CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

"Easy, boy," Adam whispered, his low, calming voice carried briefly by the warm evening breeze.

Concerned by the unexpected sound of a gunshot and left uneasy since his first glimpse of faint shadows dancing in the dim lamp light in the long ago abandoned Weaver homestead, Adam had dismounted and cautiously led Sport closer to the ramshackle building. After taking care to secure his horse, he crouched, shrinking his form against the side of the barn, his right hand at the ready near the grip of his pistol. Cocking his head, he listened intently, convinced of sounds coming from the house. Instantly, he heard muffled grunts and groans, some strong and anger-filled and others, stifled with a touch of suffering.

Adam crept closer, each ghostly movement of the lamp's radiance necessitating yet another duck and pause. The stillness of the night echoed in the momentary silences, alternating with more growls and heavy breathing from inside. When he reached the dilapidated porch, the wafting breeze conjured a misshapen shadow floating past the window, triggering an adrenaline rush that sent Adam diving for the protection of a nearby bush.

"DADGUMMIT!"

"Hoss?" Adam whispered, bewildered to hear the familiar tones of his brother's voice. "What the . . ."

Creeping warily toward the front door, Adam heard the voice again.

"Dadburned ropes . . ."

Springing to his full height, Adam, pistol drawn, burst through the doorway. Across the room, stooping precariously on one knee, was the silhouetted form of a large, muscular man.

"Hoss," Adam cried, "what's going on here?"

Hoss spun on his heels, sweat dripping from his pained face. "Adam?"

"Hoss! You've been shot!" Adam gasped, rushing to his brother's side, all the while scanning the room for Hoss's assaulter.

"It ain't too bad, Adam. And the one who done it ain't here," Hoss muttered, clearly in pain. "Untie me. We gotta git movin'."

While Adam's hands worked deftly at the ropes binding Hoss, his eyes assessed the bullet hole in his brother's thigh.

"Hoss, what the hell is going on? Who did this to you?" Adam quickly removed his belt and wound it tightly around Hoss's thigh several inches above the wound. As he pulled the leather securely, Hoss groaned. "Sorry," Adam said as he ripped the left sleeve from his shirt to bandage the bleeding leg. "Can you tell me what's happened?"

Hoss inhaled deeply, the pain in his leg a mere afterthought to the task at hand. His mind raced, the weight of his forthcoming words crashing down against him and closing in around him. His stomach roiled with the thought that the facts he was about to lay before his older brother would change Adam's life forever. "Adam," he said reverently. "I got somethin' ta tell ya 'n' it ain't gonna go down real easy-like. So I need ya to listen. Jist listen. 'Cause we got somethin' we gotta git to real quick."

Adam's impatience was quickly leading to ominous thoughts. "Alright, Hoss. I'm listening."

"Ain't no way ta make it sound believable but ta say it outright. I ain't never lied to ya, Adam, 'n' I ain't lyin' now."

"Hoss, you're scaring me."

"You got a right ta be scared, Adam," Hoss said, his eyes intense and focused in the lamp light. We all do.

Hoss inhaled and held his breath. It was of little comfort, but satisfied his need to have complete control over something, anything, in the room at that moment. "Adam, your Mercy is alive. The children are, too. By some miracle, they didn't die in that fire."

Adam's face grew hot as a tingle surged from his head to his neck and settled in his torso. Balance was lost to him and he tumbled backward, his haunches collapsing. The already darkened room tunneled as a deathly blackness threatened his vision and night sounds faded, replaced by the rhythmic whishing of his heartbeat throbbing in his ears. He swallowed, hard, his parched throat reacting with a razor-sharp stab. His head swayed, his eyes raised, and he labored to focus on the face of a man he trusted implicitly. "Hoss, I don't know why you would . . ."

"You said you'd jist listen, Adam," Hoss said. "Now, how 'bout sittin' down before ya fall down."

Adam sat on the floor of the Weaver house, his mouth agape, his heart beating loudly in his ears as Hoss hurriedly delivered the facts leading up to that evening.

Adam paled as Hoss spoke, and as he came to the moments just before Adam had arrived, he held his breath and shook his head.

"And Stu has her, Adam," Hoss explained. "He done took her 'bout fifteen minutes before you came. We gotta pick up their trail. We gotta go NOW, Adam! Ain't no telling' what he might do."

Adam shook his head, hoping bits and pieces of the sentences he'd just heard might connect to one another in some rational way. His mind suddenly became jumbled as details of the fire and his desperate search for the four people he loved flooded his vision in a blurred cascade of memories. Mercy? The children? Alive? And they think I'm dead? He blinked away threatening tears, the murkiness of his vision clearing as he realized that Hoss had managed to stand. He reached for his brother's extended hand, clasping it firmly as he was pulled to his feet. "Hoss, I . . ."

"I kin only imagine," Hoss said, staring into the eyes of his brother, hoping that the voice behind them still belonged to Adam. "We hafta find them. If only we knew where they was headed."

Adam lurched. Hoss moved with lightening speed, grabbing Adam's shoulders and leading him to the bed. Adam rocked back and forth, his head in his hands.

Hoss lowered him to the bed. Stay with me, Adam! Mercy needs ya more now than ever! And if anything should happen, those kids are gonna need ya even more.

Adam waged a private war against the voices shouting in his head. He repeated her name over and over again until the thumping veins in his neck slowed and his lungs once again accepted precious air. He dared to open his eyes, peering cautiously between his fingers. Suddenly, he caught sight of an oddly familiar object beneath the table across the room. "What the . . . He stood and pushed past Hoss, diving at the table. He knelt and retrieved the now-broken trophy he'd won as a child.

"Adam, what is it?" Hoss asked, limping to his brother's side.

"I think I know where Stu's headed," Adam announced. "Let's go!" Adam dashed out the front door, slowing as he stepped off the porch and realized that Hoss wasn't able to keep up.

"Adam, you go on! Chubb don't seem ta be around . . ."

Just then, Chubb came into view and trotted up to the heavy brush, settling in next to his friend.

"Well, I'll be!" Hoss muttered.

"Think you can ride?" Adam asked.

"You bet I can!"

Moments later, Adam and Hoss raced toward the Ponderosa.

Adam was dazed, his head and pulse pounding with every step. Mercy, alive. How? Danny, AnnaLynn, and Mary? Can it really be true?

As they rode, Adam glanced at Hoss, his white hat illuminated in the starlight. An almost imperceptible nod was all the conversation the brothers required. Both Sport and Chubb, sensing the urgency, galloped faster with nary a command from their riders. Adam smiled. Hoss reciprocated with a grin.

"It's true," Adam thought. "Hoss wouldn't . . . couldn't . . . They really are alive! And they're here in Virginia City! Please, hang on, Mercy. I'm coming!"