Summary: All Ben Cartwright wanted was one day without Little Joe getting hurt in some way.  Pa learns never to tempt fate again once he returns home that night.

Rating T, WC 10,618

The Trouble Magnet Series:

The Trouble Magnet 
The Trouble Magnet – #2 

The Trouble Magnet #3

The Trouble Magnet

Little Joe Cartwright sat in the living room of the Ponderosa ranch house, his arms folded across his chest, attempting to hold back all the words he wanted to say to the man standing there in front of him.  If it had been anyone other than his father who was going off on him in such a loud tirade, Joe would’ve been up in their face yelling right back.  Pa had all the tell-tale signs written across his face which warned the young man to hold his tongue.  His voice echoed inside the living room all the while the index finger of his right hand pointed down directly in his son’s face.

“Have you gotten my drift yet, Joseph?”  Ben asked wearily.  He was starting to lose steam after more than thirty minutes of arguing with his boy.

“Do I get to talk yet?”  Joe replied and tried his best not to sound sarcastic.

Ben grumbled under his breath and finally took a seat across from his son.  “Go ahead, make it quick I have things to do!”

“Okay,” Joe began and stood from the hearth and put together in his mind his best rebuttal, “I know what you’re saying, Pa.  I know that I’ve gotten into some trouble recently but most of it hasn’t been my fault.  I don’t think it’s very fair to make me stay here just because of a few mishaps.”

“A few mishaps!”  Ben exclaimed, filled with exasperation.  He stood and neared the young man.  “Do you want me to stand here and list them all again?”

“No, Sir–not really,” Little Joe’s comment came out with a good deal of mirth behind it.  “I know what’s happened.”

“Well, let me just clarify once more for you.  Apparently, you’re having some trouble with memory lapses here lately.”

Joe sank back down onto the cold rock hearth and wished he had chosen better words.  Now it looked like Pa was going to rehash all that he had been harping on for the past half an hour.

“First, two months ago—-when you decided on your own to follow your brothers up to the log flume AGAINST MY ORDERS!”  Ben sounded out.

***Oh Brother, here we go again, part two***Joe thought to himself.

“You were brought back later that day with a busted wrist and all because you didn’t listen to your brothers any more than you listened to your father.”

“All better!”  Joe grinned and lifted his right wrist towards his father.

Ben was not amused.  He placed his hands on his hips to prevent him from using them around his son’s neck.  Joe could aggravate even the most patient father and was doing it very well that morning.  In his best paternal stance, Ben was a force to be reckoned with.

“Second, as soon as the splint came off your wrist you decided to help with the horses.   Even though both Doctor Martin AND your FATHER told you specifically that you could not break horses for another month.  That stunt cost you two cracked ribs, and your wrist had to once again be put in a splint!”

“Hey—I was just trying to help out—you know I’m the best bronc buster on this ranch.”  Little Joe protested to deaf ears.

“It has nothing to do with HELPING OUT and YOU know it!  You have NEVER been THAT conscientious.  Betty Carter was visiting that day, and you wanted to show her your amazing talent.  Funny she didn’t seem all that impressed when we had to carry you back to the house unconscious!”

“Oh well—-there’s plenty of fish in the sea,” Joe grinned.

“You just cannot do as told, can you?  You not only disobey me but then you get hurt and I end up worrying about you.   Do you think it’s fun for me to see you come in here time after time covered in blood?” Pa asked, his eyebrows knitting themselves together as he stared at the boy hard trying to make his point.

“Hey—that’s not fair—it’s not like I enjoy getting hurt you know!” Joe exclaimed indignantly.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Ben responded bluntly, and took his seat once more.

“Huh?  You think I want to get hurt?  Hell no!”  Joe fumed at the implication.

“Watch your mouth, Joseph, I am in the middle of a lecture here and it’s already taken half of the day.  Don’t make me change the subject and move on to your language,” Ben warned.

“Sorry,” Little Joe muttered, and thought on how to get Pa into a better mood.  “Pa, since Hoss and Adam are out moving the herd, and since I’ve been working so hard around here handling all their chores as well as my own, —well—all I wanted was an afternoon off.  I don’t understand what the problem is.  I just wanted to ride on into town with you, hang out at the bar for a little while and then come back here peacefully,” Joe’s voice took on a calmer tone, in the hopes of getting on his father’s good side and forcing his compliance.

“You are telling me —after going through this twice now that you don’t understand what the problem is?  You just want to go into town, hang out at the bar?  That brings me again to your LAST trip into Virginia City!”

***Oh no, here he goes again.  Will this ever end? *** Joe sighed to himself.

“You were going to go and drop the contracts off at the bank and come home with the mail.  Wasn’t that the assignment I gave you that day, Joseph?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And did you do it?”  Ben asked, his eyebrows raised in gesture.

“Well—no–not exactly.”

“And why did you fail to accomplish your task again?”

“Because I was in Roy Coffee’s jail,” Little Joe returned, wincing his face to brace himself from yet another Pa explosion he knew was forthcoming.

“Yes, that’s right!  Very good–you remembered!  Now–here’s the hard part—remember why you were in Roy’s jail?”  Ben continued, his tone full of sarcasm.

“Because I got in a fight over at the bar—-and Roy herded me and the other guy to jail.”

“Selective memory,” Ben grumbled once more, “I didn’t hear the part about you getting three sheets to the wind before breaking that fellow’s nose!  I also didn’t hear the part about the five hundred dollars in damages that I had to pay either.  And, yet the contracts were still in your jacket, and the post office was closed by the time I came to bail you out.  On top of all of that—Doc had to splint your wrist for the third time AND suture your forehead!”

“I wasn’t three sheets to the wind—I only had a couple beers!”  Joe argued.

“Don’t go there, Joseph!”  Ben warned and stood and moved over to the credenza.  He began to buckle his gun belt when Joe moved next to him.

“So—you saying that I can’t go?”  Joe asked innocently.

Ben placed his right hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed hard enough to force the boy’s eye contact with him.  “YES!  Very good—you are very bright, Son!  Just as I’ve told you since six o’clock this morning.  I am so happy to see you have caught on after I’ve been saying it now for hours.”

“If I get the chores all done–well–then, can I?”  Joe persisted, not one to use much common sense.

“Joseph!” Pa shouted to the rafters.  “You are going to work around here all day.  You got that?  You are NOT going into town; you are NOT going to leave this yard.  I want to come back here later this evening and see you as intact as you are right now.  I don’t want to see a splint, a stitch, or busted rib.  You got that?”

“Pa—you make it sound like I am always hurt.”

“You, Joseph, are a TROUBLE MAGNET!  You put yourself into positions that have the same end result—you get clobbered!”  Ben’s voice thundered as he reluctantly let go of Joe’s shoulder and pulled his hat down from the rack by the door.

“So, I guess there’s no changing your mind?”  Joe questioned weakly as he watched his father pull the door open.

“Brilliant deduction—and I thought all those years I sent you to school had been a waste.”  Ben shot back as he stepped onto the porch.

“It’s gonna be boring here, Pa.  Hop Sing’s gone–the other hands are gone—my brothers are gone!”  Joe protested as his father moved over to the hitching post where he had earlier left Buck.

Ben swung up onto his horse and stared down at his youngest son.  He was no longer angry with the seventeen-year-old, but he was totally exasperated by his persistence.

“You could use some boredom, Joseph.  Now, do NOT leave this yard—got it?”

“Yeah,” Joe muttered, his voice filled with defeat.

“Please allow your father to come home to a son who is not only obedient but also intact.”

“Yes, Sir—-see you later,” Joe sighed and felt his father’s hand reach down to pat his shoulder.

“Thank you.  I will see you tonight.  Now go on and get to those chores!”  Ben announced pointing to the barn.  He turned his horse out of the yard and headed for Virginia City.

************

Joe kicked at the clods of dirt in the yard as he slowly made his way into the barn.  He could tell by the tone that Pa had used with him that he had better follow orders, at least this time.  As he entered the stall where his pinto stood waiting for her master, Joe’s eyes caught on the note which had been tacked to the railing of the horse’s stall.

***Joseph, in case I failed to get across to you this morning, I am very serious about you staying home.  I have left the following list of chores to keep you well occupied.  Very first thing is to get that back left horseshoe fixed on Cochise.  I don’t know how many times I have told you to do it, but you seem to forget.  Your horse is YOUR responsibility.  As much as you apparently love that animal, you would think that you would take better care of her needs!  Second, we have a cord of wood that needs to be cut.  Once cut, you need to fill ALL the wood boxes, including the kitchen and living room.  Then, you need to clean out the entire barn, muck out the stalls and put in new hay—the works!  The rush job you did on it the other day was nothing more than an attempt to pull the wool over your father’s eyes.  Remember, you are MY son and there’s nothing that YOU have tried to do in your seventeen years that I haven’t already attempted myself.  You are one nut that does NOT fall that far from this tree.  If you get all these chores accomplished before I get home, then you can make dinner.  None of your awful meatloaf please!  Have a nice – non-injured day!  Love, Your Father*** Joe read the note to himself and crumpled it in his hands, upset by the thoroughness in which Ben had set forth the day’s events.

“I haven’t been ignoring you, have I Cooch?” Joe asked as he stroked the pinto’s neck.  The horse responded with a loud stomp from her front right hoof.  “Not you too,” Joe responded.  “Okay I’ll get that shoe of yours fixed.  That will allow me to get back on your back and keep Pa off mine!”  Joe mused and moved to get the tools he would need to remove the horseshoe.

Joe had all he needed to make the repairs.  He tied Cochise’s reins to one of the front hitching posts outside of the barn and had gotten the coals red hot in the forge.  With little effort the bad shoe popped right off, and Joe tossed it aside and grabbed a new one.  Taking the tines in his hand he edged the piece of iron into the hot embers.  Cochise waited patiently and every now and then snorted her gratitude.  Joe took the hammer in his left hand and began pounding the horseshoe into the proper form when a rider approached the yard.  Looking over at the man Joe noticed it was Brad Thomas, one of the Ponderosa’s hired hands.  Happy to have some company to ease his boredom, Little Joe tossed the horseshoe back into the hot coals and patted Cochise’s hindquarters.  He then walked into the front yard and greeted Brad.

“Hi ya, Brad!  What’s going on—thought you were out with Hoss and Adam and the rest of the men?”  Joe asked, as the man dismounted and shook the outstretched hand.

“I come to draw my pay, Little Joe, I’m leaving,” Brad replied.

“Huh?   What’s wrong?  You’ve worked here five years!”  Joe exclaimed.  “Don’t tell me that Adam has been on your case—cause if that’s the reason just shrug it off like I do.”

“Naw—it’s not your brother—it’s that darned Billy Havers!  I’m not gonna work a ranch with him on it no more.”

“Billy?  But last I knew you guys were best friends.  What’s the deal?”

“Yeah, some friend!  Last night—we were sitting around the campfire–you know–just jawing–and I find out he’s been sparking Amanda behind my back.  He knows I’ve been courting her.  He ain’t no friend of mine!”

“But–” Joe cut off his reply when another man rode up to the ranch.  Billy Havers dismounted and walked over to the other two men.

“I’ve come to draw my wages!”  Billy shouted, never taking his eyes off Brad.

“Oh brother,” Joe muttered.  It looked as though his peaceful day was starting to fade.

“You don’t have to leave, you Polecat!  I’m the one who’s leaving!”  Brad called to Billy and moved menacingly towards the man.

“I can do as I please!”  Billy shouted and shoved Brad.

Joe saw that a fracas was brewing and positioned himself quickly between both hired hands.  “Just a minute there, fellas—let’s talk this out!”  Joe argued.

Billy reared back and threw a punch towards Brad, which the man dodged.  Unfortunately, Little Joe was in the way of the punch, and the man’s fist hit his left eye.

“Now see what you’ve done!”  Brad yelled at Billy.  “Joe?  You okay?”

Joe frowned and nodded towards Brad.  “You two need to simmer down—and I am not gonna take another punch lightly—from either of you!”

“That’s fine—just go get my money!”  Billy sounded out.

“Look—-why don’t you both go into town and get some beers and talk this out?   Pa will be back later—if you want to quit then he’ll pay you.”

“I ain’t going into town with no vermin like him!”  Brad fumed.

“So now I’m vermin, huh?  You just up and leave last night—don’t even tell me what you’re upset about.  Then you get mad and ride out here to quit.  When I asked Adam where you’d gone, I couldn’t believe what he told me!”

“Tell you what I’m mad about?  You know!”  Brad answered hotly.  “You’re courting Amanda—I heard you last night.  You think I’m deaf?”

Billy broke into laughter and glanced over at Joe.  “You dumb ninny—-I ain’t courting YOUR Amanda, I am courting Amanda McBride!  If you had let me talk to you instead of high-tailing it here, we wouldn’t be screaming at each other now.”

“Yeah, and I wouldn’t have a black eye neither,” Little Joe muttered, gently touching at his injury.

Brad looked down at the ground.  He was embarrassed for all he had accused his best friend of doing.  “Hey—I’m sorry—-still friends?” he asked as he offered the other man his handshake.

“Sure—you dad gum hard head!”  Billy grinned and shook with Brad.

“Now—how about you two nit wits getting back to the herd?”  Joe asked, after witnessing the two friends making peace with each other.

“Yeah—guess we need to.”  Billy said and swung into his saddle.

“Not before I buy my best friend a beer though!”   Brad called over to Billy.

“And I’ll buy you one too.  Let’s go!”  Billy laughed and turned his horse.

Brad climbed upon his mount and looked down at Joe, whose eye was already starting to blacken.  “Hey, Little Joe —-sorry about that.”

“No problem,” Joe sighed and watched as the two reunited friends rode out of the yard.

***Guess that’s my excitement for the day*** Joe laughed as he turned back to his horse shoeing project.  It was suddenly apparent that he was very wrong.  Unbeknownst to any of the three men during the little scuffle, was the fact that the noise they had caused during the fight had caused Cochise to panic and kick over the forge with her hind legs.  The forge was only a foot from a good-sized clump of fresh hay which had ignited as soon as it had tipped over.  The hay trailed to the side of the barn, and it was now on fire.

“OH LORDY!”  Joe shouted as he ran towards the barn.  His first reaction was to untie his horse before the flames spread.  Joe did that quickly and Cochise meandered into the yard.  Little Joe ran for a couple of horse blankets close by and began to try and stomp out the flames.  When that failed to do the trick, he grabbed a bucket and raced to the horse trough.  Bucket after bucket he sent the water hurling towards the side of the barn.  It took a while, but he had at last put out the flames.  Joe dropped to his knees out of breath.  He surveyed the damaged boards on the side of the barn and winced his face.   ***Pa is gonna kill me—just plain kill me!  It wasn’t MY fault—but still—he will KILL me! *** Joe thought to himself.

“I need a drink!”  Joe cried out loud and walked towards his horse.  He secured Cochise’s reins to the front hitching post and then marched into the house in search of a good shot of Pa’s brandy.

A short while later, Little Joe, brandy glass in hand, walked out of the house and over to the damaged barn.  His face scrunched up in a sorrowful scowl as he surveyed the burnt boards.

“If I am gonna save my life and my hide, I’m gonna have to try and replace those boards, that’s for sure.”  Joe spoke to himself.  He looked down at the waterlogged forge and set it upright.  “Okay—-I think there’s some boards already cut—-I think Adam put them up in the hayloft–let’s see.”  Joe walked into the barn and tossed down his empty brandy glass before climbing up the ladder which led to the loft.  He was relieved to find that his memory had served him well.  There were four boards which had been cut, and though they were to be used on another project, Little Joe decided that he had to take drastic measures.  One by one he slid them down to the floor of the barn, slowly pulling them outside.  He then gathered the hammer and nails he would need to make his repairs and headed to the side of the barn.  Sizing up the situation, Joe knew that the boards would fit, however they were just a tad too long.  Some sawing was definitely in order so he walked back into the barn to get the sawhorses to hold the boards.

“Dad gum it, this is gonna be one hell of a project,” Joe muttered as he placed the first board onto the sawhorses.  “I guess I should pull one of those burnt boards off so I can get the right measurements.  Why am I talking to myself?”  Joe laughed and went for the crowbar.

Joe tugged and pulled and tugged and pulled until the first damaged board finally let go.  Unfortunately, he was not prepared for it to give at that moment, and the momentum threw him to the ground.  He lay there awhile with the board sitting on his chest, having knocked the wind out of him.  When Joe stood back up, he could feel something was wrong whenever he inhaled.

“Oh, this is perfect!  I bet I’ve cracked a rib; dad blast it!”  Joe fumed and tossed the board across the yard in anger.  “Maybe I should go and get another drink before I get to this job?” Little Joe argued over his logic in doing so but won out over his wiser self and headed once more into the house.

**************

The morning was gone and the afternoon was waning fast, and after hours of hard work, Joe had at last nailed the final board to the side of the barn.  He had also consumed quite a bit of his father’s brandy, feeling justified in doing so, since he was hurting.  Stepping back to take a good look at his patch job, Joe felt the stabbing pain shooting up from his right foot.  He fell to the ground screaming at the top of his lungs.  Looking at the bottom of his boot, Joe realized he had finally found the missing nail he had earlier searched for.  The nail was driven precariously completely through the boot, and into the pads of his foot just a few inches from his toes, which led to yet another predicament.

“How am I gonna pull this boot off when the nail is already through my foot?  If I do that—it’s gonna rip its way through half of my foot!”  Joe yelled, looking at the flat head of the nail, which was the only part now showing.  After some great consideration and numerous words that he knew would have made a sailor blush, Little Joe pulled himself to standing and hopped towards the barn.  He made his way through the barn door and searched for the wire cutters.  When he found them, he sank down onto the hay covered floor and began to slowly cut off his boot.  It was slow going since the boot’s rough leather refused to surrender for a long while.  Joe slowly removed the top section of leather and was finally staring at his sock.  He braced himself as he tugged the bottom of the boot off.  It didn’t take long before the hole which the nail had left in his foot began to fill with blood.  Joe examined the nail and hoped that it wouldn’t lead to infection.  The only good thing going for him at the time was the fact that it was a brand-new nail and was not corroded with rust like the ones he had pulled from the burnt boards.

Joe limped across the front yard using only the heel of his right foot to keep himself balanced.  Making his way into the ranch house, Joe left a trail of blood as he headed into the kitchen.  Grabbing a bar of Hop Sing’s strong lye soap and a kitchen towel Joe eased into a chair and inspected the damage.    Painstakingly pulling off his sock, Joe noticed that the hole was only the width of the nail, but the puncture wound was very deep.  Joe reached across to the breakfront and grabbed a bottle of cooking sherry.  It was the closest pain killer around.  He took a good chug and then began to cleanse his wound.

“Okay—let’s just recap today’s events,” Joe muttered.  “First my father insists that I not go with him to town for fear that I would end up hurt in some way.  Then, I am minding my own business when two lunatics decide to duke it out in the front yard,” Joe paused and chugged some more sherry and gingerly touched his swollen left eye.  “Then—due to those idiots, my horse sets the barn on fire.  Then, while repairing the barn I get clobbered by one of the boards and bust a rib or two.  To top it all off—-I step squarely onto the one nail that I left on the ground.  Yeah, I think that about sums up my day.”

Joe stared at the clock on the counter and shook his head angrily.  “Great—it’s four o’clock!  Cochise has no horseshoe on her hoof, the barn is a total mess, there is no wood cut or delivered into the wood boxes.  How the heck am I gonna explain this one?”  Joe tied a knot in the hand towel to hold it securely on his injured foot and limped out of the kitchen.  “Pa might just as well have sent me to spend the day with the Apache Indians—it would’ve been a whole lot safer than staying here by myself!”

************

Making his way slowly across to the living room, Joe slunk down into his father’s red leather chair and carefully set his foot on top of the coffee table.  His gaze fell on the dying embers in the fireplace and wondered if it was worth trying to start a fire.  Joe’s hand reached over to the wood box close by and lifted the lid.  It was empty. ***Great—-no wood, no fire, Pa’s gonna light a fire under me – and it ain’t gonna be pretty!  Well, since I sure can’t do my chores, I guess maybe I could start something for supper.  Yeah!  Maybe that would take away some of his wrath—if he smelled food on the stove when he walks into this house?  Hum — but first, guess I’d better go put Cochise back in her stall.  I don’t need Pa riding up and seeing that I failed to fix that horseshoe.  Maybe I can stall a while?  Yeah sure! ***Joe thought to himself and then limped towards his father’s study.  He took a good look at his face in the mirror that hung close to the desk. ***One look at this eye will start Pa on a roll about me getting hurt! ***Joe’s hand found its way down to his rib cage and he groaned. ***This thing is killing me— even more than my foot!  Well—guess I need to do as planned and go put my horse up first. *** Little Joe slowly made his way outside and untied the horse’s reins and headed towards the barn.

Once inside the barn, Joe noticed all the tools he had haphazardly thrown around while he was trying to make the repairs.  He knew he had to try and straighten up at least a little bit, so he gathered them up as soon as Cochise was in her stall.  Satisfied that he had done all that he could physically do for the moment, Joe closed the barn door and took one last look at his repair job.  Pa would surely be able to tell that there were new un-weathered boards on the side of the barn, so Joe prayed that his father would return after dark to allow him more time to work on a good story.  He knew that Pa would begin his reprimand with the word negligence right off, so he had to formulate a plan to show that it was an accident and not just a stupid mistake. ***Boy, this one’s gonna have to be a whopper of a story for Pa to let me off the hook this time.*** Joe thought as he walked back into the ranch house and closed the door.

************

“Looks like stew will work!”  Joe sang out loud as he inspected the meat selection in the pantry.  Fortunately, Hop Sing had set aside a couple days’ worth of meat before he had left for his trip to San Francisco.  Still inside the cold storage bin, there was a good-sized hunk of beef.  Joe made his way over to the sink and rinsed his hands off and then placed the meat on the butcher block.  Grabbing the carving knife, he carefully cut the meat into small pieces and placed them inside one of the ceramic bowls. ***Let’s see—need some flour—and have to get the fire started. ***

Joe was fortunate enough to find just enough wood in the bin by the stove to get it heated up.  He turned back to making the stew.  The flour cannister was high above the shelf over the stove, and as Joe reached for it, his balance was thrown off due to the stabbing pain of his foot.  The whole cannister fell to the floor with a loud crash and spilled its contents all over. ***Not my day—Hop Sing is gonna go crazy when he sees that I’ve busted that thing!  Now how am I gonna coat this stuff? *** Joe bent down and scooped up a handful of flour and tossed it into the bowl with the cut meat. ***Pa will never know—and heck I won’t be hungry by the time he gets done with killing me anyhow. *** Little Joe dredged the meat with the flour and tossed it into the frying pan. ***Joe Cartwright’s famous recipe for floor floured stew! ***

As the stew beef began to fry up, Joe settled back down at the table and drank more sherry.  He looked down at the broken canister and then groaned. ***I should’ve quit while I was ahead—but I haven’t been ahead all day.  So, what the heck! *** He sipped enough sherry to ease the pain he was feeling in his side and foot and then got down on the floor and tried in vain to clean up the broken ceramic pieces.  The more he worked on it, the more the flour spread.  He tossed the wash rag into the sink, giving up on the idea of concealing his mess.

Joe removed the carrots and potatoes from the storage bin and began cutting them into bite sized pieces.  He glanced over at the stove and saw the heavy smoke coming from the fry pan and hurried to turn the meat.   ***Okay, not burnt too bad—just need to finish cutting these carrots and I will have it all done! *** Joe smiled to think that something was going his way for a change.  Again, just as was typical for the day, he was very wrong.  The last carrot rolled on him just as he was making his final cut and he sliced straight through his right thumb.

“Dad blast that dad gum stupid carrot!” Joe yelled and pulled his thumb up to his mouth.  “I’m afraid to look,” Joe muttered as he opened his eyes.  Inspecting his cut, he saw that he had laid the skin open right to the bone and blood was pouring out of the wound. ***Well, at least I no longer have to worry about Pa killing me—I am gonna do it myself long before he comes home! *** Joe hurried towards the kitchen drawer and pulled it open to find something to staunch the flow of blood.  Pulling a white napkin out he tied the newly formed bandage tightly around his thumb and then turned back to the stove.  No longer being concerned with how his dinner would turn out, Little Joe tossed the vegetables into the pan and poured water on top of the concoction. ***The last supper*** Joe thought as he limped out of the kitchen in search for more pain killer.

Pouring out the last little swallow of his father’s very expensive brandy, he tossed it down.  Sitting behind Pa’s desk Joe tried to recuperate from his numerous injuries and tried to figure out a way in which to break it all to his father.  The brandy along with the bottle of sherry was making him feel very woozy and he leaned back into his father’s chair and closed his eyes.  Little Joe no longer wanted the food that was still cooking on top of the stove.   In fact, all he wanted at that moment was to throw up.  Between the pain of his injuries and the headache that all the liquor had caused him, Little Joe hoped that his father would come home and just get it all over with.  He could just hear his father’s deep baritone voice yelling out his name and imagined the lecture he was going to be in for along with perhaps a good tanning to close out the day. ***Maybe he will take pity on me?  I mean—just look at me—I am a royal mess! *** Joe thought as he stared down at his bandaged foot, which was, after the walk to the barn, quite filthy.

**************

Hearing the front door opening, Joe braced for the worse tongue lashing of his seventeen years.  He was unable to pull himself up from the chair and figured it would be better anyhow to just sit and look pathetic and maybe that would be enough to prevent a trip out to the barn held by his collar with Pa leading the way.  The figure who came into view was not his father.  Little Joe wiped at his eyes trying to erase the sight.  He was starting to think that he was so plastered that he was now imagining things.

“Get up from there!” the intruder shouted and pointed his six-gun at the boy behind the desk.

“Who the hell are you?”  Joe asked, still not doing as he had been told.

“I said get up from there, Boy!” the man screamed.

“Kinda hard—you see—I’m kinda injured here—” Joe started to explain why he hadn’t complied with the man’s request.  At that point, Joe hoped he’d find some sympathy from somebody.  He yearned to tell even the stranger with the gun how awful his day had been.

“I don’t give two figs as to what your problem is—now stand or I let you have it!”

***That would be a mercy killing at this point*** Joe mused to himself as he attempted to do as he had been told.  Finally, he was able to stand and prop himself against the desk.

“Hey—aren’t you that bank robber that Sheriff Coffee caught a couple of weeks ago?”  Joe asked, as his vision started to clear.  He hated the fact that he was starting to sober up but figured what with a gun pointed at his chest, that it was to be expected.

“Yeah—and I’ve been on the lam all day.  Now go over there and give me all the money from your father’s safe!  And be quick about it—I ain’t got long!”

“You know my father will be here any minute,” Joe responded, hoping that the man would decide to leave on his own.

“I seen your old man—-and he was going into the International House with some other men.  He ain’t gonna be here any time soon.  Now–no more chatter—get the money!”

“Okay — okay—whatever,” Joe sighed and painfully bent down and started to turn the combination.  He pulled the door of the safe open and drew out the ready cash.

“Toss it here, Boy!” the man commanded.

Joe pulled himself to standing and stared over at the man. ***Of all the days to get robbed!  There’s just no way in the world Pa’s gonna buy this story—heck I wouldn’t either!  Who’d believe that I was just sitting here and some lunatic stormed in and stole the payroll? *** Joe thought to himself.

“Now!”

Joe smiled and, as he tossed the man the money, he dove over his father’s desk and knocked the robber onto his back.  He was able to knock the gun across the room as he continually punched and kicked at the assailant.

“I’m gonna kill you, Cartwright!” the robber yelled as he punched Joe in the ribs.

The blow was enough to knock Joe backwards and the man dove towards the weapon.

“You ain’t gonna kill no-one!” came the voice of Roy Coffee as he burst into the house.

Both Joe and the bank robber looked over to the entranceway and noticed the sheriff standing there with a loaded shotgun pointing their way.  One of Roy’s deputies came into the room behind him and rushed over to handcuff the robber.

Joe sighed as he shook his head.  He was relieved to see the sheriff, but unamused that the criminal had escaped his jail cell.

“You okay, Little Joe?”  Roy asked as he stretched a hand down to the boy to pull him to standing.

“Oh yeah—I am FINE just FINE!”  Joe answered sarcastically.

“You got quite a shiner there, Little Joe.  Looks like he roughed you up a bit,” Roy commented as he noticed the bandages on Joe’s thumb and his foot.

“Hey–I didn’t do that to him—he looked like that when I got here.  Don’t throw that charge on me!” the robber protested as the deputy walked him to the door.

“Yeah — yeah—he didn’t do it—he just threatened to shoot me,” Joe returned sarcastically.

“I’m plumb sorry that this jasper got out of my jail, Little Joe—-I tried to get holt of him before he made it out here, but we lost him twice.  You sure you’re okay?”

“Never felt better,” Joe answered, as he limped his way to the front door.

“Well—sorry about all this–” Roy apologized as he gave Joe the once over again.  “You need a doctor?”

Joe laughed and shook his head.  ***An undertaker maybe once Pa gets here — that would be more appropriate. *** “Naw—go on get that guy into town I will be fine.”

“Okay—-well—don’t worry about this yahoo he’s gonna be heading to the territorial prison tomorrow morning.”

***Wish I was going there too, so Pa couldn’t get his hands on me***Joe thought to himself as he watched Roy and the other two men walk outside.

************

Joe half limped and half staggered into the kitchen.  The stew was still on the stove and when he reached across to grab a spoon to stir it with his right hand he grimaced in pain.

***Oh no!  Must’ve broken my wrist again—-now it’s gonna have a splint on it for the fourth time.  That’s it!  I officially quit!  I am going up to my room and pull the covers over my head!  If Pa’s gonna kill me, I’d just as soon die in my bed. *** Joe conceded to defeat and limped out of the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of sherry to take along with him.

When he reached the living room his eyes scanned over to his father’s study.  His valiant attempt to save the payroll money with the grand leap across Pa’s desk had scattered all his important business papers.  It had also caused the bottle of India Ink to overturn.

***The kitchen is a disaster, the living room is a disaster, the barn’s been set on fire—okay guess I’ve accomplished all Pa had laid out for me.  Time to hide for dear life. *** Joe thought as he headed towards the staircase.  As soon as he hit the first landing, he set the empty sherry bottle there.  It appeared that inebriation was at last his, and Little Joe was thankful for that.

Once he was finally in his room, Joe limped to his bed and spread out on top of the comforter.  He stared down at his foot and noticed that the kitchen towel which had served as a bandage was covered in dirt.  He cringed to think of all the barnyard filth that was now probably embedded in his puncture wound.  Joe ached as he pulled himself to a seated position.  Removing the towel he tossed it on the floor at the end of the bed.  Looking then at his right hand he could see that the bandage on his thumb had turned to a dark crimson color.  He assumed the blood had clotted and Little Joe was thankful for that.  It hurt too bad to inspect the thumb further, since his wrist had suffered a nice fracture in his fight with the bank robber.  Joe rubbed at his side with his only good hand.  ***That guy would have to punch me in the same ribs that I busted not long ago! *** Joe complained more about his bad luck and eased himself back onto the pillows.   ***Whoa–that sherry has got a real kick to it–my head is swimming.  Oh well—guess I’ll curl up and go to sleep while I can.  I’m sure that Pa will wake me up later with a lecture to end all lectures — and that’s not going to be the end of it either.  If he gives me a tanning for setting the barn on fire and destroying the house –well — it’ll be the only part of my body that hasn’t already gotten hurt today. *** Little Joe pulled the blanket up from the bottom of the bed and covered his body so that only his face was now showing.  Then, a combination of exhaustion and alcohol abuse lulled him into a deep sleep.

*************

Ben had enjoyed a nice relaxing day spent in Virginia City.  He amused himself with some light conversation with some friends at the Silver Dollar Saloon, though he missed his usual cribbage match with Roy Coffee.  He always looked forward to a game or two with his old friend, but after stopping by the jail, Ben was told the sheriff was off on some business.  Later in the afternoon, Ben met up with his business partner and the two men had a lavish lunch at the International House.  Not one to neglect work for long, he stopped by the manager’s office at the local bank and discussed upcoming contract negotiations before heading over to the mercantile for a few things.  Ben, who had begun to feel a bit guilty for not allowing his youngest son to accompany him to town, bought him a new pocketknife as a peace offering.  It wasn’t much of a gift, but Ben had seen Joe staring at it the last time they were both in the store and he knew that it would make the boy happy.  Gathering his couple of purchases, Ben headed for the livery to get his horse.  He was hoping to be home before dark.

Ben had been humming to himself the last couple of miles before riding up to the ranch house.  He found his spirits to be very high after such a pleasant afternoon and had already decided to take Joe into town with him the following day as a treat for doing as he had been told. Dusk had fallen just as Ben rounded the corner of the barn.  The shadows cast by the receding daylight camouflaged Joe’s reconstruction to the side of the building.  Ben dismounted and pulled Buck with him towards the barn.  Knowing he would need some light, he reached inside the door and grabbed a lantern and lit it.  Ben eased his horse into its stall and then stared over at the pinto across the barn.  He set out the grain for Buck and then walked over to Cochise.

“Well, did that master of yours fix you up?”  Ben asked the horse, jokingly.  He bent down and inspected the horse’s back left hoof.  A frown formed on his face as Ben realized that there wasn’t a new shoe on the hoof. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t a horseshoe on that hoof at all.  It was then that he held the lantern up a bit higher and carefully inspected the interior of the barn.  The stalls were still as dirty as they had been when he had left that morning.  There was old hay on the floor where new hay should have been.  On top of that, the horse blankets were tossed around and the barn looked, for the most part, worse than it had been. ***Young Man you are in big trouble! *** Ben thought to himself as he patted Cochise and headed outside.

When he stepped up onto the porch, Ben took the time to light the lamp there.  He stared across to where he had left the stack of wood which his son was supposed to cut that day.  The pile appeared to be untouched by human hands. ***This just gets worse and worse for you Joseph! *** Ben was beginning to feel his blood pressure rise as he stepped inside the house.

Lighting the lamp on the credenza, Ben stared across the room at the fireplace.  There wasn’t even the slightest flame left burning, and the house was now downright cold.  Ben looked over at Joe’s holster and hat and knew that the boy couldn’t have gone too far.  It was at that moment that the angered father smelled an awful aroma coming from the kitchen. ***On top of everything else he did wrong–it smells like he made his famous meatloaf! *** Ben said to himself, as he hurried to the kitchen, hoping to catch a hold of his boy.

On top of the stove sat the remnants of stew, though it was charred beyond recognition.  Ben grabbed a potholder and set the pan to the side.  It was then that he lit another lamp and surveyed the kitchen.  Flour seemed to be coating the wood planking of the floor, along with several shards of glass.  Kneeling, Ben inspected the biggest piece and realized it had once been one of the canisters which he had purchased for their cook.  The set had come all the way from Boston and had been a gift for Hop Sing’s birthday. ***Wait till Hop Sing gets his hands on you, Joseph—–if there’s anything left of you after I get MY hands on you! ***

*************

Ben headed into the living room and hoped to get the fireplace going.  When he looked inside the wood box he was about ready to explode. ***I will get a fire going —but not until I put a fire under that boy of mine! *** Ben lit another lamp to carry along with him and then headed towards the stairs, but when he saw something odd in his peripheral vision, he did a double take.  Looking in the direction of his study, Ben noticed the papers which were spilled all over the floor.  He headed over to check out the damage and was surprised to see two envelopes that were filled with money.  Ben knew that it was the payroll.   He glanced across at his safe and noticed that the door was wide open. ***What in the devil? *** Heading to the safe, he tossed the money back inside and then closed and locked the door.  Turning back to his desk, Ben saw the over-turned ink well. ***Well—–we couldn’t have been robbed—because all the money is right here. *** Ben reasoned and then stared over at his brandy decanter.  He walked over to it, lifting it up to inspect it better.  It was as dry as a bone.   ***No—-he didn’t—did he? *** Ben asked himself. Retrieving his lamp while heading over to the stairs again, he was starting to think that Joe had gone on some wild drinking binge, perhaps to show his displeasure over being left at home with so many chores to do. ***Rebellion I expect from that kid—but this is even a bit much for him.  He must have lost his mind! *** Ben’s temper had risen as he stepped up the first four stairs.  When he got to the landing his right boot knocked something over.   Bending at the knees, Ben held the lamp out a bit so he could get a better look at what he had hit into.  There was an empty sherry bottle rolling around there now. ***That’s it!  You’re not going to be able to sit down for an entire year when I get a hold of you! *** The aggravated father fumed as he continued up to his son’s bedroom.

*************

Drawing in a deep breath, Ben stood just outside of his youngest son’s bedroom. ***Murder is a sin; murder is a sin*** He continued to remind himself. ***Justifiable homicide?  Is that a sin?  No—no court in this country would convict me! *** Ben reasoned. ***Come on, Ben, take it easy—calm down—there might be a perfectly good explanation for all of this.  Maybe not one that will prevent me from strangling the kid—-but let’s not lose our temper.  Just walk in there calmly and reasonably and ask that boy if he is out of his mind! *** Ben tried his best to tap down his anger, but he was beyond that point thinking about everything he had just witnessed.  So, with the calmness that was his trademark, Ben Cartwright threw the door open and yelled at the top of his lungs.

“JOSEPH FRANCIS CARTWRIGHT!” 

Joe just moved slightly in the bed although his father’s voice had shaken the pictures on the walls.  He was still in a deep sleep and was dreaming about the safety of the territorial prison at the time.

Ben, unamused by his son’s failure to respond to his grand entrance, marched over to the boy’s bed.  Leaning over, right above his son’s head, Ben shouted again.

“If you want to live to be eighteen years old, you’d better wake up this instant!”

Joe rolled from his side to his back and tried to open his eyes.  When he accomplished that feat, he found himself staring directly up into the face of death.  Pa’s face was blood red and for a minute Joe was sure that he could see smoke shooting from his nostrils.

“Oh—hi ya—Pa—-did you have a good day?”  Joe muttered, still in the throes of sleep, and fighting to come back to awful reality.

Ben set the lamp on the nightstand and dropped his hand down onto his son’s right shoulder.  “OH YES—I had a WONDERFUL day—-and YOU?”  Ben responded, full of both anger and sarcasm.

Joe was finally fully awake and fully cognizant of the fact that his father looked as though he was going to strangle him.  “Um—-Pa—- actually it’s a long story–” Joe stuttered.

“Well, SHORTEN it!”  Ben’s voice boomed.

“It’s not what it looks like, Pa,” Joe answered weakly.

“It looks like you are three sheets to the wind!”  Ben’s shout was louder than cannon fire and it made his son’s face flinch.

“You got me there,” Joe nodded and rather unwisely grinned.  “That’s the only thing I am guilty of, Pa.”

“The only thing?  Cochise is not shoed, the wood is not cut, the barn is worse off than I have ever seen it, the living room is destroyed—money is all over—so are my papers, the kitchen looks like a tornado hit it—and dinner is on the stove burnt to a crisp, AND there are empty liquor bottles all over this place!  Now tell me you’re not guilty!”

“Hey—dinner—yeah I forgot—trust me—you didn’t miss anything—it probably would’ve killed us both,” Joe laughed, still fighting the effects of the sherry.

“Joseph—-I am so close to hurting you—” Ben threatened but Little Joe cut him off.

“Hurting me?  Ha!  That’s a good one!”  Joe chuckled.  “Guess I beat you to it this time, Pa!”  Joe exclaimed, as he tossed off his blanket to reveal the sad truth of the matter.  “A picture’s worth a thousand words, huh?”

Ben’s mouth fell open as his eyes tracked down to Joe’s right hand, then the tattered clothing and finally the barefoot that was partially black and blue.  He then, for the first time, due to the rather bad lighting in the room earlier, noticed the shiner that was very visible on Joe’s left eye.

“What in the name of all that’s holy have you done to yourself, Boy?”  Ben asked, his voice shaking.  His anger had been switched off, and he was back to the familiar role of being Little Joe’s loving father just that quick.  He slowly settled down on the bed next to his son and shook his head over the sight of his battered youngest.

“Yeah–this is broken again too, Pa,” Joe implicated his wrist and tried to look pathetic.  He figured he might just as well show everything to his father, thus preventing any further abuse of his body in his hands.

Ben examined the boy’s swollen right wrist and then noticed the blood-soaked bandage on his thumb.

“Oh—think I’ve cracked a rib or two,” Joe mentioned as he scrunched up his face and rubbed at his chest.

Ben’s fingers started to tremble as one by one they touched all his son’s injuries to determine how bad they were.

“Oh Joseph!  I am so sorry—-someone came in here to rob the place and did all this to you, didn’t they?  That explains the money on the floor and the mess all over the house!” Ben was feeling the pangs of regret for having thought that his son had gone on some disobedient display of rebellion over being ordered to stay home.

Joe gave a wry smile, he wished he could’ve let his father believe that all the damage had been caused by the man who had tried to get away with the payroll.  He knew, however, that the man had already informed Roy that he hadn’t done most of the damage to Joe’s body.

“Well—-not exactly, Pa—the robber—-well I guess he caused this wrist thing—but all of the rest—well—-I guess—I did it to myself,” Joe winced his face and sighed.

“Huh?”  Ben asked bewildered by his son’s confession.

“There WAS a robber, and he DID get in a fight with me—but that was a long time after I got punched in the eye, set the barn on fire, busted my rib, stepped on the nail, and cut my finger.  It was also after I broke Hop Sing’s flour cannister.”

Ben gently placed his hand on his son’s forehead and sighed, “Oh, Joseph — my poor boy—you must be delirious from all you’ve gone through today.  Now you just lay right here and your Pa’s going to get some things to fix you up.  It won’t take me but a minute, now don’t move a muscle, you hear?”

“Okay,” Joe smiled as his father’s fingers softly combed through his hair before pulling himself off of the bed.  If Pa wanted to assume that he was delirious, all the better!  Joe knew that would buy him some time to break each event down to figure out how to best explain what had really happened.  Right now, God love him, Pa was in his father mode and was ready to comfort and fuss over him.  That suited Little Joe just fine.  After dealing with all the awful experiences, he was looking forward to some compassion, some bangs being gently pushed off his forehead and having his arm stroked tenderly in true “Pa” fashion.

It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes before Pa was back up in Joe’s room with a tray full of medical supplies to help patch up his boy.  Joe just lay back on the bed and let his father tend his wounds.  He did throw in a moan or an “ow” here and there for effect.  There was little pain involved, both the brandy and sherry had seen to that.

Ben knew he would have to go and fetch Doctor Martin, perhaps in the morning when Little Joe was able to be left alone.  He wasn’t about to leave his boy until he was sure he would be okay.  Ben examined Joe’s ribs and they were a bit bruised but not broken, so there wasn’t any imminent danger that night.  Fortunately, the splint that Doc had made for Joe’s right wrist had been saved and was once again back in its former position.  Ben was thankful that his fatherly intuition had caused him to think twice before getting rid of the thing.

“There now—-how do you feel, Son?”  Ben whispered, as he finally pulled the sheet and blanket up over Joe’s chest.

“Lots better, Pa,” Joe smiled contently.  There wasn’t anything better than some comfort to forget about the hurt.  And Pa was a professional when it came to administering comfort after many years of practice with his youngest.

“I’m so sorry, Joseph—-I never should have left you here—-if you had gone into town with me none of this would’ve happened.  When I think of you going up against that robber all alone–well it scares me to death!” Ben exclaimed feeling guilty over all that had transpired that day.  Just the idea that someone had tried to rob the place and had evidently spent hours torturing his son to get him to give up the payroll was too much to comprehend.

“That’s okay, Pa—I’m just sorry that I wasn’t able to get my chores done,” Joe threw in for effect.

“Chores?  There was no way you could have done all those chores what with that robber coming in here—and doing all of this to you!”  Ben insisted as he gently combed his fingers through Joe’s hair once again in an attempt to calm him.  Just as Joe had predicted, the next move was the soft stroke of his father’s hand on his forearm.  Somehow all seemed right with the world once again.

“Yeah—well—that’s true—he was big —REAL BIG, Pa—and MEAN!”  Joe nodded and decided to go along with the scam for as long as he could.  He had already tried to tell Pa about the fact that he had set the barn on fire and caused all the other damage.  But Pa still assumed that he was delirious.  Joe hoped that his father wouldn’t catch on any time soon either.

“Well, don’t you worry about anything right now, Joseph.  I just hope that you will forgive me for making you stay here and putting you in this kind of danger,” Pa apologized and pushed his son’s fallen bangs back once more for good measure.

“Oh, Pa—I forgive you—-after all—you forgive me for things all the time, right?  I mean after all—all that happened was just kinda an accident—-and you can’t blame a person for an accident, right?”  Joe decided to hedge his bet, in case Pa saw the new boards on the side of the barn first thing in the morning.

Pa nodded, “No, you can’t blame someone for an accident.”

“Oh—and Pa?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry you had to come home and find me all bloody and battered—especially after what you said this morning.  You do know that there wasn’t anything that I could’ve done to prevent all this, right?”

“Of course I do!  I didn’t mean anything I said this morning.  Guess your Pa was just being an old grouch.”  Ben chuckled and stood from the bed to put up the medical supplies. He lifted the tray and then stared down at his son with confusion painting his face.

“What’s wrong, Pa?” Joe asked, worried that his father was beginning to rethink the events of the day and how they had played out.  He hoped that Pa wasn’t catching on to how everything really had happened.

“Just wondering—-where did that robber go?  I mean the money was still downstairs.”

“Oh—um–Roy came by just in the nick of time—and took the robber back to the jail,” Joe offered as little information as possible to avoid the real details of the crime.

“Well–tomorrow when I go and fetch Doc, I’m going to have a good long talk with Roy.  I want to press charges on that robber for assault and battery.  He’s not going to get away with torturing my boy.  Why just look at all of your injuries!   What with all the ways that he hurt you — the charge should be attempted murder!”  Ben insisted and turned for the door.

*** Yeah, attempted murder — that’s what it will be when you find out the truth about who really caused all of these injuries today!  Please, Lord, don’t let him see the barn! *** Joe thought to himself.

“Um — Pa?”  Joe called over weakly.

“Yes, Son?”  Ben answered, turning around.

“Can you bring me some more sherry—or brandy—or anything?  I suddenly don’t feel so good,” Joe remarked, thinking about the story that Pa would be hearing from Roy in the morning.  He knew that the truth would be coming out the next day.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for one day, Son?” Ben returned, surprised that Joseph hadn’t had enough alcohol to hold him for the time being.  Apparently, the boy had gone through almost an entire brandy decanter and a whole bottle of cooking sherry to boot.

“Not nearly,” Joe answered, wincing up his face to look convincing.

“Sure, Son, I know you’ve got to be hurting after all you’ve gone through today.  I’ll bring you up a little something just as soon as I put all of this away,” Ben nodded casting the boy a sympathetic smile.  He turned out into the hallway.  Pa figured that Joe was suffering, and since it was all his fault for leaving his son alone, he didn’t mind letting him indulge in just a little more pain killer.  Ben reasoned that it would help Joseph’s injuries and also help relieve some of the guilt that he was feeling over fussing at the boy earlier that day about being hurt all of the time.  He now understood that Joe was just a victim of circumstances, none being of his own doing.

Joe slid underneath his down comforter and began to concoct a good story to tell his father in the morning.  Anything had to be more believable than the truth.  And the truth was that, just as Pa had stated earlier, Joseph Cartwright was a trouble magnet!

The End

Written by Wrangler

(from an original draft done on 2/25/03 and rewritten 2/25/2026)

(Dedicated to my story consultant Rob who assisted with the retelling of this tale.  And to an amazingly talented reader and friend who created a wonderful sketch to capture the essence of this story, it will be cherished always.)