ELEVEN

Adam Cartwright halted just behind the tall rock tower. He spent a moment blinking both fatigue and snow from his eyes – yes, it was falling again – and then took another look. The line shack lay below, nestled in a small depression in the land, just as he expected.

What he didn't expect was to see a thin trail of smoke rising from its chimney.

He ran his mind back through the orders he'd issued over the last few weeks. He was sure that no one was supposed to be in residence. Almost all the men were on the drive. Of course, it wasn't unheard of for some passing wayfarer in need to shelter to pass the night in one of the shacks. That's part of why they left them stocked with both food and clothes. Still, there was no horse tethered out front, which begged the question of how anyone could have gotten there. Obviously, if someone was traveling on a night like tonight without a horse they were either a fool or desperate. Dismounting, he caught Sports' reins in his hand and began to walk. When he was about a hundred feet out from the shack, he tied them to a high branch in an ice-covered bush and left the horse behind. Moving silently on foot he hoped to catch whoever was inside unawares.

Behind him, Sport snorted and whinnied, not liking the idea of being left behind.

"Quiet, boy. I'll be right back," he said softly. "Maybe I'll bring you a treat."

Sport shook himself as if he considered that unlikely, but settled down.

When Adam turned back to the shack, he saw a shadow pass before the window to the left of the door. Someone was definitely in there. As he walked, he undid the strap that held his gun in place and palmed the weapon. When he was about a dozen feet out, he paused again to assess the situation. There was a bar on the door inside and most likely it was down. His only hope of entering unawares was the window in the back as it had a broken lock that had not yet been fixed. Rounding the house, he kept an eye to the door, ready in case it flew open. When he reached the back, the black-haired man holstered his gun and put his hand to the window. It was unlocked and opened easily. Then he ducked and waited. When no one shouted or fire a gun, Adam eased himself in and put his foot on the floor. As his other boot landed beside it, he lost his balance and slid sideways. There was a snap! Puzzled, he looked down.

He'd come that close to stepping in a bear trap!

Even as the absurdity of that registered on his tired brain, Adam felt something slam into him.

A second later a cloud of white dust rose into the air to swirl about him and a young female voice proclaimed, "I got you covered, mister. You just stay right where you are!"

If he had been in the middle of the snowstorm, his vision couldn't have been any worse.

"Now, wait a minute," Adam began, raising a hand, "who are you and what are you doing in –"

"You just put that other hand up too!" the girl ordered. "I told you, I got you covered!"

He could vaguely make out a small figure holding something out in front of it. Slowly, Adam raised his other hand.

"I know this looks bad, but I can explain..."

"Like my Pa always says, 'the more you explain it, the less I understand it.'

Adam blinked. Such sage wisdom from a little girl who was on the attack and quoting her even more sagacious pa. It could only mean one thing.

"Elizabeth?"

There was a pause. "Who are you" she asked.

Obviously the white flour curtain blinded both ways.

"Elizabeth, its me – Adam Cartwright."

He heard a short 'oh', then a sniff, and then the little girl barreled out of the flour dust cloud like a mule spotting home. They both fell on top of the bear trap.

Fortunately, it was sprung.

He sat there holding her for a minute, feeling her small body tremble and listening to her heartfelt sobs before reality set in.

If Elizabeth was here, where was Joe?

Dear God, his father had been right.

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It was as if he was sitting on needles. Ben Cartwright had tried to sleep – he really had – but something gnawed at him and surprisingly, it wasn't worry for Joe as much as for Adam. He'd been so concerned for his youngest son that he'd sent his eldest off alone to check on the youngster without considering that he might be endangering Adam as well. The weather was not only wicked but had proved itself treacherously changeable. They had gone from snow to sleet and, with the descent of darkness, back to snow. The ride home would be even more hazardous than the ride out had been. He should have sent someone else with Adam – one of the men. After all, they had more than enough to spare.

Troubled, Ben had risen, gathered his gear, and was standing next to Buck, trying to make up his mind about what to do. It was the middle of the night, but the moon was full. It made it nearly as bright as the day. It would be risky, venturing out at night in the snow, but he felt – somehow – if he waited until morning it would be too late.

For what he didn't know.

He knew he was being foolish. Most likely Adam was home or nearly there. His oldest would have a good supper, sip some brandy, and then most likely bed down on the settee rather than risk waking his brother or their guest. Adam would start back in the morning. He'd arrive safe and sound by the following night.

Or so he told himself.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. Ben recognized the grip and turned sheepishly to face his middle son.

"Pa, you ain't still worried about Little Joe, is you?"

How did he explain it? Yes, the worry for Joe was still there, but it was Adam's well-being that was uppermost in his mind at the moment.

"I'm worried for both your brothers, Hoss," he said at last.

"Adam? What're you goin' and worryin' about older brother for? You know Adam can take care of hisself."

He nodded. "Yes, I know...under ordinary circumstances."

"Its winter, Pa, there's ice and snow." His son was puzzled. "What ain't ordinary about that?"

The older man shook his head. There were no words.

"Heck, Pa, you know what? We got us a sight more men here workin' this round-up than we figured. I wouldn't be agin headin' back home. A hot toddy and a warm bed sound awful good right now." He chuckled. "Though it ain't gonna make the ones we leave behind none too happy."

He shook his head. "No, no. It's just an old man's fears – "

"Pa, you look at me." When he complied, the big man went on. "First of all, you ain't no old man. And second of all, you ain't afraid of nothin'!" Hoss' eyes went to the road. "And third, Pa, I've been feelin' somethin' too. Somethin' like you do afore a storm blows in."

A storm. Yes. That was what he felt too.

With his oldest and youngest at its center.

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Joe was doing his best to escape, which wasn't saying much. Sad to say, his 'best' right now was hanging onto the saddle horn for dear life and not falling of the horse and flat onto his face. All track of where they had been or were was lost in a haze of fever and fatigue. With the night fallin' and the moon shinin' so bright, he couldn't get his bearings. Which was silly, really, since he knew that if the moon was risin' to his right, then he was pointed north and, vice versa, if it was on his left then he was heading south. The problem was, the minute he looked up at it waves of dizziness washed over him and he forgot where he was!

Atticus' horse was directly in front of his. The former preacher was a lean shadow in the falling snow. The amount of snow had increased as they traveled and it fell like a screen between them. All around him the world was silent and white. Well, white tinged with the sort of electric-blue haze. At first he'd thought the snow just had a lot of ice in it and that was what the moonlight was catching. Then, he'd realized that wasn't it. Moonlight sparklin' on ice didn't run along the white snow drifts like lightning riding a stormy sky. He was seeing things.

Which meant his fever was growing dangerously high.

Still, there was no going back, only going forward. Behind him lay Fleet Rowse, aware of their escape by now and mad as a meat ax. Going back meant dyin' slowly in that maniac's hands. Out here, he'd just freeze. He'd always heard dyin' of the cold wasn't so bad. You got real cold, then real warm.

And then everything went dark.

"You're lagging, Little Joe," Atticus' voice came from out of the white wall ahead of him. "We need to find a ranch or homestead, somewhere with help. Rowse will be on out trail the minute he discovers we're gone."

Joe smirked. He wasn't stupid. He knew that. After all, hadn't he just said...

No, he'd just been thinkin', not talkin'.

Hadn't he?

Atticus had ended up being all right after all. Men made mistakes, that's what pa always said, what mattered was that they made it right by the end. 'A man can be forgiven most anything, Joseph,' he'd told him. 'Anything other than giving up.'

Joe straightened in the saddle and shifted his feet. He was so numb he found it near impossible to do, but he managed to tighten his knees and lean into the animal, urging more speed. The horse turned and looked at him, clearly confused. When he wondered why, he realized it was because, even though he'd told the horse to move, he was gettin' off.

As his face hit the snow Joe Cartwright sighed, wonderin' if he was gonna burn in Hell for all eternity.

And gave up.

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Elizabeth looked up through her sniffs and tears and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Mister Adam."

"About what?" he asked

Her head went down. She nuzzled her cheek against his chest. There were more sniffs, more tears, and then she blurted out one word.

"Everything!"

For a moment he said nothing, Then, "Perhaps if you could tell me just 'what' everything..."

The little girl looked up again. Her face was smeared with moisture and mud; her spiraling blond hair, thick with bracken and leaves. Her blue eyes were wide as the sky.

He drew a breath even as she did.

"Oh, Mister Adam, I tried, I really did. You told me I had to look after my little brother, and I tried so hard! I didn't mean for Little Joe's foot to get run over by that carriage wheel, you know that, and for him to end up limpin' so bad. And when we went out sleighing and all that snow fell on top of him, I dug Little Joe out, really I did, and made sure he got back to the house. I kept that old lady from flirting with him and him from makin' a 'fool out of himself' as Ma would say, but then I had to go to bed! I was so tired. What's an older sister to do when they have to go to sleep and someone sneaks into the house and does something bad to their little brother?"

His head was reeling by the time she let breath out.

"Whoa, slow down, Elizabeth," Adam said. He'd followed most of her dialogue, figuring out that the 'old lady' was Aurora Guthrie – the beautiful woman he'd warned Pa about putting in charge of his...well...rather passionate younger brother – and even though he didn't know about the incident in the snow, it didn't surprise or worry him. It was the last statement that someone had 'done something bad' to little brother that made him sit up and pay attention.

"Someone hurt Little Joe?" he asked, forgetting to soften his tone.

It was more of a wail than an answer. "Yeeeesssssssss!"

She was terrified and he needed to find out why. He also knew terrifying her even more wasn't going to get him anywhere. So, swallowing his fear and his urgency to know, Adam said quite evenly, "How about we get you something to eat? I bet you haven't had anything in a long time. Am I right?"

How in the world the child had ended up out here in the line shack alone, he had no idea.

"Elizabeth?"

She sniffed again. "Not since I left the ranch house."

He smiled. "And how long ago was that?"

The child shrugged. "It was light outside. Sheriff Roy and Hop Sing were arguin' and not payin' any attention, and I left 'cause I knew they'd stop me if I told them I was going to look for Joe and the bad men who took him."

Bad 'men'. So there was more than one.

"And why was Sheriff Coffee at the house?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "Because of the bad men."

"...right." Adam drew a calming breath. "And which bad men would that be?"

"I don't know 'cause I was sleepin'." Elizabeth paused. The fear deepened in her eyes. "But Sheriff Roy was talkin' to Hop Sing about them and Hop Sing was crying."

Dear Lord! Adam swallowed hard. "Why?"

"Hop Sing felt guilty. He said that he was outside takin' a walk and looking at the stars when one of the bad men hit him over the head. When he woke up he was in the house and saw Little Joe laying on the floor with another one of the bad men standing over him." She scowled. "He said they took little brother out into the cold without even a coat or hat even though he was hurt!"

So, Joe could be freezing to death as they spoke.

"Go on."

"Hop Sing said little brother had been hit on the head, but Mrs. Guthrie said it was worse."

When she failed to go on, he asked, "Worse...how?"

Elizabeth shivered. "She said the bad man stuck him with a knife."

Freezing and bleeding to death.

What next?

Forcing a smile he said, "You know little brothers. They can get into a mess of trouble, but they always know we big brothers and sisters will find and rescue them."

Adam knew in the child's experience it was true. Come to think of it, so was it in his.

That gave him some small hope.

Elizabeth sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. A second later she gave him a little smile.

His mind awhirl, Adam took her hand and said, "Now, let's go get that food. We have to think hard about what we're going to do next." After all, he couldn't leave her alone here in the line shack. Then again, he couldn't really take her with him if he went off to look for 'bad men' who had his brother. As she nodded and they started for the door, a sound in the outer room made him freeze.

Someone was out there!

"Elizabeth, get behind me!" Adam ordered as he drew his gun from its holster. "Someone's in the other room."

She frowned and then giggled. "Oh, that's just Freckles."

It was his turn to frown. "Freckles?" Why did the name seem familiar?

Freckles...

Adam threw the door open to a whinny and a snort.

"Oh, right... Freckles. "

In the end, at first light, after a few hours sleep and then filling the child's belly with food and making sure she was bundled up like an Inuit, Adam took Elizabeth with him. His fear for Joe – occasioned by the few words the little girl had overheard and related to him – overcame his fear for her. She was a courageous child. She'd proven that by what she'd done the first time they'd met her, taking care of Joe after her family rescued him from a fire, and by what she had done today – riding off into what amounted to an early blizzard to save his brother from the bad men who meant to hurt him.

So here they were, mounted on one horse in order to conserve body heat, heading toward the Ponderosa in the hope that somehow God would give him a sign and he wouldn't ride past his little brother's corpse buried under a silent blanket of snow.

As they began to move, a smile tickled Adam's lips. They'd left Freckles in the line shack with a note attached to his collar stating what they were doing in case someone came out to check it.

He wished he could be there to see the face of the man who did.

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Atticus looked over his shoulder at the young man he'd left behind and sighed. He'd pulled Joe Cartwright's unconscious form into a sheltered depression in a rock-face and covered him with everything he had from his woolen scarf to the thin moth-ridden blankets Noyes had provided long ago in the slim hope of protecting him from the elements. Snow was falling again and the wind had picked up. Inside the depression it was, perhaps, ten degrees warmer. Enough, he hoped, to keep the boy from freezing to death.

At the moment Little Joe was eerily still. As he'd settled him in the boy had grown restless, calling out for his father and fighting against him. The wound in his shoulder had festered and his fever spiked. There were small trails of red now running along his chest from the knife cut toward his heart. Atticus' fists clenched. He had to get help. This was his fault. If he'd fought Noyes and made his opinion clear when he'd insisted on hiring Rowse, this would never have happened. They would have found the safe empty and been on their way, ready for the next challenge. But he'd been too weak, too pathetic to object. He'd remained silent, and now that silence was going to cost a young man his life.

Lifting the knife he had brought with him, the former preacher marked the tree by his horse's head, chipping away at it until its tender white flesh showed. He was going for help. He didn't know where he'd find it, but that's where he was headed. Once he found it he'd need the marked trees to bring him back to this place, to the boy whom he was abandoning to the arms of a God he feared but no longer knew.

After sheathing the knife, the rail-thin man stood still and let the snow cascade around him. The frigid wind chaffed his exposed skin, drying his lips and making his eyes burn. As he stood there, mired in self-loathing, a scripture from Isaiah – the word of God he thought lost to him – sounded in his ear.

'And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.'

Grace.

How he forgotten?

Atticus looked at Joe Cartwright in wonder. Was this why God had sent the horror that was Fleet Rowse into his life? Did He know what it would take to make him remember – one wounded and dying boy, showing mercy and unwarranted grace to the man who had kidnapped him?

Atticus Godfrey fell to his knees and lifted his hands to the sky. Tears streamed down his cheeks, quickly turning to ice, as he lifted his face as well and cried out in King David's words, "Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving-kindness, according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies, blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin, for I acknowledge my transgressions and my sin is ever before me." His head bowed as he continued, overwhelmed by shame and remorse. "Against thee and thee only have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest."

The snow didn't stop falling nor the wind grow calm. No angel appeared to point the way out of the trees, or burning bush appear to melt the snow. Still, Atticus Godfrey knew God had heard him for the weight of his sin that he had carried sine his son died was suddenly, mercifully, and with a grace surpassing human understanding, lifted.

He was free.

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Worn out by the cold and worry, Ben Cartwright and his middle son, Hoss, had finally been forced to stop. Dropping where they stood, they'd both tried to catch a few hours of sleep. It had proved to be an exercise in futility. Each time Ben woke – and there were many – he became aware of his son tossing and moaning. When Hoss work, it was the same. The dream that had plagued the father of the three young Cartwrights before – the one where Joseph lay buried in snow – had come back to haunt him, only this time it was worse.

This time his elder brother lay beside him.

It was impossible for Ben to tell if it was night or day because he walked in the midst of a blizzard. There world was white and there was an all-over diffused light that could have been cast by the moon or the sun. In the distance he could hear men calling out his sons' names. They were searching as he was searching, only they had not found them.

He had.

Ben found them together, laying as if asleep. Adam's arm encircled his brother's shoulders protectively. Joseph's gaunt face was turned into his brother's coat. The world around them was quiet as the grave. As the older man stood there facing the truth that – this time – there was to be no answer to his desperate prayer, the snow continued to fall, rising, ever rising until it obscured his sons' cold, stiff bodies, leaving only their pale faces revealed.

And then, those too vanished.

"No!" Ben sat up gasping for air. His heart was racing so fast it was hard to catch a breath. "No!"

Hoss was at his side in a minute. The big man placed a hand on his back and asked, half-frantic, "Pa! What is it?"

How did he answer? What had it been? A dream?

Or a premonition?

The older man shook his head. "Give...me a...minute," he managed.

"You okay, Pa? You ain't sick or nothin'?"

He shook his head. Only sick with fear.

"Is there...any water?" Ben asked.

"Sure thing, Pa. I kept the canteen right by the fire." His giant-size son could move with incredible speed when he wanted to. Hoss returned to his side in seconds.

Ben took the warm metal object in his hands. He opened it and poured some of the tepid water down his throat. Then he nodded.

"Thanks."

Hoss took it and capped it, but his eyes never left him. "What's wrong, Pa?"

"A dream...no, a nightmare," he answered as he swallowed. "Your brothers were in danger. They were laying together in a snowbank. They..."

"You dreamed they was together?"

He nodded.

"What'd Little Joe be doin' out in the middle of this big old snow? He's got Miss Elizabeth to look after. Joe wouldn't bring a little thing like her out into this."

No, he wouldn't. Not unless he had to.

Hoss paused and then asked, his voice hushed. "Is this one of them there special dreams you have, Pa? The kind that most often ring true?"

He patted the young man's arm to reassure him. "There's only one thing I know for certain, son. We need to get home." He rose to his feet. "We need to get home now."

"Yes, sir. I'll saddle up the horses. You feel good enough to break the camp?"

His nod was enough to send the big man flying. Hoss was worried too. He had been since they'd left the cattle and the hands behind. Something was wrong and they both knew it.

Something was terribly wrong.

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Little Joe slipped quietly down the stairs of the ranch house. He was headed for the kitchen. Tomorrow was his big brother Hoss's 15th birthday. When he'd gone into the kitchen earlier to tell Hop Sing that his pa wanted to talk to him, he'd run smack-dab into the middle of a dream. There was a cake on the table big enough to feed all the hands on the Ponderosa, plus lots of other sweet things coated with icing and dotted with fruit. In the middle of the same table was a big old bird cooked to perfection, smelling of butter and salt that would be sliced, cold, and eaten the next day. But most impressive of all was the stack of melt-in-your-mouth chocolate truffles by the ice box. Made with dark chocolate, butter, and sweet cream, and dotted with nuts and toasted coconut, they were one of Hoss's favorite. Trouble was, they were his very favorite. When he lingered a minute too long by the plate, Hop Sing gave him a scolding and shooed him out of the kitchen with a warning that one of his Chinese dragons would come and carry him off if he so much as breathed on those truffles. The confections, the man from China said, were a present for his brother and if he wanted one, he would have to ask for it.

Right. Like he'd have given up one if Hoss had asked him.

So, he'd waited until the house settled down and then headed for the kitchen.

He was just gonna take one. Only one. Hoss would never know that it was missing, and unless Hop Sing counted them before Hoss dove in, which was doubtful, he wouldn't know it either.

Crossing to the ice box, Joe opened the door and stared at the marvels inside. It only took a second to spot the tray of little dark mounds near the back. As he reached in to pinch one, he heard the sound of footsteps in the yard. Terrified that he was about to be discovered, he looked around, searching for a place to hide. Finding none, he crossed to the door and, lifting the latch, slipped outside.

Snow was falling. It was pretty as anything, but it was also cold and all he was wearing was his nightshirt. Lifting up on his toes, he peered back inside and saw Pa rummaging around the kitchen. The older man had a crystal glass in his hand and Joe supposed it held brandy. Sometimes his pa had trouble sleeping. He'd come down in the middle of the night and read, usually with a drink and a snack at his side. Joe crouched as his father came to the door and looked out, and then breathed a sigh of relief as the older man extinguished the lantern he'd lit in the kitchen and returned to the great room.

Joe let out an audible sigh of relief as he reached with a shaking hand for the door, and then panicked when the door wouldn't open. The latch must have fallen into place.

He was locked outside!

He thought about going in through the front door, but his pa was there and he'd get the thrashing of his life for trying to steal Hoss' treats and then being stupid enough to get locked outside. Wrapping his arms around his nightshirt, Joe looked up at the porch roof. He could climb up there, but it wouldn't do him any good. All the windows were locked and sealed for the winter. Shivering and shaking, he rounded the house, walking along the tree line. As he did the snow began to fall in earnest. A big wind blew up and sent it flying, so fast and so thick he couldn't see what he was doing or where he was going.

Before he knew it he was lost.

Joe shuddered. He knew the house couldn't be that far away but, no matter what way he went, it seemed to be the wrong one He walked and walked until his bare feet were frozen, until his nose and fingers were numb; until his eyes grew heavy and he felt like he couldn't walk another step – until he felt like walking was a harder thing than roping or steering or cutting timber. Finally, unable to continue, Joe dropped to the ground and lay there shivering until the wind pulled a snowy blanket up to cover him and he started to feel warm. As his eyes closed and he lost consciousness, a small smile lifted the corners of his lips. Pa was gonna be mighty angry when he died because of being stupid.

As the cold gave way to a numbing warmth, Little Joe Cartwright snorted.

And all on account of a truffle.

When Joe at last pried open his eyes, he was surprised to find that he wasn't dead. He wasn't eight years old either, and under the blanket of snow that covered him were two other warmer blankets made of cloth and several other garments. As he shifted his position and winced with pain as he propped his wounded shoulder against the rock-face behind him, he had to chuckle. Sad to say, the rest of it was real enough.

There was a snowstorm ragin' and, sure enough, he was out in it alone.

As he looked around, Joe noted the shallow depression he was in and the remnants of a burned out fire beside him. He was sure he hadn't possessed the strength to build it, so that meant someone else was with him or had been with him. Clear as his thinking was at the moment – and as surprising as that was considerin' the fever he had – he just couldn't remember who.

"Maybe Hoss came lookin' for his lost truffle," he snorted.

Joe turned his eyes to the white world that surrounded him. He'd been out in the snow before, not really lost, but lost enough to know how to survive. There'd been times on the winter drive when he and his pa and brothers had been separated. Once, he and Adam had to weather a whole day without any real shelter. The fact that it was snowing meant it wasn't too unbearably cold, but then again, that howling wind meant thirty-two degrees could feel like ten. His pa had taught them all that the first thing they needed to do was find a place to hunker down in. The second thing was to find water. It was funny how water was all around you in a snowstorm – feet deep at times – but there was nothin' to drink. Joe looked at the fire again.

If only he could rekindle it somehow.

He had to face it. Lookin' at it clearly, his options were few – either remain where he was and wait for help, or get up and go look for it. While the depression he was in was serving to protect him from the wind at the moment he knew, when night came, that the lower temperatures – added to his weakened state – would probably be the end. And of course, being Joe Cartwright, sittin' and waitin' never set too well with him anyhow. Still, he was relatively warm under his snow-covered woolen blankets and it would be sheer cussedness to start out with no end in sight.

Then again, his pa often told him – with a sigh and a roll of his near-black eyes – that it was that 'sheer cussedness' that kept him alive.

Figurin' it was all or nothing, Joe rose to his feet by scooting his back up the wall. He remained still once he had managed it, knowing full well that if he moved too fast he'd just end up pitching over and lyin' face down in the snow. He'd probably stay there too, until someone found his bones during the spring thaw and took them back to lay beside his mama. Joe reached down and caught the mass of cloth covering him with his fingers and tossed it off. Instantly, he began to shake. Drawing a deep breath, he rose slowly and then reached down and grabbed the top blanket. With effort Joe worked it around his shoulders and then followed it as quickly as possible with the other thin blanket. Exhausted, he leaned against the wall gathering strength and looked down. There was a black coat lyin' on the snow that had been in the mix, but he was too tired to drop the blankets and shinny into it, so he left it lyin' on the ground along with a few other pieces of cloth he couldn't identify.

The sun was rising. That meant, in spite of the current fall of snow, which was fairly thick, he was able to tell directions. He was facing east now. Home lay to the south. Fleet Rowse and the others had brought him to Paiute land, but he had no idea where he was on it. He could be east or west of the main road.

Thinking of Rowse brought Atticus Godfrey to mind. It also made him recall that it was the former reverend who had freed him, so it must have been him who left him in the shallow depression with a fire to keep him warm. Joe could only assume the preacher had gone for help. The curly-headed youth looked around. He had no knife to mark a tree with, but knew he needed to leave Atticus a sign of where he'd gone. Catching one of the pieces of cloth up, Joe walked over to a tree and, with nearly frozen fingers, ripped off a piece and tied it to a low-lying branch.

Then, he began to walk.