Summary:  What happened instead for the episode Death at Dawn
Rating:  G
Words:  11,950

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

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What Happened Instead for Death At Dawn

The tension in the air was palpable. The acting sheriffs – the Cartwright brothers – said they’d hang the Farmer, but would they go through with it? Would they allow their father to be hung?

Then there was some commotion, and Joe Cartwright appeared together with his middle brother. Joe was dragging a young man with him, despite the latter’s loud protests, then threw the man bodily to the stairs of the sheriff’s office.

“O’Neill, one of Bryant’s men,” offered someone from the crowd. That immediately roused Joe Cartwright, who grabbed the man again.

“What did you do to my Pa!”

O’Neill’s wild laughter was stopped by some voice from behind him. “It’s five o’clock.”

A hollow thump of the trapdoor was heard. It was over.

Everything was over.

*****

The silence was shattered by O’Neill’s disbelieving, “You hung him. You hung the Farmer…”

“We told you we was gonna do, boy.” Hoss Cartwright’s face looked like carved in stone. In fact, all his body seemed to have turned to stone.

O’Neill’s first instinct was to fight his way out of Joe’s grip, then the knowledge of the reality prevailed, and he burst into laughter once again.

“Alright! Alright! You wanna know where your Pa is? I’ll tell you where he is. He’s down in the old stable, hanging by the end of the rope!”

An angry fist silenced him, then the brothers turned in unison to head in the stated direction. Hoss threw a look over his shoulder at the dark shape in the door and almost instinctively yelled, “Take care of Perkins!” before following Joe at a dead run.

There was nothing to take care of. It’s not like he’s going to resurrect. Yet Adam retreated to the office in reflex action, almost languidly looking for the rifle. He ought to take the gun with him.

Upon wakening, he found himself blindfolded. Surmising instinctively he’d been captured, he decided to play dead just yet. Slight movements of the wrists told him he was tied as well. He was lying on something hard and smooth, most likely a wooden floor. There were steps, and a voice that sent thrills of hatred through him.

“Wake him up.”

His body cringed under the shock of cold water, and gone was the pretence of unconsciousness. He was roughly raised to a sitting position, and the hated voice sounded right in front of him.

“Oh, poor Cartwright boys can’t manage without their Papa?”

A hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head higher up. “Wish he could see you now… and I wish you could have seen him dangling from that rope, swaying right and left, left and right, right and left…”

Stop it. Within a second, he thought of spitting, yelling, fighting, then remained as he was, immobile despite the painful pull on his scalp. It was of no use. Nothing was of any use anymore.

“I think he was trying to call you,” wondered the voice, adding a studied pretence of authenticity to the words. “It was something beginning with A… But then I cannot know for sure, I’m afraid, he started choking and gurgling something awful, so I just didn’t catch all of it.”

There was silence, probably Bryant was waiting for a reaction. To hell with you. He wasn’t going to comply, if just to p*ss the man off. Kill me right off and be done with it.

“Poor old man, it almost seemed as if he was trying to hold out for you to get there… Took him an awful long time to finally stop kicking and gurgling, and choking, and you know, hoping to see all three of you appear to save him. You could see it in his eyes.”

Another period of silence, lengthening, stretching, pulling on his nerves, straining them to the point of physical pain. Shoot me. Please shoot me.

The hold on his hair loosened. Bryant sighed, then groaned, the sound changing location and ending somewhere above his head. Musta got up. Not easy for a fat man. “While your two loving brothers look for your body, I will take over Virginia City.”

Like the hell they’ll care. It was almost physical relief to hear the familiar, greedy tone, devoid of any faked emotion. In silence, he was shoved back to the floor, and steps shuffled around him. Two men. Bryant and some other man. If he were free, he could try taking them on.

What for?

The steps stopped almost out of his earshot – they’d left the wooden planks and softened – on ground or sand, most likely. He though he heard whispers, but try as he might, he was unable to catch anything distinct. Some other sounds reached him, then the steps came closer and he was raised to stand on his own two legs. Hands ran over his body, pulling out whatever was left in his pockets, then he was pulled to stumble along the man holding him. There was a shout somewhere outside, then pain, and his last conscious thought was: I killed my own father.

_________________
Judging by the temperature, noon was approaching. The second noon if he was counting right.

As if anything could be right any more.

Would they stop, or not? Yesterday they did.

If he doesn’t take the blindfold off, I’ll soon be blind as a bat.

The horse stopped. So they were going to have a break, after all. The bulk behind him disappeared, then he was pulled down from the horse in the usual dismounting procedure. The strong, capable hands half-pulled, half-pushed him forward, then down to the ground. He carefully ticked off the seconds to the first sounds of the fire, then another round to the smell of coffee. Alright, so maybe in their household this would not be called coffee, but it was wet, hot, and had a similar enough aroma to pass. He’d had a sip or two to form his opinion about the taste of the liquid.

Fascinatingly enough, the man ate every meal in five to six minutes. Even taking into account some small slip in measuring off the seconds, each meal time was strikingly fitted within the boundary. He then wondered briefly, how could he make sure he had the exact length of a second right? The plate was scraped, then grated slightly against some small stones, and the smell of coffee came in a stronger wave. He stood a good chance of getting a sip in about three minutes. Ten… Eleven… There had to be a way to get the seconds right. Fifteen… He was going by gut feeling, which had never failed him before… Twenty five… But he had never been as meticulous as to count in seconds.

Gut feeling be damned. Reason be damned. Everything be damned.

Twenty… That was a guess on his part, he’d stopped counting for a moment. Now… Thirty five… God, what am I doing? Forty… The bandanna stung at his eyes, although they were closed, and he felt his angry tears dissolve in the cloth. It’s most likely dirty. That must have been why his eyes stung. The dirt must have gotten into them.

He was almost startled when the smell of coffee tickled his nose. He took a few sips like an obedient child, then the cup was removed. Steps shuffled around the make-shift camp. Sand was kicked over the fire, which hissed angrily, almost like a snake. A minute or two later, he was pulled up by his arms.

I won’t be able to move my arms if you don’t untie me. I haven’t moved them for over a full day.

Now he’d either be lifted on a horse, or allowed to relieve himself. With the small amounts of liquid he was taking in, the latter was less and less of a problem, but it would have been nice, nevertheless.

Feeling the man’s hands, he forced his body to relax. It never got easier. At least the man was quiet. He seemed uninterested, just doing his job.

What is his job, anyway? What is he supposed to do with me?

Relieved of the pressure, he waited for his guide’s hands to lead him back to the horse. Lifted like a sack of grain, he fought to catch his balance on the horse’s back for the few precious seconds when the man wasn’t holding him upright.

A part of him was curious. Another part was screaming to stop this nonsensical torture. Where were they going? What for? Was there anything at the end of this road, or would a bullet just pierce his head at some point?

Maybe they wanted to leave his body somewhere far, so that his brothers would lose precious time in looking for him. They’d better be busy fighting off Bryant. It was logical; it was easier to travel with a living person than with a body, which would finally start to stink, and was generally clumsy to handle.

Satisfied with his own answer, he rocked on with the horse’s movements. His mind was blissfully blank for a moment. Then memories appeared before his eyes, and he squeezed his eyelids until he saw bright flashes of colour, and focused on counting. Poetry was gone from his head. All he had left were the seconds. The tiny seconds trickling away from his life, until there would be no more seconds left.

Please shoot me now. He was tired. Dreadfully tired. He’d tried to ask questions, get some answers, but he soon learned not to. With his head ringing, he knew after half an hour that it was unwise to open his mouth unless he was allowed to drink some coffee at a given moment.

How long would they be riding? How much longer could he stand? He felt the blindfold get moist, and was immediately angry with himself. It was no use. In a surge of anger, he moved his wrists impatiently. A hand grabbed his shoulder in a vice-like grip, startling a moan out of him. Knowing better than to protest aloud, he forced his muscles to slacken. Patience.

It took the hand almost a quarter of an hour to loosen the grip. Bruises he couldn’t see, but he felt them acutely.

_________________
He didn’t know what time it was. That third day was as miserable as it could get, cold throughout, without a ray of sunlight on his face.

Before they continued their way after breakfast, the man left the camp for a moment. He knew he had only a minute, two at the most, and rubbed his head hard against the tree behind him. Get that damn blindfold off! He felt the cloth shift, hope surged within him –

then he was thrown to the ground, a knee pressed ruthlessly into the middle of his back. The cloth around his head was pulled, then tightened against his eyes, and he protested aloud, unable to get out from under the man.

“No, please, don’t…”

A hand snaked around his neck, and to his horror, strong fingers pressed on the two vital points under his jaw. He struggled until the world dimmed around him…

_________________
He was vaguely aware of a pull on his wrists, and thought he recalled something cold and soothing pass over his face, but it took him a long moment to get his bearings. The steps were close, though not approaching him. Something felt different. A slight movement of the head made him realise there was now a different cloth around his head. It was smoother and thinner than the previous one, not thin enough to let him see through – tight enough to keep his eyes closed – but felt nicer and cleaner against his skin. Pleasantly surprised with this unexpected change, he lay there quietly, waiting to be raised and loaded upon the horse. There was nothing more he could do.

Wonder what Joe and Hoss are doing…

He blocked the possible answers from wording in his head. It was better to focus on the sounds around him and play a guessing game. The man approached him, and he guessed correctly that he’d be helped up. The movements made him realise one more change. Something felt different around his wrists. Softer than the rope from before. He though it was broader, too.

Could it be he was tied with a bandanna now?

He stumbled on his way to the horse. It was difficult to catch your balance in the pitch-black reality he was living in right now, and he felt light-headed from the exertion of the struggle. He practically lay on the horse’s neck while waiting for the other man to mount. He felt the horse move nervously under him, and pressed himself closer to its body, the only choice he had if he wanted to stay on top.

He though briefly of sliding down and making things difficult for the man, but he had no certainty of being killed on the spot. The ride would then be much more uncomfortable – Could it? – and he still didn’t know where they were heading and how long it would take them to get there.
Maybe there was no set destination. Maybe the only destination was a bullet waiting patiently for him in the chamber of the gun.

Just do it. Just do it and let it all stop.

Could travelling be a torture? Oh, yes, and a refined one.

_________________
The day wore on, chilly, wet, and as miserable as it had begun. He wasn’t sure what time it was. He thought it was past noon, and his sense of time rarely misled him, but this time he lacked confidence in his skills. They hadn’t stopped yet. Maybe they wouldn’t.

Seventy five… Seventy six… Would they stop when he got to one thousand?

The deluge the rain had turned into was a mercy. His blindfold was wet throughout, and it didn’t matter anymore if he could control his tears or not. He opened his lips, catching all the water he could get. He hadn’t been given coffee this morning, a form of punishment, as he guessed, and his throat was parched and the tongue stiff.

One hundred fifty five…

The rain slowed down at somewhere about nine hundred, then took another five minutes to stop. The horse’s hooves plopped around in the puddles, and wet grass swished with the wind. Then the plopping of the hooves stopped, and the bulk behind him dismounted.

Noon?

He was pulled down, then steadied on his feet as he stood, waiting. With the chilling wind, it felt like open space, but he couldn’t imaging stopping with a bound prisoner in a place for everyone to see from far. He sensed no support around, so he kept on standing and waiting.

The steps went around him, and the wet ground squished under the booted feet. Hope we’re not sitting down on *that*. Not that it made much difference, wet as he was.

The horse snorted behind him, then groaned slightly and started moving on. What the…

Astonished, he kept standing and listening to the sound of hooves dying in the distance. There was no sound about him. No steps. No breathing.

“Hello?…” he risked a sound.

Nothing.

Slowly, he sank to the ground. The wind chilled his wet body, and he hunched together against it, while working on his ties. In contrast to a rope, the wet bandanna slid from around his wrists with relative ease. He reached to finally tear off the offending blindfold.

It was another blessing of the weather. He didn’t think his eyes could bear direct sunlight, even the dimmed half-light was hurtful.

Fighting against the limitations to his vision, he could finally state he was all alone. Open space, just as it had felt. Within some more minutes of struggle, he thought he recognised the area. True enough, about three days away from Virginia City. To his right there was surely a small town, a few miles away. To his left, not much further than the town, there should be a forest. And a stream.

It would be better to go to the stream. He needed to drink.

He struggled to a standing position, surprised with how light-headed he felt. He had no means of transport but for his legs, so he started walking. The effort cleansed his head of any worded thoughts, and he focused on the refreshing feeling.

Within two yards, he tripped and went down on his knees. A single effort to raise himself, and he fell face-forward to the ground, crying. Oh, Pa… Oh, Pa…

_________________
The man came closer in careful steps. The unmoving shape resembled a human more and more with each step. Finally the man knelt down by the dark form.

“What’s wrong with you, fella?” he murmured, one hand making a superficial inventory of the body. Finding no injury, he turned the lying man to his back. Only then did he finally stick the gun back in the holster. He’d been afraid of an ambush, but the other man was unarmed, and his body limp.

Just then, the lying man moved slightly, and opened his eyes with a small sigh.

“You’re alright, mister?”

The red-rimmed eyes fought to focus on the one asking the question, then the brows were drawn together in an effort to concentrate. “I’m fine,” was finally offered on a breath.

“Right.” Trite question, stupid answer. The man was clearly far from fine. “I’m Dirk Johnson,” he spoke slowly, trying to see if the man could follow him. “What’s your name?”

The man blinked, his brows still drawn together, until his eyes lost some of the glazed look, replaced by a lucid one. “John.” Then he seemed to realise Johnson was waiting for more, and added, “Smith.” It didn’t look like he had much breath left to elaborate, so Johnson let it go.

“Are you hurt? Can you stand up?”

“No… I…” Smith closed his eyes, took a deep, slow breath, then opened his eyes on releasing the air. “I don’t think I’m hurt,” he spoke with some conviction. “Dizzy… Thirsty.”

“Do you think you can get up?”

“I’ll… try.”

With Johnson’s assistance, Smith managed to sit up, then laboriously clamber up to a standing position. His legs were shaky, but with the strong arm supporting him he took one step after another, and finally reached the solitary wagon with only one stop to catch his breath.

“Climb up.”

Yet Smith shook his head. “Just a drink. I need to go…”

“Ain’t nowhere you’re going on foot.” Johnson looked at his eyes carefully. “You look sick. There is a doctor in town.”

“No… I’m not sick. ‘M not hurt.” His eyes closed and Dirk barely had time to catch him before he collapsed.

Swearing under his breath, the man pulled Smith over to the back of the wagon. “Gimme a blanket,” he demanded breathlessly.

There was some noise from inside, and a youthful face of a girl appeared. She looked a little scared, but held a blanket in her hands. “Who is he?”

“Someone in need of a doctor.” Johnson puffed, trying to lift the limp body, but then Smith raised his head. Still dazed, he was nonetheless able to successfully assist the efforts of his saviour. The girl covered him with the blanket and looked at Johnson enquiringly.

“Give him some water.”

Smith swallowed the liquid greedily, a mute testimony of how thirsty he was. He then raised his head and sought the inside of the wagon with his eyes.

The girl beside him was still in her teens, with a freckled face and in a modest dress. He noticed a boy of four or five huddled in the corner, and finally Johnson’s silhouette in the driving seat.

“I don’t need a doctor.”

Johnson threw him a look over his shoulder. “You certainly do, mister, by the looks of it.”

Smith lay back, but his eyes remained open and lucid.

“I don’t think I have any money,” he finally said.

“You been robbed?”

The man took some time processing the simple question, before he replied with a single, “Yes.”

Johnson shook his head silently. The man was badly off, too weak to stand or even to answer simple questions. Lying there without a horse in sight, without a jacket, hat, or gun belt, he must have been ambushed and robbed. Maybe he was having trouble remembering things. Dirk hadn’t taken a good look at his head, but he thought he’d seen bruises on the man’s face.

“Lottie,” he turned again. “Wash his face and see if he’d like to eat something.”

The girl – maybe his daughter, or sister – listened immediately, bustling about. Smith closed his eyes when the cool rag passed over his skin, and just lay there quietly. She thought he found it pleasant, and didn’t haste in her work, for his sake. His eyes were red-rimmed and had dark circles underneath. The stubble proved he hadn’t shaved in several days, so maybe he had been travelling, like they were. It saddened her to see the shadows of bruises on his face. Some bruises were yellowing, some still dark and blue. She knew the nature of bruises, and wondered if he had been beaten more than once within a few days. Maybe he’d been in a fight, and the ambush only added to the collection…

When she finally put the rag away, she found herself looking into his eyes. Red and tired, they still captivated her with their look.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Yar welcome.” She smiled at him kindly, and turned to reach for some bundle, knowing she would treasure that look like you did the sight of a clear rainbow.

Pulling out a biscuit, she offered it to him, still with the gentle smile. He carefully raised himself on one elbow and reached for the food, answering with a shadow of a smile. He took a bite, but gagged on the crumbs and almost spit everything out. Swallowing the water offered to him in that instant, he shook his head wearily. “I can’t…”

“Ya jist rest,” she said quietly, and replaced the moist rag on his forehead. He gave a her a grateful half-smile and closed his eyes.

“Watch if he don’t need something,” she instructed the boy quietly, and climbed the driver’s seat to share her discoveries and thoughts with Dirk.

The sheriff of Smallville tapped his pencil impatiently on the notebook he held. He looked pensively from Dirk to Lottie. The man shrugged, for they’d given him all information they had on the man they’d found. The sheriff then seemed to make a decision, and opened the door to the doctor’s study.

The patient was sitting on the couch, shirtless. Both he and the doctor turned to look at the newcomer, the doctor with a scowl, the man with an ever-patient look of someone too tired to care.

“I’m busy,” said the doctor, straightening.

“I’m not gonna disturb you, Doc, I’m just gonna ask me some questions,” said the sheriff placatingly. “The man’s been ambushed, I need some information on that.”

He approached the couch and looked pensively at the man. Rather on the thin side, dishevelled, with dark stubble hiding half of his face, he still had an alert and intelligent look to him.

“Hello. Name’s Tom Sands, I’m the sheriff hereabouts.”

The man nodded in acknowledgement, and the sheriff continued.

“Your name?”

“John Smith.”

“Any family we oughta let know?”

“No.”

“Who ambushed you?”

The man bit his lip, then heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen the man.”

“One man?”

“I’m not sure.” Then he corrected himself, offering with more conviction: “I don’t know.”

“Were ya robbed?”

“It would seem so.” The man rubbed at his pocket absently. “I don’t even have anything to pay the doctor with.”

“Any valuables we oughta trace?”

“No. Just some money. Nothing of personal value.”

“You have any papers on ya?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Do you mind, Tom?” Behind the sheriff, the doctor was tapping his foot and still scowling. “The man needs to lie down, for goodness sake!”

“I’m alright, doctor,” said Smith, but the doctor just flapped his hand.

“I’ve heard it ten times already, and for the eleventh time I’m telling you, you’re in dire need of sleep and nourishment. There’s bruising on your head, and you shouldn’t walk about until I decide you’re fine.”

Smith rolled his eyes, and the sheriff pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I’m sure we can work something out with the doc, if you’re worried about financial matters,” he offered suddenly. “Please let me know if you remember anything more. Meanwhile, I’m gonna leave ya in the doc’s hands. Capable hands, I must say.”

He gave the scowling doctor a sunny smile and left the room. The first thing he met were the concerned, questioning blue eyes of Lottie Johnson. “He’s gonna be fine with some sleep and some food, says the doc.” The blue eyes cleared and brightened up, and Dirk Johnson shook the sheriff’s hand.

“We’ll be going, then. Hope the situation can be cleared.”

“Yeah… Do my best.” The sheriff gave them another sunny smile and took his farewells. He needed to visit the telegram office, and then it was time for dinner.

_________________
Dirk Johnson knocked lightly on the door, then pushed it open. “May I?”

“Sure.” Smith was sitting in an armchair, facing the window, but he turned to look at his guest. “Come in, please.”

The man sat down on the couch, facing Smith, so as not to force him to twist himself around. “How ya been?”

“I’m fine. The doctor won’t let me out yet, but I’m up and about within the room. How’s Lottie and the boy? I’m sorry – I’m afraid I forgot to ask his name.”

“Jake. A good boy, obedient. My wife’s been worried about you.”

“Your wife?”

“Lottie.”

Surprise flickered in John’s eyes, but then he turned his head quickly to look out of the window. Quietly grateful for the man’s tact, Dirk offered: “She’s taking good care o’ Jake an’ me. She’s a good girl.”

“She’s very kind,” agreed John. “So what are you planning? You’re moving some place, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my brother’s place, not far from here – he died and left it ta me. Shame to see good land go to waste.”

“Sure is.”

Dirk looked around the room. “When will you be fine? The Doc said anything?”

“I am fine, and the Doc is stubborn.” John smiled through his beard. “Been in here two days, I think he oughtta let me out soon.”

“He says you’re not eating enough.”

“I eat as much as I can. I’ve learned that doctors are rarely satisfied with their patients’ conduct, anyway.” John flapped his hand, but kept his voice soft and glanced at the door in faked anxiety, making Dirk laugh out.

“And you? What are you planning?”

John scratched his neck thoughtfully. “Find a job. Earn a living.”

“Hereabouts?” Dirk leaned forward. “I’m not sure what profits I can get from my brother’s land, but I might need workers…”

“I was thinking North.” John smiled gratefully. “Canada, maybe. But thanks, anyway.”

“Cold land, you sure you don’t want the job?” Dirk smiled. He wasn’t offended at the repeated refusal. There was something in that man’s tone and manner of speaking that indicated he was not a common hand. Educated, more likely. He could be a clerk, but not someone to shovel manure.

“We was gonna move on tomorrow –why don’t ya join us for lunch, ‘fore we set off? Lottie would be happy to see you up, she’s got a soft heart, and ‘sides, she got a little scared by that ambush. Would calm her down.”

“Sounds good…” John smiled again, and a note of apology stole into his tone. “But I still don’t have money – I’m afraid I’d be imposing.”

Dirk shook his head. “Dontcha worry none. We invite ya, so you’re our guest. Who knows, maybe some other time you’ll play the host to us.” He reached out his hand.

John scratched his nose, smiled a quirky little smile, and shook the offered hand. “In that case, I’ll be happy to be your guest tomorrow.”

“How big are the meadows?” John leaned back in his chair, putting the fork aside.

He and Dirk were discussing the generals of working the land, its possibilities and the current demands in the local market. Meanwhile, Lottie and Jake were eating, neither up to a business discussion, general as it was.

Lottie kept glancing from Jake to Dirk and then shyly to John. The latter seemed to be fine again, with a confident way of walking, an authoritative voice and manners she’d never witnessed before. When he kissed her hand in greeting, she felt quite the queen, and fought to stay aware and hide her shock the best she could. Another gem – a true diamond – to cherish throughout her life.

Yet she was worried. He might have been walking and talking fine, but there were large dark circles around his eyes, and he was no fatter than the last she’d seen him. After the first three bites, he’d set the cutlery away and seemed to be done, enjoying his coffee in small sips. She wondered if he didn’t like the food here. To her it was clear that the ambush itself had left little mark on him.
He was sick. She’d seen her mother waste away, and couldn’t remember her ever without the dark circles, or with a good appetite. She wondered if he had the same illness, or if, perhaps, each fatal illness had similar effects. She felt sorry for him, but it wasn’t her place to speak up. He was handsome, tall, and at the same time kind and polite, a rare combination. Why couldn’t nasty people get sick instead of the good ones?

She looked at Dirk with light in her eyes. Her husband was also big, and he was very kind to her. Out of sheer gratefulness, she did her best to take good care of him and his boy. Jake she also loved with all her heart.

“Drink quietly,” she whispered over to the boy, who’d slurped up a sip of milk rather noisily. He gazed at her with his big, round eyes, and nodded solemnly, trying with all his might to take a quiet sip next time. His heartfelt efforts made her smile, and she stroked his head gently. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a man approaching them slowly, but she kept quiet as instructed, focusing instead on the boy.

A few feet away from their table, the young man hesitated, then slowly pulled off his hat and came closer to stand right beside John.

“May I join you?”

John’s cup rattled against the saucer. Dirk rose slightly and indicated an empty chair. “Help yourself.”

The young man seated himself and let out the air he’d held pent up. “Doggone it, Adam, we thought you were dead!”

_________________

Dirk looked carefully from one man to another, all conversation at an end for now. Something far more important than discussing ranch work was hanging in the air.

‘John’, or ‘Adam’, whoever he was, was glancing about the restaurant, seemingly interested in its guests. The young man who’d joined them, was looking at him hard, with a strange mixture of anxiety and emotion on his handsome face.

“Adam,” he repeated softly, which made the other man finally turn his head to look at him. Strangely enough, his eyes presented a similar blend of emotion that was reflected on the younger man’s face, though mixed with… was it regret?

“Joe,” he finally acknowledged the young man. His voice was flat and impassive, a striking contrast to the warmth and kindness from two minutes ago.

“We got a telegram from the sheriff.”

Adam closed his eyes and nodded to himself silently.

“You don’t havta hide from Bryant…” Joe stopped when his brother jerked at the name. He continued on a softer note, “One o’ his own men shot ‘im. It’s safe to go back home now.”

Safe. He hadn’t even considered that aspect. Come to think of it, he wasn’t interested in it.

He had nothing to come back to. He sought his brother’s face, wondering about the feelings he couldn’t see there. What about forgiveness? Was it as easy as that, come back home and everything’s fine, nothing happened?

“I know you’re mad with us,” said Joe softly, searching his brother’s face in a mirror-like action. “You’ve got every right…” He was crumpling his hat nervously. “But you must come back home. You must, Adam.”

There’s something they can’t cope with. Something they needed him for. Maybe the trouble with Bryant wasn’t over.

“You left Hoss alone?” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, sudden anxiety rushing through his veins, but Joe shook his head quickly.

“It’s not like that, Adam, we’ve got another acting sheriff to help. Now that Bryant’s gone, there ain’t no trouble.”

Then what? Accounting for the ranch? They could all cope with that, had many times in the past.

“So what’s the trouble?” He hated to be blunt, but his frayed nerves couldn’t handle much more after nearly a week of sleepless nights and the dreadful three-day-long journey.

“Ain’t none, Adam. We just need ya back home.”

He glanced at the others: Dirk, Lottie, Jake. Maybe there was something Joe didn’t want to say in company. “I gotta pay the doctor’s bill,” he recalled.

“Done that already.”

In a hurry, aren’t you, Joe? What could possibly be so urging? He wouldn’t be asking me to step up the gallows, would he?

He forced himself to focus on the now and here. He was getting better and better at doing it.

“I have nothing to collect. I just need a horse.”

“I’ve taken Blackie for you. I got your jacket, your hat and your gun, too.” Joe perked up. “I’ll just buy some more supplies, and we can set off. The doc said you havta travel slow and rest a lot, so I guess it’s gonna take four days back.”

Adam rolled his eyes with a deep groan. “Can you get the doc off my back? I’m fine.”

“Right,” Joe snorted, then ducked his head under the dark look. “I… uh… I’ll get the supplies and be right back. Gimme ten minutes. You c’n finish your lunch meanwhile.” He excused himself and hurried out.

“I have finished,” said Adam softly, then pushed the plate away with such an intense expression on his face that Dirk thought twice before finally opening his mouth.

“Where ya headed?” he asked.

“Virginia City way.” Adam glanced up at them, and his face softened. “I’m sorry – I imagine what this must have looked like.”

“Why didya lie ‘bout your name?” asked Lottie, looking at him with big innocent eyes, and he couldn’t help giving her the kindest answer he could muster.

“It thought it would be best.”

“So the sheriff was right?” Dirk leaned back, looking at the man with narrowed eyes. “Adam Cartwright? One of the richest men in Nevada?”

Adam snorted and shook his head at the epithet. “The name’s right.” He rose, only to be stopped by the young voice.
“But you ain’t eaten nothing.”

He glanced at the plate, then smiled at her, and tears stung at her eyes at the pain she saw in his.
“I’ve eaten all I can. I’m sorry. I guess I’m still a little sick to my stomach after all.”
With a nod, he started to say his goodbyes when Dirk rose as well.

“We’re headed that way, too. We could travel a day or two together. Guess you could use the occasion and rest in the wagon some, with what the doc said ‘bout your health.”

Adam stopped, took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “That’s very kind of you.” He looked into the other man’s face for a moment. “It would certainly quicken up the journey. Thank you.”

Dirk nodded with an air of finality. “I thought you might direct us to my brother’s ranch, being locals.”

“Certainly.” He turned to the door, hesitated, then looked back at them. “I guess I havta tell my brother about the arrangements. If you’ll excuse me.”

Dirk remained standing even when the dark silhouette was gone from the doorframe. He still wasn’t sure if he’d made the right decision, but there was no coming back now, and he decisively erased any regrets he might have felt. Then he heard Lottie’s sad, lost-little-girl voice. “He’s sick. Maybe he’s dying. S’that why he don’t wanna go home?”

“Need a hand?” Joe put his blanket down and looked over Dirk’s shoulder.

“Nah, I’ll manage.” Having noticed a tear in the canvas on the wagon, Dirk was now carefully manipulating the needle to repair the damage.

“Watch that you don’t bite your tongue off.” Joe seated himself comfortably on a tree root, watching the man work. “Can’t Lottie do that? Seems like women have a nicer hand at this.”

“Maybe,” Dirk grinned, still focused on his work. “She’s putting Jake to bed.”

“I thought Adam was, you can hear him reading a story.”

“Jake won’t fall asleep without me or her nearby. And she wants ta coax your brother into eating the whole supper.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with his eating.” Suddenly uncomfortable, Joe rose and took a few aimless steps. “He always had a normal appetite.”

“Is he normally so quiet, too?”

“Adam is quiet.” Joe frowned, unsure of the man’s meaning. “He ain’t one for talking much.”

“He ain’t spoken two words to ya.” Dirk finished his work and gave the younger man a serious look.

Joe sighed. “He’s mad,” he admitted. “Got reason, too.”
He wandered aimlessly around, kicking at some small stones, digging a hole in the sand with the toe of his boot, rubbing his shoulder absently against a tree.

“We let him down when he needed us most.”

The words were so quiet that for a moment Dirk wasn’t sure if he hadn’t imagined them. “What?”

“We let’im down. That’s why he’s mad.”

“Lottie said he looked… sad.” He skipped the other word she had used. No use burdening the boy with more problems.

“Yeah, well…” Joe seated himself beside Dirk. “He is. Deep down, he’s also mad. You gotta know him to know that. He’s been mad with me often enough, I oughtta know.”

“Didn’t seem to me like someone who likes to bear a grudge.” Dirk put the needle away. “But then I don’t know him really.”

“He ain’t like that.” Joe straightened up, ready to defend his brother. “You see – he’s older’n me by some twelve years. We don’t always see eye to eye. I think he bosses me around, then he thinks I don’t listen to him, and so it goes… That don’t mean we don’t care for each other.”

“Then he might accept an apology.”

Joe scratched his neck pensively. “I kinda prefer to wait out his grizzly-bear mood. And I kinda think he don’t wanna talk about what happened. Not yet. That’s why he’s avoiding talking to me, I think.”

“I woulda preferred clearing the air,” said Dirk non-committally, listening to the quiet rumble of a deep voice reading a story from a children’s book. He heard Lottie and Jake laugh, light, childish voices.

“I will. When he’s ready.” Joe rested his forearms on his knees, listening to the familiar voice. “I missed his reading voice. I loved it when he read us stories. Even more’n when Pa did. Adam makes ‘em come alive.”

Dirk gave him a long, close look. “You care for him, dontcha?” he asked quietly.

“Lots,” Joe answered with quite the youthful innocence of Lottie. “Lots’n’heaps. He’s just about the best oldest brother in the world.”

With a smile, Adam showed the plate to Lottie, but she shook her head with energy. “There’s still a spoonful left. You haven’t eaten the whole day. Dirk told me to make sure you’s gonna eat the whole supper.”

Rolling his eyes, he nevertheless scraped out the last spoonful and, with a playful look at her, wiped the plate clean with the rest of the biscuit. “That alright, doctor?”

She chuckled. “For now, yes. I want to see the same tomorrow morning.”

It was his turn to chuckle now. “Turn in, Lottie, before Jake wakes up calling for you.”

“He’s tired, he’ll sleep the night thru’.” She tilted her head to the right, watching him. “Ya quarrelled with Joe?”

Yes. No. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you two didn’ talk much. Ya weren’t happy to see him.”

“I was… surprised. When I left, he was mad with me,” he selected the words carefully, toying with the plate.

“Why?”

“I messed up,” he said simply. “He has every reason in the world to hate me.”

“He don’t hate ya. He cares for ya.”

He nodded and sighed. “And that’s what I don’t get.”

Joe shifted, then opened his eyes. The night was cool, starry, filled with the scent of pines. Just something to put you to sleep…
He lay there for a moment, looking steadily at the lonesome figure huddled in a blanket next to the small fire. Making a decision, he finally got up and squatted next to his brother.

“You should be sleeping, Adam.”

Instead of having his head bitten off, all he got was a shake of the head. It seemed relatively safe to continue the conversation.

“Adam, you’re not fine. I can’t have you collapsing…”

“I’ll manage.” Adam finally gave him a brief glance. “Don’t worry, I can still put in a day’s work.”

“That’s not what I meant Adam, and you know it.”

“Joe…” His brother sighed and looked into the fire for a long, quiet moment. “I slept in the wagon, during the day. The rocking and squeaking kinda puts me to sleep better than this silence. Always did.”

“Ya slept maybe half an hour. So happens I know.”

This time, his only answer was silence. After a long, uncomfortable moment, Joe decided to take his chances.

“Adam, about Bryant…”

Adam’s head snapped around, and Joe shifted back on instinct.
Schooling his face the best he could, his brother pulled in a breath, tensed up even more, then released the air with a low hiss. “Don’t.” Seeing Joe open his mouth, he raised a hand. “I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m gonna do whatever you need me to do, but otherwise please leave me be, Joe. Please.” The word was a hiss in itself, forced through gritted teeth.

Joe closed his mouth, then nodded silently, hit by the pain emanating from the sound.
“Goodnight, Adam,” he said quietly, rising. “And I’m sorry – for everything. And I’m glad we’re still on some talking terms. I just wanted you to know.” At a loss for words, he retreated to his bedroll in silence.

He is sorry. My God. Adam hid his face in his hands, wishing for once for the dreaded blindfold to again hide the sorrow trickling down his face, and huddled further in the blanket, trying to control the shaking that assaulted him.

_________________
Despite Joe’s hope of being on “some” talking terms, after parting with the Johnsons every communication seemed to be at an end. Although he’d quietly rested in the wagon for the two days they’d been travelling together, Adam seemed no better, saving energy even on monosyllables. Even the common Yes and No’s were mostly supplied with gestures. Determined to get his brother home safely, Joe consciously slowed down their pace and insisted on breaks every two or three hours, even if that made his brother more irritable with each passing minute.

“You can snap my head off, if it makes ya feel better,” he said at one point in response to the dark, threatening look, “but we’re taking it as slow as your health requires. And ya won’t intimidate me with that look anymore, so save your energy, brother.”

He got no response, and the look was gone, replaced by an impassive stare into the distance. In other words, Adam was badly off.

With the pace they were going at, nightfall caught them a few hours away from the house, ‘though already within Ponderosa boundaries. Supper was a sombre affair. Little was eaten and much less said. Wordlessly, Adam took the dishes to the stream, shrugging off Joe’s help and ignoring the latter’s hurt look. Truth be told, he felt strange, groundless anger rise within himself, and didn’t speak for fear it may come to blows. He hoped to feel more useful and calmer when he employed his hands instead of sitting back like an invalid.

Knowing they weren’t going any further today, he took his time, methodically washing each item, in and out. Contrary to his usual attitude, he was sorry to see the last specks go. That meant he had nothing more to do. Sighing, he rose – staggered – landed on his knee. What the heck? He caught his breath, then took a couple more to steady himself. Maybe Joe had actually been right, not pushing on home. Not something he’d say aloud, but it was a rude awakening in itself.

The way back wasn’t anything worth mentioning as to distance, yet he stopped once, with a hand against a tree. Maybe he’d be tired enough to get some proper sleep? He’d even consent to the dreams, as long as he could get a few solid hours of rest.

He thought he heard voices. Was Joe speaking to himself, for lack of an interlocutor? He rested his hand against a tree at the skirt of their camp, caught some of the strangely heavy air, mechanically shook his head against the loud buzz in his ears, and then the world dimmed and disappeared in a silent hollow…

Stars. Bright stars on a dark blue sky were the first thing he saw upon opening his eyes. Then a face appeared above him, and the familiar voice said, “You gave us a scare, son.”

He blinked, trying to get his bearings. “I…”

“You fainted. Not really a wonder the way you’ve been acting these past few days, as Joe tells me. I barely managed to catch you.”

He swallowed against the sudden pain in his throat, and managed, “Tattletale…” He pulled his shoulders up and felt strong hands helping him sit.

“No getting up, son,” his father’s voice warned him, before the thought even crystallised in his head. “You absolutely must rest.”

Suddenly he was gathered up in those strong arms, and untypically, he didn’t fight it.

“I thought I’d never see you again, son.”

My sentiments exactly…

“I thought I’d lost you.” Ben stroked the dark head at his chest with the tenderness of a father holding his newborn child. “Thought I’d never tell how proud I am of you… always have been… I can’t begin to tell you what you mean to me, what each of my sons means to me…” He rocked slightly, innerly pleased when his usually independent son didn’t fight the embrace. “My boy. My boy.” His hands wandered over to Adam’s back, rubbing it affectionately. “When Bryant told us he had you, when he showed us your jacket… You can’t imagine…”

Adam sighed and finally pulled his head back, admitting softly, “I’m tired, Pa.”

Ben’s eyes raked his face with fatherly love. “Of course you are. Your brothers have prepared your place already, why don’t you lie down.”

Brothers. “Hoss,” he acknowledged his middle brother. A wave of dizziness assaulted him when he was getting up, but determination won, and he settled into his bedroll with only symbolic help from his family. He fell asleep with his father’s hand on his shoulder and his voice flowing over him in quiet conversation with his brothers.

*****

He saw his father’s face, smiling gently at him. Then the face distorted, swinging in front of him – left, then right, then left again…

He bolted upright in his bedroll, thankfully without a sound. Regular, familiar breathing around calmed him down and reassured he hadn’t woken anyone. He watched his father for a moment, who was sleeping maybe a foot away from him. I need my sleep. Look what happened tonight. With a strong resolution to rest, he settled back in the bedroll. Somewhat calmer now, he switched off within minutes.

… somewhere up high, and looking down he saw the faces of his family, all looking up at him with the most impassive, indifferent expressions. Didn’t they see him?
But yes, they were looking at him. Why was he so high? Where was he? Up on some mountain? But he could see them clearly, far below his feet, as if he were dangling in the air. Dangling left… dangling right… Left… Right… He saw his own booted feet swing in the rhythm and suddenly felt the choking noose on his neck…

The cry was so strangled that him it woke, but no one else. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he focused on the breathing of his family to calm down his own panting, panicked breath. As he looked into the darkness, he rocked slightly to ease down the tension in his muscles. In his wishful thinking, he’d thought he could take the dreams, but they were so real, so real…

Settling in the bedroll for the third time tonight, he knew there was no sleep for him that night. Quietly hoping midnight had already passed, he tried to count the stars that he could see. Yet he lost count at some point, so he switched to the only other companions of solitude he knew, the dear, dreadful seconds…

After a couple tens, he calmed down enough to remember he might just have something better to do than count. In slow, quiet movements, he settled on his side and watched his father sleep.

A cup rattled against the plate and Joe cringed with a look at his father. Ben shook his head with slight displeasure, then glanced at Adam’s bedroll. Seeing no movement there, he relaxed somewhat.

“We gotta wake him for breakfast,” said Hoss softly, his worried look following Ben’s checking one.

Ben shook his head. “I have a feeling he fell asleep somewhere around morning. He’s had some dreams, judging by the sounds I heard during the night. You two go on home. Hoss, you’ll then go to Virginia City to see what the situation is. I’ll be home later with Adam. Like you said, he needs to take it slow.”

“ ‘M not an invalid. Morning.” Adam was sitting up, one arm resting on the knee of the bent leg, looking at them with clear eyes.

“Good morning, son.” Ben masked his surprise – he hadn’t even heard Adam move! – and poured another cup of coffee. “You’re a convalescent, not an invalid. And I’ll be glad to spend an hour or two in the company of my oldest son, without hurrying anywhere.”

Adam sucked in his left cheek, but refrained from saying anything. He moved closer to the fire and accepted the cup and the plate with a curt nod at his brothers.

The two younger men finished their meal quickly and busied themselves packing and saddling the horses. Seeing as someone was usually needed around the house, and Hoss had to relieve the other acting sheriff, they didn’t stall, and soon waved they goodbyes to Ben and Adam.

Deciding it was time for them to move on as well, Adam put the plate away and moved to roll up his blanket, when he was stopped by his father’s voice.

“That’s what you call eating?”

“No offense to Hoss’ cooking skills,” he threw over his shoulder, “but I’ve eaten all I can. Feel kinda sick.”

“And just how long have you been feeling sick?”

Adam sighed and turned to look at his father. “After a few bites. I thought I could eat more but I can’t. Maybe I’ll have a biscuit or two as we ride home.”

Ben hesitated, but he could hear the unusual, unguarded openness in Adam’s voice, and decided to let it go for now. “And how are you feeling in general?”

“A little sick – just a little dizzy – but otherwise I’m fine. I don’t expect to get too tired while riding.” Adam carefully prepared his tack, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Why don’t I saddle your horse this once.” Ben watched his son open his mouth to protest, then thoughtfully close it and nod his head. He was enheartened by the cooperation.

Soon they were on their way. The sun was shining, and the weather made their ride seem like a peaceful trip in the outdoors. The sense of comfort convinced Ben there was no point in waiting any longer.

“Tell me what happened.”

His son kept looking in the distance. Ben bit his lip, but firmly told himself to be patient. You just had to take your time with that eldest son of his.

Adam raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes, letting the warmth caress his skin. “You first,” came finally his hoarse voice.

“Well… When Bryant held me, he made a lot of empty threats, but he also told me what was going on in the city. I knew you were going to hang Perkins, and so I told him.” He watched the slight hunch to Adam’s shoulders and went on with the story, thinking it would induce more confidence in his son, in the tough decision that had to be made. “I told him I would be doing exactly the same if I was in your place.”

Adam glanced at him quickly. “Would you.”

“Yes, I would.”Ben held his gaze steadily. “For a moment, I was in your place. I know what I’m saying.” He nodded at Adam’s frown. “When you hung the Farmer, Bryant got scared. He loosened the noose and let me go. I thought it was finally the end of his rule. However…” Ben sighed heavily. “He was a possessed man. Possessed with greed for money and power. I met Joe and Hoss on my way, asked about you – they thought you’d followed them, then we looked for you in the sheriff’s office. You weren’t there, but nobody saw you leave, either. Your brothers were all fired up to look for you, but we didn’t know where to look.
Then we heard Bryant. He was standing in the middle of the street, holding your jacket…” Ben pulled in some air, fighting the sudden onslaught of emotion. “Your jacket, still with the sheriff’s badge on, and your hat. He demanded that we resign our positions as sheriffs, and he would tell us where to find you… before you were hung.”

Adam sat up straighter, but did not make a sound. After a moment, Ben continued softly.

“I know what kind of decision it was… the hardest thing I had to do… I’m not going to lie to you, son – I was going to tell him a flat no. I took some hope in that he had let me go – but then he was saying he had taken you out of town, somewhere southwards. I had to take the awful chance that we may not find you in time… This time he must have left the execution to someone else, who might just have had the guts to do it… He always preferred others to do the killings for him.
Then just before I spoke up, there came up one of him men, a young cowboy. Started shouting things about Bryant letting Perkins hang for him, about letting him down… There was a shootout, and Bryant was killed on the spot.” Ben gave another heavy sigh. “No one else knew where you’d been taken. Or who had taken you. Or if Bryant had been bluffing, or not… You were not in the city, that much we checked, so there was a strong chance he might have said the truth for once…”

He gave his son a long, wistful look. “Those three days before we got the telegram from Smallville gave me a lot more white hair than I had, Adam. We all took a chance… and you bore the brunt of it.”

Pensive, Adam looked ahead, but didn’t seem to be seeing anything. His eyes were unfocused, his expression absent. “He would have lied to you, you know,” he finally said. “Even if you had given in.”

“I was aware he might,” agreed Ben. “Still, it was a guessing game. We’ll never know.”

“I know he would have. He had me taken west, not south.” Adam finally gave his father a short glance. “He would have led you astray.”

“That’s very likely. Like I said, we’ll never know for sure. – Now it’s your turn. How did he get his hands on you?”

“I – ” he hesitated, then admitted almost sheepishly, “I don’t know. I can only guess he had someone planted near the office – maybe to stop me from hanging Perkins, or maybe with the aim of getting one of us, even for the price of Perkins’s life. I woke up in a barn or a shed, or a stable. I don’t know exactly, I was blindfolded. I was then taken out of town, still tied and blindfolded. Wasn’t much I could do about it – the other guy had much of the upper hand.”

“Who was he?”

“I have no idea. I never even heard his voice. He whacked me one or two when I tried to speak, and in the end it seemed wiser to keep my mouth shut – but he never spoke to me, never told me what to do or what not to do. Then one day he up and left me in the middle of a meadow, tied loosely enough to free myself, but without a gun or a horse.” He paused thoughtfully. “Strange… Maybe Bryant got scared and just bluffed with the hanging… Doesn’t fit, though… Anyway,” he switched back to his story, “I was pretty much left to my own resources until the Johnsons found me and brought me to Smallville. Then, I suppose, you got the telegram, and the rest you probably know from Joe.”

“What I know is that you had been sick.”

He shook his head. “No, not exactly the word I would use… I was slightly dehydrated, and I hadn’t eaten anything since the capture, but that was it. My eyes hurt in the beginning, but all they needed was time to get used to light again. All I needed was some rest.”

“You don’t look rested to me, son. Joe said you were pretty much a bear with a sore head, barely said anything to him. That’s not like you, son.” Ben shifted in the saddle to take a better look at the man riding by his side. “Unless you hold some grudge against your brother, but that wouldn’t be much like you, either. Not for that long.”

Adam shook his head, and spurred Blackie on. Surprised, Ben kicked his own mount into a faster pace. For a few minutes it looked like a race was developing, but then Blackie slowed down, and, not guided by his rider, settled into a leisurely trot that suited him.

Uncertain of what had brought it on, and whether he should tackle the matter at once, Ben waited in silence. It proved to be the best strategy, as Adam finally spoke.

“He told me you were dead.”

“What?” Ben sat up straighter in the saddle.

“Bryant told me he’d hung you. Told me – ” he shook his head as if he wanted to dispel an image. “I don’t know why I believed him,” he said softly.

They rode on in silence for a long moment, before Ben could get over the shock. “You thought I was dead?”

“Yes. And pretty much by my hand.” Adam raised his tortured eyes to meet his father’s. “I’ve… grieved… for you… this past week. It wasn’t… an easy time.”

Ben stopped Buck, and pulled on Blackie’s reins for the horse to do the same. Then he held Adam’s shoulder and forced his head up again. “But Joe… told you I was alive?”

He was surprised at the shake of Adam’s head.

“I guess I didn’t let him do much talking,” said Adam with a slight sigh. “Now that I think of it – he couldn’t have known what I’d been told. I suppose we each of us thought the other knew the same.”

Ben’s dark eyes smouldered like two coals. “That son of a…” He swallowed the word, and growled angrily, “I could kill him myself if he wasn’t dead already.”

“You’re not the killer type, Pa.” Pa. The word felt like silk on his tongue. Like a sip of smooth, rich, fragrant chocolate. He could almost taste it physically.

Ben swallowed his growing wrath, and took a moment to compose himself. “He isn’t worth the anger, is he?”

“Definitely not.” Adam rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand, the tension gone from his shoulders and back. “Can we, uh… rest up a little up by the big oak?”

“Of course, son. You sure you won’t fall off your horse till we get there?”

“Pa.” He rolled his eyes, but knew that the question was an admission in itself. Yet he was feeling lightheaded – what was worse, he was feeling quite emotional – and preferred not to make more trouble. He’d had enough of Joe coddling him. “Just for a minute or two. Enjoying each other’s company, remember?”

They stopped by the oak, glad for the shadow it embraced them with, and Ben had Adam lie down – “For a minute or two, son” – while he was taking care of the horses. Once he was done, he sat down by his sleeping son, stroking his hair in light movements and enjoying the peace.

Evening found Adam working on the books. He’d had another nap at home, and countless small cups of light broth. Hop Sing feared his stomach may not accept anything stronger after being empty or almost empty for some days, but promised something more substantial for supper if Adam’s body accepted the nourishment. It was fine with Adam. He preferred small portions for now, the warmth spreading inside his body as each cup awakened energy within him. Thus, energy awoken, he sought to busy himself. Chores had been expressly forbidden today – tomorrow – possibly over the next few days, knowing his father – but he finally had an open mind for paperwork.

He was making steady progress through the ledgers, and that helped his mind. Feeling useful – and effective – was a welcome change. He finished another part and laid the papers carefully to the side, together with everything else completed, when a large shadow fell over the desk. Glancing up, he saw his two brothers standing over him in a united, grave-faced front. What now?

The two exchanged uneasy glances, then suddenly Joe spoke up.

“We wanna apologise, Adam. For what happened. I mean – for what we said. What I said.”

Adam shook his head, but they misconstrued his meaning, and Joe got more insistent, Hoss’ silent bulk supportive beside him. “We shouldna… You were right all the time, I know that now. I’m sorry. We’re sorry.” He sought his brother’s face. “Can you forgive us?”

Adam shook his head again at what he was hearing; misunderstanding, Joe drew slightly back in hurt, but his brother’s voice stopped him.

“You were only saying what I was thinking,” said Adam softly. That took them by surprise, and they stared at him as he continued. “I wasn’t sure if I was acting right; I chose what I thought best, but sometimes even the best ain’t enough. You had the right to show me any doubts and any other ways of acting you could see.”

“We woulda been wrong,” said Hoss softly.

“That’s why I was glad the decision was mine, and mine alone.”

“We went right with ya, Adam,” his brother indicated, but Adam shook his head.

“The decision was mine. I pulled the lever. We were all deep in that…” he hesitated, “… situation… and had to act together, and you knew it. But I made the decision. You were there to help me decide if it was right.”

“Some help we were,” Joe leaned on the desk, too restless to stand still.

“Like I said – you helped me see the doubts, the questions, possible other choices. That’s what advice is about.”

This time Hoss snorted. “Get off your high horse, older brother. You ain’t been happy with what we said, and we did lots to make it worse on ya. Ya worked it over in your head when ya been missing ‘till ya twisted it all around.”

Adam made a face. “What I did actually realise when I was – missing, was that it would be too much for each of us to go through that. One man’s enough. In other words, I was quite happy you could avoid the struggle with responsibility.”

“But you were still mad when I came to take you home.” Joe challenged him with a look.

“Surprised. Reluctant, maybe.”

“Plain mad, Adam.” Joe leaned towards him. “I know ya. I’ve seen you mad often enough. You speak different, you look different. You – were – mad – with me.”

A protest settled on the tip of his tongue, but the words hit home.

“No, Joe.” He raised a hand to stop the protest. “I mean, yes and no. I guess I was mad with myself. Mad – isn’t even the word to describe it.”

“Pa told us how Bryant lied to ya.” Hoss’ voice flew gently as a breeze and warm like a hug.

“Was it ‘cause of that that you were mad?” Oh, Joe. So grown and yet so innocent. Sound like a kid…

“Was it ‘cause of that ya were going away? Canada-ways?”

He frowned at Hoss’ question.

“Ya always talk of leaving when you’re hurt bad, and when ya feel guilty,” Hoss said openly. “That’s why ya didn’t let us know where you were? Why you hid under a false name? ‘Cause ya wanted to escape from here?”

He accuses me of escaping. – And what else was I doing? What else was I doing all those times but escaping?

Not from here, Hoss. From myself.

“I went through the newspapers,” he admitted hoarsely. “There was nothing… to indicate trouble. One reporter or other would surely write if anything big happened. But you’re right, I should have come. I wasn’t thinking clear.” I just wanted to escape. I was so tired with it all, the tension, the hate of myself, the responsibility. I am still tired. “I should have checked that everything was alright with you…”

“… before you left?” Joe jumped in to finish the sentence.

Adam bit his lip, but it didn’t help, the words were tumbling out by themselves. “Would you feel like going home sweet home after you had killed your own father?”, he asked in a silky voice, but the growl beneath was just barely hidden. The words hit his brothers, he could see it, and regretted them, but there was no way of taking them back now.

Prudently employing his hands, he stacked neat files of papers on the desk, then put some of them in the drawer. “I think that’s enough for today. Supper’s gonna be ready soon.”

“That’s it?” Joe’s incredulous voice stopped him mid-rise. “ ‘Supper’s ready’ and everything’s fine with the world?”

A smile blossomed somewhere within him and actually made it to his face. “Isn’t it? Pa’s fine, we’re all home safe and sound, Bryant’s gone. Anything else you might wish for?”

“Forgiveness?”

Adam sighed. “You have it any time you want it, little brother. Any of you.” He watched their suddenly blushed faces. “It’s not like any of us was responsible for the mess we were thrown in. Bryant was.” There was someone to blame, and that felt good. Maybe he could even shift some of his own gnawing guilt on Bryant, if he worked on it hard enough. “Let’s go eat, I see Hop Sing has already set the table. He wants to fatten me up a bit, and we wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”

“No, brother, we wouldn’t.” Hoss heavy arm crushed his shoulders and guided him towards the table, Joe resting his hand lightly on Adam’s back.

“Next time we’ll support you, Adam, whatever you say. You can count on it.”

“Do me a favour, Joe.” Adam stopped and turned his head to his brother in horror that was only partially faked. “Let’s have no next times. The last one was too much already.”

Dirk Johnson urged the horses to a faster pace, but without much enthusiasm. The land was good, but they had found the house in dire need of repair, and for that they lacked money, what with hiring men and paying the foreman. He now had to go over the proposal from the bank, and recalculate expenses to see if he could avoid taking a loan.

Sitting quietly beside him was Lottie. She knew little about complex financial matters, but knew very well when he was worried, and didn’t want to irritate him with empty chatter when he had his mind full. So full it was, as a matter of fact, that he hadn’t paid attention to what was before them until she grabbed his arm.

“Dirk, look!”

Before them was the house. However, it did not stand there lonesome and wearily tilted to one side, as they’d left it, but the site was buzzing with activity.

“Sam!” Dirk jumped off and grabbed the passing foreman. “What’s going on here? What are these men doing here?”

“The neighbourly thing to do.” Dirk turned on his heel at the sound of the familiar voice. Adam Cartwright smiled broadly at him and touched his hat to Lottie. “Hoss remembered that the house looked bad, so we came over to help a little.”

“A little?” Dirk gaped in amazement at the working men. There had to be at least a dozen!

“We’ve already repaired the wall, so it’s safe to be working on the roof now.” Adam pushed his hat back, grinning. Truly enough, there were three men on the roof, and Dirk recognised Joe among them.

“Good thing you ain’t up there,” he mumbled, but Adam caught it.

“They shooed me off. I helped with the wall, though. So happens I’m an engineer.” He flashed his teeth again. “Within two more hours we should be done, and you’ll be able to live inside.”
He gasped a little when a petite ball of energy hit him, then gave a small laugh. “Lottie, you’ll break my ribs!”

“Thank you.” At a loss for words, she repeated her thanks some two or three more times, then grabbed Dirk’s arm and hugged it in sheer happiness. Unable to contain herself, she started hopping on one leg, then looked back over to where Adam stood.

“Are ya fine now, Adam?”

He grinned at her, for her animated face exuded contagious joy.

Fine? If I can sleep without the dreams, perhaps. If I can get rid of the gnawing guilt deep in my gut. If I can forgive myself for running out on my brothers at the first occasion. If I can stop the what-ifs tumbling inside my head.

Will it ever feel “fine”? Can it ever?

“Yes, Lottie. Getting better every day.”

~The End~

*****