Chapter One
Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days
Shakespeare, Sonnet 70
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"You sure you oughta head out, little brother?"
Hoss Cartwright lifted his hat and ran a hand through his thinning hair, wiping the sweat away. The weather had taken an unusual turn in the last day, growing hot and humid. He cast an envious glance at Little Joe who sat his horse like a prince, the wind blowing through the unruly and overly ample mass of multi-toned brown curls that was his hair.
"It just ain't fair," he muttered, shaking his head.
"What ain't fair?" Joe echoed, looking down at him.
"Why, eh," Hoss sputtered, "sending a man out when there's a storm brewing."
Joe was leaning on his saddle horn. He looked up at the sky and then back at him. "Are you plumb out of your head, brother? We've been in drought for six weeks. Besides, the sun's shining, the cows aren't lying down, and I haven't heard any ruckus from the chicken coop. You figuring you're smarter than nature?"
"Dag burn it, Joe! I ain't no superstitious woman from the mountains. This is plain hard fact I'm talkin' about. The sky was red this morning, and lookee there." Hoss pointed to a pair of squirrels frantically working to take the cone of a White Pine to their hole high up in one of the trees that fronted the Ponderosa house. "They ain't nuts. They're packin' it in for the long haul."
"They ain't nuts, but I sure know someone who is," Joe replied with a tight smile. He shifted in his saddle. "The next thing I know, you'll be telling me you were serenading the bull frogs so you could see if their skin's gone black. Hey, you want I should fetch that crazy old French woman who lives by the Gulch back so she can read your palm and see if you're right?"
Hoss felt his temper rise. If there was one thing his little brother was good at besides getting into trouble, it was getting under his skin. "You ain't too big to turn over my knee!" he growled.
"Gotta catch me first!" Joe laughed as he pointed Cochise's nose toward the gate.
"Joe! At least wait until Pa gets back. He should be here any minute."
"You try telling Pa you can't go out and find his missing foal because the squirrels are hungry, and see how far that gets you." Joe put spurs to skin and began to urge his Paint forward. "I'm gonna find me a horse. Tell Hop Sing I'll be back in time for supper."
"You better be back afore then, Little Joe! You mind my word. There's a gully washer brewin' in the northwest," he shouted as his little brother rode away. "Dag blamed sure-of-himself cocky-as-a-stallion-in-a-brood-of-mares youngin'," Hoss breathed with a sigh after Joe disappeared. He removed his hat again and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. As he replaced it, the big man looked at the sky, remembering the red hue at dawn. There had been a ring around the moon the night before too – both as sure a sign as a man could have of a hellatious storm coming.
Hoss hesitated a moment and then moved toward his horse. As he did, his elder brother Adam stepped out of the house, book in hand. "You heading out?" Adam said as he approached.
He had one foot in the stirrup. He removed it and turned to face his brother. "Yep."
Adam's eyes went to the railing, noting the empty spot beside his own mount. "Little Joe gone?"
"He went looking for that foolhardy foal that broke loose last night. He says she's something special to Pa."
"Ah, I see. Well, he's right about that. That foal comes of two of the finest horses we have." Adam smiled. "Are you thinking of running our little brother to ground?"
Hoss scowled. "What? You think I'm goin' after that dad-blamed idiot?"
His brother shrugged. "The thought crossed my mind."
"Well, uncross it!" Hoss mounted his horse and edged it away from the rail. "He can just fend for hisself. I'm headed for the creek."
Adam laughed. "Whatever for? You looking for that foal as well?"
The big man hesitated. "Well, no, not rightly."
"Then what are you looking for?"
Hoss glanced at the sky. He was probably imagining it, but it seemed the clouds had thickened in the last few minutes over the land north and west.
Turning back to his brother, he replied, "Bull frogs."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Little Joe reined in his horse and drew to a halt on the top of a ridge. He removed his black hat and hung it on the saddle horn and then reached for the canteen that dangled from his saddle. Cupping his hand he filled it with water, which he then splashed in his face. Watery missiles flew from his tousled hair as he shook it, removing the extra water. If his French was to be pardoned, it was dry as the Devil's privates.
Joe laughed. And he was French.
Recapping the canteen, he returned it to the saddle hook and then replaced his hat, pulling it forward to shield his eyes. The land was blistered. The last rain they'd had had come a few weeks back. It was puny and had done nothing to wet the whistle of the land. He snickered again as he urged his horse forward toward Gray Gulch. It was a dry run where many a stray steer had been found floundering in dust. Even if every chicken started clucking in the pen and every bull frog on the Ponderosa turned black, there was sure as shooting no storm coming. His big brother Hoss was a funny one – big as a mountain and twice as strong, sure of himself as the day and not afraid of anything, and yet always worrying – and mostly about him!
The taut man in the saddle snorted.
Why, he'd pulled Hoss's considerable bacon out of the fire more times than he could remember. And Adam's too. After all, how many times had they had to rescue him? Really?
Cochise blew the breath out of his nostrils and whinnied, drawing Joe's attention.
He cuffed the Paint's neck gently. "Hey! No one asked you!"
Still laughing, Joe continued on.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"You're brother went out looking for the foal?"
Hoss nodded.
"And you think there's something wrong with that?" Ben Cartwright demanded.
The big man glanced at his older brother Adam who flanked him and stifled a sigh. You could always tell when their Pa was riled. He never made a statement, just asked questions. He'd done the same thing when they were little.
Maybe that was the point.
"Well, Pa, I know you want that foal, but –"
"But what? You think Little Joe isn't capable of riding out to find it?"
"No, Pa, it ain't that."
"Then what is it?"
Hoss screwed his face up, twisting his thin lips to one side and letting his concern hang there for a moment. "Pa, I gotta show you somethin'."
"Show me?"
Adam, who was standing beside his brother, said, "Oh, this should be good."
"You shut up, Adam!" Hoss ordered.
Adam waved the book he was holding in a gesture to say, 'Have it your way', and then stepped back.
Hoss reached for a box he had tied to his saddle. Loosening the strings he removed it and came to face his pa.
"It's not my birthday," Ben Cartwright said, pokerfaced.
"It ain't a present, Pa."
"Well then, what is it?"
"It's a bull frog," Adam said, spoiling the surprise.
"Doggone it, Adam. I was going to tell him."
His brother's hazel gaze turned his way. "When – next year?"
Ben was blinking. "A bull frog? You went out to round up a bull frog?"
"It's not as dangerous as a foal, Pa," Adam deadpanned.
"And you keep quiet!" their pa snapped. "Hoss. Explain yourself."
Hoss opened the box and drew out the frog. He held it out to his father. "Here. See?"
Ben blinked. "See what?"
"The frog, Pa. It's black."
"Yes..."
"Don't you see?" he asked again, thrusting it under his father's nose. "It's black!"
"I see that it's black. Does that have some particular meaning?"
"Pa!" the big man exclaimed. "You mean you don't know?"
The silver-haired man shook his head. He turned to Adam with a sigh, the bluster frustrated out of him. "Do you have any idea what your brother is going on about?"
Adam crossed his arms, book still in hand. "According to the latest scientific journals, Pa – which, of course, Hoss is known to peruse by the hour – the color of a bull frog's skin is an indicator of approaching weather." When their father continued to look puzzled, Adam added, "Black means bad."
"Hoss, really!" his pa said, swinging to look at him. "The next thing you'll be telling me is that a storm is coming because the cows are lying down."
Hoss's interest ratcheted up. "Are they Pa?"
"Good God! What am I rearing? Ignorant peasants?"
"Pa, you know it's true!"
Ben Cartwright drew a breath and held it. He tried his best, but it came out in a sigh. "Yes, I will admit that there is some validity to the beliefs held by the under and uneducated. They are based on observation and repetition, such as 'red sky at morning, sailor take warning'. As there are more clouds due to an approaching storm, the sun's light strikes them and sometimes turns them red. But the color of a bull frog's skin? Really, Hoss, I expected more from you."
Hoss hung his head. "Sorry, Pa. I'm just worried about Little Joe."
His father stepped forward to place a hand on his shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with that. As we all know," he glanced at Adam, "Little Joe draws trouble as sure as Hop Sing's fine cooking draw flies. If it will make you feel any better, then you go after him. I'm sure Joe can use some help with that foal. She's a wild one."
"And unpredictable as he is," Adam added with a sly smile.
"Thanks, Pa, I think I will. He was headed to Gray Gulch."
"Gray Gulch. That's west, isn't it?"
"Yeah, Pa." He forgot sometimes him and his brothers had pet names for places their pa didn't know. "You know, near that crazy old woman's house."
"Hoss, is that any way to speak of a lady?"
He shook his head. "She ain't no lady, Pa. When I was a kid, I thought she was a witch. Now I know she's just plain loco."
"And mean," Adam agreed.
"Don't feed your younger brother's wrong beliefs, Adam. On top of the fact that there is no such thing as a witch, Antoinette Manning is a poor woman who has seen too much loss. She became distracted due to being female and having to face more than she could take. Her mind has...well, shut down in many ways."
"Well, her meaness ain't," Hoss countered. "Nettie Manning plumb near killed Little Joe and me for trespassing on her property."
"And when was this?"
Hoss shrugged. "Joe was little. Maybe five or so."
"And you, as his older brother, took him trespassing? As a lark, I suppose?"
"Weren't nothin' like that, Pa. We needed water. We stopped to ask her. She chased us off with a rifle."
"Hoss isn't being exactly honest about one thing," Adam said quietly.
"Don't you go spreadin' no tales, big brother," Hoss warned.
"Yes?" their pa asked.
"Nettie was all right with Joe being there. It was this big galoot she took a dislike too. She tried to chase him off – without Joe."
"And you boys never told me?"
Hoss and Adam exchanged glances. "Sorry, Pa."
Ben Cartwright's skin was normally tanned. At this moment it was red as a chestnut's coat.
"What else haven't you told me?"
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
He'd found her.
Of course, she wasn't going to come easy.
Joe had tethered Cochise on a bit of high ground about a quarter mile back and followed the filly on foot into the area of Gray Gulch. She was skittish as a girl at her first dance and just about as good at hiding from her pursuer. He paused on the top of a small rise to look for a sign of her. While he was there, he propped his rifle against his legs and took a moment to fasten his coat and pull the collar up about his neck. The wind had picked up. It rustled through his hair, casting stray curls into his eyes. Joe laughed as he shoved the disorderly mass back and pinned it with his hat.
It wasn't any use. It would be back in a second.
Casting a glance at the sky, he noticed that a number of puffy fair-weather clouds had moved in. They were being driven by the wind like a herd of sheep and riding low on the horizon.
Maybe Hoss's bull frogs had it right after all.
Picking up his rifle, Joe sprinted forward following the foal's tracks. She'd been moving at a good clip for some time, but had slowed since giving him the slip. He hoped she was just tired and not hurt. The foal's sire was one of their finest and it would be a shame to have to put her down. She'd make a superior horse for them or fetch a good price one day.
Depending on whether or not she was ever tamed.
Beauty was an eleven month old foal, just next to being a yearling. She was all black with two exceptions – a patch on her rump that was white as snow and a star of the same color on the left side of her nose. Joe looked up again. The sky to the north was darkening. If the clouds came this way and it grew too dark, he would have to give up the hunt.
She'd be mighty hard to see.
As he approached Gray Gulch Joe stopped to take another drink of water. The sight of the ditch brought a smile to his lips. He could still see himself and Hoss scurrying into it and clawing their way to the top on the opposite side, all the while old Missus Manning was shooting off her rifle and screaming at the top of her lungs. It wasn't really a gulch. Gray Gulch was more of a deep gully. It had just looked like a gulch to two little inexperienced boys. The sides were near eight feet high and fairly steeply sloped. Dry, the climb out wasn't bad. Wet, it was next to impossible. There were a few people living near it, mostly ranch hands his pa had helped get a start. Nettie Manning was the widow of one of them. Indians had wiped out her whole family before he had been born. It was no wonder the poor woman was crazy. A while back the townsfolk had tried to drive her out of the area and his pa had intervened. Joe glanced up again. If the sky wasn't turning dark, he would have paid Nettie a visit and seen if she needed anything.
She had to be lonely.
As he capped his canteen, Joe heard a noise. It sounded like the filly snorting. Taking off again he moved forward, keeping an eye out for her.
Unfortunately, when he found Beauty, it was at the bottom of Gray Gulch.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
It was late afternoon and the day was nearly done. Adam Cartwright had just returned from working on the range. He dismounted and then glanced at the sky. Damn it! If Hoss and his superstitions hadn't been right! There was definitely a storm in the making and it was setting up to be a bad one. Coupled with the flock of clouds that looked like sheep that had come early in the day, there were surging towers to the north now, growing ever higher as he watched. The wind was from the northwest and it was strong. Taking his horse by the reins, Adam opened the stable door and went inside. As he placed Sport in his stall, he noticed with a twinge of dread that while Hoss's horse was there, Little Joe's was not.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, Adam heard the stable door open. The action was followed by a deep sigh.
"You ain't Little Joe."
"No. Neither are you." Adam finished and crossed to his brother. "You didn't find him, I take it."
Hoss shook his head. "I never made it. I ran across Jim Phillips. His wagon had throwed a wheel. Took a couple of hours to fix it." The big man looked toward the open door and the darkening sky beyond. "Sure was hopin' Little Joe would be back."
"About that, Hoss. It looks like Pa and I were wrong. Apparently your bull frogs knew what they were talking about."
Hoss dismissed it with a gesture. "Wouldn't have made no difference. You know Joe. Nothing we said would have stopped him."
Adam laughed and headed for the stable door. "He's definitely all of the trouble you and I ever were rolled into one."
Hoss remained silent a moment. "I sure hope he's okay."
The black-haired man halted as he stepped out of the stable. He had felt a drop of rain. "I hope Joe isn't anywhere near that gully. Gray Gulch has been dry as bone for decades, but you never know." His eyes went to the northwest. "It all depends on how fast the rain falls and what direction the storm takes."
"Joe ain't stupid enough to be in a gully during a washer."
Adam eyed the sky again. "No, I suppose not." He clapped Hoss on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go inside or it will be us who's left out in the rain – by Hop Sing!"
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Beauty sure was a feisty one. With an eye to the sky Joe tracked the foal north along Gray Gulch. As the sun neared the horizon, the high-walled ditch had filled with shadows, making it harder to see her tracks and nearly impossible to see the black horse itself. He had to watch for the flash of her white rump and it had been some time since he had seen that. Joe was a little nervous and knew that walking the gully was not the smartest thing he could do. He should give up and go home – would have if the foal had not meant so much to his pa. Still, the steep slopes were dry. Though he could hear rain approaching – it was pounding the trees to the north right now – the bulk of the storm was still some distance off. Besides, Gray Gulch had remained dry through every rainstorm he had ever seen. There was no reason to believe this one would be any different.
Worse came to worse – wet or dry – he could scramble up its sides in a few seconds.
As he paused to catch his breath, Joe heard the foal whinny. The sound was close. She couldn't be more than ten yards in front of him. Clutching the rope he had brought to use to rein her in, Joe pressed on, moving quickly, intent on his mission. So intent, in fact, that he misjudged the distance.
Beauty was not ten yards in front of him but ten feet.
The foal reared up in fright and a pair of powerful hooves struck out from the darkness. One took Joe in the upper arm and drove him back against the earthen wall. As he dropped to the ground, winded, he curled into a tight ball, giving the frightened foal less area to strike. It did him little good. Her hoof hit his left leg near his hip. Pain shot through him and he lost consciousness for maybe a minute. When he came to, Beauty was staring down at him, looking something like a little kid who hadn't realized the stick would hurt.
"Easy, girl," Joe cooed as he shifted.
She shied the moment he did.
"You and I need to get out of this ditch, Beauty. That storm's coming fast," he said as he braced his back on the side wall and worked his way up it. Once on his feet, he took a tentative step. The pain was bad, but not incapacitating. "Come on, girl," he added, reaching for her.
It was then he heard it – a dull roar like the hooves of a thousand steer thundering fast across the plain. Joe turned away from the foal and faced into the darkness. Light raindrops were just starting to strike him, but he knew the rain didn't have to fall where he was in order for the gulch to flood. It could be raining hard twenty miles away and, if the conditions were right, the water would fill the gully and overrun it, creating a roiling mass of water and bracken that would move down it faster than any galloping horse. The ranch hands had told him all of his life that it would take a hundred year flood to wet this one.
Joe swallowed over the lump in his throat. He wondered just how many years it had been since Gray Gulch had seen that kind of water.
Casting a last longing look at the nearly invisible foal, Joe decided to save his own life and leave her to her fate. Scrambling on all fours he began to work his way up the side of the gully. His injured leg and arm slowed him down, but didn't stop him. Fear was a powerful antidote to pain. As the horse snorted nervously, sensing what was coming, Joe caught hold of some of the long grass at the top and began to haul himself up and out of the gully.
It should have worked – would have worked if not for the fact that the falling mist had made the grass more slippery than he expected.
Within seconds Joe found himself once again at the bottom of Gray Gulch.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Supper had ended and Ben Cartwright was standing by the west window looking out, waiting for his son. With each minute that passed he grew more uneasy. Joe was no longer a child, though his temperament and lightning-fast temper often made him seem like one. He had ordered Adam and Hoss to leave him be. It wouldn't do to have his older brothers nursemaid the boy every moment of the day.
Still, it was getting mighty late.
Ben turned and looked back at the table. He had set the limit of his own patience at the end of their supper meal. Hop Sing had just cleared the table. Adam was leaning on the stone wall beside the fireplace staring at the fire, while his brother Hoss paced from one end of the room to the other. Hop Sing had complained about how little his middle boy had eaten. Hoss was worried about his brother.
So was he.
"Boys..." he began as he walked toward them.
"I'll saddle up Buck and Chubb," Hoss said, heading for the door.
Adam followed hard on his heels. "I'll get Sport."
"Boys, boys," Ben said, halting them in their progress. "I want you to understand that this doesn't mean I don't trust your brother to look out for himself."
"Pa," his middle son said, "I don't know about you but I been worrying about Little Joe so long I don't know as I can do anything else. That boy draws trouble like a magnet."
"I'm sure Joe's all right," Ben replied, convincing himself. "He's probably holed up somewhere to wait out the storm."
"We'll head for Gray Gulch. He mentioned going there," Adam said. His eldest paused and then added, "You better stay here, Pa, in case Joe comes back."
"What are you trying to say, Adam?" Ben heard the temper in his tone. "That I'm too old to ride out in a rainstorm?"
"No, Pa." His oldest boy held his gaze, unflinching. "You wouldn't want Joe to come back to an empty house, would you?"
"Hop Sing is here."
"Well, yes, but..."
"Adam, it ain't no use." Hoss had put on his hat and gloves. He opened the door and flinched as a strong wind blew through it, stirring the fringe on the crimson colored curtains in the room. "Pa's got every right to come."
Ben hooked his thumbs behind his belt. "It's good to know I have your permission."
"Ah, Pa. You know we're just worried about you. You ain't as young as you used to be and it's gonna be Hell on Earth out there." Hoss paused, thinking better of what he said. "I'm sure Joe ain't out in it. He's smarter than that. We'll probably find him holed up in one of those caves by the gulch."
"Hoss's right," Adam agreed.
"Well, standing here talking about it isn't helping your brother. Hop Sing!" Ben bellowed.
Their Chinese cook appeared around the corner, so quickly it seemed he had been listening all along.
He hadn't, of course.
"Hop Sing come, Mister Cartwright. Have beef in stove. You talk fast."
Ben smiled. It was clear who truly ran the Ponderosa. "Hop Sing we're going out to look for Joe."
"Little Joe not back yet?" the cook asked, concern evident in his voice.
"No, he ain't, Hop Sing," Hoss answered, his hand still on the handle of the door. "He's out there in the storm."
"Then what are you waiting for? You go find Little Joe." Hop Sing waved his apron wildly as if shooing them out the door. "Chop chop. You go now. No time to waste! Save Little Joe!"
Ben hid his smile. "Well, boys, we have our marching orders."
"Come on, Adam. Let's get the horses."
As Ben watched his older sons head out the door, he felt keenly the lack of his youngest with his ready smile and infectious laugh. As he stood there, contemplating the worst, the silver-haired man felt a tug on his sleeve.
"What is it, Hop Sing?"
"Little Joe be okay. He a smart boy. Take care of self."
Ben touched the other man's arm and then headed for the rack by the door. Retrieving his hat, he placed it on his head and then took hold of the handle.
"I certainly hope so, Hop Sing. I certainly hope so."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
On the surface of the rushing water that filled the once dry Gray Gulch a bloated form floated. It bobbed up and down, driven ever farther to the south by the untamed flow of water that had rushed from the northern part of the county, flooding every dry riverbed and gully. It was that 'once in a hundred year' event the residents of this part of Nevada had been dreading and expecting for ninety-nine years. It had come swift as judgment and moved on like the wrath of the Almighty, leaving the devastation of Sodom in its wake.
As the body continued its melancholy course, it halted momentarily, caught up in the dry roots of a large tree that had been exposed and overturned by the wall of water that had come and gone. Like a shell caught in the tide, it bumped up against the tangled branches. With wooden fingers like knives, the tree tore at the body's cold flesh. A surge of water ripped it away, but just as quickly sent it back, though this time it found it course confounded by another form that was strung up on the roots like a figure of hay set out to scare crows. The hanging man groaned, but almost as quickly fell silent. Blood scored almost every inch of his slender form, trailing from a deep gash on his head, oozing out of a tear in the flesh of his arm, falling from multiple lacerations and staining the black trousers and light gray shirt he wore.
Joe Cartwright groaned and opened his eyes in time to see his pa's prize foal drift away. He watched it, only half aware, until the horse's swelled form disappeared into the darkness beyond. It could've been him – would be him if the water worked hard enough and managed to pull him free of the tree's saving embrace.
Still, it made little difference. Even if it didn't, he was wet and weak and cold and most like to die before anyone could find him.
A single tear trailed down the young man's bloody and bruised cheek, carving a trail through the mud that caked it.
"Pa," he murmured.
And knew no more.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo