1

The Ponderosa, even in the dead of winter, was like a new bride on her wedding day. Ben never tired of breathing the air, filling his eyes with it's grandure. Touching the ground, the trees, the snow, and knowing that it was his to protect and foster. He'd taken Buck out early one morning, leaving sharp tracks in the fresh snow. The bitter temperatures made the water crystals sparkle like fields of diamonds when the sun rose. The trees stood, tall and bare, their branches laden with mantles of snow. It was January, well past Christmas, and they were heading toward a new year, but Ben had felt that morning was as grand a gift as a man could receive.

He'd visited his newest hand on his way up the mountain, checking on his progress at the line cabin before taking Buck as far up the mountain as the horse could go. He left Buck with a blanket over his back and plenty of feed.

Ben followed the tracks through the snow. His calves burned from overuse, perched as he was on snowshoes. He had hoped he wouldn't need them but the snow was deeper than usual. His first day tracking the cat he'd felt old and winded. He'd had to backtrack more than once and had been bone tired by the time he returned to where he had left Buck and camped for the night. It was a lot like trail breaking a herd. It took a while to wake the body to the work it once did.

The next day, however, the more he climbed the better he felt, and by noon he hardly wanted to stop. He paused long enough to down some jerky and biscuits. He ate some of the dried fruit he'd packed and built a small fire so that he could melt snow to refill his canteen.

He was back on the narrow deer trail the minute he'd doused the last of the flames, climbing the winding, slender path that showed a myriad of wildlife in the area.

When the deer trail turned a corner, then flattened out into a rocky clearing Ben was surprised to see a wood and fur covered lean-to jutting out from the side of the mountain. The clearing was about as big as his dooryard. But for the shelter, there were no other man made structures.

Long fangs of ice marked where the spring melt would create a trickle of fresh water over a narrow hole in the mountainside. At the foot of the cave, ice had formed over a shallow pool. The hole was big enough to let a man in, but Ben doubted it went very deep. The lean-to was constructed with sticks, leaves and furs. He saw no horse, no tools and no wagon.

There was a ring of ash and coals frosted with fresh snow to the side of the lean-to. A fire that had clearly gone cold a while ago. Ben called to the lean-to and got no answer. He watched the tracks around the structure as he got closer to it, calling a second time.

The low rumble of warning came through the hides, like the lean-to had suddenly come to life. Ben brought his rifle up fast and shucked his snowshoes with fumbling fingers, circling toward the rock face. The snow hid the boundaries of the pool and he realized too late that his right foot was resting on ice. The ice cracked, his foot plunged into three or four inches of freezing water and the crust that covered the rest of the pool popped loud enough for the sound to echo.

The cat burst from the shelter and ran at him faster than he could think. The attack began and ended before Ben could take more than a few steps. He was pushed to the ground, claws making parts of his body flare with heat. He scrambled backwards, through the icy water in the shallow pool and back out onto the snow. He stopped when he felt rock behind him and looked to his hand to find the rifle still there. Ben swung it around and scanned the clearing. The cat was pacing back to the lean-to, watching Ben, studying the effectiveness of its attack. Planning another.

Ben cocked the rifle and raised it and the animal charged again. Ben's shot had to have hit dead center on the cat's chest, but the animal didn't stop. Ben cocked the rifle, then screamed when claws tore his pants and leg open and fired a second time.

The cat wheeled away, screeching in pain, running back for the perceived safety of the lean-to. Ben cocked the rifle a third time, and tried to stand, desperate to keep the cat in sight. He got his legs under him and felt his left knee try to turn under his weight. He caught himself before he fell, taking his weight off the leg then re-situating.

He could hear the cat now, breathing hard, growling and moaning. Ben had no idea where he had hit the animal but he was astonished that it was still alive. He wanted to stay where he was, empty his gun into the lean-to and be done with it. He didn't, for fear of what was still in the lean-to, unseen.

Instead he picked up a stone and heaved it into the small structure. The cat hissed at the intrusion and he saw the furs jump. Ben heaved another rock, chasing the cat into a corner in the lean-to. With his gun brandished Ben charged the lean-to, yanking the furs of one of the walls down and pointing his gun into the shelter.

The move chased the cat out into the open and it bolted across the clearing and down the deer trail. Ben chased it with a shot, then started toward his snowshoes, but his leg gave out. He cried out when he fell, doing his best to minimize the damage. When he was able to sit up, there was too much blood marring the once pure white clearing. Some of it was his own, and some of it belonged to the cat.

Ben rolled onto his belly and crawled to the lean-to, pushing the furs to the side and pulling himself into the meager shelter. His pained pants were producing puffs of steam in the air reminding him of how cold it was. In the dim light he found a body. She wore native clothing but her hair was blonde, her face pale. Her body had been mauled by the cat. There were wounds on her arms and legs that were only days old, and fresher wounds that might have happened hours before Ben got there. Her body was cold. She had been dead since morning, he guessed.

Bunk and beans for a hungry cat, Ben thought. He found two hide bags and went through them, finding a shawl that he could use to tend to his leg. From just above his left knee to his calf the cat had left deep furrows that showed muscle and bone. Ben held his breath, and wrapped his leg as tightly as he could. He had smaller cuts on his arms, chest and face and the water from the pool was already freezing the fabric of his coat and pants.

Ben grabbed the support pole nearest him and fought a surge of lightheadedness to lever himself back to his feet. He was pushing through the canopy of furs when he heard the gurgle. At first he thought it might have come from the woman. That somehow she was still alive. But when he stepped back into the lean-to and took a few steps closer he could see that her eyes were open, glazed over in death. Something moved under her arm however and when he got back to one knee and pushed his hands down onto the mattress of furs he could feel residual warmth from the cat.

Wrapped in that warmth, and a blanket and furs, was an infant. As soon as Ben uncovered it's face the baby began to cry. Ben picked up the child and pulled it into his lap, easing his leg out in front of him with gritted teeth. He grabbed his gun and lay it close to his side before he focused on unwinding the child from it's blankets.

It was a girl. She had bruises against her right side that looked like pin points, but she was unharmed. No doubt hungry. Ben tore through the hide bags and found something clean to wrap around the child's bottom once he had cleaned the mess she had made, then he wrapped her back in layer after layer of cloth and fur.

He searched the body of the child's mother for jewelry, or tattoos. Anything to identify her tribe, even if she had been forced to leave it to give birth to a half-breed child. He filled one of the hide bags with what he found that was useful, and used the other bag to fashion a way to carry the child. He was aware of the time passing, aware of how weak he would be as the day wore on. He was aware of the distance he had to cover, the cat still out there, now wounded and angrier than before. He wanted to stay, bury the body, pack the hides out and make use of their value to care for the child, but the cat and his injuries forced him to do otherwise.

It was one of a million sacrifices that he made in his mind. Sacrifices that he would only make if a child were in danger. It was a function of fatherhood. The child first, his ability to care for the child second, his own desires last.

As his muscles had been quick to acclimate to the climb, Ben's fathering instincts came to him quickly. With his leg wrapped he felt more stable and was able to limp out to the snow shoes. He tied them on over his boots, wrapped the wall of furs that he had torn down, around his shoulders, then left the clearing. The snow shoes made the pain in his leg all the harder to overcome, but Ben knew that without him he wouldn't be able to move at all. He had one of the hide bags over his shoulder, lying against his back under the furs. The hide bag containing the girl child was against his chest, supported by the strap around his neck, so that he could have his hands free.

The baby cried for a time, then fell asleep, wrapped tightly and warm as she was. It was the only contentment Ben could give her. For each yard that he descended there were tracks to account for, a blood trail to follow, and time ticking onward. His hiking companion would wriggle every once in a while, upsetting the careful balance of the burdens he carried, and forcing him to stop. Ben didn't dare to stop long, though. His pants were frozen, his legs stiff with the cold. The heat that his coat and shirt trapped under the furs were all that he had to offer to the baby. Stopping for too long would mean losing that heat.

When his wounds began to bleed through the bandages, and Ben could feel warm blood collecting in his boots he knew it was time to stop, but he kept moving. The cat turned off the deer trail, it's tracks disappearing into deep powder. Ben followed his own tracks down the mountain until darkness had fallen. He found Buck where he had left him. There were no cat tracks near him and his horse was calm and warm under the blanket.

Ben was dragging, but he saddled the animal and pulled himself on board. He pulled the furs up over his head, sank down into their warmth, pressed the baby tightly to his chest and let Buck find the way home. As he rode he could feel his legs and feet starting to freeze. It started with numbness, then pure hot pain. Under the pain he was already in, it didn't make much of a difference to him.

It had to have been well past midnight when Buck stopped in the middle of the dooryard. By then Ben was sure his pants were frozen to the saddle. He urged Buck forward, and nearly onto the porch, with his voice, then reached a shaking hand up to the bell hanging from the eaves and began to ring it.

The sound made Buck jump and woke the baby. Her screams added to the noise he was making and Ben heard feet stomping down the stairs, and watched a light flare to life behind the curtains over his desk.

Adam appeared first, his robe hanging open over pants and slippers. His eldest stared at him for a few seconds before he realized who the fur covered figure was on his father's horse. Ben offered the rifle first, then moaned forcing stiff arms up to his neck, lifting the strap of the hide bag that held the baby.

Adam had the wailing creature in his arms when Hoss stepped out onto the porch. He had pulled a coat on over his nightshirt and slippers. He went to the other side of Ben's horse and stared at the blood coating Buck's side, turning the bandages to a raw crimson. His stomach rolled and Hoss had to swallow hard before stepping to the horse and guiding Ben's wounded leg out of the stirrup.

Adam ran into the house and when he returned he no longer had the baby. The eldest son slipped under Ben's right side and Hoss his left, carrying Ben into the house and setting him down as close to the fire as possible. Without words, without instructions, and without questions his boys buzzed around him doing what needed to be done. Ben sat on the settee, his wounded leg propped on the coffee table, still mostly wrapped in the hides.

His head went back to rest on the cushions and he relished in the fingers of warmth creeping back into his limbs. Through hooded eyelids he watched Joe pile the fireplace high with wood, then jog to the kitchen. He heard Hoss behind him banging around at his desk before his middle son appeared with an empty drawer. Hoss laid the babe down in the makeshift crib, still wrapped tightly in the furs and blankets, his fingers hidden as he tended to her and shushed her.

Joe returned with bandages and soap and peered curiously into the drawer before he went back to the kitchen.

Adam returned to the house and closed the door. "Buck's ok. Looks like all the blood came from Pa. What about the baby?"

"She's probably hungry and tired. She's got some little bruises on her arms and legs, and she needs to be changed, but she's fair healthy. Good color, and plenty warm." Hoss said.

Adam sat next to his father, peeled the hides back, and pulled his hat off. "I guess you found that cat."

"I found him." Ben nodded, shivering hard. Adam turned to his leg and peeled back some of the bandages, stopping when he realized that the cloth was frozen to his father's leg. "I wounded him. But he's still out there."

"How long ago did this happen?"

"O-one, maybe two o'clock."

Hoss' head came up, his eyes wide. "You carried that baby, down off that mountain, for 12 hours, hurt like that?"

Ben closed his eyes wondering how it could have been twelve hours when it had felt like two days.

"He's freezing, and he's feverish. This much blood, the wounds have to be deep. They'll need stitching." Adam said.

Joe came into the room with a mug of coffee and a pot of hot water. Adam held the cup to Ben's lips and let his father drink the entire cup in short sips.

"Joe...t-take that water up to the tub. Draw me a hot bath. Get the epsom salts." Ben said. Joe moved quickly, dragging the water up the stairs then going back to heat more. "Hoss, help me up there. Adam…"

"I'll head into town."

"No...no. The doctor can wait til morning."

"Pa…"

"Please Adam...that baby can't have eaten anything in over 24-hours. I need one of you to get fresh milk for her, warm it up on the stove, not too hot. You'll mix it with a bit of beef broth. You'll need a bottle...and you'll have to sterilize it."

"Let me take care of the youngin', Pa." Hoss said. "I got more practice with babies in general than anybody else."

"Speak for yourself, baby brother." Adam said. "I'll take care of the baby. You get Pa upstairs."

"Boys...y-you don't have to fight over me." Ben whispered, so tired he was beginning to regret his own instructions.

"How do you know we ain't fightin' over that cute little bundle there?" Hoss said, moving to the settee to help Ben upright.

"Did she come with a name?" Adam asked over his shoulder, bending over the drawer.

"No." Ben gasped, "Her mother was dead. Who knows…" Ben was cut off by the pain and effort of the first step. He rested, then finished, "Who knows who the father is."

"Another orphan." Adam said, stroking the babe's cheek with the tip of his finger. The baby responded to the touch by turning her head and opening her mouth to start suckling. Adam winced, realizing how right his father was. The baby had to be starving.

As they continued the slow climb up the stairs Ben said, "I found some beads and moccasins in the mother's things. I didn't recognize the design but we can try to find the tribe in the morning."

"Wait...that's an indian baby?" Hoss asked.

"I th-think so." Ben said, turning on the first landing and squeezing Hoss's arm to ask for a break. "Her mother was dressed in buck skins, had her hair braided, covered in bear grease. The mother was white, blonde."

"Captured or runaway." Hoss said, stepping out of the way so that Joe could go past them with water. He waited for Ben to nod, then they climbed the rest of the stairs heading for the bathing room.

By the time Ben had sunk into the water and become accustomed to the heat and the sting of the salts he was barely conscious. Hoss stayed with him, pouring cupful after cupful of the water over Ben's shoulders and head and making sure his father didn't pass out and drown.

The water turned crimson quickly and once the ice in the bandages had melted, Hoss removed them carefully, exposing the wounds to the briny water. The pain woke Ben up.

"These are bad, Pa. That cat cut you to the bone."

"We'll wrap it back up. You can go for the doc when it's light."

Hoss put the back of his hand to his father's forehead and shook his head. "If you was a horse, I'da shot you and put you outta your misery before now. I'm goin' into town soon as you're dry and bandaged up."

Hoss did what he could to clean the wounds, checking for signs of frost bite while he did. Ben passed in and out of consciousness several times before the process was done. He remained alert wrapped in his robe and night shirt, sitting on a chair while Hoss wrapped his wounds tightly, and withstood the short trip to his bedroom. The small stove in his room was already piping hot when he got there, and the bed and blankets had never felt so good in his life.

By the time Hoss descended the stairs, dressed for the ride into town, the baby was cradled in Adam's arms, wrapped in a blanket that Hoss recognized as having been his when he was that little.

"She eat ok?"

"A whole bottle, and then half of a second bottle." Adam said, looking to Hoss and waiting.

"Got the wounds cleaned up best I could but they're deep. I'm headin' into town for the doc. Pa is in bed, passed out. He'll need cold compresses, and someone to make sure he don't start bleedin' again." Hoss said.

"We can handle it. While you're in town, see if you can't get ol' Cass up, get some things for the baby."

"Things?"

"Diapers, clothes, baby bottles. I had to feed her out of the bottles we use for weaning calves. I diapered her in a napkin. If Hop Sing finds out, he'll skin me alive. Oh...and those pins they use to close the diapers."

Hoss turned to the door then turned back. "I can't remember all that, Adam. Make me a list."

Adam opened his mouth then gestured to the baby, then finally handed her gently to Hoss and went for paper and pen. Hoss enjoyed every moment of holding the sweet smelling bundle, smiling happily down at her while Adam grumbled softly at Pa's desk. When Joe came down from emptying and cleaning the tub he was quick to take her from Hoss' arms, melting at the sight of her.

Adam handed his middle brother the list and sent him on his way, reaching for the baby only to have Joe sweep her off toward the fireplace. Adam took himself to the kitchen to prepare a few more bottles with the remainder of the milk and broth, before he went in search of Joe's cradle. Joe took the infant up to his father's room, rocking in the rocking chair with the baby in one arm, the other arm tending to Ben.

Until the baby messed her diaper and began crying, Joe had begun to believe that fatherhood was easy. When Adam, successful in his search, finished cleaning and lining the cradle he was presented with a crying, smelly baby. Adam directed Joe to the stack of napkins and soap and water in the kitchen and oversaw the changing of the baby, determined that Joe should know how to do it as well as he did.

"I used to do this with you, little brother. Only it was uglier." Adam said, sweetly.

Joe sneered at him, all thumbs with the napkin, trying to get it to look the way it did when Adam did it, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of both Adam and the baby.

"Don't look at me like that." He told her at one point. "You can't do it any better than I can."

When the baby was finally changed and wrapped once more in the blankets Adam laid her in the crib near the fire and Joe stayed with her while Adam went up to tend to Ben until the doc arrived.

When the doctor woke him a few hours later, Ben felt like he'd only just laid down. He was encouraged to lay still but for moving his wounded leg. The doctor had him lift, bend, stretch and twist until Ben was certain every wound had reopened and the bones in his leg were exposed to the open air. The doctor told him there was some damage to the tendons that connected his muscles to his knee, but with treatment the damage could be repaired. "You'll need to follow my directions to the letter, though, Ben. Starting with a lot of rest. Damage like this could detach the muscle from the tendon and leave you a cripple, if you don't."

Sufficiently warned into behaving himself, Ben withstood the stitching process with the aid of two fingers of brandy, and fell back into a feverish slumber before the doctor had finished with the bandages. While Ben slept, his sons introduced the medical man to the newest arrival to the Ponderosa. The doctor looked her over head to foot, prescribed warm baths and regular feedings around the clock. "Of course, mother's milk is always best, but in it's place there are some mixtures that will work. Cow's milk is inferior to goat or lamb's milk, however."

"I..think I know where we can get goat's milk." Adam said, thinking quietly that they might also get mother-like arms to help tend the infant from the same place.

"Good. I'll be back in two days to look in on the little one and your father. Remember to keep him abed until I see him again. He's not to use that leg. Not even to stand on."

The boys bid him farewell as pre-dawn was lightening the sky, and went through the goodies that Hoss had managed to get out of the sleepy mercantile owner.

"Looks like one of us will have to ride out to the Tungsten's." Hoss said, winking at his younger brother.

"Should probably be someone who can...look forward to a warm meal, and a friendly embrace when he gets there." Joe said.

Adam, who was still holding the baby, rolled his eyes. "These two think they're clever." He told her, then sat down in one of the chairs by the fire.

"We know we're clever." Hoss said, grinning at the baby. "Speakin' of smarts, don't you think we oughta name her?"

"Judging from where Pa found her, her mother had to have belonged to either a Shoshone tribe, or what's left of the Bannocks."

"Shoshone Bannock..what a name." Joe said, shaking his head.

"That's a terrible name, Joe." Hoss said with a glare.

"Most indian children aren't given a name until something significant happens in their life." Adam said.

"I wonder what the indian name is for "saved from cat by white haired man"?" Joe said, grinning.

"From what Pa said up in that bath, that cat saved her life just a little, too. He kept her warm, by layin' next to her." Hoss said.

"We'll call her "saved by cat" for short." Joe said, letting out a giggle.

Adam looked to the ceiling thinking if he even knew the Shoshone or Bannock words for the phrase. A minute later he winced. "The shoshone word for mountain lion sounds like 'toko-bitch'." Adam said.

"Nah, we can't call her that." Hoss said.

"The word for snow goose is 'wi-jah'." Adam offered.

"Wee-jaw?" Hoss asked.

"There's a..kind of an 'h' sound at the front of it." Adam said, pronouncing it a few more times.

"What's the word for baby?" Joe asked.

"Oh-maa." Adam said, putting a space between the two syllables that sounded like a short gasp.

"Oh-maa Wi-jah." Hoss said.

"Baby snow goose." Joe translated.

"Suppose that'll do for now." Hoss said.

Adam crossed his ankle over his knee, cradled the baby in the crook of his leg and made it official by telling the baby her new name. "Oh-maa Wi-jah. Welcome to the Ponderosa."

The baby gurgled, hiccup, then soiled her diaper.

Adam groaned and Joe said, "We need to know the words for "poops a lot"."

"That ain't nice, Joseph." Hoss said, vacating the area by offering to take the first watch with Ben.

Adam decided it was his turn to change the baby and he took one of the fresh diapers, the powders, and special soaps, and went to clean her up.

Joe decided it was morning, and he still had the energy to do his chores, and headed out into the dooryard to do them.