Summary: After watching The Grand Swing with Jamie, and seeing Hoss and Joe’s names on the tree, I started imagining what escapades would have led to them taking the “swing” with Ben. I’m not sure about Hoss yet, but I had no trouble conjuring up Little Joe’s mess!  Part of the Bonanza Trailriders Legacy. 

Rating: PG, Word Count: 23,137

LITTLE JOE’S “GRAND SWING

Chapter 1

School had been going really well. Even Ole Man Carruthers hadn’t been giving him such a hard time lately. ‘Course, he was one of the oldest kids in school, and his father had said he didn’t have to go to school more than one more year, IF he stayed out of trouble. He’d been good to his word. Even did all his assignments on time. ‘Course Carruthers had pretty much given up on teaching him too much more, at his “old age.” Most of the boys his age had quit school by now, so he was among the oldest students still in school. That meant no more bullies to put up with every day. No more name calling, no more teasing about his size.

And he’d now discovered girls! Before, they’d mostly been a pain, something to tease or avoid. But this year, well, something changed. He liked them! He actually liked being around them! ‘Course it helped that they liked him. They told him how cute he was – they’d always done that, but he just thought they were stupid. Now, he kinda liked hearing them say it. He liked talking to them. Some of them had right nice voices, almost like sing-song, ya know? And he liked listening to it. Almost all the girls liked him, they all wanted to sit with him at lunch. There was Molly Carter: she had pretty blonde hair that she wore with ribbons. There was Emmaline Smith, but she had a funny sounding voice. She and all her siblings sounded like they talked through their nose! When you talked to any of them, you were more inclined to listen to the nasal sound than the actual words, making it hard to carry on any type of conversation. There was Hannah Fletcher, of course. Her father owned the general store. He liked to go into the store to see her. That way, he could say he was looking to buy something and no one would consider he was actually making an excuse to spend time talking to her! Oh, and there was Martha Pritchart. Her Pa had one of the largest spreads around, though not as large as the Ponderosa, and she had three brothers who had all left school before now to help work the spread. One of them, Hank, had been one of his friends before he left school. She had one little brother and two smaller sisters at school, so they all sat together. But he could see her looking over at him from time to time. It might be fun to get to know her better, but it was pretty hard to get close to her, or even alone with her with all those siblings! His own siblings were much older and out of school already, so that wasn’t his issue.

Three of his best friends were still in school, too, so school days weren’t completely filled with lessons! Mitch Devlin, Royce Owens and Johnny Fender were about the best friends a guy could want. They had never teased him, even when the older boys did when he was smaller than everybody else his age. He’d sprouted up now, though, so he wasn’t as short as he used to be, even though he was still the shortest kid his age. And even if he spent time at lunch talking to Molly, his best friends just went on without him, since they weren’t so much interested in girls. That was good, really, cause then he didn’t have to fight them over her or any of the other girls. They had just about told him he could have them all, they wanted no part. That good fortune would probably change in just a few months!

And he’d discovered another thing. He was rich! At least his family was. Having just about the biggest spread in the territory had its pleasures, and he was just considering the possibilities that gave him, too.

Yep, Little Joe Cartwright figured he was about the luckiest son of a gun on the planet!

Chapter 2

Another boring, interminably long day in school had just ended. Little Joe and his best friends bundled up their books for the homework they had, and bounded out of the front door as fast as their legs would carry them. Being the oldest, they sat at the back of the small, one-room, wooden classroom in desks that were almost too small for their ever-growing frames. So once Ole Man Carruthers had given the word, they sprang up and out, grabbing for their lunch pails sitting in the outer corridor without even breaking stride! Once outside and away from the school house, they slowed down to consider what mischief they might engage in before going their separate ways toward home. They didn’t have unlimited time, as their respective fathers always did expect them home within a reasonable amount of riding time from the close of the school day. Little Joe and Mitch lived the furthest out of town, so they were the gauge as to how long they could remain in town. They slowly rode their horses through town, trying to think of what they could do before setting off for home and the inevitable chores that awaited every child who lived in the rugged era of Utah territory in the 1850’s.

As they rode past the little general store, Little Joe spotted Hannah sweeping off the sidewalk in front of her father’s store. That was an endless job, given to the amount of dust and dirt picked up by customers’ boots as they walked in and out of the store. He reined in, and his buddies pulled up beside him.

“C’Mon, Little Joe. There must be something more interestin’ to you than standing there talkin’ to that dumb girl again!” Mitch whined.

“Nope. Can’t think of a thing! C’mon in! I’ll make it worth your while,” he smiled back at him. And then he jumped down off his horse and tied him up, chucking him under the chin and promising a treat when he returned.

He jumped the steps all at once, and swooped in behind Hannah. He bent in and yelled in her ear. “Hi!”

She jumped back and yelped, “Oh! Little Joe! You scared me!”

They watched the sight. Royce shook his head while Mitch and Johnny rolled their eyes. They surmised she had seen Joe coming and wasn’t really all that surprised. Then the three of them dismounted and tied their horses up to the hitching rail as well. They slowly strolled into the store while Joe continued talking quietly with Hannah out front. After a few pleasantries, she told him she had work to do, straightened her skirt with her hands, as though she’d been working as hard as a washer-woman, and picked up her broom again.

Joe turned and joined his friends inside the store. Inside, Mr. Fletcher had been wiping down the counter, keeping an eye on all the young men inside the story as well as the young couple outside the open door.

“Afternoon, Little Joe. Something I can do for you?” he asked, as he continued wiping.

Little Joe smiled as he greeted the gentleman. His father had taught him that good manners went a long way toward making people feel at ease around you. He thought this might be a good time to practice what he’d learned!

“Afternoon, Mr. Fletcher. How are you today?”

“I’m just fine. What can I do for you?”

Joe noticed the other boys were milling around the candy jars, so he strode in their direction. They were discussing which ones were the best tasting.

“Well, for my money, I’ll take lemon drops any day.”

“Not me! I like licorice.”

“I could eat sour drops all day and never git tired of those!”

Little Joe spoke up. “Mr. Fletcher? Could we have a nickels’ worth of each? Lemon drops, licorice and sour drops, please? Oh! And some of the red kinds my brother Hoss likes, please.”

Mr. Fletcher stood at the counter where he’d been, placed his hands on his hips and asked solemnly, “Who’s payin’?”

The three boys who’d been smiling over their good fortune suddenly dropped their smiles and looked over at Little Joe.

He looked up, almost as if he’d forgotten you had to pay if you were the one who ordered the merchandise and said, “Oh. Well, put it on my father’s account, sir.”

“Little Joe, are you sure that’s going to be all right with your father?”

“Yes, sir. It’s all right! He said I could. I just never did before is all.”

Mr. Fletcher shook his head, “Well, as long as you’re sure it’s all right. I sure do appreciate Mr. Cartwright’s business, and don’t want no trouble with him over this.”

Still overly confidant in his braggadocio, Little Joe countered, “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine, I’m sure!” as he shrugged and smiled to his three cohorts.

Each boy took his bag of goodies, Little Joe carrying the one he’d bought for Hoss and they headed out. As they reached the door, Little Joe turned suddenly and added, “Oh! And add an apple! I forgot, I need one! See ya, Mr. Fletcher!”

Rory Fletcher just watched them go and shook his head. If that’s what came from having the biggest spread in the territory, then he’d just as soon be a barely-getting-by store owner.

Once outside again, Little Joe spied Hannah again. She was straightening out the barrels with dry goods in them, including the apples, which he snatched practically right out of her hand.

“Hey! You give that back, you bad boy!”

“Why? I paid for it.” He took a bite.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am! If you don’t believe me, ask your Pa.” Then he turned and walked away. As he jumped off the steps, he turned back. “See ya tomorrow in school!”

She smiled and waved. “See ya then!”

He fed his horse the remainder of his apple as a treat he had promised and then he and his friends jumped onto their horses and thundered out of town, whooping it up as they did. It then turned into a race, until they got to the fork in the road where they split up, Royce turning south toward his place, Johnny riding with them a little ways more until he turned off onto a little dirt path toward his home, leaving Mitch and Little Joe going the furthest together.

They talked, but not about much important, just “guy stuff.” Mitch ate some of the candy, but determined to save some for his small siblings at home. Little Joe pretended not to notice. Although Mitch’s family wasn’t “poor,” they certainly weren’t of the same financial strata that the Cartwrights were. There were a few younger siblings, much too young for school, and Mitch had an older brother and sister that had also quit going to school. Little Joe never asked why his younger siblings were so much younger, and there didn’t seem to be any closer to his age. After all, he and his two brothers were also much further apart in age than most of the other families’ children were.

Once they separated at the next fork in the road, each boy rode on home in solitude. Yes, Little Joe Cartwright had determined, life was pretty good right now! He stayed in his good mood all the way home, and even completed all his chores without any prompting from anyone!

After completing his chores, he carried his books into the house and sat at the long dining table to work on his homework. After what seemed like hours, his brothers returned from their ranch duties. Once they came into the house, he packed up his books and stacked them on the sideboard near the front door in preparation of tomorrow’s departure back to school.

So impressed with his unusual attack of fastidiousness, his brothers commented to each other.

“Hoss, who do you reckon has taken over Little Joe’s body? They’ve done things we’ve never been able to get him to do. Here are his books, all nice and neat…”

“I dunno. It cain’t be our Little Joe, or they’d be splayed all over the floor or the table and Hop Sing would be yappin’ about it even till now.”

Little Joe was determined not to give in to their teasing. “Very funny, you guys. Maybe I just figured it’s time to do things right. I am growing up, you know.” Then he puffed his chest out.

Adam and Hoss looked at each other and broke out laughing.

“Yeah, okay, little brother.” Hoss clapped him on the shoulder as they headed for the kitchen and the washbowl there to clean up.

Joe called out to Hoss. “Hey, Hoss! Hold up a minute.”

“Huh?” He turned, and Adam continued on into the kitchen.

“I got somethin’ for ya!” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the bag of candy. “I got these for ya today.”

Hoss looked into the bag. “What’s this fer?”

Joe shrugged. “Nuthin’! I know you like ‘em, I was in the store, so I picked ‘em up for ya!”

“Was Pa in town with you?”

“No. I was leaving school, and I was hungry, so I just stopped and bought you these. They are your favorites, aren’t they?”

“Joe, look. I mean, yeah, they is, and I appreciate this and all, but don’t go buyin’ stuff without checkin’ with Pa first, ya hear?”

“Why? It’s only a nickel’s worth of candy, Hoss. It ain’t no big deal…”

“Yeah, well, a nickel here, a nickel there. It adds up, is all I’m sayin’.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t do you no more favors, ya happy now?” And he stalked off toward his room upstairs. Calling back as Hoss watched after him, he added. “Just call me when it’s supper time, okay?”

Hoss watched him round the top landing into his room, and heard the door slam. Then he turned and headed back into the kitchen, where Adam was just finishing drying his hands.

“What’d the kid want?”

Hoss shook his head, “Aw, he stopped at the general store and brung me back some candy.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Says he was just hungry, and thought about me.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I tole him don’t do that no more less’n Pa knew.”

“Yeah, that’s what I would’ve told him, too. I hope he gets the message.”

Then both brothers forgot about the exchange and cleaned up so that supper could be a pleasant time. And it was. And the candy incident seemed to have been forgotten.

Chapter 3

Springtime in school was becoming interminable. The weather was so nice, yet Mr. Carruthers droned on about, what exactly? Some war back in 1200, or when? Oh, well, Little Joe figured he would read about it, or ask Adam to explain it and then he’d understand it better. Meantime, he’d rather daydream about running his fingers through Molly’s blonde hair. She kept it pulled back into pigtails, and he thought about how many times he’d pulled on them when they were younger. Now? Now he just wanted to take out the ties and run his fingers through every strand of hair!

Then when he’d look over at Hannah, she would often be looking back at him!

Yeah, it sure was getting harder and harder to concentrate on school. But he was determined that if he wanted to be able to leave in November, he’d have to last till then and not be in any more trouble, so every time he had a lapse in concentration, he tried really hard to pull himself back into the present. He even stopped Mr. Carruthers a couple of times to clarify some things.

“Mr. Carruthers, why do you figure them French men went to war again with England* after they beat ‘em up pretty good the first time?”

Mr. Carruthers smiled. Although the language was crude, it was good to know young Master Cartwright was following the progression of the wars of the Mother Land.

* * * *

At long last the week was over. There would be no homework, as it was reaping season and as Mr. Carruthers had finally learned, most of his students had to help their families bringing in the harvest, and would not have time to do school assignments. Therefore, in order to avoid the inevitable showdown over homework undone, he agreed it was easier not to assign it in the first place.

So four young men found themselves with an entire week-end with free time on their hands! Three of them agreed to meet the next morning at the old stand of pines where their three roads met. From there, they would discuss how to spend their glorious day off. Each agreed to tell their parents that they were going swimming or fishing – it was getting warm enough to swim now. They agreed to bring a fishing pole as they might actually fish a little bit. Beyond that, they left all their options open!

* * * *

Early the next morning, they met as agreed. Mitch wasn’t with them, as his father needed him at home to help repair the root cellar before it was time to lay in his mother’s canned goods. So as three young men rode off, there was lots of laughter, joking and crude talk, as young boys on the precipice of becoming men often did. And as they rode, they suggested different activities they might engage in that day. Little Joe had a suggestion…but he wouldn’t tell them where they were going. They were to follow him, ask no questions, and when they got there, he’d let them know. Intrigued to know what he had planned, they willingly followed.

After about 45 minutes of riding, mostly silently, but occasionally trying to wheedle it out of him, Little Joe stopped just short of a stand of trees, backed by a small mound of dirt. He dismounted. They stopped, stood still, still mounted and asked, “Where are we? What’s here? What do we do now?”

He had dismounted and was now emptying the contents of his saddlebags.

“Just tie up your horses and come with me.”

“Little Joe, just tell us, will ya?”

“Naw, you’ll see soon enough. C’mon!” He went on, and they had no choice but to follow him.

He walked about 50 yards and stopped in front of a tree that had plenty of broken limbs and gouges in it. He turned to see his friends still walking toward him. He watched and waited until they were all standing in a circle facing each other.

He opened the sack he had and displayed a Colt 45.** It was obviously an older weapon, but they were still captivated by it. Johnny reached out to take the weapon. Little Joe pulled it back.

“Hey! Watch it! It might be loaded!”

“Well? Is it?”

“You need to check out if a weapon’s loaded before you reach for it.”

“I know that. But how am I supposed to find out if it’s loaded, if I can’t handle it?”

“You can ask.”

“Look, Little Joe. Are ya gonna let us see it or shoot it, or did ya just bring it to show what a big man you are.”

“Naw. I’m gonna let us all practice target shooting.”

Now he had their attention. They were all eager to do some practice shooting. Their fathers all had differing ideas of when and how a young man could or should use guns, especially hand guns, so this was a very enticing idea.

Once the targets had been set up, Little Joe took the first turn. He emptied the gun trying to hit low-hanging limbs or the few lined up tin cans that remained from other excursions of target shooting at this site. Then Johnny took a turn. When he had emptied the gun, it was loaded again and Royce took a turn.

This continued for quite awhile, until the boys began searching for better targets; maybe something moving, such as a squirrel or bird. They were having a grand time, forgetting all gun safety, such as knowing where all parties were before taking a shot.

When Little Joe’s turn came again, he decided to show off his gun tricks: he twirled his gun forward, then backward, and then it went off. Everyone froze. All eyes went to where his gun had been pointing when it went off.

Johnny was frozen as well. He was standing in front of, and a little to the left of Little Joe. All eyes moved to look at him. He was staring at Little Joe. Little Joe threw down the gun and ran to where Johnny stood.

“Dang, Little Joe! That was close!”

Royce ran over and grabbed Johnny’s shoulder. He touched it and pulled his hand away. There was blood on it.

“Johnny, that was closer than close, I think he winged ya.”

Johnny’s face turned white. “He whaa?” He looked where Royce’s hand had settled on his shoulder. His face went white, and he screamed, “JOE! YOU SHOT ME!”

Little Joe ran over and grabbed Johnny’s shirt where the blood was coming from. The top of his shoulder was only grazed by the bullet, but his shirt had a hole where the bullet had torn it, as it whizzed past the boy’s ear. “Johnny, Oh, God. I think you’re shot!”

“YOU SHOT ME!”

“It was an accident, Johnny. Honest. It looks like just a graze, anyway.”

Johnny finally summoned up the courage to ask. “Are ya sure?”

“Yeah! Do you feel anything?”

Johnny shook his head. “No. I guess I can move it, and it don’t hurt none. Is it still bleeding?”

Royce shook his head. “It looks like the bleeding’s mostly stopped, but your shirt’s got a big, bloody hole in it.”

He looked over at his right shoulder again. “Look what ya done to my new shirt! I was supposed to wear this to church tomorrow. Dang! I can’t wear this now! Hell, I can’t even show it to my ma now!”

“Why was ya wearing a brand new shirt out today if you’re gonna wear it to church tomorrow?”

“My Ma said she didn’t want it to look ‘too new,’ so’s folks wouldn’t think we was too poor or something…”

“Huh?”

“I dunno. All I know is, how do I tell her I got shot and there’s a hole in my brand new shirt? What am I gonna do, Little Joe?”

Now even Little Joe was starting to worry about the ramifications of what had happened, even though not much had happened, compared to what could have happened. He shrugged, “I don’t know, Johnny. It was an accident. Could ya tell your Ma you just scraped against a tree?”

Royce spoke up, “Hey, yeah! That might work. She couldn’t be too mad at ya if’n you scraped a tree!”

Johnny became indignant at the very idea. “Why do I gotta lie to my folks? YOU shot me, Little Joe!”

Joe was truly worried now. “I know, Johnny, but listen. You can’t tell your folks that! If my Pa finds out, I’ll probably end up dead.”

“Why? Did you take that gun without him knowing you got it?”

“Of course I did! You don’t think he would’a let me bring it otherwise, do ya? C’mon, use your head. Anyway, I don’t see either one of you comin’ up with a better idea of something fun to do today…”

“Yeah, it was fun, till you shot Johnny.”

“C’mon, Royce. He said he didn’t mean it, right Little Joe?”

Little Joe looked at both of them with total incredulity. “Do you guys really think I did that on purpose? I told ya it was an accident! What else can I do to prove it? Besides, all I’m trying to do here is keep us all alive. If our folks found out what we done, I expect I won’t be the only one who’ll be sore tomorrow.”

Both the other boys nodded in agreement. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try to tell that story to my Ma. She’s pretty good at spotting lies, though. And if she don’t believe me, I’m not taking a licking for you, Little Joe. I’ll tell her everything if it comes to it.”

Joe nodded. “Okay, but first we try to get them to believe it was an accident, right? We agree on that? Guys, I don’t wanna get killed by my Pa! Please, help me. Other than a ripped shirt, everything else turned out okay, right? I mean, we can tell this little white lie, right?”

Joe was sweating. He knew his father would probably truly kill him if he knew what had happened here today. He was doing his best selling job to date to try to keep his friends from telling the truth.

After kicking at the dust for some time, Royce agreed. Then he turned to Johnny.

Little Joe took a step closer to Johnny. “Listen, Johnny, if your Ma wants me to pay for the shirt, I will. I’ll save up any money I get and pay for a new one.”

“Why would I tell her you’ll buy me a new shirt if’n it were an accident and I scraped against a tree?”

Joe thought on that one. “Hmmm, yeah, good point.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey! Maybe you could tell her you scraped against a tree cause we were racing and I cut in front of you and your horse got too close to the tree?”

“She’d probably say we was too dangerous.”

Royce added: “Yeah, well, we were. Just not in the way they know.”

The other two boys nodded agreement of that statement. Then it was decided. That was the “lie” they would go with. No one would hear another story. They agreed that they couldn’t even tell Mitch the truth for fear he would press them for more details until it got spoken of at the wrong time or in front of the wrong ears.

Silently, they turned to walk back to where their horses were, mounted up and rode home, mostly in silence. At the fork where each boy went in a different direction, they once again confirmed their “story” to each other and swore an oath to each other about what they were going to say. Then, left with their own private thoughts, each boy rode on to his own home. Little Joe managed to put his father’s old revolver back in the drawer below the gun cabinet with no one noticing.

Chapter 4

Sunday in church, each boy managed to stay away from the others so no one would have an opportunity to “spill” anything, and by Monday morning, the incident with the gun had all but been forgotten. That is, until the boys all saw each other again in school. They tried to talk in hushed tones about it, tried to not talk about it in front of Mitch, and then tried not to talk about it at all. But it was the only thing on their minds. First they wanted to know how Johnny had made out with telling his Ma about his ripped shirt. Although they hadn’t talked to each other in church the day before, they had noticed Johnny was not wearing his new shirt.

Johnny explained that his mother was very upset, but was going to try to repair the shirt. He told them she seemed to accept the story about the horse and the tree, although she was upset about them racing their mounts. Johnny admitted he had been given restrictions to come home quickly and stay close to home because of it, but nothing worse than that had come of the incident. Both of them sighed a huge sigh of relief, although Little Joe’s was the loudest and largest. Then it was time to meet up with Mitch. They agreed, still, not to let him in on any of it. Little Joe’s defense was that Mitch then didn’t have anything to fear if it ever did come out. It might have been a good strategy, except Mitch felt like his friends were keeping something from him, and it was making him feel excluded. Dissension among the ranks is never a good thing.

* * * *

After school that entire week and several days the next, Little Joe took his friends over to Mr. Fletcher’s store and allowed them each to pick out a nickel’s worth of sweets. He didn’t bring any home for his big brother, as he felt like his brother didn’t appreciate his act of generosity the last time he did it.

Each time he concluded their business transaction with Mr. Fletcher by saying, “Just put it on my Pa’s tab, Mr. Fletcher.”

Then Mr. Fletcher would ask, “Are you certain this is okay with your Pa, son?”

And Little Joe would nod as he quickly walked out of the store, smiling to Hannah as he went.

* * * *

Stuck behind his desk doing paperwork was probably the one job Ben Cartwright would trade for just about any other job on the ranch. As he worked, his mind wandered from time to time. This time, he threw down his pencil, got up and stretched to get the stiffness out of his back. He tried arching it, and twisting. He thought he remembered some ointment being stored in the drawer of the gun cabinet, so he wandered over to look for it. He opened the drawer and immediately noticed that the old Colt he had brought with him from New Orleans wasn’t wrapped the way he kept it wrapped in the oil cloth. As he pulled it out of the drawer and examined it, it became clear that the weapon had been used. Since he had not used it in many years, his mind began searching for a reason why it would have been used and then wrapped back up haphazardly without being cleaned first.

As he held the gun and looked carefully at it, Hoss and Adam came bounding through the door from their day at work on fence building. He turned to face them, the gun still in his hand.

“Boys? Can I ask you something? Did either of you use this Colt recently?”

Hoss looked at Adam, who shook his head, then back at his father. “Nope. Not me or Adam. How about Little Joe?”

“I intend to ask him when he gets home. I just noticed it’s been fired recently and put away without being cleaned properly.”

Adam laid his gunbelt on the sideboard. “Well, that sounds like Little Joe, for sure.”

Ben frowned and answered, “Adam, don’t be so quick to lay blame. Maybe it wasn’t your brother. I just noticed this and I’m trying to find out what’s going on.”

“Well, if not me or Hoss, he’s the only logical one. We each have our own sidearms. No need to borrow that one. Who else would do something that irresponsible?”

Ben’s anger was rising. “I don’t know. But I will get to the bottom of it. And I’ll thank you not to jump to conclusions. We don’t know that Little Joe has done anything yet. I’ll ask him when he gets home. Maybe I just forgot to clean it thoroughly the last time I used it…”

“I doubt that, Pa. Come on. You know it was probably Little Joe. The kid’s sometimes forgetful, and disrespectful and you know it.”

“Adam, I’ll handle it. And I don’t like you making assumptions about his character before he’s had a chance to defend himself against such a spurious allegation.”

“All right, sorry. I just know what can happen with an old weapon like that one. I’m just worried he’s snuck it out and has been target shooting with it without you knowing it.”

Ben nodded. “I’ve thought of that, too. I said I’ll handle it. And I will. Now why don’t you two clean up before supper? Little Joe should be home soon and I’ll talk to him.”

Ben feared Adam was right, but hoped he wasn’t. Meanwhile, the paperwork called.

* * * *

Suppertime seemed normal. Conversation seemed normal. But Little Joe could sense something was “off.” He just didn’t know what. He would see his brother Adam stealing glances his way once in awhile, but thought it must be his imagination as nothing else was being said. Then he even thought he saw Hoss giving him side glances.

Something was definitely wrong. He tried to think of what he had gotten into recently that might be ready to jump out at him, and couldn’t think of a thing, so he dismissed it. If there was one thing Little Joe was sure of, it was that trouble would find him if it was around…there was no reason to go looking for it!

* * * *

Sure enough, after supper, and a few checkers games, when both Hoss and Adam had gone up to their rooms – Little Joe had wondered why everyone was so “tired” so early tonight – his Pa went to the gun cabinet and pulled out the Colt revolver. He unwrapped it slowly and carefully, sure that his youngest son was watching his actions. With the revolver in his hand, he turned to face him.

“Little Joe? Can I ask you? Have you taken this gun without my permission?”

Little Joe had pretended to be carefully and slowly replacing all the checkers pieces very meticulously.

“Huh? What is it, Pa?”

“Have you taken this gun without my permission?”

He shook his head. “That’s not allowed, Pa.”

“Yes, I know it, but do you know it?”

“Yeah, Pa! I know the rules!”

“So you’re saying you did not take this gun?”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin my chances of leaving school next winter by doin’ nuthin’ stupid, Pa. I’m growing up!”

“This gun has been fired, and not cleaned properly lately. Do you know anything about that?”

“I know you gotta clean a gun after you use it, or it can rust and stuff.”

“So you are not the one who used it and not cleaned it?”

“Pa, I told ya! I know the rules! Why do you keep askin’ me that? Maybe it was Hoss or Adam, or I don’t know. Somebody. Why are you always accusin’ me of that kind of stuff? Don’t you trust me?”

“Joseph, I’m sorry if it sounds like an accusation. I’m just trying to find out what happened. I can’t imagine I put this gun in here in this condition.”

“But maybe you did,” was the quiet comment from the young man who sat across from his father, shaking on the inside and doing his second best selling job in less than two weeks trying to keep from becoming a murder statistic on this very night.

Ben examined the weapon one more time, turning it over and over, opening the chamber, looking for something that would explain what was going on.

Little Joe sat watching his father without appearing too obvious in doing so, and hoping with all his might that his father believed his story and would doubt himself rather than his youngest son.

Ben sighed. “I don’t know. I just cannot imagine myself doing that. And I’ve already asked your brothers…they both say they did not use this gun. It just doesn’t make sense. They have their own weapons, they would have had no reason to take this one.”

“Oh, so they told you I must have done it because I don’t have a revolver, right? They accused me and now you’re suspicious they’re right! Well, nice brothers I have!” He tried to make himself cry, but he was too scared to get that dramatic.

Ben quickly put the gun back in the cloth and placed it in the drawer. “Joe, no, listen. They did say it might have been you, but they just know it wasn’t one of them, and, I don’t know, maybe it was me…I mean, other than you or myself, who else might it have been?”

He stared at Little Joe a long time. He was hoping to “break” the truth out of him, but Little Joe knew he was fighting for his literal life, so he gave a small shrug and held his father’s stare. Luckily, just as he was weakening, his father broke their gaze.

“Well, it’s getting late now, and I suppose we’re not going to find out what happened tonight. Why don’t you go to bed, son? You’ve got school tomorrow.”

Ever so imperceptibly, he exhaled. “Yes, sir. Good night, Pa.” For good measure, he went over and hugged his father.

Chapter 5

Before school the next day, Little Joe was telling Royce and Johnny that his father had questioned him about the gun, lamenting the fact that he’d neglected to clean it. He vowed to make sure he did that the next time they went shooting.

Johnny was incredulous. “You mean you’d take it again?! Even though you almost got caught?”

“I only ‘almost got caught’ cause I was stupid. I won’t be that stupid next time. I’ll remember to clean it afterwards.”

Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know, Little Joe. I don’t know if it’s worth the trouble. I mean, I’m still on restriction over my shirt getting ripped…”

“Well, you don’t hafta come if you wanna be a girl…”

Royce took a step toward Little Joe. “You take that back. It ain’t that and you know it! We were damn lucky all that happened was a ripped shirt, and you bein’ suspected of takin’ that gun. But nuthin’ was proved. What if we really do get caught the next time? We’ll all be hung.”

“Fine! If you don ‘t wanna learn to shoot a gun, like a man, you just go on bein’ like that! Next time I go, I’ll leave you home. Me ‘n Johnny’ll go without you.”

Johnny spoke up now. “I don’t know neither, Little Joe. I keep havin’ nightmares ‘bout bein’ shot. It even woke me up a couple’a times, and my Ma says I was yellin’ in my sleep. I’m afraid one of these times I’m gonna yell out yer name, or Royce’s and my Ma’s gonna figure out what happened anyway.”

Little Joe was furious at his friends. “Fine! Then neither of you has to go. I’ll be the best shot around. I’ll just go learn to shoot good all by myself. It don’t bother me. I was just helping you two sorry sacks out, since you know your Pa’s don’t wanna teach you.”

Johnny took a step toward Little Joe. “That ain’t true, and you know it.”

Royce grabbed his arm. “Leave him be, Johnny. It ain’t the time or place. He ain’t worth gettin’ in trouble with Old Man Carruthers over. We’ll just let him go alone. That way, he won’t have no living target to ‘accidentally,’ shoot next time.”

Just as Little Joe opened his mouth to speak, they all heard horse’s hooves and turned to see Mitch approaching. He rode up to the hitching rail they were standing behind and jumped down off his horse.

“Mornin’, fellas! Looks like a right interestin’ conversation! What are you all fired up about?”

He looked from Joe to Johnny to Royce and back again. They all stared at each other for another minute, then Royce and Johnny walked off, leaving Little Joe standing alone, and staring at the ground.

Mitch asked again, “Little Joe? What was going on? Are you guys mad about somethin’?”

Joe broke out of his lassitude and stared at Mitch a long time before answering. “No. It’s nuthin’. Just never mind.”

He turned to walk away. When he did, Mitch got that feeling again. The one he’d had for two weeks, thinking his friends had closed him away from something bigger than all of them combined. His temper took over and he grabbed Little Joe’s shirt and wheeled him around to face him.

“Look! I’m tired of being the ‘odd man out’. Ever since you guys took off that Saturday without me, I been feeling like I’m not a friend to any of you anymore. What the hell went on that day?”

Joe wanted to tell Mitch. He knew Mitch felt left out, but he knew it was better – well, better for them if Mitch did not know. He debated in his mind about whether to tell him but decided his first inclination had been the best one.

“Nuthin’. It’s nothing. Nuthin’s goin’ on. It’s yer imagination, I think.” He turned to walk away again.

Mitch grabbed him again and wheeled him around a second time.

“I’m asking you to tell me what’s going on? I know I’m on the outs of something, but what? Why can’t one of you tell me what it is? It’s not my imagination. You almost just admitted it. I’m gonna make you tell me, Little Joe, I swear I am.”

He stood, waiting. Little Joe finally just turned, shook his head and walked back toward the school house. Just as Mitch went to reach for him again, Mr. Carruthers rang the school bell, and it was time to assemble inside for a very long day of learning.

Luckily, Mr. Carruthers had decided a long time ago that seating the four young men together would not lead to anything productive, so at least they weren’t in close proximity today. That suited all four of them just fine today.

When recess finally arrived, Little Joe made his escape out to his horse, ostensibly to feed Cochise an apple. He watched as the other boys all came out together. Johnny and Royce walked together and sat under the tree farthest from the school building. Mitch came and tried to talk to them, but he could see them shaking their heads up at him. It did make Joe sad, as Mitch was a good, faithful friend. If only he could explain to him that he was protecting him, not trying to ostracize him. It was a very long recess, and Little Joe couldn’t remember a time in his school history that he hated recess more than today.

* * * *

The rest of the morning was no better, as the dark moods of the four former friends led each of them to count by seconds until it was time for lunch. Each was also thinking about how to avoid sitting with the others during lunchtime. What had gone so wrong? They had been friends ever since each moved to the area and began attending the little school. Certainly these were the thoughts running through Little Joe’s mind all morning and into the lunch break, as he walked outside, idly considering where to eat his lunch. He was interrupted in his thoughts by Martha Pritchard, who walked up behind him.

“Hi, Little Joe!”

So wrapped up in his thoughts was he, that Joe actually jumped when she called his name.

“Martha! You really scared me!”

“Little ole me? That can’t be. Why, you’re one of the strongest, bravest boys in the territory.”

He frowned. What did she want from him? He looked around, “Where are all your brothers and sisters?”

“Oh, they got an idea that they want their own friends, so I got no one to eat my lunch with. Would you like to sit with me and have lunch?”

He considered his options. He was in too poor of a mood to sit with Molly. He might actually say something ugly. He really couldn’t stand the tone of Emmaline’s voice, and he saw Hannah just about every day, so there was Martha. He really did want to get to know her better, but he never got the chance with all her siblings around.

He sighed. “Sure, I can sit with ya.” He picked up his lunch pail, and they found a log to sit on. She giggled a little when he went to sit down and missed the log, so intent was he on seeing where his friends were. She stifled it when he frowned over at her.

“Sorry.” She turned very red.

“ ‘s okay.” He positioned himself so he had a good view of the whole yard, and quickly scanned to see where everyone was. He could see Johnny and Royce eating and talking. Every once in a while they’d say something and then look over at him, then back to each other and say something again. One or the other of them would then nod his head.

Joe’s mood turned darker and darker. He worked hard to find Mitch in the crowd of children. Curiously, he spotted Mitch, sitting with Martha’s younger siblings! It appeared Mitch was as out of sorts today as Joe was, and Little Joe Cartwright, the ‘luckiest son of a gun on the whole planet’ knew it was all his doing. How did his life get so turned around? Just a few weeks ago, everything seemed to be going swimmingly. He had best friends he got along with fine. He had girls he liked, and they liked him. He was going to be able to quit going to this dreadful school soon….

He was jolted out of the lament over his life by Martha shaking his arm. “Little Joe? Don’t you hear me? I said ‘What are you thinking about?’”

He shook his head. “Sorry, Martha. I was just ‘gathering wool,’ as my Pa calls it.”

“Oh, that’s funny, Little Joe! My Pa calls it that, too! I wonder what we’re supposed to do with all that ‘wool’?”

“Huh? Oh, I dunno. I’m sorry Martha. I guess I’m just not very good company today. I got a lot on my mind.”

“You’ve got Molly Carter on your mind, don’t you? All the girls know you like her…”

“What? Oh, no, I mean, maybe I like her a little, but, what? No. I got more important things to think about…”

Martha smiled to herself. ‘Well, well, well. Little Joe Cartwright didn’t like Molly as much as Molly thought he did! Ha! That would go far to make Martha more popular with the other girls. Or maybe she wouldn’t tell them what she’d heard. Maybe she’d just use it to her own advantage. To work her own magic on Little Joe Cartwright…

* * * *

Another insufferably long school day finally came to a close. Little Joe couldn’t imagine being more miserable than he felt right now. He headed toward his horse, tightened his saddle, leaped onto the horse’s back and spurred Cochise into action, heading for home.

He’d gotten about a half mile from school, when he was overtaken by Mitch and his pony.

“Hold up, Little Joe. We got more to talk about.”

“I don’t think there’s any more to say, Mitch. I’m sorry about this morning, but there’s nothin’ else to say.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Joe sat back in his saddle. He’d tried to keep from having this conversation, but now if Mitch was determined to have, then have it they must.

“What do you want from me, Mitch?”

“Just some honesty, Joe. We been friends since we were little. What got between us?”

“Nuthin’ got between us! I just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe you. It’s got something to do with that day you three went off without me, I know it.”

“Look, Mitch, that’s ancient history. I don’t wanna talk about that, okay?”

“NO! It’s not okay. You don’t wanna talk about it, Johnny don’t wanna talk about it, Royce don’t wanna talk about it, but it’s hanging over everybody’s head. I just wanna know what happened is all. I mean, nobody died or nuthin’, so it can’t be that bad.”

“That’s not a very funny joke, Mitch.”

“I wasn’t makin’ a joke. I feel left out, Joe. I feel like you all have something yer keeping from me, and I feel like my best friends just abandoned me, and I don’t know what I done for that to happen…”

“Look, I…” Joe started to unload, then caught himself. “Forget it. I’m sorry yer feelin’ that way, but it’s not like that…”

“Then why don’t nobody tell me what it IS like?!?”

“Because…we can’t…that’s all.”

Joe turned to ride off, but Mitch swung his mount around and sailed into the air, catching Little Joe in his saddle and throwing both of them to the ground.

Without another word, Mitch swung his arm and hit Little Joe beside his left eye. Joe knew it was going to swell.

“Damn it, Mitch! What’d ya do that for? Now I gotta explain a fight to my Pa.”

“Good! You won’t explain anything to me, maybe you’ll talk to him!”

Joe swung around and tried to catch Mitch in a choke-hold, but Mitch was already on his feet and coming at Little Joe again to give him another punch to the face. Joe ducked, but Mitch came up again, this time with an uppercut, and Joe went flying into the dirt.

“I’ve had it with bein’ lied to, Joe. Tell me, or I’ll beat it outta ya!”

“I CAN’T! I can’t, Mitch. It’s for your own good.”

“Joe, I swear, I’ll beat it outta ya.” He tried to swing again, but Joe blocked his fist, and connected with one of his own, onto Mitch’s right eye.

“It won’t work, Mitch.”

“I’m not givin’ up, Little Joe.”

While they fought and argued who would win their fight, the other two boys rode up, jumped down and each grabbed one of their friends to pull them apart.

Standing, but with Johnny holding him, Mitch let out one more threat. “Let him go! I’m gonna beat him senseless!”

Johnny screamed, “Stop it, Mitch!”

Mitch’s tense muscles eased, and he looked over to Johnny. Joe was still being held by Royce.

Royce looked at Joe. “What was you two fighting about?”

Joe looked back at Royce. “What do you think? Let me go, will ya?”

“Are ya gonna fight anymore?”

“I wasn’t fighting, I was protecting myself. HE started the fight.”

“Mitch? Are ya gonna fight anymore?”

“I just want one of you to tell me what the hell is going on? How’s come I’m bein’ treated like a nobody to you guys? I thought we was all friends?”

Joe picked up his hat, brushed it off on his pants leg, and walked back toward Mitch. Mitch stiffened up, and waited, in case Little Joe tried to swing on him again. Instead, he held out his hand, and said, “Sorry, Mitch.”

Mitch looked down at it. Then back up at Joe’s face. “No, Joe. That’s not gonna cut it. I wanna know what’s going on, why you guys have locked me out, what happened that day, and why nobody will tell me. Anything less is just not gonna cut it. We’re all friends. If something happened, I wanna be in on it with you.”

Royce took a step closer to Mitch. “No, you don’t. We’re just trying to protect you, is all.”

“Protect me from what?”

He waited while the other three boys looked from one to the other. Finally, he could stand it no more. “Well?”

Johnny spoke up first, “Joe shot me that day.”

Joe started to protest, “Aw, it wasn’t that bad…”

Mitch interrupted him, ‘WHAT?!?!?! What the hell, Joe?!?! Why’d you shoot….where’d ya shoot him? Johnny, I didn’t see ya lookin’ injured or nuthin’.”

“I said it wasn’t that bad.” Joe pointed at Johnny, “Look, he’s here, ain’t he? It ain’t like I killed him or nothing.”

“Why?? I mean, what the hell? Where? I mean, WHY didn’t I know about this?”

Joe’s frustration was easy to hear, “Aw, fer cryin’ out loud. This is why! Right here! Everybody’s goin’ nuts over nuthin’ and we figured to protect you from anything our folks might find out about it.”

Royce jumped in, “It wasn’t nothing, you SHOT him!”

“Yeah, but he didn’t DIE! He didn’t even really bleed! He’s right here! He’s fine! Okay? Are you feelin’ better now, knowing? I mean, I’m sorry he got shot, but he’s right here…”

Johnny interrupted, “I bled.”

Royce corrected, “Not that much, really.”

Mitch was incredulous, “You shot him?!?!”

Johnny corrected again, “My shirt got plenty of blood on it.”

Joe threw in, “I don’t know why this is still such a big deal anyway. C’mon, you guys.”

“It was a big deal when I hadda lie to my Ma.”

“I TOLD YA I’d pay for the shirt!”

Then Joe turned to face Mitch. “It really wasn’t a big deal, and everything turned out okay.”

”So if it ain’t such a big deal, why didn’t you tell me, and why did you think you needed to protect me from it?”

Joe continued, “What do you think? Cause our folks don’t know, that’s why. We lied to ‘em.”

Johnny interrupted, “…I lied. The others didn’t hafta do nuthin, and it didn’t turn out all that okay.”

Joe spoke up now. “I lied to my Pa, too. He found out that old gun had been used, and I hadda lie to him about it bein’ me.”

“Big deal. My Ma’s still mad about my new shirt…”

“I TOLD YA I’D BUY YA A NEW SHIRT!”

“Well, maybe you should just come to my house and tell HER that!”

Johnny took a step toward Joe, and Joe took a swing at Johnny. He ducked and Joe’s fist missed his face. Then Royce and Mitch stepped in to hold both of them back from each other.

“This ain’t no good, guys. Look, Johnny, you know Little Joe didn’t do it on purpose. I was there, it was a accident. But, Joe, you knew Johnny was gonna catch hell from his Ma over that brand new shirt, yet you never asked him how it’s going. And Mitch, we kept it from ya just fer this reason. Cause now it’s prolly gonna come out some day, and you would’a never been held with it cause you didn’t know, and now you do, so thanks for trusting us!”

Mitch opened his mouth to argue the point again, but realized they were probably right; they were trying to “protect” him, although at the time, and for the last two weeks, it’d felt like anything but. Then, he formulated his thoughts, “All right, I get it. I guess you were trying to protect me. But, from now on? Anything we do, we’re in it together, okay? I’m a big boy, and I can take it; anything that happens to all of you, happens to me, too, okay?”

He looked from one to the other until they each nodded their assent. He held out his hand, and one by one, each boy took it with his own, until all four were grasped together, in agreement that they would withstand the “storm,” if one came, over this.

Chapter 6

Finally arriving at home, late for the first time in many, many weeks, Little Joe unsaddled his pony and then slowly began brushing him. He was trying to find a way to explain his swollen, and probably soon-to-be black eye. Nothing he rehearsed in his head made sense, even to him. He knew he was going to have to be truthful. This wasn’t something he enjoyed doing when things looked this bleak, since it usually ended with a very painful lesson from his father.

He fed and watered his cherished pony, gave him fresh hay and water, and straightened out the tack hanging near the stall where Cochise was boarded. Finally, he knew he’d stalled as long as he could, and he’d have to make his way into the house and face whatever reactions there might be.

He closed the barn door behind him, walked to the horse trough in the front of the corral and washed his face. As soon as the cool water touched him, he knew it must be pretty bad, as he felt the heat coming off his face, and the stinging in his eye intensified.

He walked into the house, and tried to make his way toward the kitchen first. Maybe Hop Sing had something he could put on it to make the swelling go down before supper or lessen the reddening of his face. As soon as the door closed, however, his father called to him from his desk. Little Joe stopped in his tracks.

He called to him from where he stood, “Yeah, Pa? I’m pretty hungry, I was just going to see Hop Sing for a minute…”

“No, son. I want to see you here first, please.”

Well, he had tried…he turned and walked toward his father’s large, mahogany desk. He only took a few steps past the large grandfather clock when his father saw his face and jumped up from behind his desk and ran to his youngest son.

“Joe! What happened? Have you been fighting?”

Joe nodded, tears forming in his eyes.

“Joseph…”

Little Joe interrupted him, “It was just a misunderstanding between me and Mitch, Pa. It really wasn’t a big thing. In fact, it wasn’t like any other fights I ever been in…”

“I don’t care! You know how I feel about you fighting in school.”

Joe quickly corrected him, “We weren’t in school, Pa! I was on my way home, and…I mean, it wasn’t a big deal. It was just a misunderstanding…”

Ben stood, listening, hands on hips. He frowned. “Yes, a misunderstanding. So you said. A ‘misunderstanding’ about what, exactly?”

Joe looked at the floor and shrugged.

“Look at me, Little Joe.”

Joe looked up at his father. He let out a long, loud sigh.

Ben spoke again, “I’m disappointed. I thought we had an understanding about your behavior in school.”

“But Pa, I told ya! It wasn’t in school. I was ridin’ home, and…it was just somethin’ we….we just, I mean, I just…I can’t really talk about it with ya.”

“I see.” Ben turned and walked back around to his desk. He rifled through the papers on top, and finally picked up one of them and looked at it quite a long time. Joe just watched him. He dared not move. Finally, Ben looked up at him, the paper still in his hand.

“Let’s see if you can talk about this. Care to tell me what you purchased with $8.53 of my money?”

The color drained from Joe’s face.

“Oh.” He stood there, staring at the paper, his mind racing.

“Oh? Do I need to remind you from where this came, or are there others I need to wait for?”

Joe looked up at him quickly, “Oh, no, Pa! There’s just one store. I, um, I, uh. I…”

“You bought candy. For your friends.”

Joe looked up at him again. And nodded slowly.

“Did I give you permission to purchase unnecessary items from Mr. Fletcher’s store?”

“No, sir.”

“No, I did not. And now fighting, over what? Something you cannot – or will not – tell me. Is there anything else you would like to tell me, Joseph?”

Joe hung his head miserably. He’d been found out. At least partially. He still figured he was “safe” with the rest of his secrets!

“I’m waiting.”

“No, Pa.”

“Are you sure?”

Joe’s mind began racing. Did his father know everything? Should he take a chance and tell all, or try to keep it secret and hope his father didn’t know more than he was letting on? He remembered the promise he and his friends had just made, and decided to keep the rest to himself.

“Yes, sir, I’m sure.”

Ben took a few steps closer to his son. “In that case, you will pack a bag with some of your clothes and be ready to ride out with me tomorrow morning. Early.”

He turned and went back toward his chair behind the big desk.

“But what about school?”

Ben turned to look at him. ‘NOW the boy was worrying about school?!’ “I’ll send word to Mr. Carruthers.”

Joe took a step closer to his father. “Pa? Where…where are we…where am I going?”

Ben stared at him for a long time. Joe became more uncomfortable as his father seemed to study him.

“You will see when the time comes.”

He sat down and began going through his papers. Then he spoke again before Joe could move. “Now go see Hop Sing about that eye.”

Chapter 7

It was a fractious supper during which Little Joe could not chew very well. Turns out he’d bitten his tongue when Mitch caught him with the uppercut. There was awkward small talk which his brothers attempted to instigate to determine the origin of the now very-black eye, but his father shut it down. It was obvious that his father was very angry at the young man and did not want to talk about any of it. That night was very long, with precious little sleep as his jaw hurt and his eye became more and more painful and blackened. Little Joe was roused before the sun rose when his father knocked lightly on his door and announced that it was time to get up and get dressed, it was time to go.

Little Joe literally didn’t know what to expect. Was his father taking him away from his home? Was he going to send him to the orphan train?*** He’d heard of some boys who had been sent away from home, to orphanages. Was that to be his fate? He didn’t know what to think as his father had told him nothing. He had just said ‘pack some of your clothes…’ Did that mean he wouldn’t be gone long? Or did it mean he wouldn’t be wearing his own clothes where they were going? Maybe his father did know about the shooting, and Johnny’s mother wanted him locked up. Little Joe thought to himself, ‘Prisoners probably don’t wear their own clothes in jail!’

* * * *

His father was waiting for him when he arrived downstairs. He announced that he would saddle their horses while Little Joe ate breakfast. He tried to think while he quickly ate breakfast, which only made him less hungry and inclined not to eat at all, but he really didn’t know how long it would be before they reached their destination, and he didn’t know if this could possibly be the last time he ever ate Hop Sing’s food, so he tried to enjoy all of it, right through the pain of his swollen and tender tongue.

* * * *

As promised, his father was waiting, already mounted on his horse when Little Joe miserably made his way out the front door. He silently mounted his horse, then quickly rode to catch up as his father rode ahead. They didn’t take the normal route which would lead them to Mormon Station or Placerville, or any of the regular places Little Joe had gone with his father on other trips. Instead, they headed north. North? What was north, the boy wondered. Then he remembered: Salt Lake City was north! Was his father taking him to the Courthouse in Salt Lake City to sign him over to the government there, and then on to an orphanage somewhere??

When they had ridden a couple of hours, in complete silence, the boy could stand it no longer.

“Where we going, Pa? What’s going on?”

Ben didn’t even turn to face him. He simply said two words, “Business trip.”

Little Joe was sure his fate was sealed now: his father was taking him to Salt Lake City to turn him over to the authorities. He wished he could turn back time and undo all the bad things that had happened in the past month. He mostly wished he could undo the fight he’d had with his best friend. Now he’d never be able to tell his friend he was truly sorry.

And the rest of the kids in school would now consider him a really bad kid. One so bad, his father – who’d raised two other sons – couldn’t handle this one and had to send him away. He wanted to cry. He rubbed his eyes to hold back the tears, but it hurt where he’d been punched the day before and reminded him of why they were on this trip. Things could not have looked any worse to the almost fifteen year old who felt like he was five right now.

They rode on for quite a ways in silence. He had been lagging behind, but now rode quickly to catch up to his father and ride side by side. He thought maybe his father would change his mind if he had to look at him during the whole trip. Maybe he could talk his father out of it, if he would only talk to him…

As they continued riding in silence, he tried to find a way that he could plead with his father before arriving there. He’d never been all the way to Salt Lake City before, but sure seemed like where they were headed. Surely his father really didn’t intend to take him there, alone, to fend for himself? And he couldn’t make himself believe his father was taking him to an orphanage there; after all, he had family! He wouldn’t be that cruel…no matter how angry he was! Unlike real orphans, he had a father – well, yeah, his was really angry at him right now, but he could get over it, couldn’t he? He had many times before. And he had brothers. Wouldn’t they fight for him? Little Joe started to think he’d really pushed the limits too far this time, and his father was really sending him away. Anyway, did orphanages take boys who weren’t real orphans? He couldn’t stop all the thoughts running through his head. All he wanted to do was cry. He could find no other explanation for this trip.

* * * *

Finally, they stopped to eat something. They tied up their horses in a clearing with thick, dark green grass. The horses began munching loudly and hungrily. Little Joe thought he might engage his father in conversation if he kept away from the topic he really wanted to address.

“Horses like the grass here, huh, Pa?”

“Yes. It’s rich grass. Gets fed directly from springs high up in those mountains ahead.” He continued unpacking the package of food Hop Sing had sent along. From the looks of it, one would think Hoss was along for the ride!

“Are we going into the mountains?”

Ben shook his head. “No. We’ll be turning off soon. We’ll spend the night camping, then head into Misery late tomorrow.”

‘Misery?’ Little Joe thought to himself. ‘Is there really a place called Misery, or is my Pa giving me a clue about my future?’

“What’s Misery?”

“It’s a town.” Ben let out a snort. “Well, hardly call it a town. They call it Misery because some folks believe only bad things happen there.”

“If that’s true, why do they stay?”

Ben breathed in deeply before answering. Then he turned to face his youngest son. “Sometimes people make their own misery without realizing it or knowing how to get out of it.”

He stood staring into his youngest son’s eyes, hoping his meaning wouldn’t be missed. Unbeknownst to him, it wasn’t. Then he turned back to empty the contents of his saddlebag and walked over to a stump near a circular fire pit. Obviously, this campsite had been used before. The bag of food was placed on the stump and then Ben picked up two canteens and started to walk to a nearby creek. Little Joe saw an opportunity to gain some positive points. He ran over and jumped in front of his father.

“Here, Pa. I’ll go fetch water. You sit down and I’ll fill the canteens.”

“Thank you, son.” Ben handed him the canteens and watched him walk away. He wasn’t fooled. He chuckled to himself. He knew exactly what his youngest son was up to. He wasn’t all that altruistic! He was trying to gain favor! ‘Oh, well,’ Ben thought. ‘Can’t hurt him to do a few nice things for his old man!’

Again, little was said over lunch, as Little Joe couldn’t find an opening or a subject to bring up, and his father didn’t seem inclined to engage him in any type of conversation. Ben was giving the boy plenty of time to think on his actions and their possible ramifications. And think was what he was doing. He just knew he was going to be left in ‘Misery,’ a little town full of misery. His punishment for being such a bad son. Maybe his Pa would come back to get him someday? When he learned to be better – not fight in school, well, it wasn’t really in school – and not steal his Pa’s gun….and….and….Little Joe began to see that he’d really been a pretty rotten individual lately! Maybe ‘Misery’ was the right place for him.

When they had cleaned up from lunch, they headed out again, once more traveling north. The afternoon went by quickly. Little Joe was deep in thought. ‘Misery is what I feel. Seems like the right place to leave me.’

Ben left him to his own thoughts. This was exactly the type of thing he hoped this trip would bring about.

Eventually, it was time to make camp for the night. They spoke then, but not about anything of substance. Ben explained to Little Joe that they would ride into Misery about mid-day the next day, but tonight would be spent under the stars. They spent their evening pleasantly enough; Ben shared some stories that came to mind about his trip west, how he and Adam had spent almost every night for years sleeping under the stars. He showed Little Joe some of the stars that guided him when he sailed the high seas, and that he’d taught to Adam when they were traveling west. It amazed the boy that the same stars that could be seen in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean were the same stars that could be seen here, high above the Utah territory mountains. Thinking about the stars “moving” across the sky, and sailing a ship being guided by the stars lulled the boy into a deep, fitful sleep; something he’d not experienced for many nights.

Chapter 8

Almost too soon, Ben was shaking him awake. It was time to wake, have breakfast, break camp, and ride out. Just as he was told, Little Joe saw the little town come into view as they rode over one particular rise the next afternoon. And as predicted, it wasn’t much of a town. Just one lone street, with three or four buildings seemingly built randomly along the street, with no regard to any of the other buildings. Some were simple, some were more intricate; some painted, some were unpainted wood, fading or rotting from the sun. As they rode closer, Little Joe noticed some of the people he saw appeared to be unhappy, weathered, weary-looking. He tried not to stare, but it certainly did appear to be a “misery-filled” place.

Ben rode up to the building with the sign that read “Sheriff” on a sign hanging off the front of the roof. Suddenly, Little Joe remembered all his worries when they began their journey. Was this where his father would leave him? In jail in Misery? Appropriate.

They dismounted and went into the little office, which wasn’t much more than a small room, with a door and one window, a pot-belly stove in one corner and a desk in the other. There did not appear to be room for a jail cell in this small building. There was only one person inside. Sheriff Jeb Baker was a man about forty years old, tall, well-built, but slightly overweight. He had brown hair which he wore fairly long. He was studying his stove, which seemed to have out-witted him, from the sounds coming from him.

As they walked into the room, Ben spoke before they got all the way into the room.

“Stove still giving you fits, Jeb?” As he walked in, he stuck his hand out to shake the sheriff’s.

The sheriff turned around to greet them, and large smile on his face. “Ben Cartwright! You sure are a sight for sore eyes! How have you been, my friend?”

“Fine, fine. Right as rain, Jeb.” They shook hands, and then Ben turned to Little Joe.

“Jeb, this is my son, Joseph. Little Joe, this is Sheriff Baker.”

Joe walked closer and stuck out his hand, as his father had taught him. “Sheriff Baker.”

“It’s nice to meet you, young fella. You and your Pa have a good trip? Well, that’s quite a shiner you’ve got there! Hope the other guy took it worse.”

“Uh,” Joe looked at his father. He didn’t quite know how to answer.

Jeb saw the looks passed from son to father and back again, then changed the subject, realizing he’d hit on a sore subject. “It’s quite a ways to come, isn’t it? To get to Misery?”

“Yes, sir.”

Little Joe still wondered if the town of Misery was to be his fate.

Ben and Jeb exchanged pleasantries, Jeb talking about his latest exploits with this town drunk, or that family that moved in and then abruptly left, Ben laughing and agreeing when appropriate.

Finally, during a lull in the exchange, Little Joe spoke up. “Sheriff? Can I ask you a question?”

“Oh?” Jeb looked over Joe’s head at Ben. Ben shrugged, as if to give no indication that he knew what Little Joe was going to say.

“Sure you can, son. What’s on your mind?”

“Why’d you name the town Misery? Seems like it’d make folks pretty depressed to live in a place with a name like that.”

Jeb threw his head back and laughed so loud, it almost shook the window. Little Joe didn’t think it was all that funny of a question. Finally, Sheriff Jeb Baker stopped laughing and turned to face the young man in front of him. “You really wanna know about the name?”

Joe nodded, “Yes, sir, I do. It just seems like nobody would wanna live in a place called Misery.”

“Well, to tell ya the truth, it was named that before my time. But rumor is it’s called that on account o’ all the miners who’ve come through here hoping to get rich and end up leaving poorer than when they first came. That’s the source of their misery, see?”

“Yes, sir. But the folks that live here and stay. They don’t think that, do they?”

“No, for the most part, they don’t. We got a good group of folks who live here-abouts permanently. I don’t reckon most of them care too much for the name, but no one’s ever come up with a better one, so I suppose we’re stuck with it. For now. Maybe they keep the name in hopes it’ll keep the undesirable types away.”

Ben stepped forward. “Jeb, I need to go visit Seth Connerly over at the bank…”

“Of course…”

Joe looked from one to the other. What was not being spoken between them? Was this an arrangement he was making as to how to pay for Little Joe to stay here?

“Little Joe? Why don’t you stay here till I finish my business at the bank.”

“Pa? Can’t I go with you.”

Ben looked up over his head at Jeb Baker. “Well, I suppose you can, if you want. There’s not really too much to interest you there; I’ll only be a little while. You can stay here, and maybe Sheriff Baker has some new bank robber wanted posters you could look through…”

He looked over at Jeb. Jeb nodded. “Sure, I do. What do you say Little Joe? Wanna keep me company for a little while?”

Joe whirled around to face the sheriff. “No, thank you, sir. I think I’ll go with Pa.” Then he turned to look at his father. “Please, Pa?”

Ben shrugged at Jeb. “Well, sure, if that’s what you’d rather do. Come on, then.” He turned to Jeb. “We’ll be back as soon as I’m finished at the bank.” Then they turned and walk out and down the street to the bank.

* * * *

Bank president Seth Connerly was a portly man, standing barely five and half feet tall. He had little hair left, which was more grey than brown, and Little Joe estimated he was a man older than his father. Once again, Ben introduced his son to Mr. Connerly, and they shook hands cordially. Seth Connerly had kind eyes and soft hands. Joe knew that most men who worked inside, in an office or general merchandise store or bank always had hands as soft as Mr. Connerly’s. Only men who worked hard outside on a farm or ranch, like his father, had rough, calloused hands.

After introductions, Little Joe was directed to a seat by the window, away from the desk where Ben and Mr. Connerly sat to talk over their business. Little Joe tried to pretend that he wasn’t listening, but he was most interested, since he was still convinced that his father intended to leave him here as punishment for his untoward behavior in the past few weeks.

Mr. Connerly spoke first. “I have the papers you requested to peruse, Mr. Cartwright.” He handed Ben a stack of approximately eight or ten pages. Ben looked through them deeply, nodding and “humming” as in agreement in several places.

“Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Connerly.” Then he held one particular page up. “Can you explain these things, please?”

Mr. Connerly looked at the page in question. “Oh, yes. That was a sickness, and the doctor administered some medications. I’ve explained it with a notation at the bottom of the page.”

“It wasn’t something serious, was it?”

“It could have been. It appears a virus was contracted. He could have lost his hand, but with the use of some new-fangled medications the doctor had read about, and ordered to be sent, post haste, it staved the infection, and the hand was saved. Thank the Good Lord for that.”

“Yes, indeed.”

The bank manager continued, “That’s the extra charges you see. It was sent by the quickest route possible, and a rider was paid extra to deliver it here without waiting for the regular mail drop. I didn’t think you would object to such an expense.”

“No, of course not. Well, as long as everything is in order, and all is going according to plan…”

“Yes, Mr. Cartwright. It all seems to have been a fine plan, and things are progressing just as we had hoped. You’ll see Dutch before you leave?”

Ben was still studying the pages, but looked up when he heard a question asked of him. “Hmm? Oh, yes, or course. We plan to see him as soon as school is over.”

“Oh, I doubt he’s in school, Ben.”

Ben frowned. “Oh? Why wouldn’t he be?”

“It seems he’s taken to more free time and less school time these days.”

Ben stood up. “Oh? I wonder why Sheriff Baker didn’t mention that? Well, we’ll see to that.” He held out his hand to Mr. Connerly. “Thank you for handling all of this for me, sir. I’ll see you on the next swing through.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Cartwright. It’s my pleasure to do business with you. Good bye.”

Ben and Little Joe then turned to walk outside. As Ben opened the door, Little Joe turned to wave good-bye to Mr. Connerly. “Bye, Mr. Connerly. Nice to have met you.”

Mr. Connerly looked up quickly and smiled at the polite young man standing at the door.

“And you, too, Joseph.”

Once outside, Ben stood looking up and down the street. Little Joe tried to see what he was looking for. He’d look from the direction of his father’s gaze back up into his father’s face. He couldn’t really read the look on his face, but he swore it was that look that he got whenever Joe or one of his brothers had done something they would truly regret later on.

Ben turned in the direction of the far edge of town, where the school house was standing. He was hoping he would see his intended target by walking that way. They got only to the end of the sidewalk when Ben spotted someone moving through the alley. He quickly yelled.

“Dutch!”

When Joe looked where his father’s gaze had gone, he spied a young man, slightly older than he, taller and with a shock of red hair and reddish freckles that seemed to be everywhere on his body. The young man stopped and turned toward them. When he spotted Ben, he picked up speed and made it to their end of the alley in about four steps.

Then he smiled and spoke to Ben. “Well, howdy, Mr. Cartwright! I wasn’t sure you was gonna make it this spring.” Dutch’s voice was doing that “cracking” thing young men do when their voices are changing. Joe guessed he was about sixteen, but Dutch was all arms and legs, and barely any “meat on his bones,” as Hop Sing would put it. In fact, if Hop Sing were here to see Dutch, he’d claimed Little Joe was down-right FAT!

“I make it every spring, don’t I, Dutch? How are you, boy?” They shook hands. It seemed to Joe that they held on to each other just a little longer than usual.

“Yessir, you sure do.” He looked over at Little Joe.

Ben looked, too. “Oh, Dutch, this is my youngest son, Joseph, er, Little Joe. Little Joe, this is Dutch.”

Joe stepped forward and shook Dutch’s hand. “Howdy, Dutch. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Little Joe. Your Pa shore is a fine man, ain’t he?”

Joe looked over at his father, who stood smiling. “Uh, yeah, he is, Dutch. Known him long?”

“Uh, yeah, a few years, I’d say. Ain’t that right, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Oh, I guess it’s about four or five years, Dutch.” Wishing to change the conversation, Ben suggested: “Say, how would you boys like a Sarsaparilla?”

Both boys enthusiastically shook their heads in the affirmative. “Fine! Fine. Let’s go over to the finest watering hole in town, then.”

Then turned to walk. After a few steps, Little Joe calculated the direction they were taking. He stood still. ‘Wait, Pa? Are you taking us to a saloon?”

Ben and Dutch stopped walking and turned to look at him. Then Ben answered: “Well, Joe, normally, I wouldn’t approve of such a thing, but this is the only place in Misery to get a cool drink. As long as I’m along, I’m sure it will be fine.” He turned again, slapped Dutch on the shoulder and they walked. Joe walked behind, wondering who were these people, and what in the world had happened to his father.

Chapter 9

The saloon in Misery wasn’t any different than the one in any other western town. It was dusty, dark, smelled from stale cigar smoke, with spittoons in each corner full of tobacco juice. The music was off-key and soulful, and a few young ladies walked around, plying their trade and trying to entice the men to drink more, or engage in other, worldly activities.

Upon entering, while Joe was adjusting his eyes and nose to the sensations of the saloon, Ben motioned for them to move to a table to the right, near the window in front of the saloon. A young lady came over to talk to them.

“Hi, ya. Cowboy. I see you got two handsome, impressionable young men with ya. What pleasures can I get for the three of you?”

“Just three sarsaparillas, please. We’ve important business to attend to, so a little privacy would be appreciated as well, miss.”

The smile left her face, “Sure, mister. Three sarsaparillas, coming right up.” And she turned without another word and went to fill their order.

Little Joe wasn’t sure exactly what “important business” could be accomplished over a couple of sarsaparillas in a dark, smelly saloon.

Ben turned to Dutch then. “Dutch, how is it we found you over by the general store instead of in school?”

“Well, Mr. Cartwright, you see, I took sick awhile back and I’m still recoop…recuperatin’ – yeah, that’s the word for it.”

“Oh, is that right?”

Dutch nodded wildly.

Ben studied him. Little Joe studied his father. He hadn’t thought his father’s “magic” worked on other people, but it obviously did!

“I talked to Mr. Connerly. He told me about the medicine the doctor had to send away for, to help you recuperate.”

“Yeah, like I said, I been in a bad way.” Dutch was nodding enthusiastically.

“Mmmm.” Ben nodded along with Dutch. “How long ago was this? I got the impression from him you were well now?”

“Well, it were awhile ago, I reckon that’s so. But the hand bothers me fierce sometimes.” Dutch held out his hand and flexed his fingers, in and out, a few times as if to demonstrate.

“Today one of those days, is it?”

“A mite, yessir.”

Ben took a deep breath and sat back a bit in his chair, then he continued speaking, “Dutch, didn’t we make an agreement? You said you’d stay in school? I said I’d pay for all your needs?”

Little Joe paid more attention now. His father was paying for all Dutch’s needs? What did that mean, and why was it so?

“Yessir. We did make that agreement.”

“Are you going back on that agreement?”

“Um, Mr. Cartwright, I, um, I’m just not sure I wanna stay in school too much more.”

“Oh? When were you going to let me know about that change?”

Dutch just shrugged.

Ben continued his inquisition. “What did you have in mind to replace it with?”

“Wall, I like smithin; right anuf…”

“So you want to be a full time blacksmith?”

Dutch nodded enthusiastically.

Ben continued, “There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“Really? You’d say I could?”

“Dutch, I thought we already decided you could. Just as soon as your schooling was complete.”

Dejectedly, Dutch replied, “Oh.” Just when he’d thought Ben Cartwright was seeing things his way…

Their drinks arrived, so each fellow glanced up at the waitress and smiled. Ben handed her several coins. “Thank you, Miss.” He then picked up his glass and held it toward the boys. “Drink up, fellas.”

No one spoke as they each enjoyed the cool sensation and taste of the sweet sarsaparilla.

As the boys drank, Ben began talking again. “Dutch, I really want you to continue your schooling for about another year.”

“Why, Mr. Cartwright? I don’t reckon there’s much more they kin teach me at that there school.”

“Well, I’m fairly certain you’ll learn a little better English grammar, for one thing, and you’ll learn self-control. You’ll learn patience. You’ll learn to heed the teachings of those older and wiser than yourself…”

Dutch took a deep breath. “I reckon I could learn all that. But I’m learnin’ most of that kind of stuff from Smithy now!”

Ben then sat up straight in his chair and, with an elbow perched on the table, he pointed his finger at Dutch, a more somber look on his face now. “Now you listen to me, young man. We had a deal. You stick to your end, and I’ll stick to mine. Or are you trying to welch on our deal?”

Dutch nodded slowly. “Yeah, we had a deal, I reckon. But I’m gettin’ older now, and school ain’t no kind of fun. There ain’t nobody there as old as I am, and anyway, I wanna be a blacksmith, like Smithy.”

Ben sat staring at Dutch for a moment, then spoke again, “Fine. If you want to go to smithing now, you can go, starting right now.” Ben then sat back in his chair again as those words sank in.

After about a minute, he resumed his talk: “And I will withdraw my support and you can go to work full time, pay for your own room and board, pay for your own meals, and all the rest.”

He stopped speaking and folded his arms across his chest. Little Joe waited. He wondered, ‘What is going on? Withdraw his support? What does that mean? How does that work? And how is my Pa able to tell Dutch what to do like this? He’s not me or Hoss or Adam.’

As Joe looked from Dutch to his father, Ben studied Dutch. Dutch sat ramrod still and looked out the window, as if studying something in the far distance. The three of them sat like this for what seemed like minutes, but was probably only ten or fifteen seconds.

Finally, Ben sat forward in his chair, folded his hands in front of him on the table and began to speak again. “If you stay in school until you’re sixteen, you’ll now become a blacksmith apprentice for the next year. When that’s done, I will set you up with a bank account, and give you my complete blessing to be a blacksmith.”

Then he sat back again as Dutch pondered what he’d said.

Dutch nodded, then sat back, too. He tapped the table with his fingers. He looked out the window at the street in front of them. He took a deep breath, as if sucking in some inspiration for a solution. Ben waited. Little Joe could only watch.

Ben spoke again, less forceful this time, but hoping to drive his point home. “Right now, you’re making, what? Two bits a day? Going to work as an apprentice, you’ll make maybe twice that? Not enough to support yourself without my support, I’d guess. Spend another year of apprenticeship and you’ll know enough to work on your own and earn a full-time wage. Then you can get a nice place of your own, buy your own clothes, maybe even consider sparking a girl, eh?” Ben smiled at the gangly young man, who had now turned an even deeper red than his normal color.

“Aww, Mr. Cartwright, it ain’t like that.”

“Really? There isn’t a girl you’re interested in?”

“Wall, maybe a little interested, but it ain’t her that’s got me ta thinkin. I just, I just think it’s time.”

“And I think it IS about her, at least a little bit. I also think it’ll be ‘time’ in another year – not before. Start out on your own too soon, and you can hardly keep up. Think hard on that, Dutch. If you start to make your own way before you’ve got a skill to earn a living, and you cannot give a girl- or a wife – all the fine things you want her to have…all the things YOU can’t afford now. Life goes on to be a whole lot harder.”

“Harder than it’s been now?”

Ben nodded. “Yes, things could be a lot worse than they appear now.”

“Wall, I do wanna get my life squared away….you’ve helped with that a whole lot, Mr. Cartwright.”

“And I intend to continue to help you, Dutch, if you’ll let me.”

Little Joe was more intrigued now than he’d been before!

Dutch spoke again, “I suppose you’ve got a point there, Mr. Cartwright. Shoot. I can’t hardly afford to take my girl out on a picnic sometimes…much less think about marriage someday.”

Ben let Dutch think on things a while more, while he nodded ever so slightly.

When he could see that everyone had finished their sarsaparilla, he spoke again. “So? Do we have a deal? Till you’re sixteen?”

“Yessir, I reckon.”

Ben stuck his hand out across the table and Dutch took it and they shook hands. Ben began to laugh. “Well, all right then! I expect to see YOU in school tomorrow, young man!”

“Yes, sir, I’ll finish school. But I kin still work at the livery after school, right?”

“Well, I expect you to! How else are you gonna learn everything you need to know to be the finest blacksmith in these parts?”

The three of them stood and left the saloon and walked across the street to the sheriff’s office again. They burst through the door and Sheriff Baker, who was seated behind his desk looked up quickly.

“Which one of those rapscallions do you want me to throw in my jail, Ben?”

Ben laughed. “WHAT jail!?”

They all laughed over that.

After a few moments of small talk, Dutch excused himself and went to the livery to work. Ben, Joe and Jeb stayed in the little jailhouse while Ben filled Sheriff Baker in on his mission thus far.

“Jeb, why didn’t you tell me Dutch wasn’t attending school now?”

“I’ve been trying to get to him back there. Anyway, he’s only just been missing regular for a few weeks – ever since the virus infection – and I knew you were due to arrive soon, so….”

“…so you waited for me to do the deed of laying down the law?”

“You might say that, yeah!”

“Now who’s the rapscallion?” Ben laughed, and Sheriff Baker just shrugged.

“So, my boy and I are headed over at Mrs. Spier’s boarding house. Will you join us there for supper later? You and Dutch?”

Baker smiled and nodded. “Fine! I guess I can be out of here in about, oh, two hours?”

“Fine, fine. In the meantime, we’ll go board our horses over at the livery and then get settled in.”

Ben and Joe walked out and headed toward the livery stable. There they once again met up with Dutch. He was feeding the fire in the forge. There was a huge man also working the forge. This man made Hoss look small, Little Joe thought. He also pumped the bellows, then threw a huge hunk of iron into the fire. Then grabbed it out with a hard grip and began hammering. Ben and Little Joe watched for quite awhile, as the man fashioned the iron into something recognizable.

Then he threw it into a bucket of water and its hiss filled the barn. He took off his thick gloves, which were designed to protect his hands from the heat. The condition of them let Little Joe know they weren’t totally successful, however. He reached over and stuck his hand out to Ben.

“Howdy, Mr. Cartwright! Good to see you again.”

Ben took his hand. “Good to see you, too, Smithy.” He then turned to Joe. “Smithy, this is my son, Little Joe.”

“Howdy, young fella. Shore hope the other fella looks worse than you!” Joe shook his hand back.

“Whaa? Oh, yeah, the eye…” He reached up and touched his well-blackened eye, then looked over at his father.

Ben interjected. “Uh, not my favorite issue to deal with as a father. Do yourself a favor, Smithy? Have daughters!”

Then he turned his attention to the young red-headed fellow. “I just stopped by to let you know Dutch has agreed to go back to school. Right, Dutch?”

“Yessir. I agreed.”

Ben went on. “And he’ll continue working here, same arrangements as before, until he turns sixteen. I’ve given permission for him to quit going to school then. By that time, I figure the young man can begin making his own way. He says he wants to be the best smithy around…”

“Oh?” Smithy looked over at Dutch, who began to color again.

Dutch tried to explain: “I don’t wanna run you off, Smithy. I just reckon I kin…”

Smithy interrupted. “I reckon we got enough business for two of us.”

Dutch smiled broadly. “Yes sir!”

Then Ben slapped his hands together. “Good! Good. So, Dutch, we’ll meet up with you and Jeb at Mrs. Spier’s place later for supper…”

“Sure, Mr. Cartwright! I’m pretty tired of eatin’ what Jeb calls food.”

Ben, Smithy and Dutch laughed. Joe figured out then that Dutch lived with Jeb, but he didn’t know why. It was obvious they weren’t related. He determined to ask his father more about Dutch when they were alone.

As they bid their good-byes, Ben asked Smithy to send good wishes to his wife.

* * * *

Supper at Ms. Spier’s place was a lively affair. Jeb, Dutch, Ms. Spier, two other boarders: Mr. Taecker, a salesman passing through on his way to Salt Lake City and Paul Bender, who claimed to be a prospector; Ben and Little Joe all enjoyed a beef stew with biscuits that almost rivaled anything Hop Sing could have ever set on a table.

After an evening of lively conversation, dessert of strawberry custard, lots of laughs, more food than anyone could consume, and plenty of stories about the “good old days” in the miserable town of Misery, it was time to say good-night. Ben and Little Joe headed upstairs to the room they had rented for the night. Jeb and Dutch headed to their home, and everyone agreed to meet again for breakfast the next morning.

Once alone in their room, Little Joe asked his father about Dutch.

“Pa? Where’s Dutch’s real folks?”

“Son, I’d rather we had this conversation after we leave town, all right?”

Joe shrugged. “I guess so. But why?”

“Because I’m very tired tonight.” He lowered his voice. “And it’s a private matter.” He dropped down onto the bed and pulled the covers up. “I’m turning in now. Good night. I love you.”

Little Joe sat on his side of the bed watching his father as he peacefully fell asleep. So many questions. How did his father come to know Dutch? Or Jeb? Or even Misery, for that matter? He had no answers and wasn’t likely to get any tonight, so he decided he might as well get some sleep, too. He laid down and closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him. His father was “supporting” Dutch? Is that what all that business in the bank was about? Why was that? He had talked to him the way he would have to any of his sons. What gave him that type of authority over someone else’s son? Was he friends with Dutch’s parents? Where were Dutch’s parents? Dutch was only a little older than Little Joe….but the conversations he’d heard made it obvious Ben had some input into the boy’s care. How long had that been going on? And the biggest question was why? And then there was Sheriff Baker. Why did Dutch live with him? Was the boy a prisoner and the sheriff had to have him live in his house because the town had no real jail? Was Little Joe going to become his next “prisoner?” Was Little Joe going to end up staying here, alone, like Dutch appeared to be? Only seeing his father once in awhile, whenever he “swung” into town? So many questions…he drifted off while still trying to make sense of it all.

Chapter 10

Little Joe had dreams all night about Dutch and himself living in Sheriff Baker’s home, working in the livery, only seeing his father once a year or so, and maybe not even seeing his brothers that often. It felt like he had just put his head down on his pillow when his father was shaking him awake. Ben remarked that they would be leaving Misery this morning, so Little Joe slowly got up, dressed and packed his belongings. They made their way downstairs to the smells of coffee and biscuits, flapjacks, eggs and sausage cooking. It made Little Joe’s mouth water. After a leisurely breakfast, and Dutch had headed off to school, Ben and Joe said their good-byes and walked to the livery to collect their mounts. Then they headed out. Joe wondered where they were going, and mused if they were going home. At least now he knew he wasn’t being left in the miserable town of Misery! He decided he needed to ask.

“Pa? Are we going home now?”

“No. We need to make another stop first.”

Joe simply nodded. So that was it. It wasn’t Misery, but there must be another place even worse than this to leave him. There was much to contemplate about what they’d seen for the past two days, and the quiet ride gave him plenty of time to reflect – and worry – about his ultimate fate, since nothing much had been said about his fight with Mitch since they’d ridden out from home. Yet, wasn’t that the reason his father had decided to take this trip with him? And when would he learn his fate for the candy purchases. And the fight. It’s not like his father might have forgotten about it – what with everyone pointing out the black eye he sported!

* * *

By lunchtime, the sun was overhead and Little Joe was hot and thirsty. He wondered how much longer they had to ride, but he wasn’t sure he should ask his father. Instead, almost as if he’d read his mind, Ben turned to his youngest son and asked, “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I think I remember a stream just ahead. That would be a good place to camp and have some lunch.”

They found the stream and stopped, tethered the horses, and sat to eat. While eating, Little Joe thought he couldn’t wait any longer to find out more about Dutch. So, in he dove.

“Pa? How do you know Dutch?”

Ben answered, “I met him and his father about five years ago. I traded furs with him for a time. They had a little spread a ways out of town. Like a lot of others, his father came here to look for gold.”

“Did he ever find gold?”

“No, none to speak of.”

“So where’s Dutch’s folks now? Did his Pa go off to find it somewhere else, like we hear a lot of others do?”

“No, no. nothing like that. Oh, his father worked hard and long looking for gold. Only found a few flakes, then decided to turn to something more sure, so he quit panning for gold on his claim and started trapping small animals for the furs. That’s how we met, engaged in some business dealings together. And he grew some vegetables, things like that. He was turning it into a small but profitable farm. His father once told me Dutch’s mother had died in childbirth, about three years before I met them. Just before they had moved to Misery.”

“So Dutch’s Ma died. Where’s his Pa now?”

“Dutch is an orphan. His father is dead now, too.” Ben stopped speaking, stood up and walked toward a tree as he looked out to where the horses were tied. He turned to look at his young son for a long time. He pushed some dirt across the ground in front of him, then leaned on the tree next to him, folded his arms in front of him and continued the story. “Dutch shot him.”

Little Joe snapped his head up at his father and gasped audibly and his heart almost stopped.

He jumped to his feet. “Dutch…sh…shot…him? His own father?” His heart was racing, and his breathing was difficult. It was too much to consider. He wanted to run to his father, but his feet wouldn’t leave the spot they were standing on, almost as if they were rooted to it.

Ben nodded, then slowly continued his tale, taking his time between sentences, so the whole story would sink in. He inhaled deeply and then began, “Dutch would have been, oh, thirteen years old, I think. He was playing with his father’s pistol.”

Ben stopped speaking, for emphasis. He watched Little Joe, who was working very hard to stay standing, and now his face began to redden.

He continued, “He’d found it in the bureau, took it outside and was shooting it at nothing in particular in every direction. He turned around, looking for another target. He decided he wanted to see if he could shoot through one door of the barn and out the other. He didn’t know his father was in the barn. His father heard the first few shots and walked to the open door, just as Dutch fired the shot that hit him.” Ben stopped talking and watched Little Joe’s reaction. Little Joe was gazing off, as though he could ‘see’ the incident as he heard it. Ben continued, “Clean shot, right to the head. He died instantly.”

Little Joe could barely mouth the words, “He killed his own Pa?” His words were almost in a whisper. Little Joe didn’t know what to say. His heart was pounding, his breathing was coming in shallow gasps. His eyes started watering. His throat was suddenly drier than it had ever been. He swallowed hard, trying to breathe in regular breaths, but all he could do was gasp.

“He…he shot his own father, and he died.” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Yes.” Arms still folded, Ben looked down at his feet, shuffled the ground a little and watched his son.

Little Joe looked over at his father. His father was watching him carefully. Joe’s mind was racing. He couldn’t imagine shooting his own father, or how he would react if he knew he’d done such a thing. Nor could he imagine what his brothers would think of him after a stunt like that. His heart wouldn’t stop racing, and his throat wanted to close up. He swallowed several times, trying to remove the dryness in his throat. Suddenly, his mind raced back to the day he shot his friend Johnny. His mind conjured up an image of a shot to the head, and Johnny lying dead on the ground. In his mind’s eye the image of the dead person was first Johnny, then his own father. Little Joe’s mind was reeling, and the devastating images wouldn’t stop coming.

Then he shook himself back into the present. He had so many questions, he didn’t know where to start putting it all together. In his mind, he tried to put himself in Dutch’s boots on that fateful day. What did he think? What did he do? How do you live with yourself if you’ve killed your own father?

He decided to ask one question he thought wouldn’t betray his secret thoughts. “Did…did they put him in jail?” His eyes started to water, and he kept wiping them to keep from openly crying.

“No.” Ben unfolded his arms and hung them at his side. He continued to kick at the dirt at his feet. He continued explaining, “Jeb was very close to Dutch’s father. He wouldn’t consider a trial. What purpose would it serve? Some folks in Misery thought he should have been locked up. But the truth is, he’ll have to live with the guilt of what he’s done his whole life as it is. Placing a boy in jail for a careless act like that would only make the self-righteous folks feel better about things. It would do no good for Dutch.”

Joe nodded. That made sense. But now Dutch was an orphan. No one to take care of him; what would become of him? Is that why his Pa takes care of his needs?

Almost as if he could read his mind again, Ben spoke again, “Jeb took him in. He tells me the nightmares are mostly gone, and Dutch is working on forgiving himself, understanding it was a senseless, careless act, but an accident nonetheless.”

“But he killed his own Pa.” Little Joe’s voice was still barely audible.

Ben waited. Little Joe’s head was reeling. “How does he live? What…?” His throat was still dry, his breathing labored, and his eyes were still watering.

He could see Little Joe had many questions, so he continued. “Dutch couldn’t care for their ranch on his own, so I bought their place and put the money into a trust to take care of Dutch’s needs. Under my supervision, Mr. Connerly uses money from that trust to pay for any needs the boy has. Dutch lives with Jeb and you see he’s learning the Blacksmithing business from Smithy, so he’ll have a trade to support himself one day. The rest is fairly self-evident.”

Joe nodded. He didn’t even know where his thoughts were going. He just kept imagining shooting his own father. Then he remembered how easy it was to accidentally shoot Johnny.

Then Ben spoke again.

“Little Joe?”

Joe looked into his father’s probing eyes. ‘What does he want me to say? What is coming next?’ he thought. ‘Is it something even worse?’

Instead, his father asked, “Is there something you want to tell me?” Ben reached up and leaned against the tree with one arm and the other hanging down. He seemed to be boring through Little Joe with his stare.

Little Joe’s eyes started to water. He reached up to wipe the tears away before they began falling down his face.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Yes, Pa.”

“Well? What is it, son?”

“I…I took your Colt pistol. I wanted to go target shooting…”

“You took my Colt pistol?”

“Yes.”

“Without my permission.” It was more a statement than a question.

Joe nodded. His eyes were watering more frequently now, and he had to keep wiping them.

“And then lied to me about it.” Again, a statement.

“Yeah.” Little Joe was trying very hard not to cry.

“Tell me about it.”

Little Joe knew he had to tell it all now. There was no stopping. It was too horrible to think about what might have been. “I…I shot…Johnny,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“We were just fooling around. I wanted to practice shooting, so I took the Colt. Me and Johnny and Royce went out to a stand of trees and set up targets. We were just havin’ fun. Then the gun accidentally went off, and it grazed Johnny’s shoulder and tore his brand new shirt.”

Little Joe began crying. “I didn’t think anything would happen.”

He had to reach up and wipe tears out of his eyes again.

“I am sorry, Pa.”

“Dutch was very sorry, too. But a man is dead because of his carelessness.”

Then pure emotion pushed him to run to his father’s arms. He began crying, sobbing really, in earnest. “His own father. I’m sorry, Pa.” Between sobs he poured out the whole story. “I didn’t think anything bad could happen. I could have killed him, or Royce, or you….”

Ben held him as he spoke. “That’s right, Little Joe. A bullet doesn’t care what it hits once it leaves the gun. That’s what I’ve tried to teach you. It’s a big responsibility to handle a weapon.”

As he cried, the boy continued to plead his case, “I didn’t know anything bad would happen.”

“But it can, and it isn’t a matter of knowing. It’s a matter of always following the rules I’ve set out for you. I don’t tell you to do certain things to stop you from having fun, but to try to keep you safe. Do you understand?”

Little Joe could only nod, he was weeping so hard.

After what felt like an hour, but was probably only four or five minutes, Ben spoke again. “That’s why it’s important for you to be vigilant and serious anytime you are handling a weapon.”

Joe could only nod. Ben held him and let the boy cry.

When the cries became soft sobs, Ben let go of Joe’s embrace. He walked over to his saddlebags and pulled out a cloth holding the Colt. He handed it to Little Joe.

Little Joe was startled by this action. He looked up at his father with a look of confusion on his face.

“You used it. You need to clean it. Properly. Thoroughly.”

Again he nodded, almost without motion. He gingerly took the weapon, being careful to keep his fingers away from the trigger, not knowing if it was loaded and fearful he might shoot his own father.

He walked over to a tree stump he found, wiped the remaining tears from his eyes and proceeded to use the cloth the Colt had been wrapped in to clean it. Ben walked over with a vial of oil, handed it to Little Joe and walked away again.

Once Little Joe was satisfied he’d done the best job he could cleaning the weapon, he brought it back to where his father was sitting under a tree, appearing to be half asleep.

“Pa? I’m finished.”

Ben reached up and took the weapon. He looked it over, pulled open the cylinder, looked down the barrel, and then handed it back to Little Joe.

“You did a good job. Wrap it back up and put it in my saddlebag. And then promise me you will never take it again unless I know and approve of it.”

“I promise, Pa.” Little Joe did as his father requested, again being careful how he handled the gun so it didn’t accidentally discharge, even though he now knew it wasn’t loaded.

Then Ben declared, “It’s time we got going.”

Then they mounted up and continued riding, west then southwest.

Chapter 11

They rode several more hours that afternoon, in silence this time as Little Joe kept replaying in his mind how Dutch had become an orphan. That had hit him so hard, he kept dissolving into tears. Ben let the boy deal privately with his own emotions. Finally, they camped for the night. Ben explained they were stopping earlier than usual because it would be a rough ride the next day, and he did not want to exhaust the horses. Mrs. Spiers had graciously given them leftovers from their supper the night before, and several biscuits. They ate their meal and turned in shortly after that. Little was spoken at all, and no more was spoken of Dutch and his “circumstance.”

At sunrise, they broke camp and headed out. Little Joe spent most of his time remembering all that his father had told him the day before. When he did pay attention to where they were riding, he noticed they were headed south, for the most part, although they did take a turn toward the west. Joe was almost sure they were headed toward home, but then they made an even sharper turn to the west just when he thought they would hit the trail that would take them directly to the road home.

“Pa? Where are we headed?”

“I’ve hired a new man to watch the northern line shacks. I need to check in with him. We should be at his place by mid-afternoon.”

Sure enough, after a short stop for lunch, it was about 2:30 in the afternoon when Little Joe spied a small cabin in the distance. Smoke could be seen coming from the chimney, and a horse was tied to the corral fence. As they rode up, a little girl ran out, spied the horses and ran back in. Joe could hear her yelling, “Mama! Someone’s comin’!”

A young woman came outside. Little Joe guessed her to be about Adam’s age. She wiped her hands on her apron which was tied around her waist and pulled on her hair, the way women do when they think it needs “straightening up.” When she realized it was Ben, she smiled broadly and ran into the house. Out came a man about the same age, carrying the little girl. Joe guessed they were the child’s parents.

They rode into the yard to smiles and “hello’s.”

Ben dismounted, so Little Joe did the same.

Ben shook hands with the man. “Tom! Annie! How are you doing? Well, would you look at this one?! Hasn’t she grown since last year?! Hello, Miss Charity.” He squeezed the little girl’s cheek. She chuckled and squeezed tighter to her Papa’s neck.

Ben turned around to face Little Joe. “Tom? Annie, this is my youngest son, Joseph.”

Joe shook hands with Tom and nodded politely at Annie. Then she invited them inside to enjoy a cool glass of lemonade.

As they walked toward the house, Annie spoke up this time, “Mr. Cartwright. We’ve another little one since you were last here. Little Faith lies sleeping in the bedroom.”

“Well! Isn’t that wonderful?” Ben clapped his hands together. “I suppose next year, there’ll be a Little Miss Hope?”

Tom and Annie looked at each other. She turned bright red, Ben smiled and Tom just laughed. Little Joe just shook his head, as he wasn’t sure he understood what was so funny.

Once inside, two chairs were set up at the table for the Cartwrights to sit in. The only other place to sit was a barrel that held Annie’s treasures from Missouri. It was wheeled to the table area, and Tom sat on it, with Charity on his lap. Annie stood at the stove and continued to pour glasses of lemonade and stir what would be the evening’s meal.

“I expected you last week, Mr. Cartwright. There’s been some…activity.”

“Well, I was tied up, Tom. Got here as soon I could. Care to tell me what’s been going on?”

Tom looked down at the floor, then around at his wife. He turned back again to face Ben. “Well, you see, Mr. Cartwright, I hired a man…”

“Oh? Is there that much work around here?”

“Well, uh, I, uh, I was tryin’ to get the line shacks fixed up quicker. I guess I figured it could get done faster if I hired someone to help. I wasn’t gonna ask for any more money, I was gonna pay him outta my own salary – room, board, meals and a little spendin’ money. Turns out, he was just a drifter, and wasn’t much of a worker. More drunk than sober, and lazier’n anyone I ever seen before.”

Ben interjected, “He swindled me out of almost fifty dollars. Did you know that?”

Tom and Joe looked up quickly at Ben. Neither one of them knew that.

“No, sir. I figured it was some, but I didn’t know how much. I just knew he was swindlin’, cause he always had an excuse to go to Misery, and he always had a bottle nearby. I was hopin’ at first he was just a bad card player…or a very good one.”

“Well, it was neither. Apparently, he would go to town, pick up whatever he needed or you’d sent him for, add a little something for his enjoyment, and ‘put it on my tab’.”

“I’m right sorry, Mr. Cartwright. I didn’t know. When I figured out he was up to no good, I sent him packin’. Told him if he wanted to get paid, he’d have to go see you. I don’t reckon he ever did.”

“Oh, no! You’re wrong! He came to see me, all right. Told me he’d worked here for two months and demanded his pay.”

“You didn’t pay him, did you?!”

Ben shook his head. “No. I told him I’d have to verify his work history with you before he got a penny. Told him to check back with me when I returned from my visit with you. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.”

“I’m real sorry. I thought it would work out better’n it did…”

“I’m sure you did, Tom.”

They all drank their lemonade in silence for several seconds. Then Ben put his glass down, took a deep breath and spoke. “Tom, since I didn’t authorize his hiring, I think it’s only fair to take those losses out of your pay…”

Annie gasped so loudly, everyone could hear it. Tom looked at her, then back at Ben. “I understand, sir. I deserve it…”

Ben cut him off quick, “…but. Here’s what I think we can do, Tom. I realize you were only trying to help me get things set up out here, so in a way, it is partly my responsibility, too. So, how about if we split the loss? I’ll pay half, and only hold you responsible for half?”

“But I’m the one hired him!”

Ben nodded again. “Yes, I know. But you did it thinking it would help the Ponderosa. There was no intent to do harm. No. I think I can absorb half the loss.”

Tom looked up at Annie. She had her hand over her mouth, and was holding back tears. Tom stood up and reached out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Cartwright! That’s right generous of you!”

Ben took his hand. Then he said, “That’s not all.”

Tom stopped shaking the hand he held and dropped both his hands to his side. “Oh?”

“I think it’ll be an easier blow if I collect your half a little at a time. Like over the course of three months? Would that be reasonable?”

Tom and Annie smiled at each other again. “Yes, sir! That would be fine! Just fine! Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. I don’t rightly deserve no mercy over my own fool mistake…”

“Don’t you worry about it. Just don’t go hiring men on my behalf any more, ya hear me?” Ben laughed.

Ben bid his good-bye and started for the door. Annie stepped forward and invited them to stay for supper. Ben thanked her for the invitation, but insisted they had to head toward home, they’d been away long enough. Little Joe could smell the delectable odors from the pot boiling over the fire, and he wanted to ask if they could stay, but he kept silent.

“Well, then,” Annie said, “at least take a couple of pieces of my apple pie to show you what you’ll be missing.”

“Well, that we can do, Annie! Thank you!” Ben laughed again. Tom and Annie joined him. Joe smiled, and Ben reached around and threw an arm around Joe’s shoulders as they headed out the door of the little cabin.

* * * *

Another night spent eating beans and bacon and sleeping on the ground, the apple pie softening the blow somewhat. After supper while cleaning up, Joe asked his father, “Pa? Why couldn’t we have stayed for supper with Tom and Annie? Sure would’a been tastier than what we got.”

“Might have been tastier, but would have left you feeling only half full.”

“Huh?”

“Little Joe, did you get a look at how much was in that pot of stew?”

The boy shook his head.

“I’d venture to say we are more full tonight than Tom and Annie.”

“They didn’t have enough?”

Ben shook his head no as he drank his coffee. “No. From the smell, I’d say it was squirrel Tom’d trapped….could have been a small rabbit….”

“But if there’s not enough, why’d they invite us to stay?”

“Manners. It’s just what’s expected. She wants to be a good hostess and will invite company to stay even when there’s barely enough for the three of them.”

“Is that why you gave him three months to pay off the debt he owed?”

“Exactly.”

“So, if there’s not enough food, why don’t you just let him butcher one of our beef?”

“It’s wasteful to do that this time of year. There’s no way to keep enough of the meat from spoiling, being such a small family. No, Tom is sensible that way. He will slaughter a heifer once the season turns cooler so the meat can be stored safely. That’s one reason I can trust him alone up here. He isn’t wasteful. He’s a good, honest man. That’s a trait that’s hard to find in many people.”

“But if he ain’t got enough to live on and support his family and you know it, why don’t you just give him a raise?”

Ben looked at Joe for a long time. How do you explain profit and loss and slow, steady growth for sustainability to one who takes such things so casually? He decided he needed to try. “Little Joe, I know you think we have about the richest ranch around, and we do all right, but do you know why that is?

Little Joe knew his father was teaching him something, and he wanted to have the correct answer. He looked out across the pasture and thought a long time before he answered, “Cause we got lots of cattle? And trees? And horses?”

“We do, but don’t the other ranches around us have those things, too?”

Joe nodded, “I suppose they do.”

“Then aren’t they just as ‘rich’?”

Joe shrugged. Were they as ‘rich’ as his family? He had never really thought about it before.

Ben continued while Joe was mulling over his father’s last question, “Son, it takes a lot of work to make a ranch like ours successful. It doesn’t just magically happen. And it’s just about cattle or horses or trees. We work very hard to breed in the best beeves, take the best saddle ponies to our customers, and cut the best lumber. It’s about building a brand. I want our name to be synonymous with quality and integrity. That’s what being successful means. It isn’t about who has the largest bank account, or the most land. It’s about our reputation. If our cows, our horses, or our trees don’t live up to the high standard we claim we have, then folks will think we’re not being truthful with them…that we’re swindling them, or taking advantage. It’s about more than just the resources, the cattle we sell or the trees. When people look at you, they see me – they see all of us. We have to have the same high standards for ourselves. We all represent each other. If one of us does something wrong, it reflects on the rest of us. That’s why it’s important to me that you are a mannerly, well-bred, honest young man of integrity. Do you understand, son?”

Little Joe nodded his head slowly. He was going to have to chew on what his Pa was saying for a while.

Ben continued while Joe was contemplating what his father meant. “When you took that candy without paying for it, what do you think Mr. Fletcher thought of you?”

“I didn’t take it without paying….”

“Didn’t you? Did you have the money in your pocket to pay for it?”

“No. I just…”

“You just put it on our account. I know. But had you earned that money?”

Joe only shrugged.

“No, you did not. Did you know for sure that that account had the money in it to pay for it?”

“Doesn’t it? Pa, are we poor?”

“Joe, what we are is just simple, working folks. We’re not necessarily richer than everyone else. We’re fortunate to have adequate means for our needs. But that doesn’t mean we should flaunt that, or buy unnecessary items to look rich in anyone’s eyes, or buy friends…”

Then it got quiet. Once again, Little Joe became aware that his father knew more about what he’d been up to than he’d realized. Ben picked up his coffee and had a good long drink. When he had set down his cup of coffee, he spoke again.

“I want to give Tom a raise. And I will. But first he’s proving himself to me. When I’ve assured myself that taking a gamble on a foreman to look after the line shacks is worth the investment, he’ll get a raise to make things easier on him. I’ve explained all of this to Tom. Sustained growth takes time and patience to be done correctly.”

Joe tried to figure out all that his father was telling him. He knew it was about trusting him to be honest and trustworthy. Joe could see he had broken that trust his father had in him.

While he was lost in his thoughts of good saddle ponies and downed logs high up on a mountain, and money to pay for things you needed, but not wasting it on things you wanted, his father spoke to him again. “Do you remember how much you spent on candy?”

Joe practically spit out his drink! Was his father going to make him pay it back?!

“Oh, uh, I think it was, uh, eight dollars and some change.”

“It was eight dollars and fifty-three cents change exactly.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I expect you to pay me back, son. You spent that money without my permission or knowledge.”

Yep! His Pa expected him to pay it back! Little Joe had no idea how to go about coming up with the money, so he asked, “How do I do that?”

“You’ll come straight home from school every day for the rest of the school term and do extra chores until we’re square.”

“O…okay.”

“…and…”

Joe looked over at him, somewhat confused.

“You’ll stay close to the ranch, helping Hop Sing with the summer garden and storing vegetables in the root cellar on Saturdays from now until harvest…”

“But Pa! On Saturdays?! It’s not a school day! I can usually get with my friends on Saturdays…”

“Not for awhile you won’t. Not until I feel you’ve learned to use your free time constructively on your day off, and not on an activity that might get someone killed….”

“Oh, yeah, Johnny.”

“’Oh, yeah, Johnny.’ Speaking of Johnny, you did tell him you would buy him a new shirt, did you not?”

“Um, yeah, I guess I did.”

“What you meant was I would pay for a new shirt. You were going to order it from the haberdashery and I would pay for it? From our account. Am I right?”

Little Joe only winced and nodded despondently.

“Well, that shirt cost his mother four dollars. You will work four additional weeks once school is over until you’ve earned four dollars and then you will purchase a shirt for him and present it to his mother, along with a sincere apology for shooting her son…”

“But Pa! ‘For shooting her son’?!? He didn’t really even bleed.”

“That doesn’t matter! You shot him. You’ll apologize for using a firearm carelessly and almost killing her son! You will do this. You will take responsibility for your actions. Actions that could have cost your friend his life. Do you understand?”

He tried again to argue his case, “Yeah, I guess he could’a died, like Dutch’s Pa…but what if…”

“What if, what?”

“Well, what if she…what if….what if she….”

“Wants a pound of your flesh?”

“Yeah, in a manner of speaking, I guess that’s it.”

“I guess you could say you owe her that. You almost took a ‘pound of flesh’ from her son, didn’t you?”

Again, Little Joe could do little more than nod miserably.

“I expect you’ll have to find a way to make it up to your friends.”

Little Joe knew that statement was a certainty. He would probably have to apologize to Royce and Johnny for leading them to a bad place where they had to lie along with him about the shooting just to save his own hide. He and Mitch had been friends the longest, and fighting with Mitch had been the thing that had hurt the most in this whole miserable mess.

There was so much to contemplate. When he got home he knew he had lots of work to do. Physically, he had to work off his debts. He might be sixteen before he saw the light of day again! He’d have to square everything with Johnny’s parents, with Mr. Fletcher at the general store, and with his friends; his father was going to make certain of it. None of it sounded like it would be enjoyable, but Little Joe now knew why his father’s ‘punishment’ was given…he was helping him become the type of man who is true to his word, responsible, one who could be believed when he says something. He also knew it wasn’t going to be easy to do – he’d already told Mr. Fletcher that his father had given him permission to buy candy…Hannah would now know he’d lied to her father. Could she ever trust him again? Johnny’s mother well and truly might murder him when he showed up with the new shirt…but he’d also brought that predicament on himself, he reasoned. Would she ever trust him to go off with her son on a free day again? Sounded like he wouldn’t find out for a very long time. Then there was Mitch…who he’d fought with over keeping the big lie from him – and now it was all out in the open. Was his friendship with Mitch so broken it could not be restored? He did want to grow up to be an honorable and trustworthy man, like his father, like his brothers, but this was going to be a hard thing to do. He resolved he wanted to see it through and earn back his father’s trust in him.

Chapter 12

They’d been gone less than a week, but Little Joe felt like he’d learned so much about his father that he never knew. Things he’d never considered in fourteen years! His father was an honorable man; while he knew that in theory, he’d seen it in practice on this trip. His father was wise and responsible – the kind of person everyone trusted and went to for help in their troubles. Little Joe wanted to be that kind of man and hoped this trip and the things he’d seen and heard were going to help him achieve that goal.

In one way, he was grateful there would be no physical punishment, but the punishment his father has meted out sounded like it could make life very lonely during the rest of his school career. Sleep wasn’t easy to achieve, but when he did sleep, Little Joe slept like a baby…contended and comfortable. His conscience didn’t bother him nearly as much as it had been for the past month!

* * * *

They made one more stop the next morning before the final turn onto the road that led to home. It was a tall tree that seemingly stood alone in a field. As they approached it, his father pointed out the tree line beyond this one tree that bordered their property, and then he dismounted and showed his son the marker in the ground that was the property marker of their land. Then they walked the few paces to the tree itself.

“Son, this tree not only marks our property border, but I’ve used it for other things, too. Come and look.”

Little Joe walked to the far side of the tree and saw Adam and Hoss’ names carved into the bark. He looked up at his father, confusion showing in his eyes.

“Your brothers have made this swing with me a time or two. I brought them here before, and now you, to focus on our land, our family, to think about the man you are becoming, and what it means to all of us. I expect you’ve learned a thing or two the past few days…”

“Yes, sir. I have. I want to be the kind of man you’ll be proud of, Pa. I’m sorry for gettin’ in so much trouble lately. It seems like when I have a good idea, and it goes bad, I kind of double up on trouble tryin’ to get out of it!”

“Well, maybe you should just own up to your trouble at the first, rather than letting it take you places you’d rather not end up?”

“I’m not sure I even know how to do that, Pa.”

“I can help, if you’ll talk to me when you get into a mess.”

“I’ll try to remember.”

“That’s all I ask, son. There are no shortcuts to get out of trouble when you get in so deep, you can’t see anything around you. Unfortunately, there are no shortcuts to becoming a man, either. You’ve got to learn how to be trustworthy, and it doesn’t come from telling lies about your troubles.”

“I think I see that now, Pa. And I see that even an innocent action, if it’s a bad one, can have bad consequences. Ones that might not go away even after you grow up.”

“Would you like to put your name here? As a way of remembering what you’ve learned this week?”

Little Joe smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

* * * *

The ride the rest of the way home was quiet; reflective would be a good description, although Little Joe wouldn’t have called it that. But reflect is what he did. He again reflected on what he’d learned about himself and about his father. What he’d heard from those he didn’t know but who knew and respected his father. He’d learned a hard lesson and found a new respect for firearms. He learned that there are ramifications for spending money you hadn’t earned, and he’d learned it’s better to own up to your failures immediately because eventually, they’ll come after you anyway!

He’d come to see his father as not just the “authority” over him, but a man whose experience and wisdom was widely respected by many other people. Little Joe could not imagine life without his father, which made him treasure this time together with him even more. He determined he wanted to be the man his father expected him to be, was raising him to be…a man who would also be respected in their world, whose word could be counted on and whose business practices were looked on as successful, not because of how much money was in the bank, but because of the kind of family that ran it.

Yep. Little Joe knew then. He knew he really was the “luckiest son of a gun on the whole planet.”

The end

© 2018

A/N – Historical notes:

* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anglo-French_War: The Anglo-French War was a war between the Kingdom of France and the Kingdom of England. The war was mainly fought in Normandy, where John, King of England fought King Philip II of France for domination. The end of the war came at the decisive Battle of Bouvines, where Philip defeated England and its allies.

** https://www.google.com/search?q=colt+re … &ie=UTF-8I n 1836, Connecticut-born gun manufacturer Samuel Colt (1814-62) received a U.S. patent for a revolver mechanism that enabled a gun to be fired multiple times without reloading.

*** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/OrphanTrain The orphan trains for wayward, homeless and orphaned children operated between 1854 and 1929, relocating about 200,000 orphaned, abandoned, or homeless children. The train operated mostly in the eastern portion of the United States, and I may have elaborated somewhat on its use for Little Joe Cartwright!