Summary:  17 year old Adam has proven himself to the Ponderosa ranch hands after a summer of hazing, and is finally enjoying his his last year home before leaving for school. But his life takes a dramatic turn when he is menaced by a new addition to the crew, and must decide whether the man is serious in his sinister intent, or it’s just another attempt to test his mettle. Once Adam decides which it is, he makes choices that  bring him into conflict with his father and lead to the worst of consequences.

Rated: K+  WC  16,000

It’s Only a Year Series:

It’s Only a Year – He Said What? – Lessons in Understanding
It’s Only a Year – The Caster Oil Caper – Lessons in Humility
It’s Only a Year – The Worst of Consequences – A Lesson in Choice
It’s Only a Year –  The Quiet of Uncertainty – A Lesson in Hope
It’s Only a Year – The Final Trial – A Lesson in Mettle

Story Notes:

This is the third segment of the It’s Just a Year series but can be read independently.

As this story opens, Adam is six months into his final year at home, and things are looking up. The hazing from the crew has eased, his brothers are being nice since almost poisoning him and he’s earned the respect of his father and their ranch foreman. However, things are about to change….

***

The Worst of Consequences – A Lesson in Choices

 

Hoss flipped the pitchfork over in his calloused hands and slid the pole end down the back of his long-john shirt to scratch his back. “I don’t know about you, Adam, but I’ve had it with this hay! There ain’t an inch of me that ain’t itching, and I can truthfully say this is one day I’d rather be with Miss Jones than workin’ at home.”

 

Up on the wagon, his older brother gave a snort of agreement as he rubbed his own back against the rough wood of the seat while moving the team ahead to the next pile of dried grass. “But we’re almost done now and then we can head home and get a change of clothes. That sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?”

 

Hoss’ agreement was swallowed by a shrill scream, followed by a splashing sound coming from the edge of the field. The two brothers uttered the same name in frustration: “Joe.”

 

***

After the two youngest Cartwrights had unwittingly poisoned their brother with a dose of castor oil, they’d held their breath in hopes that he would recover fully, and for a couple of weeks the eldest only had to clear his throat at their willful behavior to remind them of their vows to behave better and cooperate. But that time of grace had worn out as they’d realized that he was looking much healthier.

 

Summer for Adam had continued on with hard work, trips out to the camp, and refereeing his younger brothers, but the increasing arc of the sun’s path made Adam realize he had a little more than a half a year until he’d  be leaving for Boston with Professor Metz. Each passing month brought growing excitement, yet amplified his anxiety as he realized how little time he’d been able to study. He kept a check on his fear by reasoning that with winter on the way, he’d have ample time to get back into intensive review and be ready to go come spring. However days were still warm, and there was much to get done before he could turn his thoughts to studying.

 

His father had been correct about a number of things: the Ponderosa was attracting men that were hiring on and that had lessened Adam’s need to offer relief at camp. The extra time allowed him to learn more about the business side of the ranch—figuring out where to move the herd for optimal grazing, helping to select the stock to be sold, and keeping the household going while Ben was away. He still rode out with the men when they moved cattle from one area to the next, but that too had become a more pleasant task since the crew was no longer hazing him as they had done throughout the summer. They’d found new opportunities with the fresh hires, but as he’d promised his father, he’d put more effort into joining the men instead of going off by himself to read in the evenings, and they’d made him one of their own as they got to know him better. Now he joined in their talks and singing, finding that the men enjoyed his voice and the way he pulled together extra stanzas for the old ballads they sang that incorporated their names and feats of bravery or trickery. Adam had to admit that he’d grown to enjoy those times very much.

 

Their foreman, Hugh, had begun to accept his opinions and trust his judgments, even though he still called him “Young Cartwright.” This was the name he went by in camp and the some of the newer hires mistakenly thought his first name was actually, “Young.”

 

Adam had been upset at first when he’d had to remain home for a year longer than planned and had faced some uphill battles, yet he had to admit that the Ponderosa had come a long way in six months, and he had come a long way with it—just as his father had predicted.

 

There were two major tasks to finish before the days got too short and the air cooled for fall: the herd needed be moved a final time into the higher country for grazing before being brought back down for the winter, and there was hay to be cut and brought in.

 

Moving the herd was still several days off, but Adam had had started on the hay the previous weekend when he and Hoss had scythed, and he’d returned to that field during the week to flip the cuttings allowing the grass to dry evenly. Putting up wet hay was one of his father’s biggest fears and Adam knew that he’d be asked as soon as the man returned, “You sure that grass was dry? You know we don’t want it molding or starting a fire.” Of course Adam did “know,” and after testing several areas of the large field, had declared it was ready.

 

Hoss was excited to help…at first anyway…before the day became long and itchy because it meant he didn’t have to attend classes. There wasn’t a Virginia City school, but a young woman and her mother had moved to the area and taught a number of children privately. It was normal for her class to be short a few or even all of her students on any given day in the spring and fall as they were needed at home to help with seasonal chores. She didn’t like that they weren’t in class, but sent work home, and Adam was usually the one who’d go over Hoss and Joe’s assignments when they were unable to make it into town.

 

The day of haying had begun with Adam going over the boys lessons until the sun had dried what little dew had settled during the night, and had stretched on as they’d moved several loads of hay with what Adam figured was one left to gather and store before they were done. The one part of the operation that proved to be a continuous annoyance was Little Joe. Since Hoss didn’t go to school, Joe couldn’t go on his own and while he usually stayed home with Pa or Hop Sing on days like this, their pa was out in the high country with timber buyers, and the cook was away too, so Joe was with his brothers. The child could be involved in an activity that kept him away from the danger of what his brothers were doing one minute, and then found hiding under a pile of hay the next, keeping the brothers on guard as they gently inserted their pitchforks into the piles—not wanting to impale him. They also had to remain constantly vigil to make sure he wasn’t hiding under the wagon. It had become monotonous and then plainly irksome, with tempers shortening in proportion to the amount of daylight left to finish their job.

 

Against his better judgment, Adam had finally sent Little Joe out of the field to play near a stream, figuring they’d finish more quickly without him in close proximity. The stream was shallow and filled with frogs, so the brothers expected that Joe would stay busy and safe until they were done. It seemed a sound decision as the work progressed more quickly…until Adam and Hoss heard the shrieks and had to abandon their labors to see what was causing the to-do.

 

They found the child struggling to get upright in the only deep well of the stream, coughing out the water he’d inhaled, while holding onto the biggest bullfrog they’d ever seen. When clothed with a full set of long-johns, thick-fabric pants and an oversized hand-me-down flannel shirt, the boy looked substantial, but standing there wet to the skin, it was obvious how scrawny he actually was. He was certainly healthy though, and his diminutive frame didn’t indicate a deficiency in the size of his personality, but Adam chilled with fear as he realized the sun’s position indicated that the day would be ending quickly and his brother was soaked and shivering. Since they figured they’d be done well before sunset, they hadn’t brought anything but necessities, which meant no blanket or even jackets, and his mind began to race as he thought about how to get his brother dried off and warm. He yelled for Hoss to bring the wagon over while he lifted Little Joe onto dry land and began to strip the wet clothing.

 

“What’d you go and do that for?” Adam admonished as he grappled with the buttonholes that had become tight when the fabric had shrunk with wetness.

 

“It was the biggest frog I ever seen, Adam. I grabbed at him and got him, but that rock was wet and I just sorta slipped in.”

 

“Just sort’a slipped in, huh? What if that hole had been deeper? What if you’d hit your head when you fell in or what if we hadn’t heard you yelping? Things would have ended a whole lot differently then. Why can’t you think a little harder about the things you do before doing them?”

 

The child did not back down. “I just wanted to catch that frog and I did. How was I to know what all might happen.”

 

Hoss returned, bringing along the only thing from the wagon of value to the situation—the tablecloth Hop Sing had included in their food basket. Adam grabbed it and dried the child off, rubbing his skin to restore some warmth and circulation. But once he finished, Joe stood there with nothing but a wet cloth wrapped around his bony shoulders and started shivering again. Adam looked to Hoss, who understood what to do with nary a word being spoken. Each older boy unbuttoned their own outer shirt and laid it around the child, encapsulating him from neck to toes in a double layer of flannel.

 

Hoss expressed his fears, “Now how do we get him home without him freezing, Adam? It’s getting cooler out here by the minute with the sun goin’ down. We’re a good distance from the house and it’s gonna’ take longer totin’ that load a hay.”

 

“We get him buried under some of this hay, is how.” Adam began to clear a hollow in the mound of grass, just behind the wagon’s seat. “It’s warm from the sun and will act like a kind of like a grass blanket.” He tried to keep his voice calm so his middle brother wouldn’t worry and Joe wouldn’t start carrying on. So far, it was working.

 

After a snug den was opened up, Hoss lifted Joe up for Adam, who grabbed him and tucked him beneath the grass. To his relief, the idea seemed to work as well as he had hoped it might and Joe settled in for the ride home. Adam also hoped that the warmth and wagon movement would lull his brother into sleep, but he should have known better. The boy ran full-out all day until he collapsed in sleep at bedtime. Joe had stopped napping when he was just a year old and was filled with so much energy he could sap a person’s strength just watching him as he flew from one activity to the next.

 

After listening to a constant barrage of thoughts from the youngster and the oft asked question of, “Are we almost home, Adam?”  he snapped at the boy, telling him to “hush,” and much to his relief, Hoss took up the conversation, leaving his older brother to drive the team and drift into thoughts of other problems he’d been facing recently.

 

***

Although his camp visits had become far more pleasant, his last two trips out there had left him puzzled and wary. Hugh had hired on a drifter from Texas that had shown up in camp looking for work. Adam remembered seeing him when he’d gone out there a month or so back, figuring him to be in his twenties. He went by the name, Randall, though whether that was a first name or last no one knew, and since Randall kept to himself, the others weren’t certain he’d say what his full name was even if they did ask.

 

What Adam noted immediately was that his eyes were always moving: darting from man to man until he seemed to have accounted for all of them, and then would start back at the beginning, repeating the process. He’d watch furtively if anyone left the group and Adam was certain the man had always moved to make sure his back was never to anyone. It hadn’t meant much to Young Cartwright since most of the hired men were loners brought together for moving steers, and when that job was over or they tired of their locale, they drifted on again, sure to find work somewhere along the trail of new towns popping up along supply roads and mining areas. He assumed that if Hugh vouched for the new man, he was a suitable addition.

 

But he’d soon been forced to wonder what kind of man this Randall really was. Adam had been riding the right flank of the herd when the new man had ridden in close enough to speak.

 

“So you’re Papa’s little boy,” he’d opened snidely.

 

“If you’re saying I’m Ben Cartwright’s son, then yes, I am.” He’d tried to keep an even tone to his answer, hoping the man was simply teasing.

 

“I thought you’d be bigger somehow. The men in camp talk about you like you’re somethin’ special, but you ain’t; not that I can see anyways. You’re just a scrawny kid with a big head.”

 

Adam had nudged his horse ahead without comment, figuring it best to ignore the man, but Randall had followed while keeping up the taunting.

 

“They say you’s smart too, but I can’t see that neither. You don’t look smarter than anyone else out here. What you got to say to that, Cartwright?”

 

“I’d say that perhaps you should get to know me before making any further judgments.”

 

“Ha!” he’d howled eerily. “Ain’t that just the prettiest way of telling me I should mind my own business? You must think you’re some real la-di-da. With that rich pa, you figure you can tell the rest of us what to do.

 

Adam had never met anyone as cantankerous or eager for a fight as Randall seemed, and reasoned that he needed to get out of this situation before it went any further. “Well, if that’s how you feel, there’s not much I can say to convince you otherwise. Why don’t you fall back to your position while I take care of mine.”

 

Randall gave an ugly laugh. “Well there boy, you just proved my point. I barely met you and you’re already telling me what to do. But I guess I should have expected that from the owner’s son who lords it over everyone that he’s going to some uppity school out East. Too smart for the rest of us yokels, right boy?”

 

He hadn’t meant to let himself be baited, but he had, and Adam had swung around in his saddle to look directly into the accuser’s eyes. “You don’t know me, and you’re making some mighty big assumptions from a few odd comments you probably heard in camp. Yes, I’m the owner’s son and I’m planning to go to school. I don’t expect that anyone else want the same thing nor do I care what you think of me. Do your job, I’ll do mine and we’ll get along fine.”

 

“Oh my, did I offend you?” His voice had taken on a barb that could have cut to the bone. “I’ll stay away from you, mister high-and-mighty. But don’t think I’m through with you. I know your kind. You think you’re so much better than me: but we’ll see who’s better. I’ll wipe that smug look right off your face one day; you can count on that.”

 

Adam had spurred his horse to ride away, while Randall called after him, “Why don’t you wear a gun, boy? Better get one. You’re gonna need it before I’m done with you.”

 

The whole conversation had only lasted a minute or two, yet had shaken Adam to the core. He couldn’t understand what he’d done to move the man to such ugliness and was more than glad to head home the next day when they finished moving the herd. He’d finally decided he’d just keep his distance and maybe whatever it was that was goading the man would ease up.

 

***

Adam’s attention was drawn back to his brothers who were playing a game where one would describe something they saw and the other had to guess what it was. Joe’s current description was obviously the setting sun, but instead of saying he saw a big orange circle in the sky, he was well into his third paragraph of information and Hoss was sitting there with a look of brotherly patience…and cluelessness. The trip that normally took 20 minutes was stretching on much longer as Adam tried to keep the hay from juggling off center or sliding off the back. They were nearing the house now, but there was still enough time for him to recall his second meeting with Randall late last week.

 

***

He’d gone out to discuss the next move with Hugh and was relieved to see that most of the men were out riding watch. After agreeing on what needed to be done, he’d broached the subject of Randall with the foreman.

 

“So what do you think of the new man?”

 

“Good wrangler, but gives me the same feeling you get when you’ve found the perfect bush to hide behind to answer nature’s call and pull your pants down around your ankles, only to hear a diamond back shakin’ its tail just a few feet in front of you. You know how it is: you go about your business real careful like, without upsetting the snake any more than it already is, and finally back away—never taking your eyes off it.”

 

Adam laughed heartily while clapping his foreman on the back. “I couldn’t have said that any better, Hugh! You have a way of putting things into perfect perspective.”

 

Hugh’s eyebrows knit in concern. “He giving you trouble?”

 

“Nah, not really. I’ve only met him the one time, but that was enough to make me wary—like you described: I felt like I was caught with my pants down and some very sharp, poisonous fangs nearby just itching to strike. It’s nothing serious, just that he seems to be spoiling for some sort of confrontation and I have no idea why.”

 

“That’s exactly what he’s like. He doesn’t talk much to anyone out here except to express his displeasure. Wasn’t like that right off, but he seems to be growing mean as he’s around longer. I’m gonna cut him loose, but I got John home with his sick wife, and Frank laid up with a bum ankle after losing a fight to a pile of loose rocks. Soon as one of them is back, I’ll send Randall packing. We don’t need a herald of gloom out here, that’s for sure.”

 

They’d talked a little more about the plans for the move, with Hugh in full agreement that taking the herd up farther to graze for a while to fatten them up and then bringing back to a canyon nearer the ranch toward winter would work best. Adam had promised he’d return for the move and had mounted up for home.

 

Hugh had reached for the bridle on Adam’s horse, locking on the young man with a look that expressed his concern. “Be careful with Randall, Adam. Of all the things strange about that man, what bothers me the most is his absolute hate for you Cartwrights. I ain’t even got an idea why. Your pa was out here shortly after he hired on, and I recall some of the other hands asked about you. I don’t suppose you know it, but you Cartwrights wear each other on your sleeves. Your pa fairly beams when he talks about you and your brothers, and that day he mentioned something you was doing back home. Well, I’m not sure that we didn’t add to that as we talked about your family that night, because after that Randall just started mouthin’ off about you all being snooty and uppity and how he’d take you down to size. Didn’t make any sense, but with folks like him, I guess it doesn’t have to.”

 

“That’s pretty much what he said to me, Hugh. But I figure he’s entitled to his opinion as long as he leaves me alone.”

 

“I’ll get him outta here soon, but be careful until then. Tell your pa to be careful around him too.”

 

Hugh had let the horse go, swatting its backside as he went by and tipped his hat to Adam. “See you in a couple-a-weeks.”

 

Barely out of sight of the camp, Adam had felt a chill brush his shoulders and turned to see a horse approaching. It was too late to pretend he hadn’t seen him, so he’d slowed to see what Randall wanted.

 

“Hey, boy, I think we might’a gotten off on the wrong foot last time we talked.

 

While the man’s words had spoken to an apology, the look on his face had been anything but meek. Adam had noted his small, beady eyes and wide, snaky grin and his mind went back to Hugh’s earlier description. In an attempt to get the conversation over with and move on, he’d simply offered, “No problem.”

 

Randall’s horse had seemed to sidle closer to Adam as the man had fixed his eyes on the youngster, ready to strike. “I didn’t say there was a problem, sonny, just that maybe I wasn’t clear last time we talked.”

 

Adam had tried to ride away while offering the excuse that he had to get home, but Randall had reached out, catching one of the horse’s reins, yanking it hard; the poor animal’s head jerking solidly to the left as it had given out a cry. “Stop that!” Adam pulled at the rein but couldn’t tear it from the wild-eyed man’s hand.

 

“What’s the matter, sonny? Am I keeping you from getting back to your cozy little house?” Randall had sighed as the maniacal look on his faced had faded. “Look, boy. I just wanted to tell you something.”

 

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” Adam had learned from his father how to exhibit a spine of steel even as his knees had knocked against his saddle with uncertainty.

 

“You’ll be interested in this. You said last time that goin’ on to school was something you wanted to do. I can understand that and thought about it a lot since you been gone.”

 

It was odd what passed through a person’s mind as they faced terror. All Adam could think of at the time was that he thought Hugh had said the man had come from Texas, yet there was no Texan twang in the way he spoke. He would have placed the man as being from Ohio or somewhere in the central states rather than from the south. He had to concentrate again to hear what Randall was saying.

 

“There’s something I want to do too. You wanna know what?”

 

“Not really, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

 

The demon had returned for an instant as Randall had raised his hand as if to slap him. “You mouthy young bastard!” he’d cried out, but then his face and posture had relaxed to that snake-like grin again. “I want to do one thing before I leave this area. I want to kill myself a Cartwright.”

 

Adam had drawn his breath sharply; shocked that anyone would actually say something so vile to another. “Why do you want to do that?”

 

A dry, crackled laugh had accompanied the explanation. “I told you, boy; it’s a goal, just like you wantin’ to go away from here. You have loftier ideas, but I think mine is just right for me.”

 

“What have I possibly done to make you hate me enough to kill me?”

 

“Ain’t you I hate so much. It’s what you are, not what you done, see? You think you’re better’n me ‘cause you got more: more money, more brains, more respect. You and your pa ride into camp and everyone pays you mind. It’s just more’n I can stand to watch; makes my stomach turn and gets a burnin’ going in me I just got to quench somehow. Seeing one less of you Cartwrights would ease that pain a bit and make us a little more equal; all men are equal when they’re dead, you know.” Randall had snorted in pleased sort of way, “ Doesn’t even matter which one of you Cartwrights I get, so I’ll let you decide that, sonny. Next time I see you, you be wearing a gun or I’ll go after your pa. It’ll be fair. I’ll give him a chance, but he’s old: gotta be nearing 40 already and that makes a man slow down. He’ll be thinking about you and those other whelps of his and he’ll get outdrawn and outshot. Might work out best that way though. Then he’d be gone, and you’d have to raise them youngens instead a going away from here, so I guess I’d take down two Cartwright with one bullet.”

Adam had heard him cackling even after he’d grabbed the rein sharply enough to free it, and rode away. He could hear that strange laughter even now as he drove the wagon toward home with his brothers. There was one other thought that came to mind as he remembered that day. Hugh had warned him to be careful, and had called him, “Adam.” The corner of his mouth turned up wryly as he thought about it, figuring Hugh must truly be concerned since it was the only time he had ever called him by his actual name. Fact was Adam wasn’t even sure that the man knew what it was until he heard him say it. It was Hugh who’d originated the name “Young Cartwright” so Adam was dead positive that Hugh knew there was trouble ahead and wanted to make sure he understood the danger.

 

Hoss broke into his thoughts. “Hey, Adam, I done entertained Joe as much as I can, so how about you pitch in a little.”

 

Adam’s answer sounded as though he was annoyed, but his thoughts had left him edgy and unsettled. “What do you expect me to do?”

 

Hoss was not deterred. “Well, maybe you could sing that song Joe likes so much. You know, that one about the woman who lets her true love die with no mind, but then gets to feel sadly about it?”

 

“Ah, you mean Barbara Allen. Sure, I can do that. Sorry I snapped at you just now.” Adam knew both his brothers liked the song with its verses unfolding the unhappy story with the sweet ending. He’d always stop at a point where Miss Allen was still feeling pretty sure of herself for spurning Sweet William and make them beg to hear the ending. There were several versions of the song, but Adam chose the one he’d get through the fastest. His rich baritone carried on the wind as he began:

“In Scarlet town where I was born
There was a fair maid dwelling
And every youth cried well away
For her name was Barbara Allen…”

 

***

The timber negotiations hadn’t gone well and Ben regretted the days away from home with no outcome. He’d led the two mill men around his timber stands for days while they’d surveyed and calculated, only to offer him a pittance. He’d realized in frustration that they figured him some chawbacon—a hayseed they could impress by disguising a miserable offer inside some fancy words and promises. But they’d figured way wrong. Ben actually enjoyed a good negotiation and relished the give and take until a suitable price could be reached, but he had no tolerance for people who couldn’t correctly size up who they were dealing with. He’d escorted them from his land with a restrained threat regarding them ever returning.

 

Ben had been negotiating most of his adult life and while the product was different now, he always kept up on the going prices of what he was trading and never accepted the first offer. He’d gotten the Ponderosa on its feet through his fur business and always asked the highest prices for his pelts. This land produced the best and he wasn’t about to accept anything but the best for it. His success in fur trading had allowed him to purchase more grazing land to begin raising stock, and when acres of pinion and ponderosa pine became available, he’d grabbed those hillsides up as well. His investment in breeding stock was beginning to pay off, so the timber could just keep on growing until the right offer came along. There was no hurry. The territory was just beginning to settle and the need for timber would only increase with time.

 

He’d headed to town before returning home hoping some of the farm implements he’d ordered at Cass’ store had arrived. They hadn’t, but Will said he had something else for him.

 

“A large crate arrived here for Adam all the way from Boston.” Will had wondered at the contents while commenting on how lovely it would be back East with fall coming on.

 

“It’s probably those books the boy’s been waiting for. I’ll send him in tomorrow with a wagon.”

 

Will Cass had been the first settler to come to Virginia City with enough gumption and money to start up a general store. He and Ben had hit it off from the beginning and Will was always agreeable to let the Ponderosa ride a little on their bills when money got tight. He’d told Ben that he knew his spread would be the biggest in the territory someday and wasn’t about to hinder that by demanding a few dollars now when there’d be plenty later. Money still got tight now and then, but Ben had become Will’s best customer and his biggest supporter. “Why not just take my wagon and someone can bring it back tomorrow,” he’d suggested. “I don’t have your tools yet, but I do have the order Hop Sing wanted, so you could get those supplies home along with the crate.”

 

Ben agreed that it made sense and headed out, arriving home to an empty house. His initial disappointment was replaced with boyish excitement at having the place to himself for a few hours. He’d noted the traces of hay in the yard as he’d pulled in and figured the boys must be out in the field yet. With no one…or thing needing immediate attention, he found something to eat and then sat in his chair, stretched his legs out onto the table in front of the hearth and nestled in for a quick nap before anyone came back and made that impossible.

 

As he got comfortable, he looked around his house. The structure was only about six years old, but it was already too small. When he’d gone to New Orleans with his final lot of pelts to sell before turning to ranching full time, he and his two sons had lived in a building that was little more than a lean-to with a door and window. It was small, but met their needs since they’d spent much of their time camping out while running trap lines and had only needed a real shelter in the colder months. But he’d come home with a good return on his labors, and a beautiful young wife, so had quickly built a larger house. Other outbuildings had followed, making the Ponderosa into a real homestead. They’d brought a few of Marie’s furnishings along with them, but many had been too nice to use in a house with youngsters who seldom saw the value of removing their boots or washing up. They’d used her furniture in their bedroom and one of her blue velvet, high backed chairs in the sitting area, but the lovely red settee and leather chairs remained crated and covered in the barn.

 

If he’d had to put a name to the “style” of his home, he’d call it utilitarian. Along with Marie’s blue chair, they had one other comfortable piece that had been Elizabeth’s and had come all the way with them from Boston. There was little more except a bench and several tables that he’d made from their own pine. The house was built around a massive stone hearth at the center and had one large room on the lower floor with a small inset to separate the kitchen area. A narrow stairway lead up to three rooms on the second floor, a decision he’d made to take advantage of the chimney’s heat rather than putting everything on one level like most houses in the area. His room was the largest, if you could actually call it large, and the other two were cramped with only enough room for a bed and a few shelves for storage. He knew the house seemed smaller by the day as the boys continued to grow, and was much too small over the winter months when they were forced to spend long hours indoors. It wasn’t fancy, but it was his and although he knew he’d have to do something soon he was in no hurry to make changes. He was just satisfied that he’d found his focus again and was making progress with the ranch situation while preparing for Adam’s departure come next spring.

 

He hadn’t intended on letting his mind drift to that pending loss, but it did—along with the thoughts of Marie. For his own good, he knew he couldn’t linger there and chose instead to just recall the happier times when Marie had graced this home.

 

In that state of mind, he’d drifted off and wasn’t sure how long he’d actually been snoozing when he heard something that jarred him awake. Righting himself in the chair, he saw that the afternoon shadows were lengthening and surmised that what he’d heard was the voices of his sons carrying on the wind as they returned home.

 

Although Ben knew it might not be fair to eavesdrop, it was a parental privilege he claimed from time to time. He’d never listen at a closed door or when a conversation was clearly meant to be private, but taking note of their brotherly banter was always insightful, if not downright amusing at times. He’d pulled the wagon to the far side of the house and knew the boys wouldn’t see it there until they were well into the yard, so he had a few minutes before he’d have to show himself.  Moving to the door, he cracked it open just enough to hear better and smiled as he heard Adam singing…

 

***
“They buried her in the old churchyard
They buried him in the choir
And from his grave grew a red red rose
From her grave a green briar
They grew and grew to the steeple top
Till they could grow no higher
And there they twined in a true love’s knot
Red rose around green briar”*

 

“Do ya really think that two plants could grow like that, Adam?” The question came from the child in the hay.

 

“I suppose anything is possible, Joe. It was true love after all.”  As Adam pulled the wagon into the yard, he took charge again. “Joe, you go in the house and get some clothes on, then come out and help feed the horses while Hoss and I stack this hay.”

 

The middle brother had a comment as well. “Yeah, short stuff, you gotta get dressed ‘cause we don’t want you catching your death. But don’t think you can get out of helpin’ us a little neither.”

 

“Short stuff” came flying out of his nest in the hay until he was nose-to-nose with Hoss, while hanging over the wagon seat. “Don’t call me short. I’m Little Joe, but that just means I’m young; Pa told me so. But I’m not short…or at least I won’t be for long. I’ll be big just like you someday.”

 

“Didn’t mean no harm, Joe, but I think you might be wrong about a few things. I’m big because Pa and my ma were tall. Pa says that Ma was six feet tall in her stockin’ feet and could even beat him in a wrestlin’ match. Ain’t that right, Adam?

 

“Inger was tall, Hoss, but Pa was teasing you a little when he said those things. Your mother was slim and pretty, and very much a lady.”

 

“I know that. I’m just thinkin’ that with Joe’s ma being so petite, he won’t get so big as he’s thinkin’ he will.”

 

Little Joe’s fists pummeled his middle brother’s back as he cried, “Don’t you say nothin’ mean about my ma! She was good and kind and beautiful.” Sinking back into the wagon, his tears streaked his dirty face as he sobbed again. “Just you mind what you say about Ma, Hoss.”

 

Adam brought the team to a stop while noting that Hoss was staring at his little brother agape, then looked toward his older brother and shrugged his shoulders. Reaching back, Adam tousled Little Joe’s hair. “I think you misunderstood something, Joe. When Hoss said that your mother was petite, he wasn’t saying anything bad about her. Petite means that she was dainty and had a smaller build than his mother. That’s all. Your mother was beautiful, just as you said, and we all think she was a wonderful lady, so dry your tears and do as we asked, all right?”

 

All three boys went silent. The simple conversation over how tall their mothers had been had reopened the wounds of loss just enough to let the pain seep in. Adam had known Inger and Marie but never his own mother and often thought that was the hardest part of all. He could appreciate what they had lost, but at least they had some memories. Hoss had only been a baby when Inger had died, but Adam had always been willing to tell him about her, knowing it was important to keep her alive in the boy’s heart. He repeated the stories of how Inger had looked at him when he was first born, or cooed and sang while she kissed him and held him tight as the wagon rocked on the journey. And he’d recalled the same sort of memories for Little Joe in the weeks after Marie’s death.

 

But when it came to his mother, there was little to be told. His father had explained that Elizabeth had looked lovingly at him lying next to her and regretted that she had to leave her beautiful son, but had soon passed on. Part of him wished his father would have embellished the story for him, but the other part knew that the loss and turn of events at his birth had been so difficult for the man that he was glad his father remembered as much as he did. Adam had lived on dreams of Elizabeth in the lonely times. It was there that she came and held him and told him of her pride and love. It was in his dreams that he got to know his mother and there that he could make her real.

 

***
Still inside the house, Ben had heard the conversation clearly and laughed at Hoss’ description of Inger, but as the silence ensued, he knew exactly what his sons were thinking about and quickly exited to greet them.

 

“That’s quite some load of hay you three have balanced on that wagon. You know, I was hoping you’d show up soon. I’ve been home for a couple of hours already and this house just seemed way too quiet.”

 

Little Joe came flying over the side of the wagon into his father’s arms. “I’m glad you’re home, Pa!”

 

Ben held onto the youngster as he took in his odd apparel and then looked up to see the other two sitting there in their undershirts and started to laugh. “I’d ask why Joe’s wearing both your shirts and has no shoes, but I think I’m better off not knowing.”

 

“I caught a big frog, Pa, and then fell in.”

“Fell in where? Where were you boys?”

 

Adam explained, “We were loading hay while Joe played by the stream at the edge of the field.”

 

Ben was puzzled. “But that stream only runs a few inches deep this time of year. What could Little Joe possible fall into?”

 

“That’s like asking how the wind blows, Pa. We really don’t know what makes it happen, but it does, and Joe will find the only deep place in a shallow stream to fall into while chasin’ a frog. That’s just the truth of the matter.” Hoss handed the child’s wet clothing down to his father. “And right here’s the proof.”

 

Shifting Little Joe onto his hip, Ben grabbed the dripping bundle while giving instructions. “You two get started on that hay while I get the frog catcher put back into working order. Then I’ll give you a hand.” Heading toward the house, he turned back as he remembered the other wagon. “Adam, Will Cass’ buckboard is next to the house. Your crate of books from Boston arrived, so why don’t you and Hoss carry it inside before you start on the hay so I can get that team put up for the night after I finish with Joseph.”

 

Adam nearly flew out of the wagon just as his little brother had moments before. “C’mon Hoss, let’s take care of that so we can get done.”

 

“Hold yer horses, brother. I’m comin’.” As Hoss dropped from the wagon, he muttered, “I ain’t never seen no one so gosh durn excited about a box full of books, and I just betcha it’s heavy too.”

 

Ben was helping Little Joe find clothes when he heard a yelp outside the room. Checking to see why, he found Adam holding his bloody arm. “What happened?”

 

“This house is too small, Pa! I raked my elbow on the wall when we turned the corner out of the stairway with the crate.”

 

“Let’s see the damage.” Ben reached for the boy’s arm, but Adam professed that he was fine and finished moving the books into his room. The man knew the excitement his oldest son was feeling at that moment. He figured his arm could have been broken and he wouldn’t have felt a thing and watched with interest as Adam opened the lid with a crowbar he’d thought ahead to bring along. Ben smiled as his son picked up one of the largest tomes and ran his finger across the embossed gold title with reverence.

 

“Ain’t that somethin’.” Even Hoss understood his brother’s awe. “I ain’t never seen a book as fancy as that! And there’s so many in there, Adam. How you ever gonna study all that?”

 

It was the same question Adam was asking himself. “I’m not sure Hoss, but I’m sure gonna have fun finding out.”

 

***

With supper finished, Hoss and Joe had gone to bed without complaint. The day of work and fresh air had worn them out to the point where sleep seemed like the best option. Adam had spread a few of his new books on the table downstairs and was eagerly paging through one of them when his father returned from making his rounds of the property as he did each night. He grabbed the newspaper he’d been reading earlier and brought it to the table to share the lamp’s light.

“Pa, could we talk about a couple of things before either of us becomes too absorbed in what we’re doing?”

 

Ben loved it when Adam took on the serious tone he had just used to indicate their need to talk. He’d always spoken that way, even when just a small boy, and it indicated something he’d given a great deal of thought to. A one sided grin creased the father’s cheek before adopting a more serious look as he put his paper down. “What’s on your mind, son?”

 

“Well, first off, I was serious before when I said this house is too small.”

 

He had to concentrate to make his reply without smiling as he teased, “So your home isn’t good enough for you anymore?”

 

“It’s not that. I’ll be going away soon and that’ll ease the problem a little, but it’s still going to be too small as those two upstairs continue to grow. Hoss will undoubtedly take over my room once I’m away, but with that wingspan he’s already got, I suspect he’s going to be a really big guy. He and Joe are packed so tightly into that bedroom they share now that one of them has to leave just so the other can change his mind.”

 

Ben laughed explosively. “I think you’ve been hanging out with Hugh too much, Adam. You’re developing some very interesting ways of getting your point across.”

 

Adam grinned, “That’s probably true, but don’t change the subject. In a couple of years you, Hoss and Joe will be fighting for enough air to breath in here over the winter.”

 

Shaking his head, he chuckled. “You never bring up a problem without having a solution in mind, so let’s see what you’ve got up your sleeve.”

 

The son’s smile was broad as he produced a handful of paper from under one of the books. “I’ve been drawing out some ideas.” Adam laid them out for his father to look over as he began explaining his thoughts. “We can leave the house where it is and use the fireplace as the center point and build up around what we have now.”

 

“That sounds interesting. Keep going.”

 

Pointing to the first sketch he continued, “We’d actually leave some of the current walls up to use as structural supports and work them into the design, knocking out the ones we don’t need when we get the new walls up. Our present kitchen area would become a bedroom for company and we’d add on a new kitchen and dining room.  We’d actually bump out the walls a good 12-15 feet all around, giving you an area to do your paperwork along with ample space for comfortable furniture and places to be together or apart.  Adam grabbed another set of drawing, explaining, “There’d be a large, open staircase just off the living area going up to four or five bedrooms on the second level, depending on how large you want each room to be.”

 

“I really like this, son. Would you build the new walls with logs?”

 

“Thought about it, but I’m thinking more toward squared beams, filling between them with mortar.  It would be nearly as thick as logs, providing good heat retention, and we could use any size tree, shaping them to approximately the same size. Here’s what I think it would look like.” He laid a few exterior perspectives out for Ben to look over.

 

“For being as large as you’re talking, it still has a natural look. I really like what you’ve done here. One question though: your drawing looks like there’s open beams in the downstairs ceiling. How would that work?”

 

“Since we want bedrooms upstairs, we can’t really do that, but we can give the illusion by making it a 12 foot rise down here and placing beams across the expanse to look like it’s open.” Adam looked up to wink at his father. “And with as high as that sounds, I’m just hoping Hoss won’t be scraping his head someday…”

 

“Let me think on this a bit and we’ll discuss it in a day or two, but honestly, it looks just about perfect.” Ben sifted through the sheets again, smiling broadly at the detail and thought his son had put into the effort. He picked up his newspaper but remembered, “Did you say you had two things you wanted to talk about? What’s the other?”

 

Unsure of how to approach the topic, Adam decided the direct method would be best. “I want to start carrying that spare Colt Patterson you’ve got, Pa.”

 

Sitting up straighter, Ben eyed his son with concern. “I don’t think so.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I said no. I think that should be enough. You already carry a rifle, so why would you need a side piece?”

 

“I’ve got good reasons, so please hear me out before making a final decision.”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

“I know I have a Kentucky long-rifle, but it takes almost two minutes just to reload the thing if I miss, and since it’s with my saddle, it’s not always convenient to run back to grab it if something unexpected happens.”

 

“So, don’t miss.” Ben smiled. “You’re a good shot, Adam, and I don’t think you’ve had a lot to shoot at, have you?”

 

Adam had to agree, “I generally hit what I aim at.” His mind was searching for the right words to convince his father of his need and it finally came to him in brilliant clarity, “But it stuck me today that when we heard Little Joe scream, Hoss and I just stopped what we were doing and ran. I didn’t grab the rifle from the wagon because all I could think of was seeing what was wrong. Luckily he’d just fallen in, but if there’d been a snake or animal menacing him instead, I wouldn’t have had time to run back for the rifle.  If I’d had the Colt with me, I’d have been ready no matter what I’d found.” He let his youngest brother’s peril hang in the air as fodder.

 

Ben rested his elbows on the table while scrubbing his face with roughened hands. His son had just made a compelling argument, but he wasn’t ready to let him take that step into manhood…not yet.  “You have a point, but you’re not ready to carry a gun.”

 

Anger crept into Adam’s voice as he faced this new wrinkle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“That’s my point. If you don’t see the other consequences of carrying a revolver capable of shooting off five rounds before reloading, then you aren’t ready to have it.”

 

“Pa! I’m responsible.”

 

“You don’t get it. It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s all the others who might think they need to challenge your responsibility. Once that gun’s ‘round your waist, you have to be able to use it…no matter what, and I’m not ready to live with you having to make those choices: not yet. You can have the Colt or any other weapon you choose when you’re through with school, but I don’t want to worry about you wearing a gun until then.”

 

Adam’s glare softened as he realized it was of no use to challenge his father over something he was this set against and chose a different course of action. “All right, Pa. But could we get it out tomorrow so I can fire off a few rounds? I haven’t shot it for a while and I’d like to know I’d be able to do it if I there’d ever be the need.” He added a big smile to encourage his father’s agreement.

 

“It really should be fired again, so sure, we’ll get it out, clean it and make sure it still works. But that doesn’t mean I’ll change my mind.”

 

“I’m sure it doesn’t, Pa.”

 

***

With chores finished the following day, Adam set an assortment of empty bottles and cans on pieces of firewood he’d stood on end.

 

Ben exited the barn to see the shooting gallery and remembered his promise from the night before. “You sure you want to do this now? It’s been a long day.”

 

They had to do this now; there was no doubt in Adam’s mind. They were only days from riding out to the herd again, and the words that Randall had taunted him with continued to play in his mind. He had to know if what the snake had said about his father being too slow to go up against him was true, and there was only one way to find out. “Seems like as good a time as any. We can pretend that some of these cans are our problems and blast away at them.” He heard his father chuckle as he headed toward the house. Adam tried to keep the tightness from his voice as he offered, “Just relax a little Pa, I’ll run up for the gun. Just tell me where you keep it.”

 

Ben had no reason to suspect that his son had any other motive than simply wanting to shoot; having a pistol was every young man’s rite of passage in the West. “It’s folded in a blanket under my bed.”

 

He was back outside in no time and grabbed the cleaning supplies and oil from the barn while his father pulled the Patterson from the folds of material. With the preparations finished, Adam began to load the front of each of the five chambers with a lead ball and black powder, while sealing the back of the chamber with a percussion cap. This procedure had become familiar enough that he did it with caution even while not giving it a great deal of thought. He was thinking of Randall as his father gave his customary gun handling speech while Adam nodded at the appropriate places and said Un-huh from time to time to make the man think he was listening.

 

“Remember that the Colt is single action requiring that you pull the hammer to drop the trigger into place for each of the five shots on the revolving cylinder.  Once you pull the trigger, the hammer strikes the cap which ignites the powder sending out its payload.” The man stopped as he realized his son’s attention was elsewhere. “Adam! Are you listening to me?”

 

His cheeks blazed red as he knew he’d been caught. “Sure, Pa. The hammer strikes the percussion cap to discharge the projectile.”

 

Ben’s voice took on a serious—better pay attention to me, son—tone. “I know this is routine for you. I know you can handle this gun and you seem mighty anxious to get to the shooting part, but that makes me uneasy.  This isn’t about shooting: it’s about understanding that there has to be a connection between your head and your hand that flows through your soul. With that connection, a gun is a tool, just like any other that you’ll use out here, and will serve you well. Without that connection, a gun is a weapon and there’s nothing on earth that can protect you from what will happen. When a trigger is pulled, that round can kill a snake or a man, and you’ll have to live with whichever it is you’re pointing at. That’s why I won’t let you have it now. You don’t have that instinct yet, and I frankly don’t want you to have it.”

 

“I get it, Pa. I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention. But I just want to shoot a couple of cans.” Adam’s apology was accepted as his smile was returned. “I promise that when I use this gun for real, I’ll remember everything you just said.”

 

“Well, I think you’re loaded. Better get to shootin’ those cans before they run off.” Ben’s mind was still not settled. “You sure there’s nothing more to this, Adam?”

 

Adam’s, “No Pa, don’t worry,” was drowned out as he pulled the trigger and the noise of the firing filled the air between them. He only hit two cans on the first pass, but by the fifth load had managed five out of five. As he set them up for another round he rounded up five more pieces of wood and cans that he placed a short distance from the first set. He’d seen his father’s eyebrows raise in question and finally issued his challenge. “Hey, Pa, how about you and I draw at the same time and see who knocks off the most targets.”

 

“Why don’t you shoot first and I’ll go after you finish?”

 

“I’d like to draw together.” He paused, unsure of how to phrase his thought, but his father broke in.

 

“Want to see if you’re faster than the old man, is that it?” Ben laughed, knowing full well that this day would come. So far he’d always managed to do things a little bit better than his sons, but he knew one day they’d outdraw and outwork him.

 

“I suppose that’s true.” Adam’s hand began shaking as he saw his father take his stance in readiness. “You want to count it down, or should I?”

 

Ben looked over and grinned. “You ready?” The nod was barely noticeable as his son set himself: “Three…two…one…”

 

Adam’s shot sent one of his cans flying before his father’s gun cleared the holster. But even though Ben’s draw was slower, he hit every target while Adam only got the first one to fall, and their last shots ended in a dead tie.

 

“You’re definitely a faster draw than me, son, but speed is no substitute for accuracy. Make sure you point toward the object you’re shooting at. That’s about the best you can manage with a Patterson in a quick draw.”

 

“Sometimes speed is the only thing that counts, Pa. One good shot is all you need if you’re fast enough.”

 

“I don’t like you saying things like that. Did you hear what I said before? A gun is only as good as the heart of the man using it. People who talk like that…well I just don’t want you to think that way. When you do start carrying a gun, you’ll be more accurate than fast. I’ll see to that.” Ben tried to read his son’s expression but was unable to see what his eyes were hiding. Finally deciding it was just his youth, he came to him, grabbing his shoulder affectionately, “You’ve done some fine shooting today, but it’s time we clean this mess up and get inside. Your brothers will be back from town with Hop Sing any minute and I don’t want them getting any ideas about shooting too. Heaven knows, Hoss will be pestering me soon enough.”

 

***

A few days after their discussion about the gun, father and son were preparing to ride to camp to help move the herd. Ben found his eldest finishing breakfast when he came downstairs. Noting the bedroll and supplies on the bench near the door, he figured Adam was ready to head out soon as he was done eating. “I see you’re about ready to go. You know I have to go into town first but will meet you at camp this evening so we can discuss a few things with Hugh.”

 

Adam nodded as he took another bite of bread. “I’ll see you then,” came out muffled by the food he was chewing. Taking a final swig of coffee, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and headed for the barn. He took his time as he willed his father to hurry with his departure. When he couldn’t stall any longer, he finally called out his goodbye and took off across the field until he could pull over and wait in a brushy area where he wouldn’t be seen while waiting for his father to leave.

 

“Finally!” he muttered as he saw Ben’s buckskin head off in the direction of town, waiting until he was sure the man was gone before he retraced his path back to the house. He took the steps two at a time as he hurried to his father’s bedroom. When he left the house a few minutes later, the Colt was loaded, buckled around his waist and tied to his leg. It felt foreign hanging there: like a visible lie, but he’d decided it was a necessary lie if he wanted to make sure his father lived through the day. His hope was that Hugh had already sent Randall away and he could simply hide the gun in his saddlebag and return it to its place under the bed before his father realized it was gone.

 

Those hopes were dashed as he rode into camp and saw the unsettling grin of the man watching his every move. His meager breakfast suddenly weighed like a boulder in his gut and his heart raced as his palms began to sweat. Yet Randall seemed cordial enough, nodding to him as he dismounted and went to talk with Hugh. His new hope was that the man had found some other passion that needed his attention and had given up on Ben and Adam Cartwright.

 

Once they’d sent the hands out to the sections of the herd they’d be moving, Hugh threw the last of the supplies in the wagon and came over to where Adam was preparing to mount up. “That hardware on your hip is new. Looks just like the one your pa carries. He know you got it on?”

 

“That’s between my father and me.”

 

“That sounds like a coward’s way of saying he doesn’t know, so I have to ask why? What’s going on with you that you’d go against his judgment?” Hugh waited for an answer that didn’t come. “You’ve made some good progress toward becoming a man this summer, so don’t go spoiling that. If something’s bothering you speak up now before you find yourself knee deep in cow dung without a rope to pull you out.”

 

Adam struggled with a response. He thought maybe he should be honest and tell the foreman about Randall’s threats, but then remembered that these men took care of their own business and didn’t expect others to fight their battles or solve their problems. “Don’t you mind, Hugh. I’ve got a rope hanging right here on my saddle and suspect if I end up mired in dung I can toss and end to you and you’d yank me out.” With a wave and a forced laugh, he rode toward the herd.

 

Hugh gave final instructions to the wagon driver, then rode to check the perimeter of the herd to make sure everyone was in place before giving the signal to head out. It was normal for him to ride up front and make rounds now and again to insure those bringing up the rear weren’t lagging, but today he sent Mark to the front while he positioned himself close to Adam. He didn’t want to seem obvious about it, so kept a goodly distance while still being able to see the boy…and anyone else who might stray over that way.

 

It was a beautiful, sun-filled fall day, but with a strong wind that was blowing dust clouds and dead brush that startled the steers at the edge of the herd. Hugh had seen Adam ride off a couple of times to bring strays back, but so far nothing seemed out of the ordinary. When a cluster of steers Hugh was riding herd on took off in their own direction he rode after them, and when he finally finished rounding up the last ones,  he looked over toward where Adam should be and his heart sank in fear; he was nowhere in sight. Standing in the stirrups, he gave a broader look around but still saw no sign of the youngster. It hadn’t taken that long to round up the strays…had it? His pulse raced as he realized that time pretty much lost its meaning in this business. Hours could pass like days, but at other times a simple chore could eat up minutes so fast it was mind boggling. Glancing up at the sun, there was no doubt that the latter was the case here. His “quick” foray after the strays must have stretched on for nearly an hour, as the herd had continued to move. Adam could be anywhere now. He might have ridden farther up the flank, or he could be out rounding up his own group of breakaways. The terrain was rife with rock formations and small canyons and Hugh honestly wasn’t sure where to start his search for the missing Cartwright.

 

***

Adam had become absorbed in his work, moving along the edge of the herd. The steers seemed a little spooky but he attributed that to the wind, just as Hugh had warned might happen. There’d been a few head that took off, but he’d gotten to them quickly and brought them back without problems. The chill the young man had felt earlier as he’d ridden into camp had eased with the sun’s warmth, and the weight of the gun at his side had lightened as he realized Hugh had put Randall on the opposite side of the herd. Their efforts moving cattle to the higher grazing land would be complete by late afternoon and Adam figured his father would be at camp by that time too. Once they were both there, he could make sure Randall never got either of them alone.

 

While his anxiety at confronting Randall on the ride was easing, his nervousness was growing as to how to explain to his father why he was wearing the gun. It was the only flaw in his plan, and knew he’d pay the consequences. Pa might even understand his reasoning if he would stop hollering long enough to listen. But all the good reasons in the world wouldn’t make up for the fact that he’d gone behind his father’s back—even after their conversation  where he’d made his feelings abundantly clear. There was no tolerance for disobedience or dishonesty in the Cartwright home, and Adam knew he’d have to live with whatever punishment would come.

 

Even so, he was still considering what he might say to sway his father to his way of thinking when a whirl of wind, dust and debris blew hard sending several steers bolting. One group of strays stayed together and was easily rounded up, but a few had taken off in other directions. He managed to get most of them within minutes, but knew a couple had run back toward a small dead-end canyon of rocky cliffs they’d passed. Riding up closer to the next drover, he called out, “Whitey, keep an eye out. I’m going after some wanderers.” Receiving a wave of understanding, Adam rode back toward the ravine.

 

It still amazed him how cattle could be stampeding one minute, and settle down the next. There were indeed three fugitives from the herd wandering around the canyon, seemingly unfazed by their predicament. He rode up behind two of them using his coiled lasso as an aid to usher them back toward the outlet. However, the third steer had ventured on to the scree at the base of an outcropping, and lost its footing: first sliding and finally lodging its front legs in a depression containing larger rocks. Frightened at being trapped, it was pulling and bucking, trying to get free making Adam worry that it would break a leg and need to be put down. He dismounted and moved slowly, speaking soothingly, and was finally able to get near enough to kneel and move the largest of the rocks away, freeing the animal to trot off toward the others.

 

Adam felt him before seeing him. The warm sun couldn’t prevent the chill, making him shudder as he raised his head. The realization hit that the snake had moved away from the herd, probably giving much the same excuse that he had, and had undoubtedly been watching for an opportunity.

 

Still mounted, Randall looked down at his prey. “I was glad to see you wearing that gun this morning. Maybe you got more guts than I gave you credit for, Cartwright.” Receiving no response, he slithered off his horse coming to stand no more than fifteen feet from where Adam was still crouched after releasing the steer’s leg. “Well, stand up boy, and let’s get this over with.”

 

“We don’t really have to get anything ‘over with,’ you know.” Adam still hoped reason would win out, but after extending the challenge to walk away, remembered that this man’s motives were unreasoned. The boy’s entire life had been formed by his father’s reason and uprightness. There was always purpose in what Ben Cartwright did, and intention in how it was accomplished. Nothing was ever done without logic or justification. The Cartwright family might fight back, or even initiate a fight for rational reasons, and Adam had no doubt that his father would stand up to Randall just as he was about to if it meant protecting what he loved. But to call a man out simply because a heart was filled with hate, anger or hunger for the death made no sense at all. While he couldn’t understand it, he knew he was about to face it with the best he could offer. Whether his skill with a gun was enough was still unknown.

 

“You ain’t chickening out on me, are you, boy? You come so far, don’t disappoint me now.”

 

“What do you want from me, Randall? Just tell me and get it over with.” He knew what Randall wanted, yet hoped with his entire being that it was just some test to see if he was strong enough…worthy to join the ranks of the loner elite. Even as hope washed over him, his life passed before him in a wave of melancholy. He recalled the travels with his father, moments with Inger and Marie, and even his brothers’ antics didn’t seem so hard to accept at that moment as he thought about the good times with them. His crate of text books waited for him and he feared he would never get the chance to study them. He contemplated Boston, continuing on through history without ever knowing of him, and his sadness at never meeting his grandfather. These thoughts simultaneously broke his heart and steeled his will. And what brought him to his feet and squared him to face his foe was the thought of his family trying to go on without his father if he failed in this reasonless fight.

 

Randall took his stance as a smile bared his dirty teeth. “You aim good now, because If you don’t put me down with the first shot, I’ll continue shooting until you’re nothin’ but a memory. Then I’ll go after your pa too.” A sinister laugh echoed as his hand hovered above his holster. “You go ahead and pull first, Cartwright. I don’t want no one saying I didn’t give you a fair chance.”

 

Adam’s position mirrored that of the man he was facing.  His hand hung near his gun as his fingers twitched, feeling some confidence in the fact that he’d pulled the pistol’s hammer back when he’d first sensed Randall’s presence, so once he pulled it free of the leather, he only had to point and fire. A rapid prayer crossed his consciousness as he readied to draw. “Please guide me, Lord. I know such actions may not be in your providence, but to save my father, I ask you to let me draw fast and shoot true. If I die, I ask to be in your care, but no matter the outcome, let me end this so that my family will be safe.”

 

He willed his hand to move toward the grip of the pistol. The cold metal greeted his palm as he withdrew the weapon in a fluid motion, bringing it to chest level as he pointed and eased the trigger back so as not to jerk upward with discharge. “A tool,” his father had called it. Right now it was a tool that he hoped was sending a shot of lead straight and true to end this torment. Yet, in that moment, Adam realized that Randall was engaging a similar tool, fully expecting it to find its mark as well. The scenario was proving surreal and fascinating, while all too wearying.

 

A flash of fire and sound was replaced by unsettling silence as smoke drifted in lazy spirals toward the sunlit sky. One man remained standing, cradling a bloody hand, while the other lay motionless.

 

As Adam lay there, he was able to hear voices in the distance. He thought Hugh was shouting at Randall to go and never return, while the man hissed that it had been a fair fight, and that there’d been no cause for him to intervene. That was followed by Randall’s crazed laugh as he postulated, “But it don’t matter what you done, the kid’s dead anyway.” The conversation gave Adam pause. If Randall was truly alive, then who was dead? The truth filtered in as he realized the man was talking about him. He was certainly in pain: his shoulder ached, but he didn’t feel dead. Then again, he didn’t exactly know what being dead would feel like and conjectured that maybe a person’s mind lingered a bit even after the body stopped and the soul passed to eternity.

 

“Adam! Adam, you still with us, kid?” It was Hugh’s voice breaking through the fog of his confusion. He struggled to sit up. “Yeah, I guess maybe I am.” The older man’s face was near his as he pushed him back down while moving clothing around to check for damage. “What happened? Did I hit him?”

 

Hugh finished his ministrations before responding. “Looks like he just grazed your right shoulder near your collarbone. Nothing serious, thank God. I can’t even imagine what your pa would have done if you’d been killed or seriously injured. What were you thinking?” The last thought came out with unmistaken fierceness.

 

Adam sat up again and this time Hugh allowed him to stay sitting, even as his head swam with dizziness. “I was just responding to a threat…I guess. Tell me what happened.”

 

After fishing in Adam’s pockets, Hugh withdrew a fairly clean neckerchief, wadding it up to place over the area on his shoulder that was oozing pink. “You were dang lucky is what happened. I don’t know if you realized I’d been watching over you today and when I got back with my strays, you were nowhere to be seen so I found your tracks heading back here and followed.”

 

A chuckle preceded Adam’s admission that he did notice he was nearby but didn’t realize it was intentional. “Why were you watching me?”

 

“You were acting so strange: coming out here today with that gun strapped on you. I knew something was up and had a pretty good idea who was behind it. Thought I had you two separated, but should have known he’d figure how to blend in enough to get to where he wanted to be.”

Adam took a drink from the canteen Hugh offered before asking again, “Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

 

“I saw Randall riding in here after you, so positioned myself up on that small rise to see what would happen. Whatever it was between you two had to play out but I figured I’d be nearby if you needed any help.”

 

“I didn’t need your help.” The accusation was testy. “I knew what I was doing.”

 

Hugh patted his shoulder while mocking, “Sure you did Young Cartwright.”

 

“Well, I did. I drew and fired, and I think I even hit him.”

 

“Uh, I really hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think your shot even caused a breeze near him. You fired, but your aim was high and wide. I could see that even from up there. You were fast, kid, but your…ah…excitement threw your aim off. It happens when you’re facing a man for the first time, and don’t have a killer instinct.”

 

The wind was out of the boy’s sail, “Well his was off too, since he just nicked me.”

 

Hugh’s laughter rang from the canyon walls. “That’s because I plugged his shooting hand with my rifle just as he was pulling the trigger. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him wailing!”

 

Adam’s eyes rounded in surprise, just before he sagged. “Then it wasn’t a fair fight, Hugh. Why did you interfere? I was ready to die if I had to.” He sighed as his head dropped to his chest, “But now it wasn’t even a fair fight.” His voice trailed off, not quite sure why he felt such defeat, especially since he was still alive.

 

The foreman squatted so he could speak directly. “It was never meant to be a fair fight, boy. Don’t you understand that? Men like Randall…they’re too cowardly to fight someone who has experience. He picked you out the first day you walked into camp and wove his story to make sure you’d eventually draw a gun against him. Getting you to lose control and respond foolishly gives him some sick satisfaction. What’d he say to get you to disobey your pa and face him?”

 

There was silence as Adam decided whether it was time for confession. It was suddenly clear that Hugh had assessed the situation perfectly and he realized what a fool he’d been. Yet, the summer had been awash in decisions of how much of what he’d experienced was foolery. He had wanted this to end up being nothing more than a sinister form of hazing, but it hadn’t been.  He finally decided it was time to allow someone else’s judgment to help him with what had happened before he faced his father.

 

“Randall said he hated the Cartwrights and figured the world would be better off without one of us: meaning me or Pa. I still don’t know what Pa or I ever said to him that made him so angry, but he implied we’d disrespected him. He said I’d better start wearing a gun or he’d go after Pa.”

 

Hugh interjected, “Let me guess, he said that Ben was older and slower and didn’t stand a chance against him, but you just might.”

 

A nod confirmed the thought. “Where’s Randall now, Hugh? Did I just hear you send him away?”

 

“Couldn’t do nothing else, kid. He was right; he let you draw first.”

 

Terror clouded Adam’s thoughts. “But what if he hangs around to try again…or goes after Pa!”

 

“Settle down.” He laid a firm hand on the boy’s uninjured shoulder. “You don’t know men like Randall, but I do. He wanted to face you, not your pa. Ben would have known better or at least would have been a better adversary in a gunfight. I doubt your pa can outdraw you, but he can outshoot you any day and he wouldn’t have missed. Randall knew that and this was never about risking his life. I told you before that you and your pa wear your care for each other for everyone to see. Randall knew that if he threatened you, you’d have shrugged it off because you’re too smart to get into a fight over some slur or slight against you. But if he threatened your family, he knew you’d fight to protect them. He was right and got you to do some stupid things just to prove how right he was.”

 

“You really don’t think he’ll be back for me?” He still didn’t understand who he’d faced.

 

“No he won’t. You see, you’ll never be that dumb, scared kid again. Even if you faced him this minute, you’d be different. You’d aim truer and be hardened in the fight. Randall had one chance with you, and he knows it’s gone. Somewhere down deep, I think he’s afraid that if you are dead, your father will hunt him down and kill him like the mangy animal his is, so he’s probably as far away as his horse can carry him right now, and headed for a place to hide out until he finds some other new young sucker to play.”

 

“How am I ever going to explain this to Pa?”

 

“That’s up to you, but I’ll help a little too. I think it’s partly my fault for not getting rid of that snake as soon as I realized what he was, and for not hogtying you until you told me what was going on this morning.” He helped Adam to stand. “You should probably ride on to camp now and wait for your pa to get there.”

Feeling sturdier that he thought he would, Adam refused to leave the group. “Pa won’t be there until later and it’s  nothing more than a cut, so it shouldn’t hurt that much.” He lifted the fabric covering the wound, observing with relief that there was very little blood. “It does look a little strange: kind of ragged, but not too bad. I’ll get those three strays rounded up and back to the herd.”

 

Hugh agreed, figuring the boy would want to delay the confrontation with Ben Cartwright as long as possible. “If you’re up to it, go ahead. I’ll be moving forward now to make sure they’re doing all right up there. You can cover the rear section and make sure we get all of them to where we’re going.” He looked back as he left the canyon, relieved to see Adam mounted up and sitting tall.  Waving his hat, he called out, “See you in a couple of hours.”

 

Outside the shelter of the canyon basin, the wind was still blowing and causing problems with the herd. Adam was forced to ride after stragglers and strays many times, overusing his wounded shoulder either controlling his horse or throwing a rope. Early evening shadows were covering the hillside by the time they’d ushered the last of the stock into the grassy plateau and the men could head to camp for food and rest.

 

Adam had donned his thick wool jacket earlier, hoping the added warmth would help to keep his shoulder loose when it had tightened and begun to ache as the afternoon wore on. He’d noticed that he was sweating heavily under the coat as he’d brought up the last of the herd, but hadn’t paid much mind as he struggled just to get finished. Now he was shivering so hard that the reins quivered in his hands. It didn’t surprise him. With the sweating he’d been doing, it was only reasonable that he’d feel chilled now that the air was cooling. As his horse trotted into camp, he saw his father’s buckskin and knew judgment time was near. After tying his horse and removing the saddle, he made sure it had water and hay and walked slowly toward where his father was sitting.

 

Ben’s eyes caught those of his son as he entered the edge of camp, and then gave him a once over, stopping at holster lever. He’d heard the story already from Hugh and knew there was an injury, but until he saw the gun hanging there, he’d been unwilling to believe it.

 

Hugh had been true to his word, trying to deflect some of the blame and anger. “Ben, the boy thought he was doing the right thing. He knew what you’d say if he told you about it and wasn’t willing to risk your life when he thought he had a better answer…even if it was stupid.”

 

“Stupid doesn’t even begin to cover it,” the angry and frightened father had growled. “He may have done it for the right reasons, but he still betrayed my trust.”

 

The foreman had tried again, “You know he’s been going through a lot this summer with the hands. He’s been fair game and the unwritten code is that you take it and keep your mouth shut. The kid has earned the respect of every man out here because he didn’t go running to you for help. I told you what was going on so you’d know, but you didn’t force him to tell you about it or use your clout to stop it. How was this any different?”

 

“The difference is that he lied to me, or failed to tell me the truth, then manipulated me into helping him practice and finally went behind my back to risk his life. That’s a whole world of difference.”

 

“I don’t think it felt like it was to him, sir.”

 

Ben’s cross harrumph had ended the conversation and they’d moved on to plans for the winter and the impending loss of the ranchers who’d been helping out over the summer. They’d be returning to their own ranches and taking ten head of cattle with them for their efforts. Ben ran through the method he’d allow for them to choose their stock and how Hugh would cover their absence.

 

The smell of cooking beans and meat was curling around the campsite as Adam made his way toward his father, knowing by the look on the man’s face, that he was likely to be losing a whole lot more than a shred of skin on his shoulder. His only hope was that his father wouldn’t withhold his coming departure for school. In Adam’s mind, he could see the man making the assessment that if he couldn’t trust him to obey him in something this important, then leaving to be alone in a strange city was definitely out of the question. He felt nauseous and wasn’t sure if it was apprehension or the smell of the food. He still didn’t like beans, but had come to tolerate them, so was leaning toward fear being the upsetting factor.

 

Ben stood as he neared and tipped his head in silent direction toward the outskirts of the camp where they wouldn’t be overheard. News of the day’s event had spread like wildfire through the men and they looked up as Adam passed, giving barely noticeable nods and quick, sad smiles. They understood, yet also knew that the Cartwright family operated under a more rigid set of principles than most of their family’s had, and had no idea how bad a time Young Cartwright was in for.

 

Out of earshot, Ben exploded, “How dare you disobey me and put your life at risk?”

 

The young man met his father’s ferocity head on. “I had no other choice.”

 

Ben began pacing. “There are always options. You know that!” He shook his head and repeated, “You know that, Adam!”

 

“Most times I do. And I did make a choice. It just wasn’t the one you would have made. But…” He didn’t know how to say what he needed to without hurting his father more. “I had you shoot with me, and you were too slow, Pa. I knew you would never draw in time to take a shot. Randall was a gunfighter. He knew he could outdraw you… Even I could.”

 

Ben’s eyes blazed hot with anger, and yet softened for a moment. “I tried to tell you the other day that speed isn’t everything. It can be in a real gunfight, but from what Hugh told me, this man wasn’t really what you thought he was. If you’d trusted me enough to tell me your concerns about my being too slow…or old and feeble…whatever your fears were…I could have helped you figure that out.”

 

“That’s all hindsight, and everything makes more sense that way: if I would have…if he would have… if you had been. Joe said that to me the other day when I explained what all might have happened when he fell in the water. He said that it was all a lot of what if’s considering all he wanted to do was to catch a frog, and just did what he needed to do. I just did what I needed to do too.”

 

The anger returned. “Since when is the right thing to do to lie and go behind my back when I’ve given you my final word on a subject?”

 

Adam was truly Ben’s son, and still did not back down. “I had to do it because you wouldn’t listen to me. I told you I might need a gun to kill a wild animal. Randall was a wild animal and I had to at least try to save you from him just as surely as I would have stopped an animal from attacking Hoss or Little Joe.” He had to sit down on a nearby rock. The shakiness he’d felt earlier was back and his heartbeat was throbbing in his neck as sweat poured from his face and further wet his shirt under his jacket. With effort, he was able to complete his thoughts. “Hoss and Little Joe have already lost their mothers. They couldn’t lose you too. If Randall was intent on killing one of us, it had to be me, and I thought maybe I’d be good enough for just that one moment to make things right.”

 

Ben took a good look at his son, noting his pale complexion, the rivulets of sweat running from his temples and noted that he’d swayed briefly before sitting down. “How badly were you hurt, Adam? Hugh implied it only tore your skin a little.”

 

“A flesh wound in my right should…” Adam’s eye rolled as he slid down the rock onto his back, unable to stay sitting.

 

Rushing to his side, Ben grabbed his own neckerchief and dabbed away the moisture from the boy’s face, as he chuckled softly. “You never were one to like the talk of blood.” But as he began to unbutton Adam’s jacket for a look at the damage, he hollered toward camp for help and a lantern.

 

The group came running with Hugh in the lead. Holding the lamp near enough to see, Ben and the foreman gasped to find the young man’s clothing and jacket lining drenched with dark red blood. The cloth covering the “nick” was soaked to saturation and when lifted, they found a steady flow of blood issuing from what they quickly decided was a torn blood vessel.**

 

“I thought you told me it was a scratch!” Ben roared at Hugh.

 

“I swear it didn’t even bleed at first but it must have damaged something that got worse with him moving around.”

 

Adam had remained silent while still alert enough to realize there was a serious problem. He reached for his father’s arm, holding on tightly. “Pa, I just wanted to…”

 

Ben rested a hand on his son’s cheek. “Adam, I understand. Let’s just get you fixed up now. We’ll carry you to the wagon and get that bleeding stopped. That’s all you need to worry about.”

 

“I can walk there.” His strength built for the effort as he pulled away from Ben, using his good arm to push up on the rock behind him while several of the crew rushed over to support his ascent. He smiled as he stood before his father.  “See?” The smile left along with the brief color that had risen in his cheeks with physical exertion. His head spun as the truth of Randall’s earlier words whispered in his ears: “It don’t matter… the kid’s dead anyway.” He spoke his torment through a final heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, Pa…” as he crumbled to the ground and dissolved into unending darkness.

 

The end…

Next Story in the It’s Only a Year Series:

It’s Only a Year –  The Quiet of Uncertainty – A Lesson in Hope
It’s Only a Year – The Final Trial – A Lesson in Mettle

*Barbara Allen, Arranged by Harvey Reid

**It is possible to be bleeding and not be aware of it and I am living proof. After nicking my ankle with a wash basket, I didn’t realize I was bleeding until I noticed bloody footprints on the floor. Still clueless, I thought I’d stepped in raspberry jam and started cleaning the floor until I noticed that my shoe was red. Looking more closely, I was shocked to find that my pants hem, sock, insole and shoe were so saturated with blood that it was coming through the sole and leaving the prints. Once I rolled the sock down, blood started spraying everywhere and I had to call for help. I didn’t lose as much blood as I have Adam losing, but it can happen.

End Notes:

Thank you to all who have read the these episodes of It’s Just A Year. This is an exercise in writing for me – to contruct a story in parts that come together as a full look at a year in Adam’s life. It’s been fun and I hope you’re enjoying them.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.