It's Just A Year
The Worst of Consequences – A Lesson in Choices
Hoss flipped the pitchfork in his calloused hands and slid the pole end down inside his long-john shirt to scratch his back. "I don't know about you, Adam, but I've had it with this hay! There ain't an inch of me that ain't itching, and I can truthfully say this is one day I'd rather be with Miss Jones than workin' at home."
His older brother gave a snort of agreement as he rubbed his own back against the rough wood of the wagon seat while moving the team ahead to the last pile of dried grass. "But we're done now and we can head home for wash-up and a change of clothes. That sounds pretty good, doesn't it?"
Hoss' agreement was swallowed by a shrill scream, followed by a splashing sound coming from the edge of the field. The two brothers uttered the same name: "Joe."
After the two youngest Cartwrights had unwittingly poisoned their brother with a dose of castor oil, they'd held their breath in hope that he would recover fully. For a couple of weeks the eldest only had to clear his throat during their willful behavior to remind them of their vows to behave better and cooperate. But that time of grace had worn out as there'd been no relapse and things got back to normal.
Summer for Adam had continued with hard work, trips out to the camp, and refereeing his younger brothers. But the shorter days of early fall reminded Adam that he had a little more than a half a year until he'd be leaving for Boston with Professor Metz. Each passing month brought growing excitement, yet amplified his anxiety as he realized how little time he'd been able to study. He kept a check on his fear by reasoning that he'd have time for intensive review during the winter and be ready to go come spring. However the days were still warm, and there was much to get done before he could turn his thoughts to studying.
His father had been correct about a number of things he'd postulated when they'd talked after Adam had agreed to stay on an extra year. The Ponderosa was attracting men that were hiring on, and that had lessened Adam's need to offer relief at camp. The extra time allowed him to learn more about the business side of the ranch—figuring out where to move the herd to keep grass at peak production, helping to select the stock to be sold, and keeping the household going while Ben was away for longer stretches. He still rode out with the men when they moved cattle from one area to the next, but that too had become a more pleasant task since the crew was no longer hazing him. They'd found new opportunities with the fresh hires, but as he'd promised his father, he'd put more effort into joining the men instead of going off by himself to read in the evening. They'd taken him as one of their own as they'd gotten to know him better. Now he joined in their discussions and sang along with them. The men enjoyed his voice and liked how he could add extra stanzas for the old ballads they sang that incorporated their names and feats of bravery or trickery. Adam had to admit that he'd grown to appreciate campfire times.
Their foreman, Hugh, had also begun to accept his opinions and trust his judgments, even though he still called him "Young Cartwright." This was the name he went by in camp and the some of the newer hires mistakenly thought his first name was actually, "Young."
Adam had been upset when he'd had to remain home for a year longer than planned, and he'd faced some uphill battles. But the Ponderosa had come a long way in six months, and he had come a long way with it—just as his father had predicted.
There were two major tasks to finish before the days got short and cool. The herd had to be moved into the high country for grazing to get them fattened up for the winter, and there was hay to be cut and stored.
Moving the herd was still several days off, but Adam had had started on the hay the previous weekend when he and Hoss had scythed. He'd returned to that field during the week to flip the cuttings allowing the grass to dry evenly. Putting up wet hay was one of his father's biggest fears and he'd already been warned. "Make sure that grass is dry enough, son. We don't want it molding or starting a fire." Adam was "sure" because he'd tested several areas of the large field before proceeding.
Hoss had been excited to help…at first…before the day became long and itchy, because it meant he didn't have to attend classes. There wasn't a school in town yet, but a young woman and her mother had moved to the area and taught a number of children privately. It was normal for her class to be short a few or even all of her students in the spring and fall when they were needed to help with seasonal chores. She didn't like that they weren't in class, but she provided work to do at home, and Adam would go over Hoss and Joe's assignments when they were unable to make it.
The day of haying had begun with these lessons while the sun and breeze had dried what little dew had settled during the night, and it had stretched on as they'd moved several loads of hay to the barn. They were getting the last of it now, and would soon be heading home. The one part of the operation that had been a continuous annoyance was Little Joe. Since Hoss didn't go to school, Joe couldn't go on his own. He usually stayed home with Pa or Hop Sing on days like this, but their pa was out in the pines with timber buyers, and the cook was at camp, so Joe was with his brothers. Adam and Hoss had remained vigilant in checking the hay pile they were about to stab, since their youngest sibling like to hide in them. It was funny at first; then annoying, and finally irksome, with the older boys' tempers shortening in proportion to the amount of daylight left to finish the job.
Against his better judgment, Adam had sent Little Joe out of the field to play near a stream, figuring they'd finish more quickly without him in proximity to the forks and wagon wheels. The stream was shallow and filled with frogs, so he expected that Joe would stay busy and safe until they were done. Work progressed quickly and safely…until Adam and Hoss heard the shrieks and ran to see what was causing the to-do.
They found the child struggling to stand in the only deep well of the stream, coughing out the water he'd swallowed, and holding onto the biggest bullfrog they'd ever seen. When clothed with a full set of long-johns, thick-fabric pants and an oversized hand-me-down flannel shirt, the boy looked substantial, but standing there, wet to the skin, it was obvious how scrawny he actually was. He was certainly healthy, and his diminutive frame didn't indicate a deficiency in the size of his personality, but Adam chilled with fear as he realized the sun's position indicated that the day would be ending quickly and his brother was soaked and shivering. Since they figured to be done before sunset, they hadn't brought anything but necessities, which meant no blanket or even jackets, and his mind began to race as he thought about how to get his brother dried off and warm. He yelled for Hoss to bring the wagon over while he lifted Little Joe onto dry land and began to strip the wet clothing.
"What'd you go and do that for?" Adam admonished as he grappled with the buttonholes that had become tight when the fabric had shrunk with wetness.
"It was the biggest frog I ever seen, Adam. I grabbed at him and got him, but that rock was wet and I just sorta slipped in."
"Just sort'a slipped in, huh? What if that hole had been deeper? What if you'd hit your head when you fell in or what if we hadn't heard you yelping? Things would have ended a whole lot differently then. Why can't you think a little harder about the things you do before doing them?"
The child did not back down. "I just wanted to catch that frog, and I did. How was I to know what all might happen."
Hoss returned, bringing along the only thing from the wagon of value to the situation—the tablecloth Hop Sing had included in their food basket. Adam grabbed it and dried the child off, rubbing his skin to restore some warmth and circulation. But then Joe was left with nothing but a wet cloth wrapped around his bony shoulders and he started shivering again. Adam looked to Hoss, who understood what to do with nary a word being spoken. Each older boy unbuttoned their outer shirt and laid it around the child, encapsulating him from neck to toes in a double layer of flannel.
Hoss expressed his fears, "Now how do we get him home without him freezing, Adam? It's getting cooler out here by the minute with the sun goin' down. We're a good distance from the house and it's gonna' take longer totin' that load on the wagon."
"We get him buried under some of this hay, is how." Adam began to clear a hollow in the mound of grass, just behind the wagon's seat. "It's warm from the sun and will act like a kind of like a grass blanket." He tried to keep his voice calm so his middle brother wouldn't worry and Joe wouldn't start carrying on. It was working…so far.
After a snug den was opened up, Hoss lifted Joe up to Adam, who grabbed him and tucked him beneath the grass. To his relief, the idea seemed to work as well as he had hoped it might and Joe settled in for the ride home. Adam also hoped that the warmth and wagon movement would lull his brother to sleep, but he should have known better. The boy ran full-out all day until he collapsed at bedtime. Joe had stopped napping when he was just a year old and was filled with so much energy he could sap a person's strength just watching him as he flew from one activity to the next.
After listening to a constant barrage of thoughts from the youngster, and the oft asked question of, "Are we almost home, Adam?" he snapped at the boy, telling him to "hush," and much to his relief, Hoss took up the conversation, leaving his older brother to drive the team and drift into thoughts of some things he'd faced recently.
Although his camp visits had become far more pleasant, his last two trips out there had left him puzzled and wary. Hugh had hired on a drifter from Texas who'd shown up looking for work. Adam remembered seeing him when he'd gone out there a month or so back, and figured him to be in his early thirties. He went by the name, Randall, though whether that was a first name or last no one knew.
What Adam noted immediately was that Randall's eyes were always moving: darting from man to man until he seemed to have accounted for all of them, and then he'd repeat the process. He'd watch furtively if anyone left the group and Adam was certain the man always moved to make sure his back was never to anyone. It hadn't meant much to Young Cartwright since most of the hired men were loners, and when they tired of their job or locale, they drifted on again. He reasoned that if Hugh vouched for the new man, he was a suitable addition.
But he'd soon been forced to wonder what kind of man this really was. Adam had been watching the right flank of the herd when the new man had ridden in close enough to speak.
"So you're Papa's little boy," he'd opened snidely.
"If you're saying I'm Ben Cartwright's son, then yes, I am." He'd tried to keep an even tone to his answer, hoping the man was simply teasing.
"I thought you'd be bigger somehow. The men in camp talk about you like you're somethin' special, but you ain't; not that I can see anyways. You're just a scrawny kid with a big head."
Adam had nudged his horse ahead without comment figuring it best to ignore the man, but Randall had followed while keeping up the taunting.
"They say you's smart too, but I can't see that neither. You don't look smarter than anyone else out here. What you got to say to that, Cartwright?"
"I'd say that perhaps you should get to know me before making any further judgments."
"Ha!" he'd howled eerily. "Ain't that just the prettiest way of telling me I should mind my own business? You must think you're some real la-di-da. With that rich pa, you figure you can tell the rest of us what to do.
Adam had never met anyone as cantankerous or eager for a fight as Randall seemed to be, and he'd wanted to get out of the situation before it went any further. "Well, if that's how you feel, there's not much I can say to convince you otherwise. Why don't you fall back to your position and I'll take care of mine."
Randall gave an ugly laugh. "Well there, you just proved my point. I barely met you and you're already telling me what to do. But I guess I should have expected that from the owner's son who lords it over everyone that he's going to some uppity school out East. Too smart for the rest of us yokels, right boy?"
He hadn't meant to let himself be baited, but he had, and Adam had swung around in his saddle to look directly into the accuser's eyes. "You don't know me, and you're making some big assumptions from a few odd comments you heard in camp. Yes, I'm the owner's son and I'm planning to go to school. I don't expect that anyone else want the same thing nor do I care what you think of me. Do your job; I'll do mine, and we'll get along fine."
"Oh my, did I offend you?" His voice had taken on a barb that would have cut to the bone. "I'll stay away from you, mister high-and-mighty. But don't think I'm through with you. I know your kind. You think you're so much better than me, but I'll wipe that smug look right off your face one day; you can count on that."
Adam had spurred his horse to a trot, while Randall called after him, "Why don't you wear a gun, boy? Better get one. You're gonna need it before I'm done with you."
The whole conversation had lasted only a minute or two, yet it had shaken Adam to the core. He couldn't understand what he'd done to move the man to such ugliness and he was more than glad to head home the next day. He'd finally decided he'd just keep his distance and maybe time would even out Randall's opinions.
Adam's attention was drawn back to his brothers who were playing a game where one would describe something they saw and the other had to guess what it was. Joe's current description was obviously the setting sun, but instead of saying he saw a big orange circle in the sky, he was well into his third paragraph of information and Hoss was sitting there with a look of brotherly patience…and cluelessness. The trip that normally took 20 minutes was stretching on much longer as Adam tried to keep the hay from juggling off center or sliding off the back. They were nearing the house now, but there was still enough time for him to recall his second meeting with Randall last week.
He'd gone out to discuss the next move with Hugh and was relieved to see that most of the men were out riding watch. After agreeing on what needed to be done, he'd broached the subject of Randall with the foreman.
"So what do you think of the new man?"
Hugh shrugged. "Good wrangler, but he gives me the same feeling you get when you've found the perfect bush to hide behind to answer nature's call and you pull your pants down around your ankles, only to hear a diamond back shakin' its tail just a few feet in front of you. You know how it is: you go about your business real careful-like, without upsetting the snake any more than it already is, and finally back away—never taking your eyes off it."
Adam laughed heartily while clapping his foreman on the back. "I couldn't have said that any better, Hugh! You have a way of putting things into perfect perspective."
Hugh's eyebrows knit in concern. "He giving you trouble?"
"Not really. I've only met him the one time, but that was enough to make me wary—like you described. I felt like I was caught with my pants down and some very sharp, poisonous fangs were nearby just itching to strike. It's nothing serious, just that he seems to be spoiling for a fight and I have no idea why."
"That's exactly what he's like. He doesn't talk much except to express his displeasure. Wasn't like that right off, but he seems to be growing mean as he's around longer. I'm gonna cut him loose, but I got John home with his sick wife, and Frank laid up with a bum ankle after losing a fight to a pile of loose rocks. Soon as one of them is back, I'll send Randall packing. We don't need a herald of gloom out here, that's for sure."
They'd talked a little more as Hugh had agreed with taking the herd up farther to fatten them for winter, and then bringing back to a canyon nearer the ranch before bad weather hit the high country. Adam had promised he'd return for the move and had mounted up for home.
Hugh had reached for the bridle on Adam's horse, locking on the young man with a look that had expressed his concern. "Be careful with Randall, Adam. Of all the things strange about that man, what bothers me the most is his absolute hate for you Cartwrights. Your pa was out here shortly after he hired on, and I recall some of the other hands asked about you. I don't suppose you know it, but you Cartwrights wear each other on your sleeves. Your pa fairly beams when he talks about you and your brothers, and that day he mentioned something you was doing back home. Well, I'm not sure that we didn't add to that as we talked about your family that night, because after that Randall just started mouthin' off about you all being snooty and uppity and how he'd take you down to size. Didn't make any sense, but with folks like him, I guess it doesn't have to."
"That's pretty much what he said to me, Hugh. But I figure he's entitled to his opinion as long as he leaves me alone."
"I'll get him outta here soon, but be careful until then. Tell your pa to be careful around him too."
Hugh had let the horse go, swatting its backside as he went by and tipped his hat to Adam. "See you in a couple-a-weeks."
Barely out of sight of the camp, Adam had heard hoof beats and turned to see a horse approaching. It had been too late to pretend he hadn't seen him, so he'd slowed to see what Randall had wanted.
"Hey, boy, I think we might'a gotten off on the wrong foot last time we talked."
While the man's words had spoken to an apology, the look on his face had been anything but meek. Adam had noted his small, beady eyes and wide, snaky grin and his mind went back to Hugh's earlier description. In an attempt to get the conversation over with and move on, he'd simply offered, "No problem."
Randall's horse had seemed to sidle closer to Adam as the man had fixed his eyes on him as though ready to strike. "I didn't say there was a problem, sonny, just that maybe I wasn't clear last time we talked."
Adam had tried to ride away while offering the excuse that he had to get home, but Randall had reached out, catching one of the horse's reins, yanking it hard; the poor animal's head jerking solidly to the left as it had given out a cry. "Stop that!" Adam had pulled at the rein but couldn't tear it from the wild-eyed man's hand.
"What's the matter, sonny? Am I keeping you from getting back to your cozy little house?" Randall had sighed as the maniacal look on his faced had faded. "Look, boy. I just wanted to tell you something."
"I'm not interested in anything you have to say." Adam had learned from his father how to exhibit a spine of steel even as his knees had knocked against his saddle.
"You'll be interested in this. You said last time that goin' on to school was something you wanted to do. I can understand that and thought about it a lot since you been gone."
It was odd what passed through a person's mind as they faced terror. All Adam could think of at the time was that he thought Hugh had said the man had come from Texas, yet there was no Texan twang in the way he spoke. He would have placed the man as being from Ohio or somewhere in the central states rather than from the south. He had to concentrate again to hear what Randall was saying.
"There's something I want to do too. You wanna know what?"
"Not really, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."
The demon had returned for an instant as Randall had raised his hand as if to slap him. "You mouthy young bastard!" he'd cried out, but then his face and posture had relaxed to that snake-like grin again. "I want to do one thing before I leave this area. I want to kill myself a Cartwright."
Adam had drawn his breath sharply; shocked that anyone would actually say something so vile. "Why?"
A dry, crackled laugh had accompanied the explanation. "I told you, boy; it's a goal, just like you wantin' to go away from here. You have loftier ideas, but I think mine is just right for me."
"What have I possibly done to make you want to kill me?"
"It's what you are, not what you done, see? You think you're better'n me 'cause you got more: more money, more brains, more respect. You and your pa ride into camp and everyone pays you mind. It's just more'n I can stand to watch; makes my stomach turn and gets a burnin' going in me I just got to quench somehow. Seeing one less of you Cartwrights would ease that pain a bit and make us a little more equal; all men are equal when they're dead, you know." Randall had snorted in pleased sort of way, " Doesn't even matter which one of you Cartwrights I get, so I'll let you decide that, sonny. Next time I see you, you be wearing a gun or I'll go after your pa. It'll be fair. I'll give him a chance, but he's old: gotta be nearing 40 already and that makes a man slow down. He'll be thinking about you and those other whelps of his and he'll get outdrawn and outshot. Might work out best that way though. Then he'd be gone, and you'd have to raise them youngens instead a going away from here, so I guess I'd take down two Cartwright with one bullet."
Adam had heard him cackling even after he'd grabbed the rein sharply enough to free it, and rode away. He could hear that strange laughter even now as he drove the wagon toward home with his brothers. There was one other thought that came to mind as he remembered that day. Hugh had warned him to be careful, and had called him, "Adam." The corner of his mouth turned up wryly as he thought about it, figuring Hugh must be concerned since it was the only time he had ever called him by his actual name. Fact was Adam wasn't even sure the man knew what it was until he heard him say it.
Hoss broke into his thoughts. "Hey, Adam, I done entertained Joe as much as I can, so how about you pitch in a little."
"What do you expect me to do?"
Hoss was not deterred. "Well, maybe you could sing that song Joe likes so much. You know, that one about the woman who lets her true love die with no mind, but then gets to feel sadly about it?"
"Ah, you mean Barbara Allen. Sorry I snapped at you just now." Adam knew both his brothers liked the song with its verses unfolding the unhappy story with the sweet ending. He'd always stop at a point where Miss Allen was still feeling pretty sure of herself for spurning Sweet William and make them beg to hear the ending. There were several versions of the song, but Adam chose the one he'd get through the fastest. His rich baritone carried on the wind as he began:
"In Scarlet town where I was born
There was a fair maid dwelling
And every youth cried well away
For her name was Barbara Allen…"
The timber negotiations hadn't gone well and Ben regretted the days away from home with no outcome. He'd led the two mill men around his timber stands for two days while they'd surveyed and calculated, only to offer him a pittance. He'd realized in frustration that they figured him some chawbacon—a hayseed they could impress by disguising a miserable offer inside some fancy words and promises. But they'd figured way wrong. Ben actually enjoyed a good negotiation and relished the give and take until a suitable price could be reached, but he had no tolerance for people who couldn't correctly size up who they were dealing with. He'd escorted them from his land with a restrained threat regarding them ever returning.
Ben had been negotiating most of his adult life and while the product was different now, he always kept up on the going prices of what he was trading and never accepted the first offer. He'd gotten the Ponderosa on its feet through his fur business and always asked the highest prices for his pelts. This land produced the best and he wasn't about to accept anything but the best for it. His success in fur trading had allowed him to purchase more grazing land to begin raising stock, and when acres of pinion and ponderosa pine became available, he'd grabbed those hillsides up as well. His investment in breeding stock was doing well, so the timber could just keep on growing until the right offer came along. The territory was just beginning to settle and the need for timber would only increase with time.
He'd headed to town before returning home hoping some of the farm implements he'd ordered at Cass's store had arrived. They hadn't, but Will said he had something else for him.
"A large crate arrived for Adam all the way from Boston." Will had wondered at the contents while commenting on how lovely it would be back East with fall coming on.
"It's probably those books the boy's been waiting for. I'll send him in tomorrow with a wagon."
Will Cass had been the first settler to come to Virginia City with enough gumption and money to start up a general store. He and Ben had hit it off from the beginning and Will was always agreeable to let the Ponderosa ride a little on their bills when money got tight. He'd told Ben that he knew his spread would be the biggest in the territory someday and wasn't about demand a few dollars now when there'd be plenty later. Money still got tight now and then, but Ben had become Will's best customer and his biggest supporter. "Why not just take my wagon and someone can bring it back tomorrow," he'd suggested. "I don't have your tools yet, but I do have the order Hop Sing wanted, so you could get those supplies home along with the crate."
Ben agreed that it made sense and headed out, arriving home to an empty house. His initial disappointment was replaced with boyish excitement at having the place to himself for a few hours. He'd noted the traces of hay in the yard as he'd pulled in and figured the boys must be out in the field yet. With no one…or thing needing immediate attention, he found something to eat and then sat in his chair, stretched his legs out onto the table in front of the hearth and nestled in for a quick nap before anyone came back and made that impossible.
As he got comfortable, he looked around his house. The structure was only about six years old, but it was already too small. When he'd gone to New Orleans with his final lot of pelts to sell before turning to ranching full time, he and his two sons had lived in a building that was little more than a lean-to with a door and window. It was small, but met their needs since they'd spent much of their time camping out while running trap lines and only needed a real shelter in the colder months. But he'd had a larger house built while he'd gone to New Orleans, and he was certainly glad he'd done it, considering he'd come back with a beautiful young wife. Other outbuildings had followed, making the Ponderosa into a real homestead. They'd brought a few of Marie's furnishings along with them, but many had been too nice to use in a house with youngsters who seldom saw the value of removing their boots or washing up. They'd used her furniture in their bedroom and one of her blue velvet, high backed chairs in the sitting area, but the lovely red settee and leather chairs remained crated and covered in the barn.
If he'd had to put a name to the "style" of his home, he'd call it utilitarian. Along with Marie's blue chair, they had one other comfortable piece that had been Elizabeth's and had come all the way with them from Boston. There was little more except a bench and several tables that he'd made from their own pine. The house was built around a massive stone hearth at the center and had one large room on the lower floor with a small inset to separate the kitchen area. A narrow stairway lead up to three rooms on the second floor, a decision he'd made to take advantage of the chimney's heat rather than putting everything on one level like most houses in the area. His room was the largest, if you could actually call it large, and the other two were cramped with only enough room for a bed and a few shelves for storage. He knew the house seemed smaller by the day as the boys continued to grow, and was much too small over the winter months when they were forced to spend long hours indoors. He'd have to think about enlarging it soon, but for now, he was just satisfied that he'd found his focus again after Marie's death, and was making progress with the ranch.
He hadn't intended on letting his mind drift to Marie, but it had. For his own good, he knew he couldn't linger there and he'd drifted off. He wasn't sure how long he'd actually been snoozing when he heard something that jarred him awake. The afternoon shadows were lengthening and he surmised that what he'd heard was the voices of his sons carrying on the wind as they returned home.
Ben knew it might not be fair to eavesdrop, but it was a parental privilege he claimed from time to time. He'd never listen at a closed door or when a conversation was clearly meant to be private, but taking note of their brotherly banter was always insightful, if not downright amusing at times. He'd pulled the wagon to the far side of the house and knew the boys wouldn't see it there until they were well into the yard, so he had a few minutes before he'd have to show himself. Moving to the door, he cracked it open just enough to hear better and smiled as he heard Adam singing…
***
"They buried her in the old churchyard
They buried him in the choir
And from his grave grew a red red rose
From her grave a green briar
They grew and grew to the steeple top
Till they could grow no higher
And there they twined in a true love's knot
Red rose around green briar"*
"Do ya really think that two plants could grow like that, Adam?" The question came from the child in the hay.
"I suppose anything is possible, Joe. It was true love after all." As Adam pulled the wagon into the yard, he took charge again. "Joe, go in the house and get some clothes on, then come out and help feed the horses while Hoss and I stack this hay."
The middle brother had a comment as well. "Yeah, short stuff, you gotta get dressed 'cause we don't want you catching your death. But don't think you can get out of helpin' us a little neither."
"Short stuff" came flying out of his nest in the hay until he was nose-to-nose with Hoss, while hanging over the wagon seat. "Don't call me short. I'm Little Joe, but that just means I'm young; Pa told me so. But I'm not short…or at least I won't be for long. I'll be big just like you someday."
"Didn't mean no harm, Joe, but I think you might be wrong about a few things. I'm big because Pa and my ma were tall. Pa says that Ma was six feet tall in her stockin' feet and could even beat him in a wrestlin' match. Ain't that right, Adam?
"Inger was tall, Hoss, but Pa was teasing you a little when he said those things. Your mother was slim and pretty, and very much a lady."
"I know that. I'm just thinkin' that with Joe's ma being so petite, he won't get so big as he's thinkin' he will."
Little Joe's fists pummeled his middle brother's back as he cried, "Don't you say nothin' mean about my ma! She was good and kind and beautiful." His tears streaked his dirty face as he sat back in the hay.
Adam brought the team to a stop as Hoss looked at him and shrugged. Adam reached back and tousled Little Joe's hair. "I think you misunderstood, Joe. When Hoss said that your mother was petite, he wasn't saying anything bad about her. Petite means that she was dainty and was smaller than his mother. That's all. Your mother was beautiful, just as you said, and we all think she was a wonderful lady, so dry your tears and do as we asked, all right?"
All three boys went silent. The simple conversation over how tall their mothers had been had reopened the wounds of loss just enough to let the pain in. Adam had known Inger and Marie but never his own mother, and he often thought that was the hardest part of all. He could appreciate what they had lost, but at least they had some memories. Hoss had been a baby when Inger had died, but Adam had always been willing to tell him about her, knowing it was important to keep her alive in the boy's heart. He repeated the stories of how happy Inger had been when he was born, or how she cooed and sang while she kissed him and held him tight as the wagon rocked on the journey. He'd recalled the same sort of memories for Little Joe in the weeks after Marie's death.
But when it came to his mother, there was little to be told. His father had explained that Elizabeth had looked lovingly at him lying next to her, but had soon passed on. Part of him wished his father would have embellished the story for him, but the other part knew that the loss and turn of events at his birth had been so difficult for the man that he was glad his father remembered as much as he did. Adam had lived on dreams of Elizabeth in the lonely times. It was there that she came and held him and told him of her pride and love. It was in his dreams that he got to know his mother and there that he could make her real.
***
Ben heard the conversation clearly and laughed at Hoss' description of Inger, but as the silence ensued, he knew exactly what his sons were thinking about and quickly exited to greet them.
"That's quite some load of hay you three have balanced on that wagon. You know, I was hoping you'd show up soon. I've been home for a couple of hours already and this house just seemed much too quiet."
Little Joe came flying over the side of the wagon into his father's arms. "I'm glad you're home, Pa!"
Ben held onto the youngster as he took in his odd apparel and then looked up to see the other two sitting there in their undershirts and started to laugh. "I'd ask why Joe's wearing both your shirts and has no shoes, but I think I'm better off not knowing."
"I caught a big frog, Pa, and then fell in."
"Fell in where? Where were you boys?"
Adam explained, "We were loading hay while Joe played by the stream at the edge of the field."
Ben was puzzled. "But that stream only runs a few inches deep this time of year. What could Little Joe possible fall into?"
"That's like asking how the wind blows, Pa. We really don't know what makes it happen, but it does, and Joe will find the only deep place in a shallow stream to fall into while chasin' a frog. That's just the truth of the matter." Hoss handed the child's wet clothing down to his father. "And right here's the proof."
Shifting Little Joe onto his hip, Ben grabbed the dripping bundle while giving instructions. "You two get started on that hay while I get the frog catcher put back into working order. Then I'll give you a hand." Heading toward the house, he turned back as he remembered the other wagon. "Adam, Will Cass's buckboard is next to the house. Your crate of books from Boston arrived, so why don't you and Hoss carry it inside before you start on the hay so I can get that team put up for the night after I finish with Joseph."
Adam nearly flew out of the wagon just as his little brother had moments before. "C'mon Hoss!"
"Hold yer horses, brother, I'm comin'." As Hoss dropped from the wagon, he muttered, "I ain't never seen no one so gosh durn excited about a box full of books, and I just betcha it's heavy too."
Ben was helping Little Joe find clothes when he heard a yelp outside the room. He found Adam holding his bloody arm. "What happened?"
"This house is too small, Pa! I raked my elbow on the wall when we turned into my room with the crate."
"Let's see the damage." Ben reached for the boy's arm, but Adam professed that he was fine and finished moving the books to his bed. The man knew the excitement his oldest son was feeling at that moment. He figured his arm could have been broken and he wouldn't have felt a thing. He watched with interest as Adam opened the lid with a crowbar he'd thought ahead to bring along. Ben smiled as his son picked up one of the largest tomes and reverently ran his finger across the embossed gold title.
"Ain't that somethin'." Even Hoss understood his brother's awe. "I ain't never seen a book as fancy as that! And there's so many in there, Adam. How you ever gonna study all that?"
It was the same question Adam was asking himself. "I'm not sure Hoss, but I'm sure gonna have fun finding out."
With supper finished, Hoss and Joe had gone to bed without complaint. The day of work and fresh air had worn them out to the point where sleep seemed like the best option. Adam had spread a few of his new books on the table downstairs and was eagerly paging through one of them when his father returned from making his rounds of the property as he did each night. He grabbed the newspaper he'd been reading earlier and brought it to the table to share the lamp's light.
"Pa, could we talk about a couple of things before we get too absorbed in what we're doing?"
Ben loved it when Adam took on the serious tone he had just used to indicate their need to talk. He'd always spoken that way, even when just a small boy and it indicated something he'd given a great deal of thought to. A one sided grin creased the father's cheek before he put his paper down. "What's on your mind, son?"
"Well, first off, I was serious before when I said this house is too small."
He had to concentrate to reply without smiling as he teased, "So your home isn't good enough for you anymore?"
"It's not that. I'll be going away soon and that'll ease the problem. Hoss will take over my room, but with that wingspan he's already got, I suspect he's going to be a really big guy. He and Joe are packed so tightly into that bedroom they share now that one of them has to leave just so the other can change his mind."
Ben laughed explosively. "I think you've been hanging out with Hugh too much, Adam. You're developing some very interesting ways of getting your point across."
Adam grinned, "That's probably true, but don't change the subject. In a couple of years you, Hoss and Joe will be fighting for enough air to breath in here over the winter."
"You never bring up a problem without having a solution in mind, so let's see what you've got up your sleeve."
The son's smile was broad as he produced a handful of paper from under one of the books. "I've been drawing out some ideas." Adam laid them out for his father to look over as he began explaining his thoughts. "We can leave the house where it is, using the fireplace as the center point, and building around it."
"That sounds interesting. Keep going."
Pointing to the first sketch he continued, "We'd leave some of the current walls up for structural supports and work them into the design, knocking out the ones we don't need when we get the new walls built. Our present kitchen area would become a bedroom for company and we'd add on a new kitchen. If we bump out the walls a good 12-15 feet all around, you'll get a place to do your paperwork along with a dining room, and a large living area with space for furniture." Adam grabbed another set of drawing. "There'd be a large, open staircase just off the living area going up to four or five bedrooms on the second level, depending on how large you want each room."
"I really like this, son. Would you build the new walls with logs?"
"Squared beams with mortar between them might work better. It would be nearly as thick as logs, providing good heat retention, and we could use trees of varying sizes that we shape to the same size. Here's what I think it would look like." He laid a few exterior sketches out for Ben to look over.
"For being as large as you're talking, it still has a natural look. I really like what you've done here. One question though: your drawing looks like there's open beams in the downstairs ceiling. How would that work?"
"Since we want bedrooms upstairs, we can only give the illusion by making a 12 foot rise down here and placing beams across the expanse to look like it's open." Adam looked up to wink at his father. "And with as high as that sounds, I'm just hoping Hoss won't be scraping his head someday…"
"Let me think on this a bit and we'll discuss it in a day or two, but it has real potential." Ben sifted through the sheets again, smiling broadly at the detail and thought his son had put into the effort. He picked up his newspaper but remembered, "Did you say you had two things you wanted to talk about?"
Adam wasn't sure how to start this conversation but he decided the direct method would be best. "I want to start carrying that spare Colt Patterson you've got, Pa."
Sitting up straighter, Ben eyed his son with concern. "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Because I said no. I think that should be enough. You already carry a rifle, so why would you need a side piece?"
"I've got good reasons, so please hear me out before making a final decision."
"I'm listening."
"I have a Kentucky long-rifle, but it takes so long to reload the thing if I miss, and since it's with my saddle, it's not always convenient to run back to grab it if something unexpected happens."
"So, don't miss." Ben smiled. "You're a good shot, Adam, and I don't think you've had a lot to shoot at, have you?"
"I generally hit what I aim at." His mind was searching for the right words to convince his father of his need and it finally came to him in brilliant clarity, "But it struck me today that when we heard Little Joe scream, Hoss and I just ran. I didn't grab the rifle from the wagon because all I could think of was seeing what was wrong. Luckily he'd just fallen in, but if there'd been a snake or animal menacing him instead, I wouldn't have had time to run back for the rifle. If I'd had the Colt with me, I'd have been ready no matter what I'd found." He let his youngest brother's peril hang in the air as fodder.
Ben rested his elbows on the table while scrubbing his face with roughened hands. His son had just made a compelling argument, but he wasn't ready to let him take that step into manhood…not yet. "You have a point, but you're not ready to carry a gun."
Anger crept into Adam's voice as he faced this new wrinkle. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"That's my point. If you don't see the other consequences of carrying a revolver capable of shooting off five rounds before reloading, then you aren't ready to have it."
"Pa! I'm responsible."
"You don't get it. It's not you I'm worried about. It's all the others who might think they need to challenge your responsibility. Once that gun's buckled 'round your waist, you have to be able to use it…no matter what, and I'm not ready to live with you having to make those choices: not yet. You can have the Colt or any other weapon you choose when you're through with school, but I don't want to worry about you wearing a gun until then."
Adam's glare softened as he realized it was of no use to challenge his father over something he was this set against, and he chose a different course of action. "All right, Pa. But could we get it out tomorrow so I can fire off a few rounds? I haven't shot it for a while and I'd like to know I'd be able to do it if I there'd ever be the need." He added a big smile to encourage his father's agreement.
"It really should be fired again, so sure; we'll get it out, clean it and make sure it still works. But that doesn't mean I'll change my mind."
"I'm sure it doesn't, Pa."
With chores finished the following day, Adam set an assortment of empty bottles and cans on pieces of firewood he'd stood on end.
Ben exited the barn to see the shooting gallery and remembered his promise from the night before. "You sure you want to do this now? It's been a long day."
They had to do this now; there was no doubt in Adam's mind. They were only days from riding out to the herd again, and Randall's taunt continued to play in his mind. He had to know if what the snake had said about his father being too slow to go up against him was true, and there was only one way to find out. "Seems like as good a time as any. We can pretend that some of these cans are our problems and blast away at them." He heard his father chuckle as he headed toward the house. Adam tried to keep the tightness from his voice as he offered, "Relax a little Pa, I'll run up for the gun. Just tell me where you keep it."
Ben had no reason to suspect that his son had any other motive than simply wanting to shoot. Having a pistol was every young man's rite of passage in the West. "It's folded in a blanket under my bed."
He was back outside in no time and grabbed the cleaning supplies and oil from the barn while his father pulled the Patterson from the folds of material. With the preparations finished, Adam began to load the front of each of the five chambers with a lead ball and black powder, and sealed the back of the chamber with a percussion cap. This procedure had become familiar enough that he did it with caution even while not giving it a great deal of thought. He was thinking of Randall as his father gave his customary gun handling speech while Adam nodded at the appropriate places and said Un-huh from time to time to make the man think he was listening.
"Remember that the Colt is single action requiring that you pull the hammer to drop the trigger into place for each of the five shots on the revolving cylinder. Once you pull the trigger, the hammer strikes the cap which ignites the powder sending out its payload." The man stopped as he realized his son's attention was elsewhere. "Adam! Are you listening to me?"
His cheeks blazed red as he knew he'd been caught. "Sure, Pa. The hammer strikes the percussion cap to discharge the projectile."
Ben's voice took on a serious—better pay attention to me, son—tone. "I know this is routine for you. I know you can handle this gun and you seem mighty anxious to get to the shooting part, but that makes me uneasy. This isn't about shooting; it's about understanding that there has to be a connection between your head and your hand that flows through your soul. With that connection a gun is a tool, just like any other that you'll use out here. Without that connection, a gun is a weapon and there's nothing on earth that can protect you from what will happen if you misuse it. When a trigger is pulled, that round will kill a snake or a man, and you'll have to live with whichever it is you're pointing at. That's why I won't let you have it now. Thankfully, you don't have that instinct yet."
"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention, Pa." Adam's apology was accepted as his smile was returned. "I promise that when I use this gun for real, I'll remember everything you just said."
"Well, I think you're loaded. Better get to shootin' those cans before they run off." Ben's mind was still not settled. "You sure there's nothing wrong, Adam?"
Adam's answer was drowned out as he pulled the trigger and the noise filled the air between them. He only hit two cans on the first pass, but by the fifth load he got five out of five. As he set them up for another round he brought another five pieces of wood and cans that he placed a short distance from the first set. He'd seen his father's eyebrows rise in question and he finally issued his challenge. "Hey, Pa, how about you and I draw at the same time and see who knocks off the most targets."
"Why don't you shoot first and I'll go after you finish?"
"I'd like to draw together."
"Want to see if you're faster than the old man, is that it?" Ben laughed, knowing full well that this day would come. So far he'd always managed to do things a little bit better than his sons, but he knew one day they'd outdraw and outwork him.
"I suppose that's true." Adam's hand began shaking as he saw his father take his stance in readiness. "You want to count it down, or should I?"
Ben looked over and grinned. "You ready?" The nod was barely noticeable as his son set himself: "Three…two…one…"
Adam's shot sent one of his cans flying before his father's gun cleared the holster. But even though Ben's draw was slower, he hit every target while Adam only got the first one to fall, and their last shots ended in a dead tie.
"You're definitely a faster draw than me, son, but speed is no substitute for accuracy. Make sure you point toward the object you're shooting at. That's about the best you can manage with a Patterson in a quick draw."
"Sometimes speed is the only thing that counts, Pa. One good shot is all you need."
"A gun is only as good as the heart of the man using it, son; never forget that. I'll make sure you're more accurate than fast before you start carrying a pistol." Ben tried to read his son's expression but was unable to discern what his eyes were hiding. His tone softened as he nudged his son's shoulder. "You've done some fine shooting and one day you'll be a far better shot than I am. Now it's time we clean this mess up. Hop Sing and your brothers will be back from town any minute and I don't want them getting any ideas about shooting too. Hoss will be pestering me soon enough."
The next days passed quickly and it was time to move the herd. Ben found his eldest eating breakfast when he came downstairs. Noting the bedroll and supplies on the bench near the door, he said, "Seems like you're about ready to go. It looks like it'll be a nice day, except that the wind's picking up." He sat and poured his coffee while Hop Sing delivered a plate with eggs and bacon. I wish I could ride out with you now, but you know I have to go to town today and sign that land contract. I'll see you at camp tonight to find out how things went."
Adam nodded as he took another bite of bread. "I'll see you then," came out muffled by the food he was chewing. Taking a final swig of coffee, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, bid his father goodbye, and headed for the barn. He took his time saddling his horse as he willed his father to hurry. When he couldn't stall any longer, he rode off and pulled behind a brushy area where he couldn't be seen watching the house.
"Finally!" he muttered when Ben headed off toward. Adam waited until he was sure Pa was gone before he retraced his path to the house, and took the steps two at a time as he hurried to his father's bedroom. When he left the a few minutes later, the loaded Colt was in a gun belt that was buckled around his waist. It felt foreign hanging there: like a visible lie, but he'd decided it was a necessary lie if he wanted to make sure his father lived through the day. He hoped Hugh had already sent Randall away so he'd be able to hide the gun in his saddlebag and get it under the bed before his father realized it was gone.
His hope was dashed as he rode into camp and saw the unsettling grin of the man watching his every move. His meager breakfast suddenly weighed like a boulder in his gut and his heart raced as his palms began to sweat. Yet Randall seemed cordial enough, nodding to him as he dismounted and went to find Hugh. His new hope was that the man had found some other passion that needed his attention and had given up on Ben and Adam Cartwright.
Once they'd sent the hands out to the sections of the herd they'd be moving, Hugh threw the last of the supplies in the wagon and came over to where Adam was preparing to mount up. "That hardware on your hip is new. Looks just like the one your pa carries. He know you got it on?"
"That's between my father and me."
"That sounds like a coward's way of saying he doesn't know, so I have to ask why? What's going on with you that you'd go against his judgment?" Hugh waited for an answer that didn't come. "You've made some good progress toward becoming a man this summer, so don't go spoiling that. If something's bothering you speak up now before you find yourself knee deep and sinking in cow dung."
Adam struggled with a response. Maybe he should be honest and tell the foreman about Randall's threats, but then he remembered that these men took care of their own business and didn't expect others to fight their battles or solve their problems. "Don't you mind, Hugh. I've got a rope hanging right here on my saddle and if I end up stuck I can toss and end to you and you'll yank me out." With a wave and a forced laugh, he rode toward the herd.
Hugh gave final instructions to the wagon driver, and then rode to check the perimeter of the herd to make sure everyone was in place before giving the signal to head out. It was normal for him to ride up front and make rounds now and again to insure those bringing up the rear weren't lagging, but today he sent Mark to the front while he positioned himself close to Adam. He didn't want to seem obvious about it, so kept a good distance while still being able to see the boy…and anyone else who might stray that way.
It was a beautiful, sun-filled fall day, but with a strong wind that was blowing dust clouds and dead brush that startled the steers at the edge of the herd. Hugh had seen Adam ride off a couple of times to bring strays back, but so far nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A cluster of steers Hugh was riding herd on took off, forcing him to go after them, and when he returned Adam was nowhere in sight. His heart sank in fear as he stood in the stirrups to get broader look around…but he still saw no sign of the youngster. It hadn't taken that long to round up the strays…had it? His pulse raced as he realized that time pretty much lost its meaning in this business. Hours could pass like days, but at other times a simple chore could eat up minutes so fast it was mind boggling. He glanced up at the sun, and realized that the latter was the case here. His "quick" foray after the strays must have stretched on for nearly an hour as the herd had continued to move ahead. Adam could be anywhere now. He might have ridden farther up the flank, or he could be out rounding up his own group of breakaways. The terrain was rife with rock formations and small canyons and Hugh honestly wasn't sure where to start his search for the missing Cartwright.
Adam had become absorbed in his work moving along the edge of the herd. The steers were a little spooked, just as Hugh and his father had warned might happen. There'd been a few head that took off, but he'd gotten to them quickly and brought them back without problems. The chill he'd had felt earlier as he'd ridden into camp had eased with the sun's warmth, and the weight of the gun at his side had lightened as he realized Hugh had put Randall on the opposite side of the herd. The move to higher grazing land would be complete by late afternoon and Adam figured that once they were at camp, he could make sure Randall never caught him or Pa alone.
While his anxiety at confronting Randall was easing, his nervousness over what his father would say about the pistol was growing. It was the only flaw in his plan, and he knew he'd pay steep consequences. Pa might understand his reasoning…if he'd stop hollering long enough to listen. But all the good reasons in the world wouldn't make up for the fact that he'd gone behind his father's back—even after the conversation where Pa had made his feelings absolutely clear. There was no tolerance for disobedience or dishonesty in the Cartwright home, and Adam knew he'd have to live with whatever punishment would come.
Even so, he was still considering what he might say to sway his father to his way of thinking when a whirl of dust and debris blew through sending several steers bolting. One group of strays stayed together, but a few had taken off in other directions. He managed to get most of them back within minutes, but he knew a couple had headed toward a small dead-end canyon they'd passed. Adam rode up closer to the next drover, and shouted as he pointed, "Whitey, keep an eye out. I'm going after some wanderers." Receiving a wave of understanding, Adam rode back toward the ravine.
It still amazed him how cattle could be stampeding one minute, and happily munching grass the next. There were indeed three fugitives from the herd inside the canyon. He rode up behind two of them using his coiled lasso as an aid to usher them back toward the outlet. However, the third steer had ventured onto the scree at the base of an outcropping, and lost its footing: first sliding and finally lodging its front legs in a depression containing larger rocks. Frightened at being trapped, it was pulling and bucking, trying to get free, making Adam worry that it would break a leg and need to be put down. He dismounted and moved slowly while speaking soothingly, and was able to get near enough to kneel and move the largest of the rocks away. Once freed, the animal trotted off toward the others.
Adam felt him before seeing him. The warm sun couldn't prevent the chill, making him shudder as he realized that the snake had moved away from the herd. He'd probably been watching for an opportunity and had followed Adam when he'd seem him riding away.
Randall looked over at his prey from atop his horse. "I was glad to see you wearing that gun this morning. Maybe you got more guts than I gave you credit for, Cartwright." Receiving no response, he slithered off his horse and stopped about fifteen feet from where Adam was still crouched from releasing the steer's leg. "Well, stand up boy, and let's get this over with."
"We don't really have to get anything 'over with,' you know." Adam prayed that reason would win out. But the maniacal look on Randall's face reminded him that this wasn't the case. The boy's life had been formed by his father's reason and uprightness. There was always purpose in what Ben Cartwright did, and intention in how it was accomplished. Nothing was done without logic or justification. The Cartwright family might fight back, or even initiate a fight for rational reasons, and Adam had no doubt that his father would stand up to Randall just as he was about to if it meant protecting what he loved. But to call a man out simply because a heart was filled with hate or a hunger to kill made no sense at all. While he couldn't understand it, he knew he was about to face it with the best he could offer. Whether his skill with a gun was enough was still unknown.
"You ain't chickening out on me, are you, boy? You come so far; don't disappoint me now."
"What do you want from me, Randall?" He knew what Randall wanted, yet he hoped with his entire being that it was just a test to see if he was strong enough to face up to a challenge…thereby worthy to join the ranks of the loner elite. Even as hope kept pulsing in his heart, his life began to play in his mind causing a wave of melancholy. He recalled the travels with his father and moments with Inger and Marie. He knew if he got this wrong, he'd never see his brother grow up; he would never study the books that were waiting in his room, and he would never meet Abel Stoddard or make his mark in Boston. These thoughts both broke his heart and steeled his will. What brought him to his feet to face his foe was the thought of his family trying to go on without his father if he didn't accept this challenge.
Randall took his stance as his smile bared his yellow teeth. "You aim good now, because If you don't put me down with the first shot, I'll continue shooting until you're nothin' but a memory. Then I'll go after your pa too." A sinister laugh echoed as his hand hovered above his holster. "You go ahead and pull first, Cartwright. I don't want no one saying I didn't give you a fair chance."
Adam's position mirrored that of the man he was facing. His hand hung near his gun as he flexed his finger. He felt some confidence in the fact that he'd pulled the pistol's hammer back when he'd first sensed Randall's presence, so once he pulled it free of the leather, he only had to point and fire. A rapid prayer flew from his heart to God's ear as he readied to draw. "Please guide me, Lord. I know such actions may not be in your providence, but I ask that you to let me draw fast and shoot true to save my father and keep my family safe. Should I die today, I ask to be taken into your care."
He willed his hand to move toward the grip of the pistol. The cold metal greeted his palm: he withdrew the weapon in a fluid motion, bringing it to chest level as he pointed and eased the trigger back so as not to jerk upward with discharge. "A tool," his father had called it. Right now it was a tool that he hoped was sending a shot of lead straight and true. Yet, in that moment, Adam realized that Randall was engaging a similar tool, fully expecting it to find its mark as well. The scenario was proving surreal and fascinating, while all too wearying.
Flashes of fire and booming echo was replaced by unsettling silence as smoke tendrils drifted in lazy spirals toward the sunlit sky. One man remained standing, cradling his bloody hand, while the other lay motionless.
Adam heard voices in the distance, but he felt paralyzed. It sounded like Hugh was shouting at Randall to leave and never return, while the snake hissed that it had been a fair fight, and he had no cause to intervene. That was followed by Randall's crazed laugh as he postulated, "But it don't matter what you done, the kid's dead either way." The conversation gave Adam pause. If Randall was alive, then who was dead? The truth filtered in as he realized the man was talking about him. He couldn't move, but he didn't feel dead. Then again, he didn't know what being dead would feel like and conjectured that maybe a person's mind and soul lingered on a bit after the body died.
"Adam! Adam, you still with us, kid?" It was Hugh's voice breaking through his miasma. He could feel his strength returning and he struggled to sit up. "Yeah, I guess maybe I am." The older man's face was near his as he pushed him back down while moving clothing around to check for damage. Adam asked, "What happened? Did I hit him?"
Hugh finished his ministrations before responding. "Looks like he just grazed your right shoulder near your collarbone. Nothing serious, thank God. I can't even imagine what your pa would have done if you'd been killed or seriously injured. What were you thinking?" The last thought was shouted with unmistaken fierceness.
Adam tried getting up again and this time Hugh allowed him to stay sitting. "I was responding to a threat…I guess. Tell me what happened."
After fishing in Adam's pockets, Hugh withdrew a fairly clean neckerchief, wadding it up to place over the area on his shoulder that was oozing pink. "You were dang lucky is what happened. I've been watching you today, and when I got back with my strays you were nowhere to be seen. But then I saw Randall heading this way and followed him."
"Why were you watching me?"
"You were acting so strange: coming with that gun strapped on you today. I knew something was up and had a pretty good idea who was behind it. Thought I had you two separated, but should have known he'd figure out how to get where he wanted to be."
Adam took a drink from the canteen Hugh offered before asking again, "Are you ever going to tell me what happened?"
"I knew I couldn't get here before Randall did, so I positioned myself up on that small rise. I figured that would get me close enough for rifle range if you needed help."
"I didn't need help." Adam's tone was angry. "I knew what I was doing."
Hugh patted his shoulder. "Sure you did Young Cartwright."
"Well, I did. I drew and fired, and I think I hit him."
"Uh, I really hate to disappoint you, but I don't think your shot even created a breeze near him. You fired, but your aim was high and wide. I could see that even from up there. You were fast, kid, but your…ah…excitement threw your aim off. It happens when you're facing a man for the first time, and you don't have a killer instinct."
The wind was out of the boy's sail, "Well his was off too, since he just nicked me."
Hugh's laughter rang from the canyon walls. "That's because I plugged his shooting hand with my rifle just as he was pulling the trigger. I'm surprised you didn't hear him wailing!"
Adam's eyes rounded in surprise, and he leaned back looking defeated. "Then it wasn't a fair fight, Hugh. Why did you interfere? I was ready to die if I had to." He sighed as his head dropped to his chest. He wasn't sure why he felt such defeat, especially since he was still alive.
The foreman squatted so he could speak directly to this honorable young man. "You don't understand, Adam. It was never meant to be a fair fight. Men like Randall…they're too cowardly to fight someone with experience. He picked you out the first day you walked into camp and wove a story he knew would force you to draw a gun against him. I'm sure he played on your decency. What'd he say to get you to disobey your pa and risk your life?"
Adam remained silent as he decided whether it was time for confession. It was clear that Hugh had assessed the situation perfectly and he realized what a fool he'd been. Yet, the summer had been awash in decisions about how much of what he'd experienced was foolery. But this had turned out to be the real thing, and he decided it was time to allow someone else's judgment to help him with what had happened…before he faced his father. "Randall said he hated the Cartwrights and figured the world would be better off with one of us dead: meaning me or Pa. I still don't know what Pa or I ever said to him that made him so angry, but he implied we'd disrespected him. He said I'd better start wearing a gun or he'd go after Pa."
Hugh interjected, "Let me guess, he said that Ben was older and slower and didn't stand a chance against him, but you just might."
A nod. "Where's Randall now? Did you send him away?"
"Couldn't do nothing else, kid. He was right; he let you draw first."
Terror stirred Adam's thoughts. "What if he hangs around to try again…or goes after Pa!"
"Settle down." He laid a firm hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. "You don't know men like Randall, but I do. He wanted to face you, not your pa. I doubt your pa can outdraw you, but he can outshoot you any day, and he wouldn't have missed. Randall knew that too. I told you before that everyone can tell how close your family is to one another. Randall knew that you were too smart to get into a fight over a slur or slight he'd make against you. But he threatened your family, so you'd fight to protect them. He got you to do some stupid things that proved how right he was."
"You really don't think he'll be back?"
"No he won't, because you'll never be that dumb, scared kid again. Even if you faced him this minute, you'd be different. You'd aim truer, because you'd know what he is. Randall had one chance with you, and he knows it's over. Somewhere down deep, I think he knows that if you are dead, your father will hunt him down and kill him like the mangy animal his is, and he's headed for a place to hide out until he does this again."
"How am I going to explain this to Pa?"
"That's up to you, but I can help a little. I think it's partly my fault for not getting rid of that snake as soon as I realized what he was, and for not hogtying you until you told me what was going on this morning." He helped Adam to stand. "You should probably ride on to camp now and wait for your pa to get there."
Adam felt sturdier that he thought he would and refused to leave. "Pa won't be there until later and it's nothing more than a cut. It doesn't hurt much—just sorta pinches." He lifted the hanky covering the wound, relieved to see that there was very little blood. "It looks a little ragged, but not too deep. I'll get those three strays rounded up and ride the rear of the herd."
Hugh agreed. "You won't have to use that arm as much if you're not trying to get them steers to turn." He grinned. "And I figure you'll want to delay seeing your pa as long as possible." He mounted up. "Since you're all right, I'm going up front now." He looked back when he reached the mouth of the canyon, relieved to see Adam sitting tall in the saddle. Waving his hat, he shouted, "See you in a couple of hours."
The wind strengthened during the afternoon, causing constant problems with the herd and slowing the drive. Adam was forced to use his wounded shoulder as he lassoed stragglers and strays or rode them back to the fold. Early evening shadows were covering the hillside by the time they ushered the last of the stock onto the grassy plateau, and the men could head to camp for food and rest.
Adam had donned his thick wool jacket in the afternoon as the wind had cooled the air. He'd also hoped that the added warmth would help loosen his shoulder when it had tightened and began to ache. He felt wet under the coat towards the end, but he assumed it was sweat. The dampness caused him to shiver so hard that the reins quivered in his hands when the air temperature dropped further with the setting sun. All he could think about was getting done and sitting in front of the fire to warm up. Those thoughts were replaced by other more pressing concerns when he saw his father's buckskin tied on the stringer at camp. He cared for his horse first, and then walked toward where his father was waiting.
Ben's eyed his son as he entered the edge of camp, and then gave him a once over, stopping at holster lever. He'd heard the story already from Hugh and knew there was an injury. But until he saw the gun hanging there, he'd been unwilling to believe it.
Hugh saw Adam arrive and worried about what would happen. He had been true to his word, trying to deflect some of the blame and anger after he'd told his boss of the incident. "Ben, the boy thought he was doing the right thing. He knew what you'd say if he told you about it, and he wasn't willing to risk your life when he thought he had a better answer…even if it was stupid."
"Stupid doesn't even begin to cover it," Ben had growled. "He may have done it for the right reasons, but he still betrayed my trust."
Hugh had tried a different angle. "You know he's been going through a lot this summer with the hands. He's been fair game for everyone's choice of a prank, and the unwritten code is that you take it and keep your mouth shut. The kid has earned the respect of every man out here because he didn't go running to you for help. I told you what was going on so you'd know, but you didn't force him to tell you about it or use your clout to stop it. How was this any different?"
"The difference is that he lied to me—or failed to tell me the truth. Then he manipulated me into helping him practice and finally went behind my back to risk his life."
"I don't think it felt like that to him, sir."
Ben's cross harrumph had ended the conversation and they'd moved on to plans for the winter and the impending loss of the ranchers who'd been helping over the summer.
Hugh was standing near the chuck wagon when he saw Adam get to the edge of camp. He nodded toward the young man, giving him his encouragement and then admired Young Cartwright's courage as he walked directly to his father.
The smell of cooking beans and meat was hovering over the campsite as Adam went through. He could tell by the look on his father's face that he was likely to be losing a whole lot more than a shred of skin on his shoulder, and his greatest fear was that his father would withhold his school departure for another year…or forever. In Adam's mind, he could see the man making the assessment that if he couldn't trust him to obey him in something this important; then trusting him away from home out was of the question. He felt nauseous and wasn't sure if it was apprehension or the smell of the food. He still didn't like beans, but had come to tolerate them so he was leaning toward fear as being the cause.
Ben stood as he neared, and tipped his head, giving a silent order to go outside the camp where they wouldn't be overheard.
News of the day's event had spread like wildfire through the crew and they looked up as Adam passed, giving him silent nods of understanding. They knew that the Cartwright family operated under a more rigid set of principles than most of their family's had, and they had no idea how bad a time the boy was in for.
Out of earshot, Ben exploded, "How dare you disobey me and put your life at risk?"
The young man met his father's ferocity head on. "I had no other choice."
Ben began pacing. "There are always options. You know that!" He shook his head and repeated, "You know that, Adam!"
"Most times there are. I made a choice, even if it wasn't the one you would have made, because.…" He didn't know how to say what he needed to without hurting his father more. "I had you shoot with me, and you were too slow, Pa. I knew you would never draw in time to take a shot. Randall was a gunfighter. He knew he could outdraw you… Even I could."
Ben's eyes were ablaze with anger, but they softened for a moment. "I tried to tell you the other day that speed isn't everything. It can be in a real gunfight, but from what Hugh told me, this man wasn't really what you thought he was. If you'd trusted me enough to tell me your concerns about my being too slow or old and feeble…whatever your fears were…I could have helped you figure that out."
"That's all hindsight, and everything makes more sense that way. Joe said something the other day that explains this. After I told him what all 'might have happened' when he fell in the water, he said he couldn't think of all that because all he wanted to do was to catch a frog, so did what he needed to do. I did what I needed to do too."
The anger returned. "Since when do you take advice from a five-year-old, and when did it become the right thing to lie and go behind my back?"
Adam was truly Ben's son, and he didn't back down. "I had to do it because you wouldn't listen to me. I told you I might need a gun to kill a wild animal. Randall was a wild animal and I had to at least try to save you from him just as surely as I would have stopped an animal from attacking Hoss or Little Joe." He had to sit down on a nearby rock. The shakiness he'd felt earlier was back and his heartbeat was throbbing in his neck and temple as sweat poured from his face and further wet the clothing under his jacket. With effort, he was able to complete his thoughts. "Hoss and Little Joe have already lost their mothers. They couldn't lose you too. If Randall was intent on killing one of us, it had to be me, and I prayed that I'd be good enough for that one moment to save us all."
Ben took a good look at his son, noting the rivulets of sweat running from his forehead, and wondered why he'd swayed briefly before sitting down. "How badly are you hurt, Adam? Hugh implied it only tore your skin."
"A flesh wound in my right should…" Adam's eye rolled as he slid down the rock onto his back, unable to stay sitting.
Ben rushed over while removing his neckerchief to dab away the moisture from the boy's face. He chuckled softly. "You never were one to like the talk of blood." He began to unbutton Adam's jacket for a look at the damage, and hollered toward camp for a lantern.
The group came running with Hugh in the lead. Ben and the foreman gasped as the lamplight revealed that Adam's clothing and jacket lining were drenched with dark red blood. The cloth covering the "nick" was soaked to saturation and when lifted, they found a steady flow of blood pulsing from a torn blood vessel.**
"I thought you said it was a scratch!" Ben roared at Hugh.
"I swear it didn't even bleed. Maybe it got worse with him moving around."
Adam remained silent while still alert enough to realize there was a serious problem. He reached for his father's arm, holding on tightly. "Pa, you always took care of me; this time I wanted..."
Ben rested a hand on his son's cheek. "Adam, I understand. Let's just get you fixed up. We'll carry you to the wagon and get that bleeding stopped. That's all you need worry about now."
"I can walk there." His strength built for the effort as used his good arm to push up on the rock behind him while several of the crew rushed over to support his ascent. He smiled when he was upright. "See?" The smile left along with the brief color that had risen in his cheeks with physical exertion. His head spun as the truth of Randall's earlier words whispered in his ear: "It don't matter… the kid's dead..." He spoke his torment through a final heavy sigh, "I'm sorry, Pa…" as he crumbled to the ground and entered unending darkness.
The end...
*Barbara Allen, Arranged by Harvey Reid
**It is possible to be bleeding and not be aware of it and I am living proof. After nicking my ankle with a wash basket, I didn't realize I was bleeding until I noticed bloody footprints on the floor. Still clueless, I thought I'd stepped in raspberry jam and started cleaning the floor until I noticed that my shoe was red. Looking more closely, I was shocked to find that my pants hem, sock, insole and shoe were so saturated with blood that it was coming through the sole and leaving the prints. Once I rolled the sock down, blood started spraying everywhere and I had to call for help. I didn't lose as much blood as I have Adam losing, but it can happen, and without a bit of pain involved-until I realized what was happening!