FOURTEEN

oooooooooo

Ben Cartwright breathed a sigh of relief as he and Hoss passed the eastern boundary of Virginia City and headed toward the center of town. All the way in a growing fear had gnawed at his gut. It had gnawed so long and so deeply that he felt empty. It was as if a hole had opened up inside of him so large that nothing could fill it. It wasn't a hole that had been burrowed or dug; the dirt tossed aside in a mounting heap that one could see. It was a void. An emptiness.

An absence where a presence should be.

"Pa! Pa, slow down! You're gonna hit that wagon! Somethin's goin' on up ahead."

The rancher did as his son asked and brought the wagon to a halt. A hundred paces or so in front of them there were other vehicles standing immobile. Dozens of people were milling about, seemingly, without direction. A few were pointing toward the tops of the buildings. Others were staring at the ground. There were shouts and cries and….

Somewhere in the crowd, someone was praying.

"What do you suppose it is, Pa?" Hoss said as he rose to his feet. "You think the bank got robbed or somethin'?"

Ben shrugged. He didn't see Roy or Clem in the midst of the chaos, but he did see several men who had broken off from the crowd and were running in the direction of the jail. Again, they were shouting. The rancher dropped the reins and stood up. He craned his neck to peer over the heads of the people blocking his view. As he did a several of Virginia City's citizens turned to look at him. He heard his name spoken, several times, and then everyone turned to look at him.

Directly at him.

"It's Ben! Get out of the way!" a man cried as several people were shoved aside. "Let him through! You! Move out of the way!"

"Listen to the man," someone said. "People, move aside! Let the boy's family in!"

That fear that had been gnawing at him? It rose up right out of that empty hole to seize his heart and squeeze so hard Ben feared it might burst.

Hoss looked at him. "Pa, what'd that man say?"

The rancher shuddered. The words wouldn't come.

'Let the boy's family in.'

Out of the blue, a shot rang out. He jumped. Hoss jumped. Even their horses started.

"Back away! Back away, all of you, you hear!? Now! Let the boy's pa through!"

It was Roy. He could just see the lawman through the mass of people, beckoning him.

His son gripped his arm. "Pa. You don't suppose…?"

As the crowd parted, Roy Coffee stood fully revealed. The sheriff was standing in the middle of the street, holding his gun in the air. At his feet a man lay face down in the dust.

Not very far away, abandoned as if it was no longer of any use, lay a bright green corduroy coat.

oooooooooo

Adam Cartwright was seeing stars. Taking hold of the wagon wheel beside him, he pulled himself to his feet and managed to keep them for a moment before staggering forward and landing on his knees. His kid brother had shouted something and then shoved him aside without warning, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards where he struck his head on the edge of the wagon the wheel was attached to. In the brief time he'd been out, the marginally busy main street of Virginia City had filled to capacity. Chaos reigned. Somewhere, a woman was screaming. Other women, closer by, cried. He heard someone curse. No, several someones. A man shouted, calling for Roy Coffee. And this was the most confounding thing of all – beside him a young girl was praying. As she finished, she turned her pallid face toward her father and begged him to get Doctor Martin.

To get him now.

Adam climbed to his feet and looked around, wondering where in this sea of chaos and confusion his little brother was. As he pushed through a throng of people, he cast his mind back to what he could remember before Joe so abruptly struck him. His little brother had been on time for once. Joe was standing outside the bank waiting on him, hat box in hand. He'd taken his green jacket off and had it looped over his arm. It looked like Joe had been heading for Cochise, but been intercepted by Paul Martin. When he joined the pair, he and the Doc had exchanged pleasantries, and then he'd watched the older man move away before signaling to Joe that they should head across the street. Curiously, Joe didn't follow him. After a moment, he turned back to see what was keeping his younger brother. It was then Joe tackled him and he went down.

Come to think of it, there had been an odd sound; an out of place sound like a firecracker going off.

No, more than one. Was it two – or maybe even three?

"It's Ben!" someone shouted. "Ben Cartwright!"

An involuntary word spilt from Adam's lips – a word in which, no matter how much he tried to deny it, his comfort and sanity were contained.

"Pa?"

"Let him through!" another man called out. "Let Ben through! You! Move out of the way."

Adam was moving with purpose and determination now. He was going to find his Pa and then, together, they would locate Little Joe. At first, he had to thrust people out of his way to get through, but then, slowly, the citizens of Virginia City began to part for him as if he were Moses and they, the Red Sea. Just as he reached the center of the crowd, another firecracker went off.

This one in Roy Coffee's hand.

"Back away! Back away, you hear! Now! Let the boy's pa through!"

Boy.

The boy's Pa.

Ben Cartwright.

Adam faltered. Roy Coffee was standing with his back to him. Through his legs he could see a man, lying face down in the dirt. A steadily growing pool of red spread across the crisp clean fabric of his white shirt. By his outstretched hand, there lay an abandoned hat box.

It was Little Joe.

ooooooooo

Ben dropped to his knees beside his youngest son. Blood seeped through the white fabric of Joe's shirt and pooled beneath his fingers as he leaned in and said, enunciating every word, "Joseph, son. Hold on. I'm right here with you." When his voice elicited no response, he tried again. "Little Joe…can you hear me? Son, you have to hold on."

"Pa! What could'a happened?" Hoss asked breathless. "Who would've shot him?"

Roy Coffee was working the crowd, seeking the answers to those questions. "What I want to know is, where did that shot come from?" Roy demanded. "Did anyone see? If you saw anythin', you step right up and let me know!"

"There!" someone shouted. Ben turned to find it was Mrs. Maitland. "I was coming back to the shop," she managed between sobs. "I saw something. Like a light on a mirror." The older woman pointed to the top of the livery. "It came from up there!"

Roy moved to her side. He took hold of her elbow and propped her up. Following the line of her finger, he asked, "On top of the stable?"

"It's bad, Pa," Hoss breathed as he knelt beside him. "Whoever shot Little Joe, they knew what they was doin'. Someone's gotta go for the Doc. "

"Joe's been…shot?"

Ben looked up to find Adam at his side.

"It had to be Duke Miller," his eldest snarled as his fingers brushed his holster. "I'm going to find him and kill him!"

Ben rose to his feet and blocked his way. "Adam get a grip on yourself. Your brother needs you. I need you! Hoss…." The rancher stopped. Hoss was gone. In his place Roy Coffee knelt by Joseph and was applying pressure to the wound. "Roy? Where's Hoss? Where did he go?"

"Hoss went to fetch the doc," Roy replied. The lawman looked directly at his eldest. "Adam, now you listen to your pa. He don't need no more tragedies today."

Adam looked sheepish as he removed his hand from his gun. "Sorry, Pa."

Ben managed a half-smile. "Keep watch for your brother," he said as he turned his attention back to Joe and knelt again by his side. What he saw when he did, horrified him. Roy had placed a wad of cloth on Joe's wound and it was already half soaked through. His old friend gave him an encouraging look, but he couldn't fail to notice the tears in Roy's eyes.

A touch on his shoulder alerted Ben to the fact that his middle son had returned. "Paul's on his way, Pa," Hoss said as he too knelt by his brother. "He had to get his kit."

Without warning, Ben felt the body beneath his fingers shift.

"Did you see that, Pa?" Hope entered Hoss' voice as he looked up at his older brother. "Joe moved. Adam, did you see?"

Adam joined them on the ground. "Joe….listen to me," he said, his voice choked with unspent tears. "Joe, it's Adam. You can't let Miller win. Fight! Damn it! Fight. You're not allowed to…."

"People! Move aside! Are you deaf!" a strident voice called out. "I said, get out of my way!"

It wasn't the voice of God, but it was the next best thing.

A moment later Doctor Paul Martin appeared. They moved back to give him room as he dropped to his knees and reached out for Joe. The physician gave him a sympathetic look and then took hold of Joseph's blood-stained shirt and ripped it in half, revealing his son's devastated back. After a quick, cursory look, Paul gently rolled Joe over and placed his hand on his chest.

Little Joe never moved or made a sound.

Leaning in close, Paul said, "Little Joe? Can you hear me? Joe?" Paul waited a few seconds and then tried again. "Joe, I know you may be unable to speak. If you can, blink to let me know you're awake. Blink, son, if you can hear me." When there was no response, his old friend let out a sigh. "Ben, I won't mince words. I'm not sure that I can do any…."

"You're not giving up?!"

Paul met his piercing gaze. "No, I'm not. But there may be little I can do. First of all, Joe's been shot twice."

"Twice?" Ben asked.

"Yes, twice. The bullets went right through him. God alone knows what they hit along the way. The first thing I have to do is keep him from bleeding out." Paul leaned in again, this time to place his ear on Joe's chest.

The physician's body went rigid and he sat up quickly.

Ben's heart thudded in his chest. "Paul?" he demanded. "Paul?"

"Doc, what's wrong?" Adam and Hoss asked in chorus.

"God God!" Paul's words were a prayer, whispered on lips of disbelief. "Good Lord, no."

Adam clutched his baby brother's hand so hard his own knuckles went white. "No, Joe!" his oldest commanded. "Don't do it, Joe!"

Paul turned his face toward him. It was nearly as pale as his son's.

"His heart's stopped, Ben."

Ben shoved the physician out of the way. He caught his beloved child's face in his hands and shouted in a voice that brooked no disobedience.

"Joseph, it's your Pa. You are not allowed to die! You hear me, boy! I will not allow it!" Ben gazed at the still face, near-white as marble. He ran a hand through his son's dusty curls and lowered his head to his son's chest. It was no longer an order. It was a plea.

"Joseph, no!"

oooooooooo

He wished he'd had the energy to snort. He'd never been good at following orders.

Opening his eyes, Little Joe Cartwright took one final look at his father and brothers and then rolled his eyes over to the slender figure approaching him. The afternoon light was golden. It pooled in the woman's hair and encased her slender form like a cloak. Her advance was slow and measured; as if there was no rush and she had all the time in the world.

Maybe…eternity.

When she reached him, the woman knelt. Joe felt her breath first and then her lips and then, finally her hand on his face. Her fingers brushed back the curls clinging to his forehead and came to rest on his furrowed brow.

"Mon petit," she sighed.

It took all that was left in him, but he managed a smile – and a single word.

"Mama?"

She gave him a kiss. Light as a brush with death.

"Oui."

oooooooooo

Adam Cartwright sat with his head in his hands. 'Exhausted' didn't begin to describe what he was feeling. The three of them were crammed into Paul Martin's small waiting area. Thank God, they were waiting for word on whether or not Little Joe was going to make it.

A short time before they were sure he was not.

Adam shifted back in the uncomfortable chair he occupied and blew out a breath. He'd only been this scared about Joe a couple of times before, the first time being when the kid was six or so and got pneumonia. The whole house had hung on the next breath Joe took – and on whether or not Joe took it. There'd been that time too when, as a teener, little brother had been caught in a bank vault and had precious little oxygen for half a day. They were sure they'd lost him then – just like they'd been sure they'd lost him an hour or so back, bled out on a Virginia City street.

God alone knew what had called Joe back.

"Ben. Boys."

Adam closed his eyes, whispered a brief prayer, and then lifted his eyes and pinned them on the doctor. Hoss moved out of the dark corner he occupied. The big man had retreated there, seeking somewhere private to deal with his grief. Pa was closest to the door, as if he feared Joe might think he'd abandoned him should he go any further.

He was the first to arrive at Doc Martin's side.

"Paul?"

Paul held his hands up. "I can offer no guarantees, Ben. Little Joe is a very sick young man. He's hanging on, but only by a thread."

"Joe's a fighter," Hoss insisted. "He ain't gonna give up."

"I agree, Hoss, but Joe's will to live and his body's ability to survive are two separate things." Paul turned and glanced over his shoulder, into the operating room. A sigh escaped him. "Your brother has lost an inordinate amount of blood."

Adam paled. 'Inordinate'.

Meaning 'excessive, unreasonable'.

'Unwarranted'.

His jaw tightened before he spoke. "You sound like you've given up on Joe, Paul."

The physician turned to look at him. "No, Adam. I haven't given up, but I feel it is my duty as a physician to be realistic."

The man in black rose to his feet and crossed over to the open door. He could see his little brother lying on the table in the next room. If he hadn't noticed the blanket covering Joe's chest was moving up and down, he would have thought the doctor's dire prediction had already come true.

Adam leaned a hand on the door jamb. "When will you know if Joe's going to…." He paused, rethinking his words. "When he's out of danger?"

His father must have sensed something in his voice. Pa took a step toward him.

"Adam, what are you thinking?"

"Me, Pa?" he snorted. "Honestly? I'm trying not to think."

Paul looked from him to his father, and then at Hoss. "If you want, you can go in and see Little Joe. But Ben, I need you to keep it short."

"Is Joe awake?" their father asked.

"He's in and out. I don't think he understands anything that's said to him, but that doesn't mean you can't try."

Pa was already through the door.

By the time Adam arrived at his brother's bedside, Pa had pulled up a chair and was clutching Joe's pallid hand in his own. Little Joe's eyes were closed; his brow, furrowed. His usually tanned skin was fish-belly white and he was breathing rapidly, like a stallion after one last fatal run. Pa was running the fingers of his free hand through Joe's curls, which were lackluster. The brilliance – the vitality they normally had was missing. The life had been leeched out of them just like it had been leeched from their owner, perhaps never to return.

As Paul suggested, his father was trying.

"Joseph, son. It's your pa. Can you hear me?"

They all drew a breath and waited. Sadly, the only sound in the room was his brother's labored breathing – and that of their breaking hearts.

And then, a miracle happened. Joe's lips parted. No sound issued forth, but they definitely moved!

Pa leaned in closer. "Joseph? Son?"

It took a few unbearable heartbeats, but, this time there was a sound. It was so far away that it seemed Joe had already made the choice to depart.

"….Mama…?"

Pa stiffened. The older man turned and looked at him.

There was terror in his eyes.

"Joseph, no. It's Pa. Your m…." The older man's voice caught on the word and broke. "…your mother isn't here."

Joe's thick brows folded toward the center. He moaned and tried to shift his body, but failed. "…here, Pa," he breathed. "Mama's…here…." Little brother's fingers closed on their father's hand and he feebly pulled him closer. Pa leaned forward in response and hung there a moment. Then, as Little Joe's fingers went slack, the older man turned in his chair and looked at them.

There were tears in his eyes.

Hoss couldn't bear it. "What is it, Pa? What'd Little Joe say?"

"Adam," Pa said as he rose to his feet and stepped aside. "Joseph is asking for you."

He blinked. "Me? Why me?"

A tear trailed down their father's cheek. "He's asking that you… It's almost like he's a child again. He wants you to…hold him."

Now he knew what it felt like – having your heart stop.

Adam slipped in-between the chair and his brother's bed. He hesitated, and then took Joe's cold hand in his.

His brother feebly moved his fingers, trying to grip it.

As he slipped his arm around his baby brother's shoulders, the man in black said, "I'm here, Joe. I'm holding you, so you have to hold on for me."

A familiar hand landed on his shoulder. "Your brother, Adam," Pa said, sounding utterly exhausted. "Before he asked for you, Joseph said he…saw Marie. He said she was coming for him."

He'd heard.

"Well, she can't have him!" he snapped.

"Adam…."

"No!" Adam shifted his grip, so he had hold of both of Joe's arms. "Little Joe, feel this!" he said with a little shake. "Feel me! l know you want to go to Marie, but – listen to me – Marie doesn't need you. We need you, Joe! Pa. Hoss…." A small sob escaped him. "Me, Joe. I need you!"

His brother startled him by opening his eyes. Joe looked right at – and through him. His baby brother gave him a little smile right before his consciousness fled, riding away on a single word.

"Maman."

oooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright ran his hands over his face and shook himself. It was the wee hours of the morning and he'd appointed himself to keep watch on his brother. Both Adam and his Pa had fallen asleep in their chairs. They didn't know they'd done it. They'd both just slipped into sleep, worn out with worry. The big man's gaze shifted to where his little brother lay. Joe was restless. He weren't awake, but he kept shiftin', and every time little brother shifted, he moaned. Paul Martin's nurse, a gal named Mary, had been in once and given Joe something to make him sleep. Joe was plain wore out. Course, he was worn out too – worn out with the thought of what had happened and what still might happen. But he couldn't sleep. Gol-dangit! He was too scared to sleep.

He was scared Joe would pass and he wouldn't know it.

So he'd drunk a couple of pots of coffee and taken a walk in the cold without a jacket, and then come back inside and sat down at his brother's bedside, determined that he would stay awake come Hell or high water. He wouldn't even think about sleepin' until Pa or Adam woke up. That way they could wake him up if…. Well, if….

Just, if.

"God, don't you go doin' no 'if'," the big man whispered as he struck away a tear.

So far their vigil had lasted half a day. Little Joe'd been shot around two o'clock in the afternoon and now it was one in the morning. Every so often the Doc would come in to check on Joe. He could tell by the look in Paul's eyes that every time he found little brother still breathin' the Doc was surprised. It kind of surprised him too, but Hoss believed what he'd said. Joe was tough. He was a scrapper.

If anyone could win against in a fight against death, it would be Joe.

Hoss stared at his brother, noting how Joe was movin' like he did when he was caught in one of them night terrors of his. The poor kid couldn't move much, but his legs were shifting and, every so often, Joe's black eyelashes would flutter against his white skin. The big man watched him a moment and then leaned back and closed his eyes. Just to rest let them rest for a second, mind you. No sooner had he closed them, then they popped right back open.

Little Joe said somethin'.

Adam and Pa had warned him that Joe kept talkin' to Mama. He was kind of scared that was what he was doin' again.

"Joe, it's ol' Hoss," he said as he went to the bed and leaned in. "What're you tryin' to say?"

"…buzzards…."

Hoss took his other hand and placed it on his brother's forehead. Like the Doc expected, fever had set in a little before midnight . It was higher now.

"What'd you say, Little Joe?"

Joe tried to wet his lips. He coughed.

"…ol' buzzard….gonna eat me…."

He was gonna answer, but a hand fell on his shoulder. Pert near scared him to death!

"How long has he been talking?" a weary Doc Martin asked.

"Not long. He started just now." The big man frowned. "He's talkin' about buzzards, Doc. How come?"

"It's hard to say, Hoss. The mind does strange things under stress," the physician said as he moved to the other side of the bed and took hold of Joe's arm. Paul put two fingers on his brother's wrist , pulled out his watch, and stood there, counting.

Joe was beginning to toss. "….blood," he said. "…so much blood!"

Doc Martin had dropped Joe's hand and was on the move. He took hold of Joe – kind of rough, if you asked him – and turned him over.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed softly. "He's bleeding again."

"Bleeding again?" It was Pa. He looked like he done been run over by a thousand beeves. "Paul, tell me the truth. That's bad, isn't it?"

Paul made a face as he straightened up. "Well, it's certainly not good."

"I don't see no blood," Hoss said.

"The first bullet took Joe in the side. That's the one that bled the most, but was the least dangerous. The second shot was clean and went through the chest front to back, but its path left bleeders." Paul pursed his lips and looked at Pa. "I'm going to have to open him back up and tie them off, and for that, I need you to clear the room and send Mary in."

Pa looked stunned. "Open him up again? Isn't that dangerous?"

"No more dangerous that letting him lose half of what blood remains!" Paul snapped. "Look, I'm sorry, Ben, but every second we waste is one more second Joe doesn't have. Hoss, take your father out and send my nurse in."

Joe had begun to struggle. He was actually trying to sit up! "Ad..mm?" he moaned. "Adam!"

A second later older brother appeared in the doorway. He looked a sight worse than Pa. "What's wrong with Joe?" he demanded. "Joe!"

"Come over here, Adam!" Paul ordered. "Talk to your brother until I can get him sedated. See if you can get him to calm down." The Doc looked at them. "And you two, get out!

Of course, neither he or Pa moved.

Adam was at Joe's side. "I'm here, little buddy," he said as he tenderly touched Joe's sweat-soaked brow. Looking at Paul, older brother asked, "How long has Joe been conscious?"

"It's doubtful that he is," the older man muttered.

"But, Doc," Hoss protested. "You heard him callin' for Adam."

Paul Martin's fierce gaze moved from him to Pa. "Yes, I did. My hearing is fine where apparently yours and your father's is not. I told you to leave so I could do what I had to do!"

"But he's talkin', Doc! Don't that mean Little Joe's gonna be okay?"

"Don't," Joe said, clear as a bell.

"Hoss, move aside." With a glance at the Doc who was scowling, Hoss did as his father ordered. Pa came up behind Adam. He leaned in, touching Joe's cheek.

"Little Joe? It's Pa. Hang on, boy. Paul's going to fix you right up."

"I will if you three ever get out of here…." Paul muttered under his breath.

"Don't," Joe said again as Adam released his grip. "Please, don't…go!"

Them words might as well have been an arrow to all their hearts.

"Mary! Where are you?" Paul shouted. "I have work to do and I can't do it if this boy is awake. Get in here and bring the morphine!"

Joe had begun to thrash from side to side. "Danger…" he whispered, then he shouted, "Adam…don't…. Adam…danger!"

"Adam, you stay! Help me hold your brother down. Talk to him. Tell him you're okay. Maybe it will help!" Paul's gaze went to the sheet beneath Little Joe. He could see it too. Joe was bleeding bad. "All this moving around is only going to make things worse!"

"I'm okay, Little buddy. You're the one who got shot," Adam said, and then older brother said something else that neither him nor Pa understood.

"I'm sorry, Joe. God, I'm so sorry."

Joe had calmed down but was panting hard. "Ss-so-ky, A'dm. Ss-so-kay if…die. Just so….so…you're safe…."

Adam went white. He looked like he was gonna be sick. Older brother must have thought so too 'cause he let go of Joe and lit out of the room. A few seconds later they heard the office door slam.

In spite of what Paul had ordered they was both still there when Paul's nurse Mary finally came in with the morphine. Pa returned to Joe's side and took hold of his hand.

"Joseph, the doctor is going to give you something so you won't feel the pain. Son, don't fight it." Pa caressed Joe's cheek. "Shh. Go to sleep."

"Count backward, Joseph," Paul Martin said as he injected the morphine into Little Joe's arm. "Ten, nine, eight…."

None.

oooooooooo

To be continued….