XxXxX

7

Roy Coffee knew it had been a mistake from the get-go. Hop Sing was a good man, but he was a cook, not a law officer; and he’d just made a critical mistake that had changed everything. Pretty soon Garrett would know Ben had not remained quiet, as he’d been told. What might that mean to any or even all three of Ben’s sons?

Watching Hop Sing being pushed into the house, Roy knew he’d lost any option he’d had to play it safe. It was time to go after the man dead on. It was time for Sheriff Coffee to confront Elijah Garrett about the disappearance of Ben Cartwright’s boys, and the threats made to Ben Cartwright himself.

He stepped out of the shadows of the alley and started toward Garrett’s house on the quietest street in town, a street made even quieter now that most folks were enjoying the Fourth of July picnic. With the setting sun at his back, his own shadow preceded him and seemed to grow longer with each step he took. It made him look much bigger than he felt. He sure wished Clem were there with him. This was a bad one; he could feel it in his gut. A misstep now could make for a very bad end.

“Sheriff! Sheriff!” a young boy called out behind him.

Dangnammit! Be quiet, boy! He hollered back in his own thoughts. But it was already too late. Anyone inside that house would have heard that boy’s first shout.

“Sheriff!”

Roy turned and dropped to one knee as the boy rushed right up against him, winded and panting. “What is it, boy? What’s got you so riled up?”

“It’s Jack Mueller! He…he says we got to stop the fireworks! Says it’s nothin’ but fire and brimstone an’ we’ll all be damned to Hell!”

“Oh, for the love of….” Roy took a deep breath, shaking his head. “You ought t’know, boy, that man ain’t nothing but a bunch of talk. Folks know better’n to listen to him. Why don’t you just run along now, an’ get yourself a real good spot to watch?”

“You mean he ain’t got God’s ear? He ain’t gonna smite us all?”

“I mean exactly that. You don’t have to worry about nothin’ like that. Go on, now, afore you miss all the fun!”

The boy started to walk back the way he’d come; but after a few steps he turned back to the sheriff. “You sure God ain’t gonna smite us?”

“I’m sure, boy. Run along, now!”

The boy took a few more steps, and then turned to look back at the sheriff again. When Roy smiled and waved back at him, the boy nodded, turned again and started running back the way he’d come.

Finally, Roy could get back to the business at hand. He rose to once again face his own long shadow and give his attention back to the Garrett house. Trouble was, there was a gunman on the front porch now, and he was looking straight at Sheriff Roy Coffee. Since confronting Elijah Garrett directly without having the benefit of surprise seemed about the worse thing he could do, Roy walked right on past that house, tipping his hat to the gunman as he did so. He felt the man’s eyes on his back until he turned the corner. Yep. Now was definitely not the time for a confrontation. He was going to have to figure out a whole different approach. He could only hope nothing happened to Hop Sing or Ben in the meantime.

XxXxX

Joe rode into town more like an outlaw than a privileged son. He clung to shadows and followed quiet streets, avoiding the crowds celebrating the holiday. With dusk setting in, it was easier to remain anonymous. Anyone who happened to spot him would see a bedraggled traveler in a shirt that was two sizes too big, wearing his hat down low over his eyes and riding a brown gelding that would never call attention to him like his own beloved paint, Cochise. Dressed like he was and riding that horse, no one would recognize him as Little Joe Cartwright. Besides, folks’ eyes would be drawn more to the horse Joe was leading-not for the animal itself, but for what it was carrying.

If he’d ridden straight down the middle of town, right through the crowds, then folks would stare and wonder and gossip until they knew for sure who that stranger was, and whose body he had slumped across the saddle on the horse beside him. But on the streets Joe chose to travel now, folks knew better. Looking too close or too long could cause them to end up just like that body. There’d be no doubt in their minds Joe was either a bounty hunter or an outlaw, and since one could be just as bad as another, the safest thing was to look away, and run away, and pretend they’d never seen a thing.

Of course, there were others who might feel threatened enough of the mysterious rider to take too much notice of him. Folks like that were likely to be outlaws themselves; some might even be working for Elijah Garrett, the very man Joe was trying to avoid. That man couldn’t know Joe was free, not yet…not until Joe knew his brothers were safe, too. So as Joe rode, he watched the shadows around him with keen interest, cursing his useless left hand all the while, and wishing he could cradle a rifle in his right hand while still guiding both horses’ reins. As it was, he could only watch, and hope he might act quickly enough if the need arose.

Fortunately, the body beside him remained motionless until he rode into the alley across from the sheriff’s office. Only then did Randy’s head rise up as a muffled cry spilled from the gaps around the gag in his mouth.

“Keep quiet.” Joe emphasized the warning by giving the man’s head a light kick. “You call attention to us now, the first bullet will go right through the back of your skull.”

As they moved deeper into the alley, Joe began to get the feeling he was being watched. His fingers eased off the firm grip he’d held on the reins. Nearing the main street, he nudged his horse to a stop and slid from the saddle, ignoring the strain on his ribs. He pulled the rifle from its scabbard before his feet touched the ground. Even so, he was too slow. Someone else in that alley already had a weapon in hand. Joe froze at the sound of a hammer being cocked.

“Alright you,” a familiar voice called out. “Throw down that rifle and back away from the horses.”

“Sheriff Coffee?” Joe called back, more relieved than he could have imagined possible.

“Little Joe? That you?”

Joe turned slowly, using the rifle to nudge Clem’s hat up away from his eyes. The silhouette in front of him could only be Sheriff Roy Coffee.

“Little Joe!” the sheriff exclaimed as he clicked the hammer back into position and holstered his weapon. “Ain’t you a sight! Your Pa an’ Hop Sing…well, the lot of us have been mighty worried about you.”

“Have you spoken with Pa? Clem said Garrett’s been holdin’ him on a tight rein.”

“Clem’s right. Fact is, Garrett’s got Hop Sing now, too. Where is Clem? Ain’t that his horse you’re ridin’? An’ who’s that you got there on the other one?”

“It’s a long story, but Clem’s on his way out to that Hellcreek mine, and that’s one of the outlaws who bushwhacked my brothers and me.”

“I’m glad to hear we got at least one of ’em, an’ I’d sure like to hear all about it. But I’m afraid we don’t have time for any long stories. I gotta get back to Garrett’s house. You all right? They hurt you any? I could sure use another gun if you’re up to it.”

“I’m fine.” Joe eased his shoulders back as far as he could, trying to stand up straighter, but the pull on his sore ribs forced him to stay somewhat hunched down. He hoped the sheriff wouldn’t notice. “What’s going on?”

“They caught Hop Sing nosin’ around a little bit ago. I’m afraid they might not be as reluctant about causing him harm as they been with you. Seems they might have Adam in there, too.”

“What about Hoss?”

“Can’t say. All I know is Hop Sing found a boy comin’ out of Chow Fung’s with Adam’s clothes. Was deliverin’ em’ over to Garrett’s.”

“What are we waiting for?” Joe hefted the rifle in his right hand and started to move past the sheriff.

But Roy took hold of his left arm. “Where’s your gun?”

The sheriff’s hold was too firm for Joe to pull out of without a struggle, especially with the pain in his hand radiating all the way up into his shoulder. Frustrated, he looked away, refusing to meet Roy’s gaze. “They took it.”

“Son? You’re not tellin’ me somethin’. I want to know what it is if I’m gonna be countin’ on you over there.”

Joe looked up into the darkening sky before facing the sheriff directly. “It’s nothing. Let’s just go find Adam.”

The sheriff eyes moved to Joe’s forehead. He squinted, as though to get a better look, and then gave his own head a quick shake. “That gash don’t look too good; but somethin’ tells me that ain’t all of it. What’d they do to you, son?”

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“You’re carrying that rifle in the wrong hand, ain’t ya’, Joe?”

Joe stared at him, saying nothing.

“Show me your other hand, son.”

Sighing heavily, Joe raised his injured hand. Though Clem had done what he could with what he had in a short amount of time, his efforts hadn’t involved stitches, and the wound hadn’t stopped bleeding. Without a sling to keep it elevated, Joe’s hand was also swollen to about twice its normal size.

“Land sakes. I sure don’t like the looks of that.”

“I can still shoot.”

This time the sheriff stared at Joe, saying nothing for a long while. “Rifle like that,” he said finally, “takes two hands, Little Joe.”

All the rage Joe had felt before came rushing back, flooding his veins with fire. “I can handle it.”

“A handgun would be easier, don’t ya’ think?” And suddenly, surprisingly, Sheriff Coffee took the rifle from Joe and replaced it with his own gun. “I need help, son. Otherwise, you know I wouldn’t let you anywhere near that house. As it is, I’ll expect you to do as I say, an’ nothin’ else. Remember, your pa’s in there, too. He’ll have my hide once he knows I let you do this before sayin’ so much as a how-dee-doo to Doc Martin.”

And equally surprising to Joe, he suddenly found himself smiling. “Thanks.”

“Now I suppose we’d better go lock that one up so we can get to the business that matters.”

“What’s the hurry? He’ll be fine just like he is ’til we get back.”

The sheriff stared at him again. “I’ll be mighty curious to hear that long story of yours,” he said after a while.

“Yeah, well all I’m curious about is making sure my family’s okay.”

A moment later, after Roy went into his office to collect more firepower, Little Joe Cartwright and Sheriff Roy Coffee were heading back up the alley toward the house of Elijah Garrett.

Behind them, Randy hollered for someone to get him down off that horse; but with that gag in his mouth not a soul was bound to hear him…especially when a burst of firecrackers went off in advance of the coming fireworks.

XxXxX

“It did not have to go this way, Ben.” Elijah Garrett paced, stepping from one end of his fine, Persian rug to the other, always stopping just short of the fringe, as though he refused to allow his shoes to touch the bare wood beyond. “I have told you, time and again, there will be no ties to me, none at all. Yet you divulged our business to your cook. Your cook, of all people!” He threw his hands into the air in emphasis before turning on his heel to step toward the other fringed end.

Ben looked over to where Hop Sing and the young woman stood to either side of one of Garrett’s hired guns, each locked into one of the man’s tight fists. “Let them go,” Ben demanded. “They have no part in this.”

Garrett stopped midway across the rug and turned abruptly back to Ben. “No part?” he said skeptically. “No Part, Ben?” he repeated. “Your cook was found conspiring with mine, in my own home! What an insolent…disrespectful….” He shook his head and finished his trek to the other side of the rug, where he fastened his eyes on his new prisoners. “What on earth do you do with him on the Ponderosa? Allow him the run of the house? By God, Ben! Don’t you know the only way to deal with these people is with a firm hand.”

In three strides Garrett stood in front of the young woman, and then, before Ben could say a word, he struck her across the face with his open hand.

“Stop it!” Ben shouted, though it was already too late. “Stop that at once! How dare you call on God’s name and then turn around to strike a helpless young woman?”

“How dare I? I’ll tell you how I dare, Ben Cartwright! This is my home, and she is my employee, and if I don’t treat her with an iron hand she will rob me blind!”

Ben noticed the woman looking his way, and he met her gaze. He saw fear in her eyes, but something else as well, like a growing ember, a simple spark of anger. “No,” he said. “Treating her as you do will only encourage her to rob you blind, out of sheer hatred.”

“You’re a fool.” Garrett swung around to face Ben again. “An utter fool. If you had listened to me, you would have been back with your sons in a matter of days. But now….” He shook his head and turned to his men. “Put them in the storeroom, and then pack up all the valuables. Be ready to leave the moment our townsmen set off the first of the fireworks.”

“Running away will not protect you,” Ben cautioned. “You will not get away with what you’ve done. I will see to it.”

“What? Running away? Nonsense! It was a tragic thing, really. A stray bit of cinder from those fireworks must have landed on the roof. As dry as it’s been lately, that’s all it took. Before we knew it, the house was lost. It’s unfortunate my cook was trapped in the storeroom with her unidentified lover.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Despicable really,” Garrett went on, as though Ben hadn’t said a word. “But those people have no morals, after all. I can only count my blessings that I left before the fire started, en route to my new mine to see to the opening of operations at first light tomorrow morning.”

“I thought you wanted to be sure to separate yourself from your crimes. What you’ve just described is nothing short of murder.”

“A fire, Ben. An accident. Nothing more.”

“It would be murder,” Ben repeated.  “You, Eli…you alone would be directly responsible for killing two innocent people.”

“Two, Ben? No. Not two. They will discover three bodies among the debris.”

“So, that’s it, is it? You intend to lock me in the storeroom as well?”

“Of course not, Ben! I still need you! No. The third is upstairs.”

Confused and curious, Ben followed Garrett’s gaze to where a giant of a man was descending the staircase, carrying a long, rolled up sheet of paper, a drawing of some kind.

“The third is one of your sons, Ben. The oldest. Adam.”

Instantly, Ben moved toward the stairs, but the man’s bulk was like an impenetrable wall.

“Such a tragic loss, that one. We found him on the road, beaten senseless. Hurt and confused, he could barely remember his name, and was given to wandering. We had to lock him in his room for his own safety. If only my cook had been more responsible, perhaps she could have saved him as well as herself. But, alas….” He said nothing more as he took the paper from his man.

And then the man took hold of Ben’s arm, his grip as unyielding as his bulk.

XxXxX

Adam started moving the instant he heard the lock re-engaging on the other side of the door. Now that his plans for the mine had been handed over, odds were no one would discover his absence until morning. The girl would come to collect his supper dishes, but she would hold silent. He was sure of it.

He pushed the window open slowly, conscious of the way it groaned and screeched as wood scraped against wood, swollen from the heat of summer. He stopped briefly when the window was halfway open, thinking he might have heard a noise in the hallway. Pausing to listen, his heart beating heavily against his breast, he tried to assure himself it was nothing-just as he’d tried earlier to assure himself the sound of his father’s distant, muffled shouts meant this nightmare would be brought to a much more dignified end than the one he envisioned, with him running through town in nothing but a nightshirt. But he could no more rely on rescue than he could expect an easy exit. He decided it didn’t matter whether or not someone was about to open his bedroom door. This could be his only opportunity to get out before something worse happened to his family.

With the window fully open now, he stuck his head out and looked down, hoping to gauge potential hand and footholds. Unfortunately, night was falling. Looking down into the space between this house and the one next door was like looking into an inkwell, the blackness broken only by the glow coming from a couple of windows beneath him. It was exactly those glowing windows he would need to avoid.

Frustrated but far from defeated, he looked to the roof opposite him. That building was not as tall as this one. If he could jump to that roof, the angle of it would bring him closer to the ground. With any luck it might even give him a better vantage point to find a safer way down. But could he make that jump?

XxXxX

Sheriff Coffee warned Joe that both the front and back doors were probably being watched. They would need a more discrete entrance. Joe figured the Henderson house next door provided just such an opportunity.

“We can’t go in there, Joe!” the sheriff whispered urgently as Joe slid the sheriff’s borrowed gun into his belt and stuck his head inside an open window. “Not when these folks ain’t even home!”

“I’m just passing through.” Joe stepped inside, mindful of but unable to avoid aggravating the growing ache in his bruised ribs. “There’s got to be a window on the other side….” He stopped to catch his breath, hoping the sheriff didn’t recognize what he was doing. “Should get us right up next to Garrett’s house.”

“It don’t matter, Joe! You’re breaking the law doin’ that! Now get back out here. We’ll just have to risk going around.”

“It’s too big of a risk. This is the only way.”

“No it ain’t. We’ll find another.”

“We don’t have time.” Not bothering to argue about it anymore, Joe disappeared inside.

“Joe!” the sheriff’s whisper was starting to sound like a shout. “Joe! The judge’ll have both our hides! Little Joe!”

“Then come in here and arrest me!” Joe was already moving to the other side of the house. Once there, he found something that was better than a window: a side door off the kitchen that faced right toward the Garrett house. Smiling at his good fortune, he reached for the latch.

A thud on the roof stopped him. He looked to the ceiling, curious, when he felt the sheriff step up behind him.

“What in tarnation was that?” the sheriff said.

But the thud suddenly seemed less important than the fact that the sheriff had decided to join him.  “Are you breakin’ the law too now?” Joe hoped Sheriff Coffee couldn’t see his smile, dark as it was in there. “Or did you come in to arrest me?”

Sheriff Coffee shook his head. “Don’t push me, Little Joe!” Joe could only imagine the stern look being sent his way.

Despite everything-despite the danger to his brothers…and now maybe Hop Sing, too…and even despite the pain from what he’d endured himself, a pain that was getting worse rather than dissipating-Joe grinned. At least, finally, he was doing something rather than waiting to see what was going to be done to him. But the grin vanished when a sound like footsteps on the roof was followed by another thud, this time on the ground outside the door, as though something had fallen or been thrown from above.

Joe looked to the sheriff, who gave him a quick nod and reached for his gun. Joe was slower in drawing the gun from his belt, finding it awkward to use his right hand. Still, he was quick enough to step through the door before Sheriff Coffee could even give thought to telling him not to.

Instantly, Joe’s gaze landed on a figure wearing a white nightshirt, sitting on the filthy ground between the houses. It took a moment longer before the figure raised its head, and a familiar face was caught in the soft glow spilling from a nearby window.

“Adam?” Joe whispered around the giggle that threatened to come bubbling up from the kettle of emotions suddenly brewing deep inside him.

Adam appeared to be equally stricken. Wide eyes quickly gave way to one of the biggest smiles the youngest Cartwright had ever seen in his too often serious oldest brother. “Joe?”

“Well, I’ll be!” Sheriff Coffee said softly from the doorway. “Looks like we got us some more long stories to hear, Little Joe. But for now, you boys best get inside before someone sees you.”

“I thought you said that’s breakin’ the law,” Joe whispered back.

“Just get in here and keep quiet!”

Adam affectionately clasped Joe on the left shoulder, but the action had an effect neither brother could have anticipated. Adam’s hand landed directly on a bruise from Joe’s fall earlier in the day, and the vibration sent a searing pain into Joe’s hand that was so intense it stole his breath and dropped him to his knees.

“Joe?”  When Adam tried to lift him up, Joe couldn’t even find his voice to tell his brother he was making things worse, now jostling Joe’s sore ribs as well.

Joe could do nothing to either help or even struggle against Adam and Sheriff Coffee as they dragged him back into the house. His focus was entirely given over to fighting his way past the pain. Yet somewhere on the other side of the fog enveloping him, he heard sounds that told him they were wasting precious time. From one direction, he heard horses. From another, he heard a cacophony of muffled shouts that began to take the shape of Hop Sing’s angry gibberish. And then, above him, came an explosion that could only be fireworks. He hoped those fireworks would stay way up in the sky; but somehow he was sure they’d be facing some of their own soon enough, right there on the ground.

XxXxX