"I don't see what I've got to go to the doctor for," Candy protested, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it.
"You said that horse thief kicked you in the side good, didn't you?" Joe inquired.
"Well yeah, but not enough to see a doctor."
"Are you kidding? You could barely stay on your horse all the way into town," Joe said.
"I was a little dazed is all," Candy said, "I'm alright now."
"So humor me; pretend you work for me, and do as I say," Joe suggested.
Candy looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he just sighed, closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, "Alright, fine. An' while we're at it, have him check and see if you tore open that wound of yours on the way out here, okay?"
"I'm not the one that dove headfirst off a horse," Joe reminded him.
"So humor me," Candy suggested.
It turned out that Candy was right; Joe had reopened his wound and it had bled. Joe received a sound scolding from the doctor, which included a lecture about his overdoing things.
"Now, I'm gonna let you ride home, but you take it easy, you hear?" the doctor said.
"I hear," Joe answered meekly, "Now, what about Candy?"
"What about him?" The doctor inquired, looking over at the ranch hand.
"That horse thief kicked him in the right side pretty good," Joe said, "and he favored it all the way here."
"I can speak for myself," Candy grumbled.
"Yeah, but you weren't going to," Joe replied calmly.
"Alright, let's see," the doctor said, walking over to where Candy was standing.
It was unclear who was most surprised when Candy yelped and flinched at the doctor's slightest touch to his side, Candy, Joe or the doctor himself.
"I think you'd better sit and let me examine you a might closer," the doctor said.
Joe saw a wary look flit through Candy's eyes, an uncharacteristically dark look for him. It was there and gone in an instant, and Joe almost thought he'd imagined it. But there was no imagining the caution with which Candy followed the doctor. It was clear he wasn't afraid of doctors, it was his reflexive distrust of anyone he didn't know very well, especially if they hurt him, on purpose or otherwise.
Though he would have preferred to spare Candy the embarrassment of having to be diagnosed in front of him, Joe got the impression that it would be best if he hung around nearby. The doctor had clearly seen the look in Candy's eyes, and regarded him as unpredictable. He was an experienced doctor, and he'd known normally peaceable men to turn suddenly mean once he started poking around at places that hurt, and he'd seen Candy around enough to know the ranch hand wasn't the most peaceable man in the world even on his best day.
"Try not to punch me, okay?" the doctor said once Candy was settled.
Candy, looking very worried, nodded without speaking.
This time he knew what was coming, but it didn't seem to better prepare him. He managed not to cry out this time, merely inhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the chair he'd sat in. The doctor didn't press him long, and moved on to lifting his shirt to have a look.
Joe was dismayed to see the patch of darkness on Candy's side, which spread from the lower part of his ribcage to just above his hip. Joe knew enough of medicine to know that was more than just a bruise, though there was that as well. He was surprised that Candy hadn't realized it for himself.
The doctor explored around the area with gentle fingers, testing where and how severe the pain was.
Joe waited quietly for the doctor's prognosis.
Finally, the doctor sat back with a sigh and said, "It's not as bad as it looks, or as it probably feels."
Candy and Joe both breathed a sigh of relief, as the doctor continued.
"However, just now, moving about is more dangerous for you than it is for him," the doctor, speaking to Candy, nodded to Joe when he spoke the last, "What you need is to stop moving for awhile."
"Come again?" Candy said.
"Go to bed, and stay there," the doctor clarified, "Failing at that, sit in a chair with a back you can lean on."
Candy was silent for a moment, looking more deeply worried than before.
"And if I don't?" he asked finally.
"Then that injury will most probably kill you. Eventually. If you go to bed and stay there, it should heal on its own, given proper treatment and time. But the most important thing is that you not move around."
"I can't really do that," Candy protested, "I've got work to do, and at this time of year-"
"Candy," Joe interrupted, "Don't worry about it."
In his friend's blue eyes, Joe recognized that old fear that he'd first come to the Ponderosa with. Joe knew it as the fear of being abandoned if he couldn't earn his keep. It wasn't a fear Candy -or indeed any man- was likely ever to admit to, but Joe saw it just the same, like a horse who has changed hands so many times he no longer thinks of any rider as his master nor any barn his home.
"We'll take care of you," Joe clarified as Candy continued to look at him worriedly, "Lord knows you've taken care of us enough times."
It took a moment for it to register with Candy. When it did, he let out a breath, and some of the tension left him. He still looked uncertain, but no longer frightened. Uncertain was something Joe could live with. But seeing Candy scared was something he had no stomach for. It just looked unnatural on Candy, who tended to have a relaxed, light-hearted approach to most things, including life and death.
"Can he at least ride home?" Joe inquired of the doctor.
"If he goes slow, and goes right to bed, I suppose it's alright," the doctor replied.
"I'll see that he does that," Joe promised.
The ride home was slower than Joe had expected. It seemed that Candy had been holding together just to get that second horse thief. Now Frank was in Sheriff Coffee's custody, the last of the fight seemed to go out of the ranch hand, and his exhaustion showed through plainly.
Candy and Joe rode side by each, sort of keeping each other upright on the ride home. The long day had caught up with Joe as well, and now the adrenaline had worn off, he was pretty tuckered out.
It was late when they got back, and Joe was relieved to see Buck and Chub were standing by the hitching post, waiting to be unsaddled and put up for the night. Cochise's welcoming neigh from the barn gained the attention of the house's occupants, and Hoss and Ben came out to see what was up.
"Where have you been, young man?" Ben asked of Joe, "The doctor told you not to go riding."
"Sorry, Pa," Joe said wearily, "I'll tell you all about it, but it'll take a little while."
"I imagine so," Ben replied somewhat sourly, though it was really only that he'd been worried about his son, wondering where Joe had gone off to and if he was alright.
Despite Joe's protests, Hoss helped him down from the saddle. In the meantime, Candy did his best to dismount without drawing any undue attention to himself, but he got dizzy and almost fell. He managed to catch himself and lean against his horse, but it hadn't escaped Ben's notice.
"Candy?" Ben inquired with a measure of concern.
"He's sick, Pa," Joe answered, knowing Candy would not.
"Well," Ben said, "Best come in the house then. Hoss can take care of the horses."
Candy didn't argue, but stood quietly facing his horse until he found his equilibrium again.
Firebrand had gone as far as he could.
His search for water had driven him onward, until he finally crashed through a fence to reach a waterhole. He'd scattered a herd of cattle before him, too tired and in pain to pay any mind to them. He walked into the hole until it reached his hocks, then stood there motionless for a long time, letting the cool wet take the worst of the burning out of his leg. Finally, he lowered his head and tried to take a long drink. But he wobbled where he stood, and only took a few sips before suddenly turning away from the water, intent on getting out of it. As he reached the bank, his hind legs gave out from under him and he sat down. Rather than fight to his feet, Firebrand simply lay down and rolled onto his side, half buried in the muddy bank.
Firebrand lay where he'd collapsed, and did not move for the rest of the night.
In the morning, Firebrand stirred as the sunlight touched his damp and matted coat. He opened his eyes, and watched as a startled calf scrambled away from him and ran to its mother. He tipped his ears, catching the sound of the cattle lowing to each other. The sound had been strange to him before, but now it felt comforting. Overnight, the sound of the cattle had become a symbol of peace, of assurance that everything was alright, that there was no danger nearby.
He snorted, clearing his nostrils, and then tossed his head. He rolled, folding his legs under him, letting the mud of the bank sink into his coat and skin. Then he got up, slowly and awkwardly, favoring his injured foreleg. He shook himself, turned, and lowered his head to drink the water. The water was cool and refreshing, and Firebrand felt stronger for it.
Limping slowly, Firebrand parted the cattle before him as he made his way to the grass they'd been eating. He pulled a mouthful from the earth and chewed it while looking around. He did not keep his head down as he grazed, but lifted his head frequently, checking for danger. After several minutes, he assured himself that there was none, and settled down. The cattle gradually came grazing back to where he stood, flowing around him peaceably. They were used to horses, it was merely the strange actions of this one that had been setting them on edge.
Now he'd shown himself to be harmless, they were willing to join him in his grazing.
After hearing Joe's report from start to finish, Ben assigned Candy to rest in one of the guest rooms. It was unclear whether it was his weariness or obedient loyalty to Ben that kept him from arguing. Either way, he wasted no time in going to sleep. Joe was a little harder to convince, because he was worried about what Frank Buckler might have done to his beloved horse.
"Don't you worry about him none," Hoss said, and then added the assurance, "I'll take good care o' that pony. You just get yourself well and do like the doctor said."
Joe looked like he'd argue, but then Ben pitched in.
"Go on, son. Up to bed. Cochise will be fine."
It had been a long day, and bed sounded unspeakably good, so Joe quit fighting it and went.
After Hoss went out to care for Cochise like he'd said he would, Ben found himself alone in his study, sitting behind his desk, absorbing the fact that his son had very nearly been killed again. If Candy hadn't been there... Ben didn't like to think about it. This was far from the first time Joe had been near death, but it was something Ben would never, never get used to.
It hadn't escaped his notice that Joe might've been dead the first time if not for Candy as well. If not for Candy, Joe would very likely have bled out there in the desert, and Ben would have known nothing until it was far too late. And yet something drove Candy beyond that, drove him to keep trying to prove himself, like nothing he did would ever be enough.
And why shouldn't he think that? Nothing he'd ever done had been good enough for anybody before.
Candy never said much about his past, but Ben could see it in his eyes, in the way he acted. Candy was used to being treated like he was expendable, never fully trusted, never really belonging. Even his initial bargain with Ben had been defensive. He'd insisted on an arrangement which allowed him to quit or be fired any time, for any reason or no reason at all. It was obviously out of self preservation. He was used to people trying to hem him in for their own gain, and turning him out when they were done with him. He'd come to see that as just the way people interacted.
It was evident that Candy had been taught to fight, to hide, to be suspicious of any offered hand; whatever trust or faith he might have been born with had carefully been trained out of him, leaving him ever on the outside, always at a distance, always on the verge of bolting like a spooked horse. But even in spite of that, there was a loyalty to the man, a sense of honor and duty that couldn't be beaten out of him. Been had seen it on that trail where they'd first met. Candy had always asserted that he returned to camp with that army horse out of survival instinct. But Ben knew Candy was at his most stealthy when working alone. No, he hadn't come back to camp for his own gain, he'd come back to help people that needed it.
It had been just a faint glimmer of a better man than he pretended to be, but Ben had seen it. He'd trusted Candy ever since, even when circumstances suggested he shouldn't. He just wished that Candy could learn to trust him.
It wasn't very long before Joe was up again, though a bit more cautious than before. He'd gotten carried away, overdone it, and he knew it, was feeling it all over his body. But he came to breakfast anyhow, and firmly announced his intention to go out and see Cochise later on that day.
"How's Candy?" Joe inquired when he took his accustomed place at the table.
"I checked in on him this mornin'," Hoss supplied, "I don't think he's moved since last night, and it don't look like he intends on wakin' up any time soon neither."
"I think he was a lot closer to the edge than he let on," Joe said.
"I just wish he would've told us," Ben commented, spooning sugar into his coffee and stirring it, "Instead of making us find out the hard way. He could have killed himself, or gotten someone else killed."
"Well, Pa," Joe spoke up, "I don't think he knew how bad it was. And anyway, I don't think he's used to having anybody lookin' out for him when he gets hurt."
"That's certainly true," Ben said, sipping his coffee to see how hot it was.
"It'd sure be nice if he'd trust us," Hoss remarked, "Just a little."
Joe looked perplexed for a moment, and observed that Ben agreed with Hoss.
"He does though," Joe said, turning to Ben, "That's what I was trying to tell you back in Bittner, Pa. You said that he was a grown man, able to make his own decisions, remember?"
"Yes," Ben answered, "I remember."
"Well that's true. Of course it is," Joe said, then shook his head, "But that isn't all of it. Pa, Candy didn't want to go after those horses. I told him to. He knew it wasn't smart, but he went anyway. Because I told him to. Not because he didn't have a choice, Pa... but because he trusted me. I told him to do something, and he trusted that it needed to be done, and could be done, even though he thought differently. I don't see how you could ask more trust than that."
"I reckon you got somethin' at that," Hoss admitted.
"I know I have. And that isn't all."
"Oh no?" Ben inquired, raising his eyebrows curiously.
"You didn't see him working with Cochise, or with the doc. Only reason he stuck it out with either of 'em is because I asked him to," Joe explained, "Himself, he wanted nothing to do with them. He didn't really believe we could help Cochise."
"He say that?" Hoss asked.
"No, but I could see it in his eyes. But it didn't matter. I said I could fix my horse, and he believed me enough to hold the lead of a horse that goes crazy every time someone grabs that rope," Joe sat back, looking at the expressions of surprise on Ben and Hoss' faces, "Y'know, I'm beginning to think you're both blind, 'cause you can't see what's in front of you, and you're worried about a problem that just doesn't exist."
Ben thought about that. It was true he hadn't known about what Joe just told him and he didn't doubt what Joe had seen, but he had a feeling his son was misreading it.
Joe interpreted it as trust, but Ben suspected it was actually loyalty. The two often went hand in hand, but they were not interchangeable. One meant that Candy would do what they asked, but the other meant he felt secure in so doing. Either alone had a limit, but together they had none.
Ben sighed and shook his head. It was a complicated issue, and not one that could be solved over breakfast. Perhaps it didn't really need to be solved at all. In any case, he decided to change the subject to the usual daily matters of the ranch. Hoss and Joe must have noticed, but they went along with it.
Eventually, Joe said, "I wonder when this storm is going to come in."
"You hankerin' to get rained on?" Hoss asked.
"No, but the land could sure use it," Joe replied, "It's been a dry year."
"That's for sure," Ben agreed.
"That's easy for you to say, Little Joe," Hoss said, "But you ain't got to ride around in it. I'm gonna be doin' your work and my own, and I ain't eager to be gettin' wet."
"What work?" Joe wanted to know, "I just finished a cattle drive. I was due for a break. And anyway, I've got Cochise to worry about right now anyway."
"If you worried less about that pinto and more about gettin' well, you'd be up and about before the storm hits," Hoss said, well aware that this was a gross exaggeration, but enjoying fighting with his brother just for the heck of it.
Joe was equally amused by the argument, and replied, "Yeah well, if you want to take the next undeserved bullet, you just go right ahead and tell me. I dunno about you, but I'm getting tired of being shot when I'm not looking for it."
"Maybe if you looked, you'd learn when to duck and you wouldn't get shot so much," Hoss said.
"Yeah well, maybe if fewer people shot me in the back-" Joe began, but Hoss interrupted.
"Aw, you wasn't shot in the back an' you know it."
"Not this time," Joe said.
"Boys, please," Ben spoke up suddenly, "Stop talking about being shot. Not at the breakfast table."
"Sorry, Pa," Joe said meekly.
"Yeah, Pa," Hoss echoed, "We don't mean nothin' by it."
"Yes, boys, I know," Ben told them, "I'd just rather you pick another topic."
"Sure, Pa," Joe said, then turned to Hoss, "Hey, how 'bout that wolf? You caught up with him yet?"
To them, even though they'd both faced death from a gun more times than they cared to count, it was just a friendly conversation and good argument topic. But to Ben, it was his sons, reminding him of how close they'd come to death, and how often, unintentionally pointing out that their luck could not hold forever, that someday one of those bullets would hit just a little harder, go a little deeper, or they would be just a little older and no longer as fit, and then they'd be gone.
Ben had outlived three wives, the last thing he wanted was to outlive even one of his children.
"No, and I don't expect we're goin' to," Hoss replied, "'sides, he's been leaving the cattle be. So long as he sticks to rabbits and pheasants and steers clear of our calves, we've got no quarrel with him."
"Yeah, I suppose that's true," Joe replied mildly, but clearly he didn't agree.
Years prior, Joe had been attacked by a wolf and mauled. Granted, he had been hunting it at the time for killing cattle, but it still had left him with a certain bitterness towards the breed. Not that he'd ever been fond of wolves to begin with, but something about the feel of teeth sinking into his arm had solidified his animosity. Generally, Joe could be considered fond of animals, and so long as they didn't bother him he wasn't of a mind to bother them, but the wolf was one animal he had no love for.
"Joe, you sure you oughta be workin' that horse right now?" Hoss inquired.
"Well I couldn't work him earlier," Joe replied, "Doc was pretty clear about how long I'm allowed to be up and moving at a time."
"Well yeah, I know, but this comin' storm is makin' all the animals edgy. Do ya really think now's the time to be tryin' to cure a horse of spookin'?"
"Cochise isn't scared of any bad weather," Joe replied, "Are ya, Cooch?"
He patted the side of the horse's neck and led him slowly out of his stall by the halter. Cochise stepped lightly, looking pretty wired to Hoss, but maybe Joe was right, maybe it wasn't the storm making him edgy. Maybe it was just what had happened the day before that had set him on his toes.
"Get the gate for me, will ya, Hoss?" Joe requested as he led Cochise around to the nearby corral.
Hoss opened the gate, and Joe led his horse through it. Hoss shut the gate behind them, then climbed up on the fence to watch. He knew Candy had done most of the physical work the day before, but Joe seemed set on doing it himself this time.
Hoss knew as well as Joe did that you couldn't guarantee a horse was really gentled until he was gentle with more than one person. Just because one person could get a horse to be led quietly, it didn't mean just anybody could do it. But Hoss figured that Joe thought he'd have an easier time getting Cochise to cooperate if he laid the groundwork before asking Hoss or one of the hands to lead the horse. What he couldn't figure out was what had changed from the day before, when Joe had Candy working the horse.
Maybe Joe merely felt stronger today. Or maybe he'd seen something yesterday that made him uneasy about letting someone else work with his horse. Or maybe it was the coming storm. Whatever Joe said, animals got edgy and unpredictable in changing weather, and it was ideal if they were handled by those they knew best, and who knew them as well. Or it could be that Joe had merely taken all the standing back and watching he could tolerate yesterday.
Joe led Cochise to the center of the corral, gave the horse a final pat, and slid his hand down from the halter to the lead rope. He stood still, talking softly to the horse, clearly having seen something he didn't like. Hoss noticed the pinto's ears slowly move back and forth, listening but uneasy. Only once the horse's ears relaxed did Joe reach out and stroke the animal's neck.
"One step at a time, okay?" Joe whispered to the horse.
Rather than actually lead the horse with the rope, when Joe turned and set off across the corral, he merely walked in a manner that conveyed the expectation that the horse would follow. Cochise didn't wait for him to take up the slack, and merely went along behind him. More than once, Joe had led Cochise with no rope at all. Their father had taught them how to do it, to use their own movements and manner to control a horse even when a rope wouldn't do it, but Joe had made an art of it with Cochise, making it look more like a dance than leading a horse.
Hoss didn't need Joe to explain what he was doing. As he'd said, he was taking the horse one step at a time, stopping whenever Cochise became uncertain or antsy, then waiting him out until he was calm again before going ahead once more. It always amazed Hoss that his fiery, hot-tempered little brother could have such patience for a horse. Joe had also ridden his share of broncs, and would go to war with a horse if he had to, but when he had the time -particularly as he got older- he seemed to prefer taking things a bit easier. He said it made better horses, and Hoss didn't doubt it, but time and expense were always a factor on a ranch, and the notion of taming a horse gentle-like was so alien to most of the hands that it just wasn't possible to do it with every one of them and still get any real work done.
Still, it seemed like Joe favored horses to cattle, though perhaps his true love was the timber business. If there was anything Joe knew better than horses, it was how to take care of business with trees so that the resource wasn't wiped out and the contract was satisfactorily filled. Years ago, Adam had remarked to Hoss that Joe's scheming mind did best when turned towards trees, how to sell them, how to cut them, how to move them, how to make sure he didn't wipe them out entirely in the process. Hoss had argued that horses were where Joe's true skills lay. Rather than argue, Adam shrugged and said that -either way- it was best if Joe kept his mind on horses and trees, instead of whatever else he might start thinking about.
Cochise balked only once, and that was when Joe felt a pang in his side and for a moment seemed to forget what he was doing with the horse. Putting a hand to his side, and moving towards the fence, he failed to go slowly enough for Cochise. The little pinto neighed and tossed his head in protest.
Rather than keep hold of the horse, Joe dropped the line and went to the fence to use it for support.
"Joe!" Hoss hopped down from the fence and ran over to him.
"I'm alright," Joe said, "Just give me a second."
"Second, nothin'," Hoss replied, "You been out here more'n an hour already. It's quittin' time."
"Okay, but I'm gonna finish with Cooch first," Joe told him.
He pushed away Hoss' helping hands and went to where the pinto stood quietly as if he'd been ground tied. Cochise pushed his muzzle towards Joe, looking for a treat in his jacket pockets when he approached. Joe shoved his muzzle aside and took hold of the lead rope once more.
Using the same approach as before, he led the horse from the corral, the gate of which Hoss opened for him. Cochise followed along obediently, his head down in a relaxed position.
Probably out of sheer ornery stubbornness, Joe didn't lead the horse to the barn. Instead, he led Cochise over to the bunkhouse, and stopped where Cochise had spooked before. The little horse didn't seem bothered a bit by this, so Joe turned him around and led him back. Cochise tossed his head briefly as they went into the barn itself, but after looking around for a moment and scenting the air, he satisfied himself that there was no danger and then followed Joe inside.
"You just gotta push the limits, don't ya?" Hoss remarked.
"Long as I'm alive," Joe replied mildly, and began to groom his horse.