Chapter 11

"I shot him like you wanted," Hannigan said with a half-smile. He was proud of his handiwork and secretly hoped Adam was worse off than he'd seemed. Sullivan sat at his desk smoking one of his cigars. "You should've let me kill him, Boss. That bastard was taking one of them steers for a little walk, probably straight to the Ponderosa."

"Did you get the steer back?"

"Shot it in the head. I watched for a while and Cartwright, managed, even with that shot arm of his'n, to get back on his horse and ride away but he had to leave the proof behind. But I brought you this." Hannigan placed a small, rolled-up piece of furry cattle hide, smeared with blood on the desk top.

"What the hell is that? Get that filth off my desk!" Sullivan was repulsed by blood – a weakness he always sought to hide.

Hannigan picked it up and unrolled it. He showed the section of cow hide where the altered brand had been. "This was one of the early brands, before we got good with the running iron. My guess is that Cartwright wanted to show the steer to Sheriff Coffee and the Cattleman's association and of course, his daddy."

Sullivan shook his head and smirked. "That Adam is one crafty sonovabitch. I should've had you kill him, now that I think of it – give Ben something else to keep him busy. But rest assured, that pleasure may well yet be yours. Now take that and burn it, bury it, or toss it to the hogs."

Sullivan turned his chair about to the open window behind him; he'd heard hoofbeats. He rose and stood at the window, leaning out while Hannigan looked over his shoulder.

"Damn," Sullivan said. "It's Ben Cartwright and Roy Coffee." Sullivan stood up again. He glanced about. "Wipe off that bloody smear on my desk there and head out the kitchen door. And toss that damn thing in the hog pen."

Hannigan took his bandana and wiped the desk clean, then headed toward the door but stopped when Sullivan spoke. "Where are Tarbuck and Les?"

"In the bunkhouse playin' checkers. Cartwright men are all over the area so we had to call it a day."

Sullivan nodded. "Take a few bottles of whiskey with you – one for each of you."

"Yes, sir!" Hannigan said, and grinning, pulled three bottles of whiskey from the cabinet and tucked them under his arm. "Doesn't leave you with much."

"Don't worry about it. Just go." Hannigan nodded and left. Sullivan sat back and waited, the sweat starting on his brow. What might Ben know and what had he told Roy? Roy, that nosy busybody, always with that suspicious squint of his. After a few more minutes, Jinjing led Ben and Roy Coffee to Sullivan's office, her head ducked down. Ben noticed she walked awkwardly and slowly, as if in pain but said nothing. Then she turned and left.

"Well," Sullivan said, rising from his chair. It was a warm day so he had rolled up his sleeves but his gray shirt showed damp areas of sweat with darker half-moons under his large arms. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He held out his hand and Roy took it but Ben avoided shaking the proffered hand. "Can I offer either of you a drink? Bourbon? Brandy? I have a bottle of good Napoleonic brandy."

"None for me," Roy said.

"Ben? How about a nice brandy?"

"No. The only reason I'm here is because Adam's been shot."

"Shot? How awful. I assume that since you didn't say he'd been killed, he's all right, well, except for being shot. I suppose that's why you're with Ben, Roy. Heading out to the Ponderosa to see wha you can find out?"

"Yeah," Roy said. "I'm hoping to ask Adam a few questions."

"Well, why don't you two sit down a minute? No sense in us standing. Take a load off." Sullivan sat back down. "Please, sit."

"No, thank you," Ben said. "I just want to let you know Adam won't be here tomorrow to work. How long it'll be before he can work again is up to Doc Martin. Might be a month or two"

"That's a shame," Sullivan said, he put out his cigar. "I had him dropping posts for a fence to mark my new property line. I bought some of Rackard's acreage from that gambler, Dayton. He won it from Rackard. Now I'm going to have to put someone else on it. Well," Sullivan said, sitting back and propping his clasped hands on his belly, "I guess my agreement with Adam over marrying Ginevra is null and void. She'll be disappointed, very disappointed."

"Yes, I'm sure. But Adam is a patient man – if there's something worth waiting for," Ben said.

"Well," Sullivan said, rising to indicate they were to leave, "I might just have to take Ginevra on a trip to cheer her up, introduce her to other marriageable men. Sorry about Adam though. Glad it's nothing too serious. Now did you have business with me, Roy?"

"No, I have no business. Just riding this way with Ben. Evenin'," Roy said and he and Ben left the room and left the house.

"I'm telling you, Roy, that smiling, lying bastard had Adam shot!" Ben mounted his horse.

Roy was already on his mount. "That may be but, Ben, like I said, I have to have a reason, a good reason to arrest him. If one of his men shot Adam, well, they'll be talking this Friday night in town. I'll ask around – men can't help but talk about what they've done – good or bad- especially when their tongues've been loosened with cheap whiskey."

They rode at an easy gait on the road to the Ponderosa. A few miles from the ranch house, they met a Ponderosa rider and all three stopped.

"I was lookin' for you, Mr. Cartwright. We found the steer."

"Good man!" Ben turned to Roy. "Now you'll see! Now you'll have proof of rustling."

"Not quite," the ranch hand said. "Once we shooed off the buzzards, well, the hide where the brand would've been was sliced away. Whoever did it wanted to remove the evidence."

Now Roy was interested. "Can you show us?"

"Yeah, I can. It's this way, but it's getting' dark fast." The man rode off with Ben Cartwright and Roy Coffee behind him.

~ 0 ~

The odor of dinner wafted into his office and Sullivan, as was his wont, tried to predict what supper would be by the smells. The smell was savory but it lacked the subtle rich undertones of beef. He sniffed. Chicken – roast chicken with hot biscuits. He could smell the welcoming odor of baking dough. There was something about hot biscuits that always made the house feel welcoming and happy. Sullivan could already taste the butter and honey he'd slather on the open biscuits. He sat back and closed his eyes, smiling. Hot biscuits for dinner and also, Adam Cartwright wouldn't be back; he had won.

"Father?"

Sullivan opened his eyes. Ginevra stood just inside the doorway.

"Yes?" Ginevra was going to ruin his hard-won peace of mind. He had planned out everything and she was going to be the fly in the ointment. A girl like her should have been beaten early on but since she had grown-up away from him, Ginevra had become stubborn and had odd ideas about women being independent and even taking on careers as nurses or teachers. The girl was a fool. Teresa had been much more tractable.

Ginevra opened her mouth twice before she finally managed to say what she had prepared. Up in her room she had sat and considered what her stepfather had said about going to Europe. She didn't want to leave Adam. He might very well fall in love with someone else while she was away. The idea of her returning from Europe as a sophisticated, grown, beautiful woman in the latest French fashions and winning Adam away from any woman he might be with – or married to – amused her, but only for a few minutes. She wanted Adam sooner, not in two years.

"I appreciate the…idea of a trip, but I don't want to go to Europe. I want to stay here."

"If you think Adam Cartwright is going to marry you…"

"I remember what you said," Ginevra added as she took one more step inside, "that he was in love with Teresa, but that was years ago."

"Ben Cartwright was just here." Sullivan took satisfaction in the look of surprise and then her crestfallen expression as she realized what Ben visiting just might mean. "Adam won't be returning. He sent his father to tell me. I guess Adam is too much of a coward to face us himself and sent his daddy to take care of things. Ben also said that Adam will be going out of town. He said it's on business but I got the impression, well, that Adam just wants to get away for a while, to let things cool down between you two. I'm sorry, Ginevra. Now, have you started packing?"

Ginevra began to shake at the thought of defiance but she forced herself on. "I'm not going to Europe. I want to stay here. Adam will return and I want to hear how he feels about me from him - not you, not his father – from him."

Sullivan stood up and walked around his desk and approached Ginevra. "You will go pack. We're taking the first stage to San Francisco out of Carson City tomorrow morning. Once we get to San Francisco, then I'll arrange our passage. Now go pack. I'll call you for dinner." Sullivan stood and waited.

"I won't go! I'll kill myself first!" Ginevra began to cry but her hands were in fists at her sides.

"Kill yourself? Fine?" Sullivan grabbed Ginevra by the wrist and jerked her into the parlor and beyond, into the back room where a gun cabinet stood along with a leather sofa, an Indian patterned rug, the heads of a deer, a cougar, a big horn sheep and a wolf on the walls and high shelves with books she had never been allowed to see. The room with its animal heads looking down at her had always frightened Ginevra and now she was frightened even more.

Sullivan opened the gun cabinet and pulled out a long-barreled hand gun, He checked to be certain it was loaded and then turned and grabbed Ginevra's hand. He slapped the gun into it.

"Here! You want to kill yourself, use this." He stood back and enjoyed the terrified look on Ginevra's face. "I suggest you put the barrel in your mouth and then pull the trigger with both thumbs. It'll take some strength but at least you can be sure to blow out the back of your head." He waited, "Well? Go ahead!"

The weight of the hand gun made Ginevra drop her hand. She began to cry.

"You stupid fool," Sullivan said. "You stupid, beautiful fool. You want to waste yourself on that Adam Cartwright. He wouldn't know how to appreciate you. I'll show you what a man is. He can't handle you but I can." Sullivan raised his arm and slapped Ginevra with the back of his hand. She cried out and dropped to her knees. Sullivan grabbed her up again by her arm and the gun dropped from her hand. She tried to twist away, her eyes wide with fear as she looked up at her stepfather.

"You are coming to Europe with me and you are going to be mine – mine as your mother was mine and your sister was, but you, you're the greatest prize of all and I'm going to enjoy it. Now go upstairs and pack or I swear I'll take my razor strop to you. Understand?"

Sullivan still held her arm and Ginevra nodded.

"Good," he said and released her. Ginevra dropped to the floor. "We may as well start our new relationship tonight. Now go." He turned his back and stared at the title of the books on the shelves – his own private library. He decided he would take one to show Ginevra that night – one with pictures. As he was perusing the titles, he felt a heavy thud on his back, as if someone had slammed him with a huge fist. Then came another thud followed by intense pain; and there was a sound - two identical sounds - both loud, and the rational part of his brain told him they were gunshots. He turned and grabbed the edge of the leather couch to steady himself as his legs felt weak. Ginevra was sitting on the floor, unsteadily holding the hand gun, both her index fingers on the trigger and the gun shook. Sullivan felt he couldn't breathe, and he took one more step toward Ginevra. "You bitch," he managed to say. "I'll teach you! I'll teach you!" And then a blow hit his chest like a giant's fist. His legs gave out and Sullivan dropped to the floor. The last thing he saw were the animal heads looking down on him.