{"id":3366,"date":"2014-04-25T14:36:20","date_gmt":"2014-04-25T18:36:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=3366"},"modified":"2025-02-18T19:13:08","modified_gmt":"2025-02-19T00:13:08","slug":"just-another-friday","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=3366","title":{"rendered":"Just Another Friday (by Lily of the West)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Summary:\u00a0 Everybody needs a bucket. When a new hardware shipment containing identical-looking buckets arrives in Virginia City, a day full of fun and adventure ensues.<\/span><\/p>\n

This story is several years old, and many may already know it. Then again, it’s soooo old it may actually be new to some people \ud83d\ude09 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Rated:<\/span>\u00a0T (35,750 words)
\n<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Just Another Friday<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Virginia City, Friday, April 26, 1860<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

MORNING<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

In a booming mining town like Virginia City, hardware of any kind was always in short supply. It had been less than a year since the discovery of a silver lode of unequaled proportions had made the Comstock the most exciting place to be in all the Western territories. All across the continent, men of any age and ability had dropped whatever they were doing and flocked to the mountains of western Utah territory to pull their fortune from the earth.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Most of them arrived without a clue about how to work a claim, and few had had the brilliant foresight to bring any equipment. Soon, a good shovel could cost more than a good mule, and men had been known to bash each other\u2019s skulls in with the very pickaxes they were fighting over.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So when on this cool spring morning the owner of Baxter mercantile hung a sign in the window that read:<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNew hardware in:<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

shovels, pans, pickaxes,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

sturdy tin buckets with lids,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

only 90 cents a piece<\/em>,\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

a line of customers was soon forming outside. There was the usual assortment of grizzled miners and claim owners eager to replace broken shovels and lost pickaxes, but among them was also Horace Hunneker, the owner of the new saloon that was scheduled to open its doors that evening with a much-awaited celebration. Horace needed buckets for various house-cleaning tasks to get the place ready for the public. There was Hank Allenby, the elderly bank clerk, who had some house cleaning of his own to do, and even Emma Martin, the doctor\u2019s wife \u2013 as even a surgeon has need of a bucket occasionally\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sitting on the seat of the buckboard, Ben Cartwright sighed, as he always did when coming into town these days. Their once sleepy frontier trading post seemed to be undergoing a frightening metamorphosis. On every trip they took, there were new A-frame shacks, more wagonloads of wide-eyed newcomers, more stacks of loose timber lining the roadsides, and the fuzzy cover of canvas tents had crawled further up the surrounding hills like a fungus. With the many trampling hooves and feet, the mud grew ever deeper.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Thousands had come in the fall of \u201959 and had been caught by the snows of November. Helter-skelter, up and down the hills and valleys, they squatted through that first winter under tarps made from old burlap sacks and in boxes rigged from moldy scrap wood; some subsisted like gophers in holes they had dug into the hillsides. Many didn\u2019t live through the brutal winter, and the melt waters of spring had carried their rotting bodies from the hills to deposit them on the outskirts of town. There was hunger, despair and lawlessness, and Ben had heard whispered stories telling of those who lived only because they ate those who didn\u2019t.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And then spring had come. The Washoe Zephyrs swept from the hills to blow away the rickety dwellings along with the musty smell of breakup. It wasn\u2019t uncommon to see a frayed sail of sewn-together feed sacks, some poor devil\u2019s home for the last three months, lift into the air and fly away like some great prehistoric bird. The mud was drying, the mines were open, and the building of Virginia City had begun.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A constant hammering filled the air, and Ben felt the\u00a0thump \u2013 thump<\/em>\u00a0of the stamp mills vibrate in his belly like an animal heartbeat. He was sure that if he were to lie on the ground and put his ear to the earth, he would be able to hear the pounding of rock hammers and pickaxes hundreds of feet underneath.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In the last two months, Virginia City had grown by several hotels, a few gambling halls, and even \u2013 God help them all \u2013 a brothel or two, inhabited by painted females with bad teeth who had followed on the heels of the silver strike to stake their own kind of a claim. They sashayed down the town\u2019s wooden boardwalks in broad daylight, winking at young boys and threadbare old sourdoughs alike \u2013 in a gold rush town, you never knew by a man\u2019s looks if he didn\u2019t carry a fortune in his rags.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWatch that hole, Joe,\u201d Ben advised his youngest son, who was holding the reins next to him on the buckboard seat. Ben was secretly pleased at the expert way Joe steered the team of roans around the hip-deep mud hole – the boy was getting to be quite a horseman. That is, as long as he could keep his attention on his team instead of the many roadside distractions.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Just how a father was supposed to keep a wild-hearted seventeen-year-old boy out of trouble in a place like this was a topic Ben discussed nightly with his Maker. Born and raised in the wilderness, Little Joe\u2019s only glimpse of city life had been a rare trip to Frisco or Sacramento, during which either Ben or his oldest brother Adam had kept an eyeball on him at all times. And now, all the sin and temptation of civilization had landed right smack in the middle of their own backyard. To Joe, it was as if the earth had opened up to reveal a whole new world underneath, full of strange sounds and sights and forbidden things.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Trying to keep his youngest completely isolated from the havoc of town, Ben knew, would only brighten the attraction. Best to let him have it in small doses. Ben made a point of taking Joe along on his weekly supply trips, where he could have him right there next to him on the buckboard seat, within instant reach of a restraining arm.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

As they drove down the street towards the mercantile, Joe\u2019s head was snapping this way and that in an attempt to keep up with the many attractions rolling by, like that of a puppy trying to snatch mosquitoes out of the air. Over by the corner, a purple-robed hooker was just now lifting her skirts to display her legs to a group of potential customers. Joe\u2019s eyes popped wide open.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPa! Pa, did you see that?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Joseph, I didn\u2019t, and neither did you. Watch the road.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Pa. Sorry, Sir.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben wasn\u2019t nearly as worried about Hoss and Adam. His middle son Hoss showed little interest in the reckless pace of town life and preferred the quiet of the mountains and the work with his animals. Adam had left for college in Boston when he had been Joe\u2019s age, and Ben had always known, with a twinge of regret, that whatever sin could tempt his eldest son\u2019s restless heart had already found him there. The mayhem of Virginia City hardly held any new promises for Adam.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They pulled up in front of Baxter Mercantile just as the last of the long row of customers dispersed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMorning, Mr. Baxter,\u201d Ben greeted after stepping through the open door. \u201cGood business today, huh?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGot new hardware in; you know how that goes. Reckon you\u2019ll want the usual order? I got it all stacked for you in the corner over there, Mr. Cartwright. Kinda figured you\u2019d show up, it being Friday.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s very thoughtful of you. My son will load it in the buckboard,\u201d he said with a pointed glance at Joe, who seemed more interested in the collection of silver-studded gun belts in the window. Ben cleared his throat. \u201cJoseph!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe jumped. \u201cYes, Pa!\u201d Ben nodded towards the pile of boxes and sacks of cornmeal and flour in the corner. \u201cOh! Sure, Pa!\u201d He heaved a sack onto his shoulder and carried it outside.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Cartwright,\u201d Baxter began, \u201cI hear that Chinaman of yours\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHis name is Hop Sing,\u201d Ben said patiently.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOf course. Hop Sing. I understand he keeps chickens. Well, it just so happens that I got a new kind of chicken feed in, all the way from Kansas Territory. Some kind of wild grain as grows only on real buffalo dung out in the prairies. Has to be hand-picked by virgin Cheyenne squaws. Amazing stuff. Miss Hampton says her hens lay twice the eggs since she put\u2019em on it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIs that so?\u201d Ben said without interest. He watched as Joe came back in, grinning eagerly at his father as he gathered up too many boxes at once and dropped two of them on the way out. Ben smiled to himself. The only time the boy showed this kind of enthusiasm for a boring task was when he had a mind to ask for something in return. Ben had a pretty good idea what that would be.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUh, Mr. Cartwright, I was saying\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I heard, Mr. Baxter. I\u2019ll take a look at the stuff.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Baxter heaved an open burlap sack onto the counter and Ben ran his fingers through the contents. \u201cWell, that looks like ordinary barley and molasses to me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNot at all, Mr. Cartwright! This here\u2019s a real rare kind of grain, and the only souls in the whole world what knows where to find it are vir\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVirgin Cheyenne squaws, of course. Thanks, but I think we have enough chicken feed.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Baxter was about to try again when Little Joe sidled up to the counter next to Ben, rubbing his hands. \u201cAll done, Pa!\u201d He grinned amiably. \u201cAll done and stacked. Stacked it real good and tied it down, too, so it won\u2019t shift, just the way you like it. Anything else I can do for you, Pa?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben raised a mild eyebrow at his son. \u201cWell, son, I\u2019m surprised and pleased at your eagerness. Let\u2019s see\u2026when have you last had a haircut?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s whole face kind of sat down at this, and then, with a valiant effort, picked itself up again. \u201cSure, Pa\u2026if you really think I should\u2026I\u2019d be delighted, absolutely thrilled\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoseph\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026tickled, in fact. And you\u2019re right. It\u2019s been three weeks, almost forever \u2026\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoe, don\u2019t push it,\u201d Ben said sternly and watched his son shrink an inch or so under his stare. Enjoying himself immensely, he gave Joe a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. \u201dI think that haircut can wait for another day, son. Why don\u2019t you simply tell me what\u2019s on your mind?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh. Well.\u201d Joe took a deep breath. \u201cPa, everybody\u2019s been talking about\u2026you know. I was hoping I could\u2026just for a minute\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou want to check out the new saloon.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s eyebrows rose hopefully.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what do you plan on doing there?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust have a look, Pa. They\u2019re getting ready for the big opening party tonight. It\u2019s supposed to be real fancy, you know: silk tablecloths and chandeliers and dancing gir\u2026I mean, ladies\u2026,\u201d he finished lamely and bit his lip.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI see. You just want to have a brief look before the opening and have a beer or two.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right, Pa!\u201d Joe said brightly, recognizing the trap too late. \u201cOh no, Pa, no beer. No way. Not this early in the day, I wouldn\u2019t\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben held up a hand to stop the flow of words. \u201cJoe, listen carefully. I have to go and see Doc Martin about the sick ranch hands. That\u2019ll take about twenty minutes. You may go and visit the saloon in the meantime if you promise me not to have any beer or whiskey.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe blinked at him, surprised. He hadn\u2019t hoped for it to be this easy. \u201cI promise, Pa.,\u201d he said earnestly. \u201cNo beer, no whiskey.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, off you go then. Take the buckboard with you. I\u2019ll meet you at the saloon when I\u2019m done at the Doc\u2019s.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Pa!\u201d Joe bounced away and Ben looked after him fondly. Maybe this wasn\u2019t such a good idea. He trusted his young son with wild horses and hundreds of head of cattle and would place his life in his hands out in the mountains. But the perils of town were a different matter. Joe had had so little experience with them. Oh well, Ben mused, the boy was almost a grown man now, and a father would have to let go, one leap of faith at a time.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUh\u2026Mr. Cartwright?\u201d Baxter had walked around the corner and appeared at Ben\u2019s side. \u201cWhile you were talking to your boy \u2013 a fine boy he is, Mr. Cartwright \u2013 I thought some more about that chicken feed\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Baxter, I believe I said\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure, Mr. Cartwright, but I decided to give you a free sample, \u2018cause you and your family is just about our best customers.\u201d He handed Ben a tin bucket with a wooden handle and a tightly fitted lid. \u201cI put some of that feed in there for you, and you\u2019ll see if them chickens don\u2019t lay two eggs apiece all next week.\u201d He paused and shuffled his feet. \u201cThat\u2019ll just be three dollars for the bucket. Real hard to come by in this town, nice buckets are.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben felt an impulse to pour the chicken grain over Baxter\u2019s head, but he just fixed him with a glare instead. \u201cIf I am not mistaken, Mr. Baxter, these buckets were only ninety cents a half hour ago\u201d. He nodded at the handwritten sign in the window.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Baxter smiled smoothly. \u201cWell, Mr. Cartwright, a half hour ago there was a lot more of them.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben heaved a sigh. When would this man learn that he couldn\u2019t swindle a Cartwright? \u201cI have a better idea, Mr. Baxter. Why don\u2019t I take the feed, and if our chickens indeed lay two eggs apiece all next week, I\u2019ll buy all the grain you have and pay you double price for it next Friday. And if they don\u2019t, I\u2019ll simply bring back your bucket. How is that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Baxter withered under Ben\u2019s black-eyed stare and mumbled his agreement.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGoodbye then, Mr. Baxter,\u201d Ben tipped his hat, stepped outside and turned his steps towards Doc Martin\u2019s house.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Buzzing with anticipation, Joe parked the team in front of the new saloon, sprang up the boardwalk to the swinging doors and peeked inside. The place looked magnificent. Rows of Chinese paper lanterns and garlands were strung this way and that from the ceiling. Posters advertising meerschaum pipes and exotic liquors decorated the walls. There were a dozen or so tables, each covered with a crisp white tablecloth. Woven drapes and Indian blankets were hung from the balustrade, and a brand new piano of shining dark wood sat in the corner. Even the brass spittoons were polished to a dazzle, reflecting the gaudy colors from the Chinese lanterns. Joe\u2019s heart leapt with excitement at all the majesty of it. This place sure promised to be a notch above the town\u2019s usual dirt floor booze tents filled with rough-hewn characters. He wondered if the dancing girls were housed in the upstairs rooms behind the balustrade.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYoung Cartwright! We\u2019re not opening till four, but come on in anyways and feast yer eyes!\u201d The proprietor, Horace Hunneker, was polishing glasses behind the bar. Horace was a middle-aged, lanky fellow, a former trading post owner, who had poured all his savings and dreams into his new establishment. When he saw Joe\u2019s face at the doors, he waved him over to the bar.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAin\u2019t she a beauty,\u201d he continued, waving his arm around the room, when Joe had bellied up to the smooth mahogany of the bar, \u201cwe sure got her dressed up for her big night.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe followed Horace\u2019s gaze towards the back of the room where a disheveled, bearded man was going from table to table with a tin bucket in his hand. At each table, he reached into the bucket and pulled out what looked like a small bouquet of little white flowers \u2013 spring daisies \u2013 and arranged them carefully in a shot glass on the tablecloth.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Seeing Joe\u2019s smile, Horace tilted his head towards the figure and lowered his voice. \u201cOl\u2019 Oscar been in my employ all day, helping me fancy the place up. Had him pick flowers in Hampton\u2019s meadow by the crick. Guess I\u2019m in the mood for charity on this fine day.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe had heard all about Oscar. He was one of many out-of-luck miners who had gotten in with the wrong partner and lost everything on some dubious claim swindle. It had cracked him, people said. Now poor Oscar was reduced to working odd jobs around town to earn his booze. He was a short, hunched-over fellow of indeterminate age, dressed in rags, with messy gray hair and a chest-long frizzy beard that still carried information on what he had eaten last week. It was a well-known fact that Oscar didn\u2019t smell so good because he probably hadn\u2019t bathed since the days of the old trading post. But he had a sweet temper, even more so when he was liquored up, and he took just about any job without complaint and generally made an honest attempt at getting it done. Most people were fond enough of him and tried to indulge him by letting him paint barns or pick up horse manure in exchange for a few shots of whiskey and a meal; the only challenge was to keep him sober for long enough to complete the job. Apparently even such a demeaning task as picking flowers in Hampton\u2019s meadow was not beneath him. Picking flowers, Joe thought sadly, just wasn\u2019t a proper job for a man.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After decorating the last table, Oscar straightened up and called out towards the bar. \u201cHow\u2019s them flowers look, Mr. Hunneker?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust fine. You done a right good job, Oscar,\u201d Horace replied with a wink towards Joe. \u201cCome on over here and have a drink with us.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Oscar\u2019s face lit up at this, and he shuffled across the room. He nodded courteously at Joe, set the flower bucket on the floor and planted his elbows on the bar. He looked at Horace with the expression of a dog about to be fed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace set a couple of bottles and shot glasses on the counter. \u201cWhat\u2019s it gonna be, Oscar? We got bourbon, rum, brandy, Russian vodka, whiskey, schnapps from Austria\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPlain ol\u2019 whiskey\u2019s fine, Mr. Hunneker. Ain\u2019t got no stomach for that foreign stuff.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSuit yourself, Oscar,\u201d Horace smiled. He poured Oscar a whiskey and then picked up a bottle of Austrian schnapps. \u201cHow \u2018bout it, young Cartwright? Join me for a schnapps? Marvelous stuff, imported from Vienna. We\u2019re going for some real international flavor these days, you know. Don\u2019t worry now, it\u2019s on the house.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe hesitated while he pondered this dilemma for a moment. Was schnapps the same as whiskey? He could, of course, ask Horace, but if the answer was yes, he\u2019d be stuck. On the other hand, as long as he didn\u2019t ask, he couldn\u2019t be expected to know, and having a schnapps would, at worst, be an innocent error and not a broken promise to his Pa.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure, I\u2019ll take one,\u201d he drawled, trying to sound like a man of experience. Horace poured him a shot, and Joe took a careful sip. The stuff burned like acid down into his stomach, leaving a trail of heat, and he had to bite his lip to keep from coughing, which solicited a sly smile from Horace.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnyways. There\u2019ll be only the best in this place.\u201d Horace gestured his shot glass at the festooned room.\u00a0 \u201cSchnapps from Austria, crystal from Paris, girls from N\u2019Orleans. All ordered by mail and imported.\u201d He frowned thoughtfully. \u201cAll that\u2019s missing is a proper name for the place.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe straightened up. \u201cYou can order girls? From New Orleans?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cYou can order anything – if you got connections.\u201d Horace aimed another wink at Joe.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAre the girls\u2026?\u201d Joe\u2019s eyes wandered up the stairs to the rooms on the first floor.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYep, they sure are. Sleeping now, they got a busy night coming.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe made a mental note to look into the matter later. He took another swig from his shot glass and held it out to Horace for a refill. \u201cWhat you mean, all that\u2019s missing is a proper name? You sayin\u2019 you open in less than five hours and don\u2019t know what to name the place yet?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace shook his head, and his expression sagged while he absently filled Joe\u2019s glass. \u201cJust haven\u2019t found the right name yet. Been thinking about it day and night for weeks.\u201d He reached behind the bar and dragged forth a long carved board painted a brilliant white. \u201cIt\u2019s the name board for above the doors,\u201d he explained sadly. \u201dTrouble is, I ain\u2019t got anything to put on it yet.\u201d He cocked his head and dreamily stared into the air above Joe\u2019s hat. \u201cYou see, this ain\u2019t gonna be your typical cowpoke watering hole. This place is gonna have class, and international flair. The name\u2019s gotta reflect that. If you got any suggestions\u2026 I\u2019m getting pretty desperate at this point.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe Golden Spur.\u201d Oscar intoned longingly while he chased a dim memory of a classy girl in a classy place somewhere else, long ago, both of whom he had frequented in better days.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNah, too common. Got one of those in every town from here to Kansas.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow about the \u2018Rearing Bronco\u2019?\u201d Joe suggested cheerfully and sipped. His brain was beginning to swim just a little bit.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace shook his head. \u201cToo cowboy. It\u2019s gotta be a mining name, for a mining town. And it\u2019s gotta have originality. Nobility. Class.\u201d His gaze wandered towards the ceiling while his fingers lovingly stroked the smooth wood of the bar. \u201dIt\u2019s gotta ring like a clarion call across the mountains to lure all the weary and thirsty souls from their toils in the silver mines\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe Silver Trumpet?\u201d croaked Oscar and held out his empty glass.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace looked at him in surprise and poured him another whiskey. \u201cThat ain\u2019t bad. Leastways, the silver part. Dunno about trumpet, though. Who needs a trumpet? It\u2019s gotta be something that speaks to a miner\u2019s heart.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Oscar didn\u2019t have to think about that one too long. \u201cThe Silver Shovel? The Silver Pan? The Silver Bucket?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace frowned. \u201cHm. Something kinda vulgar about \u2018bucket\u2019, ain\u2019t there?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNot iffen it\u2019s filled with silver,\u201d Oscar said with feeling. He closed his eyes and imagined it. \u201dSilver. Beautiful silver. Bucket loads of it. Beautiful buckets full o\u2019 silver. The Bucket o\u2019 Silver.\u201d He opened his lids and looked at Horace with blue-eyed sincerity. \u201cSure speaks to my miner\u2019s heart.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe Bucket of Silver\u201d Joe repeated slowly. \u201cIt\u2019s got the originality part. I ain\u2019t sure about the other, though\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSounds right noble to my ears,\u201d Oscar nodded wistfully. \u201cGot real class.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know\u2026\u201d Horace began.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThink about it, Mr. Hunneker,\u201d Joe reasoned, feeling the schnapps encourage his logic, \u201cYou don\u2019t want it to be too noble. I mean, most of your customers are likely gonna be plain, simple, not-so-noble folk like Oscar here.\u201d When he saw a slow frown gather on Oscar\u2019s brow, he added quickly \u201cAnd myself.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace didn\u2019t seem convinced. \u201cI still think \u2018bucket\u2019 is a bit too\u2026earthy.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cWell, that\u2019s what us miners is, Mr. Hunneker. We\u2019s earthy.\u201d Oscar mused wisely. He gestured loosely at the decorated room. \u201cYou got plenty o\u2019 noble in the place. You kinda need the bucket to keep yer feet on the ground, iffen ye know what I mean.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNoble and earthy,\u201d Joe nodded his approval.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHmm. The \u2018Bucket of Silver\u2019.\u201c Horace said the name out several times, rolled it around his tongue, and then he rowed his arms in the air and roared it into the room, letting it fill the empty spaces. \u201cHah! On second thought, it does kinda grow on you,\u201d he concluded happily.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

For a second, he stood there, thinking. Then, with sudden resolve, he slapped his palm onto the smooth mahogany of the bar. \u201cGentlemen, the \u2018Bucket of Silver\u2019 it shall be!\u201d He pointed an enterprising finger at Oscar. \u201cOscar, I\u2019m full of ideas now. I sure could use your help tonight at the opening, if you wanna stick around. Let me see those flowers.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Oscar lifted the bucket of flowers onto the bar and removed the lid. It was still more than half full of blossoms. Horace lovingly ran his fingers through the daisies. \u201cOscar, here\u2019s what we\u2019re gonna do. We\u2019ll have an official naming ceremony tonight, after everyone has mingled a little. When I give you the signal, you\u2019ll take this here bucket and go up there,\u201d he pointed at the balustrade on the first floor, \u201dand when I unveil the name\u201d \u2013here he pointed at the white board behind the bar- \u201cyou throw handfuls of them pretty white flowers into the crowd below. It\u2019ll be just like it\u2019s raining silver. Bucket loads of silver. What do you say?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe bobbed his head approvingly. \u201cThat\u2019s plumb brilliant, Mr. Hunneker.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Oscar\u2019s enthusiasm was a little more subdued. \u201cI suppose it\u2019s gonna be right purdy,\u201d he frowned. He had hoped to be done with flowers and was about to point out that this was a job better suited to one of the girls, when he remembered all the free whiskey he would have the privilege of sampling if he played along.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cI know I can rely on you, Oscar,\u201d Horace said generously and placed the lid firmly back on the bucket. \u201cYou keep an eye on these here flowers and keep the lid on, so\u2019s they won\u2019t dry out.\u201d He handed the bucket back to Oscar, who pushed it down the bar a ways to get it out of the way.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace\u2019s eyes wandered dreamily up to the balustrade. \u201cIt\u2019s gonna be a glorious night,\u201d he intoned, and then he filled their glasses again, whiskey and schnapps, pouring himself one of the latter. He lifted his in a solemn salute. \u201cGentlemen: To the \u2018Bucket of Silver\u2019, the finest establishment in the Comstock!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe \u2018Bucket of Silver\u2019,\u201d they repeated, and all three clinked their glasses together and drank.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In the meantime, while Joe sipped schnapps at the future \u2018Bucket of Silver\u2019, Ben dropped by the place of his old friend, Doctor Paul Martin. The door was open, and after knocking and calling into the house, Ben took a step inside, where the familiar muffled smell of sickness greeted him. Ben often wondered if Paul and his wife even noticed it anymore.<\/span><\/p>\n

Emma Martin came out of the darkened surgery room, carrying a basin with what appeared to be bloodied water. \u201cOh, good morning, Ben. No emergency, I hope?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Emma. No, not at all. But I\u2019d like to talk to Paul, if he\u2019s got a moment.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Suddenly, a hoarse voice ranted out of the darkness of the surgery room. \u201cThat you, Martin? You git back in here, you brute, I still got one good hand to strangle you with!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGood Lord,\u201d Ben winced, troubled. \u201cBad case?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVery bad.\u201d Emma shrugged sadly and nodded towards the back door. \u201cPaul\u2019s in the garden, Ben. Just go on through.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben walked through the narrow hallway and stepped out into the Martin\u2019s modest fenced garden. The garden was not very well kempt; shaggy wild rose bushes had conquered the fence, and weeds ran rampant. This was in stark contrast to the doctor\u2019s meticulous nature, and probably, Ben reflected, spoke of how little time Paul and Emma had these days for activities other than caring for patients. Smiling, Ben paused a moment to admire the rare and peaceful sight of Paul Martin, gardener. The good doctor was busy digging a deep hole in the middle of the vegetable patch. Next to the hole sat one of the new tin buckets from the mercantile; identical to the one Ben was carrying.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul jumped when he heard someone approach and whirled around. \u201cBen! You startled me. Good to see you.\u201d He leaned on his spade and wiped his rolled-up sleeve across his face. \u201cWhat can I do for you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Paul.\u201d Ben set his bucket down next to Paul\u2019s. \u201cWhat have you got in here? Planting potatoes?\u201d He lifted the lid off Paul\u2019s bucket and instantly regretted it; at the sight that greeted him, he expelled a strangled cry and recoiled in horror.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Ben, I should have warned you. It\u2019s Edgar Jericho. Got hurt in a mine accident. I had to amputate his right arm today.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben shuddered. \u201cLord, that\u2019s terrible. The poor man.\u201d He stared at the object in the bucket in morbid fascination. He noted how badly squashed the tissue was just above the elbow, and the straight, clean cut through the bicep where the arm had been separated. Ben suddenly realized with horror that he had shaken that same hand not three days ago when Jericho had come to the Ponderosa to buy some chicken eggs from Hop Sing. He fumbled to replace the lid and fought back nausea.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy God, Paul, and you just\u2026you just bury it in your garden? That\u2019s\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what, Ben? Repulsive? Sickening? If you\u2019ve got a better idea, let me know.\u201d Ben was startled by the sudden edge in his friend\u2019s voice. \u201cLet\u2019s see. Shall I throw it to the stray dogs so they can fight over it in the streets? Or should I drop it out on the trails and hope no one stumbles across it? Or maybe I can chop it up and burn it in my stove, so that the good citizens of Virginia City sniff the air in the streets and say \u2018Wonder what Mrs. Martin is cooking for dinner\u2019?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben saw now that his friend looked a bit disheveled and out of sorts, not at all his usual spotless self. For as long as Ben had known Paul Martin, the doctor had been a bastion of composure in moments of chaos. How many times had Ben himself, sitting by the bed of a sick or injured son, been kept on this side of sanity by Paul\u2019s reassuring calm? He had never really considered that there might be a time when Paul took off his professional face and dealt with the debris of his trade, both the emotional kind and the kind that was now in that bucket.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, Ben, I was rude,\u201d Paul was saying now, and as if he had read Ben\u2019s mind, he smiled a little and continued, \u201dyou caught me a bit off guard here. I bet you never wondered about some of the less glamorous tasks of a physician, did you?\u201d He jammed the spade into the loose earth, pulled up one of the lidded buckets and heavily sat on it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sensing that his friend wanted to open up, Ben carefully sat on the other bucket \u2013 he was pretty sure it wasn\u2019t the one containing the ghastly object.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul ran his fingers through his messy hair and rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. \u201cBen, when I was a young man, twenty-five years ago, I apprenticed under the old Dr. Belford in St. Louis. And one day, after a particularly nasty double leg amputation, during which the patient\u2026suffered more than any creature should ever be made to suffer, Old Belford took me to the saloon and bought me a couple of shots of whiskey, and when we were both drunk, he said to me, \u2018Paul, we\u2019re butchers. Surgery is a barbaric, cruel trade. But you must never, never harden your heart to the suffering you inflict. You must never allow yourself to become insensitive to human pain. If you do, you will cease to be a good human being. And a good doctor.\u2019 \u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPaul, you\u2019re the best doctor I\u2019ve ever known.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI try to be a good doctor, Ben. But today I was a butcher. I had to saw the arm off of a father of five children, and I couldn\u2019t even put him under, because he has a nasty head wound too, and I was afraid if I knocked him out he would never wake up again. Well, he\u2019s awake now, and he screams obscenities at me every time I enter the house.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSurely he\u2019s delirious and doesn\u2019t know what he\u2019s saying.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOf course. They never do. Lord, but I hate amputations. I seem to be doing one every week these days. Those mines just aren\u2019t safe, and I can hardly keep up with the amount of injuries. Human life has become cheap around here, Ben.\u201d He smiled gratefully at his friend. \u201cThanks for lending an ear. And you haven\u2019t even told me why you\u2019re here. The boys all right?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust fine. But we have a couple of sick ranch hands. Fever, sore throat. Wonder if you could come out and have a look.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAny vomiting?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNot that I know of.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHm. I\u2019ll come later today. Probably just that spring cold that\u2019s been going around. Just give them lots to drink and keep them in bed.\u201d He got up and grabbed his spade. \u201cNow excuse me, Ben. I gotta make this deep. Can\u2019t have the dogs dig it up.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen I\u2019ll see you later, Paul.\u201d Ben stood and nodded at his friend. He turned and walked away and was about to re-enter the house, when Paul came running up behind him, carrying one of the lidded buckets.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t forget this, Ben. What\u2019s in there, anyways?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben shrugged. \u201cSome fancy kind of chicken feed Baxter tried to canoodle me into buying.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI see. And Ben, one last word\u2026 I\u2019d appreciate if you don\u2019t talk about what you saw here today.\u201d He waved lamely at his vegetable garden. \u201cNo need for the whole town to know why my carrots grow so well.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben left Paul\u2019s house and wandered down the town\u2019s wooden boardwalks, weaving his way around the bustle of passers-by, lost in thought. Try as he would, he could not shake the sight of what he had seen in that bucket, nor that tormented voice from the darkness of the surgery room. The Jerichos were recent newcomers to the Comstock. Like Ben had done twenty years ago, they had come all the way from the east in a covered wagon, and like him, they had arrived in this valley filled with that same stubborn pride and capacity for endurance that was born somewhere in the biting winds and brutal winters of the prairies. Their dream of owning their own farm was crushed when they realized their modest savings were not sufficient to buy any good land, and so Edgar had taken up work in one of the mines that sprang up all around Virginia City, setting up his family in the dilapidated shack provided by the mining company. Three days ago, Jericho had come to the Ponderosa to buy chicken eggs for his children, because, Ben knew, he could not afford meat for them. When Ben had wanted to give the eggs and a side of beef as gifts, Edgar Jericho had bristled as if it was an insult to be offered charity, and so Ben had reluctantly accepted the smallest amount of money Jericho was willing to pay.<\/span><\/p>\n

What would the Jerichos do now? Crippled as he was, Edgar\u2019s days as a miner were over. He might still be able to work a farm with the help of his wife and his two oldest sons, but how would he earn the money for the land now?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben had walked a good five minutes before he realized he had paid no attention to where he was going. He stopped and closed his eyes against the image invading his mind: Edgar Jericho\u2019s right hand, the knuckles callused and dirt-encrusted from ripping through the earth beneath Virginia City, dropping a few coins into his own hand, then shaking it, and then the ghostly white fingers curled against the rim of a tin bucket\u2026Ben shuddered. There had to be some way to help the Jerichos. He looked around. He was near the end of C Street, and the bank was on the other side. An idea came to him right there and then.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Yes, he knew what he wanted to do. He was about to direct his steps across the street, when he remembered something else. He\u2019d almost forgotten about Joe! The bank would have to wait a moment; first, he had to collect his offspring from the new saloon.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben bellied through the saloon\u2019s swinging doors to the sight of three men, his son one of them, convivially grouped around several half-empty bottles of what was most certainly not lemonade.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJOSEPH!\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

At that great volcanic boom, Joe\u2019s knees dipped, and he had to hold on to the bar rail as he turned around to face his end. Ben covered the distance in three strides, set his bucket on the floor by one of the tables and grabbed both Joe and one of the offending bottles around the neck. \u201cSchnapps!\u201d He read off the label. \u201cBoy, have you been drinking this?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace and Oscar were watching in slack-jawed fascination; Oscar\u2019s glass was frozen halfway to his mouth.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUh\u2026Pa. You said no whiskey, no beer.\u201d Joe managed meekly. \u201cIt\u2026it ain\u2019t the same as whiskey. Or is it?\u201d When his father\u2019s grip tightened painfully around the scruff of his neck, he heard himself answer his own question. \u201cUm. Then again, maybe it is, after all. Isn\u2019t it? Sort of?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAre you drunk, boy?\u201d Ben thundered.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUh, Mr. Cartwright,\u201d Horace ventured carefully, \u201che\u2019s only had a smidgen, there ain\u2019t no harm in it. It\u2019s a fine import from Austria; would you like a taste? It\u2019s on the house.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI ain\u2019t drunk, Pa, honest,\u201d Joe ventured in a small voice. \u201cI stopped just short of\u2026.of getting drunk. Honest.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

To Joe\u2019s surprise, Ben released his neck and heaved a mighty sigh. \u201cI sure could use one. Make it a double, Mr. Hunneker.\u201d He drummed his fingers on the bar and watched Horace fill up the glass, then downed it in one round swill. Setting the glass down, he sighed again and closed his eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe watched with a mix of interest and concern. He knew that his father was a man who could hold his liquor ever since his sailing days, but it wasn\u2019t often that Ben drank so\u2026athletically\u2026in front of his sons, and certainly never before noon. Something was definitely bothering his old man. \u201dPa?\u201d he nudged cautiously.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNever you mind, son.\u201d Ben turned towards Joe, his dark brows drawing together like thunderclouds. \u201cJoseph, I have business at the bank to see to and have decided to stay in town until the celebration tonight. You will drive the buckboard home, unload the supplies and ask your brother Adam if he has any chores for you to do for the rest of the day. You then may ride back into town with your brothers tonight for the saloon opening. If I hear from Adam tonight that you have not asked him for any chores, you\u2019ve got another thing coming, young man.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe felt the urge to roll his eyes, but he restrained himself. Boy, Pa was really mad. There went what was supposed to be his afternoon off. No fishing today, then. Things weren\u2019t at all going the way he had hoped. And to have his bossy older brother appointed as his watchdog was a humiliation he hadn\u2019t suffered in years.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cAnd Joseph. No more detours, no more stops. Straight home.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYessir.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace had watched the exchange quietly, and now spoke up excitedly, \u201cMr. Cartwright, I sure am delighted to hear that you and your boys will be present tonight. It\u2019ll be the finest party this here town has ever seen.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t doubt it, Mr. Hunneker.\u201d Ben commented wearily. He thanked Horace for the schnapps and followed his son out into the street, where he waved Joe off before directing his steps towards the bank. Suddenly he turned around and stepped up to the buckboard just before Joe steered the team down the street.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoe, don\u2019t forget that bucket I brought \u2013 give it to Hop Sing when you get home. I left it inside by the bar.\u201d He gave Joe a quick smile and a brisk clap on the thigh and ambled down the street.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe, shaking his head at his old man\u2019s forgetfulness, hopped back inside the saloon. Oscar and Horace had gone into the back room, but Joe saw the lidded bucket sitting on top of the bar. He grabbed it, briefly wondering what exotic spice or seasoning Hop Sing might have ordered this time. But his thoughts were elsewhere, and with a pained sigh, he glanced once more towards the upstairs rooms, imagining the sleeping wonders they contained, before turning towards home to report for duty to Sergeant Adam.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hank Allenby, the elderly bank clerk, greeted Ben from behind the counter. \u201cHowdy, Ben, I was just about to close up. Already locked the money in the safe. We\u2019re closing early today for the saloon celebration. Just about the whole town\u2019ll be there. What do you need?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTell me, Hank, does the Jericho family have an account here?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hank gave him an odd look. Like everyone in town, he had heard of the cave-in at the mine. \u201cNow, Ben, you know such things are confidential.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Smiling, Ben raised his eyebrows. \u201cOf course. But let\u2019s say I needed to transfer some money from our account to theirs, could you help me with that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hank nodded approvingly. \u201cIf you put it that way, I probably can. How much you thinking about?\u201d And the warm sheen in his eyes betrayed that he had a pretty good idea what Ben was doing.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben thought hard about how much money he could afford to give. In early spring, after the losses of winter and before the first timber sales and cattle drives had brought in money, cash flow was always a bit of a problem on the Ponderosa. He would have to justify this to his sons, who, after all, co-owned the ranch. But he knew, without a doubt in his heart, that they would approve. He briefly closed his eyes against the ever-present image of the mangled arm in the bucket.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s say a thousand dollars.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right decent of you. You know, Ben, the Jerichos is proud folks,\u201d Hank reminded him of the real problem. \u201cThey won\u2019t take it if it\u2019s just for pity\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben saw the dilemma. If Jericho wouldn\u2019t accept a few eggs, how could he make him accept a thousand dollars without losing face? He shook his head sadly. He\u2019d been a bit na\u00efve about this, he realized. Probably what he had seen in Paul\u2019s garden had stirred him up more than he cared to admit.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m a sentimental old fool, Hank. But I\u2019d sure like to help somehow.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTell you what, Ben: why don\u2019t you think it over til Monday? The Jerichos won\u2019t need it before then, and we\u2019ll be closed, anyways. You\u2019ll figure something. It sure is decent of you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re right. I\u2019ll talk it over with the boys. We\u2019ll think of something by Monday.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hank saw him out, and after Ben had left, he locked the door behind him and hung the \u2018Closed\u2019 sign in the window.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hank popped his knuckles and allowed himself a satisfied yawn. Another week gone by guarding the hard-earned dollars of Virginia City\u2019s good people. Another week of work well done. And as was his habit on every Friday after closing, he got out a bucket of water and a cloth and began to wipe the week\u2019s dust off his counter. After all, a respectable bank has to look sparkling clean on a Monday morning.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Rubbing his tired eyes, Paul Martin stepped back out into his garden. He had been repeatedly interrupted in his grisly task by his patient\u2019s attempts to flee his house. This last time, the poor delirious man had made it almost out the front door, when Paul had heard Emma call for him. Finally, he had reluctantly given the man a sedative and sat by his bedside until he had drifted into a tortured sleep.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Now Paul took up the spade again, and after a few hearty thrusts, declared himself satisfied with the depth of the hole. Ready to put this unpleasant task finally behind him, he grabbed the bucket, and with one movement, pulled off the lid and turned over the contents into the hole.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

For a long while, he stood anchored to the spot and stared in utter befuddlement at that which had come out of the bucket and was now filling up the bottom of the hole. Then, with a slow, shaky movement, he grabbed his head with both hands.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDamn,\u201d he muttered to himself. \u201cChicken feed!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Across the street from the bank, Marge and Clifford Johnson sat on the seat of the rickety covered wagon that carried all their belongings. Their haggard, one-eyed horse, ears floppy and lower lip drooping, was dozing in his harness. Marge was dozing, too, stretched out on the narrow seat with her broad thighs draped over her husband\u2019s lap and her face hidden under her shapeless felt hat. Clifford looked uncomfortable; after all, his wife\u2019s powerful legs probably weighed almost as much as he did, but he dared not move for fear of earning another smack on the head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Anyone who saw the two sitting there on their moldy old Conestoga with its torn canvas cover ravaged by mildew, would assume that they were among the many newcomers who had bravely crossed the continent on one of the pioneer trails. They couldn\u2019t be more mistaken. Marge, in fact, had been born in a trapper\u2019s cabin right here in the Sierras, back when there had been only Piutes, bears, and a few hardy mountain men with their Indian wives, like her Pa. All her life, Marge had watched the pioneers arrive, then the 49ers, then the Comstock miners. She had listened with a yearning heart to their tales of the eastern cities from which many of them had come: tales of ball rooms, of ladies in silk brocade gowns, tall ships at anchor, streets lit with lamps at night, of opera houses and music halls and good manners and polite conversation; things, in other words, that were as far removed from Marge\u2019s world as a walk on the moon.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Then one day, Marge, ever a woman of action, decided that she had enough of dust and snow and scorpions and pickaxes. Let all those dreamy-eyed fools heading west in their covered wagons have them. Marge Johnson was going the other way. She was going east. She acquired a run-down Conestoga wagon which had crossed the continent at least once before, and picked up a horse and a husband somewhere along the way to help her run the wretched thing.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And then she turned her eyes towards the east. Marge\u2019s grasp of geography was rudimentary, but she figured it was better than her dimwit of a husband\u2019s, who couldn\u2019t find his own butt with both hands in broad daylight. Marge assumed that if only she managed to get to Reno and from there across the great Utah desert, the East with its wonders would be right there somewhere. And since the Miner\u2019s spring dance, there was the name of one place in particular that resonated in her mind:<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

More than anything she had ever wanted in her thirty-two years of hard life, Marge Johnson wanted to go to Boston.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And maybe,\u00a0he<\/em>\u00a0would be there\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2026She had found him at the Miner\u2019s spring dance a few weeks ago. Marge, not invited but unstoppable, had cut the tangles out of her hair with her hunting knife, donned her only dress, a pale blue thing with faded polka dots and at least two bullet holes, slipped in by the back door and prowled the dance floor.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And there he was, sitting on a lavender couch, sipping his wine, momentarily alone, because his female company had taken a trip to the facilities. Tall, dark, and subtle, dressed in a smart white shirt and string tie, he was the most beautiful thing Marge had ever seen. Never shy, she had swaggered over and plopped down next to him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018You from somewheres aroun\u2019 here, dahling?\u2019 she had asked and wriggled close enough to feel the warmth off his thigh against hers. She remembered to smile keeping her upper lip down to hide her missing front tooth. He had wriggled the other way and laughed nervously \u2013 that\u2019s when she first saw those dimples \u2013 and spilled some wine on his lap and told her that well, no, actually, technically speaking, he was really from Boston.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Boston!\u2019she had exclaimed knowingly and edged even closer, \u2018that out towards Californee, ain\u2019t it?\u2019. She had him wedged now between her ample seat and the armrest. His hand \u2013 what a strong, well-groomed gentleman\u2019s hand \u2013 was fidgeting with his face, and his eyes were bouncing around the room. Aah, Margie Johnson, she told herself, you can\u2019t be\u00a0that<\/em>\u00a0ugly if you can still make a handsome man get all twitchy. And she had leaned in a bit and smelled his aftershave and explained that she wasn\u2019t\u00a0really<\/em>\u00a0all that married, because that no-good little squirt of a husband of hers, all one-hundred-twenty pounds of him, wasn\u2019t taking proper care of her, as a husband should. He could have been a miner, or a farmer or a homesteader, but he was just too darn limp and stoopid, and no matter how many times she popped him on the skull, she couldn\u2019t beat an ounce of ambition into him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Then Marge had taken the wine glass from his hand and emptied it in one draught. \u2018Don\u2019t you worry none about Ol\u2019 Cliffer, honeypuss \u2019, she had cooed, and leaned towards the handsome face.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Why, Ma\u2019am\u2019, he had uttered, sweating now, \u2018you\u2019re a regular Lady\u2026.\u2019 \u2026something or other, she couldn\u2019t remember exactly what kind of a lady he had called her, but what did it matter? That dashing young gentleman from Boston with the dark eyes and the dimples was the only man who had ever called her a lady in all of her life. Ever. And before she had recovered from the shock, he had jumped up and run off, never to be seen again, leaving her sitting there on the lavender couch holding his wine glass. She placed a hand on the spot where he had been sitting, still warm from the heat of his butt, and murmured, \u2018Boston!\u2019\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2026.\u201cBoston,\u201d Marge mumbled dreamily under her felt hat.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMargie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShut yer mouth, Cliffer.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut Margie, he left.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge grunted and opened one eye to squint towards the bank. The tall, silver haired man, who had entered the bank minutes before, was stepping out into the street. Behind him, she saw the skinny old clerk hang a \u2018Closed\u2019 sign in the window. Money, Marge had found out recently, was an unfortunate necessity when one was traveling. This is why she had come to Virginia City today: Marge Johnson was going to make a withdrawal.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She sat up and gave her husband an ungentle nudge. \u201cYou ready?\u201c<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford Johnson rubbed his sweating palms on his pant legs. \u201cI\u2019m telling ye, Margie, it ain\u2019t right. \u2018Thou shalt not steal\u2019, it says.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you go relijus on me again, Cliffer. Jus\u2019 do as I say.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She lumbered off the wagon\u2019s seat, stuck her .45 army colt and a length of rope between her breasts and splashed with long strides through the mud across the street. Clifford hastily scrambled behind. When she stepped onto the boardwalk on the other side, Marge grabbed her husband by the arm and steered him in front of the window next to the door. She quickly moved against the wall where she couldn\u2019t be seen from inside the bank. \u201cWhat\u2019s he doin\u2019? He gotta gun?\u201d she hissed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford peeked through the window. \u201cHe\u2019s cleanin\u2019 up some. Wipin\u2019 the counter.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAin\u2019t that cute. Do yer thing, Cliffer, like we practiced. Don\u2019t ye mess it up, now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0Clifford knocked politely on the window.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGeez, Cliffer.\u201d Marge rolled her eyes impatiently. \u201cOld fart\u2019s deaf, most like.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford licked his lips nervously and rapped his knuckles smartly against the glass. After a minute, Hank Allenby\u2019s face appeared in the window.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c \u2019Scuse me, Sir,\u201d Clifford called, removing his hat, \u201cmy dear sister left her purse here this mornin\u2019\u2026I come ta pick it up.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hank\u2019s face vanished and re-appeared a minute later. \u201cI can\u2019t find it, mister. Where\u2019d she leave it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s over by the\u2026behind\u2026\u201d he pointed through the window. \u201cIt\u2019s kinda hard ta show\u2026maybe iffen ye\u2019ll let me in\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They heard the old man grunt something and fumble with a key chain, and a moment later the door opened. Immediately, Marge shoved Clifford out of the way and pressed inside.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hank Allenby\u2019s day took a turn for the worse when he saw a hulking six-foot figure advance on him, and before he could utter a sound, a gun was in his face and a large calloused hand snatched the cloth from his nerveless fingers. \u201cNo more wipin\u2019, grampa, open the safe.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge grabbed the old clerk by the nape, dragged him behind the counter and pushed his face brutally into the safe door, pressing the gun to his temple with her other hand. \u201cYou open this, or you gonna wipe up your own brains.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford had followed pale-faced and looked on in horror. \u201cMargie, you cain\u2019t do a thing like that! \u2018Thou shalt not\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShet up, Cliffer, or I blow your brains out first, jus\u2019 to prove to this here ol\u2019 fool that I can do it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Whimpering under Marge\u2019s iron grip, Hank dialed the combination with trembling fingers. As soon as the door popped open, Marge hauled him into a corner behind the counter and kicked his feet out from under him. Hank collapsed in a heap, and the next thing he knew, his captor pulled a rope from her bosom, accidentally ripping her shirt open in the process, and then he had the surreal experience of staring at a pair of floppy, dangling breasts while being gagged with his wiping cloth and having his feet tied. He was jerked around brutally, and his hands were bound and tied to his feet behind his back. His old joints screamed at the treatment, and Hank moaned with the pain. \u201cShet up, grampa, if ye wanna live.\u201d Marge hissed savagely. \u201cYou gettin\u2019 the money, Cliffer?\u201d she called over her shoulder.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford was indeed working on it. Enthralled by the sight of more riches than he had ever seen, he had temporarily forgotten his scruples, and had loaded his arms with wads of dollar bills. It was at this precise moment that Clifford Johnson became aware of a flaw in their carefully drafted plan. He turned towards his wife, his face a blank. \u201cMargie, you brung anythin\u2019 to carry it in?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Growling, Marge advanced on him dangerously, her head lowered. \u201cJimminy Christ! Cliffer Johnson, if you ain\u2019t the stoopidest runt I ever married.\u201d She gave him a cuff on the head, causing him to whimper and drop the money. Marge looked around, saw the bucket on the counter, and with a quick movement, emptied the slosh water on the floor. \u201cHere, you idjit.\u201d She thrust it into Clifford\u2019s hands and gave him another cuff, just to make sure. She spotted the lid lying behind the counter and kicked it towards Clifford\u2019s feet. \u201cAn\u2019 be sure to keep the damn lid on when we walk outta here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford dutifully proceeded to pack as many dollar wads into the bucket as he could fit, and he threw in a couple of gold bars to top it off. He looked at Marge, then at the safe. \u201cThat\u2019s about it, Margie\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge stood by the window, nervously checking the activity in the street. \u201cWe gotta git, Cliffer. We walk outta here with our arms fulla dough one o\u2019 them fools out there might get to thinkin\u2019.\u201d Clifford joined her at the window, and Marge lifted the lid off the bucket and studied the contents. \u201cPlenty. Oughta get us to Boston easy. And iffen it don\u2019t, there\u2019s more banks along the way. How\u2019s grampa?\u201d She carefully replaced the lid.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOut cold, Margie. Ye scaired him right outta his wits.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAin\u2019t that cute. Less go, Cliffer.\u201d And she strode confidently out of the door and across the muddy street. Clifford scurried at her heels, bucket in hand. They climbed onto their wagon, and Clifford set the bucket firmly between his feet. \u201cDon\u2019 worry, Margie, I\u2019ll keep a real good eye on this here bucket!\u201d he said loyally.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou better,\u201d Marge snorted and took up the reins.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben Cartwright closed his eyes and savored the first bite of his lamb chops. After his visit to the bank, he had stopped for an early lunch at the hotel, and to his delight had discovered that lamb chops were now a staple on the menu. Maybe the advance of civilization wasn\u2019t such a worrying thing after all if it brought about some culinary pleasures such as this. His secret fondness for lamb chops was not something he wished to be universally known; after all, cattle barons and sheepherders were generally expected to rip each other\u2019s throats out rather than to savor each other\u2019s goods. But, oh well. After the events of the morning he felt he deserved a little guilty pleasure.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBen! Thank god!\u201d Ben looked up startled to see an overheated Doc Martin charge straight towards him through the room. He was still in his shirtsleeves, with his garden\u2019s dirt on his fingers and smeared across his forehead, as if he had rubbed there a lot. Not at all the way Doc Martin usually presented himself at the table. \u201cBen, where\u2019s the arm?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPaul?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe arm, Edgar Jericho\u2019s blooming arm! You walked off with it!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben stared at him blankly. \u201cSlow down, Paul. I did what?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul closed his eyes and propped his hands on the tablecloth, leaving dirty finger marks. He forced himself to speak slowly. \u201cI gave you the wrong bucket, Ben. Your chicken grain is now residing in my carrot patch. Now where\u2019s that arm?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben frowned. \u201cOh no. I gave it to Joe. He\u2019s on his way to the ranch and\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe ranch! I gotta go!\u201d He turned on his heel.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben stood. \u201cWait, Paul, why don\u2019t you leave it alone. We\u2019ll\u2026we\u2019ll dispose of it at the Ponderosa. Don\u2019t worry about it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul shook his head at him, appalled. \u201cBen, you don\u2019t understand. I can\u2019t have my severed limbs riding around the landscape. It\u2019s unprofessional! They\u2019re my responsibility. Just finish your lunch; I\u2019ll go after Little Joe.\u201d And with that, he rushed out of the restaurant.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben sat heavily back on his chair and stared at his crisp, bleeding cut of lamb chop. Somehow it didn\u2019t look nearly as appetizing anymore. He shook his head and listlessly continued his lunch.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

About a hundred yards into her trip to Boston, Marge hauled on the reins and smacked her lips. She looked at Clifford, an odd expression on her face. \u201cCliffer, ye ol\u2019 rat, you done well in that there bank,\u201d she said generously out of the side of her mouth and petted him on the top of the head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford froze and held his breath. Marge\u2019s rare benevolent moods were always very fragile and couldn\u2019t be trusted.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGonna be a long ride to Boston,\u201d Marge continued philosophically. \u201cKinda feel like getting\u2019 watered up a tad afore we go.\u201d She nodded her chin at the new saloon across the street.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMargie, that\u2019s a real fine idea,\u201d said Cliffer carefully.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge hopped from the wagon. \u201dLess have us a whiskey, Cliffer\u201d. She pointed her finger at him. \u201cYou better take that bucket with ya an\u2019 glue yer eyeballs to it!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ignoring the \u2018closed\u2019 sign on the swinging doors, they entered the new saloon and stood in the door for a second, overwhelmed by the splendor of the decorations. Marge whistled through the gap left by her missing front tooth. \u201cWhaddaya say ta that, Cliffer. Like we was already in Boston!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They moved towards the bar and looked around. Nobody was there. Marge called, but got no answer. She couldn\u2019t know that Horace had taken Oscar to his home to get him cleaned up for his big role during the evening celebration. Not that Marge cared if anyone was there. The whiskey was there, and that\u2019s all that mattered to her. She pulled Clifford behind the bar, found a bottle and some glasses and poured generously.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford set the bucket down and frowned. \u201cMargie, it ain\u2019t right to jus\u2019 take. Thou shal\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShet up, Cliffer, nobody ain\u2019t takin\u2019 nothing.\u201d She shoved one of the glasses into his hand, fished a coin from her pocket and threw it onto the bar. \u201cWe\u2019s honest folk, Cliffer,\u201d she stated grandly. \u201cWe pay for what we take.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge emptied her glass and turned it upside down on the bar. \u201cGit, Cliffer, Boston\u2019s waitin\u2019,\u201d she ordered and marched off, and Cliffer hastily swallowed his whiskey, set his glass down next to hers and ran after his wife.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When he scrambled up to the seat, Marge, reins already in hand, narrowed her eyes at him. \u201cCliffer, where\u2019s the dough?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford\u2019s face fell.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou fergot the bucket in there, didn\u2019t ya! You ain\u2019t got no more sense than a newborn puppy, ya stoopid little runt. You sit tight; I get it myself.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She cuffed him on the head and stomped back across the street and into the saloon. Looking around, she saw the lidded tin bucket sit under one of the nearby tables. Jus\u2019 like Cliffer to drop the thing halfway to the bar, she thought. She should have known better than to let him have the bucket. She carried it back to their wagon, climbed the seat and set the bucket securely between her feet. Scowling at Clifford, she gave him one more good whack to the side of the head. Clifford shrunk into his seat and thought it wise to say nothing. So much for Marge\u2019s good mood.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHere I come, Boston!\u201d Marge sang out and flapped the reins. The horse opened his only eye and trudged wearily forward.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

LUNCH TIME<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

For once in his young life, Joe Cartwright was driving the buckboard at a safe, leisurely pace. Actually, he was in no hurry to get home to report that his older brother had been appointed his chore master. No doubt Adam would greet that news with an acerbic comment and that annoying eyebrow of his, and then would go about abusing his power by assigning Joe every single task off his list of most-hated chores.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ahead was the grassy ridge from where he would get the first sight of his home: a magnificent view of the stately ranch house nestled between tall, venerable pines swaying elegantly in the wind, a view he always looked forward to when coming from town – well, maybe not today. While the horses climbed laboriously up the steep path to the ridge crest, Joe longingly eyed the soft grass speckled with wildflowers. He was wondering whether he shouldn\u2019t forget all about Adam and chores and instead stretch out for a pleasant midday snooze in the sunshine, when he heard the frantic hoof beats behind him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He turned to see a rider on a fat bay horse charge up the hill. The animal was blowing like a steamship, and its rider flopped pitifully up and down in the saddle. Joe recognized Doc Martin, and his eyebrows drew together in concern. The good doctor was a famously unskilled rider, and there were few emergencies dire enough to get him up on a galloping horse. Joe had a brief troubling vision of his brothers in a heap on the ground, their heads cracked open, and his heart skipped a beat.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoe!\u201d Paul called out and yanked his horse to a halt next to the buckboard. He had lost a stirrup and had slid to one side of the saddle, hanging on to the saddle horn like a drowning man, and Joe looked politely away while the doctor took a second to rearrange himself into a more dignified position. \u201cJoe!\u201d he said again, gasping for air.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIs it Hoss or Adam?\u201d Joe asked anxiously, but Paul shook his head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, I\u2019m after you.\u201d He dismounted clumsily, which was just as well, because his overweight mare was wheezing loudly and looked ready to drop to her knees.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did I do?\u201d Joe wondered if he had somehow managed to get on Paul\u2019s bad side, too.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou did nothing, son, nothing at all.\u201d Paul bent over and braced his hands on his knees, still trying to catch his breath. \u201cLord Jesus, I\u2019m getting too old for this.\u201d He straightened up and looked at Joe. \u201cNo need to look guilty, son, I\u2019m the one who bungled things up.\u201d He proceeded to explain about the bucket switch and just what he believed Joe was carrying home in the lidded tin bucket in his wagon.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe blanched. \u201cOh! Please, Doc, take it. Just\u2026take it away. It\u2019s all yours.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul grunted and lifted the tin bucket from the buckboard. He removed the lid to peek inside and gasped. \u201cWhat the\u2026what the hell is this, Joe?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe craned his neck to get a careful look, only to yelp in surprise when he found that the bucket was filled with tiny white flowers, sadly wilted in the midday heat. \u201cOh no,\u201d he managed after a second, when it dawned on him what had happened. \u201cThis ain\u2019t good. I musta grabbed the wrong bucket! I was\u2026I guess I was distracted!\u201d\u00a0Girls, Joseph! You were thinking about saloon girls<\/em>, he heard his father\u2019s voice boom inside his head.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After listening to Joe\u2019s stuttered explanation, Doc Martin rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. \u201cYou\u2019re telling me that Edgar Jericho\u2019s severed arm now sits in a bucket in the new saloon?\u201d He stopped rubbing and stared at Joe through the fingers of his hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe shrugged apologetically.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThis clearly ain\u2019t my day.\u201d Paul moaned and turned to his horse, which stood panting, her nose drooping almost to the ground. \u201cSorry, Mathilda, it\u2019s back to town.\u201d He climbed aboard, his right foot fishing in vain for the other stirrup, yanked her around with the reins and dug his heels into her flanks. Mathilda squealed in protest like a stuck pig and trotted off down the hill, her nose high in the air and her plump belly swaying precariously from side to side.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe sat for a while, then shook his head vigorously as if to clear it from all he had heard in the last five minutes. He dumped the wilted flowers and threw the bucket back onto the buckboard. Wincing, he imagined Oscar\u2019s and Mr. Hunneker\u2019s faces when Paul barged into the saloon and informed them what had happened to their flowers. Gosh, hopefully they didn\u2019t find the arm before Paul did. Poor Oscar would probably have to go through the indignity of picking daisies all over again, right there in Hampton\u2019s meadow in plain sight and broad daylight. Joe sighed. How did he ever manage to cause so much trouble for everyone, even without trying?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

On the front porch of the Ponderosa ranch house, the unsuspecting target of Marge Johnson\u2019s fantasies lazed in a chair, enjoying a moment\u2019s rest along with a cup of pitch black coffee. Adam Cartwright stretched his long legs as far from him as they would go and closed his eyes under the brim of his black hat. He and Hoss had spent the morning out with the spring branding crew, roping, herding, throwing, and wielding the smoldering branding irons. The stench of burnt flesh still permeated Adam\u2019s clothes, mingling unflatteringly with that of the coffee and his own sweat. Branding was just about Adam\u2019s least favorite job. It was tedious, monotonous, and low-down dirty.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss hated branding, too, for the simple reason that he detested inflicting pain on any animal; even worse, because spring branding was also the time they castrated the yearling bulls. After the youngsters were roped and thrown, an experienced cutter would come in with a sharp little knife, grab the bull\u2019s cojones and roll the egg-sized orbs out between thumb and forefinger. Two small cuts through the scrotum, a squeeze with the fist, and they would flop out and roll into the dust, joining scores of others which already littered the ground around the branding site like large discarded marbles.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Poor Hoss, Adam mused with a fond smile as he recalled how his big brother had flinched every time another pair of orphaned marbles bumped into the others already on the ground. Hoss flat-out refused to do the job \u2013\u00a0Nope, Adam, there\u2019s things a man jus\u2019 won\u2019t do\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0–\u00a0 and after all those years they had finally given up trying to convince him of its necessity. Joe was all thumbs when it came to knives near delicate body parts, and so the job of overseeing castration and teaching the art to new hands naturally fell to older brother.\u00a0Takes a man with an engineering degree<\/em>, Adam thought sourly. He estimated that he had unmanned about forty-five young bulls that morning. For a moment, he amused himself with the thought that if hell was a branding pit run by dismarbled yearlings, Adam Cartwright was earmarked to spend eternity a few ounces lighter.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss and Adam had ridden home at noon dragging a young steer with their ropes whose fate that day was worse than being deprived of a few body parts; it was going to be slaughtered. Hop Sing had informed them that their meat supply was low and had spent the morning re-packing the root cellar with fresh ice he had hacked from a still-frozen mountain lake.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Their Chinese cook had greeted them, axe in hand and clad in his blood-stained butcher\u2019s apron, and had ordered Hoss to drag the steer into the hay barn, where he had already spread a canvas tarp and set up various wide wooden tubs to catch the blood and meat. When Adam had tried to follow, Hop Sing had shoved him towards the porch and announced, \u201cHop Sing no need number one son. Go drink coffee. Only need number two son, he big strong. Too many Cartlight get in way!\u201d Adam had shrugged and thrown his hands up – fine with him. He was happy to take a break and keep from getting his clothes bloody. Now nestled comfortably in his chair with his coffee balanced on one thigh, he gleefully listened to the sounds of the sorrowful scene unfolding in the barn.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cReady? Mista Hoss throw down steer and tie legs.\u201d The little Chinese\u2019s commanding voice was surprisingly powerful.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a scuffle, a grunt from Hoss, and a pitiful bellow from the steer, then a loud thump.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGood good. Make tight knots. Now Mista Hoss grab head and hold over tub!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Another grunt from Hoss, followed by the sound of a wooden tub being dragged a small distance, along with a strangled moan, which Adam was pretty sure came from the animal and not his brother. \u201cGee, Hop Sing, I don\u2019t wanna hurt the poor critter none.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow gonna kill critter without hurt! You grab head, I chop. Gimme axe.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAaw, mebbe we shouldn\u2019a\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMista Hoss wanna eat rabbit food?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNah, Hop Sing, that ain\u2019t fair. How come Adam ain\u2019t doin\u2019 this? He likes his beef as much as I do…he jus\u2019 don\u2019t wanna get his hands dirty.\u201d Adam allowed himself a private little grin at this.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMista Adam too puny to hold steer!\u201d\u00a0 – Adam\u2019s grin died on his lips \u2013 \u201cOnly Mista Hoss strong enough.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCain\u2019t we jus\u2019 shoot the poor critter, like we usually do?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMista Hoss wanna get fresh blood for horrible awful blood sausage?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, sure, but\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen must chop neck. Gimme axe! Hold neck over tub and be quiet.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There was some mumbling, and then a shifting, shuffling and grunting, as of some kind of wrestling match. Another soulful bellow arose, which was brutally cut off by a chopping sound and a martial grunt from Hop Sing. A strangled gurgling, then, into the silence:<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDadblame you, Hop Sing, you done plum killed him!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo complain! Hold neck over tub! Not waste blood. Let all blood out into tub.\u201d He made a gagging sound in his throat and ranted, \u201cbarbaric, disgusting, cannibal German sausage. Chinese people no eat blood. Chinese people civilized two thousand year!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Aaaah, blood sausage, Adam mused, the reason for poor Hop Sing\u2019s exasperation. A week ago, Adam himself would have crinkled his educated nose at the idea of eating\u00a0 boiled blood squeezed into a piece of intestine. But then his father had invited the Kreutzers to a dinner party, a German couple who had recently opened a butcher\u2019s shop in Virginia City. The Kreutzers had brought a sampling of their best sausages, and during an evening filled with laughter, good food and charming intercultural misunderstandings, the Cartwright family had been introduced to the high art of making \u2018blutwurst\u2019\u2026\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2026\u2026 It had always been a Ponderosa tradition to invite newcomers to the area over to dinner. The Cartwrights were among the wealthiest and oldest residents in the Comstock, and Ben laid great emphasis on the importance of cultivating good relations with his neighbors. The couple, decked out in their Sunday finest, arrived in their squeaky buggy pulled by an elderly, well fed mule. Hannelore and Heinrich Kreutzer were an earthy, middle-aged couple from Westphalia who had immigrated to America and found their way to the Comstock over the pioneer trails. They had brought with them their homeland\u2019s centuries-old traditions of sausage making, \u2018Wurstmachen\u2019, and had opened \u201cHanne\u2019s Wurst Shoppe,\u201d which soon became phenomenally popular, particularly among the poor hardscrabble miners who couldn\u2019t afford the pricey cuts of meat sold at the town\u2019s hotels. The Kreutzers, it was known, could take any parts of an animal carcass, even those that a half-starved hermit would hesitate to throw to his dog, and mix in some spices and secret little odds and ends and turn out the most delicious sausages imaginable. It was sheer magic. \u201cJus\u2019 eat\u2019em and enjoy\u2019em, and better don\u2019 ask what went in\u2019em,\u201d was the wisdom among the miners.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

To Hop Sing\u2019s blistering annoyance, Frau Kreutzer cheerfully pushed his pork roast down the table to make room for her platter of sausages. \u201cGood good good!\u201d She declared and smacked her lips in demonstration. \u201cGood wurst from ze pig and ze cow and ze wild stag.\u201d She grabbed Hoss, who was sitting next to her, by the bicep with her large, fattish hand and cooed, \u201cOooh, strong strong! Big strong cowboy need much good strong wurst. In Westphalia, ze young mens grow big and strong from Mama\u2019s good wurst.\u201d Next she grabbed Joe\u2019s bicep on her other side. \u201cAch, too skinny! Too little!\u201d She stuck an end of liverwurst in his face. \u201cAaaaa\u201d she commanded, and Joe, startled, reflexively opened his mouth. \u201cEat eat! Is good for making arms strong!\u201d She pushed the piece inside his mouth and thumped him good-naturedly on the shoulder. \u201cIs good?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHmm\u201d Joe managed, chewing busily.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Frau Kreutzer giggled with delight. \u201cYes, is very good, very good. But try zis, zis is most good wurst!\u201d She handed out pieces of a thick, dark red variety and nodded enthusiastically at their chewing faces. \u201cGood, yes?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat sure\u2019s the best durn sausage I ever had, Mrs. Kreutzer,\u201d commented Hoss sincerely.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s eyebrows rose appreciatively. The sausage was rich, deft and spicy, quite unlike any other he had ever tasted. \u201cVery good indeed.\u201d He eyed his remaining piece with interest. It was made of a dark red ground mass speckled with chunks of fat and meat. \u201cHow is it made, Mrs. Kreutzer?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAh! Zat is ze Blutwurst! Is made from ze good Blut!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFrom blood?\u201d Joe scowled at his piece of sausage suspiciously.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes yes, blood! When you kill ze pig or ze cow, you collect ze blood!\u201d She sliced her finger across her neck with a deft cutting motion and supplied an appropriate sound. \u201cUrrgh!\u201d She held her cupped hands under her neck. \u201cCollect ze blood. Is much too good to waste!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s fascinating, Mrs. Kreutzer. And what do you do with the blood then?\u201d Adam inquired and flashed a wicked eyebrow towards Joe, whose face had gone slack and who was beginning to look just a little bit green.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, you put in ozzer parts from ze pig or ze cow. Ze meat, and maybe some milk, and some, how do you say, from ze Zunge. Baaaaah!\u201d She stuck her tongue out at them, causing them to exchange puzzled, bemused glances. \u201cZunge. Heinrich, was heisst denn Zunge?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Heinrich, who was as skinny as his wife was fat and as taciturn as she was bubbly, translated laconically, \u201ctongue.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTongue! Wonderful! Yes, from ze cow tongue. Very tasty. And maybe, if ze cow was a boy, you can put ze Eier, no?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss blushed and stopped chewing at this. \u201cYou don\u2019t mean\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I mean ze Eier, eggs, is how you say in English, no? Ze cow eggs.\u201d She squeezed her fist around an imagined object and made two tell tale little cutting movements with her other hand that told Adam that she was a master at The Art.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hop Sing had appeared with a tray of lemon cream pudding in hand and stood frozen behind Ben, listening with an expression of utter disgust on his face. Adam was having a grand old time by now. He set his elbows on the table and attempted to hide a smirk behind his folded hands. \u201cUm, Mrs. Kreutzer, the blood sausage we just ate didn\u2019t happen to contain any, ah, \u2018cow eggs\u2019, did it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo no, zis one is very simple. Just blood and ze tongue and some onions and Speck, how do you say?.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFat,\u201d grunted Heinrich and eyed the pudding Hop Sing had just placed in front of him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes yes, fat from ze Hinterteil.\u201d Frau Kreutzer lifted her plentiful buttocks from the chair, turned them towards the table and thumped them with her hand for emphasis. \u201cZis part. Ze Hintern. Oh, zis is ze pudding for dessert? How wonderful!\u201d she sang out and placed her Hinterteil back on the chair, taking a bowl of pudding from Hop Sing, who glared at her with unabashed hostility.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, you mean fat from the rump! You take some rump fat,\u201d a delighted Hoss exclaimed, catching on.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, fat from ze rump. And zen you put all in here.\u201d She pointed at her ample belly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou eat it,\u201d guessed Ben.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo no no, not yet. First you put it all in here, in ze Darm. Ze Darm, how do you say? From ze belly. Of ze dead cow. To cook in.\u201d And when their faces remained blank, she turned towards her husband. \u201cHeinrich, wie sagt man Darm?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGut.\u201d Heinrich sighed and spooned pudding into his mouth.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, in ze gut. You take ze gut from ze cow and push out ze cow poop and put in ze blood and some salt and spice and tongue and cow eggs and fat from ze Hintern and boil for two hours in ze big pot and zen hang in ze smoke room for two day and you get ze good blutwurst.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a lengthy silence, interrupted only by Hop Sing\u2019s dark Cantonese mutterings from the kitchen. Hoss reached for another piece of sausage and grinned happily at his family. \u201cShucks, Pa, we sure done wasted a lot of good vittles every time we slaughter a steer. Who woulda thunk you could take all that blood and all them other parts and make such good sausage.\u201d He crinkled his nose a little. \u201cThough I ain\u2019t terrible sure about them cow eggs\u2026think I\u2019d rather have me sausage without them, iffen ye know what I mean.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben lifted his eyebrows, tilted his head and smiled into his napkin. Of course Hoss would appreciate this. Hoss, who didn\u2019t like killing animals unless absolutely necessary, and who always insisted that no usable part of a killed animal be wasted. And Adam, with his curiosity about other cultures and their tastes, and whose long fingers were now snatching the very last piece of blutwurst from the tray, beating Hoss\u2019 hand by a second. Joe just looked nauseous and stared at his lemon cream pudding as if it were made of pus. As for himself, Ben remembered tasting all manner of unspeakable things in exotic ports while traveling the seven seas as a sailor. Now, in his land-locked maturity, he preferred to stick with his roast beef. \u201cWell, Hoss,\u201d he said and laid his napkin on the table, \u201cnext time we slaughter a steer, maybe you and Adam can make sure all that good blood doesn\u2019t get wasted. Why don\u2019t you collect it and have Mrs. Kreutzer here make you some nice sausage.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh Mr. Cartwright, zat is wonderful! Yes, you bring ze blood, Mr. Hoss, and we learn you how to make ze good wurst, no? You bring ze tongue, too, no? And ze fat, and we have milk and salt and onions and ze spices. You come to our shop, and we make wurst!\u201d\u2026\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2026\u2026.And so, here they were, collecting steer blood to make blutwurst. Hoss was just now coming out of the barn with his face, pants and shirt front splattered in blood. He threw Adam, who sat watching him from the porch, a dirty look and pointed an outraged finger at his older brother. \u201cYou better wipe that grin off, Adam, or you ain\u2019t gonna see a crumb o\u2019 that sausage.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam was about to give some kind of acid retort when they heard their younger brother clatter into the yard with the buckboard. Joe pulled up the team in front of the hitching post, jumped down from the seat, took one long look at Hoss in his bloody clothes and another one at Adam seated comfortably on the porch. \u201cHowdy brothers. Let me guess. Hoss is doing all the dirty work and older brother here is giving directions from his throne. Did I get it right?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYe hit the nail on the head, little brother.\u201d Hoss clapped Joe on the back and surveyed the load of supplies in the buckboard. \u201cHey, Joe, mind if I take that there bucket?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHuh? Sure, go ahead,\u201d answered Joe distractedly. Hoss grabbed the empty bucket out of the buggy and disappeared back into the barn.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ten minutes later, after Adam had helped Joe unload the supplies, the two were sitting on the porch again, sharing some sandwiches they had quickly whipped up for lunch, setting aside a stack for Hoss as well. At Adam\u2019s prodding, Joe had explained that Ben had stayed in town until the party at the saloon that night, but from the way his brother chewed on the inside of his cheek, Adam guessed that he hadn\u2019t heard everything there was to hear.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDid Pa talk to Paul about the sick hands?\u201d he asked Joe, just to start somewhere.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? Yeah, he did, but Paul\u2019s probably not coming out today. He ain\u2019t exactly in the best of moods.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cReally? Why\u2019s that?\u201d Adam couldn\u2019t remember if he\u2019d ever seen Paul Martin in a bad mood before.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHuh? Oh, he lost an arm.\u201d Joe mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a clanging noise when Adam\u2019s tin coffee cup slipped from his grip and hit the ground. \u201cHe lost an arm? My God!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, kinda funny, ain\u2019t it?\u201d Joe looked up, grinning, to see his older brother stare at him in abject horror. \u201cNo wait, Adam, you got it all wrong. Not his own arm. Somebody else\u2019s. Miner Jericho\u2019s, actually, poor man. And then Paul thought that Pa had wandered off with it. Only Pa\u2019d given it to me, so that\u2019s why Paul followed me up the trail, but I only had Pa\u2019s chicken feed, except it weren\u2019t chicken feed either, just Oscar\u2019s daisies.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam blinked his eyes at all this and shook his head a little. He rubbed his forehead, sighed and used his patient voice. \u201cJust tell me in plain simple English, did anything happen to either Paul or Pa?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe thought about this for a second. \u201cNope, they\u2019re fine. But Miner Jericho isn\u2019t, poor man.\u201d He gave a brief account of the cave-in and Edgar Jericho\u2019s injuries, as far as Doc Martin had explained them to him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam listened quietly. \u201cThat\u2019s terrible,\u201d he said softly. \u201cThere\u2019s just too many accidents in those mines. It\u2019s that rickety shoring they use.\u201d They sat in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After a minute, Adam looked up and studied his little brother from above his roast beef sandwich. Joe was still chewing on his cheek. \u201cAnything else you wanna tell me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHuh? Nope.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam took a guess. \u201cPa give you any errands?\u201d In fact, he thought, it wouldn\u2019t be a normal day if Joe wasn\u2019t in some sort of trouble by now. After all, it was already past noon. \u201cAny chores you\u2019re supposed to do?\u201d From the sudden green flash in Joe\u2019s eye he figured that he had hit near the mark. He put his sandwich on the table, crossed his arms in front of his chest and smiled sweetly. \u201cAll right, younger brother, what did you do this time? Chase a pretty skirt? Run the team so fast you scared the daylights out of Pa? Sneak some gut rot in one of the booze tents?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy don\u2019t you shut up, Adam!\u201d came the violent reply.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAah, that\u2019s it then. Pa caught you drinkin\u2019, didn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe sank his teeth into his sandwich but said nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI see,\u201d commented Adam, watching him. He added softly, not without sympathy, \u201cthere goes your fishin\u2019 trip, huh?\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m still allowed to go to the party tonight,\u201d Joe shot out and winced when he realized he had just sounded like a twelve year old.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam tipped his chair back, balancing it on two legs and crossed his hands behind his head. \u201cUh huh. You\u2019re allowed if\u2026?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe silently picked at his sandwich for a long while. \u201cIf I ask you for a list of chores,\u201d he finally said miserably. \u201cDang, Adam.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam let his chair back down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. \u201cWell, now, that wasn\u2019t too painful, was it?\u201d he said mildly, though he felt a pang of anger at his father.\u00a0What the heck does Pa think I am, my brother\u2019s jailor? The kid\u2019s seventeen years old, for Pete\u2019s sake.\u00a0<\/em>Adam had secretly hoped for a quiet afternoon of reading and kissed that notion goodbye. He sighed. \u201cTell you what, Joe. Why don\u2019t you and I help Hop Sing finish butchering that steer, and then we\u2019ll call it a day and go to town early. We\u2019ll take our fishing poles and stop at Calf Creek on the way in. What do you say?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Surprised, Joe smiled at him gratefully. \u201cHey, that sounds great, Adam.\u201d Every now and then, he had to admit, his older brother did show some promise after all.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss joined them from the barn, carrying the tin bucket, now filled with steer blood, in one hand. He scowled at his brothers. \u201cIffen you ain\u2019t sittin\u2019 too pretty out here, Hop Sing wonders if he could bother you two ladies to help him cut up the rest o\u2019 that steer. I\u2019m gonna go to town and get this blood to Mrs. Kreutzer\u2019s shop.\u201d His face lit up a bit when he saw the stack of sandwiches on the table. \u201cAaw, are those fer me?\u201d He set down the bucket, rubbed his bloodstained hands on his pants, and reached for his sandwiches.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam leaned over, lifted the lid and eyed the interior of the bucket carefully. It was filled to about two-thirds with blood and chunky pieces of tissue. \u201cThat\u2019s very nice, Hoss. What\u2019s all that floatin\u2019 around in there?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJes\u2019 the tongue, and some rump fat, like Mrs. Kreutzer said.\u201d Hoss answered, chewing.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe sat staring oddly at the bucket and then at the last bit of his sandwich. Adam saw it and smiled. \u201cThe tongue, uh huh. And how about the eyeballs, Hoss? Pity to waste the eyeballs, don\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss stopped chewing and thought about it earnestly. \u201cNah, Adam, Mrs. Kreutzer never said anything about no eyeballs.\u201d Joe looked a bit unwell as he put his remaining lunch on the table and pushed it away.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam looked thoughtful. \u201cHow about some eggs then? You sure we shouldn\u2019t have any \u2018cow eggs\u2019 in there? I know a place out by the branding pits where about a hundred of them are just lying around.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe couldn\u2019t help giggle at this.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss screwed up his face. \u201cI ain\u2019t eatin\u2019 no cow eggs, Adam. You want any in your sausage, you go ahead and get\u2019em yerself, and next time you can hold the steer while Hop Sing chops his neck off. But you just don\u2019t wanna get all that blood on you, do ye.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s eyebrows rose in mock offence. He looked down the front of his black shirt and made a show of pointing at a tiny stain. \u201cAnd what do you think this is? Guess who turned about fifty bulls into steers this morning. There. And here,\u201d he pointed, finding more bloodstains.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYe got my sympathy, older brother,\u201d Hoss commented grouchily and rose from his chair. He looked down at his ruined pants. \u201cExcuse me, ladies. I better change outta these bloody clothes before I get to town. Reckon I\u2019ll see ya\u2019ll at that party tonight.\u201d He trudged off into the house.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul Martin slipped ungracefully from the saddle, gave Mathilda a consoling pat on the neck and stiffly walked up to the swinging doors. He stuck his head inside and called, but when no one answered, he entered and looked around.\u00a0Well now, they sure got the place fancied up.<\/em>\u00a0He smiled crookedly. Fancy or not, as far as he was concerned, it was just another watering hole and would generate the usual injuries and maladies associated with such places: busted heads, black eyes, knife wounds in the back and alcoholic stupors that he would treat with Doc Martin\u2019s special hangover elixir made of black coffee, lemon juice and a generous dose of laudanum.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

As the only doctor in town, he remembered with a pang of annoyance, he was considered a prominent citizen, and Hunneker would no doubt be disappointed if he didn\u2019t attend his long-awaited party. Well, maybe for courtesy\u2019s sake he\u2019d stick his head in, shake some hands and smile his approval before going home and preparing his operating room for the casualties which were no doubt to follow.\u00a0But then again<\/em>, he thought wistfully,\u00a0maybe this is my lucky day, and there\u2019ll be no more mayhem and no more mutilations, and I can just bury that ridiculous arm and spend a quiet evening with Emma.\u00a0<\/em>He sighed. He couldn\u2019t remember the last time he and Emma had had an uninterrupted evening all to themselves. The moment they sat down by the fire place and put their feet up to share some good wine and good memories, the women of Virginia City would burst open to give birth to twins, their husbands would bury axes in their shins and their sons and daughters would swallow bottles of horse liniment and stick shotgun slugs up their noses.\u00a0Poor Emma. Sometimes I wonder why the woman still hangs out with me. Well, I guess I know why. She loves me.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Paul steered along the bar and around the tables, looking for the tin bucket, and finally found it sitting on the ground behind the bar.\u00a0Thank God, that\u2019s over with.<\/em>He pulled the bucket into a shaft of light from one of the windows and opened the lid.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat in the name of\u2026.!\u201d Flabbergasted, he reached inside to pull out, of all things, a wad of bills. A thick wad. They were twenty-dollar-bills, and there were a lot of them. Puzzled, Paul tilted the bucket towards the light. Lots of wads and even a glint of gold among them. There must be thousands of dollars here.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of a bird-brained fool leaves a bucket full of money sitting unattended in a saloon!\u201d he wondered aloud.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

People in this town were just careless! They were careless with money and careless with human lives, and ever since the discovery of that blasted silver lode had turned the place into a madhouse, nothing seemed to have any real value any more; nothing except silver. Fortunes were made one day and squandered the next, and it wasn\u2019t unheard of for a poor drunken fool of a miner to stuff a whole year\u2019s worth of earnings down some whore\u2019s corset on a reckless Saturday night.\u00a0And why shouldn\u2019t he? He\u2019s just as likely to die in a cave-in on Monday morning, the poor sot.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul stood up and looked around the empty saloon. \u201cAnyone here?\u201d he called, and when no answer came, he walked towards the back, opened the door to the kitchen and called inside. Still no answer. Oh well, why should he care? Probably just some fool who had turned his claim\u2019s profits into hard cash, which he planned to throw around at the party tonight. Most likely gone off to get cleaned up at the barber\u2019s to be presentable to the ladies, and forgot to take his bucket. Probably already drunk. Paul snorted.\u00a0What\u2019s it to me? I\u2019m here to find an arm, not to worry about other people\u2019s money. Talking of which, where is that cursed arm anyways?<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Taking his hat off, Paul scratched his receding hairline and realized he\u2019d run out of places to look. So what? He was exhausted, cranky, and his buttocks smarted from the abuse they had taken in Mathilda\u2019s saddle.\u00a0Poor Mathilda, probably has her own set of saddle sores.<\/em>\u00a0She isn\u2019t used to being ridden, either.\u00a0<\/em>With a sigh, he decided to let the matter go. He\u2019d already wasted more than enough time on it. If anyone found an errant human arm crawling around the Comstock, no doubt he\u2019d hear about it sooner or later. He placed the bucket back behind the bar where he found it, went outside, untied Mathilda and led the tired mare down the road. \u201cNo more riding for either of us today, old girl,\u201d he told her. Time to go home, care for his patient and kiss his wife.\u00a0And have her put some baby powder on my saddle blisters.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

AFTERNOON<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss steered the team down muddy C Street and frowned at the busy traffic. This town sure was picking up speed. As much as he enjoyed meeting new folks like the Kreutzers, he had to admit he yearned for the days of the sleepy old trading post where each face you met was that of an old friend calling you by name and greeting you with a smile. This new Virginia City was a town full of strange faces, and too few of them wore a smile. Hoss pulled up the buckboard in front of the livery, lifted his bucket off the back and began to unhitch the horses.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Most people would think nothing of leaving the horses waiting in harness all day long, but Hoss expected it would be late night before he and Pa rode the buckboard back from the party, and he liked to think that the animals had a warm stall and some hay in the seven or eight hours until then. He led them each into a stall and began to gather some hay for them. He didn\u2019t really look forward to that party, at least not like Little Joe, who\u2019d been twitterin\u2019 about dancing girls and piano music and chandeliers for a week. Then again, it might be swell enough, good for a few beers and an opportunity to meet some of the new residents of Virginia City. Especially if some of them were female. But the whole town was invited to this one, and Hoss assumed that it would be too crowded, too loud and probably too high-falutin\u2019 fancy to be any real fun.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Taking a few handfuls of hay, he gave the horses a brief rubdown and offered each some kind words and a lump of sugar from his pocket. Well, he\u2019d check out that dadblamed party after visiting with the Kreutzers. Really, he preferred smaller, quieter gatherings where a man could dance with a shy girl to some simple fiddle music and then sit her down at a quiet table and bring her some home-cooked food and talk to her. Oh well.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Carrying his bucket, Hoss strolled down the wooden boardwalk towards Hanne\u2019s Wurst Shoppe. Just as he passed the new saloon, he heard someone call his name.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Cartwright, how good to see you!\u201d A cheerful Horace Hunneker came from the other direction, closely followed by a short, bearded man in a suit. \u201cCan I invite you to a drink? Your father and brother have already dropped in this morning. It\u2019ll be a fine party tonight; I sure hope your family will honor us by attending.\u201d He gave his companion a friendly pat on the back and steered him towards Hoss. \u201cYou know Oscar here, I\u2019m sure. He\u2019ll be a big help at the party tonight, won\u2019t you, Oscar?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss almost hadn\u2019t recognized the old town drunk. Horace had apparently bought him a clean shirt and a suit and had somehow accomplished what the whole town had failed to do for years: get Oscar to take a bath, cut his matted hair and shave off his beard. Hoss realized with a little sadness that Oscar was actually a lot younger than he had always assumed. Although life\u2019s disappointments had carved deep, bitter lines around his mouth and eyes, now that his face was fully revealed he looked like a man in his mid thirties.\u00a0Not much older than Adam. Cruel how life cuts some people down.<\/em>\u00a0\u201c \u2018Course I know\u2019im,\u201d Hoss smiled warmly down at him. \u201cMy, lookee-here, Oscar, don\u2019t you look spiffy today.\u201d Oscar awkwardly shuffled his feet and blushed a little.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace insisted that Hoss come inside for a minute to look at the place. Hoss wasn\u2019t really interested, but he understood that the man was spilling over with pride and excitement and needed to show off a bit. Horace led him all around, and Hoss fingered the tablecloths, marveled at the softness of the silk, admired the crystal lamps and ran his hands approvingly along the dark, exotic wood of the bar. When Horace invited him to have a drink, he politely declined. \u201cNah, thanks, Mr. Hunneker, maybe later at the party. I gotta get this here bucket to the Kreutzer\u2019s shop.\u201d He looked around. \u201cNow where did I put that bucket down anyways?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c \u2018Tis right here, Mr. Cartwright.\u201d Oscar shuffled forth from behind the bar, carrying the bucket, and gave it to Hoss. With a few more words of congratulations, Hoss tipped his hat and continued towards the Kreutzer\u2019s house.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Hoss! How wonderful! And you bring ze blood, no?\u201d Frau Kreutzer greeted him at the door with her typical exuberance. She took the bucket from his hand, took it to the wurst kitchen and opened a small trap door in the floor which led to the root cellar. She disappeared down the stairs into the tiny chamber to deposit the bucket. After climbing back up, she took Hoss\u2019 arm to pull him down the hallway towards the living room. \u201cZe blood will stay good and fresh in ze cellar. Later, we make blutwurst. First, you must be hungry, no? Ach, such a long road from your ranch. We have much good food; you must eat before we work, no? We have good Pfannekuchen, how do you say? Flapjacks, I sink, wiz blueberry jam, and apple cake for dessert, and good German bread and much good wurst, of course, many kinds of wurst\u2026.\u201d.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss smiled with delight. \u201cShucks, I sure could eat a bite or two, Mrs. Kreutzer.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The two brothers rode peacefully side-by-side towards Virginia City. They were dressed smartly in their fine white linen shirts with black string ties around their necks; although, upon close inspection one might have discovered a few, small, greenish grass stains on their backs and elbows. Their horses, given long reins, strode along at a loose-jointed walk, blowing contentedly, necks stretched low and forward. Adam had closed his eyes and hooked a leg across the saddle horn, enjoying the warm afternoon sun on his back.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Bending down deep from the saddle, Joe plucked up a long stalk of grass and stuck it between his lips. He and Adam had spent two pleasant hours fishing and talking while lounging in the warm grass on the banks of Calf Creek. When it was time to go, they had hidden their fishing poles, strung their fish on a line and hung them in the cold water to be picked up on their way home tonight.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe glanced over at his brother and smiled. Adam had really come through for him. It had been a while since Joe had so enjoyed his big brother\u2019s company. He noticed with some amusement that Adam was actually dozing in the saddle, his head nodding further towards his chest with each stride of his horse. With his right leg flung over the horn like that, Joe thought he looked like one of the ladies he had seen riding side-saddle in San Francisco. It struck him as an asinine way to sit a horse, but Adam did it often and seemed to think it was comfortable. Joe made a mental note to gang up with Hoss to give Adam a side-saddle for his 30th birthday.\u00a0Yeah, that\u2019ll go over real well.<\/em>\u00a0 He chuckled quietly at the image, when he noticed Adam begin a slow slide forward and down into the arms of sleep. Just when Joe was sure he would topple off his horse, Adam\u2019s body jerked awake, the muscles contracting as they remembered where they were, and he caught his weight in the left stirrup and sat up straight. \u201cWhoa!\u201d he called out, startled, and opened his eyes wide to see his little brother grin at him insolently.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe pulled the grass stalk from his mouth. \u201cYou doin\u2019 okay there, grandpa? Think you\u2019re gonna make it to town, or shall I tie you to the saddle?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam took the bait gracefully. \u201cGive an old man a break, Joe. At my age, you gotta take your naps when you can.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They both laughed softly at the joke. After a while, Joe spoke again. \u201cUh\u2026by the way…I just wanna say thanks, Adam.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam lifted a surprised eyebrow. \u201cFor what, Joe?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFor being fair this afternoon. I thought you were gonna be a real pest about it. I would have bet you were gonna run me ragged chopping wood or cleaning saddles or something.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam was quiet for a few paces before stealing a reproachful glance at his brother. \u201cBelieve it or not, Joe, I was seventeen once.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe tried for a moment to imagine a seventeen year old Adam being chewed out by Pa and failed. \u201cYeah, but I bet you never got into trouble. Not like I get.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam just snorted softly at this but said nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you didn\u2019t have an annoying older brother Pa could throw at you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI had worse, Joe. I had two baby brothers he\u2019d throw at me when I was in trouble.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe was surprised to detect the hint of an edge in his brother\u2019s voice. He mulled over what Adam had just said while studying him from the side. Of course, he had plenty of memories of himself and Hoss being left in the care of a moody, scowling big brother when they were small. It had never occurred to him that the punishment might have been Adam\u2019s rather than theirs. \u201cBet you hated that,\u201d he offered.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam tilted his head as if to think about it. \u201cNah. Only if it meant I missed out on taking a pretty girl to a picnic.\u201d He flashed a lopsided grin towards Joe. \u201cOr on going fishing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The afternoon sun was rolling lazily towards the western Sierra peaks, when their trail passed the junction to the road leading north towards Reno, a few miles west of Virginia City. A small dark speck appeared on the track far ahead, and by and by, they could make out the shape of a horse-drawn covered wagon. It seemed to be in some kind of trouble; the horse didn\u2019t look right, and it wasn\u2019t moving. As they drew closer, Joe could make out how rickety the wagon looked; the canvas cover was tattered, and now he saw that the horse had sunk to its front knees in apparent exhaustion. No wonder, Joe thought, a wagon that size should be pulled by at least two horses. Two shabby figures were standing next to the wagon, a very large one and a very small one. Just then the large figure took a short run at the horse and brutally kicked the animal in the belly. Joe uttered a strangled grunt as if he himself had been kicked. \u201cArgh! Adam, did you\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI saw it, Joe,\u201d Adam answered calmly, but the grim line of his mouth betrayed what he thought about such treatment. He reached over to pat Joe on the thigh. \u201cJust hold your temper, little brother, and maybe we can help.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

As they reached the wagon, Joe realized that the large figure was indeed a woman, dressed in wide leather pants and a dirty wool shirt, and her big, angular face scrutinized them with an expression of sheer hostility. Adam tipped his hat and spoke with cold politeness. \u201cGood afternoon, Ma\u2019am. Can we be of help?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She looked up at him through narrowed eyes. \u201cYou gotta horse to sell?\u201d she growled, swinging another kick at the worn-out animal\u2019s belly. This time, even Adam flinched.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe had never seen a sorrier horse; its knees were bloody from what Joe assumed were repeated falls on the stony road, and the poor creature was blowing and puffing with its nose planted on the ground. The gelding\u2019s bones were sticking out, and he only had one eye, which was closed. Joe thought he might have been a gray once, but he obviously hadn\u2019t been groomed in so long that his mangy coat had taken on the dull brown of Sierra mud.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam took a slow breath and spoke calmly. \u201dLook, Ma\u2019am, I don\u2019t think kicking that animal will\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The woman suddenly took a long step forward and grabbed Sport\u2019s reins. \u201cI know you, purty boy!\u201d she interrupted gruffly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe watched with some unease how this buffalo of a woman skewered his older brother with a stare as if she intended to eat him. He wondered briefly if she might be a witch trying to put a hex on Adam, before remembering that he didn\u2019t really believe in such things. A strange change went over her chunky face. The scowl slowly gave way to a slack expression of wonder and finally to an unflattering smile that displayed her mossy teeth.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhaddaya say! If this ain\u2019t honeypuss himself.\u201d She cooed huskily.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s eyebrows rose a fraction. \u201cMa\u2019am?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s you, sugar. From the couch.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCouch?\u201d repeated a puzzled Adam. He cleared his throat. \u201cUm\u2026remind me, please, Ma\u2019am?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou tol\u2019 me you was from Boston!\u201d The mossy smile disappeared and Marge\u2019s thick brows drew together. \u201cAnd then you spilled yer drink an\u2019 took off like a raccoon with his tail on fire.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI did?\u201d Adam looked woefully bewildered. But then his brow slowly furrowed in distant recognition as he located the memory. \u201cOh no. I think I did,\u201d he murmured, and Joe thought he detected a rare hint of fear in his brother\u2019s voice.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Having observed the whole scene quietly, Joe was trying to make up his mind whether he should be concerned or amused at the idea that his older brother had some kind of history with this dreadful woman. He coaxed Cochise to step sideways, until his and Adam’s knees were almost touching. \u201cHey, brother,\u201d he needled as he leaned over a little, \u201cdon\u2019t you wanna introduce me to your lady friend?\u201d For which he earned a scalding glare from Adam, telling him that amusement had been the wrong reaction altogether.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge squinted at Joe as if noticing him for the first time. \u201cLooks like ye got a runt of yer own ta drag around,\u201d she told Adam.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed,\u201d Adam grunted and gestured loosely at Joe. \u201cMeet my little brother.\u201d He dismounted and motioned to Joe to do the same. \u201cNow excuse us,\u201d he said stiffly to Marge, \u201cwe\u2019ll get your horse back on his feet, and then we\u2019ll be on our way.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

This was easier said than done. The gelding had sunk all the way to the ground and flopped onto his side, and no amount of prodding, coaxing, and sweet-talking could convince him to get up. Marge glowered at the brothers, hands on her hips, as they began to gently peel the unhappy creature out of its harness.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She stepped up to Adam, who was undoing the straps from the horse\u2019s head gear, and poked a dirty finger into his back. \u201cSo why ain\u2019t you in Boston? What you doin\u2019 here, anyways, purty boy?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam sucked in a breath and stood up straight to face her. Head to head, she was almost as tall as he was.\u00a0 \u201cMa\u2019am, I live here,\u201d he stated with admirable composure.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen you lied.\u201d She snarled at him, poking the finger into his chest now. \u201cYou ain\u2019t no gentleman, either. You lied. You ain\u2019t from Boston no more\u2019n Cliffer here is from China!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam sighed wearily and crouched down next to Joe, who was carefully pulling straps from under the horse\u2019s belly. \u201cMa\u2019am, if it makes any difference at this point, I AM from China.\u201d He shook his head and drew a hand over his eyes. \u201cI mean, from Boston.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Standing in the background, Clifford had watched the whole scene with a slowly darkening expression on his face. He now stepped forward, deep hatred in his eyes as he pointed a shaking finger at Adam. \u201cYou!\u201d he hissed. \u201cYou the one she\u2019s sweet on!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGit, Cliffer,\u201d Marge snapped nastily. She turned back towards Adam, who was lifting the breast harness off the horse\u2019s neck while Joe gently supported its head. \u201cYou said I was a lady. You lied about that, too?\u201d she asked darkly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam visibly shuddered. \u201cI must have.\u201d Joe looked at him with a funny expression, but said nothing. Adam stood and threw the moldy harness aside.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford was still advancing slowly, still pointing at Adam; his voice deepening. \u201cShe\u2019s sweet on ye. Been twitterin\u2019 about ye for weeks an\u2019 weeks. Ain\u2019t been the same since she met ye.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m flattered,\u201d commented Adam dryly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford stepped up until he was toe to toe with Adam, the top of his head level with the taller man\u2019s chin. His pale blue eyes measured Adam with utter contempt. \u201cWhat\u2019s he got that I ain\u2019t?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHell, Cliffer,\u201d groaned Marge. She squeezed her bulky form between the two men, clamped a meaty paw on her husband\u2019s chest and bodily shoved him backwards. \u201cI said git, squirt!\u201d Frowning darkly, she studied him for a second, thinking. She turned to look at Adam, then back at Clifford, and her eyes grew hard. \u201cI\u2019m done with ye, Cliffer,\u201d she said brutally. \u201cI\u2019m turnin\u2019 ye out. Git yer junk and flutter.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford\u2019s eyes widened in shock. \u201cNo, Margie! Ye cain\u2019t do that to me. You\u2019s ma wife! You cain\u2019t do that, not after all I done fer ye.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou ain\u2019t done nuthin\u2019 fer me, you skunk, \u2018cept eat my food and spray relijin at me. I said FLUTTER!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The little man looked as though he was going to cry, but Marge just grabbed him by the arm, shoved him into the wagon and climbed in after him. A moment later, things began to fly out of a hole in the wagon\u2019s canvas: clothes, a rusty old shaving kit, a bedroll, a book\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Margie, that\u2019s ma bible!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow do ya know what it is, skunk? You cain\u2019t read a word.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Exchanging embarrassed glances, the brothers continued to tend to the horse. Once freed from the prison of its harness, the animal let Adam and Joe coax it into a sitting position. It sat and rested for a while, and then, with Adam gently pulling on its head and Joe pushing on the rump, it got shakily to its feet. Adam petted the scrawny neck and glanced gloomily at the wagon, which shook with Marge\u2019s ranting and stomping, punctuated by Clifford\u2019s meek pleas for mercy. \u201cJoe,\u201d he said with dignity, \u201cI\u2019d like to get out of here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cSo would I, Adam, but what about this horse? You wanna leave it with them? Might as well shoot it!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam shook his head sadly and was about to give a reply when Marge hopped out of the front of the wagon. Standing with her hands on her hips, she slowly took in the harness on the ground, the trembling gelding, his bleeding knees, and then her eyes wandered over to where Cochise and Sport were dozing peacefully in the sunshine.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh no, you won\u2019t.\u201d said Adam and Joe in simultaneous alarm.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge waved a dismissive hand at them. \u201cI\u2019ll pay ye. I got dough.\u201d She barked over her shoulder, \u201cCliffer, bring that bucket.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI ain\u2019t doin\u2019 nothin\u2019 you say ever agin,\u201d came Clifford\u2019s weepy voice from where he was gathering his scattered things out of the grass.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou bring me that bucket or YOU be wearin\u2019 that harness and pullin\u2019 this wagon.\u201d Joe didn\u2019t doubt she meant it, either. \u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d he said firmly, \u201cour horses are not for sale.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge ignored him. \u201cThe dough, Cliffer! Pronto!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A grumbling Clifford came scurrying with the bucket and set it down in front of Marge. \u201cOpen it and get out some cash,\u201d Marge ordered.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, Ma\u2019am,\u201d Adam tried again, patiently. \u201cmy brother already told you, we\u2019re not selling\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShut up, pretty boy.\u201d Marge snapped at him, and, to Cliffer, \u201cI said open it, idjit.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Muttering ominously, Clifford lifted the lid off, reached into the bucket and effectively shook hands with Edgar Jericho\u2019s severed right arm.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a silence. For a brief moment, all four of them stared into the bucket, united in utter stupefaction. And then,<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYIEEEEEAAAAH!\u201d It was Clifford. He recoiled as if he had been shot out of a cannon, taking Edgar\u2019s arm with him and flinging it in a wide arc into the grass. He then collapsed on the ground and sobbed and babbled uncontrollably. \u201cOh Lord, please, I repent!\u201d he jabbered madly and raised his hands to the sky, \u201cShe made me do it, Lord, I ain\u2019t never meant ta steal, I ain\u2019t no thief, never been afore I met her! I know you\u2019se angry, Lord. Don\u2019t strike me down, I repent, I repent!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge moved threateningly towards Clifford. She spoke in a low rumble like an advancing earthquake. \u201cCliffer Johnson, you dim-witted, worthless sonova liquored-up whore, where did you get that thing, and WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY MONEY!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Kneeling on the ground, Clifford turned his face to her. An odd light was growing in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to give an answer, then closed it again and listened to the voices in his head instead. Enlightenment was coming at him hard and fast now. He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head in wonder, and when he opened them again, he stared at Marge as if seeing her for the first time in his life. He climbed to his feet, and his voice dropped to a calm monotone. There was a mad fire in his eyes. \u201cI ain\u2019t done nuthin\u2019 to yer dough, Margie. Don\u2019 ye see? God took it. He took it to punish you, and now,\u201d he motioned at the severed limb lying in the grass, \u201cand now His Hand is pointing at you. At YOU, Margie Johnson!\u201d he screeched and sprang into the wagon. Marge moved to follow him, but in a second, Clifford reappeared; her army colt was sticking from the front of his pants and an ancient, sawed-off shotgun quivered in his hands.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam nudged Joe with his elbow. \u201cThat\u2019s our signal, brother,\u201d he said quietly, and very slowly, the two began to back off towards their horses.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge was livid. \u201cCliffer, gimme them guns or I\u2019m gonna\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford Johnson pulled himself to his full modest height, swung the gun towards Marge\u2019s bosom and, maybe for the first time in his life, looked his wife squarely in the face. \u201cYer gonna do nuthin\u2019, Margie. \u2018Cept repent. You an\u2019 your lover boy there.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge, her hands squarely on her hips, snorted in contempt. \u201cCliffer, I\u2019m gonna thrash yer skinny butt!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

But Clifford\u2019s face remained rock-hard as he raised the gun to point at Marge\u2019s head. \u201cI\u2019m tellin\u2019 ye, Margie, somepin\u2019 popped. Somepin\u2019 come undone. I ain\u2019t the man I was ten minutes ago. YOU!\u201d he suddenly yelled, \u201cWhere do you think yer goin\u2019!\u201d Adam froze with his foot in Sport\u2019s stirrup. Joe had already swung up onto Cochise. \u201cGit over here, now!\u201d A shot roared out, the bullet kicking up dust inches from Sport\u2019s left front hoof. The gelding shied, and Adam soothed him and then carefully turned around, his hands raised. \u201cTake it easy now, Cliffer.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford stuck the smoking army colt back in his pants and motioned to the brothers to drop their gun belts to the ground. He then planted himself in front of Adam, leveling the shotgun at him. \u201cYou gonna repent, too, boy. This is all because o\u2019 you.\u201d His voice rose to a high-pitched drone. \u201cThou shalt not desire another man\u2019s wife!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh please.\u201d Adam briefly closed his eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYe\u2019re in cahoots with my wife, Mister!\u201d Clifford accused goggle-eyed, stabbing the shotgun barrel at Adam\u2019s belly like a bayonet.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow look here, Cliffer\u2026\u201d Adam began reasonably as he lifted his hands higher and took a step back.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe name\u2019s Clifford! That\u2019s Cliff-ford fer you, Mister!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCliff-ford.\u201d Adam repeated peaceably and inclined his head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

But Clifford was far from being appeased. He was on a roll now. For the first time in his life, people had to pay attention to him. \u201c\u2018Tis all because of you!\u201d He spat at Adam. \u201cShe weren\u2019t so bad before, but ever since she run into you, she been yabberin\u2019 on and on \u2018bout goin\u2019 ta Boston and wearin\u2019 fancy dresses and bein\u2019 a lady, and she been getting\u2019 meaner n\u2019 meaner every day. She stole that money from the bank all on accounta yer pretty face! Now God is mad at youse two, REAL mad.\u201d He fell silent and chewed his lip for a second, thinking about something. Then, he added resolutely, \u201cAnd so am I. I\u2019m takin\u2019 ye in. We\u2019re all goin\u2019 ta the sheriff.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe hell we are!\u201d barked Marge and made a move to launch herself at her husband. But Clifford ripped the army colt out of his pants and swung towards her with surprising speed. The shot blew Marge\u2019s felt hat off and stopped her in her tracks. For a second, there was real fear in her eyes, then she crossed her arms in front of her chest and growled sarcastically, \u201cain\u2019t you quite the shot, Cliffer.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford replaced the six-shooter and lifted the shotgun with both hands again. He looked at his wife and said ominously, \u201cI missed, Margie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam decided that he rather agreed with the idea of bringing Marge to the sheriff and briefly wondered why two men who were in such perfect accord needed to have a gun between them. He didn\u2019t think it wise to try to explain this to Clifford. The man had obviously sprung a leak. If he could only keep things from blowing up, Adam reflected, they could all be safe at the sheriff\u2019s in no time.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

From his horse\u2019s back, Joe laid his left hand on the handle of his colt and sought his brother\u2019s eyes. But Adam gave a small shake of his head and a tiny motion of one of his upraised hands told Joe to dismount. Joe frowned his disapproval then grudgingly obeyed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Motioning with the shotgun, Clifford steered Adam right next to Marge and glowered at his two captives. \u201cAin\u2019t ye two cute together. You, boy!\u201d he called over his shoulder at Joe, \u201cgit over here where I can see ya. Bring yer horse and hitch it up, or I\u2019ll blow yer buddy and his sweetheart here ta Kingdom come.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe didn\u2019t move a muscle. The thought of strapping Cochise into that flee bitten harness so appalled him that he temporarily forgot to worry about his brother\u2019s predicament. \u201cIt\u2019s all right, Joe,\u201d Adam said soothingly, \u201cbring Sport.\u201d He didn\u2019t like the way Clifford\u2019s finger was massaging the trigger. \u201cLook, Cliff\u2026ah, Cliff-ford, that\u2019s a saddle horse. He\u2019s never pulled a wagon.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCain\u2019t be that hard. Ya\u2019ll got five minutes ta learn\u2019im.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam sighed. Staring into the wide, flaring barrel of the sawed-off shotgun, he tried not to think about what it had been loaded with. No doubt Clifford didn\u2019t even have to bother aiming that thing; if it went off, Adam was pretty sure, he\u2019d hit Marge and himself and every living thing within fifty yards. \u201cJoe,\u201d he called out calmly to his brother, who was holding Sport by the reins, \u201cstart hitching him up.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, have you gone completely\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDo as I say, Joe. Now,\u201d said Adam sharply. Joe shook his head in defeat and began to unsaddle his brother\u2019s horse.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford had backed up a few paces to a position from where he could observe Joe as well as his two captives. Never a woman to surrender control, Marge chose this moment to take things back into her own hands. She shuffled companionably against Adam\u2019s side, planted one paddle-like hand around his waist and the other on his shoulder and leaned in so closely that he could feel her hot breath in his ear.\u00a0The earth hath bubbles\u2026.<\/em>\u00a0 He stiffened and sucked in some air. \u201cLook, dahling,\u201d she whispered, \u201call\u2019s forgot iffen ye help me put ol\u2019 Cliffer here outta his misery. Cain\u2019t be that hard, reckonin\u2019 as he\u2019s kinda dim and runty. When I say \u2018NOW\u2019, you grab the gun, an\u2019 I grab\u2019im by the neck, whaddaya say?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam firmly removed the hand from his waist and took a step aside. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t I think of that myself,\u201d he quipped. He could feel his skin crawl where she had touched him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

His sarcasm lost on her, Marge smiled broadly, forgetting to hide her missing front tooth, and clapped him on the back. \u201cDon\u2019 ye worry, honeypuss. Margie\u2019s gonna take care o\u2019 things.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Cliffer grimaced and waved the gun barrel at them. \u201cStop yer cooin\u2019 and fondlin\u2019, ye two!\u201d he growled. Adam just rolled his eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe had to do some cooing and fondling of his own to keep Sport under control. When he pulled the heavy breast piece of the harness over the horse\u2019s head, Sport laid his ears back and threw his head up in protest. The couple\u2019s emaciated gelding had wandered off to sample the grass by the side of the road, and now paused to watch the unfolding scene with interest. Sport danced nervously and ran circles around Joe, who was trying to adjust the back straps while holding the reins with his other hand, all the while talking soothingly to the nervous sorrel. Adam watched unhappily, alternately flinching and frowning, and exhaled carefully when Joe finally managed to back the horse up against the wagon and hitch him to it. Sport snorted in protest, gave a little buck and planted both rear hooves soundly against the unfamiliar object attached to his butt, splitting the wagon\u2019s head board with an explosive crack. \u201cThis is gonna be fun,\u201d commented Adam.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When Clifford saw that the horse was hitched up he hissed, \u201cNow git in the wagon, you two!\u201d making a sweeping movement with the gun.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

At this point, Joe was at a loss as to what he should do. He couldn\u2019t just leave his older brother at the mercy of this train wreck of a couple. Naturally, the logical thing would be to ride to get the sheriff, but it appeared that they were going to the sheriff anyways. And older brother seemed to be willing enough to just go with the flow and not tempt fate. Under the circumstances, Joe thought it best to hang around and keep an eye on Adam. \u201cUh\u2026sir?\u201d he cautiously addressed Clifford, \u201cshall I get in the wagon, too?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t care nothin\u2019 \u2018bout what ye do, boy,\u201d Clifford answered, never taking his eyes off Marge and Adam. \u201cI said git in the wagon.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge squinted at Adam from the side. \u201cHow \u2018bout NOW, sugar?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam, with his hands high in the air, cautiously cleared his throat. \u201cMa\u2019am, since your husband does seem a bit\u2026 unbalanced and has his finger on the trigger of a very ugly gun, may I suggest we comply with his request.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou nuts? You wanna go to the sheriff?\u201d Marge growled.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAs a matter of fact, I do.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge made a vulgar noise and narrowed her eyes at Adam. \u201cYou yeller, purty boy? I\u2019m tellin\u2019 ye right now, purty or not, I ain\u2019t goin\u2019 for yeller.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m real yeller.\u201d Adam assured her sincerely. And then he suddenly grabbed Marge by the arms and with iron strength hauled her off to the wagon, swept her off her feet and loaded her into the back. Marge protested loudly and pounded his chest with her fists, but she was no match for his muscle. Adam found a length of rope in the wagon and began to tightly tie her hands and feet. Watching in fascination, Clifford followed, pointing his gun.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTraitor!\u201d she hollered at Adam, \u201cSwine! Coward! I thought you was a gentleman, but you\u2019se just a yeller-bellied, filthy little\u2026hmpfff.\u201d Adam had taken off his string tie and shoved it unceremoniously into her mouth, gagging her. He straightened up, his lips a tight line. \u201cThere goes a perfectly good tie,\u201d he lamented. Then he turned towards his brother, who was watching with a grin on his face. \u201cJoe, better collect all this junk and put it in the wagon,\u201d he motioned at the bucket, the arm, which was still lying where Clifford had flung it and was now buzzing with flies, their scattered gun belts and Sport\u2019s saddle and gear. \u201cWe\u2019re going to town.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s face brightened. Things sure looked a whole lot better now that older brother appeared to be in charge again. He winced as he nudged the arm back into the bucket with his boot, noticing that it was beginning to smell rather nastily. How on earth did Edgar\u2019s arm end up in the possession of these people anyways? And then all this talk about stolen money! And just what was it with Adam and that woman? Well, maybe there\u2019d be some answers at the sheriff\u2019s. The afternoon sure had taken an interesting twist, Joe mused as he deposited the bucket right next to Marge\u2019s face to let her enjoy the sickly odor. Marge was lying on her side in the back of the wagon, grunting and struggling, but trussed up so tightly that she couldn\u2019t move an inch.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam climbed onto the seat and took up the reins, speaking softly to Sport, who had begun to prance nervously in anticipation. He turned to look at Clifford, who still stood gawking with his shotgun pointed at him and asked conversationally, \u201cyou coming, Cliffer?\u201d And when Clifford didn\u2019t move, he reminded him, \u201cwe\u2019re taking your lovely wife to the sheriff, remember? It was your idea.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFine,\u201d grunted Clifford and snapped out of it. He climbed up on the seat next to Adam and eyed his rival suspiciously. \u201cSure hope this ain\u2019t no trick,\u201d he commented and laid the gun across his knees, finger on the trigger and barrel pointing at Adam\u2019s ribs, just to make sure.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sighing wearily, Adam flicked the reins, and Sport took a mighty lunge forward, bucked and kicked out with his hind legs. \u201cWhoa boy. Whoa boy,\u201d Adam soothed. He pulled on the reins and managed to coax the sorrel around until the wagon faced towards Virginia City. \u201cAll right, boy, nice and steady now,\u201d and he carefully gave his horse a bit more rein. Sport pranced, threw his head, and exploded forward into a flat-out gallop, causing the wagon\u2019s rotten wood to groan in protest.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

At a slower pace, Joe followed on Cochise. He had put a rope around the skinny gray\u2019s neck and was gently leading him along. The animal already looked a bit more cheerful and trotted valiantly beside the pinto, limping slightly. \u201cWait til my brother Hoss gets his hands on you,\u201d Joe told him kindly, \u201cyou\u2019ll be fat and pretty and your coat\u2019ll be shiny like a new silver dollar in no time.\u201d Joe looked worriedly down the road to see the wagon waver wildly from side to side, stop dead in the middle of the road and start up again with a lunge. Drifting to his ear were his brother\u2019s cries of \u201cWhoa,\u201d and \u201cEasy, boy\u201d in between Sport\u2019s furious squeals and the splintering of moldy wood. Virginia City was only three miles away, but Joe wasn\u2019t all that sure they\u2019d make it. One rear wheel, he had noticed, wobbled forebodingly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

At the desk in his office, Roy Coffee was shuffling through the latest stack of \u2018Wanted\u2019 fliers and shook his head. He\u2019d have to request funds to hire more deputies. The stack sure was getting larger and larger every day. Gold and silver seemed to have that effect on the human character. Since the mines had opened, tempers were more volatile, morale had become negotiable, and guns were sitting more loosely in their holsters.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a commotion outside. A horse was whinnying and snorting, there were several explosive cracks as of wooden boards bursting, and a deep voice was calling urgently, \u201cwhoa, whoa, easy now, boy, we\u2019re here\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy had just decided he should investigate, when the door busted open, and Adam Cartwright walked in with a woman in his arms, just like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. Except that she was gagged and bound, and that she looked a bit more robust than the type Adam normally took a liking to. Right behind him was a wild-eyed little man pointing a trembling shotgun at Adam\u2019s back. Closing out the procession was Little Joe Cartwright, looking a little sheepish and uncharacteristically passive.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy stood. \u201cWell now, this I gotta hear.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam bodily deposited his twitching cargo in the nearest chair and turned towards Clifford. \u201cCliffer, this is Sheriff Coffee. Why don\u2019t you put that gun down now and say your piece.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, son, gimme that gun,\u201d Roy said softly and pulled the rusty old barrel from Clifford\u2019s unresisting hands, then reached for the army colt and laid both weapons aside. Clifford stared at Roy\u2019s face, then at his badge, then back at his face. In the presence of such overwhelming authority, the little man lost all composure. Shaking violently, he collapsed on a stool and began to cry. \u201cIt\u2019s she who done it, Sheriff,\u201d he sobbed. \u201cI ain\u2019t never stole nuthin\u2019 in my life before. I ain\u2019t no thief!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy parked a hip on his desk and listened patiently to Clifford\u2019s jumbled ramblings, interrupted by quoted commandments, hysterical bouts of crying and repeated requests to be allowed to see the priest to make his confession. Adam, sitting next to Joe on a bench with his elbows on his knees, supplied the occasional laconic comment. Joe fumblingly explained about the missing arm. Marge made animal noises through Adam\u2019s string tie, momentarily ignored by all of them. After a while, Roy held up a hand and frowned at Clifford. \u201cJus\u2019 a minute, son. You tellin\u2019 me the bank\u2019s been robbed?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYessir, Mister Sheriff.\u201d Clifford sputtered tearfully.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the first I hear about it,\u201d Roy commented with an air of annoyance. He called his deputy in from the back room and dispatched him to the bank to look after matters there, adding under his breath, \u201cswing by the church and bring Father Storvolt for this poor feller, will ya?\u201d then he turned again towards Clifford. \u201cAll right, son. If your wife here robbed the bank, I guess the next question I gotta ask is where\u2019s the money?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clifford stared at him wide-eyed and gestured out the door towards the wagon. \u201cIt\u2019s in the bucket, Sheriff. She made me put it in there. \u2018Cept it ain\u2019t in the bucket no more. No Sir! The Lord took it away. \u2018Cause we done wrong. \u2018Thou shalt not steal\u2019, He said, and we stole. God took the money. I done told her all the time, Sheriff, but she won\u2019 pay no mind.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cGod took the money, son?\u201d Roy repeated gently.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYessir.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy nodded sympathetically. \u201cWell, son, that may be so, but unfortunately I can\u2019t go out there and arrest God, now can I?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe and Adam exchanged an uneasy glance. They knew that deceptively mild-mannered tone of voice.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy sent Joe outside to bring him the bucket in question. He removed the lid and examined the grisly evidence unflinchingly, chewing thoughtfully on his mustache. \u201cSon,\u201d he said after a while, \u201cyou tellin\u2019 me you put the money into this here bucket?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYessir!\u201d said Clifford, nodding gravely. \u201cI\u2019m the one as took it from the safe. With these here guilty hands.\u201d He held up his hands and stared at them with disgust.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut it ain\u2019t there, now,\u201d Roy observed mildly. \u201cInstead, we got an arm misplaced by Doc Martin. Ain\u2019t that right, Joe?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMe? Oh. Uh\u2026that\u2019s about right, I guess. Sheriff.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou got anythin\u2019 to add to that, Adam?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNot a thing, Roy.\u201d Adam sat slouched on the bench with his hat on his knee, his mood fast deteriorating. This was all so ridiculous. He decided there and then that it was about time to untangle himself from this crazy affair. He rose resolutely to his feet and slipped his hat on his head. \u201cIf you\u2019ll excuse us now, Roy. Joe and I have to\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSit down, son.\u201d Adam, startled by the snap in Roy\u2019s voice, sat promptly. Roy slowly placed the lid back on the bucket, stood with his arms folded in front of his chest and watched all three of them squirm under his gaze. Suddenly, he slammed his fist on the desk and thundered, \u201cI had just about enough bull outta you boys to last me till I retire! For the last time, WHERE IS THAT MONEY!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The door opened, and Jim the deputy returned. He steered a pale and shaky Hank Allenby to the chair behind Roy\u2019s desk. Father Storvolt, tall and lanky son of Norwegian immigrants, followed, looking quite serene in his spotless black frock. \u201cNever been robbed,\u201d Hank muttered to no one in particular, \u201ctwelve thousand dollars. Thirty-seven years I\u2019ve been a bank clerk and never been robbed.\u201d When he saw Marge glowering at him from the corner, he jumped to his feet and pointed. \u201cShe! She! She!\u201d was all he managed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy had Jim untie Marge and remove her gag, resulting in such a squall of obscenities, most of them directed at Adam, that even Roy\u2019s seasoned ears couldn\u2019t take it. He had Jim haul her off to a cell where she banged around and raged for a while before gradually calming down from sheer exhaustion. Clifford made a sobbing apology to Hank and started babbling incoherently at the priest.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the poor fellow on about, Sheriff?\u201d asked Father Storvolt kindly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t quite make it out, Father.,\u201d Roy said wearily. \u201cSomethin\u2019 about the Finger of God pointin\u2019 at him. Out of a bucket, no less.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cA bucket!\u201d Father Storvolt nodded appreciably. \u201cThe Lord has mysterious ways.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDoes he ever. Well, Father, I\u2019m gonna put this poor soul in a nice quiet cell and leave\u2019im in your capable hands then. See if you can calm him down, would ya? I gotta go \u2018round town to find twelve thousand dollars.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSheriff, you throw\u2019im in here, I\u2019ll be doin\u2019 a murder,\u201d came Marge\u2019s hoarse voice matter-of-factly from her cell.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy patted Clifford\u2019s shoulder reassuringly as he led him away. \u201cDon\u2019 ye worry, son, I\u2019ll put ye in the cell farthest away from hers.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam and Joe exchanged another glance and decided they were no longer needed. Just as they were about to file out the door, Roy\u2019s voice stopped them in their tracks. \u201cJust a minute, boys.\u201d He nailed the brothers with a stern glance. \u201cWell, I still got no clear idea what\u2019s been happenin\u2019 here, but I can tell ye this: whatever it is, I\u2019d be real disappointed to hear that you Cartwrights had anythin\u2019 to do with it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Roy,\u201d said Adam, slightly annoyed, \u201cyou don\u2019t honestly believe that we get ourselves tangled in a bank robbery, do you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy didn\u2019t waver. \u201cAdam, sometimes these days I jus\u2019 don\u2019t know what to believe any more. Things in this town ain\u2019t what they used to be. At any rate, son, you at least seem to have gotten yerself tangled with that\u2026 female somehow.\u201d He pressed his knuckles into his hips and fixed his eyes on Adam\u2019s. \u201cNow I\u2019d like ta know\u2026jus\u2019 what IS the nature of your acquaintance with that woman?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe looked from Roy to Adam and piped in, \u201cYeah, Adam. I\u2019d kinda like to know, too.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam stared at them. His face clouded in anger, his mouth opened and closed a few times like that of a fish thrown on dry land, before he bellowed, \u201cACQUAIN\u2026..\u201d He took a deep breath, forcing his voice back down. \u201cI am NOT acquainted with that\u2026that sidewinder.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe seemed to think ye are,\u201d commented Roy calmly, waiting.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYep,\u201d nodded Joe. \u201cShe said you called her a lady and told her \u2018bout Boston and\u2026\u201d He was silenced by a murderous glare from Adam.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll right then.\u201d Adam ducked his head and pressed his lips together, working hard to control his rising temper. \u201cAll right,\u201d he heaved a suffering sigh and rubbed his fingers across his forehead, \u201cthe\u00a0nature\u00a0<\/em>of my\u00a0acquaintance<\/em>\u00a0with that\u2026harpy\u2026 is that she practically sat on my lap and sucked onto me like a leech at the miner\u2019s dance, and the only way I could get rid of her was to pry her off me and\u2026and\u2026,\u201d he chewed on his lip, finding it a difficult thing to admit.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHightail it outta there?\u201d proffered Roy.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cRun for your life?\u201d added Joe, his eyebrows rising in sympathy.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam nodded meekly, his anger gone. \u201cForgot all about Jenny Sue. Poor thing came back from the outhouse to find me gone. Went back later to apologize, but she\u2019d found comfort in the arms of Jon Colville \u2026she ain\u2019t spoken to me since.\u201d He made a sour face, clearly troubled by the memory. Joe looked at him compassionately.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy nodded thoughtfully. \u201cWell, son, I don\u2019t blame ye much for runnin\u2019.\u201d He pulled himself up a little and nailed Adam with another stern glance. \u201cNow, to wrap this up. I\u2019ve always put a lot of trust in a Cartwright\u2019s word. So. Do I have you boys\u2019 word that you don\u2019t know nothin\u2019 about this money?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOf course we don\u2019t,\u201d said Adam indignantly. Joe just nodded earnestly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll right then, boys, enjoy your evening.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam inclined his head courteously and stepped out the door, followed by Joe. They collected their belongings from the wagon and unhitched Sport. The gelding delivered a vicious parting kick at the hated object, causing the wagon to rock back. With a sickening scrunching sound, the rear wheel popped off, the whole contraption landed hard on its axle and broke into several pieces, spilling the Johnson\u2019s belongings into the mud of the street. \u201cGood boy,\u201d Adam muttered darkly and petted Sport\u2019s neck.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe thought it best to tread lightly until his brother\u2019s mood had recovered. But as they led the three horses towards the new saloon, he couldn\u2019t suppress his curiosity about one thing.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUmm, Adam?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDid you really call that awful woman a \u2018lady\u2019?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUh huh,\u201d came the muffled response from under the black hat. \u201cCalled her a \u2018regular Lady Macbeth\u2019.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

EVENING<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam and Joe pushed through the swinging doors to find the saloon packed with people. Gentle piano music tinkled above the subdued murmur of the guests. People were dressed in their finest, sitting at the silk-clad tables sipping champagne or just standing around marveling at the decorations.\u00a0More like an opera premiere than a saloon opening<\/em>, thought Adam wryly. Hoss didn\u2019t appear to be there yet, but Adam saw his father cutting a path through the crowd towards them.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHello, boys.\u201d Ben, champagne glass in hand, greeted them with a smile and put a forearm on each son\u2019s shoulder. He pointed a disapproving eyebrow at Adam\u2019s throat when he noticed the absence of a tie. Adam saw it and smiled crookedly. \u201cLong story, Pa.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben raised the other eyebrow. \u201cIs it a good one, son?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt is, Pa, believe me. Later.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI look forward to it. Well, boys, what are you standing around for? Go and enjoy yourselves.\u201d As Joe slipped past him to join the crowd, Ben laid a friendly but heavy hand on his youngest son\u2019s shoulder and bent down to speak a single word in his ear. \u201cLemonade.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s face went sour, but Adam just laughed. \u201cCome on, little brother, I\u2019ll join you for a lemonade, but after that you\u2019re on your own.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Leaning backwards against the bar and sipping their lemonades, the two brothers observed the party guests milling about. Joe nodded a greeting to Oscar, who was perched on a bar stool behind the bar, but Oscar just stared at him glassily and swayed a little, like a pine tree in a gentle breeze. Many of the town\u2019s prominences were there – mine owners, ranchers, the mayor and his wife – chatting and twirling their watch chains and nodding in appreciation at the splendor of the place. Ben was going around to shake hands and clap shoulders, and his deep full voice could be heard above the general murmur. Dressed magnificently in a ruffled shirt and dark blue velvet suit, Horace Hunneker zoomed from table to table like a hummingbird visiting flowers. He bobbed and bowed, gestured at the decorations and straightened wrinkled tablecloths.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

At the far end of the bar, closest to the doors, was a huddle of miners. They were the poor simple souls who worked the dirt beneath the city: hunched, calloused and looking terribly out of place in their scuffed boots and frayed, freshly laundered best shirts. Most of them were young fellows, hardly old enough to grow a beard, and yet they had the look of trodden middle age about them. They were shuffling their feet and exchanged quick glances as if trying to remember why they were there. Adam was reminded of the forlorn, worried look of a small herd of yearling bulls rounded up for castration.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe, nursing his lemonade, glanced at his brother from the side. \u201cAdam?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo what do you think?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAbout what, Joe?\u201d Adam swirled his lemonade in his glass and looked at it without interest.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell. About this party,\u201d said Joe, a little annoyed. \u201cDo you think it\u2019s a good party?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam chuckled. He thought it had all the sparkle of those annual faculty balls he remembered at Harvard. \u201cJoe, I\u2019ve been to funerals that were more fun than this.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The piano player had launched into a sharp little polka, maybe in the hopes of livening things up a bit, and there were actually one or two couples dancing, but the majority of guests clearly had no idea what to do with that kind of music. The miners huddled even closer together and frowned at their feet.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d observed Joe astutely, \u201csomething\u2019s definitely missing here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Just then, as if in answer to Joe\u2019s comment, Horace called for everyone\u2019s attention and announced a performance by the dancing girls. Joe straightened up a little too quickly, which earned him a grin and an eyebrow from Adam, and so he made a show of assuming a more casual pose. The doors on the top floor opened, and in a rustle of silk and velvet, four women in billowing wine red dresses flowed down the stairs. They were young and lovely, and when they had reached the bottom of the stairs and swept past the bar, the dark eyes of a Mexican girl met Joe\u2019s. They exchanged a quick smile, and then the girls were dancing: a tame little can-can number accompanied by the piano; nothing too rowdy, lifting their skirts barely past the ankles. The whole thing had an awfully rehearsed look about it. The guests clapped politely when it over but without enthusiasm.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know\u2026\u201d began Joe again, shaking his head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam emptied his lemonade with one draught and set the glass on the bar. \u201cWell, little brother, I\u2019m gonna mingle. I\u2019ll give it half an hour, and if things don\u2019t pick up a bit, I\u2019m outta here.\u201d He shrugged lazily. \u201cWho knows, sometimes it just takes a little bang or something to break the ice.\u201d With that, he sauntered off towards the punch bowl, where the dancing girls were gathered to get watered up after their exercise.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After several hours of good food and good conversation, Hoss sat back in his chair in the Kreutzer\u2019s drawing room and stifled a yawn. \u201cMrs. Kreutzer, I ain\u2019t eaten this well since\u2026heck, I don\u2019t reckon I\u2019ve ever eaten this well in my life. Or this much,\u201d he added, laughing heartily. He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. \u201cShucks, it\u2019s near six o\u2019clock. Guess we better get a start on that sausage.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes, yes! We almost forgot, no? Must not let ze blood stand too long; it will clump. Come, come!\u201d and she was already bustling off towards the wurst kitchen.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The wurst kitchen was a small, cool room smelling of blood, spices and raw meat. Wooden tubs, sieves and jars filled with salt and spices were neatly stacked along the walls, and against one side stood a large hearth with a huge iron kettle on top. Frau Kreutzer instructed Hoss to retrieve the bucket from the root cellar and then busied herself with starting a fire under the hearth. \u201cOh, we have many fine sings to put in your blutwurst, Mr. Hoss! Some fine pig cheeks from ze Hellers, zey slaughtered zis morning, and kidney and heart and spices, many spices. And we have good strong gut and ox stomach to put it all inside!\u201d She pulled a large wooden tub into the middle of the room. \u201cFirst, you must salt ze blood and stir good, and maybe, if is clumpy, you must put it in ze sieve, no? Now,\u201d she encouraged Hoss, gesturing at the bucket in his hands, then at the tub at their feet. \u201cLet\u2019s see all zat beautiful blood!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss grabbed the bucket, pulled off the lid and moved to pour out the contents. A thick wad of twenty-dollar bills emerged and flopped into the tub with a soft thump, followed by another, and another. They stared in total puzzlement, then there was a clatter when the bucket dropped from Hoss\u2019 limp fingers.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat in\u2026! I ain\u2019t\u2026\u201d Hoss grabbed one of the money packets and examined it as if he had never seen a twenty-dollar bill in his life before, turning it over and over in his large hands. He stood straight, composed himself, and scratched the sparsely vegetated top of his head. \u201cMrs. Kreutzer, right now ye can jus\u2019 run me thru with one o\u2019 yer hairpins. This sure wants explainin\u2019.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Frau Kreutzer\u2019s eyebrows rose and she looked from the money to Hoss in amazement. \u201cDonnerwetter,\u201d she managed good-naturedly, \u201czis has not come out of your steer, no?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShucks, but where DID it come from?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cZis is very much money,\u201d Frau Kreutzer observed while pulling more bundles of dollar bills out of the bucket. \u201cMuch much money.\u201d She looked at him drolly. \u201cMr. Hoss, zis is not your money, no?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss was furiously trying to think. He concentrated on mentally retracing his steps ever since he had started at the Ponderosa this afternoon, tried to remember when and where he had taken his eyes off the bucket. There had been many times, he realized; at the ranch, when getting the buckboard ready, on the trail while stepping out to take a leak, at the livery\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWho will keep all zis money in a bucket!\u201d Frau Kreutzer mused and shook her head in wonder. \u201cIn Germany, buckets are for cleaning and for milk and getting water and collecting berries in ze forest\u2026\u201d she still found it difficult to get used to some of the stranger customs of her adopted country.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss shook his head vigorously, as if to clear it, and made his decision. \u201cWell, Mrs. Kreutzer, jus\u2019 now I can\u2019t think for the life o\u2019 me where this money come from, but I reckon I better get it to the Sheriff. There\u2019s been some kinda mix-up; that much is sure, and some poor feller is gonna be mighty sore over missin\u2019 all this cash.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss stuffed the money back in the bucket, put the lid on, mumbled a sheepish apology at his hostess and walked off towards the Sheriff\u2019s office. Frau Kreutzer looked after him from her doorstep, smiling affectionately, but shaking her head in puzzlement. \u201cAmerikaner,\u201d she shrugged and closed the door.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sheriff Roy Coffee put on his hat and his gunbelt and sighed. After interviewing his captives one more time, enduring Marge\u2019s venom and Cliffer\u2019s wide-eyed gibberish, he had come to the conclusion that those two had truly no idea where the missing money had got to. Roy didn\u2019t have the faintest notion how to go about finding the twelve thousand dollars and not much hope he ever would find them. But, try he must; that was his job.\u00a0Oughta ask fer a raise at the next city council meetin\u2019,\u00a0<\/em>he pondered\u00a0<\/em>as he stepped out of his office door onto the boardwalk \u2013 and almost bumped into Hoss Cartwright.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHoss,\u201d Roy said kindly and tipped his hat. He noted with interest that Hoss was carrying a bucket, identical to the one containing that awful limb, which, Roy reminded himself now, he better get back to Doc Martin\u2019s before it fouled up his office. Frowning, he fixed his eyes on Hoss\u2019 bucket.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cRoy,\u201d Hoss was saying, laughing nervously. \u201cYa not gonna believe what I\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSay, what you got in that there bucket, Hoss?\u201d Roy asked curiously. And before Hoss had time to answer, the Sheriff lifted the lid off the bucket and peeked inside.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss chuckled nervously. \u201cFunny you\u2019d ask, Roy. I just now come to see ye about that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy scrutinized the bucket\u2019s cargo for a long moment, chewing his mustache, then shifted a thoughtful gaze to Hoss\u2019 face. \u201cAin\u2019t that somethin\u2019,\u201d he commented slowly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure is, ain\u2019t it.\u201d Hoss agreed and ran a hand through the money. \u201cSure looks like a lotta dough to me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d say. Pretty close to twelve thousand dollar, I reckon.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTwelve thousand? How\u2019d you count that so fast?\u201d Hoss looked up to see Roy staring at him intently out of narrowed eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t count,\u201d Roy explained patiently. \u201cI know because that\u2019s how much got taken from the bank this morning.\u201d He continued to stare.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFrom the bank! The bank\u2019s been robbed? I\u2019ll be dadblamed!\u201d Hoss exclaimed. Becoming aware of a glint in Roy\u2019s steel-blue glare, he shifted his feet. \u201cNow Roy\u2026you\u2026you lookin\u2019 at me kinda funny there\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAm I,\u201d said Roy, unperturbed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cYeah, well. Wish you wouldn\u2019t.\u201d To his dismay, Hoss felt himself blush. \u201cYou makin\u2019 me kinda uneasy-like.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat so! And why would that be?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss\u2019 ears were glowing now. \u201cNow wait jus\u2019 a minute, Roy! You ain\u2019t thinkin\u2019\u2026naw, you can\u2019t be thinkin\u2019 that!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd why can\u2019t I be thinkin\u2019 what I\u2019m thinkin\u2019?\u201d\u00a0 Roy asked kindly and took a step towards Hoss.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cC\u2019mon, Roy,\u201d Hoss stammered, backing up a step. \u201cYou known us dang near forever. You know no Cartwright would ever\u2026nah, you can\u2019t be thinkin\u2019\u2026.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo Cartwright would ever what?\u201d Roy said and tilted his head as if listening for a rare bird to sing. He took another step forward.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss backed up, bumping squarely into the hitching post. \u201cRob\u2026rob the bank. Shucks, Roy, you can\u2019t honestly believe we\u2019d\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHoss, some days, I don\u2019t know what to believe any more in this town. Jus\u2019 a half hour ago, your brothers gave me their word that no Cartwright knew nothin\u2019 about that bank robbery. And now, against my own better judgment, I got me a Cartwright carryin\u2019 around the money!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss felt an acute pang of anger at this. \u201cCome now, Roy! There\u2019s gotta be some explanation how I got this here money.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy put his hands on his hips and thrust his chin forward. \u201cI\u2019m listenin\u2019.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss screwed up his face in an effort to think and remember, but it was no use. Under Roy\u2019s wilting stare and his own rising anger, he found he couldn\u2019t think straight. \u201cDoggonit, Roy! All I know is I musta got the wrong bucket somehow. Coulda been at the livery. Heck, mebbe someone slipped me this here bucket ta get me in trouble!\u201d He frowned darkly with a sudden suspicion. Hadn\u2019t he left it on the porch with Adam and Joe while he changed into clean clothes? Oh, those brothers of his \u2013 could it be? \u201cNah,\u201d he shook his head. His brothers wouldn\u2019t get mixed up in a bank robbery. Or could it all be some big fat joke they had concocted somehow? \u201cNah, not Adam. He wouldn\u2019t be joshin\u2019 around with that much money,\u201d he mused aloud while Roy observed him carefully. Joe, then? \u201cHeck, no. He couldn\u2019t get twelve bucks together to safe his fanny.\u201d Never mind twelve thousand. Hoss finally shook his head. \u201dBlame it, Roy, it jus\u2019 ain\u2019t comin\u2019 to me right this minute. I\u2019m sure if I had some quiet time to think about it\u2026.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201dQuiet time?\u201d said Roy and placed a heavy hand on Hoss\u2019 arm, \u201cI can help ya with that.\u201d He placed his other hand on Hoss\u2019 shoulder and gently steered him through the door into the office.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cRoy,\u201d Hoss said, alarmed, \u201cyou ain\u2019t gonna\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m gonna, Hoss.\u201d Roy said with finality. He maneuvered the big man into the cell next to Marge\u2019s, who squinted poison at them from her bunk. \u201cSee that you do your thinkin\u2019, Hoss.,\u201d he said and gave him a consoling pat on the back before locking him in. \u201cFrankly, I\u2019m pretty sure ya done nothin\u2019 wrong, and I\u2019d liketa see you outta here soon\u2019s possible.\u201d He jabbed a thumb at the badge on his shirt. \u201cMeanwhile, I gotta do my duty. Reckon you appreciate that.\u201d With that, he turned on his heel and went back into his office.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe was on his third lemonade, watching the party sullenly from the bar. This sure was the dullest crowd he\u2019d ever seen. There seemed to be a lamentable absence of people his own age \u2013 except for the herd of young miners, but they weren\u2019t having any more fun than he did.\u00a0 All the fancily dressed prominences were at least Adam\u2019s age, or, heaven forbid, even older. None of the girls he liked were there; maybe their parents had figured that a saloon opening wasn\u2019t a suitable place for their daughters. To make matters worse, the dark-eyed dancing girl who had caught his eye was engaged in an intense conversation over by the punch bowl \u2013 with none other than his older brother Adam. Joe\u2019s lips curled sourly as Adam poured her another glass of punch and dimpled down at her charmingly, talking all the time, making her alternately blush and giggle.\u00a0Impressing her with his Spanish, most like. Yeah, rub it in, Adam. Figgers. Where ever did he pick up all that Spanish anyways? Hardly in Boston!\u00a0<\/em>Joe groaned and turned to face the wall, resting his elbows on the bar.\u00a0Come on, big brother, why don\u2019t ya find one of them stuffed shirts to talk business with?\u00a0<\/em>With longing, Joe scanned the collection of exotic liquor bottles lining the shelf behind the bar.Ridiculous, being stuck here drinking lemonade like a toddler. Undignified.<\/em>\u00a0Wonder where Hoss is. Got enough sense to stay away, I reckon.<\/em>\u00a0He eyed his lemonade glass, then set it down, disgusted. \u201cI\u2019m outta here,\u201d he said to no one, grabbed his hat and made his way towards the doors. Just as he was about to slip outside into the darkness, Horace\u2019s voice rang out.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLadies and gentlemen, please, may I have your attention\u2026\u201d The crowd quieted down, and Joe turned to see Horace standing near the punch bowl, right below the banister. In his hands was a long object with a linen cloth draped over it \u2013 with newly awakening interest Joe recognized the name board, meant to officially announce the \u2018Bucket of Silver\u2019.\u00a0That naming ceremony \u2013 all right, I gotta see this.\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0His eyes drifted expectantly towards the lone figure swaying on the stool in the shadows behind the bar.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Oscar, sweating in his new suit, had spent most of the party planted on that same stool, where he had taken a liking to that Austrian schnapps after all. He had also made the acquaintance of Russian vodka, Caribbean rum and several brands of Irish whiskey. Enjoying himself greatly, he imagined he was the captain of a pirate vessel raiding the treasures of the world\u2019s harbor taverns, but after sailing out from the port of Rum City for the fifth time, his ship encountered heavy seas, and Oscar found his perch on the quarter deck becoming more and more precarious, forcing him to retire below decks.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

From across the room, Joe observed with some concern how Oscar unceremoniously toppled off his bar stool.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace had waved over the two people standing closest to him \u2013 Adam and the Mexican girl \u2013 to hold up either end of the cloth covered name board. The two exchanged a wry glance behind his back and smiled self-consciously while Horace launched into a passionate speech, singing the praise of his grand establishment and this fabulous town. He mentioned the words \u2018class\u2019, \u2018international\u2019, and \u2018elegance\u2019 and spoke of his hope for this fine saloon to become a place where people of world as well as poor simple folk from the hills would find reprieve and refreshment from their weary travels, and so on and so on. The guests sighed and shifted, and several found their eyelids drooping. Joe wondered if Horace was even aware that no one seemed to share his enthusiasm. Adam, Joe noticed with glee, looked increasingly uncomfortable. Older brother had begun to carefully peek around, obviously hoping to be able to pass his end of the board on to some other poor soul.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

To his great delight, Oscar, huddled on the floor behind the bar, found another bottle of schnapps swimming in front of him, and grabbed it before it could float away. He stared at the now-familiar label of the Austrian bottle which showed the picture of a little white flower and the script \u2018Edelweiss\u2019. Not that Oscar could read, but the drawing of the flower set off an alarm somewhere in the reptilian core of his brain. Wasn\u2019t there something else he was supposed to do? Something to do with little white flowers. The naming ceremony?! Ah yes, the balustrade! Bucket! He blinked his swimming eyes up and down the counter. There it was, sitting underneath the wine glass cupboard. He managed to grab the handle on the third try and began to lug the bucket up the stairs, zig-zagging between the railing and the wall, taking secret pride in his sense of responsibility. No way was he going to slack off on the job, raging oceans or not. But them flowers sure were a lot heavier than they had been this morning. Dang that foreign booze.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026A place of class needs a name with class\u2026,\u201d Horace was singing out with feeling. Most of the guests were studying their boots or their fingernails or were counting the Chinese lanterns on the ceiling.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Oscar arrived at the banister on the first floor. He felt a bit dizzy and briefly considered lying down for a spell, but then he dimly made out Horace and two people holding the name board straight below him, and a sense of urgency tugged at his faithful heart.\u00a0Musn\u2019t let Mr. Hunneker down<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026but it must be a name that also reflects the soul of the earthy miner who is building this fine city\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Oscar heaved the heavy bucket up on the banister and held on to the railing with his free hand.\u00a0Heavy seas, oh my.\u00a0<\/em>He reached up to pull the lid off, before quickly grabbing the railing again.\u00a0Whoo, big wave, there<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace\u2019s voice had swelled to a crescendo, \u201cLadies and gentlemen, fine citizens of Virginia City\u2026.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Oscar reached up and stuck his arm into the bucket, frowning at the unexpected substance his hand encountered.\u00a0Kinda wet and sticky<\/em>\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026.I proudly present to you\u2026.\u201d Horace grabbed a corner of the cloth covering the board.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Fishing around a bit, Oscar\u2019s hand encountered a large slippery object. He closed his fingers around it and lifted his arm out of the bucket to have a better look at it. His arm came away covered in red slime to the elbow. Oscar stared at it drunkenly for a second before recognition hit him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

With a flourish, Horace pulled off the cloth. \u201c\u2026The Bucket Of Sil\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHUAAAAH!\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The steer tongue slipped from Oscar\u2019s grasp like a bar of soap and sailed across the room to where it would collide with Mayor Jenning\u2019s wife\u2019s thickly powdered forehead, but not before the heavy bucket tipped off the banister and hurtled towards the unsuspecting soul below.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam Cartwright, holding the tail end of the name board, had been tallying the wages for the branding crew in his mind, when the hair-raising scream pierced the air right above his head. He just managed to lift his chin a fraction, his eyes darting towards the ceiling, before the top of his skull exploded, and he had the sudden sensation of being pounded into the ground like a fencepost. Then his face was on the floor, and the last thing he saw was blood. Lots of blood, everywhere.\u00a0Oh my. Dead, then,\u00a0<\/em>was all he had time to think.\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Oscar was suddenly feeling very seasick. He hung over the railing and stared at the prone body floating in a wave of blood below. \u201cMan overboard,\u201d he managed to sing out before he threw up all that he had inside him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After a moment\u2019s frozen silence, all hell broke loose. People shouted, screamed, and jumped to their feet. Mrs. Jennings sank into her husband\u2019s arms in a dead faint, a large patch of steer blood sticking to her forehead. Over by the door, the cluster of miners came abruptly to life. Sudden accidents and mangled bodies was something they had plenty of experience with, and they rushed forward as one to assist the fallen man.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Like most guests, Ben Cartwright had let his attention wander off during the speech; he never saw the bucket fall; heard only Oscar\u2019s scream and a loud thump and saw a sudden splatter of red. He now elbowed his way through the crowd to stare at the blood-covered body on the floor. Almost immediately, he recognized the shock of black hair, and he felt the bottom drop out of his heart. \u201cAdam, oh God! What happened?\u201d He knelt by his son in the grotesquely large pool of blood and looked up at the stricken faces in utter confusion. \u201cWas he shot? Was there a shot?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe appeared at his side. \u201dPa, I saw it,\u201d he said soothingly. \u201cIt ain\u2019t his blood, it was\u2026\u201d but he was shoved aside by several of the miners carrying silk cloths which they had ripped off the tables. \u201cBetter get this poor feller to the doc,\u201d one of them was saying. With deft, practiced movements, the miners lifted Adam onto a tablecloth, and then four of them grabbed a corner each and began to carry him off. Ben felt strong arms pull him to his feet, then gently steer him after the miners, all the while patting his shoulder consolingly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

People were coming out of their trance now; everybody spoke at once as they slowly filed out of the saloon to follow the bizarre procession.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat in bejeesus just happened?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHeck, I didn\u2019t see a durn thing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWho issit anyways?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s one of the Cartwright boys. Skull cracked from ear ta ear.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure ain\u2019t never seen so much blood come out of a man before.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDead, most like.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s all them chunks floatin\u2019 around in there? Geez, that one looks like\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLooks like he bit off his tongue, poor devil.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe stood staring up at the first floor, at Oscar, who had plunked down onto his buttocks, goggling stupidly through the bars of the banister at the chaos below, at the pond of blood on the floor, the blood splatters on the wall, the dented bucket which had rolled against the foot rail of the bar, at Horace, who sat on the stairs with his face buried in his hands.\u00a0Hoss\u2019 bucket \u2013 here? How on earth?<\/em>\u00a0What the\u2026should I have known?\u00a0<\/em>He shook his head. \u2026Later. Gotta explain to Pa about the blood\u2026.\u00a0<\/em>He turned to follow the crowd, when a cheerful voice suddenly spoke from the doors.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy hat, what a glorious mess!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It was man of about thirty with an open, blue-eyed face who had just stepped through the swinging doors. He had a notebook and pencil in his hands. \u201cHere I came to report on the opening party, and from the looks I missed the grand finale, huh? Oh, pardon my manners,\u201d the man said and held out his hand to Joe. \u201cName\u2019s Clemens, Sam Clemens, but you can call me Josh. Just got into town a day ago. I\u2019ll be writing for your illustrious newspaper…say, is that blood?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe shook the proffered hand. \u201cJoe Cartwright,\u201d he said absentmindedly, gazing worriedly after the convoy that was carrying his knocked-out brother towards the doctor\u2019s house. \u201cExcuse me, Mr\u2026ah\u2026Josh. That\u2019s \u2026that\u2019s my brother over there.\u201d And he hurried off after the miners.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

With a smile on his face, Sam Clemens took in the fantastic scene in the now near-empty saloon: the blood-splattered walls and floor, the broken china, the smashed paper lanterns, the silk tablecloths defaced by bright red stains, the man in a dark velvet suit sitting on the staircase, apparently weeping; the name board boldly proclaiming in red paint, \u2018Bucket of\u2026.\u2019 –\u00a0 but a huge splash of blood was obscuring just what kind of bucket it was supposed to be.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

An idea came to him, and he scribbled something into his notebook. Gazing at what he had written, he shook his head again and smiled. \u201cHell of a name for a place where food and drink is served.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He put his notebook in his pocket and followed the crowd to the doctor\u2019s office. Sam Clemens was already beginning to like this town. No doubt there\u2019d be many wonderful stories here, and after all, that\u2019s what he had hoped to find out west: a few good stories to tell.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Alerted by the commotion in the street, Paul Martin stepped out onto his porch. Even from a hundred yards away, he saw that the man being carried was covered in blood. So much blood that he doubted there was a drop left in his body. Ashen-faced, Ben Cartwright was among the men carrying the body, and then Paul saw the pitch black hair through the caking of blood. For a brief second, the world swam before his eyes, and he found himself gripping the doorpost. \u201cNo please,\u201d he groaned. \u201cNot one of Ben\u2019s boys. Not Adam. I can\u2019t, Emma.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Emma gently pulled on his arm. \u201cOf course you can. Come inside, love, you must prepare your surgery.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The crowd surged up and eddied in front of the doctor\u2019s porch as the four miners carried Adam into the house and on into the surgery room. Ben moved to follow, but Paul grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed him into a chair in the hall. \u201cSit,\u201d he ordered. And turning to Joe, who looked a lot less shaken than his father, he asked gently, \u201cWhat happened to your brother, son?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt ain\u2019t his, Doc,\u201d Joe spluttered excitedly, \u201cleastways, not all of it. I hope, anyways\u2026\u201d he quickly explained what he had seen in the saloon.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cA bucket\u2026full of blood?\u201d Paul asked incredulously. Joe just shrugged. Paul pursed his lips. \u201cWell\u2026let\u2019s have a look then.\u201d He disappeared into the surgery.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After half an hour or so, Paul emerged from the room. An odd expression sat on his face as he thoughtfully dried his hands on a blood-flecked towel. \u201cWell\u2026.\u201d He began.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben shot to his feet. \u201cOut with it, Paul! How bad?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHm. He\u2019s got a pretty good concussion. Other than that, all I can find is a three-inch gash in his head, which I stitched.\u201d Paul shook his head slowly. \u201cIt\u2019s that thick Cartwright skull, Ben. You should have that patented.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben stared at him. \u201cA concussion? That\u2019s all? But\u2026there was so much blood\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul shrugged. \u201cApparently, it wasn\u2019t his.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe sighed patiently. \u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019ve been telling you two the whole time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben ran a hand over his eyes. \u201cThank God.\u201d Yes, he had absorbed Joe\u2019s rambled explanation about the bucket, but still\u2026the image of his eldest son in a pool of blood was not something he could just file away as irrelevant.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam was flat on his back in the bed, his eyes half open. He had been cleaned up somewhat, but dried blood still stuck to his hair and eyebrows and darkened the folds of his ears and the little vertical pain creases above the bridge of his nose. His ruined clothes were in a heap on the floor, and he was wearing a soft cotton nightshirt \u2013 probably one of Paul\u2019s, Ben thought warmly as he sat on a chair by the bed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul had shaved a circular patch around the now neatly stitched gash on the top of his patient\u2019s head. Joe, who had followed his father to the bed, was reminded of the monks he had once seen in the Franciscan monastery in Sacramento.\u00a0Brother Adam<\/em>, flashed through his mind. He must have made a small sound of amusement because Ben threw him a threatening glance before refocusing his attention on Adam. \u201cSon?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Pa.\u201d Adam mumbled mushily and frowned a little. \u201cWhat happened? Did \u2026did Sport shy again?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell\u2026not exactly, son. Don\u2019t you remember?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam blinked at him with one eye. The other had drifted off to some other business. \u201c\u2026\u2019member a lot of blood\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t yours, Adam,\u201d Ben said gently, petting his shoulder. \u201cDon\u2019t concern yourself. You\u2019ll be just fine.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026not concerned.\u201d His errand eye made a valiant attempt to focus on the other person in the room. \u201cThat you, Joe?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cRight here, brother. How ya feelin\u2019?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNauseous. Tired. Filthy,\u201d Adam answered grumpily.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s to be expected,\u201d said Ben, smiling.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam closed his lids and sighed deeply, sinking another inch into the pillows. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and squinted at his father. \u201cOh hi, Pa\u2026that you? \u2026What happened?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben turned and looked worriedly at Paul, who was leaning in the doorframe. The doctor simply shrugged and tipped a forefinger to his temple. \u201cConcussion, Ben. It\u2019s normal.\u201d He nodded his head towards the hallway and walked out.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben gave Adam\u2019s forearm a soft squeeze. \u201cYou sleep now, son. I\u2019ll look in on you later. You need anything else for now?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026filthy. Kinda like to take a bath\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI bet you would. But maybe you better sleep first.\u201d Ben looked through the open door. \u201cAnd I\u2019d rather not bother Emma and Paul with that. They\u2019ve got enough around their ears tonight. Can it wait till we get you home tomorrow?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026huh? \u2026 wait\u2026?\u201d Adam\u2019s eyes had slipped shut again. \u201cOoh\u2026headache,\u201d he stated flatly and drifted off to sleep.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When Ben and Joe stepped quietly out into the hallway, they were surprised to see Paul talk to Jim, the Sheriff\u2019s deputy. Jim removed his hat and twirled it nervously in his hands when he saw Ben.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUh\u2026Sheriff send me over when we heard the ruckus\u2026,\u201d he explained sheepishly, then nodded towards the surgery room. \u201cuh\u2026your other boy all right?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think so,\u201d Ben said tiredly, without conviction. \u2018Your other boy\u2019 ?<\/em>\u00a0I don\u2019t like the sound of that\u2026<\/em>\u00a0\u201cJim, is there anything you need to tell me?\u201d He suddenly wasn\u2019t at all sure he wanted to hear the answer.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben Cartwright, tired, angry, and still sick with worry over his firstborn, marched over to the jail, only to find the Sheriff steadfastly refusing to let his middle son go. Roy insisted that Hoss stay in jail until Marge and Clifford could give a comprehensive confession and the puzzle of the mysteriously disappearing and reappearing money had been solved to the law\u2019s satisfaction.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJumpin\u2019 Jehosephats, Roy!\u201d Ben roared. \u201cYou can\u2019t honestly believe that Hoss robbed the bank!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI already done told Adam: sometimes I don\u2019 know what to believe any more!\u201d Roy shouted back. He sighed and continued in a milder voice, \u201cNo, Ben, I don\u2019t believe Hoss robbed the bank. But I can\u2019t let him go jus\u2019 because he\u2019s a Cartwright; you know that, Ben. How\u2019d that look to this town? The fact is, your boy was caught red-handed with the money, and he can\u2019t or won\u2019t give me a coherent explanation of how he got it, and until I figgered out what in Sam Hill\u2019s been goin\u2019 on in this town today, he stays right where he is!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2019Scuse me,\u201d a sleepy voice from the cells interrupted, \u201cYe two mind keepin\u2019 it down a mite? Man\u2019s tryin\u2019 to get some snooze in here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They proceeded to the cells to find Hoss comfortably stretched out on his bunk. \u201cAw, come on, Pa,\u201d he yawned, \u201cit ain\u2019t that bad. This here bunk\u2019s right comfortable.\u201d He frowned at Ben. \u201cSay, what was all that ruckus out there? I thought I heard people yell Adam\u2019s name.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben hesitated. \u201cWell\u2026your brother\u2019s had a little accident.\u201d When he saw the instant concern in Hoss\u2019 face, he quickly explained the events in the saloon. \u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s serious\u2026 Paul says he\u2019s got a hard skull.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, he does, don\u2019t he?\u201d Hoss said happily, then frowned a little. \u201cBut even granite can take only so many hits before it cracks. He oughta be more careful where he sticks his noggin. Dadblamed pity about that good blood, too.\u201d He chuckled throatily. \u201cI\u2019m an idiot, Roy. I coulda tol\u2019 you right away, if I\u2019d a done some thinkin\u2019. I musta switched the durn buckets when I was in the saloon\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In the next cell over, a slow, dry cackle reminded them of Marge\u2019s presence. She sat on her cot in the shadows, hugging her knees, and her eyes flashed at them. \u201cThat\u2019s what I figgered, too,\u201d she drawled hoarsely. \u201cSwitched the goddam buckets in the saloon, that\u2019s where it all got started. You an\u2019 Cliffer both. You make a cute pair, fat boy.\u201d She looked Hoss up and down and made a rude face. \u201cI been listenin\u2019. So that Adam feller and his runt are yer brothers, huh? Ain\u2019t that cute. And you boys got yerself the dough, huh? Good fer ye.\u201d She spat juicily on the cell floor. \u201cTill I get my hands on ye. Tell honeypuss I won\u2019t be in this hole forever. Tell\u2019im he cain\u2019t run to Boston fast enough to get away from me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss turned his face to squint at her vacantly, then raised his eyebrows at his father and Roy. But Ben\u2019s face was a complete blank, and Roy\u2019s was fast clouding over. Hoss turned back to Marge. \u201cEvenin\u2019, Ma\u2019am,\u201d he said politely, \u201cI ain\u2019t got a clue what ye just said, but a good evenin\u2019 to ye anyways.\u201d He tipped two fingers to his forehead and turned his back on her.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHoss,\u201d said Ben slowly, puzzled, still staring at Marge, \u201care you and your brothers\u2026.acquainted with this\u2026this\u2026 woman?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAw, Pa, now don\u2019t you get started, too. I ain\u2019t never seen her in my life before.\u201d From the shadows, Marge snorted softly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy was frowning very darkly now. \u201cI don\u2019t like what I\u2019m hearing here, Hoss. I just ain\u2019t sure \u2018bout anything any more.\u201d He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with one hand. \u201cLemme tell ye what. I\u2019m getting\u2019 awful tired of all this bucket nonsense. I\u2019m gonna get some sleep and sort it all out in the morning.\u201d He turned to leave, but Ben grabbed his sleeve.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWait a minute, Roy, you\u2019re not letting Hoss go?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy yanked his sleeve loose. \u201cHeck, no, Ben, I ain\u2019t gonna. Not til I figgered out how he came by that money!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut he just told you!\u201d Ben\u2019s voice rose. \u201cHe switched the buckets! Do you doubt his word?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe only thing I ain\u2019t doubtin\u2019 is that if I hear another story about a switched bucket I\u2019m like as not gonna have me a grown-up temper tantrum!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben was loading a lungful of air for a reply, when Hoss intervened. \u201cPa, hang on here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss was getting a bit worried about Roy\u2019s degree of exhausted crankiness, knowing that the one thing liable to put the mild-mannered sheriff into a froth was having his authority questioned. In such a state, he wouldn\u2019t be beyond throwing two Cartwrights into jail instead of one. \u201cPa, you go sit with Adam and don\u2019t ye worry \u2018bout me. I\u2019ll be jes\u2019 dandy right here. This bunk\u2019s cozy enough, and I\u2019m sure we\u2019ll get this mess all untangled in the morning.\u201d He flicked a dark glance at the neighboring cell. \u201cThough one might wish the company was better.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge squatted on her bunk, glowering at them, her foul mood wrapped around her like a blanket. At least she was quiet now. In the cell across the room, Clifford lay deep in an exhausted sleep, whimpering every now and then in his wild dreams.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSay, Roy,\u201d Hoss allowed himself a lavish yawn and stretched luxuriously, \u201cwould it trouble ye terrible ta get a man another pillow?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And so, weary and more than ready to put this day behind him, Ben reluctantly agreed to leave Hoss in jail. Roy sure could be cantankerous and had obviously had an unpleasant day. It wasn\u2019t worth fighting about, and Hoss was right: things would untangle themselves in the morning. At Roy\u2019s request, Ben took the bucket with Edgar\u2019s arm which now smelled downright offensive, and wandered back to Paul Martin\u2019s house. He held his disagreeable cargo as far away from him as possible, hoping he wouldn\u2019t run into anybody he\u2019d have to explain this to.\u00a0Well, since I\u2019m the one who carried it out of Paul\u2019s house, it\u2019s only fair that I\u2019m the one who brings it back.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss arranged his pillows and made himself comfortable on the prison bunk. For a man used to sleeping on the hard Sierra earth, it was downright homely. A bit narrow, though, maybe. He\u2019d have to make a comment to Roy about that. He was just drifting off when a soft sly voice hauled him back to wakefulness.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHey, fat boy.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss sat up and rubbed his eyes. \u201cHuh?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge was standing at the bars separating their cells. \u201cBet you real strong, ain\u2019t ye? You got some muscle on ye, I can tell from here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hoss looked at her askance. Her face was half in shadows. She was smiling crookedly, and her tongue was cruising along the inside of her cheek. Hoss shuddered a little. \u201cMuscle?\u201d he said quietly, \u201cyou bet I got muscle.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThought so. Tell ye what. All\u2019s forgot and forgive iffen ye help me get outta this rat hole.\u201d Her hands ran up and down the bars. \u201cMebbe we can call that runty Sheriff in here. You can faint and play dead, and when he comes in, ye bust his silly skull. Or mebbe yer even strong enough to bend these here bars, who knows? We be half way to Boston when the sun comes up. Just gimme two minutes with Cliffer there in the last cell, and then we can flutter.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d Hoss said valiantly, \u201cif I hear another peep outta you, I\u2019m a-gonna bent some bars awright, but it\u2019s gonna be the ones \u2018tween my cell and yours, and then I\u2019ll put you across my knee and give you a right powerful spankin\u2019.\u201d He nodded his head once, for emphasis, and lay back down.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Marge growled a string of poisonous insults and curled up on her bunk. Hoss didn\u2019t hear another sound all night.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It was eleven in the evening before things had quieted down at the doctor\u2019s house. People kept stopping by to ask about Adam\u2019s condition, but eventually, the crowd had dispersed and migrated back to the saloon. Edgar\u2019s adventurous arm had finally been laid to rest in Paul\u2019s carrot patch. Adam, his head now bandaged, was sleeping soundly, with his worried father sitting on one side of his bed and the doctor on the other.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou should lie down on the couch and get some sleep, Ben,\u201d Paul was saying quietly. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing more you can do here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

But Ben just shook his head, watching his sleeping son. \u201cHe never sleeps this soundly, never. A horse coughs in the barn, and it wakes him up.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe had a pretty good bump on the head, Ben. He\u2019s concussed, and he\u2019s exhausted.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben fussed with Adam\u2019s quilt, not listening. \u201cNo way he\u2019d sleep through us sitting here, talking. You sure it\u2019s not a skull fracture? There was so much blood\u2026\u201d For the sixth time, he placed gentle fingers on his son\u2019s neck, and his face relaxed a little when he felt a strong rhythmic beat. Paul smiled.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just a concussion, Ben. He\u2019ll be all right, trust me. It wasn\u2019t his blood.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben looked up, challenging him. \u201cThen why are you sitting here watching him and not in bed? Some of it was.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cStandard procedure with concussions, especially if the patient has lost consciousness. It was a small gash, and I stitched it. Besides, I have another patient to take care of. Don\u2019t think I could sleep if I tried.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben settled down a little. \u201cHow\u2019s Edgar anyways?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019ll recover. Emma\u2019s sitting with him now. Head wound is not as bad as I feared. He\u2019ll have to learn to do things with one arm, of course, but he\u2019ll manage. Got a good strong family to support him. Won\u2019t go back into the mines, I hope.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben nodded, remembering his plan to help the Jerichos get a piece of land. He smiled at Paul. \u201cSounds like you had a rough day, hm?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo harder than any other day.\u201d Paul shrugged and smiled wryly. \u201cJust another Friday in Virginia City, I guess.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou look tired, Paul. You should take a day off. Go fishing. You used to like fishing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul snorted without humor. \u201cAnd have some poor fool bleed to death because I was off catching trout? Forget it, Ben. Doctors never have a day off.\u201d He studied Ben, who was back to gazing at his son\u2019s gently snoring face. \u201cNor, it seems, do fathers.\u201d He rose and went to a small cabinet on the wall. After a minute, he returned with a bottle of old brandy, two glasses and a smile on his face. He poured and gave one of the glasses to Ben.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Paul, I could use one.\u201d He lifted his glass and looked at his friend. \u201cTo doctors.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul nodded his thanks. \u201cTo fathers.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They clinked glasses across Adam\u2019s sleeping body and drank.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Setting his glass down on his knee, Ben sighed and nodded slowly, then shook his head. \u201cThese boys are going to drive me to an early grave. Just take today. One son sick, one in jail\u2026\u201d He interrupted himself and drew his thick brows together. \u201cNow that\u2019s strange.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFor once, it seems, Joseph is the only one not in trouble.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul laughed softly, then briefly glanced at the clock on the dresser. \u201cDon\u2019t be premature, Ben. Day\u2019s got almost an hour to go.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben\u2019s face took on a sudden look of alarm. He sat up straight. \u201cOh no, Paul. I just realized something.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that, Ben?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI actually have no idea where Joe is.\u201d He stared fixedly at the floor for a while, thinking hard. His face softened, then set in a grim expression. \u201cOn second thought, I think I do have a pretty good idea where he is.\u201d He glanced worriedly down at Adam.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all right, Ben. You go ahead and collect your youngest. I\u2019ll stay right here with Adam.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Grateful, Ben rose and squeezed Paul\u2019s shoulder. He took his hat and walked out into the cool night air.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The news that Adam Cartwright was not seriously hurt had miraculously revived the party. In fact, the explosion of blood seemed to have broken the spell of glamour and restraint and had removed all inhibitions from the crowd of miners, who were finally celebrating the way they were used to. From several blocks away, Ben was greeted by a chorus of raucous male voices belting out a rude old drinking song he hadn\u2019t heard since his sailing days. When he entered, he almost didn\u2019t recognize the place. The brocade drapes had been pulled off the banister to soak up the blood; the bar was littered with broken bottles and sticky with spilt whiskey; smashed chairs cluttered the floor; the piano had been tipped over on its side; the piano player was slumped in one corner, smiling serenely, an empty whiskey bottle between his feet, and someone had brought in an old sourdough miner with a fiddle, who stood on one of the tables, tapping the silk tablecloth with his muddy boots and fiddling his heart out. The dancing girls had discarded their cumbersome velvet overdresses and unlaced their corsets, and several of them were swirling around the tables, their faces red and sweaty, their arms wrapped tightly around some lucky fellow\u2019s waist.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben found Horace collapsed on a bar stool, nursing a bottle of rum, a vacant expression on his face. \u201cI\u2019m ruined, Mr. Cartwright,\u201d he said meekly. \u201cI dang near killed your boy, and now this.\u201d He made a sloppy sweeping movement with the rum bottle. \u201cLook at them. They\u2019re savages. Brutes. I should have known.\u201d He looked up at Ben, blinking through the fog in front of his eyes. \u201cHow\u2019s your boy? He didn\u2019t die, did he?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben had to smile in spite of himself. He patted Horace\u2019s shoulder reassuringly. \u201cDon\u2019t worry now, Mr. Hunneker, Doc says Adam will be like new in a day or two. He\u2019s got a hard skull, believe me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Hunneker nodded dully, mumbling his relief. \u201cPlease, Mr. Cartwright, don\u2019t be angry at Oscar. It were all my fault. Reckon it was all too much for poor Oscar.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNobody\u2019s blaming Oscar, Mr. Hunneker. Talking of whom, where is he anyways?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPassed out cold. Up in bed.\u201d He motioned upstairs with the bottle before taking a long, hard swill.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben\u2019s heart went out to Horace. Apparently, the poor man believed he was looking at the smoking remains of his life\u2019s dream. Ben didn\u2019t think it was quite that bad. \u201cLook at them, Mr. Hunneker,\u201d he motioned at the rowdy crowd in the saloon, \u201clook closely. What do you see?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Horace\u2019s voice was a flat monotone. \u201cDemolition. Ruin. Bedlam.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s not what I see. Now look closely; I see people enjoying themselves. Look at them dancing and laughing. They\u2019re having the best party this town has ever seen.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Slowly, Horace peeled himself out of his despair and looked up at Ben with new hope in his watery eyes. \u201cYou really think so?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTrust me, Mr. Hunneker. I know this town. They\u2019ll love this place.\u201d Ben held the despondent man\u2019s shoulders with both hands. \u201cI\u2019m telling you, with a bit of luck, your saloon will still be right here a hundred years from now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right decent of you to say, Mr. Cartwright,\u201d said Horace, a bit doubtfully. But he looked at the scene with renewed interest.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Through his conversation with Horace, Ben had scanned the crowd and decided that Joe was not among them. However, one of the doors to the rooms upstairs was closed. Ben gave Horace a final pat on the back and headed up the stairway.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After he had learned at the doctor\u2019s house that Adam would be just fine, Joe had hurried back to the saloon to bring the good news to the dark-eyed Mexican girl. She had been genuinely delighted, and together they had celebrated for a while with all the others. They had danced wildly, and it had taken all of Joe\u2019s strength of character to resist the repeated offers of whiskey, rum, beer, schnapps and what-have-you to toast to his brother\u2019s health. No way was he going to get into the same sort of trouble twice in one day. A little while ago, Juana had winked at him and clasped him around the waist to resolutely steer him up the stairs to her room.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They\u2019d been sitting on her couch together, sharing a bowl of candied apricots they had captured in the kitchen. Now the empty bowl sat at their feet, and they were holding hands and gazing intently into each other\u2019s eyes. Juana didn\u2019t speak much English, so the two young people had tired of trying to make conversation, but her eyes told Joe exactly what she wished him to do next. She was actually a little bit cross-eyed, which had been very endearing from a distance, but at kissing range it proved to be rather distracting. Joe solved the problem by focusing his soulful gaze exclusively on her right eye; her left one seemed to be more interested in the ceiling anyways. Cupping a gentle hand around her\u00a0 nape, Joe was bending slowly towards her waiting lips when there was a sudden hard knock on the door, and a voice rang out that Joe was sure could split the earth beneath his feet.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJOSEPH!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They froze, their lips an inch apart.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoseph, if you\u2019re in there, I expect you downstairs in one minute.\u201d There was a silence, then a clearing of the throat, and the voice continued more quietly, with dignity. \u201cIf you\u2019re not in there\u2026ah\u2026you have my sincerest apologies, Ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe looked at Juana longingly. \u201cI gotta go, sweetheart.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She smiled understandingly and squeezed his hand. \u201cAdios, bonito.\u201d And planted a soft warm kiss on his lips.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ THE AFTERMATH \u2013 SATURDAY MORNING<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The sun was smiling softly through the hazel bush in front of the window when Adam awoke in the morning. His mind was a happy blank. Blissfully, he admired the delicate pattern of sun spots and leaf shadows dancing across the ceiling. Then he shifted a bit, and a violent throb of nausea reminded him of where he was. \u201cOow\u2026great.\u201d He gently turned onto his side and was confronted with a picture he had seen too many times before: His father, crumpled and stubble-bearded, long limbs draped awkwardly across a too-small canvas chair. He was dozing fitfully, and for a brief sad moment it struck Adam how old and tired he looked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam carefully cleared his throat and tested his voice. \u201cYou know, Pa, you really gotta stop doing this.\u201d It came out a bit croakily.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHuh?\u201d Ben\u2019s eyes popped open. \u201cOh, you\u2019re awake, son.\u201d He peeled off the last cobwebs of sleep and carefully stretched out his legs. \u201cGotta stop doing what, son?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSleeping in a chair all night every time one of us has a boo boo.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben chuckled softly. \u201cWe\u2019ll talk about that again when you have children of your own. Talking of boo boos; how are you feeling?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam grunted. \u201cI\u2019ll know when I try to move.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The doctor\u2019s house was slowly coming awake now. Low voices were drifting through the door, and they could hear soft footsteps up and down the hallway.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam cocked an eyebrow. \u201cSounds like Paul\u2019s running a bed and breakfast these days. Guess I\u2019m not the only casualty, huh?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben nodded sadly, remembering. \u201cThe Jerichos are here, too. They all spent the night with Edgar in the other room.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I remember. Poor devil.\u201d Adam slowly sat up and leaned against the headboard. He gingerly palpated the bandaged top of his head. \u201cI remember everything now, I think. A locomotive fell on my head, right?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust about, son,\u201d smiled Ben. He proceeded to tell the whole sordid tale: from the falling bucket, to the recovery of the money, to Hoss\u2019 imprisonment. Adam listened attentively; his eyes closed, a slow smile spreading on his face.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When it was over, he blinked his eyes open. \u201cHm. Poor Hoss.\u201d He had a private little chuckle, imagining his brother wandering through town trying to figure out how he ended up with the loot of a bank robbery. \u201cPity about the blood, too.\u201d He studied his hands and noticed the caked blood around the fingernails. His smile withered. \u201cNeed a bath.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben observed his son thoughtfully for a while. He took in the pallor under the dried blood stains but also the slightly amused curl of the lips and the fresh light in the eyes.\u00a0All is well.<\/em>\u00a0Adam shifted a little under the scrutiny and lifted a peeved eyebrow. Smiling, Ben rose from his chair. \u201cSome breakfast, son?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAah\u2026\u201d Adam\u2019s face sagged. \u201cLet\u2019s not talk about food just yet.\u201d He took a deep breath. \u201cCoffee would be nice, though.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben returned minutes later carrying a tray with a pot and two coffee cups, and they sat in silence for a while, sipping Emma Martin\u2019s gentle, watery brew. Ben swallowed listlessly.\u00a0Perfect for sick people, maybe, but I could use something stronger<\/em>. He could tell from the way Adam was studying his cup that his son was having a similar thought. He cleared his throat. \u201cAdam, if you\u2019re feeling well enough, can I bother you with a problem?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam looked up, surprised. \u201cSure, Pa, fire away.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sighing, Ben set his cup back on the tray. \u201cIt\u2019s about the Jerichos. You\u2019ve heard what happened to Edgar\u2026,\u201d he told of his plan to give the Jerichos money to help them buy a piece of land.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam frowned. \u201cA thousand bucks is a lot of money this time of year. Why not just give them some of the land on the far side of Porcupine Creek? We\u2019re not using it, and it\u2019s good farming land. They\u2019re hard-working people; they\u2019ll take good care of it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI thought about that. But they\u2019re also proud people. If we just gave it to them\u2026well, they might accept, now that they\u2019re destitute, but\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201c\u2026but you\u2019d like to preserve their dignity, huh?\u201d Adam finished for him and smiled.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben shrugged. \u201cDignity is a good thing to preserve, son. It\u2019s all some people have.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

For a long time, Adam stared at his coffee cup, turning it slowly in his long fingers. Finally, he placed it carefully on the nightstand, folded his hands in his lap and looked at Ben, the hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. \u201cWell, the way I see it, Edgar\u2019s entitled to the thousand dollars. It\u2019s his reward.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben shifted in his chair. \u201cReward?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. You see, Pa, you were so upset about the bank robbery that you put up that thousand dollar reward for whoever brought in the robbers.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben\u2019s eyebrows jumped up his forehead. \u201cI did?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou did.\u201d The smile grew and reached the eyes. \u201cAnd considering that it was really Edgar Jericho\u2019s, uh, extended arm that, um, caught the robbers or, at least, convinced one of them to catch themselves, it\u2019s logical that the reward has to go to him.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben\u2019s face lit up, but then he frowned and raked a hand over his beard stubble. \u201cBut Adam, I did no such thing. It would be a lie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAw come on now, Pa, of course you wouldn\u2019t lie. You\u2019ll just forget to mention that you didn\u2019t put up the reward until after the crooks were in jail.\u201d He smiled his dimpled innocence at his father.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben slowly shook his head in amazement.\u00a0It might work, it just might work\u2026<\/em>He wagged an accusing finger at his son. \u201cAdam, I don\u2019t know where I went wrong with you, boy. But you\u2019re the craftiest fellow I\u2019ve ever known.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Laughing softly, Adam closed his eyes and sank back into his pillows. \u201cHmm. Must\u2019ve been that whack on the head.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They heard the house\u2019s front door open, then slam, followed by the sound of an approaching stampede. The door flew open and Joe barreled in, waving a copy of the Territorial Enterprise.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAdam! Pa! Hey Adam, you\u2019re never gonna believe this!\u201d he yelled excitedly and shoved the paper into Adam\u2019s flinching face.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOw, Joe, please\u2026\u201d his brother winced, holding his swirling head with the fingertips of both hands.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoseph, there are sick people in this house,\u201d Ben reminded him sternly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, Adam.\u201d Joe, looking a bit contrite, slowed down visibly and sat carefully down on the bed. He studied his brother fondly. \u201cYou sure look a whole lot better than you did last night, older brother,\u201d he said warmly. Then he thrust the newspaper forward, his voice picking up speed again. \u201cBut you gotta read this. You won\u2019t believe it, Adam! They named the saloon after you!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam blinked. \u201cThey did what?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben frowned. \u201cThey did WHAT?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLook yourself!\u201d Joe pushed the newspaper into his brother\u2019s hands.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Mentally bracing himself for the \u2018Adam Cartwright Watering Hole\u2019 or worse, Adam unfolded the paper and read the bold headline stretched across the width of front page:<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Virginia City welcomes the \u2018Bucket of Blood\u2019 !<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0Gory, glamorous, grand opening at the new saloon.<\/span><\/p>\n

– by Josh –<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam chuckled richly. \u201cAh, you had me worried there, Joe.\u201d He handed the paper to his father.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe giggled brightly. \u201cIt was that new reporter\u2019s idea, I reckon. Good thing he didn\u2019t see Ol\u2019 Oscar throw up on you, or it mighta been called the bucket of pu\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoseph, you will watch your language in another man\u2019s house,\u201d Ben interrupted without taking his eyes from the paper.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, Sir.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam looked suddenly alarmed. \u201cOscar threw up on me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure did, Adam,\u201d Joe nodded enthusiastically. \u201cRight after you went down. Just hung over the banister and let go. He didn\u2019t miss, either. Good thing you was out cold.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Frowning, Adam drew a hand through his sticky hair and then sniffed at it. He looked miserable. \u201cI\u2019d sure like to take a bath.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a knock on the door, and Hoss carefully stuck his head in. When he saw that his family was all there and Adam was awake, he entered the room, grinning broadly, a cloth-covered reed basket in one hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHoss! Good morning, son.\u201d Ben laid the paper aside and his frown smoothed into a smile. \u201cI was about to go over there and beat Roy on the head with his jail keys. Did you make a break for it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo need, Pa,\u201d Hoss laughed. \u201cThat Cliffer feller did some more singin\u2019, and \u2018tween that and Hank\u2019s statement, Roy was happy to let me go. Said he had to \u2018simplify\u2019. Was right contrite about it, too. We had a nice breakfast in the jail together.\u201d He laughed again. \u201cReckon Ol\u2019 Roy just needed a good night o\u2019 sleep. He sure gets cranky these days. Overworked, probably.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He turned towards his older brother. \u201cMorning, Adam, how\u2019s the head?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSore, thanks.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAaw, sorry ta hear that.\u201d Hoss plunked the basket onto the quilt of the bed. \u201cLookee here, Adam. Good Mrs. Kreutzer was so unhappy to hear you got hurt she sends you all of this to make you feel better. Here, don\u2019t this smell wonderful?\u201d He pulled a thick end of fragrant blood sausage out of the basket and held it under his brother\u2019s nose.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In a second, Adam\u2019s face went limp and lost all remaining color. \u201cOh no,\u201d he managed. \u201cTake it away, quick\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Alarmed, Ben reached for the chamber pot under the bed, but Adam held up a hand. \u201cNo need, Pa. I got it.\u201d He swallowed hard and let out a slow breath, before raising reproachful eyes at Hoss.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, brother. I didn\u2019t think.\u201d Hoss quickly let the basket disappear under the foot of the bed. \u201cBy the way, I run into Hunneker on the way over. He\u2019s awful crushed \u2018bout this and sends his apologies. Poor man feels it\u2019s all his fault you got hurt.\u201d Hoss face lit up in a broad smile. \u201cAnd guess what, Adam. He said by way of makin\u2019 it up to ye, for as long as the \u2018Bucket of Blood\u2019 stands, ye\u2019ll always get the first drink on the house.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s eyebrows climbed appreciably up his forehead. \u201cOh? Well, I might have to take up heavy drinking then.\u201d For which he earned a stern frown from his father.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll do nothing of the sort, son. I\u2019m going to have a talk with Mr. Hunneker about this, be assured.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo is \u2018The Bucket of Blood\u2019 official now?\u201d asked Adam.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNot if Hunneker has anything to say about it.\u201d Hoss let out an amused snort. \u201cHe says it\u2019s a barbaric name. But everyone else kinda took to it, so I\u2019m bettin\u2019 it\u2019ll stick, whether Hunneker likes it or not.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben wordlessly handed him the paper, and Hoss read, laughing softly. \u201cPoor Ol\u2019 Horace,\u201d was all he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It was time to think about going home. There were a few more loose ends to tie up, and they left Adam to rest some more and went about town to settle their affairs. Joe and Hoss retrieved the horses from the livery, Joe riding Cochise and leading Sport, and Hoss driving the buckboard with Marge\u2019s skinny gelding tied to the back.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When Hoss had first seen the animal, he had cursed a rare blue streak at the state it was in and had turned on his heel to march to the jail, muttering something about a spankin\u2019. Joe managed to calm him down by reminding him that he had just spend a night in jail, and that Pa would not be at all pleased if he added another for bodily assault. Hoss chewed on this for a minute while he tenderly stroked the gelding\u2019s flanks. Then he wordlessly pulled a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and pressed it into Joe\u2019s hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s eyebrows rose.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoe,\u201d Hoss said while bending down to coax the gelding to lift one of his front hooves. \u201cgo to the jail and give that there money to that\u2026that\u2026you know who.\u201d He began to clean the hoof with a pick. \u201cI\u2019d go myself, but there\u2019s no accountin\u2019 of what I\u2019ll do if I ever run into her again. It\u2019s plenty more\u2019n this poor critter\u2019s worth, and I ain\u2019t in a mind to be accused of horse-thievin\u2019.\u201d He released the hoof and ran a hand lightly down a hind leg. The gelding responded by carefully lifting his rear hoof, ears cocked back inquiringly at this large human whose powerful hands touched him with such kindness.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When Ben returned to the doctor\u2019s house, he brought the Sheriff with him. He and Roy had drafted up a paper announcing the reward for the capture of the bank robbers, careful not to put a date on it. Roy had squirmed a bit, chewing his moustache, and had wondered aloud if he shouldn\u2019t object to such crafty shenanigans, since they didn\u2019t exactly follow proper procedure. But then, seeing as it was for a good cause, he set down his signature to make it official that Edgar Jericho was indeed responsible for capturing the bank robbers. He even agreed to accompany Ben to the doctor\u2019s to bring the good news to the Jerichos.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Edgar\u2019s wife, a small, lean woman with a face prematurely wrinkled by the hard prairie winds, stood in the hallway and looked at them all in turn. She turned and turned the document in her calloused hands. \u201cA thousand dollar?\u201d she asked in a soft voice.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy nodded and smiled kindly. \u201cThat\u2019s right, Mrs. Jericho. Mr. Cartwright here\u2026\u201d and he told her the whole ridiculous tale for the second time. Reluctant to play along at first, the kind-hearted Sheriff was really getting into it now, encouraged by the expression of incredulous joy slowly spreading over the woman\u2019s haggard features. He finished with a flourish: \u201cMrs. Jericho, this whole town sure is mighty proud of your husband!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It was decided that the good news should be brought to Edgar. Paul Martin didn\u2019t think it was a good idea, fearing it might be a little too much to absorb for his patient, but he agreed reluctantly, under the condition that they keep it brief and spare Edgar the grisly details for now. They all trooped into the room, where Edgar lay pale and sweaty in a laudanum-induced haze, and grouped around the bed. Mrs. Jericho sat by her husband\u2019s left side and held his hand. Edgar\u2019s head was heavily bandaged, and Ben noted the empty space under the blanket where the right arm should be. He tried not to stare at it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEdgar, my dear,\u201d Mrs. Jericho was softly saying, \u201cThere\u2019s good news. You\u2019ve won a big reward , darling, a thousand dollars.\u201d She gently stroked his shoulder. Edgar blinked watery eyes at her. \u201cThere\u2019s been\u2026 there\u2019s been a robbery, and there\u2019s a reward for bringing in the thieves, and these good people tell me that you\u2026that your \u2026\u201d Edgar\u2019s brow clouded a little, and Paul Martin warningly cleared his throat. Mrs. Jericho sighed. \u201cOh well, these good people are here to tell you that you\u2019ve won the reward.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy stepped forward. \u201cNow, Mrs. Jericho, don\u2019t you thank us none. Thank your husband. He\u2019s the one who done it,\u201d he said gallantly. He leaned towards Edgar\u2019s confused face and spoke very slowly, \u201cthat\u2019s right, Edgar, you done this town a right good turn.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s wonderful, darling. We can buy some good land now. You\u2019ll never have to go back into the mines.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cA thousand\u2026\u201d Edgar\u2019s eyes shifted blankly from one face to the next. \u201cI ain\u2019t been outta this here bed since\u2026\u201d his voice drifted off weakly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben reached down and gently squeezed Edgar\u2019s leg. \u201cDon\u2019t worry about the details, Edgar. When you\u2019re feeling better, we\u2019ll have you over for dinner at the ranch, and we\u2019ll tell you the whole story.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Edgar, his confusion deepening, blinked helplessly at his wife. \u201cA thou\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShhh, quiet,\u201d she cooed soothingly, stroking his cheek, \u201cit\u2019s all square and proper. You earned it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul Martin, alarmed by the quickened breathing of his patient, clapped a hand each on Ben\u2019s and Roy\u2019s shoulders. \u201cAll right, everybody out, that\u2019s enough.\u201d He ushered them from the room, leaving a happy Mrs. Jericho sitting by her husband\u2019s side.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul Martin stepped up to the Cartwright\u2019s buckboard to wag a finger in his patient\u2019s face. \u201cAdam, no riding till Tuesday at the earliest, and you\u2019re under strict orders to read a good book for the next three days.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam smiled sweetly and gingerly placed his black hat over the bandage. \u201dI think I can handle that.\u201d He shook the doctor\u2019s hand. \u201cThanks for everything, Paul. You\u2019ll be sending me the bill, I hope?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul smiled. \u201cI\u2019ll bring it this afternoon when I come out to look at your ranch hands.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGood grief, I forgot all about the sick hands.\u201d Ben rolled his eyes as he climbed up on the buckboard next to Adam. Joe was on Cochise and Hoss on Sport. Pirate, as Hoss had named the one-eyed gelding, was tied to the back of the buckboard with a rope long enough to allow him to sample the vegetation along the road. They would travel slowly for their invalids, mindful of Adam\u2019s sore head and Pirate\u2019s sore knees.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cStay for dinner tonight?\u201d Ben called after Paul, who had waved his good-bye and was retreating towards the house.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOnly if it\u2019s Hop Sing\u2019s meat loaf!\u201d Paul laughed back and closed the door behind him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They slowly made their way to the edge of town, and as he carefully steered the buckboard, Ben thought that Virginia City must have already grown since yesterday. He could have sworn that he saw a handful of canvas tents that had not been there the day before.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When they reached the end of C Street, Cochise began to prance restlessly and Joe was longingly eyeing the open road ahead. \u201cCome here, son,\u201d Ben called. When Joe rode up to the buckboard, Ben looked at him sternly. \u201cThere\u2019ll be no racing and no galloping. Must I remind you that your brother has a headache?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe winced and glanced at Adam, who was sitting very straight with his eyes closed, still looking a bit greenish.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben suddenly laughed and slapped Joe\u2019s thigh. \u201cActually, why don\u2019t you ride on ahead to the ranch and tell Hop Sing to get a hot bath ready. I think your brother would appreciate that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe yipped in delight and touched his heels to the pinto\u2019s flank. \u201cAnd tell Hop Sing to prepare meat loaf,\u201d Ben called after him, quite uselessly, as horse and rider were already gone in a puff of dust. Shaking his head, he took up the reins again.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBen, wait!\u201d\u00a0 Ben turned to see Paul jogging down C Street towards the buckboard. He was carrying, of all things, a lidded tin bucket.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think this one\u2019s yours, Ben. It had your chicken grain in it,\u201d he said, catching his breath. He laughed and lifted the lid for Ben to peek inside. \u201cGuaranteed empty this time, Ben. No more surprises.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ben waved a hand towards the buckboard. \u201cThanks, Paul. Throw it in the back, we can use it.\u201d He gently patted Adam\u2019s knee beside him. \u201cAfter all, you never know when you need another bucket, right son?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Adam, his eyes still closed, smiled crookedly under his black hat.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

* * *<\/span><\/p>\n

The \u2018Bucket of Blood<\/em>\u2019! What a barbaric, vulgar, repulsive, fabulous, epic name for a place where food and drink is served! And if there is indeed a real story behind how it got its name, be warned, intrepid reader; this wasn\u2019t it\u2026<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

* * *<\/span><\/p>\n

A few historical notes:<\/span><\/p>\n

As Ben predicted, the Bucket of Blood saloon stands on C Street in Virginia City to this day. Its founding date is given as 1876, the year it was rebuilt after the great fires that destroyed much of the city. How long the \u2018Bucket\u2019 existed before that date is unknown to me. It does appear in the first season of \u2018Bonanza\u2019, which is set around the same time as this story.<\/span><\/p>\n

The real Sam Clemens didn\u2019t come to the real Virginia City until 1862, when he took the job as reporter for the \u2018Territorial Enterprise\u2019 after having tried his luck, unsuccessfully, at mining and several other activities. But he too, appears in the first season of \u2018Bonanza\u2019, and I have taken the liberty to copy that little historical inaccuracy.<\/span><\/p>\n

In general, I have tried to portray Virginia City as it really must have been during the first year after the silver strike: raucous, muddy, out of control, lawless, frenzied, growing every time you turned around. The clean, orderly streets we see during Bonanza\u2019s later seasons really don\u2019t reflect the reality of a booming mining town.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Disclaimer:\u00a0All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/g><\/svg><\/i> \"Loading\"<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summary:\u00a0 Everybody needs a bucket. When a new hardware shipment containing identical-looking buckets arrives in Virginia City, a day full of fun and adventure ensues.<\/p>\n

This story is several years old, and many may already know it. Then again, it’s soooo old it may actually be new to some people \ud83d\ude09 \u00a0<\/p>\n

Rated:\u00a0T (35,750 words)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":99,"featured_media":15126,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"template-full-width-post.php","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3366","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-humor","wpcat-4-id"],"a3_pvc":{"activated":true,"total_views":1415,"today_views":0},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/04\/Friday.png?fit=960%2C504&ssl=1","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":2889,"url":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=2889","url_meta":{"origin":3366,"position":0},"title":"Homewards (by faust)","author":"faust","date":"March 25, 2013","format":false,"excerpt":"After so many years, Adam is coming home. 540 words, rated T","rel":"","context":"In "Adam Cartwright"","block_context":{"text":"Adam Cartwright","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?cat=1005"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/06\/Pondarosa-House-3.jpg?fit=564%2C401&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/06\/Pondarosa-House-3.jpg?fit=564%2C401&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/06\/Pondarosa-House-3.jpg?fit=564%2C401&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x"},"classes":[]},{"id":13710,"url":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=13710","url_meta":{"origin":3366,"position":1},"title":"Dignity (by faust)","author":"faust","date":"January 25, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"Roy Coffee has his reasons for doing what he does. 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This story may be familiar to forum readers but I hope it will appeal to those newer members of Bonanzaworld who have yet to read it. Rating: \u00a0G \u00a0(1,060 words)","rel":"","context":"In "Drama"","block_context":{"text":"Drama","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?cat=23"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/05\/vsy.jpeg?fit=248%2C203&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":2882,"url":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=2882","url_meta":{"origin":3366,"position":4},"title":"The Race (by frasrgrl)","author":"frasrgrl","date":"October 24, 2013","format":false,"excerpt":"Summary:\u00a0 \u00a0Can Joe convince his brothers to take part of a new race Virginia City is hosting this month? Word Count: \u00a0513\u00a0 This is my answer to October's C&S and the Michael Landon Birthday Challenge. 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So he's determined to do the one thing he feels he can: leave town and never come back. 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