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2

Adam figured he might have three options for getting out of that room. The first was to break through the window-glass, although that would not happen easily or quietly. The second was to remove each nail that had been driven into the window frame. His third and final option was to remove the hinges from the door. In either case, he was going to need a tool of some kind. Barring anything else, a coin might do to remove hinges or nails, but any coins he’d had were with his clothes, and he had no idea where his clothes might be. All he knew for certain was they were not in the room. He’d thoroughly checked the bureau drawers and the grand, mahogany wardrobe; each had been conspicuously empty. If he did manage to get out of there, he was going to have to do it in the nightshirt someone had dressed him in-but his current attire was not a matter of concern at the moment.

Aside from the bureau and wardrobe, there was also a desk and a small table in the room. The desk contained pens, ink, paper and a magnifying glass-nothing that might prove helpful for removing nails. The table was spread with an engineering drawing and a set of mechanical drafting pencils, looking curiously as though someone had walked away from his work.

There was something about the drawing that caught Adam’s eye. He started to move toward it, forgetting for an instant his need to get free-forgetting, also, to stay alert. He failed to notice the sounds of soft footfalls in the hallway beyond the room. When the door began to rattle lightly, he jumped with a start.

Instinctively grabbing the magnifying glass, he hurried to the door and then planted himself against the wall beside it. A moment later, panting in anticipation, Adam watched it edge slowly inward, dry hinges creaking softly with the pressure.

Adam’s heart beat a crescendo in his chest. He raised the magnifying glass above his head as though it were a much larger, much weightier club. But then a tiny hand and thin arm came into view as the door opened wider. Startled again, Adam’s tension eased. He lowered his hand and pulled away from the wall to watch a young, Chinese girl enter the room, carrying a tray of food.

The girl jumped much as he had moments earlier, her eyes darting up toward him. But she recovered quickly, moving her gaze to the floor. Thick, black hair slid forward, hiding her face as she shuffled toward the desk.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” Adam offered.

She placed the tray on the desk. “I bring food.”

“Thank you, Miss…?”

She did not look at him, but instead kept her eyes to the ground. “I return later for dishes.”

“My name is Adam Cartwright. Will you tell me yours?”

She tensed. “I return later.” She began to shuffle back toward the door.

“Will you tell me at least who my hosts are? Who owns this house?”

She grew rigid enough to begin to shake. There was something in her stance that concerned Adam. “I return later,” she repeated.

“Please.” He took hold of her arm. “I need to know.”

She shook her head. “No.” It came out as a whisper…an urgent, frightened whisper.

Gently, Adam reached for her chin, drawing her head upward. Her arm trembled in his soft grip. As her hair fell away from her face, she met his gaze with terror in her own. There was a red and purple bruise on her right cheek. Her lower lip had been split. Barely a second later, she pulled away, her hair once again covering her face. Even so, she had shown him enough to prove he was not the only prisoner in the house.

“I return later for dishes,” she repeated, rushing through the door.

Adam caught a glimpse of a man’s thick arm in the hallway just before the door slammed shut again. If there had been any doubt before, it would have vanished at that moment. Adam had to get away. With any luck, that young woman might well have given him the opportunity to do just that. He hurried to the desk to explore the tray, and then smiled, picking up a knife and testing its rigidity with his thumb. Finally, he went to work on the nails in the window frame.

XxXxX

Sheriff Roy Coffee was an observant man. Ben Cartwright’s stern refusal to so much as look his way last night had struck him as peculiar enough to have him consider a late night ride out to the Ponderosa. He might well have taken that ride, too, if it hadn’t been for Sam Miller and his boys stirring things up at the Bucket of Blood saloon. As it turned out, the sheriff had to house the boys overnight at the jail. Roy and his deputy, Clem, already had their hands full with keeping the peace around Virginia City. Whatever had been on Ben’s mind was just going to have to remain Ponderosa business until and unless he decided he needed to share it with his old friend.

Roy had come close to forgetting the matter altogether, but then a young Chinese boy made it clear something was going on with the Cartwrights, and whatever it was, it needed his attention. The boy ran into him on the sidewalk. If that had been all there was to it, Roy might have passed it off as an accident. But the boy had said something to him before running off again.

“Hop Sing at Fung Wu’s,” the boy said.

Roy watched him skedaddle toward his friends and wondered why he should care where Hop Sing happened to be. Then he glanced around to see if anyone else might have an interest in whatever he happened to care about. That glance showed him three different sets of eyes trained his way. Some could call that coincidence. But in Roy’s line of work, it was never smart to chalk anything up to coincidence. He decided maybe he should care about Hop Sing’s whereabouts after all. He also decided he ought not to make his caring any too obvious; so his journey to Fung Wu’s was slow and casual, made to look just like he was doing his regular rounds, checking out various neighborhoods in the town he’d taken the responsibility to protect. He’d surely had no way of knowing there was a clock ticking away with each and every step he took.

XxXxX

Hog-tied and gagged, Little Joe was in a hayloft in the old livery at the edge of town-close enough to holler for help, if he could get any sound past the thick knot the outlaws had seen fit to tie into the bandana used to gag him. But try as he might to do just that, his cries had had less volume than those of the yowling barn cat keeping him company.

With the single exception of that barn cat, the outlaws had left Joe alone there. At first, he’d figured that had been their mistake, and he’d instantly set to work trying to loosen the ropes binding him. Then he’d discovered he had neither the strength nor the leverage to make any headway. His left hand was useless; the outlaw’s bullet had damaged the joint at his thumb. Even if the pain hadn’t been enough to stop him, he simply could not move his thumb; and without his thumb he couldn’t grasp the rope.

Eventually, exhaustion had pulled at him, and he’d dozed on and off through the long night. Still, when the sun rose, spilling its light through a thousand cracks in the rotting timbers around him, Joe felt even more tired than before. He continued to doze until he heard voices approaching. Then, suddenly, he was as awake and alert as ever.

XxXxX

“Well, Ben,” Elijah said when they met in front of the mercantile as planned. “You’re dead on time! And here I was thinking you weren’t going to make it after all.” He held out his hand and smiled, like they were good friends meeting for lunch.

Ben glared back at him, keeping his own hands to his sides. “Where are my sons?” he demanded.

Elijah’s smile never wavered. “That’s not part of this particular deal. I told you a son would die. I never said anything about giving you your sons’ whereabouts.” He tipped his hat to an elderly couple passing by, and then glanced toward the alleyway. “Now, do you have that contract for me? Or are you going to force my hand?”

“Where-are-my-sons?”

Shaking his head, Elijah casually took hold of Ben’s arm. “Come along with me for a moment, Ben.”

“Why should I?”

“So you can see for yourself I do not make idle threats.”

Fear overrode anger at that moment. Ben allowed himself to be shepherded away from the store and across the alley, his eyes darting all around as they walked. He looked into every crevice, every shadow, wanting to and yet afraid to find a trace of his missing sons.

“There, Ben,” Elijah went on, then. “Have a look.”

Still, Ben saw nothing. “What? Where?” He followed Elijah’s gaze down the alley, toward the old livery, and noticed a figure up high, at the upper door. Then he squinted, forcing his eyes to adjust to the noon sun. As the figure came into focus, he couldn’t help but recognize the set of the shoulders, the defiant stance…and the almost equally defiant curly hair.

“Joe!” He said the name in a horrified whisper. Joe’s hands were tied in front of him, one looking darker and larger than the other-swollen, certainly. His good clothes were torn, his tie, gone altogether. The new shirt he’d purchased specifically to catch Ellie Lindstrom’s eye was covered with dust and pieces of straw. But his youngest son’s disheveled state was nothing to what could become of him at any moment. There was a rope around Joe’s neck. Ben was afraid to breathe, afraid even to blink. Joe was just one step away from hanging.

“Now, Ben. Do you have that contract?”

If Elijah’s voice had angered him before, it infuriated him now. But Ben’s only recourse against him was to do exactly what the man wanted. Reaching into his vest pocket to retrieve the envelope he’d placed there, Ben hissed, “Release him at once!” Still, he held the envelope in a tight grip, intending to hand it over only after Joe was safe.

“Need I remind you yet again, that was not part of the deal? First, the signed contract, then I promise you your son will not die today.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we have a few more things to work out. Today’s deal involves that signed contract. Let me see it, and then we can discuss tomorrow.”

His gaze moving between Little Joe and Elijah, Ben released the envelope, and then locked his sights on his youngest son. He heard the rustle of paper beside him as Elijah unfolded the contract. “Get him down from there,” he demanded, refusing to look away from Joe.

“Good, Ben. Very good.” From his peripheral vision, Ben saw Elijah raise his hand. An instant later, Joe was jerked out of view-pulled or pushed…perhaps even thrown back into the building. The rope was left swinging on its own in the hot, summer breeze. “Now let’s head over to my office,” Elijah went on. “And then we can talk about tomorrow.”

“I am not going anywhere until I can see my son!” Ben took two steps toward the old livery. Two steps. That was all he could manage, because as he raised his foot for that third step, a thunderous explosion nearly knocked him backwards. And then he watched in horror as the livery went up in flames amidst an onslaught of pops and whistles.

“Now, what kind of idiot would store fireworks in a rotted, timber building?” Elijah said lightly. “Are you coming, Ben? Or do I need to reschedule the execution of today’s deal?”

Something in the man’s tone pulled Ben’s gaze slowly away from the fire. “Joe?” he asked in a strangled whisper, daring to hope.

“Your boy should be nearly a quarter of a mile away from here by now, assuming everything has gone according to plan. I do not make idle threats, Ben. At the same time, I also count myself a man of my word. That explosion would have happened one way or another-either as a diversion, or a deception. After all, we can’t have the sheriff saying Joe was murdered, can we? Caught in an unfortunate accident…that’s a much better story for both of us.” He patted Ben on the back, and then started to turn Ben around. “Now, let’s discuss what happens next, shall we?”

Ben felt icy cold and blistering hot all at once. Elijah Garrett seemed to be holding all the cards. Somehow, Ben was going to have to come up with a few aces of his own.

He had no way of knowing he already had one in play. Hop Sing’s cousins had come through. Roy Coffee knew what to look out for; his deputy did, too. And Deputy Clem Foster was as observant as the sheriff. He’d followed Ben Cartwright’s line of sight right to the livery. He might not have been quick enough to stop the three riders from high-tailing it out the back, but he was at least quick enough to follow their trail.

XxXxX

Seconds after Joe hit the saddle, one of the outlaws tugged on the horse’s reins, forcing the animal to a full out run before Joe had any chance to get his balance. He grasped for the saddle horn, but it offered little help. His hands were still tied, and his left thumb was still useless. Several moments passed while he struggled to stay seated. Then he started to ask himself why he should bother. Why should he make their getaway any easier?

He still didn’t even know what was going on. He’d thought maybe he was being ransomed, but then he’d seen his pa with Elijah Garrett. Mr. Garrett was not the kind of man who needed to rely on kidnapping to fill his pockets. Though he was a greedy sort, he earned plenty of money through business deals, fair or otherwise. But then why had Joe been released from that noose right after he saw his pa hand something over to Mr. Garrett? And yet if it was ransom, why was Joe still being dragged around by two common outlaws?

At the sound of an explosion behind him, Joe lost both his train of thought and his tenuous balance. Frustrated and angry, he gave up all attempts to stay in the saddle. Instead, he used his legs to propel himself away from the horse’s hooves and rolled into the fall as he’d learned to do when trying to break particularly stubborn broncos. Of course, knowing how to minimize the effects of a fall was no guarantee against getting hurt. And since he was instinctively cradling his left hand, he fell too hard on his shoulder. Making matters worse, there was just enough of a slope where he landed to work against him.

By the time he reached the bottom of the small hill, none of it mattered. He had sunk into a painless oblivion.

XxXxX

Clem was too far away to take advantage of Joe’s fall. When the outlaws stopped running, he had to move behind some boulders to avoid being seen. If he’d been closer, he could have confronted them, drawing on them before they had even an inkling they might need to take their own guns to hand. As it was, he was out of range. He had no choice but to sit tight and watch as they went back to retrieve Little Joe. The poor kid was dragged up the hill like a sack of grain, and then thrown across the saddle like he was already dead.

Maybe he was already dead.

The deputy took a deep breath and told himself not to reach any conclusions just yet. He had a job to do. Whether at the end of that job he found himself rescuing Little Joe Cartwright or simply retrieving his dead body…well, that was a matter for God and circumstance to decide. For now, at least Joe’s dead weight would slow those outlaws down some. And Clem had enough of an idea about the general direction they were heading to veer on up to the hills. If he had it figured right, he had the perfect spot to get the drop on them.

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