Chapter 3
"I figure...about five days or so, we should be on Ponderosa land. We'll put this herd in the east pasture, pay off the temporary hands and be home by Monday." Ben declared. He stood on a slight bluff overlooking the river bottom that they had bedded the herd in, watching heat lightning play across the sky.
The lightning was of slight concern, but Ben could already tell that the storm would blow north and west of them, and as there was no thunder to accompany the light show, the herd was unlikely to spook. Still, he planned to be part of the extra night guard for the evening, so that Charlie and his sons could have the night off. Already Joe and Clyde had scampered off somewhere on what Joe called a bracing ride. Ben had warned him, with murder in his tone, that if he didn't take the greatest care, Ben wouldn't hesitate to take his grown son over his knee.
If not the threat, the embarrassment had sufficiently calmed his son's excitement, and Ben had let them leave the camp.
Charlie and Hoss were bent over small pieces of wood, Charlie giving Ben's middle son a lesson in whittling. One of the few trinkets that Hoss had picked up on the reservation had been a delicately carved peace pipe. The fine handiwork had captivated Hoss and when he found out that Charlie was a fair hand at carving, Hoss had become an eager student. Teaching his powerfully built son to carve tiny curlicues into a sliver of wood was a job that Ben didn't envy his foreman and ramrod, but Charlie was patient. And had nothing else to do on his night off.
Ben heard another frustrated "dadburnit" come from the fire and he chuckled into the last of his coffee. He watched one of his hands, half a mile off, start after a pair of yearlings that refused to beddown and kept the man in sight until he disappeared behind a rise. He had fine young stock this time, at least three bulls from which he could sire a winter herd, and home was so close he imagined he could smell the pines and Hop Sing's cooking already. The good time they had been making meant that they would arrive home before the Founder's Day celebration in Virginia City, and he and Hoss had already started planning how they would participate that year.
Ben closed his eyes, he drew in a lungful of fresh air and looked to the stars with a full heart.
"Indiaaaaaaaans!"
"What!?"
From around the rise, the hand that had gone after the yearlings came charging on his horse, screaming at the top of his lungs that they were under attack by indians. The cattle nearest the hand jolted to their feet and Ben watched his other men start pulling their guns, searching the rise. Ben and Hoss rushed to their horses with Charlie hot on their heels, riding down to the panicked cowhand. As he got closer Ben thought the man had been shot with an arrow. In the gloom he could see the feathered tip behind the man's back. Charlie, Ben and Hoss shouted for calm and Charlie broke some of the men apart by ordering them to look to the herd.
Ben rode up to the panicked man, listening to his frightened babble about hearing hooting, hollering, and then being shot with the arrow.
"Son, the arrow is in your saddle." Ben snapped, reaching out and wrenching the shaft free of the leather. "It also doesn't have an arrow head." He said, holding up the slightly pointed end that had been coated in molten lead and cooled.
"Hey, Pa. Isn't that-"
Ben growled. "Yes...it's one of the arrows your fool brother bought at the reservation."
"So it was indians!" The hand insisted.
"It was no more indians than it was Robin Hood!" Ben barked. "You men get back to work. Get this herd bedded down. Williams, what about those yearlings you went after."
"Why they're still out there, Mr. Cartwri-"
"You and Hoss get those yearlings back to the herd and then stay here." Ben glared at the arrow then snapped it in half. "I'll go deal with that...brother of yours."
"I'm..I'm real sorry, Hoss. I thought sure it was indians. I heard 'em hooping and hollering and everything." Williams said, looking cow-eyed.
"Well...if you knowed anything about this area, you'd known there ain't been any indian attacks here since the forties. But...I know you is from Texas, and couldn't have known that."
"Your Pa looked ripe to kill…"
Hoss nodded a bit and sighed. "Lucky for you, he only wants to kill Joe at the moment. How 'bout you go on up and get you some coffee. I'll see to them yearlings and you can take over again when I get back."
Williams offered a timid smile and said, "Thanks, Hoss." He headed up to the camp, shaking hands still reaching for his hairline from time to time.
Hoss rode his horse behind the rise, calling softly for the young cattle and listening for a response. Over the years he'd found a way to mimic the call of a momma cow, and did a fair enough job that, depending on the age and gender of the critter he was after, he could usually draw them out without too much trouble. An hour later he knew he hadn't lost his touch. Mooing over his shoulder, Hoss was able to guide both of the young cows straight back to the herd where they settled down without a fight.
Hoss returned to the camp, spotting the pinto and his father's horse. He was surprised to see only a glum Little Joe sitting by the fire, feeding bits of wood into the flames. The closer he got he realized that the sticks had varnish on them, and at least one had a leather thong tied around the end.
Hoss sat at the fire and watched Joe feed the flames, spotting a few smaller sticks with feathers attached, sticking up out of the coals.
"Um..Joseph?"
Joe looked up, gave him the saddest look he'd ever seen, then tossed the last of his small pile of sticks into the flames.
"Why are you burnin' your new bow?"
Joe's lower lip popped out and he took his time thinking up an answer before he leaned back against his saddle. "It's better for everyone that way." He said, confidently. "Besides...I can always get a new one on the next drive."
"You'll do no such thing, Joseph." A pained voice called from under the blanketed lump laying near their father's saddle.
Hoss watched Joe's face for a bit then squinted at the lump and called, "Pa...I thought you was going to ride night herd."
Ben groaned and Joe gave out a squeak that was so quickly stifled, Hoss thought it might have been a frog or a mouse. When he snapped his gaze back to his little brother he could see his shoulders shaking, his face hidden in his hands. He heard stifled gasps coming through Joe's fingers, drifting over the fire.
"Joseph...you'd better not be laughing." Came a low threat from Hoss' Pa.
Joe gave a mighty struggle calming his breaths, wiping tears from his face, struggling to loosen the muscles forming a taut smile. His voice was a little too tight when he responded, "No, Pa."
Ben shifted under the blanket, grunted in pain, settled and sighed. Joe went back to quivering silently with his hand over his mouth every couple of seconds and Hoss cleared his throat.
"Want me to go out and sit your shift for ya."
Joe, taking a drink of coffee, choked on the liquid and some of it came out of his nose. His eyes were wide, staring in terror at the blanket covered bear.
Ben sighed wearily, "No, Hoss. I think the men can handle it tonight. You...rest up."
"Sure thing, Pa."
"Did you get those yearlings back?"
"Yeah...their gentle as lambs, and sleepin' by now."
"Good.." Ben said softly, his voice drifting.
"Sure are mighty big pains in the rump during the day, though." Hoss commented.
The laugh that burst out of Joe could be heard throughout the riverbed. It knocked Joe onto the ground and had him rolling around in delight, giggling madly.
"Joseph!" Ben roared. "You will carry me on your back from here to the Ponderosa and back again if you don't shut up and go to bed, RIGHT NOW!"
Joe did his best to comply, his face once more bathed in tears. "Sorry, Pa. Good night."
"Good night." Ben grunted.
"Good night, Hoss."
"Night, Little Joe."
"Never again, Hoss. Never again." Ben moaned, pulling the blanket tight against his shoulders and doing his best to get to sleep.
"The wire from Pa said they should be in a little earlier than we thought." Adam called up to the simple swing that held Bucky, a bucket of red paint and some brushes. "Sounded like tomorrow maybe."
"I'm nearly done up here, Adam. Shouldn't take more than an hour to get the other side done." Bucky called back, stretching his hand out to the full length of his arm to get red paint in the tight triangle where the wall met the peak of the barn.
"I appreciate your offering to go up there. I don't know why you like heights so much, Bucky, but I'm grateful."
Bucky reached back for the bucket of paint and paused a moment, leaning his hand against the barn. Adam winced at the red paint that would now be coating that hand, but didn't say anything. "My daddy always said my momma was part mountain goat. Course, he meant it as a compliment, cause she was so graceful."
Bucky went back to his work and Adam couldn't fight the grin. He'd grown especially fond of Bucky over the past few weeks, even if he was almost as big a handful as Little Joe. It was his being a handful that had Adam on the ground under him, a safety rope guided behind his back, through the crook of his bad arm, the gloved hand of his good arm, up over the jutting out beam of the roof and down to the loop around Bucky's waist.
Once the barn was done Adam and Bucky would be heading into town to pick up the China that had arrived two days before. That, and a few housekeeping chores, were the last of the tasks that needed to be done before Ben arrived home. Adam had already planned a sizeable meal with Hop Sing, during which he had decided to present the new china. He would admit to having accidentally broken the china hutch and it's contents, and would assure his father that the cost of the new flatware came out of his earnings. Bucky, Billy and Jimmy had all offered to pitch in, but given that it was Adam's slip-up that caused the fire in the first place, he had turned them down.
He would keep the fact that he was dead broke, because of the additional supplies for the barn and bunkhouse, to himself, and consider it the least of his suffering. He'd even healed enough to go without the sling and had been exercising his arm a little each day. For as little trouble as his father had had on the cattle drive, Adam was eager to prove he'd handled things smoothly on the ranch.
Most of the work that he'd tasked himself with before the fire, had been done. It had meant very long days and sore nights. It also meant that Adam would have to scrounge up bonus pay for the dedication Bucky and the twins had shown pitching in past normal hours. It would be worth it. And should any of the three choose to leave the Ponderosa, he planned to send them off with a letter of recommendation minted in silver.
"Alright..that's it." Bucky called, "Comin' down." Together they eased Bucky to the ground, moving the swing and the safety rope around to the other side of the barn. In short order, Adam had Bucky back up against the sky, filling in the last coat of red paint at the peak. The barn complete but for drying, Adam lowered Bucky to terra firma and they put the tools away together before going into the main house and bunk house respectively to change.
Riding into town on the buckboard Adam could feel the fervor of the preparations for Founders Day. Even the fourth of July wasn't as festive, and he didn't remember a Founder's Day celebration yet that hadn't left them with tales to tell and memories to cherish. Adam drove the buckboard to the general store where Bucky stepped down to stretch his legs, then started for the saloon.
"Join you in a minute." Adam called before he stepped down onto the boardwalk. His business in the general store didn't take long. The new plates, much like the old ones in design and color, would match the remaining dishes from the old set handsomely, and provide extra serving space for Hop Sing's meals. Adam collected the crates, securing them in the wagon before heading down the street to the post office.
He collected the mail and a telegram from his father that had been sent just that morning. He read the telegram more than once before he walked, somewhat baffled, back to the wagon. Once the mail was secured and the telegram neatly tucked into his pocket, Adam stepped into the saloon and found Bucky waiting for him at one of the tables, a glass of beer waiting in front of an empty chair.
Before Adam could sit down another man slipped into the seat, slapped Bucky across the back, and started guzzling. The slap had spilled Bucky's beer and he turned an outraged look on the man that had hit him, gingerly stepping out of his now wet seat.
Adam knew that Founder's Day attracted all sorts. From vendors and promoters looking to make extra money where the customers were in plenty, to cowboys, miners and farmers lonely for company or itching for trouble. Adam figured this was one of the latter and stepped to the table, stretching out a calming hand to Bucky.
"You may not have realized, but that's my beer you're drinking." Adam said, calmly. The man behind the mug was a little older than Adam. He had on a cotton shirt and leather vest, but his pants were buckskin. Adam looked him over, from his sunburned cheeks to his work roughened hands and figured he was a miner, trapper or both. The man didn't look necessarily mean spirited, just very drunk.
Adam smiled, the drunk smiled. Bucky looked between them until the drunk set the beer down and mumbled an apology. Adam saw his cheeks color and figured the man was sufficiently embarrassed enough not to cause further trouble. He waved at the tender for another beer then sat and pulled out the telegram.
"Looks like my father got waylaid in Silver Peak."
Bucky was still eyeing the drunk man who now stood at the bar, but settled back to finish the last of his spilled beer. "Silver Peak...ain't that a mining town."
"Tis, tis." Adam said, then read the telegram. "Minor set back. Spending a few days in Silver Peak. Cattle pushing ahead. Brother Joe will explain."
"Brother Joe..Little Joe?" Bucky asked.
Adam nodded, lips pressed together. "I'm afraid that means that Pa ran into trouble after all." Adam said, then accepted his beer from the tender and drank. "But, if he's sending Joe, and presumably Hoss, on ahead with the cattle it can't be too bad."
"Maybe your Pa is buying a mine."
Adam shook his head slowly. "Mm-mm. Pa isn't one for digging up the earth unless you're planting a tree in it."
"Do you think he got hurt, maybe?"
"Could be. Sounds like Joe will have the answers. If they left Silver Peak this morning.." Adam drew in a breath, leaning back on the hind legs of his chair and crossing his arms as he did the math, "That would put them close to the Ponderosa in about ten days."
"Wow...somethin' must of happened, for them to be that late."
"That's assuming Pa and the herd were in Silver Peak at the same time. I doubt he would've driven 800 head into a mining town."
"They'll miss Founder's Day." Bucky said, his tone genuinely sympathetic.
"I guess that means we'll have to have as much fun as we can in their stead." Adam said.
Bucky grinned and they tapped their glasses together happily.
That afternoon they returned to the Ponderosa to break the news to Hop Sing. The talented chinaman threw such a fit, much of the grand meal already being prepared, that Adam had to promise him a table full of hungry people who would eat every bite come tomorrow, Cartwrights or no Cartwrights.
In short order Adam, Bucky and the twins had invited the planning committee for Founders Day, their wives, and especially their daughters, to the Ponderosa. The invitation was accepted gladly and the following day the main house was filled with laughter, music, fine food and grand plans. Adam found himself incorporated into the committee and was soon asked to judge the pie contest, the roping contest and the rock breaking contest. Adam's connections with area musicians led to the creation of a day-long schedule of music and dancing to be enjoyed in between all the contests and presentations.
When the line of buggies pulled away from the main house at dusk Adam was pleased, Hop Sing was glowing and the rest of the men of the Ponderosa were buzzing with the excitement of the coming celebration, said to be greater than any before.
Midway through the week Adam went into town to confirm the musicians that would be playing, and sent a telegram to Silver Peak. "Sorry you will miss Founders Day. All is well?"
The reply came later that afternoon. "Leaving Silver Peak tomorrow. Anxious to hear about Founders Day when I return."
The telegram, brief as it was, eased some of Adam's fears about his father's health, and he felt himself a little lighter as he headed for his horse. The rest of the week passed quickly and Founder's Day dawned bright, clear and warm.
Adam, Bucky and the twins left early enough that they reached Virginia city by eight in the morning. Adam let the others loose with the usual reminder that they should stay out of trouble, then went about his planned duties as the youngest, and most eligible, member of the Founder's Day Committee.