Bonanza
~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
* Day 18 *

Summary:  Man and Nature conspire against the Cartwright brothers making it home for Christmas.
Rating:  G
Words: 8,220

The Milk of Human Kindness 

            “Joy to the World!” lustily sang Hoss and Little Joe as they rode the snow-dappled trail toward home, eyes and hearts aglow despite the cold.

Looking back over his shoulder, Adam shook his head chidingly.  Much as he loved singing Christmas carols, he couldn’t afford to take the risk.  After all, he was again the featured soloist in the church’s upcoming Christmas program, as he had been since Little Joe was a wee babe wrapped in swaddling clothes.  Belting out a song in the frosty wind of this late December midmorning was an outright invitation to laryngitis, if not something worse.

He would not, however, have missed the yearly tradition of this trip into the hills for anything.  The pack mule trailing behind Hoss was all but bare-backed now, though it had been loaded to capacity on the upward climb.  Several of the families who had shared the bounty it originally carried would have spent a much bleaker Christmas without the Cartwrights’ yearly visit.  Now, all of them had a turkey or ham, potatoes, yams, raisins and oranges for their children’s stockings, as well as enough staples to last them until the snows thawed.

Their last stop had been at the Milfords, who were prosperous enough not to need the supplemental supplies.  Amos, however, didn’t hunt much anymore, so the Cartwrights always provided the Christmas turkey for their old friends.  It wasn’t purely charity, either, for they usually ended up carrying home a good supply of cookies, fruitcake and—if they were lucky—homemade pies that were even better than those Hop Sing turned out, though, of course, they never told him that.  Little Joe had insisted that Hoss started smacking his lips before they got within five miles of the Milford Ranch.

“No such a thing,” Hoss had indignantly protested, “but I can sure smell pie baking.”  He sniffed the air and added with a sharp nod, “Yup, that’s apple.  Since it’s your favorite, little brother, I might save you a piece, maybe even two if’n you behave yourself.”

“Not even your nose is that good,” Little Joe had snorted, but when they got there, sure enough, Martha was pulling two fresh apple pies from the oven, specially made to tempt Little Joe’s appetite, since in her opinion, he didn’t eat nearly enough.  Adam and Hoss both knew better, because they’d seen their little brother in action at the table and knew what he could pack away, when motivated, but most women took one look at that slender frame—downright scrawny, Hoss always said—and put double helpings on his plate.  There’d been plenty to go around, though, and they’d all feasted last night on Martha’s succulent beef, roasted with potatoes, carrots and onions, and slathered with her intense brown gravy.  She’d even added peas in cream sauce because she knew Adam favored them.  No one ever bothered to prepare anything special for Hoss himself, of course, because Hoss liked everything, as long as it wasn’t cheese, and left no doubts as to how much he’d appreciated the meal.

They’d spent the night and lingered over breakfast, which had given Martha time to put together a batch of fried apple and dried peach pies for them to take with them.  It had meant a slightly later start than Adam preferred, but he felt certain they could still make it home before dark, maybe even with some pies left for Pa, who especially liked the hand-held pastries.

As the wind picked up, even the younger boys’ zest for song faded, and when the snow started to fall, disappeared altogether.  Hard to sing anyway with their mouths muffled behind thick woolen scarves, gifts from another recipient of this year’s Christmas bounty, for almost every family, in whatever small way they could, had proven the truth of the Scripture: “Give and it shall be given to you.”

Snow fell faster and started to pile into wind-swept drifts.  Leaving the pack mule with Little Joe, Hoss pushed Chubby forward until he was riding side-by-side with his older brother.  “Really startin’ to blow, Adam,” he called for, even now, he had to raise his voice to be heard above the storm’s roar.  “Maybe we oughta hole up somewheres ‘til it blows over, huh?  Them boulders up ahead would make a windbreak, at least.”

“We won’t make it home by nightfall if we do,” Adam shouted back, “and you know how Pa worries.”

Hoss nodded grimly.  “Yeah, but leastwise, he won’t come out lookin’ for us, not with that broken leg.”

“Wanna bet?”  By habit, Adam arched an eyebrow to accompany his skeptical tone, but between the scarf over his nose and the hat pulled low over his eyes, it went unseen.

Hoss hadn’t really caught the tone, either, but he knew his big brother and responded in kind.  “Not really,” he said, mouth twisting like he’d just bitten into a raw persimmon.  That went unseen, too, for the same reasons.  “Guess we can push on awhile, if’n you think that’s best.”

“Let’s try,” Adam said.  “It’s just snow so far, no ice underfoot for the horses.  Another hour, at least.  Then if we have to stop, we’ll at least be close to one of the line shacks.”

“Yeah, beats nestin’ behind a pile of boulders, any day,” Hoss said, letting his mount drift back to convey the decision to Little Joe.  He’d only gone a couple of strides, however, before he spotted a dark shape on the horizon.  “Rider comin’ up behind us,” he called back to Adam and rode forward to meet the man.

The unseen eyebrow arched higher than before as Adam turned his horse to watch the encounter.  A rider?  Out in this weather?   They were, of course, but they had a purpose and had only gotten caught by the storm.  Perhaps this man had, too, or—speculation died as he saw the man raise his rifle.  “Hoss!” he called in warning and drew his own weapon from its leather scabbard.

Hoss had seen that man’s action, too, and was in process of pulling out his own rifle, but not fast enough.  The man fired, and Little Joe, who had turned in his saddle to see what the commotion was about, toppled into the snow as he took a slug to his right shoulder.  Adam reacted first, firing off a shot, and his aim was true.  As the man fell from his horse, Adam urged his own mount forward.  “Check him out!” he yelled to Hoss as he turned toward his fallen brother.  With one last concerned look at Little Joe, Hoss gave a grim nod and rode toward the intruder.

Adam first gathered up the reins of Joe’s panicky horse.  “Easy, boy,” he soothed, running his gloved hand down Cochise’s muzzle.  He regretted the delay in getting to his brother, but in this weather, they couldn’t afford to lose a mount, either.  Besides, Little Joe would kill him if he let any harm come to his beloved Cooch.  The horse secured, he turned to his brother, who lay panting in the snow.  “It’s all right, boy,” he said in almost the same tone he’d used with the horse.  “You’ll be all right,” he soothed, praying it was true.

“Why?” Little Joe quavered, perplexity painting his pinched features.

Why, indeed?  What sort of man rides up on strangers and just lets fly a bullet?  Adam wanted answers to those questions himself, but he had none to give his younger brother.  “I don’t know, Joe,” he said.  “Doesn’t much matter now.  Let’s see what damage he’s done.”  He opened his brother’s fleece-lined jacket, which was thick enough to have absorbed some of the bullet’s impact.  That hadn’t done them any favors, however.  If anything, it had slowed the bullet enough to ensure that it stayed in the shoulder, instead of passing clean through, which would have been easier to deal with.  The pool of blood congealing in the snow absurdly made him think of maple syrup poured on snow for candy back East, but its bright red color reminded him of its deadlier significance.  So much, so quickly—he had to stop it.

“How is he?” Hoss asked, coming off his horse with unaccustomed alacrity.

“Fine,” Joe answered, though weakly enough to negate the word.  “How’s . . . he?”

“He ain’t gonna hurt nobody no more,” Hoss said, kneeling at Adam’s side and running his palm over his little brother’s now hatless head.  “We need to get him under shelter,” he said to his older brother.  “Better be the line shack, you reckon?”

Adam nodded.  “Let me get the bleeding stopped, if I can, and we’ll head out.  Can you handle all the stock?”

“Yeah,” Hoss said, getting up to gather up Cochise, the pack mule and the stranger’s horse, with the man’s body tied to it, and tether them to his own sturdy mount.  Much as he’d prefer being the one to carry Little Joe, he knew he was better with animals than Adam, so it made sense for him to wrangle them and let older brother deal with wrangling younger one, no small task in itself.

Mercifully, Adam was able to staunch the blood flow, and Hoss lifted Little Joe into the saddle in front of his other brother.  Little brother, of course, protested that he could ride, but neither of them paid the least attention to that fool notion.  They were soon underway, straight into a driving wind and snow that just kept coming.

They couldn’t go fast.  Even if Little Joe had been able to stand the pace, the animals couldn’t, but they plodded steadily down the mountain, hoping against all reasonable hope that they could make it before nightfall.  They couldn’t, of course.  Adam had known that from the start, but every minute out here was a minute the little brother slumped listlessly in front of him could ill spare.  The sun dipped lower and lower on the horizon, until the last slim ray of hope sank, and they were left with only the light of the crescent moon to guide their way.  Adam thanked heaven for Hoss and his unerring sense of direction in those dim hours.  Even he had veered off at one point, but he’d quickly realized his error and set them back on course for the shack.

The night was black, the stars snow-obscured, when they finally reached their destination.  Relief and necessity surged energy into their exhausted bodies.  Hoss secured the animals temporarily and then reached to lift Little Joe down.

“Get him inside,” Adam ordered.

Hoss nodded, although he felt a mite perturbed that Adam thought he needed to be told that. Though something else weighed on his mind, Little Joe came first with him, too, and Adam ought to have known that.  He had his little brother inside and laid on one of the two rough beds in the single room before Adam had time to secure his own mount and get inside.  “We need some wood,” Adam said.  “See what you can find, close by.”

“I will,” Hoss said.  “Check the wood box, though; might be enough to start with, but we’ll need more.”

“Yeah, I’ll check.”  As was the Cartwrights’ habit, they’d stocked each line shack with a full wood box before the weather turned cold, but since the buildings were open to any passerby who needed them, this one might have been depleted by now.  Still, it was worth checking, since any wood Hoss brought in was likely to be damp, at best.

While Hoss headed back outside, Adam stripped off his wool coat and laid it over his younger brother.  Little Joe immediately pushed it away.  “No,” he said.  “You need . . .”

“Hush,” Adam ordered softly as he again pulled the coat up to cover the shivering boy.  “Just ‘til I get the fire started and knock the chill off the room.”

Feeling too weak to fight a battle he was bound to lose anyway, Little Joe turned his face to the wall and accepted the inevitable.  Even with the extra cover, he still shivered, but it did help.

Satisfied that he’d be obeyed, at least for now, Adam went to the wood box.  It wasn’t full, showing that someone had made use of this cabin since they’d stocked it, but neither was it empty.  He pulled out enough wood to start a fire and lit it with one of the lucifers he always carried.  Then, sparing a glance at Little Joe, he decided to take stock of what other resources their unknown visitor might have left them.  Opening the storage cabinet set in the back corner of the shack, he flourished a relieved grin.  A few cans of beans, some flour, salt and even a sack of oatmeal, although that had been significantly depleted.  What gave him the most immediate satisfaction, though, were the two blankets folded on the top shelf.  He took one down and warmed it in front of the flickering fire; then he retrieved his coat and laid the warm blanket over his brother.

Little Joe opened his eyes in surprise; then, with a smile, he snuggled beneath the toasty cover.

Hoss came in with a load of loose branches.  “Hey, you did find somthin’ in the wood box!”

“Good thing, apparently, if that’s the best you could find,” Adam said.

Hoss frowned.  “This was just to get you started, big brother, in case you didn’t find nothin’.”

The eyebrow arched instinctively, visibly this time, but Adam quickly lowered it.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I meant it as a joke.”  He knew his flat delivery often meant his jokes could be misinterpreted as genuine censure.  Apparently, that had happened this time, when he wouldn’t have hurt the big guy’s soft heart for anything in world.

“Oh, okay.”  Hoss, as usual, was quick to forgive.  “Well, I’d best get out there and wrestle up enough to see us through the night.”

“Not yet,” Adam said.  “I need you here.”  Lowering his voice, he added, “We need to get that bullet out, and that is a two-man job.”

Hoss’s face crunched with distaste.  “More like three or four.”  Their kid brother was brave, to a fault sometimes, and he didn’t like bein’ held down one bit.  Neither did Adam need the boy movin’ while he was operatin’, and for sure, he was gonna be the one doin’ that!  Good as Hoss was at doctorin’ critters, he couldn’t bear the thought of cuttin’ into this one, at least not so long as there was a steadier choice close to hand.  “I’ll—uh—get some water heatin’ for you, Adam.”

Mouth askew, Adam accepted the obligatory destiny of being the firstborn and set about finding whatever knives the shack might provide.  In the end, the best choice seemed to be his own pocketknife, so he squatted by the fire and held it to the flames.  “Get him ready,” he said to Hoss once he’d hung the kettle of water over the fire.

Hoss grimaced slightly, but went at once to his little brother’s side.  “Hey, Shortshanks, gotta get you ready for Doctor Adam.  Don’t you give me no trouble now.”

“Me . . . never,” Little Joe said.  His voice was faint, and he seemed to need a breath between each word, but at least he was still jokin’, a good sign, Hoss reckoned, though he had a feelin’ it wouldn’t last.  His hands were gentle as he stripped Little Joe of his coat and then his shirt and covered him again with the blanket.

“There’s another one in the cupboard,” Adam said as he approached, hot knife in hand.  “Why don’t you warm it and lay that across him, too.”  Turning back to Joe, he said.  “Can’t have our patient uncomfortable, can we?”  And though he hadn’t felt his own bolstering smile, he was satisfied to see it returned, however weakly.  Once the warmed blanket was in place, he said to Hoss, “Hold him.”

When Little Joe pushed against the restraining hands, Adam said with all the big-brother authority he could muster, “Don’t fight us, Joe; this is hard enough without that.”

“Sorry,” Little Joe said, sinking dejectedly into the mattress.

“No need for that, either, little buddy.”  Then, taking a calming breath, Adam raised the scalpel and made a steady, precise incision at the site of the entrance wound.  The next few minutes were hellish for all three Cartwright brothers: for Little Joe, the unmitigated pain; for Adam, the torture of inflicting it; for Hoss, the knowledge that he was doing the one thing his brother hated more than the surgery itself.  Thankfully, it was over in minutes, for the bullet wasn’t embedded deep, and Adam’s instincts about where to find it were well-nigh as good as Doc Martin’s himself.  By the time he had the surgery completed, the incision stitched and the wound bandaged, Little Joe had fallen into either unconsciousness or sleep, but his breathing was steady, far steadier than Adam’s own at this point, and the older brother sat back in the satisfied knowledge that he’d done all he could.  “You can quit holding him now,” he said to Hoss, relief putting a slightly jocular tone into his voice.

Embarrassed by how hard he’d still been gripping his younger brother, Hoss raised his hands as quickly as if a robber or, worse yet, Sheriff Coffee had just ordered him to “stick ‘em up.”  Then, seeing Adam’s lop-sided grin, he realized how silly he must look and put his hands down.  “You did good, Adam, real good.  You reckon he’s gonna be okay?”

“I reckon,” Adam replied.  He wasn’t as certain as he sounded, but he’d done all he could, and barring complications, he thought Little Joe’s own inner resources, which were legendary in this department, would see him through to recovery.

“I best see to things outside, then,” Hoss said.

For a moment Adam stared at him blankly.  Then he said, “Oh, more wood.  Right.”

“And the horses need a mite more seein’ to,” Hoss added.

“Right again.  Thanks, Hoss, for everything.”

“No, big brother.  Thank you for . . . you know . . . everything.”  He jutted his chin toward the occupied bunk, and then since he’d never bothered to take off his coat, headed straight out into the cold once more.

Stretching the nervous tension out of his muscles, Adam warmed himself by the fire for a few minutes and then set to work putting together a meal.  Hoss was probably ready to eat a grizzly raw by this time, and his own stomach was growling loud enough that his hungry brother might mistake him for one.  He looked at Joe for a moment and shook his head.  Probably not.  Hopefully, the kid would sleep ‘til morning, but if he did wake up in the mood for food, it wouldn’t take long to heat the small amount he was likely to eat.  Joe never had much appetite when he was ailing.

The pickings in the cupboard were a little lean, but there’d been a few rations left on the pack mule, not to mention those fried pies Martha had packed for them to carry home.  Those would make a feast of beans and—well, flapjacks, he supposed.  He had salt and saleratus, as well as flour, but it was hard to make fluffy biscuits without either milk or lard.  Flapjacks were a little more forgiving.  Since he would need some melted snow to use in place of milk, he snatched up the coffee pot, made a quick check on Little Joe and headed for the door.  He could get what he needed only a few steps from the door, and the kid should be all right alone for that long.

The wood Hoss had gone out to fetch lay piled beside the door, along with some supplies the pack mule had carried, and the stock were settled inside the lean-to attached to the shack, but there was no sign whatsoever of the big man himself.  Instantly concerned, Adam loudly called his brother’s name.  Hearing no response, he started into the yard, then stopped abruptly.  He couldn’t leave Little Joe alone, but neither could he silence the roar of fear that suddenly filled the silence of the night.  If something had happened to Hoss, he couldn’t abandon him, either.  At least, Little Joe was safe inside, and he was still asleep.  Decision made he headed around the side of the shack, where, thankfully, he ran straight into his other brother.  “Why didn’t you answer me?” he demanded.

“That’s what I was comin’ to do,” Hoss protested.

“I’m not deaf,” Adam snorted.  “All you had to do was give a shout.”  His eyes narrowed.  “Unless, of course, you were up to something you’d rather I didn’t discover.”  The sudden wince that crossed his brother’s face and his quick hiding of something behind his back told him he’d guessed right, but what on earth could Hoss have gotten up to out here that had to be kept secret?  Some Christmas surprise?  Hoss could be a five-year-old kid when it came to Christmas, and his youngest brother was just as bad, but the makings of a Christmas surprise seemed in short supply in the midst of a snowstorm.  “What are you up to?”

“Didn’t mean to fret you none, big brother.”  Hoss, who had a natural talent for seeing through people, had accurately discerned what lay behind Adam’s sharp tone.  He pulled a tool from behind his back.  “I just found this here spade in the lean-to and figured, maybe, I oughta give that man some kind of burial, enough to keep the wild animals from gettin’ to him, leastwise.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Adam spat, face hardening, “the wolves are welcome to that animal.”

“Aw, Adam, you don’t mean that,” Hoss protested.

“Don’t I?”  Adam shook his head in bewilderment and something close to disgust at his brother’s naiveté.  “Well, if you think you’ve wasted enough time on utter nonsense, I’d appreciate your bringing in what I sent you out for in the first place!”

“I done finished, big brother,” Hoss said, his voice hardening, as well, “and I’ll get them other things in right away.”

“Good,” Adam said, though the way he said it was anything but.  He scooped snow into the coffeepot and stormed back inside, leaving Hoss shaking his head.  He gathered up the supplies first, in case Adam needed something for the meal he was fixing, and followed his brother in.

“You need anything here?” Hoss asked, lifting the bag he carried.

“Not now,” Adam said brusquely.  “Too bad all that milk of human kindness you’re feeling for the unworthy isn’t the real thing.  Might improve these flapjacks.”

“It ain’t that I’m feelin’ all that kindly toward the man,” Hoss said, “but, doggone it, Adam, it’s Christmas.”

“Oh, what?” Adam scoffed, face lemon-puckered.  “Peace on earth, goodwill toward back-shooters?”

“Not goodwill.  I can’t go that far,” Hoss said.  “If’n he was alive, I’d be all for givin’ him a taste o’ this.”  He held his doubled fist up to Adam’s face.  “But he ain’t alive and it’s Christmas and . . .”

“You said that already.”

“Doggone it, Adam, I know I ain’t good with words like you, but, well . . .”

“It’s Christmas,” Adam said, huffing with disdain, “and . . ?”

“And it ain’t a time for carryin’ grudges,” Hoss sputtered.  “More one for forgivin’.”

“Forgiving!” Adam hissed softly, mindful, even in his anger, not to wake his injured brother.  “If ever anyone didn’t deserve forgiveness . . .”

“None of us ever do, do we?” Hoss asked.  “Ain’ that why that little baby came so long ago, ‘cause we didn’t deserve forgivin’, just needed it.  I ain’t about to tell you I feel it, not for someone who hurt my little brother, but I reckon I got enough of that milk of human kindness, or just plain forgiveness, to keep the wolves from tearin’ him apart, and another thing I reckon, older brother, is that you do, too!”

“Don’t count on it,” Adam said, but the hard edge had left his voice, and he knew that for all his oratorical excellence, this was one debate he’d lost to his less eloquent, but so much wiser younger brother.  With that concession, something stony inside him crumbled, and for the first time since he’d fired that fatal shot, he felt able to breathe, deeply and freely.  The increased flow of oxygen helped him relax, as he acknowledged the universal truth that forgiveness was always more for the giver than its receiver.  He couldn’t voice it yet, but as he handed a plate of flapjacks to Hoss, he managed a contrite smile, and the beaming one he got in response told him that his unspoken apology had been received and accepted.

*****

“How’s it look?” Hoss asked, yawning as he rose from the second bunk.  Throughout the night he and Adam had traded places every two or three hours, one in the bunk and the other watching over Little Joe.

Adam turned from the open doorway.  “Clear and quiet,” he said.  “I think the storm’s blown itself out.”  He closed the door behind him and came back toward the fire to warm up again.  “Coffee’s made,” he said.  “You want flapjacks or oatmeal for breakfast?”

Hoss scowled.  “I don’t suppose we got any syrup for them flapjacks.”

“Uh-no,” Adam replied, “but there is fatback to go with them.  Personally, I’d recommend the oatmeal, for its extra warming value.  Might benefit you on the trip home.”

Hoss almost gaped in surprise.  “You think Joe’s ready for that yet?  I figured . . .”

“You figured right,” Adam hurried to say.  “I didn’t mean Joe, just you.”

Hoss’s mouth clamped in a determined line.  “I ain’t leavin’ the two of you alone,” he finally sputtered.

“Yes, you are.”  Adam held up a restraining hand as he saw Hoss’s mouth start to open in protest.  “We’re overdue now, and if you don’t get home to restrain him, I guarantee our pa, broken leg or not, will be hoisting himself onto a horse to come find his lost little boys.  We can’t have that, Hoss.”

Hoss’s mobile face grimaced at the picture Adam had painted.  “No, but . . .”

“I am perfectly capable of caring for our little brother.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Will you quit with the buts?”  Adam sounded perturbed, but wasn’t.  He hadn’t expected his edict to go down easily, given the close bond between Hoss and Little Joe.  “It has to be this way, Hoss; you know it does.”

Lips compressed, Hoss nodded grimly.  “Sure would like to see him come to before I left, though, so’s I’d know he was on the mend.”

“Better if you don’t or, rather, better if he doesn’t see you leave.”  Adam laid a consoling hand on his younger brother’s strong shoulder.  “You know he’d try to crawl out of bed and go with you.”

The lips loosened, though Hoss couldn’t quite manage his characteristic wide grin yet.  “Reckon he would, at that.  He sure does hate to worry Pa.”  He sobered again.  “Has he been awake at all?”

“Yeah, a couple of times, briefly,” Adam said.  “Sorry.  I guess I thought he’d done that when you were sitting with him, too.”

“No such luck.”

Adam patted the shoulder still beneath his palm.  “He’ll be all right, buddy, and I’ll get him home safely.  Now, flapjacks or oatmeal?”

“Oatmeal, I reckon, if’n I got that long, cold ride ahead.”  He found his coat and thrust his arms into the sleeves.  “I’m gonna gather up some extra wood for you, so’s you won’t have to leave Joe to fetch more.  Might even set up a rabbit snare out back, so’s you could make him a better meal.”

“Much appreciated,” Adam said as he headed to the cupboard for the cereal.  Glancing at his youngest brother as he passed the bunk, his thoughts formed an almost-prayer: keep him asleep awhile longer.  Much as a final goodbye would mean to Hoss, it really would agitate Joe, and he didn’t want to face that until the departure was a fait accompli.

*****

Hoss tied the pack mule and the stranger’s horse to Chubby’s saddle horn.  Seeing that as he stepped outside to see his brother off, Adam drawled, “You’re forgetting something.”

“Huh?” Hoss’s brow wrinkled in bewilderment.

“Take Cochise with you,” Adam stated more plainly.  “You can cut our unwelcome guest’s crowbait loose if you’re worried about managing the extra animal.”

“Managed comin’ here, didn’t I?” Hoss snorted.  Things fell into place for him.  “You don’t want Little Joe ridin’ home by hisself?”

“I’d rather he didn’t,” Adam admitted, “and that’s exactly what he’ll want if Cochise is here.  Unless we plan to spend the winter in this less-than-auspicious shack, we’ll probably have to head out before it’s wise to put too much strain on that shoulder.”

“Yeah.  Well, you tell Shortshanks I’ll take good care of his ornery pinto.”  When Hoss started toward the lean-to, he heard Adam call his name and turned back.

“There’s been some snow melt by now, and the closer you get to nightfall, the more likely it is to freeze over,” Adam cautioned.  “If ice underfoot makes it too treacherous to manage that much stock or if it slows you too much, cut them loose.”

“Yeah, I—I will,” Hoss conceded and then gave his brother a big grin.  “Except for the ornery pinto, of course.  Worth my life if’n I lose that one!”

Adam knew it was a joke, but he answered soberly.  “No, it isn’t.  Fond as Joe is of that fool horse, I suspect he’s fonder of you.”

“Maybe a mite,” Hoss chuckled.  He fetched the pinto from the lean-to and tied him to the string of other animals and then mounted his own strong black.  “See you in a few days?”

“Hope so,” Adam said, lifting a hand in farewell.  “Take care, Hoss.”

With a reassuring grin and a wave, Hoss was off and Adam moved back inside.  “Just you and me now, kid,” he whispered to his thankfully still-slumbering brother.  He had a feeling Little Joe would put up a fuss when he discovered Hoss was gone and had left him behind.  At least, Adam hoped he felt strong enough to do that.  As for himself, he missed the big guy already.

Adam lay down on the bunk and closed his eyes, intending just to rest them for a few minutes.  Predictably, given the amount of sleep he’d lost the previous night, he soon drifted into the land of dreams, where fat rabbits obligingly hopped into sizzling skillets to prepare a feast for him and his baby brother.  If only, he thought as his eyes opened on the bare and cheerless cabin.  Probably too soon to hope for anything to be in Hoss’s snares, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.  He rose to check on Joe before going outside, but suddenly became aware of soft moaning and hurried to his brother’s side.  “Little buddy?” he said, resting a hand against the boy’s flushed cheek and felt its warmth radiate against his palm.  Fever, of course, but that was to be expected with a bullet wound, and it didn’t feel too high.

Little Joe’s eyes opened and fixed on his brother’s face.  “Adam,” he said, sounding relieved.

“How you feeling, kid?”

“O-kay.”

Adam felt his lips frown and immediately schooled them into a slight smile.  So, Joe was no longer protesting that he was fine, just okay.  It was a step down, but only a small one.  He could live with that and, more importantly, so could Joe.  “Want something to eat?” he suggested.  “The pickings are sparse, but I can rustle you up some flapjacks or, maybe, oatmeal?”  Horrible suggestions for an invalid’s first meal, and he wasn’t surprised when Little Joe winced and shook his head.  Well, he wouldn’t push it for now.  Then he saw his brother’s gaze scan the room and knew the moment he’d dreaded had arrived.  He wasn’t wrong.

“Where’s Hoss?” Little Joe asked.

Adam took a slow breath as he contemplated giving an evasive answer like “outside,” in hopes Joe would accept it and go back to sleep, but that would only put off the inevitable.  Laying a hand on Joe’s shoulder, he said, “I sent him home.”

Little Joe reacted slowly, first looking only puzzled.  “Without us?” he finally asked.

“For now, yes.”

The puzzlement deepened and then the green eyes brimmed with grief.  “Me?”

Adam thought about prevaricating, but even this weak, Joe would see through it, so he answered honestly.  “For your sake, yes . . . and for Pa’s.”  It seemed like time to draw his ace from the bottom of the deck.  “You wouldn’t want Pa to worry, would you?  We were already overdue.”

“Pa . . . worry anyway.  I . . . I can make it,” Little Joe, but the lack of energy with which he said it denied every word.

“Not yet,” Adam said, voice kind, but firm.  “You need time to strengthen up, little buddy.  Two or three days and then we’ll go.”  Unless Hoss’s snares turned out to hold a bounty of rabbits, they wouldn’t have enough food to stay much longer.

Thankfully, Little Joe remained unaware of that challenge.  As it was, he turned his face to wall, but Adam was pretty sure that it held, at best, a pout and, at worst, outright anger . . . toward him.

*****

By the next morning, Little Joe was strong enough—or perhaps more pertinently, hungry enough—to accept a tin cup of oatmeal for breakfast, though he declined a second helping, small as the first had been.  “Home today?” he asked as Adam helped him lie down and covered him again.

“No.”  Adam drawled out what he was sure was the expected, though hoped-against response.  He didn’t know whether the silence that met it was a sign of acceptance or just prevailing weakness.  “Need anything?” he asked, almost perfunctorily.

“Um,” Little Joe said dreamily.  “You think I could have one of those warm blankets again?”

“Sure, little buddy,” Adam said, then asked with concern, “Are you chilled?”

Little Joe shook his head.  “Just feels . . . good.”

“Well, we do want you feeling good, don’t we?” Adam said in a lighter tone as he took one of the blankets covering his brother and began to warm it by the fire.  In a few minutes he stripped the other blanket off, replacing it with the now-warm one, and turned back toward the fire.  His brother’s voice stopped him.

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“Why does a warm blanket feel good?” Adam asked hopefully.  He hoped what Joe was asking was that simple, but he doubted it.  Simple was not a word that usually described anything his little brother was bothered about enough to ask that question.

Little Joe shook his head.  “No.  That man.  Why’d he shoot me?”

With a sigh, Adam sat down again.  Sending an arrow prayer toward heaven that the answer he gave would suffice,” he said, “If you mean why you, instead of me or Hoss, probably because you were closer.  If you mean why shoot at all, I can only speculate that we had something he wanted badly enough to kill for it.”

Little Joe chewed his lower lip.  “Food, you think?  Maybe he was just hungry, huh?”

Adam counted to ten, but bitterness still laced his words when he responded, “He could have had that for the asking.”

“Hard for some,” Little Joe said, stifling a yawn.  “Takin’ charity.”

“Doesn’t excuse it,” Adam insisted.  “Besides, we don’t know it was food he wanted.  Just as likely he wanted our horses or even money.”  Seeing a troubled frown cross his brother’s face, he softened his tone.  “Truth is, we’ll never know, but it’s nothing for you to fret about.  Just get some sleep, little buddy.”

“Yeah.  Tired.”

Adam’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “I’ll warm this other blanket.  Then I’m going outside for a bit, okay?”

“Okay.”  The word trailed off as Little Joe drifted to sleep.  That he hadn’t asked why Adam was leaving wasn’t a good sign, but Adam decided to take his blessings where he could get them.

While Adam stood before the fire, warming the second blanket, he huffed with both exasperation and relief.  Why did he have to be cursed with little brothers so willing to excuse the inexcusable?  Then a wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth.  Speak the truth, boy, he told himself.  That’s not a curse; it’s a blessing, and you’ve definitely been its beneficiary a few times.  Only pity is you’ve got so little of that milk of human kindness yourself.  He glanced over at his brother, and his expression softened still more.  Wish I had some real milk for your oatmeal, kid, and maybe, some cocoa for hot chocolate.  Better for you than coffee, but you’d probably give that to Cochise, too!  Feisty nag might even prefer it to coffee.  He shook his head.  If wishes were horses, cocoa-drinking ones, no less.

Laying the second blanket over Joe, he asked himself whether Joe, or even Hoss, would forgive so easily if they were the ones on the worrying side of this equation.  Hoss, probably, since he’d already met the test with the kid he loved more than life itself.  But Joe?  He’d seen once before how Joe would respond in the same situation, when Red Twilight had shot Hoss in retaliation for accidentally killing his brother Willie.  Joe’d had a gun to man’s head, ready to pull the trigger, and only Adam’s intervention had stopped him.  “We’re a pair, aren’t we, little buddy?” he whispered, softly so he wouldn’t wake Joe, “and neither of us will ever rise to the saintliness of our other brother.”  The brotherly bond, however, had proven time and time again that it could conquer the lesser drives of their hearts, and Adam thought it always would.  Then, slipping on his coat, he made the short trek to the snare Saint Hoss had set up for them, praying that, for Joe’s sake, that effort had been rewarded.

*****

Adam inhaled the satisfying aroma of broth simmering in the pot and the still more enticing one of rabbit frying in the spider.  There’d only been one rabbit caught in the snare, and it wasn’t the plumpest he’d ever seen.  Still, it would supply all his little brother was likely to eat tonight, and perhaps there’d be another by morning.  Whether it was the aroma or the pain evidenced by the soft moaning coming from the bunk, Little Joe began to stir, and Adam moved at once to his side, laying a hand on his forehead.  Still feverish, not enough change to determine if it was higher or lower, but as the green eyes opened, they appeared unglazed, and that, to Adam, signaled at least slight improvement.

“Something smells good,” Little Joe said.

Improvement, indeed, if the boy’s appetite was returning!  Adam tested the water.  “Fried rabbit and I made some broth from it, too, if that’s more appealing.”

“I guess it oughta be,” Little Joe said with a half-smile, half-frown.  “Whatever you think best, older brother.”

The rarity of such compliance sent Adam’s eyebrow into automatic arch, but he wasn’t about to turn it down.  “Let’s start with the broth,” he suggested.  “Then if you want more, we’ll try solid food.”

“Uh-huh.”  The yawn that followed convinced Adam that he’d better serve up that broth right away.  The warm broth, however, seemed to perk Joe up, so Adam gave him a small piece of rabbit.  “Um, good,” Little Joe said.  Then before he took his second bite, he asked, “What day is it, Adam?”

Adam hesitated a moment.  “Thursday,” he said, hoping that would suffice.

It didn’t, of course.  Joe was alert enough now to know what Thursday represented.  “It’s Christmas Eve?” he asked.  “But—but you’re supposed to sing that solo in the church program tonight.”

Adam tried, somewhat less than successfully, to shrug off his disappointment.  “There’s always next year.”

Turmoil started to swirl in Little Joe’s expressive eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

Adam gently cupped his brother’s cheek.  “None of this is your fault, little buddy.”

“I know,” Joe said, “but you should’ve left me with Hoss, so’s you wouldn’t have to miss it.”

“I’d rather be here,” Adam said, and as the words formed on his lips, he knew he meant them.

“So, we gonna leave in the morning, then?”

Adam sighed.  The kid was nothing if not persistent in pursuit of anything he wanted.  “I think you need a couple days’ more rest before we try that, Joe.”

“Aw, Adam,” Little Joe said with his best five-years-old pout, “We’ll miss Christmas altogether.”

“You’re a little old to still believe in Santa, aren’t you?” Adam said, trying to make light of it.

Little Joe frowned.  “Yeah,” he said gruffly, “but Christmas is about family bein’ together, not split half in two.”

“And we will be, just a couple of days late,” Adam persisted.  “You don’t think for a minute that Pa and Hoss will celebrate Christmas without you, do you?”

Little Joe snuffled.  “Not sure Hoss can keep out of his Christmas stocking.”

Adam grinned.  “Possibly not.  He is fond of the orange that’s always in its toe.”

Little Joe chuckled.  “Guess I won’t begrudge him that much Christmas cheer.”

“More meat?” Adam suggested, but his brother shook his head and yawned again.  “Get some sleep, then, kid.  Maybe Santa will bring us another, preferably fatter, rabbit.”

*****

Santa hadn’t provided a second rabbit, but that was just as well, Adam decided when he took a good look at the sky on his way back to the shack early the next morning.  To the north, dark clouds were forming, the kind that could portend the type of storm that had driven them here in the first place.  The choice was obvious: put his kid brother on a horse sooner than he thought wise or stay here indefinitely.   Given their scarcity of supplies, the decision was obvious, and Adam made it quickly.  Back inside, he went at once to his brother’s side and gently shook him awake.  “Looks like you’re gonna get your wish, little buddy,” he said.

“Hmm?” a still groggy Little Joe murmured.

“Christmas,” Adam said, and that one word aroused Joe’s attention, to his older brother’s infinite amusement.  “You’re gonna be home for Christmas after all.”

“Really?”  Little Joe was instantly and fully alert.  “Thanks, Adam!”

“Don’t thank me,” Adam scolded.  “I’d still rather it was the other way, but Father Christmas and Mother Nature have ganged up against me.”  He explained quickly about the storm sky and the need to get home while they still could.  Then he made what slim preparations he could for the journey home, thinking the benefits worth the brief delay.  He fried up all the fatback they had left, to eat on the journey, and since he had previously set a pot of snow over the fire to melt, it took little longer to cook a small batch of oatmeal, the kind of stick-to-your-ribs warmth both he and Joe needed.

Breakfast eaten, he left the utensils unwashed, saddled Sport and prepared his brother for the journey.  Bundling Joe in coat, scarf and hat, he then warmed the blankets by the fire a final time before dousing it and wrapping the boy up as warmly as he could.  “How’m I ‘sposed to handle Cochise like this?” Little Joe protested.

Adam groaned inwardly.  He’d forgotten about that unsavory little discussion still to be had.  “You aren’t,” he said in a no-nonsense voice, all he had time for.  “I sent Cochise home with Hoss, so you’re riding double with me.”

“Aw, Adam.”  The whine in Joe’s voice was palpably irritated.

“No argument, Joe.  Better for the horse and better for you, and we can’t really spare the time.”

In better health and circumstances, Little Joe certainly would have argued, but even he saw the necessity of leaving soon.  He was glad, too, that his favorite mount was safe and warm, back in the Ponderosa barn.  Maybe Hoss would even feed Cochise a special apple or carrot for Christmas dinner.

Lifting his bundled brother into the saddle, Adam mounted behind him, and the long quest began.  He couldn’t go fast.  The horse couldn’t manage that, with both snow and snow melt still covering the ground.  Neither could Joe.  Adam kept a steady pace, though, hoping to keep one step ahead of the dropping temperature, which would turn that snow melt into treacherous ice.  An hour into the journey, snow again began to fall, and the wind behind them grew fiercer.  Praying he’d made the right decision in leaving the cabin, Adam pressed on, as Little Joe leaned back against him and drifted to sleep.

Long, silent hours he plodded through the piling snow, which seemed to fall heavier by the minute.  Tired as he was and exhausted as he knew Joe must be, Adam couldn’t afford to stop, other than to rest the horse a few times and take a few bites of flapjack-wrapped bacon.  Even then he didn’t dismount, fearing he couldn’t get his brother back in the saddle again.  A breather for Sport and on they went until at last they were on Ponderosa land.  On a summer’s day, an hour would have brought them to the house.  Today?  At least, twice that, maybe more, as the storm grew to gale proportions.  “Hang in there, little buddy; we’ll make it,” Adam said to his unresponsive brother.  That didn’t matter, he admitted with a wry grin beneath his woolen scarf; he’d said it more to encourage himself than Joe, anyway.

*****

Inside the Ponderosa ranch house, the stockings were still hung by the chimney with care, in hopes the whole family soon might be there.  Both Ben and Hoss, the best weather prognosticators in the family, had read the signs and knew that if Adam and Joe didn’t make it in today, it might be weeks before they saw them again.  Neither said “if ever,” at least not aloud, but both knew that was a possibility, too.  So, their anxious ears caught every sound beyond the door, and their troubled eyes peered through the front window again and again . . . hoping.  As the sun slipped toward the horizon, that hope faded in Ben’s heart, and when Hoss again headed for the window, he said, “They’re not going to make it, son, not today.”

“I reckon,” Hoss said, but he kept moving toward the window.  Gazing out, he saw nothing but snow, snow on snow like that song Adam had been practicing for the Christmas program he’d missed last night.  Then his eyes squinted into the fading sunlight, for he thought he’d seen something, a dark silhouette against the pink-orange glow.  He bit his lip, afraid to trust his own eyes at this point.  Then he saw the silhouette turn toward the house and he knew.  “It’s them, Pa!” he cried joyously, heading for the front door.  Instinct made him look back over his shoulder, and he pointed an admonishing finger at his father.  “You stay put,” he ordered.

Ben, who’d been reaching for his crutches, sank back in frustrated submission, for he knew Hoss was right: he had no business out there.  He could trust his middle son to give his other boys whatever help they needed.

*****

Within the walls of the great Ponderosa ranch house, the Cartwrights were all gathered around the radiant fireplace, enclosed in a tumultuous privacy of storm, as the wind continued to blow and the snow to fall.  All was peaceful, warm and serene.  Hop Sing had scraped together a last-minute feast without once threatening to go back to China, his biggest disappointment being Little Joe’s continued preference for sleep, rather than food.  The others, however, had done happy justice to the meal and three of them were now settled, each with a steaming cup of coffee in hand (and Hoss with a gingerbread man in his other).  Little Joe was lying on the settee, drifting in and out of sleep, and each time he woke, his contented gaze went straight to the towering pine festooned with ornaments and topped by a homemade angel.  The others knew he should probably have been in his bed, but no one suggested it.  Tonight, it seemed more important just to be together.  By mutual consent, presents would wait until tomorrow, and in all the years to come, they would remember and cherish the greatest gift they exchanged that Christmas—each other.

The End

© December, 2023

My phrase: “around the radiant fireplace, enclosed in a tumultuous privacy of storm” from “The Snow-Storm” by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
My character:  Little Joe

The characters of Red and Willie Twilight appeared in “Vengeance,” a season-two episode written by Marion Parsonnet, David Dortort and Fred Hamilton.

The song Adam planned to sing at the church program, quoted in brief by Hoss, was “In the Bleak Midwinter,” written by Christina Rossetti and Gustav Holst.  And if you’d like to learn how Adam became the featured soloist at Christmas programs from Joe’s infancy up, you’re invited to read “A Performance to Remember,” written for the 2017 Advent calendar.

Link to Bonanza Brand 2023 Advent Calendar – Day 19 – To Build a House by faust