Life Is Never Dull With Little Brother Around

Joseph Francis Cartwright smiled to himself as he patrolled the premises. He had just thought of the perfect way to get even with his older brothers.

Laughing softly, he began to gather his ammunition, scouring the ground for just the right stones—not too big, not too small. In a matter of minutes, he had unearthed a dozen “perfect” specimens. Eyes alight with mischief, he crept under Hoss’ window and pinged one of the stones off the glass. It made a beautiful sound. He waited a few seconds and threw a second, then a third. On the fourth throw, a light went on in Big Brother’s room. Grinning, he hightailed it over to Adam’s window. Three stones later, that room lit up, and he fled to the back and waited. Moments later, the front door opened and two sets of boots stomped towards him, one from each side of the house. When Adam’s footsteps, lighter and quicker than Hoss’, were almost upon him, he assumed a look of innocence.

  “What are you two doing up at this time of night?” he asked.

“What are we doing up?” Adam sputtered.

“You know dang well why we’re up,” Hoss growled, scowling at him.

Joe looked from one to the other with a bewildered expression on his face. 

“And don’t pretend you don’t know what we’re talking about.”

“But you haven’t said what you’re doing up, Older Brother, so how could I possibly know?”

Hoss and Adam exchanged glances. Slowly, a devious smile spread across their faces.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Adam asked, nodding almost imperceptibly towards the front of the house.

  “Yep, think so,” Hoss answered, and reaching out, he lifted his little brother off his feet, carried him around to the front of the house, and held him above the water trough. 

“Wait a minute,” Adam cautioned.

Eyebrows raised, Hoss glanced questioningly at his older brother.

“His gun,” Adam explained. 

“Right,” Hoss responded, and with his free hand, he removed the gun belt.

Seconds later, Joe hit the water with a splash. Hoss and Adam brushed off their hands and headed towards the house. Stopping at the door, Adam turned towards his waterlogged brother. “Your gun,” he mocked, taking the weapon from Hoss and laying it on the rocker. 

“Good night, Little Brother,” Hoss added and disappeared into the house along with his older brother. 

Grumbling dire threats against his brothers, Joe climbed out of the trough and squelched his way to the stoop. He retrieved his gun and tried the door. Locked. He knocked—no answer. He knocked harder—still no answer. He glared at the door. He was soaked to the skin and uncomfortable. He knocked one more time, but the house remained dark and silent. Scowling he stomped towards the barn, and strode inside. 

He peeled off his shirt, grabbed an old towel hanging from a hook at the back of the barn, and towelled his arms and upper body dry. He looked down at his sopping wet trousers and grimaced. ‘Why not?’ he mused, and climbed into the hayloft. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and finished drying himself off. 

It was a warm night, and the soft breeze drifting in through the loft door felt good against his naked skin. He found a comfortable spot, stretched out, and waited for his clothes to dry. He lay back and relaxed, listening to the sounds of the night: crickets chirping, tree frogs croaking, an owl hooting, in the distance a wolf howling, and close to the barn, someone moving. 

Joe tensed. Someone was out there, skulking around the barn. He sat up and listened, but whatever it was had stopped moving. 

Unobtrusively, he got to his feet and crept over to the loft door, gun in hand. He peered out into the darkness, scrutinizing the area, but nothing seemed amiss. Then something moved in the dark corner by the woodpile. He stared into the darkness, watching, waiting. Seconds later, the culprit stepped out of the shadows. It was the old barn cat, prowling about looking for mice. He lowered his gun and, chuckling softly, returned to his niche in the hay. His eyes closed, and within minutes, he drifted off.

‘Sometimes I outdo myself,’ Mother Nature thought as she gazed down at the sleeping cowboy. She smiled softly and called out to him, at first gently and then more urgently. As her call grew stronger, Joe’s eyes slowly opened. He grimaced, got up, and moseyed over to his trousers. His eyes widened in disbelief. They were missing. All his clothes, except for his boots, were missing. “They stole my clothes,” he grumbled. “My doggone brothers came in and stole my clothes.”

But stolen clothes or not, when Mother Nature called, you had to answer. So he pulled on his boots and climbed down the ladder. Hurrying over to the door, he opened it a crack and took a quick look around. ‘All clear,’ he thought, and slipped out.

He made it to the outhouse, modesty intact, and was on his way back to the barn when his gaze locked onto the front of the house. Something was wrong, his gut insisted. He crept up to the house and took a closer look. The door was slightly ajar. 

Noiselessly, he stepped onto the stoop, eased the door open, and slipped inside. He froze. Voices were coming from somewhere near his father’s desk. His hand reached down for his gun. ‘Dang,’ he thought, ‘my gun is in the barn.’ His gaze travelled over the top of the credenza, and he let out a soft breath. His father’s holster and gun were sitting there along with Hoss’ and Adam’s. He reached out, eased one of the weapons out of its holster and inched his way towards the intruders.

“Hold it right there,” he growled. 

Both bandits shot around and froze.

“Place your guns on the floor, and gently kick them over here.” 

The two men didn’t move. They stood, mouths agape, staring at the naked cowboy standing there, holding a gun on them.

“Your guns,” Joe repeated.

The two thieves shook their heads and slid their weapons across the floor. 

Joe kicked the guns further away and fired off a shot. 

“What’s going on down there?” Ben bellowed.

“We have a couple of intruders, sir,” Joe shouted back. The sound of six feet hitting the floor and pounding down the hall echoed through the house, then stopped abruptly. Joe looked up. Three dumbfounded faces stared back at him. He bit the side of his lip, shrugged, and did the only thing he could think of. Head held high, he marched up to the landing, handed the gun to his father, and continued on to his bedroom. 

Five sets of bemused eyes followed him until he was out of sight.

Hoss glanced at his father, shook his head, and descended the stairs.

“What do you wanna do with these two, pa?” he asked, taking custody of the two thieves.

“Take them into Virginia City and hand them over to Sheriff Coffee. And take Joe with you. Roy will want a statement about the break-in. And Hoss, make sure he puts some clothes on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hoss smiled. ‘One thing for sure,’ he thought, ‘Life was never dull with Little Brother around.’