Little Joe crouched low to the ground before darting from one clump of bushes to another twenty yards away. Once there, he squatted down to scrutinize the earth around him. Yes! He'd found footprints, clearly many footprints. Some of them surely had to be from his older brother Hoss. The small child picked out one that was pointing away from all the picnic activities spread across the big meadow. He was sure this had to be Hoss's print-his older brother wasn't anywhere in sight, and this trail led away. Hoss was surely in danger; he'd been gone for such a long time!
The four-year-old boy reached up to his hair and satisfied himself that the big feather he'd found earlier was still stuck firmly among his curls. Little Eagle would track down Hoss and rescue him! He looked cautiously around, aware he had to sneak like a real Indian. There was another patch of scrub in the right direction only another ten yards away. Little Eagle ducked low and scampered to his new hiding place, carrying a strong stick in his left hand like a hunting spear.
aaaaaaaaaaa
Hoss was sitting on one of the swings at the playground outside the schoolhouse. A girl with her bright red braids pinned up in jaunty loops sat on the other. Amelia is a prankster but it's fun to be with her, the boy thought as he swung slowly back and forth, chewing on a donut.
They had met at the bowlful of donuts. "You like these too?" Hoss had asked, smiling. "Widow Hawkins always makes the best things, doesn't she?"
She had nodded before showing Hoss what was hidden behind her back-a big, long-handled spoon that had come to the picnic with a bowl of potato salad. Almost at once she tucked it out of sight again. "You keep lookout, Hoss!" she'd commanded and he'd dutifully watched for hostile eyes while the girl ran the spoon through the holes in the donuts. Once she had a dozen stacked up on that handle she had hissed, "OK, Hoss, run!"
And they had run.
After a few detours they had reached the playground, giggling and gasping for breath. Now they swayed gently on the almost motionless swings, eating their spoils with gusto.
"Hey, Hoss," Amelia broke the silence. "You know something sweeter than donuts?"
"Honey?" the ten-year-old guessed.
"No," she said thoughfully, "even sweeter than honey."
"Candy, maybe?"
"My brother said this was sweeter than honey or candy-even sugar."
She had left her swing and was standing in front of him now. The boy wasn't sure what she planned, but-just in case-tightened his hands on the chains of his own swing in a strong grip. He watched in wonder as she leaned forward to suddenly plant her lips on his.
"Are you crazy?" the big fair-haired boy sputtered in complete astonishment. "Why-what-you kissed me!"
Amelia backed away quickly. "Hoss, it...it was only an experiment. You see, I was eavesdropping on my big brother and his girl one night, and he said kisses were sweeter than sugar. And then he kissed her and they both got excited and she agreed it was the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted. But it didn't work! Maybe you have to lick your lips afterwards?" The girl tried it, and frowned. "It does taste sweet, but...I think the sweetness only comes from the donuts," she said doubtfully. "What do you think, Hoss?"
The boy only stared at her.
"Hoss, are you mad at me? Please don't be...I knew no grownup would tell me about that kissing stuff, and I just had to find out. I didn't mean to upset you," she begged the frowning boy."Can we please still go fishing next Sunday after church the way we planned?"
Hoss couldn't stay angry. Slowly a smile grew on his face. "But no more 'speriments! Or at least ask me beforehand!"
The girl smiled back at him in relief. "I thought we could maybe try smoking," she suggested mischievously.
"Done that already." Hoss said with a superior air. "And I can assure you, even if you don't get caught, it tastes nasty-and it ain't worth a tanning, fer sure!"
"Well, maybe all these adult things aren't what they're cracked up to be."
"Yeah, that's right. What about going back for some more sweets?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't think I can eat anything sweet right now. I feel so … so terrible full." she answered hesitantly putting a hand on her stomach.
"I feel kinda sick, too. Could be six donuts–no, nine, I already et three–are just a mite too many."
They both giggled, suddenly comfortable with each other again.
"Hoss, what time is it?"
"Don't know, but the sun's really low," said the boy after a look at the horizon. "Do your parents know where you are, Amelia?"
She shook her head.
"Mine neither."
They exchanged a worried glance.
"It's good we don't like sweets any more because our parents won't be offering us any if they're looking for us" she said ironically.
Hoss was more hopeful. "Maybe they didn't miss us yet."
Without wasting any more time on discussion, both children broke into a sprint.
aaaaaaaaaa
Adam headed back from the center of town towards the big meadow. How long had he been gone? Less than two hours, he guessed in relief. Virginia City looked almost empty with so many of its respectable citizens still at the church picnic. Maybe it would be better if he didn't walk directly down the main street, where he might bump into a friend of the family coming home. That wouldn't be good...not if his father found out that he'd been in town-or why. Pa wouldn't understand. The sixteen-year-old felt a pang of guilt but straightened his back as he turned down a small alley.
He'd had to show those Bonner brothers he wasn't a goodie-goodie, or a Papa's boy. He'd met them behind the livery stable to play poker after church more than a few times already without his father finding out, but this time was different, because of the picnic. The moment he'd said so, though, the Bonners had teased him for being too much his father's obedient son to be willing to gamble like a man. No, he'd had no other way to save his honor. Jingling the coins in his pants pocket, he reflected complacently that he'd shown them who the man was. The Bonner brothers were much worse poker players than they reckoned themselves. Eight dollars and fifty cents...that was almost three times his regular allowance! But it was certainly time to be back, and he picked up his pace a little.
"Well, ain't this nice? A good-looking boy all dressed for church, right in the middle of my street!" A muscular young miner in ragged clothes stood blocking Adam's way, breathing alcohol into his face.
"Come on, let me through," Adam said, trying not to beg or to sound like he was in too much of a hurry. Being caught sneaking back into the picnic would be shameful enough; he didn't want to make bad worse by getting into a fight as well.
"Why should I?" the other man sneered. "I don't like your tone, boy. If you want to walk down my street, ask me nicely! Or do you think good manners are just for other people?"
Two more men, both somewhat older than Adam, closed in around them. One of them laughed nastily, "Oh, look-ain't that the lucky boy who won so much at the Bonner's poker game? Ben Cartwright's son?" Adam vaguely remembered him from the handful of men hanging around the livery stable to watch the game.
"Mighty unfair for the richest boy in town to be so lucky too," the other newcomer chimed in.
"Sure is," the first one agreed. "I think it's only fair and proper we do something about that. Hand over the money, boy, and we'll give it to the poor. I'm Robin Hood's nephew, don't you know?"
"Let me by!" Adam tried to push his way past the drunken man in front of him, but a punch from behind took his breath away. A few more blows and a kick to the back of his knees dropped him to the muddy street. Someone took a chokehold on his collar and pulled his left arm painfully upwards.
"Look, boy, you don't have to make this so hard on yourself. Just give us the money and you can go," the miner-no longer looking particularly drunken at all-said with mock concern.
His heavy studded boots were almost in Adam's face. There was nothing to be gained by resisting, so Adam fumbled in his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a handful of coins. He even resisted the temptation to throw them in the dust instead of holding them out to his tormentors.
"That's better! Now stand up and turn your pockets inside out. That way we can be sure you're not holding out on us."
Adam got slowly to his feet, gritting his teeth, and pulled his right pocket out to prove it was now empty. He showed them the folded handkerchief from his left pocket before turning that one inside out as well.
"What an obedient boy," the one from the poker crowd-hadn't one of the Bonners even called him a friend?-jeered. "Get on, now, and go tell your rich pappy all about the nasty men who stole your nice poker winnings." He snickered at his own joke and the other two joined in the laughter.
Adam held his head high and sauntered down the alley as casually as he could manage, not looking behind him. Inside, his blood was boiling. Those three hadn't even been gunslingers, just a bunch of bullies who had caught him in a bad place-and they knew very well he could tell his father nothing about the whole incident. But he hadn't needed his Pa to get a little of his own back, Adam thought with grim satisfaction. He dug his left hand into his pocket again and fingered the five-dollar bill he'd quickly tucked inside the layers of his handkerchief. For a moment he felt downright proud of himself, until the realization of how much might have gone wrong struck him full force. He could already hear his father's familiar lecture about putting himself into unnecessary danger so clearly that he felt absolutely no need to be given it again in reality. Almost breaking into a run as he regained the main street, he prayed his pa hadn't missed him yet.
