Episode summary:  During what he believes to be a search for rustlers, Little Joe is fired upon and fires back in self-defense, only to learn that the man he has shot is his friend, Burke Shannon.  Then Burke’s wife Hallie intimates to him that he did it deliberately out of love for her.  When Burke’s twin brother Booth arrives, believing the same thing, he intimidates Hallie until she “confesses”.  When Booth demands she repeat the story to the sheriff, she flees and apparently falls to her death.  Booth then launches a campaign to convict Little Joe of both “murders” and to settle the issue, Little Joe challenges him to a duel in the Virginia City street.  Shot down by the superior gunman, he is carried by his father to the doctor . . . and that’s the last we see of him.  Adam and Hoss have also disappeared halfway through the episode.  For this fan, at least, neither of these omissions was acceptable, so here is my take on what happened next.

Hoss Cartwright was yawning widely as he moved down the stairs into the great room of the Ponderosa.  “Mornin’, Adam,” he said to the only person at the breakfast table, who was already plowing in to a plate of Hop Sing’s best.  To protect his table stakes, Hoss speeded up his plodding pace a mite.  “Pa not down yet?” he asked as he took his place at the table.

“No,” Adam said as he reached for another patty of fried sausage, just to be sure there’d be one when he wanted it. For Pa to rise after them was highly uncommon.  For the other missing member of the family to do so was entirely predictable.  “I don’t suppose you thought to roust our lazy little brother out of bed?”

“Naw,” Hoss drawled.  “Ain’t smart to mess with angry bears in their den.  You ought to know that, big brother.”

“Or hungry ones, either,” Adam said, lips twitching as he stretched the platter of pancakes toward his predictably hungry, bear-sized brother.

Hop Sing entered from the kitchen to set a fresh plate of fried eggs in front of Hoss.  He frowned at the diminished platter of sausage.  More work to do.  Offering the remaining two patties to his favorite client at the table, he took the empty plate and headed back toward the kitchen to replenish it.

“Hey, Hop Sing,” Hoss called.  “What time did Pa and Little Joe get in last night?”  It never occurred to him that their household manager wouldn’t know.  First to rise, last to turn in—that was Hop Sing.

The diminutive Chinaman shook his head with a frown of disapproval.  “They not get in,” he said with displeasure.  “If not be here for breakfast, should tell Hop Sing.  I plan too many flapjacks.”  As was typical, he had measured the dry ingredients into a bowl the evening before, and once mixed, he felt no inclination to diminish the amount to one more appropriate for two.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Hoss said with a wide grin.  “They won’t go to waste.”

Hop Sing harrumphed as he left the room.  He was pleased the food would be eaten, of course, but he had planned the flapjacks especially for the youngest Cartwright, and that foolish boy was not here to eat them.  He was already choosing the sharp Mandarin words he would spew at the boy he had helped to raise, the only Cartwright likely to understand them.

Hoss forked up a bite of eggs, but slowly lowered it to his plate.  “Ain’t like Pa to stay out all night,” he said.  “Little brother, maybe, but not Pa . . . unless . . .”

“Unless?” Adam queried with arched eyebrow.

Hoss swallowed the lump in his throat.  “Unless Little Joe got himself into some trouble.”

Adam nodded.  “That would keep Pa there, for sure.”

“You don’t think . . ?”

“What?”

Somehow, an even larger lump rose in Hoss’s gullet.  “Booth Shannon,” he said soberly.

Adam sighed.  “I’ve been trying not to think that.”

“Pa said he seemed determined to make trouble for Little Joe.”  Hoss’s voice shook as he said it.  They’d ridden in from Scobie Flats day before yesterday because one of the hands had heard that Burke’s twin brother Booth was in town, accusing Little Joe of Burke’s murder and now of Hallie’s, too.

“Shannon’s a lawman,” Adam insisted.  “He wouldn’t go against the law.”  He paused.  “At least, I don’t think so.”

“You ain’t sure?”

“Vengeance can cause a man to act out of character,” Adam admitted, “but a lawman should, at least, have better control of himself than most.”

The hesitance in his brother’s voice made Hoss say, “But you ain’t sure, are you?”

“No,” Adam admitted quietly, “and I think we should probably check it out.  If it turns out to be just a matter of Joe being Joe, we can help Pa corral him and drag him home to his just reward.”

Hoss tried to grin, but the result was a little lopsided and just a mite hesitant.  “Let’s ride then, brother.”

“Soon as we finish breakfast, brother,” Adam said.  “You, especially, don’t want to incur a ‘go back to China’ threat to our future mealtime happiness.”

“You got that right!” Hoss declared, and his grin this time was genuine and wide.

*****

They weren’t smiling as they walked their horses down C Street.  They’d ridden hard and fast until they reached the Geiger Grade, always a tough uphill pull, and the slower speed was even more necessary on the crowded streets of Virginia City.  Hoss’s blue eyes opened wider when he saw where Adam reined up.  “Here?” he asked.  “I figured we’d check the International House first.  If’n they decided to stay over for some reason . . .”

“Even if they did,” Adam explained, “Roy would probably have run into them, so he’s the most likely person to know, and if little brother’s gotten himself into some kind of trouble, he’s even more certain to know that.  Joe might even be here.”  Or at the undertaker’s, he added silently.  That gruesome possibility was what had spurred the almost reckless pace they’d set their horses until the terrain wouldn’t let them.

“Yeah, yeah, that makes sense,” Hoss said and dismounted.  Tying his horse to the hitching rail in front of the jail, he followed Adam inside.

“Hello, Roy,” Adam called as soon as he entered.  “Any chance our missing little brother is locked up in one of your cells?”

Roy Coffee rose from his desk chair and answered soberly, “No, he’s over at the doc’s.”  Seeing the brothers’ instant alarm, he patted the air soothingly.  “He’s all right, boys.  He did take a bullet and lost considerable blood, but Doc Carver says he’ll make it.”

“Doc Carver?” Hoss asked, brow wrinkling.  That wasn’t the doctor their family usually used, and Roy should have known that.

Roy nodded in complete understanding.  “Doc Martin’s in California at some medical convention, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hoss said, feeling a little foolish.

“He was shot, then,” Adam said tersely, getting back to what he felt was the more pertinent information.

Hoss’s face hardened.  “Shannon?  Was it Booth Shannon who shot him?”  At Roy’s nod he growled, “I’ll kill him.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” the sheriff shouted.

“Give me one good reason, Roy!” Hoss shouted right back.  Adam instantly circled his arm with a restraining hand.

“I’ll do just that!” Roy shouted back at Hoss, as if they were both in a hog-calling contest.  “Yes, there was a gunfight, and Little Joe came up the loser, but he’s the one who started it!  Called out Shannon and drew first.  Shannon was only defending himself, as any man would.”

“Who says so?” Hoss demanded, then spit out, “Shannon?”

“Plenty of witnesses, boy,” Roy snapped, “one of ‘em bein’ Little Joe hisself.”

“Stupid kid,” Adam muttered.

Hoss gulped.  “He drew on Booth Shannon?”  Everyone knew Shannon had a reputation as one of the fastest gunmen in the territory.  Always in service of the law, folks said, but no one had ever bested him in a gunfight.

“Yep,” Roy agreed sharply.  “Your brother’s lucky to be alive.”

“So, he’s still at Doc Carver’s place?” Adam asked.

“He’s still there; your Pa, too, unless I miss my guess, though I tried to get him to go to the hotel last night.”

“You could bet your worldly goods on that one,” Adam said wryly.  “Thanks for the information, Roy.  I knew you’d be the one to ask.”

Roy grinned.  “I do try to keep abreast of what goes on in my town.  Tell that boy to keep hisself out of trouble for a few days, at least, will you?  And tell Ben to get hisself some rest.  I doubt he took my advice last night.”

“We’ll see to it.  Coming, Hoss?”

“Yeah.”  Countenance fierce, Hoss strode with purpose toward the door.  “I’m gonna tear that boy limb from limb!” he declared once the office door closed behind them.

“You can have the leftovers,” Adam said as if he meant it, when the truth was neither one of them would carry out his threat and each knew it.  Sometimes a man just needed to vent his frustration, and their little brother was renowned for creating that need.

Hoss had a little trouble keeping up with his quicker-gaited brother, but Adam halted outside the doctor’s office to collect himself, so they both entered together.

The minute Adam saw their father sleeping in the wooden chair, he raised a quieting hand toward his brother.  Light as they both tried to keep their steps, however, Ben was almost instantly awake, his protective instincts aroused by the slightest sound of anything approaching his injured youngest, sleeping in the adjourning room.  “Oh, it’s you,” he said with relief.  Then his brow wrinkled.  “Who sent you word?  Roy?”

Adam favored him with the wry grin for which he was noted.  “No, you did that, when you and little brother didn’t come home last night.  I managed to keep Hop Sing from taking the first boat back to China, but he’s particularly perturbed that Joe wasn’t there to eat his flapjacks this morning.”

A light smile relaxed Ben’s face.  “Well, thank you for that.  I suppose the ‘incident’ is the talk of the streets.”

“It may be,” Adam said, “but we heard it from Roy.”

“Adam said he’d know if . . . if’n there was anything to know,” Hoss put in awkwardly.  He couldn’t bring himself to utter the words that would have made Little Joe’s shooting real, even though he knew the sheriff wouldn’t make up such a tale.

“Good thinking, son,” Ben complimented his eldest.

“How is the boy?” Adam asked.

For a moment, an anxious look crossed the older man’s face; then Ben said, “He’ll mend.  He’s weak, of course—loss of blood—and the doctor thinks the bullet might have bruised the lung, but didn’t pierce it—or anything else vital, thank God.”

And half the guardian angels of heaven, Adam thought.  He had always suspected that his youngest brother drew more than his fair share of those beings’ attention and wondered when they might have enough and give up the quest to keep him alive.  He dreaded that day, as he was sure his father did, in even greater measure.  The lines on Pa’s face and the weariness of his eyes testified to the depth of dread the man had experienced this time.

“Pa, we’re here now,” Adam said.  “Why don’t you take a room at the International House and get some sleep?  You must be exhausted.”

“Yeah, Pa; we can look after the young’un,” Hoss said.  Then, with an anxious glance at the closed door to the next room, he asked tentatively, “Could I . . .?”

Ben smiled and nodded, predictably adding, “Be very quiet; he’s sleeping.”

“About that room,” Adam said once Hoss had disappeared.  He was never easily diverted from his purpose, especially when his family was affected.

Ben wearily kneaded his forehead.  “I’ll be getting one,” he said.  “Doc Carver was here earlier and said Joe could be moved, but he didn’t want him leaving town just yet.  I wanted to let your brother wake naturally, though.  He had some difficulty getting to sleep last night.  In fact, he didn’t rest at all until Booth Shannon’s visit.”

Adam’s spine stiffened, from atlas to sacrum.  “Shannon was here?” he asked tersely.

Ben saw the tension and spoke quickly to defuse it.  “He was here, and it was good he was.  He brought back your brother’s hat and gun and apologized for what happened.”

“Good of him,” Adam grunted sarcastically.

“Yes, it was,” Ben said firmly, “considering the whole affair was your brother’s doing.  He . . .”

“Drew on Shannon,” Adam inserted.  “Roy told us.  The fool kid.”

“Foolish it was,” Ben agreed, “but he had been pushed pretty hard.”  Ben told Adam about the posters tacked up all over town, offering a reward for evidence leading to Little Joe’s arrest and conviction in the deaths of Booth’s brother and his wife Hallie. “Apparently, it was Joe’s calling him out that convinced Shannon he was innocent.  No guilty man would do that, he said.  It was reckless, but I think Little Joe felt he had to challenge Booth or be hounded the rest of his life.  In the end, it may have been the only way, but don’t tell Little Joe I said that.”

“Oh, I won’t,” said Adam.  “We certainly don’t want that recklessness repeated!”

“Right.”  Ben exhaled gustily, whether in exasperation or relief, Adam couldn’t tell.  “Anyway,” Ben continued, “after Shannon talked to him, your brother was finally able to sleep, and that’s why I don’t want him disturbed.”

“I understand,” Adam said quietly, still needing time to absorb all he’d just heard, “but that doesn’t mean you have to stay here until he wakes.  In fact, wouldn’t it better if arrangements were already made at the hotel and he could be taken straight there when he wakes up?”

‘Well, yes,” Ben agreed.  “I’d appreciate you taking care of that, son.”

“You take care of it,” Adam said firmly.  “You can arrange whatever accommodations you think best and, at least, get some better rest than you’ve found in that unyielding desk chair, since we both know you won’t get any actual sleep until he’s settled.  You’ll need it later because Hoss and I do have to get back to the ranch . . . if only to ensure we keep our cook from actually boarding that ship to China.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Ben said, lips twitching.  His shoulders finally slumped with the weariness he’d been fighting all night and morning.  “All right.  As usual, you’re talking good sense, so I’m gonna take your advice.”

“Ah, if only it were ever so,” Adam said with a chuckle.

“Watch it, boy,” Ben warned, though his smile belied the apparent threat.  He stood and stretched.  “Explain to Hoss,” he said as he headed toward the exit.

“Sure.”  Adam waited until his father was well away and then moved across the room.  Opening the door quietly, he entered and almost gasped at the unnaturally still form on the narrow bed.  Usually, he pictured Little Joe riding hell on horseshoes across an open meadow—or, more terrifyingly, down a rocky mountain slope.  It didn’t seem to make much difference to Joe.  For him to be this motionless, even in sleep, seemed altogether wrong.  “How is he?” he asked his other brother.

“Sleepin’ pretty sound,” Hoss reported from his post at the side of the bed.  “Little bit of fever.”

“Natural with a bullet wound,” Adam said.  “I sent Pa on to the hotel.  When Joe wakes, we’ll take him there and get him settled.  Then back to the Ponderosa.”

Hoss’s face scrunched.  “I was kind of figurin’ to stay with ‘im.”

Adam wasn’t surprised.  His two younger brothers had a close bond—joined at the hip, some said—and Hoss would have wanted to keep a close eye on any wounded critter, much less his beloved little brother.  That he himself also wanted to would never have occurred to Hoss and it was better that way.  Someone had to keep the ranch running, and as the oldest, he was elected.  “Sure,” he said as easily as if it actually were.  “I can manage the rest of the day without you.”  As they waited for their brother to wake, Adam related what Pa had told him about the circumstances leading to the fight and Shannon’s visit and admission of his misjudgment of their little brother.

“So, it’s over,” Hoss said with relief.

“It’s over,” Adam said, grateful, though he didn’t voice it, that Booth Shannon had, apparently at the last moment, realized his error and diverted his aim enough to wound, rather than kill.  He could have done no better without risking his own life.

It was about half an hour later when the older brothers saw Little Joe begin to stir, moaning with each slight movement.  While the sight filled their hearts with gratitude, the sound moved them with pity and removed all thought of tearing limb from limb or even scolding the boy.  He’d already received payment in full for his foolhardy challenge to a professional gun handler.

“Hey there, Punkin,” Hoss said, his voice dripping honey, as he saw his little brother’s eyes open.

“Hey, Hoss,” Little Joe said, a bit groggily.  “How—how’d you get here?”

“On our horses,” Adam replied.  “How else, little brother?”

“Not what I meant,” Little Joe mumbled.

Adam chuckled.  “I know what you meant.  We’re here because you and Pa didn’t come home last night.  That’s bound to raise questions, you know, especially in the Asian contingent of the family.”

“Guess so,” Little Joe said, sounding weak and subdued—in other words, completely out of character for the youngest Cartwright.  Hoss and Adam exchanged a concerned glance over their brother’s head.

“How are you feeling?” Adam asked, his voice solicitous.

“Okay.”  Joe’s eyes scanned the room for something missing.  “Where’s Pa?”

“At the hotel,” Adam replied.  “We can take you to him whenever you’re ready.”

Frown lines creased the youngest’s forehead, and he appeared confused.  After a long pause, Little Joe said, “I want to go home.  Pa—Pa can come, too.”

“Hotel first,” Adam said.  “Doctor’s orders.”

If he thought that would stifle all contradiction, he quickly became disillusioned.

“No,” Little Joe insisted.  “Home.”

“Sorry, little buddy, but home is not an option, not yet.  You can stay here or in a much more comfortable bed at the International House.  That second option has the benefit of fine food and the tender attentions of our hovering hen of a father.”

“Hey, I could use some of that fine food myself!” Hoss put in.  “What you say, Shortshanks?  How’s breakfast sound?”

“Maybe . . . Hop Sing’s . . . at home,” Little Joe said.

“Hop Sing’s a mite put out with you right now, Shortshanks.  He fixed flapjacks special for you this mornin’, and you weren’t there to eat ‘em.  Did my best to get you out of trouble by polishin’ ‘em off myself.”

“Thanks all to pieces.  Little Joe tried to laugh, which turned into a coughing mistake.

“Easy, boy,” Adam soothed, resting a hand on his brother’s convulsed chest.  As the coughing subsided, he asked, “So, which is it?  Hotel now or after Doc Carver gives you another going over?”

“That’s not . . . a choice.”  The tail end of the coughing fit weakened what was meant to be an indignant protest.

“I have nothing else to offer.”

“Okay.”  Each syllable was an almost sentence-length sigh of defeat.  That he had no breath to argue was not a good sign, and both older brothers knew it.

“Good decision,” Adam said, taking care to keep his voice gentle.  Much as he enjoyed a good sparring match with his youngest brother, he knew when to pull his punches.

“Let’s get you ready, then,” Hoss suggested quickly.  “Where’s your shirt, Joe?”

“I don’t know,” Little Joe said and then mumbled, “Rag bin, most likely.  It was kind of . . .”

Whether he stopped from lack of breath or lack of ideas, neither older brother could tell.  “Ain’t no never-mind,” Hoss said, stepping into the void.  We’ll get you over there fast, and . . .”

He got no further before his little brother exploded with what breath he had, “I ain’t going  . . . out on the street . . . naked!”  As he lay on the cot gasping for air, Hoss tried to undo the damage he’d innocently done with gentle pats and soothing words.

“Bare-chested is not naked,” Adam said bluntly and regretted it almost immediately.  While literally true, he also knew that, to his little brother, it actually was the same thing.  For a kid who could strut through town like a preening peacock, Little Joe had always been surprisingly modest about exposing his bare body.  Probably because it was a boy’s body still, Adam realized, without the manly musculature of his older brothers or the fine physique he was likely to develop as he grew.  “However,” he added, softening his voice, “it is a legitimate concern, so I’ll just step over to the store and buy you a shirt.  Everything else in good repair?”

“I—I think so,” Little Joe said, taking a quick peep beneath the sheet at the trousers he was still wearing.  Then with a sheepish look at his oldest brother, he added, “Thanks, Adam.”

Adam patted the boy’s bare upper arm.  “No problem, kid.”  Looking up at Hoss, he promised, “Back soon.”

“We’ll be ready,” Hoss said.

*****

Behind the counter at her father’s store, Sally Cass’s eyes lighted when Adam Cartwright walked through the door.  “Nice to see you, Adam,” she called.  “It’s usually Hoss or Joe who comes for supplies, and it’s been a coon’s age since you paid us a visit.”

Adam smiled warmly at his old friend.  “Nice to see you, too, Sally.  You and your pa need to come out for dinner some Sunday.  Not this week, though.  We’ve had a bit of excitement.”

“Oh, I heard,” Sally said, sympathy in her face and voice.  “How is Little Joe?”

“He’ll mend,” Adam replied.  “He’ll be spending a night or two at the hotel, though, so I came by to pick up a couple of things he might need.”

“What can I get you?” she asked.  She’d known Adam long enough to know his straight-forward approach to business, and with an injured brother waiting for him, he’d probably dallied as long as he was comfortable with.

“A shirt, to start with,” Adam told her.  “I presume you know his size?”

“It’ll be in our records,” Sally said.  As she turned to the book that held such information for customers, Adam wandered around the store, pondering whether there was anything else he should purchase for his little brother’s comfort or Pa’s, for that matter.  It occurred to him that neither of them had a nightshirt with him, so he decided to add one for each.  If Pa balked at the expense, he’d pay it himself.  He called the addition back to Sally and continued looking.  Spotting the book table, he was naturally drawn to it.  Though he had hoped for something new and interesting for himself, what he discovered was a collection of the trashy little dime novels his little brother still fancied.  Nonetheless, Little Joe would need to be kept quiet until his wound healed, so at the risk of corrupting the boy’s dubious concept of what constituted good literature, Adam selected a couple of the little paper-backed atrocities which sported less lurid covers and took them to the counter, along with a change of underwear and an extra pair of socks for both his father and brother.

Sally smiled as she added them to the tally.  “Will that be all?” she asked.

“I think so,” Adam said.  “Bill it to the Ponderosa’s account, please.”

“Of course.”

He left the store, bundles in hand, and, mindful of how long he’d already been gone, kept a sprightly pace back to Dr. Carver’s office.  He was surprised to find both his brothers sitting in the outer office, ready to go with the exception of a shirt for the younger one.  “I see someone’s eager to get to the hotel,” he said with a touch of forced cheer.

Little Joe frowned.  “Better than here, I guess.”

“Much better,” Adam agreed in hopes of bolstering whatever positive attitude existed.  “I have a brand-new shirt for you, so let’s get you in it and head on over.”

“Better not be black,” Little Joe mumbled.

“I doubt it,” Adam said, “but I haven’t actually seen it.  Sally picked it out, so you’d best accept whatever it is with good grace.”

“Aw, well, she’ll do okay by me, I reckon,” the boy said, a hint of his saucy humor sparking.  “Ladies usually do.”

Adam groaned dutifully, but then grinned as he opened the package and drew out a shirt in the light tan his youngest brother seemed to favor.  “Someone seems to know you well.”

“Ladies usually do,” Hoss said and then guffawed at his own joke.

The good mood lasted only long enough to help Little Joe into his new shirt.  The minute Hoss reached forward to scoop him into his strong arms, the boy stiffened.  “No,” he said flatly.  “I can walk.”

“No,” Adam said, voice firm as stone.  “No argument,” he added, hoping it would have the same force as when Pa said it.  Apparently, he succeeded, at least in part, for Little Joe turned away from him and fastened a set of pleading, puppy eyes on his other, generally more pliable brother.

Jaw set with determination, Hoss shook his head.  “I’m with Adam on this one, Shortshanks.  You’re plumb weak as a kitten.”  He’d taken note of the boy’s halting steps when he’d walked him from the other room.

“Folks’ll think I’m a babe in arms,” Little Joe grumbled.

“If you whine like that, they will,” Adam said dryly.

Heaving a deep sigh, Little Joe gave in.  “Oh, all right,” he said, “but no stoppin’ to talk to every Tom, Dick and Harriet along the way.”

Hoss chuckled. “You sure?  I reckon some of them Harriets would sure like to play nursemaid and stroke your curly little baby brow.”

“That’ll do, Hoss,” Adam cautioned.  Having gotten his little brother’s cooperation, he didn’t want the boy teased back into rebellion.

“Yeah,” Little Joe said with an offended look at the man he normally considered his best friend.  “This time, I’m with Adam.”

Grinning as if that exchange of loyalties had been his plan all along, Hoss lifted Little Joe and moved toward the door, which Adam quickly opened before their mercurial little brother could have another change of heart.

*****

Having learned the room number from the clerk, Adam led the way up the stairs at the International House and moved down the hall.  He halted before the door to the suite to give Hoss time to catch up.  With his arms full of little brother, the big man had, of course, moved more slowly and carefully than usual.  When they were only a few paces behind, Adam rapped on the door to the suite Ben had rented and popped his head through without waiting for a response.  “It’s us, Pa,” he called.  “We’ve got your boy.”

Ben, who’d been reclining on the settee in the suite’s parlor area, covered his yawn as he rose to greet his sons.

“Hi, Pa,” Little Joe said as Hoss entered behind Adam.

“Hello, son.”  Ben rested a tender hand against his youngest’s cheek before looking up at Hoss.  “The bed’s turned down,” he said as he pointed to the room off to his left.  He expected a protest from Little Joe as Hoss carried him through the doorway, and when it didn’t come, he felt some concern.  “I expected you a little sooner,” he said to Adam, brow wrinkling.  “No problems, I hope.”

“None I couldn’t handle,” Adam said.  “I had to make a brief trip to Cass’s to provide a shirt for your overly modest youngest.”

“Ah.”  Ben smiled with perfect understanding.

“I hope you won’t mind, but I also charged a few other items I thought you might need.”

At that, an eyebrow rose, but when Adam detailed his extra purchases, Ben smiled again and thanked his son for his foresight.  Then they both entered the bedroom, where Hoss was just settling Little Joe under the covers after removing his boots.

“Package delivered, safe and sound,” Hoss announced.  “Now, how ‘bout some breakfast?”

Ben chuckled.  “Hop Sing didn’t feed you?  I may have to ship him back to China.”

“No, no, don’t do that!” Hoss said, waving his hands in negation.  “He fed us—right fine, too—but, well, Adam mentioned breakfast for the young’un, and I thought, maybe, he’d eat better if’n he had company.”  He bobbed his head in wide-eyed earnestness.

The rest of the family laughed, though Little Joe’s laughter was still subdued by his diminished breath supply.

“How about it, son?” Ben asked his youngest.  “Ready for breakfast?”

Little Joe bit his lower lip.  “I’m not real hungry, Pa.”

Ben sobered.  “You should eat something, son.  You haven’t had anything since noon yesterday.”  Then he added in a lighter vein, “It doesn’t have to be steak and eggs.”

“Or anything else that would approximate our beloved brother’s appetite,” Adam put in with a wink.

A smile tickled Little Joe’s lips, and after a moment’s consideration, he asked, “You think they might have cinnamon rolls?”

“I’m sure we can find some,” Adam said.  If the restaurant downstairs couldn’t provide what his little brother wanted, he was certain the bakery just down the street could.

Yeah,” Hoss chimed in with enthusiasm.  “That’s sounds right down my alley.”

“Everything edible is right down your alley,” Adam observed dryly.

“I must admit, that sounds good to me, too,” Ben said.  “Why don’t you boys order a dozen, and we’ll share.  Anything else, Little Joe?  Eggs, perhaps or a slice or two of bacon.”

Little Joe shook his head and then paused.  “Well, maybe some hot chocolate, if they got it.”

“I’m sure they do,” Adam said.  “You with me, Hoss?  I just might require some help to carry that much.”

“Always happy to help with that sort of fetchin’ and carryin’ older brother,” Hoss said.

“I figured,” Adam said, laughing as he shoved his bigger brother out the door.

“Tell you what,” Hoss suggested once they were in the hall.  “Why don’t I traipse down to the bakery and fetch them rolls, while you order the drinks?”

“Good idea,” Adam agreed, “but don’t spend too much time tasting the wares.  We don’t want little brother falling asleep before he eats.”

“I don’t need to taste, older brother!  I already ready know everything down to Miss Maisie’s place tastes fine!”

Adam laughed.  “Get on, then.  Meet you in the lobby.”

They met as planned, and each carried his assigned items into the parlor of the suite.  Adam’s tray held two carafes, one of hot chocolate and the other of coffee, along with small plates, empty cups, cream and sugar.  Setting everything off onto a convenient small table, he invited Hoss to use the empty tray to set out the cinnamon rolls.  Both Ben and Adam chuckled when they saw that the sack from the bakery held not only the requested dozen rolls, but a collection of other pastries, including the middle son’s favorite bear claws.  “My treat,” Hoss said with raised palm, to forestall any chiding or the even more likely ribbing.

“I’m sure they’ll be eaten,” Ben said with a smile.  He planned to snatch one of those bear claws for himself before they all disappeared down Hoss’s gullet.

Though he had little hope that his youngest would eat more than he’d requested, he placed a second cinnamon roll on the plate the hotel had generously provided and took it into the bedroom.  Adam followed with the cup of hot chocolate he’d poured for his brother.  Trusting them to look after Little Joe, Hoss stayed close to the bakery goods.  It didn’t pay to stray far from anything that good, not in the Cartwright clan.  His little brother, of course, could have anything he wanted.  That was likely to be a small sacrifice, anyway, and he’d be glad to make it.

Between them, the Cartwrights polished off almost everything.  Adam stacked the dirty dishes in preparation for taking them back downstairs.  “I’ll be heading back to the ranch now, Pa, unless there’s anything else you need.”

“No, I believe you’ve thought of everything, son,” Ben said as he sat on the settee, savoring a final cup of coffee.  After eating, Hoss had taken his pa’s place at Little Joe’s bedside.

“Hoss wants to stay,” Adam said, “so he’ll be available to send on errands.”

Ben smiled.  “I’ll enjoy his company, although I suspect I won’t get much of it.”

Adam returned a saucy grin.  “I suspect you’re right.  Try to get some sleep this afternoon, Pa,” he urged.  “You can’t have gotten much last night, and you know you can trust Hoss with the boy.”  They all teased Ben about being a mama bear when any of his cubs was sick or injured, but Hoss was an even bigger and more protective one.  Between the two of them, nothing harmful had a chance of getting through to Little Joe.

“Well, I might,” Ben admitted, stifling a yawn.

“Keep him tomorrow, if you need him,” Adam added.  “I can manage.”

“We’ll probably be coming home tomorrow,” Ben said.  “Doc Carver said he’d tried to stop by this evening, after he’s seen his other patients, and if Joe’s doing well, we can leave in the morning.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning, then,” Adam said, “and I’ll bring the buggy.  It should make for an easier ride.”

“Thank you, son.”

He stepped into the bedroom and called good-bye to Little Joe.  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said.  “Behave yourself now.  No more gunfights.”  It was the closest he’d come to censure of his little brother’s actions.  Maybe he’d say more later, but Cartwrights didn’t hit a man when he was down.  “Take care of the kid,” he said to Hoss, “and make Pa get some sleep.”  He left, stopping only to take the tray of dirty dishes with him.

“You stayin’?” Little Joe asked.

“Thought I would, less’n you don’t want me,” Hoss replied.

“I want you.”  Hoss would probably mollycoddle him, too, but not as much as Pa, left to himself.

“I’m gonna step out a minute and see if’n I can’t get Pa to use that other bedroom, and then I’ll be back.  You need anything ‘fore I go?”  At the slight shake of his brother’s head, He went into the suite’s parlor and began his sales pitch, wishing he were as good at that sort of thing as either of his brothers.  “Now’d be a good time to catch up on some shut-eye, wouldn’t it, Pa?”

“Now, Hoss,” Ben chided gently.  “I can decide when I need to go to bed.  I am a grown man.”

“Yeah, but a mighty tired one.  Might as well take advantage of me bein’ around and take yourself a short nap.”

Ben tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn.  “You’ll call me if your brother needs me?”

“Course, I will.”

“I’ll take you up on it, then.”

“Night, Pa . . . well, not exactly night, but . . .”

Ben chuckled.  “Good morning doesn’t sound quite right, either, does it, son?”

Hoss grinned.  “No, sir, but I hope you sleep good, anyway.”

As Ben rose from the settee, he clapped his middle son’s broad shoulder and took himself off to bed.

Spotting the package Adam had bought at the store, Hoss opened it and divided up the contents according to size.  Setting the things obviously meant for Pa on the table, he took the rest into his little brother’s room.  “Look here what Adam bought for you,” he said, shaking out the night shirt after setting everything else in the bedside chair.  “You want to get into it now?  Might be more comfortable in bed than shirt and pants.

“Probably,” Little Joe admitted.  “I—uh—kind of need to go down the hall first, and I’d rather stay dressed for that.”

“Ain’t likely nobody’s up here to see you this time of day,” Hoss snorted, “but whichever way you want.  He swung his brother’s legs around to the side of the bed.

“I’m walkin’,” Little Joe insisted.

Hoss, who had never intended otherwise, grinned.  “I reckon you could make it that far, just leanin’ on me.”

“I could make it that far, not leanin’ on you, too.”

“Nope.”  Hoss didn’t use a no-argument tone with his little brother near as much as Pa or Adam, but when he did, he could be more adamant than either of them.

“Oh, all right,” Little Joe caved in with a sigh as he let himself be assisted from the bed.  It was only a short trip down the unpopulated hall to the water closet, but by the time they reached it, the younger boy was grateful for his big brother’s strong, supporting arm.  When Hoss followed him into the actual room, however, Little Joe again protested.  “Aw, come on, Hoss.  I been doing this by myself since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

“I’ll turn my back, if’n it helps,” Hoss said, “but I ain’t leavin’, lest you keel clean over.”

The sigh this time was even longer and deeper, but Little Joe evidently decided it wasn’t worth fighting over.  When Hoss turned his back, he went about his business.  Hoss didn’t turn around until he heard the sound of the flush after his brother pulled the chain to the water tank above the commode.  Then, without a word, he again offered his strong arm, and together they made their way back to the suite, where Hoss helped his brother into his nightshirt and back into bed.

He picked up the two paper-backed books that had also been in Adam’s bundle and looked with interest at the sketches on the covers, which had apparently caught particularly exciting scenes from the story.  “Hey, look what else ole Adam bought for you, Shortshanks.”

Little Joe took the books and gazed at the same sketches.  “Adam got this for me?” he asked with some amazement, for he knew his older brother’s opinion of this sort of “literature.”  “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Now, you know your big brother loves you,” Hoss chided.

“Course, I do, but he also thinks I got a powerful need of bein’ educated—by him.”

Hoss grinned broadly.  “You and me, both, little brother, you and me both.  These look right interestin’ to me, though.  You want I should read you a mite.”  He didn’t miss the look that came across his brother’s face.  “I know I ain’t as good at this as Adam.”

“Nobody is,” Little Joe said, “except Pa, but you’d do fine, if’n I wanted readin’ to.  Truth is, I’m feelin’ kind of tired, Hoss.  I think I might like to sleep some.”

“Oh.  Well, let’s get you settled under them covers, then.”  He eased Little Joe down into the bed and covered him gently.  “You—uh—mind if’n I take one of these into that parlor and read awhile?”

“Take your pick,” Little Joe said through a yawn.

Hoss ruffled his brother’s curly head and took a book into the next room, where for the next couple of hours he lost himself in Deadeye Dave’s latest adventure.  He kept an ear peeled toward the bedroom, so when he heard soft moans coming from there, he put the book down and went directly to his little brother’s side.

Joe wasn’t quite awake yet, so he just soothed him a mite, and it worked for a short while, but it wasn’t long before his brother’s eyes fluttered open.  “You playin’ guardian angel?” Little Joe asked.

“Naw, just heard you comin’ around and come to check.  You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Hoss never could manage that raised eyebrow that Pa and Adam did so well to convey their skepticism.  On him, it just looked—well, peculiar.  “You was moanin’ some,” he said plainly.

“It’s a bullet wound, Hoss,” Little Joe said.  “Of course, it hurts some, but I’m okay, honest.”

“There’s some medicine here, if you need it.”

Little Joe gave a little laugh, which his bruised lung made him pay for, but he covered it well enough to fool Hoss.  “I think I’ve slept enough for a while, brother.”

“Yeah, you did,” his big brother said with a grin.  “Clean through lunchtime.  Pa, too.  You feelin’ hungry?”

“Some, maybe,” Little Joe said.  “I did have a late breakfast, remember?  And a big one.”

Hoss snorted.  Two cinnamon rolls and a cup of hot chocolate wasn’t his idea of a big breakfast, and it wouldn’t have been Little Joe’s, either, if’n he wasn’t feelin’ poorly.  “Could you eat?’ he asked.  “I sure could.”

Little Joe grinned.  “You always can.”  Then his brow furrowed.  “You didn’t skip lunch on my account, did you?”

“Did you think I’d leave you?”  Hoss scoffed at that fool notion.

“Well, you could’ve,” Little Joe said, perturbed.  “I was just sleepin’.  Go on and get yourself something, brother.  I can sing out for Pa if I need anything.”

“Could and would ain’t exactly the same thing with you, Shortshanks, but I reckon I’ll trust you this time.  Can I bring you something?” His voice wasn’t exactly pleading, but it came close.

“I reckon I could eat a mite,” Little Joe admitted.  “Maybe some soup and something like pudding, if’n they got it.”

“Be back quick as a wink,” Hoss said.  “Don’t go nowhere.”

Little Joe rolled his eyes.  Short of another trip down the hall, where was he likely to go?  And he didn’t need that trip bad enough to risk Pa wakin’ up and findin’ both of ‘em gone.  Pa’d be sure they was up to some sort of mischief, even though mischief was the last thing he felt like gettin’ up to right now.  Spotting the second dime novel that Adam had provided lying on the bedside table, he picked it up and turned to the first page.

*****

Hoss looked up as his father entered the bedroom.  “Howdy, Pa,” he called softly.  “You sleep good?”

“Fine, son, fine,” Ben said.  Looking at the boy in the bed, he asked, “Has he been awake at all?”

“Oh, sure,” Hoss replied.  “For a fair little spell.”

“Did he eat anything?”  As an afterthought, Ben also asked, “Did you?”

“Yeah, the both of us did.”

“Anything substantial?”  Ben smiled.  “Him, I mean.”

Hoss chuckled, recognizing that his father hadn’t had the least worry about his own appetite.  “Well,” he drawled, “not what I’d call substantial, but for him—when he’s ailin’, especially—I reckon it was.  Bowl of soup and a dish of pudding.  Almost finished ‘em both.”

Ben nodded, satisfied.  “And right back to sleep, I take it.”

“Not quite,” Hoss said.  “We both read some, and then I looked over and seen he’d nodded off.  Tires pretty easy just now, I reckon.”  He’d been a mite surprised by that, but decided, maybe, the book Joe was readin’ wasn’t quite as excitin’ as the eye-openin’one he’d started himself.

Ben nodded.  “Anything you want to do while you’re in town?  This would be a good time.”

“Aw, I don’t know,” Hoss said.  “I ain’t much for town, but I wouldn’t mind stretchin’ my legs, if’n you’ll be okay here.”

Ben laughed lightly, so as not to disturb his slumbering son.  “I’ll be okay.  If you stretch your legs past the general store, you might bring me something a little more my style to read.”

Hoss’s brow wrinkled.  He knew Joe’s style, ‘cause it kind of matched his own, and if it had been Adam he was buyin’ for, he’d just pick somethin’ so far over his head that there weren’t no hope of understandin’ it, but Pa was harder to figure.  “Just what style would that be, Pa?”

Ben covered his mouth to stifle his laughter.  “Well, maybe just a newspaper, son, since I probably won’t be here long enough to read a book.”  He repeated what he had earlier told Adam.

“Just tonight, then?  Little Joe’s sure gonna be glad to hear that.”

“Hopefully, yes, but don’t tell him.  You leave that to me, young man.”  That conversation would not be happening until after the doctor cleared his boy to travel.

Hoss grinned.  “Yessir, I sure will.  I know which side my bread’s buttered on.”

As his hefty son headed for the door, Ben shook his head, chuckling beneath his breath.  Trust Hoss to choose a food-based metaphor.

*****

Somehow, Ben—and more miraculously, Hoss—managed to keep the secret until Dr. Carver came for his late-evening visit.  Still, Little Joe quickly saw which side his bread was buttered on, too, and put on such a show of good health and readiness to go home that almost anyone but a savvy old doctor with Carver’s years of experience would have been fooled.  He poked and prodded and frowned skeptically as he repeated questions to which he’d been given unsatisfactory answers until he was finally certain that he’d made an accurate assessment of his patient’s condition.  “He’s improving nicely,” the doctor told Ben, “so, unless you see anything you’re concerned about tonight, you can take him home in the morning.  Don’t hesitate to call me if anything does concern you.”

“I won’t,” Ben said, as much for his son’s ears as the doctor’s.

Even so, the first words out of Little Joe’s mouth were a suggestion that they go home tonight.  “I’m sure I’d sleep better in my own bed, Pa, and you would, too.”

The charming smile accompanying the request didn’t take his father by surprise.  Nor did it move him.  “In the morning, Joseph,” he said firmly.

“But, Pa . . .”

“No argument, son,” Ben said, his voice growing, if possible, firmer, and his eyebrow arching up in a way that said he meant business.

Little Joe’s face crumpled, with a defenselessness more persuasive than the charming smile had been, because it reflected more honest emotion.  “Okay,” he sighed weakly.  “Early, though, huh?”

Ben chuckled.  “Your brother Adam’s bringing the buggy from home, and he may have other duties to see to before he can leave.  So, he’ll get here when he gets here, and you, young man, will make no complaint.”

“Yes, sir.”  The sigh this time was heavier and dripping with defeat.  Hoss, who was listening in, could barely hold back guffawing into little brother’s pathetic face.  That young’un fancied gettin’ his own way worse than anyone Hoss had ever seen, and watchin’ him not get away with it was a pure pleasure the big man could rarely manage on his own.

*****

Ben ended up spending the night on the settee in the suite’s parlor.  Little Joe had been so excited about going home in the morning that he’d had a hard time getting to sleep.  While Ben had planned to share the other bed with Hoss, as crowded as that was likely to be, he’d stayed on watch until his youngest fell asleep.  By that time Hoss had just naturally taken more than his half of the bed.  Since the settee was wider than the space the big man had left him, Ben convinced himself that he’d sleep better there, and he’d be closer if his youngest had any difficulties during the night.  He proved himself a poor guesser on both counts: Little Joe hadn’t woken once, and the settee had made a decidedly uncomfortable bed.  By the time morning came, the youngest Cartwright wasn’t the only one yearning for home, perhaps not even the one feeling it most.

Something kept niggling at Ben’s brain during those early morning hours while his sons slept, something just out of reach, something Adam had said the previous morning when they’d talked about Little Joe’s challenge of Booth Shannon.    I explained that Joe had reason, Ben mused, but I asked Adam not to tell his brother I’d said that, and Adam promised he wouldn’t.  Then he said . . . what?  An offhand remark, and he hadn’t paid much heed to it then.  Now, those forgotten words kept itching at his mind, just out of reach.  Then, as the sunlight began to filter through the window to the street, Adam’s words finally came to him: “We certainly don’t want that recklessness repeated!”

No, they didn’t want a repetition of what had happened in the street two days ago, but what could possibly guarantee that?  Nothing, of course.  There were no guarantees in life, but somehow, he felt that something needed to be said . . . now . . . when all the thoughts and feelings were fresh, when what he might say would have its greatest impact.  He wasn’t sure how to work it out, but he needed to talk to Little Joe alone.  In the stillness of the early morning, he prayerfully sought the wisdom he would need to choose the right time and the right words.

Ben had awakened early, so he wasn’t surprised that both his sons slumbered on.  That was normal for Joe, of course.  Sick or well, that boy could sleep!  Hoss, on the other hand, was usually an early riser, but he’d outslept Joseph this morning.  Ben let his youngest wake on his own and then helped him dress while Hoss snored on, to their amusement.  Both of them were up and sitting in the parlor when Hoss finally made his yawning appearance, still in his long johns.

“You’d better get yourself washed up and dressed, son,” Ben advised.  “I expect Adam fairly soon now, and when he gets here, we’ll have some breakfast.”

“Yeah, Hoss, you wouldn’t want older brother seein’ you in your night clothes this time of day.” Little Joe put in.

“Sounds great, Pa,” Hoss said, stifling another yawn and pointedly ignoring Joe’s jab.  Of course, it was a sign the boy was feelin’ better, but he didn’t want to give that sharp wit of his too much encouragement.

*****

Due to their own late awakenings, the three in the hotel didn’t have to wait long for Adam’s arrival.  “I hope you haven’t eaten yet,” he said when he entered the suite.  “I convinced Hop Sing that it was best for us all to eat here in town and allow him the extra time he might need to prepare a feast worthy of our youngest’s homecoming.”

“Oh, mighty persuader,” Ben declared with a proud look in his eye.  “No, we haven’t eaten yet, and figuring you wouldn’t be much longer, I decided to wait.”

“Ah!  Great minds think alike.”

“Apparently.”  Ben smiled, appreciating the compliment.  Suddenly, he knew: this was the opportunity he’d waited for.  He took a sobering breath and then said, “Why don’t you and Hoss eat downstairs and then bring something up for Joseph and me?”

Adam looked a little puzzled, but Hoss was absolutely stunned.  “Ain’t we all gonna eat together?”

“No, I’d prefer to eat here,” Ben insisted, “and I’m sure Joseph won’t mind keeping me company.”  He arched an inquiring eyebrow toward his third son.

“No . . . sir,” Little Joe said, but his brow wrinkled with concern.

Though Hoss still looked befuddled, Adam was beginning to sense what lay behind his father’s unusual request.  “Come on, Hoss,” he said, clapping a hand on his brother’s hefty shoulder.  His strong grip guided Hoss toward the door, where he turned and asked, “What would you like us to order for you, Pa?”

“Oh, just a standard breakfast, son, whatever looks good to you,” Ben said.  “I trust your judgement.”

“Joe?” Adam inquired.

“I’m . . . not hungry,” Little Joe said, scarcely above a whisper.

The boy’s solemn, almost fearful, attitude was concerning, and Adam looked to his father for instruction.

“We’ll trust you to order for your brother, as well,” Ben said with a pointed look.

Adam figured the sooner he and Hoss left, the sooner Pa could deal with whatever was bothering their little brother, so he simply said, “Fine,” and herded Hoss through the door.

“Why, Pa?” Little Joe asked as soon as his brothers were gone.  “Why can’t we eat together?”

Ben stretched his arm to touch the boy’s hand softly.  “Because I wanted a little time alone with you, son.”

“But . . . why?” Little Joe pressed anxiously.

“I just want to talk with you.”  From Joe’s reaction, he might have used that old phrase from childhood, “a very necessary little talk.”  This one was necessary, Ben thought, but not in the sense that had once meant.  He didn’t know quite what to say to dispel that idea.

Little Joe’s next question paved the way for him.  “This little talk . . . is it gonna be anything akin to a trip to the woodshed?”

Ben might have laughed had the boy not looked so woebegone.  “Is that what you think you deserve, Joseph?”  He smiled in hopes of conveying a lighter spirit, along with one of understanding.

Little Joe, though, looked even more sober.  “Maybe.  I kind of figured you did.”

“No,” Ben said.

Emotion worked the boy’s face, and his voice shook as he said, “I know you’re disappointed in me.”

“No,” Ben said again, more firmly.  “No, Joseph, I’m not.”

“How can you not be?” Little Joe cried, working to contain himself.  “I went against everything you believe!”

A light flashed in Ben’s brain.  He’d known he needed to have this talk with his son, but until this moment, he hadn’t fully realized why.  He’d sensed an underlying tension in Little Joe’s demeanor; now, suddenly, he understood the guilt and fear underlying it.  With all this churning inside, his boy couldn’t possibly heal properly, internally or possibly even physically.  It had to be resolved.

His touch was tender as he cupped his son’s cheek.  “I’m not disappointed in you, son.  Yes, I want to discuss what happened, but I’m not disappointed; I’m not angry; I have no negative feelings toward you whatsoever.  I don’t agree with what you did, but I understand why you did it.”

“Really?”

“Really, son.  You were in a terrible place, Joseph, and I’m sure you felt you had no choice.”

Little Joe nodded.  “None I could see.”

“There’s always a choice,” Ben said, “but when a man’s torn apart by grief and guilt”—he smiled—”and perhaps a certain degree of fear, choices can be murky—and you’re very young, son, to be dealing with all that.”

Joe bristled slightly, both at the suggestion of fear and the reference to his youth.  “I don’t know what you mean, Pa.”

“In the first place,” Ben began, “there was simple, but profound confusion.  A man you considered a friend had tried to kill you, and you had no idea why.  You shot him in self-defense, and though you knew you had no choice, you still felt terrible guilt.  It was written all over your face, son.”

Little Joe nodded.  One of his greatest faults, as he saw it, was his inability to conceal his emotions.  He’d often wished he had just one drop of his older brother Adam’s restraint.  Even Hoss, open as he was with his feelings, could hold himself together better than Joe, and the comparison to his brothers just made the youngest Cartwright feel even more inadequate.

Oblivious to his son’s ruminations, Ben continued speaking.  “Then there was a second tragedy.  A girl you’d known from your schoolboy days died suddenly, and grief was piled onto confusion and guilt.

Little Joe tried to shrug it off and failed miserably.  “Yeah, I guess I was kind of a mess.”

“Understandably, you were,” Ben said, “and we were all concerned about you.  When Booth came at you with his accusations and his relentless determination to prove them, the pressure grew.  I presume you saw the posters he’d put up, that day we came to town?”

Little Joe nodded.

Ben went on.  “I know how that poster affected me.  I felt I had to do something, so I tore it down and went straight into the saloon to confront Booth.”

Little Joe looked up, surprised.  “You did?”

Ben nodded.  “Nothing I said budged him, though, so I went to the sheriff and demanded he do something about it.  He was just telling me why he couldn’t when we heard the shots outside, and I knew.  I just knew what it meant . . . although I didn’t know ‘til later that you had actually started the fight.  I’m still not sure why you did.”

“It was the only way he’d fight me,” Little Joe explained, head hanging so he wouldn’t have to face his father.  “I challenged him to meet me on the street, and he said it would be murder, and I . . . I . . .”

“What, boy?”

“I told him it wouldn’t be murder if I drew first, and I told him I’d be waiting in the street.  Guess I didn’t leave him much choice.”

“I guess you didn’t.”  Fortunately, the son couldn’t see his father’s expression at that moment, for the displeasure he had so feared did flicker, ever so briefly, across Ben’s countenance.  “Go on,” he said, deliberately relaxing his facial muscles.

Little Joe shrugged.  “Not much more to tell.  He followed me out.  I faced him down . . . and drew . . . first.  I—uh—wasn’t fast enough.”

“Thank God,” Ben whispered.

Little Joe looked up, startled, and his father quickly explained.  “If you had been fast enough, young man, Booth Shannon might have lain dead in that street and you’d be in jail, facing prosecution for murder.  And there would have been no defense.”  Or, you’d have been dead, he added silently to himself.  The result would have been the same either way, by bullet or noose.  Ben shuddered.

“I was gonna aim to wound, Pa, not kill!” Joe said stoutly; then his voice dropped.  “At least, that was what I planned.”  He gulped.  “Well, maybe ‘planned’ is the wrong word.  It all happened so fast.  There . . . well, there wasn’t much time to plan.”

Ben’s head bobbed repeatedly in heartfelt agreement.  “That, young man, is the main issue I want to discuss with you . . . taking time.  Considering how short a time it had been since I left Booth in the saloon, I don’t think you could possibly have taken much.”

“I guess I didn’t,” Little Joe admitted with chagrin.  Then, again without thinking, a rush of words spilled out.  “It just seemed like so much was comin’ at me so fast, and when Cletus said . . .”

“Wait, wait,” Ben interrupted.  “Slow down, son.  Who’s Cletus?”

“Aw, you remember Cletus, Pa,” Joe said, scarcely taking a breath.  “He was with us that day when Burke got shot.  He testified at the coroner’s inquest.”

Ben nodded.  “Oh, yes, I remember now.  I didn’t know him well.  Go on, son.”  His head was beginning to swim, much as he thought Little Joe’s must have that near-fatal day in the streets.

“I was looking at the poster,” Little Joe said, “and then Cletus was there at my elbow, sayin’ something about how Booth had the whole town believin’ I’d murdered Burke and Hallie and how he was gonna keep diggin’ and diggin’ at me until I believed it, too, and that’s sort of what I was already thinking, and I felt like I couldn’t live like that, always lookin’ over my shoulder and maybe even startin’ to believe the lie and . . . and . . .”

“I understand,” Ben said, again interrupting the flow of words.  “I really do, son, but there is something I need you to understand.  When you chose to go up against a trained lawman, a man with a reputation for killing more men in this territory than I can count in pursuance of that duty, it’s not just your own life you were hazarding, Joseph.  Your death would have impacted others, as well: your many friends, Adam, Hoss . . . me.”  His voice broke, noticeably quivering as he added, “I have every confidence that you would have been safe in the  arms of our heavenly Father, but my arms would have been empty, and what would I do without my Little Joe?”

“Live a peaceful life?” his son suggested, though his voice, too, was constricted by a suddenly tight throat.

Ben’s eyes narrowed.  “If you make a joke of this, young man, we just might make that trip to the woodshed after all!”

“No, no, I won’t,” Joe somehow managed to get out through the sobs building up inside.  “I—I’m sorry, Pa; I don’t know what else to say.”

Ben reached for his son and cradled his head in his arms.  “You don’t have to say anything, son,” he said as he stroked the chestnut curls, and I don’t have anything more to say . . . except that, perhaps, there are lessons to be learned here, and the chief one is ‘Take time.’”  His pause between each of the final two words emphasized their meaning.  “If something like this ever occurs again . . .”

“Again!  Pa, I don’t ever want this to happen again!”

Ben patted his boy’s shaking back and then pulled back to look at him.  “I didn’t mean another gunfight, son, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about life, it’s that there will be another challenge of one sort or another.  That’s what life is: one challenge and then . . . another—hopefully with a bit of space between.”  He ended on a soft smile that conveyed both understanding of the common lot of man and love for this particular young man.  “When that challenge comes, son, I hope you’ll take time to think and to seek help, especially if you’re as distraught as you were in this situation.  Come to me . . . or your brothers . . . or the law, if needed . . . and seek counsel when you feel overwhelmed and don’t see any way out.”

As he looked on his son with love and compassion, Ben saw tears trickling down that beloved face, and his hand instinctively reached out to wipe them away.  “Now, now,” he soothed.  “No need for that . . . but will you try?  That’s all I ask.”

“I’ll try, Pa,” Little Joe sobbed.  “I will try.”

“Good.”  Ben leaned forward and kissed the damp cheek.  “Now, go in the other room and wash your face.  “Your brothers should be back any time now.”  Unspoken was the shared realization that Little Joe would not want his older brothers to see him in such a vulnerable state.

After giving his father a quick hug, Little Joe hurried to the washstand in the bedroom to cover the ravages of emotion.  He was still there when his brothers came in, each bearing a tray filled with food.

“Where’s Little Joe?” Hoss asked.

“In the other room,” Ben said.  “He’ll be out shortly.  He took the tray Adam extended to him.  “My, that looks good!”

The door to the bedroom opened, and Little Joe came through it, all smiles.  “Is that mine, Hoss?  Boy, I’m starving!”  He reached eagerly for the tray and moved quickly to sit at his father’s side.

Hoss’s jaw dropped.  He was all too familiar with his little brother’s swift changes of mood, but this was a fast turn-around, even for Joe.  Adam, too, though he schooled his expression quickly, appeared surprised by the quicksilver alteration.

“Well, well, dig in, then!” Hoss finally said.  “I picked the flapjacks for you, on account of I ain’t sure how long it’ll be before Hop Sing’s willin’ to fix you any again, after you not showin’ up for ‘em t’other day.”

“And link sausages, too,” Little Joe said, beaming as he poured maple syrup over the lot.  He sliced off a bite of sausage and a small wedge of syrup-laden flapjack and popped both into his mouth.

Adam stood watching both men eat: Joe trying a little too hard to appear all right, but seeming more at ease with each passing minute, and Ben genuinely at peace.  Whatever Pa said while we were gone must’ve worked, the oldest Cartwright brother decided.  How did Pa do it?  How did he, almost without fail, work this magic with any son in turmoil?  Just by bein’ Pa, he supposed, using some magical compound of fatherly love and the wisdom of his years.

Breakfast ended and they all left.  Ben preceded them down the stairs to manage checking out, while Hoss carried Little Joe down the stairs—amazingly, without one word of protest.  At the foot of the staircase, however, he set the boy down and let him exit the hotel under his own steam, keeping close enough to catch him if he faltered.  As Adam helped Little Joe into the buggy he’d parked in front of the building, Hoss hurried down to the livery to fetch Chubby and Buck.

Adam was still standing beside the buggy when his father emerged from the hotel.  “If you want to drive home, Pa, I’m willing to ride Buck, but I’d prefer not to switch places with Hoss.  The size of that giant he rides . . .”

Ben chuckled beneath his breath.  “Why don’t you drive your brother home, son?  You’ve had the least time with him over the last couple of days.”

Adam arched an inquiring eyebrow toward his little brother.

“Okay by me,” Little Joe said, “so long as you don’t quote Shakespeare all the way home.”

Adam touched the back of his hand to his forehead and proclaimed dramatically, “What fools these mortals be!”  Then he grinned down at his little brother.  “There!  I think I’ve got it out of my system.”

“Good.”  Little Joe grinned back as Adam climbed aboard the buggy.

“Go ahead, boys,” Ben said.  “We won’t be far behind you.”

They’d driven only a short way down the street when Adam heard a sharp intake of air from the seat beside him.  “You all right, Joe?” he asked in concern.

“Right as rain,” Little Joe said.  Except with a skeptically arched eyebrow, Adam didn’t challenge the obvious overstatement, but kept his ears alert as he guided the team carefully down the busy main street of Virginia City.  The younger man looked over his shoulder at the spot where, only two days before, he’d lain bleeding in the dust.  However, the shudder that rippled through him once more lasted only a moment.  I’m still alive, Little Joe realized, and lucky to be so.  Recalling the words his father had spoken earlier that morning, he made a mental vow: I will learn that lesson you wanted, Pa, and if, God forbid, it ever happens again, I promise you I’ll take time to think.

The End

© March, 2026

Notes:

“The Trap” is a season 6 episode, written by Ken Pettus

Adam’s Shakespearean quote is from A Midsummer Night’s Dream

 The Deadeye Dave character in the dime novel mentioned herein is the author’s invention, and has appeared twice before in “The Daring Deeds of the Deadeye Kid” and “The Deadeye Kid Rides Again.”