A/N: As has been noted multiple times in other stories, Bonanza history is not exactly the same as real history. :-) This prequel story doesn't quite fit into real history either. Taking the Cartwright's general ages during the first season (in 1859, I believe) and working backward, this story should take place about 1846. Obviously Virginia City and Carson City weren't around at that point … however, Eagle Station (at the sight of what eventually became Carson City) didn't even appear until 1851 or so. For the purposes of this story, I have pushed that up about six years – I figure, if Bonanza can play with the timeline, so can I. ;-)

Regarding the Coffees and Dr. Paul Martin … I have speculated a bit (I hope not too wildly) regarding how these eventual Virginia City residents might have ended up in the area, and what they could have been doing with themselves before Virginia City was up and running. We obviously knew they were neighbors and friends with the Cartwrights since the boys were young—we get many hints of that in the show (especially for Roy). However, I haven't been able to find anything more solid than that. So … given that Virginia City was little more advanced than shacks, tents, caves, and saloons in that first season (and that sprung up overnight), with little need for a sheriff or resident doctor on that particular patch of rock before that time … who knows? Roy and Paul are both characters that I enjoy, and I have attempted somewhat credible backstories for them. I am relatively new to Bonanza, so if someone knows of some canon fact(s) regarding these characters that I have completely missed, please by all means let me know…

That's about it for notes … I hope you enjoy!

I own nothing but DVDs.

October 1846

The lights of home beckoned to Roy Coffee from the darkness, and he smiled. He was no farmer—or rancher, or whatever it was he was pretending to be these days—but he had to admit that there was something satisfying in seeing that yellow glow in the distance and knowing that Mary would be there too, waiting for him. A beautiful wife, a warm supper to fill his belly, a warm bath to chase away the dust and aches … Life was far better than any man had any right to expect, even here in the middle of nowhere, Nevada.

The middle of nowhere, Nevada.

Roy sighed and turned the dun toward the house. He was a lawman. Always had been, always would be, no matter what he had promised Mary about starting fresh - about trying his hand at something that did not require facing down armed, desperate men on a regular basis. He understood her fears, of course. It was a hard thing for a woman, knowing each day when she kissed her man goodbye that this might be the night he did not return. She had only asked him to consider it—not begged or pushed—and that only twice. He had known, though, that she was unhappy and afraid, especially after that incident with the Trager brothers. It had been so close…

At any rate, he had agreed. He had promised her that he would give this new life a real, honest to goodness try, and he meant it. Even if this ranching, this spending his days chasing cows and his nights running cougars away from their corral, was not what called to him, he would put his heart and soul into it. It made Mary happy, and she was his life, after all—more than law enforcement, more than Nebraska, more than the home and family they'd left behind.

He worried for his wife, out here away from people and civilization (though, he couldn't rightly apply that word to the last town they had called home, neither). It wasn't supposed to be this way. Mary's brother and his wife had started out with them, and made it most of the way along the trail before the baby had come early and died. John had given it up then, taken Caroline and turned back. "I ain't gonna put her through it, Roy, and if you're smart you won't put Mary through it either." They had nothin' to go back to, though, and so here they were now, alone on a tiny ranch (if you could call it that) with nothin' but mountain and scrub and Indians around for miles.

Her safety, out here in untamed nowhere, was one concern. His Mary was the wife of a lawman, though, and she could shoot rifle and pistol well enough to keep most any troublemaker second-guessin' the wisdom of takin' her on. No, it was the lack of company that really got to him—he worried about her gettin' lonely away out here on their own. Mary just laughed, and patted his cheek, and said that she was just fine not havin' to share him with an entire town who always needed somethin'.

Wasn't much he could say to that. He enjoyed the time alone with her, too … but in his more honest moments, Roy admitted to himself (never to her) that he missed the bustle of town far more than his wife ever would. He was a social man. He enjoyed the walkin' and the chattin' and the bein' in the center of it all. He liked stoppin' to shoot marbles with the kids and shoot the breeze with the old men out front of the mercantile. He lived for the interruptions that pulled him out of his notice-strewn office, even if it was just to chase the dogs outa the saloon and the drunks outa the livery.

He snorted softly. "Who'da known you were such an old woman, Roy Coffee?"

Well, he'd just have to get used to it. This was their home now, and their life. And things wouldn't be wild and unsettled here forever—there were new people comin' in every month. All right, not every month. But, he'd heard of a few, one or two, last time he was down to Eagle Station. There were the prospectors too, of course … but they were a rough, solitary lot. Roy didn't expect much in the way of company out of them.

The lights were getting closer, and he could just smell supper cookin' even though there was no way a scent could carry this far out. The evening air was crisp, but not as cool as Roy might have expected so late in the year. He had expected late October to be cold already in the hills. Still, all he knew were the stories about the bitter winters in the mountains of Colorado and Montana. Maybe the real cold came later here. Maybe it didn't come at all. The Sierras were not the Rockies, and his little scrub farm—ranch, he was a rancher—in Nevada was definitely not Denver. He wouldn't waste many tears if they didn't have to spend the winter digging themselves out of three feet of snow every couple of days.

Roy was glad for his warm coat all the same, and he flipped up the collar to protect his neck from the wind that occasionally threatened to buffet him from his horse. That was cold, even if the air itself wasn't too bad. After a day of checking on his stock—few and sad though they were, but he supposed a man had to start somewhere—he had dust in his hair and his eyes and his teeth and … well, there was dust in places that just didn't even see the sun. Another gust caught him smothering a yawn, and Roy grimaced, spitting off to the side. He wasn't gonna get this taste out for …

Now, just what was that?

He pulled up the dun and gently tugged his rifle from its scabbard. It was smallish, whatever it was, and kinda weavin' along the center of the track. A coyote? Didn't seem likely—and didn't seem to be botherin' his horse none either, if that was so. The shape wasn't right, either. It wasn't shaped like anything out here, was more like a …

Roy slammed the rifle back into his scabbard and slid to the ground, tossing the reins toward a patch of low brush nearby.

"Boy?"

The small figure startled, and turned, and tripped over his own feet. He hit the ground hard, and a muffled sobbing drifted up from the huddled form.

For a long moment, Roy stared. What on earth was a child—couldn't be more than four years old, if the dusk wasn't playin' tricks on him—doin' out here? There wasn't anybody else around for miles. Roy moved forward cautiously and crouched near the little heaving shoulders.

"Boy, my name's Roy." He waited. There was no response, other than a tightening of the little form, a curling in. He tried again. "I'm Roy, and that up there's my place. What's your name?"

Roy didn't really expect any response—it was possible he'd have to get Mary out here before the little guy would trust them enough to answer—but after another few sobs, the head of wild curls rose and two tear-filled eyes glinted in the moonlight. "J-J-Joe."

"Joe," he breathed, and reached out a gentle hand to ruffle those curls. However the boy had got here, all on his own, he couldn't stay out here. It might only be chilly for an adult, but this wind could be downright dangerous for a little boy. "You cold, Joe? You want to wrap up in my coat?"

The small head nodded, and a few more sobs escaped. Roy removed his coat, gritting his teeth against a particularly rough blast that nearly knocked him over from behind, and leaned slowly forward. He wrapped the heavy material firmly around the bony little frame, then gathered the child up to his chest before the boy could protest. Joe stiffened for an instant, then his hands crept up to clutch at Roy's collar and a fresh outpouring of tears stained the man's dust-laden shirt.

"All right, then." Roy petted the tangle of hair and looked helplessly around them once again—across the pastureland, into the low trees, back down the faint track. Nothing, no one miraculously appeared to explain little Joe's presence. "All right. You're gonna be all right. How'd you get out here, Joe? There anyone else with you?"

The boy began a babbling into Roy's shirt, punctuated with shivers and sobs. Roy understood almost nothing of it, except for one word that kept repeating throughout the narrative. He couldn't quite … it sounded like …

"Horse? You gotta pony out here somewhere?"

No child of four was gonna be out here with a horse alone unless—

An impatient shake of the boy's head interrupted that thought.

"No horse?" Another shake, then a low whisper. Still sounded like 'horse' to him … "Okay, you know what, Joe? My wife's up in that house, her name's Mary. She's got supper ready, and a fire. You hungry?" Joe hesitated, then nodded against his chest. "Good. Me too. Why don't we go up and get somethin' to eat, then? You can get warmed up, get somethin' in your belly, and maybe we can try talkin' again after. How's that sound?"

Joe strained up to peer over Roy's shoulder, back along the track.

"Joe?" Reluctantly, the boy returned his gaze to Roy and nodded. "All right. We'll get you all set, don't you worry." Roy tightened his grip, snagged the dun's reins from the brush, and started them all off down the road. The lights were closer now—he could make out the shape of the house, even—and he could almost feel their warmth from here. Mary was there, and food and fire, and somehow they would get this little mystery figured out. Against him, Joe's breathing deepened and the boy sagged in sleep. Roy patted the fine curls again and sighed, turning his eyes once again to the wild land stretched around them. "Where did you come from, boy?"