SEVEN

Ben Cartwright was at his desk when he heard a wagon roll into the yard. He rose and headed for the door, glancing at the tall case clock as he went. It must be Hoss and Little Joe. They were later than he would have liked, but at least they'd have time for supper.

The older man smiled. Hop Sing had been holding it – and his temper – for about an hour now.

As he opened the door, the older man noted how crisp and cold the air was. They were approaching October and it looked like the winter was determined to set in early. September was one of those months you couldn't count on – hot as blazes one year and frigid the next. No wonder it was also a month that often brought illness and, sadly, at times contagion.

The first thing he saw when he stepped out was a very weary-looking Hoss.

The second was the empty seat beside him.

His giant of a son held his hands up, stilling his question. "For you ask, Pa, I'm gonna tell you. I left Joe at the Spencers. They're both down with the influenza."

"You...you did what?" he stammered.

"I know you're mad, Pa, and you got every right to be. I done went against your orders and I know what that means, sir. But Joe, well, he made sense and in the end I went with what he said."

He was still dumbstruck. "Joseph...made sense?"

"Yes, sir. He told me he'd already been exposed and he wasn't sick, so there was a good chance he wasn't gonna be. Someone had to ride to town fast for the doctor, Pa, and it wasn't gonna be Little Joe. He was plumb wore out by the time we got to the Spencer's place and found them both laid low."

He held up a hand of his own. "Let me get this straight, both Maggie and Thom are ill?"

Hoss nodded. "Yes, sir, they're both right sick. I rode to town to get Doctor Martin so's he could look at them and then came straight here to tell you,." The big man frowned. "Only trouble was, the Doc weren't in. I paid the livery boy to go out to the Jennings place and let him know and then I came right here to tell you." His son shook his head. "The Jennings got the influenza too, Pa."

"Good God," he breathed as he thought of his weakened son taking on the gargantuan effort of caring for two desperately ill people. "Little Joe was all right when you left?"

"He sure was, Pa." Hoss paused. "You know how little brother is. He felt he owed the Spencers for taking such good care of him."

That would be Joseph.

Ben thought a moment and then he said, "You wait here. I'll get my hat and gun and we'll go to the Spencers." He was halfway to the house when he thought to ask, "What about Adam? Did you find him?"

Hoss shook his head. "Not hide nor hair, Pa. We figured something must have come up."

Wonderful. Another son to worry about.

It took no more than fifteen minutes to tell Hop Sing what was happening and then grab his belongings. As Ben headed out the door, the man from China shoved a sack in his hand with the words, 'You eat. No good anyone if you no eat.' He added that he had included several small bags of herbs that should be brewed into a tea and fed to those who had the ague. The rancher thanked him and then headed out the door.

After a short trip to the bunkhouse to instruct the foreman as to what to do in their absence, he and his son set out for their neighbor's spread.

As they rode, Ben thought about the Spencers and how he had come to know them. They were from the deep south – Virginia, to be precise – and had very different ways. They were friendly enough, but had kept mostly to themselves. He didn't even know if they had children. Thom was easier to know than his wife, the severe and almost painfully reserved Maggie. The woman hardly ever smiled and conducted herself as if every person she met was looking to disapprove of or condemn her. He and Marie had tried to befriend them, but Maggie made it all too clear that she wanted nothing to do with his 'French Quarter' wife. Thom had come to the funeral to express his condolences when Marie died. Maggie had not.

After that, he had given up trying.

And now, here he was, riding to their place because Marie's son was risking his life to care for both Thom and Maggie.

Life was filled with ironies.

Several hours later they pulled into the Spencer's yard. It was empty save for Joseph's horse, Cochise. Regrettably, Doctor Martin had not made it yet. Ben had swung out of the saddle and headed for the door when his middle son's voice – tight, frightened – stopped him in his tracks.

"Pa! Look!"

The older man turned and was startled to find two figures emerging from the woods. One was his son. Joseph was carrying someone else. A girl, he thought.

As he watched his boy stumbled and fell to the ground.

"Hoss!"

Before Hoss could react, Ben was running. He crossed the yard and sprinted toward the trees like a young man of twenty, arriving at his son's side in less than a minute. Joseph was laying on the ground, shaking, his arms wrapped around the girl. He looked up at him and gave him a half-hearted smile.

"Hi, Pa." Little Joe drew a breath. "This is Sarah. Isn't she...beautiful?"

Ben looked at the girl. She was pale; her skin fevered and covered in a sheen of sweat that plastered her brown curls to her cheeks and forehead.

"Who is she, son?" he asked as he placed his hand on Joseph's cheek, checking for fever in his son as well and thankfully finding none. "Who is Sarah?"

The grin widened into a smile.

"She's my angel."

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Adam let Kyle send the Latham boys away. He could deal with them later. They were nothing but muscle between the ears.

While Frederick Kyle was the brain.

"What do you want with my brother?" he asked, firing the question point-blank.

"I love your brother," Kyle answered, startling him.

"Love? You barely know the kid."

"But I knew his mother." The southern sympathizer paused. "I loved his mother. Little Joe is her son."

"Is that how you came to have Marie's portrait?"

"The portrait was mine to give," Kyle said, his answer evasive at best.

Adam tried to pin him down. "Meaning she gave it to you?"

The southerner seemed to think that through. Finally, he admitted, "It came to me through a third party. The man wanted Little Joe to have it."

"Who is this man?"

Kyle hesitated. "Someone you do not want to run afoul of," he said at last.

If someone could have seen into Adam's brain, they would have been astounded to find how fast the wheels were turning. "So it's this man – the one who had Marie's portrait – who is interested in my brother?" Using the barrel of his pistol to make his point, he demanded, "If so, I want a name!"

Frederick Kyle didn't flinch. He wasn't afraid in the slightest. At least not of him. Adam had the distinct impression he was afraid of this other man.

"As a gentleman, I can't reveal the name of a business partner," Kyle said smoothly. "What I will do is tell you that everything I have done since I came to Virginia City has been in the name of protecting Marie's son."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Adam scoffed. "Talking Joe into supporting your scheme to channel money through foreign countries to build a war chest for the Confederacy? Talking him into leaving his home?"

Kyle met his fierce stare. "I didn't have to do that. You did it for me."

"You have no right..." Adam growled. "What's between my brother and me, is between my brother and me."

"He told me, Joe did, some of the things you said to him," Kyle continued. "How you said his mother was nothing more than a trollop who had used her feminine wiles to entrap your father. How she wasn't fit to share his bed."

Kyle threw his wild words back at him quietly, coldly – efficiently.

"I was angry," he said, knowing it was no excuse. "I said things I would never have said had I had been in my right – "

The southerner's pale eyes pinned him. "Joe told me, Adam, how you pride yourself on being in control – on being the master of everything. Tell me, what caused you to lose control?"

He didn't know. God, he wished he did, but he didn't.

"I'm..I'm not sure," he stuttered.

"I am. It's in your blood, son, just as it's in your brother's. We are not the captains of our own ships or the masters of our souls. Where we were born is deeply rooted in us. You know your Bible, son, I'm sure. It says in Leviticus 'For the life of a creature is in the blood, and I have given it to you to make atonement...it is the blood that makes atonement...' " Kyle spoke with a manic passion. It shone out of his eyes like a holy fire. "Marie's blood runs through your brother's veins. He belongs to the South."

"Plenty of madmen have used the Bible to justify their actions," Adam responded, tight-lipped. "You're not the first and you certainly won't be the last."

Kyle blinked and the madness left his eyes. "Trust me, son, you'd rather have your brother go off with me than stay here to be found by my associate."

Associate? Was Kyle admitting he was in someone else's employ – someone else who had an interest in Joe?

Why would he do that?

The answer came a moment later when he felt the nose of a revolver shoved into his back.

"Miss me, Cartwright?" Ab Latham asked.

A second later, everything went black.

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"I'm fine, Pa. Really. I just want to get back up there to Sarah."

They'd deposited the sick young woman in the room with Maggie Spencer and then he had forced his son to come back downstairs. Joe looked terrible. His wide expressive eyes were cradled in dark shadows and his coloring was off. He was very pale and his hands were trembling. Still, thank God, there was no fever!

At least not yet.

"You shouldn't have come, Pa. Now you and Hoss have been exposed."

"Don't you worry about me," Ben replied. "I'm healthy as an ox. It's you I'm concerned about. How do you feel?"

Those eyes met his. In them there was no spark of vitality, just fatigue.

"Tired."

"You need to sleep." Ben caught Joe by the arm and practically lifted him out of the chair and propelled his son into the Spencer's sitting room and onto the sofa that sat before the fire. "You won't do that young lady any good if you come down sick."

"Pa?"

He turned to look at his middle boy. "Yes, Hoss?"

"I got some of that tea of Hop Sing's brewed. I'm gonna take it up to Mrs. Spencer." The big man paused. "She ain't doin' so good."

"Maybe we shouldn't have put Sarah in with her," Joe said, rising. "I'll go –"

"You will go nowhere, young man," Ben ordered in his sternest voice, "other than to sleep!" He waited until his son sat back down and then added softly, "Sarah is already sick. Being exposed to Maggie will make no difference."

"But what if..." Joe sucked in a breath. "What if Mrs. Spencer dies, right there, next to her?"

He hadn't the heart to tell his son that, at the moment, Sarah was unaware of anything other than her own pain.

"The doctor will be here soon, Joseph. He'll take care of them both."

He hoped.

Little Joe didn't resist when he took hold of his legs and swung them up and onto the floral sofa. Pulling a pillow out from under his son's back, the rancher placed it behind his head and then wagged a finger at him.

"You get some sleep."

Little Joe caught his arm. "You'll wake me, if..."

He patted his son's hand. "I will, if I need to."

As Ben turned his head, Joseph coughed. He wheeled back to look at the boy who was wearing a sheepish grin.

"Sorry."

Ben sighed. He only hoped they wouldn't all be sorry for daring to step straight into the lion's den.

As he approached the Spencer's kitchen, the older man heard a heavy tread on the stair. A moment later Hoss was at his side.

"How's Little Joe?" his son asked.

"Asleep, I hope," he replied while inclining his head toward the sofa.

"He sure looked plumb tuckered out when we got here."

"How's the girl?" Ben asked, knowing that was the first answer his youngest would demand upon waking.

"Holding her own." Hoss scowled. "Sorry, I cain't say the same for Mrs. Spencer. She don't look right, Pa. Any sign of the Doc yet?"

Even as he shook his head, Ben heard the sound of wagon wheels rolling into the yard.

"Let's hope," he said as he hastened to the door and opened it. Thank the Lord, Paul Martin was just stepping out of his rig.

"Can't say I'm happy to see either of you, Ben," the older man said as he glanced at both of them. "I got Hoss' note. You think it's influenza?"

"Labored breathing, confusion, high fever, and everything being evacuated in both directions," he reported. "All the signs you said to watch for with Joseph."

"Where is the boy?" Paul asked as he hung his hat on the rack by the door.

Again, he indicated the sofa by the fire.

"Good," Paul said. "Best place for him. Has he shown any signs?"

Ben nodded. "He coughed a while back."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

"Could just be a relapse into that cold he was fighting. I'll see to the others and then check him out."

"Mrs. Spencer's awful sick, Doc. I think you should look at her first," Hoss suggested.

"Thom seems to have passed the crisis," the rancher agreed. "Oh, and there's a young lady in with Maggie. Joe found her in a small cabin in the woods close by."

"Really?"

"I have no idea who she is. I don't think the Spencers had any children." He paused, seeking a way to say what he wanted to say and remain charitable. "Maggie is not exactly the...mothering type."

Paul doffed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He looked at Hoss. "Well, young man, show me the way!" At the top of the stairs the physician paused. "Oh, and Ben." When he looked up, Paul went on. "I quarantined the Jennings' place. Most likely I will have to do the same here. We can't have this getting out of hand."

He understood. He didn't like it, but he understood. At least Paul was here. There had been times when other homes with contagion had been guarded so closely by the frightened citizenry that no doctor could get in. Mass casualties had been the result.

Ben watched the physician climb the stair, followed closely by his middle son, and then he turned back into the room. After checking to make certain Joseph was truly asleep and not just pretending, he stepped outside and drew in a breath of fresh, clean air. It was at times like this that one's faith was tested. Disease was a killer against which no one could prevail. There was no hope of fighting back against an unseen assailant. Perhaps one day it would be discovered just how these things started and how they could be stopped, but for now, there was nothing to do but pray and trust to the Almighty

"Ben."

He turned at the sound of his friend's voice. "Paul?"

"I'm afraid we've lost Mrs. Spencer," he said, sounding apologetic, as if it were somehow his fault.

"Sarah?"

"Still with us. In need of a friend."

"I'll go to her," he said without hesitation.

Paul's smile was weary but heartfelt. "I knew you would. Hoss is going to take care of...what's necessary. I need to see to Thom."

"Will you tell him?"

The physician shook his head. "Not yet. He's too weak. There's time." Paul paused. "There's all the time in the world."

Ben placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and then moved past him into the house. As he did, Hoss came down the stairs bearing his light burden in his arms. "Doc suggested I take Mrs. Spencer to the cabin 'til we can do right by her. You goin' up to Sarah?" At his nod, his son added, "She's pretty sick herself, Pa, and she's takin' it hard."

It was only by God's providence that Joseph was still sleeping. "Watch your brother when you get back. Don't let him come up until I tell you it's all right."

"Sure thing, Pa. He's gonna take it hard too, ain't he?"

"I imagine so." Ben watched his son head out the door and then turned and slowly mounted the stairs. As he drew close, he heard the young girl weeping. After pushing the door partially to, he headed over to the bed and took a seat. His gaze strayed to the empty space beside her and then returned to the ailing girl. Reaching out, Ben brushed the sweat-soaked locks of brown hair off her forehead.

"Sarah," he said.

Her eyes popped open. They were bright with fever, but she was lucid. "Who...are you?" she asked.

"I'm Little Joe's father, Ben Cartwright."

"Shouldn't...be here," she said.

"I'll be all right. I've weathered a lot of sickness in my time."

"No." She coughed. "Little Joe...shouldn't be here. Why...is he?"

"He and his brother came by to check up on the Spencers today and found them sick."

"How did he...find me?"

"It was something Thom said in his delirium." Ben looked at the girl. He could see why his son had been so quickly taken with her. She was beautiful, with large dark eyes and soft wavy hair, and a complexion that seemed naturally tanned in spite of the sickness. Much like Marie's had been. "Thom told Joe where to look."

She seemed surprised. "No one was to know." Sarah ran her tongue languidly around her chapped lips before continuing. "Not...safe." He'd been reaching for a glass to give her a drink of water when that last word came out. Ben pivoted in the chair. "Not safe?"

She swallowed painfully and then, just before her eyes closed, repeated, "Not safe." A moment later she added, "hunted."

"What does she mean, Pa? Hunted?"

The rancher turned back to find his youngest barely on his feet. Joseph was hanging onto the door jamb for support. Springing up, he went to him and ushered him over to the chair in front of the window and made him sit down. Little Joe didn't protest when he pressed his hand against his forehead.

"I got a fever, right?" he asked, looking up sheepishly through a fall of curly locks. "Do you s'pose that means I got the influenza?"

Ben sighed. "We'll know soon enough. Any other symptoms?"

He shook his head. "Tired, but then, I got a right to be."

"You certainly do."

Joe was staring at the bed. "How's she doing?"

"She seems to have a milder case than either Maggie or Thom. Let's hope it stays that way."

His son's gaze was locked on the empty space in the bed. "Mrs. Spencer?"

Ben shook his head.

Little Joe's eyes teared instantly. His voice cracked as he asked, "Mister Spencer?"

"He'll make it," a gruff voice announced. They both turned to find Paul Martin standing in the doorway. The doctor's eyes were on his wayward boy. "And what do you think you are doing up here, young man?"

His son shrugged. "Keepin' the chair warm for you?"

Paul pointed toward the door. "Out. Both of you."

Ben slipped his arm around his son even as the boy began to protest. At his look, Joseph clamped his mouth shut and let him lift him up and head toward the door. Just as they made it to it, Paul's hand shot out and caught hold of his son's wrist. Then he pressed his palm to his head. The look he gave him was sympathetic.

"I suppose it was too much to hope that my favorite patient would manage to avoid the need of my services this time," he sighed. "Get him downstairs, Ben, and onto that sofa." As they started to move, he added, "Oh, and be sure you bind his ribs."

Ben halted. "Bind his ribs?"

"They may not be fully healed yet. If Joe should happen to start coughing..."

Paul's dire prediction hung in the air between them as he turned his son and headed for the stair.

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"You understand I don't want Mister Cartwright hurt," Frederick Kyle said, "and that there will be consequences should he be. I just want him held until I have time to approach his brother again. I'm certain if I can be alone with Little Joe that I can convince him to accompany me to Virginia. That boy has a good head on his shoulders for business. He will make an excellent partner."

That was 'his' little brother Kyle was talking about.

Adam opened his eyes and blinked several times in an attempt to clear the stars that were circling in the scope of his vision like wagons anticipating an Indian raid. He must have let out a groan since three sets of eyes fastened on him.

"He's wakin' up," Valentine Latham said, sounding somewhat relieved.

He wished he was.

"Joe will never go with you," he said, or thought he said, though it sounded more like 'oh'll ne'er go-ooh.' Adam licked his lips and tried again. "My brother will never go with you."

"Because you have given him reason to stay? You loathe the very essence of him."

"I do not. I love my brother!" he protested.

Kyle sneered. "An odd kind of love, that dismisses the very heart and soul of a man."

"You've known my brother, what? Two or three weeks? I reared that boy! I was there when he was born. Don't you dare tell me that you know Little Joe better than I do!"

Kyle looked at Ab Latham. "I think a gag would be in order before Mister Cartwright informs the entire Nevada territory of our position."

He fought against it – furiously – but a man with his hands and feet bound has little hope of winning.

Once Adam was subdued, Frederick Kyle came to stand before him. The man in the elegant gray suit bent down to his level and said. "Did you know your brother hates being called 'Little' Joe? That he feels it belittles him?" The southerner paused. "But then, what else would he expect of you since you refuse to see him as a man?"

The words cut because they were true. Not entirely. But true enough.

"Take him up into the hills to that cave we scouted out," Kyle said as he pulled on his gloves and headed for his waiting carriage.

"You don't want us to take him to the rendezvous with Burl?" Val asked as he headed for him.

"My association with Mister Burl has come to an end," the southerner said as he took his seat and picked up the reins.

"Does Mister Burl know that?" Ab asked, his tone slightly derisive.

"That is between Mister Burl and me," Kyle replied. "As to you two, I pay you. You only allegiance is to me."

"Sure thing, boss," Valentine answered with a salute as the southerner drove away, leaving him alone with the Lathams.

Adam watched Ab as he grunted and rubbed his jaw where it was black and blue.

Dissension in the ranks. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

At some point.

As Kyle pulled away, the older of the Latham twins took hold of his arm and pulled him to his feet. "Get Cartwright's horse, Val. We're gonna tie him to the saddle."

"You think that's smart? What if someone sees us? We gotta use the main road to get to the cave."

"We ain't going to the cave."

Val stopped what he was doing. "We ain't?"

Ab was still feeling his jaw. "I got a feelin' Captain Burl's gratitude will be worth a whole lot more than Mister Kyle's money. After all, we got us Joe Cartwright's brother and here's bettin' that runt will come runnin' the moment he knows it." Ab came right up in front of him and looked into his eyes.

"Lessin', of course, he don't want him."

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Ben Cartwright was sitting on Thom and Maggie's porch. He'd just returned there after helping Hoss bury the poor woman's body. Paul was concerned about further contagion and with the condition Thom was in, there was little to no chance he would be well enough to attend any kind of funeral service, even should there be one. After they'd finished, Hoss had opted to remain outside and do what he did best – tend to the Spencer's animals. Life went on no matter what. There were things that had to be done so the living could resume their life once an appropriate period of mourning had passed.

He'd been through it enough times to know.

Ben shifted and glanced over his shoulder into the house. Upon his return, he'd gone in to check on Joseph only to find his son's fever had risen precipitously. He'd wanted to stay to attend him but Paul had ordered him out, saying three patients was twotoo many forone doctor to handle. Five would be impossible. So far neither he nor Hoss had shown any signs, but he knew it was too early to tell. It had been just under a week since Joseph was exposed. Paul said that, on average, it took five to seven days after exposure for infectivity to occur. And so they were stuck here, out of communication with the Ponderosa and the town. His only hope was that one of their men would come looking for them. Hop Sing knew where they were and when they didn't return after a reasonable time, he would most likely send someone out to check. It was important to get word to their workers. Life, as he said, had to go on. But more important than that, it was important for him to know if Adam had reached home.

Looking out at the trees, the rancher sighed, "Where are you, son?"

"How are you feeling, Ben?" a soft voice asked.

He didn't look. He knew who it was. "I'm fine, Paul."

The physician chuckled. "Taking a page from your youngest's book?"

Ben turned to look at the physician. "How is Joseph?"

"I took the liberty, Ben, of helping him upstairs," Paul replied as he came abreast him. "He's in the same bed as the young lady."

"What?"

"It's easier for me to attend the two of them together. The progression of the contagion is not that far apart. Thom is almost able to get out of bed. I didn't want to chance a new corruption."

"So it doesn't last too long?"

"Three or four days. Maybe less, I'm hoping, since my remaining patients are young." Paul looked out toward the newly dug grave. "Poor Maggie, she didn't have a very happy life. It's a puzzle why some people put such constraints on themselves."

Ben shifted so he could see his friend better. "Constraints?"

"Since she's dead, I guess it won't hurt. And I know Thom won't object. He's wanted it out in the open since the beginning." Paul met his puzzled gaze. "Ben, did you know Maggie and Thom had a son?"

He shook his head.

"He died before they came here." The physician shifted away from the door and took a seat on the step. "I only know because I treated Maggie for melancholia when they first arrived. Thom was worried she might harm herself because of what happened."

This was news to him. Margaret Spencer had always seemed to have everything together. "Can you tell me?" he asked.

Paul nodded. "As you know the Spencers came from Virginia. Maggie was a Burwell before she married Thomas. They're FFV, you know? Come from a lot of money and more land. They had the one boy, Evan. His life was planned out for him. He was heir to all of it, but he didn't want it. What he wanted was a young woman named Betsy."

"Was she poor?" Ben knew how that would have gone against the mold.

Paul pursed his lips. "You might say that.

"She was a slave."