Adam found Hoss with Joe. Hoss’s beefy arm cradled the pillow, bandaged head of his young brother. In his big paw the small bottle containing the glucose drink looked even smaller.. He held it at an angle against Joe’s lips. Joe was drinking and to Adam it looked as if his brother was somehow more comfortable or at ease. He wondered if the doctor had given Joe something to ease any pain. Even to Adam, Hoss’s soothing tones were comforting. Could it be that Joe knew Hoss was with him? Could Little Joe even though he appeared lifeless, could he hear his brothers voice? Could he in fact hear what was happening around him? Could he sense that Hoss was helping him.?

Adam determined that on Friday not only would he get to know more about Etta he would question Thomas Simms on his recollection if any, of his experience as a victim of a serious head injury.

The days passed in the same manner. Hoss and Adam would do turnabout with the daily chores. Of course Etta’s small homestead was not in anyway on a par with the Ponderosa. The regular chores…milking the cow, feeding the chickens…tending the vegetable garden were dealt with speedily and efficiently. Both Adam and Hoss had experience with the somewhat bad tempered birds, and also with the gardening as Hop Sing had made sure that all of Ben Cartwright’s son’s were proficient in these skills.

Adam without any prompting had made a list of property maintenance and the brothers on a process of priority worked their way through the schedule.

The tending to their brothers personal needs was handled together. Etta was a disciplinarian. She
kept a strict timetable. The brothers fell into her pattern and found that even their brothers bodily functions could be almost timed to perfection. One thing that Hoss and Adam noted was that Little Joe salivated and moistened his lips even before either brother had placed the water filled bottle
anywhere near his mouth. Etta assured them that it was a good indication that his body was responding to the treatment and the timetable. Adam joked that it was the first time their brother was on time for a meal. Etta too, at the brothers insistence taught them basic massage. It was now the habit of both brothers to apply these exercises to Joe’s muscles every time they had to move his body position. Adam and Hoss found that the massaging and flexing of Joe’s limbs to be as comforting to them as it was necessary to Little Joe.

Adam asked if any medication had been prescribed for Joe. Etta told him no, that apart from ointments and salves and herbal potions for the many cuts and scrapes, but that due to the head injury no pain medicines such as laudanum or morphine could be administered. Adam decided that maybe it was his own wishing for Joe’s comfort that he had actually seen it displayed on his brothers face.

It was at Hoss’s suggestion, as there was now very little left to do re the maintenance, that the brothers set about installing an indoor pump to the kitchen. With Adam taking the wagon into town the next day he would be able to pick up any materials they needed. Hoss would do the ground work and have everything prepared on Adam’s return. It was impossible to keep such an undertaking as a surprise although both brothers would have preferred that. Adam was more than pleased when he received a spontaneous cuddle and kiss on the cheek. That Hoss also received the same treatment he accepted with a wry smile, but it still niggled at him.

Friday found Hoss digging away happy as a jay bird. It was agreed, as Hoss had requested that he spend the day on his task that Etta see to Joe. Adam had left early, straight after breakfast.

Well before lunchtime Adam turned the wagon onto the main street in Turner’s Cross. He passed a neat white washed house surrounded by a white picket fence which supported a plaque. This he took to be Thomas Simms’s house. Bypassing the property he pressed on toward the ‘Turner’s Mercantile’ which was plainly visible at the far end of the street, next to the ‘Turner’s Bar and Saloon’, which was next to the ‘Turner’s Inn’. He mused to himself as to whom Mr Turner was. It was at the Mercantile which doubled as the Telegraph Office that he learned that the telegraph was still silent. The man standing with his back to the counter was obviously between customers. He took Adam’s order, flicked his experienced traders eyes over the items and scratched at his head then pulled at his ear in thought.

“You in any hurry for these stranger?”

“Not if you mean at this moment as l am having lunch in town. If you mean that anything has to be ordered and sent for then yes l am in a hurry. Or l may well have to do without or make a compromise. What is it that you are exactly saying?” Now the itch had moved to the man’s chin and forehead.

“l reckon l have most things, but l’m gonna have to check on a few other bits and pieces, that’s what l mean..”

“Fine, l’ll have a beer and check back with you. If you need more time l will have my lunch and then return. Is that suitable to you?” The trader gave Adam a knowing nod and turned his attention back to the two woman dithering over a bolt of material.

Leaving the shop Adam took a leisurely stroll around the town. Taking a perfunctory glance down a side street, he didn’t bother to follow through with his footsteps. Deciding to keep to the one main street of the town. From the corner of his eye he spied the town sheriff. Sitting in a rickety chair outside of his office. The man nonchalantly taking no notice and every notice of anything and everything. Much as Roy Coffee would do in his town. The presence of the stranger was silently noted. Crossing the street Adam knew he would be confronted as soon as he was in ear shot of the man.

“Howdy stranger.” the sheriff a long legged, unshaven, unkempt individual. As much alike Roy Coffee as a saddle tramp would be to a Banker. He made no effort to stand but stretched his lengthy booted feet across Adam’s path.

“Sheriff.” Halting his stride, he acknowledged the man.

“Turner, Sheriff Turner.” Adam wasn’t a bit surprised. Biting off the end of a well chewed cheroot the man accurately spat the unwanted piece from his mouth onto the wooden board walk. The gobbed debris landed within a frogs hair distance of Adam’s boot. Unflinching Adam kept the sole of his footwear in contact with the tobacco stained plank.

“Anything l can do for you…Sheriff.” Edging the final word with a hue of disdain Adam looked down at the bare hatted man his deep hazel eyes darkened with the same hue. Sheriff Turner’s hat perched precariously on a broken piece of timber jutting out on the frame of his office door.

“Not a thing…’part from stating yer business fer being here in ‘My’ Town,” Adam was about to make one of his particularly smart, sarcastic remarks regarding the sheriff and ‘His Town’ but then decided against it figuring it possibly was ‘His Town’ and that anything smart or sarcastic would be totally wasted on the man.

“Just needed the use of ‘Your Mercantile’ and then l will be needing the use of ‘Your Saloon’ though it is not my intention to make use of ‘Your Inn’”. Stepping over the outstretched feet Adam was well aware that Sheriff Turner’s annoyed eyeballs were burning holes in the back of his black vest. Grinning with satisfaction he recrossed the dusty street and mounted the opposite pavement. Pushed open the swing, half doors and entered the ‘Sheriff’s Bar’.

It pleased him to find the beer cold but displeased him to find the welcome on a par. Initially the over weight barkeep was chatty. The usual greeting of ‘not having seen you around town.’ and ‘was he a stranger?’ which to Adam’s mind one question countered acted the other, but he obliged. Pretty much the same as he had told the sheriff. Though he told neither man he was having lunch with Dr Simms. All was fine until the barman’s questioned as to where Adam was staying. On Adam’s reply ‘at the Tone ranch’. Adam figured the look he received could have split granite. Even though the bar had few occupants and Adam hadn’t heard any call for the saloon keepers attention. The man scurried away and proceeded to wipe what appeared to be spotlessly clean table tops. Adam’s parting wave and farewell went unanswered and unheeded and seemingly unheard.

Returning to his wagon and finding that all his requirements were loaded. Adam removed some coins from his vest pocket and voicing his thanks handed them to the youth who had carried out the chore. The store-man delighted with a new customer handed Adam the bill and sounded out as to the who’s, whys and wherefores. Who Adam was, where he was from and where he was staying. The first two questions were received and answered in a friendly manner. The third question answered in no less a friendly fashion but received with a cold disdain.

“Didn’t reckon that breed had any friends. You don’t look like kin? Guess though you’re dark enough to be.”

Adam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Peeling off the required amount of dollars he handed the notes to the man. “And if l were…kin?”

“Folks round here don’t cotton to her sort.” Adam was losing the battle to keep his composure and control and stop himself from giving the man the poke in the mouth he deserved.

“And what sort might her sort be?”

“Aint my place to say.”

“Really? Adam feigned surprised. “it appears to me that you cannot say, but you can pass judgement.”

The storekeeper looked the tall Cartwright up and down assessing him with the intolerant eye of a self opinionated and ignorant bigot. “Nah, you don’t look like no breed, you aint no kin.”

Returning a dose of the stare that had been handed out to him, Adam pulled himself up onto the seat.  Taking a moments thought, picked up the reins.

“I guess then that marks me down as a friend, doesn’t it?” his words were as smooth as silk but there was no warmth in them. As too the cold eyes that cut through the tradesman. At first Adam ignored the outstretched hand containing the required amount of change due to him. Then he looked upon the man’s hand and the money held therein as if they were dirt. Something that might have been scraped from the heel of a boot. “I am sure a man with your Christian attitude and beliefs would know of a deserving cause that would benefit from those coins.” mouthing a click Adam slapped the reins and urged the pony forward, toward the doctors and lunch.