SIXTEEN

oooooooooo

The stable owner insisted they take two of his horses instead of fetchin' their own as they'd be fresher. Hoss had his hands on one of them now, smoothin' its rich coat and tellin' it 'thank you for lettin' him ride. As the horse nickered its consent, the big man heard a familiar sound. He glanced at the livery door and then looked at his older brother only to find Adam was lookin' at him.

"Did you hear that?" the big man asked even as the sound of a second shot echoed through Virginia City's streets.

Adam's nod was curt.

"Probably some local havin' a little too much fun tonight, you think?" he suggested.

His brother dropped the cinch he'd been tightening and walked toward the front of the stable. Once there, Adam slid the door open and looked out. "It's nearly four. Seems a little early to be taking pot shots at a post – "

Adam sucked in air and went white.

Hoss had a sinking feelin' in his stomach.

"It's on fire," his brother said.

"What's on fire?"

The face his brother turned toward him was white as a windin' sheet.

"Doc Martin's office."

ooooooooo

By the time he and Hoss reached the building that housed Paul's office, the alarums were going up in the city. Church and fire bells were ringing out. In a dry, dusty place like Virginia City fire was a constant threat and an even greater danger. Before it could be stopped, it was not uncommon for the fire to spread, consuming more than the single wooden structure involved. A few years back, after a devastating fire that destroyed a third of the city, a volunteer bucket brigade had been created. That was followed quickly by the first official volunteer fire engine company. There were several now in town.

"Adam, look!"

The smoke was thick as it billowed out of the office door. In the midst of it, he could make out two men. The first came down the steps rapidly. He stopped at the bottom, bent over, and began coughing. The second was tall, somewhat ungainly, and definitely unsteady on his feet. The man slipped several times and almost fell as he descended the short staircase. Adam squinted in an attempt to pierce the dark night, the thick smoke, and the unholy glare from the fire itself so he could see who it was. A gasp, quickly followed by a hand on his shoulder confirmed his worst fear.

"Adam, it's Pa! Look! He's carryin' Little Joe!"

Carrying their baby brother who had two holes in his back and a dozen bleeders that didn't want to stop.

Doc Martin righted himself and stumbled toward them. His exposed skin and clothes were covered in soot. "Adam, send…someone," the Doc said as he drew a breath. "Get…a stretcher….something flat for your…brother to lie on."

"I'm on it!" Hoss declared and was gone.

"How's Little Joe?" he asked.

"Not…good." Paul coughed again. "Your Pa's…hurt too. We need to get…Ben…to let someone else…tend to Joe."

"Pa's hurt?" Adam's eyes were on his father. Pa wasn't moving like he was in pain. The older man had dropped to the ground. Pa was sitting, cradling Little Joe's still form to his chest. "How is he hurt?"

"Glass…shrapnel, from the…bullet passing through the window." Paul sucked in another lungful of air and seemed to recover a bit. His look was grim as raised a hand and waved. "Hoss! Bring the stretcher over here!"

Adam turned to look. Along with his brother came Fire Engine Company No. 1. He recognized several of the citizens running alongside the department's only vehicle. The man in black wasn't sure if it was luck or Providence that had seen fit to have so many men ready to go this early in the morning, but whichever it was, he was more than grateful.

One of the volunteers was helping Hoss carry the stretcher. Middle brother tossed a glance in their father's direction. "How's Little Joe?" he asked.

"Holding his own," he answered grimly.

"Bring that stretcher over here!" Paul Martin ordered. "We need to get this boy lying flat as quickly as possible! It's imperative I get Joe out of the night air and somewhere clean where I can check his stitches." The doctor met his troubled gaze. "Adam, one of you needs to tend your father."

Hoss' big hand landed on the doctor's shoulder. "Is Joe gonna be able to make it through this?"

Paul let out a sigh. "That's up to God…and Little Joe."

As the doctor moved to their father's side, Hoss looked at him. "You gonna tackle Pa or me?" he asked with a shift of his eyebrows.

Adam was looking at the doctor's office, which was still on fire. Since it had rained so hard only a few hours before, the fire company didn't need to worry all that much about dousing the outside of the structure, though it was sending smoke up into the air in a black wave. It was the interior of the building that was on fire; the interior of the building that had borne the brunt of the attack.

For attack it certainly was.

Adam's hazel eyes narrowed. "Hoss, you know as well as I do who did this," he said. "You'll have to take care of Pa and Joe. I'm going after Duke Miller." Adam paused as he watched two men carry his little brother away. One of Joe's hands dangled lifelessly at his side.

"This has to end."

oooooooooo

"How come we ain't headin' for Mexico, Otie?" Floyd Brennan asked his older brother. "You know the law's gonna figure this out right quick and come after us. That Duke, he's crazier'n an outhouse rat!"

Otie Brennan, who had been Duke Miller's muscle for more years than he could remember, turned to look at his kid brother. "Duke ain't crazy," he said.

They were the crazy ones.

He knew he should have left Duke years before but, even though Duke was bat-shit crazy, he was also clever. And where there was a clever man, there was opportunity for gain. Otie found he prized the finer things in life – the ones only a lot of money could buy. Still, his life was pretty important to him too.

At least enough to agree with his little brother this time.

"I'll talk to him," Otie said and then turned his boots toward the fire. Duke was standing beside it with his arms wrapped around his chest. He was rockin' back and forth on his heels and talkin' to himself like he liked to do. Duke could carry on whole conversations when nobody else was there. Some of the time he was talkin' to his dead Pa, but most of the time he was talkin' to the men he'd killed.

Joe Cartwright was gonna be the next one.

Otie Brennan glanced back along the route they'd taken from Virginia City and then turned toward the East, imagining Ben Cartwright's Ponderosa with its hundreds of men. He'd never admit it to Duke, but it wasn't Joe Cartwright he was thinkin' about, it was those two brothers of his and his pa.

And what they were plannin' on doin' to him.

"Hey, Duke," Otie said as he stopped. "Floyd and I were talkin'. We think it's time we move on."

Otie waited. Sometimes when Duke was talkin' to the dead men in his head, they were all he could hear. He hesitated, trying to decide what was the best way to get through him. One thing you didn't do was touch Duke when he was in one of his moods.

If you did, you'd end up as one of those voices too.

"Hey, Duke. You listenin' to me? We need to talk."

For a moment there was no response. Then Duke looked at him. The Devil was in his eyes.

"I had him, you know," he said.

Otie sucked in his sigh. "I'm sure you did, Duke."

"Joe Cartwright," Duke said as he raised his hand. There was a knife in it. "I had him, here in this clearing, fifteen years ago. I should have killed him then."

"He was a kid, Duke," Otie said, a little uncomfortable. "So were you."

"My padre said the best way to stop an enemy from becoming your enemy is to kill him when he's young."

Otie ran a hand along the back of his neck as he shivered. Considerin' how loco Duke was, he was sure glad he'd never met his pa!

"Come on, Duke. I got kids of my own in California." Otie paused. "I'd kind of like to see them again one day, so I think we ought to head for Mexico. Now."

"We're not going anywhere," Duke said as he ran his finger along the blade, drawing blood. "Cartwright will be here soon."

His brother Floyd had come up beside him. The wiry man's eyes were trained on Duke. "Who's he talkin' about, Otie? Joe Cartwright's a cinder by now."

Otie knew, but he didn't say anything. An old Indian he'd known as a kid had taught him that words – and names – had power. He wasn't about to give any more power to the man he knew would be coming for them.

"Not Joe," Duke said, "Adam. Adam Cartwright."

Apparently Duke never met no Indians.

Otie shifted nervously on his feet. Ever since that night when Adam Cartwright snatched his kid brother out from under Duke's nose – and Duke's pa had died the death he deserved – Duke had had it in for both the youngest and oldest of Ben Cartwright's sons. What happened a month or so back – the 'incident' in the barber shop and Joe Cartwright's shaming of ol' Duke in the town – had added fuel to a fire that had smoldered for fifteen years. Duke vowed he'd get back at Joe Cartwright, and had seen Adam as a way to do it if he couldn't get Cartwright himself. In the end Duke didn't care which Cartwright he killed, just so long as he killed one or more of them.

Still, there was a special hate in Duke's heart for Adam, who had beat him at his own game. Joe Cartwright had been a kid then. Adam was a teenager and old enough to know what he was doing. Duke blamed Adam for his father's death, even though it was the sheriff that pulled the trigger.

'Crazy' didn't need no affidavit.

"You got the kid, Duke. There ain't no way he can live, not with two holes in him and breathin' fire. Ain't that enough?"

Duke was looking at the flames. They reflected in his demonic black eyes.

"No," he said.

A tug on his sleeve reminded Otie of his own kid brother. For just a second, he was filled with remorse. He felt sick, knowing how deeply Adam Cartwright would grieve when his brother died.

For just a second.

"Otie, let's go," Floyd said. "Let's just go and leave Duke here."

The tall blond man wondered why he hadn't left years before. There had to be somethin' wrong with him for him to stay and take the kind of abuse Duke dished out. He told himself that it was because Duke was crazy, and what followed in the wake of his insanity was a trail of dead and broken men who could be fleeced. Easy pickings, so to speak. But they didn't really come all that easy. There were always men – law men – on their tail.

That last time, when they came up for trial and were lookin' at a noose around their necks, he'd almost….

Otie glanced at his brother before saying, "Duke, I think I'm gonna take Floyd and go to Carson and look around. You want to come?"

Duke was still rocking back and forth; still staring into the fire and talkin' to himself. He wasn't sure he'd even heard him.

"Come on, Otie," his little brother pleaded as he pulled at his sleeve. "Ben Cartwright will be right on our tail. I don't want to get caught and go to prison."

Otie Brennan drew in a breath. He took one last look at Duke Miller and came to a decision.

The Devil – and Cartwright – could have him.

oooooooooo

"Sorry about your office, Doc," Hoss said.

Paul Martin was standing by the window in the saloon, looking out and watching as the fire brigade carried the smoldering debris out of the building that housed his medical practice.

"It's all right, Hoss. It can be rebuilt." The doctor turned and looked past him. "It's your brother I'm concerned about."

They'd brought Little Joe into the saloon 'cause Sam had invited them in, and placed him – stretcher and all – flat out on the counter. Paul was waiting for Joe to recover some before moving him upstairs to a bed. The smoke got little brother coughin' and that started him bleedin' again. Fortunately, the Doc got it stopped right quick. Still, Little Joe was weak and the Doc was worried. So was he. Hoss sniffed and ran a finger under his nose before turning to look at the older man who sat by the bar, the back of his shirt rent and bloodied; his shoulders slumped.

So was Pa.

The cuts on Pa's back had been cleaned and bandaged . He was smartin', but he wouldn't admit it and no matter what the doc said, wouldn't lie down and rest. He'd been sittin' with Little Joe, holdin' baby brother's hand ever since they brought him in. From the time Joe'd been a little feller, Pa'd run his fingers through those chestnut curls of his. He was doin' it now, talkin' softly to him and tryin' to comfort him.

Joe was in a lot of pain.

Hoss sniffed again, dug his hands in his pockets, and walked over to where his father and brother were. He was surprised when he got there to see that Joe's eyes was open. They was glassy, but little brother looked at him like he knew him.

"You sure know how to turn a town upside-down, little brother," the big man said, forcing a smile.

Joe drew in a breath. It kind of rattled in his chest. "Hoss…."

"Yeah, Joe?"

"…talk to…you…."

Their father seemed unaware of Joe's request. Then, after a moment, he stirred. Pa ran a hand over his face as he rose. "I'll go get some coffee while you talk to your brother," he said.

"You do that, sir," Hoss replied as he took his father's place. "And take your time."

Joe watched the older man go before rollin' them big green eyes of his over to him "Hoss, you…need to make Pa…get some…rest…."

Hoss snorted. "The Doc must have given you somethin' mighty powerful, little brother. You gotta be out of your head if you think I can work that kind of magic."

"He's…hurting…. On account…of me…."

Joe looked so pitiful it plumb near tore his heart out.

"I'll try, Joe, but you know how Pa is. And it ain't on account of you. It's on account of Duke Miller…."

Joe's eyes had closed. He drew in several breaths and went silent. Hoss' heart pounded hard in his chest as waited from some sign that he was still alive. He was just about ready to press his ear against Joe's chest, when little brother's brows knit together and he sighed.

"…Adam…"

Just his luck, Pa came back at just that instant. The older man sucked in air as he turned toward the door.

Seems Pa hadn't noticed older brother was missin' until that moment.

"Hoss, where is Adam?"

The big man closed his eyes and mustered his strength before turning to face his father. "Pa, now don't get mad. Adam went after Duke Miller."

His father wasn't mad. Or at least, he didn't look mad.

Hoss wasn't sure what he was.

"After I told him not to."

"Yes, sir."

Pa sighed. "I see. And does your brother intend to take the law into his own hands?"

"I don't rightly know what Adam intends, Pa. I ain't sure he knows." Hoss pursed his lips. "He just said this has got to end."

The older man crossed over to the window Paul Martin had recently occupied. The doctor had stepped outside to talk to Roy Coffee. Pa stood with his hands in his pockets, staring out the window for a dozen heartbeats before speaking.

"I may lose one son tonight," he said, his voice breaking. "I can't bear losing two."

Hoss joined him. "Adam's right smart, Pa," he said as he looped an arm around the older man's shoulders. "He's gonna use his head, you'll see. Older brother ain't gonna do nothin' that'll put his life in danger."

Pa looked at him and then, at Little Joe.

"In this case, Hoss," he said softly. "I fear it isn't Adam's 'head' that is in control, but his heart."

oooooooooo

Rage sought to overmaster him. Adam Cartwright used every tool he had in his mental arsenal to beat it down like the savage beast it was, but it refused to be controlled or contained.

He wanted Duke Miller dead.

The list of sins that lay upon Miller's head was a long one, starting with his brutal treatment of Little Joe when he was a child. It moved on through Marie's 'accident' to the recent fall that had almost taken his brother's life, and ended with the shooting where Little Joe had been targeted; gunned down like an animal in the field. And that was not to mention the fire. The trouble was, for each and every attempt on Joe's life, there was no solid proof. They knew – everyone knew – that Duke had done it. The problem was, there was no way to be absolutely certain that, with the help of a shyster lawyer like he had the last time, the coward would not walk away scot-free.

Duke was not going to walk away scot free.

Not this time.

The man in black had been riding hard, following the trail of three outlaws that started at the back of the stable and ran up into the hills. The sun was rising behind the mountains. It 's ascent cast a blood-red pall over the land that suited his mood. A short time before he'd tethered his mount to a tree and begun to move forward on foot. It didn't surprise him to find where Duke Miller's trail led. In some way, he'd known all along where he would find the villain; back where all of this had begun some fifteen years before, at the ravine where he had sought sanctuary with Little Joe.

The ravine that had served as his father's grave.

The sheriff had worn a badge that day, so Lemuel Miller's death had been considered a necessary kill and not an execution. He didn't have that luxury. Adam knew that, if he chose to shoot Duke Miller and kill him where he stood, he would be committing murder. It was the same choice he'd faced with Peter Kane. He'd thought he would never be able to kill someone in cold blood. He'd argued with Kane about it, declaring himself a 'better man'; a man of reason and intellect who could and would not be driven to such a violent act. He'd meant it too but then, there, in the desert, the choice had been for himself. This time it was for his little brother.

This time, he was going to get it right.

As Adam approached the ravine a figure appeared on the upper ridge. Duke Miller stepped into the light and halted at exactly the same spot his father had occupied all those years ago. Duke was staring down into the cleft in the land. The ravine had filled overnight with fast-running rain water from the storm that had passed through and he seemed to be contemplating it. Lemuel Miller had intended to kill both him and his baby brother, just as Duke intended to kill him now. It surprised him to find Miller alone. Murderers and cowards usually traveled in packs.

Maybe the Brennans had wised up at last.

Gun in hand, he called out, "I'm here to take you in, Duke. Put your hands up and come down slowly!"

Duke's face was cast in shadows. When he spoke, his tone was as dead as the man who had given him birth.

"Is he dead?" the villain asked.

It galled him, but he answered, "Yes," between gritted teeth. There was no way he wanted Miller going after his little brother in the condition he was in. "You killed Little Joe just like you killed Marie, and now I am going to kill you, you bastard."

The rising light sparked off of something – a gun in Duke's hand, or maybe his cold-blooded sneer. He moved a step closer.

"You don't have the guts, Cartwright. You're all words," Duke scoffed. "You and your lily-livered father and brother." Miller thrust his hands out, their wrists touching. "Go ahead, Cartwright. Take me in. You have no proof of anything. I'll walk this time just like I walked the time before."

Adam's finger twitched on the trigger. His sidearm was primed and loaded. Duke stood there, unmoving; silhouetted against the rising sun. He wasn't wearing a gun belt.

He was too much of a coward.

"You see, Cartwright?" Duke sneered as he took another step toward him. "You can't shoot me down in cold blood. You're too good of a man. Too noble." Duke's tone took on the edge of madness. "I will surrender to you. You will take me to your sheriff and he'll lock me in his jail, but know this, I will be found innocent just like I was before. And when I am let loose, like Lucifer Morningstar, I will wreck havoc upon the earth! There is nothing that can stop me!"

Adam's gun was in his hand and it was pointed at Duke Miller's heart. The man was a blight upon the Earth, a pestilence – a plague that had to be stopped before it wiped out everything and everyone in its path. He was here. He had the gun. They were alone. No one would ever know.

Adam's finger trembled as it closed on the trigger.

No one but him and God.

ooooooooo

Ben Cartwright stood on the porch of the International House, looking west. The day had dawned – and come and gone – and still there was no sign of his eldest son.

Ben was afraid.

Once Paul Martin had deemed Little Joe fit to be moved, he'd brought his youngest to the hotel. It took a suite of rooms to house Paul, who had nowhere to go due to the fire, as well as Hoss and him and his ailing son. In spite of everything – in spite of Duke Miller's repeated attempts to end his life – Joseph was mending. Ben leaned on the railing and closed his eyes as he remembered the moment when he realized he was going to have to take hold of Little Joe and bodily lift him from his sick bed in order to save him from the fire – and maybe kill his son by reopening his wounds. If Duke Miller deserved death, that act alone – the pain that villain caused his son by lighting that fire – would have been enough to earn him the hangman's noose. Joseph had suffered. Dear God, he had suffered! Joseph. Marie. Even Adam. So many had suffered at that wretched man's hands and yet he was free. Ben opened his eyes and straightened up. He had a hard time believing it was God's will, but the likelihood was that Duke Miller would walk away just as he had before. There was no proof of any of his misdeeds – at least nothing that would hold up in a court of law. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

But it was what it was.

As he stood there, thinking, a long lean figure appeared on the horizon, riding into town. Ben recognized him immediately by the cast of his shoulders and the way he sat his horse. Adam rode slowly. He was leading a second horse. There was a body slung over the saddle.

From the way the man was hangin, he could tell he was dead.

Ben Cartwright sucked in air and held the breath against his fears as he waited for his eldest to arrive. He stood there until Adam came to a halt in front of the hotel and dismounted, and then went to greet him.

"Son," he said.

Adam was tethering his horse. He let out a sigh before turning to look at him.

"Pa."

He had never seen his eldest look so weary.

Before he could open his mouth to ask, Adam said, "I didn't kill him, Pa. I wanted to, but I didn't."

The breath escaped between his teeth along with a prayer of thanks.

"What happened?"

"I had Duke in my sights, Pa. I was…going to do it. I couldn't, in good conscience, allow the man to continue to walk the earth."

"But you said…."

Adam turned so his back was braced against the rail. "I pulled the trigger. I let the bullet fly." His son closed his eyes as though reliving the moment. "It hit dead air."

Ben's eyes went to the horse. He could see the dead man's short cropped raven-black hair and noted the deep color of his skin.

"Is it…?"

"It's Miller, Pa. The wall of the ravine gave way. Duke fell in and drowned."

The older man was silent a moment. "Did you try to pull him out?"

Adam opened his eyes. As his son's gaze locked on his, a silence came between them. One pregnant with questions to which there were no answers.

A moment later Adam pushed off the rail. "How's Joe?" he inquired.

"Asking for you." As his son passed him, the older man reached out to touch his arm. "Adam?"

"Yeah, Pa?"

"It's over. Your brother's safe, thanks to you."

A shy smile lit his son's face. He nodded and then headed inside.

Ben watched him go and then turned his own face upward.

Thank God.

It was over.