A Debt Repaid

"Come on Joe, hold still!" Adam groused as he tried to examine the large splinter that was stuck deeply in his little brother's hand.

"No, don't touch it. It hurts like everything!"

Tightening his grip on the squirming child's wrist, Adam soothed, "I have to look at it to decide what we need to do."

"No!" Joe screamed. "Just leave it alone."

Hoss heard the ruckus from inside the barn and came strolling out to add his own comments to brewing war of wills. "Was you playin' on that split rail fence again, you silly kid?" He really didn't expect a reply since the answer seemed evident by Adam's death grip on Joe's bleeding hand. "Hey, Pa got you them nice gloves to use so you wouldn't get splinters. Where're they at?"

"Dunno," replied Joe with an edge, "Somebody musta took 'em."

Adam squared the child to face him, still gripping his wrist. "Exactly who do you think took them? You've got the only hands small enough to fit in them, so are you really accusing Hoss or me of theft?"

"Well, not exactly."

Hoss walked over to his brothers, towering over Little Joe in menacing fashion. "Well then…what exactly?"

"Well, maybe I lost them, 'stead of somebody takin' them."

"That's what I figured," scolded Adam. "Around here, we don't tell tales or blame others for our problems. We tell the truth."

"Yeah, that's right, Adam," the child eyed his oldest brother accusingly. "Just like you told the truth when Pa asked where you'd been the other day and you said you'd been at the lake fishin'. But I didn't see no fishin pole when you came riding in. I think you were somewhere with Joanie White and you two weren't fishin' at all."

Joe was so busy gloating about his one-upmanship over his oldest brother that he didn't notice Adam grab the sliver and yank it out. "Hey, that's not fair!"

The older brothers watched Joe shift from triumph to outrage as he hopped around shaking his wounded hand and blowing on it to stem the pain.

"Come with me, squirt," Adam ordered. His momentary delight at catching the wily child off guard to extract the sliver was replaced by exasperation as he thought about what it would still take to finish the job. "Let's go get that washed and put some ointment and a bandage on it so it doesn't get infected."

Joe wasn't in the mood to deal with anything else connected to the pain in his hand, and tried to shoot away from Adam…smacking into the other brother he'd forgotten was standing behind him. Hoss grabbed the slippery child, tucking him under an arm and followed Adam into the house to find the soap and iodine.

With the "squirt" effectively pinned on Hoss's lap, Adam was able to make a better inspection of the wound and finish cleaning it up. Seeing it fully exposed, he was surprised at how serious it was. "Wow, Joe, that left a pretty good sized hole, I can see why it hurts." He watched the look of pride wash over the little boy's face and used the improving mood and good will to suggest an amicable end to a couple of leftovers from earlier. "Why don't we all go look for your gloves before Pa gets home so he won't holler, and so this won't happen again? Pa won't need to know that you 'misplaced' them and maybe we can all forget about my "fishing" with Joanie the other day as well."

"Hmm," mused Hoss, "I think this puts me in a pretty good position with you two. I know Adam met a girl and lied to Pa about it, and Joe lost track of the expensive gloves Pa bought him. Seems I just may need to use this here valuable information at some later date. I think this is called, havin' the upper hand."

"I think a better word is blackmail," corrected Adam as he cleaned up the mess from his doctoring.

By the time Ben and Marie returned from a neighboring ranch, the missing gloves had been located under Little Joe's bed, and the two older boys were giving their brother a riding lesson on one of the smaller saddle horses.

"Hello my darlings," called Marie as she quickly climbed down from the wagon and ran to the corral. "My little Joseph, how wonderful you look atop that horse!" She entered the enclosure and was helping him down when she noticed the brown iodine stain seeping through the white fabric bandage on his hand. "Oh, what happened?"

Joe began to whimper as he recounted the sad tale to his mother, conveniently forgetting the part about getting the sliver because he couldn't find his gloves. "I got a really bad sliver, and mean old Adam yanked it out. I begged him to stop but he did it anyway."

Ben had made his way over to Little Joe as well. After removing the dressing and inspecting his hand, he looked over at Adam. "You did a good job cleaning this up son. Was he much trouble?"

"Not much," Adam winked at his father. "It only took Hoss to hold him down and me to sit on him, but we got it out with a hammer and chisel."

Noting that the conversation had turned from him, Little Joe took up his cause again. "He was so mean, Mama. You should tell him to be nicer to me."

"My little Joseph," soothed Marie. "There is a fable akin to this where a man removed a thorn from a lion's paw. It hurt the lion too, but instead of being mad about it, he wanted to repay the man for his kindness, and he saved his new friend when he had the chance. So my sweet, according to Aesop, you are now indebted to Adam for rescuing you from your fate. I cannot scold your brother, for I'm sure he was as kind to you as I would have been."

"What does that story mean?" asked the confused almost five-year-old.

"You are so smart that I sometimes forget how young you really are, Joseph. It means that when one person does a good deed for another, then that good deed must be repaid. Instead of being mad at Adam, you need to rescue him as he rescued you."

"Wow," Little Joe replied with awe. "Did ya hear that Adam? I have to rescue you now."

Adam looked at his father and Marie with eyes growing wider by the second. "No, no. That's okay, Little Joe. You don't owe me anything." He locked his stare on Marie and pleaded, "Tell Joe that's not necessary…Please!"

"Oh, don't be so silly, Adam," she laughed. "It will do Joseph good to look for an opportunity to rescue you, as a way to thank you."

Looking toward Ben, Adam implored, "Pa?"

Ben shrugged and grinned. "Marie has spoken and she's right; it won't hurt you to have your little brother find a way to repay your kindness."

Adam headed for the house defeated and shaking his head. Little Joe was relentless when it came to things like this, and Adam knew he wasn't going to have a moment's peace until he could figure something out for his little brother to do that would repay the debt Marie had laid upon him. "Oh, brother," he mumbled as he walked. "This is not a good thing."

Adam finished his chores and decided he had enough time to enjoy a nap in the sunshine and cool breeze before cleaning up for dinner. He brought a stool from the barn and tipped it backwards until the front legs were off the ground, and he was comfortably slouched with his head resting against the warm, red boards. Once he was firmly set, he laid his hat over his eyes and dozed—oblivious to the approaching storm named, Little Joe.

The youngest Cartwright had seen Adam get comfortable and drift off, but he'd also seen something flying around his brother, and he decided to investigate. He crept up close enough to see a giant black wasp land on the barn just above Adam's head, and it came to mind that this might be his opportunity to rescue Adam from a painful sting if the insect should attack. He watched quietly, and waited until the wasp finally buzzed to a stop on Adam's hat. Little Joe sprang into action, grabbing a flat plank from the woodpile, and lifted it over his head as he charged at his older brother.

The child's screaming battle cry woke Adam, making him jerk enough to shoot the hat that had covered his face to the ground. The Teen's eyes grew large and his mouth formed a silent oval as he saw the wooden board Joe was brandishing, arcing through the air toward his head. The jolt and loud crack it made as it connected with his forehead shocked Adam into sitting forward, changing his balance enough to cause the back legs of the stool to teeter and finally to shoot out from under him. The whiplash from his changing directions slammed his bare head back against the rough barn wood, ripping at his scalp while he continued his descent to the ground.

"Yeooow!" Now fully awake…and just as mad as the wasp was when it returned to leave its poison behind in his neck, Adam screamed again, but this time with words directed toward his little brother. "What did you do that for?" Adam moaned as he rubbed the sting with one hand and held his head with the other, all while fighting off the dizziness that was turning his stomach.

Adam's cry brought Ben and Marie running from the house. Ben headed toward Adam, helping him to sit up, while checking his bleeding head and the rising welt on his neck. "Nothing too serious," he concluded. "A few raw cuts and a bad sting. What happened?"

"Doesn't feel like nothing serious, Pa." Adam winced as he touched the back of his head. It hurt so bad that tears were streaming down his face and he struggled to keep his stomach contents in place. "Check in the front too! Joe there," he said, pointing at his little brother who was now hiding behind his mother's skirt, "hit me on top of the head with that piece of wood after I fell asleep, and made me fall."

After a quick check revealed that a good sized lump was forming on his forehead as well, Ben walked over and pulled an unwilling Joe away from Marie. "What was this about?"

Joe wimpered, "There was a really big bee on Adam's hat and I thought I'd kill it before it stung him. I was gonna rescue him like Mama told me!" Joe's eyes were downcast as he finished. "Sorry, Adam. It mighta worked except you fussed so much I didn't get a chance to smack it, so I guess I'll have to figure something else to do."

Adam still felt sweaty and sick, but forgot his pain momentarily as he listened to Joe's explanation, especially the part where the boy figured this didn't fulfill his payback. "That's okay, Little Joe. You tried and that's all that counts. We're even now."

The pain returned full force as Adam heard Joe's earnest response, "No, Adam, I need to really rescue you for it to be right."

"Come on son." Ben helped him stand and led Adam toward the house with a steadying arm around his shoulders. "Let's get this cleaned up and put a cool cloth on your head until supper."

Marie remained with Little Joe to explain that in trying to rescue another, you can't put them in danger. "My darling, maybe you can help Adam without rescuing him. Just look for times when your brother could use a hand and that will be enough to satisfy your debt. Can you do that, pet?" Her child nodded vigorously as she scooped him into her arms and headed to the house to see how Adam was doing.

The Cartwright household returned to normal as Adam's head healed and the splinter removal became a memory except for the scar that remained on Little Joe's palm. The youngest Cartwright seemed to have moved on from his quest to assist his older brother, and Adam began to relax, figuring a four-year-old probably had a pretty short memory.

The house that the five Cartwrights shared was larger than the cabin Ben had lived in with just his two sons, but it was still likely to get cluttered. Marie had grown tired of rearranging stacks of clothing, and had made a day of sorting and straightening the boys' things. Adam's clothes couldn't be handed down to Hoss who was already wider through his shoulders and chest than his older brother, but she thought Adam's nicer things could be stored for Little Joe to use in a few years. After she finished, Marie found wooden crates and packed the unneeded items, asking Adam to take the boxes to the barn for storage when he had time.

He never minded helping out around the house, and decided to get Marie's request taken care of right away rather than to put it off and maybe forget if he waited until later. After running upstairs, he stacked the boxes and began his descent just as Little Joe came bounding into the house.

The child saw Adam cautiously picking his way down the steps and yelled, "Wait up, Adam, I'll help you!"

Although Adam couldn't see the child over the load that was stacked high enough to block his line of sight, he heard Joe pounding up the steps and he had a premonition that this was not going to end well. "Wait up, Joe! I've got these balanced just so and…"

His sentence was cut short as Little Joe flew by him on the narrow stairway; the older boy turning his head for just an instant to see what the child was going to do. Adam's movement was fluid, yet caused just enough torque to make the boxes move. Turning had been his first mistake, but that was compounded by overcorrecting his stance when he'd felt the crates shift. Even that could have been counteracted if Joe, sensing what was happening, hadn't reached to steady his brother. Unfortunately the little boy over-balanced too and ended up grabbing at his brother to steady himself. It provided the last bit of momentum needed to send Adam forward with no way to stop himself. He tried desperately to find his footing on the next step, but couldn't and followed the boxes in a free-fall down the steps.

There was dead silence as Adam came to a stop. Ben and Marie were outside but came running at the clamor of the crates and the thud of the oldest son's tumble. They were stricken with fear as they observed the still figure at the bottom of the steps, but they were brought to action again by the sound of sniffling at the top of the stairs where they saw their youngest: trembling and ashen, with tears streaking down his cheeks.

As he'd done in the incident of Little Joe's intervention, Ben hurried over to Adam and carefully removed him from the mess of clothing and splintered wooden crates, while Marie went upstairs to tend to the shaken child.

"Are you hurt badly?" Ben asked gently.

"Not sure yet, Pa," Adam groaned. "Help me stand up and we'll see." Adam was able to rise but began yelping, "Ow, ow, ow…" as his body settled into an upright position.

"What is it?" Ben asked with concern.

"Can we put a stop to this now, Pa," Adam pled as his face contorted in pain, "before Little Joe kills me in his attempt to do something nice!"

Ben laughed in relief. "I'll do that in a minute, but now just tell me if you're hurt anywhere?"

"I don't think I'm hurt anywhere; I think I'm hurt everywhere! I hurt so many places I'm not sure what hurts most, but I don't think anything is broken."

"Can you make it up to your room to rest?" Ben suggested. "I'll be up to check on you after we talk to Joseph."

Ben looked in on his eldest one last time on his way to bed, and shuddered as he observed the number of large violet bruises on the boy's chest and arms as he helped him change into a nightshirt. Despite the obvious pain and stiffness indicated by Adam's grimacing and his chain of mild oaths spoken as he gingerly pushed his arms through the sleeves, the boy seemed in good spirits. Ben attributed this to the news he'd given him earlier concerning their talk with Little Joe. He and Marie had both assured the child that he'd done enough good deeds to consider all debts repaid—despite the way things had turned out. They'd explained that what counted was that his intentions had been noble and his actions had come from a pure heart. Little Joe had given them a skeptical look and tried to disagree. In the end, it hadn't been their brilliant explanation that had convinced him that his fable had been completed, but rather the threat of punishment should any further incidents take place.

It took time for Adam to believe that he was in the clear, but nothing more happened in the short run, and he forgot the incident and aftermath over time.

Sixteen Years Later

Adam groaned as he tried to get more comfortable, and realized with irritation that he'd been in constant pain for over a month. He remembered very little about the event that precipitated the pain, but there was no doubt he was fully cognizant of every hour since. There'd been morphine to keep him in a haze during and after the surgery at the cavalry post, and Paul Martin had given him laudanum when he'd first returned home, but even heavily sedated, there was an ache—deep and constant—that remained at the edge of his consciousness. At this point, he wondered if the agony would ever stop.

Such pondering made no difference now since all further medications for pain had come to an abrupt end with Paul's visit earlier that day. Adam took a moment to recall the conversation.

"You look like death warmed over, but your wound is well healed, Adam, and while I'm sure there's residual pain, it shouldn't be bad enough to require sedation. What will help the most now is to get out of this room and back to your normal life. Don't ride yet, but you can walk more and do simple chores until you feel more confident to tackle the bigger ones. Go easy for a couple of weeks yet and then you should be back to normal."

Adam wasn't prone to self-pity, yet came close to sneering as he chastised his doctor, "You may assess my pain however you choose, but I'm the one living with it, and it's relentless. So please allow me to decide when best to resume 'simple chores' and how soon I'll be 'back to normal.'"

Paul stiffened with the rebuke, sending his patient a withering look—eliciting another angry response.

"Don't judge me, Paul Martin. We're friends, and you've been my doctor for many years, but that gives you no right to judge me or my pain."

The doctor walked to the bed where Adam was still reclining after the check-up, and locked on the man's eyes. "I'm not judging you, Adam Cartwright; I'm judging the facts as I see them. Being a logical man, that's something you should appreciate. You had a serious injury and nearly died, but now your wound is healed well, and nothing in my examination indicates that there are any further problems brewing inside you. You're tolerating solid food, when you actually choose to eat, there's no rebound tenderness in your abdomen when I palpate, and there's absolutely no fever or infection."

Paul broke eye contact as he rubbed at his face and contemplated whether to tread any farther into the swamp he felt Adam was stuck in. Pulling a chair close, he sat as he sighed, and took the first step into the mud. "You know, you've never told me what actually happened that day."

"I don't remember." Adam turned away, inordinately fascinated by a picture on the opposite wall.

"So you say."

The reply was peevish. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Paul laughed, "It means nothing to me, but I think it means a whole lot to you. I usually stick to fixing bodies, but with you, I'm pretty sure I've done everything I can to assure that yours is functioning as it once did. Sorry to say this, but I think it's your head that hasn't healed as it should."

"I didn't hurt my head so what are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Your father told me what happened that day; so have Joe and Hoss. Of course each story is a little different depending on the point of view, but if you really wanted to know how you ended up with lead in your gut, you could have found out easily. So it makes me think you don't really want to know, or you remember more than you're admitting and there's something about that day that's eating its way through your soul."

Adam rolled over on the bed so that his back was to his friend. The querulousness was replaced by a sullen, "I think you should go now."

"Sure thing…I'll go, but as your doctor, I prescribe the following: get up, get out of this room and start doing something. I won't be coming back out here to see you because you can easily sit in a wagon and come to the office now. If the bumps and potholes cause pain, have a pillow along to press against your abdomen for support. I assure you, you won't fall apart; everything inside is knit back together enough to tolerate the trip. Come to town in about a week so I can recheck you."

"That's fine."

Paul wasn't finished. "Now as your friend, I'm prescribing that you take some time to figure out what happened that day, because it seems key to why you continue to languish. I haven't a clue what it might be, and won't even venture a guess. But the answer is inside you, and until you face the demons in your head, your body will continue to manifest pain."

The patient countered angrily as he again faced his doctor. "What kind of tripe are you feeding me, Paul? Fix my head to fix my body! Drivel…hokum…! Obviously you can't figure out what's really wrong or why the pain continues, so you're resorting to codswallop and voodoo medicine."

He'd headed for the door as Adam had begun his diatribe, turning as he neared the exit while laughing. "It's amazing how many interesting words you just used to reveal your fear of knowing the truth. Believe what you want to, Adam: I'm either the worst physician in Nevada, or there's something else going on here. Either could be true; you go on and figure out which it is." Paul exited the room, but stuck his head back inside to flash a rakish smile. "I'll expect my apology at your appointment next week."

Adam's roaring, "Leave!" had echoed through the house as Paul had made his way down the steps.

Paul's "tripe" continued to play in his mind as pain gnawed at his belly with unrelenting vengeance. Was there truth to what the man had said? He had to give him credit for having the pluck to broach such a reason for his continuing agony …and yet…maybe he thought he should spend a few moments thinking about that day. His reasoning for not doing it so far had ranged from the haze of the medication to the fact that he honestly couldn't remember. But now, there was a niggling that perhaps the real truth was that he didn't want to remember, rather than that he couldn't.

"Might as well follow the doctor's orders," he spoke with derision as he rose and began walking around his room. The walking soon became pacing as he focused on the day when the pain began.

He'd been with his family, but where they'd been headed was a blur. They'd stopped for the night after finding a sheltered area inside a grouping of boulders, and he remembered that Hoss and his father had started a campfire to make supper. While they'd worked at that, Joe had unsaddled the horses, taking the bedrolls and supplies to camp while he had tied a line for their mounts in a grassy area where they could graze. As he'd headed toward camp, Hoss had hollered to him that he'd used the last of their water, and asked that he fill the canteens before getting comfortable.

Adam saw himself gathering up the receptacles and heading toward the edge of camp when they heard the sound of gunfire and saw horses being ridden fast. He'd dropped the canteens and joined his family in trying to figure out what was happening. They'd seen two cavalry soldiers being chased by a party of Indians.

That's where Adam's memory dimmed more. He knew he'd grabbed his rifle and joined in providing a diversion while the two headed to their camp. He could remember thinking the situation was a convolution of that old proverb, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." In this situation, they knew nothing of the actual preamble to the chase, but since the cavalry was normally their ally, it became more likely that it was a case of an enemy of my friend is my enemy and so they shot…at the Indians.

Over the time he'd been convalescing Adam had heard enough to know that the original proverb had been more accurate. The soldier they'd protected had been involved in unspeakable cruelty in dealing with the Apache nation and was being pursued by Cochise himself in an attempt to make him pay for his animalistic behavior. As he'd been able to fill in the blank parts of the situational portion of the day, he'd been proud to hear of his father's part in bringing the soldier to justice in a way that had assuaged the anger of Cochise while making an example of the officer within the organization he'd used as his excuse to commit unbelievable savagery.

Adam stopped pacing to smile as he thought again about his father standing up to Cochise and the army, bringing his strength of will to bear on both parties to forge a peaceful end to something that would have seemed beyond such a conclusion. This realization that his father had shown unwavering bravery hit him deeply as he considered his own actions that day, and the pain dug in hard and ugly under the scar on his gut. He reached for a pillow, as Paul Martin had suggested, and pulled it tightly to his abdomen as he sat on the edge of the bed, sweating and shaky.

It struck him again how wrong Paul was in his thinking. His pain was real and he'd rather be floating into the oblivion of medication than to be considering the events of that day as he was attempting to do.

He kept at it though, if for no other reason than to prove Paul Martin wrong. The scene picked up from his earlier recollection. They'd fired at the Indians, and one of the cavalry officers had made it to the safety of their campsite. The breathless man had begged for water: the water he'd been unable to get because his attention had been drawn away by the approaching gunfire. Hoss had given the man what little remained in a canteen—and then it was all gone.

His family had worked hard all day and was thirsty too. The stew had been blown to bits, and he'd assumed that had been the Apache's way to keep them thirsty and hungry, and more willing to negotiate…or give in…whichever seemed more prudent.

Clutching the pillow tighter, he focused in on his own embarrassment at having let his family down that day. He knew at the time that they could have lasted a few days without food, but not without water, and he'd failed to do the one task that would have given them an advantage when there were few to be had.

More images swirled as new scenes took shape. The pain increased as he doubled over, picturing what he'd done next. There was a break in the action: they were talking—his father and Cochise—making their positions known while it seemed everyone else was paying attention to them. He saw a chance and took it. Grabbing the canteens, he'd raced for the water hole, hoping he'd be there and back before anyone noticed he'd left the area.

He grimaced as he thought about his decision…what had he been thinking? His decisions in life, even when they had to be made on a moment's notice, had always been thought through: reasoned with the pros and cons in near mathematical calculation. His thinking was a constant equation: if "this" is what is, and "that" is what should be, then there's a logical way to get from this to that. He'd lived his entire life that way and always did well for it. His analytical thinking had allowed him to make outstanding business deals, resulting in personal wealth for each of the family members as well as making the Ponderosa a powerhouse name in the West. Sure there'd been unexpected obstacles and events that made him recalculate from time to time, but in the long run, his life was lived by reason. All such previous decisions had held the added advantage of making sure he was the only one who'd be hurt if a plan turned out badly. He'd have gladly faced death to make sure Hoss, Joe and Pa wouldn't have to. His expendability was never a factor in his decisions.

So he asked himself what had happened that day that was so different. He'd miscalculated. He hadn't factored in the fierceness of the braves standing watch over their camp. He'd miscalculated his speed and stealth, and most of all he hadn't factored in the huge cost of failure. Adam began shaking again as bits of his run for water fell into place. He'd taken off from camp and he'd seen success just feet in front of him, when a rifle retort accompanied a searing pain just above his belt. He'd fallen there, as the major flaw in his plan blew into his mind just as the bullet had ripped into his flesh, and he knew he'd need to "appear" to be dead until he actually died from the wound. He'd hoped that in doing so, his family would realize that there was nothing to be done for him and they'd wait until it was safe to come for his body.

But even as he'd prayed for that conclusion, he could feel himself being lifted while someone chanted a litany of "hold on Adam," into his ear. He could still feel the infinitesimal disruptions of air that occur as bullets passed by without hitting their target, and he heard the pocking sound as they struck the ground around them as he was brought to safety.

His only other memory from being brought to the camp was remnants of conversation: Hoss saying, "He's gut-shot, Pa. I'm not sure there's anything we can do but keep him comfortable until…" while his father cut him off, avowing that there was always something to be done. The scar throbbed as he remembered someone pressing against the hole where the bullet had entered—pressing hard, creating waves of pain and nausea so intense all he could do was moan. The pain had kept him from putting together a coherent sentence. He'd been unable to speak what his mind was screaming until he'd passed out—what it was screaming now as he held his knees and rocked in pain—that he was a fraud: that he was no better equipped to fathom the mysteries of life than anyone else, and that he'd been just plain stupid. There were no excuses, no grace granting appeasement, no sympathies deserved or forthcoming. He'd resolved that day that his moment of miscalculation had made things exponentially worse for his family, and he would have been better off dead instead of lingering while they wasted what energy they had worrying about him.

In retrospect, he concluded that this had not changed. He had fully expected, probably hoped he would die so as not to face his family or see their looks of antipathy. And it was more than that: there was the unmistakable fact that he'd done something that his father would probably never forgive: he'd endangered his youngest brother while having nothing to show for the danger he'd put him in.

Adam was so deep in thought that he missed his summon to supper, and his time of soul-searching ended as he turned to see Little Joe standing in his doorway, looking concerned.

"What do you want?" He didn't mean to sound as abrupt as he did.

"You didn't come to supper and Pa sent me up to see if you wanted a tray."

"No." His tone softened as he added, "Thank you."

Little Joe didn't leave, and entered the room unbidden until he stood next to his brother. "Should I go get Doc Martin? You look awful."

"I'm fine."

"No, Adam, you're anything but fine. What's going on with you? You don't eat; you don't sleep either. I hear you in here pacing during the night. We're all worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"If you're fine, then come downstairs for a while."

"Later."

"Now!"

"Back off Joe." He finally stood, throwing the pillow forcefully toward the head of the bed.

The younger brother tried to understand. "Why don't you want to spend any time with us, Adam? You must feel like a caged animal up here all day and night. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" he flashed, "I'm in constant pain, and when I do come downstairs, I see the look you all give me."

"What look is that?"

Adam had moved to the window, focusing on the yard below. "The disappointment."

Little Joe laughed, "I don't know what you're seeing, but if we do have some sort of look, it's that we're worried, maybe even a little shocked when we do see you. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You look worse than Old Man Riddley, and he's been dead for two months now."

The comparison did cause Adam to chuckle, and relieved some of his tension. Looking over at Joe he offered, "That bad, huh?" As his eyes wandered back to the window, he added, "I don't think I've ever thanked you for coming out to rescue me that day, although I'm not so sure I appreciate it. You should have left me there to die as I should have."

The younger man moved closer. "I don't know what's going on in your head. Why would you even say such a thing? Do you value your life so little?"

"I value your life so much." Paul's earlier admonition began to whisper in his ear, making him decide that perhaps it was time for confession. Leaning against the window frame, he tried to explain. "It was stupid of me to run out there like that. I've been thinking about it today and while I took a lot into consideration before attempting it, I forgot the most important part."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"What would happen if I didn't make it back. I took the chance knowing I might not succeed but I hadn't the foresight to see that if I didn't, one of you would come out to help and you might not make it back either. I have to say, for some time I thought Hoss had come because I still don't know how you managed to carry me. I'm a third heavier than you are and a few inches taller. You shouldn't have been able to lift me much less carry me in a run."

"I was excited, and I suppose I never considered the odds against it. I saw you go down and went runnin'"

"But you shouldn't have! That's what's eating me alive. Pa could have dealt with me dying, but had you been lost too…or Hoss…" It was all too clear now. The pain was in knowing that he'd risked the lives of his brothers by risking his own. "He would never have forgiven me for that—whether I was alive or dead."

"Don't even think that. We're Cartwrights, and it's the kind of family we are. We take chances and make opportunities where none exist. The only odds we consider are whether something can be done if we try to do it, and we charge into battle to protect each other. I knew what I was doing and the risks, Adam, and wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It was my decision to act as I chose: not yours—not Pa's."

Torment flooded Adam's features, "You shouldn't have. It wasn't right. It's my job to protect you…to die for you, not the other way around."

Little Joe was laughing again, but in a kindhearted way. "I know you've been protecting me since I was born, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm all grown up now. I can choose how I want to risk my life and who I'll risk it for, and you seemed like a pretty clear choice. Besides, there's this." He held his hand up to the light streaming through the window and pointed to the palm.

"Is that the scar from your sliver?"

"It sure is. And I've waited my whole life to fulfill my responsibility to you."

"Joe, I pulled a sliver out of your hand when you were four. I didn't save your life or risk anything."

"Maybe not then, although I think I pretty near killed you a couple of times trying to help you out. But it's more than that, Adam. You always took care of me, looked out for me and would have put your life on the line every time if I'd ever needed you to. Maybe when I saw you take that bullet, I just realized that I'd left a lot of debts unpaid when it came to you, and I wasn't willing to lose you until I got them settled."

"You're a crazy kid, you know that?"

"No crazier than the brother I always wanted to be like. So it's your fault that I am the way I am."

Ben appeared at the door, wondering what had happened to Joe. "Who's crazy? What are you two talking about?"

"Big brother here's been moping because he thinks we finally caught him acting stupid like the rest of us, and feels that we're all ashamed of him for having a momentary lapse of sanity."

"That so, Adam? That's what's been bothering you? Where would that even come from?"

"I suspect that Joe's probably more correct than I'd like to admit. I'm having a hard time dealing with the fact that you could have lost two sons that day because of my decision. Yet Joe says he was merely repaying a debt, and I should just be happy we're all as crazy as we are."

Ben moved to his eldest son's side as he gently wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "I knew you were in trouble as soon as I heard the rifle shot and didn't see you in camp. It was clear what you were doing and why, and I was proud of you for taking the only opportunity you had. I would have done the same thing if I'd been younger, had good legs and hadn't been trying to understand what we were up against. The lesson here is to never second-guess yourself, son. Take what you can from any experience, and forget the rest of it—even the crazy parts."

"So that's how you handle things, Pa?" Joe laughed. "I suppose you don't consider yourself as crazy as the three of us." He nodded his head toward the door where Hoss was now standing.

The father hooked his thumbs into the curve of his vest as he rocked back onto his heels. "I'm not crazy; I'm calculated."

Adam laughed for the first time in longer than he could remember. "That's what I thought I was too, Pa, until I was laying there with a bullet in my belly."

Hoss chimed in. "Yeah, Pa. I suppose you had it all figured out how you was going to get us out of there nice and easy like…until those braves found you and wanted to put a bullet in your head. Seems like you was just crazy enough to talk your way out of that and come up with something so unbelievable that even Cochise had to see if it could be done."

Little Joe showed the scar to Hoss as he asked, "Remember when this happened? Well I finally paid Adam back. It took a lot of years, but I think we're good."

As the middle brother thought about it, he did remember a few things. "Hmm, Pa, I know these two are way too big to take over your knee, but there's a few things about that day back then that you might be interested in knowin' about."

The oldest and youngest brother shared a knowing look as they turned Hoss toward the door and escorted him out of the room. Adam looked back at his father, explaining, "I need a little air, and these two are coming with me."

Ben moved to the window and watched his three sons walk from the house into the yard below him, knowing a great weight had been lifted that evening. He wasn't sure of the details, but was thankful that whatever had kept his eldest in torture had eased, and he hoped that his healing would continue.

Paul Martin returned from lunch and was startled to see Adam sitting on the corner of his desk when he entered his office. "You're a little early for your appointment, Adam: about three days early. Are you having more problems?"

"Nope, just came to pay my debt."

A confused look faded to concern as Paul considered the possibilities. "We've never operated on a cash basis and there was no need for you to make an extra trip to town. I would have given you a total after we finished on Friday." What Paul didn't offer was that he was fearful his friend had come to settle up before finding a new doctor.

"This debt couldn't wait, Paul."

"Oh? What do you owe me?"

Adam grinned. "An apology."

The End