XxXxX

10

Deputy Clem Foster had learned a lot from Sheriff Coffee. One thing he learned was how to play poker. Oh, not poker in the traditional sense; this kind of game did not involve cards. But it did involve bluffs, gambles and card sharps. And the game he was playing now also involved risks that could bring about the murder of one or more of the Cartwrights, and maybe even Clem himself.

Yep, this was probably the toughest game he had ever had to play. He’d already allowed himself to be suckered into a bluff that didn’t pan out, when he’d taken Hank’s challenge to arrive at Hellcreek by nightfall only to discover nothing significant would have happened had they chosen to move slower. What mattered was this moment, standing on that hilltop at dawn. Now, as he looked out over a particularly challenging table, he knew the next deal was likely to be the most important one of the game.

At least he’d gained a pretty good read on his opponents. Of all the players, the man to watch out for wasn’t that self-appointed foreman down there. It wasn’t even Elijah Garrett. No. It was the man standing beside Clem, the outlaw going by the name of Hank.

Hank was a card sharp, alright. A man like that had no loyalties, except to himself. He would do whatever it took to stay ahead of the game, and he wouldn’t bother himself with distractions. When treating Joe’s wound would have served him no purpose, he wasted no effort on it. Only when he saw it as a means to gain some of the deputy’s trust did he offer to help.

For the moment, they were working together, Clem and Hank. Not because they trusted each other, but because it was convenient. Hank could have tried to take his losses and run, but running would have posed a risk he hadn’t been willing to take. He wasn’t willing to gamble with his life if he didn’t have to, and he had to figure the deputy was good with a gun. As for Clem, he had a job to do, and Hank was an available resource when there weren’t any others available.

So they stood on that hill together, Hank cradling an empty rifle, just for show, and Clem holding his hands together to make it appear as though they were tied. They stood like that until a cloud of dust from the east made it clear riders were coming, drawing the attention of Hank’s fellow outlaws down below. Then they moved back into the trees, and watched to see just who those riders might be. The foreman’s commanding shouts to the others made it clear he figured them to be men eager to sign up to work the mine. Clem hoped, instead, it was the posse Little Joe had promised to send.

As to Hank, Clem figured it was just a matter of time before he took a chance at riding away. And maybe Clem might even let him-not because Hank didn’t deserve to see some jail time, especially after what he’d allowed to happen to Little Joe, but because Clem had bigger priorities. Sometimes you have to throw away a jack to catch a king.

XxXxX

Ben was tired. He could hardly remember the last time he’d slept. A memory of being home in his own bed, knowing that his sons were there in that house with him, haunted him like a foggy dream. He couldn’t help but wonder when that dream would be made real again…or if it would.

Yes, Ben was tired. But anger and fear kept him going, urging him on just like he was even now urging his horse forward, like some invisible rider was incessantly kicking his sides hard enough to churn his gut. He had two of his sons back, one who had suffered little while in Garrett’s hands, and one who had suffered a great deal. What would he find with Hoss?

He’d had to leave Virginia City before Paul Martin had finished tending to Joe, but he’d heard enough-and seen enough-to let him know it was far too soon for Ben to stop worrying about his youngest boy. There was no question that Joe’s hand was infected. He was also dealing with a concussion, cracked ribs, and enough bruises to suggest more harm than Ben dared imagine. His recovery was by no means assured.

Adam was also hurting, but Ben had every reason to believe he would be fine, in time. He’d sounded good when he’d tried pulling Joe’s thoughts away from Doc Martin’s ministrations by describing his own experiences after he’d been separated from his brothers. Apparently, he’d been treated reasonably well, mostly thanks to the young lady Garrett had referred to as nothing more than “Cook.”

“You…you had a bed?” Joe had asked his brother in a small, quiet voice.

“I wanted to believe it was all a bad dream,” Adam had explained, “and we were all home in bed. But the mattress was too soft, and-”

“Soft?” Joe had sounded so forlorn, as though the idea was almost too incredible to imagine. “You had a soft bed?”

Adam had shared a glance with Ben before answering. “Yes, Joe. What about you? Where were you?”

“In a hayloft,” Joe had answered sadly. “Hog-tied so tight I couldn’t move.”

“Sorry, Joe.”

“The girl,” Joe had gone on, seeming to ignore his brother’s expression of regret. “Tell me about the girl. Was she pretty?”

“Joe, I…hardly think that matters. Why would-”

“I had a barn cat. A mangy old barn cat. Smelled like manure and…wouldn’t stop caterwauling.”

When Joe’s eyes had started to close again, Ben had met Adam’s gaze. He still didn’t like the guilt he’d seen in Adam’s eyes at that moment. It wasn’t earned, nor in any way deserved. But Ben understood it. He’d recognized it, because he’d felt it within himself as well. Both he and Adam had spent nearly twenty years protecting Little Joe, yet neither of them had been able to protect him from what he’d been forced to endure since the evening before.

Now Ben found himself struggling to imagine what those same hours had done to Hoss. He rode on, comforted to have Roy Coffee riding beside him, and touched to have Hop Sing there as well.

Deputy Hop Sing: the notion would surely be a source of discussion for many years to come, both for its amazing and its amusing aspects. Hop Sing’s dedication to that badge had been the cause for a great deal of curiosity among Virginia City’s Chinese residents. Several had taken to following him, to watching what he was doing. That curiosity had given them awareness of Hop Sing’s capture, and had very possibly saved Hop Sing’s life, as well as Ben’s. Now those same rescuers were riding in a posse. A group of Chinese men were riding side by side with white cowboys to back up Virginia City’s sheriff.

It was unprecedented. Some considered it scandalous. All Ben knew was neither he nor Sheriff Coffee would have turned down any willing volunteers. And this group, well…. Ben found himself figuring they had the potential to look like a horde of angry Mongols. With any luck, that sort of image might give them enough of an advantage to bring those outlaws to justice with minimal bloodshed.

It was a gamble, certainly. This unusual posse could either surprise or enrage the outlaws. Ben was betting on surprise. In fact, he was putting everything he had on that bet. He had to; his son’s life was at stake.

XxXxX

Pete was getting nervous. It started when they’d all spotted that rising cloud of dust, a sure sign that riders were on the way. He’d ordered Hoss to haul lumber into the mine and then cursed under his breath, saying something about them coming sooner than he’d expected. Somehow he’d managed to fall behind before they’d even gotten started. Hoss wasn’t too sure what to make of that, but he did what he was told, even though when he looked up toward that hill again he couldn’t see any sign of the man Pete claimed to be Little Joe. The fact that Pete was nervous and the man they’d been threatening up yonder wasn’t there anymore, well, thinking of it all together helped Hoss to believe Pete’s big plans were starting to fall apart.

The sense of hopelessness Hoss had had in that hole was given over to hope. This all might just end well after all.

Hoss brought in his first load of wood, but then on his way back out, he heard Pete arguing with two of his fellows about picking up some of the workload. They made it clear they didn’t see themselves as miners and weren’t too eager to put down their guns. They also weren’t too eager about Pete ordering them to do something he wasn’t planning to do himself. Apparently, this boss business only went so far with the kind of men who tended to work outside the law.

As the riders got closer, the arguing got more intense, until Pete’s two fellows dropped their weapons and came at Pete, both at one time. Pete’s rifle went off, the bullet hitting nothing but sky before he dropped it, unable to keep his grip with all them fists flying every which way.

Hoss put down his load of lumber and watched, hands on his hips and eyes darting to the hill, to the tousle of men, to the abandoned rifles and then back again. He was just about ready to make a grab for the nearest rifle when another of Pete’s men-the last one, as far as Hoss could tell-shouted down from the rocks to warn that those riders weren’t at all what Pete had been expecting.

“Chinamen!” he hollered out. “Them riders is Chinamen! An’ there’s a sheriff with ’em!”

Those were both the strangest and the sweetest words Hoss had ever heard.

It took a moment for Pete’s men to pull away, and then a moment longer before they came to realize a posse was headed right for them-a posse full of Chinese men, but a posse, nonetheless.

Hoss didn’t hesitate like they did. He took the advantage given him and grabbed two of the rifles before anyone even remembered he was there. Unfortunately, it was Pete who remembered first. And the only rifle Hoss hadn’t reached was the one closest to his ornery boss.

“I already told you all,” Pete said, his tone deeper than before, colder, as he cocked the rifle, readying it to fire. “I am the boss. No one says no to this boss. No one!”

This time, when the rifle went off the bullet hit flesh and bone rather than air. And then it went off again, and then two more times. Not once did Pete miss his target.

Hoss had no idea how many bullets that rifle held. A lever action rifle like that could hold as many as fifteen rounds, and to Hoss’s count, Pete had only used five. Trouble was, Hoss had hesitated this time. He’d been so stunned to see Pete gun down his own men, he’d failed to take advantage of the time Pete was giving him. Instead of readying one of the rifles he’d already taken hold of, Hoss waited until it was already too late. Now, suddenly, the barrel of Pete’s rifle was aimed at him.

XxXxX

“Drop it!” The voice was stern, the command punctuated by the click of another lever-action rifle.

Stunned once again, Hoss glanced toward the newcomer now taking aim at Pete. The first thing he noticed was the tattered shirt. Closer now, he could say it looked like the one Joe had recently purchased, but as beat up as it was he couldn’t be sure. That didn’t matter at all though, because the fact that Joe wasn’t the one wearing it quickly became obvious. As the cloth of that shirt fluttered, periodically exposing the man’s chest beneath it, Hoss could tell this man was older than Joe. It was also clear his arms were too long for those sleeves. His stride was longer than Joe’s, too, more ambling and less animated when he stepped slowly out of the shadows cast by the rising sun and moved toward Hoss and Pete.

Once those shadows fell away, Hoss finally saw who it was. “Sure is good to see you, Clem,” he said softly.

“Clem?” Pete’s aim wavered, his brows drawing down to show his confusion. “No. This is not possible. Was supposed to be-”

“Little Joe Cartwright?” Clem cut in.

Pete tensed. He refocused his attention on targeting Hoss, though he addressed his question to Clem. “Where is Hank? And Randy?”

“Does it matter?” Clem asked.

“Of course, it matters! You must know it matters! Where are they?”

“Well, Randy should be locked up in the Virginia City jail about now. As for Hank, seems to me he must have run off.”

“No. Hank would not-”

“Sure he would,” Clem interrupted again. “This game’s finished. He could see that. No point in sticking around just to wind up dead or behind bars.”

“No. Not finished. There is silver in that mine. Nothing is finished until I get my share. And this one here, this Cartwright will help me to get it.”

“No, Pete,” Hoss answered. “I won’t. This here mine’s finished, too, just like whatever it was you and that big man of yours were planning.”

“Stop this! No more arguing! Get back to work!” Pete leveled the rifle at Hoss’s belly.

“Drop that weapon!” Clem hollered.

“No,” Pete hollered back. “No,” he repeated softly. “If you were going to shoot, you would have done so by now.”

“I’m a lawman, mister, not an outlaw. I only shoot if I have to, and as long as you put that rifle down and give up nice and easy, then I won’t have to.”

“Better do as he says, Pete,” Hoss advised. “Clem ain’t bluffin’. He only draws a gun when he means business; and when he does pull the trigger, I ain’t never known him to miss his target.”

“And I,” Pete answered, “have never missed mine.”

When Pete’s finger moved, Hoss didn’t see it, but Clem must have. There were two shots, so close together it almost sounded like they went off at exactly the same time. Hoss felt a burning sting slice across his right arm. He staggered back a step or two, but that was it. The bullet had just grazed him. Pete had missed this time, after all.

But Clem sure hadn’t. His bullet hit Pete square in his shoulder. Now the Cartwright’s old foreman was on the ground, wide-eyed, writhing, and clutching at his arm.

“You should have listened, Pete,” Hoss said as Clem grabbed Pete’s discarded rifle.

When the posse rode in, no one was left to hold them back. Even the man in the rocks above was gone now. Like Hank, he must’ve gotten wise enough to cut his losses.

XxXxX

It seemed as though Hop Sing was disappointed. He and those fellows who had followed him spent the ride working up what looked to be an almost viral rage. Ben, knowing his Chinese cook as well as anyone might, had at first assumed that fierce expression Hop Sing wore was as much of an act as his frequent tirades back home, when he would insist he was going to quit for the lack of appreciation Ben and his sons gave to his meal times or what he considered to be his kitchen. But, act or not, Ben was also pretty sure it would shock the outlaws, hopefully well enough to slow them down or confuse their aim. Now, as the members of the posse eased their horses to a walk and looked about them for a target, any target at all, Ben saw Hop Sing’s fierce expression yield to confusion, and then to disappointment. Perhaps he really had been looking forward to turning his years of mock anger into something real, and inflicting it on Garrett’s hired band of outlaws for what they had done to the family Hop Sing had become so much a part of he could never be truly angry with them at all.

The lack of an obvious target had a different effect on Ben. Like Roy Coffee, he was wary, looking about for signs of ambush. Then his gaze landed on Hoss, and standing beside him, Deputy Clem Foster, who was shirtless and smiling while he tied a strip of cloth around Hoss’s arm. Riding closer, Ben could see Hoss chuckling at something Clem said.

At that moment he knew it was over. All three of his sons were safe. Garrett could threaten Ben’s family no longer.

His sons were safe.

For an instant, the realization overwhelmed him. His breath caught on something that was part chuckle, part sob, and he came to wonder if what he saw in Hoss was borne of the same rush of emotions.

“Hey, Pa!” Hoss called out as Ben dismounted. “Hop Sing! You’re sure a sight!” The grin Hoss wore was clouded by a weariness Ben saw in his eyes.

“I could say the same of you,” Ben said softly, grasping Hoss’s good arm.

Hop Sing’s reaction was far less subtle. “Hop Sing not come to cook!” he announced before Ben could say anything more. “Hop Sing, deputy!”

Hoss’s laugh was genuine then, as true a laugh as Ben had ever heard, and Ben’s responding chuckle was just as real.

Hop Sing, however, did not share in their amusement. He turned his back on the Cartwrights in an exaggerated show, complaining loudly in Chinese to his companions while they went to work collecting discarded weapons and two very dead outlaws.

“Dadburnit, Hop Sing!” Hoss shouted back. “I thought you were foolin’! What’d ya’ have to get my hopes up for? I’m all kinds of hungry!”

Ben held his smile in place for a moment longer, especially when Hop Sing turned to face them again, this time with a rather conflicted expression that seemed to indicate he was just as eager to get back home to his kitchen at the Ponderosa as Hoss was to eat. But they were still far from home, and things were still far from normal. Ben looked toward Clem, who was accepting an extra shirt from one of the cowboys, and then toward Roy, who was arguing with Peder Johansson over the medical assistance being offered by one of the Chinese men; and then, finally, he let himself give his full attention over to Hoss.

“I’m sorry, son.”

Hoss’s brows knit in confusion. “Sorry for what?”

Ben sighed. “I’m sorry I let it get this far. Sorry I…let it come to this. I should have listened to Pete’s threats when we fired him. I should have anticipated…I should have-”

“Pa, folks’ threats don’t hardly ever account for anythin’ more than words. You know that. There ain’t no way any of us could have known somethin’ like this could happen.”

“No…I suppose. Even so…I waited too long. I should have ridden out here the very moment Elijah Garrett mentioned this mine.”

“Clem told me about Mr. Garrett. Sure hard to believe he’d be behind a thing like this.”

“Clearly he was not in his right mind.”

“What’d he tell you, Pa? When he first mentioned the mine, like you just said?”

Ben shrugged. “He told me to sign over the mine to him.”

“I don’t suppose that’s all he said though, was it?”

“No. No, Hoss, it wasn’t.”

“He threatened Joe, didn’t he?”

“He threatened all three of you. But….” Ben nodded slowly. “He used Joe as an example.”

Hoss stiffened. “Pa? He didn’t…he…he didn’t-”

“No!” Ben said quickly, realizing too late what his words might have implied. “No,” he said again in a softer tone. “He threatened to hang your brother while I watched, but, no, he did not go through with it.”

“Because you did what he wanted you to do?”

“Yes. Because I did what he wanted me to do.”

“Then I don’t suppose you could have come here any sooner than ya’ did, could ya’?”

Ben gave his very perceptive son a particularly weary smile. “No. I don’t suppose I could have, not until I knew he couldn’t harm any of you anymore.”

“So, Joe and Adam are safe?”

“Yes, thank heavens, you’re all safe now.”

“Are they okay?”

Ben took a long breath, and then forced himself to hold his smile. “Adam’s going to be just fine,” he said with as much optimism as he could muster. “He’s got a head wound and he’ll be off his feet for a few days, but it’s nothing serious.”

“Joe?” The deep breath Ben had taken had not been lost on Hoss, judging by the way his brows moved deeper over his eyes.

Ben sighed, finally letting his smile die. “He had a rough time of it, I’m afraid. Paul was with him when I left, so I can’t really say for certain. At least I can say he was awake and in good spirits.”

“That’s somethin’, I reckon.”

“Yes. It’s something. Now, how about that arm of yours? What happened?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Pa. This here’s just a scratch.”

Ben nodded, feeling relieved even as he noticed the raw look to Hoss’s fingers. He’d just finished saying Joe had had a rough time of it. Clearly, Hoss had as well. And for whatever comforts Adam had known in that room in Garrett’s house, he’d still been compelled to risk his life jumping from that window. These hours had not been easy for any of his sons. Only Ben, himself, had remained untouched by Garrett’s cruelty.

“Hey, Pa?”

“Hmm?”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Unless you’ve been messin’ in Hop Sing’s kitchen an’ ya’ used your own knuckles instead of a meat tenderizer, I’d say it’s a pretty fair bet you been in a fight.”

Ben couldn’t help but make a loose fist and look down at his bruised, reddened hand. He shook his head. “Garrett.” It was all he said, perhaps all he needed to say.

“I sure wish I could have seen that.” Hoss smiled, seeming proud of his father’s utter loss of composure.

But the very idea of that smile left Ben feeling cold. “No, Hoss. It was very wrong of me. Very…careless. I went too far.”

“No…I doubt it. More like Mr. Garrett’s the one who went too far.”

Ben met his gaze, but all he could really see was the blistering image of Elijah Garrett. He could hear him then, too, screaming out in agony and begging for Paul Martin to attend to him rather than the Chinese doctor Hop Sing’s friends had provided. God help him, Ben still believed Joe had deserved Paul’s attentions more, and he was still glad his old friend elected to tend to Joe first. Yes, he was glad, even while he knew he’d been at fault for Eli’s suffering.

“We both went too far,” Ben said in a voice so soft it was nearly a whisper. He tightened his fist with each word. Then he took another deep breath, released his fist and grasped Hoss’s shoulder. “Let’s get back to town and get that arm of yours taken care of.”

“I’d rather see Joe and Adam.”

Ben smiled. “That too, Hoss. That too.”

Yes, his sons were safe. Soon, Garrett’s crimes would be tried in a court of law. As to Ben’s…well, they, too, would be tried, in time, by a much higher court, one presided over by God Himself. Until then, he could be thankful that his sons were finally, truly, safe.

XxXxX