FIFTEEN

oooooooooo

A familiar and troubled voice called out to him.

"Adam, where are you going?"

Adam Cartwright halted. It was somewhere near dawn and, for the most part, Virginia City was quiet, so stopping in the middle of the street was an acceptable alternative to returning to the porch where his father stood. The shutters were closed on all the shops. The light in the jail house had been extinguished. Roy was snoring away in his chair while the jail's inmates grumbled and groused. Even the saloons were closed. After all, even prostitutes needed their sleep. Adam turned his face to the sky. Somewhere during their long vigil in Paul Martin's office, it had begun to rain. It had been gentle at first. Now it came hard and fast. The raindrops pelted his face and struck the shoulders of his tan coat. That was just fine with him. He could feel it.

He could…feel.

His father had moved to the steps that fronted Paul's medical practice. The moon had retreated in the face of the storm and so Pa was just one shadow among many. The man in black didn't need to see his father's face to know what the older man was sensing because he was sensing it too.

A dark night of the soul.

Adam lowered his head and adjusted his hat, so his tearful eyes were masked. "Go back in, Pa," he said.

"Son, come out of the rain. Come in and talk to me."

He was fond of words, which was ironic since he used so few. Adam shook his head and started to walk away.

"Adam!" Pa said as he stepped into the rain. "Hop Sing has a wise saying. 'Before you embark on a journey of revenge, you should dig two graves'. Duke Miller isn't worth it, son." His father paused. "He isn't worth your life."

Adam pivoted on his heel, casting mud across the dreary street. He jabbed a finger toward Doc Martin's office. "My little brother is lying in there, probably dying, and I can tell you that his life is worth something to me!" Adam choked. "Pa, Joe's in there because of me."

"Adam, no…."

"Yes! I was the target! I had my back turned to the stable. Joe…." He sucked in air and spit out rain. "Little Joe shoved me out of the way, Pa. Don't you understand? I owe Joe and…I owe Duke Miller!" Adam's fingers slid down his leg to the handle of his gun, which was now free of restraint. "That is one debt I intend to pay."

"So, you would make your brother's…death count for nothing?" his father asked softly.

Adam blinked the water from his eyes. "What?"

His father moved farther into the street. The rain was heavy now and it darkened his light blue shirt and tan pants instantly.

"You intend to kill Duke Miller," Pa stated.

It was not a question.

"Yes."

"And what will be the consequence of that, should you shoot him in cold blood?"

"Pa…."

"I will tell you what it will be. One of two things will happen: you will go to prison or be hung. The life Joseph chose to risk his own for, will be forfeit." Pa gave him a moment to let that sink in. "Is that how you would repay your brother?"

He didn't intend to shoot Miller in cold blood, but he did intend to provoke that monster to the point where shooting him would be considered self-defense. Only he would know that it was something else. Him, and his family.

Him, and his God.

Adam remained still. The rain trailed down his cheeks. "What do you want from me?" he asked at last.

"Son, I want you to do what you do best – think!" his father said as he came to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are a man. I have no right to make your decisions. But I'm your father and that does give me a right to state my opinion and, perhaps, have an influence over them. The best revenge is not to become your enemy." The older man shook his head. "An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind."

Adam ducked his head. It took a moment before he could speak and, when he did, his words were a whisper on the wind.

"God, Pa. If Joe dies…."

"He won't." His father squeezed his shoulder. "Your little brother never gives up. Joseph won't start now."

Adam snorted. "You sound like you have it personally from the Almighty."

Pa looked up. The rain struck his weary face. It ran in rivulets from the fringe of gray hair on his forehead, into his red-rimmed eyes. "Not a guarantee, Adam. None of us get guarantees. But an assurance? Yes, I have had that." The older man dropped his head to look at him. "On my knees beside your brother's sick bed, I felt a presence."

It took a second. "Marie?"

Pa nodded.

"Doesn't that…frighten you?"

His father chuckled as he struck rain from his eyes. "It did at first, but then I remembered the promise your step-mother made to me as she lay dying."

"May I ask what that promise was?"

"That she would always look after Joseph. I don't believe Marie is here to take your brother. I believe she has come to send him back to us." His father hesitated. "Still, Joseph may…want to go with her. Choosing to live can be far more painful than letting go and dying."

"Joe has an anchor on this side of the veil," Adam said softly.

"Oh?"

"You, Pa." Adam grinned. "Don't you know, you're our anchor in the storm."

The older man shook his head. "I'm only a man."

"And a good one. You've taught us well." Adam looked past his father to Doc Martin's office. A light burned in the back window; mute testimony to the battle his baby brother was fighting. "I'm still going after Duke Miller."

"Adam, no! Didn't you –"

"Not to kill him, Pa, to bring him in. There's no way the little weasel can wriggle out of it this time, no matter how high-powered his attorney is."

"No one saw him. There's no way to prove he was the shooter," his father warned. "The building is too high."

"No, but there's enough circumstantial evidence to convince any jury and, this time, there will be no magical set of twins to pull out of a hat. Duke will be convicted, Pa, and I will stand by the gallows and watch him swing."

"Isn't it you who likes to say, 'any man's death diminishes me?"

The words were John Donne's. He knew them well. 'Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee."

"Yes, and I know for whom the bell tolls," the man in black said as he turned and started down the street. "It tolls for Duardo Miller."

oooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright stood just inside Doc Martin's office. He was watchin' his Pa and older brother through the window. They was standin' in the middle of the street. It was pourin' and they was soaked to the skin, but neither one of them seemed to pay the rain no never mind. Adam told him before he left that he was goin' after Duke Miller. He'd tried to talk him out of it, but had about as much luck as Pa was havin' now. Older brother blamed himself for Little Joe gettin' shot. He understood why.

Considerin' what happened, he would have blamed himself too.

Hoss left the window and headed for the Doc's examining room. Once there, he leaned on the door jamb and looked at his baby brother. Joe'd gone quiet, which kind of scared him, but the Doc had said it was all right. Joe was sleepin' natural-like at last, or so it seemed. Thinkin' about what his little brother done – takin' on Duke Miller back when Carlos Rodriguez was killed – reminded him of somethin' his pa had told him once. Pa called Little Joe his 'knight errant'. When he'd asked what that meant, the older man told him a knight errant was the kind of a feller who wandered around lookin' for 'chivalrus' adventures, like savin' damsels in distress and overcomin' fire breathin' dragons. Joe sure was one of them there knights. Nothin' could stop him from puttin' himself in the line of fire for someone he loved.

Someone like Adam.

If anyone had asked him, he would have told them he weren't so sure older brother was the target of them bullets Duke Miller or one of his cronies let fly. Duke knew little brother. That varmint knew full Joe would throw himself in front of Adam, or him or Pa, if there was a chance they could get hurt. Still, he guessed, it really didn't matter who the bullets was meant for. Miller hated Little Joe and Adam for what he thought they done to his Pa, which was only what any man would have done – run and try to stay alive. He didn't remember a lot about it. He'd been a little feller, not yet twelve years old. But he did remember their pa comin' home carryin' Little Joe in his arms, and the endless nights after that when Joe woke up cryin' and they had to comfort him. Adam woke up too, but he wouldn't let Pa or him offer him nothin'. Brother Adam thought he had to be the strongest of all so's he could hold them together.

Trouble was, there was no one to hold brother Adam together.

Pushing off the door jamb, Hoss entered the room where Little Joe lay. The Doc had worked for hours tyin' up the bleeders that was killin' him. 'Cause of the new surgery, Doc Martin had made them tie Joe's wrists and ankles down. Little brother wasn't gonna like it when he woke up, but it was somethin' they had to do to keep him from reopenin' his wounds. The Doc told them Joe wouldn't survive another operation, not when he was so weak. Paul was afeared Little Joe's heart would give out. Hoss let out a sigh. Little brother had just about the biggest heart in the territory. It'd be like the dam burstin' and the water runnin' off the mountains.

Everythin' that mattered would go along with it.

"Mmmm…mmm."

In an instant Hoss was at his brother's side. "Little Joe?" he asked as he stroked his brother's curls. "Joe?"

Joe's eyelashes fluttered and then he opened his eyes. At first they were without focus. Little brother blinked and opened them a second time, and seemed to be seein' clearly.

"Hoss?" he mouthed.

"Yeah, it's old Hoss. How are you feelin', Punkin?"

Joe licked his lips. "Old enough…not…to be called…Punkin." His brother's thick eyebrows dipped in the center with pain as he attempted to shift. "What'd you…do? Drive…the herd over…me?"

Hoss snorted. "I sure enough did, little brother. You made a real nice bridge."

Joe's frown deepened. Panic entered his eyes.

"I…can't move. Hoss! What's wrong? Why can't I…?"

The big man placed a hand on his brother's chest and gently pushed him down. "Joe. Little Joe! Calm down, boy! The Doc's got you tied down . You was thrashin' somethin' fierce. He was afraid you'd hurt yourself worse."

Joe was pulling at the straps on his wrists. " Hoss, please!" The panic was still there. "Untie me! Please…."

Hoss was standing now, with one hand on each of his brother's arms. "Now, Joe, think about it. You ain't doin' nothin' to show me that I can. You gotta calm down first, you hear me?"

"No!" Joe was thrashin' from side to side. "No! Let me…go!"

"Joseph!"

It might as well have been the voice of God.

Little brother stopped dead and looked toward the door. All the piss and vinegar seemed to go out of him when he saw Pa standin' there, lookin' for all the world like a drown-dead rat.

"Pa?" Joe whimpered.

Hoss considered for a few seconds whether or not he should let go of his brother. Then he did and crossed over to their pa. He looked the older man up and down.

"You better get them wet clothes off, Pa, 'fore Doc Martin sees you," he said.

"Later," his father replied as he headed for Little Joe. "Now, what is this, young man about disobeying your doctor's orders?" he asked.

Joe looked so pitiful. He pulled on one of the restraints. "I'm trapped, Pa. I can't move!"

There was a world of hurt in that one word. Little Joe was always on the move.

Pa laid his hand on Joe's wrist, his fingers circling the strips of linen they had used to bind him. "I know, son, and I'm sorry. But we had to be certain you wouldn't hurt yourself. You've been very sick." The older man's voice rang with emotion. "Even out of your head."

"What…happened?" Little Joe asked as he fell back to the bed.

Pa turned and shot him a look. Hoss moved in a little closer.

"What do you remember?" their father asked.

Little Joe's jaw tightened and he scowled. It made him look just like a little boy what was tryin' to think through the reason he was gettin' whupped.

"I was…waiting on Adam. Outside the…Maitland's place…."

"And?"

"A glint. Something…glinted." Joe looked up and began to struggle again. "On…top of the stable! Someone's got a gun! Gotta get…out of…no!"

Pa used both hands to hold Joe down. "Joseph! This is why your wrists and feet are bound. You need to calm down."

Joe stared at Pa for several heartbeats and then nodded. His brother swallowed hard as he settled. "He…shot me, didn't he? Duke Miller…shot me."

"Yes, and he almost killed you, son. You were hit twice. Once in the side and once in the back."

Joe's eyes closed. His breathing was ragged; uneven. "Hurts…."

Pa reached out to caress Little Joe's cheek. "I imagine it will for some time. But you're awake and that's a good sign."

Little Joe looked straight at Pa. "She sent me back," he said, his tone wistful. "I didn't want to come."

Pa was working on freeing Joe's wrists. He glanced at him before answering. "Your mother, you mean?"

Joe nodded. "How'd you…know?"

Pa smiled as he reached for Joe's other hand. "She was here. I could feel her presence."

Joe had turned his head. He was staring off into space. "She was so…beautiful," he said, his tone wistful. "Mama wanted…me to go with…her. She was…calling me."

Pa halted what he was doing and reached out to cup Joe's chin in his hand. He waited until the boy met his gaze. "You mother loves you, Joe. Just as your brothers and I love you. It's just like when you were young and went away. Marie was always there, waiting in the doorway, to welcome you home."

"She's there now…waiting…." Joe was growing tired. His words were slurring. "Waiting for…."

His father let out a sigh as he laid Joe's free hands on his chest. Little brother was asleep.

"Let's pray Marie waits a long time," he said to no one in particular.

"He didn't ask about Adam," Hoss said.

Their father out a hand to his back and stretched. "No, and that's a blessing. Joseph needs to rest and regain his strength, not worry about the foolhardy path his oldest brother has chosen."

"Adam went after Duke Miller?"

"Yes."

"Do you know which way he went?"

Pa shot him an astonished look.

The big man shrugged. "I figure someone better go mind him. You're needed here," he indicated his brother with a nod, "so I guess that leaves me."

"Are you seeking revenge as well?" Pa asked.

"I want it, sir, but I ain't gonna find it by wrinin' Duke Miller's neck with these here hands. Though it sure would feel good," the big man admitted. "I want to see Duke get what he deserves for what he done to Joe, but also for what he done to Paco and his pa. Duke Miller needs to hang."

"Vengeance is mine, the Lord says, I will repay," his father quoted softly.

"Yeah, Pa, but ain't we God with skin on? It takes hands to tie a knot and pull a lever on a gallows."

Pa glanced at Little Joe where he lay so still and pale. "Go with my blessing," he said at last, "and, son, go with God."

Hoss pursed his lips and nodded. Then he returned to the front room, locked his gun belt around his hips, took his coat off the rack and put it on, and headed out in to the stormy night.

oooooooooo

In spite of the wild weather Adam managed to climb to the top of the livery. As he guessed, there was little to see. After taking a look at the roof he went inside and spoke to the owner, who was glad to tell him what he knew about the day Little Joe had been shot. The man said he'd been startled by three outlaws who came into the stable and demanded at gunpoint that he supply them with fresh horses. He feared for his life as he only had two on hand. The tallest of the outlaws, whom Adam supposed by his description was Otie Brennan, became enraged and attacked him. During the scuffle the stable owner was shoved back. He hit his head on a beam as he went down and briefly lost consciousness.

When he came to, the man said he'd found himself bound hand and foot to that same beam. He was gagged as well. The outlaws were still there and were discussing going up to the roof to lay in wait for someone. It assuaged his guilt a bit to hear that their intended target had been Joe all along and not him, but it enraged him as well. How dare anyone so coldly and calculatedly plot his baby brother's death? And for nothing more than an insult! The stable owner told him that Duke Miller was harping on how Joe had shamed and humiliated him, and how he'd made a vow that day that he would pay Joe back if it took the rest of his life. The man also told him that even though Little Joe was the target, Miller had mentioned that he didn't really care who he killed – Joe, him, Hoss, or Pa – as he knew Joe would feel responsible; that any of their deaths would cause little brother to die slowly, inch by inch.

Adam's fingers clenched into fists. Killing Miller with his bare hands was looking better by the minute.

He was outside the stable now, kneeling in the dirt; looking for any signs that might have survived the rainfall. As he rose to his feet, the man in black planted his hands on his hips and looked out of the city and toward the dawning day. It seemed, if you had taken one life, that the thought of taking two grew easier and that frightened him. He'd told Joe he didn't like to think about Peter Kane, and he didn't. In fact, he chose not to. Adam glanced down at his hands. After…Kane, he'd thought long and hard about those hands. He remembered using them to hold Joe when Marie presented his tiny wriggling baby brother to him for the first time. He'd used them to comfort both Hoss and Joe when they'd been sick. He'd held more than one young woman with them – circled her waist , touched her cheek, and caressed her hair. They'd been his lifeline when Pa, Joe, and Hoss found him near dead in the desert. The sweetest thing he'd ever known was his fingers touching his father's face.

But these hands had also killed a man.

Could he stop himself from killing another now?

"Adam."

He jumped. Adam turned to find his middle brother standing behind him. "What are you doing here?" he asked with a little heat. "Why aren't you with Joe?"

"Joe don't need me, he's got Pa." His brother moved closer. "You ain't got no one but Peter Kane's ghost."

"So, you're a mind reader now? You think you know what I'm thinking?"

"Nope." Hoss' lips were pursed. He shook his head. "I know that I know. You ain't said much, Adam, but Kane's with you all the time."

"I killed Kane, Hoss. Killed him with my bare hands."

"And he deserved to die. Plain and simple."

"It's not…so plain or simple." Adam scowled. "There's justice…."

"Ain't vengeance a kind of wild justice, Adam?" his brother asked. "One that takes over when the law fails."

Adam snorted. "Don't let Pa hear you say that."

"Pa growed up in a civilized place. I respect him, Adam, more than I can say, but that don't mean he ain't a man, and a man can be wrong."

"Is that what you would have said if Joe had killed Red Twilight?"

Hoss sucked in air and let it out very slowly. "Joe was mad as a rattler on a spit. He weren't thinkin', he was reactin'. You don't look mad."

Adam nodded. "Nor do you."

"I ain't sayin' I don't intend to do everythin' I can to bring Duke Miller in alive. But, well, if he won't come willingly, then I ain't sayin'. Someone's got to make him pay for what he done in the past and what he's done right now." His brother's crystal clear blue eyes blazed. "I won't let Duke Miller get by with nearly killin' Little Joe."

Adam grinned. "Fratres ab aeternitate, eh?"

"Frat what?"

The man in black shook his head. "Never mind. Come on, Hoss. We're wasting time. If we intend to catch up with Duke Miller before he gets to the border, we'd better hit the road."

Hoss didn't understand what he had said. It was in Latin, of course. But that's what they were, the three of them, and would always be.

Brothers from eternity.

oooooooooo

Ben Cartwright stood in the doorway of Paul Martin's office, looking out on the waxing day. The sun was rising behind the mountains and, while the town was still in the throes of darkness, the light would soon dawn and chase the shadows away. Behind him, in Paul's examining room, lay his youngest son. Little Joe was alive. His son was doing better, but still fighting for his life. Out there, somewhere, were the other two young men he had reared. Two young men old enough to live their own lives and make their own decisions. The rancher knew he would be lucky if the three of them chose to stay with him. By the worlds standards each had reached the age where most young men broke away, leaving to pursue their own dreams. His sons were still a part of his world, though he knew one day that would end. The first to go would be Adam. The boy…no…the highly intellectual young man was restive; his thoughts unsettled. His eldest son felt a need to challenge everything he'd been taught. Adam wanted to learn new things – to see new sights – and then to make the choice of where he belonged. Ben smiled. For the moment his oldest son had put away his own needs and desires. Until Joseph reached an age where Adam could confidently and comfortably consider his baby brother old and wise enough to walk on his own – until Joseph no longer needed him – he would remain.

Ben looked back at his son. Joseph was breathing hard; his fever climbing once again.

God help him, he prayed that day did not come soon.

A sound attracted the older man's attention to the stair. Paul Martin was descending it, buttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing up, Paul?" the rancher asked as he picked up a lamp and went to light the physician's way.

"Couldn't sleep. I keep thinking about Little Joe and wondering if I've done enough." Paul looked behind him. "How is my patient doing?"

Ben let out a sigh. "Joseph's fever is climbing again."

Paul placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's too bad, but it's also to be expected. Whoever came up with the idea of pumping lead into a man's body should be…." His old friend laughed. "Shot."

Ben chuckled as well. "I'm not sure spears or arrows are any better."

"No," Paul was tucking the tail of his shirt in. "Men have minds of metal. They can't find a cure for what kills a man, but they manage to invent newer and deadlier ways to do it every decade or so." Paul sighed. "I'd gladly give up that kind of job security."

"…security…."

Paul's brows popped up toward the white hair dangling across his forehead. "Was that Joe?" he asked as they exchanged a glance.

Ben headed into the room. "I think so."

As Paul followed, the rancher put the oil lamp down on a side table and went to his son's side. Reaching out, he touched the boy's curly head.

"Joseph?"

Ben was reassured when his son shifted, albeit slightly. As much as he believed the words he had used to comfort his son earlier – that Marie's spirit was there to watch over his recovery and not to guide Joe to the other side – he still feared it himself. A Bible verse came to him as he felt Joseph's forehead, trying to determine if the fever had gone any higher – 'Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief.'

How he lived in that verse!

"See if you can get Joe to rouse, Ben," Paul said. "We need to get some liquids into him."

Ben poured a glass of water and slipped in behind his son. As he lifted Joe's head, intending to hold the cup to his son's parched lips, he heard a sound. He turned just in time to see the face of a grotesque leering outside the window and watch as the early morning light glinted off the barrel of a gun.

"Paul, get down!" Ben shouted as he shifted Little Joe and threw himself across his son's prone form. The window shattered a second later, sending tiny missiles of glass all across the room and into his back. Ben tensed, waiting for the second shot. When it failed to come, he looked around and realized that neither he nor his son had been the intended target. That had been the oil lamp he had left on the table.

Paul's office was on fire!