Summary: Joe tries to repair his friendship with Mitch, which leads to many other problems. Meanwhile, he’s being watched.

Rating: PG       Word Count: 20100

Sequel to the story ‘The Summer Vacation.‘ It is useful to have read the first story, but not necessary.

 

Reckoning and Redemption

Chapter 1

I staggered into the barn, oblivious to anything but the whisky on my breath. If only I knew then what someone had been plotting in the shadows—watching me, waiting for the right moment. Ignoring the cheerful music and laughter echoing down Virginia City’s main street, or the warm, inviting light of the lanterns, I plowed my way through the crowd. Everyone but me appeared to have fun and feel good.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some couples turning to frown at me. I knew how I would look to people. My white shirt was wrinkled and, like my breath, reeked of whiskey. One finger tucked in my green jacket; I’d slung it over my shoulder while my string tie dangled loose around my neck.

My first stop was the punch bowl. As I reached for the ladle, hand trembling, I spilled some of the sticky liquid before filling my glass. I drained it in one huge gulp, slammed it back on the table, and glanced at the dancing men and women.

The upright bass and fiddle duo played a snappy polka as dozens of couples twirled around the floor. Between all the colorful dresses and smart suits, I had trouble spotting my friend Mitch, who danced with his girlfriend Fanny, a cute blonde with a snub nose. I threw my jacket over a chair and rolled my shoulders. “You asked for it, Mitch,” I murmured, jaw set, plowing my way through the dancers without worrying about bumping into people or pushing them aside.

“Hello, Fanny,” I greeted Mitch’s girl with a heavy tongue and grabbed her upper arm in the middle of one turn. “Wanna dance with me?”

Her shrill voice made me wince. “Joe Cartwright? You’re drunk!” She wrinkled her nose and grabbed my wrist with her tiny hand. “Let go! You’re hurting me!”

“Come dance with me, sweetheart.”

Rose-red lips parted to answer, but I cut her off with a kiss on her cheek. She pulled away from me with a jerk, smacking her palm across my face. “You’re disgusting!”

Before I could react, a hard fist slammed into my jaw, sending me staggering backward and tumbling to the tamped ground. Keeping my eyes on Mitch, I scrambled to my feet. He stood before me, bent over, ready to fight, both fists clenched. His next punch burst my lip and sent my head flying sideways. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, tasting blood. My face twisted into a grim smirk. “All right, Mitch, if that’s how you want to play it …”

Headfirst, I lunged at my friend’s midsection, causing him to double over and collapse. In a split second, he was on his feet again and hammered his fist into my ribs, knocking the air out of me. I was flung around and collided with a beam.

The music had stopped, and a curious crowd surrounded us. I knew my friend was stronger than me, and my chances of winning were slim. It was pure luck combined with wrath that I’d won our arm wrestling. I hoped that this anger would also help me in this fight.

I could smell my sweat, which formed damp patches in my armpits, and the dried whiskey on my shirt. That my friend would strike me so hard was something I hadn’t expected. Pressing my back against the supporting beam, I sought his gaze, raising a hand in defense. “Mitch, don’t.”

But the cold sparkle in his pale, steel-blue eyes told me he meant it. It seemed all his frustration of the past month burst out of him. More blows rained down on me, hitting my stomach, ribs, and chin. I landed a few good ones, too, but I took the worst of it. Eventually, I went down and stayed down.

++++

The dark-clad figure, blending into the shadows in a dim corner of the barn, took off his hat to sweep his chin-length, wavy hair out of his face. After a last glance at the wanted poster in his hand, he folded it, tucking it into his pocket. It was crumpled from so much viewing, and the paint had faded from the creases.

The man was just a silent observer for the moment, but his time for action would be at hand. These Cartwrights are no better than the rest of us. They’re proud of their wealth, but seeing that drunk boy is embarrassing. God, with his looks, he sure doesn’t need to make a pass at someone else’s girlfriend, you’d think. Oh yeah, the other fellow gave him a good one! And I’ll make him suffer even more.

++++

I saw the oval shapes of blurry faces hovering over me. Helping hands grabbed hold of me, pulling me to my feet. A glance over my shoulder showed me Fanny standing beside Mitch, dabbing at his injured eyebrow with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. ‘The noble knight defended his girl’s honor,’ I thought bitterly.

Someone pushed my hat back on my head and another man dragged me outside. The crisp night air was a soothing balm on my swollen, bruised face.

“Ride home, Cartwright. Sleep it off before the sheriff locks you up for disturbing the peace,” a voice said, as they urged me toward my horse. Cochise snorted with outrage as I flopped hard into his saddle, pushed up by hands on my butt and legs. The leather reins were forced into my fingers. A palm slapped my horse’s hindquarters, and the pinto’s jump almost knocked me out of the saddle.

Cooch settled into a steady trot, and I knew he would take me home even without me steering him.

Heck. What had gotten into Mitch? We were friends, weren’t we? I’d apologized to him, but I knew words alone couldn’t undo the damage I’d done. When we’d met recently for the first time in many weeks, we tried to mend the thin bond of friendship and restore the playful ease we used to have. I thought we had succeeded, but it seemed I was wrong.

Groaning, I pressed my upper arm against my aching ribs. My face felt sore and hot, and I could still taste the blood seeping from my split lip. I hung my head, trying to relax my aching body. ‘You deserved this,’ I told myself. ‘You deserved every one of those blows.’ I’d hurt Mitch as well, just not in a physical way. He had every right to beat me.

I managed to sneak up the back stairs to the top floor without being noticed. The house was dark and quiet, with only the faint snoring coming from Hoss’ quarters. Holding my breath, I tiptoed toward my room, avoiding the creaking floorboards. After lighting the lamp, I stepped in front of the washstand. I winced as my groping fingertips skimmed over the painful bruise on my cheekbone. My lip was swollen, and remnants of dried blood stuck to the corners of my mouth and chin. Disgusted, I unbuttoned my shirt, which reeked of spilled whiskey and sweat. With a groan, I pulled it off and threw it on the floor, knowing Hop Sing would grumble about the torn sleeve and the bloodstains.

Grimacing, I felt my ribs and tender stomach, but at least Mitch had restrained himself enough not to do me serious harm. Had he been out for revenge, or had he simply lost control? I wanted to believe the latter.

Well, it was over. I splashed water on my face, washed the blood from my skin, and lay down on my bed, bare-chested, hands clasped behind my head. I had paid my debt. Hopefully, Mitch and I will have a fresh start.

++++

Pa awaited me in the morning, standing beside the breakfast table with his fists propped on his hips. His posture and facial expression told me he’d gotten wind of the fight. As a kid, I thought Pa was all-knowing, which still seemed true.

“Uh, good morning, Pa. Why didn’t anyone wake me? Where’s Hoss and Adam?” Hoping to find support from my middle brother, my eyes darted around the room.

The volume of Pa’s voice made me flinch. “I know you got home late, and I could smell the whiskey in the hallway outside your room! I’m lucky to have at least two sons with responsibility and enough sense to know how much work it takes to run a ranch. Joseph, this must stop! What do you look like anyway?”

I stepped back as Pa reached for my chin to inspect my face. His voice softened. “Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Pa took a deep breath, and I knew the worst was over. “Breakfast?” He gave me a peace offering, gesturing to the table, where a place setting for one awaited me.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Pa was smart enough to wait until I’d had my first coffee before revealing his plans. “Joseph, I’ve decided to send you to the lumber camp at Crow Creek for about one week. You’ll oversee operations there.”

I looked at him wide-eyed, the fork filled with scrambled eggs floating in front of my open mouth. “But …”

“I’m not going to argue with you. I thought I’d give you some slack after what you went through in that gold mine. But this is the second time in two weeks you’ve come home drunk, and now that you’ve started fighting, I don’t see any other way.”

“You know what happened yesterday?”

“Yes, I do. One of the hired hands was at the dance, too. He told Adam everything this morning. I thought you and Mitch would have worked it out by now.”

“I thought so, too.” I rubbed my hands over my face. My appetite was gone. Instead, I grabbed my coffee. “But you’re wrong. Mitch made me—”

“I don’t want to hear excuses. There is no reason to act like this in public and embarrass yourself. Your behavior reflects on me and the whole family. You pack your bags and head up to Crow Creek. Now! I’ve hired two more men, Amos, and Horace, because there were complaints that cutting the trees in the time given was impossible. They will go with you. Besides, the lumberjack foreman said the men were drinking and demanding more wages. It takes one of us to handle this.”

From Pa’s tone, I knew there was no point talking him out of it. Bringing up my planned date with my current girlfriend, Rosalie, wouldn’t help either. I’d have to write her a note and cancel it. “Yessir.” I stood, head down, and shuffled upstairs to pack. I saw through Pa’s plan. The distance and rough terrain between the camp and Virginia City would keep me out of the saloon and clear my head. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

 

Chapter 2

Deep green, mighty trees framed the camp and filled the air with the fresh, clean smell of pine. The men had done a good job of felling the marked timber over the past few weeks, but for some reason, the mood in the camp had changed, and it was up to me to bring the spirits back up.

“Why doesn’t it go any further?” I asked no one special, glaring down the chute leading downhill to the river where we were moving the logs. A few men had gathered in a spot, arguing. They gestured, and scraps of shouted words reached us.

“Maybe one of them logs got stuck!” said Bill, standing at the top of the chute. “Happens all the time. Them fellas are too dumb to do a good job.”

Something about Bill bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was his speech slurred, or was that his drawl? Was there a hint of whiskey in his breath? It was my second day at the lumber camp, and I was still in the process of getting an overview.

I didn’t pay attention to the man standing behind us with one hand buried deep in his pocket, smoking instead of working.

“Alright, I’ll check it out.” I straightened my hat and hurried down the slope to join the three men. These loggers were the poorest crew we’d had in years. They were lazy and incompetent and drank, but there were plenty of good-paying jobs in the mines, so we had to take whatever workers we could get. Stripping the logs and sending them down to the river was a task that even inexperienced men could handle, or so we’d thought.

The problem jumped out at me. The pine trunk had not been carefully delimbed, and one of the branches was snagged. I drove a short hook deep into the wood and tried to free the log, but it didn’t move an inch. “We need a lever!”

++++

“You can send the next one!” said a voice behind Bill, who took a secret sip from the flat glass bottle and then slipped it into his jacket pocket.

“Alright.” With a groan, he pulled and yanked until another trunk rumbled on its way down. When he turned to get the next one, the man behind him was gone, or had he just imagined the voice? It was damn hot, and his throat was as dry as dust, so he reached for the bottle of golden liquid once more.

++++

I was so absorbed in my task that I didn’t hear the noise until it was too late.

“Joe! Get away!” someone yelled behind me and grabbed my shoulder. I tried to dodge backward, but my jacket sleeve caught on a protruding splinter. With horror in my eyes, I stared at the log hurtling toward me, knowing what was about to happen.

I imagined hearing the sickening sound of breaking bones as the trunk hit the wedged one with a dull thud, my left hand caught in between. The searing pain that erupted in my hand and surged up my arm was excruciating, overwhelming me until a scream escaped me. Around me, a hustle and bustle broke out. Men were yelling and cursing, and I could make out words like lever, tourniquet, and doc from the mix of voices. At one point, I passed out, which was a blessing.

++++

Half running, half sliding down the slope, the man in black watched the frantic attempts to free the pinned boy. The confusion reminded him of a flock of startled chickens. A gleeful expression flitted over his face. It was pure luck that presented him with this great opportunity, and drunk as Bill was, he probably wouldn’t even remember what he’d whispered.

By the time he reached the excited group, two of the men grabbed unconscious Cartwright by his arms and legs and laid him on a flat spot. “Let me pass, I was a medic!” the man shouted, shoving one of the lumberjacks aside to see how badly Joe was hurt.

Glad that someone took charge, the men stepped back, their faces showing horror at the sight of the bloody lump, which had little resemblance to a hand. Had the tree not had a beveled cut surface, nothing would have been left to save.

The long black hair hid the man’s face like a curtain as he yanked his belt from its loops and wrapped it twice around Joe’s forearm to stop the bleeding. No one watching saw the grim smile that curled his lips as he inspected the wound. Under his groping fingers, he felt the give of splintered bone. Despite the tourniquet, lazy blood oozed from the torn flesh, embedded with pieces of wood and bark, and ate into the green fabric of the jacket sleeve. Too bad you’re out, but that won’t last long.

“Bring bandages, hitch up a wagon, and notify old man Cartwright!” The foreman’s firm voice took over command as he joined the group and bent over to inspect the mangled limb. “Hell, I’d bet a month’s pay the boy’s gonna lose his hand!”

“Most likely,” the black-haired said. “But much has happened in surgery since the war started. It depends on how good the doctor is.” 

“Doc Martin’s good, but he’s over his head with this,” the foreman mused.

The medic wondered if taking bets on whether young Cartwright would keep his hand was inappropriate. He decided it was best to keep his mouth shut on this matter. “The tourniquet needs to be loosened regularly. It would be best if I accompanied him to town.”

“All right. Here comes the wagon. Get Joe up the hill, men.”

++++

I awoke in a bumpy buckboard, and my first sensation was a fiery throbbing in my hand. Every jolt over the potholed and root-covered path sent agonizing ripples through my arm. I could feel splinters of bone rubbing against each other. Someone wearing a black shirt and hat sat beside me on the wagon bed. “Adam?” I whispered, trying to focus my gaze, reaching out to touch his knee, but the figure backed away.

“Nope. Not Adam.” 

I realized from the thick beard and chin-length hair that I was wrong—it was one of our new ranch hands. As the wagon rumbled over a stone, I let out a groan, squinting my eyes to block out the bright sun and the sharp pain. It only worked for the sunlight.

How I wished I had someone from my family with me. Hoss would stroke my hair and tell me I’d be all right. Adam would encourage me to hang in there, and Pa would steer the wagon around all the obstacles as gently as possible. Instead of a brother’s caring glance, I received an irritatingly cold stare from glistening black eyes. The man seemed to smirk a few times, which made no sense, so I blamed it on my imagination. 

The ride seemed to last hours, and I hovered between being awake and unconscious. Only the relentless throbbing was constant. 

 

“Whoa!” 

I was grateful beyond words when the driver pulled the team to a stop. They grabbed my arms and legs, pulled me off the wagon bed, and carried me into Doc’s office. My dangling hand slammed against a door frame and made me groan out loud. 

“Watch out!” somebody scolded, and with a sense of relief, I recognized Doc Martin’s familiar voice. “Lay him on the table! What happened?”

I was in good hands with Paul Martin, or so I thought. That he would have someone to assist him, I didn’t expect.

++++

The doctor began to unwrap the dressing as the man in black watched with his arms crossed like someone enjoying a good show. “Looks pretty bad, Doc.” He tried to keep the grin from his voice. “I can give you a hand. I served two years as a medic in the Civil War.” 

“As a medic? And now you work for the Cartwrights?” 

“Yeah, I’ve done all kinds of jobs. Lumberjack, horse wrangler, cowboy. If you ask me, that hand needs to be amputated.”

The doctor frowned. “I’ll do everything I can to save it. We have better conditions here than on the battlefield. Did someone send for Ben Cartwright?” 

“Yeah, right after the accident. What are you going to do?” 

Paul Martin stirred a generous amount of white powder into a glass. “While I heat water and prepare my instruments, you may give Joe laudanum. Then, I will clean and examine that hand. Get him undressed. Use a pair of scissors to remove his clothes. Over there, you find clean sheets.”

“You can count on me, Doc!” 

After the blood-soaked jacket and shirt had landed in a messy heap on the floor, the man covered Joe up to his chest with a sheet. With Doc Martin still next door, he hurried into the waiting room, poured the milky liquid into the withered pot plant, and refilled the glass with water. “Joe, can you hear me?” 

“Hm?” The young man’s head turned an inch toward the insistent voice. 

“I enjoy watching you suffer. It serves you right,” the ranch hand whispered close to Joe’s ear.

“What?” 

“The women of Virginia City won’t be so eager to date you in the future. Which lady would want to go out with a cripple?” The man in black took the injured hand and squeezed. A nerve-wracking scream made him jump, and caused the doctor to rush into the room, a steaming bowl with an alcoholic-smelling liquid in his grasp.

Scowling, Paul Martin eyed his self-appointed helper and then Joe, who showed all the signs of shock. He was pale, covered in a fine film of sweat, and trembled.

“Here you go, Joe. Drink it down.” The medic lifted Joe’s head with one hand and helped him to drain the water, which the doctor noted with satisfaction. 

“Joe must be hurting if he’s going to swallow that so easily,” Paul mused aloud. He saw the man ease the patient’s head back on the pillow and set the empty glass on the table, brushing a curl from Joe’s brow with a caring gesture. “We’ll leave the tourniquet in place until I finish cleaning the wounds. Have you loosened it from time to time?”

“Sure.”

Doc Martin looked at his watch. “Well, let’s get started. The laudanum should kick in by now. Joe, can you hear me?” 

A faint nod with closed eyes was the response.

“I’m going to soak your hand to prevent infection and clean it. It’ll hurt, but the medicine should take the edge.”

“Where’s Pa?” came the barely audible voice.

“They sent for him, but I can’t wait that long. The sooner we tend to that wound, the better.”

“‘kay.”

“Mr., I don’t even know your name.” 

“Amos.” 

“All right, you take hold of his forearm. Dip his hand in this bowl.”

Paul had never heard such a scream from his young patient, and he prayed he would never have to hear one like that again. Maintaining his professional demeanor and concentrating on removing pieces of bark, dirt, and splinters with tweezers was an almost impossible task. His patient squirmed and tossed on the examination table, moaning in agony. 

Amos had a hard time keeping Joe calm. Although he had put on a sympathetic face, inside, he felt the opposite. He soaked in the sight, savored the pain, smelled the blood and the pungent bath, and saw the dampness on their patient’s pale skin. Joe’s right hand was clenched in a fist, white knuckles jutting like snowcapped peaks. Amos would never forget the tear running down the boy’s cheek, the tense sinews of his neck, and the breath that came in short, ragged gasps.

The water had become murky reddish, with pieces of bark and dirt floating, when Paul straightened from his bent position and wiped his hands dry. “We’re halfway through. Now it’s time to do the palm.” Looking at Joe’s face showed squeezed-shut lids and a steep vertical wrinkle between the drawn-together eyebrows. Paul could see moisture shimmering in the corners of the boy’s eyes. He had bitten his lower lip hard enough to show tooth marks. Doc Martin rubbed the corners of his mouth and frowned. “Joe, did you drink the whole glass?” 

“Dunno.” Green veiled eyes met the doctor’s blue ones.

Paul let his breath out in a gush. “Either I administer an anesthetic, or I give you some more laudanum. I won’t torture you like this any longer. Do you hear me, son?” 

“No anesthesia. I can make it. Just gimme ten minutes,” Joe whispered.

“Lift his hand from the water, Amos. I have to change it anyway. Guess we can all do with a short break.”

Joe slumped in relief at the delay. It would give him time to regain strength and endure further treatment. Just before he dozed off, the medic shook him roughly on the shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep. The doctor said it’s important you stay awake!”

“Huh?”

“Do you know what it’s like to have your arm or leg cut off? In the war, we did it hundreds of times. Unless you’ve been there, no one can imagine the horror. You know what it sounds like when the saw eats into your bone and how the blood spurts? Can you imagine the piles of amputated limbs—often still stuck in the boots—and the empty sleeves or pant legs? Do you know the scent of infection and decay?”

“Amputation?” Joe asked, his eyes widening.

“Yeah, most likely. Say, where’s the gold from that mine? Maybe I can convince the doctor not to amputate if you tell me.”

“Gold?”

“You will tell me—” Amos fell silent as Paul Martin returned to the treatment room with a fresh basin.

“All right, let’s get on with it.” The doctor’s voice sounded more determined than he felt. Behind his professional facade, he could almost physically feel the pain that he was about to inflict on his young patient. He opened a brown glass bottle and placed a gauze mask over Joe’s mouth and nose. “Lie still. I’ll give you some anesthesia. I should have done it from the beginning.”

“NO!” Joe turned his head away, tried to wrestle his arm from Amos’ grip, and slid to the table’s edge. “Not my hand! No anesthetic!” 

All involved were drenched in sweat as they finally managed to calm Joe down. “All right, son, no ether. How about another dose of laudanum instead?” Doc Martin dissolved the powder and held the glass to the young man’s lips, who drank it down to the last drop. The doctor watched with a smile as his patient relaxed and finally fell asleep. This time, the medication worked as intended.

 

Two hours later, an upset Ben Cartwright stormed into the surgery, faster than a hailstorm. Doc Martin stopped his friend in the waiting room to fill him in, while Amos listened to the conversation through the half-open door.

“This is all I can do right now, Ben. This injury needs an experienced surgeon. I’ve already sent a wire to San Francisco, and my colleague has agreed to come by coach as soon as possible.”

“Will Joe lose his hand? What if he gets an infection?”

“We can worry about infection later. I did a good job with the cleaning.”

Ben Cartwright muttered something unintelligible, and Amos wondered if his boss had noticed that the doctor had only half-answered the question.

Stepping next to Joe, the ranch hand saw that he held his arm in a way that avoided the slightest touch. The boy must be in immense pain. Amos traced the edge of the treatment table and sniffed the air. The room held the scent of blood, alcohol, and sweat. From next door, still, muffled voices rang out. Amos could understand fragments of words such as treatment options, recovery, and nerves.

Finally, the two of them walked into the room, the doctor steering the worried father with a hand placed on his back.

Amos watched the boss approach his son with tentative steps, hesitating to touch him, afraid to cause him pain. “Joseph? How are you?” 

“Hey, Pa,” came the whispered reply, and Joe reached out to find comfort in his father’s grip. “It hurts some.”

‘How touching,’ Amos thought, grimacing with disgust. 

As if Ben had sensed something, he turned to stare at the cowboy’s cold black eyes. “Amos, thanks for your help, but I need you at the lumber camp. This logging must be done by the end of the week. You can tell the men I pay a bonus if they make it on time.”

“Yes, boss.” Amos slicked back his hair and put on his hat. “When we’re done, I’d like to get a job on the ranch. As you know, I have plenty of experience, and until your son can work again …” 

“Yeah, sure,” Ben Cartwright mumbled distractedly, placing his hand on Joe’s forehead to check for a fever.

As the door of Paul’s practice clicked shut, Ben turned his attention to his long-time friend. “Paul, I can tell Joseph’s in a lot of pain. Can you give him more of these powders?”

The doctor rubbed his chin, covered with a five o’clock shadow. “He already had a double portion. I don’t know … he might stop breathing.” 

Ben’s voice revealed how upset he was. “He won’t. Put him under or do something else to stop the pain!” 

He watched Paul walking next to Joe, take the pulse, and lift one of his eyelids to inspect his pupils. “They should be severely narrowed after this amount of laudanum. That’s strange.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“How well do you know that ranch hand of yours?” 

“Amos? I don’t know much about him. I just hired him. Why?” 

“I’m not sure. But you’re right. We need to give Joe another painkiller.”

 

Chapter 3

Dusk was falling, and the setting sun cast a reddish glow over the landscape. A few jays cawed in the pine trees surrounding the ranch house, their tops swaying in the gentle breeze.

Amos watched his Boss ride into the yard. Ben Cartwright, who had always been like one of those trees, strong and unbreakable, looked exhausted. A frown furrowed Ben’s forehead as his gaze fell on the hired hand.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the timber camp.”

“Uh, I’m on my way back. I just came to get more bullets. We’ve got a wolf problem.” Amos took Buck’s reins as Ben, not entirely convinced, dismounted. “I’ll stable your horse, Mr. Cartwright.”

The door flew open, and Adam and Hoss hurried out. 

“How was the surgery?” Hoss asked, his blue eyes filled with concern at seeing his father’s drained face with the dark circles under his eyes. 

“Fine. Joseph’s still asleep. Paul told me to ride home and get some sleep, but I’m going to grab myself a clean shirt and a few things for the boy, and then I’m heading back to town. Amos, would you saddle me a fresh horse? And then I want you to go back up to Crow Creek. How’s the work going?”

“As planned, we’ll be done by the weekend.” 

‘One problem less,’ Ben thought, rubbing his burning eyes.

“What’s the prognosis?” Adam asked. 

“Fifty-fifty. If all heals well, if no infection occurs, and if not too many nerves are damaged, Joseph might be able to regain some use of the hand. The surgeon studied in Europe, where they developed a new technique. He fixed the bones with wires.” 

Hoss grimaced at the mention of wires and scratched his head until his hair stood out in all directions. “That’s a lot of ifs.” 

Ben heaved a deep sigh. “What’s the matter, Amos? What are you waiting for? Get me a fresh horse!” 

“Sorry, Mr. Cartwright. I wanted to hear how the boy was. I didn’t expect the hand to be saved.”

Ben circled his tense shoulders. “It took the surgeon three hours. There were a lot of bone fragments he had to put back in place. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Hoss walked up beside his father and put a hand on his arm. “Pa, you look beat. You lie down for a few hours, and I’ll go to town. You can take over later.” 

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Okay, then I’ll saddle Chubb?” Amos asked, satisfied with the detailed information. He turned away from the Cartwrights to take the buckskin to the barn and to hide his excitement.

++++

The days after the surgery were a blur of drugs and pain, hazy faces hovering over me, and words I didn’t understand. But I knew someone from my family was present. They helped me get through the aches and terrible nausea following the anesthesia. They cared for my needs and fed me broth when I was awake. 

“Paul, how’s the hand? I asked one week after the operation, the day I was to be released home, anxiously searching his unmoving face for a clue. With his back to me, Paul blocked my view of the wound by pulling my hand across his lap when he peeled off the last layer of the dressing. 

“I can’t say much yet, but it looks good. There’s some redness, and it’s still swollen, but that’s expected.” 

“Let me see it!” 

“Son, I believe you’d better wait a few more days until—”

“No. I wanna look!” 

The doctor sighed. “Alright, but it’s not a pretty sight.”

“Oh God!” The ugly scene made my heart skip a beat, and I swallowed against the tightness forming in my throat. Would this swollen lump, stitched, bruised, and crusted with blood, ever work again? In my opinion, it was out of the question. 

My face must have betrayed my feelings because Doc Martin gave me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “Believe me, I didn’t expect the result to be that good. Let’s wait and see, shall we? We’ll soak your hand in the bath again, and then you get a nice new bandage and be on your way home. How does that sound?” 

I huffed in resignation. “Quite wonderful.”

++++

Amos strolled past the Ponderosa porch with his hands buried in his pockets, watching Joe sitting with his eyes closed in the rocking chair. His pale face was turned toward the setting sun, and his thickly bandaged hand was raised on a fluffy pillow. Amos could tell by the young man’s pinched lips and tense posture that he was in pain. ‘It’s a good thing the tree-cutting is over,’ he thought. ‘After all, I’d signed on at the ranch to be near the boy.’

The doctor had visited his patient this morning, and a muffled scream was heard through the cracked window as Amos and Horace had worked on a wagon with a broken axle. He had closed his eyes for a moment, trying to memorize the sound. This was better than he ever imagined his revenge, and with luck, young Cartwright would be crippled and in pain for the rest of his life.

“Hoss, what’s wrong with Joe?” he’d asked, feigning sympathy, after the middle brother had walked a tense and serious-looking Paul Martin to his buggy. 

Hoss carried a sick expression. He’d pointed to the back of his hand. “Doc had to cut. Joe got an infection. I held him down while Paul—” his face turned a shade of green, and he fell silent. 

“Hey, next time, ask me. I worked as a medic in the war.” 

“Thanks. Hope there ain’t a next time. What about that wagon? Are you going to finish it today?” 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

Chapter 4

Several weeks later

“Joe, the calf! We’re waiting!” Hoss’s call jolted me out of my thoughts. When my head popped up, I noticed several cowhands with blank eyes staring at me.

“Huh?”

“You have to brand it! Where’s your mind?”

“Girls,” I laughed, shrugging my shoulders to hide what was bothering me. As I had done a hundred times before, I grabbed the branding iron—and dropped it with a yelp as a violent cramp shot through my hand. Darn, I again had forgotten that I’d better use my right. Until the ache subsided, I massaged my palm through the black leather glove with my thumb. I saw Adam dragging the next reluctant calf with his lasso, exchanging knowing glances with Hoss, who was still waiting for me to brand the struggling animal. I clenched my jaw and resisted the childish urge to throw the iron down and run. Doc gave me his okay to return to work, but that didn’t mean things were the same as before the accident. Nothing was back to normal.

The ranch hands standing around, eyes glued to me, also knew how I was doing. Hadn’t these fellas got better things to do?

++++

Amos observed Joe at the fire pit from under the brim of his hat while the other hands talked in low voices.

“That boy better find a job he’s good at.”

“Yeah, he’s quite clumsy.”

“We’d be finished by now if he didn’t keep dropping the branding iron or dreaming.”

“Hell of a thing for a man to be a useless cripple at this age.”

The dark-clad man choked back the wicked laughter that threatened to burst out, hoping it would pass for a cough, and took a sip of water from his canteen. He enjoyed seeing the boy so frustrated by his inability. Removing his hat, he stroked his sweat-matted black hair. The heat made the skin under his thick beard itch.

Adam’s sharp voice roused the men from their inactivity. “Come on, fellas, there are plenty of calves in the bushes back there!”

++++

Anger and shame made my face glow, but Adam’s order managed to snap me out of my daze. With my right hand, I finally picked up the iron and did my job. The sun and the heat of the fire left me drenched in sweat, and the smell of burnt fur and flesh hung thick in the air. We worked for another hour and I did my best not to be clumsy and to apply the iron evenly.

I knew the cowboys were talking about me. When I came within earshot, they fell silent and turned their backs, trying to hide their scornful and pitying glances. Respect was everything to a man. A fella who couldn’t pull his weight wasn’t worth a damn.

“Break!” shouted Adam, and you could hear a collective sigh of relief. Tired and dirty, we shuffled to the wagon, where Hoss handed out sandwiches Hop Sing had prepared.

Apart from the others, I propped my back against one of the mesquite trees that provided shade from the scorching sun. The still cool water from my canteen washed the taste of cattle from my throat and refreshed me. I wiped a mixture of sticky sweat and dust from my face with my shirt sleeve and removed my gloves.

Without tasting anything, I chewed the bread topped with cold roast beef while massaging my left hand, which was covered with bulging red scar tissue. The fingers were numb in some places, sensitive in others, and quite stiff. Spasms and stinging pain would occur at unpredictable moments. Paul Martin said the scars would fade, and agility would improve with time, but it was annoying.

“You hurting?” Hoss walked over to me, slapping my shoulder. I heard the sympathy—or pity—in his voice and reacted with irritation, as I often did these days.

“Nothing I can’t handle!” Why couldn’t people leave me alone? Someone always needed to comment on my injury or ask how I was doing. My appetite was gone. The bread in my mouth turned into a dry, chewy lump, so I forced it down my throat and stood. “Are we going to sit here all afternoon? Come on, let’s get these calves branded!”

Before Hoss turned away, I saw the sadness over my harsh reaction in his blue eyes. A pang of guilt shot through me. I mumbled a low apology, but he was already several feet away. I wouldn’t holler after him to excuse myself in front of all these cowpokes. I guessed they figured I’d better stay home. There was no place on a working ranch for a man who couldn’t grip hard.

Pinching my lips to keep from moaning, I yanked the reluctant glove back over the half-dead lump of flesh that used to be my left hand. Doc was satisfied with the result, but for me, it would probably mean I would have to look for another job.

 

Chapter 5

The following day, after breakfast, Pa stood, rubbing his lower back. “Come on, boys, another day’s waiting! Hop Sing has asked for someone to chop firewood. His supply is running low,” he said to no one in particular. “One of you should take care of this before you ride to the herd. I have to go to town on business.” Pa took his gun belt and hat and walked out the door. I pushed back the chair, stopped at the credenza to grab my gloves, and headed outside. In front of the barn, a stack of wood was already cut into handy pieces, awaiting splitting. I grabbed the large axe with my left hand, but it slipped.

“Heck!” Disgusted, I looked down at my powerless hand. The long hilt was made for two-handed use. I’m not even good at the simplest tasks! By sheer willpower, I forced my fingers to wrap around the handle. I swung the splitting axe over my head but couldn’t control it as it fell. The blade hit the wood at a skewed angle and slipped off. Cursing, I tried again and again. Beads of sweat gathered on my chest and moistened my shirt as I hacked at the wooden block, more furious than a steer at the sight of a red rag.

It was only when the ranch hand took a step forward, I realized I had an audience.

++++

Amos stepped out of the shadow of the bunkhouse, his thumbs hooked in his belt. ‘It’s ridiculous how Cartwright’s trying to make himself useful,’ he thought. ‘The way he’s handling that axe, it’s only a matter of time before he drives the blade into his thigh.’

“What are you staring at? Don’t you have something better to do?” Joe shot a sharp question at him. Amos shrugged, tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomped it out with the toe of his boot, and sauntered over to his saddled horse. The full beard hid the man’s smirk. Young Cartwright is so clueless.

++++

“Joseph, for God’s sake, stop it before you hurt yourself!” Pa burst out of the barn, dropping Buck’s reins, and rushed beside me. He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and wrestled the axe out of my hand. “I didn’t realize you thought my request to chop wood referred to you.”

“It’s a good thing people don’t always think of the cripple when they give out tasks, isn’t it?”

“I know you worry because you can’t work as hard as before, but you still do a good job, better than some of the ranch hands, and—”

“Would you hire a crippled man like me?” My voice rose, and I hated the bitter note. “Would you, Pa?”

His hesitation as he searched for the right words answered my question.

“Heck, I’m not worth the pay.” My eyes lingered on the sharp hatchet blade, now back on the chopping block. “Paul should have cut off my hand, then at least this constant pain—” I fell silent. Nobody knew how sensitive the skin and scars still were, and that stabbing cramps and discomfort were my constant guide, wearing me down in the long run.

“You’re still hurting?” Pa’s brow creased, and he rested his hand on my back. “You should see Paul.”

“I can deal with it! There’s nothing the doc can do about it! He said it would get better, maybe … sometime. No one knows for sure!” I turned around and walked inside, took my gun belt, hat, and jacket, and hurried into the barn. Although I could do it myself, Hoss or Adam had already saddled Cochise. They must have overheard us, but they didn’t comment. Everyone crawled around me like walking on eggshells, weighing each word.

With a clenched jaw, I swung myself onto Cooch—at least that still worked—and urged him on. While I rode out of the yard as if chased by the devil, the hoofbeats drowned Pa’s booming voice. It wasn’t until I’d covered a few miles that I realized Cochise didn’t head toward the herd but to the lake.

As Lake Tahoe spread before me, I slipped out of the saddle and sent my horse grazing with a slap on his backside. Facing the water, I leaned on a boulder and rubbed my brow hard, hoping the dark thoughts would disappear. Fitting my mood, the water was steel-gray, framed by lush green pine trees and shrouded in low clouds. The cold surface was smooth and shining, almost black. I imagined how calm and peaceful it would be to let myself float on my back until the shore disappeared.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, staring at the landscape, not seeing its beauty but trying to blink back the tears of frustration that threatened to well up. Get a grip, Cartwright. Crying won’t change anything. All I had to do was get off my butt and start trying even harder to get my hand working again. I might as well start now.

Removing my gloves, I loosened my revolver’s small loop and tried to draw. My grip was too weak and clumsy to get the gun out quickly, and after several attempts, my hand shook from the strain. I untied the cord on my thigh, turned the holster, and tried to clear leather with my right hand. My shot was a miserable failure, not even hitting the tree stump I aimed for.

I sat down again, wrapping my arms around my knees and resting my chin on them, unaware that I was sinking deeper into self-pity. The smell of dampness hung in the air, announcing a cleansing rain, and a lone eagle circled in the sky above. The weight of sorrow pressing on my chest made everything fade into the background.

The ranch was my life, and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Adam suggested getting a desk job, but being stuck in an office or bank all day, staring at walls, would drive me crazy. Most chores like haying, fencing, branding, and driving cattle required two healthy hands. Of course, I could still ride and look for strays, but I should also be able to handle a lariat or a rifle.

They all gave good advice. Paul said I should exercise, but I was tired of doing it. For hours, I sorted dried peas from one bowl to another. Fine mechanics was the term the doc used.

Pa told me to be patient. Instead of mourning the things that didn’t work, I should learn to live with them and concentrate on the success I made.

Didn’t he see I tried? Upset, I jumped up and kicked against a lump of earth.

Hoss thought practically. He’d suggested switching chores with him so I could do what I was good at, like breaking horses. I’d accepted with a grumble and forgot to tell him how much I appreciated the offer. I knew I was a jerk right now.

Heaving a deep sigh, I returned to Cochise to join my brothers at the herd. Everyone would wonder where I was. Nobody would ask. My family was too understanding and careful with me, which upset me even more. I didn’t want any special treatment.

Reaching the herd, I slipped from my horse, the smell of smoke and burnt fur already in my nostrils.

++++

Most of the cowpokes hated the branding, but Amos didn’t care about the acrid stench, the dust, and the pitiful cries of the calves. Without batting an eyelid, he pressed the red-hot iron to one hip after the other. His black shirt hung open, revealing a sweaty chest covered in dark, wiry hair. When young Cartwright appeared, it was almost noon. His father lets the boy get away with anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if the boss still pays him his full salary despite his poor performance.

Amos lowered his head to hide his smirk at Joe’s clumsy grip after the young man stepped beside him and lifted the branding iron from the smoldering coals. He almost dropped it. “I’ll take your place for a couple of hours,” Joe muttered, his green eyes flashing as if expecting a dismissive remark.

Shrugging, Amos removed his gloves and walked toward his horse to get a cool drink of water.

 

Chapter 6

Buttoning my fresh shirt, my hair still damp from the bath Hop Sing had prepared for me, I came downstairs, greeted by the aroma of dinner about to be served. I’d scrubbed my skin until it glowed, wishing it was so easy to wash away the feeling of shortcomings. I still cringed when I thought about the pitiful glance Amos gave me when I replaced him at the fire pit.

I sat at the table and rested my left elbow on it to massage my hand and stretch and flex my fingers.

“Dinner ready!” Hop Sing hurried around the corner, carrying a plate of meat, winking at me. I gave him a faint smile.

“Smells mighty good!” Hoss appeared, followed by Pa and Adam, attracted by the irresistible aroma of roasted meat and Hop Sing’s call.

With a swift movement, I let my hand disappear under the table. I couldn’t stand anyone staring at the scars. That was one of the reasons I started wearing gloves.

Steaming plates were passed around, and the usual evening talk began. Pa tried to cover up the strained atmosphere with light conversation while watching out of the corner of his eye how much I ate. No one commented on my one-handed poking with the fork, even though our father was very particular about table manners. No one offered to cut the meat for me, as Adam had once dared to do.

The talk, interrupted by the clinking of cutlery on china, went on without me joining in. Adam was the one who behaved and treated me the most normally. Hoss tried to cheer me up with the occasional joke, which was nice. But all I could muster was a forced smile.

After supper, we withdrew to the fireplace. I flopped on the settee. ‘The Last of the Mohicans’, I deciphered the title of the red leather-bound book on the coffee table. Curious, I reached for it to flip through and choked back a gasp as wavelike spasms bent my fingers. Biting my lip, I tucked my hand under my thigh and forced myself to relax.

My gaze flitted over the peaceful picture before me. Pa, sitting in his favorite armchair with his pipe and the Territorial Enterprise; Adam, buried behind a book with poems, and Hoss, setting up the checkerboard, hoping to find a partner. “I’m tired. I guess I’ll turn in,” I mumbled after the pain subsided. Trying to ignore the disappointed look on my brother’s face, I got up. “Sorry, Hoss. I don’t feel like playing.”

“Little Joe comes with me first!” Hop Sing blocked my way to the staircase and gestured toward the kitchen.

“Hop Sing, I’m beat.”

But the cook insisted. He shooed me in front of him as if I were one of the chickens he would catch for butchering. “Sit, give me hand.”

Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes and sniffed. A spicy, herbal smell filled the room. On the table stood a steaming bowl of warm water with brown leaves floating inside, reminding me of the burning baths the doctor used to treat my hand in the first couple of weeks after the accident. I bounced back, the stinging pain still very present. “What are you up to?”

“Good to relax!” Hop Sing took my reluctant hand and plunged it into the bowl. I winced, as the heat was almost unbearable.

“Too hot!” I tried to pull my hand back, but the Chinese man was unyielding.

“Must be hot.”

After fifteen minutes of soaking, Hop Sing poured oil from a Chinese-labeled bottle onto my hand and started a gentle massage. I tensed up, waiting for the pain to come, but his touch was tender.

“Ancient recipe,” he said with a twinkle in his almond eyes. The substance smelled strange but felt soothing, and my skin and muscles became supple. Hop Sing’s massaging thumbs increased pressure, digging deep into my flesh, but not enough to make me uncomfortable. His skilled hands extended and bent each finger, and he worked my hand down to my forearm until the stiffness in my joints eased.

“Done. Little Joe go to sleep now.”

I yawned, my body warm and relaxed like my hand. “Thanks, Hop Sing, that was great!”

“We do every night!” He stood, giving me a satisfied nod.

This time, my smile was genuine. Our cook never looked at me with pity. He offered help without making a fuss.

 

Chapter 7

The log slid down the slope toward me, but I stood frozen, unable to move a muscle. It rushed closer until I saw every bump on the bark, the drops of resin, and the bright yellow cut of the saw. Desperate, I turned and tried to run, but I couldn’t get out of the spot. The trunk caught me in the middle. I heard bones breaking—and startled from sleep, hearing my scream fade away. My heart tried to break free from my ribcage, and a film of sweat covered my body.

“Joseph, are you alright?” Pa rushed into my room, wearing his red robe over his nightshirt while carrying a lamp.

I blinked as the familiar voice brought me back to reality, struggling to free myself from the far too warm covers tangled around my body. “I’m fine.”

My father stepped beside me, his frown showing his concern. “Another nightmare?”

Another? I made a face. Somehow, I’d been convinced I’d kept how badly I slept a secret from my family, but I could have known that there was little to hide from Pa. I rubbed my hands over my face. It was embarrassing to wake up yelling like a little kid from a bad dream and have Pa comfort me, but his presence was soothing, even if I wouldn’t admit it. “Yeah, it was a weird dream. But I’m okay now.” I pulled the damp nightshirt over my head, crumpled it up, and threw it on the floor while Pa handed me a fresh one. After I slipped it on, he sat down beside me and rubbed the nape of my neck.

“You want to talk?”

“It’s always the same dream. I try to run away, but the log comes crashing down, hits me, and I wake up.” My voice was so low and halting that my father had to lean in to hear me.

“I can imagine how much sorrow the injury causes you, son.” Pa’s dark eyes shone warm with empathy.

“You think so? Okay, Pa, here’s the truth. I’ve considered getting a job I can handle. I can’t pull my weight anymore. It would be best if you cut my wages in half,” I blurted out what I’d been thinking for so long and never dared to say.

“Don’t talk nonsense, son. You’re a good worker, and there’s so much you still can do.”

I shrugged, not willing to discuss it right now. Long after Pa was gone, I lay awake while the moon cast bizarre shadows on the wall, wondering what my future life would be like.

 

Chapter 8

I couldn’t go back to sleep again, and since the first birds chirped and the pitch-black night faded into grayness, I decided I might as well get up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, my bare feet on the cool floorboards, I lit the lamp and pulled my nightshirt over my head. Like every morning, I opened and closed my hand several times to get rid of the stiffness. My fingertips brushed the scar tissue, a tangled spider web of fierce red against my tanned skin.

I got up and walked to the washstand, splashing water over my face and upper body, and combing my hair into shape with damp fingers. I knew I had been a difficult patient. When irritated, I tended to hurt people with words. But any man can be brought to his knees by lack of sleep and constant pain, and my impatience didn’t help either.

Without bothering to put on my boots or button my shirt, I trotted downstairs. None of my family was up. Only Hop Sing was in the kitchen, banging pots and preparing breakfast. The smell of baked bread, fried fatback, and coffee filled the house. When my gaze fell on Pa’s desk, a thought came to my mind and I slipped into the armchair. Determined to write my girlfriend Rosalie a letter to explain why I hadn’t shown my face for so long, I pulled a piece of paper from the drawer.

Rosalie and I had met a few times, and she must have wondered how I was doing. After I wrote the first line, my two stiff little fingers smudged the ink, making it unreadable. With a sigh of frustration, I switched the pen to the other hand. My teacher tried to make me write with my right, but it never worked. The pen scratched across the paper, spreading ink stains. Disgusted, I threw it back on the table and crumpled up my pitiful attempt at writing. That answered the question of whether a desk job would suit me. In a way, though, it was a relief to know it wouldn’t.

I’d lost my appetite for breakfast, so I decided to ride to the cattle since we wanted to move them from the grazed north pasture. Hop Sing scolded me for taking only coffee, but he would tell Adam and Hoss I was on my way. A little time alone with Cochise and a fast gallop would do me good and distract me from my dull thoughts.

Seeing the two men working on the fence, I remembered Pa had mentioned that the cattle had trampled it.

++++

“Here comes Cartwright.” Amos lowered the hammer he used to nail a new slat to the fence post and watched the slim figure in the green jacket approach at breakneck speed.

“Yeah, that boy’s always in a hurry,” Horace agreed with an amused look on his face.

Joe brought the Pinto to a stop, drawing a cloud of dust. “Hey, fellas, you’re up early! How’s the livestock?”

Squinting against the morning sun, Amos scratched his beard. “Another calf was killed. That’s the fifth in two weeks. We should move the cattle.”

“Yeah, that’s what we planned for today.” Joe stood up in his stirrups and looked around. “Where’s the carcass?”

Amos pointed to some rocks. “Food of the slope, but you shouldn’t go there alone. If it is a cougar, it will defend its prey and attack you, and you’ll be helpless with just one hand. Better wait for your brothers!”

The green eyes sparkled with anger. “None of your business. I’ll be fine!”

In an apologetic gesture, Amos raised his hands. “Do what you have to.” With a broad grin, he watched the young man jerk his pinto around, nudging him toward the slope.

“Damn fool,” muttered Horace, turning to the fence while he shook his head. “That boy always thinks he has to prove himself. We better back him up, huh?”

“No, leave him alone. You heard him. None of our business.”

++++

I was sure they were talking about me since I saw them putting their heads together, but I decided to pay no attention. Surely, they understood I wasn’t in the mood for someone who thought he had to babysit me, and if they made fun of me, I couldn’t care less.

Cochise put his ears back on and pranced around while I glanced at the surroundings, but there was nothing suspicious.

The dead calf wasn’t difficult to find. As I approached, leading the somewhat unwilling Cochise on the reins behind me, a couple of scolding crows flew up, having feasted on the meat.

Kneeling beside the calf, I sniffed the air and let my eyes wander over the carcass. It smelled of fresh blood with a slight hint of decay. There was a gaping hole in the belly, and the intestines were missing. My eyebrows raised as I searched for more signs until I was sure: It hadn’t been a mountain lion, as I’d first thought, but wolves.

Standing up and looking around, I swatted some buzzing flies away from my face. Wolves! That was unusual, as there weren’t many left in the area.

I took off my hat and dragged a hand through my hair. Since the carcass was so fresh, it was very likely that the wolves were still around. They wouldn’t leave a half-eaten kill. Maybe it was even a couple with pups. If we didn’t want to lose more cattle, I had to act now.

I tied Cochise to a tree, hung my jacket on the saddle horn, and took my bolt-action rifle. Tracks lead to some rocks with thick brush growing in between. My heartbeat fastened. The wolves must still be nearby, for the paw prints were fresh, and my horse’s nervous behavior was a sure sign, too. Maybe they rest full and lazy in the bushes, and maybe I would even find their den.

I briefly considered waiting for my brothers or asking the two hands for help, but the hunting fever had already caught me. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass myself.

A few deep breaths helped me to calm down. I had to concentrate on this task. Sure, I knew it was dangerous to go after wolves alone, but I didn’t want to miss this chance. Wiping away all doubt, I ensured my rifle was loaded before following the tracks.

Every few steps, I stopped, looked around, and listened for a telltale crack or snarl, but there was nothing to be heard except for the still scolding crows and the cow mooing for her calf. My mouth was dry from excitement, and the blood rushed fast through my veins. The back of my neck tingled, telling me the wolves were close.

There! For a brief moment, I glimpsed a patch of gray fur between the bushes. The animals knew I was after them, so now the real danger began. Wolves, unlike cougars, rarely attacked people, but I was still nervous. You never knew how a wild animal would react if you cornered it or if it was trying to protect its young.

I wiped my damp palms on my pants, tightening my grip on the rifle. The cold steel gave me a sense of security. Holding my breath, I pushed through the scrub, every nerve on edge, prepared to defend myself if the wolves started to launch a surprise attack from behind.

A rustling, followed by a low growl, hit my ears. The sound made me spin and yank the gun to my shoulder in one fluid motion.

Amber eyes in the middle of a broad head fixed me with a sparkle. The beast was huge! Its snout wrinkled over raised lips baring yellowish fangs while a low rumble rose from deep in its throat.

There wasn’t time to think. My instinct took over. The muzzle of my rifle found its target— the broad chest. A cramp shot through my hand as my finger squeezed the trigger. I jerked in pain, and the shot missed. My heart exploded to a million beats a second, a wave of hot fear rushing through my body. I yanked the bolt handle up and back to expel the spent shell case. The blurred form, all muscle and sinew, flew toward me. My second shot hit. Torn around in mid-leap, the wolf uttered a furious yelp. It landed on the ground, spun around, and lurched at me, teeth bared to tear my flesh. As I backed away, I stumbled and got caught in the thorny bushes.

Memories of the wolf that attacked me two years ago flashed through my mind. Its foul stinking breath, the rough fur under my fingers, and the raging pain as its fangs dug into my arm to the bone until Adam rushed to my help.

Today, I was on my own. Wrong decision! Everything inside me screamed.

The animal was almost on top of me when my numbness faded. I aimed, pulling the trigger. Sweat stung in my eyes while the pungent fumes of gunpowder blurred my vision. Had I shot the beast? Was there another animal?

I held my breath until my lungs ached and my vision cleared. Hit by my third bullet, a twitching bundle of gray fur lay at my feet. It writhed until the movements slowed and finally stopped. The sparkle in the eyes faded as death took over.

My breath whooshed out of my chest along with the tension, and my legs turned to jelly. Realizing how reckless and dangerous that had been hit me hard. Lowering my rifle, I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting the salty sweat that covered my face. You’ve been darn lucky!

Loud voices ripped me out of my thoughts about whether I should keep the fur. My brothers had arrived. I rubbed the back of my neck, knowing they wouldn’t be happy about this action. Adam already sounded annoyed, with a concerned undertone. “Little Joe! Where are you?”

“Over here!”

The breaking of twigs and stomping boots could be heard before Adam, followed by Hoss, burst out of the bushes, his eyes dark with worry. “We heard your help signal, three gunshots!”

Adam’s assessing gaze swept over the carcass and the rifle lying in the grass beside me, a deep furrow forming between his brows.

“I’m fine. It wasn’t a signal for help. It took three shots to kill the wolf.”

As his concern was replaced by anger, Adam seized my arm with a bruising grip, and I could tell by his tone he struggled to control himself. He clenched his hand into a fist, and for a moment, I was sure he would punch me in the face. “Heck, Joe, what the hell were you thinking about going after a wolf alone? Knowing you, you didn’t think at all!” He eyeballed my sleeve. Following his gaze, I saw tattered fabric, stained with blood. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, that’s probably from the thorns.” I tried to wriggle my arm out of his grip, but Adam held on tight, shoving my sleeve up. “Let go of me!”

“You’re right, it’s only a scratch. Do you realize you could have been killed? What are you trying to prove?” He shook me as if that would help his words sink into me.

As always, Hoss came to my aid. With his eyes filled with admiration, he bent over the animal and pulled back his lips, examining the fangs. “Dadburn it, Joe, you shot a full-grown male.”

“Yeah. This one ain’t gonna kill any more calves. I don’t know if there is more than one, though.” I gave Adam, who let go of my arm, a defiant look. “He would have disappeared if I’d waited for you!”

My eldest brother had yet to finish his lessons. “No sane person goes out hunting wolves alone. It’s too dangerous. It should be, at minimum, two men.”

“Oh yeah, like when we hunted that wolf a couple of years ago, Adam? At least no one shot me today!”

Hearing my hurtful words, my brother narrowed his eyes, his lips tightening into a thin line. Hoss stared at me in disbelief, an unpleasant silence spreading between us three. That was a punch below the belt, and the moment I blurted the words out, I regretted them. But why did Adam always have to be such a smartass? To cover up my discomfort, I grabbed my rifle and pushed past my brothers. Adam always grumbled no matter what I did. And if there were more wolves, someone else would have to deal with them.

Ignoring Cochise’s nervous snorting and prancing, I untied his reins and swung into the saddle. I would have liked to keep the hide, but in the summer, it was thin and worthless, and I wanted to get away from Adam. Swinging onto the horse, I joined the cowboys who had already started moving the herd.

As I rode by, I felt Amos and Horace, still working on the fence, watching me. Horace shook his head. “Boy, that was reckless. You were lucky!”

I shrugged, knowing I shouldn’t care what people thought, but deep down, I hoped the ranch hands would respect me for taking on a wolf on my own.

For the rest of the day, Adam didn’t say a word. I knew I should tell him I was sorry. Shooting me at the wolf hunt was an accident. Adam had blamed himself for weeks. Sighing, I lowered my hat, shooing a stray steer back to the herd.

 

Chapter 9

With a grumpy face, I pushed my scrambled eggs back and forth on my breakfast plate. Catching Pa’s stern look, I shoved a few forkfuls into my mouth and washed them down with strong coffee, hoping it would work its magic and wake me up. Although the nightmares had become rare lately, I had had another one that left me sleepless and touchy.

“… pick up supplies?”

“Huh?”

“Joseph, I said you must pick up supplies and the mail, plus we need a box of new horseshoes.”

“Yessir.”

Glancing at me, Hoss uttered his cautious question. “Can you hitch up the wagon, Joe, or do you want me to …?”

“I can do it,” I hissed, causing him to raise his hands.

“Fine, little brother. I just wanted to …”

“Help the poor cripple, I know!”

“Joseph,” Pa scolded, and Adam shot me an inscrutable glare from behind his coffee cup. Ignoring them both, I jumped up so fast that the chair toppled over. Heading for the barn, I slammed the door behind me, causing the windowpanes in Pa’s office to rattle. It took me three times as long to harness the horses as before the accident, and I fought hard with the buckles and straps until I got it done. The effort left me drenched in sweat while cramps ran through my hand. But I didn’t care, because I managed on my own.

When I stopped before the mercantile, I realized I had forgotten my gloves. Herbert, the owner, wasn’t interested in my injury but started talking about the weather, complaining about the increase in salt prices, and having supply problems with corn flour. After loading everything on the list, I walked across the street to the livery stable to pick up the horseshoes.

“Little Joe, good to see you. I’d like to take a look at your hand.” Paul Martin approached me with a friendly grin. The corners of my mouth turned down, and I heaved a sigh. “Come on, son. I’m sure you can spare a few minutes!”

I followed the physician into the office, sat down on the edge of the examination table, and held out my hand. Paul inspected it from all sides. “Still painful?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

The doctor pressed and prodded and flexed my fingers. After testing my feelings with a needle, he confirmed what I already knew. The two outer little fingers were stiff and numb.

“I’m very pleased, son. Except for the stiffness, the hand works almost as it used to be.”

“Almost.”

Hearing my bitter tone, Paul raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t have believed it would heal and function so well if you’d seen it right after the accident. It’s a miracle. The injured nerves will cause you some discomfort until they heal. The surgeon said they needed months to recover. You have to be patient.”

“It’s gotten better since Hop Sing started doing these massages,” I had to admit.

“You can’t go wrong with massages. Keep it up.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks, doc.” Almost out the door, I spun around. The smell of medical alcohol in Paul’s surgery brought back a memory. “Amos helped you care for me right after the accident, didn’t he?”

“Yes, I could use help, and he said he was a medic.”

“I remember some weird things. He talked about amputation, saying it served me right for suffering.” I rubbed my forehead, trying to make the thoughts come together.

“Something about him puzzled me. I suspected for a moment that he hadn’t given you the laudanum.”

“What?” I snapped my eyes open. “I can’t remember all, but your treatment sure wasn’t a Sunday picnic. If that’s true … heck! I’ll keep an eye on him.”

A familiar voice hollered as I stepped into the street, “Joe! I haven’t seen you in ages!” Mitch dismounted and slapped me on the back. “Hey, your hand looks like a bear chewed it and spat it out. Guess you were too tough for it, eh?” he said with a laugh. “Come on to the saloon. I’ll buy you a beer.”

It was almost as if our argument had never happened as I stood next to Mitch at the bar, talking about everything under the sun. My left hand was tucked into my gun belt, and I was relieved nobody shot me pitiful glances. A couple of deep gulps of beer soon made the tension disappear. I closed my eyes, inhaling the musky scent of unwashed bodies and whiskey. The voices mingled in a mash of sounds, interrupted by the bright laughter of a saloon girl. I wondered if Pa sent me to town on purpose, knowing I hadn’t been in a saloon for weeks.

I ran my finger over my damp mug of beer. “Are you with Fanny? Did our plan work?”

My friend’s broad grin was answer enough. “Yep, I’m her hero! We see each other regularly.”

“Good.”

“How are things going with you and Rosalie? Are you seeing each other?”

“No, not since the accident.”

“Um, Joe, I didn’t apologize for beating you up. All of a sudden, my pent-up anger burst out and I wanted to hurt you.”

I gave him a genuine smile. “It’s forgiven and forgotten.”

Our friendship reminded me of a weak newborn colt. It needed just the right amount of care, attention, and affection. You couldn’t approach it with too much force not to frighten it and destroy the trust it had just gained.

“Mitch, did you tell Fanny that it was all staged?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“Tell her I’m sorry for embarrassing her, will you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I was glad he was sensitive enough not to pepper me with questions about the accident. One day, I’d tell him, but not today. Probably half the town knew anyway. Most of the lumberjacks in the camp heard my screams, and of course, bloody details were a good topic of chat in the saloon over a drink.

The last gulp flowed down my throat. “Thanks. It’s time to be on my way!” I put my glass down—and stopped in my tracks. Bill sat with his back to us at a corner table with Amos and Horace, playing poker. I hadn’t seen him since the incident. Someone had leaked that Bill was drinking while working, and Pa fired him weeks ago.

Sensing my gaze, Bill lifted his eyes from the cards. In front of him stood a half-empty bottle of whiskey. When he turned around, our eyes locked. “Joe Cartwright!” His glance darted to the door as if considering leaving, but then he squared his shoulders, stood, and joined me and Mitch at the bar. “I’m sorry about what happened,” he mumbled, but it didn’t look like he meant it. “How about I buy you a beer?”

“A beer?” My voice rose. “My hand will never work properly again, and you think an apology and a beer are enough?”

“Well, what do you expect of me? It was an accident, and accidents happen. Besides, it wasn’t all my fault. Someone told me to send the next log down the chute.”

“You probably imagined that. You were drunk! Wasn’t it obvious we were still dealing with that wedged trunk?”

“I couldn’t see it. The sun blinded me, and it was far down the slope, with all the brush in front … Besides, drinking is my business!” His face turned to an unhealthy red.

“Not if it means risking the lives of others!”

“Don’t exaggerate, Joe. They told me that your rich father had the best doctor come for you.” His whiskey breath enveloped me as he grabbed my wrist to inspect my hand. “Looks like everything’s nicely healed. What are you whining about?”

My mind went blank as anger and frustration took over. I balled my hand into a fist and slammed it into Bill’s face. Hot pain exploded, rushing up my elbow. Gasping, I staggered toward the bar, clutching my left forearm. “Darn!”

Mitch grabbed Bill’s shirt, preventing him from fighting back. “You got what you deserved. Now calm down!”

“Yeah, you’re right. I won’t beat up a cripple!” Bill broke free of Mitch’s grip, picked up his hat from the floor, and shot me a disdainful look. “Looks like you hurt yourself more than me, eh?” His mocking laughter echoed in my ears as he returned to his table.

It felt good when Mitch wrapped an arm around my shoulder, like old times when we were inseparable. “Sam, give us a whiskey, or better yet, two. Joe looks like he could use it.”

“Thanks. Darn hand. I guess I have to learn to fight with the right.” In quick succession, I downed two shots and waited for the pain to subside. “I’ve gotta go. See you around.”

“So long, Joe.”

 

‘Heck, I forgot the horseshoes,’ I thought as I stepped through the Ponderosa front door. Pa sat in his leather chair, a book turned over on his lap. His eyes were fixed on the hearth, showing that he was pondering. As I entered, he turned to face me, and I was startled. When had Pa begun looking so old and tired? A wave of guilt washed through me. I’d been so concentrated on my problems these past weeks that I hadn’t paid attention to Pa. I knew he worried about me. “I’m gonna get coffee. Want some?” I asked, forcing myself to sound cheerful.

I pulled the blue overstuffed chair next to Pa’s. Our knees almost touched when I handed him a steaming cup.

“How’s the hand?”

“Fine today,” I lied. At least, it was before the incident in the saloon. “There are good days and bad days.” Undecided, I bit my lower lip. Should I tell him everything, or would that make him feel even more guilty?

“Pa, after that fight with Mitch at the barn dance … I never got a chance to tell you what happened. Wanna hear the whole story?”

Leaning forward, Pa took a sip of coffee. “I’m all ears.”

 

Chapter 10

“Howdy, Joe, a beer?” Sam asked as I approached the bar at the Silver Dollar.

“Give me a bottle of whiskey and a beer to wash it down.”

Sam raised one eyebrow but refrained from commenting, serving me what I ordered.

I grabbed the bottle and the beer and sat at a quiet corner table. This was my second visit to the saloon since I was held captive in the gold mine, and I just wanted to be left alone and get drunk in peace. I rubbed my wrist, a gesture I had unconsciously adopted, though the handcuff marks were long gone. The grey sky and rain-laden clouds suited my mood. I was tired of people asking me curious questions. No one knew what happened to me, but of course, there were rumors.

Someone approached my table when I’d emptied half the whiskey bottle. Looking up, I met Mitch’s watery blue eyes. The reproach I thought I saw in his gaze made me feel even worse. 

We hadn’t seen much of each other since our argument after the incident at Eagle’s Nest. The fact that I had destroyed our friendship bothered me more than I let on. I shoved a chair at him with my foot. “Howdy, Mitch! Grab a seat. Want some whiskey?”

“Hey, Joe.” His voice sounded reserved. “I’m buyin’ my drinks.” 

“Aw, c’mon, Mitch. Can’t we forget the whole thing?” 

“It’s not as easy to forget for me as for you. None of the men could beat me at arm wrestling. It made me special. You ruined that, and it can’t be taken back.”

I dropped my head, wishing I could turn back the hands of time as you would do with a clock that needs to be reset.

“How are you, Joe?” 

“You couldn’t care less really, could you?”

Mitch gestured to the bottle of whisky. “What are you trying to forget? Your kidnapping?”

“Mind your own business. You’re just curious like everyone else.”

“We were friends. You can talk to me.”

“Yeah, right. We were friends.”

“I miss the times we had together. C’mon, tell me what happened.”

With a sigh, I tilted the bottle for another deep swig, hoping the burning alcohol would drown out my burning guilt.

 “Alright.” I would fob Mitch off with a short version. “I ran into two men. They held me captive in a gold mine and made me work for them. End of the story.”

Mitch’s gaze rested on my right wrist, which I rubbed until the skin reddened. “What are you desperate to forget?”

Noticing his glance, I clenched my left hand into a fist and placed it on the table. “The chains,” I admitted. 

“Damn, they chained you. How did you escape?” 

“That woman—” I pressed my lips together before revealing too much. “Leave it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay, Joe. I got the message.” His voice sounded sad. He pushed the chair back and stood. The whiskey stung sour in my stomach and made me feel nauseous. I knew I was acting like a jerk. While I had nothing to do but wallow in self-pity, Mitch tried to repair what was left of our friendship.

“Wait, Mitch!” I grabbed his sleeve. “I know I’ve destroyed everything, and I can do nothing to make up for it, right?”

“Well …” Mitch stroked the corners of his mouth, and his eyes wandered up as he considered. Grabbing the chair, he sat down again. “There might be something you can do.”

Surprised, I lifted my head to meet my friend’s eyes, a tiny spark of hope flickering like a match in a dark room. “Yeah?”

“You can let me beat you in a fight.”

“Huh?” Did my whiskey-soaked brain get that right? “I ain’t gonna fight with you.”

“Listen to me.” Mitch looked around, but no one paid attention. He dropped his voice and moved closer. “I want to court a gal. Fanny.” 

“The bank teller’s cute blonde daughter?” 

“That’s her. She’s still a little hesitant to go out with me. You know, she reads lots of books, especially about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. She’s very fond of the romantic stories of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere. Lancelot rides a white horse and—” 

A loud giggle broke out in me. “And you want me to sell you a white horse?”

“Joe, you’re a fool!” Mitch’s elbow nudging my ribs helped me to calm down. “No, I don’t need a white horse, but she admires chivalry and that sort of thing. Suppose you were to, say, bother her a bit …” 

“What?” 

“Let me finish. You act like you’re drunk and try to kiss her, and then I rescue her and defeat you in a fistfight!” Mitch’s eyes sparkled with excitement. 

“That’s a dumb idea. How would I look? Cartwright is making a pass at someone else’s girl?”

“You’ve got a reputation as a ladies’ man anyway, so it shouldn’t do you much harm, should it? Of course, it would have to be where everyone could see it. Maybe Sunday after church.” 

“Nah, that wouldn’t work. No way Pa’s going to let me go to church drunk.”

“You’re not supposed to be drunk. You just pretend to be. How about Saturday at the barn dance?”  

“Saturday? I’m not sure, Mitch.” I felt the same way Hoss must have felt when I tried to talk him into doing something. Even with half a bottle of whiskey in my belly, I knew it was a foolish plan. Still, I would grasp at any straw to give our friendship a second chance.

“The whole town will look at me differently if I defeat Joe Cartwright.” 

“You believe that will work? Girls don’t think that logic. I’ve seen them suddenly turn to the loser because something about a man being hurt and down triggered them.”

“Bullshit, Joe. It’ll work.” Mitch slapped my back so hard that I choked on my drink. “I’m counting on you. Saturday night at the barn dance, all right?”

I let out a deep sigh. “All right, then.”

 

Pa gave me a firm squeeze on my knee. “Well, Joseph,” I think I can spare myself a sermon. You know that was a stupid idea.”

“Yeah, I know. When we planned it, I had a staged fight in mind, with sweeping gestures and yelling, but without harming each other.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to hear the story from your side. I might not have sent you to the lumber camp. The incident with your hand wouldn’t have happened.”

“It was an accident. If anybody’s to blame, it’s Bill, who stood drunk at the top of the chute, but it sure ain’t you, Pa.” I put my left hand on his knee, and he covered it gently with his. We sat in silence for a minute or two until the front door flew open, and a hungry-looking brother burst into the house.

“Is supper ready? I’m starving!”

 

Chapter 11

After dinner, I flopped on the settee with a deck of cards, trying to shuffle them as fast as I had before the injury. An ace and a king slipped from my grasp, tumbling to the carpet. Frustrated, I smashed the game on the table, drawing Pa’s frown.

“Joe, are you coming to the dance tomorrow night? Rosalie’s been askin’ for you.” Adam’s strumming chords on the guitar accompanied Hoss’ question.

“Dancing?” I furrowed my brow. “No, I’d rather stay here and do some finger practice.”

“Come on, little brother, you must have fun. You’re being too hard on yourself.”

Adam looked distant and sang in a low voice about a lonesome road far away from home. Unlike Pa, who only pretended to read his book, he didn’t even listen to our talk. I bit my lower lip. I still hadn’t apologized for my harsh words after the wolf hunt. My eldest brother behaved like nothing had happened, but I was sure he hadn’t forgotten.

Hoss watched me, still waiting for an answer.

“I don’t want to have fun. All I want is for my hand to work like it used to!”

Pa looked up from his book. “What’s Paul saying?”

My shoulders sagged. “That it won’t be like it was before. The two fingers remain stiff and numb.” I eyed the bulging scars.

“Son, sometimes you have to accept that your body—or in your case, a part of your body—doesn’t work how you want it to.”

“Yeah, Pa, I know you’re right, but I’m young, and …” Unable to bear the glances of my family any longer, I turned away and ran upstairs.

Sitting on the edge of my mattress, I pulled off my boots. I was still the handsome man I had been before, except for my crippled hand. Was Rosalie serious about dating me again? Maybe I should try it and take her on a picnic after church.

A knock on my door interrupted my musings. Adam was halfway into the room before I could open my mouth to invite him in.

“Joe, I want to talk to you!” He planted his butt against my desk and dug both hands into his pockets. Seeing his serious expression, I crossed my arms. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say, suspecting I wouldn’t like it, but he got right to the point. “This was my last summer on the Ponderosa. I’m leaving.”

My chest tightened. “Leaving? You mean … forever?”

“I don’t know. I want to see the world, foreign countries, and cultures. Do some traveling. I want to use the stuff I learned in college. It feels like I’m wasting my life and talents on the ranch.”

I turned away and yanked a nightshirt out of the dresser to busy myself and hide my expression. Still, Adam could hear all my disappointment and anger in my reply. “Waste? You think we’re wasting our lives by raising cattle, breaking horses, and cutting down timber?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Joe. Calm down and—”

A terrible thought flashed through my mind. My finger dug deep into the fabric. I didn’t dare to look Adam in the eye. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? I never apologized for what I said after shooting the wolf. You know I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m just not as happy here as you. I want to do more than ranch work. I want to create something that lasts.”

“Don’t leave. We need you here. Pa needs you.” My pleading tone ashamed me, and I was glad it was dusk so my brother couldn’t see my expression.

“It’s already decided. Pa and Hoss both know. Pa always said he wished us to be happy and not stand between us and our dreams.”

Without seeing anything, I stared at the wall. Adam would go away. Unable to admit how sad I was about his decision, I went on the attack and gave way to anger. “Why am I the last to know?”

Adam sighed. “I wanted to wait until I was sure you could handle the chores despite your injury, and I was afraid of how you would react.”

“How am I handling it? I don’t at all. I’m a cripple!” I yelled back, throwing open the door. “Go! Go and realize your selfish dreams! Break Pa’s heart! We’ll get by without you, and maybe we’ll just hire another hand to take your place.”

Adam stiffened, then turned without a word and fled the room. I slammed the door shut. Sitting down on the bed, I buried my face in my hands. I was a grown man. I shouldn’t mind if my brother left.

There was another knock on the door. “What?” I shouted, pulling my shirt off my back.

“Joseph, can I come in?”

“Yeah, Pa, sure.”

“I heard you yelling. Is everything all right?”

“Nothing is all right. Why does everyone keep asking me if I am all right?”

Pa frowned and sat down beside me. “Don’t take that tone with me, young man.”

“Sorry.” I looked hard at my socks. One of them had a hole over my big toe.

“I know you’re upset about Adam leaving the ranch. Think carefully about whether you want to let him go with bad blood. You have to accept that every man has different dreams. My vision was the Ponderosa, but that doesn’t mean it’s my sons’.” Pa rubbed my back. “Don’t hold a grudge against your brother. Let him go. He may return one day.”

I took a deep breath and reached for the pitcher on the nightstand, pouring myself a glass of water.

“You have a few weeks to get used to the idea, son. Maybe it also has its good sides. You’ve often complained that your ideas aren’t appreciated. This would be a good chance for you to take on more responsibility.”

Putting the empty glass down, I mumbled, “I have to think about it.”

When Pa was gone, I lay awake in bed for a long time, staring into the void. I would love the challenge and the chance to realize my ideas, such as a horse breeding project with crossbreeds of Arabians or Tennessee Walking Horses. The only thing I needed was some time to get used to the idea. I guessed we’d be fine without Adam.

 

Chapter 12

To the sound of fiddle and harmonica, couples swirled around the dance floor of the brightly lit barn decorated with colorful draperies. Standing at the wall, the young woman in the yellow dress sighed as her eyes scanned the crowd again. She brushed a strand of brown hair from her face, embarrassed to be the only girl without an escort.

An approaching man caught her attention, although it wasn’t the one she had hoped for. With his chin-length hair and black hat, he looked interesting. He’d spruced up with a white shirt and string tie. A full beard hid most of his face, but his voice was pleasant.

“Howdy, pretty lady. Are you waiting for someone?”

“Hello. Yes, I do. I’m waiting for Joe Cartwright. We’re not steady, but we’ve seen each other a few times. I was hoping … I haven’t seen him for weeks.”

“My name’s Amos. I work for the Cartwrights.”

The woman’s face lit up, and a spark of curiosity appeared in her eyes. “How is Joe? Say, what exactly happened? Is he going to be crippled forever? One hears so much gossip …”

“I don’t want to join in the gossip, lady, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to use that hand in the future. I’m gonna tell Little Joe you said hello, though.”

“You would? I’m Rosalie, by the way.”

The man offered his hand. “Now that we’ve gotten acquainted, would you like to dance with me? On behalf of Little Joe?”

“Certainly! I won’t stand around all night. I came to have a good time!”

The man looked at the beautiful girl before him. Though tiny, she radiated a vibrant energy. Sassy brown curls framed her heart-shaped face, and a cute dimple showed on her left cheek when she smiled.

What a coincidence! This is going better than I planned. Maybe I can get Joe’s girl and cause him even more pain. The way she’s snuggling up to me, she has no objections. She’s curious, too. I bet she’ll meet me if I slowly feed her gory details about the accident and the treatment.

“Miss Rosalie, did you hear how Joe behaved at the barn dance a few weeks ago?”

“No, what did he do?”

“Oh, that was stupid of me. It’ll hurt when I tell you.”

“What happened? I need to know!”

“Well, Joe was drunk. He kissed his best friend’s girl, and they got into a fight. That was right before his accident. I’m sure he would have told you and apologized if he’d had the chance.”

Rosalie’s full lips curled into a pout, and her slender nose wrinkled in a dance of freckles. “Little Joe, this … this … I always knew he liked chasing the girls. He’ll regret this.”

++++

Later, I would regret agreeing to this date, but right now I was completely naive. It never occurred to me that my girl would be interested in one of our ranch hands. At the moment, I had other worries as I struggled with my too-tight string tie.

“Little brother got a date?” Hoss teased as I loaded a picnic basket into the buggy.

I grinned and plucked at the tie. “Yeah, with Rosalie. I’ll drive the buggy, and you can ride the big one to church, okay?”

“Sure!” Hoss flashed me a big grin, lifting the towel covering the basket and sniffing. “Hmm, that smells good. Let me check if this chicken’s nice and tender. I don’t think petite Rosalie will eat it all.”

“Hands off, Hoss!” Slapping his fingers, I saw out of the corner of my eye how Adam entered the yard, buttoning his jacket. Although I apologized, the situation between us was still strained. It seemed as if he’d already bid us farewell inside.

On the ride into town, my thoughts shifted from my brother to my upcoming date. It was embarrassing to admit, but I was nervous. Probably she had met someone else in the meantime. Girls had plenty of young men to choose from, and most wanted to get married and have a family, and wouldn’t wait months for a fella who never showed up.

My concerns seemed unfounded, though. With an anticipating sparkle in her eyes, Rosalie floated toward me after church. She was so pretty it took my breath away. We formally greeted each other with an awkward handshake while I kept my bad hand behind my back, tucked under my holster. “Ready for the picnic?” I asked, offering her my arm.

She looked at me expectantly. “What do you think?”

“Huh?”

“My new dress, silly. Do you like it?”

My glance swept over the yellow-flowered gown with the matching bonnet. “Uh, yeah. It goes well with your brown hair! You look beautiful!”

Pleased, she brushed a strand from her face. “And how are you doing?” Her eyes darted up and down my body. “There were all sorts of rumors about what happened to you.”

“It’s all healed up!” I walked my girl to the buckboard, trying to change the topic. “We’re going to the lake. Our cook packed us a whole basket of treats. I had my hands full trying to keep my big brother from eating any of it!”

Rosalie giggled as I climbed into the seat next to her.

“Here we go! Giddyup!” I urged the horses into a brisk trot down the road.

“What happened in that accident?” Rosalie asked, holding on tight as the buggy rumbled through a hole, her eyes flashing with curiosity.

“Broke my hand,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t probe further. Just for one afternoon, I wanted to forget about this damned injury and be a young man going out with his girlfriend, but Rosalie didn’t give up so easily. She grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand from the reins. Resisting the urge to tear it away, I pressed my lips together, wishing I had thought to put on my gloves.

With a gasp, she ran her fingertips over the protruding scars. “Oh my, how horrible! How can you even work?”

I shrugged and tried to hide how much her shock upset me. This was the reaction I wanted to avoid. I hated it when people made such a fuss.

“Is it still hurting?”

“No, not too much.”

“People said your father had a surgeon come in and operate on you. Is that right?”

“Yeah, but let’s talk about something else.”

“Are you still able to fire a gun? Those fingers look pretty stiff. You used to be so good at shooting. I remember the last time you won the first prize at the church festival.”

“I practice right-handed.”

Wondering how she could be so insensitive, I wriggled my hand out of her grip. Our conversation paused. Usually, I found it easy to talk, but my mind was blank at the moment—I couldn’t think of a suitable subject to discuss.

The road dipped into a steep depression before climbing back to the lake. As I searched for something to chat about, a brown furry bundle shot out from the roadside bushes. It darted straight into the part of the whirling hooves. The horses snorted and jumped to the side.

A shrill shriek from the woman rang out, spooking the team even more. The animal—a coyote—let out a pathetic yelp when it got caught by a wheel. The panicking horses flattened their ears, clenched the bits between their teeth, and broke into a furious gallop. The sudden jolt ripped the reins from my left hand, and I lost control of the team.

“Whoa!” My desperate calls were swallowed by the clatter and crash as the buckboard lurched and jolted down the steep road. My heart pounded in my throat as we hurtled toward the curve. At this speed, we’d topple for sure! I yanked hard on the remaining rein, struggling to stop the panicked horses. They overshot the bend. Leaves rustled, branches whipped our faces, and shrubs blurred past us in a smear of green. All we could do was throw our arms up in a futile attempt for protection. With a jarring crack, one wheel struck a tree stump, and the world came to a standstill.

With blood still rushing in my ears, I gathered the lost rein and turned to my girl. Still clinging to the seat with white knuckles, her wide eyes appeared huge in her pale face. Her hair was a tangled mess, with loose strands, leaves, and twigs woven into it.

“Sorry about that, honey. Are you all right?” I touched her shoulder, but she shook my hand off, turning away.

“You almost killed us!” Her voice, shrill and trembling with anger, cut through the pounding in my head. “Look at the state I am in!” She fumbled with her hair, yanking out a few branches and touching her face, where a red scratch marred her cheek.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you! It was an accident! We’re both alive and well.” I got out of the buggy to check on the wheel, my heart still racing.

“Well? My dress is dirty and—oh God, these tears are beyond repair! Get us back to Virginia City. I don’t feel like having a picnic right now.”

“But …”

“I want to return.” Upset, she looked at me. With a frown, she palmed her cheek. “Is there blood on my face?”

“Not much. It’s just a scratch. Rosalie, I’m sorry.”

“What will people think when I come home like this? They’ll say you had your way with me. My reputation’s ruined!”

Without a word, I maneuvered the horses and the buggy onto the road again. If we rode carefully, the cracked wheel would last until we got home. As we passed the wounded coyote, a snarling, disheveled bundle still crouching by the side of the road, I stopped the team again.

“He’s injured. I have to put him out of his misery. Rosalie, both fists balled in her lap, looked straight ahead as I drew my gun.

On our way back to town, my thoughts only centered on one thing. It was a mistake to ask the girl out. I’d put us both in danger. With two healthy hands, this wouldn’t have happened. 

I was relieved when I brought the horses to a halt in front of her parents’ house. Rosalie got out of the buggy without waiting for my help and smoothed out her dress.

“Sweetheart, can we …”

“Joe, no. I’ve been seeing Amos. I met him at a barn dance. It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you.”

“Amos? Our ranch hand? So why meet me?”

“I thought I should tell you in person, and I wanted to see how you were doing after I heard all the gossip …”

“You mean, you were curious?”

She looked down, pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders. “Thanks for the ride,” she whispered as she hurried toward the front door.

 

Chapter 13

I sat on the buckboard, feeling like a fool. I’ve screwed this up. Though I was anxious to forget all about it over a bottle of whiskey in the saloon, I decided to go home and not make things worse by getting drunk or into a brawl.

It was early afternoon when I pulled up into the yard. I took my time unhitching the horses to delay the inevitable questions from my family. When a dark figure appeared beside me, I jumped and almost dropped the tack. “Adam!” I gasped, not quite sure why the black clothing had irritated me. His eyes swept over me, taking in my disheveled look. My white shirt had a torn sleeve, green stains from leaves, and a small twig stuck between two buttons.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked in a low voice.

His warm tone made me look up in surprise, for I expected a lecture on responsibility. But my brother seemed willing to listen to my story before passing judgment. “Rosalie and I wanted to go to the lake. On that steep part of the trail by Cougar Rock, you know, a coyote got caught under the wheels. The reins slipped out of this damn useless hand, and I lost control of the team. We veered off the road. If it weren’t for the thick brush stopping the horses, the buckboard would have flipped over. Adam, I could have killed Rosalie!”

I took a few refreshing gulps from the ladle Adam filled at the trough pump and handed me. “Thanks! Of course, the girl didn’t feel like picnicking anymore. We headed back into town. She said she’d be meeting Amos, our hired hand.”

Adam noticed the resignation in my voice and touched my arm for a moment. “Why did she date you then?”

I shrugged. “Guess she was curious and wanted something to chat with her friends. She asked a lot about the injury. Or maybe she felt sorry for the poor cripple.”

Adam grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around to face him. “Joe, stop talking this way. Whatever Rosalie did was wrong, but she’s just a silly, shallow girl if she feels this way about you. She’s not worth putting up with. What happened was an accident. Even with two good hands, things can go wrong. Remember our wolf hunt? I didn’t look at what I shot. And the other day, Hoss and I were hauling straw into the barn’s loft. The hook slipped out of my grip and missed Hoss’ head by an inch.”

“That’s different. Nobody would hire me if I weren’t working here on the ranch with Pa.”

“That may be right, but it won’t help to feel sorry for yourself. Concentrate on what you’re good at. Over time, your hand will improve, and you’ll become more adept at doing things right-handed. Think of Pa’s old friend, Will Robinson, and how he’s still able to run his ranch despite his poorly healed arm.”

“He’s got his wife and his son to help him.”

“Exactly. And you have a family, too. There’s nothing wrong with accepting help once in a while.”

I thought about it for a minute. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I didn’t mean whining like a girl.”

“You’re not a girl, Joe. You’re a man, and I know you, Hoss, and Pa will be fine even if I leave the Ponderosa.”

I said nothing, but Adam’s words helped me see things from a different point of view, and I had to admit that it was worth thinking about what he had said. As we finished unhitching the horses, the silence between us felt pleasant, which took a massive weight off my shoulders. “Thanks, Adam,” I mumbled, offering him a half-smile.

 

Chapter 14

“Joseph, be honest. Do you feel able to work on the fence all day? One of the hands will help you,” Pa said as he mounted Buck the following morning.

“Yessir. I can handle it.” I raised my hand in farewell and looked after him as he cantered out of the yard. Pa had business in town, a cattlemen’s meeting as far as I could remember, and Hoss and Adam had promised to help a neighbor.

I didn’t mind having a day to myself. With neither Pa nor any of my brothers breathing down my neck, I could take it easy and work at my own pace.

With another cup of coffee, I settled into the rocking chair on the porch. A few jays cawed in the trees, and the pines surrounding the yard swayed in the light breeze coming from the west. The sky was gray, the air oppressive, and my experience told me it would rain later in the day.

The creaking of the chair as I rocked back and forth brought memories of the time after the accident. How many pain-filled hours had I spent on the front porch while my body tried to repair the damage?

I shuddered when I recalled the day Doc had to cut again, this time to remove a festering mass deep in the ball of my thumb. I’d gripped Hoss’s forearm so tightly that he had to pry my fingers loose, one by one. Through the haze of laudanum, I caught a blurry glimpse of the operation itself. I couldn’t remember screaming, but one of the ranch hands told me I could be heard all the way out in the yard. God, that was embarrassing.

I stretched my hand, moved my fingers, and studied it closely. Very slow, my mobility was returning and Hop Sing had played a big part in that.

‘I should collect the tools and get to work,’ I thought, stifling a lazy yawn, Pa’s instruction still in my ear to finish the new fence on our east range as fast as possible.

“Morning, Joe!” Amos, dressed in black as usual, stepped out of the bunkhouse, scratching his cheek.

“Morning.”

Whenever Amos thought I wouldn’t notice, he watched me with his coal-black eyes, causing me to feel uncomfortable around him. Sometimes, I got the impression he was amused, but it was hard to tell with that overgrown face. He looked and moved like someone I knew, but it slipped away whenever I was about to grasp it.

Amos lit a cigarette and glanced at the cloudy sky. “It’s gonna rain.”

“Yeah, we’d better get going. This fence ain’t going to build itself.” I rose from my chair, pouring the cold coffee on the ground and adjusting my hat. “I’ll hitch up the buckboard, and you load the barbed wire and the tools.”

“All right.”

 

The wagon rattled over the uneven ground, and I was thrown back and forth on the seat. Feeling the gaze of Amos, riding next to me on his bay, I looked him straight in the face. “Hey, Amos, I always wondered why you didn’t like me. Have I done something to you?”

“What?”

“You heard me. And after my accident at Doc’s, you said some strange things. The memories are coming back.”

“Darn, I forgot my gloves,” the cowhand grumbled, turning his horse. “I’ll ride back and get ’em. We meet at the pasture.”

Shrugging, I looked after him with a puzzled expression. Working with barbed wire without gloves was indeed not a good idea, but his sudden reaction was still strange. I would find out when he was back. Arriving at the pasture, I unloaded the tools and started digging post holes.

Noon found me still working alone. “Where’s Amos?” I muttered to myself, frustrated by his delay. I had long since shed my jacket and holster, and my sweat-soaked shirt stuck to my body. The air was stifling, carrying the faint scent of rain.

A thunderclap exploded like a cannon, almost making me jump out of my skin. Absorbed in my work, I hadn’t noticed the worsening weather. A massive bank of lead-gray clouds rolled toward me. Lightning split the sky, and the tension in the air made the roots of my hair tingle. I needed to find shelter fast. 

Another roaring rumble drowned out the pattering of the onset of rain. Pulling my head between my shoulders, I reached for my jacket. Out of nowhere, an arm wrapped around my neck, and iron muscles pressed against my throat. I clawed in vain at the massive forearm, cutting off my air. I struggled, twisted, and kicked. My heel connected with something soft, drawing a grunt. The grip loosened. I sucked in a gasp of air, but a heavy blow between my shoulder blades expelled the breath as quickly as it had come. I tumbled to the ground, pain shooting up and down my back. My hat was gone. Icy rain splashed on my face. Something rough, a lasso, was wrapped around my torso several times, pinning my upper arms.

I blinked water from my eyes. A clean-shaven man with a square jaw and dark eyes towered over me. A flash of lightning cast sharp shadows on the familiar face. I knew him. But it was impossible. He was dead. “Aaron?” My mouth dropped open. “What …?”

“No, not Aaron. He’s dead. I’m his twin brother.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Without his beard, he was a copy of his brother if it hadn’t been for the long hair.

“You’re to blame that he died, aren’t you?”

“What? How …?”

The force of Amos’s kick to my chest sent me flipping onto my back, a clear expression of his raw hatred. “How would I know? In one of his lucid moments, he’d asked the doc to send me a wire. I arrived the day after the trial and was with him when he died. It was—”

Another yellow fork lit up the twilight, immediately followed by a deafening roar of thunder that drowned out the rest of the sentence. A boot crashed down on my wrist, pinning it into the softened earth. Amos held a rifle, the butt hovering looming over my right hand, ready to crush it. ‘No, please,’ I wanted to beg but bit my lip instead. I wouldn’t plead.

“Aaron’s last wish was that you suffer as he did when he died from that gut shot. I knew your face from the wanted posters your family plastered all over Placerville. So I hired at the Ponderosa to plan my revenge. When I’m done with you, I’m going to find that bitch Ella. I guess she took the gold you dug out of the mine, didn’t she?” Amos moved his boot back and forth, forcing my hand deeper into the mud.

“I didn’t shoot him,” I croaked, rain pouring into my mouth and nose. “Fought with Steve, and his gun went off.” Turning my head to the side, I coughed up water. “It was an accident.”

“You got cousin Steve locked up. He told me about what you and Ella did.” The butt of the rifle came hurtling down. I lunged, tearing at my pinned hand with renewed fury, and yanked it free. Wood splinters hit my face when the shaft shattered against a rock. My heel connected with Amos’ knee. He screamed, slipped on the slick ground, and fell. I flung myself at the weapon, struggling with the rope that bound my torso.

Amos’s head slammed into my stomach, making me lose grip of the rifle. Mud enveloped us as we wrestled for the weapon. He straddled me and landed several hard punches on my face. Summoning every ounce of strength, I delivered a solid blow, sending Amos sprawling backward.

With the taste of blood in my mouth, I got to my knees, not a dry thread left on my body. After wriggling free of the lariat, I crawled over to Amos. Like me, he had lost his hat, and his hair was plastered to his head. He blinked in confusion, offering no resistance as I seized his .45 from its holster and aimed it at him. “Hold out your hands.”

After tying him with his lasso, I grabbed his arm. “Get on your feet!” I mopped the water from my eyes that streamed down my face, wincing when I touched a cut over my eyebrow.

I almost laughed as I pushed Amos toward his horse. We made a sad picture with our battered and bruised faces, soaked to the bone, and every inch of our clothes caked in mud. Amos staggered and swayed, and I could barely move my shoulder without fiery pain shooting through my arm.

“Let’s see the sheriff.” I tied Amos’ bay to the back of the wagon and spurred the team on. I wasn’t sure I could press charges, but it was up to the sheriff to decide if the attempt to kill or cripple me was enough for a sentence. Enjoying the coolness of the rain on my face, I closed my eyes for a moment. The thunder had subsided to a faint rumble in the distance, and the rain had died down to a drizzle.

As I drove the buggy, I glanced down at my hands gripping the reins. Despite the pain in my scraped knuckles, a surge of satisfaction coursed through me. I had taken down a man a head taller and sixty pounds heavier than myself. Turning to my captive, I asked, “Doc Martin suspected you of keeping the laudanum from me. Was he right?”

Amos gave me a weak smirk and shrugged. “And if he was? You’ve got nothing on me. No court will convict me for a fight.” He raised his bound hands to examine the back of his head, face contorted in pain. When he lowered them, I saw the bloodstains on his fingers.

Realizing he was probably right, I pressed my lips together in frustration. Goose bumps ran up my body from the cool wind that had replaced the rain. I clicked my tongue and spurred the horses into a faster pace. It would be an uncomfortably damp ride to Virginia City.

++++

Amos sat on the cot in Roy Coffee’s jail and rubbed his sore jaw. He had removed his shirt and wore a wool blanket around his shoulders, his pants clinging to his legs, still soaking wet. Hell, Cartwright can hit damn hard. I underestimated him. I didn’t expect him to fight his way back from his hand injury.

Groaning, he lifted his legs onto the cot, leaning against the brick wall, careful not to touch the lump on the back of his head, where he had struck a rock during the fight. It throbbed like hell, giving him the worst headache he’d ever experienced. With another moan, he closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the rising nausea.

Sitting at his paper-littered desk writing a report, Sheriff Coffee shot him an appraising look. “Are you alright? You look kinda pale.”

“Head’s killing me.”

“You need a doctor?”

Amos spat and turned to face the wall. But he was not allowed to rest yet, because the door burst open and the upset voice of his boss could be heard in the cells.

 

Ben Cartwright stormed into the office. “Roy! I saw our buckboard in front of the jail. What’s going on?” His eyes darted over the cells, widened in shock. “Is that Amos? Why is he locked up? Where’s my son?”

Roy moved to his friend’s side, placing a calming hand on Ben’s arm. “Settle down, Ben. There’s no need to get riled up. Amos and Joe had a fight. But the boy’s all right. He’s probably at the hotel taking a hot bath. He certainly needs something dry to wear. The storm caught them both off guard.”

Ben expelled the air. “Thanks, Roy. I’ll go find Joseph.”

++++

With my eyes closed and my head resting on the tub’s edge, I soaked in the steaming water. It engulfed my tense muscles and soothed my sore spots with its comforting warmth. Just as I was about to doze off, a knock sounded at the door. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me!”

“Come on in!”

Pa opened the door and entered the room. I saw his tense shoulders relax when he noticed my smile. The lines on his forehead smoothed, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He took a step closer. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit banged up, but that bath feels great. I had a fight with Amos. He’s Aaron’s twin brother. Remember Aaron? He was one of the men who held me captive in the mine. Amos was out for revenge.”

“But you weren’t responsible for his brother’s death.”

“Not exactly, no. But he felt otherwise. I remembered weird stuff Amos said during Paul’s treatment and asked him about it. Instead of an answer, he claimed he’d forgotten his gloves and had to ride back to the house. The storm was right over me when he returned. For a moment, I thought I saw Aaron’s ghost when he appeared clean-shaven. He tried to smash my good hand, but I beat him.” The thought of how I came out of the fight as a winner brought a broad grin.

Pa’s expression and how he rubbed the butt of his pistol told me how upset he was, but he listened without interrupting.

“Hatred and thoughts of revenge consume him. Such people are to be pitied.”

“You’ve got a point, Joseph. But you may think about how you’ve felt over the last few weeks: angry, hurt, desperate. Maybe it’s good to draw the line. But we can discuss that later. How about I get you some dry clothes, and then we have a bite to eat?”

“Sounds good to me.”

++++

“Dinner!” Roy called out to his prisoner as he unlocked the barred door. Amos was slumped on the cot, his face turned toward the brick wall. His dark hair was spread in matted strands across the pillow, which bore a reddish stain. Balancing the tray in one hand, Roy stepped closer, his frown deepening. “Hey, you!”

The cowhand didn’t move a muscle.

“Damn,” Roy murmured, setting the tray on the floor and turning the man over. He showed no reaction. The only signs of life were his chest, rising and falling barely noticeable, and the sluggish pulse in his neck felt through the sheriff’s probing fingers. “Guess that fella now needs a doctor.”

 

Paul Marin took the stethoscope from his ears and shook his head as he met Roy’s eyes. “I’m afraid he’s got a bleed in his skull. His pupils are wide and don’t react to light.”

“He’ll die? But all he has is a lump on the back of his head.”

“The damage is inside. Sometimes, blood vessels burst when you hit your head hard. There’s nothing I can do for this man.”

 

Unaware that the prisoner who’d caused Joe so much suffering was on the brink of death, Ben entered the hotel room, a bundle of new clothes tucked under his arm. He was met with a peaceful picture of recovery, not the finality of death.

The bath had been removed, but the clean smell of soap still lingered in the air. Smiling, Ben approached his son with careful steps so as not to disturb him. He bent over his youngest, who lay prone on the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist. The covers had slipped halfway to the floor, and Joe’s face was buried deep in the fluffy pillow, which he clutched with his right hand. His left dangled relaxed over the edge of the bed.

Ben frowned at the angry-looking bruise between his boy’s shoulder blades. His gaze traveled from the smooth, tanned back to the relaxed face. Joe looked so young. Wet hair curled at the nape of his neck, and his mouth was twisted into a smile as his eyes twitched beneath closed lids. It was evident he dreamed of something beautiful. ‘Probably about a girl,’ Ben thought with a chuckle.

Pride and hope filled his broad chest, along with a deep breath that dispelled the tension of the past few weeks. The mischievous twinkle in Joe’s eyes had returned. Ben knew his youngest had gotten over his injury, maybe because he had defeated a much bulkier man, or maybe it was time to put it all behind him and move on. It felt as if Joe had found peace. Sure, there would still be days when frustration would take over, but Joe was strong. Despite his limitations, he would not let them keep him from living life to the fullest.

Ben resisted an impulse to brush his son’s disheveled hair from his brow. Instead, he picked up the covers and spread them over the sleeping form. Then he tiptoed out of the room.

The End

August 2024

 

Author’s notes:

Tags: SJS

Episodes referenced:

My Brother’s Keeper, written by Seeleg Lester

Between Heaven and Earth, written by Ed Adamson