CHAPTER TWELVE

Reluctantly, Adam readied himself for a visit to Virginia City, his thoughts dwelling upon his earlier discussion with Hoss. Stirring the shaving soap now beginning to foam in his mug, he stared into the mirror, his face fading into the face of sixteen-year-old Hoss as he recalled the day he'd taught Hoss to shave. His instruction had been concise and he'd followed each step with a demonstration on his own stubble. Adam recalled Hoss's face, his piercing blue eyes intent on every movement, his mouth and lips mimicking Adam's as if to rehearse what would soon become a daily ritual dance. Adam blinked, and the vision of Hoss faded. Once again, Adam stirred the foam and applied the frothy cream to his chin. He thought of the small nick Hoss had given himself that morning so long ago; a nick that Hoss treated as a battle-scarred sign of manhood until Adam reminded him that performing the task without cuts was the objective. Lost so deeply in this memory, Adam tasted the bitter soap as he absentmindedly brushed one stroke a little too far to the left.

Memories continued while Adam dressed for the evening. Clad in his pinstriped trousers, he stood in front of his mirror as he guided his muscular arms into his crisp white shirt. The starched fabric brushed against his nearly-healed back, the scars from his burns making him wince from the brief irritation. Straightening the shirt on his frame, he fastened the buttons from bottom to top. Halfway through the buttons, he stopped as he realized he was grinning, recalling a youngsters' debate between Hoss and himself that had lasted nearly four months. Hoss insisted that shirts should be buttoned from the top down while Adam was firm in his belief that the process should begin at the bottom and end at the top. It had been Marie who'd settled the debate when Adam and Hoss had overheard her explaining to four-year-old Little Joe that his brothers' arguing was silly since either way, they both were very handsome once their shirts were buttoned. The sound of Marie's voice filled Adam's room as he finished his buttons and grabbed a black string tie from his drawer.

After tucking the tie beneath his collar, Adam began the familiar task of knotting it just so. From the depths of his memory came the voice of his youngest brother, Joe, dashing down the stairs as he cried, 'Mamma! Pa! Adam's killin' Hoss! Stop him! Huwwy!' Adam pulled the black knot into place, shaking his head as he chuckled aloud. He'd been teaching seven-year-old Hoss the proper way to knot his tie; a technique Hoss had to this day been unwilling to master. As he'd tugged on Hoss's tie, Hoss watched in the mirror with a careful eye, his protruding tongue matching the movements. With one last pull, Adam declared the demonstration over, but not before Hoss had complained loudly. 'Dadgummit, Adam! This thing is so tight! You're tryin' ta kill me!' And with that, Little Joe had vanished from the room to beg for his parents' help in saving his big brother.

As he brushed his silky, raven hair, a long-realized yet seldom-admitted understanding washed over Adam. Even though Marie had assumed her role as mother, he'd still managed to fulfill Inger's request. He had taken good care of his brother.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Riding alongside his brothers, Joe couldn't help but notice the change in Adam's mood. He seems . . . lighter. Like a little bit of that weight he's been carrying has been lifted from his shoulders. A smile crept across Joe's face.

"Hey, Short Shanks, what's got you so all-fired happy?" Hoss teased.

"Huh?" Joe grunted, then masked his private thoughts by flaunting his usual 'headin'-to-town' demeanor. "Oh, just thinkin' about the pretty gals countin' the seconds 'til I get to town and the poker games waitin' to be won . . . by me!"

Hoss snorted his amusement at Joe's delusions.

"Now, let's not get carried away, Little Brother. I'm feeling a bit like a challenging game of poker myself!" Adam crowed.

A private glance between Joe and Hoss brought smiles to them both. This was the first time since Adam's return that he'd admitted looking forward to an evening in town. Settling easily back into the familiar banter the brothers had always shared, Hoss chimed in with his take on the prospects for the evening.

"Well now, brothers, it jist might be that them there gals are waitin' for a big ole man like me ta show them a good time." Hoss sat tall in his saddle, shaking his head regally from side to side. "And I do have one of the best poker-faces in the territory!"

"If you two don't stop your jawin' and get to ridin', the pretty gals'll all be taken by the time we get there!" Joe remarked as he coaxed Cochise to a faster pace.

Adam and Hoss wasted no time catching up with Joe and the three rode into town side-by-side. Just as they approached the first empty hitching post, a roar of shouts and screams joined the honky-tonk piano music coming from the Bucket of Blood. Hoss grinned and Joe rubbed his hands together in enthusiastic anticipation. As they sauntered toward the saloon the sounds became clearer and the notion that a fight had already broken out was apparent.

Joe pushed the old, wooden saloon doors open and cockily stepped inside. Before Hoss and Adam could enter, a broken chair sailed past Joe's head. He ducked, spun on his heels and dove toward the protection of the bar. Hoss and Adam entered more cautiously, taking spots against the saloon wall. The upturned tables, poker chips, shards of glass and bits and pieces of broken chairs littering the floor made it difficult at first to locate the source of the brawl. Still crouched behind the bar, Joe bobbed his head up and down in an effort to watch the action and protect himself from flying debris. Just as Hoss caught sight of one of the ruffians, Adam, arms folded across his chest, calmly sidestepped a whiskey bottle as it soared past his ear and crashed against the wall. As he quickly calculated the angle of descent, he was able to trace the bottle's path directly to the man who'd thrown it his way. Bloodied and obviously drunk, Stu Weaver staggered, righted himself against a table, wound his right arm back and then swung with amazing accuracy at a cowboy's jaw.

Joe managed to inch his way out from behind the bar and past two patrons who were feverishly accepting bets on the outcome of the fight. He took his place standing next to Hoss. "Of all the people who could be in the saloon tonight, it had to be Weaver! Has Adam seen him yet?" Joe asked, trying to whisper, but raising his voice against the din of the crowd.

"Yep. He saw him. Jist now, I think." Hoss winced as the stranger plowed his head into Stu's stomach, knocking him to the floor. "Ya think we outta git Adam 'n' leave?"

Without hesitation, Joe replied, "That'd be the smart thing to do. But you know Adam. He's not gonna let Stu Weaver or anyone else chase him away from a public place. Especially not Stu Weaver."

Hoss nodded his agreement as Adam crossed the distance between them.

"What do you suppose all this is about?" Adam wondered aloud, not expecting an answer from anyone there.

"All right, now! Break it up!" Sheriff Coffee yelled as he burst into the saloon, gun drawn and face afire. "I said break it up!" he added as Stu landed one final punch to the stranger's chest. "Mister, I don't know who you are, but Stu! I've about had it with your fightin' 'n' causin' trouble. Now both of ya, let's go. Maybe a night in a cell'll smack some sense inta ya."

"But, Sheriff!" Stu cried. "He started the whole . . ."

"I don't care who started it!" Roy yelled. "I'm finishin' it right this minute! Now move!"

The Cartwright brothers watched as the two men were escorted out of the saloon, across the street, and into the Virginia City jail. From inside the saloon, the sounds of tables being righted and chairs sliding across the floor to their places accompanied the softened mumble of voices as the patrons calmed down and returned to their evening's festivities.

"Well now, that was . . . different," Adam said as he leaned heavily against a pillar.

"What'dya mean?" Hoss asked.

Adam folded his arms across his chest, tilted his head ever so slightly and continued. "Roy didn't get any details about the fight. Didn't ask any questions. Just hauled them both off to jail."

Both Joe and Hoss had a hunch regarding Roy's behavior, but neither would reveal their thoughts to Adam. Feeling Adam's curiosity mounting in the lingering silence, Joe finally spoke up.

"Roy's probably just getting sick and tired of breaking up fights day in and day out. Who knows how many times he's already been over here today alone! Come on, I'm buyin' the first round."

Hoss slapped Adam on the chest, snapping his attention from across the street. "Didja hear that, Older Brother? Lil Brother here is buying the first round!"

Adam shook his head but hung back several seconds longer, staring through the darkened street at the Virginia City Jail.