The note Ben had in hand demanded a ludicrous amount of money, divided into two sums, one for each son. It promised that proof of the boys' capture would be delivered in a few days, along with instructions as to how he was supposed to transport and deliver the money.

He passed the note to Roy, and the sheriff read it slowly.

When he looked up, he asked one question, "You believe this, Ben?"

"I do," Ben answered, "It wouldn't make sense to spend the money to send this by wire if it wasn't. It instructs me to go to Dewton, which is well within range of where I would expect the boys to be today. I also don't expect they would promise proof if they didn't have any. They would make threats instead, and insist that I take the money immediately to some isolated area."

"Too expensive to be a prank," Roy nodded thoughtfully, "Too direct to be a lie."

"My thinking exactly," Ben replied.

"Well what are you gonna do?" Roy inquired.

"I'm going to ride to Dewton, and make arrangements for the money to be waiting in the bank," Ben answered, "I don't see as I have another choice."

"I suppose you don't need me to tell you to be careful," Roy said.

"No," Ben replied, "I don't."


Sleep was not possible.

It wasn't just the insistent neighing of Cochise outside. The jail room was drafty and cold, and as night closed in the temperature dropped like a stone. Joe was eventually obliged to move over to where Hoss was, in a corner of the cell where the wind couldn't find them. They sat pressed up next to each other, shivering miserably and staring at the door to the jail room.

"I do believe this is the most miserable jail cell I've ever been in," Hoss said, "An' I been in a few."

"I've been in more," Joe asserted, "And yet I agree with you."

"Oh, you have not," Hoss disagreed, "You jus' been in jail more often is all."

Joe's habits of losing his temper, being in the wrong place at the wrong time and taking the wrong side in an argument had all put him at odds with the law more than once. Most often, it was a mistake and he really hadn't done anything, but occasionally he was chucked into the local jail for disturbing the peace or brawling in a place that was unseemly for such behavior. Hoss and Adam had learned that, if they couldn't find Joe, they should always check the jail because their little brother was probably there.

"Now that's just not true," Joe said, "I may have been in jail more often, but I've also been in more jails total. You want to count them?"

"No, Joe, I can't say as I want to count 'em. I'll jus' take your word for it," Hoss replied.

"Why not?" Joe asked, "It's something to do, isn't it?"

"I'd rather talk about somethin' less miserable than this here jail cell."

Joe was quiet for a moment, thinking.

"Okay," Joe said, "How 'bout we stick to Christmases past? Remember the year you wanted to propose to Sally P.?"

"Boy do I ever," Hoss sighed reflectively, "Daughter of Mr. P., owner of the feed store for four years before he quit and moved south to Texas."

The man and his daughter had an impossibly long and unpronounceable last name, but it had begun with a P, and so that's what people had taken to calling them. They were the Ps, because nobody dared try and speak their real last name, much less spell it. Everyone in town had known them. And everyone knew that Hoss was sweet on Sally, a dark eyed, raven-haired beauty with one of the sweetest smiles in all of Nevada. Everyone knew, that is, except for Sally.

Though her father lived in town for four years, Sally was there only for one. During her stay, she spent a lot of time with Hoss, and he became increasingly distracted from his work. Finally, at the urging of his brothers, Hoss had decided to propose to her at the Cartwright Christmas party. He and Sally had gone out onto the porch when it got dark to look at the stars. She and Hoss had both tried to speak at the same time, but Hoss was the gentleman and he let her go first, at which time Sally confessed that she had a fella in Boston who had just sent her a letter, asking her to move to Boston and marry him. She had accepted, and had come to the Christmas party specifically to say goodbye.

Sally had told Hoss she was very grateful for his companionship, he'd been a great friend to her, and made her feel welcome and safe in this place that was so very strange to her. Hoss had pretended that friendship was the only thing he'd ever had on his mind. He'd been too shy to make much in the way of overt advances, and Sally had completely -but innocently- misread his intentions.

"Thing I remember most," Hoss told Joe, "Is what happened after the party."

Hoss had returned to the house looking stricken and upset. None of the guests had noticed him enter the house and quietly move around the edges of the room. But Adam and Joe, each in the midst of dancing with whichever pretty girls were available, picked up on it from across the room. They had exchanged glances and excused themselves from the dance.

Ben had come over shortly thereafter, having noticed his three sons convening in the far corner of the dining room, away from the guests where normally they would have been happily and politely mingling. Hoss explained to them what had happened. He'd asked to be excused from the party and went upstairs to his room to be alone with his thoughts, while the rest of the family dutifully returned to entertaining their guests. Except for Joe, who instead slipped outside.

"Why'd you go an' ride off like that anyhow?" Hoss inquired, "I never could figure out what you were doin' out there."

"I rode out to give that girl a piece of my mind," Joe answered, "I guess it was the first time I'd ever seen a broken heart, and I wanted her to know she'd hurt you. I even wanted to make her cry."

Sally had left in a buggy after talking to Hoss. Joe had taken his horse out less than thirty minutes later with the intention of riding after her. Adam noticed his absence, and realized what his little brother was up to. He rode out a few minutes later, even though he had no hope of catching up with Joe. Both Adam and his horse, Sport, were more sensible than to gallop the icy road in the dark, but Joe wasn't and Cochise would take risks for his young master without blinking.

"Adam found me about a half mile down the road," Joe said, "Cochise hit a patch of ice and went down on top of me. I'd've been dead if he hadn't rolled right off."

"It's a wonder he didn't trample you getting up," Hoss remarked.

"Any other horse would have," Joe replied, then added, "I never did catch up with Sally."

"I'm glad you didn't," Hoss told him, "Wasn't her fault. She didn't know I was sweet on her."

"Yeah, I know. But I wasn't thinking that night. All I knew was that she'd hurt you, and I wanted to hurt her right back. I got what I deserved," Joe laughed quietly.

"Broke pert near every rib you had, as I recall," Hoss said, "I just remember Adam bustin' into the house and shoutin' for Pa. I didn't even know the party had broken up until I came downstairs to see what had happened. I remember askin' what happened, an' you never told. Adam just said you'd pulled a dumb stunt on that horse of yours. He didn't tell me where he'd found you."

"You were hurt enough at the time," Joe said, "Adam and I decided you didn't need to know I got hurt because of you and Sally. Besides, it was my own fault. I was stupid."

"You sure were at that," Hoss agreed.

"I'm just glad I don't get thrown by Cochise every Christmas. Frozen ground is hard stuff to hit."

"You really weren't hurt so bad the first time," Hoss pointed out, "Just a knock on the head."

"Yeah, and my ears were ringing for a month," Joe said.

"That year you broke your ribs, I wondered why Pa never lectured you about ridin' your horse too fast."

"Pa knew why I did it," Joe told him, "He asked me if I realized what I'd been trying to do was wrong. I'd had a little time to simmer down, so I told him I did. Sally was a nice girl, and I knew that, but I hadn't been thinking about her when I rode out. Pa let it go at that."

"You shoulda heard Adam complain about having to take care of your horse while you was laid up," Hoss said, "You ain't never heard a grown man complain so much about so little."

"That's funny," Joe said, "Adam never said a word to me."

"Prob'ly for the same reason you never told me what you was doin' gallopin' around the countryside after dark when you shoulda known better. You was already hurt, no reason to go rubbin' it in."

"I guess so," Joe said, "You sure rubbed it in though."

"I didn't know," Hoss reminded him, "An' I was worried you might go an' do it again."

"I probably would have too," Joe said, "But Cochise had more sense. I never could get him to gallop at night in icy weather again," he paused, then laughed, "Not that I didn't try."

They weren't fooling anyone, and they knew it. They were both worried. Worried about each other. Worried about their father. And worried about Candy. They were just trying to distract themselves from the reality of their situation, which was that they could do nothing except wait. Time was ticking away, and there was nothing for them to do but sit and reminisce.

"That was a good Christmas," Hoss sighed.

"Yeah," Joe agreed.


It didn't come as a surprise to Candy that the deputies that had been chasing him had gotten to Dewton before he had, and warned the sheriff to be on the lookout for him. He was just glad to know they'd ridden back out of town and had somehow missed him. He didn't care how that had happened, but he was grateful that it had, because it gave him the opportunity to try and convince the sheriff that he wasn't the ruthless criminal he'd been made out to be.

Sheriff Hank Walker was a surprisingly young fellow, tall, fair haired and clear eyed, and probably ten years Candy's junior from the look of him, but he was hard-nosed as a veteran. Probably had to be in order to cope with people who only offered respect to their elders.

But whatever outward attitude he showed, Sheriff Walker wasn't all bad. Candy was used to sizing people up pretty fast. When he'd walked in, Sheriff Walker had recognized him from his description immediately, arrested him and put him in a jail cell. But Candy noted the man was a lot less rough on him than he might've been, paying special consideration to the fact that his prisoner was injured. After locking Candy up, Sheriff Walker had gone off and returned with a doctor.

After getting Candy's word that he wouldn't try anything while the doctor treated him, Sheriff Walker had stood outside the cell and let the doc have at his prisoner. Walker kept his gun holstered and didn't cuff Candy or restrain him in any fashion save that of the cell itself. Candy of course kept his word. His objective wasn't to escape anyway, otherwise he wouldn't have waltzed into the sheriff's office.

He hoped to buy a little trust by his passive cooperation, but Sheriff Walker seemed to be set dead against him.

"So what you're telling me," Sheriff Walker said slowly, "Is that the sheriff of Elodie is holding these two Cartwrights unlawfully, and his deputies are trying to kill you so you can't tell anyone about it?"

"That's about the size of it," Candy confirmed, "Though they were going to kill me before I ran."

It was good to be indoors after the long hours spent out in the cold, and it was even better to lie on a cot, propping himself up with the wall behind it, instead of having to hold himself up on a saddle. He was bone weary and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, but he knew that he first had to get this sheriff to understand, or at the very least entertain the notion enough to send a telegram to Ben Cartwright in Virginia City.

"And why would he want to do something like that?" Walker inquired.

"I don't know," Candy answered, "But I can think of reasons. Wouldn't be the first time somebody got arrested for something they didn't do."

"Why keep them and kill you?" Walker asked.

"If I knew, I would tell you," Candy said, somewhat irritably, then he paused for a moment, "Hang on... the sheriff said something right before I bolted... something like 'Cartwright wouldn't pay a nickel for him'. Something like that anyway."

"Money?" Walker's tone was incredulous, as was the expression on his face, "You think a sheriff, a lawman, would be breakin' the law and holding two men hostage for money? Sheriff's wages aren't much, but if money was our main preoccupation, no sheriff would ever take the job."

"Oh come on," Candy snapped finally, "If you're as smart as you think you are, you know any man with any job can be crooked, and even a lawman can be corrupted if he's pushed hard enough. I don't know if you've seen Elodie, but if you haven't let me enlighten you: it's a dump. Everything's cheap, run down and needs to be replaced, including the sheriff."

"And why should I believe you over two lawfully appointed deputies?" Walker asked.

"What kind of idiot walks into a sheriff's office when he knows the law is after him and then concocts a ridiculous story like the one I just told you? Who would believe him?" Candy retorted angrily, then quieted himself down and continued, "Look, I'm not tellin' you to let me go, just send a message to Mr. Cartwright. He needs to know his boys are in trouble. That's all I'm asking."

"Telegrams are mighty expensive," Walker pointed out.

Candy opened his mouth, then closed it again with a sigh.

"I haven't got any money on me, and that horse and saddle aren't mine to give," he shook his head wearily, "Only thing I've got that's worth anything is that gun belt, and it isn't worth that much."

"So what you're telling me is to spend a heap of money sending a note to a man I don't know, with a message I don't believe," Sheriff Walker summarized.

Candy wanted to argue, but that was the truth of it, and he saw there was no reason to contradict the sheriff or continue trying to get him to believe when it was clear he wasn't about to.

Instead, he sighed again and said, "Apparently."

"Well pardon me if I tell you that's crazy," Sheriff Walker said.

Candy nodded and said, more to himself than Walker, "That's what I was afraid of."