Chapter Eleven
Dawn's first birdsong settled the matter. Ben hadn't slept all night, and for the past hour, he'd fought the urge to rise, hoping for at least a short respite from his worries. The chirping drew him from hours of tossing and turning, and he dressed, pulled on his boots, and ran his comb through tousled hair.
He'd only just left his bedroom when he heard anxious rapping at the front door. Making his way down the stairs, he crossed the large room and took his pistol in hand.
"Who's there?" Ben asked through the latched door.
"Pete Houser, Mister Cartwright. A man give me a whole nickel to bring ya this here letter."
Before unlatching the door, Ben turned at the sound of footfall on the staircase. Hoss had heard the commotion and joined his father as he released the lock.
The red-haired boy smiled up at Ben and Hoss. Wearing thread-bare trousers and a snuggly-fitted shirt, he handed the letter to Ben, dipped his head, and started across the front yard.
"Just a minute, Pete," Ben said. "The man who gave you this letter, what did he look like? Exactly what did he say?"
Pete stepped back onto the porch. "Well, it was kinda dark. Most of the lamps on C Street was already blown out. I was . . . I mean . . . My ma was workin', and I was out . . . I couldn't sleep, so I was walkin' and a man was standin' in the shadows next to the broth"—Pete's cheeks flushed—"and well, he was in the shadows and I didn't see much of his face at all, 'cept I could tell he had a mighty hairy face. He yanked on my shirt and turned me around and pulled me close to him. I was lookin' out into the street when he talked."
Pete paused, remembering the man's words. "He held this here nickel up where's I could see it, and he said I should take that there letter to Ben Cartwright. Said I should do it right away." He watched as Ben opened the letter and began to read. "Did I do a bad thing, Mister Cartwright?"
Hoss stepped forward. "Nah," he said, patting the boy on the shoulder, "you didn't do nothin' wrong, Pete."
Ben looked up from the letter. "Pete, why don't you go into the kitchen and tell Hop Sing to fix you something to eat? You've got a long ride back to town and you'll no doubt miss breakfast."
The boy grinned and dashed inside. He'd eaten in the Cartwright kitchen on many occasions—and the Cartwrights often wondered if those were the only real meals the boy ever had.
"Pa," Hoss said as Pete ran past him, "is that letter about Adam?"
"No," Ben said. "Well, yes. I mean . . . Just read it yourself."
Hoss took the letter and read it aloud.
"Ben Cartwright. Take the $50,000 to the hanging tree on the old Morehouse place. Bury it under the tree and put three rocks on top. No law. Then go home and wait. Once I have the money, your son will be set free. If the money isn't there by noon today, your son will be delivered to you ready to be buried under that same tree."
"What are we gonna do, Pa?"
Ben bit on his upper lip, his dark eyes darting from side to side as if searching for an answer.
"You want me to get Roy?"
Ben thrust his hands into his pockets and stared out into the yard.
"Pa? We gotta decide. The Morehouse place is clean across our-"
"I know where it is!" Ben straightened his back and turned to his son. "They have Adam. There's no choice. I'll take the money. Keep Roy out of this."
"Pa," Hoss said, "are ya sure?"
"I'm sure." Ben squeezed Hoss's shoulder. "Saddle my horse, and pack a shovel." He walked into the house, leaving a worried Hoss standing on the porch.
Fifteen minutes later, Ben sat on Buck, the money stuffed into his saddlebags. Hoss watched as his father rode off, their parting words still fresh in his mind.
"No law. Promise me, son."
"Yes, sir."
"And don't tell Ann about the letter. Tell her I had to tend to some sick stock on the range. Keep her in the house, and Hoss, watch her."
"You still don't trust her, do ya, Pa?"
"I guess I don't. I'm not sure why, but my instincts are telling me something about this whole thing isn't right. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Waiting wears heavily on a man when his loved ones are in danger. Hoss tried busying himself with daily morning chores, only to find he'd completed the tasks of four men in record time. He wondered into the kitchen and, despite Hop Sing's protest, washed up in the sink.
"First Hop Sing feed little boy, Little boy say 'thank you' and run out door. Now, you take Hop Sing's sink. You wash up, you get out. Then breakfast ready in ten minute. You wash up, you stay, get in Hop Sing's way, breakfast ready at noon!"
Hoss dried his hands, scraped a chair across the floor, and sat heavily against the seat. He propped his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples with his fingertips.
Hop Sing raised his brows and, spatula in hand, joined Hoss at the kitchen table. "What wrong?" he asked.
Hoss blew the air from his lungs and lay back against his chair. He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out the letter, and tossed it onto the table.
"Pete brought that letter."
Hop Sing lifted the paper, then set it back down. "Hop Sing no read English. What letter say?"
Hoss's hands slid from the table top and flopped onto his lap. "I'm sorry, Hop Sing. I know you can't read English. It's from that Worth Silcott, the man who's after Ann and Adam."
"What bad man say?"
Hoss's face became angry. "He says he's got Adam, and Pa's gone off to deliver the money."
Hop Sing nodded. "Mister Ben give money, bad man give Adam back."
"I hope you're right. Pa told me not to tell Roy and not to follow him." Hoss pounded his palms against the table and sprang to his feet. "The letter says Pa's to go alone, no law. But Hop Sing, I've got a bad feeling," he said, pacing the kitchen floor. "And Pa does, too."
"Something not right?" Hop Sing asked.
"Exactly!" Hoss grasped the back of the chair with his hands. "But it's a feeling, not something we can back up with facts."
"In China, feeling deserve respect. Most time, Cartwright feeling better than fact. Maybe this time no different."
Hoss took measure of Hop Sing's wisdom while the Chinaman waited patiently. Finally, Hoss nodded, slapped the chair back with both hands, and snatched the letter from the table. "Thank ya, Hop Sing. I'm gonna go after Pa." He started for the dining room, stopped short, turned, and addressed his friend. "Don't mention this letter or what Pa's doin' to Miss Reid. Just tell her Pa 'n' me's out tendin' some sick stock. And it's real important that you keep her in the house. She ain't to step foot outside."
Hop Sing nodded. "She no leave house. Hop Sing make sure."
The first two days Ann Reid had spent on the Ponderosa had been exhausting. Circumstances had caused her to pace in nearly every room of the house, but it was her emotional state that had depleted her energy, given her a constant headache, and prompted her to spend more time alone in the spare bedroom.
On this, her third morning in the ranch house, Ann awoke later than usual, having managed just four hours of sleep. She'd stayed in her room for an hour, gazing out the window at the vegetable garden in the back of the house, fussing with her dress and hair, reading and rereading the same three paragraphs of a book she'd borrowed from Adam's room, and wringing her hands with worry.
When nothing she did calmed her thoughts, she dropped onto her bed with a sigh. She lay there, staring at the framed, hanging pictures, studying the pieces of art displayed on the dresser and table, and when the walls began to close in around her, she jumped to her feet and made her way downstairs.
The house was quiet. Ben's desk was pristine, the table had been cleared of breakfast dishes, and neither Ben nor Hoss was anywhere to be seen. A wave of panic washed over Ann, She'd never been left alone in the house, and as her mind thrust frightening possibilities into her thoughts, she rushed across the large room.
"Hop Sing?" she called as she entered the kitchen. "Is anyone here?"
The door to pantry opened. "Hop Sing here, Missy Ann."
Ann sighed. "I thought . . . Never mind what I thought. I'm sorry I didn't come down in time for breakfast. Might I be able to have a cup of coffee?"
Hop Sing stepped to the stove. "Hop Sing bring coffee to table. Missy hungry? Hop Sing make food."
Ann smiled. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry this morning."
"Missy need eat. Hop Sing make egg and toast. Go, sit. Coffee almost ready."
She'd only known the Chinaman for a few days, but Ann knew better than to argue with him. She went to the dining room and took a seat.
Except for the muffled sounds from the kitchen, the house was quiet—eerily quiet.
Hop Sing startled Ann when he appeared, and he quickly poured steaming coffee into her cup. He bowed and returned to the kitchen, and Ann was alone once again.
She glanced around the great room, picturing Adam in his home, stoking the fire, seated in one of the fine, upholstered chairs, discussing lumber contracts and cattle negotiations with his father and brothers. She closed her eyes, concentrating on his voice—a voice she could barely recall. Her eyes opened, and they traveled to the pine staircase. She imagined Adam walking down those stairs, stopping at the landing, and seeing her across the room. In her daydream, Adam called to her. "Ann, my darling."
She jerked, her breathing rapid. Why? Tears welled in her eyes. Why did it have to be Tom's voice?