Sweet Revenge

They all took several steps forward, stunned by what they had done.

'Is he alive?' whispered Ginny Lobridge, her eyes round and dark in her small pale face.

'Of course he's alive, silly!' said Sophie Mann, with more confidence than she felt. 'I think he just smacked his head on that barrel. You shouldn't have hit him with that plank, Rhonda.'

'Well, he shouldn't have struggled then, should he?' Rhonda Davies crossed her arms and looked down with a stern face at the body of Little Joe Cartwright, sprawled on his back in the straw and dust of the empty stable floor. 'Anyway, he's fine. Look, he's moving.'

'Let's just let him go.' Ginny was looking anxious now. 'Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.'

'Ginny!' chorused the other two girls.

'Don't you dare back out now!' Sophie warned her, fixing her with a hard glare. 'Becky and Florrie are your friends too, aren't they?'

Ginny glanced down at the prone body at her feet. She swallowed hard and nodded.

'Well then!' said Rhonda, as if that settled everything. She dropped down on her knees in the dirt beside Joe and began to unknot his tie with deft hands. 'Get his gun belt and then take off his shirt, Sophie.'

Ginny groaned. Sophie flicked her a warning glance, pursed her mouth and knelt down beside Rhonda. She whipped off Joe's gun belt and tugged unceremoniously at his shirt buttons.

His eyes blinked open, dazed and confused. 'What are you doing? Where's Becky?'

'You'll see her later,' promised Rhonda, with an evil smile. 'Don't you look adorable tonight, Little Joe Cartwright? Is this a new shirt? Especially for Becky? Or is it Florrie?'

It was gratifying to watch the confusion in his face turn quickly to doubt, and then to fear as she helped Sophie yank the new shirt free of his shoulders. 'Hey! Get off me! What are you doing?'

'Hold onto him,' ordered Rhonda. 'Let's turn him over. Come on Ginny. Help.'

Reluctantly, Ginny stepped forward to lend a hand as Rhonda and Sophie manhandled Joe, struggling now, onto his stomach. Rhonda stuck a knee hard into his back, ignoring his protests, and dragged his arms behind him. Between them, they held him down while Rhonda tied his wrists securely with his own black tie.

'This isn't funny!' Joe squirmed uncomfortably. 'Let me go! What do you think you're doing?'

Rhonda grinned and leant her face down close to his ear. 'Revenge, Little Joe, that's what!'

'I don't know what you're talking about. I came here to meet Becky. She sent me a note. Where is she?'

'She's at the dance,' Rhonda told him, 'where you're supposed to be.'

'She told me to meet her here.'

Rhonda's eyes gleamed wickedly. 'Yes, we know.' She leaned back to his ear and whispered impishly. 'That's the way we planned it.'

She could hear the note of panic rising in his voice. 'Listen, Rhonda Davies, you let me go right now, do you hear? What did I ever do to you?'

Nothing, thought Rhonda to herself, her eyes darkening. I wasn't good enough for you, was I, Joseph Cartwright? Out loud, she said, 'You hurt my friends. You dumped Ginny here, and you two-timed poor Sophie. And we happen to know you're already seeing Florrie Andersen, yet you still asked Becky to the dance. We're not going to let you mess with any more of our friends, Little Joe. It's about time someone taught you a lesson. You may think you're God's gift to the female race, but we've got wise to your philandering ways. After this evening, you're going to think twice before you double cross another girl.' She nodded to her companions. 'I'll hold him down; you get his pants off.'

'What!' Joe's voice rose in a yelp of dismay. 'No! Don't you dare! Get off!'

Ginny drew back in trepidation. 'I don't know, Rhonda.'

'Do I have to do everything myself?' Shifting her knee out of Joe's spine, Rhonda grabbed his bound arms and tugged him hard. He wriggled and bucked like a roped calf, but with Sophie assisting, they got him turned over and Sophie pinned his ankles to the ground while Rhonda sat astride him and whipped off his belt with expert hands. Ginny, looking pale enough to faint, lost her remaining courage and ran for the door, but Rhonda, with five brothers of her own, was made of sterner stuff.

'Rhonda, get off me!' Joe was bellowing now like a terrified bull about to be slaughtered.

Rhonda grinned gleefully. 'Shout all you like, Little Joe. Why do you think we chose my uncle Jim's old stable? Because he's away and there's no one to hear you.' She moved to help Sophie pull off Joe's boots and socks.

'Cute toes!' Rhonda tugged playfully at his little toe and Sophie giggled. Just before they tugged off his pants, they both looked into his terrified face and shared a jubilant grin.

'Here you go, Sophie,' said Rhonda, picking up Joe's rumpled shirt from the floor and passing it to her friend. Sophie laid it out on top of the pants, placed Joe's footwear on top and rolled the whole bundle into a neat roll. Rhonda knelt down, wrapped his belt around the roll and drew it tight to fasten it all together. Joe, knees pulled up, eyes wide and scared like a terrified rabbit, watched in dismay from the abandoned stall into which he'd flung himself the instant they'd released their hold on him, cowering in a pile of musty straw.

'Oh, Joe!' said Rhonda, shaking her head in disappointment. 'Not your usual arrogant self this evening, I see. What's the matter?'

'You'll pay for this, Rhonda Davies!' he spat, glaring at her impotently. 'You're gonna be in big trouble!'

Sophie and Rhonda looked at each other again and giggled. 'Ooh,' said Sophie, 'we nearly forgot.' She ran to the side of the stable and plucked something off a crate. It was a card, attached to a piece of string. She giggled and crossed back to Joe. He pressed himself tightly against the wall, keeping his knees jammed tight against his body and cringing like a kicked dog. Sophie dragged the string over his head. It was a tight fit and the card scraped his nose as she pulled it down around his neck. It came to rest on his bare knees, the word, in thick black ink letters glaring accusingly at him, upside down: 'Skunk!'

'Much as we'd like to stay and chat, Joe,' said Rhonda, with a cruel smirk, 'we have to go now. Seeing as you've got no clothes on, it wouldn't be right and proper now, would it?' She lifted down the lamp from its hook on the wall, and Sophie took up the bundle of clothes.

As they reached the door, Rhonda looked back at him and sniggered. 'If you can make it, Little Joe, I'm sure Becky and Florrie would just love to see you at the dance later!'

'Rhonda! Sophie! Don't you dare leave me here like this!'

The stable went dark. The latch clicked shut. They were gone. And his clothes had gone with them.

Dang, it was cold! And his arms were aching from being pulled so tightly behind his back. That Rhonda Davies sure knew how to bind someone up good and tight! No amount of flexing and straining had worked loose the knots of his tie. He'd have to remember that he told himself sourly. If ever he needed a secure fastening for anything, his string tie was better than any rope.

Simply getting out of the stable had caused him enough problems. With his hands secured, he'd had only his mouth to raise the latch on the door, and he'd finished up splitting his lip and cursing anyone and everyone he could think of in his frustration. After the girls walked out, he'd stayed curled and miserable in his corner for a good ten minutes, in a near state of panic, while his mind tossed and turned over his best course of action. Should he stay put and hope someone came by to rescue him? Who would be likely to? Rhonda had said her uncle was away. The only people likely to find him, he realised, were Rhonda and her friends again, when they got tired of their little joke.

But would they get tired? Rhonda was a real hard nut. She'd secretly terrified Joe for years. He remembered when she'd tied Mr Durston's long johns to the school flagpole when the whispers went around town that he was having an affair with her mother. And how she'd cut the seat out of Wille Duggan's trousers the day he beat up her youngest brother. Rhonda was real mean. Joe didn't relish the prospect of facing her again that particular evening. It seemed a safer bet to try and manage his own rescue and the salvation of his dignity.

So he crouched behind a crate in the alley between the dress shop and the bank. It had been a terrible trial simply to get that far in his condition. At least it was night. Once he'd got out of the stable, he'd been able to trace a haphazard route back into town, via the back streets, scampering furtively from cover to cover. There had been no sign of his horse. He hadn't expected there to be. Rhonda would have made sure of that. Every time he saw someone moving along the street, or heard voices nearby, he'd scurry for the shadows. Both knees stung where he'd skinned them several times over and a sharp piece of glass or metal had embedded itself painfully in his bare foot. Every time he felt the pain stab up from his heel, he cursed Rhonda Davies with the most despicable things he could imagine.

This had to be the worst night of his life, he thought. From where he crouched, if he peered around the edge of the bank, he could clearly see the assembly room where the dance was being held. Light spilled out of the open doors and windows, and music drifted with irritating merriness into the street. Couples and small groups of people who had wandered out into the cool evening air were laughing and talking in loud voices to each other.

Joe shivered and sank down further behind his crate. He'd headed back here to the dance because that's where his brothers were and he'd no idea what else to do. But close as he was, he was no better off, he realised. If he could only free his hands! His brothers' horses were so close, hitched to the rail across the street. He pictured himself making a wild dash for one of them, and hightailing it out of town, back to the Ponderosa. If he rode fast enough, maybe nobody would notice his lack of clothes. Huh! Some hope! While he was trying to scramble - armless - into the saddle, the whole town would have had time to gather and laugh at his humiliation. It was too terrible a scenario to contemplate.

So, he was going to crouch here, cold and miserable and helpless, until daylight led to his discovery, was he? He imagined Mrs Perry from the dress shop, stepping out of her door in the morning and finding him there. His face burned at the thought. He had to do something.

He sat down in the dirt and turned his back to the crate, sawing his wrists hopefully up and down along the wooden edge. It might take forever, but eventually…

Just as the muscles in his arms felt like they were about to go into meltdown, he heard a voice drawing close. Even worse, it was a woman's voice. Rapidly he twisted around and huddled back down behind his crate. Shoot! Whoever it was, they were right at the end of his alleyway, and they appeared to have stopped there. Two people. The woman wasn't alone. There was a tall man beside her.

Don't stop, he willed them fervently. Just keep walking.

They stopped. He squeezed his eyes shut and cringed. They had come from the dance, that much was apparent from the woman's conversation. She was giggling and flirting. Oh no, please, he thought as he watched them turn into the shelter of the alley. They were less than six foot from where he cowered, standing close, face to face. Joe watched as the man leaned his head down to kiss the girl.

'I'll walk you home,' said the man and Joe's heart leapt. Not because it seemed the couple weren't about to linger, but because he knew that voice almost as well as he knew his own.

'Adam!'

He saw his brother's head come up. It was too dark to see the expression on his face, but he was definitely looking around, wondering where the urgent whisper had come from. Joe hissed again. 'Adam!'

'Joe? Where are you?' Adam took a couple of cautious steps further into the alleyway. 'Is that you? Where are you? I can't see you.'

'Here.'

Adam stopped. He peered down in the darkness. 'What are you doing down there? You all right?'

The girl with Adam was right behind him. Joe could see her peering round his brother's shoulder. He hunkered down further. 'No, not really. I've got a bit of a problem. I need to speak to you. Privately.'

Adam was straining his eyes through the darkness. He was so close, Joe could see the outlines of his face. Adam reached out a hand. It closed on Joe's bare knee. Joe felt him hesitate, then he looked back at his companion. 'I'll meet you back inside in a minute, Alex.' He waited for the girl to reach the street before he turned back to his brother. 'Joe, where are your pants?'

'Someone stole my clothes.'

'Stole your clothes? What do you mean? Who stole your clothes?'

'Some girls. Look, I'll tell you about it later. Right now, I need your help.'

He heard the sound before he registered what it meant. The blood rushed hot into his face. Adam was laughing.

'Adam, quit it! It's not funny!'

Adam kept on chuckling. 'Isn't it? It's fairly amusing from where I'm standing.'

'Are you gonna help me or not?'

'Well, what did they do with your clothes after they stole them?'

'I don't know!'

'Do you want to tell me why they took your clothes?'

'Actually, Adam, just at this moment, I don't!'

He heard Adam laughing again. He took a deep breath and tried to contain his temper. It wouldn't do to have a scene right now.

'All right, Joe. Wait there. I'll see what I can do.'

It seemed like an eternity before Adam reappeared. This time he wasn't alone. Hoss was at his shoulder. Joe could almost hear the grin on Hoss's face.

'Adam says you're in some sorta trouble, little brother. Here, I done brought you this.' He thrust a bundle at Joe.

'Hoss, you need to untie me first.'

'Untie you!'

'Yes, darn you! Untie me!' Joe jumped to his feet and turned his back so Hoss could see how his hands were bound. 'Will you stop laughing, Adam?'

'Yeah, Adam,' said Hoss giggling. 'Stop laughing. It ain't funny. Dadburnit, Joe! I can't see these knots in the dark. You'd best step out into the street where we can get a bit more light.'

'Just get your knife out, Hoss, will you?' He rubbed at his chafed wrists as his arms finally came free.

'Hey, Joe, ain't this your tie? They tied you up with your own tie?'

It was a pathetic joke and it didn't make Joe laugh at all, but it creased over Hoss and Adam.

'Here, give me that!' Joe snatched the bundle of cloth that Hoss had offered him earlier. 'What is this?'

'It's a tablecloth, brother. It was all we could lay our hands on at such short notice. As it was, we had to whip it out from under the punchbowl.'

'A tablecloth!'

'A right purdy one though, with daisies round the hem.'

'Well, thanks, fellas!'

'Here,' said Adam, more kindly. 'Have my vest. Hey, what's this card round your neck?'

'How am I supposed to ride home in a tablecloth?' Joe moaned.

'You could kinda wrap it round your middle then pull it back through your legs. Like Hop Sing said the workers do in the paddy fields in China,' suggested Hoss.

'It's called "girding your loins",' Adam informed him, and let out another helpless splutter of amusement.

'And where do you boys think you're going with my tablecloth?' The sharp female voice from the head of the alley made them all jump in surprise. Frantically, Joe hauled the cloth around his middle.

'Ah, Mrs Hawkins,' said Hoss. 'It's… er…it's an emergency.'

'Hoss Cartwright, you give it straight back to me right now. I don't know what you boys think you're playing at but…oh!'

Widow Hawkins' exclamation ended abruptly in a loud shriek of horror. It startled the three men in the alley, and worse, it brought several concerned people running from the direction of the dance.

'Little Joe Cartwright, what are you doing with my tablecloth? This is an outrage! Somebody call the sheriff!'

Joe looked desperate. 'No, please, Mrs Hawkins. Don't call the sheriff! I'll give it back just as soon as…'

A small crowd had started to gather at the top of the alley. Joe could hear the laughter, the gasps of shocked delight. Adam took his arm. 'Come on, little brother. I think it's all over. Might as well face up to it now.'

Afterwards Joe wondered if it all might have been slightly less humiliating if Hoss had stolen a checkered tablecloth rather than one with an edging of scalloped lace and pink embroidered daisies. Also, he wasn't sure if he imagined it, but it seemed that there were more people at the dance that Saturday night than at any time in the whole history of Virginia City, and they all turned out on the street to enjoy the impromptu entertainment. Worst of all, there was Becky O'Toole and Florrie Andersen, in a gleeful little cluster with Rhonda and Sophie and Ginny, all with huge grins splitting their faces as they wallowed in their triumph.

'Really, Little Joe,' said Becky, running her pretty blue eyes over him and pursing her perfect rosebud of a mouth in apparent disapproval, 'you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble for me.'

Florrie, with her honey-coloured curls tumbling in glossy waves over her soft white shoulders, wrinkled her turned up button of a nose. 'Or me!' The two girls exchanged looks of apparent innocence. 'Exactly which one of us were you planning to see here tonight, Little Joe?'

Despite the heat radiating from his scarlet face, there were goosebumps over Little Joe's chest beneath the oversized vest Adam had lent him. He felt his brother's stern eyes boring into the top of his head.

'Well, Skunk?' said Adam. 'Want to explain?'

Joe cleared his throat. He shrugged and stared hard at the ground. He didn't say anything at all but his lips moved as if he were chewing the words he was holding back.