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Born unto Himself Alone
Since Adam was more conversant in Spanish than his father, he sat and tried to make pleasant conversation with Isabella as she sat nervously on the settee, nursing her daughter who was named Josefina.
When she had said the infant's name, Adam, with raised eyebrows, looked inquiringly at his father who had a horrified expression on his face. Adam had stifled a small smile; he had always thought that Joe probably had spawn spread over the whole Nevada territory and Adam had considered that he might have a few crawling or walking around himself. But this was the first one to show up at the Ponderosa, a mere babe in arms.
Isabella had asked for "Mr. Joseph Cartwright," when she appeared at the front door a few hours earlier. She wouldn't tell her business to anyone but him, she had said. So they had fed her what she would accept and now Adam sat with her to help pass the time while Ben paced, waiting for Hoss and Joe to arrive home.
Ben ran the most probable scenario through his head; Joe had impregnated this young lady when he had last visited Mexico or maybe he had met her in a local cantina and now she either wanted money or for Joseph to marry her-or maybe both. She may have a father or brother or a hundred cousins who all needed to be paid off to keep from coming gunning for "Mr. Joseph Cartwright."
Adam and Ben had, of course, admired the infant who was about nine months old. She had the caramel skin of her mother but her eyes had a slight greenish hue. And although neither of them remarked on it, Ben and Adam exchanged glances; the child did resemble Joe and her curly, abundant hair was a lighter shade that her mother's. Adam considered that the child must have inherited her beauty from the father because, although Isabella had glossy black hair and flawless skin, she was rather plain. Adam concluded that Joe must have been drunk since Isabella was definitely not to Joe's taste; Adam had come between Joe and angry, shotgun-wielding fathers far too many times for Adam not to know that.
Adam and Ben both looked at the door as they heard the sounds of riders approaching and Adam stood up, telling his father that he'd see if it was Hoss and Joe; he wanted to be the first to see Joe's face when he told him about his waiting visitor.
"Mr. Joe Cartwright is here?" Isabella asked looking up expectantly.
"I'll go see," Adam said. He was more than happy to end his one-sided attempt to talk with Isabella.
"No, Adam, " Ben said, as Adam went to the door where he stood, "I think that I…"
"No, no, Pa, " Adam said patting his father's chest, "I'll go tell Joe he has a visitor." He couldn't keep the smile off his face. "You just wait here, Pa. Get to know Isabella and Josefina. It might be the start of a long friendship."
Adam, his hands in his back pockets, sauntered over to Joe and Hoss who were proceeding to lead their horses to the barn for the night. "Joe," Adam called out, "you best let Hoss put Cochise away. You have a visitor."
"What?" Joe asked. "Who?"
"Well, I think it's going to be a little surprise, younger brother. I do believe that the chickens have come home to roost-or at least one chick-or should I say, 'chica.' " Adam stood grinning, enjoying Joe's confusion.
"This I gotta see," Hoss said, tying the horses to the paddock railing; he'd put the horses away later. All three brothers strode to the house, Adam walking behind, grinning.
When they entered, Isabella stood up and immediately looked at Joe and asked, "Mr. Joe Cartwright?"
"Yes," Joe said. He stared at the woman but had no recollection of ever meeting her as she walked toward him.
Adam and Hoss stood watching what would transpire and when she said, "I am to give you this," Adam expected her to hand the baby to Joe, but instead, she handed the infant off to Adam who clumsily cradled it in his arms. Isabella reached into a pocket in the folds of her skirt and pulled out an object and put it in Joe's hand. All of them stared as Joe, speechless, looked at the oval, silver picture frame in his hand that held the picture of his and his brother, Clay's, mother. Joe closed his hand over it.
"Clay sent you," Joe said.
"Yes. He told me also give you this." Isabella pulled a piece of paper from her skirt's waistband.
Joe walked over to the desk to read the letter and although everyone wanted to ask what it was, Adam handed Josefina back to Isabella and he and Hoss went to put the horses away. Ben guided Isabella over to the settee to sit down, watching Joe's face the whole time as he read.
Dear Joe,
If you are reading this, it means that Isabella and Josefina have arrived at the Ponderosa. Isabella is my wife and Josefina, my daughter is named after you, brother. Please see that they get to Isabella's aunt who lives in Elko. They'll be safe there.
I wish that I could tell you where I am but I can't be found. I also wish that I could tell you that I am hiding due to a noble cause, but it's not so. I killed the wrong man, the son of a mayor, in a card game and now there's a bounty on my head. Unfortunately, I am well-known in these parts. That is why I had to send Isabella and Josefina away; I have to hide alone. I doubt I will ever see them again-or you.
I return the picture of our mother for you to keep safe since I am already a dead man..
Clay
Joe folded the paper and tucked it in his shirt pocket. He then joined his father in making plans for the last leg of Isabella's trip.
Early the next morning, hours before dawn, Joe was in the barn saddling his horse by the light of a lone lantern. He tied his bedroll and some supplies onto the back of the saddle and turned to lead Cochise out but stopped in his tracks.
"And where do you think you're going?' Adam stood in front of him with his hands in the pockets of his robe, his hair tousled.
"Get out of my way, Adam," Joe said. "I left Pa a note."
"I know. I read it. Let's see," Adam said, looking up, "Clay needs your help and you are going to find him. That's correct, isn't it?"
"Yeah-that's correct." Joe began to lead Cochise out. If Adam doesn't get out of my way, Joe thought, I'll just knock him down.
Joe headed straight for Adam, but Adam stepped aside and caught Joe by the front of his jacket and swung him around. Joe went into a fighting stance.
"Are you going to hit me, Joe? Is that what you're going to do?' Adam stared at him, challenged him with his eyes.
"If you try and stop me, I will." Then, as Adam let go of him and just stood and watched him, Joe's shoulders relaxed and he stood up, straightened his jacket and then picked up the dropped reins.
"Let me ask you something." Adam said. "Isabella told Pa that she didn't know where Clay was. He wouldn't tell her where he was going into hiding-so where are you going to look for him? Where the hell in Mexico are you going to find a man who doesn't want to be found?"
Joe paused. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it. He just felt that he had to find Clay, had to help Clay. "I don't know Adam, but I have to. He's my brother and I'm all he has."
Adam stood with a small smile on his lips. "Your brother, huh? Well, you have two here who could use you around the Ponderosa."
"You know what I mean Adam." Joe didn't know how to express what he was feeling. "I know that you and Hoss are my brothers too, but with Clay…I mean, I see me in Clay. We look like each other and think like each other. It's different with him."
"If you mean that you're both hot heads and always getting into trouble, I'll agree with you," Adam said.
"That's not what I mean, Adam. And he and I, well, we're all we have." Joe looked down and fooled with the ends of the reins in his hands. "I mean, I'm all he has." Then he looked up at Adam. "And I'd do the same for you or Hoss. I'd try to find you and help you and you'd do the same for me."
Being almost fourteen years older that Joe, Adam always felt a little paternal toward him, covering for him many a time when he was in trouble with their father and intervening between him and a host of others as well. But Joe was twenty-five now and Adam tried looking at him with new eyes, tried to see him as an adult who was capable of taking care of himself and others. But he just couldn't shake the image of Joe as a child, as someone who needed protection, mainly from his own impulsiveness.
"Why don't you wait until we find out some more information. Maybe Isabella knows more than she's letting on. Just wait until we can talk with her." Adam felt that Isabella hadn't been forthcoming in what she had said last night. She would say she didn't understand what Ben was saying when he asked specific questions about Clay and even when Adam would translate, she would still just shrug or say, "No entiendo." Adam felt that Isabella spoke and understood far more English than what he had initially believed. She had let him attempt to pull her into conversation by speaking only Spanish but the whole time, he later realized,
she understood English and everything he and his father had said to each other; she knew much more than she was telling.
"No, Adam," Joe said. "I'm going and I want to get an early start. Tell Isabella that I'll try to bring Clay back to her-to us.' And he turned and led Cochise out ignoring Adam who called after him, asking him to think about what he was doing."
Adam stood in the yard and watched Joe ride away until the darkness swallowed him and the sounds of hooves died away. He turned and went into the house trying to convince himself that Joe was a man now and capable of taking care of himself and of making rational choices. But then he thought of all the impulsive things that Joe had done, of how many times Joe had come close to death and a shiver ran up his spine.
Adam was dressed and sitting at the table when the rest of the family and Isabella came down to breakfast. Adam had left Joe's note at his father's place at the head of the table, exactly where Joe had put it.
"What's this?" Ben asked picking it up as he sat down.
"It's a note from Joe. I read it." Adam continued to drink his coffee.
"I swear, that boy…" Ben slammed his fist on the table after reading the note.
"What is it, Pa," Hoss asked.
Ben's face turned red. "That boy has gone off half-cocked to find Clay. I think he's lost his mind."
"No, he hasn't, Pa. And he's not a boy. Joe's twenty-five now, far from being a boy," Adam said.
"But to just take off in the middle of the night like this?"
"It wasn't more than a few hours ago. I saw him off." Adam stared calmly at his father who seemed ready to explode.
"And you let him leave?" Ben boomed.
"What did you want me to do? Send him to his room. Slap him on the wrist and tell him he was a bad boy." Adam stood up re-tucking his shirt in. "I have a feeling that he won't be too far ahead of me and he only knows one route to Mexico; it won't take me long to catch up with him."
"Well, if you're goin', I'm goin'," Hoss said, starting to get up from the table and making a sandwich of the ham and biscuits on his plate.
"Sit down, Hoss," Adam said while Ben just stared open-mouthed. Adam was in charge and Ben didn't know how it had happened. "Let me do this alone. You're awful easy to describe and awful easy to spot. I think that Joe and I will have a better chance getting through unscathed if it's just the two of us."
"Getting through where?" Hoss asked.
"Not where, how. Unscathed. Unharmed."
"Dagnabbit, Adam, why don't you just speak English?" Hoss sat back down to finish his breakfast.
"Well, speaking of English," Adam said, leaning over Isabella as she sat at the table with the infant in her arms, "I think it's about time that you told us everything you know about where Clay might be."
Isabella looked at Adam's face, then at Ben's; neither showed any sympathy.
"No entiendo."
Adam sat down in the chair next to Isabella. "Don't tell me you don't understand. You understand a hell of a lot more than you pretend to. I want to know where Clay is, where he's hiding. Now you understand that, don't you?"
"Si, I understand." She bounced her daughter in her arms, obviously nervous. Yelling she could take, fists pounding on the table she could take, but this man who spoke so calmly but obviously had a dangerous side just below the surface, he frightened her. She had known men like him, men who could kill another man without saying a word if necessary, and then go about their business as if nothing had happened.
Hoss and Ben stared at her, waiting for her response. And as Adam sat and listened, Isabella told him everything she knew.
Adam walked his horse into Joe's camp. When he heard someone approaching, Joe pulled his gun.
"Don't shoot, it's just me." Adam approached the circle of light around the fire, his palms open in front of him, the reins falling between the first two fingers of one hand.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Joe asked, sliding his gun back into its holster.
"I missed you so much at breakfast that I had to follow you just to tell you how much." Adam tied his horse to a branch and proceeded to squat in front of the fire and using Joe's cup, poured himself some coffee.
"If Pa sent you to bring me back, forget it. Unless you hogtie me and throw me over my saddle, I'm going to go find Clay." Joe glowered at Adam.
"Now that's a much better idea than what I had in mind," Adam said. "I was just going to share the information Isabella finally gave me and go with you to find Clay, but I do have some rope on my saddle." Adam motioned to his horse with his thumb.
"Real funny." Joe suddenly felt guilty for the way he had spoken to Adam; after all, Adam had come all this way to help him-or to baby-sit him. Sometimes Joe felt they were one and the same. "I have some beans left over from dinner. I was going to eat them in the morning but you're welcome to them."
"That's the other reason I followed you-to eat some of your great beans." Adam sat back and took a sip of coffee. He grimaced as he swallowed it. "I swear, Joe, you're the only person I know who makes his coffee out of horse piss."
"Well, nobody's making you drink it." Joe snapped back. Adam was always finding fault with him. "Do you want the beans or not?" Adam wasn't making it easy for Joe to be glad to see him.
"I'll take them," Adam said in a patronizing manner, "thank you." And while Joe put the pan back on the fire, Adam walked over to his saddle bags and took out something wrapped in a cloth and brought it back.
"Here," Adam said, pulling off the cloth and breaking off a chunk. "Hop Sing gave me a loaf of fresh-baked sour dough."
"Thanks," Joe said taking the hunk of crusty bread. He could smell the redolent yeast that gave the bread its name and his mouth started to water. He thought of how Hop Sing would put a fresh loaf on the table and they would tear off pieces and watch the sweet butter melt into the soft inner loaf, the butter sometimes dripping off the edges and then off their chins as they ate it. He suddenly felt very homesick, wished he had never left the Ponderosa. But then he chastised himself and felt guilty for even thinking such a thing. Clay needed him and he was going to help his only brother-the only brother with his mother.
"Well, don't you want to hear what Isabella said?" Adam said after taking a forkful of beans.
"Yeah." Joe was pulling pieces of the soft bread to eat and enjoying it slowly.
"She said that Clay was planning on going to Nombre de Dios in Durango. There's a mission there and Clay's hoping to find sanctuary until things cool down and he can get across the border-if he's not killed first, but I guess that's a given."
"Why didn't he just come to the Ponderosa?" Joe asked. He was angry, angry that Adam was saying out loud what he, himself, was thinking. And Joe also didn't like Adam's snide tone; this was his brother that Adam was talking about-his blood.
"Well, since the unfortunate incident occurred in Chihuahua," Adam said, "Clay felt that the law would be at the border so he went south to throw them off. At least that's what Isabella said. I hope she's telling the truth." Adam scraped the rest of the beans off the plate and then wiped it with a piece of the bread. The beans weren't that good but he was hungry; he hadn't eaten since morning.
After taking care of his horse, Adam spread out his bedroll and pulled the blanket up around his ears. He couldn't help but think that he was getting far too old to be doing this. He knew that in the morning his back would be stiff from the cold and the hard ground and if he weren't so very tired after tracking Joe all day, he felt he probably would never be able to fall asleep. Adam shifted himself, trying to make himself more comfortable with his head resting on his saddle. Then he heard Joe.
"Adam," Joe said, "I'm sorry for today, what I said and how I acted." They had their backs turned to one another as they slept side by side.
"Don't worry, brother, family can treat each other that way. But if you want to apologize," Adam said raising his head and turning to look at Joe's back, "I can think of a few other things you can apologize for."
Joe turned and looked at Adam. Just seeing his brother there, seeing Adam's half-smile and his eyes that bespoke his love for his youngest brother, Joe felt peace and a sense of security descend upon him.
"You can kiss my ass before I apologize for anything else," Joe said, grinning at Adam.
"I'll wait until you've had a bath," Adam said, rolling over again and readjusting his blanket.
Joe smiled to himself and eventually fell asleep, he was so tired, and in the morning, he couldn't remember if he had even dreamed.
It always seemed to take forever just to get through Texas, never mind Mexico, and Joe wanted to try a shorter route; he was eager and anxious to find Clay. Adam had to remind him that with the route they knew, there was water at known spots and places to stop for food and sleep; particularly sleep, Adam thought. His back took hours to loosen up each morning and he swore to himself that an old wound he had in his arm was acting up again, sending shooting pains up his neck. He reluctantly had to admit that he was growing old and envied Joe's youth and energy. Pretty soon, he and Pa and Hop Sing would be sitting around the fireplace with Alpaca throws across their laps to keep their knees warm. But he was still young enough to keep up with Joe and hopefully, keep Joe out of trouble.
Finally they made it to Chihuahua. They stopped at the village's horse trough and let their horses drink and Adam was looking forward to a hot bath and a good mattress, but when he and Joe rode up to the cantina and Joe dismounted, Adam quickly said, "Mount up, Joe. Now. Let's get the hell out of here." Adam quickly turned Sport's head but Joe still stood staring at him. He wanted a beer.
"C'mon, Adam, I could use a drink. And what about that bath and sleeping on a mattress that you've been talking about?"
"Look." Adam pointed to a poster on the stucco wall, small but large enough for him to have noticed. The sides of the paper were curled from the humidity. Adam was glad that he wasn't yet so old that his eyes were bad; he recognized Clay's face on it, only to Adam, except for the mustache, it could be Joe. If he thought so, then some bounty hunting citizen or the local law might think so as well.
"It's Clay," Joe said staring at it. He reached up and pulled it down. "It's Clay-they put a bounty on Clay."
"Let's go," Adam said.
"But we can find out information, maybe find out in what direction he went."
"Let's go," Adam urged impatiently. "Don't you see who that drawing looks like? It's you, youngest brother, and I don't want to have to tell Pa that you were shot down in the street because someone thought you were Clay Stafford."
Joe folded the poster and put it in his shirt pocket since his jacket was tied with his bedroll, and swung onto Cochise and followed Adam out of town.
When they were quite a way out, Adam pulled up his horse. "You stay here, Joe. I'm going back to get some food and fill up the canteens since we won't be eating in town any time soon."
"Why do I…?' Joe started to question Adam's decision but then thought better. He knew Adam was right. Someone could mistake him for Clay but no one would mistake Adam. Nevertheless, Joe didn't want Adam to go back alone; he felt uneasy. Neither one of them had been welcomed in any of the Mexican villages they had stopped in but they had always been quick to go about their business and then leave. So Joe agreed to stay and was uneasy until Adam returned with some tortillas, refried beans, two oranges and a large bottle of mescal. And over the fire they made, Adam and Joe ate their dinner and had slugs of mescal that put them both in a better mood.
"Good for what ails you," Joe said, passing the bottle to Adam.
"And good even if nothing ails you!" Adam said and they both laughed. Joe realized he was glad Adam was there. There was something comforting and reassuring about having his oldest brother with him, almost like having Pa watch over him. And although Adam could often be worse than Pa in many ways, he could also be more understanding; it was Adam's analytical mind that helped him to be able to see directly to the heart of any situation and also into Joe's core-something Joe always found uncomfortable, especially since, to Joe, Adam was as inscrutable as the legendary Oriental, Hop Sing included.
"Adam," Joe asked, "you don't like Clay very much, do you?" Joe knew that it was Adam who first questioned the authenticity of Clay's claim to be Joe's half-brother and Marie's son, and it was he who had encouraged their father to inquire and to discover Clay's questionable background.
"No, actually I don't," Adam said bluntly. He thought that the mescal must have loosened his tongue, otherwise he wouldn't have told Joe; he knew how Joe felt about Clay. "I don't trust him."
"Why? He never did anything to you-or to me." Joe took another swig of the mescal.
"Hey, Joe," Adam said, "go easy on that stuff. It's got the kick of a mule."
"Always trying to tell me what to do, aren't you, Adam? Just because you're older, you think you know everything." And Joe took a long drink from the bottle
"I don't know everything but I know more than you, and one thing I know for certain is if you don't ease up, you'll have a head the size of the Ponderosa in the morning." And Adam snatched the bottle away from Joe.
"You know what I think, Adam? I think you're jealous of Clay because he's my older brother. You can't stand the idea that I've got someone other than you. Clay can take your place just like that!' And Joe snapped his fingers close to Adam's face. Adam fought the urge to grab Joe by the shirt front and snatch him up and tell him that if he ever snapped his fingers in his face again, he'd lose the hand. But he took a deep breath and resisted.
Adam sat quietly and Joe took back the bottle that Adam had placed on the ground. He lay back against his saddle propped on the ground and drank more. And Adam finally had to admit to himself that he was jealous of Clay. He had never faced it before, refused to recognize the emotion, but he was. He was jealous because Joe had a connection with Clay that he didn't have with Joe-their mothers-and because Clay and Joe bore such a strong resemblance to one another. But most of all, because Joe worshipped Clay as he had once worshipped Adam.
"You know, Adam," Joe said, "things were never the same between us after you left for school. You came back and I didn't even know you anymore-it was like we were strangers."
Adam was silent. He reached for the bottle and Joe handed it to him. Adam took a long swig of the mescal. He felt it burn his throat and he could feel the fire in his stomach. Then he spoke quietly, "No, I guess things weren't the same. You were so young when I left and when I came back you didn't even look like the same kid. You were getting tall and skinny like a young colt. I guess we had to start all over again, didn't we?"
"Yeah," Joe said, "we did. And we started out again with you more of a father to me than a brother. You were more Pa's friend than our brother, me and Hoss'."
"I guess it would have better if I'd been more like Clay, treated you more like an equal."
"To be honest, Adam, it would have. It would have been a lot better." And Joe stretched out on his bedroll, put his hat over his face and crossed his arms across his chest to sleep for the night.
Adam sat and finished what was left of the mescal. He knew Joe was going to be sick in the morning, very sick, but, Adam thought, it was best to let Joe learn for himself. And then Adam pulled his blanket over himself and bedded down for the night. But when he closed his eyes, his thoughts went back to the day he had said goodbye to his family to leave for the east and Joe had cried and clung to him begging him not to leave. Adam was ashamed to admit that he couldn't get away fast enough and pulled Joe's small arms from off his neck. He felt his face flush and wasn't sure if it was from emotion or the mescal, but the memory of Joe and the smallness of his clinging arms made Adam sigh deeply. How he must have hurt Joe. His thoughts began to run in random tangents, snippets of different memories until finally, he drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, the heat making their pounding heads worse, Adam and Joe saddled up for Nombre de Dios.
"How long 'till we get there?" Joe asked checking his saddle's cinch.
"Maybe five, six hours unless my spine crashes through the top of my head while I'm riding. Damn that mescal-it should have a skull and crossbones on the label like any other poison. I swear," Adam said, "I wish I could take my head off."
"Don't I know big brother, don't I know." Joe swallowed hard to keep down nausea. He realized that he had never seen Adam sick from drinking before, realized that last night was the first time that he and Adam, as many times as they had gone on journeys together, had drunk so much that Adam was actually ill. It brought back memories of Clay and the time he and Clay had drunk practically a whole jug of pulque and Joe had been so sick that even his toenails hurt. Neither Adam nor Hoss had shown any sympathy for his state.
"How come you drank so much last night?" Joe said, slowly mounting Cochise in the standard way, one foot in the stirrup and the swing of the other leg over the horse's back. He worried that if he did his traditional swing mount, everything he had eaten and drunk in the last ten years of his life would come up along with his stomach and his intestines.
"Why, baby brother? So that you wouldn't drink more and feel even worse. I did it to protect you from yourself." And Adam gave Joe a wink, pulled his hat brim further down over his eyes, and headed his horse south to Nombre de Dios.
The sun was beating down when Adam and Joe arrived at the village and they were stopped at the outskirts of the mission by two men who identified themselves as the sheriff of Nombre de Dios and a deputy from Chihuahua. They asked Adam what their names and their business were; the aguacil, or sheriff, said that they had enough trouble with gringo killers and didn't need any more.
"I'm Adam Cartwright and this is my brother, Joe. We've done nothing wrong or broken any laws." Adam leaned forward in his saddle, challenging them with his eyes.
The deputy stared at Joe, eyeing him suspiciously. "Hey, gringo," the deputy said indicating Joe, "you know a man by the name Clay Stafford?'
Adam realized that the deputy had probably noticed the resemblance between Clay and Joe. "All we want is something to eat and then to go on our way."
At the mention of eating, Joe felt bile rise up, a burning, sour taste; he still felt sick, his eyes throbbed, and the heat of the noonday only made things worse. As long as he had been moving, his condition had been bearable, but now that they were stopped, the heat seemed to make everything dance before him and he could feel himself swaying in the saddle. Then everything went black and he toppled off his horse and landed in the dust.
Joe opened his eyes; there was a moist cloth on his forehead and he lay on a cot in cool semi-darkness, the drapes were pulled to keep out the sun. Staring at him from the opposite wall was a painting of the Virgin Mary, her eyes uplifted to heaven, her hands clasped in prayer. He realized that he must be in the mission, the one that Isabella had told Adam was, hopefully, Clay's sanctuary.
Joe sat up and he saw bright spots behind his eyes and he sank back down again, closing his eyes. "Hello," he called out," Anyone there?' He winced at the throbbing pain in his skull. He swore to himself that he would never drink mescal again; he'd rather drink turpentine.
The door creaked and Joe slightly opened his eyes. It was dark in the room and his eyes couldn't quite focus, but he saw that it was a priest wearing a robe with the hood pulled up. "Where's the man I came with?' Joe asked. "Dark hair, tall. Where's my brother?"
"Your brother's right here," the priest said, slipping down the hood and smiling.
"Clay, Clay you old…" Joe grinned and sat up, ignoring the dizziness. Here was Clay, here was the brother he had been searching for.
Clay sat next to Joe on the cot and slapped him on the arms, grabbing him playfully around the neck. And Joe went white with sudden nausea. He pushed Clay off and fell back down on the cot.
"Sorry, Clay. I just don't feel too great. I swear Adam tried to poison me last night. He gave me mescal-or at least that's what the bottle said it was."
Clay laughed. "You never did have much of a head for drinking, Joe. Or the stomach."
"Where's Adam?" Joe asked, still not opening his eyes.
"Well, seems that after you took that dive off your horse, the Policia Nacional let Father Navarro take you in but they kept Adam outside the mission gates. My guess is that they believe that you and Adam are here to help me and they want me, Joe, they want me bad."
"Do they know you're here?"
"Not absolutely, but they're pretty sure. Too bad I had to kill a mayor's son."
"Too bad you had to kill anyone."
Clay looked at Joe. Then he stood up and looked away. "Yeah. That is too bad." he paused and then turned back to Joe. "You know what you need? Some food. How long's it been since you ate?'
"Well, Adam and I ate last night but neither of us felt like warmed up beans this morning. I could barely keep down the coffee we had."
"A little food will do you worlds of good. I'll bring you some of our lunch. It's just rice and beans, but it's good. The cook is a village woman who comes in three times a day to cook for Father Navarro and I tell you, Joe, even Isabella doesn't cook as good as she does." Then Clay turned on his way out and asked, "How is Isabella? I'm guessing she got to you alright, she and Josefina."
"Yeah, they got to us alright. Pa and Hoss were going to make sure they got to Elko."
"Good, good. I'm sure they got there safe then. I knew that your father would see to that."
"Took you long enough to ask after them," Joe added. He was somehow disappointed in Clay; that should have been the first thing he asked, in Joe's opinion-how his wife and child were.
"I just knew she would be okay. There really wasn't a need to ask," Clay said and closed the door behind him.
Clay was right, Joe did feel better after he ate. His stomach settled down and his headache started to recede. And the food was savory. Joe started thinking about Adam, if Adam had anything to eat and how the Policia Nacional were treating him.
"Where you going, Joe?" Clay asked after Joe stood up, still a little shaky on his feet.
"I need to find out about Adam. He's gone without food now longer than I have and I'm sure he must be worried; Adam always worries."
"He does that," Clay said. "I swear, Joe, that man worries more than anyone's Grandma."
"I need to tell him I'm all right and that you're here." Joe strapped on his gun belt, bending down to tie the anchor strips.
Clay grabbed one of Joe's arms. "Wait a minute, Joe. First, you don't need to tell Adam I'm here-there's no reason he needs to know. And also, you can't go outside the mission ; they won't let you back in and I need you in order to get away and Adam is the perfect distraction. Don't you see that? They'll be so focused on getting information out of Adam, questioning him, that this would be the perfect time for me to leave. They've been watching this mission like a cat does a mouse hole, just waitin' for me to stick out my nose, but with something else for them to focus on, well, it's my chance-maybe my only chance.."
"But I have to find Adam and tell him what's going on." Joe stood and stared at Clay. Clay should understand. Adam was his brother just as Clay was his brother. They had come all this way just to find Clay and Adam had no reason to accompany Joe except that Joe was his brother and might need him-no, did need him. Joe realized that by now, without Adam along, he might have been shot in Chihuahua or have died of thirst because he chose to take an unknown route to Mexico. Thank God, Joe thought, for Adam's methodical, albeit annoying, manner of accomplishing a goal.
"I know where he is. He's sitting in a jail cell being held mainly because he's a gringo but I bet they suspect he's here to get me. Look, I have an idea, an idea about how we can get out of here, about how I can get back across the border. Listen to me," Clay said, pleading with Joe.
"Okay, I'm listening." Joe stood while Clay sat down on the edge of the cot.
"I know you're worried about Adam but he's not wanted for anything-he doesn't even have the same name as me-so the policia aren't going to do anything to him."
"How do you know?" Joe said. "How can you be sure?"
"I just am. Hell, I haven't lived in Mexico most of my life not to know something about the way things work here. I fought for Juarez, remember? I married a Mexican girl, remember? I think I know a little something."
"Okay. I'm still listening."
"Okay. You and me, Joe, we sneak out of here after dark. They'll probably still be watching to see if you leave, but we could, with Father Navarro's help, get past any guards."
"Why would Father Navarro help us?"
"Because he didn't want me here in the first place, but because of the sanctuary thing, he can't turn me over to the policia. Hell, I don't even think he told them I'm here but he would sure like for me to be gone. Once they sorta roughed-up the cook to see if she knew anything about me but she doesn't; she's never seen me or if she has noticed me, she just thinks I'm another priest. I always wear the hood up when I'm around anyone but the Father and his two fellow priests. If I'm here much longer, well, I just might get religion and then turn myself in while reciting the ten commandments!" Clay smiled and Joe chuckled.
"What about Adam?" Joe asked. He wasn't convinced yet my Clay's argument.
"Well, after we leave, Father Navarro can tell them to come in and look for me, but we'll be gone. Then they'll release Adam and he'll be home maybe even before we are, especially if we stop at one of those cantinas in Texas and spend time with a little senorita or two. And I'll keep both the mescal and the pulque out of your reach!"
Joe smiled, but he also added, "Clay, you're a married man. Shouldn't you want to get to Isabella and Josefina as soon as possible?"
Clay looked a little sheepish. "Well, to be honest, Isabella and I aren't really married. I mean we're as good as married in that we've been together for almost two years, but she's not actually, legally me wife. But I do want to see them, I mean Josefina is my daughter," and then he added, laughing, "at least as far as I know." And Clay slapped Joe on the arm as he enjoyed the joke. Joe smiled back but he felt uncomfortable with Clay's cavalier attitude toward his "wife" and daughter. He didn't know what to think of Clay anymore.
"Now," Clay said, "I'll go talk to Father Navarro about helping us. The policia would never expect us to go and leave Adam behind. We'll catch them off guard." Clay winked at Joe and left the room.
Joe lay back down on the cot, his hands cradling his head with interlaced fingers. He thought about Clay's escape plan. It might work-might very well work, but the thought of just taking off, of leaving Adam behind, felt wrong in his gut. True, he thought, Adam was overbearing, controlling, patronizing, and a secretive man who was often sarcastic and droll, but Joe knew that Adam loved him. All Joe's life, Adam had stepped in between him and trouble. Joe remembered when he was wolf-bit and accidentally shot by Adam, and Adam had blamed himself so deeply that he almost left the Ponderosa to go east-to escape. But he stayed. So Joe felt the struggle internally. He wasn't as analytical as Adam; Joe relied on his gut, not his head, to tell him what was right. And his gut was screaming at him.
That night, about an hour after dark Clay and Joe quietly snuck out the back of the mission gates. One of the other priests had tied their two horse about a half mile away and they quickly found them.
"Hey, Cooch old, boy. Missed me?" The pinto nickered lightly.
"Don't make love to the horse, Joe," Clay said, swinging up into the saddle. "Save that for Rosita."
Joe smiled and mounted Cochise and he and Clay trotted away. Then, when they were a further distance, they broke their horses to run. Suddenly, after going about another mile, Joe pulled up to a stop. Clay, realizing that Joe had stopped, turned his horse to meet back with Joe.
"What's wrong?' Clay asked.
"I just can't leave Adam behind. I have to go back."
"You can't go back. Hell, we've gotten clean away now. To go back would just be stupid, tempting fate."
"He'd come back for me. I know he would."
"You don't know anything of the sort. You tryin' to tell me that Adam would risk getting his ass shot just to pull you out of some Mexican jail where more than likely, you'd be released in a day or two? That doesn't make sense to me, brother, it makes no sense."
"Yeah, I guess it doesn't," Joe said. "But I'm doing it anyway." And Joe turned to head back to Nombre de Dios.
"Joe," Clay called after him, "don't be stupid. Adam will be fine."
Joe started Cochise at a canter, and then he heard Clay shout, "Damn it all to hell," and the sounds of his following after him.
"I swear, Joe," Clay said after he caught up with him, "had I known that this brother business was so hard, I would've asked to been born your sister." They looked at one another and smiled; Clay just shook his head.
Clay stayed on the outskirts of town while Joe found the jail. He realized he had no plan, no story to tell the sheriff. He thought quickly. Then decided he'd tell the truth, or most of it at least-he and Adam had hoped to eat a meal, Joe was now better and he would ask if they could leave. A bad plan, but better than none. But when Joe walked into the jail, whose door was wide open to let in the cool night air, all there was, was a sleeping deputado, his chair leaning against the wall, his feet propped on the desk and his hat over his eyes. Joe couldn't believe his luck; there on the desk were the keys.
When Adam saw Joe, he said nothing, just rolled over on his cot and pushed himself up to stand, and put on his hat. Joe unlocked the cell as quietly as he could, praying the hinges had been newly-oiled, and after retrieving his gun belt from where it was hung on the wall, Adam and Joe walked out the back door of the jail where Clay was waiting in the darkness a distance away.
"That was too easy, Joe," Adam said. "Did you find Clay?"
"Yeah, I found him. The sheriff is probably at the mission; Father Navarro said he would invite the sheriff to come inside to look for Clay after we'd left," Joe said. He noticed that Adam was slower than usual and that he had a bruise on his cheek. "What happened?'
"Well," Adam said smiling," let's just say that they tried to be powerfully convincing in trying to get information from me about Clay's whereabouts. I think I have some cracked ribs, so I can't take too many deep breaths. I'm afraid I'm not in the best traveling condition."
"What did you tell them about Clay?' Joe asked. He looked suspiciously at Adam. Would he have given away Clay to the Mexican sheriff?
"Not much. I told them that we were heading for Guadalajara to buy a string of ponies for the Ponderosa and that we had heard about the killing, read the wanted posters on our trip through Chihuahua, and that we had picked up some of the gossip. That's about all I could really tell them because I didn't know if Clay was really at the mission or not. I guess he was."
"Yeah," Joe said. "he was and he's waiting for us with the horses. There he is-there." Joe pointed to a stand of trees where the shadowy image of a man and three horses stood like dark ghosts
"Joe," Adam said as he paused for a moment, "the man he shot was a nineteen year old boy. I just wanted you to know that."
Joe turned on Adam, "Why? So I'd think bad of him?'
"No. So that you would know him." Joe glowered at Adam and moved on as he heard Clay call for them to hurry.
"Hey, where's Sport?" Adam asked seeing that his horse wasn't there.
"I just grabbed any horse. Now let's go," Clay said, anxious to leave. He believed they should never have come back for Adam. The police, after a few weeks maybe, would have let Adam go. And if not, well, no one asked Adam to come and risk his life.
"I need to find my horse. I can rely on him."
"I swear, you Cartwrights and your horses. You two are plumb loco-a horse is just horse. One's a good as another."
Joe and Adam exchanged glances; they knew that wasn't true. Adam and Joe found Sport at the ramshackle livery and after offering the man there a silver coin, the man gladly let Adam saddle his horse and take him out, and the three of them, Adam, Joe and Clay rode off but as they were almost free of Nombre de Dios, they heard "Alto!"
"Keep going," Clay shouted and spurred his horse. He knew what had happened; when he hadn't been in the mission and Joe wasn't there either, the sheriff and the deputy from Chihuahua went to the jail and seeing Adam gone, figured out what had happened. If only Joe hadn't insisted they go back for Adam and if only Adam hadn't had to have his own horse, he could be safely gone-they could all be safely gone. Family, Clay thought, what a burdensome thing; a man's life was easier without family.
They rode as shots rang out behind them and then, Joe noticed Adam lean over his saddle and grip his horse's neck, dropping the reins.
"Adam, what's…" Joe slowed up a bit.
"Just keep going!" Adam said in a strangled voice.
Joe could see that Adam was in some pain other than his ribs, and even in the dark of the night, he could see blood running down Adam's arm and staining Sport's coat. But they rode and Adam's horse followed Joe's lead, followed the other horses.
Finally, a few miles out of the village, Sport, realizing something was amiss, slowed down and Adam rolled off his saddle and fell on his back in the dust, giving a painful groan at the impact. Joe stopped and shouted to Clay who pulled up and turned.
"Clay, Adam's been shot. We need to stop." Joe dismounted.
"Joe, they'll be after us at first light. We have to put as much distance between us and them as we can. We don't have time to stop." Clay's horse was prancing in place reflecting Clay's eagerness to move on.
"Adam can't ride and he's losing blood. We have to stay here awhile." Joe, leaning over Adam, could see that Adam had been shot through the back of the upper arm; the bullet was either in the bone or clean through. He would have to have a closer look, but either way, he was still bleeding. Joe pulled out his bandana from his back pocket and wrapped it around Adam's arm, hoping to staunch the blood flow. He pressed on it to stem the blood and Adam winced in pain.
"You and Clay go on," Adam said, gritting his teeth. "It's just a flesh wound," Adam gave a weak laugh, attempting to make a joke.
"You don't really think I'm going to leave you, do you?" Joe said to Adam.
"I'm kinda hoping you don't."
In the moonlight, Joe could see the sweat glistening on Adam's face and his shirt was soaked with it. The unevenness of his breathing let him know that Adam was in great deal of pain.
"We'll stop here for the night. They won't come looking for us 'til morning and I would guess that we're a far piece from them by now." Joe looked up at the sky. "And there's a little wind kicking up. Hopefully, it'll blow away our tracks."
"Joe, " Clay said, "just tie Adam on his horse and let's go. Those federales'll kill me if we're even within rifle shot. It's probably only the darkness that saved me the first time."
"Well, it may have saved you but it sure as hell didn't save him." Joe was angry with Clay. He didn't understand how Clay could think he would leave Adam, his brother, behind. Adam would never desert him, Joe knew, never.
"Fine. You and Adam stay but I'm going on. I can almost feel that blindfold over my eyes when the firing squad lines up to shoot me. I have a wife and child and I've got to get to them alive if I can." Clay looked down at them. "See ya, Joe. Bye Adam. Good luck and thanks for everything." And Clay rode into the darkness. Joe listened until the sounds of his horse's hooves died out.
"We'll stay here for the night," Joe told Adam, helping him to his feet. "I'll start a fire and I guess we'll have to eat some of those beans if they're any left. You mind?"
"Whatever you cook, little brother, is fine with me. I think there's some of that sourdough left in my saddle bags but it's probably as hard as an adobe brick by now." Adam watched while Joe unrolled Adam's bedroll and spread it out for him.
"Good," Joe said smiling, "I'll have to check that arm to see if the bullet's in the bone." Joe helped Adam to sit down on the bedroll since he had only one useful arm.
"Oh, great!" Adam said. "And where's that mescal when we need it?"
Joe smiled as Adam lay down and closed his eyes. Well, Joe thought, at least we know we can depend on each other when we need it. And even though Joe felt a deep sadness at Clay's desertion, he knew it paled next to the pain of desertion that Adam would have felt had Joe ridden off with Clay and left him behind.
And although Joe hadn't said it in years, not since he was a small child saying goodbye to Adam as he left for school, he decided to say it now. "Love you, brother." But the words barely came out a whisper. But it didn't matter; Adam knew.
~Finis~