XxXxX

3

The knife was too soft. It was bending and twisting, and doing more to chip the paint on the windowsill than to actually remove any nails. Even so, Adam had managed to edge one nail up out of the wood by perhaps a quarter of an inch when his efforts were interrupted by the sound of an explosion. He rose, gazing out the window and instantly spotting a cloud of smoke already drifting above the roof in his line of sight. It was clearly in the distance, too far, perhaps, to be of immediate concern for him in this wooden prison. Still, it had to have been close to someone. Had anyone been hurt? He found himself eager to run outside and lend a hand, to join up with the crowd already calling for water in the street below. Anyone could have been hurt, maybe one of Adam’s own friends…maybe even Hoss or Little Joe.

Don’t go borrowing trouble, Pa said somewhere in the back of his mind. Adam’s brothers were both probably miles away. He could personally attest to the fact that they’d been taken in directions parallel to, not toward Virginia City…presuming, of course, this was Virginia City; he’d yet to actually get his bearings. The rooftops offered few clues.

A series of smaller explosions and eerie whistles pulled him from his straying thoughts. He could only imagine it had been a cache of fireworks that had exploded. If that were the case, no one could get close enough to douse the flames or rescue any unfortunate souls trapped in the debris until there was nothing left of the cache to explode-and perhaps nothing left of any unfortunate souls.

He prayed no one was trapped-and wished to heaven he knew where his brothers were.

Lost in the bitter imaginings caused by his own entrapment, Adam almost didn’t notice it when the door started to rattle again. By the time he cued into that small sound, the door was already coming open. He turned from the window, belatedly moving the knife behind his back just as his visitor came into view.

When the girl entered, she went straight to the tray on the desk without once looking up at Adam. But seeing the food untouched must have puzzled her. She hesitated, and then started moving things around on the tray, as though she was looking for something. Only then did Adam realize she must have noticed the missing knife. He remembered the bruises on her face and found himself feeling ill. Would his selfish act cause her to get hit again?

As he watched, she turned, slowly, raising her head until her gaze reached Adam’s waist. When her eyes widened just a fraction, he noticed she wasn’t looking directly at him, but rather slightly past him. Curious, he turned his head just enough to realize he hadn’t managed to shield all of his handiwork. The chips of paint on the sill extended further than he’d thought.

He felt like a repentant child, caught with a cookie he wasn’t supposed to have taken. If she was going to be punished for his crime, he owed her a confession, at the very least. Sighing in resignation, he moved away from the sill, letting her see exactly what he had done. “Are they counting the silverware?” he asked softly.

She raised her head further, finally meeting his eyes. Her own looked so small and dark-dark enough to remind Adam of an old convict he’d met once, a man who could never stop looking backward to the crimes of his troubled past…too dark for a girl who should be looking only to the future. He could feel his brow furrowing in concern for her, a girl he hadn’t even truly met because she’d yet to give him her name.

“Will they punish you for this?” He held the damaged knife out to her.

Her eyes widened further, enough to make Adam wonder whether fear or hope was driving her reaction. Before he could decide which it was, she abruptly turned back to the tray on the desk. Grabbing up some paper, she set 3 slices of toast upon it, careful to keep crumbs from falling to the fine wood of the desktop; and then onto the pile of toast she laid four strips of bacon. An offering for Adam to eat later, perhaps? Considering it was already noon, he had to figure his next meal would be supper-if, of course, his hosts were planning to give him a next meal.

Adam continued to watch as she unfolded the napkin and laid it atop the plate, hiding his untouched eggs. With that finished, she hesitated again. Her hand hovered uncertainly above the plate for a moment before she reached down to lift a corner of the cloth that had been placed between his meal and the tray itself. Adam glimpsed something white, and then watched her tug it out from beneath the cloth. As more of it came into view, he realized it was an envelope.

She turned again, slowly this time, her eyes once more downcast. She held the envelope out to him.

“What is this?” he asked, taking it gently from her. He doubted she knew, and was not surprised by her continued silence, though he found he was disappointed when she swiveled back around, hurriedly took up the tray and shuffled from the room, seeming eager to get away from him. He might be a man who tended to enjoy solitude, but this bizarre imprisonment was growing increasingly maddening-just as that young woman was growing increasingly intriguing.

XxXxX

Dear Adam,

We have to get that old Hellcreek mine up and running again. The foreman here told me you would be figuring out a plan to shore up those old timbers. I hope you can, else the whole thing could turn into a big grave. I know you know that. I’ll do everything I can to keep anyone from dying in there, even if I have to hold it up myself.

Joe’s hand won’t be getting any better any time soon. Might get even worse. From what I hear, could be a whole lot worse.

The sooner you can get us those plans, the better. Work starts at nine sharp, the day after tomorrow.

Your faithful brother,

Hoss

XxXxX

Adam read the note a dozen times. It was Hoss’s writing, and those were Hoss’s words. No one had fed those words to him; but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been told what to write-or what not to write. He clearly wasn’t saying everything-and it was the words between the lines that had Adam most concerned. Was someone using Joe to get to Hoss, and to Adam, too? It sounded like Hoss was telling him exactly that. They’d both better do what they’re being told to do, or Joe’s life could be at stake.

Absently curling the paper into a ball in his tightening fist, Adam glared toward the drawing on the table. He’d ignored it long enough. Too long, perhaps. He’d been playing with nails when he should have been studying that drawing. Of course it had been there for a reason; he’d been a fool to think otherwise. Everything about this room had been part of a plan…the empty bureau and wardrobe, the locked window, even the girl had to be a part of it, somehow-unwilling, perhaps, but a part nonetheless.

And like it or not, it was a plan Adam was going to have to follow.

XxXxX

Five long, two wide.

That was the size of Hoss’s prison. He marked it out in steps without even realizing what he was doing.

Five long, two wide….Five long, two wide.

The count seeped into his thoughts, became a part of him.

Five long, two wide.

It was all he could do to keep himself from clawing endlessly…uselessly…at the rocky walls surrounding him.

He’d tried to climb out, but even when he managed to get firm handholds, his clumsy feet and his bulk had betrayed him. He slid back to the ground every time, often landing flat on his back. He was sure he had the bruises to show it, too, both on his backside and on his hands. He could feel the burning tears in his nails and the moist sting of his raw fingers even if he couldn’t see them; it was as dark as could be down there, almost darker than he could stand.

No, he told himself. It was definitely darker than he could stand. But he was standing it, if only on account of the fact he had no choice. Dropping him down into this hole was a sure-fire way to keep him from tearing those men apart, the ones who’d dumped him. He’d rip them limb from limb if he could-but only after he got them to tell him where Joe and Adam were, Joe in particular.

Adam was alright; Hoss was pretty sure of that. He was alright for the time being, anyway. These folks needed him. They’d made that clear when they’d forced Hoss to write that letter. They needed Adam to help them shore up this mine. Hoss had chosen his words as carefully as he could, trying to make it sound like it was safety that mattered; but all these men really cared about was getting out as much silver as they could. If the mine was safe for miners, that also meant more silver was coming out than was being buried in rockslides. None of the outlaws cared about men being buried. But Hoss sure did, and he knew Adam would, too.

And Adam sure as heck had to care, because if he didn’t, Little Joe would suffer for it. The men had made that clear, too. If Hoss and Adam did everything these folks wanted them to do, if they did everything right and without complaining, then maybe Joe wouldn’t lose that injured hand of his to infection. That was the best they could hope for. As to the worst…well, the men had made that pretty clear, too. Joe was going to suffer a whole lot more than Hoss with his bruised fingers and his sore backside.

That was the only reason Hoss had stopped trying to climb out. He’d stopped not to protect his own self; he’d stopped to protect Joe. He’d mine this whole mountain himself if he had to, if that meant Joe wouldn’t suffer any more than what that bullet had already done to his hand. His left hand. His gun hand. These men had known that, too. They seemed to know an awful lot…enough to make it clear to Hoss every detail about his own imprisonment-and whatever each of his brothers was going through–had been carefully planned, right down to the bullet in Joe’s hand.

Hoss was afraid whoever had planned all this was as cautious and calculating as Adam. But that didn’t mean Hoss wasn’t hopeful he was wrong. Maybe Adam could still outsmart whoever that might be. “But, doggone it, Adam,” he whispered into the black silence surrounding him, “don’t even think about calling their bluff when it comes to Little Joe. They’ll kill him. I know they will.”

Reaching a wall again, Hoss slammed his fist into it, and then began counting once more. Five long, two wide. It was all he could do…at least for now.

XxXxX

The newspaper offices were closed up as tight as everything else in Virginia City. No one had any plans to be working on the Fourth of July-unless, of course, it was absolutely necessary.

According to Elijah Garrett, a special edition was absolutely necessary, based on the business he intended to address. He made that point very clear to Mr. Goldenberg’s apprentice the moment Elijah’s men had tracked him down.

“I’m sorry, sir,” young Zachary Mullins replied, running his hand through his hair until he caught it on a piece of straw. His face reddened as he tossed the straw to the street. “N…nothing short of a declaration of war will…will get that press going today. Mr. Goldenberg is planning to-”

“We have a declaration of our own!” Elijah loudly cut in, “Ben Cartwright and I!”

Ben tensed as Elijah wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

The apprentice pulled his brow curiously, perhaps recognizing Ben’s less than amiable attitude toward the other man. “Are you….” He cleared his throat, gazed around for passersby, and then continued in a softer voice. “Are you telling me you and Mr. Cartwright are at war?”

“On the contrary!” Elijah roared jovially. “Quite the opposite, in fact!  We are going into business together. Isn’t that right, Ben?”

Zachary’s gaze was doubtful.

“Yes,” Ben replied after a moment, his voice almost a soft purr compared with Elijah’s roar.

“Mr. Cartwright is apparently still somewhat stunned,” Elijah explained, “by our recent ability to strike up an agreement.” The man’s eyes bearing into Ben seemed as threatening as any weapon.

Ben could only glare back.

“Nonetheless,” Elijah went on, “we must move forward quickly, which is why we need this edition to go out today, the sooner the better.”

Zachary shook his head. “I don’t believe Mr. Goldenberg would-”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe! You get Mr. Goldenberg or you start that press up all by your lonesome. I don’t care how you do it; just do it!” He pulled a sheet of paper from his vest pocket. “Now this is what it must say. Get it right and I’ll pay you what it’s worth. Make it fast, and I’ll see to it there’s a little something extra for your efforts. You’ll be able to buy a trinket to keep that gal you left back there from being angry with you for leaving just now.”

The young man grew redder than before. “B…but I don’t think-”

“I won’t hear another argument!” Elijah shouted angrily. “Just get it printed or….” Ben noticed the man’s gaze shifting from enraged to…perhaps afraid. He’d been about to slip up. He’d been about to use his threats against an outsider.

“Or…or what?” Zachary asked, his face going from red to white.

“Just get it printed,” Elijah said in a voice far less boisterous than it had been a moment before.

Yes, Ben realized. Elijah was afraid. He had caught himself this time, but he’d come close to providing that young man with clues he dare not disclose, not without potentially ruining his entire scheme. A slip like that could cost a man severely in a game of poker, telling his hand before any cards were ever shown.

Ben found himself breathing easier. For the first time since he’d learned his sons had been taken, he found a reason to hope. This man may be gambling with lives, but he might just be setting himself up to lose.

XxXxX

Clem was positioned in the rocks looking out over the trail. He caught sight of the outlaws well before he could hear them. It was strange, though. The two riders kept looking back at Little Joe, who was still hoisted belly down over the saddle. With all that looking back, they weren’t making much progress. Clem even found himself getting restless. He wished they’d get close enough so he could get this over with. All this delaying wasn’t doing Little Joe any favors either-assuming he was still alive.

Poor kid. However he’d started the day, from what Clem had seen he’d spent the better part of it nearly getting hung, running from a heck of an explosion at the livery, and then flying off his horse and ending up riding it like no living man ought ever to ride. It was the kind of story cowboys would buy a round of beers to hear for a laugh, even though they’d never believe a word of it. But Clem would never tell a story like that for a laugh or a beer. Truth was, it sure hadn’t been funny watching Joe’s pa watching Joe get nearly hung; and it sure hadn’t been funny to see Joe flying off that horse like he’d done.

And Clem sure hoped Joe wasn’t dead.

“…Down from here!”

The distant shout startled Clem out of his wandering thoughts. He could swear it had sounded like Joe.

“You try ridin’ like this!” By gum, that was Joe, wasn’t it? “Hey!”

As they drew closer, Joe’s words grew easier to hear. “Hey!” he shouted again. “Let me ride like I ain’t already dead! Or…or just kill me and get it over with!”

The outlaws stopped and turned around again. For a moment, Clem tensed, thinking maybe they just might do as Joe said: kill him so it made sense to have him ride like a corpse. Clem leveled his rifle, judging the distance and figuring he might hit one of them; but he was pretty sure the minute he pulled that trigger, whichever outlaw he didn’t hit would shoot Joe.

“Hey!” Joe shouted again. “Come on! Get me down!”

But the outlaws didn’t even draw their weapons. Instead, they turned back to the trail. Relieved, Clem put down his rifle. Just a few minutes more, and he’d have them. Just a few…minutes…more….

XxXxX

Adam threw down his pencil and pushed back his chair, moving so quickly and aggressively he knocked the chair backwards to the floor and nearly fell forwards himself. His head swam. The room spun. He grabbed the table for support and cursed himself for ever having allowed those outlaws to get the drop on him and his brothers. And whichever one of them had caused that knot on Adam’s head was going to get a worse knot of his own, if Adam ever got a hold of him.

The door rattled.

Adam drew a deep breath, trying to control his anger. That poor girl had seen enough of anger, judging by her bruises. She didn’t need to see Adam’s as well.

But it wasn’t the girl who entered. It was a man…the one who belonged to the thick arm Adam had glimpsed earlier. Throwing the door open with a bang, the brut thundered in and then scanned the room until his gaze landed first on Adam, and then the overturned chair. His stance softened some at that point; he was apparently satisfied to discover the cause of the noise that had drawn him in.

When his eyes settled back on Adam, the eldest Cartwright brother met the man’s fierce glare with one of equal intensity, although it frustrated him to have to look up at the ridiculously tall ruffian, and he wished to heaven his own glare could reflect more ferocity than a wounded man in a nightshirt could ever possibly display.

“It can’t be done,” Adam said after a moment.

The ruffian didn’t so much as blink.

“The mine,” Adam clarified. “It can’t be made safe.”

The ruffian didn’t move.

“You tell your boss that silver can’t be mined,” Adam said coldly. “Do you hear me? It cannot be done! Not with the lumber he has showing in inventory, if those records can be considered accurate; not even if he cut and moved a hundred more trees by tomorrow night. It simply cannot be done!”

The ruffian shook his head slowly, filled his chest, and started to turn away.

“You’d better also tell him I demand to see my brothers!”

When the ruffian pulled the door closed behind him, Adam felt like a floundering wreck at sea, the storm of his tirade having left behind nothing but flotsam. What had he done?

Joe’s hand won’t be getting any better any time soon, Hoss’s letter had said. Might get even worse. From what I hear, could be a whole lot worse. The sooner you can get us those plans, the better.

But what if there were no plans? And what if that ruffian told his boss everything Adam had insisted he say? Might get even worse.

Shaking, Adam turned around to sit right there on the table until he could get his sea legs under him again. Then…then he would get back to work. There had to be a way. He had to find a way. Hoss was depending on him to do just that. And Joe….

Adam closed his eyes, fetching childhood images of both of his younger brothers looking up to him, counting on him. He had to find a way to do the impossible; there was no other way to protect them.

XxXxX