XxXxX

2

“He’s going to be fine, you know.”

Adam’s voice broke Ben Cartwright out of a deep reverie; and he realized he wasn’t moving. He’d stopped his horse, yet they weren’t even close to the main road to Virginia City. So much for his earlier concern about reaching Hiram’s office at the appointed time.

“What happened with Carver would affect anyone,” Adam went on. “But, given enough time, Joe will bounce back to the irritating, mischievous rascal he’s always been.”

Ben smiled, despite his anxiety. “Yes. I’m sure you’re right.” Taking a deep breath, he settled back onto his saddle. “I suppose Joe’s insistence on staying home bothered me more than it should have. I don’t remember him ever refusing a trip into Virginia City.”

“Nor I,” Adam said, urging his own horse to move up beside his father’s. “And I’m sure we’ll never see it happen again.”

Adam’s smile lightened Ben’s heart enough to allow him to imagine that a quicker pace might just enable them to keep Hiram’s appointment after all–until the distant sound of gunfire drove his thoughts back the way they’d come.

“Six rounds,” Adam said, his earlier smile lost in the now thin set of his lips. “Target practice?” One eyebrow raised in consideration, he aimed a calculating gaze toward his father.

“For your brother’s sake, I hope you’re wrong.” Target practice could only mean Little Joe. And if Little Joe was the person pulling the trigger behind those shots, it could only mean he had chosen to defy his father.

“I should have been wearing a gun when I ran into Frank Carver,” Joe had insisted the week before.

“A boy your age has no business wearing a gun!” Ben had countered.

“He could have killed me, Pa!”

“Let’s just thank God he never had the chance to try.”

“If Missus Hatcher hadn’t scared him off, he would have tried. And then what? How was I supposed to fight a man like that without a gun?”

“With or without a gun, you should never have to fight a man like that.”

“Just because I shouldn’t have to doesn’t mean I won’t have to!”

“You are not wearing a gun until you’re older, and that’s final!”

Of course, it wasn’t final. Not then. Not with a boy like Little Joe. Ben’s son would continue to debate the subject until he ran out of what he felt were valid arguments. Or until he stopped being afraid…so afraid he could barely close his eyes at night.

Yes, Little Joe was afraid. Terrified, even. And Ben could understand why. The boy had found himself helpless, vulnerable. Frank Carver had threatened Joe’s young sense of invincibility; and, while Little Joe had shown tremendous courage in recent years by facing down any and all threats against him–often causing Ben no small amount of consternation–Frank Carver had posed a threat Joe had not been prepared to fight. One he was still not prepared to fight, though he was trying very hard to change that fact.

Wearing a gun, however, was not the sort of change Joe needed. A gun would only open the door to worse things than fear. A frightened man with a gun grew careless. A frightened boy with a gun was something Ben never wanted to see.

“I don’t know, Pa,” Adam said, pulling Ben from his thoughts once more. “I’d almost prefer to think those shots meant Little Joe was back to being mischievous than any other alternative that comes to mind.” The thick crease in Adam’s brow made it clear he was serious; and Ben could well understand why.

“It’s nothing good,” he answered, feeling his own brow crease doubly as much as his son’s. “We can be sure of that.”

Saying nothing more, Ben kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks to begin the race back home, leaving all concern for his business with Hiram in the dust behind him.

XxXxX

The first thing Hoss noticed when he made it back home was that the front door was wide open. The second thing was Hop Sing sneaking across the yard with a shotgun held at the ready.

Looping his reins around the hitching post, Hoss approached the Chinese cook. “Did you see who fired those shots, Hop Sing?” Hoss asked, keeping his voice low.

Hop Sing shook his head and returned his attention to the house. “Shots come from inside. Hop Sing was in chicken coop. Get shotgun and walk all around house outside, but not see anyone leave.”

“Still inside then.” Hoss drew his own gun and started toward the door, but Hop Sing stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe only Little Joe.”

Hoss shook his head. “Joe’s gone, Hop Sing. He rode out before me. He’s probably already at the–”

“Little Joe horse in back.”

“His horse? You sure, Hop Sing?”

“Hoss go see. Little Joe horse not even hobbled.”

“Was he saddled?”

Hop Sing shook his head.

“Joe wouldn’t leave his horse like that. And he sure wouldn’t shoot a gun in the house. Something’s wrong. Something’s real wrong. I’d better go inside and find out what it is.”

But he’d only taken a few steps when the sound of fast approaching riders turned him back to find his pa and older brother returning.

Adam jumped down off his horse the instant he reined in. “We heard shots.”

“Yeah.” Hoss nodded. “Us, too.”

“Shots come from inside,” Hop Sing added.

“Where’s Joe?” Pa asked then, his own dismount far more deliberate than Adam’s but certainly not slow.

“That’s just it, Pa,” Hoss answered. “I don’t rightly know. I thought I was riding out after him, but Hop Sing just told me he saw Joe’s horse out back.”

“Joe!” Pa shouted then, overriding Hoss’s instincts for caution. “Little Joe!”

 

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