Chapter 3
May 7 - Somewhere in the Paiute Nation
"Mr. Adam. Why you think they leave that print on our wagon?" Martha Washington asked. Adam was about even with her from where he sat in the saddle and he sighed softly.
"We see the handprint as a threat. They may see it... as just having counted coup."
Martha was silent for a bit, squinting at the sun. Her bonnet had fallen off twice in the high, hot wind and she had stopped trying to keep it on. "How many coo we got?" She asked finally.
Adam had wondered if the phrase would be familiar to her. He laughed.
"Counting coup isn't like counting sheep. It's more like...proving you're brave by getting as close to the enemy as you can without being seen. The way you tell your enemy that you did that, is by leaving your mark. In this case, a handprint."
"In blood!?" Martha said, expressing her disgust. "They couldn't'a used mud or somethin'?"
"It is dramatic, yes, but it's part of their way. Blood has power. If you have touched your enemy with your blood, and they didn't even know you were there, you have power over them." Adam shrugged.
"Like playin' chase." Martha said.
"I guess. Here's an example. Who's the fastest kid in the train?"
Martha grinned proudly. "My brother Miles."
"Suppose Miles ran a race, fast as he could, and was absolutely sure he had won, but when he got to the finish line he found Philappa had gotten there first. Beat him out, without his even having seen her pass him."
Martha chuckled. "Oh he would be mad. Fit to be tied."
Adam smiled at her. "Now whether Philappa had beat him with cleverness or simply being faster, the result is the same. Miles was beat out at his own game, bested by somebody else without anyone laying a hand on him. Do you see the power that gives a person?"
Martha's mouth was quirking toward the c-shaped scar on her cheek that was only visible under direct sunlight. She nodded her head, her eyes dancing. "Sure...like bein' smarter than the boss man. Even though, he the boss."
Adam felt himself sober a bit but he nodded. "Yes, it's a lot like that." He drew in a breath to say more but was cut off by Fovey tearing down the road toward them, kicking dust up behind him that rose half a mile. The hand was breathing hard when he reined his horse in, turning in a full circle before he could get the animal to stand still.
"Twenty...maybe thirty of them. All standing out across the road. Bows and arrows, guns, and some of them got spears." Fovey said, his eyes so wide they were almost all white. Adam felt something jolt in his stomach but he put his hand out and got a firm grip on the bridle of Fovey's horse, pulling the animal closer.
"Stop the train, give Joe your horse. Get your guns and keep the kids calm. Circle the wagons. Don't shoot, and don't leave the train." Adam said, making sure Fovey heard him. "Unless you hear the signal from me or Joe, you just wait."
"What..what do you mean Joe? I can handle it, I'm good with a gun." Fovey insisted.
"Sure you're good with a gun, but what I need out there is a cool head and soft words. Now do what I say."
Fovey jerked the reins, pulling the bridle from Adam's hand, but he rode his horse toward the wagon Joe was driving, and a few minutes later Joe was beside his brother, his rifle across his saddle. Without a word the two of them rode ahead as the wagons turned off the trail.
The twenty or thirty braves that Fovey had seen, turned out to be ten. Or so the tracks told him. Joe got down to the ground and followed the tracks to where they disappeared toward a narrow gap in the rocks. "Might be a canyon, might just be a small cave."
"They count coup, they lead us all day, every day. But the minute one of us appears, they take off. Either they're hoping to frighten us to death, or we're the latest entertainment for a bunch of bored teenagers."
"Bet they got a kick out of Fovey takin' off like he did." Joe said.
Adam shook his head, turning his horse to look at their back trail. "Idiot."
"What do you mean, idiot? How's he supposed to know?" Joe asked, his hands on his hips. "The first time you saw a band of indians I guarantee you were scared out of your socks."
Adam pursed his lips but chose not answer.
"I'll bet you went runnin' to Pa, tears streaming down your face."
Adam shook his head and turned his horse back toward the train.
Joe mounted with a satisfied, "Yep. I bet you fainted at the sight of 'em."
A second later a shot rang out from the train. Adam and Joe kicked up their horses, greeted by more shots and hoops and hollers the closer they got. Joe could hear the children screaming, Hoss shouting commands.
Adam put up a hand before they pulled into sight of the wagons, glancing either side of the trail. "Those shots were from a six shooter, not a rifle."
Fovey's horse danced under Joe as he said, "So."
"So that means our side is shooting, but not theirs."
"They got bows and arrows and spears."
"And if their goal was to kill us all, would they be making that much noise?" Adam pointed out.
Joe looked in the direction of the war hoops, licking his lips.
"They're toying with the train. Not attacking it. We go in and kill one of theirs, they'll have every reason to attack, and kill, in return."
A handful of high-pitched screams came from the train and Joe fought Fovey's bay for control. "What do you want us to do!?"
"Go in, slow and easy. And don't use your gun unless you have to."
The wagons had been pulled off the trail and circled around a single tree. The tree was big enough that it provided a little bit of shade, but that otherwise pleasant spot was completely abandoned. The children were crowded under the wagons, or inside them and Adam could see a few rifles poking out of the wagon beds. The Paiute braves were riding around the outside of the train, brandishing spears and guns, but none of them had fired. There wasn't a single arrow to be seen either.
Adam pulled his rifle out and watched the braves circling, kicked his horse up into a gallup and came up behind one of the young men knocking him off his horse, wielding the gun like a club. Adam let the horse's momentum carry him past the wagons and behind an outcropping of rocks, circling around and charging back toward the train with the same tactic in mind. He saw Joe coming in from the opposite side, leaping from his horse to tackle one of the natives, dragging him to the ground and flattening his nose with a fist, before Joe jumped back into the saddle.
Two of the indians started after Joe, and Adam swept in to cut them off. He took his own flying leap and felt his right shoulder go numb before he and the Paiute he had tackled were in the dirt, rolling over one another, fighting for the upper hand. Adam was minus the use of his right hand, but he'd kept hold of the rifle. Once he found himself on top he had the rifle raised to stop the fight when a gun went off inches from his ear.
Adam shouted at the painful percussion, rolling away and tucking his legs in toward his chest, his world suddenly confined to the pain on the side of his face. He heard other guns join the first, heard horses tearing off distantly away from the train, and fought past the ringing and the sudden nausea, only to be greeted with yet more pain coming from his collar bone. Bucky and Hoss got to him at the same time, both picking his shoulders up off the ground and tilting him upright. Before they could get him to his feet, Adam dug a hand into Hoss' healing arm, unable to beg with words that they leave him be for a bit.
He heard Hoss gasp in pain, then his voice dully saying, "Let me handle him. You check on that injun over there." Hoss let him lean back against his chest and Adam closed his eyes, focusing hard on breathing as deep as he could, and keeping his last meal on the inside. As the ringing died he could feel something trickle down the side of his face and he lifted his hand to find blood on his fingertips.
"Looks like your ear is bleedin'...I thought Fovey was standin' mighty close to you when he shot that brave."
"I told him not to shoot." Adam growled, making an effort to sit up. When it failed Hoss was there to ease him back down.
"It looked like that man was goin' to kill you, Adam...Fovey thought he was savin' your life. Might just turn out he did save your life."
Adam gave up, the pain in his collarbone fast outweighing all the other discomforts, sapping him of energy and even anger.
"What's the matter with your arm?"
"I did something stupid."
"'Course you did."
"Thanks."
Hoss gently lay Adam back on the ground and knelt over him. He unbuttoned the shirt until he could see the dark bruise forming, and shook his head. Without much warning he poked and probed and prodded at the bruise and the bone, watching closely and ignoring the protests.
"Well that ain't broke, but you're gonna be tender as a rump roast on a Sunday afternoon for some time, big brother."
Adam's face was beet red, bathed in sweat, and Hoss thought he looked a might peeved. "Thank you, Dr. Frankenstein."
"Be kind, brother. Be kind."
Adam lay back down on the dirt and couldn't have wished for a better place to let the elements take him.
"You think you sufficiently embarrassed them injuns or...think they'll come callin' again?".
"Depends on whether or not Fovey killed one of them."
"If Fovey didn't, I think Wilson did."
"What!?" Adam's head popped up off the ground, then went right back down with a groan.
Hoss nodded, grinning knowingly. "Teach you to move too fast."
"Help me up." Adam whined and together Hoss and Adam got the eldest Cartwright to his feet.
The brave Fovey had shot was dead. There was no question. Adam supported his right arm with his left and walked slowly out into the open beyond the wagons, eyeing the body of the brave that Wilson had shot. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see a grinning Wilson joining him, still brandishing his rifle.
Wilson slapped Adam on the back jubilantly then ran ahead to check on the body. Adam did all he could to stay upright, ready to murder the cowhand. Another pair of running feet were coming up behind him and Adam turned to make sure he could see whatever was coming and dodge out of the way of it.
Joe put his hands up at Adam's sudden turn, eyed the bruise he could already see peeking out from under the opened shirt, then pointed to Wilson and the brave. "I got this Adam. Get over to the wagons." He said softly.
Adam turned slowly and paced back to the wagons, each step more ginger than the last. He was surly, anti-social and near dead on his feet by the time he reached the Cartwright wagon. He lowered the tailgate, fished around inside for the whiskey bottle they kept well hidden and took a half-a-dozen slugs out of it before he secured the cork and tucked it back into it's hiding spot. He knocked 'near dead' off the list, and took his anti-social and surly body around the circle of wagons, checking on each of the families inside. There were a few bangs and bruises from their hasty scramble to get into their hiding spots, and the younger children were terrified, mostly by the noises. But the majority reported that they were well.
Adam tried to think and plan past the pain. He didn't know if the braves would return within the hour, or wait a day or so, but he was relatively certain they would return. If only to collect the bodies, the Paiute would definitely be back. Wilson and Fovey were both perfectly happy with the damage they had done, and Adam could see some of the older boys edging away from the wagons, wanting to see the dead up close, either because of the novelty of death, or of their being natives.
Adam didn't have the energy to take Fovey and Wilson down a peg, or to redirect the attention of the boys. He sank to the ground under the tree, put his back to the bark and found a way to lean that hurt the least. They should probably be getting the wagons back on the trail, he thought, but he couldn't stand the idea of riding on either a wagon seat or a horse. Could he walk? If Hoss tied a rope around his waist, Adam thought he might be able to trudge along on foot. And if he passed out, Hoss could drag him.
Or they could leave him with the two bodies and Adam would do his best to make a good Paiute. He heard heavy boots, the slosh of water in a canteen, then a familiar grunt.
"Now don't shoot me, Adam. This might feel like I'm tryin' to kill ya, but it's just doctorin'." Hoss said softly. He could feel his shirt being tugged open, and sat up to help the process. A painful ten minutes later and most of his upper body was tightly bound in linen that had been doused with cold water. His arm was strapped to his chest to reduce the strain on the muscles in his neck and he was made as whole as he was going to get, for the time being.
"We should get the train moving." Adam panted weakly.
"Much as I'd love to give you some time to rest, you aren't wrong about that." Hoss agreed softly. "Wanna try the wagon seat or the saddle?"
"Which did you prefer?"
"Saddle."
"Saddle." Adam nodded. He was on his feet, supporting himself on the tree trunk when Joe joined him. His youngest brother peered under the bandages, making a fuss about Adam while Fovey and Wilson passed, before dropping his voice.
"Fovey tried to take the beads and jewelry off the brave he killed. Practically tried to scalp him before I got there. I made him put it all back."
"Good." Adam said, then waited when he saw the look Joe was giving him. "What else."
"He told me his sister was killed by indians. Told me that's why he wanted to come along on the trip. So he could get the chance to get even."
Adam pressed his lips together. "Wish I'd known that before inviting him along."
"Trust me...so do I." Joe said, his hands going to his back pockets. "Anyway… we left the bodies out there, untouched."
Adam nodded, carefully stretching the already tight muscles in his back.
"You gonna be alright?" Joe asked.
"I'm never gonna tackle an indian off the back of a horse again." Adam said and Joe laughed softly.
"You clearly weren't watching me when I did it." Joe said, pulling at his jacket lapels. Adam mumbled under his breath as Joe walked away laughing, catching sight of the limp that Joe had been trying to hide.
"Should'a been watching you…" He muttered.
May 8 - Gerlach, Nevada
There wasn't much to Gerlach outside of a dusty sign and an old well. The well sat next to what might have once been a cabin, but was little more than rubble now. There was water enough in the well to take care of the thirsty stock and refill the buckets and canteens. They stopped the train only long enough to resupply and pushed on. Adam lasted three hours in the saddle in the morning before he elected to walk the last two. He was dragging along by the Cartwright wagon when Hoss insisted his brother get up on the tailgate at least.
Adam was certain he'd be bounced around until his bones rattled loose of his body but he was unconscious in minutes and stayed asleep until the wagons stopped for the night. The eldest Cartwright offered to make up for the time off by standing part of the night guard, and Bucky offered to join him. They found a line of stone that jutted out into, and almost over, the trail 500 feet from the wagons. Bucky ventured all the way out on the overhang while Adam stayed closer to the ground.
A few hours in, Bucky pulled out his harmonica. He started to play softly and Adam found himself chuckling. "They aren't cows, Bucky. This herd sleeps better without music."
Bucky bounced his eyebrows but kept playing and before long Adam felt himself nodding. To his surprise, Fovey came up with cups of coffee for both and insisted on taking over the night watch.
"I also..wanted to apologize for hurtin' you the other day." Fovey said, dancing his finger around his own ear. "I guess I wasn't paying attention."
Adam bit back the urge to snap at him, mostly because he knew he couldn't handle a fight, and any word out of his mouth would be spoiling for one.
Adam handed the cup of coffee back and started to walk away.
"I said I was sorr-" Fovey began then waved a hand and shook his head, grumbling to Bucky about grumpy old men.
Adam heard it and stopped. Bucky's harmonica cut off abruptly as Adam turned around and Fovey's attention went from the joke he was about to tell, to the dark angry man coming back at him. Except that Adam was coming slow. And he wasn't reaching for his gun, or drawing back for a punch. Fovey's hands hung at his sides, unsure of what was coming.
Adam stopped a few feet from the younger man and looked him over from his hat to his boots. "Old man?" He asked.
"I was jokin', Adam."
The elder Cartwright backed a step away, started to turn, then decided that there was no time like the present and asked, "When is not a joke, Fovey?"
"Huh?"
"Life...the things you do. When do you take it seriously? Hmm? When are you given an order that you'll actually follow? What's the threshold for you?"
"Thresh-what?"
"I said it to your face. I said…Don't shoot. I said, just wait until you hear the signal. You heard the words, but maybe you were too stupid to understand the meaning."
The set of Fovey's shoulders changed, and as good as it had felt to say it, Adam knew he'd taken that first step over the line.
"This isn't some kind of wild west fantasy. It's no dime novel. If any one of us die, it's for good. Those weren't carnival targets out there, they were sons, maybe fathers. You killed one of 'em and the first thing you did was to find yourself a souvenir!"
The look of chagrin that Adam was hoping for came over Fovey's face and he struggled to rein his temper in. He would have been successful if Fovey had kept his mouth shut.
"I was saving your life, you know!" He shouted.
"Standing over a man with no weapon in his hands and shooting him in the head isn't saving a life, it's murder."
"They're nothin' but savages!" Fovey shouted. Adam grabbed Fovey's shirt with his good hand and backed him into the stone wall, bearing down. He heard Bucky scrambling on the rocks, then heard him call his name.
Bucky's hands pulled him backward and Adam followed the pull, turning and lightly touching Bucky's arm before he stepped away from his grasp.
Adam went to his bedroll and lay down but he couldn't sleep. The pain...physical, emotional, mental, kept him awake. When the sun came up he felt numb. He worked around the fringes of the train, offered to take over driving the Cartwright wagon and kept to himself for a full day. Letter by shaky letter he wrote about the Paiute attack in the journal, with his left hand. He wrote down his own words, Fovey's words, and he admitted to all the mistakes he had made through the whole thing, wishing that it were Ben Cartwright within those pages, ready with advice or encouragement.
He remembered their encounter with indians after Hoss was born. Sitting in the corner between the wall and the stove, holding tightly to his infant brother, watching his father and step-mother fighting for their lives. It hadn't been complicated for him, then. The bad guys had been the people hurting those he loved, and the good guys had been the ones fighting.
For a long time Adam remembered harboring hatred in his heart for the men that had killed Inger. He remembered the fights he'd had with his father, not able to understand why Ben didn't hate the indians the way he did. He remembered swearing that when Hoss was old enough, he would tell his brother about the men that had killed his Ma, and they would go off together to seek vengeance.
Before that could happen there had been another brother, another step-mother, more indians, more fights. If he lived today by the black and white code of ethics he'd had when he was child he wouldn't have survived to adulthood.
It made sense that this was where Fovey was coming from. His only experience with anyone other than a white man was limited. He'd already been admonished a few times for calling Martha and her family tar-babies and coons. He'd called Harry a retard and dummy, and would pick at the Gruber kids a little too rough. It was hidden under a veil of propriety, but Fovey had dislike for anything that was different from him.
Adam didn't know if it started with the indian attack that took his sister, or was simply fueled by it. But unless he broke Fovey of it, he would be as much a danger to the train as the next Paiute raid.
May 10 - Two Days Out of Gerlach Village
"You gotta lay off him, Adam." Joe barked. "You been ridin' him two days, and I'm tired of having to come around afterward and talk him down."
"Don't talk him down, Joe. Let him come at me." Adam barked back, then whipped hard at the mule's backs.
"And break your shoulder for sure? That's all we need. You flat on your back and the train stalled out in the middle of this god-forsaken desert."
Adam kept his eyes forward and his lips pressed firmly closed.
"What do you got against him anyway, huh? He gets a little excited when the indians are around, but can you blame him?"
"He's prejudiced." Adam ground out.
"Oh and you're not?"
Adam shot his brother a glare, but he'd known when he said it, that he was stepping in hypocritical manure.
"He's not going to learn how to see things from somebody else' britches if you keep setting his on fire, Adam." Joe said pointedly.
Adam shot a glare at Axel James, sitting beside him on the wagon, who giggled at the thought of Fovey's britches being on fire. The boy gave him a toothy grin with the giggle and Adam rolled his eyes.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Cut him some slack. He's apologized for shooting too close, accept his apology."
"Fine." Adam ground out, but the heat had left him. "Send him down here."
Joe took in a breath and made his voice as deep as it would go before he said, "Adam Cartwright, you know better than that."
Adam turned a slow, wide-eyed look toward his brother then asked, "What was that supposed to be?"
"S'Pa! He says that all the time." Joe said, looking miffed.
Adam shook his head, pursed his lips and watched the wagon in front of him for a long time before he said. "I'll talk to him at dinner."
"What about lunch?"
"Dinner…" Adam said, knowing the only reason was that he planned to sleep at lunch. "And stop imitating Pa, you sound ridiculous."
Joe gave him a hurt look and galloped away.
When dinner came, Adam fulfilled his promise. He sought Fovey out, told him no hard feelings for nearly shooting his ear off, and went to turn in.