After Little Joe\u2019s testimony helps put a noose around the neck of a murderer, his nightmares are nothing compared to the reality that comes to haunt him.<\/p>\n
Rated: T (word count: 25,450)<\/p>\n
***This story represents 2 firsts: my first brand-new story for the Brand’s new library; and my first prequel! \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n
*Original title as a WIP: Shadow of the Noose<\/em><\/p>\n Haunted<\/strong><\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 1<\/strong><\/p>\n That dadburned little brother of his was later than usual getting out of bed, but Hoss was none too eager to do anything about it. He was enjoying the opportunity to fill up on all the food his pa and Adam had left behind when they\u2019d rushed out for an early meeting with the family attorney. Still\u2026doggone it<\/em>! Joe was going to have to eat, too, wasn\u2019t he? The way that boy had been growing lately, he seemed to need more sleep and food than the rest of the family combined.<\/p>\n Maybe Hoss was doing a good turn by letting his brother get some extra sleep; but he reckoned he wouldn\u2019t be doing either of them any good if he didn\u2019t also make sure the fifteen-year-old had at least enough food to fire up what little muscle he had on that scrawny frame of his. That new acreage wasn\u2019t going to fence in itself, and Hoss didn\u2019t much like the idea of doing all the work himself.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019ll just be an ornery, good-for-nothing cuss, if he don\u2019t eat,\u201d Hoss mumbled, eyeing the last bits of scrambled eggs on the platter. \u201cJoe!\u201d he hollered out then. \u201cHey, Joe! Get down here!\u201d<\/p>\n But the more Hoss thought about it, the more he realized he hadn\u2019t had to face Joe\u2019s ornery side for a good two weeks or more. He hadn\u2019t had to face his little brother\u2019s prankster side either, for that matter. In fact, Little Joe hadn\u2019t been himself at all since that business with Frank Carver and had just gotten worse since the hanging.<\/p>\n Casting a troubled glance toward the stairwell, Hoss found himself wishing yet again Joe had never laid eyes on Frank Carver. Not in the alley next to the Bucket of Blood. And certainly not dangling from the gallows on account of Joe\u2019s testimony. Well, on account of Joe\u2019s and Missus Hatcher\u2019s testimonies.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, Joe!\u201d Hoss called again as he tossed his napkin to the table and pushed himself to his feet. \u201cI\u2019ll saddle the horses. You come down here and eat something so we can get!\u201d<\/p>\n The enthusiasm he\u2019d built up while lingering over breakfast had vanished by the time Hoss reached the barn. Not long after, however, he found a danged good reason to let it build up again.<\/p>\n Joe\u2019s horse was gone.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy that little\u2026.\u201d He didn\u2019t bother finishing the statement. He let a smile slip into place instead.<\/p>\n Little Joe was back to his tricks. Not only had he already gotten out of bed, he\u2019d snuck out of the house to beat Hoss to work. Joe was aiming to turn the tables on Hoss. He\u2019d claim Hoss had been dilly-dallying while he\u2019d done all the work.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I\u2019ll show you what for, little brother,\u201d Hoss mumbled, making quick work of saddling Chub and letting his smile grow into a grin. Yep. Little Joe was back to being Little Joe.<\/p>\n Hoss\u2019s loud \u201cYahoo!\u201d as he kicked his horse\u2019s flanks scattered some stray chickens and brought an irate Chinaman outside to yell uselessly at his retreating back.<\/p>\n It also managed to scatter his little brother\u2019s disturbing dreams.<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n Joe was surprised to hear Hoss thundering out of the yard and yelling a hearty \u201cYahoo!\u201d to boot. Had someone delivered good news? Who? What sort of news?<\/p>\n Heck, Joe could do with a bit of good news. Between the guilt he felt for causing a man to hang and his ridiculous, gut-churning fear that Frank Carver would somehow come back to kill him for doing it, Little Joe Cartwright wasn\u2019t sleeping near as much as he ought to be. How could he sleep, with all those dark images haunting him every night? Images of blood-drenched knives and dead men hanging from the gallows with vengeful glares that were always aimed Joe\u2019s way.<\/p>\n It had been well over two weeks, but in Joe\u2019s young, active mind, it seemed like only yesterday that he\u2019d stumbled upon a murder taking place in a shadowed corner of Virginia City–a corner Joe had been told often enough was no place for a boy his age.<\/p>\n He\u2019d gone there for a glimpse of the saloon. Planning to peek over the swinging doors and see what all the excitement was about, Joe\u2019s innocent seeming diversion had been ill-timed. He\u2019d walked past the alley to find Frank Carver kneeling next to a man who wasn\u2019t moving. Frank had held a bloody knife and had shot Joe a look cold enough to freeze the dumbfounded boy in place.<\/p>\n Frank was going to kill him, too. Joe had known it then, and he knew it now. He couldn\u2019t have run, not fast enough or far enough to escape Frank Carver\u2019s longer stride–certainly not the way his head had been spinning and his heart pounding before he\u2019d even taken a single step. Nor could he have fought back, not armed only with the punch of a small-for-his-age fifteen-year-old boy.<\/p>\n Yep. Joe would be dead now if Missus Hatcher hadn\u2019t hurried after him to scold him for being where he oughtn\u2019t. It had been Missus Hatcher\u2019s scream that had torn Frank Carver\u2019s eyes from Joe\u2019s. That\u2019s when Frank had started running–fortunately right into the path of the sheriff. And that\u2019s when Joe had started down a different path, one that had left him plagued with disturbing thoughts and horrific dreams.<\/p>\n But Frank Carver was a week dead already, hanged after a quick trial during which both judge and jury had been eager to see justice done.<\/p>\n And the cheerful sound of Hoss\u2019s Yahoo!<\/em> in the yard was making Joe eager to forget. Any bit of good news would provide a welcome reprieve.<\/p>\n Pushing himself wearily from bed, Joe filled a basin with fresh water and went to work splashing unspent sleep from his eyes. Dark thoughts were not as easy to wash away. He dressed slowly, suddenly feeling guilty. What right did he have to share in Hoss\u2019s good humor? A man was dead because Joe had seen him with a bloody knife and had been frightened by a cold glare. Frank Carver had been hanged for murder, but Joe had not actually seen him drive that knife into the dead man\u2019s chest. What if Carver had been innocent? What if he had stumbled across the dead man only seconds before Joe? What if\u2026?<\/p>\n \u201cWhat if you had listened to your father,\u201d<\/em> Pa had told him just the other day, \u201cand stayed with the buckboard as you\u2019d been told? What if you had listened to your brothers and waited for them to introduce you to the inside of a saloon when the time was right? Joseph, those are good questions to consider the next time you\u2019re faced with a decision to go your own way; but you can\u2019t change what\u2019s already occurred. If you\u2019re not careful, you could drown in a sea of what ifs. And so could I.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cYou, Pa?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cYes, me. I have asked myself a thousand what-ifs about that day, too, Little Joe. What if you hadn\u2019t come across Frank Carver? Why, he might never have been caught. He would have been free to kill someone else, maybe even one of your brothers.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI hadn\u2019t thought of that.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWell, I have. And so did others. That\u2019s why the jury was so quick to decide. Son, Frank Carver was\u2026not the best of men. His reputation for violence offered as much–if not more–proof than your testimony. Surely you must realize that.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n One final, horrific thought had Joe seeing Hoss in that alley at Frank Carver\u2019s feet. Shuddering and anxious once more to learn about the reason behind his big brother\u2019s Yahoo!<\/em>, Joe slipped into his boots, pulled a clean shirt from the bureau and ventured into the hallway before he\u2019d even gotten one arm sleeved. He sleeved his other arm when he reached the stairs, and then focused on his buttons as he bounded down the steps to the first landing. That\u2019s when he heard his father\u2019s voice again, warning him about watching where he was going.<\/p>\n Feeling a different kind of guilt–one that was far less weighty and almost comforting in its simplicity–Joe turned his attention to the stairs in front of him–<\/p>\n And locked eyes with Frank Carver.<\/p>\n Joe stopped breathing as he stared at the man below him, a man who couldn\u2019t possibly be there. Frank Carver stood at the foot of the stairs, his glare just as cold as it had been in the alley. But this time there was no dripping knife. Instead, he held a gun. And that gun was aimed at Little Joe.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Joe whispered. It simply wasn\u2019t possible. Frank Carver was dead. Joe had watched him die at the end of a rope.<\/p>\n For a split second, Joe wondered if he was looking into the eyes of a ghost. Then he noticed the man\u2019s fingers moving, the thumb easing back the hammer and the index bending against the trigger. And suddenly it didn\u2019t matter if the creature standing there was a ghost or not.<\/p>\n Joe turned back the way he\u2019d come just as he heard the first explosion. Wood shattered around him, splinters scraping his cheek and tapping against his left arm and torso when he moved from one step to the next. Five more explosions followed him to the top, where something slammed into his right calf, sending him sprawling into the upper hallway. Pain radiated from his toes to his hip, but need drove him to keep moving forward, starting with a crawl and progressing to a desperate, limping gait, with one hand pressed to the wall for added support. Joe was determined not to be left defenseless this time around. This was not the alley. And maybe he didn\u2019t have a weapon just then, but he knew his father kept a loaded gun in a drawer at his bedside.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 2<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s going to be fine, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n Adam\u2019s voice broke Ben Cartwright out of a deep reverie; and he realized he wasn\u2019t moving. He\u2019d stopped his horse, yet they weren\u2019t even close to the main road to Virginia City. So much for his earlier concern about reaching Hiram\u2019s office at the appointed time.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened with Carver would affect anyone,\u201d Adam went on. \u201cBut, given enough time, Joe will bounce back to the irritating, mischievous rascal he\u2019s always been.\u201d<\/p>\n Ben smiled, despite his anxiety. \u201cYes. I\u2019m sure you\u2019re right.\u201d Taking a deep breath, he settled back onto his saddle. \u201cI suppose Joe\u2019s insistence on staying home bothered me more than it should have. I don\u2019t remember him ever refusing a trip into Virginia City.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNor I,\u201d Adam said, urging his own horse to move up beside his father\u2019s. \u201cAnd I\u2019m sure we\u2019ll never see it happen again.\u201d<\/p>\n Adam\u2019s smile lightened Ben\u2019s heart enough to allow him to imagine that a quicker pace might just enable them to keep Hiram\u2019s appointment after all–until the distant sound of gunfire drove his thoughts back the way they\u2019d come.<\/p>\n \u201cSix rounds,\u201d Adam said, his earlier smile lost in the now thin set of his lips. \u201cTarget practice?\u201d One eyebrow raised in consideration, he aimed a calculating gaze toward his father.<\/p>\n “For your brother’s sake, I hope you’re wrong.” Target practice could only mean Little Joe. And if Little Joe was the person pulling the trigger behind those shots, it could only mean he had chosen to defy his father.<\/p>\n “I should have been wearing a gun when I ran into Frank Carver,”<\/em> Joe had insisted the week before.<\/p>\n “A boy your age has no business wearing a gun!”<\/em> Ben had countered.<\/p>\n “He could have killed me, Pa!”<\/em><\/p>\n “Let’s just thank God he never had the chance to try.”<\/em><\/p>\n “If Missus Hatcher hadn’t scared him off, he would have tried. And then what? How was I supposed to fight a man like that without a gun?”<\/em><\/p>\n “With or without a gun, you should never have to fight a man like that.”<\/em><\/p>\n “Just because I shouldn’t have to doesn’t mean I won’t have to!”<\/em><\/p>\n “You are not wearing a gun until you’re older, and that’s final!”<\/em><\/p>\n Of course, it wasn’t final. Not then. Not with a boy like Little Joe. Ben’s son would continue to debate the subject until he ran out of what he felt were valid arguments. Or until he stopped being afraid…so afraid he could barely close his eyes at night.<\/p>\n Yes, Little Joe was afraid. Terrified, even. And Ben could understand why. The boy had found himself helpless, vulnerable. Frank Carver had threatened Joe’s young sense of invincibility; and, while Little Joe had shown tremendous courage in recent years by facing down any and all threats against him–often causing Ben no small amount of consternation–Frank Carver had posed a threat Joe had not been prepared to fight. One he was still not prepared to fight, though he was trying very hard to change that fact.<\/p>\n Wearing a gun, however, was not the sort of change Joe needed. A gun would only open the door to worse things than fear. A frightened man with a gun grew careless. A frightened boy with a gun was something Ben never wanted to see.<\/p>\n “I don’t know, Pa,” Adam said, pulling Ben from his thoughts once more. “I’d almost prefer to think those shots meant Little Joe was back to being mischievous than any other alternative that comes to mind.” The thick crease in Adam\u2019s brow made it clear he was serious; and Ben could well understand why.<\/p>\n “It’s nothing good,\u201d he answered, feeling his own brow crease doubly as much as his son\u2019s. \u201cWe can be sure of that.”<\/p>\n Saying nothing more, Ben kicked his heels into his horse\u2019s flanks to begin the race back home, leaving all concern for his business with Hiram in the dust behind him.<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n The first thing Hoss noticed when he made it back home was that the front door was wide open. The second thing was Hop Sing sneaking across the yard with a shotgun held at the ready.<\/p>\n Looping his reins around the hitching post, Hoss approached the Chinese cook. \u201cDid you see who fired those shots, Hop Sing?\u201d Hoss asked, keeping his voice low.<\/p>\n Hop Sing shook his head and returned his attention to the house. \u201cShots come from inside. Hop Sing was in chicken coop. Get shotgun and walk all around house outside, but not see anyone leave.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cStill inside then.\u201d Hoss drew his own gun and started toward the door, but Hop Sing stopped him with a hand on his arm.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe only Little Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss shook his head. \u201cJoe\u2019s gone, Hop Sing. He rode out before me. He\u2019s probably already at the–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLittle Joe horse in back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHis horse? You sure, Hop Sing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHoss go see. Little Joe horse not even hobbled.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWas he saddled?\u201d<\/p>\n Hop Sing shook his head.<\/p>\n \u201cJoe wouldn\u2019t leave his horse like that. And he sure wouldn\u2019t shoot a gun in the house. Something\u2019s wrong. Something\u2019s real wrong. I\u2019d better go inside and find out what it is.\u201d<\/p>\n But he\u2019d only taken a few steps when the sound of fast approaching riders turned him back to find his pa and older brother returning.<\/p>\n Adam jumped down off his horse the instant he reined in. \u201cWe heard shots.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u201d Hoss nodded. \u201cUs, too.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShots come from inside,\u201d Hop Sing added.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019s Joe?\u201d Pa asked then, his own dismount far more deliberate than Adam\u2019s but certainly not slow.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s just it, Pa,\u201d Hoss answered. \u201cI don\u2019t rightly know. I thought I was riding out after him, but Hop Sing just told me he saw Joe\u2019s horse out back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJoe!\u201d Pa shouted then, overriding Hoss\u2019s instincts for caution. \u201cLittle Joe!\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 3<\/strong><\/p>\n With his pa\u2019s gun in hand, Joe made a slow, desperate trek back to the stairwell. He felt like a frightened animal, a rabbit caught in the crosshairs of a wily fox. Like in the alley, he wanted to run; but the fire in his leg made it hard enough to take the few steps from his pa\u2019s room to the top of the stairs. He also wanted to hole up beside his pa\u2019s bureau, to wait for the fox to wander into the rabbit\u2019s crosshairs, instead. But he couldn\u2019t do that, either. He just\u2026couldn\u2019t. That felt too much like cowering, like giving up\u2026like showing the fox he was nothing but prey.<\/p>\n Breathing hard and worrying about how loud his heart was thumping in his chest, Joe took one, final, lurching step away from the protection of the wall and grabbed hold of the newel post. He tossed a quick glance to the foot of the stairs, and then sucked in a deeper breath of relief. No one was there.<\/p>\n But Carver had to be nearby. And Joe had to figure where.<\/p>\n Using the newel post for support, Joe pulled himself into position on the top landing. Well aware that he would be a bull\u2019s-eye target where he now stood, he held still for a long moment, scanning the empty space below.<\/p>\n Maybe Carver had left already. Maybe ghosts couldn\u2019t stick around for too long–that\u2019s why people didn\u2019t see them too often. Maybe\u2026maybe Joe was safe for now.<\/p>\n The waning strength of his right hand gripping desperately to the top of newel post forced him to ease closer to the post itself, where he could rest his hip and hopefully ease the pressure on his leg. Joe considered lowering himself to sit on the first stair. But what if he couldn\u2019t get up again? He felt tired and dizzy, and his leg hurt like the devil; and he just didn\u2019t know what to do. He wished his pa were home. He wished–<\/p>\n A clatter of hooves in the yard told Joe someone was in an awful hurry to get there. But who?<\/p>\n Steeling himself, Joe tightened his slippery, sweaty grip on his pa\u2019s gun and aimed it toward the front door. Then he took as deep a breath as he dared without alerting the fox–wherever it might be–and he waited.<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n Ben barreled across the threshold, driven by a combination of rage and dread. His fear for his youngest son was palpable enough to taste it in the acid that rose up from his throat. But he bit back at that fear with anger. Joe knew better. He\u2019d been around guns all his life. He\u2019d been taught to respect them, to handle them wisely, to use them only when there was need. How could he–how dare<\/em> he–fire a gun in the house for no reason?<\/p>\n \u201cPa?\u201d The voice calling down to him from the top of the stairs sounded\u2026small. Still, it was loud enough to reach him and to pull his attention upward to where his frightened, careless<\/em>, youngest son stood amidst the splintered wreck that had become of the upper stair railing.<\/p>\n \u201cJoseph!\u201d Ben hollered out, enraged as much over what had happened as at what might<\/em> have happened. What if\u2026? What if\u2026? <\/em>\u201cWhat in heaven\u2019s name have you done? Is that\u2026. Is that my gun? Come down here this instant!\u201d<\/p>\n Joe\u2019s form was crossed with shadows, but Ben could see him well enough, even from that distance\u2026. Yes, well enough to recognize that Joe\u2019s face was pale and his eyes glistened. Within those eyes, a brief flash of relief vanished under the weight of Ben\u2019s harsh words. \u201cYou\u2026didn\u2019t see him; did you?\u201d<\/p>\n Floundering in that sea of what ifs<\/em> he\u2019d warned Joe about so recently, Ben didn\u2019t have the patience for his young son\u2019s games. \u201cYou had better start explaining yourself, young man!\u201d<\/p>\n Joe\u2019s mouth opened on words that were long in coming. \u201cI\u2026I couldn\u2019t\u2026,\u201d he said finally.<\/p>\n \u201cYou couldn\u2019t what?\u201d Ben pressed. \u201cListen to your father for a change? What on earth possessed you to shoot my gun in the house?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t. I\u2026couldn\u2019t reach it in time. He was already gone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho, Joe?\u201d Adam asked while Ben was still filling his lungs with more ammunition. \u201cWho was already gone?\u201d<\/p>\n Ben\u2019s oldest boy pushed cautiously past him to prop his foot upon the last stair and lean against the newel post. He was almost a mirror of his youngest brother at the top, despite the significant difference in their postures, with Adam\u2019s firm and strong, and Joe\u2019s\u2026frightened and uncertain.<\/p>\n \u201cFrank,\u201d Joe answered quietly. \u201cFrank Carver.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, for the love of\u2026.\u201d Ben threw an exasperated look toward Hoss beside him. Then he took in a long, heavy breath. \u201cJoseph, please come down here and tell us exactly what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2026I don\u2019t think I can.\u201d And then Joe sat down. He tucked Ben\u2019s gun into his waistband so he could use both hands to lever himself to the floor. And he sat right down on the top step, bending his left leg and extending his right across the stairs in front of him.<\/p>\n Part of Ben wanted to rush up those stairs to close the distance between them and get straight to the heart of this\u2026this nonsense–but if he did, he was likely to grab the boy and start tanning him right there and then. In another part of him, dread was gaining ground on his anger. He, too, was afraid. As afraid as Little Joe sounded.<\/p>\n \u201cJoe?\u201d Adam asked calmly then, coming to Ben\u2019s–and Joe\u2019s–rescue in a way that made Ben as proud as he was relieved. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n Ben held his tongue. And his breath. And waited for Joe\u2019s frustratingly slow response.<\/p>\n \u201cBy the time I got\u2026I got Pa\u2019s gun and\u2026and made it back here\u2026he was already gone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI meant what\u2019s wrong with you,\u201d Adam went on as he climbed to the middle landing. \u201cWhy can\u2019t you come downstairs?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t feel so good.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe\u2019s words might have described how Ben felt, himself. But Adam\u2019s next words struck a blow that made him feel far worse.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re bleeding.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSplinters.\u201d Joe gave a small, sad smile and absently rubbed at a bleeding cheek. \u201cThere were a lot of splinters flying around when he started shooting.\u201d<\/p>\n Ben could hardly remember climbing the stairs. All he knew was he was finally standing directly in front of Little Joe, close enough to know for certain that something was very wrong. Joe was far too pale. And he was both sweating and shivering. And the scrapes on his cheek were nothing to whatever had happened to his right calf. There was a small pool of blood forming on the step beneath his leg.<\/p>\n \u201cAin\u2019t been fired, Pa.\u201d Hoss said, holding Ben\u2019s gun. Ben hadn\u2019t even noticed his middle son taking it from Joe\u2019s waistband. Now those words\u2026ain\u2019t been fired, Pa<\/em>\u2026struck Ben another blow.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think a splinter did that to your leg,\u201d Adam said, adding more fuel to the fire of Ben\u2019s remorse.<\/p>\n But Joe\u2019s eyes were on Ben\u2019s. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Pa. I didn\u2019t know what else to do. I had to find a way to stop him. I thought\u2026maybe\u2026your gun\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n Ben swallowed bile. And pride. And\u2026so much more. \u201cYes. Of course. I was a fool, Joe. I\u2019m the one who\u2019s sorry, son. I didn\u2019t realize–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAhh!\u201d Joe cried out suddenly, drawing Ben\u2019s attention to where Adam had been prodding at Joe\u2019s injured leg.<\/p>\n \u201cI guess it\u2019s my turn to say sorry, Joe,\u201d Adam said then. \u201cIt\u2019s pretty obvious one of those bullets did more than tear up this stairwell. He\u2019s been shot, Pa. Bullet\u2019s still in there.\u201d<\/p>\n An old, stubborn, miserable fool<\/em>, Ben said to no one but himself.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 4<\/strong><\/p>\n Adam stared into the fireplace and pinched a twig between his fingers as he contemplated the conversation behind him.<\/p>\n \u201cSeems to me,\u201d Sheriff Coffee speculated, \u201cLittle Joe must\u2019ve surprised a robber.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut nothin\u2019s missing,\u201d Hoss answered.<\/p>\n \u201cProbably got scared off,\u201d the sheriff added, \u201cbefore he had a chance to take anything. Must\u2019ve thought the house was empty, what with the horses gone and Hop Sing out back in the chicken coop. Running into Little Joe the way he did, why, he just got spooked.\u201d<\/p>\n That didn\u2019t add up for Adam. \u201cSpooked by a fifteen-year-old boy who thought he was looking at a ghost?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy else would he fire off all six rounds, if he wasn\u2019t spooked?\u201d the sheriff asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d Frustrated, Adam tossed the twig into the flames and turned around to face them. Roy Coffee was on the settee with Hoss standing beside him, one hand resting on the back and his thumb absently tapping at the wooden edging. \u201cAnd why did five of those shots miss?\u201d Adam asked them both.<\/p>\n It was the sheriff who answered. \u201cCould be the robber never intended to hit Joe at all. It might just be he didn\u2019t want to hang for murder.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you really believe a man who starts shooting out of fear would be thinking clearly enough to try to miss?\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Coffee shrugged. \u201cHard to say. Could\u2019ve been shooting blind. Joe just got hit with a lucky shot.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUnlucky, I\u2019d say,\u201d Hoss said.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd why was Joe\u2019s horse out back?\u201d Adam went on. \u201cHe was secure in the barn when Pa and I left.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot when I went in to saddle Chubb,\u201d Hoss repeated what he\u2019d told them earlier. \u201cJoe\u2019s horse was gone by the time I got there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe couldn\u2019t have wandered off on his own. Someone had to have let him out of that barn.\u201d<\/p>\n The sheriff still didn\u2019t seem to find any of it particularly mysterious. \u201cMaybe the robber aimed to steal the horse, too.\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Roy Coffee might not be concerned; but Adam sure was. \u201cThen why not take the horse when he ran off? No, there\u2019s something more to all of this, something I just can\u2019t figure.\u201d<\/p>\n Roy sighed heavily. \u201cWell, there\u2019s not much I can do until Joe starts makin\u2019 more sense. I can\u2019t very well tell folks to look for a man who was publicly hung a week ago.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you\u2019re waiting for Joe to make sense,\u201d a new voice pulled the attention of all three men toward where Doctor Paul Martin was descending the stairway, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t suggest you count on that wait ending any time soon. That boy firmly believes he was attacked by Frank Carver\u2019s ghost.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow is he?\u201d Adam asked while the doctor finished his approach.<\/p>\n \u201cThe bullet was lodged against bone. The bone\u2019s not broken, fortunately, but there is a very small fracture. Nothing to be overly concerned about. I imagine it will heal up nicely after a few weeks. He\u2019ll be pretty sore for a while, though.\u201d<\/p>\n The sheriff leaned forward, putting one hand on the armrest of the settee. \u201cCan I ask him a few more questions now, doc?\u201d<\/p>\n Paul Martin shook his head. \u201cI\u2019m afraid not. I gave him something to help him sleep; although, as tired as he was, he might well have dropped off on his own.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen why the medicine?\u201d Adam asked.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, despite being exhausted, he was fighting sleep every step of the way. I\u2019d swear he was afraid to close his eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe has<\/em> been havin\u2019 an awful lot of nightmares, lately.\u201d Hoss pushed his hands into his pockets, looking not much more than a boy himself–a dejected boy who\u2019d found himself in a pickle he just couldn\u2019t fix.<\/p>\n Paul didn\u2019t seem to notice. \u201cSo I gathered from what your father told me. It seems that boy has a lot of healing to do that my services simply cannot address.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d Adam agreed. \u201cHe does.\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss glanced up the stairs and dug his hands deeper into his pockets. \u201cGettin\u2019 shot by a man who looked like Frank Carver sure didn\u2019t help him none.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe that\u2019s it,\u201d Adam wondered. \u201cMaybe that\u2019s all there is to it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you gettin\u2019 at, Adam?\u201d Roy Coffee asked.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe the man looked enough like Frank Carver to make Joe imagine it was him.\u201d<\/p>\n The sheriff curled his brows, doubtful. \u201cThat\u2019d be a pretty big coincidence, don\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t mean exactly like him, but just enough to stir Joe\u2019s imagination.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, it\u2019s a stretch.\u201d Roy shrugged. \u201cBut I can at least keep an eye out for a tall stranger with blonde hair and green eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n Or maybe\u2026. Maybe it really was<\/em> more than that. Adam started thinking back to what Sheriff Coffee had told them just before the hanging. \u201cGonna have to bury him up on boot hill. Carver didn\u2019t have any kin. Leastways, none that I could find.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cRoy?\u201d he asked. \u201cHow hard did you look before, when you were trying to contact Carver\u2019s family?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you suggesting I didn\u2019t do my job?\u201d Roy shot back angrily.<\/p>\n \u201cNo. Nothing like that. It\u2019s just\u2026. I\u2019m curious. Where did you look? What sort of information did<\/em> you find?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t see as how that\u2019s any business of yours.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat if he did<\/em> have family? A brother, perhaps. Someone who didn\u2019t want to be found maybe, but who wouldn\u2019t be too happy about Frank Carver being hung.\u201d<\/p>\n Roy sighed, shaking his head irritably. \u201cWell, if you must know, Adam, he did have a brother. Four of \u2018em, in fact. All older than him. And all dead.\u201d<\/p>\n Adam noticed Hoss\u2019s eyes going wide\u2026until Roy finished his statement. Then his nose curled up, as though he\u2019d grown suddenly ill. \u201cDead?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s right. Killed by Indians when Frank was a youngster–four, maybe five years old they reckoned when they found him hiding in the woods. The boy was so shook up he couldn\u2019t even tell them his name. It was someone at the orphanage who gave him the name Frank Carver.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo it is possible he had kin,\u201d Adam considered aloud.<\/p>\n \u201cNo. It is not!\u201d Roy got to his feet, his irritation boiling over into impatience. \u201cAdam, if that boy\u2019d had kin, he wouldn\u2019t have grown up in an orphanage.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe.\u201d But Adam couldn\u2019t feel so certain.<\/p>\n \u201cAdam,\u201d Doctor Martin laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t really put too much confidence in what Joe said about that man looking like\u2026or being<\/em> Frank Carver. His memory is not particularly trustworthy right now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt was trustworthy enough to hang a man,\u201d Hoss said skeptically.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd that\u2019s precisely why it\u2019s not very trustworthy, now. He feels guilty, Hoss.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah. I know.\u201d Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, Hoss looked up the stairwell again.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll ask around town,\u201d Roy offered as he started to make his way to the front door. \u201cBut that\u2019s as much as I can do until Little Joe gets around to saying something different about the man who shot him.\u201d<\/p>\n Adam and his brother saw the sheriff and the doctor off, and then\u2026. Then there was nothing left to do. Sure, there was work to be done. There was always work. But neither Adam nor Hoss had the gumption to do any of it. Instead, they returned to the great room and fell into a troubled silence, one that was broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock and their own useless, wasted steps as they paced aimlessly about the room.<\/p>\n \u201cAdam?\u201d Hoss asked after a while. \u201cWhat\u2019re we gonna do? Little Joe ain\u2019t been himself since this mess started. I sort of figured workin\u2019 and ridin\u2019 would help, but now\u2026he can\u2019t even do that.\u201d<\/p>\n Taking a deep breath, Adam gave his attention back to the fire and tried to puzzle out all the pieces that just didn\u2019t seem to fit together: The mystery behind Joe\u2019s errant horse, the true target of that shooter\u2019s bullets\u2026and whether or not Frank Carver had really been alone in this world. \u201cWe\u2019ll do what we have to,\u201d he said, wishing it really could be as simple as he was about to make it sound. \u201cWe find the man who shot him.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 5<\/strong><\/p>\n The dreams were different this time. They were worse–darker, colder, and as nightmarish as any dream could ever be. Maybe that was because Joe\u2019s fear had increased a hundredfold.<\/p>\n \u2026Because Joe wasn\u2019t just afraid of Frank Carver\u2019s ghost anymore. He was also afraid of himself.<\/p>\n Joe had held a gun in his hand. He\u2019d felt his thumb easing against the hammer and his finger bending against the trigger, just as he\u2019d seen Frank Carver doing at the foot of the stairs. And it had felt good. He\u2019d been scared, sure. But he\u2019d also been determined, ready to take a stand. By pulling that trigger the rest of the way, Joe Cartwright would prove to the world and all the Frank Carvers out there that he was not a rabbit.<\/p>\n But the man who\u2019d stepped into his crosshairs had not been the man he\u2019d expected to find walking through his front door. No. The heavy, urgent steps moving across the porch and drawing closer with every one of Joe\u2019s panting breaths hadn\u2019t come from Frank Carver\u2019s ghost. They\u2019d come from Joe\u2019s own pa. He\u2019d heard his pa\u2019s voice calling out to him, but he hadn\u2019t believed it. He couldn\u2019t<\/em> believe it\u2026until he saw it was true. Until his pa had stepped right where Joe had been aiming the gun.<\/p>\n Joe had come that close\u2026that close<\/em>\u2026to shooting his pa.<\/p>\n The realization had left him sick and shaking and\u2026confused. He\u2019d tried so hard to stop thinking then, to ignore all the horrific what-ifs<\/em> that shot through his thoughts with as much or even more ferocity as Frank Carver\u2019s bullets against the stair railing. But he couldn\u2019t ignore them; and they made him feel sicker and sicker until he couldn\u2019t fight anymore. He hadn\u2019t even had the strength to turn away from Doc Martin\u2019s medicine.<\/p>\n But now he found himself fighting again, fighting to claw his way out of the dreams that made every one of those what-ifs<\/em> hauntingly real. Joe\u2019s pa was dead, dead at Joe\u2019s hand; and Pa\u2019s ghost was even more fearsome than Frank Carver\u2019s. Eyes that should fill Joe with comfort instead filled him with dread, with their scolding, scathing looks of anger\u2026and disappointment.<\/p>\n \u201cPa!\u201d Joe cried out, reaching toward rather than away from this new ghost. He wasn\u2019t willing to turn away, no matter how fearsome, no matter how dreadful–no matter what the outcome.<\/p>\n Two strong hands pushed him back. \u201cEasy, Joe. Settle down. It\u2019s just a dream.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe opened his eyes to find himself looking onto his father\u2019s. Surprisingly, there was nothing dark or judgmental\u2026or cold within them. \u201cI shot you,\u201d Joe said softly, confused by the compassion he saw.<\/p>\n Pa\u2019s eyes widened just the smallest bit. He shook his head. \u201cYou were dreaming, son. You\u2019ve done nothing wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI had your gun. I didn\u2019t know who was coming in. I thought–\u201d<\/p>\n Pa\u2019s warm eyes gained the dark look Joe had feared\u2026but only for an instant. \u201cYou did nothing wrong, Joe. In fact, I\u2019d say you did everything right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d That made no sense. \u201cYour gun\u2026. I wasn\u2019t supposed to–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou needed to defend yourself,\u201d Pa said in as firm a voice as he\u2019d ever used. \u201cThat\u2019s exactly why I keep that gun right where it is, as I\u2019ve told you and your brothers many times over the years. You were wise to arm yourself\u2026and equally wise to stop yourself from shooting blindly. I\u2019m proud of you, son. You held your hand until you knew exactly what it was you were shooting at. I know men who would not have been so cautious.\u201d Pa took a deep breath, one that pulled his back straight and loosened his grip on Joe\u2019s arms. \u201cI\u2019m the one who reacted poorly. I\u2019m sorry, Joe. I was wrong to shout at you. I was wrong to doubt you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou believe me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, Joe. I believe in you to do the right thing, right when it matters most.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut do you believe me\u2026about Frank Carver? Do you believe it was Carver\u2019s ghost who shot at me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJoseph.\u201d Pa\u2019s grip tightened again–tightened enough to hurt. \u201cThink about what you\u2019re saying. Does it really make sense that a ghost could shoot a gun? It takes a man<\/em> to do that, a real, flesh and blood man!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut it was him, Pa. I know it was.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFrank Carver is dead, Joseph. He is dead and buried. He can\u2019t ever hurt you. He won\u2019t hurt anyone else, ever again.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe said nothing. What could he say? He knew his pa was wrong. And if Pa was wrong, how could anything be right ever again?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 6<\/strong><\/p>\n Hoss woke to the enticing aroma of fresh coffee and bacon, and the soft clatter of dishes. He\u2019d slept through the night? The whole<\/em> night?<\/p>\n For the past three nights, ever since the shooting, Joe\u2019s midnight cries had grown in both volume and intensity. Little Joe\u2019s nightmares had been bad enough after the murder and even worse after the hanging. But the shooting\u2026well, that seemed to have opened up an even darker place in the boy\u2019s imagination. The whole family had been drawn in night after night, woken by ghostly wails and howls that had at first made Hoss start to believe maybe Frank Carver was back, after all. But then he\u2019d seen Little Joe make those sounds all by himself, drawn from somewhere deep in his gullet as he fought his way out of whatever horrific place sleep had dragged him into.<\/p>\n But last night, Hoss had managed a full night\u2019s sleep. He might even still be sleeping, if breakfast hadn\u2019t called to him just as loudly–if far more pleasantly–than Joe\u2019s bad dreams.<\/p>\n Surprised but far from disappointed, Hoss poured fresh water into the basin on the washstand and readied himself for the day ahead. His stomach rumbling, he dressed quickly, and then hurried down the hall toward the stairs, hesitating for a moment beside Little Joe\u2019s closed door.<\/p>\n Joe, too, must have slept through the night; otherwise\u2026. Well, otherwise Hoss wouldn\u2019t have. No one in the house could sleep through Little Joe\u2019s nightmares, even if the boy could sleep through them himself. Hoss nodded happily, allowing a small grin to slip into place. Joe must finally be on the mend.<\/p>\n Downstairs, breakfast was already laid out on the table. Both Pa and Adam were sipping coffee while Hop Sing set down the final dish: A fresh platter of steaming hotcakes.<\/p>\n \u201cHop Sing, that looks like pure Heaven to me!\u201d Hoss greeted, earning a rare happy nod from the family cook. In fact, everyone looked to be about as happy as Hoss felt. Yep, maybe the whole family was finally on the mend.<\/p>\n \u201cI trust you slept as well as we did,\u201d Adam said with a sideways grin as he passed the coffeepot to his brother.<\/p>\n \u201cSure did.\u201d Hoss let his attention drift back toward the stairs. \u201cYa\u2019 think maybe Joe\u2019s done with all them nightmares?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s hope so,\u201d Pa answered. \u201cHe\u2019s been sleeping worse than we have, and he needs his sleep more than we do right now.\u201d<\/p>\n Adam waited his turn for the hotcakes, his eyes widening slightly as the stack on Hoss\u2019s plate continued growing. \u201cDo you mind saving some of those for the rest of us?\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss paused. \u201cSorry. I guess all that extra sleep helped me to build up an appetite this mornin\u2019.\u201d He quickly scooped out two more hotcakes, and then passed the platter to his older brother.<\/p>\n \u201cI was thinking,\u201d Adam said as he dished out a much smaller stack. \u201cIt might be a good idea for Hoss and me to get to work on that fence line today.\u201d<\/p>\n Pa took the platter, giving his head a quick shake in the process. \u201cNo, Adam. I\u2019d rather you both stay close to the house today. Until I finish up that estate business with Hiram, that land isn\u2019t even legally ours.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut Mister Ferguson\u2019s will–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d Pa interrupted. \u201cMicah Ferguson\u2019s will lists me as the benefactor of that land. But the paperwork must still be signed. Frankly, I\u2019ve put that off long enough. No, I\u2019d better ride into Virginia City today to get that business sorted; and I\u2019d rather not leave Little Joe alone just yet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t be alone,\u201d Adam said. \u201cHop Sing–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHop Sing has his own work to do,\u201d Pa argued. \u201cAnd watching out for intruders is not his responsibility.\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss looked up from his plate. \u201cIntruders, Pa? I thought you agreed with the sheriff that whoever done that to Joe was probably just a drifter and wouldn\u2019t be back?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI did, son. I still do. But believing in a probability and knowing something to be true are two different things. And one night of solid sleep is not enough to prove that Joe has stopped imagining it was a ghost who shot him–or that Carver\u2019s ghost is going to come back to attack him again.\u201d<\/p>\n Another platter of hotcakes saw the table conversation dwindling until Adam set his napkin beside his plate and pushed back his chair. \u201cI think I\u2019ll head up and wake Little Joe. He\u2019s bound to be hungrier than the rest of us by now, and if he waits much longer, there won\u2019t be anything left.\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss grinned again. \u201cYeah, I reckon you\u2019re right. Tell you what, though.\u201d He pushed back his own chair. \u201cYou woke him yesterday. I figure it\u2019s my turn, today.\u201d<\/p>\n Adam raised an eyebrow. \u201cYesterday, he slept so poorly he very nearly punched me in the eye when I woke him.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, and you don\u2019t want that to happen again, do ya\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cToday<\/em>,\u201d Adam went on, \u201che\u2019s more likely to wake like a kitten than a startled puma.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLittle Joe<\/em>?\u201d Pa sounded dubious. \u201cI\u2019m not sure that boy has ever woken like a kitten, not even when he was one, himself!\u201d<\/p>\n Sounds of soft laughter followed Hoss to the stairway. He half wanted to holler out a \u201cYahoo!\u201d<\/em> as he\u2019d done just a few days before; but that \u201cYahoo!\u201d<\/em> had been a mistake. He sure didn\u2019t want to jinx things this time around.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 7<\/strong><\/p>\n Ben watched his middle son bound up the stairs looking almost like he was a child again. Or perhaps it was more fitting to think of Hoss as a young man with a child\u2019s heart–a child\u2019s heart that had been breaking over the torment his baby brother had been enduring.<\/p>\n \u201cSo what do you really think happened here?\u201d When Adam pulled his attention back to the table, Ben turned a questioning eye on his oldest son as he refilled his coffee cup. \u201cYou don\u2019t believe it was a drifter any more than I do.\u201d Adam went on.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, son. I don\u2019t. A drifter would have been careless. He would have left something behind. Footprints, dirty hand-marks on the door, something<\/em>. We didn\u2019t so much as smell<\/em> anything strange. You and I both know Hoss would have picked up on that–unless our drifter had taken the time to bathe before barging in here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you say as much to Hoss just now?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHoss isn\u2019t far past boyhood, himself. If you haven\u2019t noticed, he\u2019s been eying shadows and startled by unexpected noises nearly as much as Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n Ben lifted his coffee cup for a sip when an unexpected thump from upstairs startled him, jerking his hand and causing the warm liquid to spill down his chin. \u201cSounds like things might just be getting back to normal after all,\u201d he said with a quick shake of his head as he wiped the mess with his napkin.<\/p>\n Feeling Adam\u2019s eyes on him, Ben looked up to see a familiar and welcome grin. His eldest boy might be farther past childhood than his brothers; but he hadn\u2019t completely left his own boyish heart behind him, had he?<\/p>\n \u201cTell me the truth, Pa,\u201d Adam said, his grin slipping just a little. \u201cYou didn\u2019t really sleep all the way through the night, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n Ben smiled warmly. \u201cI kept expecting to hear Joe cry out. I\u2019ll admit, the silence was a bit disturbing until I went in to check on him. He was sleeping more soundly than I\u2019ve seen in quite some time. After that, yes, I did sleep well. And you?\u201d He raised a questioning brow.<\/p>\n \u201cAbout the same.\u201d Adam sighed. \u201cAt least we\u2019re not imagining ghosts like those brothers of mine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVery true. Hoss has been trying to be reasonable, but it\u2019s clear he\u2019s putting far too much stock in what Joe\u2019s been saying. I\u2019d rather if he–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPa!\u201d Hoss shouted from upstairs. \u201cAdam! Come quick!\u201d<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n The sight that greeted Ben in Little Joe’s bedroom was sure to haunt him every bit as much as Frank Carver’s ghost seemed to be haunting his youngest son. Joe and Hoss were clutching one another\u2019s arms, with Joe panting, his eyes wide, his face ashen, and Hoss…Hoss looked more frightened than his brother. His brows were drawn low with worry and his own eyes were white with fear when he turned toward Ben and Adam. That’s when Ben noticed the front of Hoss’s shirt\u2026and the edge of Joe’s bed\u2026. Both were wet with vomit.<\/p>\n Ben moved forward in an instant, needing to know, to understand…needing to help, to comfort, to–<\/p>\n When he reached Joe’s bedside, Ben’s foot kicked something, drawing his attention downward to where an empty bottle of laudanum had skittered past a small pool of liquid.<\/p>\n “Joseph?” Suddenly hot with horror and anger, Ben sensed Adam pulling Hoss aside, but he kept his eyes on Joe, watching the boy ease back to his pillows. “Did you drink that laudanum?” he asked reprovingly.<\/p>\n Little Joe looked every bit like a young man after his first experience with too much hard whiskey–or worse, too much of a dangerous, even deadly<\/em> drug. But Joe’s eyes\u2026. They were wide and watery, pleading and desperate. Ben saw no sign of regret, only terror.<\/p>\n “He was here<\/em>!” Joe said through gasping breaths. “He was<\/em>! He made<\/em> me…. He told me….”<\/p>\n Clenching his jaw briefly in a vain attempt to hold in his anger–to give Little Joe an opportunity to explain–Ben forced himself to keep his voice low. “Joseph; I asked you a simple question. Did<\/em> you—”<\/p>\n “He made me!\u201d Joe cried out. \u201cHe…he poured it down my throat. I started choking, and\u2026I tried to spit it out, but Pa<\/em>! He…he put his hand over my mouth. He….” Joe swallowed heavily, leaning his head deeper into the pillow, exposing the underside of his jaw and two dark shadows\u2026.<\/p>\n No. Not shadows. Bruises.<\/p>\n In Ben\u2019s mind, he reached forward, wrapping his hand around Little Joe\u2019s throat and pressing his thumb and forefinger to either side of Joe\u2019s jaw to force it open.<\/p>\n My, God<\/em>\u2026. Ben stiffened, his anger suddenly and thoroughly redirected. Ben didn\u2019t need to ask about whom Little Joe was referring, to ask for the name of this mysterious \u201che\u201d<\/em> who had come to him in the night, who had come to poison Ben\u2019s young son. He had no doubt how Joseph would answer.<\/p>\n “He said…,\u201d Joe pressed on. \u201cHe told me I might never wake up\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n Ben\u2019s fists curled into tight balls. No. He didn\u2019t need to ask Little Joe. Instead, he asked God, Himself, silently. Tell me, Dear Lord! Help me to find him. Help me to<\/em>—<\/p>\n A single phrase came into his thoughts like a whisper against a raging storm. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord<\/em>.<\/p>\n And then Little Joe\u2019s frantic words redirected Ben\u2019s focus yet again. \u201cWhen Hoss grabbed me, I…I thought he was back. \u2026Pa<\/em>, he was here<\/em>! And I thought I wasn’t ever gonna wake up again. I tried not to swallow. I tried to spit it out\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n There was an abrupt change in Joe\u2019s eyes. His pallor grew pasty. Fortunately, Adam noticed it, too; he thrust a basin between Ben and Little Joe.<\/p>\n And for the first time in Little Joe\u2019s life, Ben was grateful to see the sickness coming out of his young son. It meant the poison was being expunged. It meant the boy was still alive.<\/p>\n But would he survive a third encounter with this mysterious intruder?<\/p>\n Ben Cartwright had no intention of learning the answer. He was going to find that man. He was going to find him; and he was going to bring him to justice. Not vengeance. Justice<\/em>. Whatever kind of justice came to hand.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 8<\/strong><\/p>\n Adam had promised his father he would spend the day on paperwork, but his thoughts kept drifting much farther afield. What did he care about inventories and supplies? He wanted to be outside with Hoss and the other men, searching for signs that could lead them to last night\u2019s intruder. He wanted to find the cowardly scoundrel who would terrorize boys while hiding from men. But he knew Pa had been right. It wasn\u2019t so much about the paperwork as it was about keeping an eye on Little Joe anyway.<\/p>\n Yes, he needed to be right where he was, watching over his young brother–a boy he\u2019d helped raise in some ways, yet whom he barely seemed to know, especially lately. Little Joe had been feeling his oats in recent months, eager to challenge just about everyone, even Pa. Joe had entered that frustrating stage between boy and man, a stage Adam had practically skipped, himself. When Adam had been fifteen, he\u2019d had two little brothers to protect and guide. His father had relied heavily upon him. But Joe\u2026. Joe had never had to protect anyone except himself. And he\u2019d taken on that task by chasing danger rather than avoiding it. He would ride too fast, climb too high, swim too far and trade punches with any and all takers. None of it had ever made any real sense to Adam; but the changes he\u2019d seen in the boy since Joe\u2019s first encounter with Frank Carver made even less sense.<\/p>\n Or maybe they did make some sense, after all. Joe no longer needed to risk his well-being in order to prove himself capable of overcoming those risks. He no longer had to find danger. Danger had found him. And it continued to taunt him. He had no idea how to fight back\u2026or how to prove to anyone, especially to himself, that he could<\/em>.<\/p>\n None of them knew how. It\u2019s as impossible to fight a man who stays hidden as it is to fight a ghost. If only Adam could make Joe see that, could get him to accept that his ghostly attacker was as real as any of them, that he was just flesh and bone, and therefore breakable–that he was real enough to be found, and when he was found, he would be stopped.<\/p>\n But Joe wouldn\u2019t listen. Instead, he relived each encounter–the murder, the hanging, the shooting, and then, worst of all, the poisoning.<\/p>\n The poisoning\u2026. How could that have happened? How could a man sneak into their home without alerting anyone at all? Not Pa, who\u2019d always had an uncanny sense for trouble. Not Hoss, who could ferret out a problem by smell alone. Nor even Adam, who\u2019d taken to sleeping lightly since his years in Boston, where theft was not uncommon and locks did little to deter men who would rather take what they needed than work for it. None of Joe\u2019s \u201cprotectors\u201d had known anything of the intrusion until hours afterward, hours in which Joe could very well have died.<\/p>\n Joe could have been lying dead while Adam, Hoss and their father laughed over breakfast.<\/p>\n Suddenly, Adam felt as sick as Joe had been when they finally had<\/em> found him. Tossing his pencil to the desk, Adam pushed himself to his feet–and then locked eyes with Joe, who\u2019d been dozing across the room on Pa\u2019s leather chair, his injured leg resting on the table in front of him.<\/p>\n \u201cSorry if I startled you,\u201d Adam offered.<\/p>\n \u201cYou didn\u2019t,\u201d Joe mumbled listlessly.<\/p>\n Adam would have been happier to find Joe irritable and ornery. \u201cLook Joe\u2026.\u201d Adam moved closer. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you go to bed? Or at least stretch out on the settee? You\u2019re as tired as I\u2019ve ever seen you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t want to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s nothing to worry about. I\u2019ll be right here. I won\u2019t let–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not going to sleep, so just forget it!\u201d Joe\u2019s voice rose on every word, and his eyes flared with a rage that transcended mere irritability.<\/p>\n It was enough to catch Adam off guard. He had no idea what to say\u2026what to do\u2026how to help. Frustrated, he opened his mouth to shout right back at the boy, complete with a sweeping gesture to point out the pointless nature of Joe\u2019s moroseness. But then he stopped himself, swallowing the words and running his hand through his hair, instead. Arguing would be equally pointless.<\/p>\n \u201cHow about a sandwich?\u201d he offered then. \u201cHop Sing\u2019s tending the vegetable garden, but he left some–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course, you\u2019re not,\u201d Adam said through half-clenched teeth.<\/p>\n \u201cIf I want something, I can get it myself.\u201d<\/p>\n The defiance Adam saw in Joe\u2019s eyes was as unsettling as the boy\u2019s earlier rage. But, again, what could Adam do? Part of him was encouraged that his brother was starting to slip out of fear and depression, and into anger. Another part of him was worried about that very same thing. Then he eyed Joe\u2019s leg, and his worries faded. Joe wasn\u2019t about to go riding too fast or climbing too high with that injury. It was hard enough for him to walk, even aided with a crutch.<\/p>\n \u201cAll right,\u201d Adam said with a sigh. \u201cJust holler if you change your mind.\u201d<\/p>\n But the hollering he heard then didn\u2019t come from Little Joe. It was muffled, coming from somewhere outside. \u201cHey, Adam! Adam<\/em>? It\u2019s Hoss! He\u2019s been hurt!\u201d<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n Anxious to join his brother at the door, Joe started to lift himself out of his chair. Though he moved cautiously as he slid his leg to the edge of the table, a twinge of pain flared up when the table gave way to air. His soft groan alerted Adam enough to make him swing back around.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere do you think you\u2019re going?\u201d Adam asked in a cold tone–the kind of tone that always got under Joe\u2019s skin.<\/p>\n \u201cI heard what he said,\u201d Joe shot back. \u201cHoss is hurt!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s nothing you can do out there with your leg like that!\u201d<\/p>\n Joe glared back at him, unable to respond. Heck, as soft as that shout had been, Hoss had to be somewhere past the tree line. Adam could be there and back in the time it took Joe to clear the porch, hobbled as he was. But Adam\u2019s next words made Joe want to try anyway, just to spite his older brother.<\/p>\n \u201cYou stay right where you are!\u201d<\/p>\n Tense with anger and that damnable, ever-present fear, Joe dropped his leg to the floor. But all he had to do was press his heel against the wood to remind him how foolish he was being. Defeated, he sagged back into his chair. \u201cWhat if he\u2019s hurt on account of me?\u201d he asked quietly.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, Adam!\u201d the voice called again, closer than before.<\/p>\n Adam glanced at the door, his jawline tightening, and then looked back at Joe. \u201cWhatever\u2019s happened, it\u2019s not your fault. It\u2019s a pretty safe bet the only one to blame is the man who did that to your leg.\u201d He stabbed an accusatory finger toward Joe, but his gaze was softening. Joe noticed Adam\u2019s brow curling slightly in consideration, and his eyes shifting toward the stairs\u2026.<\/p>\n No. Not the stairs. The gun rack.<\/p>\n \u201cHere,\u201d Adam said a moment later, taking a shotgun to hand. \u201cTake this.\u201d He checked the chamber and the barrel, loaded it and brought it over to Little Joe. \u201cJust in case.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe looked at him, dumbfounded. \u201cIn case what?\u201d<\/p>\n Adam\u2019s jaw tightened again. \u201cYou already know.\u201d<\/p>\n Hesitantly taking the weapon, Joe eyed his oldest brother. He felt foolish and frightened and very much like the little boy he\u2019d been trying so hard to outgrow. He wished Pa hadn\u2019t gone to Virginia City. He wished Adam didn\u2019t have to leave him alone. He prayed hard as he could that Hoss being hurt didn\u2019t mean anything worse than\u2026. Well, that it didn\u2019t mean anything really bad.<\/p>\n And then Adam turned away, disappearing through the door in an instant. And that\u2019s when the only thing Joe could think about was the ghost he knew had to be coming.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 9<\/strong><\/p>\n Despite his plans at breakfast, Ben Cartwright had no interest in meeting with Hiram or talking about the land he\u2019d acquired with the passing of his neighbor and friend, Micah Ferguson. His first concern–in truth, the only thing that mattered to him, the thing that had driven him to ride much harder than was his custom–was what had happened to his boy in the night. But Sheriff Coffee was not in his office when Ben arrived. Ben had to wait a full hour, his patience wearing thinner and thinner with each passing minute. By the time the sheriff returned, anxiety had grown into anger.<\/p>\n And then he learned the reason for Roy\u2019s earlier absence. Taken together with the news Paul Martin had told Ben when he’d first arrived in Virginia City–news about the late night passing of Judge Harris just two days prior–it almost had Ben believing in Joe\u2019s ghost. Almost<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not a coincidence!\u201d Ben Cartwright said gruffly. \u201cIt can\u2019t be.\u201d He pushed himself from his chair opposite Roy Coffee and paced over to the window of the sheriff\u2019s office.<\/p>\n \u201cI got no evidence to say it\u2019s anything but<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n Roy\u2019s matter-of-fact tone further chafed at the anxiety that had already made Ben feel raw inside. He turned back to his long-time friend, feeling considerably less than friendly. \u201cJudge Harris, the man who sentenced Frank Carver to hang, is dead. Martha Hatcher, one of two eyewitnesses who influenced that ruling, is dead. And my son\u2026my<\/em> son\u2026.\u201d He planted both hands on the sheriff\u2019s desk to lock eyes with the man seated behind it. \u201c\u2026The only<\/em> other witness, has been attacked twice<\/em> by a man he is convinced is Frank Carver\u2019s ghost. You can\u2019t possibly believe it\u2019s all coincidental!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNow, Ben, you know the law don\u2019t care what I believe. I got to have proof. I got to have evidence. As for the judge, Doc said near as he can tell the man\u2019s heart just gave out. You want to believe he got scared to death by some ghost, you go right ahead. But if I put that in an official report, you\u2019d better find a job for me out on that ranch of yours, \u2018cause it\u2019s a sure bet those folks outside that window there aren\u2019t gonna want me sheriffin\u2019 anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course<\/em> I don\u2019t think it was a ghost!\u201d Ben\u2019s voice was nearly loud enough to rattle the windows. \u201cBut neither<\/em> do I believe the judge\u2019s death was a coincidence. Not when you also consider what happened to Martha this morning and the attacks on Little Joe!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened to Missus Hatcher was an accident.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOr made to look like one!\u201d Ben argued.<\/p>\n \u201cHer husband came home for lunch and found her at the foot of the stairs with her neck broken. Now that\u2019s a pretty clear accident if ever there was one!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBe reasonable, Roy! Something is going on here and we have got to get to the bottom of it! Even if you ignore what happened to the judge and Martha\u2026even if you ignore that they both died under unusual circumstances within days of that first attack on Little Joe, you cannot<\/em> ignore that someone broke into my home in the middle of the night and tried to poison my son!\u201d Ben stabbed his finger at the desk to punctuate his final words.<\/p>\n \u201cNow there\u2019s something we can finally agree on. And just as soon as my deputy gets back from Mister Hatcher\u2019s, I intend to head out to the Ponderosa and see for myself those bruises on Joe\u2019s jaw. Bruises like that can prove your boy didn\u2019t swallow all that laudanum on his own. But I sure hope we can find some other kind of proof, too. Otherwise, I–\u201d<\/p>\n The door opened, interrupting the sheriff\u2019s words. And then his returning deputy changed the entire course of the conversation. \u201cAfternoon, Mister Cartwright.\u201d The man\u2019s greeting was cursory; he was far more interested in talking with Roy. \u201cSheriff, I got to say, that Hatcher business makes for a pretty good ghost story. In fact, I\u2019ve a mind to use it on those nephews of mine next Saturday, if–\u201d<\/p>\n Ben stiffened. \u201cWhat\u2019s this about a ghost story?\u201d<\/p>\n The deputy glanced at Roy and then scratched at his new growth of beard before answering. \u201cI could tell Mister Hatcher was holdin\u2019 somethin\u2019 back when he told me about his wife\u2019s fall. By the time I got him to spit it all out, well, I could understand why he\u2019d been holdin\u2019 it back. It was like some kind of silly ghost story. That Missus Hatcher must\u2019ve been losin\u2019 her mind or some like. Told her husband Frank Carver\u2019s ghost has been haunting her.\u201d<\/p>\n Feeling vindicated, Ben glared back at Roy Coffee\u2026and was pleased to see his old friend\u2019s eyebrows rise up in surprise.<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n Joe stared at the door, listening for signs of the men outside but hearing only the heavy beat of his heart and the much slower tick of the grandfather clock. Every quick glance to that clock showed him that seconds passed like minutes, and minutes like hours. By the time five minutes had come and gone, Joe was ready to accept that he would rather deal with the pain in his leg than the torment of waiting. He licked dry lips, took one more glance at the clock\u2026and then noticed the front door was coming open.<\/p>\n Joe couldn\u2019t breathe. The beating and the ticking were silenced by the barely discernable creak of hinges as the door swung wider, the motion so slow he would have run across the room to pull at it if he could\u2026if his leg would allow him to.<\/p>\n He heard Adam in his head, from a time when he\u2019d used that very door to teach Joe about geometry. There<\/em>, it reached forty-five degrees. And there, fifty. He started to count them out, desperate to turn his thoughts away from ghosts even while he readied the shotgun in his hands.<\/p>\n Sixty. Sixty-five. He lifted the gun.<\/p>\n Seventy. Seventy-five. He aimed it at the door, forcing his count to stop him from reliving that moment on the stairs when he\u2019d aimed a pistol at his father.<\/p>\n Eighty. Eighty-five\u2026.<\/p>\n And then he saw the shadow\u2026a shadow that gained substance as it silently stepped forward, the geometry cast by the sun slowly revealing it to be\u2026<\/p>\n \u2026The ghost of Frank Carver.<\/p>\n Carver stood quiet and still for a long moment, unconcerned by the shotgun targeting his chest. \u201cYou won\u2019t do it,\u201d he said in a voice deeper than Joe remembered. \u201cYou can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe rested his finger lightly on the trigger. But he was afraid to pull it. If Pa and Adam were right, the shot would hit a man. It would hit him, and it would stop him from hurting Joe\u2026or Hoss\u2026or anyone else. But what if\u2026? What if Joe had been right all along? What if it really was Frank Carver\u2019s ghost?<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t,\u201d<\/em> Carver had told him.<\/p>\n Why couldn\u2019t he?<\/em><\/p>\n Because the shot would pass right through him; wouldn\u2019t it? It would pass through and hit something outside. Or someone. Maybe even Adam.<\/p>\n \u201cY–you hurt Hoss.\u201d Joe\u2019s intended accusation sounded like nothing more than a quietly stated fact.<\/p>\n It was a fact Frank Carver\u2019s ghost chose not to argue. \u201cFigured it was time to get them chasing ghosts. You and me, we\u2019ve got business of our own.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe tried to brace himself, but the fact was there wasn\u2019t much more bracing he could do. So he waited\u2026and he watched Carver\u2019s ghost watching him\u2026and he thought about Adam\u2019s angles and how much damage his gun would do to the house once Carver moved inside–where it wouldn\u2019t matter if Joe\u2019s shot passed through him or not, where it couldn\u2019t hurt anyone else. He wondered if shooting a ghost would make it go away or just make it angrier. And he wondered how a ghost could feel as real as Carver\u2019s hands had felt around his neck the night before. He wondered and he worried and he waited.<\/p>\n And then Carver\u2019s ghost turned away.<\/p>\n \u201cHey,\u201d Joe said softly, confused. Why was Carver walking away? \u201cWe\u2019ve got business of our own<\/em>,\u201d he\u2019d said. What sort of business? And how could they do it if Carver walked away?<\/p>\n \u201cHey!\u201d Joe repeated, loud enough to reach the porch. But Carver had already moved out of sight.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Joe said to himself. \u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n Joe couldn\u2019t let Carver go like that. The ghost was real. He had to prove that to his family. He had to prove it to himself.<\/p>\n He reached for the crutch propped up beside him, laying the shotgun down on the settee so he could maneuver himself to his feet. Then he realized how useless that shotgun would be, with one arm as preoccupied as it now was. Probably just as well. Joe knew he wouldn\u2019t use it anyway. He needed answers. Is that what Carver had meant? \u201cYou won\u2019t do it. You can\u2019t.\u201d<\/em> Had Carver known it before Joe did, himself?<\/p>\n Maybe he had. Maybe ghosts knew things regular folks couldn\u2019t know\u2026things that maybe regular folks aren\u2019t supposed<\/em> to know. And maybe that meant Joe should stay right where he was. But then what? Carver could keep coming back whenever he felt like it; and Joe would never get another decent night\u2019s sleep–at least, not until the night he knew was bound to come sooner or later\u2026the one he would never wake up from.<\/p>\n He was scared half out of his mind, but Joe knew what he had to do. He hobbled to the door as fast as he could, stepped out onto the porch, and then, taking a long, shaky breath, glanced around for any sign of his brothers.<\/p>\n All he saw was Frank Carver walking past the barn, slow as can be.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 10<\/strong><\/p>\n Walking from where he\u2019d been ambushed to the house was a slow process; and Hoss had to lean heavily on Adam every bit of the way. Anxious to ease the burden on his older but smaller brother, Hoss grabbed for the doorframe with his free hand as soon as he got close enough.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Adam,\u201d he said as he extricated his arm from around his brother\u2019s shoulders. \u201cI was plumb sure the ground wouldn\u2019t move so much after I got to walking for a bit. Probably should have let Hank help.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHank\u2019s the best tracker we have, next to you.\u201d Adam stepped away, moving into the house. \u201cThat trail you found is fresh. I didn\u2019t want to hold the men back any more than you did.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I reckon.\u201d Hoss thought harder on what his brother had said. \u201cShould\u2019ve asked someone<\/em> to stay back and help, though. I\u2019m just glad I didn\u2019t knock you over on the way here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m stronger than I look.\u201d Adam gave him a small grin, but there was something hollow to it. \u201cCome on,\u201d he said, reaching his hand around Hoss\u2019s shoulders again. \u201cLet\u2019s get you inside. I\u2019ll find Hop Sing to take care of that gash on the back of your head.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI sure wish I knew where that fella\u2019 came from. I didn\u2019t know he was there until he clobbered me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust like,\u201d Adam grunted as he took on Hoss\u2019s weight, \u201cwe never knew anyone was here during the night.\u201d He stiffened as he eased Hoss down onto the settee.<\/p>\n The settee wasn\u2019t quite empty. \u201cWhat\u2019s this shotgun doin\u2019 here?\u201d Hoss asked after he was settled.<\/p>\n Adam didn\u2019t answer. \u201cI\u2019ll get Hop Sing,\u201d he said instead. There was an odd sound to his voice, like it was strained–like Hoss was still leaning against him.<\/p>\n Hoss looked over to where Adam had gone. \u201cAdam? What\u2019s goin\u2019 on?\u201d The question stopped his brother, but did not pull him around to face Hoss again. \u201cWhy was the front door open when we got here? And this shotgun; what\u2019s that about?\u201d<\/p>\n Adam\u2019s shoulders rose, showing Hoss he was taking a real deep breath.<\/p>\n \u201cAdam?\u201d<\/p>\n Finally, Adam turned back. \u201cI gave that gun to Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe brought it downstairs with him? Then where is he?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, he did not bring it down. He was sitting in Pa\u2019s chair when I gave it to him; and he was still sitting there, with that gun in his lap, when I went out to help you.\u201d<\/p>\n At that, Hoss glanced around the room. \u201cJoe?\u201d he called out. \u201cLittle Joe?\u201d<\/p>\n But it was Adam who answered. \u201cHe\u2019s not here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course, he is. Where else would he be? Little Joe<\/em>!\u201d he shouted again.<\/p>\n \u201cHoss<\/em>!\u201d Adam shouted back at him. \u201cHe went outside!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe would\u2019ve seen him if he was outside. Little Joe<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cStop it, Hoss! I saw his tracks when I brought you in here! They\u2019re clear as day with that crutch of his. And they only go in one direction–away<\/em> from the porch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you say that right off? Go out there and get him! He shouldn\u2019t be wanderin\u2019 around by himself with that leg like it is and that fella\u2019 still on the loose.\u201d<\/p>\n Adam sighed. \u201cI know. I\u2019ll find him. Don\u2019t you worry.\u201d<\/p>\n But before he could take another step toward the door, Hop Sing came running toward him from the same path Joe had taken. \u201cMistah Adam! Mistah Hoss!\u201d the cook hollered as he scurried inside. \u201cLittle Joe gone!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, Hop Sing.\u201d Adam sounded tired\u2026or frustrated, maybe. \u201cI know. I\u2019m going to–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo! Mistah Adam.\u201d Hop Sing shook his head. \u201cLittle Joe gone<\/em>! Not on Ponderosa!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Adam\u2019s voice rose in pitch, while Hoss\u2019s heart dropped down into his stomach.<\/p>\n \u201cHop Sing see marks in sand. Think Little Joe foolishment. But no Little Joe when marks end. Only marks from horses.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHorses?\u201d Hoss was horrified to imagine what that had to mean.<\/p>\n \u201cMistah Adam come see!\u201d Hop Sing grabbed Adam\u2019s arm.<\/p>\n Adam pushed him away. \u201cWait, Hop Sing. You stay here with Hoss. I\u2019ll saddle up and follow those tracks.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAdam–\u201d Hoss barely got that one word out before his brother cut him off.<\/p>\n \u201cPa should be home soon,\u201d Adam insisted. \u201cAnd with any luck, he\u2019ll have Sheriff Coffee with him. Tell them where I\u2019ve gone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAdam!\u201d Hoss tried to get up, but the floor tilted, sending him right back into the settee. \u201cDadburnit!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHelp Hoss, Hop Sing,\u201d Adam\u2019s voice said from behind him. \u201cLet me worry about Little Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMistah Adam not only one who worry!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know. I\u2019ll find him.\u201d<\/p>\n A heavy thud told Hoss that the front door had finally been closed. It also sent a stab of pain throughout Hoss\u2019s skull. Dadburnit<\/em>, he thought to himself. How could he let someone get the drop on him like that fella had done out there? And, for that matter, sneak into the house without any of them knowing, to boot?<\/p>\n You\u2019d better find him, Adam. Find \u2018em both–that fella and Little Joe. And you\u2019d better find \u2018em before that fella finds you<\/em>.<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n Joe trembled, both from the pain in his leg and the fear in his belly. Yeah, he was afraid. Anyone would be afraid, trussed up like he was and lying on the floor right next to a noose hitched up to the rafters. They\u2019d hung the noose low enough to tap at Joe\u2019s head every now and then, pushed by stray breezes coming in through an open window.<\/p>\n Frank Carver and the Indian were sitting at the table in the center of the room, a table where Joe had sat many times through the years, listening to old man Ferguson\u2019s stories about soldiering and sailing and trapping and heading west. But old man Ferguson was dead, and his cabin had already grown dusty from abandonment\u2026dusty enough to attract another man\u2019s ghost and an Indian who seemed like a ghost himself\u2026who Joe thought might be a ghost, too\u2026a ghost who\u2019d ridden a ghost horse that had suddenly appeared right next to Joe, close enough for the Indian to snatch him up and carry him there, to that dusty cabin.<\/p>\n Joe had already given up when that Indian had come by. He\u2019d watched Frank Carver\u2019s ghost disappear into the trees, and had realized he would never catch up. Joe had been standing still, trembling from the effort of keeping himself propped up with that crutch, with the muscles in his arm burning almost as much as his leg had been throbbing, when the bluster of a horse had turned his attention. The Indian\u2019s hand had come down to grab him and Joe had been hoisted into the saddle so quick he\u2019d hardly known what was happening–and so forcefully his leg had been bumped and banged enough to make Joe believe he\u2019d been shot all over again.<\/p>\n And now Joe was on the dusty floor of old man Ferguson\u2019s dusty cabin, with his leg bleeding again and his hands tied behind his back–tight enough to make his wrists sting and his hands tingle. Sure, he was afraid. Who wouldn\u2019t be afraid lying there like that, getting smacked in the head by a dangling noose and watching two ghosts play poker with a deck of dusty cards?<\/p>\n Maybe even Adam would be afraid.<\/p>\n \u201cYou showed a lot of courage, Little Joe,\u201d<\/em> Adam had told him not long ago. \u201cFirst by facing Carver down in trial like you did, and then by seeing it all the way through to the hanging.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t want to,\u201d<\/em> Joe had replied, softly, meaningfully.<\/p>\n \u201cI know. But you did. And that took courage.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Joe had treasured hearing his brother tell him he\u2019d shown courage. But showing it and knowing it were different, somehow. Joe knew he hadn\u2019t been courageous. He\u2019d trembled back at those gallows almost as much as he was trembling now. He hadn\u2019t wanted to watch Frank Carver die. Heck, he hadn\u2019t wanted the man to die at all. He wasn\u2019t even sure why the judge had said Carver had<\/em> to die. No one saw Carver kill that man in the alley, not even Joe. All Joe saw was him holding a knife and looking at Joe with murder in his eyes–first in the alley, and then at the gallows.<\/p>\n But\u2026Carver had been afraid, too; hadn\u2019t he? Up on those gallows, Joe had seen fear in the man\u2019s eyes, right before those eyes had looked his way. It wasn\u2019t until their eyes had met that fear had turned to hatred–a killing kind of hatred.<\/p>\n And now those eyes were meeting Joe\u2019s again. Carver nodded to the Indian and set his cards on the table, keeping his eyes on Joe the whole time. \u201cYou ready to get down to business, boy?\u201d<\/p>\n And Joe stopped trembling. He was suddenly too cold to tremble.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 11<\/strong><\/p>\n Adam had been following a false trail. He chided himself for not realizing it sooner, for being so careless. A mistake like that could get his brother killed\u2026if Little Joe wasn\u2019t dead already.<\/p>\n But, no: That couldn\u2019t be true. If Frank Carver\u2019s imposter–whoever he was<\/em>–had wanted Joe dead, he wouldn\u2019t have bungled his first two attempts. No one could be as crafty as this man had been and<\/em> so careless at the same time.<\/p>\n He\u2019d been crafty, all right, moving through the house like the ghost Joe believed him to be. He wasn\u2019t just any stranger; and he certainly wasn\u2019t a drifter. He was skilled enough to shoot Joe without coming close to killing him, and to pour just enough laudanum down Joe\u2019s throat to avoid stopping the boy\u2019s heart. He knew what he was doing. But\u2026why<\/em>? Why was he going through so much trouble to scare Little Joe half out of his mind?<\/p>\n Adam couldn\u2019t begin to guess what the stranger intended for his brother. All he knew was that Joe was in serious trouble. The boy needed help; and Adam had wasted time getting to him by following a trail he should have known had been too clear, too distinct. He\u2019d been played a fool. Concern for his young brother had made him easy prey for that deception. When Adam had seen Little Joe\u2019s footprints come to an abrupt end, and had found the boy\u2019s crutch abandoned\u2026.<\/p>\n God<\/em>. Even thinking about it now gripped his heart. When he\u2019d found that crutch it was as though he\u2019d been lassoed by emotions he simply had neither the strength nor the gumption to push aside. Fear and anger cocooned him until he couldn\u2019t breathe, like a rope pulling tighter and tighter and forcing the air from his lungs\u2026leaving room in his head for only one thought: He had to find his brother. He had to reach Joe.<\/p>\n So he\u2019d found a trail and he\u2019d followed it without question.<\/p>\n Now\u2026. Now<\/em> Adam was as angry at himself as he was at Joe\u2019s ghost<\/em>.<\/p>\n Kicking his horse hard, Adam raced back home, desperate to return to the point from which Joe had vanished, his crutch tossed aside like useless junk\u2026like something unneeded or\u2026like something that would never be needed again. Adam had to find the real<\/em> trail, and then\u2026.<\/p>\n Thank God!<\/em> Around that last copse of trees Adam saw two familiar figures. Pa was there. Pa was home. And Sheriff Coffee was with him.<\/p>\n His chest filling with air, Adam discovered he could breathe again. And perhaps even think<\/em> again. Joe\u2019s life was no longer in his hands, alone.<\/p>\n Rushing to close the final distance between them, Adam watched his father and the sheriff examining the ground he, himself, had spent too little time inspecting.<\/p>\n \u201cHang on, Little Joe,\u201d <\/em>he said in his thoughts. \u201cRoy Coffee is a whole lot better at tracking than I\u2019ll ever be. He won\u2019t let you down.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n And then he prayed to God that finding the trail would be enough to make that promise true.<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n Frank Carver\u2019s ghost stepped closer. Little Joe shimmied back to the wall, pushing himself up to sit against it. His bound hands and the reopened wound in his leg hindered his efforts; and Joe had to fight his way past waves of pain. But his thoughts were focused exclusively on the ghost.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve had luck on your side, boy.\u201d Carver squatted down in front of him, close enough that Joe could smell tobacco on his breath and the animal scent still embedded in his soft, fringed leather trousers. \u201cI don\u2019t know why, and I promise you I don\u2019t like it. But you\u2019ve been lucky so far. Clyde, here, says it\u2019s the will of the spirits.\u201d The ghost indicated toward the Indian with a nod of his head, and Joe felt his brow curl in confusion.<\/p>\n An Indian named Clyde seemed as peculiar as a ghost with a puzzled look to his eyes\u2026and as odd as Frank Carver wearing Indian trousers. Joe had heard men saying Frank Carver was about the biggest Indian hater in the territory; yet here he was playing cards with one and wearing Indian clothes.<\/p>\n Had he been wearing those trousers when he\u2019d shot at Joe on the stairs?<\/p>\n \u201cMe\u2026,\u201d the ghost went on, \u201cI\u2019m not so sure, anymore. Those spirits\u2026well\u2026they let me down is what they did.\u201d His puzzled look turned sad. \u201cAll these years, I thought my baby brother was as dead as the older ones. When those Comanches took me, I thought sure they\u2019d killed him.\u201d<\/p>\n With everything the ghost was saying, none of it was telling Joe what he needed to know. \u201cWhy?\u201d he asked, disappointed to hear himself sounding like his fifteenth birthday was a long way to come, rather than a few months behind him.<\/p>\n \u201cHe was too young,\u201d Frank Carver\u2019s ghost answered. \u201cAnd the others were too old; had too much fight in them. But me\u2026.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cI was young enough to learn how to follow their rules and old enough to do a day\u2019s work.\u201d<\/p>\n Frustration edging out his fear, Joe sat up straighter against the wall. He didn\u2019t much care what had happened during some long ago Comanche raid, not when he had more important things to worry about. \u201cWhy\u2019d you take me<\/em>?\u201d he asked with a show of defiance roused by the not-very-ghostlike emotions he\u2019d watched brewing in Carver\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n But fear took root again, sprouting quickly into terror when the ghost re-emerged. Carver\u2019s eyes flared with every bit of that hatred Joe had seen at the top of those gallows back in Virginia City. \u201cTo give Clyde\u2019s spirits one more chance to get it right!\u201d Carver hollered out.<\/p>\n He grabbed Joe by the shoulder and hauled him forward. Joe tried to struggle, but he was too small, too weak\u2026too frightened, especially when he saw Frank Carver\u2019s free hand taking hold of the noose.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not my fault!\u201d Joe cried out, squirming in a useless effort to keep Carver from pulling the noose over his head. He felt the heavy rope brush his shoulders and then draw tighter around his throat–not quite tight enough to choke him, just enough to let him feel the chafing edges of the coarse fibers.<\/p>\n Wide eyed and suddenly too afraid to struggle, Joe saw Carver nod to the Indian, Clyde. And then\u2026then that Indian started pulling the other end of the rope, taking up all the slack that had left the noose dangling near the floor before.<\/p>\n \u201cI told that judge I didn\u2019t see the killing!\u201d Joe shouted. The rope above him was beginning to move upward. \u201cAll I saw was the knife! Ask him! I didn\u2019t want them to hang you! I told him that! Ask him! You–\u201d The rope at his neck pulled Joe\u2019s chin upward until it was clear he couldn\u2019t sit on the floor like he had been any longer. He had to reposition his legs to get his knees under him, and there was nothing he could do to protect his wound in the process.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s too late, boy,\u201d Carver\u2019s ghost said in a low, raspy voice. \u201cThe judge is already dead. Same as that Hatcher woman. At least the spirits gave me two good turns.\u201d<\/p>\n Talking wasn\u2019t worth the effort as that noose moved higher, lifting Joe agonizingly to his feet. The wound in his right calf screamed out at him even when he didn\u2019t dare pull a scream from the thinning tunnel of air still open in his throat.<\/p>\n Hearing that the judge and Missus Hatcher were dead struck Joe hard in his belly–but not for the reasons it should. The news didn\u2019t awaken any sense of sorrow or grief. All it did was tell Joe he was bound to be next.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 12<\/strong><\/p>\n Ben\u2019s heart sank when he saw his eldest son racing toward him alone. \u201cWhat did you find? Do you know where Joe is? Is he all right?\u201d The questions blustered out of him like gusts in a storm. And every one hit Adam with a palpable blow, curling his brow, thinning his lips and tightening his jaw.<\/p>\n Adam shook his head once as he reined in. \u201cThis trail led nowhere,\u201d he complained as he dismounted. \u201cThere\u2019s more than one man; has to be. Someone made a calculated effort to send me the wrong way.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s two of \u2018em, I\u2019d say.\u201d Sheriff Coffee rose to his feet. \u201cOne\u2019s unshod. Impression\u2019s a mite deeper right after Little Joe\u2019s tracks stop.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLike he\u2019s riding double?\u201d Adam asked.<\/p>\n \u201cLooks that way.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAdam?\u201d Ben touched his son\u2019s arm, hoping to turn the young man toward him; but Adam crouched to the ground instead, giving his full attention to the marks in the dirt.<\/p>\n \u201cThis set of tracks is heading east,\u201d the sheriff pointed out.<\/p>\n Adam followed the direction with his eyes. \u201cThen what are we waiting for?\u201d Rising to his feet, he started back toward his horse.<\/p>\n \u201cAdam?\u201d Ben asked sternly, this time taking a firm hold of his son\u2019s arm to pull him around. \u201cHow was he? How was Joe when you left him?\u201d<\/p>\n Adam\u2019s eyes darkened. \u201cThat\u2019s just it. I left<\/em> him! Alone!\u201d He turned away abruptly, mounting in an instant and then bolting eastward.<\/p>\n \u201cAdam!\u201d Ben shouted, but his son did not slow. That fool boy!<\/em> he thought angrily. Adam did what he had to do. Why can\u2019t he realize that?<\/p>\n \u201cBen?\u201d He looked up to see that Roy had already mounted. \u201cMaybe you ought to stay here, look after Hoss.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHoss is fine,\u201d he answered tersely, hurrying now to join Roy and, eventually, Adam. \u201cOr at least I know he will be. Let\u2019s find Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n A moment later, he was following Adam\u2019s dust but staying close to Roy Coffee–and a trail he didn\u2019t dare lose sight of.<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n The rope was high enough now that Joe had to stand on his toes to keep from choking. The strain on his injured calf was unbearable, but he had no choice, none at all. He must not only endure the pain, he must ignore it, focus every thought on catching one more breath\u2026and then another.<\/p>\n Blinking fast and hard, his eyes already tearing, Joe saw Frank Carver turn away while Clyde tied off the far end of the rope.<\/p>\n \u201cP\u2026pl\u2026.\u201d Joe wanted to beg the Indian to help him; but he couldn\u2019t even manage to spit out a single word. The effort put too much pressure on his throat, drawing the rope fractionally–excruciatingly<\/em>–tighter.<\/p>\n But something in Clyde\u2019s expression told Joe he understood. He glanced toward the door, and then stepped silently toward Joe, the soles of his moccasins stirring dust but making no clatter on the floorboards.<\/p>\n \u201cYou will not die here today.\u201d Clyde was right in front of Joe now, his face swimming into view through the fog of Joe\u2019s tears. \u201cThe spirits of the land do not will it. They directed Daniel\u2019s bullet when he shot you. He assured me he closed his eyes to let it be so. I believe him. The spirits also protected you from the poison. They wish you to live; so today, you will not die.\u201d<\/p>\n The words were meaningless to Joe. He just wanted to be released, to breathe free and easy and to rest his leg. \u201cPl\u2026.\u201d he tried again.<\/p>\n Clyde breathed deeply, his chest expanding. To Joe, it was a cruel display, however unintended. \u201cI cannot help you. Daniel was my brother among the Comanche and the Kiowa. He is still my brother, even now. We have shared hardship and blood. We endured together the trials of slavery and the later trials that prepared us to become Kiowa warriors. Those trials are what marked us as brothers. Now this trial is for you. And for Daniel. It is not for me to change.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe closed his eyes tightly, desperate to will the pain away\u2026silently begging Clyde to reconsider.<\/p>\n \u201cAn old wound came open in him,\u201d the Indian went on, oblivious\u2026or not caring. \u201cIt has changed him. He was mistaken for another in Carson City, a man named Frank Carver. Now he knows his young brother did not die long ago. He feels pain for not helping this brother sooner. He does not recognize that the spirits did not will it to be so.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe tried to meet his eyes, tried to plead for help with his own.<\/p>\n \u201cJust as the spirits do not will you to die.\u201d Clyde nodded. \u201cSomeone will come.\u201d Then Joe felt a gentle tugging at his waistband. \u201cThis paper holds the names of Daniel Fisher\u2019s brothers and sisters. Help them to be remembered. Then maybe the spirits will allow my brother\u2019s wound to heal again.\u201d<\/p>\n With that, the Indian turned away. A moment later, Joe heard a thud and knew it to be the door closing. He was alone.<\/p>\n Please!<\/em> he begged silently. He was sure not even Clyde\u2019s spirits could hear him. If they did, Joe would hear horses approaching, not riding away. Please!<\/em><\/p>\n The tears now came from a different kind of pain. He found himself praying to feel the comfort of his pa\u2019s strong, protective arms lifting him out of this trap. It was<\/em> a trap, wasn\u2019t it? And he\u2019d stumbled blindly into it because he was the rabbit again. Maybe he was destined to forever be the rabbit. Is that what Clyde\u2019s spirits had in store for him?<\/p>\n No, Joe told himself. If he survived this, he would never be the rabbit again. He would fight the whole world if he had to; and he would do it with his eyes wide open.<\/p>\n If<\/em> he survived. But how could he survive? He couldn\u2019t even try to work his hands free; every time he did, the movement left him choking.<\/p>\n Please!<\/em> he cried once more in silence when a bright ray of sun eased in through a far window. Joe saw it raising a bridge of dust motes and wondered briefly if it led straight to Heaven–although it really didn\u2019t matter. Joe wasn\u2019t ready to follow such a bridge. Not yet. Not today.<\/p>\n \u201cYou will not die here today.\u201d<\/em> Clyde had promised him.<\/p>\n Joe could only pray that the Indian was right and someone would come before his leg gave out completely or he simply passed out from the effort. He truly was in the hands of the spirits or angels\u2026or maybe even God Himself.<\/p>\n Oddly, that thought gave him comfort. Don\u2019t let go<\/em>, he prayed then.<\/p>\n And that was all he could do. From that moment onward, he focused all of his efforts on staying upright and collecting one short gasp of air after another.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n 13<\/strong><\/p>\n When Adam saw that the trail made a sudden turn, all the pieces came together just as suddenly in his mind. He knew then how two men could be responsible for all of it, for the false trail he had followed, for the trail Hank and the men would have taken after Adam and Hoss had left them, and also for the attacks that had left Hoss dazed and Joe\u2026gone.<\/p>\n Those two men would have to have made camp somewhere nearby, somewhere within a reasonably short distance from the Ponderosa and the ends of both false trails, a central point that would have given them time to carry out each calculated move.<\/p>\n \u2026A place with an empty barn to hide their horses and an empty cabin to hide the men, themselves. The very place to which this new direction was bound to lead: Micah Ferguson\u2019s cabin.<\/p>\n With a fierce kick and a scream of complaint from his already straining horse, Adam flew toward the cabin, compelled by a sense of urgency that stole all conscious thought. Joe was there. He knew Joe was there. But in what condition? Was he even still alive?<\/p>\n As the southeastern corner of the cabin came into sight just beyond that last hill, Adam tried to push faster, but his horse was already at its limits. Time felt immeasurably slow. He could almost believe he was crawling when he needed to run.<\/p>\n Then he rounded the hill. A flash of movement caught his eye. He saw riders. Two riders were racing from the cabin, looking every bit as desperate to flee as Adam was to arrive.<\/p>\n Acting on instinct alone, Adam drew his gun and fired. Once. Twice. A third time. And then a volley of bullets started coming toward him.<\/p>\n Damn it! You fool!<\/em> Cursing himself for his carelessness, Adam ducked low in the saddle, but he wasn\u2019t fast enough or low enough to avoid the barrage as they fired back. A bullet dug a furrow across the top of his shoulder. Another sent his hat flying and left a hot tingling in his scalp. He had no choice but to take cover.<\/p>\n With the cabin so close, Adam, himself, had made it unreachable.<\/p>\n XxXxX<\/p>\n Ben abandoned the trail the instant he heard gunfire. Turning Buck toward the sound, he kicked his horse into a gallop, certain that Roy Coffee would do the same. It wasn\u2019t long before he caught view of two gunmen in the distance. They were in the trees beyond that hill, that\u2026