A/N: So, I found this in one of my old files and I cannot remember when I wrote it. I believe I intended it to be the first in a new series of stories, but I haven't been able to find my notes. Anyway, I decided to share it with you. While there are some details that are not answered, I am marking it as complete FOR NOW.

Enjoy the fluff contained within.

There was no denying it was a beautiful day. Breathing in the cool spring breeze, Little Joe Cartwright closed his eyes. Nearby, Cochise was nibbling the new grass. They were on the edge of the Ponderosa, checking the fence line. Well, he was supposed to be checking the line, in between laying in the sun. But, if he had any hope of getting home in time to get any food before Hoss, he had to get moving.

Opening his eyes, Joe got to his feet and reached for Cochise's reins. "You ready, girl?" he asked, rubbing her soft nose. Cochise bobbed her head, and Joe grinned. "Yeah. Me, too. But we'll be back soon."

He pulled himself into the saddle and began to turn Cochise towards home. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw something white. Frowning, Joe nudged Cochise into a trot and rode over to the fence. Half hidden in the trees, a wagon was sitting a few yards from the Ponderosa line. It was nowhere near a road. Joe frowned. It was, however, on the stretch of property that was under dispute.

"Hello," Joe called out. No one was supposed to be on the land until the judge made a ruling. There was no response. "Hey! You! In the wagon! Come on out!"

Still, there was no answer.

Sighing, Joe dismounted and climbed through the fence. Fortunately, it was an area that needed work, so it wasn't that difficult. With a caution he didn't usually display, Joe approached the wagon. "Hello the wagon," he called again.

As he got no answer, Joe began to walk around to the front. He had only gone a few steps when he was hit with the rank smell of rotten flesh. Gagging, Joe fell back a few steps, bringing his hand up to his nose. The sun had been strong the past few days, so whatever or whoever had died had gone sour fast.

"OK. I can do this," Joe said, trying to motivate himself to keep going. Taking several deep breaths of fresh air, he tied his handkerchief over his face and began breathing through his mouth. However, the closer to the wagon he moved, the more he tried to hold his breath. When he finally saw the source of the rank smell, it took all of his willpower not to bolt away and lose his lunch.

Lying on the ground, the bloated, ravaged body of a man was face down only a few yards away from the wagon.

Looking away, Joe took in the campsite. A small ring of rocks were around half burned wood —a campfire long gone out. Two oxen were dead, half ravaged by wild animals, which certainly added to the smell of rot in the air. Shuddering, Joe moved to the wagon to check for any clue for who the victim had been.

He found back of the wagon in complete disarray. With the smell of rot making him sick, Joe decided to leave it until later to search the contents. As he turned away, though, a small, bare foot caught his eye. "Oh, god, no," he breathed, closing his eyes. The last thing he wanted to see was that a child had been involved.

Forcing himself to open his eyes, though, Joe climbed up into the wagon. He had to move several sacks and one trunk before he found the dirty quilt that covered the rest of the child. Bracing himself, Joe pulled the quilt away.

Wedged into the tiny crevice between two trunks was a little girl. Dried blood matted her black hair to the side of her face. "I'll find out who did this," Joe vowed out loud. He glanced around the wagon, trying to find a shovel. It was not going to be an easy task, but these people deserved a decent burial.

There was a shovel caught under some sacks. Joe grabbed hold of the handle and jerked to pull it free. In doing so, he bumped into a trunk and knocked a small sack of sugar over. It landed on the child's body. Joe froze as he heard a low, almost imperceptible moan. He swung his gaze around in time to see the girl's foot twitch.

Swiftly, Joe dropped the shovel and shoved a trunk aside to get closer to the child. He pressed his fingers against her neck, and after a few moments, felt the faint beat of her heart. "You're alive?"

Now, there was only one thing to be done. As carefully as possible, Joe scooped the girl up out of the niche she'd been hiding in, horrified at how small and fragile she was. Maneuvering out of the wagon, Joe held her close. He jumped to the ground and headed for the disputed line border.

"The judge made his ruling this afternoon about the Webber property," Hiram Wood said, holding out an envelope to his client. "I'm sorry I can't give you better news, Ben."

Leaning against his father's desk, Adam frowned. "Are you trying to tell us that the judge ruled against us?" he demanded as Ben opened the envelope and drew the paper out. "Hiram, we've owned that land for years!"

"The evidence that Carl Hawkins presented was very persuasive."

"And Judge Ronson has always hated the Cartwright family!"

Sighing, Ben set the paper on his desk. "That's enough, Adam," he said. He shook his head. "I'm sure the judge looked at all the evidence and made a fair ruling."

"What about an appeal?" his oldest son asked. "If we got a different judge in from Denver?"

Firmly, Hiram shook his head. "And if he made a ruling in your favor, Hawkins will say you bribed the judge and demand yet another appeal," he said. "All it will do is start this all over again. We'd be going around and around."

"We still have to try."

Leaning back in his chair, Ben resisted the urge to sigh again. He did, though, pinch the bridge of his nose. "We all know Hawkins hasn't an honest bone in his body," the silver haired man said. "How did he come by this evidence?"

"Pa!" Joe's almost frantic shout and the clatter of hoofs interrupted the conversation. "Pa, come quick!"

Immediately abandoning his desk, Ben rushed to the front door with Adam hot in his heels. Pulling the door open, the Cartwright patriarch stepped out in time to see his youngest son pull Cochise to a stop at the hitching rail. Joe swung down out of the saddle, and Ben's eyes went to the small figure in his son's arms.

"Pa, she's needs a doctor," Joe said, almost running towards the porch and then skidding to a stop in front of Ben.

Shocked, Ben took in the battered child and instinctively reached out his arms to take her from Joe. "Hiram, could you—" he said, turning.

He didn't have to finish the question. "I'll go as fast as possible," Hiram said with a nod of his head. He put his hat on. "Just come into town when you've made a decision about the case."

As Hiram rushed to his buggy, Ben carried the child into the house. "I'll get Hop-Sing," Adam said, veering away towards the kitchen.

"Where did you find her, Joe?" Ben asked, carrying the child into the always-ready spare bedroom. As gently as he could, he laid the tiny girl on top of the bed. "She's nothing but skin and bones!"

"Out on the Webber property," Joe answered, taking his hat off to wipe the sweat away. "I saw a wagon, and when no one answered my call, I went over to see what they were doing there." Ben looked over his shoulder, an eyebrow young man fidgeted. "I know, Pa, I know. But I had the feeling that something was wrong. When I went over, I found a dead man and dead oxen. The girl was in the wagon, half buried by supplies. I thought she was dead at first."

Hop-Sing hurried in with a basin of water and cloth. Ben moved aside to let the competent cook take over. "I didn't know Hawkins had a child," he said thoughtfully. He sent a quick look at Joe. "Was Hawkins the dead man?"

"I couldn't get close enough to tell," Joe admitted. "And wild animals have already done damage to the bodies. But who else would be out there?"

"I don't know," Ben answered, frowning in concern. He reached out to pat his son's shoulder. "You did good, Joe, getting her here."

"I hope so," Joe said, keeping his eyes on the child.

It was not long before Dr. Martin and the sheriff arrived. With the doctor was Mrs. Anders, a cheerful widow who often acted as his nurse. The pair vanished into the spare bedroom, while Sheriff Coffee listened to Joe's story. At hearing the name Hawkins and where Joe had found the child, Roy became grave and shook his head. "I'll set out at first light, and check it out for myself. You do understand there's going to have to be a thorough investigation of this."

"Of course, Roy," Ben said with a nod.

The sheriff held his cup out for Hop-Sing to refill it. "And you know there are bound to be several around town that will have something to say about this," Roy remarked in an off hand way. But Ben knew his old friend well enough to hear the warning.

Unfortunately, Joe caught it as well. "Yeah, they always do," he said sharply, scowling. "Because we're known for killing anyone who opposes us.."

"Joe, that's enough," Ben rebuked, looking troubled. "We had nothing to do with Hawkins' death, Roy. Those who know us will trust that fact."

Adam, though, was shaking his head. "The majority of the town will still think we are somehow behind it," he pointed out. Shocked to hear his brother on his side, Joe stared at Adam, nearly falling off the table. "Especially once they hear that the judge ruled against us."

"Maybe it isn't even Hawkins that is dead," Roy suggested. "Perhaps that little girl will be able to tell us something."

That concerned Ben even more. "I sincerely hope not," he said fiercely. "If she saw her father murdered, that isn't the kind of thing that she will forget. Roy, she's just a child."

The whole group fell silent. The front door opened and Hoss walked into the house. "Hop-Sing, I sure hope dinner is ready, because I am nigh on starving," he called out cheerfully. He paused as he saw his family and immediately read that he'd walked into a serious situation. "What's wrong, Pa?"

Standing up, Ben walked over and began telling his middle son of what had happened in a low voice. "Will you be joining us for supper?" Adam asked, looking over at Roy. "It might be awhile before Paul is ready to leave."

"I'd be happy to," Roy responded. He smiled. "You know I enjoy Hop-Sing's cooking under almost any circumstances."

Gently, Mrs. Anders pulled the quilt up to the child's chin. It had taken some time to get the girl clean and the effects of malnutrition were even more obvious. Dr. Martin took the girl's pulse one last time and shook his head. "Make sure she has plenty of liquids," the doctor instructed. "When she wakes up, nothing heavy. I'll leave Hop-Sing with the same instructions." He smiled briefly. "Though I suspect he knows almost as much about medical care as you and I."

"The poor dear," Mrs. Anders said, taking a seat by the bed. She wrung out a cloth and laid it on the child's forehead. "What happened to her, Paul? Who could harm a little girl?"

"We can only hope the sheriff finds out the truth," Dr. Martin said seriously. He closed his bag and walked to the door. "I'll be back in the morning to see how she goes on."

Opening the door, he stepped out and breathed in the smell of Hop-Sing's roast beef. Dr. Martin closed the bedroom door as everyone sitting at the table turned to look at him. "It's a good thing you brought her in when you did Little Joe," he said, approaching the table. "She would not have lasted much longer out there."

Hop-Sing was suddenly setting a place for the doctor, moving with quick efficiency. "So, she's going to be all right?" Joe asked, looking relieved.

Taking a seat, Dr Martin nodded. He held his plate out for Hoss to fill it with food. "Once she wakes up, and with plenty of rest and good food, I have every hope of her making a quick recovery," he informed them.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The doctor ate his meal while the rest of the men at the table talked of other town matters. As soon as Dr. Martin had finished, Sheriff Coffee stood up. "We should get back to town," he said. "There's no telling what everyone has gotten up to while we've been gone."

Nodding, the doctor got to his feet. "I can't tell you what a welcome change it is to be called out here and it's not to put any of the Cartwrights back other," he said with a smile. "Unless an emergency comes up in town, I'll be back tomorrow afternoon to check on the girl. Mrs. Anders will stay with her."

"Thank you for coming," Ben said sincerely. He shook hands with both men as he walked them to the door. He closed the door behind them.

"Well, this has been a lovely day," Adam remarked, sarcasm lacing his voice. He poured himself a drink. He filled a second glass and crossed the room to hand it to his father. "Don't worry, Pa. We'll get through this the same as we always do."

"And at least something good came of it," Hoss said, joining them in front of the fireplace. "If Joe hadn't been out riding fence, it could have been weeks before anyone found that wagon. You heard the doc. Joe saved that little gal's life."

Hop-Sing began to clear the table. Joe made a perch on arm of one of the armchairs. "Am I the only one who thinks it strange that Hawkins never made any mention of having any family."

"No one has ever mentioned seeing a wife or any children with the man," Adam responded. "But it would make sense considering the house that's attached to the property."

"I'm sure Roy will find out more," Ben said. "Joe, how far did you get with the fence? How damaged are they?"

A sense of normalcy filled the room as the family settled down to discuss ranch business.

Yawning, the girl opened her eyes. She frowned at the ceiling that almost looked familiar for some reason. "Pere?" She whispered. She heard a light snore and turned her head. Her frown went deeper as she saw the unfamiliar women sleeping in the chair. Arms trembling, the girl managed to push herself up.

Her dark eyes landed on the glass of water sitting on the little table next to the bed. Swiftly, she reached out and grabbed it. Water splashed out as she eagerly drank the cool liquid. After a second, the glass slipped from her fingers, bounced on her lap and rolled off the bed. Gasping, the girl tried to catch it. She let out a squeak as the glass shattered on the wood floor.

The sound startled the woman awake. "Oh my," the woman said, sitting up straight. "What was...oh. Hello, dear."

Eyes wide, the girl tried to scramble to the side. Her foot caught in the blanket and she ended up hitting the floor. Whimpering, the girl pulled herself up. She gathered what little energy she had and lunged for the door. Avoiding the glass shards slowed the woman. The girl reached the door and pulled it open.

She tried to keep going, but her strength failed her. Large, strong hands kept her from hitting the floor once again. The girl squeaked again. "Calm down," a deep voice said gently. "No one's going to hurt you." Looking up, the girl saw kind blue eyes. "My name's Hoss. What's yours, little lady?"

Eyes round with fear, she just stared at him. Hoss lifted her up into his arms. "What's got you running like a scared rabbit? Mrs. Anders startle you?"

He didn't get an answer out of her and glanced at Mrs. Anders. "I must have fallen asleep, Hoss," the woman said, her tone self-deprecating. She knelt down and began picking up the shards of glass. "She must have been thirsty and dropped the glass."

Nodding in understanding, Hoss turned his attention back to the silent girl in his arms. "I suppose you don't know where you are. You're in my family's home, the Ponderosa," he explained, undeterred. He carried her back into the bedroom. "And this nice lady you're running from is Mrs. Anders. She's been looking out for you."

Fear shifted to open suspicion in her eyes as Hoss set her on the bed. She dropped her gaze to the quilt, running her fingers along the seams. "I bet you must be hungry," Hoss said after a moment, seeing the way her fingers trembled. "I know I would be."

"I'll go get something right away," Mrs. Anders said quickly. She rose with glass shards in her hands and hurried out of the room.

"Now, let's get to know each other better," Hoss said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You ain't got nothin' to be afraid of. We just want to help you. Can you tell me your name?"

The girl yawned, and wiggled down into the bed as if to get more comfortable. Her gaze flicked over to the pitcher and glass, and she swallowed hard. Her shoulders hunched as though expecting a blow.

Making a guess, Hoss reached over and filled half of the second glass with water. "Not to much or you'll get sick," he said as he held it out for her. He kept his hand on the glass as she eagerly drank, and he pulled it away after a few seconds. "Now, the doc said not to much at one time, and he knows what he's talking about."

Her fingers grabbed for the glass and the beginning of a pout appeared. It vanished just as quickly as it had appeared when Hoss put the glass back on the table.

"I imagine you're mighty thirsty after being stuck in that wagon as long as you were," Hoss said, hardening his heart against the longing on the girl's face. "Do you know how long you were out there?"

Again, she dropped her gaze to the quilt. Mrs. Anders entered the room, carrying a tray which she set on the bedside table. "Has she said anything?" she asked, pulling her chair closer. She picked up the bowl and spoon.

"Not a word."

Mrs. Anders frowned. "Perhaps she's too weak," she said. "Let's get some of Hop-Sing's broth in you, child."

At first, the girl seemed reluctant, her face twisting with distaste. It wasn't until the spoon with broth was right under her nose that the girl seemed to realize she wanted it. Then, her hand wrapped around the handle and ended up spilling the broth. "Slow down, dear," Mrs. Anders said patiently. SHe gently pulled the spoon away. "Let me."

"She's a feisty little thing, ain't she," Hoss said with a chuckle.

"It's the feisty ones who are survivors," Mrs. Anders responded. She dipped the spoon into the broth and brought it up to the girl's mouth. It vanished in an instant, and the girl reached for the bowl. "No, child. Leave her to me, Hoss. I'm sure you have your own chores you need to see to?"

Nodding, Hoss stood up. "Yes ma'am," he said. "I'll see you around."

The girl ignored the next spoonful of broth to watch him leave. A frown creased her forehead for a moment and then she turned her attention back to the broth.

Stares and whispers followed Adam and Joe as they rode down Virginia City's main street. "I guess people know about what happened out on the Webber property," Joe commented in a low voice as they dismounted in front of the sheriff's office.

"Keep your cool, boy," Adam advised, glancing up and down the street. "We didn't come into town to get into a fight."

"Well, if anyone says something about us killing, there's going to be a fight."

Reaching over, Adam grabbed his younger brother's arm. "I brought you with me because you swore you could keep your temper under control," he said in a low voice. "Now, you stay out here while I see what Roy has found out. And don't go looking for trouble."

Joe gritted his teeth. "Yeah, fine."

Giving his brother one last warning glare, Adam turned and walked into the building. As he expected, the sheriff was cleaning one of his rifles at his desk. "Hello, Roy," he greeted. "I expect you already rode out to the property?"

Sheriff Coffee lifted his gaze and set his rifle down. "First thing this morning," he said. He shook his head as he got to his feet. "I found it exactly as Joe told me. One man, dead by the wagon, and two oxen half eaten by wild animals. It took Clem and I nearly an hour to get them in the ground. Want some coffee?"

With a nod, Adam stepped closer to accept the ti cup offered him. "Any clue as to how the man was killed?"

The sheriff grimaced and moved back to his desk. "Unfortunately," he said. "The man was shot in the back."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Adam let that piece of information wash over him. "Was it Hawkins?"

Carl Hawkins had been a thorn in the Cartwrights' side for months. Somehow, he'd gotten papers that stated he'd owned the land for several years. The witnesses named were all old-timers who had since died, but they had been well respected in the territory. The dates went back six months before the one listed on the Cartwrights' deed.

"Couldn't tell, but there's no reason any other man would have been out there," Roy said honestly. "How is the girl doing?"

"Hoss said she woke up but she didn't say anything. We don't know her name."

Opening a drawer in his desk, Sheriff Coffee reached down and pulled a flat item out. "This might help with that," he said, holding it out. "We found it in the wagon. I have Hank going through everything in the wagon, trying to find out what he can."

Curious, Adam stepped closer and took the small slate from the sheriff. On one surface, slightly smudged, was written: Aimee. The writing was uncertain, like what a child would write. "Thanks, Roy," the dark haired Cartwright said, handing it back. "Has anyone seen Hawkins around town?"

"Clem is asking around town," Roy answered as he set the salte back in the drawer where it would be kept safe. "I know how to do my job, Adam, there's no need for you to stick your nose into it."

Tipping the cup back, Adam drained the last of his coffee. "Roy, a person would have to be deaf and blind not to notice the way people stared when Joe and I came into town," he said, setting the cup on the edge of the desk. "If our name isn't cleared of this mess, there's going to be trouble and you know it."

A shout came from the street and Roy groaned. "You brought that hot head into town?"

"He promised to control himself," Adam said, turning to the door.

"And you believed him?" Roy made sure his gun was in it's holster as he strode to the door right on Adam's heels. A step out on the boardwalk and he had a good view of a brawl happening in the middle of the street. "Is that what you call control, Adam?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Adam heaved a sigh and then he strode out into the street. He caught a hold of his younger brother's raised left fist and pulled him back. "Joe! Enough of this!" he said sharply, getting his brother's attention. He stepped between Joe and his brother's opponent. "We're going."

"Yeah, you Cartwrights are too cowardly to face a man in an honest fight," the dirty cowboy spat out. "You might lose that way."

Joe's muscles tensed in Adam's grip. "Joe," the dark haired Cartwright warned. "Don't."

Scowling, Joe jerked free. He leaned down and snatched his hat up off the ground. He turned and started walking to Cochise. Glancing around at the crowd that had gathered to watch the fight, Adam moved to follow his brother.

"Yeah, that's what I thought! Cowards, the lot of you!"

Pausing, Adam heaved a sigh and spun around. His right fist connected with the man's jaw and sent the drunk reeling several steps before he sprawled, unconscious, on the ground. "Oh, you can fight, but I can't?" Joe demanded.

"The difference between you and me, Joe, is that I keep a cool head," Adam responded, adjusting his hat before he turned around.

"Go about your business, folks," Sheriff Coffee called out. The gawkers were quick to scatter then. "Adam, I think it would be best if you and Little Joe made yourselves scarce for awhile. I've got too much to worry about without adding fighting Cartwrights into the mix."

"I meant what I said, Roy," Adam responded, walking to untie Sport's reins. "I will do what needs to be done to clear my family's name. We didn't kill Hawkins, or whoever that man is out on the Webber property, and we won't take the blame for it."

Resigned, Sheriff Coffee nodded. "I'll see you around, Adam. Little Joe."

"Hawkins is dead?" Joe asked as he nudged Cochise into a walk.

"He could be," Adam responded. Movement in the nearby alley caught his eye, but when he looked over, there was no one there. "Come on. Let's get back to the Ponderosa before more trouble finds us."

When he learned what had happened in town, with Joe gleefully pointing out that Adam had been the one to silence the drunk, Ben shook his head. "Boys, we don't need to fan the flames," he said, chidingly. "There's enough ill-will against us without you both getting involved in street brawls for no reason."

"Oh, I wasn't in a brawl, Pa," Adam responded, pouring himself a drink. He had intended on a beer at the bucket of Blood, however his father's brandy would be good enough. "A brawl implies the exchange of punches. The man never hit me."

The sharp look that came his way showed just what Ben thought of that line of reasoning. "Adam, what kind of example are you setting for your brothers?"

There was a knock on the front door, preventing Adam from responding. "That must be Doc Martin," Hoss said as Hop-Sing hurried to open the door. The doctor stepped in, greeting the Chinese cook like they were old friends. "Howdy, doc."

"Good afternoon. How is my patient?"

"She woke up earlier and ate some," Ben said, getting up from his chair. He hurried to shake his friend's hand. "She wouldn't say anything, though. Hoss and I tried to talk to her, but she behaved as though she didn't understand."

Dr. Martin nodded. "Understandable, she's been through a very traumatic ordeal."

"Her name might be Aimee," Adam called after them. "Roy found a child's slate with that name written on it in the wagon."

"I wonder why I didn't see that," Joe said as his father opened the guest room door.

Allowing the doctor in first, Ben stepped into the guest room and closed the door. The little girl was propped up on the pillows, the blanket pulled up to her chin. Her dark eyes watched the two men approach, suspicion and uneasy obvious.

"How is she, Mrs. Anders?" Dr. Martin asked, setting his bag on the bed.

"On her way to a full recovery, I'd say," the widow answered cheerfully. "She's had plenty of broth and water with no problem and she's slept most of the day, in between meals. She hasn't said a word, though, Doctor."

Taking a seat by his back, the doctor smiled at the girl. "How are you feeling, Aimee?" he asked. "Your name is Aimee, isn't it?"

Her head tilted slightly and she blinked. "It's a lovely name," Mrs. Anders said, keeping her tone gentle. "For a lovely little girl."

Aimee, if that was her name, pulled on the blanket until it covered her eyes. "I would wager that strangers make her uneasy," Dr. Martin said, understandingly.

"I'll leave you to your examination," Ben said. When he rejoined his sons', he wasn't surprised to find Adam and Joe in a heated debate. He waited a few moments and gathered that they were disagreeing about the best way to deal with the town gossips. "Boys. What now?"

Adam sent one last glare at Joe before turning away. "Nothing, Pa."

Shaking his head, Ben retook his seat and considered the situation. "Did Roy say what he planned to do to discover where Hawkins has been these past few weeks?" he asked, getting back to the topic at hand.

"He had Clem asking questions around town."

"He's probably only going to hear complaints," Hoss commented with a chuckle. "That fellow had no friends in town."

"Then, we wouldn't be the only ones with a grudge," Joe said with satisfaction. "No one will be able to pin this on us."

"Joe, Roy does not 'pin' responsibility for a crime on anyone," Adam said before their father could.

Ten minutes later, with nothing really resolved up by the Cartwrights, the guest room door opened and Dr. Martin came out. "How is she, Paul?" Adam asked, noting the grave expression on their old friend's face.

"She's much more alert than I expected, which is good," the doctor answered, setting his medical bag on the dining room table. "I am concerned how she doesn't seem to understand. It could be brain damage from going so long without food and water in this heat."

"Will she recover?" Ben asked in concern.

"I can't say at this point. Time will tell," Dr. Martin said, shaking his head. "I've put the word out, hoping some family will come forward to claim her."

Hoss hesitated. "What if no one does? What will happen to her then?"

"Hopefully, there will be a family in town willing to take her in. We may have no choice but to send her on to an orphanage in a much larger town."

The doctor's blunt words cast a subdued pall over the group. "Well, we mustn't think the worst just yet," Ben said. "After all, it has only been a day. Would you like some coffee, Paul? Rest your feet for awhile."

"No, thank you, I need to be getting back into town."

Tossing the stick he'd haphazardly been whitling into the fire, Hoss moved to walk the doctor out. "Pa, tomorrow I'll go back into town and see what I can learn," Adam said. "There has to be someone who knows who was out on the Webber property."

"Hey, I'll go along with you," Joe volunteered immediately.

"You both will stay here and give the sheriff time and space to do his job," Ben said firmly. "I have no doubt there are chores needing done that you neglected today."

Heaving a sigh, Adam got to his feet. "Alright, Pa, we'll give Roy a few days," he said. As he moved past Joe, he 'accidentally' bumped into him, knocking the younger man off balance. Arms waving wildly, Joe managed to keep from hitting the floor. "Come on, Joe. Let's go take care of those chores."

It was only Ben's pointed look that kept Joe from taking a swing at his oldest brother. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he replied.

Mrs. Anders had fallen asleep during the night. Keeping her eyes on the woman, Aimee crawled out of the large bed. Her knees wobbled under her weight, forcing her to keep a grip on the side of the bed. When the woman made no move or reaction, Aimee moved her gaze to the door. She reached the end of the bed and found herself out a standstill.

Biting her lip, Aimee pushed away from the bed and made it to the door. She rested against the door before she turned the handle. Pulling the door open involved her moving backwards, but she held herself steady against the wood as she did so and managed to keep herself upright. Reaching over to balance herself against the doorframe, she stepped out of the bedroom.

Just to her left was a large table and to her right stood several chairs. Glancing between the two destinations, Aimee frowned thoughtfully.

A door opened and closed nearby. Then, footsteps sounded to her right. Alarmed, the girl turned in that direction, her eyes widening with fear. A dark haired, unfamiliar man came into her sight a few moments later. A split second later, he saw her.

"Hello there," Adam said softly. He knelt down in an effort to be more on her level. "How are you, Aimee?" She tilted her head, her frown deepening. A frown formed on Adam's face as he studied the girl's face. "I wonder..." He held his hand out to her. "I don't think you're supposed to be out of bed yet."

Even if she didn't understood what he said, Aimee clearly understood the gesture. She shook her head and took a step back. Her fingers tightened on the doorframe. "I'm not going to hurt you," Adam said, pulling his head back. "Alright. I'll just have to test my theory here."

He began to hum an old children's song, Frère Jacques. Aimee's eye slit up and her lips moved as though she were silently singing the song. Adam shifted to singing the words, the way he'd often heard Marie singing to Joe as a child:

"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques,

Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?

Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines

Ding ding dong, ding ding dong."

A giggle left Aimee's lips. "Ding dang dong," she said as if she were correcting him.

"Yes, I've heard it that way too," Adam said with a chuckle. "Bonjour, Aimee. Mon nom est Adam."

"Adam," Aimee repeated.

"No wonder we couldn't get a word out of you," Adam remarked, sitting back on his heels. "You don't speak English."

Aimee hesitated. "Où est minou?"

"Minou?" Adam repeated, trying to remember the French he'd learned from his step-mother. "A cat? You're looking for a cat?" Aimee merely blinked at him and he decided to ignore it for the moment. "Quel est votre nom?"

"Aimee."

An exclamation came from the guest room and a panicked Mrs. Anders appeared behind Aimee, cutting off the questioning. "Oh, goodness," she said, pressing her hand to her chest. "Mr. Cartwright. I was afraid I'd managed to lose her. I suppose I've forgotten how easily it is for a young child to get into mischief."

"Aimee, vous devez retourner au lit. Allez avec Mme Anders," Adam said, keeping his eyes on Aimee. The girl's nose scrunched up and her lips pressed together with stubborn determination. "Aller."

Almost instantly, Aimee's shoulders scrunched up and she recoiled. "Oui monsieur," she whispered.

"Goodness, never say the girl is French!" Mrs. Anders exclaimed.

"It would seem so," Adam said as he straightened up. "It explains why she wouldn't speak before. She didn't understand the questions."

Stooping down, Mrs. Anders picked the girl up. "Poor dear," she said. Aimee only offered an obligatory huff of disapproval. "Dr. Martin is right, she is fiesty. I'm amazed she's been able to stand for so long as weak as she is."

"I can well remember Little Joe having the same stubbornness at his age," Adam remarked with a smile. The front door opened and he turned, while Mrs. Anders took her charge back to bed. Joe and Hoss walked in, their voices echoing in the large room. "There you two are. I don't suppose you managed to get any work done?"

"Now, Adam, is that any kind of question to ask a Cartwright? Of course we got work done," Hoss said, unbuckling his gunbelt. "What are you looking so smug about?"

"Do we happen to have any kittens or cats out in the barn?"

Joe's eyebrows went up. "Cats? What do you want with a cat?"

"There's that litter from about a month ago," Hoss said thoughtfully. "Why do you want a cat, though, Adam?"

"Our little guest asked for one," Adam answered. "I imagine wherever she was before she had one."

"She's talking now? Adam, that's good news!"

"She always could, I think, Hoss. She doesn't speak English. Aimee's French."

Surprised, Joe glanced at the guest room. "French? Carl Hawkins wasn't French."

"Maybe Carl Hawkins wasn't the man who was killed," Adam said. "Roy couldn't identify the man, remember?"

Hoss shook his head. "I can't tell whether that would be good news or bad news."

"A bit of both, I would imagine," Adam answered as he glanced at the clock. "We'd better get cleaned up for supper."

The next day, Hoss proudly presented Aimee with an orange striped kitten. Delighted with the gift, the girl had let loose with a stream of quick French that he had no chance of understanding. Amused by his brother's confusion, Adam informed him that Aimee loved the kitten and was going to call it Minou, which prompted Hoss to refer to the kitten as 'Minnie'.

Dr. Martin was pleased with the progress the girl made and said that by the next Sunday, it would be safe to allow her to leave the Ponderosa. Any questions put to her about what had happened or who her family was resulted in the girl recoiling. As terror showed in her eyes, her arms would tighten around Minnie and she would clamp her mouth shut.

"She saw it happen," Ben decided, shaking his head. "The poor child."

Adam frowned at that as he leaned against his father's desk. "Why do you look so worried, Adam?" Hoss asked, seeing his brother's expression.

"Someone hit Aimee, and undoubtedly she was left to die," Adam pointed out. "So if whoever did it hears that she survived—"

"He might think she's a threat because she could point him out," Joe finished for him, perching himself on the opposite side of the desk. "But Adam, she's not saying a word about it. I don't think she'd speak up if she saw him."

"But the rotten skunk don't know that," Hoss said. He focused on their father. "What are we going to do, Pa?"

Frowning, Ben straightened the papers on his desk. "We'll mention it to Roy when we're in town next and make sure Aimee doesn't wander off," he said. "She'll be safe as long as she's on the Ponderosa."

"But Paul is looking for some home for her since no family has come forward," Joe pointed out. "What will happen then? Aimee can't stay here forever."

"We're just going to have to cross the bridge when we get to it," Ben said. "Now, it's been a long day and we should get some shut eye."

All of his sons moved to the staircase. Reaching the bottom step first, Adam paused, his head tilting. He turned and put his finger to his lips. Puzzled, his two brothers and Ben stopped moving and listened. A soft young voice was singing.

Chante rossignol, chante

Toi qui a le coeur gai

Tu as le coeur à rire

Moi je l'ai à pleurer

Il y a longtemps que je l'aime

Jamais je ne l'oublierai.

"That's mighty pretty," Hoss said in a much softer voice.

Ben had a far away expression on his face. "Joe mother used to sing that when he was fussy at night," he said.

The singing was cut off by Mrs. Anders' soft chiding and then the guest room door closed with a gentle click. "What's it mean, Adam?" Joe asked.

Adam shook his head. "Oddly enough, it's a song about lost love and never forgetting. It's been a long time since I've heard it sung," he answered. With that said, he started up the steps. Exchanging looks, the rest of the family followed him up.

"Non."

"Qui."

A small chin came up and dark eyes glittered with stubbornness. Arms folded, she insisted, "Non."

Across the room, Little Joe dissolved into giggles. "Having trouble over there, older brother?" he asked.

It was Sunday, and the family was getting ready to drive into Virginia City for church. Already dressed in his best clothes, and with the greatest amount of French at his disposal, it had fallen on Adam to make sure Aimee was dressed. The little girl, however, was disinclined to sit still long enough for the boots on her feet to be buttoned. She was more interested in chasing down Minnie under the settee.

"I'll hold onto her, and you two do something useful," Adam said, ignoring his youngest brother's mirth. He caught the girl's ankle and pulled her closer, ignoring the angry protests that came from the girl's mouth. He pulled up onto his lap and held her there. "Alouette, gentille alouette, Alouette, je te plumerai."

Aimee giggled once before she began struggling again. "What's that you're singing, Adam?" Hoss asked, grabbing onto the girl's right foot.

"A rather gruesome French children's song about plucking feathers from a lark."

Horrified, Hoss paused in buttoning up the boot to look over his shoulder. "Why would you want to sing a song about that?"

"Don't you remember? Joe's ma would sing it to him when she had to wake him up in the morning," Adam replied, tightening his arms around Aimee who was still protesting. "I don't know, Hoss. Just finish those buttons."

With Joe's help, they managed to have the girl presentable and then had to endure her humming Alouette the entire way into town. "You started it, Adam," Joe said through gritted teeth as he jumped to the ground. "I'm ready to pluck the feathers from her!"

"She has a pretty singing voice, doesn't she?" Adam responded placidly, lifting Aimee and setting her on the ground.

"Well, since you seem to be so fond of her, Adam, you can be responsible for her during the service," Ben told him.

And when two young ladies rushed to Adam, exclaiming over Aimee, Hoss and Joe could only look on in amazement.

Seeing Sheriff Coffee and Paul Martin walk up to the churchyard together, Ben went to greet them. "Roy, Paul," he said, extending his hand. "How are you?"

"I'm well, Ben," Dr. Martin responded, shaking his friend's hand. "It's been relatively quiet in town this past week, which has given me a much needed break. How is Aimee? Have you gotten anything new out of her?"

"Not a word, beyond the fact that she has a fondness for singing," Ben replied. He glanced over to where Adam had the girl by the hand, talking to four lovely young ladies. "She's grown attached to Adam, believe it or not. I hate to think how she will react when she has to leave him."

"On that note, I should tell you I've found a couple who would be delighted to have Aimee come to them," Dr. Martin informed him. "It's the Gardners. Their children have all grown up and they have the room."

"Would it be safe?" Ben asked, glancing at the sheriff.

Roy heaved a sigh. "Ben, I can't say for sure," he said regretfully. "As you know, the case went before Judge Walker earlier this week, he deemed it murder by persons still don't know who it was. I'd hoped young Aimee might be able to tell us something I could use to find the man responsible, or least a name to put on the grave."

"As I've said, the trauma may have been too much for her mind and she cannot remember," Dr. Martin spoke up patiently. "She's forgotten because she cannot handle the knowledge."

Ben shook his head. "I've seen the look in her eyes when we ask, Paul," he said. "She remembers alright."

"Oh, Ben, there you are," Hiram Wood said as he approached. His daughter, Betty May, was on his arm. "I've been meaning to see you about the Webber property. As Mr. Hawkins has failed to claim his property, we may be able to convince the judge to reverse the decision."

At that news, Ben frowned. "I can't think of a reason that would keep Hawkins from claiming that property if he were alive," Roy commented. "He was fired up about owning and keeping it out of your hands, Ben."

"If it was Hawkins who was murdered out there, that means the property should go to Aimee," Ben pointed out. Taking the land now would only add fire to the rumors that the murder had been by a Cartwright's hand, and Ben wasn't sure it was worth it.

"She's a four year old girl," Hiram responded. "What would she do with it?"

The church bells rang, summoning everyone inside and ending the conversation. As Adam pulled a resisting Amy through the doorway, he thought he saw someone duck away but when he looked over, there was no one there. Reminded of seeing something similar the week before, he took his time glancing around the area. It was his pa's sharp rebuke that finally got him inside.

To say Aimee was bored would have been understating the situation. She didn't understand a word of what was being said. Well, maybe one or two words, but not enough for it to mean anything. The sunlight shining through the stained glass had fascinated her at first but that had worn off with each word she didn't understand.

She swung her legs for a short time, trying to see of she would be able to reach the pew in front of her. Adam had, eventually, reached over to still her leg. Huffing, she leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. The words of the silly song, Alouette, came mind and she hummed the first two notes before Adam hissed, "Pas de chant."

"Je dois faire pipi," she whispered back. On her other side, Joe snickered at her words. He may not have understood her exact words but he knew precisely what she wanted. Or, rather, where she wanted to go.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Adam sighed. He took her hand and led her out. "Vit," he urged, opening the outhouse for her.

The four year old rolled her eyes dramatically and closed the door behind her. She began to softly sing as she went about her business.

Shaking his head, Adam turned his back on the outhouse and came face to face with a stranger. "Howdy friend," the unkempt man said. His brown eyes looked past Adam to the outhouse.

"Howdy," Adam said warily. His hand moved automatically to his belt but he hadn't seen a need to wear his gun to church. "Something I can help you with?"

"That your kid?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business."

The man began to nod, keeping his right hand hidden behind his back. "I can see how you might think that," he said in a magnanimous way. He focused on Adam, a strange smile playing on his face. "But, see, she looks a lot like my friend's little brat."

Aimee had stopped singing. In fact there was no sound coming from the outhouse. "Is that so," Adam said, his mind racing to figure out how to get Aimee to safety. He had no doubt this man was the one who had killed the man out on the Webber property. "What would your friend's name be? I think I might want to meet him."

Scoffing, the other man shook his head. "Ol' Frenchy? You won't meet him." He seemed to realize what he'd said and heaved a sigh. "Well, darn. I shouldn't have said that."

Before Adam could agree with him that yes, he had given him away, the man lunged forward, bringing his knife out. Swiftly, Adam jumped back and hit the door of the outhouse. He then spun aside as the man tried to stab him. Still he heard nothing from Aimee, and the realization would have worried him if he didn't have a knife coming at him.

He hissed in pain as the blade managed to score a slice along his left side. When the knife came towards his stomach, Adam grabbed onto the wrist of the hand that held the blade and he twisted. The man let out a yelp of pain and swung his left fist at Adam, aiming for where he'd already managed to draw blood.

Taking the hit, Adam grimaced and threw all his weight against the man, trying to knock him off balance. He succeeded, but lost his balance as well. Both men fell to the ground, Adam fighting to remain on top. When he pushed himself up, expecting another attack, the other man gave a weak cough and remained still.

Adam's eyes went to where the knife had impaled the man's chest and wondered how it had happened. Holding his hand against the wound, he got to his feet and turned to the outhouse. "Aimee," he called out. "Aimee, vous sortir maintenant. Ce est sans danger. No one will hurt you."

Just when he thought he was going to have to figure out someway to break down the door, it opened slightly. Aimee's wide eyes could be seen. "Come on," Adam said, holding out his free hand. Getting her away from the body was his first priority, followed by getting the doctor's attention, and informing the sheriff about the attack.

"Il a tué mon père," Aimee whispered.

"Aimee, comment s'appelle de votre père?"

She shook her head as she put her hand in his, though her eyes stayed on the dead man. Giving up learning her last name as a lost hope, Adam gently pulled her away. They were halfway to the church door when Little Joe came out. "There you are," the young man said. "How long does it take—Adam! What happened?"

"Found a murderer," Adam answered. "Mind getting the doctor while I sit on the steps? Oh, and Roy. He's going to want to know, I expect."

"I find it hard to believe that a little gal doesn't know her own name," Roy Coffee said as Hop-Sing filled his cup.

"If her father traveled often, she may not have ever heard it," Ben answered. "In any event, no one has come forward about having been expecting a son or brother with a daughter, have they? She may not have any family."

The sheriff sighed. "Well, the Gardners will raise her up right," he said. He looked over to where Aimee was sitting with Minnie on her lap. "Is the cat going with her?"

"Naturally," Adam said with a chuckle. He moved with only the slightest hitch in his breath as he tried to get more comfortable. "She has it so spoiled it would wither away without her to give it attention or scraps."

"No word on where Hawkins is?" Ben asked.

"Nothing. I will admit it's a relief to know he wasn't the one murdered out on that property, but I do wonder what connection Hawkins had with the murdered man," Roy answered. "Were they partners? What were they up to?"

"I suppose we'll never know," the Cartwright patriarch said, shaking his head. "The land isn't worth the trouble it's bringing."

"I never thought I'd hear those words come from your mouth, Pa," Joe commented, sitting on the arm of his father's chair.

The front door opened. "Hey, Pa! The Gardners are here," Hoss called in.

"Well, let's get this young lady on her way to her new home," Be said, pushing himself out of his chair. He picked up the small bag, filled everything child related that had been in the wagon. "Joe, put the cat in the basket before it gets away from Aimee."

Hearing her name, the little girl looked up with a sunny smile. That smile faded as Joe took Minnie from her and closed it in the basket. Steeling himself against the pain, Adam stood and held his hand out to the girl. "Venez, Aimee."

"Je rate mon minou."

Frowning at the confession over missing the cat, Adam said, "Le chat va avec vous."

Aimee sighed and shook her head. Exchanging glances with Joe, Adam shrugged and led her outside. Mrs. Gardner hugged the girl and showered her with kisses. Aimee, with belongings and protesting cat in the back of the wagon, was squeezed between the kindly couple and looked back over and over as the wagon drove away.

"You ever wonder what your life would have been like with a daughter?" Joe asked, standing next to his father.

Ben chuckled. "I have a hard enough time dealing with sons. I will be satisfied with the daughters I will have when you three settle down."

This pronouncement left Joe choking.