“Joseph Francis Cartwright, when I catch up with you…!”

Joe and Tommy skidded to a halt, staring wide-eyed at each other.Adam bellowed, even louder, “And Tommy Coffee…”

The boys took off.

Two blocks away, Hoss heard Adam yelling and froze in his tracks.

Oh, no. Why had he let Tommy take Joe down to the mercantile for a peppermint stick? What had made him think a seven-year-old could babysit a five-year-old, even for a few minutes? Oh, Lord. What have those two done now?

Pa’s parting words rang in his ears. “Do you really think you can handle this young whippersnapper?”

“Sure, Pa. He’ll be good, won’t you, Joe?”

“Sure I will.” Joe had bounced from foot to foot.

“Well…” Pa had said reluctantly, glancing at Sheriff Coffee. “All right. We won’t be long, boys—a few hours at most.” He had looked ominously at Joe. “You do what Hoss tells you.” And then to Hoss, “You look out for him.”

Oh, no. He quickened his steps, running toward Adam’s voice.

Rounding the corner, Joe smacked into him, bounced off, and tried to bolt away. Hoss grabbed him by the collar. Tommy came flying around the corner, too, and Hoss wrapped his meaty hand around the little boy’s arm. Tommy struggled briefly, but when he realized who was holding him, he stopped.

“Hoss,” Tommy gasped. “Don’t let him kill us.”

“Please, Hoss,” Joe squeaked out, his eyes round with terror. “Don’t let him kill us.”

Hoss took a deep breath. “Ain’t nobody gonna kill you.” He thought a second. “’Cept maybe Pa, depending on what you’ve done.” Joe hung his head.

“You ain’t gonna tell my pa, are you?” Tommy asked, voice trembling.

Hoss ignored the question. Adam was still yelling, and Hoss wondered why he wasn’t coming down the street after the boys. “Where’s Adam?” he demanded. Joe and Tommy eyed each other. Hoss shook them, just a little, but with enough emphasis to get their attention. “Where is he?”

Joe hesitated. “He’s…he’s at the International House.”

“What’s he doing there?”

“Sittin’ on the porch,” Joe said, glancing uneasily at Tommy.

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “I think…well…I think he’ll be there a while.”

Hoss narrowed his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said, marching the boys toward the hotel.

Sure enough, there was Adam, perched in a rocking chair with murder in his eye. Double murder, as a matter of fact. Joe and Tommy shrank back, and Hoss tightened his grip. Why was Adam just sitting there?

When he reached the steps, he saw why. Adam was sitting with his right arm on the porch rail. One ring of a metal handcuff was wrapped around his wrist, and the other was fastened firmly to one of the small posts beneath the rail. And what was that on his nose? It looked like paint. Green paint. It was on his fingers, too.

Hoss, secure in the knowledge that Adam couldn’t reach him, laughed so hard he had to sit down on the top step. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt. Getting a grip on himself, he wound down to chuckles—and then he looked at Adam again and broke out in loud guffaws. When he finished, he had to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

He had long since let go of Tommy and Joe, but they hadn’t run off. They were standing so close to Hoss he thought they might just melt into him, like butter on hot bread. Joe was staring at him with those calf-eyes of his, and Tommy looked like he was going to faint any second.

Adam had stopped yelling, but his eyes were, if anything, more dangerous than they’d been when Hoss had arrived on the scene. Hoss knew his big brother hated being laughed at, but this was just too much! Unable to resist, Hoss put on his best innocent face and said, “Hey, big brother. Ain’t you supposed to have tea with the Pendletons in half an hour?”

Adam gritted his teeth. “You know I am.”

Joe, suddenly brave, snickered. “Adam and Annabelle in a tree,” he giggled.

“Joe,” Hoss warned, but he was smiling.

“K-i-s-s-i-n-g!”

Adam lunged forward, almost reaching his littlest brother. Startled, Joe jumped back. So did Tommy. Adam winced as the handcuff bit into his wrist, and for a second, Joe actually looked sorry.

Not sorry enough for Adam, though. The vein in his temple pulsed rapidly, and he said between clenched teeth, “When I get hold of you two, I am going to warm your backsides and then string you up for the crows.”

Deciding this had gone far enough, Hoss said quickly, “Tommy, go get your pa’s handcuff key.” Tommy nodded and raced away like the devil himself was after him. Hoss pulled Joe to stand in front of him and looked him in the eye. Joe bit his lip.

“Okay, Little Joe,” Hoss said firmly. “What happened?”

Joe took a deep breath. “We didn’t go to do it, Hoss.”

“Never mind that. Just tell me what happened.”

“Well…” Joe glanced nervously at Adam, who was crouching beside the post. “You know how Adam’s been on my back all day?”

Adam protested, “I have not!”

“Yes, you have!” Tears welled up in Joe’s eyes. “Always orderin’ me around. Tellin’ me, be nice to Mrs. Hawkins when she give me a sloppy old kiss.” He scrubbed his cheek with his palm, remembering. “Tellin’ me, don’t look in the saloon doors, when all I was gonna do was peek real quick-like. And—”

“Joe,” Hoss interrupted. “Just tell me what happened.”

Joe scuffed his foot. “Well, you know how Mr. Simpson is painting the mercantile porch?”

“Yeah,” Hoss said, glancing at Adam’s nose. “Green, ain’t it?”

Joe nodded. “Well, I told Tommy how Adam’s been riding me. And Tommy saw this bucket of green paint, and he had this great idea for a joke. We found this old tin cup out behind the mercantile, and we put some paint in it, and we come up here, and Adam was readin’ his book, and he was kinda dozin’ off, and…” He moved closer to Hoss. “Well…”

“Go on, Joe.” Hoss tried to make his voice reassuring.

“Well, Tommy had this turkey feather he used for a brush, and he sorta painted Adam’s fingers just a little…” Adam, his eyes going wide with horror, stared at his fingertips. Apparently this was the first he’d known of the paint. Joe gulped. “And then Tommy tickled his nose with the feather, and…” In spite of himself, he started to giggle.

Hoss turned his face away from Adam, trying to choke back his own laughter at the image of his older brother scratching an itchy nose with a freshly painted finger. Encouraged, Joe continued.

“And he didn’t even wake up! So Tommy had these handcuffs, see…”

Now Hoss tried for severity. He narrowed his eyes at Joe and attempted to sound like Pa. “And just what was Tommy doing with his pa’s handcuffs?”

Joe shrugged. “How should I know, Hoss? Anyway, he had ’em, and…” He trailed off, but it didn’t matter. Hoss could surmise the rest.

So could Adam, apparently. With deadly, terrifying calm, he said, “I am supposed to be at the Pendletons’ in twenty minutes. Your little friend had better get back with that handcuff key fast. And when he does…”

Joe hugged Hoss around the neck. “Don’t let him kill me.”

Just then Tommy came into view, not running now, but trudging as if someone had dropped a twenty-pound sack of flour onto his shoulders. Hoss watched him. I got a bad feeling about this, he thought.

Tommy stopped a good ten paces away and said something in a very small voice. Hoss motioned him forward. “Come on, boy,” he ordered. “Get over here and say what you’ve gotta say.”

“Adam can’t reach us here,” Joe put in helpfully, and Tommy dragged himself over to the steps.

“I…” he started, then looked at Adam and stopped.

“You what?” Hoss demanded.

“I couldn’t…”

“You couldn’t what?” He knew what was coming.

“I couldn’t find…”

Adam’s roar must have been heard all over Virginia City.

“Adam Cartwright!” came the proprietor’s voice. Ewell Thatcher stepped out of the International House, glaring first at Adam, then at the other three boys. Quickly, Adam stood, keeping his chained wrist behind his back. “Keep your voice down,” Mr. Thatcher ordered sternly. “This is a respectable hotel.”

“Sorry, sir,” Adam said tightly. “My brothers were just getting on my nerves.”

Mr. Thatcher peered at him. “What’s that on your nose?”

“Um…it must be grass, sir.”

“Well, you should wipe it off. Now, I don’t mind you reading on my porch. But you three…” He pointed at the others. “Perhaps you should find something else to do.”

“Yes sir,” Hoss said, ushering the two younger boys off the steps. Mr. Thatcher nodded curtly and went back inside. Adam whirled around.

“I’ve got fifteen minutes to be at the Pendeltons’!” he hissed. “Hoss, you’d better think of something if you want Joe to live till tomorrow!” Joe pressed up against Hoss.

“Easy, Adam,” Hoss said, like he was talking to a skittish horse. Come to think of it, Adam did look like that wild stallion the hands had been trying to break yesterday, especially with those cords standing out in his neck. “Easy,” he said again. “I’ll go get Mr. Addison at the livery. He’s bound to have a hacksaw or somethin’. Come on, you two.” Taking Joe and Tommy by the hands, he started off.

Joe tugged at him to stop a second. “Adam?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder. “How come you didn’t want Mr. Thatcher to know you’re all cuffed up?”

Adam’s jaw tightened, and Hoss answered for him. “’Cause he don’t wanna get laughed at, that’s why. Don’t worry, Adam. We’ll be back in a jiffy.” He didn’t start laughing again until they were out of earshot. Joe looked up at him, eyes hopeful.

“You really think it’s funny, Hoss?”

“No,” Hoss said, forcing his mouth into a straight line. “You did a bad thing, Little Joe. You too, Tommy.” They looked so mournful he just had to add, “Well, all right. It’s a little funny.”

Tommy gave him a shaky smile. “But we’re still in trouble, aren’t we, Hoss?”

Hoss squeezed his hand. “I reckon so, Tommy. I reckon all three of us are in trouble.”

“You?” Joe protested. “You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s just it,” Hoss said glumly. “I was s’posed to keep an eye on you.”

Five minutes later, sworn to secrecy, Ron Addison was sawing through the chain between the two cuffs. “Soon as I get through this chain, I’ll have to put a cloth between that ring and your wrist,” he said as he worked. “Then I can saw through the ring.”

“How long is this going to take?” Adam demanded.

“A while.”

“How long?”

“I don’t rightly know, Adam. I don’t do this kind of thing every day, you know.” The chain popped loose, and Adam flexed his arm. His eyes fell on Joe and seemed to turn a shade darker. Joe hid behind Hoss, where Tommy had already taken cover.

Adam slid the handcuff ring up under his jacket sleeve. “Later, Mike,” he said grimly, not taking his eyes off Joe. “Right now I’m overdue for an appointment. Thanks for your help.” He moved slowly down the steps, and Joe edged around to keep Hoss between them.

Eyes narrowed to slits, Adam said to Joe, “Later.” And then he was gone.

***Annabelle Pendleton rearranged her skirts on the settee and pouted. Where was that Adam Cartwright? She glanced nervously at her mother, who sat stiffly in the yellow upholstered chair. The best silver tea service was laid out, and the china cups had been placed just so. But the guest was nowhere to be seen.

A knock at the door made her leap to her feet. “Annabelle,” her mother chided, and she sat back down in a huff. Mrs. Pendleton gracefully made her way to the door and opened it for young Adam. Annabelle stared at him—and not, for once, because he was so handsome. What was that on his nose?

“I’m so sorry for being late,” Adam was saying. “You see…”

Annabelle stood. Unable to keep quiet any longer, she burst out, “What on earth is on your nose?” Her mother frowned at her.

He looked confused, then panicky. “Oh, th-that,” he stammered. “It’s, uh, it’s an old family custom. For St. Patrick’s Day.”

Mrs. Pendleton regarded him coolly. “Isn’t that in March?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed, a bit too heartily. “This is for the other St. Patrick’s Day. The one in September.”

Mrs. Pendleton’s nose lifted slightly. “I didn’t realize your family has Irish blood.” It was plain that this would not be in his favor.

“No. I mean, no ma’am. My father has a friend who’s Irish. A good friend. A very good friend.” He stopped, flustered.

“Well.” Mrs. Pendleton pursed her lips. “Won’t you come in.” It did not sound like a request, Annabelle thought gloomily. She had a fleeting vision of her hopes for this afternoon, all dashed like china teacups on the floor.

She poured the tea, and was pleased to see that he balanced his saucer on his knee perfectly. But when he lifted his cup with both hands, she gave a teeny cough, hoping he’d look at her. He did, and she crooked her little finger at him. Oh,, he mouthed, hooking three fingers into the cup handle and extending his pinky. She rewarded him with a dazzling smile. He certainly did have potential.

Of course, that green nose was awfully distracting.

“Lovely weather for September,” her mother was saying.

“Yes, ma’am. Lovely.”

Annabelle put in coyly, “It should be nice for the barn dance this weekend.” Well aware of her forwardness, she chose to look at Adam and not at her mother.

Adam smiled, showing his dimples, and Annabelle was grateful to be sitting instead of standing. That smile of his always made her feel light-headed. He set his cup down on the saucer—and a circle of metal, with three links of a chain attached, emerged from his sleeve and clinked onto it as well.

All three of them stared at his saucer. Or rather, at his wrist. Or rather, at what was around his wrist.

“Good heavens,” Mrs. Pendleton murmured.

“Um,” said Adam. Annabelle glared at him, thinking, You’d better do better than “Um,” and fast. Thank goodness, he took a deep breath and appeared to rally. “This is…well, it’s in honor of my father’s friend,” he said in a rush. The Irishman. You see, he was jailed for something he didn’t do, and on St. Patrick’s Day—the one in September, of course—”

“Of course.” Mrs. Pendleton’s voice was a veritable icicle. They sat in silence as the temperature in the room dropped two degrees.

“I suppose I should be going,” Adam finally said, placing his cup on the table and getting to his feet. His face was stony, and he averted his eyes. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Pendleton, Annabelle.” He turned to go, and Annabelle jumped up.

“I’ll walk you out,” she said impulsively, knowing her mother was trying to catch her eye and ignoring it. Adam, still not looking at her, held the door for her, and they stepped onto the porch.

“Oh, Adam,” she said quickly, wanting to say this before her mother decided to follow them out, “I think it’s just grand, the way you and your family always defend the unfortunates. You’re downright noble, that’s what you are.” He stared at her, openmouthed, something she usually hated for a boy to do. In this case, however, it was adorable. She darted her eyes toward the door. No mother yet.

The kiss she planted on his cheek was as quick as a cat, but not nearly as light.

“I’ll be waiting for you at the barn dance,” she whispered and disappeared back into the house. Dumbfounded, Adam stood stroking his cheek. A slow smile crossed his face.

Oh, Little Joe, he thought. Maybe I won’t kill you after all.

***“Well, boys,” Ben greeted them. He and Roy swung down from their mounts and looped their reins over the hitching post. “Did you stay out of trouble while I was gone?” He had meant the question rhetorically. But when no one answered, he turned slowly and fixed them one by one with a penetrating stare.

Joe had apparently decided the toe of his boot was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Tommy Coffee looked like he was about to bolt down the street any second. Hoss had his thumbs hooked in his belt and was opening and closing his mouth like a landed trout.

And Adam. Adam was rubbing his wrist, but his expression was both pleased and smug. Ben scrutinized his eldest son. His nose looked sunburned, but how could that be? It was a crisp fall day in Virginia City, not July on the Mojave. And what was that smell? He leaned forward, sniffing. Adam took a step back as Ben caught an unmistakable whiff of turpentine.

Ben drew himself up, bracing himself for the worst. “Well?” he demanded. Beside him, Roy folded his arms.

Adam nudged Joe, who gave a startled yip. “Sure, Pa,” Adam said with a wry grin. “We stayed out of trouble. Didn’t we, Joe?”

Joe gaped at Adam for a moment, then nodded enthusiastically. Ben glanced at Roy, who looked as mystified as Ben felt.

“Tommy?” Roy asked. “Is there somethin’ I oughta know about?”

“No, sir,” Tommy answered, and Ben thought he’d never heard a boy speak so quickly or so fervently.

Fastening his eyes on his middle son, he prodded, “Hoss?”

“Uh, yes sir. I mean, no sir. I mean, nobody’s in trouble here.” Hoss darted a cautious look at Adam, who gave him a broad wink, which prompted a broad, relieved smile from Hoss. “Nobody’s in trouble here,” he repeated happily.

Down the street, Ron Adam appeared in the doorway of the livery stable. “Adam!” he called. He was waving something shiny. “Did you want this? For a souvenir?” Alarm leaped into Adam’s eyes, and he bolted down the street toward Ron. Ben stared after him.

“What’s that all about?” he asked Hoss.

“Couldn’t say, Pa.”

Ben furrowed his brow. That’s not quite the same as “I don’t know,” is it, son? he thought, and started to say as much. Roy’s hand on his sleeve stopped him.

“Come on, Ben,” he said. “Let’s take a load off in my office before you head home.” Ben hesitated another minute, then followed Roy toward the jailhouse. After a few steps, he turned back around. Hoss, Joe, and Tommy hadn’t budged.

He raised a finger, then let it drop. “Behave yourselves,” he said uncertainly. They all nodded, Joe so hard his curls flapped.

They stepped into the jailhouse, and Roy poured two mugs of coffee from the pot on the stove. It had been sitting there so long it practically oozed into the cup. He handed a mug to Ben, who accepted it reluctantly. Looking out the window, he saw that Adam had returned, and that all four boys had sat down on a bench. They looked positively limp.

“What do you think they’ve been up to?” he asked Roy.

“Ben Cartwright,” Roy said evenly, “do you mean to tell me that with three boys, you haven’t learned?”

Ben frowned, puzzled. “Learned what?”

Roy sipped his coffee. He grinned and lifted his mug as if to toast his friend.

“There are some things,” he said sagely, “a father just doesn’t want to know.”

XXX