Two The Ponderosa Plague
"I'm so goddamn tired of sleepin' on the ground," Hoss grumbled as he shook out his bedroll and smoothed it on the dirt. "Ever' mornin' I wake up bitten by God knows what." Although the night was hot, Hoss had built a fire between them so that if he woke up, he could see anything that was creeping across the ground to feast on him. He swatted away another insect. "These miserable piquetes de zancudo; I ain't never had so many itching red bumps in my life! Wish I had some of Hop Sing's home remedies for 'em."
"You sure those bumps aren't a result of that visit to the brothel in El Paso?"
"You're really a jokester, ain't you."
"C'mon, Hoss, I'm as miserable as you are—probably more. I'm tired of listening to you snore and tonight, turn your ass downwind, would you? I don't want to smell all those frijoles you ate." Joe pulled his top blanket higher over his shoulder. He was tired of dirt and sweat and traveling as well. And worry over his father was a heavy burden. Joe listened while Hoss moved about trying to make himself comfortable, moving his saddle used as a pillow, until he was situated. When Hoss was finally still, Joe spoke.
"You think Adam'll come home with us?"
Hoss was silent for a few seconds and Joe raised his head to look over his shoulder. Hoss' broad back was to him.
"I don't know. Least he didn't say no outright so I guess there's a chance but…I just don't know, Joe. He's been here almost three years so… Maybe he loves Carmelita and them boys but iffen he does, well, I don't see it. I just don't know."
Joe rested his head again on the smooth leather of the saddle. "Carmelita's one sour woman. Can't see Adam being in love with her. But if Adam doesn't come back with us, I think it'll kill Pa."
"Adam tol' me somethin' once—don't worry 'bout things that ain't yet happened. In the mornin' we'll deal with it. Things always look better in the sunlight."
"Except Carmelita," Joe said and the brothers laughed together.
"Go to sleep, Joe," Hoss said. "Long day tomorrow iffen Adam comes with us or not. At least we can tell Pa he's alive."
"Yeah, I guess. Wonder what Pa'll say when he hears Adam's a goatherder and after all that expensive education too."
Hoss chuckled. "Maybe Adam reads that Shakespeare to those goats after he beds 'em down." Joe couldn't help but smile at the image. "Anyways," Hoss added, "we'll deal with Adam then-and more beans for breakfast, I'm sure."
Hoss said no more and soon, he was asleep. But sleep eluded Joe. He kept thinking about their conversation with Adam behind the house. He went over what was said—tried to analyze what Adam had meant and if he had misunderstood the true meaning of Adam's comments.
Adam passed around the bottle of mezcal while the three brothers sat on the ground in the shade of the house. A gray dapple was tethered in a field and it cropped what little grass could be found, sharing the space with some goats. The animal had good conformation but was thin, obviously not having had a meal of oats in a long time.
Twice already, the two boys had peeked around the corner and twice Adam had scolded them. The second time, Adam made a quick motion with his wrist and they quickly withdrew and stayed away.
"Adam," Hoss said, "I don't speak much Spanish but wha'd you say 'bout heads and chickens?"
"I said if they came back again, you'd bite their heads off like you do chickens, and swallow them down whole."
Joe snuck a look at Hoss who cleared his throat and spoke, looking to see if the two sets of large brown eyes were staring about the corner of the building but the boys were gone. "Wish you'd written Pa more. He don't say much but I know he keeps hopin'."
"I wrote Pa when the war ended—told him I wouldn't be home for a while." Adam offered the bottle to Joe who put up his hand. The alcohol had hit him hard; after just a few slugs, the world began to seem slightly off-kilter.
"Ever' day he looks for a letter from you. Kinda cruel not to let 'im know you're all right." From his shirt pocket, Hoss pulled a packet of rolling papers and a small bag of loose tobacco and began to roll himself a cigarette.
"Roll me one, would you?" Adam asked. "I haven't had a decent smoke in ages, just some cheap cigars from town. I think they roll horse dung in a few tobacco leaves and pass it off as a smoke – stinks like horse shit too."
Hoss rolled a cigarette, sealed it by licking it, and handed it to Adam.
"Thanks." Hoss handed a match to Adam who struck it on the sole of his slipper, lit the cigarette, and then took a long draw, closing his eyes. "I know I should have written, but there's no post here. I couldn't get a letter to him even if I had paper and a pen to write. And besides, I wouldn't know what else to say." He took a slug from the bottle and then passed it to Hoss who upturned the bottle and took a long swallow.
"So why didn't you come home after the war?" Joe asked. "We couldn't think of a reason why you wouldn't."
"I have my reasons."
"But why here?" Joe asked. "I mean what do you do all day in this place?"
"I'm guessing you mean other than sleeping and staying drunk."
"Yeah, Adam. Other than that." Joe's voice echoed his rising anger.
"I keep busy." There was an awkward pause among the three men. "I have no right to ask since I haven't written, but how is Pa? Is he well? You didn't come because he's ill or dying or anything?"
"Nice of you to get aroun' to askin' but no, he ain't dyin'," Hoss said, "but things also ain't been all that good on the Ponderosa lately. A new rancher done moved in and he ain't been nothin' but trouble and Pa is gettin' old. He don't need more worry to turn his hair white."
"What kind of trouble?" Adam released the smoke slowly out his nose, savoring the warmth and stimulation of the tobacco.
"Oh, you know—just little things like stolen cattle that Mansfield says ain't stolen but we know damn well were 'cause we found their slaughtered hides. We press charges and then the judge dismisses 'em for lack of evidence when we got damn good evidence"
"A carcass isn't evidence of who slaughtered the beeve, just that it was."
"Well, why don't you go work for 'im as one of his lawyer since you think the same way they do?" Hoss asked.
"Just stating a legal fact, Hoss." Adam took another swig of mezcal. He considered he hadn't had a real conversation since he'd been in Miseria. He was either dickering over prices of goat milk and goat meat or arguing with Carmelita. Even in their bed they never spoke, just grunted or moaned as they rolled in the sweat-soaked sheets. Often, Adam knew, he would go a whole day without saying a complete sentence.
"Yeah, well… And then there's the fight over water rights and—jus' somethin' all the time". Hoss waved away a fly that was annoying him. "Just like these damn bitin' flies, Mansfield's always buzzin' 'round and causin' us trouble. Makes you wake up each mornin' wonderin' what misery's comin' up along with the sun."
"Who is this new rancher?" Adam drank some more mezcal. The combination of tobacco and the agave liquor was sending warm waves of relaxation through his veins. He felt his eyes get heavy and he wanted nothing more than to nap again.
"Name's Mansfield—Jarvis Mansfield. Bought land…"
"Who?" Adam suddenly became alert and Joe and Hoss looked at one another.
"Jarvis Mansfield. Mean anything to you?" Joe asked.
"Might." Adam looked from Hoss to Joe.
"His men call him Colonel," Joe added. "Supposedly, he's some war hero. Heard of him?"
"No, I…I must've been thinking of someone else." He shouldn't have lied, Adam knew, but he needed to find out more before he told what he knew, what he remembered.
"Well," Hoss added, "this Mansfield's bought about 50 square acres of land that abuts the Ponderosa. Hell, we have to go the long way round to Carson City 'cause we can't cut through his property or we're trespassing and might get shot dead. And now that Carson City's got a standin' judge, all the cases are tried there. No circuit judge in Virginia City anymore like there used to be. And seems that every single decision goes Mansfield's way no matter what."
"You looked into it? Looked to see if there's any relationship between Mansfield and this judge? What's the judge's name?"
"Wolfe," Joe added. "Adrian Wolfe. The Honorable Adrian Wolfe."
"Honorable, my ass," Hoss said. "And yeah, we looked into it. Hiram done researched and even set his clerk to pulling up Wolfe's past decisions. But according to Hiram, there's nothin' to connect'em. Hiram's advice is to talk with Mansfield and reach our own agreements 'bout traveling through his property—even if we have to pay a yearly toll. Same thing for the water rights. That sonovabitch done damned up the creek that pools in our north pasture. We have to keep the cattle outta it since the creek's gone dry."
"According to Hiram," Joe said, "we should just roll over like common curs and beg Mansfield to go easy on us."
Adam was silent for a good while, finishing his cigarette before he spoke. He flicked the butt of the cigarette onto the dirt where it glowed. "This land Mansfield bought, what does he use it for? Most of it's scrub land; not good for much which is why Pa never bought it."
"Good for makin' our lives miserable! Hell, he has hired guns patrollin' where the Ponderosa meets up with his. Already shot four people—two of our hands and two strangers. Roy says he can't arrest any of them 'cause they's got the right to shoot anyone trespassin'—got signs sayin' 'Trespassers will be shot on sight.' And his men testified that they always warn people afore they shoot 'em. Been to trial once for the first man of ours they shot and damn, if charges weren't dismissed! Roy says unless they shoot someone on our property, we ain't got no case."
"Well, then shouldn't you two be back home taking care of problems instead of coming all the way to Mexico to see me? And how did you find me anyway?"
Joe told Adam about the letter with no signature. Adam quietly listened, not even taking a sip of the mezcal.
"Pa early on started hinting at hiring a Pinkerton to find you—ferret you out-or come lookin' for you himself."
Adam said nothing, just seemed to disappear, his eyes unfocused. And then he returned.
"So, I suppose you're here to take me back."
Hoss shifted his position. "That's kinda what we was hopin'."
"We're not here to take you back, but to ask if you'd come back," Joe added. He knew Adam had a tendency to resist the more pressure was applied.
A deep sigh escaped Adam. "I don't know that I want to get back into all of that. I've found a bit of peace here—at least peace within myself. I'm tired of battles, of being in conflict with anyone. Life here is…"
"Passing you by," Joe said, a tinge of anger to his words. "How can you waste your life out here? From what I see…"
"Joe," Hoss said. "Ain't your business. We're here for one thing—to make sure Adam's alive and whole so's we can tell Pa.. We done that. If Adam don't wanta come back home, that's his business."
One of Adam's eyebrows shot up; he knew Joe was emotional, often lost his temper in a blink, but he also knew there was more to their visit than just to confirm his well-being. And Hoss was trying his best to be peacemaker.
"Maybe I don't think of the Ponderosa as home anymore."
"Why wouldn't you?" Joe asked. He stood up. "C'mon, Hoss. Adam's not our older brother anymore. He's no longer a Cartwright."
Hoss and Adam both stood as well, albeit more slowly, and Hoss put a hand on Joe's arm.
"Now just settle down. Don't make this either-or. Adam's our brother no matter what."
Joe seemed about to either cry or fight—he could go either way. Adam recognized it. He didn't want an emotional scene. He knew he was where he was because he no longer wanted to feel anything. He wanted to forget the death and suffering that he had lived with for so long.
"Look at him," Joe said, pointing at Adam. "Just look."
Hoss glanced at Adam who was carefully watching Joe. Hoss recognized the familiar stance. Adam was squaring off as he had so many times before but this was more emotional than physical.
"He's…he looks like some…" Joe couldn't find the words. "His beard is scraggly, his hair's long and his clothes are filthy."
Adam waited and so did Hoss. But Joe had a point, Hoss considered. Adam had always been fastidious about his appearance. Although there were times when he went a few days without shaving, that was usually on cattle drives or lengthy trips on horseback. But he always had a regular haircut and changed into clean clothes daily when at home. And he bathed more than just Saturday nights. This man in the wrinkled, stained clothes of a native Mexican wasn't the man who Hoss had grown up with and admired for not just his brawn, but also for his brain, his sharp intelligence.
"I just don't recognize you, Adam. You were always the first one to help Pa—to help any of us when we needed you and now that we're being…" Joe's mind raced for the right word to express how he felt about what was happening.
"Plagued?" Adam offered.
"Yeah," Joe agreed. "We're being plagued by Mansfield almost like a biblical plague, with all the trouble he causes. The law can't help us and our ranch hands are afraid of being shot and…hell, Adam, the logging part of our business, it's falling apart 'cause we can't move cut timber the way we used to. And now that the railway's coming through…"
"What about the railroad?" Adam wanted to hear about that. He had always believed that once the railroad came near Virginia City, the place would boom.
"Well, now that Carson City's been declared the state capitol…"
"Carson City?"
"Yeah, Carson City," Hoss confirmed. "Right after you left."
Joe knew Adam was interested now and this information might be what they needed to lure Adam back home. Family alone didn't seem to be the right bait. "Carson City is going to be the hub for the Virginia and Truckee Railroad and the land…"
"The land Mansfield bought is going to be needed by the railroad." Adam added; it was all coming together.
"Seems that way," Joe said. "Carson City's becoming the commercial center now. Hell, Adam, you wouldn't recognize the place. I mean we still have people coming to Virginia City but we've also had a lot of people leave and head to Carson."
"It's almost 'big city' through and through," Hoss added. "The smaller homesteaders, well, they're being bought out and run off by Mansfield. And when we left, there were bids goin' out for timber to build a flume from the Sierra Nevadas right to Carson City. Pa was workin' up a bid to submit, but gettin' the timber to the destination, well, that's problematic as we'd have to go through Mansfield's property and he ain't obligin'. We need everyone we can get on our side," Hoss offered. "We need you back home, Adam."
"I have work to do," Adam said, leaning down and sweeping up a hat, a smaller version of a classic sombrero. "But I'll let Carmelita know she'll have guests for dinner."
"Carmelita?"
"Yeah." Adam behaved as if they should already know who Carmelita was. "The woman I work for."
"Oh. She got the two boys," Hoss stated.
"Yeah. Water your horses. There's a well on the other side of the house. As I said," Adam placed the hat on his head, "I've got work to do."
Hoss and Joe watched him walk away to a small lean-to which served as storage.
"He never said he'd come back home," Joe said.
"No, but he didn't say he wouldn't neither. Let's take care of our horses. I'm hungry and it'll be nice not to have canned beans again tonight."
Hoss left but Joe lingered, watching Adam as he disappeared into the shed. He hoped that Adam was still Adam and that the war hadn't changed him too much. Deep inside, Adam was still a Cartwright—he had to be because that was what held them together, that's who they were. Joe remembered Adam once saying that a man can't change who he is—what he is—no matter how much he tries. Joe hoped so.