Thanks to Elise for the pickup that I hadn't been clear enough that it was Amos with a bullet in his shoulder and not Joe. I've gone back and adjusted the last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed this story, even if Joe didn't.

Chapter Four

"You sure he went to the northern fence line, Ben?"

"He was up there the day before yesterday and said there was still a swathe of fence he needed to check on. It's where he said he was going and when we rode up that way yesterday, we could see where he'd been working. He was there, Clem!"

"Well hopefully we'll pick up some tracks from there. The ground is still soft from all the rain and Hoss should be able to find something."

It had been over an hour since that conversation and not much had been said since as riders covered the ground, looking for clues.

"This way!" A shout from Hoss had them all moving towards a rocky outcrop from all directions. Ben reined in beside his son, trying to see what Hoss was pointing out.

"There, Pa. There's a track leading down that way. There ain't no other tracks up this way and I'd bet that's where Joe went.

Before anyone could comment, Hoss nudged his horse forward with Ben following closely behind. It made no sense that Joe would have headed away from home as he had clearly been working on the fence line.

After some time of trailing along in silence, Clem pulled his horse alongside Ben.

"How far is it from here to the Crenshaw ranch?"

Ben's eyes narrowed at the question. "Well over an hour's ride at this pace."

"What are you gettin' at Clem?" Hoss turned back in the saddle towards the two men.

The lawman had worked under Roy Coffee for long enough to know that hunches often were worth listening to. "I don't know for sure. But Joe clearly didn't head for home and there's no other tracks that Hoss has found."

"You reckon Joe mighta gone to check on Mister Crenshaw after the storm?"

"It's certainly possible." Ben knew his son felt somehow responsible for ensuring the man was managing after losing his son. "But that doesn't explain why Joe didn't come home last night!"

"Well, from what Joe said, Amos Crenshaw isn't exactly a full bottle at the moment."

"And he told Joe outside the courthouse that he wished he was dead." Hoss had struggled to keep his fists to himself that day.

Ben felt his fear inching up another notch and he hastened to quiet it down again.

"That was weeks ago! Amos stopped those two new hands we hired from collecting on the bounty on Joe. He's a grieving father who said some things in anger, sure. But if he really wanted to harm Joe, why would he have saved him from those two? Surely he would have left them to it."

"I guess you're right, Ben. I'm just trying to figure where Joe could have gone and I'm just putting the pieces together as they seem to fit."

Hoss swallowed down the nagging voice that told him he could be trading a tangible trail for an unknown. "Pa, it makes more sense than anything else so far."

Ben hesitated for only a moment before digging his heels into his horse's flanks. He didn't stop to look behind him, but he could hear the pounding of hooves behind him as raced towards the Crenshaw ranch.

Joe was beyond cold. The water had taken away any sense he had left in his legs. He'd tried several times to pull himself up the wooden shoring, but each time either his strength or the wood had given out, sending him plummeting back into the water. Finally he'd been forced to concede defeat and he'd settled down to wait. While it was true that nobody had known where he'd gone, he figured that sooner or later somebody would think to try the Crenshaw's. He just prayed it was sooner rather than later.

Amos had awoken a few times and each time he was no more coherent than the previous time. Joe had given up on reminding him that he was not Zach and allowed the man to think he was leaning up against his son. Beneath the smear of mud across the old man's face, he could make out skin that looked almost grey. He wasn't sure if it was from blood loss or the cold, but either way, Amos wasn't looking good.

The morning sun had shifted into the sky, bringing a little warmth into the darkened hole and Joe jolted awake. He'd been dozing on and off with no real idea of how much time had passed.

Ben pulled up his horse alongside Cochise and almost fell from the saddle. It was clear the horse was unharmed and he prayed his son would be in the same condition.

"Joseph! Where are you?" He shouted as he ran for the door and pushed it open. He had no use for manners and wouldn't wait for Amos to open the door. The room was empty and cold and the fire had long since burned out in the hearth. "Joseph!"

Hoss clambered down from his horse and stood in the empty yard, surveying the churned up mud. His father raced back out on the verandah and hollered again.

"Joseph! Where are you?"

Clem already had men spreading out to search the outer buildings as Hoss held up a hand. "Quiet down!"

It took another moment of silence for them to hear it.

Joe had wondered if he was dreaming when he heard his pa's angry morning bellow rousing him out of bed. It hadn't been that long since he'd gone to bed and he really …

"Pa?"

The chill surrounding him caught his voice in his throat, but he tried again.

"Pa! We're down here."

A moment later, the square of light above him grew darker as multiple heads appeared at the edges.

"Joseph! Hold on, Son. We'll have you out of there very soon."

Joe couldn't muster a reply so he nodded instead. Somebody was coming to take care of things and he could let go.

Hoss had volunteered to be lowered down into the hole, but it was decided he was needed to help haul the two men up instead. One of the hands, who was not much heavier than Joe, looped the rope around his boot and allowed himself to be lowered into the darkness. As he dropped into the knee-deep water, he was surprised at just how cold it was. Joe was watching him, but seemed sluggish in his movements. A man he'd never seen before, but assumed was Amos Crenshaw was leaning against Joe's shoulder.

"Take him up first." Joe tried to help pass the second rope around the man's torso, but his hands seemed to cramp up.

"It's alright, Joe. I got him."

Matt watched as those above hauled on the rope and the limp body rose from the mud. He wasn't a doctor, but he didn't see any real sign of life in the man. Minutes later the rope descended again and Matt reached behind Joe to secure it around his chest. He tugged on the rope and helped ease Joe to his feet as the rope went taut.

By the time he was hauled up from the well, he could see the two men had been taken inside. Smoke curled from the chimney as somebody hastened to get a fire going and he knew enough from being down in that cold hole for less than twenty minutes that both men were in dire trouble.

"Pa?" Joe was shivering so hard inside the blanket he could barely form the words his mind was searching for. "Is he … is …"

The man laid out on the floor and wrapped in layers of blankets looked dead. His cheeks were so pale against the mud spatter and he hadn't so much as twitched.

"He's alive, Son." Ben held back any further comment, afraid he'd lose control if he said anything more about the man who had tried to kill his boy. "Now let's get you both warmed up."

Joe pushed at the heavy log with the iron poker and watched a shower of sparks rise up the chimney. He'd tried sleeping, but had given up on that idea. It was the same most nights. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself falling down an endless black tunnel.

"Can't sleep?"

He jumped as his father moved up alongside him. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd been oblivious to the footsteps on the stairs.

"No."

"Would a brandy help?"

Joe shrugged his shoulders and nodded anyway as his father made his way across the room to the decanter. Whiskey hadn't helped Amos Crenshaw deal with his demons.

He slid back down onto the table and accepted the glass being held out to him. It still felt strange using his right hand, but it would be a few weeks yet before he could take off the splint on his left arm. He looked down at his arm and frowned. A broken arm and a bruised head was all he had to show for what Amos had done. Sure it had been days before he truly felt warm again, but it seemed so little on the outside against what was going on inside. He'd kept that part buried. Nobody needed to know about that part.

"Son?"

Joe jolted as he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. Clearly he'd missed something.

"Joe, talking might help."

"What's there to talk about? Zach is dead. Linda Roberts is dead. Mister Crenshaw is dead. Nothin's gonna change that!"

Ben had seen the money strewn across the table and his son's gun lying on the floor. It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together and see what had transpired in that room. For all his words of peace towards Joe, it was clear that Amos had just been biding his time and plotting to kill his son after all. The fact he'd died less than an hour after being hauled out of that well had meant he'd never be held to account for his crimes. Perhaps that was just as well because he didn't think Joe could withstand another inquest so soon after the whole saga with Zach.

Ben slipped an arm across his son's shoulder and pulled him closer. "Son, none of that is your fault."

"It was my idea to stick my nose into things at their ranch. I said I'd help dig that well. I shoulda just stayed away like you said."

Ben tried to find the right words. Something that would shift the impasse for his son. Regret could hold a man captive just as surely as prison bars could.

"Joe … grief is a strange beast. It can twist a man's mind and make a sane man, crazed. Amos had more than his fair share of grief. His son had drifted and was making choices that cost them both dearly. He couldn't see past that grief."

Joe twisted on the table and looked up at his father's face. "But you've known grief too. And you've never done anything crazy!"

Ben turned away to stare at the fire, deciding whether sharing would help or hinder his son.

"I've come closer than you think."

"What?"

"Joe … when your mother died … I wanted to die too. I was so broken that I couldn't see past the thought of a day without her."

Joe felt his father's body stiffen as if he was willing himself to stay strong.

"One day … one very black day … I was out in the barn with my gun in my hand. It would have been so simple to end the pain."

Joe stared at his father, tears welling in his eyes as he heard the story for the first time.

"What stopped you?"

"You boys." Ben rubbed a hand across his face as he tried to pull his emotions together. "You all walked into the barn and you ran up to me, chattering about something. It was enough to jolt me back to my senses and realise I had so much more to live for."

Joe swallowed hard as he took in what his father was saying.

"He had nothing left to live for."

"Not that he could see."

"He thought I was Zach. He was confused and he kept calling me Zach."

Ben laid his hand on his son's shoulder once more. "Then in a way, you brought him comfort at the end."

Father and son sat in silence for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. Decisions, once made, could have a lifetime impact.

The look of shock on Adam's face as he took in the scene that day in the barn was something Ben would never forget. He'd almost made a decision that could have destroyed them all. The home that rang with life and laughter, that celebrated the festive season and other special days with gusto, could well have been destroyed in one fatal decision.

He'd thanked God many times over for pulling him out of the mire of grief and setting him on solid ground again. As he watched the firelight dance across his son's face, he knew that healing wasn't yet done, but it would come. Just as surely as day follows night, his son would come out of the darkness and his cup would turn sweet once more.