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Several hours had passed by the time Adam made it to Carson City. A quick scan of the main street told him that Joe's pony wasn't there, so he dismounted outside of the livery stable and checked the stalls. When he'd thoroughly examined every horse, he went to the hotel and asked if Joe had passed by. He hadn't, so he Adam spent the next twenty minutes brushing through every store on the main street, asking anyone he met if they'd seen him.

Adam's head hurt, his ribs hurt, his back hurt, and his hope that Joe had just wandered off somewhere was dimming, slowly being replaced by a panic so overpowering he could hardly force himself to keep searching in town. Ben Cartwright was a wealthy man; many a desperate person had been driven to drastic actions for less than what they could get from holding a Cartwright ransom. Adam didn't like to think about that, but he had to admit that it was a possibility.

He passed a saloon and, after a short bout of indecisiveness, pushed his way through the swinging doors and made his way to the counter. He doubted that Joe was in there, but it was possible that someone inside may have seen him.

"'Lo, Adam," called the bartender. Adam gave a short wave and leaned against the counter. "What'll it be?"

"Nothing," Adam said, scanning the room quickly. The saloon was comfortably filled with dusty cowpokes and a few miners, playing cards or laughing and each other over their drinks. He hadn't expected to see Joe, but still he felt a stab of disappointment as he finished his quick search. He was out of ideas. Where would he look now?

"Nothin'," the barkeep echoed. He was a friendly man named Todd Welcher, who, Adam believed, kept his saloon out of genuine enjoyment of the job.

"No," Adam sighed. There were three other men at the bar with him, two on his left and one on his right. The one on the right was a big man, broad-shouldered and almost thin, but encased in a layer of muscle that made him look easy to underestimate. He was laughing raucously with a thinner man who leaned on a chair nearby, his head tilted back to expose a thick, tangled beard. Adam looked away; beards like that rarely embellished well-to-do men. "Listen, Todd, have you seen-"

A heavy push to his shoulder made him choke off his words. The bearded man's harsh laughter rose up again, and Adam turned slowly to face him. The thinner man stood where he'd landed after bouncing off of Adam's shoulder, rubbing his arm and glaring at the one who'd pushed him. Adam held the big man's gaze, feeling only annoyance that his search had been interrupted.

"You gonna apologize?" the big man grunted finally.

Adam kept his face neutral. "For what?"

"Being in the way."

"You hit me!" Adam growled, then reproached himself silently for raising to the bait.

The bearded man leaned closer. "Well, kid?"

Adam felt irritation well up inside of him. This man was obstructing his search, was making him delay in finding Joe. "I don't have time for you," he decided, surprised at how low his voice sounded. He sounded mad. He felt mad.

The bearded man was not impressed. "Listen, kid. I been bustin' heads in barrooms since before you was cuttin' yerself shaving."

Why was he still standing here? This wasn't worth his time or effort. Adam turned back to the bar and started to ask Todd to keep an eye out for Joe, but the big man grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

"I was talking to you," he growled.

Adam pushed his hand away irritably. "I'm busy," he punctuated. The man was drunk, that much was obvious, and looking for a fight. One in which Adam didn't feel like participating.

The bearded man made a mock-sympathetic face. "That's right, you're looking for your brother. I heard you askin' around earlier. Where'd he go?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be looking for him," Adam responded coolly. "Which I should really get back to doing. If you'll excuse me." He started to turn, but again the man pulled him back.

"I had a brother once," he continued, holding Adam's shoulder tightly. "He ran off and got hisself killed by Injuns. Think that's what happened to yours?"

And suddenly his patience was gone. Faster than even he thought possible, Adam spun and slammed his fist into the man's jaw so hard his knuckles split. The man fell like a cut tree, glancing off a chair as he went down and reducing it to splinters.

Adam resisted the urge to rub his bleeding knuckle and glared around the room. "Anyone else?" His words were low and dangerous, almost more eager than the indifferent warning he'd meant them to be.

For a moment, the saloon was deathly still as the men stared between this lean young man and their unconscious friend. Then four men were suddenly on their feet, sending their chairs crashing to the ground as they lunged at him. Adam had time only to step back from the counter so the stools wouldn't be in his way before they were upon him.

One reached clumsily for his wrist, but Adam knocked the hand away and pushed the man off-balance. He ducked another's swing and hit him hard in the stomach, then in the chin. The man fell back, surprised, and the other two rushed forward in his place. Adam tried to sidestep one, but the other landed a punch to his ribs that nearly dropped him to his knees. One of the men grabbed his right arm and wrenched it behind his back while another aimed blow after blow at his face. Adam closed his eyes against the pain and struggled against the grip that held him still, trying to duck under the punches and fight back with his free arm.

And then the pressure on his arm was gone, and Adam sagged to his knees. His head felt light, and his ribs screamed their pain at him, but he surged to his feet and tried to appear as if he was ready for another attack.

The fight now involved what looked like half of the occupants of the saloon. Everywhere there were men flying over tables and rolling across the floor. The four men who'd been fighting him were now engaged in combat with Charlie, Andy Harris, Matthew Carroll, and Jim Wilson.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Adam threw himself back into the fray, tackling a man who'd knocked Jim off his feet. The man yelled something Adam couldn't understand and started to get up, but the sound of a gunshot made him stop.

The whole room froze, turning sheepishly to the door where the Sheriff stood, holding his pistol up threateningly. "Knock it off or get out," he growled, glaring around the room. His eyes flickered with surprise as they passed over Adam, but neither of them spoke. After a moment, when the Sheriff had decided the threat of more fighting had passed, he shoved his gun back into its holster and walked over to Todd.

Adam leaned against the counter, holding his ribs. Charlie dropped to the stool next to him, smiling through a cut lip. "Y'know, Adam? I'm gettin' sick of havin' to save you," he said with a grin that suggested he didn't mind at all.

"Well I'm not," Adam answered, offering his hand first to Charlie, then to Jim, Andy, and Matt. "And this time Kensington didn't even have to send you."

"Kensington?" Charlie repeated blankly.

Adam felt his eyebrows draw together. "Kensington sent you as reinforcements."

"Kensington didn't send us," Charlie said. "It was that little brother of yours. Jack…?"

"Joe," Andy corrected.

"That's right, Joe," Charlie nodded. "He found us in the bar and said his brothers were outnumbered against some robbers or sumthin', and since we weren't doing anything anyway we should go out an' help. Wasn't that the way he put it? Hey, Adam, you ok?"

He wasn't ok, and felt like he'd never been ok, and never would again. If Joe had sent Charlie and the others, why did Kensington say he'd done it? Why would he lie?

Unless. There was always an unless, though Adam didn't want to face it. Why had Joe disappeared without leaving any tracks? Because he hadn't just wandered away, like Adam had wanted to believe. He couldn't have, not without someone else to guide him.

Adam sagged against the counter, feeling more pain than at any point during the fight. The voice in Kensington's office. It had been Joe. He was sure of it now; it had been Little Joe, calling out to him. And he'd left. Without even realizing it, he'd left his youngest brother. He'd abandoned him.

"Adam? Adam!" Charlie was supporting him, keeping him from slipping to the floor. He waved toward Matt. "Get the doctor," he commanded sharply.

Doctor… "No." Adam pushed away, feeling a slow, cold anger give him strength. This wasn't the quick flash of emotion he'd felt during the fight; this was different somehow, deeper, more dangerous. It was fury, cold and hard, the closest thing to hatred he'd ever felt. Kensington, the man he'd trusted and looked up to, had betrayed him. If Little Joe was hurt…

"Adam?" Charlie asked cautiously. Adam tried to force the feeling down from where it had lodged in his throat, but it settled instead in his chest and made it hard to breathe.

"Thanks for helping," Adam said shortly. Charlie still looked concerned, but Adam pushed away and strode for the door, into the street. It was not yet evening, but the sky was already dark in the distance, promising the coming of a storm.

Hoss had to know where he was going, but Adam didn't want to spend what precious hours he had by riding back to the Ponderosa. Pa should know, too. A sharp stab of guilt pierced through him, momentarily clouding the anger. Part of him didn't want to send the wire to Sacramento, didn't want to admit that he'd let such a terrible thing happen to Joe. He should have been able to stop it. Why hadn't he recognized the signs earlier?

"Adam?"

Adam turned sharply, glad that he'd been able to stop the burning in his eyes from becoming any more than that. The Sheriff was walking toward him, looking calm and assured. "Charlie told me what happened," he said. "You won't be held responsible for any damage."

"Thanks."

"Adam." The Sheriff stepped closer, his eyes hard and somber. "What's this about Kensington?"

Adam looked away, feeling the fury rise up again. "He took Joe."

The Sheriff looked at him curiously. "Just like that?"

"He did it."

"You got any proof?"

"I heard Joe in his office. Only I didn't do anything about it."

"Hmm." The Sheriff was silent for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You think he had anything to do with the robbery?"

Adam hadn't thought of that, but now that the subject was brought up, it made sense. If Joe had seen or overheard something, it would provide motive for his capture.

"You know where they're going?" the Sheriff asked.

Adam nodded shortly. "Stephens Flats."

"You're goin' after them." It wasn't a question, which Adam appreciated. It was an observation, one that the Sheriff noted and accepted without complaint. "Right then. I'll send Tullis out to the Ponderosa to tell Hoss. You go an' send your pa a wire, and I'll get my gear. I'll meet you back at my office when you're ready." This too was a statement, one that left no room for argument. Adam nodded.

The Sheriff turned and walked toward his office, and Adam took a moment to compose himself before heading off to send his wire.

Far off in the distance, thunder rumbled, rolling out across the plains and settling over the town. The air was thick, anticipating the storm that crept nearer, like a mountain cat stalking its prey. Adam turned his face toward the sky, feeling the cool, burning fury that had settled in his chest.

"Kensington," he said to the sky. "Wherever you go, I'll follow. Wherever you run, I'll chase you. And if you've hurt Little Joe, I swear, Kensington, I'll kill you."