TEN

Hoss Cartwright shivered. He tugged at his buttons to make sure his coat was fastened tight and then shifted the fur lined collar up around his ears. They'd worked hard that day searchin' for stray cattle and bringin' them back into the herd in preparation for moving on to the place where the animals would weather the winter. He wasn't sure, but he thought this was one of only a handful of years where they had done the early part of it in the snow. With a glance at the sky he confirmed the current day's mix of sleet and snow had stopped. The sun was almost down and the temperature was droppin'. A crisp clear cold was settin' in with the night.

The big man sighed. Winter was champin' at the bit near as much as his little brother lookin' forward to a night in town.

The thought of Little Joe did two things to the big man – it made him smile and turned his attention to his father. The older man was standing at the edge of the camp lookin' back the way they'd come. The moon was full and Pa was a black silhouette against its bright face. Hoss shook his head and blew out a breath of vapor. There were times when their pa's seemin' inability to think of him and his brothers as all growed-up and able to take care of themselves chaffed like new rope on bare hands. Adam in particular got mighty sore when they'd come in and find him sittin' in front of the fire waitin' on them to show. Somehow – when they three of them was together – that seemed to say to Adam that Pa didn't trust him enough to look after them, which set hard with older brother. Him? He didn't mind so much. Pa was just...well...Pa. Little brother was the worst when it came down to resentin' it, though. Joe'd howl and spit like a wild cat when he thought Pa was babyin' him and go on to say that he was a man now and didn't need no one lookin' after him.

'Course, truth was, Joe was the only one who did.

Hoss looked at his pa again standin' there lookin' south, as if by sheer will alone he could see across the miles and find out what was right or wrong at home. Nope, it didn't bother him much. Pa'd had more than his share of tragedy and it seemed like, well, he was always waitin' on the next one to come – waitin' on life to drop the other boot, so to speak. It weren't that Pa didn't trust God. He did more than any other man he knew. But Pa told him once that just 'cause you trust God don't mean everythin' is gonna go your way. Pa believed God sent hardships into men's lives to hone them to be more like His son. He said God promised not to give a man more than he could take.

The big man sighed. If God was thinkin' of lettin' somethin' happen to Little Joe, well, then, he and the man upstairs needed to have a nice long talk about what he could and couldn't take. He was strong – Pa'd made him that way.

But he wasn't sure he was that strong.

As he tugged his leather gloves up inside the cuffs of his thick winter coat, Hoss crossed to the lone figure and said, "Pa, supper's about ready. You comin'?"

At first the older man didn't answer. Then he started and blinked, as if drawin' himself back from somewhere far away. Lookin' at him, his father answered, "Hoss. Son, I'm sorry. You said something?"

"I guess your mind ain't on your stomach like mine, Pa," he answered with a grin. "You thinkin' about Adam and Little Joe?"

His father's smile was chagrinned. "Am I so predictable?"

"Well, Pa, I figure you've had about thirty years of practice worryin'. Odds are you're right good at it by now."

His father's smile faded. "You know, if I had chosen to marry and remain in the East and God had granted the three of you to me, I think... No, I know I would not have worried so much." His father turned toward him. "Oh, there are plenty of ways a young man can find trouble in the east, but few of them are life-threatening." The older man's near-black eyes shifted to the road again. "There are just so many dangers that can befall a man here – even a well-trained, cautious man like your older brother. Uncertain roads, ending up adrift in the snow with no hope of rescue, wild animals and," he hesitated, "wilder men." His father approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I hope you boys understand that it is not you I don't trust."

Hoss smiled. "Ah, shucks, Pa, we know that." He waited a moment and then added with a wink, "At least Adam and me do."

"Ah, yes. Your younger brother."

"Little Joe was sure he could lick every mountain cat and outlaw in the territory before he was five." The big man snorted. "And wasn't half wrong. Short-shanks can hold his own pa. You gotta learn to trust him too."

"I do trust Joseph." The older man smiled. "I trust him to find trouble where there is no trouble to be found."

Hoss pursed his lips and nodded. "He's kind of like a magnet, ain't he?"

"Mister Cartwright, Hoss!" a voice called. When they turned they saw the camp cook walking toward them. "Supper's ready!"

His pa raised a hand. "Be right there, Al!"

Hoss looked at the cook and then at him. "Well, as Hop Sing likes to put it, Pa, you cain't stop the birds of worry from flyin' over your head, but you sure-as-shootin' can stop them from buildin' a nest in your hair."

The older man laughed. "How were we ever lucky enough to be blessed with Hop Sing? And the poor man so unlucky as to be cursed with the four of us!"

His crystal-blue eyes danced. "Like you always say, Pa, God moves in mysterious ways."

"His wonders to perform." With a clap on his shoulder, his pa said, "Come on, son, let's go get some grub."

As he followed behind his pa, Hoss was grateful for the smile on the older man's face. Trouble was, it didn't reach his eyes. That's 'cause Pa's eyes weren't lookin' toward the chuck wagon.

They was trained like they always was on home.

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Her Pa would have said it was dark as the inside of whale.

She's asked him once how he knew how dark a whale's innards were and he'd told her he knew because of the three days he'd spent inside one. She'd reminded him, of course, that that was Jonah and he was bein' silly.

'Just ask your mother if I'm bein' silly' had been Pa's reply.

Elizabeth was sitting on Freckles at the side of the road debatin' what to do. She'd managed to find it and by that big old moon that was shinin' in the sky, she'd figured out she was on the west side of it. In one direction lay safety in the form of the Ponderosa ranch house and a warm fire and bed. In the other lay her little brother. Little Joe was out there somewhere, bein' held by bad men, probably cold and lonely as she was right now.

And she was awful cold and lonely.

She'd bundled up well when she left, but her clothes were covered in snow now and wet on account of the fact that she'd done that kneelin' and fallen one or two times before gettin' up to start out again. She knew she needed to dry off and get somethin' in her stomach, and for that she was gonna need a dry place to do it in. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. When Little Joe and her had gone out in the sleigh they'd glided for miles and miles before bein' attacked by the snow in that great big old pine tree. On the way there he'd taken her past a place with a little shack that he said was there for their men to use when they was out workin' the line. They'd traveled beside the road and then struck off into the trees at a place where the rocks were stacked like building blocks with the topmost one hangin' over the path. When she squinted her eyes, she thought she could make out that same set of rocks in the distance. If she could make it to the shack – given the fact that she'd find matches there – she could light the stove and settle in for the night. Her Ma had taught her how to do that safely.

The little girl chewed her lower lip and looked south again. Sheriff Roy and Hop Sing were probably mighty worried about her. They might even be out lookin' for her. If they found her, they sure-as-shootin' would make her go back to the ranch house while they went on to look for Little Joe and the bad men who took him. That meant she had two choices – ride back to meet them or go forward on her own. Maybe if she went to the shack they wouldn't find her.

Maybe they'd just go back home.

A shiver shook her and she almost dropped the reins. Freckles snorted and looked up at her with concern in his big black-brown eyes as they slapped his side. She had to think of him too. Her pa always told her to see to her animal first. Her horse's life depended on her as much as her life depended on him.

Freckles was mighty cold too and it was a long way back to the ranch house.

Coming to a decision, Elizabeth used her knees to direct the gray. Moving him onto the road, she headed for the big pile of rocks and the shack that lay close behind them. As she did, she frowned.

Freckles was awful big.

How was she gonna get him through the door?

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The former reverend Atticus Godfrey grimaced as he watched Fleet Rowse take the Cartwright boy from his horse and toss him to the ground like a sack of flour. The boy 'oomphed' as he struck and then fell silent, making not so much as a sound as the outlaw took him by the collar and dragged him over to the base of a tree where he left him laying on the cold, snowy ground. The young man everyone knew as 'Little Joe' was weakening. In spite of his efforts, the boy's shoulder wound had become infected. Even in the best of circumstances, the outlook for his health would have been uncertain.

And these were hardly the 'best' of circumstances.

As Atticus headed over to check on Little Joe, Rowse growled and spat. A quick reminder of their needs from Noyes silenced the outlaw – for the moment. There was always the chance that Ben Cartwright would demand to see that his son alive before he would surrender the money. Even though the rancher was supposed to leave it and go, there was some doubt he would do so without an assurance that the boy still lived. After all, he was Little Joe's father, he loved him dearly as all father's loved their sons.

Sadly, not as all sons loved their fathers.

The former preacher knelt at the boy's side and placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. Before leaving the line shack he had dressed the young man in a warm flannel shirt, jeans, boots, and a short winter coat with lamb's fur lining he had found there. Probably left behind by some worker. Little Joe was shivering in spite of the extra clothing and the two thin blankets wrapped around his slender frame. The boy was feeling the cold ground beneath him but, even more, he was feeling the heat within. Rocking back on his heels, Atticus considered the young face, so familiar with its boyish good looks and soft tangle of brown curls. He'd been struck by the similarity the first time he saw Joseph Cartwright, in that moment when he stepped off the Virginia City stage.

Jacob had looked much the same.

Rising, the thin man crossed to his horse. Opening his pack, he drew out his spare frock coat. Going back to the boy, he spread it over him. As he did Little Joe's eyes opened and he looked at him without focus. His full lips parted.

"Why...?"

Then he was gone again.

The rail-thin man rose to his feet and returned to the place where he'd spread his bedroll. Noyes and Fleet were seated by the fire and were deep in discussion. They'd left the line shack about midday and traveled onto a portion of land formerly occupied by the Paiutes. Rowse had spent time here as a boy. The Paiute graveyard was just to their north and east. He could see the crossed spears that marked its entrance cast in silhouette against the moonlit sky. Fleet Rowse was a man without conscience or faith. He had no fear of the place. No dread.

No respect.

Laying down, Atticus covered up as best he could. He had no desire to sit by the fire and listen to the other two men scheme and so had told them he was going to nap until they were ready to move. In truth, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. There was something about this whole thing – about taking the Cartwright boy – that deeply disturbed him.

Who would have thought that he – a man of God, leader of the church, father and husband to a wonderful woman – would have ended up in the company of murders?

Of course, there had been no mention of murder when this whole thing began. In fact, in the beginning, his motives for coming out west – while they might have been selfish – were uncontaminated by greed and desire. It was only after he met Noyes Runyon and joined him in his illegitimate 'business' that things had begun to spiral out of control.

He'd started life in Ohio, born to a hard-working mother and father; one of ten children, only six of which reached maturity. He was the second oldest son and as such was not expected to take over the family farm. Instead, his mother insisted he have an education. Atticus turned over with a sigh. All of his life he had been drawn to the things of God, astounded by His works and world, and grateful for the blessings the good Lord granted him. When his parents asked, he said he wanted to go to Divinity school. Saving pennies and working long hours at neighboring farms, he – along with his parents – had managed to scrape together enough to afford it. He had gone to a school in Pennsylvania and returned a reverend. Shortly after he had found his flock. He spent his well-content days shepherding them through not only everyday occurrences, but a flood of troubles like the coming of a tornado that wiped over half of the congregation's crops out. People admired him. Looked up to him. Especially one young beauty with hair the color of freshly-turned earth and eyes like black diamonds. Her name was Ginny, and they married within a month of meeting. Within two years they had a son. They named him Jacob, after the father of their faith.

Sadly, they forgot what Jacob had been before he became Israel.

As the child grew, it became apparent there would be no others. The doctors could give them no reason. Perhaps that infection Ginny suffered after the boy's birth? He didn't doubt God then, but believed Jacob was meant for special things, that was why he was the only one, so they could shower him with all their attention and give him all they had.

It didn't take long. While he was away looking after his flock, Jacob's mother began to spoil him. Soon the child was a terror and, when he would discipline him, the boy would fly to Ginny's arms. Using his God-given charm Jacob began to build a wall between them, intent on getting his own way. If he even so much as dared to mention the boy needed a thrashing, Ginny would grow wild and unhinged. In the end, he left them alone and turned to his work to keep him sane.

Reverends, after all, were not allowed to divorce.

Daily, he prayed. Daily, he asked for God's guidance. And daily he watched Jacob grow more and more like his namesake – a cheat, a liar, and someone who would do anything to get what he wanted.

Inevitably the day came when the knock on his door brought the news he had dreaded but expected. Jacob, while drunk, had gotten into a brawl which led to a gun fight in the street. His son was slower on the draw. His beautiful brown-haired boy was shot in the gut and died.

Jacob was only sixteen.

Though he sought to comfort Ginny, she would not be comforted. Ten months after their son's death, he was forced to commit her to an asylum where she died two years later. The day the telegram arrived telling him of her death, he had just buried a child of five who had been killed when he got too close to the kickin end of his father's horse.

The day the telegram arrived he had stopped believing in a good and loving God.

Oh, he continued on in his ministry for another year – mouthing words he no longer accepted as true – just long enough to have an affair with the wife of one of the elders, and to use his influence over her to empty the church coiffeurs.

In the dark of the night and his soul, he had run.

After that he had gone from town to town living riotously in one and then pretending to pastor in the next. He never ceased believing in God, but it was the God of Jacob's father, Isaac – the harsh, punishing God of the Old Testament he knew. Each day when he woke he knew there was no hope – God could never forgive him – and so he did the worst he could do, hoping to call down a thunderbolt and end it all.

Then he met Noyes Runyon. The obese businessman was looking for a partner to run scams on wealthy individuals. Noyes could have cared less what his past was. He just saw the opportunity of traveling with a 'man of God'. The businessman said it leant him an 'air of respectability'. For his part, he got a third of the take of Noyes' schemes while the fat man took the rest. That suited him fine. It gave him enough money to fill his belly and that was all he needed.

One day they had been talking and he had mentioned his brother, Leander. They were traveling to Nevada as the pickings there were lush due to the recent discovery of silver, when he remembered his brother mentioning he had an old friend who had settled there and done quite well. Noyes eyes had lit with avarice when he said the friend's name was Benjamin Cartwright. The Cartwright spread was the largest in Nevada. A rancher like that would keep large amounts of money in their safe. It shouldn't be too hard to relieve him of some of it either through a scam or by breaking into it.

And so the scheme to rob the Ponderosa had begun.

Atticus sighed and shifted again, laying on his back and looking at the hard, brilliant stars. Everything would have gone according to plan if Noyes hadn't decided – at the last minute – that they needed some muscle with them. They'd done it before, hired some gunslinger to come along for the ride to protect them. Usually they were fairly desperate men, in need of money, and all too happy to cooperate. Noyes had been off by himself, in a saloon in Reno, when he met Fleet Rowse. They'd struck up a deal and Rowse joined them as they headed to Virginia City. It didn't take long to realize that Rowse was cut from a different cloth. He didn't take orders. He gave them. He also spent a good part of the day polishing his various weapons from a wicked looking knife to a handgun with a dozen notches cut into its handle.

But worse than that – worse than Rowse being a murderer – he was deranged.

He'd realized it first when he found the occasional animal butchered near the place they had camped as they readied to go. The animals had not been killed for food, but for pleasure. The truth of his assumption crystallized one day when it was a man he had stumbled over, killed in the same way – his throat slit and unspeakable acts committed on his corpse. He knew then that Rowse could not be trusted and had done all he could to get Noyes to listen to him and to leave the man behind. To no avail.

In fact, Noyes seemed fascinated by Rowse's evil.

Atticus turned over again and then sat up. Sleep was not going to come, so he rose and went to check the Cartwright boy again. As he knelt at they boy's side, he cast another glance at Noyes and Rowse where they lay now by the fire. The three of them stood on the edge of a knife. So far – at least for him and Noyes – no killings could be laid at their feet. If they were caught, it would mean prison, but only prison. If Fleet had his way and he killed Little Joe, they would be hanged.

The rail-thin man swallowed hard as he looked at Ben Cartwright's precious son who lay tossing and turning, lost in a fevered world.

He had to find a way to help the boy escape.

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The clear night had helped Adam travel quickly. He was more almost halfway home. It was growing late and though the moon would have allowed him to continue, he felt in his heart there was no real need to rush. Pa was having his usual reaction to a long separation from Joe. He and Hoss had talked about it. Right after Marie died their pa had driven himself mercilessly, working from dawn to dusk and often staying away from the house for days, or even weeks at a time. They both understood that Pa couldn't stand the thought of Marie not being there. The problem was, a part of their stepmother remained behind and it – or he – spent most of his time crying, heartsick for the loss of both his parents. Joe was inconsolable.

There'd come a day when Pa saw what he was doing. It had involved Little Joe running away in search of his mama. Some days Joe understood Marie was dead – well, understood as well as a five year old could that his mother was not coming back. But then there were other days, days when Little Joe was sure she'd just gone away and he needed to find her and tell her how much they all needed her to return. By the time their Pa rolled in he and Hoss had been frantic. They'd looked everywhere. There were so many perils – so many things in the West that could take the life of a little boy wandering lost. It was their pa who finally came upon the simple answer. None of them had thought Joe could remember the way. They were wrong.

Pa found Little Joe asleep on his mother's grave.

It was then their father realized that the cord between him and Little Joe had nearly severed, and he'd determined upon the spot that it never would.

After that, it had been hard to tear Pa from Joe's side. To his little brother's chargin, even as a little boy he felt smothered at times. Pa had to know where Joe was going, when he would get back, whether he was in or out...sometimes the older man was even waiting for him when he came back from the necessary! Pa had taken hold of the reins and Joe bucked, and kicked, and screamed like a frustrated stallion trying to throw its rider. Adam snorted.

Pa, of course, kept his seat.

As he paused in the middle of the road, again considering the ride to the ranch, Adam squinted and imagined the cord that had been formed that day stretching all the way from his father rounding up cattle in the north, to his little brother in the south. His little brother who was, no doubt, safe and secure and seated in front of the hearth playing checkers with their young houseguest.

"Well, Scout," the black-haired man said with a yawn, "what Pa doesn't know won't hurt him. Let's you and me find somewhere warm to bed down for the night."

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Fleet Rowse stood at the edge of the Paiute graveyard, staring up at the crossed spears that marked the place of no return. He'd sent Noyes and Atticus along with the rich kid up to a cave in the hills. It overlooked this place and from it he'd be able to see whether or not Ben Cartwright showed with the money in the morning. If he didn't, he'd have to decide what to do. With the snowstorm and the changes to the terrain, the rancher could easily be held up. Or, he might have been away from his ranch and not gotten the note his son had written into his hands until hours after it was delivered. Rowse spit tobacco juice and sneered. He could be generous. He'd give Ben Cartwright until nightfall before killing the kid and cutting his losses. Any longer than that would be too dangerous. That note could just as easily have ended up in the hands of Virginia City sheriff and the law could be on his tail right now. The outlaw scowled as he continued to stare at the crossed spears. He didn't need the law on his tail. He'd left a trail of an awful lot of dead men in his wake.

Rowse snorted and spit again. Probably made no nevermind anyhow. You could only hang a man once.

Moving closer to the spears, Rowse toed the earth just beyond them. It was probably stupid, him takin' this job, working with two conmen who didn't have a brain between them. Normally, he would have traveled with them a day or two, let them work their 'magic', and then killed them both and taken off with the cash. He would have this time too if it hadn't been for that name – Cartwright. He had a special hate in his heart for the Cartwrights, especially the old man. He'd worked that ranch for nigh onto a year and gotten fired out of hand for drinkin' and cussin' too much on a drive one time. When Noyes said he and the preacher were gonna fleece the Ponderosa, he decided one 'good' turn deserved another.

It was a bonus that he was gonna get to kill one of Ben Cartwright's kids.

Their plan had been formed when he got to town and found out his kid sister – whom he hadn't seen in years – was stayin' with the Cartwrights. He figured he'd just pay Rory a visit and see if he couldn't get her to help them and maybe, well, maybe come away with him. Since his wanted poster was plastered around Virginia City, they decided it would be best if Atticus went to the ranch house first, got himself invited in, and then – when he had a chance – left one of the upstairs windows open. Of course his high-and-mighty widowed sister had to go and listen to Ben Cartwright's lies about him and tell him to go to Hell. Fleet snorted. Blood will out.

Yeah, right.

Blood had done nothin' but turn on him since he'd been old enough to know it. His backside had been red as his adopted father's skin from his and Rory's old man beating him for bein' wayward and disobedient. He'd wandered out in the woods to get away from the bastard when the Paiutes found him. They'd lost one of their own in a raid the night before and took him to fill the boy's place. Turned out it had been a son of Red Pony. At first, Pony's woman took to him, but the Indian chief didn't. When he was little, he couldn't see past the color of his skin. But as he grew and began to take on the role of a Paiute 'man' – ridin' hard and leavin' plenty of white corpses behind – it didn't the warrior long to discover that his adopted son was more like him than either of the two 'blood' sons he had left. Neither one of them came close to him for bloodlust.

Neither enjoyed the killing like Pony and him did.

Anyhow, they'd gone after white men, killing as many as they could, and that's when Ben Cartwright had sealed the fate of that boy laying up there in the cave on the hill. The rancher took exception to them killing and burning out some of his neighbors. Him and that older boy of his shot down several of his Indian brothers and wounded Red Pony. As he sat in the healer's tent at his Indian father's side, not knowin' whether or not the warrior would live, he'd made a vow. He swore then and there that – one day – he'd do somethin' to make things even.

It seemed that day had come.

Fleet Rowse turned and looked toward the cave. Hell, you couldn't walk through Virginia City without hearing how proud Ben Cartwright was of those boys of his. There wasn't a thing on the earth the old man could lose that would even come close to hurtin' him as much as one of his sons. The rich rancher'd give up his thousand acres and all the land, timber, and money he had, just to save one of them. Some would call that a father's love.

He called it a father's weakness.

As his gaze returned to the raised spears, Fleet considered stepping past them. He didn't believe the hogwash the Paiutes did about the spirits of the dead lingerin' there. The dead were dead. There weren't no Heaven. No, there was nothing but Hell and it was here on earth. Still, Red Pony believed it and if there was a single man on the earth he respected, it was the Paiute chief.

Backing away from the entry to the graveyard, Fleet Rowse turned and headed for his horse.

He'd have to pay the old man a visit and let him know what he'd done.

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Atticus Godfrey glanced at Little Joe Cartwright where lay curled up in a far corner of the cave. After arriving, Noyes had deposited the wounded boy there and then gone to the opposite corner and lit a fire. Laying down by it, his partner in crime had fallen asleep after issuing a sharp order that he be awakened when Rowse turned up.

If there was a chance, it was now.

Crossing over to where their captive lay, Atticus crouched beside him and touched the side of his neck. The boy moaned and shifted, but didn't wake. Most likely because the fever was raging in him. The preacher let out a long sigh. It was doubtful Little Joe would survive what it would take to make an escape attempt.

It was definite, however, that he would not survive Rowse's lust for blood.

Atticus removed his hand and glanced at the cave's mouth. Their 'hired gun' was a vindictive, angry, and dangerous man and it seemed he had something personal against the Cartwrights. He wasn't sure now that Rowse hadn't intended to kill one or all of the four men from the very start. Fleet seemed to delight in this young man's worsening condition. The outlaw meant for Little Joe to suffer as much as possible before he killed him.

As he reached out again to take the young man's good shoulder in his fingers, Atticus reminded himself that this boy's impending fate was just one more proof there was no such thing as a kind and loving God.

Clamping his other hand over the boy's mouth, he shook him gently.

"Little Joe, wake up," the thin man said, his voice hushed and urgent, "You need to wake up. Now!"

He was rewarded with a moan. A few seconds later the boy stirred and his eyes opened wide with puzzlement.

"Keep quiet!" Atticus glanced at Noyes, who was oblivious. "I've thought about what you said. I'm going to help you get away."

Joe's brow wrinkled. He shook his head.

"I know you're weak. But taking a chance out there is better than remaining here where you have no chance." As he spoke, he removed his hand and began to work on the ropes binding Little Joe's wrists. After finishing with them, he moved to the boy's feet. In a minute Ben Cartwright's son was free.

"Can you stand?" he asked as his hand went to the young man's elbow.

"No," Little Joe said softly.

Atticus looked at Noyes again before asking, "What do you mean 'no'? Are you too weak to stand?"

The boy shook his head. "Never...make it. Not worth...the...risk to you," he said as he pushed his hand away.

A knife to the heart would have been kinder than those words.

The rail-thin man stuttered. "Don't...don't worry about me. I've made my...my choices and they've sealed my fate."

Joe snorted softly and his lips curled up at one end. His response was breathy. "Pa says that's...arrogance speakin'."

"Arrogance?" Atticus shook his head. "It's the truth! God's done with me. I know His rules, boy, and I have broken every one of them."

Joe Cartwright's feverish eyes locked on his face. "You...know His rules. What about...God's grace?"

Atticus Godfrey could feel the fire running through the boy's body; felt it shudder through him, causing his weakened frame to shiver. Little Joe was far from home, alone, and in the company of desperate men; wounded and looking death in the face.

And he was talking about grace?

"I won't leave you behind," was all he managed to say.

"Well, then...I'd best go...with you," Little Joe said as he found his feet. As he looped the boy's good arm over his shoulder, the young man turned a pale and perspiring face on him. "Atticus, someone...needs to keep...you out of trouble," he grinned.

A minute later, as Noyes snored away, he and Little Joe left the cave with its ominous future behind and headed out into the blistering cold night. Sitting Little Joe on a tree stump, Atticus quietly freed the horses and then – still holding onto the boy – led his and Noyes' mounts a little ways into the wood where he helped Joe Cartwright to mount. The way the boy swayed in the saddle frightened him. It was obvious it was all he could do to sit the horse.

Still, there was nothing to do but try.

Atticus gave his companion a tight smile and then climbed into the saddle on his own animal. Catching the boy's eye, he nodded encouragingly as he caught its reins and led horse and rider into the trees. It would be hard going, but they dare not take the road. He was hoping a new fall of snow would cover their tracks before Rowse began to hunt them. The former preacher knew he was beyond God's grace, so he did not pray for himself. But for this boy – so young and yet so wise – he did lift a prayer as they set off, asking for God's grace and mercy.

If he was lucky, maybe a little bit of it would overflow.