Summary:  Brothers protecting brothers, but would a better example have prevented it all?
Rating:  PG (5,550 words)

A Good Example

The haze of blue smoke billowed around the room and the smell of good whisky and expensive cigars penetrated every corner.  Adam Cartwright leaned back in one of the comfortable, wide leather chairs.  Marcia, a pretty brunette slid on to the arm of his chair and he slipped a gentle arm around her pulling her close, careful not to spill a drop from the glass of mellow, imported Irish whiskey in his other hand.  This was his idea of a good Saturday night.  The Washoe Club entertained only the best clientele, its prices saw to that.  There would be no brawls, no loud arguments and no drunks here tonight; just good companionship and conversation.

Andrew Holloway had dropped by to discuss a timbering contract for his mine and when that was done, Adam had shared a half an hour with a friend from Carson City who wanted him to back his run for the State Legislature later in the year.  Now he was free to enjoy Marcia’s lighter conversation for the rest of the evening, while other Club members dropped by to exchange pleasantries.

He was settling back with his eyes half closed when he heard a familiar voice at the bar asking for him.  He slipped lower in his seat, hoping that Henry, the bartender for tonight, wouldn’t give him away.  It was a vain hope and he sighed and sat up straight as he heard the response.

“Sure, Hoss, he’s over in the corner with Marcia.”

Yep, brother Hoss was heading his way and that could only mean trouble.  He had left his two younger brothers at the livery stable two hours earlier.  They had plans for a rowdy night in The Bucket of Blood and he wanted no part of it.  From the look on Hoss’ face his wish was not to be granted and if Hoss was here then it meant that, as usual, Little Joe was the one in trouble.  Why was he not surprised?

“Hey, Adam…, Miss Marcia.”

Adam grinned at the flush on his younger brother’s face as he acknowledged the saloon girl.

“Ya gotta come, Little Joe’s in a big poker game…”  Hoss blurted out.

Adam shook his head, a bored expression on his face, “So he’s in a poker game.  What’s new about that.  I suppose he’s losing.”  Adam sipped his whiskey and adjusted his hold on Marcia.

Hoss came closer and tried to inject a sense of urgency combined with impending doom into his features.  It only made him look slightly crazy.  “It’s a big game, big money in tha’ pot.  Wade Sinclair an’ all his friends… they’re pushing Joe to bet high.”

Adam sighed, “It’s about time little brother learned a lesson.  When you play poker you can lose your shirt.’  He shrugged.  “Surely you can handle it.”

“Ain’t just his shirt he’s gonna lose.”  Hoss replied, he was getting frustrated now with Adam’s lack of concern. “They’re lettin’ him play for markers.  He’s in for hundreds of dollars, Adam… you gotta come.  He ain’t got that sort money and I sure don’t.”

Adam still didn’t make a move, “Are you implying that I do.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “And… always supposing I do, what makes you think I intend to bail out our younger brother yet again?”

Hoss drew himself up to his full six feet four inches and announced, “Maybe ‘cos he’s backing himself with the Ponderosa.”

This did produce the reaction Hoss had been waiting for.  Adam slammed down his whiskey glass and jumped to his feet, leaving Marcia to recover as best she could.  “He’s WHAT?”

Even Hoss made a hasty step back, perhaps he had overdone it a little.  “Whal…maybe not the actual ranch, but he’s backin’ his brag with the family name, sayin’ he can afford the bets ‘cos he’s a Cartwright and we own the biggest spread hereabouts.”

“Pa’ll kill him…  I’ll kill him.”  Adam muttered as he adjusted his gun belt and made to follow Hoss.  As an afterthought he turned to the girl, “Don’t go away honey.  I’ll be back just as soon as I teach my little brother a lesson.”

Marcia shrugged.  She’d heard it before on a Saturday night.  Every time she thought she had Adam Cartwright to herself one or other of his brothers would get in trouble and he’d race off to save them, usually forgetting to return.  She wondered if he would ever find time for his own pleasures. He was so busy protecting them from their vices she hardly ever managed to find out his own.

The Bucket of Blood was an entirely different proposition to the Washoe Club, brash and noisy, poker games in every corner, an out of tune piano being played badly and patrons crushed together in a mix of sweat, smoke and stale beer.  Hoss led the way to a large table where six men were concentrating on bits of pasteboard.  The close packed group of voyeurs opened a path to allow Hoss through.  Not many men opposed Hoss Cartwright if he wanted to get somewhere.  Adam followed in his brother’s wake until they were both standing by a wall looking down on the poker table.  Adam’s eyes swept the occupants and registered that three were Sinclair’s close cronies, one was the regular card sharp and the fifth and sixth were Sinclair, himself, and Little Joe.

Chips and notes were pilled high beside Sinclair, with smaller mounds next his friends.  Little Joe in contrast had less then ten dollars worth of chips at his elbow and the promissory notes were almost certainly his.  The whiskey bottle on the table was almost empty, and, from the glassy look in his brother’s eye, at least one or more bottles had already been consumed.

Joe spotted them immediately, well Hoss was hard to miss. Was that relief he saw in Joe’s expression?  Adam nodded to the other players.

“My brother will be leaving the game after this hand.”  He said, firmly.

Despite his befuddled state and the amount of his debt.  Joe’s pride wouldn’t let the remark go unchallenged.  “Adam, you stay outta this.  It’s my game and I know what I’m doing.  I’ll win it all back, you’ll see. I’ve just been playin’ with these boys.”

Sinclair snorted, “Your play Cartwright, let’s see your hand.”  He laid his cards down, a full house of Kings and nines.

Joe threw down his cards in disgust, his queen high diamond flush, of which he had held such hopes.

“How much is he in for?”  Adam asked.

Sinclair gathered the pot into his hands and flipped through half a dozen markers, “Nine hundred to me, what about you fellas.”

The final tally came to better than fourteen hundred and Hoss gasped, while Joe felt sick, the effects of the whiskey combined with the realization of the size of his debt making him turn green.  Adam kept his expression bland while his head made rapid calculations of just how long it would take his brother to pay him back if he bought the markers.  If he handed over all of wages every month he might just pay it off in two years.  He considered the alternative; let Joe take his medicine by allowing Sinclair to present the IOU’s to Pa.  Sure Pa would settle them.  Then he’d settle with Joe, there would be days of tension followed by days of Pa’s bad temper and they’d all suffer.  Life at home wouldn’t be worth living until Pa had worked his anger out of his system.  They’d all feel the effects for weeks to come and any suggestion of a night in town would be frowned upon even for the innocent parties.

Adam opened his pocket book, “I don’t have that sort of cash on me but I can get it for you Monday morning when the bank opens, maybe this…”  he started counting out notes, “as a gesture of good faith…  or perhaps you’d allow me to take my brother’s seat and try to win some of it back first?”

A slow smile spread over Sinclair’s face.  He racked his brains to try and remember a time when he’d seen Adam Cartwright in a poker game; he couldn’t.  Maybe they could add to their night’s pay.  He glanced at one of his cronies, who shrugged.  “Fine, if you want to take on his debts and play on, I guess we can accommodate you.”

Joe’s senses were slowly returning, he looked up at Hoss.  Adam hardly ever played poker, maybe a small stakes game at the end of a cattle drive but no more than a couple of hands.  Pa wasn’t keen on gambling and Adam was usually Pa’s best supporter in all things.  “You think he knows what he’s doin'” he whispered to Hoss.

“Better’n you do I ‘spect.”  Hoss murmured in reply, although he, himself, was mystified.  He’d expected Adam to cover the debt and then take Little Joe into several hundred parts with his sarcastic tongue.

Adam caught a hold of Joe’s green jacket and hauled him unceremoniously from the chair and then slid into it.  “Watch and learn, little brother.”

Sinclair’s smile broadened, if this was an act of one-up-man-ship of brother over brother then this Cartwright should be no more difficult than the last.  Any good poker player could read Joe Cartwright’s hand in the first few seconds after it was dealt.  He could no more keep his joy or sorrow a secret than a baby.

The first hand told them nothing, Cartwright drew three and then folded before more than the initial stake was on the table.  He then sat back and watched as the others vied for supremacy, with Sinclair once more coming out the winner.  The second game went much the same way.  The deal passed to the card sharp at Adam’s elbow and this time it was Sinclair and Adam who carried the betting up until there was almost six hundred dollars in the pot. Hoss and Joe still standing to Adam’s left had no idea what their brother held but it had better be good.

“Okay, Cartwright, you must be holding somethin’ real good there.”  Sinclair drawled.

Adam never moved or acknowledged that Sinclair had spoken.  Sinclair shrugged and laid down his hand, five dark spades, king high.

Adam allowed a small smile to crease the corners of his mouth, “Not good enough, Sinclair.”  He spread his cards face up in front of him, four jacks and the queen of hearts.  He nodded at the pot, you take the cash, I’ll take the markers for the same amount.  From then on Adam slowly and steadily regained the markers Joe had foolishly put in Sinclair’s hands.  He won some then lost some but always the balance was shifting in his favor.  When he lost his losses were small as he would fold early in the hand, when he won it was usually a larger amount than any loss.  Finally only one marker remained in Sinclair’s hands.

Sinclair’s face was grim he didn’t want to give up the one hold he still had over the Cartwright brothers.  He had plenty of chips at his elbow and he was hoping for a good hand, which would win him back the markers he had lost.  As the cards fell in front of them he picked them up one by one, his elation increasing with each card.  This was one hand Cartwright wouldn’t beat, a straight flush of diamonds.  He glanced at Cartwright, the face was closed the eyes hooded and there was not even a hint of a smile.  Sinclair figured that his opponent’s hand was mediocre at best.  As the pile of money in the pot grew, Sinclair revised his opinion, Cartwright was holding something good but to beat him it would have to be a Royal Flush, something he had only seen a few times in his poker playing career.  He allowed the bets to rise and still Cartwright gave nothing away.  Suddenly his hand reached for chips and found only a handful, he needed to at least match his opponent’s bet.  The markers were gone and so was his own stake.  He glanced at his opponent, could he hold a Royal Flush; not likely, was he bluffing?  Sweat broke out on his upper lip.  If he called Cartwright he could lose everything, if he raised enough to make Cartwright fold then he’d be sure.  He pushed all his remaining chips into the pile.

Adam checked the pile of chips at his elbow and the markers, well hear goes, he thought, either I show Joe how to play poker or we both leave home before Pa gets to hear of it.  He counted out the chips carefully, as though considering what to do then set all of them plus an amount equal to the markers on the table.  He heard a man behind him whistle and what he knew was Hoss’ sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t change his expression.

Sinclair almost choked, “I can’t match that!”  He glanced at his cards.  He had the hand he had dreamed of, but he daren’t risk anymore money, when there was an outside chance that Cartwright held the one possible hand that could beat it.   He studied his opponent for a moment, but the dark eyes and the firm mouth gave nothing away.  With a loud curse he threw his cards on the table.  “You win Cartwright but I’ll get even.”

Adam folded his cards into his hand and began to gather in the money.

“Hey, ain’t ya gonna show us your hand?”  An interested bystander asked.

Adam stuffed the notes into his pocket book and then slowly revealed the five cards he held; a pair of threes and three sevens. A collective gasp greeted the pasteboard.

Adam pushed back his chair and stood, tearing up the markers as he did so.  He handed the torn pieces to his younger brother.  “Learn to read your opponent and to make sure he can’t read you before you get into a poker game you can’t handle” With that he headed for the swing doors.

“Hey, thanks, Adam.”  Joe rushed after him.   “I owe ya.”

Adam snorted and turned on his younger brother with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic grin.  “Yeah, for about the past twenty years, I’d say.  Now pay me back by riding home with Hoss and staying out of poker games you can’t handle.”

“You comin’ with us?”  Joe asked.

“No, little brother, I am returning to the Washoe Club, some intelligent conversation and a decent whiskey.”

Hoss came up to join them at the door.  “You want us to stick around? Sinclair ain’t happy at your showin’ him up and he’s talking up a storm with those friends of his, says he’s gonna get even.”

Adam shook his head, “Nah, Sinclair is all wind.”

Hoss breathed a relieved sigh, the refined air of the Washoe Club wasn’t his idea of a fun night out.  “Me and Joe’ll just hang around the Silver Dollar, just in case.”

“You…,”  Adam prodded his brother with a finger, “Can do as you please.  Little brother here, goes home before he gets into more trouble.”

“Aw… Adam?”

“You owe me and that’s the deal.  Now scoot.”

Adam watched as a reluctant Little Joe accompanied by Hoss, who had decided that an evening without his little brother wasn’t going to be much fun, mounted up and headed for the ranch.  Once they were just specks in the distant evening twilight he turned and went back to his own pursuits.

He had just settled with a new glass of whiskey and Marcia when he heard his name again.  He sighed.  How could they get into trouble riding out of town?  But this time it wasn’t a brother it was one of Sinclair’s henchmen.  A tall rangy fella who’s hand hung loosely at his side as if always ready for a gunfight.  Adam gently set Marcia to one side, his expression was cool but wary and his eyes swept the room for more of Sinclair’s men, but there were none.  The man handed a folded piece of paper to Adam and stepped back a pace, and as he did so a circle opened up around him, leaving Adam with no one within touching distance.

Slowly Adam unfolded the paper and read the stark words.  Lafe’s livery midday tomorrow and we’ll settle the score.”  He glanced at the messenger, “Is your boss saying I cheated?”  He spoke slowly and clearly so there was no misunderstanding.

“Wouldn’t know about that.”  The man replied.  “He jus’ told me to deliver the message and to tell you to be there or the whole town will know just how yeller you Cartwrights are.”

Adam nodded, he was very glad that his younger brother wasn’t here to respond to that last sentence.  “Tell him I got the message.”  He folded the paper, slipped it into his vest pocket and picked up his drink.  He gave no sign of emotion but he didn’t take his eyes from the messenger until the doors swung shut behind him.

As he rode home in the early hours he considered his options.  To show up and try to avoid a fight; not likely.  To show and enter into a gunfight with Sinclair; foolish.  Not to show and be called a coward and spend the rest of the foreseeable future looking over his shoulder.  None of them were particularly appealing.  How had a quiet drink with Marcia got him into this mess?  One word, brothers!  No, that wasn’t entirely fair.  He could have simply paid the markers and made Joe work them off or he could have left Joe to his fate.  Pa would have paid the debt.  He was in this mess because he had allowed one of his greatest faults to get the better of him; he had wanted to show off to his brother.  Pride cometh before a fall and this fall could be the final one.

“You got somethin’ on your mind?”  Hoss asked as they mucked out stalls together the next morning.

Adam hesitated a moment then reached into his vest pocket and extracted the note which he handed to his brother.

Hoss read it and then folded it carefully before handing it back.  “You goin’?”

Adam shrugged. “Beats watching my back for ever.”

“He’s pretty fast and he’ll have his friends there.”

“You sayin’ he’s faster than me?”

Hoss leaned his pitchfork against the stall wall and planted himself in front of his brother, “You ain’t gonna know until one of you is in the dirt with a hole in him.”

Adam’s smile was grim, “Thanks for the confidence.”

“You told Pa?”

“Nope, don’t plan to.  It’s Saturday he won’t think it strange if I go into town.” Adam replied turning back to his raking.

“If we go into town, brother.  You ain’t goin’ alone.”

Adam let out a long breath, “Thanks, but not a word to Joe.  The last thing I need is him at my heels, or for Pa to find out what the fight is about.”

Hoss nodded, “You ever gonna stop looking out for him?”

Adam smiled and thumped his brother’s back, “About the same time you do, I guess.”

There were footsteps in the yard and Adam hurriedly stuffed the note in his pants pocket and went back to his work.  Hoss glanced at the barn door then did the same.  Didn’t do to let Joe know they had been talking and not working.  Last up got the worst chores and Joe was invariably the last up.

Adam was right, apart from a raised eyebrow, Ben did not query his two sons riding into town once the chores were done.  Joe did, however, and was told that it was to help out a friend.  The suggestion being that there was work involved soon caused him to lose interest.

Half an hour after his brother’s rode off Joe decided to take a trip up to the lake.  It was a bright sunny day and a few hours of fishing seemed a good idea.  He sauntered into the barn to saddle Cochise and gather his fishing gear and as he was leading the little pinto into the yard he spied a piece of paper by Sport’s stall.  He bent down to retrieve it and unfolded it.  He read the stark words and then yelled at the top of his voice for his father while running toward the house.

“Pa, Pa!”  Joe almost collided with his father on the porch.

“What on earth is all the yelling about?”  Ben had been enjoying a quiet cup of coffee when Joe’s shouting had roused him.

Joe held out the paper, “It’s Adam, he’s gonna be in a gunfight.  We gotta get there.”

Ben had been a father too long to lose his cool just because a son yelled.  He read the note then fixed Joe with a stern look.  “What’s this about?”

Joe tried an innocent expression; it sometimes worked.  “I don’t really know for sure, but it might be because of the poker game last night.  He kinda made a fool out of Wade Sincliar.”

“Poker game?”  Ben was alert and all ears.  “Adam never…, well hardly ever plays poker.  What’s he doing playing against a rogue like Sinclair?”  He asked, puzzled.

Joe’s innocent expression turned to one of guilt, “He wasn’t, well… not to begin with.  He kinda played to help me out.”

Ben pursed his lips and then sighed and threw up his hands in resignation, “Don’t tell me anymore, let me guess.  You lost money to Sinclair and Adam tried to win it back.”

“He did win it back, all the markers…”  Joe’s excited voice trailed off as he realized what he had just revealed.

Ben pointed to the barn, “Saddle my horse and make it quick.  Your brother may need help and we don’t have much time.”  Under his breath he muttered, “Of all the dadblame fool things. Don’t they ever grow up?”

Joe did as he was bid only too pleased not to have to listen to a lecture at this point, although he knew there would be a reckoning with his father.  He just hoped that Adam would be around to hear it.

Adam and Hoss arrived at the livery stables a little after eleven and handed their horses over to Lafe.

“I want to take a look around town, see how many of Sinclair’s men I can spot and see if he has broadcast this little assignation to the world at large.”  Adam rubbed his hands and unconsciously let his right fall to his gun butt.

Hoss nodded, “You can bet he has.  He ain’t gonna make much outta it if you don’t turn up and he ain’t told nobody.  An iffn you do turn up he wants everyone to see him take down a Cartwright.”

Adam raised an eyebrow then a slow smile crossed his face, “You really don’t rate my chances, do you?”

Hoss colored a little, “Aw, Adam, it ain’t that… but, well… Sinclair’s fast, I seen him kill Rufe Norwood before Rufe’s gun cleared the holster and it was self-defence, even Rufe’s brother agreed on it.   You sure you gotta go through with this?”

Adam blew out a long breath, “I’m sure.”

It soon became clear that Sinclair had indeed spread the word, most of the townsfolk and a good few from outlying ranches were gathering.  The two brothers wandered from the livery stable to the main street and then headed back to the designated spot.  As they drew near to where a crowd was gathering, Adam felt a light tap on his shoulder.  He turned to see Roy Coffee, the Storey County Sheriff at his elbow.

“You want I should put a stop to this?”  Roy indicated the crowd and the betting that was going on.

Adam sadly shook his head, “It’s a pity folk have nothing better to do but I guess this is the most excitement some of them have seen in a while.”  He faced the Sheriff with an open expression.  “I didn’t start this Roy and I don’t intend to draw first but I’ll not back down to him either, too many have already done that.”

The Sheriff looked up at his young friend, “Them as didn’t mostly ain’t around to talk about it and Sinclair is richer for it.” He let the implication hang in the air.

Adam tried a smile, “If he draws first and you and Hoss are right about him then you can try him for murder.”

Hoss caught Roy’s arm. “Cain’t ya lock him up for somethin’?”

Now it was Roy’s turn to smile just a little, “Who?  Adam or Sinclair?  Ain’t neither one of ’em broke the law up to now.”

The sound of horses made all three glance down the street.  The pinto was in the lead and Joe swung down with his customary flair before the horse had fully come to a stop.  Surprisingly agile for his age, Ben wasn’t far behind though his dismount was slower.

“What in tarnation is going on here?” were the first words from his mouth.

“I found the note.”  Joe explained with a slight shrug.

“Oh,” Adam rubbed his ear and tried to avoid his eyes connecting with his father’s.

“Oh.  Is that all you can say?  Stop this nonsense at once.”  Ben’s temper was ready to explode.

“I can’t Pa, surely you can see that.  Everyone in town backs down to Sinclair and until someone stands up to him, he’ll go on causing trouble.”  Adam’s voice was calm and measured now.  He knew he had to go through with this and he was mentally composing himself.

“Adam ain’t got no choice, Pa.”  Hoss’s voice was soft and slightly sad.

Ben fussed in his usual way and grunted, “Well it’s not over young man, you and I will have a talk about this…”

Adam’s mouth turned up at the corners and he rubbed the back of his neck, “At least you have more faith in me coming through this than big brother here.”  He slapped Hoss on the back. “I’ll look forward to our talk.”

Joe had kept silent but was aching to say so many things to his brother, after all it might be his last chance.  He, too, didn’t rate Adam’s chances against Sinclair.  “Adam, it should be me, I got you into this.”  Was all he could get out.

Adam cupped his younger brother behind his neck with a strong hand.  “No, Joe, I got myself into this.  I was trying to be the clever big brother and I got in too deep.  None of this is your fault.”

“Cartwright!  You gonna hide behind your family or are we gonna settle things.”  Sinclair’s voice rang out from about twenty yards away.  He was surrounded by his friends, but they began to move back to clear a space around him.

“We can settle this without guns.”  Adam suggested.

Sinclair laughed, “You outweigh me by fifty pounds or more and you’re younger.  You humiliated me once you won’t do it again.  Now draw.”

Sinclair was in shirtsleeves and his gun seemed to grow in Adam’s eyes until it was all he could see.  Don’t watch his hand, watch his eyes.  Adam cautioned himself. For a moment there was a hushed and expectant silence.

Joe found his eyes fixed on the sight, he didn’t want to watch but he couldn’t look away.  His big brother, who he admired and loved, was about to die and it was his fault.  No matter what Adam said, it was his foolishness that had led to this.

It was if the world suddenly went into slow motion for Adam.  He saw Sinclair’s eyes flick toward him once, he reached for his gun and then he heard an explosion.  He knew his own gun was in his hand but had he fired or had Sinclair or maybe both.  He felt a searing pain and his legs buckled and the dirt came up to meet him.  He fell to one side with his face turned away from Sinclair so he couldn’t see if the man was gloating or laughing.  From far off he heard voices but then there was just darkness.

It was like coming up from the bottom of the lake.  Faces were blurry then slowly his vision cleared and he could see his father and Paul Martin bending over him.  He was no longer in the street.  He could feel a soft bed and feather pillows.  He wanted to speak but his throat felt dry and no words would come.

“Take it easy, son.  You’ve got a head wound.  Paul’s patched it up and its not serious, the bullet just grazed your temple, but its better you don’t move for a few hours.”  Ben gently pushed his son back into the pillows.

Paul Martin was lifting his eyelids and looking into his yes.  “He’ll be fine by nightfall, but you’d better get a buggy to take him home.”

“What happened?  Sinclair?”  Adam asked, slightly agitated.

“You got him, Adam.  You were faster, his shot almost missed you.  He fired as he was falling.”  Joe’s voice was excited and high pitched.

Hoss shook his big head, “Nah, that’s not how it was.  Sinclair was faster outta his holster but he didn’t aim true.  You fired after him but you hit him square in the chest.”

“Stop it, both of you.” Ben’s voice rang out with authority.  “A gunfight is not a fairground attraction.  A man died and it could have been your brother.”  He cast his eyes on all three sons.  “We have things to discuss, but we’ll do it at home tomorrow.”

Adam sighed and relaxed back into his pillows, while Hoss and Joe looked away from their father with sheepish expressions.

The afternoon was stretching into evening and it would soon be time to do yard chores.  For once all three Cartwright sons were looking forward to them.  Hoss sat in the chair that he considered to be Adam’s, his big hands resting on the chair’s blue velvet clad arms.  He didn’t know why he felt guilty or why he had been included in his father’s ‘talk’, after all he had done nothing.  But then it was often so. His brothers caused trouble and he either helped them out of it or got caught up in the aftermath.  Pa had stopped pacing and lecturing his youngest son but he was still not finished, you could see that.

Joe was perched on the wood box, his feet resting on the hearth.  It might have been the heat from the fire that made his cheeks and neck flushed but it was more likely his father’s recent lecture directed mainly at him and his poker playing activities.  He longed to slip away to feed the hogs and bed down the horses, even splitting logs would be preferable to being here right now.  At least Pa seemed to be cooling off and had turned his attention to Adam.

Adam had spent the day resting on the sofa and as his father’s eyes fell on him he shifted uncomfortably.  This sofa had always been hard and uncomfortable and Adam avoided lying on it or even sitting on it unless there was no alternative.  His book lay discarded on his knees, put down when Pa had begun his little talk.  Pa usually delivered his lectures in private, but today he had held forth to them all.  No doubt he considered it good for them.  Adam’s discomfort had less to do with the sofa than with what he knew was coming next.  He didn’t have long to wait.

Ben had come to a halt in front of the fireplace and he stuck his thumbs into his belt and glared at his oldest son. “Well, do I need to repeat myself on the evils of gambling or do you have some good reason for taking up Joseph’s debts?”

Adam cleared his throat and tried to find a comfortable position but there wasn’t one.   Usually articulate and able to deal with most of his father’s accusations, he found himself strangely lost for words today.  Must have been the head wound he decided.  He’d try the truth.  The truth was always a good line to take with Pa.  “Well, Pa, you see…  I’m always getting Little Joe out of trouble and I figured this time I’d teach him a lesson and show him how not to get into trouble in the first place.”  Why was Pa looking at him like that.  It was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Ben sighed and shook his head in desperation, “I fail to see how getting into a showdown with a fast gun was going to teach your younger brother a lesson.  Maybe if you try setting your brother a good example in the first place it wouldn’t be necessary to teach him a lesson.”

Adam closed his eyes and reflected.  Put like that Pa’s view sounded even more reasonable but he had the feeling that somehow Joe’s problem has become all his fault.  “I think I feel a little faint, ‘ll just take a nap, Pa.”