Summary:. A missing son, a father\u2019s search. A WHIB and WHI for The Crucible.
\nRating: T
\nWord Count: 5,353<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Depression is a dark shadow that prevents rays of hope from reaching the soul. My eldest son is lost to me.<\/p>\n
Only rocks and miles of endless desert where living things scurry in the cool of night. My remaining sons sleep by the warmth of the fire. I lie awake on my bedroll, begging The Almighty for a sign. The night is filled with the sounds of insects but I listen for a whisper from a familiar voice.<\/p>\n
Nothing.<\/p>\n
We\u2019ve not found a shred of fabric nor a footprint in the sand. It\u2019s as if he\u2019s returned to the dust from which God created the first Adam.<\/p>\n
Has my son been cast out like his namesake?<\/p>\n
I breathe deep of the night air and think of the dire news that started our search.<\/p>\n
*****<\/p>\n
It was an ordinary morning until it wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
Hoss tucks into a pile of flapjacks and eggs fit for three men when I come down for breakfast.\u00a0 He shoves a wad of food into his cheek before speaking.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen my brothers get home, I\u2019m gonna hibernate like a bear. They can do all the digging.\u201d<\/p>\n
I chuckle into my cup as Hop Sing brings in another platter of eggs.<\/p>\n
\u201cMore food, less sons.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s a growing boy,\u201d I tease.<\/p>\n
At a pound on the door Hop Sing\u2019s grumbling is momentarily forgotten as he sees to our guest.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho is it?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cTelegram,\u201d answers Roy Coffee. \u201cFigured I should bring it personally.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stops at the corner of the settee, as if unsure of his welcome.<\/p>\n
\u201cHop Sing, bring another plate and cup.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks, but no,\u201d says my friend. \u201cThis ain\u2019t a social call.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shake my head and snort in exasperation. Adam and Joe drove a small herd to Eastgate and should have gotten close to twenty dollars per head.\u00a0 Money slips through my youngest boy\u2019s hands like water so he\u2019s either in jail or broke. \u201cDid Joe get caught up in a harebrained scheme? Or throw away his wallet in a poker game? Adam knows better than to trust his brother with more than a few dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roy shifts and holds up the piece of paper. From the look on his face, it\u2019s news he doesn\u2019t want to say aloud.<\/p>\n
The cheery morning sun dims.<\/p>\n
I toss down my napkin and cross the room, snatching the telegram from Roy\u2019s hand, reading it twice then a third time.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it, Pa?\u201d<\/p>\n
The sound of Hoss\u2019s fork hitting the plate sounds far away.<\/p>\n
I meet Roy\u2019s eyes but have to look away from the pity I see in them. Hoss takes the message from my hand and guides me to the red, leather chair by the fireplace.<\/p>\n
Adam missing. Stop. Found Sport. Stop. Come to Salt Flats. Full stop.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cJoe can\u2019t hang onto a dollar but how could he lose Adam?\u201d asks Hoss.<\/p>\n \u201cMake sandwiches,\u201d Hop Sing says.<\/p>\n \u201cI took the liberty of replying to Joe,\u201d Roy says. \u201cWanted him to know you\u2019re on your way.\u201d<\/p>\n I think I nod. I don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n Adam is as steady as a compass. Has been since birth. Nothing sways him from the trail he blazes and truth is his north star. He\u2019s content in his own company but it\u2019s unlike him to disappear without leaving word.<\/p>\n Memories flash through my mind. My eldest is a newborn, waving his tiny fists and squalling for his dead mother. Now crawling across the dirty floor of a rented room, determined to catch a beetle and study its tiny legs. I see him as child, when we\u2019ve stopped in our journey West, pulling himself to his feet by holding onto the wagon wheel then, when a bit older, asking for stories about the constellations in the night sky. He adores Inger, his new mother, and as a family we continue traveling West. Inger has our baby and Adam tends to his newborn brother when not working as hard as the men in the wagon train. After she\u2019s gone, and I\u2019ve bought land where we settle, I see him setting beaver traps alongside me and planting pastures where cattle will one day graze. I see him a nervous and excited boy leaving for the adventure of college back East and returning as a confident man who knows his course in the world.<\/p>\n Mumbled words then the door latch clicks. My eyes focus and I realize Roy\u2019s gone.<\/p>\n There\u2019s much unsaid in the telegram. Why did Joe wire from Salt Flats? How did my sons get separated? Where did Joe find Sport?<\/p>\n When did Joe give up searching for his brother?<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll saddle the horses, Pa.\u201d<\/p>\n Time passes but I don\u2019t know how much before Hoss announces all is ready. Hop Sing brings out two packages of sandwiches and insists the larger one is for me. Doubt I\u2019ll be hungry so Hoss is welcome to mine to keep his belly full.<\/p>\n Hop Sing sees us off and we ride a full day, mostly in silence. Hoss tries to make conversation when we stop to rest the horses but to talk means releasing fears held tight in my heart.<\/p>\n *****<\/p>\n \u201cPa, why don\u2019t we stop in Como?\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s a couple of hours after sundown and the full moon bathes the land in a light bright enough for the horses to find their way. I\u2019d have rather made it to Fallon Station but our horses, and bodies, need rest. Besides, I don\u2019t feel like making mindless conversation with strangers.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s just bed down here. We\u2019ve got coffee and beans to get us through the night. Just eat a sandwich for breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAll right.\u201d<\/p>\n I can hear the disappointment in Hoss\u2019s voice but it\u2019s likely no one in town would know Adam\u2019s whereabouts. Hoss cooks up our supper as I unsaddle and hobble the horses.<\/p>\n Adam and I ate many a plate of beans between Grover\u2019s Corner where we met Inger and Ash Hollow where she died. One evening on the trail in camp, as he stabbed his fork at the meal on his plate, Adam told Inger he would turn into a bean if he had to eat another one. Inger was a temperate woman yet she wouldn\u2019t abide my . . . our . . . son wasting or complaining about food. In a stern tone she reminded him that I couldn\u2019t afford more than milk and bread when we met so he should eat each forkful of beans with gratitude for a hot meal to nourish his body. Adam wasn\u2019t used to hearing a cross word from Inger and he sniffled a bit but didn\u2019t cry, just cleaned his plate.<\/p>\n Hoss scoops the last of the beans onto his plate after I turn them down. My supper is settling like a brick in my belly.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t you worry none, we\u2019re gonna find ol\u2019 Adam. Joe probably got distracted by a pretty face and big brother just gave him the slip.\u201d<\/p>\n He takes my plate and cleans them both and the skillet.<\/p>\n \u201cGet some sleep, Pa. It\u2019s gonna be light soon enough.\u201d<\/p>\n Clouds drift across the moon, blocking out the light. I lay back, my saddle for a pillow, and stare into the inky void. Hoss snores shortly after he lies down and I wish I could do the same. Instead, I sit up and poke at the fire\u2019s embers to stir up the heat. Hot coffee is welcome in the chill of night.<\/p>\n Adam pretended to be a coffee connoisseur when I came home from New Orleans with Marie. Much to his disdain she added milk and sugar to his cup. She told him caf\u00e9 au lait<\/em> was preferable to the bitter taste of black coffee. Of course he scoffed at her and then tried to guzzle it, nearly choking. When he caught his breath, he told her in the west only city folk use sweetening or milk in coffee because, unlike men who work in the outdoors all day, they\u2019re idle fools.\u00a0 Marie swore under her breath in French and Adam took notice, inventorying the words for future use. I brokered a peace, allowing both to enjoy their coffee as each preferred. Every now and again I caught Adam adding a spoonful of sugar to his cup when he thought no one was looking.<\/p>\n How did he lose his horse? Maybe he and Joe had an argument \u2013 wouldn\u2019t be the first time \u2013 and went their separate ways to cool off. Perhaps Adam made camp and his horse was spooked by a bear or mountain lion. A shooting star crosses the sky then flickers out; my wish is Adam is sitting by a fire, drinking hot coffee.<\/p>\n Hoss stirs in the glow of dawn. \u201cYou get any sleep, Pa?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019ll be plenty of time for that when we find Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss hands me a sandwich and I obediently eat it under his watchful eye.<\/p>\n \u201cHow far you wanna get today?\u201d<\/p>\n I swallow the lump of food in my throat. \u201cWe\u2019ll ride down to catch the Pony Express road and push for Desert Station. Give the horses a breather and fill our canteens then push for Sand Springs Station.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAin\u2019t no good water there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAll the more reason not to linger.\u00a0 We should reach Salt Flats by tomorrow evening.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThink they\u2019ll have news of Adam at Sand Springs?\u201d<\/p>\n I dare not answer but instead bite off another chunk of sandwich. After a swig from the canteen to wash it down I saddle Buck and prepare for another long day of riding.<\/p>\n *****<\/p>\n We make camp and after our meager meal I lie down and wait for sleep to come. Can\u2019t get comfortable on my back or either side. Joe had best stay put in Salt Flats, otherwise I\u2019ll have to search for two sons.<\/p>\n A lizard runs across my face and makes its escape before I swat at it. I get to my feet and walk a few paces, looking for man-like shadows in the distance.<\/p>\n \u201cGo to sleep, Pa,\u201d Hoss mumbles.<\/p>\n My middle son isn\u2019t a light sleeper by nature.\u00a0 After a trail drive a couple years back in which Adam and Hoss delivered cattle, Adam looked the worse for wear while Hoss looked well-rested. Adam claimed a Paiute war party, whooping and hollering, chased through the camp by the cavalry with a bugler playing the charge wouldn\u2019t break Hoss\u2019s rhythmic snoring. According to Adam, the only sure thing that wakes Hoss out of a dead sleep is the smell of campfire cooking.<\/p>\n I return to my blanket and lie down but my body refuses to relax. In his slumber, Hoss makes more noise than the yipping coyotes but I relish the familiar even though it doesn\u2019t ease my fears. I scrape glowing embers to the fire\u2019s outer edge to warm the coffee for another night with memories.<\/p>\n *****<\/p>\n We stop to rest the horses and dismount to stretch our legs. I pull the sandwich packet from my saddlebag. We\u2019re down to our last one and it\u2019s still a way to Salt Flats. I offer it to Hoss.<\/p>\n \u201cNah.\u201d He takes off his hat and mops sweat with his sleeve.\u00a0 \u201cHop Sing must\u2019ve put a little something extra in \u2018em \u2018cause they\u2019re just not agreeing with me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know a fimble famble when I hear one.\u201d Except for cheese, I can\u2019t think of anything that disagrees with my largest son\u2019s stomach. I pull my knife and cut the sandwich in a rough estimate of half and offer him the larger piece but he just puts his hat back on and jams his hands in his pockets.<\/p>\n \u201cYou gotta eat, Pa. I\u2019m like a bear \u2013 got me enough fat to make it through winter without a morsel.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTake it.\u201d<\/p>\n He wipes one hand on his vest and obeys me. \u201cI ain\u2019t gonna enjoy it.\u201d<\/p>\n Doesn\u2019t matter, just as long as he eats. I can\u2019t spare worry right now.<\/p>\n *****<\/p>\n Joe meets us on the road outside Salt Flats. I dismount and Joe does, too; I notice the saddle isn\u2019t Adam\u2019s. No time for warm greetings \u2013 I want every detail Joe left out of the telegram.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere did you . . . . ?\u201d<\/p>\n I notice the way Joe rubs Sport\u2019s nose, as the horse is the only connection to his brother. My son\u2019s eyes glisten and words pour out of him like seawater flowing through a breached levee.<\/p>\n \u201cCochise split a hoof. Stopped in at a farrier\u2019s at Olinghouse and asked for a horse. When he brought Sport, I demanded he tell me how he got Adam\u2019s horse. Said he bought him off two men \u2013 Jim Gann and Frank. The farrier showed me the bill of sale and told me those two were headed here. I rode hard but when I made it the sheriff said Gann and Frank Preston were dead.\u201d<\/p>\n He balls up a fist and hits his thigh.<\/p>\n \u201cI could have beaten answers out of them.\u201d<\/p>\n He hangs his head and anger turns to regret. \u201cI should\u2019ve gone with Adam. He said he wanted peace and quiet, hunt in the mountains to the east for a few days then go on to Pyramid Lake, but I stayed in Eastgate to take in a trial. Told him I\u2019d meet him in three days at Signal Rock. Gann and Preston had to have overheard how much we\u2019d got for the cattle and Adam would be alone.<\/p>\n \u201cI made it to Signal Rock on time and even waited an extra day. When Adam didn\u2019t show I searched for him.\u201d<\/p>\n My youngest\u2019s voice breaks.<\/p>\n \u201cI really did, Pa.\u201d<\/p>\n I add up days \u2013 Joe was to meet Adam three days after they parted; Adam didn\u2019t show so Joe waited an extra day then searched; Joe spent a couple of days looking before sending word; took Hoss and me three days to get here. Adam\u2019s been missing for over a week. If he\u2019d found a speck of civilization he surely would\u2019ve wired for money to rent a horse and come back home.\u00a0 Unlike Joe, vengeance isn\u2019t Adam\u2019s nature so if he would have tracked down Gann and Preston he wouldn\u2019t have left them stranded; instead, he would\u2019ve hauled them back to Eastgate for the law to mete out justice.<\/p>\n I assume the authoritative tone of the wagon train captain I was on the journey West. \u201cI want to talk to the sheriff. You two get supplies. I\u2019ll rent a room at the hotel for the night.\u201d<\/p>\n We go into town and stable the horses in the livery. I head over to the sheriff\u2019s office, sure the man will be of help.<\/p>\n \u201cSheriff? I\u2019m Ben Cartwright. You spoke with my son, Joe, a couple of days ago about Jim Gann and Frank Preston.\u201d<\/p>\n The lawman shakes my hand. \u201cI remember. How can I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPut out a call for a posse. My son, Adam, is missing. Gann and Preston were the last to see him.\u201d<\/p>\n The sheriff scrapes his fingernails against his scalp. \u201cI\u2019m powerful sorry but I can\u2019t ask men to leave their families to search for him. With Gann and Preston dead there\u2019s no reason for a manhunt.\u201d<\/p>\n I lean forward on the desk and resist jabbing a finger into his chest. \u201cThose men robbed my son of money and stole his horse. Horse thieving alone must be reason enough.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor all you know your young man is halfway to home. I\u2019d be wasting my time. Besides, your other son got the horse back. I\u2019m sure if you explain the situation over at the bank an arrangement can be made for the money. As I said, I\u2019m sorry, but there\u2019s nothing I can do.\u201d<\/p>\n I take a deep breath and leave the office, tempted to slam the door behind me. Instead, I collect myself and head over to the hotel. The clerk takes in my sweat and grime-covered face but doesn\u2019t ask questions, just hands me the key after I sign the register. I leave a description of my boys and tell the clerk to send them on up when he sees them.<\/p>\n A blanket on the ground was more comfortable than the bed but the mattress will do for a night. My body is weary yet sleep won\u2019t come. I close my eyes but my mind races with images of Adam, bloody and broken, vultures picking at his corpse, a nearby black hat the only means to identify him.<\/p>\n Joe and Hoss come in and they\u2019re nearly as quiet as church mice. They whisper to each other, sharing worry about me. I\u2019m no stranger to long days in the saddle and as long as there\u2019s a faint glimmer of hope breaking through the shadows I\u2019ll keep searching for my son. Empty boots hit the floor and bed frames creak as my boys settle in.<\/p>\n *****<\/p>\n We leave Salt Flats, provisioned for at least a week, headed first to Eastgate then farther east as Adam set off in that direction before he was robbed. We ride along a canyon rim and I yell Adam\u2019s name in hopes of an answer.<\/p>\n Nothing.<\/p>\n I rein in my horse and stand in the stirrups to scan the horizon. Just a sea of rock-strewn sand. I climb down to share water with Buck and to study the ground. Tracks I hadn\u2019t noticed \u2013 three horses but one man on foot. My heart thumps and I follow the boot prints until they end near some rocks. I look back to the west and see a shadowy thing coiled in the sparse vegetation.<\/p>\n I drop the reins and grab up a black gun belt, the only tangible proof I have of Adam. The holster is empty, a discarded pistol nowhere in sight. Hoss and Joe ride up and see what I\u2019ve found.<\/p>\n \u201cAdam\u2019s.\u201d No question in Hoss\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n I tell Hoss and Joe of the tracks. \u201cWe have to spread out, cover every direction.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPa, you need to get some rest. You ain\u2019t had no sleep in three days.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot \u2018til we find him.\u201d<\/p>\n I tell them where to search. I point to the east and say, \u201cI\u2019m following this trail. Meet back here in two hours. If you find something, fire one shot.\u201d<\/p>\n We go our separate ways. Doesn\u2019t matter there aren\u2019t tracks to make it easy, my boy is out there.<\/p>\n *****<\/p>\n I figure Adam might have taken off his boots at some point but I don\u2019t even see bare footprints. No sign of a wallow where he might have laid down to rest. The wilderness isn\u2019t giving up any clues. Haven\u2019t heard a pistol shot \u2013 neither Hoss nor Joe has found any sign.<\/p>\n My eyes burn from staring into the shimmering horizon. I wipe my face with a bandana then check my watch. The second hour is nearly gone.<\/p>\n The heavy weight of this burden presses on my shoulders. I have to believe Adam is out there, alive \u2013 I\u2019d know it in my bones if a child of my blood were dead. I\u2019ve heard a parent never gets over the death of their firstborn but I can\u2019t give into this darkness forcing its way into my soul. Hope is a faint flicker but is enough to give me reason to continue searching.<\/p>\n Buck and I head back to rendezvous with Hoss and Joe. I look at the ground just to make sure there isn\u2019t a sign, even as tiny as a broken twig, that I\u2019ve missed.<\/p>\n The looks on my sons\u2019 faces tell me everything.<\/p>\n \u201cPa, you can\u2019t go on, Pa. You can\u2019t do it.\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss has never been more wrong.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re gonna have to face it, Pa. We\u2019re not gonna find Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n Oh, Joseph \u2013 ye of little faith.<\/p>\n \u201cPa, it\u2019s been two weeks since Adam left Eastgate.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know. We\u2019ll search another hour then make camp.\u201d<\/p>\n We split up again but none of us find any evidence that Adam passed this way. If a kind soul had picked him up in a wagon there\u2019d be hoof prints and wagon tracks. It\u2019s as if no man has trod this ground since time began.<\/p>\n When we meet up again, Joe begins gathering firewood and Hoss pulls out what\u2019s left of our meager rations. \u201cWe\u2019re nearly out of food,\u201d says Hoss.<\/p>\n I pace an area between the rocks, thinking of Adam\u2019s tenaciousness. It\u2019s a Cartwright trait but he got a healthy portion from his Stoddard line, too. My son wouldn\u2019t just lie down and wait for the vultures \u2013 he\u2019d keep going until his last ounce of strength was gone. I swallow hard. I look to the heavens and pray that he\u2019s making his way home and bedded down someplace safe.<\/p>\n Joe hands me a cup of coffee. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to sleep, Pa. You won\u2019t be any good to us if you can\u2019t stay in the saddle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing wrong with me,\u201d I growl back.<\/p>\n I glare at him but my youngest doesn\u2019t flinch. He\u2019s got his mother\u2019s fiery temper, and more than enough from me, to stand toe to toe and question my authority. Joe squeezes my shoulder in a gesture I\u2019ve used on him nearly his whole life to reassure him when he has doubts.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve got to rest so we can keep looking is all I meant,\u201d Joe says in a conciliatory tone. He walks over to the fire and squats to poke at it with a stick.<\/p>\n I finish my coffee and lay out my bedroll. While Hoss cooks up our supper I sit down and stare into the fire, hoping a sign as if provided by the Oracle of Delphi will appear in the dancing flames. Joe hands me a plate and I go through the motions of eating, not tasting the food.<\/p>\n The moon is waxing gibbous but casting enough light to cast shadows on the rocks. None of them are the size of a man walking into our camp. Hoss tucks a blanket around my shoulders before he settles onto his makeshift bed. My boys are soon asleep but it will more than likely elude me again tonight.<\/p>\n *****<\/p>\n In the morning, we pack up our sparse camp and ride to Austin for food. The streets are deserted in the early afternoon heat so we dismount in front of the saloon and go in for cool beer, a pleasant change from stale, warm water.<\/p>\n The place is quiet for a saloon even though men sit together at tables, reading the news or slouching in their chairs. Hoss requests three glasses of beer up at the bar while I lead Joe to a table in the shadows near the back. At least there aren\u2019t card games to entice Joe \u2013 won\u2019t have to worry about keeping an eye on him to ensure he doesn\u2019t flash money around men eager for an easy payday. Hoss brings our beers over, two in one hand. We drink in silence. I\u2019m certain we missed a clue. The pistol was taken but why didn\u2019t Adam hang onto the gun belt?<\/p>\n My neck cracks as I jerk my head up. Must have dozed off.<\/p>\n A new man is at the bar, speaking loudly of fresh news. \u201cY\u2019all shoulda seen that fella I brought into town. Looked like one of them wild men I\u2019ve heard tales of.\u00a0 Couldn\u2019t believe he was dragging a dead man.\u201d<\/p>\n Voices mingled together as men figured murder was committed over an ore find.<\/p>\n \u201cPa?\u201d asks Hoss.<\/p>\n Hope lingers in that question.<\/p>\n Joe rushes to the bar before Hoss can hold him back and he grabs a fistful of the man\u2019s dirty shirt. \u201cThat might be my brother. Where is he?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou sayin\u2019 the dead man or the fella what was draggin\u2019 him?\u201d<\/p>\n Joe keeps his grip on the man and draws his pistol. \u201cDon\u2019t play games with me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEgads! Ain\u2019t no one playin\u2019 games, boy. You come over here all hot and threatenin\u2019.\u00a0 A gun and a big mouth don\u2019t make a big man.\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss sets a beefy hand on my arm before going to Joe\u2019s defense. He stands behind his shorter brother. \u201cA big man don\u2019t need a big mouth.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe loosens his grip and lowers the gun but doesn\u2019t holster it. \u201cTell me about the wild man.\u201d<\/p>\n The man clears his throat and takes up his tale. \u201cAs I was sayin\u2019 it were late this morning. I was working my claim, over in Pony Canyon, and seen a man staggering towards town. Thought at first my mind was playin\u2019 tricks. No indeed. He was strainin\u2019 to pull a load so I went to help him. Turns out the man he was hauling was dead. Asked that fella if he needed any help but all he got out was, \u201cNo gold,\u201d before passin\u2019 out cold. He don\u2019t look good. Figured the dead man was his kin and deserves a Christian burial \u2018stead of bein\u2019 left out for the vultures. I loaded both of \u2018em into my wagon and dumped the dead one off at the undertaker\u2019s and took the live one over to the doc\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n I slip out of the saloon, rays of hope breaking free like thin beams of sunlight through a storm cloud. The undertaker lets me look at the body. The man is someone\u2019s son but not mine.<\/p>\n The doctor\u2019s office is down the street and I barge in.<\/p>\n \u201cCan I help you?\u201d asks a balding man wearing spectacles, wiping his hands with a small towel.<\/p>\n \u201cYou have an injured man here.\u201d<\/p>\n He jerks his head towards a curtain. \u201cIn there. He\u2019s alive \u2013 barely. Don\u2019t expect answers if you have questions.\u201d<\/p>\n I remove my hat before going through the curtain into a room lit by the afternoon sun. A man in ragged clothes with too much beard for his face lies on the settee, his face tilted away from me. His arms are sunburned a red so dark they\u2019re nearly maroon and skin is peeling like the strips of his shirt.<\/p>\n I approach the settee with trepidation. \u201cMister?\u201d I ask. My hope is he\u2019s seen Adam, even if it was just my son\u2019s dead body.<\/p>\n It appears to take great effort but the man turns his head a fraction and squints at me through one eye. I note the sharp cheekbone above the line of his beard, giving him the look of an Old Testament prophet<\/p>\n \u201cPa?\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s a whispered croak. My heart leaps into my throat and I can\u2019t pass a wisp of air through my lips. Is this bundle of rags my son?<\/p>\n The man sighs and closes his eye. \u201cPa.\u201d<\/p>\n I hear relief in that single word; my knees buckle and I can breathe again. The dark shadow fades into pale wisps and my heart breaks free of the bindings that have held it tight since I read that telegram. I\u2019m afraid to touch him, as if I may be hallucinating. I screw up my courage and rest my palm over his hand. Solid flesh banishes my doubts.<\/p>\n \u201cAdam.\u201d<\/p>\n The sound of a door and voices register but nothing else matters in this moment.<\/p>\n God answered and delivered my son.<\/p>\n \u201cIs that . . . ?\u201d asks Hoss.<\/p>\n I can\u2019t tear my gaze away from the son I\u2019d thought lost to me.<\/p>\n Joe drops to a knee beside me, one hand on my back, the other hovering as if he\u2019s unsure whether to touch his brother.\u00a0 \u201cHe\u2019s been through some kind of hell.\u201d<\/p>\n I don\u2019t care if both Heaven and Hell spat him out, he\u2019s here, with me.<\/p>\n \u201cFetch a basin of cool water,\u201d I say without caring who brings it. Joe squeezes my shoulder and sighs a long breath as he gets up. Low voices carry from the outer office then a door opens.<\/p>\n The doctor enters the room, sloshing water onto the floor. He sets the basin beside me and removes the towel from his shoulder, holding it forth for me to take.\u00a0 I don\u2019t need a doctor to tell me to be gentle when my son\u2019s skin is as ragged as his clothing.<\/p>\n Adam moans as I dab dust from his forehead and the bare skin above his beard. If he wasn\u2019t in such bad shape, I\u2019d have Hoss carry him out to the horse trough for a good soak.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about water for drinking?\u201d I ask without looking up from my ministrations.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you have a canteen handy let him drink sparingly. He doesn\u2019t need to choke on vomit.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll get it,\u201d says Hoss.<\/p>\n Adam stifles a moan as I slip my arm between the pillow and his neck to raise his head to sip from the canteen. I trickle water between his parched lips and he coughs but is eager for more. \u201cOnly a bit,\u201d I tell him.\u00a0 His tongue darts out to collect any stray drops so I add some water to my cupped palm and dab it on his mouth.<\/p>\n \u201cPa?\u201d Joe whispers as if he\u2019s in church and doesn\u2019t want to divert the preacher\u2019s attention from the Gospel. \u201cYou get some rest and I\u2019ll tend to him.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d My boy needs assurance that I didn\u2019t give him up for dead.<\/p>\n My knees can\u2019t take any more kneeling on the hard floor so Hoss brings over a chair. When Joe asks if he can sit with Adam while I go find some supper, I tell him to bring me a plate \u2013 I\u2019m not abandoning my son now that I\u2019ve found him.<\/p>\n The doctor lights the lamp as darkness descends in the room. \u201cI can fix you up a pallet if you want to sleep here,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cChair\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n I look over to Joe and say, \u201cYou boys go get a room at the hotel. No sense in you two not getting a good night\u2019s sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss sees there\u2019s no point in arguing and he simply takes Joe\u2019s elbow to steer him out of the room.<\/p>\n Adam hasn\u2019t spoken again but his breathing is steady. I don\u2019t know of what he dreams but his fingers twitch and his eyes dart behind closed lids.<\/p>\n I adjust my position in the chair turn my head from side to side to ease up the tension in my back and neck. Giving up on my son was never an option. I couldn\u2019t rescue him from whatever it is he\u2019s been through but I\u2019m here now, ready to listen when he\u2019s up to telling what happened. Couldn\u2019t sleep on the trail but don\u2019t want to sleep now that I\u2019ve got him back.<\/p>\n *****<\/p>\n Stagecoaches are bumpy rides. I open my eyes and realize Hoss is shaking me. My jaw cracks with a yawn. Sleep finally came.<\/p>\n \u201cBrought you some breakfast,\u201d Hoss says as he points to a small table.<\/p>\n Joe sits in a chair by the window, lost in thought, eyes fixed on Adam. I don\u2019t blame Joe for any of this. Neither of my sons knew there were wolves in the saloon that day in Eastgate.<\/p>\n A deep intake of breath gets my attention and I lean forward in case Adam needs something. He opens his eyes and fragile skin splits over an eyebrow as he draws the two together. I dab away blood and he turns his head to study my face.<\/p>\n Adam presses his lips together and, with great effort, rests a couple of fingers on my hand. Perhaps he thought I was merely a figment of his imagination. He turns to stare at the ceiling.<\/p>\n I have a plethora of questions but figure he isn\u2019t ready to \u2013 or in shape \u2013 to talk. In time, he\u2019ll tell what happened. In the meantime, I\u2019m content to sit by him, his presence more than enough.<\/p>\n The Devil sowed seeds of doubt but the Lord wouldn\u2019t let them take root. My soul rejoices and I give thanks to a compassionate, merciful God. My son, my flesh and blood, lives.<\/p>\n ***The End***<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Author\u2019s notes: Written for the 2025 Ponderosa Paddlewheel Poker Tournament. This year we played 7-card stud where we were dealt seven cards and had to use at least five. One of my cards was a joker (free). The words\/phrases I used were:<\/p>\n fimble famble (a lame, prevaricating excuse)
\ndepression is a dark shadow
\nbig mouth don\u2019t make a big man
\nEgads!<\/p>\n