Chapter Six
Coonskin stood peering from behind the cover of a thick pine trunk. Joe had insisted he take cover until the shack had been opened and deemed safe. With a final nod to the old man, Joe opened the door, his gun drawn.
In the late afternoon sun, the one room cabin, though slightly larger than the one the bear cub had invaded, harbored very little in the way of hiding places, and soon, Joe reappeared in the doorway and beckoned Coonskin inside.
Felton C. Tully, late in life known as Coonskin Tully, and his wife had befriended Ben Cartwright and his sons, Adam and Hoss, when they'd arrived in the adolescent settlement that would become Virginia City. The Tullys were what Ben referred to as 'good, simple folk' – educated by life's lessons, appreciative of a hard day's work, and pure of heart. But the thing Ben admired most was their unbending love for one another.
Ben had arrived at the mining settlement weary of travel, unsure of his next step, and out of provisions. He'd set up camp alongside his covered wagon on the outskirts of town, and the Tullys, bearing a bucket of milk, freshly baked biscuits, and a pot of seasoned, antelope stew, were the first people to approach the newcomers. Over the course of the evening, they were joined by the fledgling town's soon-to-be sheriff, the proprietor of the second largest mercantile on the muddied, rutted single street, and an eager minister anxious to add parishioners to his newly established Sunday services.
Having separated from the wagon train weeks before, Ben relished the company, and the conversation soon led to a dinner invitation the following evening, a job at Dillon's Feed and Grain, and the proposal that led to a lifelong friendship between the Tullys and the Cartwrights.
Unable to bear children of her own, Coonskin's wife, Emmaline, had eagerly offered to care for six-year-old Adam and his toddler brother, Hoss, while Ben worked at the local store. Emmaline, a sweet yet firm woman, would become the nearest thing to a mother that the boys had had since the tragic death of Inger Cartwright.
Coonskin's crotchety manner was nothing but bravado, and Adam soon followed his father's instincts, seeing past the gruff exterior and into the soul of the decent, fair-minded man.
For years, the Tullys and Cartwrights embodied the true meaning of the word 'friendship', and when Ben returned from New Orleans with his new, young bride, Marie, both Coonskin and Emmaline welcomed Marie like a long lost daughter. Less than two years later, Joseph Francis Cartwright was born.
Marie leaned on Emmaline for advice, and the bond between the women deepened. In the months that followed, Emmaline often spent more hours a day on the Ponderosa than she did in her own modest cabin.
As Ben's holdings grew, the Tullys' remained the same. But neither man put finances before friendship, and as the Cartwright boys matured, the Tullys were always close by.
When Coonskin found time away from his meager silver claim, he would join Emmaline on her visits to the Ponderosa. Known to all yet denied by Coonskin, the frequent banter between he and Hop Sing, hired shortly before Ben had traveled to New Orleans, became the source of many an enjoyable evening in the Cartwright home.
On many occasions, it was Little Joe who answered the knock on the impressive, pine door. The young boy, his wide, green eyes staring up at the man, was always taken with the towering, lanky presence waiting to be welcomed.
Coonskin's loving wife, Emmaline, had often joked that her husband's trousers required no more than one belt loop. Measuring in at six-feet-six inches, he'd been tall and thin for as long as he could remember. His height and his sense of humor, coupled with young Joe's reaction, are what prompted Coonskin's nickname for Joe, and now, as he stood in the line shack doorway watching the old trapper's approach, Joe couldn't help but smile.
"You sure you haven't been stayin' here, Coonskin?"
The old man stopped in his tracks, cocked his head, and rubbed his beard. "Little Little Joe, are ya daft? I recollect not more'n two minutes ago tellin' ya I ain't been in this here shack."
"All right, all right." Joe smiled at the old man. "Are you gonna stand there scratchin' that possum on your face or are you comin' in?"
Coonskin pondered the question then pointed at Joe. "I reckon I'm comin' inside."
Joe nodded, turned, and walked into the center of the room. "I just don't understand it," he said loudly. "There's no food missing, but the marks in the dust here and here prove the table's been used. The wood bin's stacked and full, but that wood's too fresh, can't have been here since last fall. And from the smell in here, I'd swear there's been a fire, maybe even this morning."
"Fatback."
"Yeah, I smell it, too." Joe turned to face the opposite wall. "The bed's made up real fine. Hoss was the last one up here, late September, I think it was, and there's no way he made a bed like that. I think-"
"I think ya got yourself a tidy squatter."
"I think you're right." Joe shrugged. "Nothing's missing; nothing's broken. In fact, the place looks-wait, what's this?" Joe bent down and picked up two small, round black objects.
Coonskin leaned in, squinted his eyes, and sniffed. "Appears your squatter's got a hankerin' for horehound."
"Sure does."
"'Tweren't Hoss. That boy's got a powerful sweet tooth. Has since the day I met him, but he don't like horehound." Coonskin dropped into the chair next to the table and cackled. "Ain't to ev'ry one's likin', what with that bitterness. Oh, the faces that boy made when Emmaline give him his first taste." His eyes sparkled with tears.
Joe smiled and quickly looked away. He had no real memories of Emmaline Tully; just the stories he'd heard from his father and brothers, and the fact that, even after all these years, Coonskin had only to think of her and their love flooded his heart and spilled from his lonely eyes.
"Now, don't you fret, little Little Joe," Coonskin said, his voice strong and steady.
Joe turned back to him.
"I ain't never been one ta deny my Emmaline my true feelin's, even now." His voice softened. "She's with me ev'ry day 'n' all through the night 'n' I wouldn't have it no other way."
Coonskin paused, and Joe wished his father was there. Pa always knew the right things to say.
Coonskin pondered a moment longer, then slapped his thighs and sprang to his feet shouting. "I told ya she's always with me!"
Startled, Joe twitched and took a few steps backward.
"Horehound!"
Joe started again.
"Emmaline always had a hankerin' for sweetnin' just like your brother, Hoss. But Emmaline, bless her heart, fancied horehound." His eyes shimmered. "'N' over the years, I reckon I accustomed myself ta the taste."
Joe waited patiently.
"'Bout a month ago . . . No, I gather it was closer ta two. Must've been the middle o' March—still plenty o' snow up on the ridge, but lots o' critters wakin' up ta celebrate the end o' winter. Well, I was down near Wolf Run, see, 'n' I come upon a gal wearin' a black 'n' white fur the likes o' which I ain't never seen."
"Black and white? She was wearing skunk?"
Coonskin wrinkled his nose. "No, boy, not skunk. Why, a body'd need a passel o' them critters to sew a jacket like that gal's."
"If it wasn't skunk, then wha-Wait, the only black and white animal big enough to—wait! Did you say 'a gal'?"
"Yep. 'N' a right perty one, she was at that!"