Adam didn't say much when Joe got back, probably grateful that his little brother hadn't gotten himself into trouble and content to leave it at that. He did, however, have a lot to say when Hoss casually mentioned later on that evening that he'd be sleeping in the barn that night.

"You don't need to do that, Hoss. I'll stay out there." He said.

"You're injured." Joe protested. "I'll sleep in the barn."

"You need your rest." Hoss replied. "You weren't exactly in tip top shape when you got here, and now that you're racing, you need sleep even more."

"I'll be fine. You're the one that needs to be awake in order to spot any trouble at the race."

"Both of you need sleep; I'll go out there."

"No!" Hoss and Joe both snapped at the same time.

Abraham, watching the argument from his leather armchair, cleared his throat. "Well I'm not sleeping out in the barn. And since it's getting late may I suggest that you take your argument outside so that one of us can sleep?" he glanced pointedly at the back door.

They looked at each other and shared a simultaneous shrug before going out to the barn.

"Looks like we're all sleeping out here." Adam said. "We'll take watches."

"Only if I get the first watch." Hoss said.

"Fine." Adam was too tired to argue. He settled himself against the hay and closed his eyes.

Joe did the same, but for some reason the tiredness he's been feeling had vanished, and he couldn't keep his eyes shut for more than a few seconds before opening them and following the outline of the beams of the roof with his eyes like a finger running along their edges. Beside him Adam's breathing deepened, and he figured his older brother was asleep. Hoss shifted in his position of being propped up against a hay bale and crossed his arms over his chest. Joe wondered what he was thinking about.

"Hoss?" he asked. His soft voice sounded loud in the stillness.

"Yeah?"

"What was Pa like?"

Hoss exhaled as he tried to think of something concrete he could tell Joe. He had clung to the memories like a handful of leaves that had slowly withered and crumbled, leaving behind only traces and half remembered images that were more feelings than anything else. They were emotions that he could feel, not images he could put into words.

"He had a stubborn streak a mile wide." Adam's voice came out of the darkness. "He never gave up; when he committed to something, you knew it would be done. And there wasn't anything he was more committed to than his family and his ranch. He would be out before dawn and come back after dusk spending the whole day clearing, planting grass seed, and putting up fences, dead on his feet, but the next day he would get up and do it again."

"I remember." Hoss said. "He had a deep voice."

Adam nodded. "Reassuring. Like listening to the waves of the lake at night. He used to sing to me when we were on the trail west. When I got older he stopped, but I still liked to listen to him sing to Hoss at night."

As he said it, Hoss heard a voice inside his head, singing as he drifted off to sleep.

"I remember." He said.

"Did he…" Joe stopped. Somehow it seemed like a silly question, but he still wanted to know. Thankfully Adam finished it for him.

"Did he sing to you? He and Ma both. You were her baby, Joe. She sang to you every night."

Joe closed his eyes, but he couldn't hear anything except the occasional chirp of crickets and the shifting of the wind through the trees.

"I don't remember it." He said quietly.

From the darkness came a voice, soft at first, but then it grew stronger as Adam sang.

"Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago,
Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,
Long, long ago, long ago,
Now you are come all my grief is removed,
Let me forget that so long you have roved.
Let me believe that you love as you loved,
Long, long ago, long ago."

Joe closed his eyes and let the voice carry him backwards. A soft hand was stroking his curls off his forehead. It seemed as if a deeper voice joined in with Adam's.

"Do you remember the paths where we met?
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
Ah, yes, you told me you'd never forget,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Then to all others, my smile you preferred,
Love, when you spoke, gave a charm to each word.
Still my heart treasures the phrases I heard,
Long, long ago, long ago."

He was in a bed with a large quilt covering him. The wool felt thick under his fingertips and it rested heavily on his body like an embrace. Pine scented smoke floated over to him, mingling with the scent of tobacco from the man who sat on the bed, making the mattress dip slightly by his shoulder. Soft yellow light from a lamp cast a shadow over the bed and his feet, which stuck out from the quilt. He liked to leave his feet out of the blankets and to curl up sideways with his knees drawn up.

"Tho' by your kindness my fond hopes were raised,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
You by more eloquent lips have been praised,
Long, long ago, long, long ago,
But, by long absence your truth has been tried,
Still to your accents I listen with pride,
Blessed as I was when I sat by your side.
Long, long ago, long ago."

The song ended, and Joe opened his eyes. He glanced over at Hoss, who was looking at him. Adam's eyes were vacant, looking back down through the years at happier times. He turned his face toward them, and his eyes returned, focusing back on the present and the older versions of the little brothers he had known. He offered a faint smile.

"Thanks, Adam." Joe said.

VVVVVVVV

Hoof beats. They were like rocks falling in an avalanche, rolling faster and faster until there was nothing but madness and everything was crushed beneath. Joe crouched low over Minotaur's neck, urging him forward. The riders behind were on his heels, but they couldn't catch up. On his horse, Joe was the wind, just like in Abraham's Bible verses. Minotaur leaped forward, snorting at the slower horses behind him.

Then Minotaur jerked. He stumbled, and Joe was hurled forward. He felt himself spinning, falling, twisting in the air. Minotaur squealed as he was trampled by the horses behind him, and the ground rushed up to meet Joe as he tumbled, head first toward it.

The light shifted. He was back on a horse, but he was sitting in the saddle in front of someone. A strong arm gripped him, and a familiar scent surrounded him, like pine and soil. He was three again, and he leaned back against a firm chest, breathing in the scent of strength and security. It was his first time on a horse, and he kicked his heels impatiently, wanting to go faster.

"Easy there, Joe. You want to sit still."

He knew the voice. He'd always known it. It was deep; just like Adam had said, and warm like a rock in the sun. He craned his neck to look up into a pair of dark eyes, deeper than a black sky. Ben Cartwright smiled down at his three year old son and nudged his horse into a trot. Joe squealed and clutched at the saddle horn, the leather smooth under his fingers. He heard his Pa's laugh at his reaction, but the arm tightened around his stomach to keep him from slipping off.

"What if I fall?" he wanted to know.

"You get back up, Little Joe."

Joe opened his eyes. Sunlight was draped through the air and over the wooden walls like ribbons, setting golden fire to the sweetly scented hay. He glanced over at sleeping Hoss and the awake Adam and remembered the morning in the line shack. The first morning. So much had changed since then. Adam glanced at him, somehow sensing that he was awake.

"Race day." He said.

Joe nodded and sat up. Bits of hay stuck in his hair and he brushed them out impatiently and then rubbed his neck, stiff from sleeping on the floor. "Has it been quiet?"

"As a church. Which means that if anything is going to happen it'll probably be during the race." He paused. "You don't have to do this."

Joe stood up, sending a flurry of hay to the floor like snow. "Yes, I do." He said.