A/N: I've been having so much fun reading Bonanza stories these past weeks, I thought I'd attempt a contribution. ;-) This will be just a little two chapter bit of randomness - I hope you enjoy.

I own nothing. Nothing but DVDs ...


The impact rattled his teeth and rolled his ankle and knocked the wind right out of him. It was a long minute before he could breathe again, and even longer before he managed to figure out just what had happened to him.

"Well, I'll be."

Hoss Cartwright eyed the dirt shaft, squinting against the weak sunlight that lanced through what was left of rotted boards overhead, and tried to remember if he'd known there was a covered-over well on the old homestead.

"Nope," he finally decided, scrubbing mud and rock shards from his palms. "Don't think so."

In fact, he was fairly certain none of them knew. There had been a tumbledown house here—more a shed, really—before Ben Cartwright had owned the land, abandoned even when his pa arrived. Pa had shored it up years ago, and they used it when caught out in a storm or when the evening grew too late to make the trip back to the house or bunk. The shack had been surrounded by a few swaying fence posts, which still stood, and what might have been a hitching rail, which had been replaced. For all the times they'd passed through or stayed the night, though, none of them had ever noted an old well.

Part of a well. Didn't look like it'd ever been finished.

Hoss glared at the crumbling walls around him. Didn't really matter whether it was finished or not. It had done the trick, all right.

Dad blame it, he was really startin' to hate wells. And there was no sweet old Mrs. Lynch to pull him out this time. The big man sighed and moved to get his legs beneath him. From the loose, muddy look of his surroundings, it could take him a while to climb his way back out. No use puttin' it off.

Half an hour later he was beginning to get worried. The earth kept crumbling beneath him, sending him in a jumble of arms and legs back to the bottom. An hour more, and he admitted reluctant defeat—at least for the time being. His hands and face were caked with mud. His ankle, which had been only mildly injured in the fall, was beginning to send up a real protest. His mouth was parched, his stomach growled, and his breaths were coming it great heaves. It was time for a break. Time to think of some other way out—though he wasn't sure what that might be. He wondered whether ol' Chubby was still around, or if the riderless horse had set off for the comforts of barn and trough. A couple of shouts brought no response from the animal, and Hoss wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or not that his horse had (hopefully, probably) started for home. Even if (when) he managed to get himself out of this well, he was stuck here now without a horse.

Well, his pa and brothers would come looking for him eventually. Although … Hoss groaned a little, remembering Ben's enthusiasm and total focus on his guests over the past days. Maybe not his pa, then. But Adam … He stopped again, wrinkling his nose at the memory of that infatuated grin the man had worn since the moment Miss Amelia Sander—the eldest daughter of Ben's guests—had walked through the door. Older brother couldn't see past those cornflower eyes these days. Joe, though … No. That wasn't even worth hoping for. Hoss sagged back against the mud and rock, aiming a frustrated groan at the uncaring sky.

"Dadgummit. I'm gonna die down here, ain't I?"

A few large, fat drops of rain splashed against his upturned face was the sky's only response.


Seven hours earlier

"And I didn't even do nothin', Adam!" Hoss threw up his hands and plopped ungracefully onto his brother's bed. The sturdy frame shuddered, but held—as always. "She was all hunkered down lookin' at Lilibeth and her kittens, and I asked if she wanted ta pet one, and she just started cryin' and run off!" The big man sighed, shaking his head. "I wasn't even that close ta her—from the barn door to the wood pile, at least."

"Hmm." Adam squinted into the mirror, carefully combing a black wave into place. "Um-hmm."

Hoss scowled at his brother's back, wondering if Adam was actually listening or if the vague noise was just acknowledgement that Hoss had been talking and now he was not. He had seen his big brother distracted over girls before, but this was just getting ridiculous.

It wasn't the only thing ridiculous around the Ponderosa right now, though, that was sure—and if things went to plan, they had about a month more of it before everything was said and done.

He wasn't sure he could take it. Maybe he'd move to town for the duration.

"It's gonna be one heck of a long month if she does that every time I in walk into a room."

"Yep." Adam stepped back, inspecting his reflection in the glass. "Guess she's got you figured, brother." A frown darkened his features and he leaned in again, adjusting an invisible flaw in his perfectly groomed—ridiculously over-groomed—hair.

"Well, I wish she'd stop it! She loves them animals, and we got little 'uns runnin' around all over the place right now. I was just wantin' ta show her, let her pet a few of the kittens and kids." Hoss blew out a sigh. Adam slapped on a liberal dose from his cologne bottle. "I tell ya, Adam, it don't make a body feel too good about hisself when a little mite like that cries just from lookin' at him."

"Hoss." His brother crossed to the bed and placed a hand on his shoulder. A grin quirked the corners of his mouth. "She's small. You're not." A tug and a gentle shove, and Hoss found himself stumbling into the hallway. Well, wasn't that just fine … "Give her time, she'll come around." The grin widened, and Adam ducked back into the room. "I've gotta finish here. Let Amelia know I'll be down soon." The heavy door swung closed, and Hoss found himself nose to nose with … well, not Adam.

Yep. This was just fine.

"Tell Amelia," he grumbled, turning away. "Sure, I'll tell Amelia. I'll tell her that fancy cologne you're wearin' smells like you been out makin' moonshine in the sun, is what I'll tell her. I ain't your errand boy, brother …"

He trailed off as he reached the landing, taking stock of the scene below. It had become a real survival technique since the Sanders had arrived, not just the usual habit of looking over the great room before coming down. As usual, his pa and the Sanders—Mr. and Mrs. Sander, that was—sat in the big chairs around the fire, swapping stories of Pa's and John Sander's days at sea.

"It had been blowing for three days by that time, and between that and the bad stew, there wasn't a one of us who wasn't sicker than a dog …"

Hoss shuddered. Those stories … They'd been okay the first few times, but they all started sounding alike after awhile, and it was hard to laugh at something he might have already heard seven or eight times since breakfast.

"So Johnny decided that he would try for the crow's nest again …"

A month. Were they really staying for a month? They were nice enough, and Hoss was glad that his pa had a chance to visit with friends he hadn't seen in thirty years, but Pa hadn't stopped talkin' or laughin' or tellin' stories since they'd walked in the door. And he wanted his boys there to hear them.

All of them.

Hoss spotted Miss Amelia in the near chair, a rather fixed smile on her face and a parasol clutched in her gloved hands. Waiting for Adam and a buggy ride, no doubt. A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he squinted across the sitting area to find Joe peering cautiously around the kitchen corner. Little brother's eyes darted furiously, finally settling on Hoss. Joe edged out further and mouthed a long string of words, greatly exaggerated and completely unreadable.

Now, just what was he up to?

"The hail had given that old nest a real battering, though, and …"

Whatever it was, it probably spelled trouble. Hoss grimaced, torn between ignoring his brother and a sad sort of curiosity over what disaster might be next in the making. Truth be told, he had expected Joe to be right in line behind Adam for Miss Amelia's attention. His little brother had never been one to ignore a purty gal, and she was a right purty little gal—though not his type, not after the shrieks she made that first day when she found that little goat kid nibblin' on her skirt. Hadn't even put a hole in it, and you'da thought a cougar was on the attack. His brothers didn't mind that kinda thing so much, though, and he'd been expectin' a right good time of it, watchin' them scrap over her. Mighta' happened, too, if not for those two boys and that prank with the water trough and the feather pillow that first night. Joe had sworn revenge, and the youngest Cartwright had been skulking around after them Sander boys for the past days, riggin' traps and jumpin' out from behind barns and all in all actin' more like twelve than twenty hisself.

Was probably for the best. Adam woulda wiped the floor with him, in the matter of Miss Amelia. Little brother still depended too much on looks and smooth talkin', when what the lady really seemed to want to talk about was all them books linin' older brother's shelves.

Nope, not his type at all. Give him a girl that wanted walks and wildflowers any day…

"Johnny was hanging on for dear life …"

Joe got overconfident and stepped out too far, forgetting that the sideboard had been shifted to allow for extra room in the dining area. The thump was muffled, but caught Ben's attention. Their pa held up a hand, looking around. "Joe, is that you?"

Little Joe shook his head frantically, mouthed another desperate, unreadable plea, and made a frantic dive back around the corner.

"Joseph?"

Hoss sighed and started down the stairs, making enough racket to draw his pa's attention. That boy was sure gonna owe him.

"Ah, Hoss!"

Hoss heard the faint scuttle of boots across stone flooring, and the click of the outer kitchen door. Ben motioned him down. "Come on down, son. Join us! We were just talking about … you wouldn't believe some of the storms we managed to live through …"

"Uh, sure Pa."

Wouldn't believe. Well, maybe not this time last week. And now he still didn't believe it, but for a whole different reason. His pa and John Sander were sure enough tellin' fish stories, whether they meant to or not. Nobody coulda' lived through some of the stuff he'd heard this week—leastways, not as many times as they claimed. Hoss lumbered reluctantly down the stairs and sank onto the big stone hearth, waving away his pa's offer of a chair. A chair was too comfortable, too permanent. The hearth was good for a quick getaway, when he made his move.

"What was you, uh …" He almost couldn't get the words out. "What was you all talkin' about?"

Ben's face lit, and Hoss decided that sitting through a repetition—he just knew they'd heard about Johnny and the crow's nest before—was almost worth it. The look Miss Amelia shot him was darn near cold, but Alice Sander just smiled serenely over her embroidery. She had been making somethin' with a bunch o' little ships on it since they'd got here—cushions or some such. Seemed like a lot o' trouble for cushions that would probably just get dirtied up with mud or … but maybe they didn't get blood on their cushions in the East. Huh. Hoss ignored Miss Amelia's frown, listening to his pa with half an ear and puzzling over whether cushions really stayed clean in Boston, where Pa and Adam's ma and the Sanders were from. Miss Amelia straightened suddenly, her annoyed expression dropping into a bright smile, and he didn't have to look around to know that Adam had joined them.

"Adam!"

"Pa, Mr. and Mrs. Sander." Adam clasped their pa's shoulder and nodded politely to the Sanders before turning to Miss Amelia. "Amelia, are you ready?" He offered his arm and pulled out those dimples in that way Adam had—the one that made girls turn red and stammer, and that made Hoss want to smack him upside the head.

No amount of protest was ever gonna convince him that older brother didn't know exactly what he was doin' with them things …

"Of course." Amelia rose, placing one gloved hand on Adam's arm.

Alice leaned forward. "What are your plans for the day?"

"Adam said he would take me to see the lake," Amelia chirped, smiling up at the man in question. The Sanders murmured their approval, and her pa's eyes lit like he wanted to go along—which was surely not what the two o' them had in mind. Pa frowned.

"Adam, it's been raining for several days. Are you sure the paths to the lake are dry enough for the buggy?"

"I know it's been raining, Pa. We'd have been there before now if it wasn't." Adam grinned back down at the little blonde on his arm, and Hoss just stopped himself groaning aloud. It was getting downright sickening in here. His brother turned a reassuring smile on Amelia's parents. "I checked out most of the trail last night after the rain let up. We'll be fine."

Pa nodded slowly. "All right then. You'll be gone the day, I expect—have a good time." He looked around to his other guests. "If it stays dry, perhaps we'll head up tomorrow."

"Very good, Cartwright!" Sander boomed, resettling in his chair. Hoss couldn't help notice Miss Amelia release a tiny sigh of relief. "I'm anxious to see your land."

"Well, you will see it." Ben sank back down as well, waving Adam and Amelia away. "No need to worry about that. I'm terribly proud of the Ponderosa."

"An' you should be, Pa," Hoss added earnestly, drawing nods from the Sanders and the flash of a grin from his father. The door closed behind Adam and the lady, and Ben looked back around.

"Where were we, then?"

Sigh. "Uh … Cap'n Tracey, Pa."

"Tracey! Ah, yes, good old Tracey."

Yep. Good ol' Tracey.

He waited another half hour, until Pa and John Sander were laughin' so hard they barely knew anyone else was in the room, then slid off of the hearth. "Pa, I gotta go check on Chubby, he … uh, he mighta' pulled somethin' yesterday." Which was true, if only just. He'd suspected it for a bit, but the horse had done well all afternoon and now he doubted that there had ever been anything to the odd gait but rough ground and a bit of high spirits. Still, it never hurt to be careful and he fully intended to check out that leg before riding again.

"Sure, sure, son." Ben waved a distracted hand, and Hoss knew his escape was good. He ducked through the sitting area and out the other side, pausing in surprise when Alice Sander squeezed his wrist as he passed. He halted, ready to ask if she needed something, but the lady only dropped a wink and a small smile, then bent her head once again over her embroidery. Hoss grinned, ducked his head, and made for the door.

It was good to get outside. The spring rains, for all they were a nuisance, made everything fresh and new. The morning was cool and crisp, the sun had actually made an appearance, and Hoss had always preferred the out-of-doors to anyplace else anyway. The very stillness of the yard should really have made him suspicious, he admitted later—the area around the Cartwright home, the stables and the well and the pens beyond, had become a constant battleground for Joe and the young Sander boys over the past days—but Hoss paid little mind at the time. He was intent on getting to his horse, and the incident-free passage from house to stable further lulled him. He spent some time checking the leg in question, which was sound, and another long while currying the big animal until he shone. Chubb showed his appreciation by leaning more and more of his weight upon Hoss as the grooming progressed, and eventually the big man laughed, shoving the horse away.

"Get up, you lazy ol' thing. Now, I don't have anything for you—I left the house in a bit of a hurry—but maybe I can get you somethin' from Hop Sing later, yeah?" Chubb did not seem entirely pleased with this plan, but let Hoss go with only a single nip on the back of his vest. Hoss chuckled, pushing the horse away, and moved toward the door.

A single despairing cry—"Hoss, no!"—was all the warning he got, and by that point the stable door was too far open for the warning to matter. The water cascaded over him, followed by an open bag of flour, and before he reached the safety of the yard, Hoss was covered to the waist in a white, sticky paste.

"Little Joe!" He roared and flung the stable door wide. "Dadgummit, you leave me outta this thing! I ain't gonna—" Intent on locating the offender and exacting justice, he failed to notice the small animal in his path, tripped, and sprawled headlong in the dust. He rolled, and then froze as he came face to face with the familiar black and white stripes. No. Please, no…

Who'd dragged a skunk into this?

He did manage to get his eyes closed in time, but it was otherwise—once again—too late. Hoss came to his feet cussing up a storm, but even that was drowned by the howls of young laughter and his little brother's familiar hyena cackle.

"Joe!"

"Hoss …" Joe could barely breathe for laughing. The Sander boys, for all that they usually treated Hoss with a wary respect because of his size, were hardly better. They did, unlike his brother, hide themselves a safe distance away behind a water barrel. "Hoss, no, I'm sorry, I didn't …" Little Joe dissolved again into helpless giggles. Hoss glowered for a long moment, but his wrath was lost upon his little brother. Finally, he shook his head and stomped away. Fine. This was just fine. He wasn't gonna be able to eat at the table for days, not like this …

He rounded the side of the stable and plowed directly into their smallest guest.

Alicia Sander was the tiniest little seven-year-old Hoss had ever seen, with the biggest blue eyes. She was fascinated by every animal on the ranch, especially the hoards of young that were all part and parcel of this time of year. She was also terrified of him. The child had hid behind her father upon first sight of the big man, and no amount of coaxing to see baby goats or baby cows or baby cats had convinced her that Hoss was anything less than downright petrifying (Adam had taught him that word one time—somethin' ta do with turnin' ta stone, which seemed ta fit right well here because it was about was the little gal did whenever Hoss appeared on the scene).

Least this time he couldn't blame her. Anybody would be startled ta have a huge, pasty white, grumbling, skunk-smellin' man trip right over her, sending them both sprawling and the chickens darting away in a rush of wings and cackling. Alicia lay still for a moment, staring at him with large, tear-filled eyes, then she shrieked, scrambled to her feet, and darted away toward the house. Hoss sighed, letting his head fall back onto the packed earth. Clucking nervously, the chickens began to circle, drawn by their feed but unwilling to approach the overwhelming odor of skunk musk.

"Joe!"

"Hoss?" Joe edged around the stable corner, wearing that cautious expression that made him look about ten years younger. He stared after the disappearing child, then looked back down to his brother—who might have been laid out for a nice nap beside the stable, except for … Well. "You, uh … you all right?" A rustling just out of sight indicated that the Sander boys, too, were viewing their handiwork—though from a safer distance.

"Joe." Hoss took a long breath, concentrating on keeping his voice calm and even. "Chester told me yesterday that fence along the south road needs ridin'." He struggled to sit, stretching to be sure nothing had been damaged in the fall. "Don't expect me 'til I'm back."

Joe bit his lip. "Ah, Hoss, we didn't …" He offered a hand, which Hoss ignored, rolling cautiously to his feet and shifting to settle everything back into place. "Hoss, I …" Joe trailed away at the sight of Hoss's face, and nodded. "Okay." He hesitated, looked as if he would speak again, then just turned and high-tailed it back into the front yard.

Hoss brushed flour paste flakes from his arms and hair. "Good riddance," he muttered, and went to find Hop Sing.

The cook was bringing in wood for the stove, but stopped to stare in open disbelief as Hoss approached the back door.

"Hop Sing, I'm—"

"What happen to you?"

Hoss snorted. "Joe an' his little posse o'—"

"Stop!" Hop Sing threw up a hand. "You no come closer! You stink!"

"Yep," Hoss ground out. He halted a good distance away, eyeing the cook imploringly. "I'm gonna go ride fence for the day, you got some sandwiches or somethin' I can—"

"That my new bag of flour?" the cook demanded. Hoss scowled.

"Prob'ly."

Hop Sing spat out a string of words in his own language that Hoss was pretty sure it was just as well he couldn't understand. "Those boys be the death of me!"

"Of all of us, probably."

"Little Joe twenty, not two."

"Well …" Hoss shrugged, starting to feel philosophical about it all again now that he wasn't face to face with the little miscreant. "At least he's keepin' those boys outa' everybody else's hair."

Hop Sing eyed Hoss for a moment, then shook his head and shooed the middle Cartwright away. "You not come in my kitchen. I make sandwiches, call you when ready."

Hoss grinned his thanks, spirits reviving at the thought of one of Hop Sing's lunches. "Thanks. I'll go saddle Chubby and be back."

"You not come in."

"Nope, I won't."

The yard was still again as Hoss crossed back to the stable. He kept a wary eye out in case Joe or one of the Sander boys came back for more, but they had apparently decided they'd had enough. Either that, or Joe had diverted the boys' attention. His younger brother had seemed genuinely sorry about the whole mess once Alicia had gotten dragged in. Joe knew how it rubbed Hoss that the little girl was afraid of him. Hoss saddled a protesting Chubb—the big horse probably resented his changed scent as much as he himself did—and led him back out of the stable, wondering just how he was going to get his guns or a change of clothes without alerting his Pa to Joe's latest antics. That was just a whole mess of trouble he wasn't willing to stir up.

Hop Sing, though, had him covered. The cook handed him not only a packet of sandwiches, but a pile of extra clothing, his hat, his rifle, and his gun belt. Hoss grinned, relieved.

"Thanks, Hop Sing. This is real great."

"You no go in house."

"Nope." Hoss chuckled. "Nope, you've about got everything I need right here."

Hop Sing plopped a sealed tin on top of Hoss's armful. "Now have everything."

Frowning, Hoss juggled his clothes and guns until he was able to grasp the tin and pull it open. It held a thick, gritty white paste. "What's this?"

"You scrub."

"Yeah, but what is it?"

"You scrub! Clothes too." Hop Sing gestured to Hoss's skunk-stained apparel. "I not wash until you scrub."

"Should be Joe doin' the scrubbin'…" Hoss grumbled, sniffing at the paste. He wrinkled his nose. "But Hop Sing, this stinks!"

"Better than smelling like skunk, yes?"

Well, that was a good point. Hoss shrugged, nodded agreement, and tucked the tin away. "Thanks again, Hop Sing. See you tonight."

The cook shooed him away, and Hoss ambled across to his waiting horse. His bags packed and rifle snugly secured, he swung onto Chubb and trotted from the yard, feeling better than he had in days. The wind was in his hair (what there was of it) and the sun warmed his shoulders (for now, anyway). He could look forward to a long day of just him and Chubb and few broken-down fence rails. Not a soul anywhere for miles.

Right now, that seemed pretty good. A little peace and quiet was just the thing.

Yep. Just the thing.