Somewhere in the Night
by Susan Dietz (Calim1)
Rating and Reader Alerts: PG-13 (mild language)
Category: DR AC HC
Summary: Adam and Hoss are lost and must make their own way home on different paths.
© July 2010
Feedback is appreciated
Disclaimer: The characters and general situations in this story are the property of Bonanza Ventures, Inc., however I reserve the rights to the specific details. It is not my intention to infringe upon their rights; this story is purely for the enjoyment of fans. Please do not redistribute in any form.
Chapter 1
Hoss Cartwright opened his eyes only to squint at the sun that shone down upon him. It took a moment to realize he was laying flat on his back at the bottom of what looked like a ravine. Unsure how he'd gotten there, he lay still, collecting stray thoughts and thinking it might be wise to at least sit up. Little did he know what a chore that would be.
Starting with a slight roll to his right he immediately stopped waiting for the sun to stay in the sky and stop whizzing about his head. The intense thudding of his heart worked its way into his ears and he squeezed shut his eyes.
My, this might take an hour or two.
After a few moments he tried again only to be sidelined this time by the bones in his left arm grinding together pulling a cry from him. Dropping his head to the ground he wondered how many stars could dance before his eyes before he just gave up.
Deciding to stay in this position lest another heavenly body cascade toward him, he glanced about without moving his head or body, eyes taking in Chubb standing silently next to him, head hung low. He just looked plain miserable. His saddle was askew and cuts oozed blood down his hind legs. Behind him was evidence of a long slide they'd both taken down the side of the ravine.
Hoss stared at those slide marks.
Hadn't someone been with him? There was a vague recollection of having a conversation with someone other than his horse. Or had he been alone? If so, why was his head shouting at him to call out?
Maybe he should just calm that frantic inner voice.
"Is anyone here?" Hoss yelled flinching at the resounding echo.
Chubb's head came up at his master's voice and he stepped towards him with a welcoming nicker. No other answer met his call.
"Well, at least yer here, boy."
Rubbing his horse's lowered head, Hoss decided he'd better get up for both their sakes. The air was getting colder and it wouldn't do to just lay there and freeze to death.
Holding his breath, he pushed himself up to his knees and crawled toward the slope in one swift movement daring the heavens to descend upon him again. Leaning there nausea worked its way up his throat. Swallowing repeatedly, he closed his eyes and forced the idea of throwing up out of his mind. To distract himself he ran a hand through his hair finding a large lump at the back of his head, fingers trailing through the blood that trickled down his neck. Neckerchief in hand, he dabbed at the wound wondering for a moment where his hat was, the thought quickly replaced with something next on his list – standing up.
Grabbing Chubb's reins, Hoss hauled himself up to balance against the rocks, the ground wiggling this way and that under his feet in an obvious attempt to knock him flat. Gritting his teeth, he stood firm until the wavering stopped making him smile. Two great feats accomplished in the space of thirty minutes – he'd gotten to his feet and he hadn't thrown up. That's enough to make anyone happy.
"Okay, boy," he began holding tightly to the reins. "Let's see if both of us can walk."
Finding his own legs wobbly but working, Hoss peered at his horse as they stumbled forward sure Chubb's legs were working despite his obvious injuries.
He smiled again. "Well, lookee there, ol' Chubb. You and me could go square dancin' we're so light on our feet."
Chubb shook his head and Hoss clapped a big hand on his friend's neck, rubbing some of the dust off his coat, deciding he needed to do something for him.
Spying snow within reach, Hoss scooped some up and applied it to the horse's cuts who skittered away at the touch. Hoss whispered to him, calming him as best he could as he ran the snow along Chubb's legs leaving bloody water to drip through his fingers. Satisfied that that was all he could do at present, he moved onto himself.
Carefully removing his jacket, Hoss dropped it to the ground then pulled off his belt, fastening it together and slipping it over his neck to slide his injured arm through it. That's all he could do for himself at the moment so turned back to Chubb and adjusted the cinch, tossing the reins back over his neck and awkwardly mounting. Sitting quietly for a spell to make sure he stayed put, he craned back his head to view the top of the ravine sure he'd lost something besides his hat. Shrugging, he picked up the reins in his good hand.
"It'll come ta me. Let's go home, Chubb."
Letting the animal go at his own pace, the two headed off.
BZBZBZBZ
Floating over a field of white, he heard a flock of birds singing their hearts out in the nearby trees and wondered what that was that was licking his forehead. Adam Cartwright slowly opened eyes to a soft muzzle and a long tongue swiping his face. He smiled.
"I see you, Sport," he whispered raising a hand to comfort the animal only to gasp at the sharp pain caused by such a simple movement. The pounding in his head was increasing with each passing second and he could feel something dripping off his ear.
Wishing for a brief moment to be floating once again over that beautiful field without a care in the world, Adam closed his eyes. But his hopes were shattered when Sport butted him on the shoulder forcing him to reopen his eyes.
"I'm awake," he said as Sport snorted, showing his breath to his master. "Getting cold, I see."
And it was. He could feel a numbing cold on his back and legs and noticed the breeze above was becoming quite icy. Well, it was winter. What did he expect? And it wasn't exactly a good idea to just lie there and freeze to death. A picture of his tombstone rose before his eyes – Adam Cartwright, Froze to Death. What a dumbass.
Chuckling to himself, he slowly raised his arm with the intent of finding out what was dripping off his ear and found a deep slice on his forehead. The blood was already coagulating in the cold air giving him the satisfaction that at least he wouldn't bleed to death before he froze to death. Looking up he noticed the sun seemed to be hanging a bit lower than he remembered and big fat clouds were gathering to the north. Snow was coming.
"Well, boy, I believe we'd better make haste if we're to beat the weather. Let's see if I can even get up."
Attempting to roll over was pointless since the ground seemed to move with him. Disconcerting as it was, Adam knew he couldn't let a little thing like gravity stop him and tried again, this time with a little help from Sport who bounced his muzzle off his shoulder then further down his back.
Resting on his left side, head firmly planted on the ground, eyes shut, sure that his brain would explode any minute from the pounding hammers he was sure resided there, Adam took a second to gather what little thoughts remained and opened his eyes. He quickly shut them at the sight they beheld.
"Oh, shit," he cursed, his stomach flip-flopping so much he thought it might bounce right out of his mouth.
Maybe he'd been mistaken; that wasn't what he thought it was. Taking a deep breath he forced open his eyes, took a look and cringed.
He hadn't been mistaken.
His right pant leg was ripped to the knee and his shin was bent at an awkward angle, the bone poking out of the skin just over his boot. Adam's racing heart made his headache worse and threatened the lunch he'd had not too long ago.
As he lay there contemplating what he was going to do, it occurred to him that, despite his injury, nothing hurt but his head.
Odd. It must be the cold.
No matter the reason he did know he had to work fast but he didn't really want to think on how.
"Shit!" he repeated a bit more forcefully feeling that word summed up his present situation very well thank you very much.
Taking long, deep breaths, the chill cleared up his foggy brain for future use and decided talking aloud might just help him out.
"Calm yourself and think."
Ah, two very important things to do in a crisis. Closing his eyes, he took a moment then put his brain to work.
The first and only thing that popped into his mind was dismissed immediately but then instantly recalled because he had no other choice. He had to set his own leg. For that he knew he would need something to brace his foot, a cabinet full of whiskey and whole lot of willpower. Being that he was lying on the cold hard ground over a day's ride from home without a bottle of liquor in sight, all he had to work with was willpower.
It would have to do.
Direction decided, Adam carefully eased himself upright and looked about for something to pop his leg back into place. A rock pile a few feet away gave him an idea.
Rolling to his knees, he crawled toward those rocks finding exactly what he needed within minutes – two rocks worn through by years of weathering creating an almost perfect 'v'. Easing his leg between them he set his other foot on the nearest rock to the left. One good push and they could get a move on.
"Okay, let's do this," Adam said more to himself than Sport who watched with great interest. "On three. One – two – three." He never moved a muscle. "Coward," he grumbled at his leg as Sport nickered and Adam scowled. "I'd like to see you try this."
Sport nickered again flinging his head up and down and Adam was sure he was laughing. An eagle call drew his attention for a moment and he glanced up, its northward flight partially obscured by incoming clouds. Turning back to his leg, determination filled him.
"Okay, get a move on, Cartwright. Just push. One – two – th . . ."
As three rushed out, he pushed, his leg snagging in the rocks as expected and the bone disappearing back through the skin. Oh, his lofty idea of the cold numbing the pain quickly flew out the window as a hearty scream escaped him to echo about the area and disturb the birds from their perches. Their angry cries followed him as he fell back to the cold hard ground oblivious to all about him.
BZBZBZBZ
Ben Cartwright looked up from the book he'd been reading and glanced toward the Grandfather clock by the door. It was late and the boys were . . . He'd been thinking late but they weren't really.
But there was something.
Standing from his chair, he moved toward the window behind his desk.
"What the matter?" Hop Sing asked coming toward his boss.
"I don't know," came the answer and a shrug. "I just got a shiver; thought I heard someone calling."
"Who?" Ben just shrugged. "Boys'll be home soon."
Ben smiled at that and watched Hop Sing head back to the kitchen. Returning his gaze out the window he glanced up at the darkening sky. Something had called. No, someone had called.
Shaking his head, he sat back down and picked up his book.
. . . to be continued.