It had all started with Adam’s guitar.

Joe leaned between the corner and the bars of the cell, listening to Pa and Clem arguing. Hoss paced the short distance between the bunks like a trapped house cat.

Hoss shook his head and muttered, “Joseph, Joseph, Joseph.” He stopped for a moment and asked, “What was that?”

Luke, a drifter in the neighboring cell, was waiting on the territorial marshal to come get him. He asked again, “What do you fellas figure is gonna happen to you?”

Joe just puffed up his cheeks and blew out slow before answering. “Pa’s temper will blow over after he yells at us.”

“Brother Adam won’t be quick to forgive,” added Hoss. “I’ve known him a whole lot longer, Lil Joe, and his slow burn ends in a mighty explosion.”

“If you want, I’d be pleased to hear your story,” said Luke. “Ain’t sayin’ I’m a priest or nothin’ to hear your confession, but I sure would like to pass the time entertained.”

Hoss slid down on a bunk. He wasn’t entirely sure how they’d ended up in their current predicament, but he knew Joe would spin a yarn worth listening to.

Joe ran his fingers through his hair then began the long, sad story.

Hoss and Joe were strapping on their gun belts to leave for Virginia City after a lunch of roast beef sandwiches and fried chicken. They were to pick up the mail and pay the monthly account at the mercantile.  Simple tasks, really.

“Oh, boys,” said Ben from the table. “Adam’s letter mentioned a guitar coming in on the stage. If the guitar comes, be sure to bring it right home.”

“Sure will, Pa,” said Joe.

“I’ll be to town later for a school board meeting,” Ben said as the door latch clicked into place.

It was an uneventful ride from the Ponderosa to Virginia City. Joe and Hoss were hitching their horses outside of the mercantile when the stagecoach rumbled into town. Remembering their father’s words about Adam’s guitar, they both walked over to the dust-covered coach.

Hoss helped folks out of the stage while Joe conversed with the driver, Shorty. The last passenger out was a middle-aged man with a bowler hat that looked as if it had seen far better days.

“Thank you kindly, good sir,” said the newcomer.

Hoss nodded in acknowledgement.

Joe climbed aboard the stage and helped Shorty untie a guitar case. Once it was freed, Joe jumped down, nimble as a mountain goat, and the driver handed it down to him.

“Say, I bet that you’re a mighty fine instrumentalist,” said the stranger

Joe raised an eyebrow as he looked at the man. “A what?”

The man’s laugh sounded thin, like a nervous bird. “I mean I’d bet you play that guitar really well.”

Hoss guffawed. “Little Joe? His itty-bitty hands barely fit around it.”

Joe glared at his older brother. “I know a few tunes.”

“I’m sure you do, I’m sure you do,” said the man with just enough of a tinge of doubt.

Joe rose to the challenge. “I really do know how to play this.”

The man extended his hand. “Name’s Roderick Farrow. My sincere apology if I’ve offended you.”

Hoss took Roderick’s hand first. “Hoss Cartwright. This here’s my brother, Joe.”

Joe merely touched the brim of his hat in greeting.

Roderick glanced up at the clear blue sky then licked his lips. “It’s mighty warm and I’m parched after the journey here. I’d be right honored to buy you a drink at the establishment of your choosing.”

The tinny sound of a piano from the Silver Dollar called to Joe like a siren song.  It’d only be polite to have a drink. And if there was also time for a few hands of poker, Pa wouldn’t have to know.

The three men, and the guitar, entered the saloon and headed to the bar. Hoss ordered up three beers without even asking Roderick if he liked the beverage.

Fortunately, Roderick seemed to be satisfied with the froth-filled mug. He sipped at it then turned to take in the saloon’s patrons. Card games were ongoing at two tables. While scanning the room, he’d noted the look of poker lust on Joe’s face. One of the tables appeared to have room for one, or two, more players. He reached into his coat pocket and fondled a couple of coins, the clink fairly muffled by the fabric.

Joe heard it, though, and his ears perked up. It would be rude to not accept if this newcomer asked him to join a game.

Roderick glanced at Joe from the corner of his eye then made his move. “I’m not much of a gambler but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try my luck.” He was rewarded with a slap to the back of the shoulder.

Joe used his chin to indicate a table. “Looks like we could join over there.”

Hoss stopped his younger brother with a beefy finger. “Leave that,” he said taking the case from Joe.

The younger Cartwright obeyed and made his way to the table with Roderick in tow.

“Room for two more?” asked Joe.

“Always room for you,” said Amos as he swept his winnings from the center of the table with one hand.

“What’s the stake?” asked Roderick.

Amos looked the stranger up and down. “Except for Little Joe here, we ain’t fancy. It’s a dollar ante.”

Roderick had a live one in his young companion. He licked his lips in anticipation.

Joe and Roderick took their seats as Johnny and Fred introduced themselves while Amos shuffled the cards.

With cards dealt, each man assessed his hand. One corner of Roderick’s mouth turned down as he chose two cards to part with. He noted Joe only parted with one.

More money was tossed into the pot as the players raised. Johnny finally called and each man laid his cards on the table.

Neither Johnny nor Fred had much to speak of, but Amos had two kings and Joe had two jacks. Roderick won the pot with a pair – sixes over deuces.

“Beginner’s luck, I assure you,” insisted Roderick as he scooped up money to place in front of himself.

The other men at the table chuckled but Joe busied himself with the shuffling the cards after putting a dollar in the center of the table. He dealt and then led off the betting. Fred won this round with three nines.

Hoss nursed a third beer as the game wore on. The mail still sat at the post office but he didn’t feel any urgency to get it. Mr. Anderson wouldn’t press for settling the account since he knew the Cartwright name meant it would get paid up sooner rather than later.

“Well, fellas, I’d best be going,” said Fred as Johnny shuffled the cards. “Ain’t got more’n a few dollars to last ‘til payday anyhow.”

Johnny dealt to the remaining players and then one corner of his mouth turned down as he examined his own cards. There was no way to make anything of this and he knew Joe wasn’t easily bluffed. Farrow had done pretty well, off and on, but Johnny thought he’d rather lose to someone he knew than a stranger in town.

“I fold,” said Johnny when the bet came to him. He set his cards on the table and didn’t wait around to see how it all turned out.

Amos won the round with a full house – kings over sevens.

Cards and money exchanged hands until Joe was down to the last of his pocket money. He figured Hoss might make a loan, especially if he sweetened his request with the promise of a steak dinner.

“I fold,” Amos finally said. The pot had grown and while it was tempting to keep adding to it, he didn’t want to leave busted. “Good luck, gents,” he said before leaving.

“I’m all in,” said Roderick as he pushed the money in front of him into the pot.

Joe blew out his cheeks. How did he get into this predicament? He had three aces and figured his opponent was bluffing but he didn’t want to fold and lose to a hand of nothing cards.

“I don’t know,” he finally said with a shake of his head. “I’m about tapped out.”

“You got that guitar,” said Roderick, a gleam in his eye. “How about that?”

“No.”

“Of come on. It’ll just be collateral.”

Joe took another look at his cards and then the pot. The glory of winning got the better of any logic that might have been in his head, and he agreed to putting the guitar on the line.

Hoss, case in hand, walked over to the table and leaned over his brother’s shoulder. “Joe, you know this ain’t a good idea.”

Joe kept his eyes on his opponent. “Don’t worry.”

“Take out that guitar and put it on the table,” said Roderick. “I wanna see it.”

Against his better judgment, Hoss opened the case and set it on the table on top of the money. He squeezed his eyes shut and offered up a prayer to any saint who might be willing to help Joe win.

Roderick licked his lips and called. He laid down a straight flush, leading with the deck’s fourth ace.

It was as if time itself had stopped. Joe slumped in his seat, unsure how he’d willingly risked his oldest brother’s prized possession.

Hoss gulped. There weren’t enough words to ever explain this one to Adam.

Roderick, smiling like a cat that had just helped itself to its owner’s prized canary, took the guitar by the neck. Joe, his senses returning, grabbed for the body, wrapping one arm around the instrument’s waist.

It may have been seconds or minutes, Hoss wasn’t completely sure. He grabbed the guitar meaning to hold it aloft but next thing he knew, Sam was wielding a cleaver. Hoss feared for his very life at that moment.

In the case of worst timing ever, Adam entered the saloon to a scene that would linger in his mind’s eye for months, if not years, to come. He froze at the sight of Joe and another man in a tug of war over his guitar. His mouth went as dry and parched as the Black Rock Desert. The logical voice buried deep within his mind told him to act before calamity ensued but his body refused to obey. He watched in horror as Sam came around the bar with a cleaver, just as Hoss wrenched the guitar from the two men, and the bartender murdered the instrument with several blows to the fret. His heart clogged his throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

Joe stared helplessly at the fractured remains of his oldest brother’s guitar. For once, his famous temper’s pilot light had gone out completely.

“Look out!” yelled Hoss, holding onto slim piece of what was once a musical instrument, as a miner who’d been sitting in the back of the saloon lunged for the unguarded money on the table and floor.

Gunshots erupted as patrons tried to helpfully stifle a fight.

Clem pushed past Adam, still clutching a bat-wing door in a death grip, and fired off his own pistol. “Who fired the first shot?” he demanded as smoke wafted from the barrel of his gun.

Cooler heads prevailed and everyone stopped and looked around, unsure of how a game of poker had come to this.

Adam’s voice came back but at a higher pitch than its normal baritone. “I wanna press charges.”

Sam hollered, “I’m sorry Adam but I had to do it.”

“Not against you,” the man in black said. He raised an arm and pointed first at Joe and then at Hoss. “Those two.”

Hoss’s eyes widened and his windpipe nearly seized up.

Clem noted the stricken look on Adam’s pale face and simply nodded. He holstered his pistol and strode across the room to grab Joe by the arm. He knew there was no sense in trying to physically corral Hoss. Instead, the deputy just jerked his head towards the door and Hoss obeyed. But first, Hoss picked up the guitar case.

The deputy kept Joe between the wall and himself just in case Adam had half a mind to commit fratricide. Hoss set the case down before his older brother but couldn’t meet his eye. Meekly, he ducked his head and followed in the deputy’s wake.

Hoss accepted his fate and entered the cell, but Joe tried to charm his way out of getting locked up. Clem wasn’t having it and gave Joe enough of a shove to force him in. The deputy turned the key in the lock then went into his office.

A high-pitched and far-reaching whinny carried through the barred window.

“Your horse is calling for you?” asked the man in the next cell.

Hoss shook his head and winced. “Sounds like yours,” he said to Joe. Neither Chubb nor Cochise would spend the night in the familiar surrounds of the Cartwright barn, nor would they get their usual dinner fare.

Joe stood on tiptoes and looked out the window. “Chubb is in your pocket. Think we can somehow coax him over to get us out of here?”

Hoss fixed his little brother with a confused look. “It’s your horse that’s in your pocket. I give Chubb an apple or carrot every now and again, but you share morning coffee with Cooch.”

“Either way, it’s worth a try.”

Before either man could concoct a plan to somehow convince someone to free their horses then teach the animals how to bust them out of the cell, they heard the explosion of their father’s voice.

Joe just heaved a sigh of magnificent proportion and leaned in the corner of the cell while Hoss paced.

“Sure feel sorry for the guitar,” said Luke.

It felt like hours, but in fact it was only minutes, later the door to the backroom opened and the temperature increased from the heat radiating off an angry Cartwright.

Ben, hands on hips, faced the cell, glaring at his younger sons. He fixed Joe with a look that wilted Hoss’s gaze even though the bigger man wasn’t on the receiving end.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand . . . .”

“And one times,” piped up Joe. Pa’s temper was legendary but there wasn’t a thing he could do from the other side of the bars.

Ben sputtered, his face darkening. “Don’t you be smart with me, boy.” He pointed at one son then the other. “Your brother will be staying at the International House for the immediate future, which puts us a man down for branding. You two will make this right without any financial help from me. Do you understand?”

Hoss jammed his thumbs into his vest pocket and noted dust patterns on the floorboards. Joe’s eyebrows drew together, and he cocked his head.

“Where are we gonna get the money for a new guitar?”

“I don’t care, but,” Ben raised a forefinger in warning, “you will do so above-board with no gambling or cheating of any kind. I will withhold your bail, and any fines, from your wages.”

Clem entered with jangling keys and carefully reached around Ben to unlock the cell. “Your lawyer will let you know your day in court.”

“I’m late for the school board meeting so you two get on home. Do not disturb your brother any further.”

Hoss said, “Yessir,” but Joe didn’t answer.

Joe strode out of the cell without a look to his father. Hoss gave a curt nod to Luke then tried to make himself as small as he could as he sidled past pa.

Cochise whinnied in greeting and nudged Joe with his nose as if expecting a treat, or at least a hot coffee.

“I don’t think this was my fault,” said Joe after he’d swung into the saddle. “Just bad luck.”

Hoss briefly wondered if he should gather up the remnants of the guitar for proper burial on the Ponderosa. Realizing Joe was already headed for home and fearing retribution if Adam should happen to be out for a stroll, Hoss mounted up and encouraged Chubb to catch up so they could find refuge on the ranch.

The End

A/N: Written for the 2026 Ponderosa Paddlewheel Poker Tournament. The words/phrases dealt to me were:

• Cleaver
• Gambler
• Guitar
• Horse is calling for you (high-pitched and far-reaching whinny)
• “If I’ve told you once . . .”
• In your pocket (a horse highly affectionate, loves people)
• “Who fired the first shot?”

and I decided to use all seven cards in my story.