A/N This story was posted about ten years ago on a site called Behind the Wagon, so it's possible you've read it before. I'm just happy to have found my old files! I may be a little slow in getting the whole story posted, since I have some formatting to change and some retyping to do, but I'll work as steadily as I can!
A Harsh Wind
Joe tightened his bandana around his nose and mouth and pulled his hat down hard over his eyes. Squinting to keep the sand from blowing into his eyes, he could barely make out the form of Hoss, ten feet away. There were about 15 head of cattle between them, the last of the strays they'd spent the last two days searching for. The animals bellowed and snorted uncomfortably in the blowing dust.
Cochise tucked his head down and plodded on. Joe patted the animal's neck gently and nudged him to go a little faster.
Suddenly, one of the cows screamed and ran wildly in the wrong direction. Joe saw Hoss' form fade and disappear, chasing after the cow. The wind changed direction, blowing painful bits of grit against Joe's cheek and, unhappily, into his ear. He saw Hoss' form return. The wind was far to strong to talk over, so the men plodded on in silence.
They rode through the early afternoon dust storm and the brief late afternoon monsoon, and finally, after the weather settled so did they. Hoss was cooking dinner while Joe stood wiping his neck in vain with a filthy bandana.
"You all right, little brother?"
Joe smiled. "Well, I'd give my left arm for a bath right now."
"Ain't that the truth. I ain't never been so dirty in all my life." Hoss reached over to lift the cook-pot from the fire, and nearly dropped it, wincing.
"What's the matter with you?" Joe asked.
Hoss held a hand on his right shoulder. "Aw, nothin'. I reckon I pulled a muscle when I roped that stray doggie today."
"Well, here, let me get that." Joe served up two plates of Hoss' stew for them, and Hoss sat down against a rock to eat. "I don't even wanna know what you put in this, do I?"
"It ain't nothin' bad," Hoss said. "Just some potatoes, and carrots, and some jerky."
Joe spat heavily. "And dust." He settled in against a rock and carefully chose his next spoonful. "You know, I think that's the worst feeling in the world. Biting into food and getting sand in between your teeth."
Hoss grunted his agreement and continued wolfing down his meal.
"You know," Joe continued, "A man could lose his appetite watching you eat."
"More for me," Hoss mumbled, and Joe laughed.
"Hey, c'mon, what's takin' you so long, you big ox?" Joe grinned as he said it, tying his bedroll onto the back of his saddle.
"Joe, I'm sorry, but I can't hardly move this arm this mornin'," Hoss explained, gingerly touching his shoulder.
A look of concern crossed Joe's face. "Yeah? Let me see it." He walked over to his brother and, not being able to see anything through the shirt, reached out and touched the sore shoulder.
"Ow!" Hoss yelped, stepping backwards. "Since when does seein' involve grabbin' it and yankin' it out of socket?!"
"Oh, c'mon, ya big baby, I barely touched it."
"Well it didn't feel like ya barely touched it," Hoss grumbled.
"Can you move it?"
Hoss tried, but barely moved it an inch before a look of pain crossed his face.
"It must be bad, Hoss. You better get to a doctor."
"Yeah, but what about these strays?"
"It's not that many. I can drive 'em alone. Besides, you ain't gonna be much help with that arm."
Hoss sighed. "I reckon that's true."
"I'll help you pack up."
"What's so funny, Pa?" Adam asked at supper.
"Oh, well, you remember that Edith Wallen I told you about?"
"Yes, wasn't she the one that tried to sell you that parrot?"
Ben laughed. "Yes, yes, that's her! It says here," Ben smacked the letter he was reading, "that she pawned it off on Ben Harper in San Francisco, and it turns out that the bird says nothing but foul words!"
Adam smiled.
"But what's even funnier is that it didn't talk at all until Ben's mother-in-law came for a visit!"
The two men shared a long laugh, and were interrupted by the front door opening.
"Hoss!" Adam said cheerfully, and rose to greet his brother. "You fellows made it back quickly!" Ben rose from his seat and walked to the door.
"Well," Hoss said, adjusting his sling uncomfortably, "It ain't exactly both of us. I tore up this shoulder and had to get Doc Martin to look after it. Joe's tendin' the doggies alone."
"Well, what's the matter? Are you all right?" Ben asked.
"Yeah, yeah, the Doc says I'll be fine. Just tore some muscles in there a little bit."
"Where'd you leave Joe?" inquired Adam.
"About a day's ride... two, tendin' cattle. He'll be all right, as long as the weather don't get nasty again."
"Caught in the monsoon, eh?" Ben asked.
"Yeah, but before that was a terrible dust storm. It was downright miserable."
"Well, c'mon in and have some supper," Ben said, clapping Hoss on the back.
"Yeah, Pa can tell you about old Edith Whitten," Adam said, and the two older Cartwrights chuckled.
Ben awoke to the sound of a crash downstairs. He climbed out of bed and walked to the door, pulling on his robe as he went. "Hoss? You all right?" He called, deciding his middle son must have gone in search of a midnight snack.
He was answered by a string of Chinese, followed by a thud, then an eerie silence.
"Hop Sing?" Ben called, but there was no answer. He turned to retrieve a gun from his nightstand, but was stopped by the sound of hammers clicking behind him. Hoss stood in the hall now, too, and both men had been silenced by the weapons.
"Go downstairs, now!" Long and lean, the man looked as if he'd never had a square meal in his life. Hoss glared at him as he walked by.
Ben glanced nervously at Hoss, then forced himself not to look in the direction of Adam's room. The men herded them downstairs.
"What the devil?!" They heard Adam exclaim a few minutes later. Before long, he too, was walking down the stairs in his shorts at gunpoint.
"Sleep well, Adam?" Hoss asked jokingly, rubbing his sore shoulder.
"Yeah. Terrific." Adam sat in the blue chair near the fireplace and stared at his brother and father on the settee.
The lean man came back downstairs and walked up to a burly man, with dark curly hair and a beard. "There's no one else here," he reported.
The bearded man sat down in the red chair and smiled. "Well, Mr. Carwright. Quite a fine place you have here."
"Where is Hop Sing?" Ben asked angrily.
"A good leader cares about his men. That's my first rule, isn't it, Jorge?"
The lean man laughed.
"Oh, don't worry, Mr. Cartwright. He's not dead yet."
"What do you want?" Ben asked, his voice like ice.
The bearded man picked up a piece of kindling and began breaking strips off of it. "A fair question. But not the most polite, eh? Isn't it proper etiquette to make introductions first?" Angry glares met his gaze. He stood, snapped his heels together, and bowed slightly. "My name is Rafael Ulibarra. I am a wanted man." He straightened himself and stared from one Cartwright to the next. "Isn't that right, Jorge?" He asked, and laughed.
"By women and men!" Jorge yelled, and all the man's gang laughed heartily.
"You," Rafael said, "are Mr. Ben Cartwright. A powerful man. A rich man. And now... " Rafael tossed a splinter of wood towards Ben's face. He flinched. "A very frightened man."
"My Pa asked you what you want," Hoss growled.
Rafael curled his fingers in his beard and smiled. "So he did," he said, laughing again. "When I feel like answering you, I will," he snarled and walked out of the room.