Summary:  Just where did David Dortort get the ideas for his characters in the best television show ever made? Written as an exercise to get the creative juices flowing…

Key words: family, origins

Rated: T  WC 4500

Still the Best Story in Town

No tellin’ how many—why, lookee there, it’s Little Joe Cartwright coming up the street. Right there, that wiry fella what’s ridin’ too fast on the paint horse. Throws caution to the wind, that boy does. Yeah, he always rides that way. It’s a miracle he ain’t broke his neck afore now—hey, looks like he’s headed this way. That’s good, because you’ll want to meet him. What? Well, because he’s a Cartwright, that’s why. You spend any time at all in Virginia City, and you’re bound to meet up with the Cartwrights. Don’t want to cross ‘em, neither. Well, no, they ain’t mean. Just the opposite. Better men can’t be found. But they don’t stand for nobody doin’ them or theirs wrong. If it weren’t for the Cartwrights, this town wouldn’t be where it is today. What? Oh, I reckon you’ll find out if you stick around long enough.

Dang kid, kickin’ up all that dust. I might just have to take him over my knee and teach him some manners. Wouldn’t be the first time. I know that boy almost as well I knew my own. What? Naw, he’s a real good kid. Just rambunctious, that’s all. No, he’s the youngest. Got two older brothers and his pa. No ma, though. She died when he was just a little shaver. Yeah, it’s a shame.

Why, hello there, Little Joe! Stoppin’ in for a cold brew, are you? Where’s your pa and brothers? Well, no, I don’t reckon they would. Oh, go on with you now, quit your joshin’. You’re enough to make an old man crack in half with laughin’, you are.

Joe, I got somebody I want you to meet. Mr. Dortort, meet Joe Cartwright. Joe, Mr. Dortort’s new in town. He’s come to look for silver. Yeah, that’s what I told him, too.

Am I up for a beer? Well, I reckon I might be a little later, Joe, soon as the sun moves off this side of the street. How about you, Mr. Dortort? Yeah, Joe, we’ll be in later. I want to tell Mr. Dortort here some more about the town. You be good now, and don’t drink too many. I remember how stirred up your pa got the last time you—no! Did you really? Aw, you’re joshin’ me again. Go on with you. See you later, Little Joe. And stay away from them saloon girls! They ain’t no good for a boy like you.

What’s that, Mr. Dortort? Do I call him ‘Little’ Joe because of his size? No, that ain’t it. It’s just a name that got stuck to him ‘cause he was no bigger than a gnat when he was born. Came a few weeks early, he did. His family called him Little Joe from the beginning, and so everybody else did, too. I guess he’s still a bit on the smallish side, but don’t let that fool you none. The boy’s got a punch that could land a mule in the dirt, and he ain’t afraid to use it, neither. What? No, he don’t exactly go around pickin’ fights—well, not usually, anyway, unless he’s out of sorts about somethin’. That’s the funny thing about that young’un-he’s either mad as all git-out, or he’s happy as a lark. Ain’t much in-between with Little Joe. He’s a good boy, though. Just takes everything to heart, that’s all.

The saloon women? Why, ‘cause they swarm all over him, that’s why! Kind of a pretty feller, you say? Yeah, he’s pretty, all right, and he knows it, and he’s good at usin’ it, too, but the funny thing is, he ain’t never been stuck on himself. I reckon his brothers and pa seen to that. Now that I think about it, Joe coulda turned out rotten as last month’s stew if it weren’t for his family seein’ to it that it didn’t happen. Well, because the boy’s grown up with everything. Good looks, money, a spread that puts some states to shame, and a name that makes people sit up and take notice. But he don’t think he’s no better than anybody else, and that’s his family’s doin’.

His pa would never allow him to hold his nose in the air, ‘cause I can guarantee you that Ben-that’s Joe’s pa-Ben, even with all his money, hasn’t ever let hisself forget where he came from. I remember when he first rolled into town. Been well over twenty years now—I’m thinkin’ around 1838 or thereabouts. Ben didn’t have a dime to his name, just a rickety wagon and a couple of worn-out mules to pull it. Hoss weren’t much more than a baby then— Hoss? Oh, that’s the middle brother. Well, no, I don’t think that’s his real name. He’s got another one that they branded him with when he was born, but I don’t recollect what it is. Nobody ever calls him anything but Hoss. Oh, don’t worry, you’ll know why when you meet him.

Anyway, Ben pulls into town with nothin’ but those mules and two motherless boys—no, Ben’s wife was killed in an Indian attack a couple of years before he came here. Had another wife afore that. I think I recall hearin’ that she died givin’ birth to the oldest boy, Adam. Yeah, somewhere back east. Adam-now, that was the most serious young’un I ever did see. Big dark eyes that looked right at you and made you think he knew everything you did and maybe a bit more. Always quiet and polite, but that serious look of his was kind of unnervin’ ‘till you got used to it, you know? Like he was older than his age or somethin’. I reckon it come from his pa expectin’ man-like things out of him. That happens a lot out here, but it was especially true back when Virginia City weren’t nothin’ more than a rabbit track. Families will do what they have to do to survive, and lots of times that means a boy has to do a man’s share. Young Adam was one of those. And smart! Lord, that boy was the smartest young’un I ever laid eyes on.

He fell right into doin’ a man’s work, too, from what I seen. Never whimpered, never complained. Ben got into the fur tradin’ business right after he came to town. I introduced him to a man that taught him what he needed to know. After that he was gone for days at a time sometimes, trampin’ through the mountains. Those first months, while it was still warm, he took the two boys with him, but by the time winter set in he’d made enough money to rent out a room at Mrs. Luling’s boardin’ house, and Adam stayed there with the baby. Oh, they weren’t completely on their own. Mrs. Luling looked after ‘em, and there were other womenfolk that dropped by to help out now and again. Both the boys were well-behaved, and, after all, Hoss had those chubby baby cheeks that women love to kiss, and little Adam with those solemn, dark eyes—well, folks were willin’ enough to help out when Ben was away. I stopped by there myself on occasion, just to make sure they didn’t need anything. My own grandkids were grown and gone by then, and I enjoyed bouncin’ a baby on my knee again. But Adam made no bones about the fact that the baby was his responsibility while his pa was away. He’d accept help, but it was him who made the decisions as to when it was time to put Hoss down for a nap or feed him or anything else. And him bein’ no more than seven or eight at the time . . .  Yeah, he sure acted older than his age.

It was enough to break your heart, it was, seein’ those youngsters climbin’ all over their pa when he’d come back into town. They loved him, they surely did, and it was plain to see that he was crazy about them, too. But he had to keep them fed and clothed, so it was never long before he was off again. To me, little Adam looked a shade more serious every time Ben left again. But like I said, the boy never complained. He just kept right on takin’ care of the baby.

He did right well at caring for him, too, I gotta say. Hoss turned into the biggest toddler I ever saw in my life. Strong, too, and always calm and smilin’. It was kind of odd, seein’ those two boys together, the older one slender and dark and somber as a gatherin’ storm, and the younger one built like a yearling bull and just as fair and sunshiny as a summer’s day. You’d a never known they was brothers, just to look at ‘em. And of course neither of ‘em looks much like Joe. What? Yeah, if you want to get down to brass tacks they’re really just half-brothers, but let me give you a piece of good advice, Mr. Dortort: don’t ever try to tell ‘em that. They may be half-brothers by blood, but by heart they’re as close as brothers can get, and more than one man who’s been fool enough to try to come between ‘em ain’t no longer here to tell the tale.

Say, speakin’ of looks, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, you don’t look like the minin’ type. I mean, I don’t see no calluses on your hands or anything-oh, minin’s just a sideline? What’s your main line o’ work, if you don’t mind me askin’? A what? A writer? Well, I’ll be. Excuse me for laughin’, mister, but now I understand why you need a sideline. We don’t get much call for writers in these parts. Why did you come to Virginia City? The what? Drama of the western frontier? I’m sorry for laughin’, truly I am, but oh, well, I hope you find somethin’ to write about, Mr. Dortort, I surely do.

What happened to the two Cartwright boys? Oh, they made out all right. Things got better for ‘em after Ben managed to trade the Paiutes for some land up in the foothills, and he built himself a little shanty up there. They all stayed up there after that, and they built onto the house gradually over the years. Adam was still a youngster, but his pa says he was responsible for deciding how to do a lot of the buildin’. Hoo, son, that boy was smart. Say, did I mention he went off east somewhere to go to college when he got older? Yessir, he sure did. I forget the word for what he studied, but it has to do with buildin’, and after he went off and got educated, he came back and added even more on to that house using what he learned at that there school. You ought to see that house now, Mr. Dortort, you surely ought. You’d never know it was once just a shanty, no you wouldn’t. It’s a mighty grand place.

Ben and his boys didn’t stay there in that little shanty all the time, not during those first few years. Ben made some trips to California and Texas and New Orleans and other places, sellin’ furs and such, and he took the boys with him when he could. Back then, Ben always struck me as being a sad sort of feller, you know what I mean? Like he never really got over his second wife’s death. It was like he was just a’driftin’ through life without an anchor. If it hadn’t been for those two boys of his, I reckon he woulda just disappeared one spring and not come back, but from what Ben tells me, that little shack up in the mountains was as close to a home as those boys had ever had, and I think he felt kinda bad about draggin’ ‘em all over creation, so he kept comin’ back to it.

Then Ben started makin’ plans. Over the years he started buying up pieces of land around that first little piece, and he planted grass where there hadn’t been much growin’ before, and he bought some cattle. Then, in ’42, he made another trip to New Orleans, and when he came back, he had a pretty little French Creole wife on his arm.

Hoo, boy, was she the talk of the town! Never saw a woman more beautiful than Marie Cartwright, no-siree. Men were drawn to her like bees to honey; she just had a way about her, all feisty and smilin’ all the time, with a laugh that sounded like tiny church bells. Not all the folks around here took to her too well, though. Part of it was her looks, I always thought-she made some of the womenfolk nervous. But there were stories too, tales about things she’d done back in New Orleans…

Well, I ain’t gonna talk about that none. Mrs. Cartwright was never nothin’ but pleasant to me, and it would warm your insides to see how she took to Ben’s boys. And Ben—well, for the first time since I’d met him, Ben was happy. Not just happy, Mr. Dortort. Outlandishly happy! That man had a grin on his face every time I laid eyes on him after he brought Marie home. Some folks thought he was makin’ a fool of himself over her, but I’ll tell you what, Mr. Dortort, all I saw was a man so much in love with his wife that he might as well have been in heaven.

I think a lot of the talk about Marie was just sour grapes, anyway. ‘Cause you see, Ben’s luck was changin’. He kept on adding to his herd and his land, and then one day, lo and behold, Ben Cartwright was a wealthy man. I think it surprised him as much as it did anybody else. Oh, not as rich as he is now, but he was well on his way. Folks don’t always cotton to another feller’s success, and sometimes they’ll try to drag him down any way they can.

But Ben Cartwright is a good man. He just kept livin’ his life and raisin’ his boys. Little Joe was born that very next year after Ben married Marie. By then it was obvious to anybody that knew Ben Cartwright that his riches weren’t in his land or cattle; it was in his family. He weren’t the same man who first came to Virginia City, that’s for sure.

Say, would you listen to all that racket goin’ on inside the saloon? Not too many miners or cowboys in there yet, but it sure sounds like they’re startin’ to get rowdy. Kinda early for that, even for Saturday afternoon. Say, Mr. Dortort, all this jaw poppin’s got me a mite thirsty. I do believe I’m ready for that beer Little Joe promised. How ‘bout you? Yeah? Well, let’s mosey on in, then.

Here, now, watch the door-it has a habit of swingin’ back and hittin’ a man on the backside. I’ve told Sam a hundred times that he needs to tighten those hinges. Well, hey there, Little Joe, I told you we’d be comin’ in directly! I’ll take that beer now. Mr. Dortort, too. Er . . . you are a drinkin’ man, ain’t you, Mr. Dortort? Yeah, I thought so. Good thing; I was never able to trust a teetotaler, myself.

What’s that, Joe? Another time? Heck no, I ain’t leavin’. I just got here. What’s wrong with you? Say, boy, you’re lookin’ kinda tense. Somethin’ wrong? No, really. You look—oh, I see. It’s that bunch standin’ down at the other end of the bar, ain’t it? They givin’ you some kinda trouble? Hey . . .  Ain’t that tall one the jasper that accused you of cheatin’ at poker last week? Luke Murvey, ain’t that his name? Want me to get Sheriff Coffee? No? You sure? I think maybe we’d better-well, then, maybe you should go ahead and just get home. No, I done told you, I ain’t leavin’. Come on, now, boy, don’t go lookin’ for trouble. You keep throwin’ dirty looks at them hombres, and they’re liable to climb right up your back. Yeah, I can hear what they’re sayin’, all right. There’s way too many of ‘em, though, you know that. Look, I’ll tell you what. How about we all leave? You and me and Mr. Dortort here? Joe—Joe! Don’t go over there, boy. Just leave it alone.

Oh, you’re askin’ me one more time to leave, are you? Well, I’ll tell you what, Little Joe Cartwright, I’m tellin’ you one more time, I ain’t goin’ nowhere, not with you so hell-bent on findin’ trouble in here. I know what you’re up to. You just want me out of the way in case somethin’ bad starts. Well, don’t you worry about me, son; I reckon I’m old enough to keep my own self out of trouble.

What’s that, Mr. Dortort? Oh, for Pete’s ever-lovin’ sakes, you ain’t gonna start in on me too, are you? I’m tellin’ you both, the day ain’t gonna come when a bunch of no-good curs like the ones at the end of that bar are gonna make Henry Turner turn tail and run. Now, come on, Mr. Dortort, let’s just have us a seat over here at this table. Why don’t you join us, Joe? All right, suit yourself. But you stay away from that bunch down there, you hear me?

Sam! Two beers! Thanks for buyin’, Joe. I’ll buy the next round. Yeah, I know I’m a hard-head. Takes one to know one, I reckon. Come on, Mr. Dortort, let’s sit.

Yeah, right here where I can watch what’s goin’ on. I swear, I don’t know what’s gonna become of that boy. He’s like his mama was; people throw trouble at him, he’s gonna put his chin out and throw it right back. The thing is, sometimes it’s as if he don’t even wait for trouble to find him-no, he goes huntin’ for it. Sometimes I think he’s angry all the time, even when he’s laughin’.  Aw, it’s a hard thing to explain, Mr. Dortort, ‘cause Little Joe is the first one to laugh at a joke, and he usually is a really happy kid, except, like I said earlier, unless he’s mad. I’ve heard pretty young things say he’s got a smile that would make the sun jealous—yeah, ain’t that the darndest thing? I told you the ladies had an eye for him. Anyway, he can grin like that and then in the next instant he’ll turn around and be thrashin’ the daylights outta somebody.

Well, part of it is his brothers’ fault, I reckon. They taught him to fight, and they taught him good. He ain’t afraid, even when he oughta be.

Aw, heck, Mr. Dortort, here we go. Murvey’s makin’ a move. Joe’ll take him up on it, sure as shootin’. Yep, there they go. Joe, look out behind—aw, hell, this ain’t gonna end up good. Look, Mr. Dortort, I don’t care what Little Joe says. You run down to the sheriff’s office and get Sheriff Coffee. It’s around the corner and to the right. You’ll see it. Go now. Hurry.

Oh, no. Murvey’s men are blockin’ the door. They ain’t gonna let you out. Sit tight a second; Sam’s reachin’ for the gun he keeps under the counter… Dagnabbit, sorry son of a— Sam, you all right?

Murvey, you yellow cur! Six men against one young boy. What kind of odds is that? You bet I will, you quiverin’ excuse for a— Hush, Joe, I don’t care who he thinks he is, he can’t come in here and—hey! Hoo, boy, are we glad to see you, Adam! Yeah, I’ll just back up over here outta the way . . .

Well, Mr. Dortort, looks like you get to meet Joe’s oldest brother, Adam. Did you see how slick he took care of those two at the door? Don’t reckon they’ll be wakin’ up for a good while. Yeah, he does look a mite dangerous, don’t he? He is, too, in a situation like this. I told you, the Cartwrights don’t take kindly to anybody messin’ with their own. No, he won’t just fly into ‘em like young Joseph did. Adam’s a thinker, like I said. He’ll play ‘em like a fiddle, and when he gets done, they won’t know which way is up. More than likely he’ll have ‘em skulkin’ outta here like the coyotes they are. Yeah, I know we’re outnumbered. Don’t worry; I seen Adam do this before.

I’ll be— Shoot it to hell! They’re takin’ him! Dagnabit. Mr. Dortort, you got a gun? I don’t usually carry one any more, with my arthritis and all. Oh, lordy, we gotta do somethin’. Hey, lookee there! No, no, Mr. Dortort, don’t be scared of him. That’s Hoss bustin’ in the door! Big ol’ Hoss. Ain’t he a sight to see? That’s it, Hoss, lay ‘em out! Hoo, boy, look at that boy’s big fists fly! Kinda reminds you of a giant oak tree, don’t he? Hoo, boy!

Better odds, now, eh, Mr. Dortort? They—gosh darn it, look at that. Murvey’s got Little Joe pinned. He’s got a knife at his throat. I’m comin’, Little Joe! Hang on, boy! There, Murvey, take that. Betcha didn’t see that comin’ . . .

Well, darn the luck.

I went and did it good this time, didn’t I? Funny, I didn’t even feel the knife when it slid into my gut. No, Mr. Dortort, don’t fuss over me. Help the Cartwright boys get these rascals tied up for Sheriff Coffee to cart off down to the jail.

Oh, howdy there, Little Joe. Yeah, I know. You don’t have to say it. There ain’t no fool like an old fool. No, I know that ain’t what you were thinkin’. I was, though. Aw, now, don’t you let that chin start quiverin’. You know men don’t cry. Ain’t I told you that a hundred times? No, no, please don’t cry, young’un. Men don’t cry, Joe. Men don’t cry. When are you gonna learn that?

Hoss, where did Adam run off to? Doc Martin? Well, boys, I don’t reckon there’s much need in draggin’ Doc down here. He ain’t gonna be able to do me no good. No, no, now it’s all right. You don’t see me lookin’ all down in the mouth, do you?

Why, Ben, there you are! Kinda late, ain’t you, old man? You missed a high old time in here, yes you did. Your boys are a brave lot, yes they are. I’ve had a heck of a time watching ‘em grow up into men. No, none of that, now. I ain’t got time for it. Ben, I want you to meet a new friend of mine. This is Mr. Daniel Dortort. He’s a writer that mines on the side. Yeah, pretty funny, ain’t it? Mr. Dortort, meet Mr. Benjamin Cartwright, the luckiest feller. . . . I ever made an acquaintance with.

I’m . . . I’m getting’ a mite bit tired, Ben. Lemme talk to my friend here for a minute, will you? What’s that, Hoss? You can see . . . you can see Doc comin’ down the street? Runnin’, is he? Hoo, boy, wish I wasn’t missin’ a sight like that. That old codger shouldn’t  . . . be running nowhere. It might do his heart in, don’t he know that? Yeah, Ben . . . I’m holdin’ on, don’t you worry none. Now let Mr. Dortort squeeze in here. I need a minute with him. I got . . . some stuff to say to him.

Mr. Dortort, I been thinkin’ about you bein’ a writer and all. I got . . . somethin’ I want you to do.

You were a lucky man today, Mr. Dortort. You got to meet the gosh-darndest family I ever laid eyes on. I’ve seen a lot in ninety-nine years, let me tell you, but I ain’t never . . . seen nothin’ like those Cartwrights. The way they are with each other . . . You know what suede leather is, Mr. Dortort? Yeah, that’s right. It’s hide that’s been brushed on one side to raise up a nap. Now, bein’ leather, it’s still tough-but the brushed side . . . is soft as a kitten’s paw. That’s how the Cartwrights are. Both tough and soft, sometimes at the same time. I’ve watched ‘em for close to a quarter-century now, and they’re still the . . . best story in town.

You came here lookin’ for—what was it again? Oh, yeah, the drama of the western frontier. Well, friend, you found it. And you know, I been thinkin’. Maybe it ain’t such a crazy thing to write about. I’ve seen enough changes in my lifetime to know that what is commonplace today may not even exist tomorrow.

So I want you to promise me somethin’, Mr. Dortort. I want you to get to know Ben Cartwright and his sons. I want you to write down everything about ‘em. I’m warnin’ you, it won’t be easy keepin’ up with ‘em. They can get tangled up in the gosh-darndest messes. But I think . . . I think they got somethin’ . . . to show the world.

I want you to write it all down. Maybe you can publish it in a newspaper or somethin’ . . . or pass it down . . . to somebody who will know what to do with it.

Aw, Joe . . .  Come on now. Stop . . . those tears, boy. When . . . are you gonna learn . . . that men don’t cry?

The End