Summary:  A comic story inspired by a long-ago challenge at Bonanza World. Thanks to lminzer for her wonderful story “Shield,” which made me realize just how much Hoss protects Joe, and to sklamb for her thoughts on the Virtues.

Rated: K+  WC  6000

Courage?

By JoaniePaiute

“Ow!” Seventeen-year-old Joe jerked back in the chair as Hoss applied straight whisky to the cut on his cheek. “Take it easy, will you?”

“Hold still,” Hoss ordered. “You give me one good reason—just one—why I should take it easy. I oughta thrash you good.”

Joe grinned up at him. “Yeah, but you won’t.”

Hoss glared and poured more whisky on the cloth he was using. “You’re so doggone sure of yourself. Cocky little—”

“Oh, come on, Hoss. They were asking for it. They said the Cartwrights’re too big for our britches!”

“Yeah, and then you had to go and prove ’em right. You’re sure too big for yours, anyway.” He came toward Joe with the towel again, and Joe slid down in the chair. Hoss grabbed him by the front of the shirt and yanked him up. “Sit up there.”

“Cut it out, Hoss! What are you trying to do, kill me?”

“No. You’re doing a good job of getting killed without me.” Sighing heavily, Hoss sat down on the bed opposite Joe. “Pa sent us into town to do business, Joe, not make trouble. And he told me to look after you. Now how am I supposed to do that when you go into a saloon all loaded for grizzly?”

Joe looked sheepish. “You’re right, Hoss. I’m sorry.” He gave Hoss his most charming rogue’s grin. “Can we go back to the saloon now?”

“That smile might work on the ladies, little brother. Not on me. We’re not going anywhere else tonight.” Joe opened his mouth to protest, but Hoss put up his hand. “We’re staying right here in this hotel, and we’re going to sleep. Or else.” He let the threat hang. Joe, of course, couldn’t leave it alone.

“Or else what?”

Hoss stood, towering over his brother. “Or else I’ll pound the living daylights out of you.”

The confident grin again. “No, you won’t.”

Hoss clenched trembling fists. “Why the Sam Hill do you think I won’t?” he bellowed.

“Hmm…’cause I’m your little brother?”

“Yeah, you are. Too bad for me!” Hoss retorted. At Joe’s crestfallen look, he added quickly, “Oh, Joe, I didn’t mean that. It’s just that…oh, dadgum it, I just don’t understand you sometimes, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid,” Joe said automatically.

“Then quit acting like one,” Hoss snapped. He turned and stalked to the dresser, picked up his hat, put it down, and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, as if he was trying to walk off his agitation. Joe watched him. Back and forth.

“Cut it out,” he said finally. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Hoss halted, fixed Joe with a glare, and said, “Can’t you be serious for one minute?”

Joe appeared to consider the question, but only for a second. “Nope,” he said, and laughed. Then, just as quickly, he sobered. “Can’t you admit that those guys needed punching?” he asked earnestly. “What if I’d stood for their guff? Then they’d have added ‘coward’ to their list of what the Cartwrights are.”

“So? Didn’t you hear what Pa said last night?”

“He said a lot of things,” Joe said, sounding bored. “Don’t drink too much, don’t stay out too late, don’t go romancing, don’t…”

“About courage, Joe. Pa said something about courage. And he was talking straight at you, boy.”

Joe rolled his eyes and said in a baritone imitation of Pa’s voice, “Sometimes it takes more courage to walk away from a fight than to…”

“Durn your hide, Joe,” Hoss shouted, and Joe realized he’d crossed the line. “Don’t you mock Pa! I oughta whale you good, just for that if nothing else!” He raised a fist, and this time it wasn’t trembling.

“All right, I’m sorry,” Joe said quickly.

“You’re always sorry.”

“No, really, I am this time. I wasn’t thinking, Hoss. I won’t do it again.”

“Good.” Hoss’s approval was grudging but inevitable. He could never stay mad at Little Joe for long. “All right. Let’s go to sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow and a long ride home when it’s done.”

“Sure, Hoss.” Joe stood and began taking off his shirt. Hoss did the same, but he kept his eyes on his younger brother. Joe, in turn, was obviously trying to pretend he wasn’t giving Hoss furtive glances.

Just before he turned back his covers, Hoss muttered, “I oughta tie you in a chair.”

“Huh?” Joe’s voice was innocent. Too innocent.

“Don’t even think about it, Joe.”

***

Just before he dropped off to sleep, Hoss leaned out of bed and placed his boots strategically in front of the door. An hour later, Joe stumbled over them and yelped, “Ow!” for the second time that night.

Hoss sat up in bed. “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled.

“Um…to the privy?”

“Do I look that stupid, Joe?”

“Well, it’s dark, so I can’t really see you…”

“Git back in that bed, Joe!”

Joe got.

Another hour elapsed before Hoss began snoring evenly. Joe sat up and eased his legs over the side of the bed. His pants were hanging on the chair between the beds, and he slid them on. Shirt. Belt. The buckle clinked a little, and he froze. Hoss grunted and rolled over, then was still. Cautiously, Joe picked up his boots. Dangling them in one hand, he only glanced toward the door. The moonlight gleamed through the window, illuminating the tower of objects Hoss had piled in front of the door, including his boots, their two packs, their canteens, a coil of rope—and balanced on the very top, a camp coffee pot. Dismissing that exit route, Joe turned toward the window…actually, toward the large sugar pine right outside the window.

He licked his lips. All he had to do was put on his boots and ease that window open…

It stuck for a moment, but a little jiggling was all it took. That made a bit more noise than the belt buckle had, but Hoss continued to sleep like a rock—if rocks snored. Joe stuck one foot out, glanced back at his brother, and put his foot on a limb. Ducking under the window, he grasped a higher branch and eased his other foot out.

Sugar pines are beautiful, tall, and strong. They can live as long as three hundred years. This one was only about fifty years old and twenty or so feet tall. Unluckily for the tree—and for Joe—its branches had been weakened by several ice storms.

Weakened branches tend to snap off at the place they join the trunk. Even a few pounds can do it.

Joe weighed exactly one hundred and sixty-three pounds. Plus, he’d eaten a big meal that night.

Crash. Crunch. “Ow!”

Hoss sat up in bed, saw the open window, and bolted for it. Sticking his head out, he saw Joe sitting splay-legged on the ground under the tree, rubbing his head with one hand and his right leg with the other. “Durn your hide, Little Joe! You get up here right now!” Hoss yelled.

A gruff voice came from the room below. “What the devil is going on out there?”

Hoss hissed, “Joe! If you run, I’ll hunt you down and tan you good, don’t think I won’t!”

Stiffly, Joe climbed to his feet. “I’m hurting too much to run, Hoss,” he called up meekly. “Be there in a minute.” He hobbled around the corner toward the front of the hotel.

It took Hoss all of about three minutes to realize that Joe had given him the slip.

***

Hoss found him in the third saloon he looked in, playing poker with three cowboys. An auburn-haired saloon girl sat on Joe’s lap. She had one arm around him so that every time he looked at his cards, her bosom was in his direct line of sight. Joe seemed pleased with this arrangement.

“Joseph Francis Cartwright,” Hoss roared, and his little brother’s smirk was replaced with a look of wide-eyed, unadulterated terror. The redhead on his lap gazed at Hoss.

“Friend of yours?” she asked Joe, playing with his curls. Joe appeared to be uncharacteristically tongue-tied.

Hoss strode forward. “I’m his older brother, ma’am,” he said firmly. The other card players were snickering. “Now I’d be obliged if you’d get off his lap so I can get him back to the hotel.”

“Past your bedtime, sonny?” one of the cowboys asked with a chuckle. He swept a shock of greasy blond hair away from his eyes.

Joe clenched his fists, standing up so fast the girl went tumbling. Hoss caught her elbow and helped her up as she glowered at Joe.

“You take that back, mister,” Joe said, just before Hoss grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the door.

“Looks like the big feller’s takin’ you back, sonny,” the greasy blond cowboy responded, and the sound of laughter followed them out to the street. Joe tried to jerk away, but Hoss was apparently in no mood for nonsense. He dragged Joe to the hotel, past the baleful eye of the night clerk and up to the room. Once there, he threw Joe unceremoniously into the chair and tied him securely. It took only one sock in his mouth to make him shut up. After that, Hoss slept soundly until morning.

***

Joe didn’t speak to him all the way home. He didn’t even ride close enough to make speech practical. As they rode up beside the porch, Adam looked up from chopping wood.

“So how did it go?” he asked, leaning on his ax handle.

“It went…all right, I reckon,” Hoss said without dismounting. Joe had kept going and was already halfway to the barn. “I did everything Pa said, went over things with the lawyer, and got everything signed and sealed. I think I did it right.” He shook his head. “I sure wish Pa had sent you with me, Adam.”

His brother looked at him quizzically. “Sounds like you carried the whole load yourself. Joe was supposed to help you, wasn’t he?” Hoss nodded darkly, and Adam demanded, “Well, where was he?”

Hoss sighed. “He was right there with me. But not saying a word. Being surly and ornery and not helping me out one bit.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Well,” Hoss admitted, “it might’ve had something to do with the fact that I tied him to the chair last night.”

A slow smile grew on Adam’s face. “I take it he deserved it,” he said.

Hoss thought a moment, then grinned. “Yep,” he said. “He did at that.”

***

Even though Joe had a head start on rubbing down his horse, Hoss worked fast and they finished at the same time. Joe glared at him as they headed for the house.

“Come on, Joe,” Hoss said, offering his hand. “Let’s start fresh, brother.” Joe just sped up, and Hoss followed him, shaking his head sadly.

Inside, Joe threw his hat on the credenza and headed straight for the stairs. Ben looked up from his desk as Hoss entered. “Well, boys,” he said heartily, rising. “How was the trip?”

Hoss worked his jaw back and forth, watching Little Joe make his escape. Ben’s eyes flicked back and forth between his sons, narrowing a little more with each flick. Joe set one foot on the bottom step, just before Hoss said loudly, “Why don’t you tell Pa how the trip was, Little Joe?”

Joe halted. Turned slowly. If a look could have laid Hoss six feet under, he would have been at least twelve deep.

Before Joe had turned, the left side of his face had been away from Ben. Now it was toward him. That was the side with the cut Hoss had been tending the night before. It was also the side with the shiner, a nice shade of purplish green by now.

“Oh, Joseph.” Ben sounded more tired than angry. Joe darted one last poisonous look at Hoss, then stared at the floor.

“They asked for it, Pa,” he said in a small voice, sounding more like seven than seventeen.

“They always do,” Ben replied.

***

Supper was at least as tense as the trip home had been. First Hoss filled Ben in on the results of their business trip, and then he made Little Joe fill him in on the rest. To his credit, Joe didn’t hedge or try to shift blame. Ben fixed him with a fierce stare the entire time. When the sorry story was done, Ben demanded, “Did you hear one single word I said to you before you left?”

“Sure, Pa,” Joe said. “Don’t drink too much, don’t stay out too late, don’t go romancing…was there anything else?”

“Don’t get into fights!” Ben yelled, slamming his fist on the table. The plates jumped. So did Joe. “I said that at least three times before you left, Joseph!”

“But Pa,” Joe protested, “you didn’t hear the way they were talking. I couldn’t let them think I was yellow.”

Ben pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Joseph,” he said between clenched teeth, “do you by some slight chance recall what I said about courage?”

Joe was silent.

“Well?” Ben asked, more loudly.

“Yes, sir,” Joe mumbled.

Ben just looked at him. “Well?” he repeated.

Joe sighed. When he spoke, there was no mockery in his voice this time. “You said sometimes it takes more courage to walk away than to stand and fight.”

Ben and Joe eyed each other for a long time. Finally Ben said, “You don’t believe that, do you?”

Joe hesitated, then told the truth. “No, sir.”

Ben nodded. He didn’t look angry anymore. He just looked worried.

“I hope you come to believe it, son,” he said. “I hope you learn that lesson before you get badly hurt. Or worse.”

***

“Play again?” Hoss asked after Joe had beaten him a third time in checkers. With Pa’s “encouragement,” Joe had reluctantly agreed to a truce. Supper was over, and all four of the Cartwrights were sitting in front of the fireplace.

“Nah,” Joe told Hoss. “You’re too easy. How about you, Adam?”

Adam looked up from his book. “I don’t feel like checkers tonight, Joe. But if you’re up for a game of chess…”

“Chess takes too long.”

“Chess is a thinking man’s game. And that, brother, is your essential problem.” He tapped his forehead. “You don’t think.”

Joe glared at him. Slammed down the checker he was holding. Stood up. Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Temper, temper,” he murmured.

“I’m going to bed,” Joe said curtly and turned toward the stairs.

Ben hadn’t looked up from his own book. Without raising his eyes, he said mildly but firmly, “Sit down, Joseph.”

“I don’t have to stay here and take this.”

Ben’s voice took on a hard edge. “I said, sit down.” Now he looked straight at Joe. “Don’t be rude on top of everything else.”

“Me, rude? What about Adam?”

“Pointing fingers won’t help, Joe.” He glanced at his older son. “Adam’s comment was unsolicited, but it was correct. You do tend to act without thinking.” Adam smiled smugly, and Joe scowled at him as he sat back down, perching on the edge of the settee as if poised for flight.

“Well, if the Almighty Adam Cartwright said it, it must be true,” he muttered.

“That’s enough, Joseph!” Ben snapped. Joe dropped his eyes, and Ben continued, more gently, “I think we’re all trying to help you here.”

“I don’t need any lectures from Adam.”

Adam put down his book and held up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, no lectures. How about that game of chess?”

“No.”

“Fine. How about if I read aloud?”

Ben nodded. “Good idea,” he said. “What’s that you’re reading now?”

Adam picked up the book and read the cover. “Seven Sins, Seven Virtues, by S.K. Lamb.”

Joe snorted. “Sounds fascinating.”
“Oh, it is,” Adam said, ignoring the sarcasm. “Listen to this.” He turned the pages until he found what he wanted, then read, “The Church fathers, borrowing from Plato and Aristotle, identified the following as the seven virtues, roughly corresponding to the seven deadly sins…”

Joe flopped backward on the settee and gave a loud snore. Hoss, whose eyes had glazed over, came to and chortled.

“Boys,” Ben said severely, “if you’ll listen, you might learn something.” He steepled his fingers and nodded for Adam to continue.

“The virtues are prudence, justice, temperance –” He paused, giving Joe a meaningful look.

“Temperance?” Hoss repeated, confused. “You mean not drinking?”

“No,” Adam said. “Temperance is self-restraint. Not going off half-cocked. Thinking before acting. Keeping one’s temper. Controlling one’s passions. Demonstrating—”

“Adam,” Ben cautioned. Joe was rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

With a wry smile, Adam read again, “The virtues are prudence, justice, temperance, courage, faith, hope, and charity. Some say that courage is the greatest virtue, since without it, none of the others can exist.” He closed the book and asked pointedly, “What do you make of that, Joe?”

“Nothing much,” Joe said sullenly. “Am I supposed to make something of it?”

“Frankly, I’d be surprised if you did.” Adam leaned forward. “It means, younger brother, that courage is what enables us to behave prudently—that is, with wisdom and common sense. Or to demonstrate temperance, which is self-restraint. Get it now?”

Under his breath, Joe muttered, “Yeah, right.”

Ben asked sharply, “What was that?”

Joe stood. “I said good night.” He stalked upstairs, and this time Ben didn’t stop him.

“That was a little heavy-handed,” he told Adam once Joe had disappeared.

“Maybe,” Adam admitted. “I’m just trying to get through to him, Pa. Like you said, if he keeps this up, he’s going to get hurt.”

“Adam’s right, Pa,” Hoss put in. “After last night, I don’t want to take him into town again, that’s for sure.”

“Hmm,” Ben mused. “Maybe it would be good for Joe to go into town with someone else, Hoss. Someone who’s less willing to rescue him when he gets himself into hot water.”

Adam nodded. “Good idea.”

“Glad you approve,” Ben said, smiling broadly. “Hop Sing needs some flour, meal, and a few other things, and we need paint for the barn, a new block and tackle, and…well, I’ll just make a list for you.”

“Me?” Adam protested, alarm in his eyes and his voice. “I thought you meant you!”

“Oh, no,” Ben replied seriously. “In this case, I think an older brother’s guidance will mean more than a father’s.”

Hoss was grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, Adam,” he said, “that temperance thing—could that mean keepin’ quiet when you want to bust out laughin’?”

Adam shot him a dark look. “Yes,” he said shortly. “It could.”

***

Joe’s eyes showed both pleasure and suspicion at Ben’s announcement at breakfast the next morning.

“Joe, you’ll be going into town with Adam today,” Ben said, spreading preserves on a slice of toast. “There are a few things you and Hoss didn’t finish yesterday, so Adam will need to see the lawyer again. And there are some supplies I didn’t think about until last night.”

Joe glanced warily at Adam, who was glaring at his plate as if it were the one sending him to town with Little Brother in tow. “Um, Pa,” Joe asked hopefully, “do you think it’ll take all day?”

“Probably,” Ben said. “So you may as well stay overnight.” He pointed a finger at Joe and said sternly, “But you, young man—behave yourself. You’re getting a second chance. Don’t waste it.”

Joe’s eyes widened innocently. “Sure, Pa.”

“Sure, Pa,” Adam mimicked softly. Joe ducked his head, too late to hide his grin.

***

While Adam discussed business with the lawyer, Joe quickly made the purchases and loaded them onto the buckboard. Unfortunately, they were about to be finished with their chores, and it was long before dusk. Leaning against a wheel, Joe eyed Adam through the office window. “Hmm, older brother,” he murmured, “how can I get you to let us stay overnight?” He chewed his lip, and was still chewing when Adam exited the building.

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “What do you say we stay here overnight?” he suggested.
Joe’s mouth dropped, but he recovered quickly. “All right,” he agreed with feigned reluctance. “But…”

“But what?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just wondering…”

“You’re wondering why?” Adam sounded both resigned and amused. “No reason. Maybe I’m just in the mood for a little relaxation.”

“You?” Joe burst out.

“Yes, me,” Adam snapped. “Pa’s not expecting us until tomorrow anyway.” He looked sternly at his brother. “Not too much relaxation, you understand. Remember what Pa said. Behave yourself.”

Joe gave him his best Who, me? look.

“Don’t look at me that way,” Adam said. “No drinking, no womanizing, no fights. Got it?”

“Got it, Adam. Cross my heart. Hope to die.”

“That,” said Adam, “is exactly what I’m trying to prevent.”

***

No drinking. But was it Joe’s fault that bartenders always offered him a beer as soon as he set foot in their saloons? And another before his mug was completely drained?

No womanizing. But was it his fault when girls, like that cute redhead the other night, winked at him? And wouldn’t it be rude to snub those girls?

And no fights. Well, honest to Pete, Joe never went into a saloon looking to fight, no matter what Hoss said about him being loaded for grizzly. It was just that whenever something exciting happened, he always seemed to be right in the middle of it. He didn’t ask for it to happen. He could see how it might look that way, but that really wasn’t how it was.

Things happened, that was all.

Nothing happened while Joe and Adam ate lunch at Mrs. Brunzel’s kitchen, and nothing happened as they checked into their hotel room and threw their gear on their beds. Nothing happened as they stabled their horses in the livery. Then they were left with an entire afternoon, which Adam suggested they use by reading or visiting with various businessmen. Joe made a face.

“I’m parched, Adam,” he complained. “Let’s get something to drink first.”

“Sasparilla for you,” Adam retorted, but he followed him into the saloon, where Joe promptly accepted the bartender’s offer of a beer. Adam glared at him, but miraculously said nothing, only ordered another beer for himself.
So was it Joe’s fault that the same three cowboys were there? The three cowboys from two nights before, who had talked about “them uppity Cartwrights,” forcing Joe to defend his family’s honor? The three cowboys Hoss had taken on for him at the last minute?

Was it his fault that the redhead was sitting on the lap of the cowboy with the greasy blond hair? Or that she winked at Joe from her place on Greasy’s lap?

Greasy nodded at Joe and said loudly, “Well, looky who’s here. And he ain’t got his big ole guard dog with him this time.”

Joe lifted his chin. “Don’t need a guard dog,” he said. He glanced beside him where Adam had been, then frowned as he took in the fact that his brother was no longer there. The cowboys laughed as Joe looked around. Adam was at the other end of the bar, deep in conversation with a prospector, apparently oblivious to the coarse laughter ringing through the saloon.

Joe sidled up to him. “Adam!” he hissed. “Don’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That! They’re laughing at us! Are you going to stand there and drink your beer while they make fun?”

Adam lifted his mug, turned to lean against the bar, and gazed speculatively at the three men. They met his eyes, and their laughter slowly stopped. Joe tensed. Greasy nudged the girl off his lap. Pouting, she stood and backed away. Greasy stood too.

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Then Adam, with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, touched the brim of his hat, bowed slightly, and deliberately turned his back. He leaned his elbows on the bar and took a long swig of his beer.

“Adam!” Joe whispered urgently. “What the heck are you doing?”

Adam looked pensively at the wall behind the bar. “It’s what I’m not doing that’s important, Joe.”

“Well, what you’re not doing is standing up for yourself! Or for me! Or for—for—for the family name!” he stammered.

Adam smiled serenely. “Courage, younger brother,” he murmured. “True courage makes possible the other virtues. Such as prudence. And temperance.”

Joe slammed his hat down on the counter and stomped out. A minute later, he reentered the saloon to retrieve his hat, to a chorus of laughter and catcalls.

“Little Yeller’s back!” hollered Greasy. Swaggering up to Joe, he patted his cheek in mock affection. Joe jerked back, his eyes snapping. He looked over at Adam, who just took another swallow of beer. Joe turned back to Greasy.
“Don’t touch me,” he said in a low tone.

Greasy leered. In a high, squeaky voice, he mimicked, “Don’t touch me.” Reaching out his forefinger, he tapped Joe on the shoulder, then on the chest. He raised his finger toward Joe’s chin.

And Joe swung. There was a satisfying thwack as fist connected to jaw, and the fight was on.

Adam turned again, watching with an amused expression as Greasy went flying backward into a table. The redheaded girl screamed. The other two cowboys were on Joe in two seconds flat. Joe threw a left punch that took one of them by surprise, but then Greasy leapt back into the fray, and Joe didn’t stand a chance. The two sidekicks pinned Joe’s arms, and Greasy squared off to punch him in the face.

Adam sighed. Despite his convictions, despite his promises to Pa, surely he wasn’t expected to watch Baby Brother get completely pummeled. Resigned, he pulled his Colt and fired a shot at the ceiling. Red screamed again, Greasy whirled in mid-punch to face Adam, and the other two cowboys dropped Joe. He thudded to his knees, nose bloodied, squinting up at Adam.

Greasy reached for his own pistol. Adam fired again, this time with a more definite target. Greasy grabbed his right hand, his face screwed up in pain. The other two men froze.

“Out,” Adam said, barely moving his lips. “Now.” He motioned toward the door with his pistol. The three men left quickly, Greasy gripping his hand under his other arm.

Joe struggled to his feet, holding onto a chair. He glared at Adam. “Sure took you long enough,” he complained.

Adam shrugged, replacing his gun in its holster. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Joe looked around for the girl. She had run behind the bar and was standing beside the bartender, clinging to his arm. His face was as white as the towel he was holding.

“Hey, honey,” Joe coaxed, “can you get me a towel? And maybe some water?”

With a look of disgust, she tossed her head and flounced around the bar, across the room, and up the stairs. Joe’s eyes followed her, and his mouth dropped open. “What’s with her?” he asked.

Adam turned back to the bar and picked up his beer. “You don’t look your most charming right now,” he said without even bothering to glance at him.

Joe wiped his nose with his hand and stared at his bloody fingers. “I know,” he said ruefully. “That’s why I asked her for a towel.”

The bartender was still standing there, stunned. Adam reached for his towel. “May I?” he asked politely. Gently taking the towel from the man’s frozen fingers, he tossed it over his shoulder to Joe.

***

“Ow!” Joe jerked back in the chair as Adam applied whisky to the cut over his eye. “Take it easy, will you?”

“Hold still,” Adam commanded, dabbing harder.

“Ow! You got some of that in my eye, Adam!” Joe twisted away, wincing as his aching ribs made themselves known.

Adam sat down on the bed across from him. “Don’t blame me, Joe. I’m not the one who picked a fight with those yahoos.”

“I didn’t either!” Joe protested. “It just happened.”

“Mm-hm. I wonder why things like that never ‘just happen’ to Hoss…”

“But—”

“Or Pa…”

“I didn’t—”

“Or me. Why do you think that is, Joe?”

“I don’t know, all right?” He looked like he was about to cry with rage. Bolting up, he kicked the straight-backed chair he’d been sitting in. It went over with a clatter, and a voice came from the room below.

“What the devil’s going on up there?”

Joe raked his hands through his hair in frustration. “Dang it, why did you have to come this time? Hoss would have jumped in a whole lot earlier.” At Adam’s raised eyebrow, he demanded, “What were you going to do, let them kill me before you did anything?”

Adam appraised him coolly. “What did you want me to do?” he asked.

“Durn your hide, Adam,” he said, not even realizing he was echoing Hoss, “you’re my brother. You’re supposed to…to…” He halted and looked away.

Adam smiled calmly. Infuriatingly. “To protect you?”

“No!” Joe slammed his heel backward against the chair leg.

Adam eyed him for a long moment. Then, leaning forward, he said slowly and clearly, “Joe, listen to me. To the best of my ability, I will protect you from kidnappers, bushwhackers, pirates, and vampires. I will protect you from goblins and beasties and things that go bump in the night. I will protect you from wild animals, including the purple alligator that used to live under your bed. But from the consequences of your own stupidity—that’s your responsibility.”

It was a long speech, even for Adam. Joe opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. Opened it. Shut. In the end, he resorted to a few choice words that would have made Ben bellow, “Joseph!”

Adam smiled. Clearly, he had won this round.

***

The next morning, Adam let Joe sleep in. He figured the kid was in some pain from the sucker-punch he’d taken to the ribs, not to mention the cut over his eye, not to mention the one that had started healing on his cheek, not to mention the shiner that was now a sickening brownish gold. No, Joe did not look very charming at the moment.

Adam ate a hearty breakfast in the hotel dining room. The pancakes were almost as good as Hop Sing’s, and the hotel had a tasty maple syrup they said came all the way from Vermont. Wiping his lips with a napkin, he paid the bill and stepped out on the porch. A rocking chair looked inviting, and he dropped into it.

Of course, he had a book in his vest pocket. He pulled out a thin, dog-eared copy of King Lear. He had read it many times, each time underlining key phrases and making notes in the margins. There were almost as many notes as text now. Fondly, he ran his fingers across the cover before opening the book.

Half an hour later, he was so lost in the story of Lear and his daughters that he didn’t see the greasy-haired cowboy coming toward him with vengeance in his eye.

***

Joe limped down the stairs. He didn’t know why Adam had let him sleep so long, but he was grateful. The ride home wasn’t going to be any fun, that was for sure. The buckboard was going to bounce his poor ribs around like a sack full of marbles.

A loud voice from the hotel porch caught his attention. “You prob’ly thought I’d lost the use of that hand, didn’t you, Cartwright?” someone was shouting. “Just nicked it, that’s all you did, but you coulda ruined me! What’s a cowboy with one good hand?”

Joe moved to the door. Adam and Greasy were standing nose to nose, and Adam was quietly replying to Greasy’s accusations. Joe had a sudden vision of cyclone whirling around the base of a great stone mountain.

Which is stronger? he wondered. The cyclone or the mountain?

At that moment, he honestly didn’t know.

Then Joe saw something else: Greasy’s two companions were edging toward the porch, ready to pounce as soon as their leader gave the word. Adam, standing there with his ever-present book in his hand, was so focused on his immediate adversary that he probably didn’t see them.

Joe considered. Should he step through the door and give Adam a hand? Or should he do as Adam had done to him last night, and let them pound his brother a few minutes before acting? It was a cinch that older brother was going to do absolutely nothing. True courage and all that. Prudence. Temperance.

Well, temperance Joe could understand…the concept, anyway. So Adam wanted to prove he could restrain himself. Goody. But prudence? What was so noble about letting yourself get beaten up? That made as much sense as trying to cross an ocean in a stagecoach.

Not sure what he wanted to do, Joe watched the scene play itself out. Greasy’s nose was almost touching Adam’s as he ranted. His two friends moved in for the kill. Adam stood stoically, impassively, and Joe wanted to scream at him, Do something, for Pete’s sake, do anything!

And then Greasy made his fatal mistake.

Snatching Adam’s book, he threw it over the porch rail. It landed in the mud, and one of his friends ground it under his heel.

Adam stiffened. Joe stepped out onto the porch, and saw his brother’s nostrils flare. His eyes had lost their calm, superior, maddening gleam. They were the eyes of a madman.

“Get ’im, Adam!” Joe hollered, and that was all Adam needed. He landed an uppercut that snapped Greasy’s head back, and he went down into the arms of one of his friends. The friend stumbled and fell under the weight, but Adam wasn’t through. Grabbing two fists full of Greasy’s shirt, he hauled him up like a sack of grain and hit him again.

Joe leaped into the battle as the second friend tried to jump Adam from the side. Shoving Adam out of the way, Joe tackled Greasy’s friend, yelling a gleeful, “Yahoo!” Later, his ribs would tell him that hadn’t been a good idea—but for right now, it sure was fun.

In less than a minute, the two brothers stood side by side and surveyed the damage. A broken porch rail. A busted-up rocking chair. Three busted-up cowboys, lying in various prone positions and moaning piteously. A window that had unfortunately been in the way of someone’s elbow or foot…or something. Two flowerpots in shards on the ground.

The hotel manager was somewhat mollified when Adam wrote him a handsome check for repairs. At least, he quit screaming at them.

As they left the scene, Adam reached into the mud and pulled out his beloved copy of King Lear. He tried to open it, but the pages were hopelessly stuck together. The cover was so dented and torn that the book hardly looked like a book. Dismally, Adam stared at it. Joe was struck with a sudden fear that his brother was going to cry.

“Courage, Adam,” he whispered.

Startled, Adam looked at him. Then he began to laugh.

***

Later, Ben gaped at his two sons, both of them mud-stained, Joe with a new cut and walking stiffly, and Adam with a stunning shiner.
Adam looked sheepish. “They asked for it, Pa.”

“Yeah,” Joe agreed. He looked sideways at Adam and couldn’t suppress a giggle. “They always do.”