Summary: Joe is once again in a tight spot

Rating: PG    Word count: 6500

Stuck

One moment, he rode over the rough terrain; the next, his horse collapsed as if someone had pulled the ground out from under its front legs. With an eerie sound, more like a shriek than a whinny, the animal fell on its side, like a tree been separated from its roots by the last blow of the axe. Joe heard a crack and felt something in his leg give way. He screamed, but more in surprise than in pain. The pain would come later. His racing heart pumped blood through his veins, alerting his body and heightening all his senses. He felt the rough, stony ground scrape his right leg up to his hip as he slid along with the horse down a slope. He heard stones rolling past them and could smell the dust of the sun-baked ground settling on his mucous membranes. The gelding writhed and twisted as he tried to get to his feet but to no avail.

The world stopped as the horse’s croup slipped against a larger boulder. The young man lay on his side, gasping for breath. Everything had happened so fast. As slowly as the dust settled, so did his pounding heart. Now came the pain. A searing, crushing pain burned from his right leg down his entire side. It was like a fire. Not a tiny fire with flickering flames, but a roaring, all-consuming fire devouring a rotten old tree stump after a lightning strike. Joe screamed.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, wrapped in red-hot agony.

Trying to shake off the dizziness, Joe rubbed his face. He concentrated on his breathing: in, out, in. The most important thing was to get the horse off his leg! The young man kicked his heel into the gelding’s side, spurring him on with a yell, but the horse just lay there, ears back, flakes of sweat gathering on his neck. Raised on one elbow, Joe`s eyes wandered over his mount’s body. A glance at the bay’s distorted front legs, sticking out at a bizarre angle, explained why it couldn’t get up. How did the stupid animal manage to break both legs?

The horse’s twisted eyes reflected Joe’s own pain. His nostrils were wide open, and he could hear his desperate, strained snort. Joe fumbled for his gun. There was only one thing left to do. The bullet the young man put into the beast’s head put it out of its misery.

Exhausted, he dropped to the ground, trying to assess his situation. He lay head down on this rocky slope. His eyes swept over the barren landscape. Only some bushes and a few crippled trees were scattered among the boulders, and the setting sun bathed everything in a reddish light. His right boot was still in the stirrup. The gelding rested on the trapped limb—searing lightning bolts shot through his calf at the slightest attempt to move it.

Groaning, Joe closed his eyes and bit his lip. Was his leg as badly broken as the animals? The full gravity of the situation seeped into his pain-fogged brain. He was trapped beneath his dead horse.

He had to get free. Joe tried to gather enough courage for what he was about to do. He knew it would be bad. Very bad. Hellish.

With all his strength, the young man braced himself against the carcass. He screamed in agony as he pulled on the pinned leg as hard as he could until the pain became so all-encompassing that it swept him into oblivion.

 

When Joe came to, it was dark. He opened his eyes to see the stars twinkling in the night sky above him. Pebbles stuck to his cheek, pressing uncomfortably into the soft flesh. His throat was raw, like he had swallowed a handful of dust, and his whole body ached. The night was silent; no sounds could be heard, only his blood pulsating to the rhythm of his beating heart. Like a fast-rising tide in San Francisco harbor, the memory came back. The fall. The horse on his leg. The pain. It began to burn again in his right side, and Joe arched his back with an agonized sound as he tried to relax his muscles.

Joe knew lying there would get him nowhere; he had to act! Forcing his concentration away from the overwhelming pain, he tried to think about his remaining options.

His saddlebags! Maybe he’d find something useful there, but he’d only be able to reach the left one. Groaning, he turned around and undid the buckles. His groping fingers wandered over the items stowed in the pouch, pulling them out one by one. The stars provided little light, and he had to rely on his sense of touch. He felt cool glass; a flat bottle of whiskey had survived the fall unscathed. There were a few matches, something hard and fibrous—probably jerky, his spare shirt, and a knife. His bedroll was tied to the back of the saddle. Joe rubbed one of the matches on a rock until a small flame appeared. In the flickering light, he looked at the items lined up beside him. None of them would help him free himself.

Once, after a bad fall while breaking broncs, a horse landed on him. His brothers had to cut it with an axe to free him. Joe thought he still smelled blood in his nose from that action. He rejected the idea of using his small knife to cut up the carcass himself.

The match burned his fingers, and he dropped it. He watched impassively as the glow faded, only a tiny wisp of smoke tickling his nose. The smell was comforting and soothing, like a warming campfire. He took off the jacket and tucked it under his cheek. Resigned, he dropped his head onto the soft fabric, closing his eyes. There was nothing he could do at the moment. His mind wandered, and he found it hard to focus. The pain and the exhaustion caused him to fall into a mixture of unconsciousness and restless sleep.

 

When he awoke early, he first registered the blazing agony, now focused on his lower leg, sending flames to his toes and hip, followed by the memory of his current situation.

Running his tongue over his parched lips, Joe tried to swallow. His mouth was even drier than the day before. He put a pebble in his mouth to suck on. Hoss had taught him to do that when he was a little boy. Joe smiled at the thought. They had been exploring an old silver mine together—Pa knew nothing about it, of course—and had forgotten to bring something to drink. Little boys didn’t worry about something as trivial as a canteen.

The canteen! Joe straightened his torso and looked around at the barren surroundings. Up there was the spot where his horse had fallen. Perhaps both front legs had been caught in a crevice. On the way down, they had left twisted bushes and brownish stains on some rocks, with scattered scraps of his pants in between. And there, about ten yards away, was the canteen.

Joe’s hands brushed over the saddle horn between his legs. His fingers touched something rough. His lasso! With careful jerks, he tugged at the rough hemp until he could pull the rope out from under the carcass. The throbbing in his injured leg increased with the effort, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Panting, he leaned back to give the fire in his shin time to subside.

The rising sun was already intense, starting to heat the rocks and ground. He needed water! Joe knotted a noose in his lasso. Throwing the rope in his semi-recumbent position was almost impossible. The sling hit its mark—and slipped. Again and again and again. At some point, he dropped his head on his jacket, exhausted. He was so tired. He would rest for a while.

The buried memory of how Hoss had taught him to use the lasso when he was a child drifted out of his subconscious mind.

“Swing easy and then throw lightly from the wrist,” his big brother had told him. Joe had been persistent back then, practicing until he had mastered it.

Joe chuckled when he thought about how Adam had fallen victim to his training. His oldest brother came out of the barn when Joe’s lasso had come across his torso, tying his arms to his chest. The action had earned him a bath in the horse trough, but it had been worth it!

Determined, the young man straightened up. He would not surrender! This time, the noose found its target and tightened around the canteen. With bated breath, hands trembling, he pulled the life-giving liquid closer, inch by inch.

The first sips of the warm, stale water tasted better than anything he had ever drunk! The rest would have to be rationed, and Joe forced himself to save it for later. He listened with regret to the tantalizing gurgling sound.

After he drank, he felt an urgent need. The uncomfortable pressure on his bladder was just another drop in the barrel of pain. Joe pushed the thought aside, considering his options.

The packhorse! The young man’s eyes swept the heat-filled surroundings. Deep down, he knew the horse was long gone. If he was lucky, it was already on its way home.

Joe did the math. He had been on his way to the most distant cabins. The animal wouldn’t make it back to the ranch until tomorrow. That was at least three days before any help could arrive. He knew his family would search for him, but would he still be alive? They had much territory to cover to find him.

Joe’s thoughts drifted back. Pa had smiled at his fidgety excitement when he allowed him to make the line shacks trip alone. Joe had been so proud to be trusted with such an important task, and now he had screwed everything up.

He had to free himself; there was no other way. It would probably be too late if he stayed here and waited for help.

Joe’s eyes fell on the knife. A trapper had told him that some animals would bite off their paws to escape the iron. Joe turned on his side, reaching for the knife. He ran his thumb over the blade for a quick check. It was sharp and left a small bleeding cut. He would have to do it just below the groin if he cut his leg off. He could use the rope as a tourniquet, and … Joe shuddered at the thought.

“No, forget it; the thought is ridiculous,” he muttered. Even if he could amputate his leg, he would still die here. How would he get out of here without a horse? And even if he had a horse, he couldn’t mount it.

Lost in thought, he stroked the base of his thigh. Maybe he could dig his leg out. He had to give it a try, at least. Wishing he was wearing his gloves, he dug his hand into the loose stones near his right hip, scraping them aside. Working half on his side in a bent position was more than uncomfortable. His back and splayed left leg, which rested on the carcass, tensed up. As the sharp pebbles shredded his fingertips, Joe didn’t even notice. Lazy blood oozed from the scraped skin, trickling down his wrists. With an unfocused gaze, Joe watched the pile of stones grow beside him.

Another cramp! Joe groaned and stretched to get through the violent muscle spasm, then returned to his tedious work. The young man’s advance was slow, for the deeper he dug, the harder the ground became, and several thick boulders blocked his path. Joe reached for the knife, drilling and levering until it snapped, sending a painful shock through his hands. The tip of the blade was off, but the head-sized stone wobbled! Inch by inch, the boy scraped and scratched at the earth until he could roll the chunk out of the hole. Now, he was able to move his leg!

His heart began to race with excitement. Could he break free? Joe tried to pull his foot out from under the horse, biting his lip to keep from screaming. A couple of rocks rolled back into the pit, but the leg had moved a bit! His arms shook as he braced himself, pushing his hips backward. There was a brief shock as something caught, but only the stirrup had gotten stuck on a rock. His foot slid out of the hole, and Joe collapsed, panting as the tension released. He had done it; he was free! Hot blood pumped into his leg, bringing it back to life. The previous dull throbbing became an angry roar like a waking predator’s, but relief outweighed it.

Joe rolled over on his back, laughing and staring at the sky. Only now did he notice the vultures circling overhead.

Don’t rest. You have to keep going; he tried to motivate himself. He allowed himself another sip of water, keeping the delicious liquid in his mouth as long as possible to wet his parched tongue, sticking in his throat like a swollen lump.

The excitement had sharpened Joe’s senses. He thought he detected a hint of decomposition, and the horse’s belly swelled. A few iridescent green flies buzzed around his head, and the rocky ground radiated heat through his thin shirt.

Joe considered. The river ran a few miles to the south, but it was unlikely that he would be able to make it there. His eyes were on the desolate landscape. One option would be a crawl up to the trail, where he would have a better chance of being found than here on the hillside.

Now that the horse was off him, Joe felt the painful pressure of the rapidly swelling lower leg. The boot needed to come off! With the dull, broken knife, it was an arduous task that took much energy. Joe breathed a sigh of relief when the final cut severed the tough leather at the ankle.

He hesitated for a moment before he reached for his trousers. The young man feared what he might find under the fabric, which was torn and stained with blood. The blade sliced through the pants with a ripping sound, revealing a bloody, gaping wound on his calf. Joe forced himself to look closer, but no bone ends pierced the skin, and the lower leg was only slightly bent. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the cloth back over the injury and untied his blanket from the saddle. His sore hands protested as Joe fashioned a makeshift splint from a tree branch, the blanket, his jacket, and pieces of the lasso to provide support and padding for the leg.

His stiff fingers ached when he knotted his spare shirt into a sort of pouch in which he tucked his few possessions from the saddlebag. He slung it around his shoulder, along with the canteen. Now would be the hard part; he had to reach the top of the slope.

 

Crawling on his hands and good knee, sometimes on his elbows or stomach, it took Joe until well into the darkness to reach the trail. He had dragged the injured leg in its thick padding behind him, trying to move it as little as possible, but still, the pain had been so bad that he had been on the verge of losing consciousness several times.

 

Joe ran his hand over his sweaty face and through his hair, which had become a felt-like mass with the dust. His shirt stuck damp against his body because he`d lost much fluid from the exertion. He fumbled for his canteen, which felt light. His thirst was so overwhelming that Joe couldn’t help himself and downed the last sip.

The young man tried in vain not to think about water. All he could imagine was the involuntary plunge in the horse trough, the fishing trip with Hoss when he was fifteen and tried to find out something about girls, and the refreshing dip in the river with Matt, the ranchhand, on their way back from Placerville.

Should he eat something? The brown, crumbled jerky didn’t look very delicious, but it made sense to keep his strength up. He took a piece of the tough meat between his teeth and began to chew. The fibrous mass was almost impossible to break down without saliva. It seemed to grow and grow until it filled his entire mouth. Disgusted, he spat it out.

Curled against a rock, Joe waited for the morning. He would have liked to wrap himself up in his jacket, but getting it off his leg was too much of an effort.

His mind wandered to his family and what it would be like if he didn’t come home. Pa, hands in his pockets, would pace up and down the living room, brow furrowed in worry. Hoss would saddle the horses and pack bandages, and Adam would try to determine which route Joe might have taken on his line shack trip.

When he thought of Cochise standing safely in his stall, Joe sighed with relief. His horse recovered from a stone bruise. It would be terrible to shoot his beloved pinto!

It was pleasant to lie still and think of nothing special; the pain was almost bearable. Like clouds torn by the wind, his thoughts drifted into the void, and a restless sleep made him doze off.

 

Morning came, and with it, yet another day of agony. Joe thought he might have an infection because he felt hot with a throbbing headache. Stones pressed into his side, and the relentless pain wore him down. He shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs surrounding his mind. The boy grabbed his gun and opened the chamber. There were five bullets left. If worse came to worse, he had a way to end it. It was a comforting thought, but he was still far from giving up. Joe gave a tired grin; it was not for nothing that he was known as the most stubborn of the brothers.

His gaze wandered to the dim sky. There had been only two vultures initially, but now a dozen circled above him. Some birds were already fighting over the carcass; Joe could hear the flapping and squawking, and a lone coyote howled in the distance.

Joe wiped his eyes. Every time he blinked, it felt like he was rubbing sandpaper. He was so young and had his whole life ahead. Why did this have to happen to him? Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed the horse so hard. Perhaps the fall was caused by the animal’s exhaustion. Self-reproach tormented the boy. He had been so eager to prove he could do the job he had been entrusted with. He`d wanted to make his father proud.

 

The sun was high in the sky when Joe awoke again. How could the time have passed so quickly? Had he slept for several hours?

Thirst. And pain. It was all that was left. In the long run, dehydration, constant pain, and exhaustion could wear a man down. Sadness and self-pity overwhelmed him. He was afraid. He didn’t want to die. Not like this, all alone here in the wilderness. Would he even be found? Would they bury him by the lake, next to his mother?

Closing his burning eyes, Joe rested his head on his arm. Sounds pierced through the thick fog in his brain and caused him to jump. He could hear hoofbeats and voices! For a moment, the young man panicked. Where was his weapon? He almost sobbed with relief as his groping fingers closed around the cold steel. Raising the gun, he pulled the trigger three times. “Hello, I’m here! Help me!” Joe’s desperate cries broke the silence that had settled like a blanket over the barren landscape, causing a few vultures to flutter.

*****

“Look, Aaron, a horse!” Two men approached the loaded packhorse, whose reins were tangled in a bush. The animal stood motionless with its head bowed, all the greenery within reach gnawed away.

Slim, the smaller of the two cowboys, dismounted and circled the animal. “Looks like it has been stuck here for at least a day or two.”

“I know the brand. It’s the Ponderosa’s!”

“They’ve got good horses. We’ll take it and sell it!” said Slim, letting his eyes wander over the deserted surroundings.

“Oh, I don’t know, this is Ponderosa country. If anybody catches us with that horse, we are in trouble.”

Slim pulled off his hat, scratching his head. “We’ll say we found it and wanted to bring it back. Maybe there’s a reward. That would be easier to get money than a new job. How much would Cartwright be willing to pay for the horse?”

“Give the animal something to drink, and we’ll take it anyway. He’s no good to us dead, and it looks pretty thirsty.”

Pouring water from his canteen into his hat, Slim held it out to the horse. It was so greedy that it almost snatched it from his hand.

“We’ll ride down to the river and water him,” Aaron said, steering his mount down the slope.

“Look, vultures! Perhaps the horse’s dead owner? Come on, let’s see, maybe there’s something left to take.” The two brothers grinned at each other, turning their animals toward the circling birds as three shots rang out.

*****

Trying to make out something, Joe lifted his head and squinted. Rocks rolled down the slope, which meant someone was nearby.

“Thank God!” He muttered as he saw two riders with a pack horse approaching him in the backlight. The tension slipped out of his body. Help was on its way. He was not going to die here.

It wasn`t his brothers as hoped. Two strangers got off their horses and approached him. One was tall and slender, the other a little shorter, and they looked so much alike that they had to be brothers. Both were dressed like typical cowboys, and Joe guessed they were a few years older than him. They had unshaven faces; their clothes were dirty and patched in places, but they still looked familiar to him.

“Joe Cartwright!” The shorter one laughed. “Don’t you remember us?”

Too surprised to react, Joe just lay on his side and allowed the man to take the loosely gripped revolver out of his hand and tuck the weapon into his waistband.

“Wilson, right? You were harassing a girl at the Silver Dollar,” Joe said, trying to keep his voice calm, forcing himself not to yell at the two to give him water.

“Yeah, and you had no reason to get involved; we just wanted to have fun!” Aaron spat, disgusted.

Joe hated to beg, “Please, help me. I need water!”

“Water is precious out here,” Aaron said, grabbing the bottle from the saddle horn and dangling it from the strap in front of the young man. What will you pay for it?”

Groaning, Joe laid his heavy head on his arm. These two guys, of all people, would have to find him. “I’ll give you all my money, but please …”

“What do you think, Slim? We’re helpful people, ain’t we?”

“Sure, we are!” Chuckling, he looked at the man lying on the ground, noticing the tattered clothes, the blanket wrapped around his leg, and the damp and filthy curls clinging to his forehead.

With gratitude, Joe reached out to the canteen. The cool liquid tasted beautiful, and he drank and drank—.

“Stop, slow down. You’re going to throw it all up again!” The container was snatched from his hands. Joe tried to grab it, for his thirst was far from quenched.

“We’ll help you, Cartwright, but I’m afraid you’ll have to be on horseback. There’s nothing around here to make a travois. Can you make it?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?”

“If you don’t want to stay here …”

“Where’s the money you have on you?” Aaron asked.

“Jacket … on my leg.”

Aaron drew his knife and approached Joe while Slim’s eyes were on the dead horse. The two men had long since noticed the carcass at the bottom of the hill, and Joe watched as Slim began to descend. “I’ll see if there’s anything else of use!”

Kneeling next to him, Aaron reached for the injured leg. “Broken?”

“Don’t touch it!” Joe yelled as he tried to slide out of reach.

“I just want to get the jacket!” The man laughed as he cut through the ropes with a quick slash.

While Joe tried to fasten the blanket around his leg with scraps of rope, he recalled his first encounter with the brothers. It had been several months ago. Back then, they had been clean-shaven and not so run down. They had drunk too much that night, lost money at poker, and harassed one of the saloon girls. Joe regretted his intervention now, but he had never been able to stand by and watch a woman in distress, and his temper had once again gotten the better of him.

With the saddle and rifle, Slim climbed back up, cursing and stumbling as his boots slipped in the loosening scree.

“Did you crawl up the hill with this busted leg?”

Joe held back a response, but he thought he could hear admiration in his voice.

The taller man rummaged through Joe’s green jacket. “Fifteen dollars? Are you kidding?”

“You can keep the packhorse.” The young man watched as the two redistributed the load on the pack horse and secured Joe’s saddle to his back.

“I don’t think that will be enough payment, boy. After all, we’ve got to feed you and drag you for days!”

Joe stifled a comment. Anything he said would make his situation worse. He wasn’t looking forward to sitting in the saddle with his injured leg; it would hurt like hell.

“Slim, you take the packhorse; it’s not used to riders, and Cartwright gets yours.”

The man muttered under his breath: “Okay, but that’ll cost him.”

As the two pulled him to his feet, Joe clenched his teeth. Sweat began to gather on his forehead, and he nearly fainted. He would have ended up in the dirt if the men hadn’t held him.

“Get up!” He felt their hands on his buttocks, pushing and pulling until Joe landed in the saddle. His knuckles turned white, so tight was his grip on the saddle horn, focused on keeping from passing out and falling.

When they set off—Joe’s horse being led by Aaron—waves of pain coursed through his lower leg, but the young man knew he had to hold on.

 

The small group made its way toward the Ponderosa. They had stopped at the river to give the horses a drink and fill up their canteens. The barren landscape was replaced by lush grasslands where cattle grazed, interspersed with small clusters of pine trees.

 

When Aaron finally decided they had gone far enough that evening, Joe slumped over the horse’s neck, half unconscious. It was sheer willpower that kept him in the saddle.

After being pulled from the horse, he rolled screaming on the ground, clutching his thigh. His useless leg had been dragged across the saddle and hit the ground with his heel. It took Joe several minutes to fight off the pain and catch his breath.

He just lay there, smelling the sunburned ground and grass. Ants crawled over his face as he waited for the men to set up camp. It wasn’t that they were cruel to him; they just didn’t care. He was like cattle to them, driven to market to get paid for it. When he felt a canteen at his lips, he swallowed greedily. After that, he slipped into a fitful sleep.

 

The smell of coffee and bacon awakened him. Lifting on his elbows, Joe looked at the pan sizzling with beans and bacon. He assumed the two of them had helped themselves to supplies from the packhorse.

“Hungry?” Slim asked, and without waiting for a reply, he handed Joe a plate of grub and coffee.

“Thanks.” Joe tried to force some of the food into his mouth, but he wasn`t hungry at all.

He had to make the best of the situation; he had no choice. After all, the men would take him back to the Ponderosa. They wouldn’t have to become friends.

 

“Get your hands behind your back!” A foot kicked his hip. Confused, Joe blinked. Standing over him was Aaron, holding a length of rope.

“What?”

When Joe didn’t answer, he was turned onto his stomach, and his wrists were pulled behind his back.

Joe squinted his eyes, moaning. “I’m your prisoner now? Do you think I’ll run? I can assure you: I’m not going anywhere with this leg!”

“Haha, you’re a funny guy, Cartwright. Just shut up.”

Joe heard the two of them whispering and laughing around the campfire for a long time, and they seemed to be hatching a plan. At some point, despite his uncomfortable position, he drifted off to sleep.

 

When Joe was untied the following day—someone had thrown a blanket over him during the night—he rubbed his numb hands until they worked again. He undid his fly and relieved himself where he lay, not caring what the brothers thought of him, but none of them paid attention. After crawling closer to the rekindled fire, he got food and as much coffee as he wanted. He felt the men’s eyes on him as if judging if he would last another day in the saddle.

 

By the time they were back on the road, it was clear to Joe that his condition had worsened. When the pain in his leg became excruciating, Joe reminded himself that each step of the horse brought him one step closer to home. His head felt filled with thick molasses, and there were times when his consciousness slipped. He collapsed over the horse’s neck, the saddle horn pressing into his belly, the horse’s mane in his face. At one point, he sensed a body behind him in the saddle and strong arms around him.

“Adam,” he muttered, “You’re not to blame your bullet hit me!” After all, their wolf hunt had been successful, and they had killed the predator, hadn’t they? The only odd thing was that the pain wasn`t in his left shoulder but in his right leg, which felt like it was dipped in fire.

In a lucid moment, he realized Slim held him, not Adam. Feeling uncomfortable riding so close to a strange man, Joe made a face and tried to slide forward, but the saddle horn stopped him.

“Sit still, Cartwright; we’ll be there soon!” Slim scolded, annoyed.

Joe thought he was lucky they hadn’t thrown him over the saddle on his belly and tied him down.

Relieved, the young man realized the ranch house was already in sight. Before long, I’ll be in bed with the doctor looking after me, he thought. Please, God, don’t let me lose my leg.

It felt warm and swollen. Adding to his discomfort, it was spread out at an uncomfortable angle by the thick blanket wrapped around it. Groaning, he rubbed his thigh, trying to relieve the cramp, and the thought of just lying in the soft bed seemed like heaven. He sniffed. Was there a whiff of roast in the air? Maybe Hop Sing was starting to cook.

“Don’t fall, boy!” Slim slid off the horse behind him to relieve himself in the bushes.

*****

Ben had dozed off over his book in the chair by the fire.

“Did you hear that, sons? Were those gunshots?” Alarmed, he looked toward the door and frowned. Ben saw that Hoss and Adam, sitting playing checkers, were already on their feet. He rose and rushed behind Adam, who had reached for his gun on the credenza. They stepped outside and looked around, but there was nothing special, just the pine trees standing black against the gray evening sky.

“Mr. Cartwright!” A voice shouted from the darkness. “Come to the back door! We have to talk!”

Unease spread through the elder Cartwright. “Get inside and wait!” he whispered to his sons, who were both armed and ready to jump in. As he hurried around the house to the back entrance, he strained to see through the vegetation, the trees reaching close to the back wall.

“We have the boy!”

“Joseph?” blurted out Ben, and his heart rate quickened. “What do you want? What about him?” He tried in vain to make out anything.

“He’s going to need a doctor, but he’s alive. We want money!”

Ben took a few steps toward the voice. “I need proof that he’s all right! I want to talk to him!”

“Pa,” he heard the voice of his youngest, “I’m fine,” but his weak tone betrayed his words.

“We want $5000, and we’ll release Joe.”

Knowing he didn’t have that much money in the house, Ben tried to stall for time. “Hold on, I’ll check the safe to see how much is in there, but I will probably have to go to the bank to get that amount!” The worry for his son was a sting in his heart, but he had to stay calm.

 

When Ben went outside again, he put his hands to his mouth, and his loudest voice boomed through the darkness, “Hello, can you hear me? I’ve got $600 here, a month’s pay for the hands. You can have it now, but I want a guarantee that Joseph will be okay. You have to get the doctor out of town so that he can take care of him. If the boy is seriously injured or if he dies, you will not receive a single cent, and I’ll be on your heels and hunt you down until I catch you!”

“Our word will have to do, Cartwright. We will wait until tomorrow. At the same time as now, you will deposit the money at the horse-breaking corral. As soon as we have the money, we set the boy free. Do we have a deal then?”

“And what about the doctor?” Clenching his fists, Ben stepped among the trees.

“You stay right where you are, Cartwright. We’re not going to get a doctor!”

*****

Joe hung his head. The soft bed had become an unattainable dream, and enduring another day made him despair. He hoped it was a tactic to stall the men, knowing they didn’t have $5,000 lying around in the safe. Would his family try something to get him out, or would they play it safe and get money from the bank tomorrow?

The throbbing and pulsing of his leg radiated up to his hip and side, and Joe had no idea how much longer he could do with the wound untreated. Trying to get rid of the dizzy feeling, he rubbed his forehead. Holding his breath, Joe glanced over the bushes and trees where they hid. He listened for sounds and tightened his body, ready to jump off his mount or onto one of the men. While Aaron negotiated with his father, Joe steered his horse closer, unnoticed by him. Maybe he could reach for the gun or—.

“Hold it!” Adam shouted from somewhere in the brush to the left, and Aaron’s hand shot to his hip to draw. Joe grabbed the weapon as well. Panting, the two men struggled for the gun. The fight with Aaron cost him his last remaining strength, but he didn’t let go of his wrist even as the man’s fist connected with his jaw. Faintness was already nibbling at the edges of his consciousness when a shot rang out. His opponent clutched his stomach and collapsed.

Joe saw a figure—he recognized Hoss only by the big white hat—jump out from behind a tree and press a rifle barrel into Slim’s back, who immediately raised his hands. Another shadow appeared next to him, reaching for him, but the horse spooked and jumped to the side, and Joe fell—and landed in Adam’s arms.

“I got you, boy!”

 

Ben didn’t even notice that branches left bloody scratches on his face as he ran through the underbrush toward the voices, carrying a lamp and his gun. “Adam, Hoss, where are you?” Fear gripped his heart—had he made the right decision when he sent them off to attempt a rescue?

“We’re here; everything’s under control!” his eldest son yelled.

“Thank God!” Heart pounding, Ben lit his youngest’s face with the lamp as he knelt. “Joseph, where are you hurt?” He brushed back the curls that clung damp to his forehead, noting the feverish heat radiating from him. Even in the flickering light of the oil lamp, his son looked pale, and Ben had to lean over him to make out the soft voice.

“Pa!” His son’s smile was a grimace of pain. “Broken leg. Long story … Sorry, haven`t done … my job.”

“Sshht, Joseph, it’s all right. The main thing is you’re alive.”

Joe turned to Slim, who was pushed closer by Hoss. “The two of them … found me. The other one … dead?”

Adam nodded and motioned to Slim. “What are we going to do with him?”

“Let … him … go,” Joe said as he closed his eyes and gave himself to the darkness.

 

Joe came to in his bed as Hoss began to strip him of his dirty clothes. He enjoyed the feeling of his father using a damp cloth to wash the last few days’ dirt and grime off his body. Meanwhile, Hoss worked on his leg, and the young man gave a short gasp as his brother pulled the cloth away from the blood and secret-covered wound.

Tense, he pressed his head into the pillow and clung to Pa’s hand as Hoss cleaned the leg, his fingertips probing the broken part.

Joe groaned, “How bad? Am I going to lose my leg?”

The knitted brows and severe blue eyes scared him.

“It’s bad enough, but I think the doctor will be able to fix you up. Adam’s already on his way to town. Good thing the fracture isn’t open!”

When Ben tucked him in, Joe reached out for his hand.

“Pa, I’m sorry. The trip to the line shacks—I messed up.”

“Joseph, I’m proud of you for surviving. Nothing else matters.”

Joe smiled and closed his eyes, glad to be in the soft, clean bed and have a family that cared for him.

 

The End

 

Author’s notes:

It’s one of my first stories, written summer 2023

Tags: SJS

Episodes Referenced: My Brothers Keeper, written by Seeleg Lester