FOUR

Adam impatiently paced the narrow area along the side of the road to Placerville, doing his best to keep his temper. While he realized he was young, he was an adult and the patronizing attitude of Roy Coffee's current deputy was almost enough to make him take a chance on whether or not his father's money could get him off on a murder charge.

Almost.

Hoss was looking at him. Waiting on him to give him a sign. Something.

They were wasting time.

"Look, Deputy Blunt," he began, "I know you have your opinions, but this is our baby brother and we need to –"

Horace Blunt looked like a stork. He was skinny as a stick and had a long neck and an Adam's apple that bobbed on it like a red one afloat in a wooden bucket. His pale blue eyes were somewhat beady and the look out of them said he'd as soon pick you up and mop the forest floor with you as look at you. Adam had heard he'd been a soldier and he believed it.

He was also inordinately rude.

"Ain't no lah-de-dah snot-nosed kid with a higher education gonna tell me how to do my job, you hear? It's my policy. I don't let no kin go lookin' with me for someone who's missin'. They cain't think straight." He pinned them both with an unwelcoming stare. "Now why don't you two boys just go hightail it back to that cushy Ponderosa of your'n and let me do my job?"

They'd run into Blunt about an hour into their ride. Seth's father had done as he requested and gone into town to tell the sheriff what had happened. The problem was, Roy had ridden out the night before to take a deposition from a woman who lived to the north side of the town, leaving Horace in charge. The deputy, who resembled most in his mind Ichabod Crane in both looks and ignorance, had left Roy a note telling him what was happening and then taken charge of the hunt for Joe. What Blunt did not seem to understand was that this was a ten year old kid they were hunting and that Joe was going to be scared out of his mind and that he'd probably run from a group of strangers rather than let them take him.

Joe would be expecting his brothers.

"Now, you listen here, you ignoramus!" Hoss shouted. "You'll get out of our way and let us through if you know what's good for you!"

Oh joy, Adam thought as he ran a hand over his eyes. Joe was missing and now Hoss was going to end up in jail. He'd certainly be able to prove to his father after this that it was a wise thing to leave him in charge.

"Hoss," he cautioned.

His middle brother was steaming. "I ain't gonna back down, Adam, that there idiot – "

"Is a legally deputized idiot," he murmured, hoping the deputy didn't hear him.

Blunt watched them from a short distance away with dispassion. His upper lip twitched and one eye narrowed. That was the largest range of emotion the man had shown yet. Horace spat out tobacco juice and then calmly walked to their side.

"Since we been arguin', boys, we've lost 'bout fifteen minutes," he said, his voice low and even. "That's fifteen minutes in which your little brother could have fallen off a cliff or been bitten by a snake or, maybe, had his arm chewed off by a grizzly. Now, I'm good with standin' here for another fifteen or more, that's up to you. You just think hard about what you're doin'."

Adam reached out and held his brother back by placing a hand on his chest. "Hoss, I think we should do what the good deputy says."

He felt the teenager stiffen beneath that hand. "Adam, you cain't – "

Blunt's tone was a wagging finger. "Listen to him, boy. Older brother knows best."

"These are experienced lawmen, Hoss," he said, clipping each word, hoping his brother caught on to what he was doing, "the best thing we can do is get out of their way."

His brother frowned. Then Hoss's reddish brows went up. A second later he drew a deep breath and let the tension out with it. "Well, I reckon you're right, Adam." His gaze went to the deputy. "I'm right sorry, Deputy Blunt. I guess I kinda lost my temper. I'm just pure worried about little brother."

"Understandable." Horace Blunt's gaze traveled between them. "I want your word. Both of you."

Adam nodded. "You have it. We won't do anything to interfere with your search."

"That's right," Hoss echoed, nodding. "You're the law."

"Yes, I am," Blunt said slowly. The gaze didn't waver. It was as if he was trying to judge whether or not he could trust them. Finally he said, "The best thing you boys can do is go back home. You never know, your little brother could be there right now, back from a grand adventure and curled up tight in his bed."

God, he hoped so.

Still, he wasn't about to leave anything to chance. They'd ditch the lawman and then circle back and strike out on their own to find –

Blunt had turned back. "You know what," he said. "I think I'll just have one of my men escort you two back to that ranch house since there are desperados in these hills." The deputy's eyes sparked with barely masked amusement. "We wouldn't want Ben Cartwright to go losin' track of all of his boys, now would we?"

Adam swallowed over the lump in his throat.

"No, I don't suppose we would."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was a lazy summer day. Adam had gone to town for supplies, taking Hoss with him, and leaving him alone with Marie and their young son. It was near noon and Ben had been working for some time, attempting to make his way through a mountain of paperwork, when he felt something move at his feet. Startled, he stopped and scooted his chair back and looked under the desk and was confronted by a cherubic face with wide green eyes that was framed by the most massive amount of golden-brown curls he had ever seen a child possess.

"Joseph," he said sternly, hiding his smile, "Papa is busy. You need to find something to do."

The small boy took hold of his pants leg and used it to stand up. "Papa come play," he pleaded. "Come outside."

"Son, I can't. I have too much work to do. These contracts can't wait. You see the men who negotiated them are waiting on me to..." He stopped. He was discussing contracts with a four year old. Strangely enough, the boy had his curly head bent and appeared to be trying to take it all in. Ben placed a hand on his son's hair and sighed. "Where's your mother, son?"

The boy blinked, and then turned and pointed. Ben followed Joseph's finger and what he saw made his breath catch. Marie had emerged from the kitchen. She was carrying a picnic basket and was dressed in the lightweight cream-colored dress he loved so much, the one showed her legs in the sun. On her head of golden hair she'd perched a straw hat dripping with an array of cloth flowers. On her picture-perfect face she wore an expression of love.

Her little mouth quirked at the end with a smile. "Did you ask Papa, Petit Joseph?"

Ben picked the boy up and headed for her. As he did, Joseph's head bobbed up and down. He turned back to him and caught his shirt collar in his tiny hands.

"Come play, Papa. Come outside."

When he got to Marie, he looked down at her. She was radiant. "This is entirely unfair," he said. "You know that."

"C'est la guerre," she smiled.

No one could conquer such a general.

Sometime later they pulled up to the lake in the buckboard. Ben hopped down first. Then he helped his wife and last of all, lifted Little Joe out and tossed him into the air. The boy giggled and shouted, 'More! More!' even as his mother shook her head.

"Joseph is already fearless. You will make him bold, Benjamin," she tisked. "So bold he will no longer listen to his mama and papa."

He'd laughed then, but within less than an hour had come to regret it.

They were laying side by side, sipping wine and eating the food Hop Sing had prepared. Joseph was playing nearby – not too near but within sight. Marie leaned over and kissed him, and the warmth of her lips and the soft feel of her body in his hands took his attention, for maybe a minute.

When he came up for air and looked, Joseph was gone.

Panic gripped them. They split and ran in opposite directions, calling Joe's name. As Marie's voice faded into the distance something made him look up. It might have been an angel voice or maybe a prompt from God, but he looked up and there was his four year old son halfway up the trunk of a medium-sized tree that had the most unfortunate series of evenly spaced low-lying branches. The child was stretching out as far as he could, reaching for the next branch, his little toes barely anchored on the one below; his fingers wiggling, extending toward a hold they would never find.

"Joseph!" he cried. "Joseph, stay where you are! I'm coming to get you."

His boy turned and looked at him. A smile broke over that beautiful face. 'Papa," he said.

And then, he let go.

Ben had never moved so fast in his life . He dove for the ground under the tree and landed with a 'huff' five seconds before his son reached the earth. Five precious seconds in which he was able to open his arms, able to take a bracing breath, and able to save his son.

Joseph laughed as he landed hard and then, when he saw him crying, shrieked.

The wind knocked out of him, Ben laid his hand on his son's head and ran his fingers through his curly brown hair, speaking soothing words.

"It's...all right...Joseph. Everything...will be...all right. Joseph, everything – "

Ben's eyes flew open. His fingers were entwined in his son's hair.

It was matted with something thick and wet.

Somewhere above them, someone was speaking, calling his name. Was it Marie? No, the voice was a man's and the words were harsh and threatening.

Hate you. Find you.

Kill you and your son.

Ben shifted. Pain shot through him like a knife. He was on his back on a patch of land that butted up against a creek. Had he fallen – fallen out of the tree with Joe? No. That wasn't it. Joe wasn't four. He was ten. And Marie..Marie was dead...and her husband and son were lying at the bottom of a twenty foot drop with a pack of rabid dogs on a ledge above snarling for their blood.

"Joe," he tried, shifting his hold. "Joe?"

The boy didn't move.

"Joseph?"

This time a small moan escaped the boy's lips. "Pa..."

"I'm here." Ben glanced up. "Joe, we have to move. Can you move, son?"

No words. Just a shake of his head.

He fought to keep the desperation from his words. "Joseph, you have to listen to me. These are bad men. They want to hurt you. We have to move, have to find a place to hide. Joe!"

His son raised his head and looked at him. Joe's eyes were unfocused. "Don't know...if I..can, Pa. Tired..."

He had no way of knowing if the boy was injured. There had been two shots. As he shifted again to get a better look at his son, his suspicion increased that one of the bullets had taken him in the side. Part of the blood in Joe's hair, he was fairly certain, was his own. The other one he thought had grazed the boy's head.

With both hands Ben gripped that head and forced his son to meet his eyes. "Joe, I need you to help me. Do you hear me, son?"

It worked. Where Joe had had little concern about himself, the thought that he was in danger seemed to penetrate the daze he was in.

The boy blinked. "Pa? What's...wrong, Pa?"

'I'm hurt, boy. I don't know if I can get up on my own." He cast his eyes upward. The men could be working their way down the hill even now, coming to capture or to kill them. "I need you to help me up and we need to find somewhere to hide."

Joe seemed to come more awake. His hands started probing. "Where, Pa? Where are you hurt?"

There was a desperation in the boy's voice that he didn't understand.

"I think I took a bullet in the side. I don't think it's too bad. I..." Ben's voice trailed off. Joe had gone white as a sheet. His boy lifted his hands and looked at them. They were covered in his blood.

"No," he wailed. "Noooo..."

"Joe?"

"It was me, Pa! I did it! It was me! I..." He started to sob. "Adam and Hoss were right. I shoulda stayed home. I..."

"Joseph, what are you talking about?"

The boy's green eyes were wide as the plains.

"It wasn't a dream, Pa, it was a nightmare. And I made it come true!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was a nightmare, all right. But not the one Joe spoke of.

As it was the middle of the day, there was nothing to mask them from the men on the top of the rise who had begun to shoot helter-skelter into the trees. Apparently Salter had changed his mind about sending him for the rest of the money and intended to kill them both. It had been all Joe could do to help him climb to his feet and, even now, he was having to lean heavily on the boy. He still didn't know the extent of Joseph's injuries. He had a suspicion looking at him, that there was more than met the eye.

They were quite a pair.

He'd taken the road to Placerville dozens of times since coming to this area and knew the layout of the land pretty well. If he remembered correctly there was a deserted cabin not all that far away – one they should be able to reach by nightfall or shortly thereafter.

They just had to shake Salter and his dogs off first.

Ben jolted as another bullet struck the ground to the rear of them. There was a thin line of trees between them and the men, so they were shooting blind. Still, blind or not, there was always that lucky shot.

Lucky for Salter, not for them.

"Pa, you're breathing hard," Joseph said, worry in his tone as his eyes went to the ever-increasing stain of blood on the middle of his shirt. "We gotta stop. You gotta rest."

He gripped the boy's shoulder with his fingers. "We'll rest together once we find shelter."

Another bullet struck a tree above their heads.

"You aren't gonna make it, Cartwright! You or that boy of yours! You're both bleeding and there isn't any help for miles! Come out! ...we won't hurt you!"

Ben snorted. No, they wouldn't hurt them.

They'd kill them.

Joe looked at him to see if he was going to answer. Ben shook his head and nodded to the left. There was a passage there through a tumble of rocks that then went up a hill. If he remembered right after the hill there was a mile long ravine – and then the cabin. His son was fast. He could make it. Together, he would only slow him down.

"Joseph!" He commanded as he released his grip on the boy, his tone curt and not to be disobeyed. "Run. Get between the rocks. Run now! I'll follow as quickly as I can."

The boy's green eyes were wide. He fought a moment, not wanting to obey, but then nodded and began to run. Ben felt a moment of relief as he saw his son's small form slip into the shadows cast by the tall rocks.

It was short-lived.

There was another shot. He frowned, waiting to see where it hit. Even as Joseph stiffened and spun around, he knew. God, he knew! He hadn't been thinking clearly. While trying to save him, he had stupidly sent his son into danger.

This time Joe had taken a bullet.

Even as one of the men shouted that he'd 'Got one!', Ben ran. When he reached Joe's side, he dropped to his knees. Tears flooded the older man's eyes as he placed a hand on the boy's small chest, feeling his rapidly racing heart. He was devout man. He believed in God and in God's eternal purpose. He knew that nothing happened unless God permitted or allowed it, and that all a man went through was to hone him and teach him to show the virtues of God's Son. He'd learned humility when he could no longer provide for himself and his first boy. He'd been taught kindness when others showed kindness to him. There was nothing but diligence to be had when a man had an empire to build. And patience? Patience was defined by three beautiful rough and tumble sons. The thing he didn't like – the thing he fought the hardest against – was the gospel of suffering. Words from Philippians ran through his head as he dragged Joe into the rocky passage and passed his hands over his son, searching for the wound.

For to you it has been granted for Christ's sake, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer...

He'd suffered. God! He'd suffered. Three wives dead. Three wives buried along with all the hopes each one of them had represented. And now, now, God was demanding his son!

Ben's jaw tightened. No.

No.

"Pa..."

Ben sucked in air and looked down. Joe fingers were on his pants leg gripping it just like he'd done on that glorious and terrible morning so long ago.

"Joseph, shh. Don't try to speak."

"I'm...scared, Pa..."

He wouldn't admit it. But he was scared too.

As another bullet struck a tree to the left of the rocks, Ben placed his hands under his son's shoulders and knees and lifted him, cradling him close to his heart. He felt the pull of Joe's weight on his own wound, but ignored it.

"I'm here, boy. Pa's here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Joseph nodded, and then that curly brown head fell against his chest and the boy was still.

Gripping Joe tightly, Ben plunged into the passage even as another bullet hit the dirt close by his boot.

If they could just make it to the cabin.

If they could just...

If.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Is that infernal lawman still out there, Adam?"

Adam looked at his brother who was pacing a path up and down in front of the hearth. 'Infernal' was the least colorful epithet he had heard come out of Hoss' mouth in the hour they had been confined to the house. He didn't realize his middle brother knew quite so many, well, descriptive words.

The black-haired man peered out the window above his father's desk that opened onto the front yard. "He's still there. Sitting pretty and smoking a cigar."

"Dad-burned, smart-alecky, son-of-a-bitch!"

Adam turned back his brows puckered. "Does Pa know about your...er...colorful vocabulary?"

Hoss shot him a glance. His lips twitched. "Now, who you think I learned them words from, Adam?"

Their father was not prone to foul language. At least, he'd seldom heard him employ anything cruder than 'damn'. Was this something else that had changed in his time away?

His brother continued to glare at him for a moment and then threw his head back and roared. When he composed himself, Hoss pointed and said, "You shoulda seen your face!"

He let his frustration out in a sigh. "I hardly think this is the time or place..."

His seventeen year old brother shook his head as he approached. "I guess I been hanging around the hands too much." He winced. "I'm just so all-fired angry. We gotta get out there and get to lookin' for Joe!"

"Hop Sing agree with Mistah Hoss."

They both turned to find their cook and – if the truth be told – surrogate mother and father standing behind them. He was holding a pitcher and glass in his hand.

Adam waved him away. "We're not thirsty, Hop Sing."

"Not for number one or two son. For lawman outside."

Hoss scratched his head. "What you bein' nice to him for, Hop Sing? He won't let us go after Joe."

Hop Sing shook his head. "Mistah Hoss not understand. Mistah Ben say must be nice to all men. All men guests. Hop Sing make special tea for lawman who will not let you go find Little Joe."

There was something in the Chinese man's voice that made Adam sit up and pay attention. "What's in the tea, Hop Sing."

"Oohh, no can say, Mistah Adam. Special family recipe." Their cook's eyes lit with he might have described as an 'infernal' delight. "Make lawman relax velly much."

Hoss was catching on. "Just how much is that there tea gonna make him relax, Hop Sing?"

"Make lawman feel good. Send him to visit with his ancestors in the world of dream. When he wake up, he be happy, they be happy, and most of all," Hop Sing did a little bow over the pitcher and glass, "Hop Sing be happy see Little Joe home again."

Ten minutes later the lawman was snoozing in the barn loft and they were on their way.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben was breathing hard. He'd navigated the long channel of rock and found the ravine. It stretched before him now offering both a path to the cabin and a sanctuary from the blowing wind. It was fairly steep-sided and there were lots of nooks and crannies cut into it that promised a haven from both the rain that was beginning to fall and the guns of the men who hunted them.

The problem was, it could also prove to be a death-trap.

The ravine's sides were ridged because it was one of the kind that ran with water more often than not. There was a river not too far away as well as the creek they had just left behind. If either overflowed their banks, the ravine would take up the slack. He glanced at the sky, gauging the storm's progress. The rain was fairly gentle now, but he knew that could turn on a five cent piece. After the rain they'd had the day before, there was no telling how little it would take to be too much. Also, if Slater and his men were still tracking them and determined where they were and came down into it after them, then the narrow channel cut into the ground would give them no more hope of escape than a group of sitting ducks.

He had to make a choice.

From what he remembered the cabin, which had been occupied for the last few years by one of his ranch hand's families, was near the end of the ravine and over to the south a little. James Hinson had worked for him for a time but had chosen to go back East with his only surviving child after a fever had taken the lives of his wife and two sons. There was no guarantee the place was empty, but most often when it was disease that had cleared out a cabin – and so short a time ago – it stayed that way. People were afraid of any lingering sickness.

And of the ghosts that might inhabit it.

Another thing that cabin might contain would be medicine and bandages. He could build a fire and make Joseph warm. The boy was so still, so cool to the touch. Ben breathed out his relief. At least Joe wasn't fevered.

Yet.

He knew it was different for him. His skin was prickling. The fabric moving over it caused him pain as it did. He'd managed to stuff a balled up handful of clean cloth into the wound in his side and, for the moment, had almost curtailed the bleeding. He'd done the same for Joseph, tears spilling from his eyes as he first wrapped a bandage around his head and then wadded up a strip from the tail of his gun-metal blue shirt and pressed it against his son's small shoulder. He thought the bullet had gone through clean but he couldn't tell due to the amount of mud and blood. Until he could get Joseph's shirt off and examine him more closely, a patch would have to do. He prayed the bullet had missed anything important. Joe'd been hit high-up in the back.

Ben's jaw tightened.

Cowards!

He'd kill them if he ever got the chance.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the older man staggered. No. No, he wouldn't. He'd rage and shout and grieve until there was nothing left, but he wouldn't let a man like Drury Slater turn him into an animal. Ben closed his eyes and sought a place of peace. Joseph was here and that meant Joseph was missing at home. Hoss and Adam would have gone for Roy. They'd surely be on the trail by now. There'd be a posse out looking for them and possibly Doc Martin too, since Roy would worry that Joseph might have been hurt.

Ben closed his eyes and sighed.

There was hope.

Coming to a decision, Ben clutched his quiescent son to his chest and sat down and then, with a push and a prayer, slid down into the darkness that filled the ravine