his face, buried against Pa’s broad chest.  Nobody would know how much he was hurting or how scared he’d been.

“Ssssh, it’s all right, son,” Pa murmured, his cheek resting in Little Joe’s hair.  He knew.  “You’re all right, I’ve got you now.  You’re going to be fine.  You just hang on.  We’ll be home soon and get you all fixed up.”  He kissed his son’s forehead, and Joe knew he hadn’t been the only one who was scared.

“Pa–Clyde and Duke–”

“Who?”  Pa had tossed aside the soggy blanket, and he was taking Little Joe’s wet jacket off him.  He had already taken off his own warm coat, and now he wrapped it around his son.  Even in the rain, Pa’s coat smelled of pipe tobacco, bay rum and home.

“The robbers.  Did they get away?”  Suddenly, it was terribly important that the mission had been successful.

Pa chuckled.  “No, son, they didn’t,” he said.  “Sheriff Coffee took them back to town.  It’s all over now.  All that matters is that you boys are all right.”

Hoss squatted down beside Pa and Joe, setting down his lantern.  “Good to see you, Little Brother,” he said in that husky voice that meant he was trying to stay in control of himself.  “Let’s take a look at that leg,” he said, the way he did when a horse came up lame.  Joe managed a watery grin, and he was rewarded by Hoss’ smile.  “You ready?” the big man asked.

Joe braced himself, nodding.  He bit his lip and clutched Pa’s arm as Hoss unwrapped the strip, soggy with rain and blood.  The big man’s gentleness always surprised people who didn’t know him, but Little Joe knew that Hoss would never cause him pain if he didn’t absolutely have to.  So, he held on tight and tried not to cry out as Hoss checked over his leg as best he could in the light of the lantern.  By the time Hoss was finished, Joe could taste fresh blood where he’d bitten through his lip, but he hadn’t made a sound.

“Bullet didn’t pass through,” Hoss said grimly.  “It’s still in there.  It’s infected.  Don’t look good.  From what Mitch said, he’s already lost a lot of blood, too.”

“Is there any way to get the bullet?” asked Pa quietly, as if he thought Little Joe wouldn’t hear.  The terror that had settled down flared again.  He peered anxiously from Hoss to Pa.  They couldn’t be serious, they just couldn’t be.  He’d heard about these things happening on the trail.  Fellows tying a man down so that somebody could hack into his flesh with a hunting knife and probe for bullets with dirty fingers while the man screamed in agony, only to have the poor soul die a horrible lingering death after days of battling fever and infection-he didn’t know when he’d heard these stories, but the lurid tales were as suddenly vivid as if they were his own memories.  He hid his face against Pa’s wet shirt as panicked tears spilled over.  As if he understood, Pa drew him closer, holding the boy tightly and stroking his wet curls.

Hoss shook his head.  “It’s too deep,” he said.  “Gonna take some cutting.  I think it’s better to just get him home and let Doc do it right if we can.”  He sounded like he was going to say something more, but he stopped.  Instead, he took off his jacket and tore off his own shirtsleeve to make a fresh bandage.  When he’d finished, he smiled at Little Joe.  “Good job, Little Brother,” he said, patting the boy’s good leg reassuringly.  Weak with relief, Joe managed a tiny, lopsided grin as he wiped his face with his cuff.

Pa brushed back Joe’s wet hair to feel his forehead.  Over his shoulder, he said, “Adam, have Doc Martin meet us at the house.”

“Right, Pa.”  Adam reached down and squeezed Joe’s arm before he disappeared

“Come on, Little Brother,” said Hoss.  “Let’s get you home.”  Gently, he moved Pa aside and lifted Little Joe like he weighed nothing at all.  An involuntary gasp of pain escaped Joe as Hoss moved his leg.  “Sorry, Joe,” Hoss said.  “Hold onto me now.”  Joe gripped his brother’s neck for all he was worth, closing his eyes against the agony of movement.  “That’s it, hang on,” Hoss murmured.  “We’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.”

“I can walk,” Joe protested weakly.  It wasn’t even close to true, and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to be carried like a baby in front of all these men-at least, not without a fight.

“You jest hush,” said Hoss.  “We’re all wet enough, and this’ll go a lot faster if we do it my way.”

“But—”

“Joseph, you’re in no position to argue,” said Pa firmly.  With that, Joe surrendered gratefully.  At least now, everybody would know he was just doing as Pa said.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured, resting his head against Hoss’ shoulder.  Then, a thought occurred to him.  “My gun!”

“I’ve got it,” said Pa in a funny-sounding voice that suggested that he, and not Joe, would likely be the one to hold onto that gun for some time to come.

* * * * * * * * * *

Three weeks later

Mitch walked hesitantly into Little Joe’s room, carrying a basket.  “Hey, Joe,” he said.

“Hey, Mitch.  C’mon in.”  It was the first day Joe had been allowed visitors.  He had only vague recollections of the first few days after he got home, bound up as they were with hot pain and hotter fever.  Once his fever broken, he’d improved rapidly, even though there was still some lingering infection in the leg and a whole lot more pain than he would have expected.  Pa said it was because Doc Martin had to cut so deep to get the bullet, plus the fact that the bullet had cracked the shinbone.  Even so, for the past several days, his family had had their hands full, keeping him in bed.  It was Adam who suggested that letting Mitch come to visit might keep the boy entertained enough to stay in bed a bit longer.

As Mitch came closer, Joe dropped his voice.  “It’s okay.  They won’t yell at you.  Theain’t even yelled at me.”

Mitch pulled up the chair next to the bed.  “You’re lucky,” he said sadly.  “My pa ain’t never tanned me as hard as he did when I got home.  First, they hugged me and kissed me like they’d never let go, and then Pa took me out to the barn.”  He winced, remembering.

“Gee, I’m sorry,” said Little Joe.  He winced in sympathy.  “Pa said he went over to your place to thank you for doing so much for me.  Didn’t that help?”

“Your pa didn’t come over ’til you were better,” he said.  “By that time, my pa had already said his piece.  Besides, I don’t think it would have made any difference if he’d come before.  I ain’t never seen my pa so mad.  I guess him and Ma were pretty scared.”  Mitch shook his head.  “I can’t believe your pa hasn’t even yelled at you.”

Joe shrugged.  “Guess he thought gettin’ shot was enough.”

“You’re one lucky son-of-a-gun, Cartwright,” said Mitch ruefully.

Little Joe leaned back on his pillows.  He had to agree.  Little boys got tanned; men got shot.  “What’s that?” he asked about the basket.  He figured he’d change the subject so that Mitch wouldn’t feel so bad.

“Oh, this is from the Belles,” Mitch said.  “They said to tell you that they want to come out and see you, once you’re out of bed.”

“They want to come out here?”  Little Joe couldn’t possibly have heard right.

“Let me tell you–as far as they’re concerned, we are such heroes, you can’t imagine,” said Mitch.  “You especially.  I mean, you took a bullet to save their horses.”

“Is that what they think?”

“I ain’t tellin’ them different,” said Mitch.  “They think we’re both heroes, ’cause you got shot and I saved your life.”

“You saved my life?  Was I dying?”  Little Joe was startled.  He knew he’d been pretty sick, but nobody had told him this.

“Well–you coulda been,” Mitch hedged.

Little Joe rolled his eyes.  “Devlin–I was shot in the leg, remember?”

“Yeah, but you were pretty sick,” Mitch said defensively.  “You coulda died, maybe, if we’d been out there a few more days or something.”

Joe narrowed his eyes.  “What else have you been telling everybody?”

“Nothing else, I swear.  Really.”

“Just that I was dying and you saved my life?  So you’re the big hero and I’m the dummy who couldn’t get out of the way of a bullet?”

“No, nothin’ like that.  They still think you’re the big hero, ’cause you’re the one who got shot.”  Mitch lowered his voice.  “But they both gave me a kiss,” he confided.

“Both?”  Joe’s voice skidded up into its highest registers.  Mitch pointed to each cheek, nodding.  “And you didn’t even have to get shot!”

“I know,” said Mitch.  “I’m betting that you get a couple of really good kisses out of this.”

“Doggone it,” said Joe dreamily.  “D’you suppose they’d let me kiss them on the mouth?”

“Cartwright!  They’re ladies!”  Mitch was less offended at the compromise of the Belles’ honor than he was at the notion that Joe might do better than he had.  So far, Mitch was the hero of the schoolyard.  He half-hoped that, by the time Little Joe returned to school, the rescue would be old news.

“But I got shot for them,” Little Joe reminded him.  He sighed contentedly at the thought of reclining on the settee, with his feet on the oak table and a Belle on either side of him, kissing him and snuggling with him and feeding him lemonade and cookies.  “So, what’s in the basket?” he asked, his practical side reappearing.

“Cookies,” said Mitch.  “From the Belles.  I got some, too.”  He didn’t want Joe thinking that the Belles were treating them differently.

“Joseph?”  Pa came into the room.  “Oh, hello, Mitch.  I didn’t know you were here.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cartwright,” said Mitch, rising.

“That’s all right, keep your seat,” said Pa.  “Joseph, Adam’s going to be up in a little while to help you with your schoolwork.”

“Pa, my leg’s kinda bothering me,” Little Joe began.  At his father’s raised eyebrow, he muttered, “Yes, sir.  Whenever Adam’s ready.”

“He’ll be up soon,” said Pa.  “What’s in the basket?”

“Cookies,” said Joe.  “Would you like one?”

“No, thanks,” said Pa.  “Where did the cookies come from?”  He looked at Mitch oddly.

“They’re from some girls at school,” offered Mitch before Joe could stop him.  “The girls whose ponies were stolen.  They were so happy that we got them back that they made us cookies.”

“What?  What girls?”

Joe glared at Mitch as hard as he could, but Mitch was looking at Pa.  “The Bel–the Johnson girls, Mr. Cartwright,” he explained helpfully.  “The bank robbers stole their ponies, and they were just heartbroken.  Didn’t Joe tell you?  He promised them that he’d get their ponies back.  That was the whole reason–”  Mitch broke off at the look on Pa’s face.

Little Joe closed his eyes.  If he didn’t trust Mitch Devlin with every fiber of his being, he would have sworn that Mitch said this just so that he’d get tanned, too.

After a long minute when nobody said anything, Pa cleared his throat.  “I’ll leave you to visit,” he said.  With a warning glance at Joe, he left the room.

As soon as they could no longer hear Pa’s footsteps, Joe flung a pillow at Mitch.  “I can’t believe you said that!”  he hissed.

“I thought you told him!”  Mitch hissed back.

“Do you really think I’d be sitting down right now if I told him that we went out there and did all this so the Belles would kiss us?”  Little Joe was trying to keep his voice down, but his agitation was increasing.

“Didn’t he ever ask why you went?”  Mitch was incredulous.

“I think he was more worried about other stuff,” said Little Joe.  Even though his memories were fragmented and fuzzy, he knew that this was true.

He could remember Hoss setting him in a saddle and Pa swinging up behind him.  More than once during that long, cold ride home, he woke to find himself leaning back against Pa, who was holding him tight, like he’d never let go of his youngest son again.  Joe was still wearing Pa’s coat, but now Pa was wearing somebody else’s, and he had it open so that Little Joe lay right back against Pa’s chest and the coat was wrapped around both of them.  He remembered feeling surrounded by Pa’s warmth and strength as they rode through the frigid, rainy night.  At last, he could finally stop being strong and tough, because his pa was taking care of everything.

At one point, when they’d stopped to rest the horses, Hoss had reached up to help him off Pa’s horse.  Vaguely, Little Joe recalled hearing his big brother say, “Pa, you need to let go of him.  It’s okay, it’s just for a minute.”  As soon as Hoss set him down under the shelter of a tree, Pa was right there with him again, holding him close and seeming not to care what anybody thought.  When they started riding again and it felt like the pain was just too much to stand any more, Pa whispered that he should hang on, that they’d be home real soon, and he remembered thinking that Pa’s voice sounded funny, like he was trying not to cry.

And then, after he was home and Doc took the bullet out, Pa sat by his bed the whole time until his fever broke.  Joe didn’t remember even once that he’d wakened and Pa hadn’t been there.

Through the whole experience, Little Joe had felt safe and protected.  And now, Mitch had to spill the beans.  “I can’t believe you said that!” he muttered again.

“Well, if he ain’t asked by now, maybe he won’t,” Mitch offered.

“Fat chance, thanks to you and your big mouth,” said Joe.

“I’m sorry, Joe.  I really didn’t know!”  Mitch rose to go.

“Get back here!  Don’t you leave me alone with him!”  Joe tried to grab Mitch’s arm, but Mitch dodged his friend’s grasp.

“Cartwright, I really don’t wanna be here when your pa decides he’s as mad as mine was,” said Mitch, picking up his jacket.

“He would never have known if you hadn’t opened your big mouth!”

A smooth baritone asked, “Would never have known what?”

Both boys turned in horror.  Adam lounged in the doorway, Hoss behind him, and both were grinning.

“None of your business!” Little Joe said hotly.

“Listen, Joe, I’m glad to see you’re doin’ so well, but I gotta get on home.  Bye!”  Mitch scooted under Adam’s arm in the doorway and was gone.

Adam and Hoss regarded their little brother for a long moment.  “Sounds like you need to have a little talk with Pa,” said Hoss at last.

“Oh, no,” said Joe.  “I ain’t having any talk with Pa.  I already got shot, that’s enough.”

“Enough for what?”  Pa’s voice boomed, and all three brothers straightened.  “Joseph, I’m starting to get the feeling that, just maybe, I don’t know all there is to know about your little adventure.”

“Well, you know all the important parts,” said Little Joe hastily.  “I mean, we caught the robbers and got the horses and the money back, and I got shot, but I’m getting better.  That’s really all that matters.”

“I’m not sure I agree with that,” said Pa, taking Mitch’s place in the chair by the bed.  “I think you need to tell me the whole story.  All of it,” he added in the ominous voice that his sons knew all too well.

Joe swallowed hard.  “Well, sir, it’s like this,” he began.  Haltingly, he relayed the whole story, as commanded.  Throughout the telling, Pa’s eyes grew rounder and rounder.  When Joe finished, he looked around the room cautiously.

Pa sat in stunned silence.  Adam and Hoss had their hands over their mouths.  Little Joe knew that he’d better look pretty frail, or he was going to get turned wrong side up real fast, bullet wound or not.  He manufactured a cough and reached for the water glass on the night table.  Nobody got it for him.  Bad sign.

Finally, Pa recovered his voice.  “Joseph, are you telling me that you did all this–” he waved his hands to indicate the events of the past few weeks “–to impress a girl?”  The end of the sentence was a roar.  His brothers’ shoulders were shaking as they tried to contain their laughter.

“Well, not exactly, sir–”  He didn’t want to lie.  Pa always set such stock by telling the truth.  Just maybe, honesty would help.  “It wasn’t just to impress a girl–” he began.

“Then, what was it for?”  Pa interrupted.

“It—It was two girls, Pa!”

Hoss and Adam couldn’t contain themselves any longer.  Their laughter erupted like those volcanoes Miss Jones talked about in school.  Joe peeked at Pa.  Maybe, after everything he’d been through, he’d appreciate a good laugh, too.

But Pa wasn’t laughing.  He still looked stunned and furious, all at once.  This was bad.  Little Joe tried the puppy dog eyes.  That look always melted his pa’s heart.  Nothing.  He braced himself for what he would have to do.  He tried to sit up straighter, and in the process, he deliberately kicked the wound, hard.  The shock of the pain was real.  He could feel the color drain from his face.  He gasped, grabbing for the mattress, his father’s hand, anything to hold onto to ride out the wave of agony.  Tears sprang to his eyes, and for once, he didn’t try to fight them back.

“Are you all right, son?”  Pa’s temper vanished like a mist.  Wordlessly, Joe nodded, clenching his teeth; any other response would be overdoing it, and Pa would get suspicious.  He tried to take deep breaths through the pain as Pa moved the covers and checked the leg to be sure it hadn’t started bleeding.  Joe stole a glance down.  Luck was with him; there was a little bit of fresh blood soaking through the bandage.  Pa was immediately consumed with unwrapping the bandage and ordering Hoss to get more bandages and some alcohol to clean the wound.  Joe relaxed.  At least for the moment, Pa had other things on his mind.  He looked up to see Adam’s hazel eyes on him.  He couldn’t have said for sure, but Adam looked like he knew exactly what Joe had done.  He considered, for just a second, asking Adam to get him some water, but he thought better of it.  If Adam was keeping his mouth shut, better not to push him.

“Does that feel better?”  Pa asked when he’d finished cleaning and rebandaging the wound.

“Much,” said Joe.  He ignored Adam, who stood at the foot of his bed, eyes twinkling.  “Thanks, Pa,” he added with what he thought to be just the right amount of pathos.  He reached to pull up the blanket, but Pa’s hand on his stopped him.

“Not so fast,” said Pa.  He turned to Joe’s brothers.  “Would you two excuse us?  Your young brother and I need to have a talk.”

Joe’s eyes widened.  “But, Pa–my leg–”

“Don’t you worry, Joseph,” said Pa as the door closed behind Adam and Hoss.  “Your leg will be just fine.”

 

The End

*Special thanks to Harper for suggesting that I write this story!

 

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