1 THIS STORY IS WRITTEN FOR PLEASURE NOT PROFIT AND IS NOT INTENDED TO
INFRINGE ON ANY KNOWN COPYRIGHT
2
3
4 THE SAILOR
4.1.1 A Bonanza Story
4.2 By Kate
Ben Cartwright sighed with satisfaction as he relaxed in his chair by the fire. He was looking forward to a peaceful evening alone at home. Savouring the silence for a moment, he reached for the book he had been trying unsuccessfully to find time to read.
Ben's three sons were all in town for the evening, Adam and Hoss for a visit to the saloon, Joe to see Ellen Davies, the latest in his seemingly never ending string of young lady friends. He had got no further than half way down the third page, however, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Irritably, he put the book aside and went to see who could be calling at this hour.
As he opened the door Ben saw a tall, big built man, around the same age as himself. Startlingly blue eyes regarded him from a weather-beaten face.
"Ben Cartwright, it's good to see you!" The man's voice was deep and carried a hint of an Irish brogue.
"Patrick?" Ben questioned uncertainly, it had been the best part of thirty- two year's since he had seen this man. "Patrick Finnigan?"
"It's me all right Ben." Patrick laughed. "When they told me in town that a Ben Cartwright owned this ranch I just had to come and see if it was the same one, and there you stand large as life."
"Well I'll be…" Ben was at a loss for words. "Come in, come in." He ushered Patrick into the house. "It's been so long."
Entering the house Patrick stood for a moment looking around him. "It's a fine place you have here Ben." He said. "And all this land, seems you turned into a real landlubber."
"And you?" Ben asked. "What are you doing out here in Nevada? The last time I saw you was as you were leaving Boston bound for Europe I recall."
"It was at that." Patrick laughed. "There's a lot of water passed under the bridge since then."
"You must tell me all about it." Ben told him. "But first, make yourself comfortable." He escorted Patrick across to the couch. "Would you like coffee?" He asked. "Something to eat? I could get my cook to rustle you up a meal if you're hungry."
"I'm fine, Ben." Patrick settled himself on the couch. "Though I wouldn't say no to a drop of the hard stuff, if you have any?"
"Of course." Ben went to fetch the bottle of brandy and some glasses. Pouring the drinks, he studied his old friend. He had first met Patrick on board ship; the young Irishman was an accomplished sailor. He had worked his passage to America, and then signed on as crew with the clippers that plied the Atlantic. The two young men had become firm friends, till Patrick announced that when he left on his next voyage he wouldn't be returning to Boston, but would leave the ship in England and sign on with a ship bound for Australia.
"I'm off to see some more of the world, Ben." He had told him, as they drank together one evening in a Boston bar. "And this is just the start of it. I want to see all this world has to offer."
The two men were deep in reminiscing the past when Adam and Hoss returned a couple of hours later.
"Ah, boys." Ben looked up as they entered the house. "I want you to meet an old friend of mine. Boys, this is Patrick Finnigan." Patrick stood up and executed a mock bow before going forward to greet them. "Patrick, this is my eldest son, Adam and my middle son, Hoss"
"Your father has just been telling me all about you two." Patrick said, shaking hands. "I knew your grandfather Adam, when I lived in Boston."
"You know Pa from Boston?" Adam asked.
"That I do." Patrick replied. "We were friends there, many years ago. Then I left to travel the world and we lost touch. I did return to Boston years later, I heard that your father had married Captain Stoddard's daughter and that when she died he had moved west. I could hardly believe it when I found out that he owned all this." He smiled at Ben. "And now it's getting late." he continued. "Time I was leaving, let you good people get to your beds."
"Where are you staying?" Ben asked.
"I haven't got that fixed yet." Patrick told him. "When I heard about you I just came straight on out here, still I imagine I can get a room in a hotel easy enough."
"Now Patrick, I wouldn't hear of it." Ben smiled at his old friend. "You must stay here with us, we have plenty of room, and tomorrow you can tell us all about your travels."
****
Joe Cartwright stabled his horse Cochise and headed for the house. It was very late and he was tired, he hadn't meant to stay so long in town, knowing he had a long day's work ahead of him tomorrow. He smiled to himself, thinking of the reason he was late, remembering the silky feel of Ellen's long blonde hair between his fingers, the softness of her lips beneath his.
Opening the door he was surprised to see lamplight shining from his father's desk. Momentarily he felt a flash of annoyance, surely his father wasn't waiting up for him, after all he was nearly nineteen, and should be able to come home when he wanted.
As he walked towards the light, however, he was taken aback to see a complete stranger sitting at his father's desk.
"Ah." the man said, looking up as Joe approached. "I imagine that you must be Ben's youngest. Joe isn't it?"
"I'm Joe Cartwright." Joe confirmed. "And you are?"
"The name's Finnigan." The stranger said, standing up. Joe couldn't help but notice that the man had obviously been making serious inroads into his father's brandy, a half full glass of the spirit stood next to the almost empty bottle on the desk. "Patrick Finnigan." The man continued, shaking Joe's hand. "I'm an old friend of your father's. He very kindly offered me a bed for the night."
"Pleased to meet you." Joe returned and watched as Finnigan unsteadily headed towards the couch, carrying the glass of brandy in one hand, the nearly empty bottle in the other "Is there anything I can get you before I turn in for the night?" He asked as the man sat down.
"No, I'm fine." Finnigan replied. "I couldn't sleep, thought a brandy might help." He continued, seeing Joe glance at the glass he held. "I'm sure your father won't mind."
"Well, I'll say goodnight then." Joe headed for the stairs. "Perhaps I'll see you at breakfast."
There was no reply from Finnigan, considering the amount of brandy the man appeared to have imbibed Joe thought it unlikely that they would see him at breakfast.
****
Joe was wrong; Patrick was already seated at the table when Joe joined his family the next morning. He wasn't eating though, Joe noted, just drinking coffee.
"Ah, here's Joe." Ben said, looking up as his son approached. "Patrick, this is my youngest, Joseph."
"We met last night, Pa." Joe told his father, taking his seat at the table. "When I got back from town."
"We did?" Patrick looked blank for a moment, then remembered. "Oh, yes, I couldn't sleep so I was having myself a little night-cap when Joe came in, I hope you don't mind Ben."
"No of course not." Ben smiled at his friend. "I want you to feel at home here for as long as you decide to stay."
Joe wondered if his father would feel quite so accommodating when he discovered just how much of a 'little night-cap' Patrick had drunk.
****
"You seeing Ellen tonight?" Hoss asked his younger brother as the two rode back to the ranch that evening.
"No, she's got some family commitment tonight, couldn't get out of it." Joe told him. "I thought I'd just go into town for a couple of beers."
"I reckon I might just join you in that." Hoss grinned.
Adam was already home when Hoss and Joe arrived, he was talking to Patrick Finnigan down by the corral.
"Hey, brother." Joe hailed him as they rode up. "Hoss and I were thinking of going to town tonight, care to join us?"
"As it happens." Adam smiled. "Patrick and I had decided on a trip to town this evening as well, so I guess we might as well all ride in together."
****
"He's fascinating to listen to." Adam told Hoss. "He's seen so many things, been so many places." The two brothers were sitting together at a table in the saloon, Joe was seated a few tables away with some friends, playing cards and Patrick had gone over to watch them. While they were alone Hoss had asked Adam's opinions on their father's guest.
"He's been all over the world." Adam continued. "He's worked on sailing ships and steam ships, he was on one of the first iron ships. And the sights he's seen, the pyramids in Egypt, the Acropolis in Greece." Adam's voice held a wistful tone, hearing Patrick's tales that afternoon he had found himself wishing that he too could see the places the older man described so vividly. "He's been to Australia, India, China..."
"Then how come he's ended up here?" Hoss asked, looking over to where Finnigan stood. "Seems kinda strange to me, just turning up out of the blue like that."
Adam shrugged. "I didn't ask." He said. He too looked over at Patrick. "I suppose it is a little strange, after all these years to just turn up on Pa's doorstep like that." Watching Finnigan approach the bar and buy a whisky, he frowned slightly. "He sure knows how to put the drinks away." He observed. "That must be his eighth whisky in an hour."
Leaving the bar, Finnigan wove his way unsteadily through the tables towards Hoss and Adam; reaching them he sat down heavily. "Your brother seems to be doing well." He said, voice slightly slurred. "Winning a fair amount."
"Joe's good at cards." Hoss told him, glancing over to where Joe was playing.
Patrick drained his glass and began to get to his feet again. "You boys ready for another?" He asked. "I'm buying."
"We're fine." Adam told him. "In fact we were thinking of calling it a night, getting on home."
"You two carry on." Patrick smiled, heading for the bar. "I'll come back with Joe when he finishes his game."
"Right." Adam replied, then turned to Hoss. "I think we'd better get him out of here." He said quietly. "Pa won't be happy if we take him back drunk."
Hoss nodded in agreement. "I'll go explain to Joe." He said. "Get him to finish up the game, don't reckon he'll be too happy about it though."
****
Half an hour later the three Cartwrights and Finnigan rode back towards the Ponderosa. As Hoss had predicted Joe wasn't impressed at being asked to leave his game part way through, but Hoss had kept at him until he finally agreed.
Patrick though obviously intoxicated appeared to be riding well enough; he was in high spirits, singing loudly, and tunelessly as they rode.
As they approached the ranch though the older man's demeanour underwent a change, he quieted down and in answer to Adam's enquiry if he was all right, snapped back to leave him be.
Dismounting in front of the house Adam turned to aid Patrick from the saddle as he almost fell to the ground.
Joe moved forward and took the reins of the man's horse. "I'll stable him for you." He said. "You get off to bed."
To Joe's surprise Patrick turned on him furiously. "Do you think I cannot manage my own horse?" He yelled. "Think I'm incapable do you?"
Raising his hands, Joe backed off. He left Patrick's horse and started to take Cochise over to the stable.
Adam and Hoss began to follow their brother when Finnigan suddenly darted forward and grabbed Adam's gun from its holster.
"I'm not so very drunk you know." He shouted. "You just watch, I'll prove it to you."
It was obvious from the man's slurred speech, his unsteadiness on his feet that he was drunk, the gun he held was wavering from side to side as he attempted to take aim.
None of the Cartwrights were exactly sure what the man was aiming at but they were only too aware that in his intoxicated state the bullet could wind up anywhere.
"Hey, Patrick, no need to prove anything to us, fella." Adam said soothingly. "Why don't we just go on in the house?"
At that moment the front door opened as Ben came out to see what was going on. Hearing the door open Patrick turned toward the sound just as his finger tightened on the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed through the still night air, and simultaneously, or so it seemed, Cochise gave a sharp whinny of pain.
****
"Cochise! Joe exclaimed in shock. "You've hit Cochise!
Patrick dropped the gun from nerveless fingers, as sobered by the sound of the horse's cry, he realised what he had done.
"Adam get him in the house and get some coffee into him." Ben's voice was angry, he headed towards where Joe stood anxiously examining Cochise, Hoss beside him.
Adam reached down and picked up his gun from where it had fallen, then grasping Patrick's arm firmly, he guided the older man into the house.
"How is she?" Ben asked, reaching his son's side. He knew how much Joe cared for the animal and hoped the injury was not too bad.
"The bullet's in her shoulder." Joe told him, his voice holding both concern for his horse and fury at what had occurred. "I'll need to get it out."
Ben helped Joe lead the shocked animal into her stall while Hoss went to fetch the necessary equipment.
****
Leaving Joe and Hoss to work on Cochise, Ben returned to the house. He found Patrick sitting on the couch, a cup of strong coffee in his hand. Adam, sitting on the hearth, looked up anxiously as his father entered. "How is she?" He asked.
"Hoss and Joe are trying to take the bullet out now." Ben replied. "And your brother is understandably angry and upset." He turned towards his friend. "What on earth possessed you Patrick?" He asked him. "Bad enough you hit Joe's horse but that could have been one of my sons with a bullet in him."
Holding his cup in trembling fingers, Patrick turned shamefacedly to look at Ben. "I'm so sorry." He said quietly. "I just don't know what comes over me sometimes. It's the drink, I know, but I just can't seem to stop it. I need help Ben, I know that much."
****
Carrying a cup of coffee in one hand and with a blanket draped over his shoulder, Ben pushed open the stable door. He stood for a moment watching his son; Joe was standing beside Cochise, weariness apparent in his face.
"Joseph." Joe looked up as he heard his father's voice, taking the proffered coffee gratefully.
"Hoss thinks Cochise will be fine." Ben said putting his arm round his son's slim shoulders, feeling the tension in the boy relax a little at his touch.
"She's still pretty shocked." Joe said. "I thought I'd stay out here the night with her, if that's alright with you Pa?"
"I guessed you would." Ben told him, handing him the blanket. "But do try and sleep a little Joseph, you look tired."
"I am a bit." Joe reached out to smooth Cochise. "Did you get Mr Finnigan sobered up?"
"He's sleeping it off." Ben told him. "He's very ashamed of what he did, Joe."
"So he should be!" Joe exclaimed, Ben saw the anger in his son's eyes, felt the tension return to his body.
"He asked me for help." Ben moved his hand to Joe's arm, gently smoothing his thumb over the fabric of the boy's jacket. " He wants to stop drinking, but he doesn't feel that he can do it without help."
"And?" Joe asked, turning to face his father.
"I told him that I was willing to help provided you agreed." Ben said. Joe looked at him in surprise. "I know how much Cochise means to you." His father continued. "And I'd understand if you don't want me to do this for Patrick."
"But you want to?" Joe's feelings were mixed, he knew the shooting had been an accident, could understand a man getting drunk. But he was angry with Finnigan; the bullet could easily have killed Cochise.
"I don't know." Ben admitted. "Alcoholism is an illness, and a difficult one to fight. I believe Patrick has taken the first step by admitting he is an alcoholic and asking for help, but it's a long, hard road he has ahead of him, Joe." Watching his son's face, Ben saw the indecision written there. "He wants to talk to you in the morning." He told the boy. "Would you do that for me Joe, just listen to what he has to say?"
Joe nodded his agreement, he would hear Patrick out.
****
Ben looked down fondly at his son; Joe was curled up on the hay in the corner of Cochise's stall, sleeping soundly. "Joseph." Ben knelt beside the boy, gently shaking him. "Time for breakfast."
Slowly opening sleep heavy eyes, Joe stared up at his father, momentarily confused to find himself in the stable. Memory returning he sat up quickly. "Cochise?" He queried anxiously
"She's fine, Joe." Ben reassured him. "Just fine. Now you come on in the house and get some breakfast please." Smilingly he plucked a stalk of hay from Joe's dark curls. "And a wash and brush up wouldn't go amiss either."
Joe was just checking Cochise over, his father folding the blanket to take back in the house when the stable door opened to admit Patrick Finnigan.
"How is the horse this morning?" He asked softly, walking over to join the two Cartwrights.
"Fine, no thanks to you." Joe replied, his anger flaring at the sight of the man
"I wanted a word with you." Patrick said, leaning against the stall. "Your father said you'd listen."
Joe turned to look at the older man, Patrick looked in a bad way this morning, pale with beads of perspiration apparent on his brow, his hands trembling slightly. "I'll listen." Joe told him.
Ben gave his son's shoulder an appreciative squeeze. "I'll leave you two to talk." He said, taking the blanket and heading back to the house.
"Could we sit down?" Patrick asked as Ben left. "I'm afraid I'm not feeling too good this morning."
Wordlessly Joe indicated the bales of hay at one end of the stable; Patrick sank down on one gratefully.
"Your father told you that I asked him for help?" He inquired of Joe, who nodded in affirmation. "I'd like you to know what led me to this state, Joe." Patrick continued. "I'm not trying to excuse myself, I'd just like you to know." He patted the hay beside him, inviting Joe to sit, reluctantly Joe did so. "When I first knew your father." Finnigan began. "I was about your brother Hoss' age, full of a great desire for adventure, to get out and see the world. I used to like a drink even then, but no more than all the other young fellows did, not to excess. Well, I went off on my big adventure all right, I travelled all over, but eventually I found myself back in England, in Liverpool. That was where I met Elizabeth, my wife. You should have seen her Joe, my Bess. She had the bluest eyes, the most beautiful face of any woman I've ever seen. I gave up my travelling ways for a while and we settled down together. We had a child within a year, a son. I was working on the docks then, loading and unloading the ships, but the money wasn't good and when Bess found there was another baby on the way I went back to sea, Liverpool to New York. The money was better but of course it meant I was away from home a lot. It got so lonely Joe, I started turning to the bottle to drown out the loneliness." Patrick sat silently for a moment, lost in memories of the past. "Then I came home one day." He continued. "And found that Bess was ill, dying of consumption. There was nothing that could be done. When it was all over, I just didn't want to live any more, I drank more and more trying to forget. Then I realised one day that I just couldn't stop drinking any more, I did try." He looked over at Joe. "But I couldn't. So I decided that I needed a new start, a new life, I came back to America."
"And your children?" Joe asked. "What happened to them?"
"I left them behind." Patrick told him. He saw the incredulous look on Joe's face. "They were better off there." He said. "I was in no fit state to be a father to them. Bess had a cousin that took the older boy, I arranged for the younger boy to go to my sister in Ireland, he must be around your age by now."
Joe was shocked. Not only had Patrick abandoned his own children, he had even had the two separated. "Don't you keep in touch?" He asked.
"No." Patrick shook his head. "I felt a clean break was better. I came back to America and settled in New York." He continued his story. "I even managed to keep off the drink for a while, but it didn't last. I lost my job, so I tried moving on again, but each time the same thing would happen, I'd keep off the grog for a while, but it never lasted. So I decided to make one last-ditch effort and came here, to the West, another new start. I'd heard your Pa had come here and done well for himself, I thought I'd give it a try, but it seems I can't escape, one drink and I'm done for. This is it, my one final try, and after what I did last night I realised I need help Joe, I hope that with a friend's help I can do it this time, so, what do you say?"
Joe didn't reply immediately, thinking over the story he'd just heard. It seemed to him that Patrick Finnigan must be a very weak man, his own father had lost three wives but each time had refused to give in to despair and carried on to build his dream, the Ponderosa. Joe didn't even want to consider what his life would have been like if Ben had been like Patrick, abandoning his sons. "Do you really think you can do it this time?" He asked the older man.
"I know that I really want to." Patrick told him. "And with your father's help, perhaps I can, your father is a remarkable man Joe."
"Yes he is." Joe agreed. " And if he's prepared to help you, then I guess I'll go along with it for his sake."
****
It was obvious to all the Cartwrights how difficult it was for Patrick that next week. He tried to carry on as normal but it was obvious that he was far from well. He found it difficult even to pick up a cup, his hands shook so much. Ben had quietly removed all alcoholic drink; even the bottles that Hop Sing used in cooking had gone.
Cochise was well on the way to recovery, the wound in her shoulder healing nicely. Joe missed riding her, having to use one of the Ponderosa's spare horses.
Coming home late one evening he spent a while with Cochise, just grooming and talking to the horse. Leaving the stable he was surprised to see Adam sitting on the veranda.
"Evening, Joe." He said as Joe walked across the yard towards him. "Been to see Ellen again?"
Joe grinned wryly. "Somehow I don't think I'll be seeing Ellen any more." He said, taking a seat across from his brother. "She wanted to get a little more serious than I did."
"Talking marriage was she?" Adam smiled. "She wasn't your idea of a perfect wife?"
Joe shrugged. "She was nice enough." He said. "But she wasn't special, you know what I mean?"
Adam nodded. "How's Cochise?" He asked, changing the subject.
"Fine, I'll be glad when I can ride her again though." Joe looked towards the stable. "There's no horse can match Cochise." He said proudly. " She's real special."
"Unlike Ellen you mean." Adam said. "Poor girl, second best to a horse."
"I didn't quite mean that." Joe protested, laughing. "What are you doing out here anyway Adam?"
"Oh, atmospheres a little strained in there tonight." Adam told him. "Patrick has really got the shakes, the man's sweating like a pig, it's taking all his willpower to stop himself going into town in search of a bottle. I just felt the need to get out in the fresh air for a while."
Joe grimaced. "Not doing too well is he?" He said, his voice slightly scornful.
"It's not an easy thing to do." Adam said standing up and stretching. "He's trying very hard though, if he gets through the next few days I think he just might make it."
Joe wasn't so sure of that. "He might do all right out here away from temptation." He said. "But what happens when he goes to town next? Sees a saloon, he can't hide out here for ever."
"I guess we'll find out soon enough." Adam yawned. "Now I'm off to bed."
****
Patrick had insisted on paying Ben for his hospitality by doing some work around the ranch, so his first trip to Virginia City was to pick up supplies for Hop Sing. The Cartwrights were relieved to see him return without incident.
As the weeks passed Patrick settled easily into ranch life, he was a good worker and never complained whatever task was asked of him, be it fence mending or cleaning stables. Evenings he spent with the family, playing chess with Ben, checkers with Hoss and generally entertaining them all with stories of his many voyages. Adam especially enjoyed hearing the tales and would spend hours in deep discussion about the different ways of life in other countries.
Even Joe found himself warming to the man as he saw how hard Patrick was working to make his new start.
****
"I was thinking it's time I was moving on." Ben looked up his friend's words; the two men were enjoying a quiet cup of coffee together, the three younger Cartwrights not yet returned from the days work.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like." Ben told him, "We've enjoyed having you here."
"You've all been very good to me, and I can't tell you how grateful I am." Patrick said sincerely. "But I need to stand on my own two feet, and I think I can do it now. So I was intending to leave at the end of the week."
Ben reached for the coffeepot, pouring himself a fresh cup. "I'll be sorry to see you go." He said. "And you're welcome back any time."
****
"Another drink Joe?" Mitch asked his friend. Joe was engrossed in the card game and merely nodded in agreement. He had been playing for nearly two hours and the cards were going his way tonight, he'd already made a tidy sum of money.
Mitch made his way across the crowded, smoky room to the bar, he'd been out of the game for some time now, though being a cautious gambler, he'd not incurred heavy losses.
"Looks like he's making a killing tonight." Hoss remarked as Mitch reached his side. Joe's brother had just arrived in the saloon and was leaning against the bar savouring his drink.
"Yup." Mitch ordered, then turned to Hoss. "Only three left in the game now." He said. "Joe's having all the luck tonight."
Picking up the drinks he made his way back to the table whilst Hoss ordered another beer for himself and one for Adam who was just finishing up some business with one of the Ponderosa's suppliers before joining his brother.
Ten minutes later Hoss was surprised to see Patrick Finnigan enter the bar alongside Adam, the man had ridden in with them to book a seat on the stage to San Francisco, but Hoss had thought he would have ridden back to the Ponderosa once he'd done so. It was the first time Finnigan had entered a saloon since the night he shot Cochise.
Asking for and receiving a sarsaparilla, and a strange look from the bartender, Finnigan turned to survey the saloon. "Think I'll stroll across and watch your brother's game." He said to Adam, catching sight of Joe.
Adam nodded, watched for a while as Finnigan joined the group of spectators now gathered around the table, then turned back to his drink.
****
Joe concentrated hard on the cards he held in his hand, he was aware that he had drunk too many beers and was finding it difficult to focus on the game. He was feeling that kind of hazy glow that comes with too much alcohol, an almost detached feeling. Not quite drunk, but slightly befuddled. Pushing away the full glass that Mitch placed beside him, he watched as one of his opponents threw in his cards in disgust.
"That's it for me." The man said, rising from his seat. "Looks like it's down to you two."
Studying his cards, Joe threw another $5 onto the pile of notes in the middle of the table.
His opponent considered his move for a long time, he was a big man, roughly dressed, a stranger in Virginia City.
Watching the two players Patrick was feeling slightly uneasy, he had noticed how, when the big man put down his cards, his right hand would stray to his gun, the man was tense, angry looking and, Finnigan guessed, was almost out of money.
As the two players laid their cards on the table and Joe won again, his opponent rose to his feet angrily.
"Better watch out, sonny." He said coldly. "Seems you're winning a lot today, people might think it was something more than luck."
Joe was on his feet instantly, his temper, always volatile and at the moment fuelled with alcohol, flaring. "Are you saying I cheated?" He demanded loudly.
"Take it how you like." The man replied, his hand, Patrick noted, ready on his gun.
Silence fell over the saloon as the customers became aware of the drama unfolding in their midst. Adam and Hoss turned from the bar and began to make their way towards their brother, intent on stopping any trouble.
Angry, Joe went for his gun, but slightly inebriated, fumbled the move, allowing his opponent to draw first. Patrick hit the big man's arm away just as he fired, the bullet nicking Joe's arm instead of hitting him full in the chest where the gun had been aimed.
"That's enough." Adam had his gun drawn now. "My brother's no cheat, Mister." He said evenly. "I suggest you leave now, the game's over."
Seeing himself well out numbered the man picked up his hat from the table then turned and walked away.
****
"Joseph." Ben exclaimed in alarm as he saw the bandage on Joe's arm. "What happened?"
"He's fine, Pa." Adam said, entering the house behind his brother. "Just slightly woozy, and that's from the beer not blood loss."
Ben watched as Joe walked, slightly unsteadily, to the couch and sat down. "Well?" He demanded of his youngest son. "Are you going to tell me what's been going on?"
"I'll tell you this much." Adam told him, coming across to stand beside his father. "If it wasn't for Patrick Finnigan, Joe might well not be alive right now."
Joe listened as Adam related the evening's incident to his father. As Ben heard the full story he turned to look at Joe,
"You were drunk?" Ben demanded.
"I just had a few too many, Pa." Joe said, trying to look as weak and ill as possible, hoping to stave off his father's lecture. "I was thinking about the cards, I didn't realise how much I'd drunk."
"You didn't realise." Ben's voice was deceptively quiet and Joe cringed, waiting for the outburst to come. "And you drew on this man?"
"Not exactly." Joe faltered. "I tried to, but I never actually got the gun out of the holster."
"You never got the gun out of the holster." Ben repeated, his voice rising now, anger taking hold. "Joseph you could have been killed. Of all the…"
Outside in the yard Hoss grinned as he heard his father's voice. He turned to Patrick. "Guess Pa's heard all about it." He said. "What do you say we give him a few minutes to calm down before we go in?"
Patrick nodded in agreement and the two men settled down on the veranda to wait for Ben's anger to subside.
****
"How is he?" Patrick asked, looking up as Ben came down the stairs from Joe's room
"Fine." Ben told him. "Though I imagine he'll have a pretty sore head to go with that sore arm tomorrow." Walking over to the hearth Ben stood with his back to the fire, facing his old friend. "I don't know how to thank you for what you did today, Patrick." He said earnestly. "If you hadn't been there Joe might well have been killed."
"I'm only glad I was of help." Patrick told him. "You know Ben." He continued. "Seeing you and your sons these past few weeks has made me think." He paused for a moment, gazing into the fire. "You have three wonderful boys." He went on. "And I think the four of you are closer than most fathers and sons, you're a very lucky man."
Ben left his place by the fire and went to sit beside his friend. "Yes, I am." He agreed. "I'm very proud of them all, even that young one up there." He smiled wryly, thinking of his youngest. "Under all his bravado and impetuousness, he's growing into a fine young man."
"You've made me think." Patrick sighed. "Perhaps I was wrong to leave my boys when I did. I've come to a decision, Ben." He continued. "I'm going home, to Ireland. I'll go and see my youngest son, then try and find my eldest. They may not want to know me, and I can't say I'd blame them, but I'm not going to know unless I try am I?"
"No." Ben agreed. "I think it's a fine idea, Patrick and I hope it all turns out well for you."
"Thank You, Ben." His friend smiled. "I've done many bad things in my life, many things of which I'm ashamed, perhaps it's time for me to start righting some wrongs."
****
"Have a good journey Patrick, and the best of luck." Ben shook his friend's hand warmly as they stood beside the San Francisco stage.
"Thank you Ben, for all you've done." Patrick told him. "And thank you, boys." He continued moving along to shake hands with Adam, Hoss and Joe. As he reached Joe something he saw over the young man's shoulder caused his eyes to widen in alarm, roughly he grabbed the youth and thrust him aside just as the sound of a shot echoed round the street.
Adam, Hoss and Ben whirled round, guns drawn. The man standing on the boardwalk was about to pull the trigger again when Ben's bullet cut him down.
Joe was kneeling beside Patrick, the older man obviously badly wounded.
"Get the doctor." Ben told Hoss tersely, crouching down at his friend's side. "It'll be all right Patrick." He assured him. "The doctor's on his way."
"I think it might be too late for that, Ben." Patrick gasped, his blue eyes dark with pain. "Is Joe all right?"
"I'm fine." Joe moved round to where the older man could see him better. "You saved my life." He told him.
"I saw him aiming his gun." Patrick said simply. "The man from the card game." He groaned sharply as pain suddenly washed over him.
"Don't talk." Ben urged. "Save your strength."
"It's all right, Ben." A semblance of a smile flickered on the weather- beaten face. "Perhaps some things are meant to be. I wasn't completely honest with you Ben," He said. "I knew all along you lived here and I came here to hide out, I killed a man in a bar in Boston. I was drunk of course." He gasped as the pain intensified but carried on resolutely. "It made me realise I had to get off the drink, and I did, didn't I?"
"Yes, Patrick you did." Ben told him softly as Patrick gave a last final gasp of pain, his body arching in agony, then lay still.
Gently Ben reached out and closed his old friend's eyes, then knelt for a while, head bowed in grief, glad of Joe's consoling hand on his arm.
****
It was some months later that Ben received the letter from Ireland.
'Dear Mr Cartwright.' He read. 'Thank you for informing me of the sad death of my father. I had often wondered about him and the kind of life he was leading. I bore no ill will towards him as I have had a good life here with my Aunt and Uncle, who have been as good as parents to me.
I am in touch with my older brother Liam, who is now a sailor like our father. I have written to him telling him of your letter and I am sure, like myself, he will be proud to know that our father died a hero. My only regret is that we never got to know each other.
Yours Sincerely
Rory Finnigan.
Looking up from his desk, Ben watched his own three sons for a moment, thinking of Patrick and the life he had led. Whatever Patrick had done, he had died saving Joe's life and for that Ben was profoundly thankful. He was only sorry that his old friend had not been able to make a life for himself and his sons when his wife died.
'You missed out on so much, Patrick." He thought to himself, listening to Joe's infectious laugh as he talked with his brothers. Adam's soft voice and Hoss' "Dadburnit, Joe." 'So very much.'
4.2.1.1 THE END
© Kathleen Pitts 1999
2
3
4 THE SAILOR
4.1.1 A Bonanza Story
4.2 By Kate
Ben Cartwright sighed with satisfaction as he relaxed in his chair by the fire. He was looking forward to a peaceful evening alone at home. Savouring the silence for a moment, he reached for the book he had been trying unsuccessfully to find time to read.
Ben's three sons were all in town for the evening, Adam and Hoss for a visit to the saloon, Joe to see Ellen Davies, the latest in his seemingly never ending string of young lady friends. He had got no further than half way down the third page, however, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Irritably, he put the book aside and went to see who could be calling at this hour.
As he opened the door Ben saw a tall, big built man, around the same age as himself. Startlingly blue eyes regarded him from a weather-beaten face.
"Ben Cartwright, it's good to see you!" The man's voice was deep and carried a hint of an Irish brogue.
"Patrick?" Ben questioned uncertainly, it had been the best part of thirty- two year's since he had seen this man. "Patrick Finnigan?"
"It's me all right Ben." Patrick laughed. "When they told me in town that a Ben Cartwright owned this ranch I just had to come and see if it was the same one, and there you stand large as life."
"Well I'll be…" Ben was at a loss for words. "Come in, come in." He ushered Patrick into the house. "It's been so long."
Entering the house Patrick stood for a moment looking around him. "It's a fine place you have here Ben." He said. "And all this land, seems you turned into a real landlubber."
"And you?" Ben asked. "What are you doing out here in Nevada? The last time I saw you was as you were leaving Boston bound for Europe I recall."
"It was at that." Patrick laughed. "There's a lot of water passed under the bridge since then."
"You must tell me all about it." Ben told him. "But first, make yourself comfortable." He escorted Patrick across to the couch. "Would you like coffee?" He asked. "Something to eat? I could get my cook to rustle you up a meal if you're hungry."
"I'm fine, Ben." Patrick settled himself on the couch. "Though I wouldn't say no to a drop of the hard stuff, if you have any?"
"Of course." Ben went to fetch the bottle of brandy and some glasses. Pouring the drinks, he studied his old friend. He had first met Patrick on board ship; the young Irishman was an accomplished sailor. He had worked his passage to America, and then signed on as crew with the clippers that plied the Atlantic. The two young men had become firm friends, till Patrick announced that when he left on his next voyage he wouldn't be returning to Boston, but would leave the ship in England and sign on with a ship bound for Australia.
"I'm off to see some more of the world, Ben." He had told him, as they drank together one evening in a Boston bar. "And this is just the start of it. I want to see all this world has to offer."
The two men were deep in reminiscing the past when Adam and Hoss returned a couple of hours later.
"Ah, boys." Ben looked up as they entered the house. "I want you to meet an old friend of mine. Boys, this is Patrick Finnigan." Patrick stood up and executed a mock bow before going forward to greet them. "Patrick, this is my eldest son, Adam and my middle son, Hoss"
"Your father has just been telling me all about you two." Patrick said, shaking hands. "I knew your grandfather Adam, when I lived in Boston."
"You know Pa from Boston?" Adam asked.
"That I do." Patrick replied. "We were friends there, many years ago. Then I left to travel the world and we lost touch. I did return to Boston years later, I heard that your father had married Captain Stoddard's daughter and that when she died he had moved west. I could hardly believe it when I found out that he owned all this." He smiled at Ben. "And now it's getting late." he continued. "Time I was leaving, let you good people get to your beds."
"Where are you staying?" Ben asked.
"I haven't got that fixed yet." Patrick told him. "When I heard about you I just came straight on out here, still I imagine I can get a room in a hotel easy enough."
"Now Patrick, I wouldn't hear of it." Ben smiled at his old friend. "You must stay here with us, we have plenty of room, and tomorrow you can tell us all about your travels."
****
Joe Cartwright stabled his horse Cochise and headed for the house. It was very late and he was tired, he hadn't meant to stay so long in town, knowing he had a long day's work ahead of him tomorrow. He smiled to himself, thinking of the reason he was late, remembering the silky feel of Ellen's long blonde hair between his fingers, the softness of her lips beneath his.
Opening the door he was surprised to see lamplight shining from his father's desk. Momentarily he felt a flash of annoyance, surely his father wasn't waiting up for him, after all he was nearly nineteen, and should be able to come home when he wanted.
As he walked towards the light, however, he was taken aback to see a complete stranger sitting at his father's desk.
"Ah." the man said, looking up as Joe approached. "I imagine that you must be Ben's youngest. Joe isn't it?"
"I'm Joe Cartwright." Joe confirmed. "And you are?"
"The name's Finnigan." The stranger said, standing up. Joe couldn't help but notice that the man had obviously been making serious inroads into his father's brandy, a half full glass of the spirit stood next to the almost empty bottle on the desk. "Patrick Finnigan." The man continued, shaking Joe's hand. "I'm an old friend of your father's. He very kindly offered me a bed for the night."
"Pleased to meet you." Joe returned and watched as Finnigan unsteadily headed towards the couch, carrying the glass of brandy in one hand, the nearly empty bottle in the other "Is there anything I can get you before I turn in for the night?" He asked as the man sat down.
"No, I'm fine." Finnigan replied. "I couldn't sleep, thought a brandy might help." He continued, seeing Joe glance at the glass he held. "I'm sure your father won't mind."
"Well, I'll say goodnight then." Joe headed for the stairs. "Perhaps I'll see you at breakfast."
There was no reply from Finnigan, considering the amount of brandy the man appeared to have imbibed Joe thought it unlikely that they would see him at breakfast.
****
Joe was wrong; Patrick was already seated at the table when Joe joined his family the next morning. He wasn't eating though, Joe noted, just drinking coffee.
"Ah, here's Joe." Ben said, looking up as his son approached. "Patrick, this is my youngest, Joseph."
"We met last night, Pa." Joe told his father, taking his seat at the table. "When I got back from town."
"We did?" Patrick looked blank for a moment, then remembered. "Oh, yes, I couldn't sleep so I was having myself a little night-cap when Joe came in, I hope you don't mind Ben."
"No of course not." Ben smiled at his friend. "I want you to feel at home here for as long as you decide to stay."
Joe wondered if his father would feel quite so accommodating when he discovered just how much of a 'little night-cap' Patrick had drunk.
****
"You seeing Ellen tonight?" Hoss asked his younger brother as the two rode back to the ranch that evening.
"No, she's got some family commitment tonight, couldn't get out of it." Joe told him. "I thought I'd just go into town for a couple of beers."
"I reckon I might just join you in that." Hoss grinned.
Adam was already home when Hoss and Joe arrived, he was talking to Patrick Finnigan down by the corral.
"Hey, brother." Joe hailed him as they rode up. "Hoss and I were thinking of going to town tonight, care to join us?"
"As it happens." Adam smiled. "Patrick and I had decided on a trip to town this evening as well, so I guess we might as well all ride in together."
****
"He's fascinating to listen to." Adam told Hoss. "He's seen so many things, been so many places." The two brothers were sitting together at a table in the saloon, Joe was seated a few tables away with some friends, playing cards and Patrick had gone over to watch them. While they were alone Hoss had asked Adam's opinions on their father's guest.
"He's been all over the world." Adam continued. "He's worked on sailing ships and steam ships, he was on one of the first iron ships. And the sights he's seen, the pyramids in Egypt, the Acropolis in Greece." Adam's voice held a wistful tone, hearing Patrick's tales that afternoon he had found himself wishing that he too could see the places the older man described so vividly. "He's been to Australia, India, China..."
"Then how come he's ended up here?" Hoss asked, looking over to where Finnigan stood. "Seems kinda strange to me, just turning up out of the blue like that."
Adam shrugged. "I didn't ask." He said. He too looked over at Patrick. "I suppose it is a little strange, after all these years to just turn up on Pa's doorstep like that." Watching Finnigan approach the bar and buy a whisky, he frowned slightly. "He sure knows how to put the drinks away." He observed. "That must be his eighth whisky in an hour."
Leaving the bar, Finnigan wove his way unsteadily through the tables towards Hoss and Adam; reaching them he sat down heavily. "Your brother seems to be doing well." He said, voice slightly slurred. "Winning a fair amount."
"Joe's good at cards." Hoss told him, glancing over to where Joe was playing.
Patrick drained his glass and began to get to his feet again. "You boys ready for another?" He asked. "I'm buying."
"We're fine." Adam told him. "In fact we were thinking of calling it a night, getting on home."
"You two carry on." Patrick smiled, heading for the bar. "I'll come back with Joe when he finishes his game."
"Right." Adam replied, then turned to Hoss. "I think we'd better get him out of here." He said quietly. "Pa won't be happy if we take him back drunk."
Hoss nodded in agreement. "I'll go explain to Joe." He said. "Get him to finish up the game, don't reckon he'll be too happy about it though."
****
Half an hour later the three Cartwrights and Finnigan rode back towards the Ponderosa. As Hoss had predicted Joe wasn't impressed at being asked to leave his game part way through, but Hoss had kept at him until he finally agreed.
Patrick though obviously intoxicated appeared to be riding well enough; he was in high spirits, singing loudly, and tunelessly as they rode.
As they approached the ranch though the older man's demeanour underwent a change, he quieted down and in answer to Adam's enquiry if he was all right, snapped back to leave him be.
Dismounting in front of the house Adam turned to aid Patrick from the saddle as he almost fell to the ground.
Joe moved forward and took the reins of the man's horse. "I'll stable him for you." He said. "You get off to bed."
To Joe's surprise Patrick turned on him furiously. "Do you think I cannot manage my own horse?" He yelled. "Think I'm incapable do you?"
Raising his hands, Joe backed off. He left Patrick's horse and started to take Cochise over to the stable.
Adam and Hoss began to follow their brother when Finnigan suddenly darted forward and grabbed Adam's gun from its holster.
"I'm not so very drunk you know." He shouted. "You just watch, I'll prove it to you."
It was obvious from the man's slurred speech, his unsteadiness on his feet that he was drunk, the gun he held was wavering from side to side as he attempted to take aim.
None of the Cartwrights were exactly sure what the man was aiming at but they were only too aware that in his intoxicated state the bullet could wind up anywhere.
"Hey, Patrick, no need to prove anything to us, fella." Adam said soothingly. "Why don't we just go on in the house?"
At that moment the front door opened as Ben came out to see what was going on. Hearing the door open Patrick turned toward the sound just as his finger tightened on the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed through the still night air, and simultaneously, or so it seemed, Cochise gave a sharp whinny of pain.
****
"Cochise! Joe exclaimed in shock. "You've hit Cochise!
Patrick dropped the gun from nerveless fingers, as sobered by the sound of the horse's cry, he realised what he had done.
"Adam get him in the house and get some coffee into him." Ben's voice was angry, he headed towards where Joe stood anxiously examining Cochise, Hoss beside him.
Adam reached down and picked up his gun from where it had fallen, then grasping Patrick's arm firmly, he guided the older man into the house.
"How is she?" Ben asked, reaching his son's side. He knew how much Joe cared for the animal and hoped the injury was not too bad.
"The bullet's in her shoulder." Joe told him, his voice holding both concern for his horse and fury at what had occurred. "I'll need to get it out."
Ben helped Joe lead the shocked animal into her stall while Hoss went to fetch the necessary equipment.
****
Leaving Joe and Hoss to work on Cochise, Ben returned to the house. He found Patrick sitting on the couch, a cup of strong coffee in his hand. Adam, sitting on the hearth, looked up anxiously as his father entered. "How is she?" He asked.
"Hoss and Joe are trying to take the bullet out now." Ben replied. "And your brother is understandably angry and upset." He turned towards his friend. "What on earth possessed you Patrick?" He asked him. "Bad enough you hit Joe's horse but that could have been one of my sons with a bullet in him."
Holding his cup in trembling fingers, Patrick turned shamefacedly to look at Ben. "I'm so sorry." He said quietly. "I just don't know what comes over me sometimes. It's the drink, I know, but I just can't seem to stop it. I need help Ben, I know that much."
****
Carrying a cup of coffee in one hand and with a blanket draped over his shoulder, Ben pushed open the stable door. He stood for a moment watching his son; Joe was standing beside Cochise, weariness apparent in his face.
"Joseph." Joe looked up as he heard his father's voice, taking the proffered coffee gratefully.
"Hoss thinks Cochise will be fine." Ben said putting his arm round his son's slim shoulders, feeling the tension in the boy relax a little at his touch.
"She's still pretty shocked." Joe said. "I thought I'd stay out here the night with her, if that's alright with you Pa?"
"I guessed you would." Ben told him, handing him the blanket. "But do try and sleep a little Joseph, you look tired."
"I am a bit." Joe reached out to smooth Cochise. "Did you get Mr Finnigan sobered up?"
"He's sleeping it off." Ben told him. "He's very ashamed of what he did, Joe."
"So he should be!" Joe exclaimed, Ben saw the anger in his son's eyes, felt the tension return to his body.
"He asked me for help." Ben moved his hand to Joe's arm, gently smoothing his thumb over the fabric of the boy's jacket. " He wants to stop drinking, but he doesn't feel that he can do it without help."
"And?" Joe asked, turning to face his father.
"I told him that I was willing to help provided you agreed." Ben said. Joe looked at him in surprise. "I know how much Cochise means to you." His father continued. "And I'd understand if you don't want me to do this for Patrick."
"But you want to?" Joe's feelings were mixed, he knew the shooting had been an accident, could understand a man getting drunk. But he was angry with Finnigan; the bullet could easily have killed Cochise.
"I don't know." Ben admitted. "Alcoholism is an illness, and a difficult one to fight. I believe Patrick has taken the first step by admitting he is an alcoholic and asking for help, but it's a long, hard road he has ahead of him, Joe." Watching his son's face, Ben saw the indecision written there. "He wants to talk to you in the morning." He told the boy. "Would you do that for me Joe, just listen to what he has to say?"
Joe nodded his agreement, he would hear Patrick out.
****
Ben looked down fondly at his son; Joe was curled up on the hay in the corner of Cochise's stall, sleeping soundly. "Joseph." Ben knelt beside the boy, gently shaking him. "Time for breakfast."
Slowly opening sleep heavy eyes, Joe stared up at his father, momentarily confused to find himself in the stable. Memory returning he sat up quickly. "Cochise?" He queried anxiously
"She's fine, Joe." Ben reassured him. "Just fine. Now you come on in the house and get some breakfast please." Smilingly he plucked a stalk of hay from Joe's dark curls. "And a wash and brush up wouldn't go amiss either."
Joe was just checking Cochise over, his father folding the blanket to take back in the house when the stable door opened to admit Patrick Finnigan.
"How is the horse this morning?" He asked softly, walking over to join the two Cartwrights.
"Fine, no thanks to you." Joe replied, his anger flaring at the sight of the man
"I wanted a word with you." Patrick said, leaning against the stall. "Your father said you'd listen."
Joe turned to look at the older man, Patrick looked in a bad way this morning, pale with beads of perspiration apparent on his brow, his hands trembling slightly. "I'll listen." Joe told him.
Ben gave his son's shoulder an appreciative squeeze. "I'll leave you two to talk." He said, taking the blanket and heading back to the house.
"Could we sit down?" Patrick asked as Ben left. "I'm afraid I'm not feeling too good this morning."
Wordlessly Joe indicated the bales of hay at one end of the stable; Patrick sank down on one gratefully.
"Your father told you that I asked him for help?" He inquired of Joe, who nodded in affirmation. "I'd like you to know what led me to this state, Joe." Patrick continued. "I'm not trying to excuse myself, I'd just like you to know." He patted the hay beside him, inviting Joe to sit, reluctantly Joe did so. "When I first knew your father." Finnigan began. "I was about your brother Hoss' age, full of a great desire for adventure, to get out and see the world. I used to like a drink even then, but no more than all the other young fellows did, not to excess. Well, I went off on my big adventure all right, I travelled all over, but eventually I found myself back in England, in Liverpool. That was where I met Elizabeth, my wife. You should have seen her Joe, my Bess. She had the bluest eyes, the most beautiful face of any woman I've ever seen. I gave up my travelling ways for a while and we settled down together. We had a child within a year, a son. I was working on the docks then, loading and unloading the ships, but the money wasn't good and when Bess found there was another baby on the way I went back to sea, Liverpool to New York. The money was better but of course it meant I was away from home a lot. It got so lonely Joe, I started turning to the bottle to drown out the loneliness." Patrick sat silently for a moment, lost in memories of the past. "Then I came home one day." He continued. "And found that Bess was ill, dying of consumption. There was nothing that could be done. When it was all over, I just didn't want to live any more, I drank more and more trying to forget. Then I realised one day that I just couldn't stop drinking any more, I did try." He looked over at Joe. "But I couldn't. So I decided that I needed a new start, a new life, I came back to America."
"And your children?" Joe asked. "What happened to them?"
"I left them behind." Patrick told him. He saw the incredulous look on Joe's face. "They were better off there." He said. "I was in no fit state to be a father to them. Bess had a cousin that took the older boy, I arranged for the younger boy to go to my sister in Ireland, he must be around your age by now."
Joe was shocked. Not only had Patrick abandoned his own children, he had even had the two separated. "Don't you keep in touch?" He asked.
"No." Patrick shook his head. "I felt a clean break was better. I came back to America and settled in New York." He continued his story. "I even managed to keep off the drink for a while, but it didn't last. I lost my job, so I tried moving on again, but each time the same thing would happen, I'd keep off the grog for a while, but it never lasted. So I decided to make one last-ditch effort and came here, to the West, another new start. I'd heard your Pa had come here and done well for himself, I thought I'd give it a try, but it seems I can't escape, one drink and I'm done for. This is it, my one final try, and after what I did last night I realised I need help Joe, I hope that with a friend's help I can do it this time, so, what do you say?"
Joe didn't reply immediately, thinking over the story he'd just heard. It seemed to him that Patrick Finnigan must be a very weak man, his own father had lost three wives but each time had refused to give in to despair and carried on to build his dream, the Ponderosa. Joe didn't even want to consider what his life would have been like if Ben had been like Patrick, abandoning his sons. "Do you really think you can do it this time?" He asked the older man.
"I know that I really want to." Patrick told him. "And with your father's help, perhaps I can, your father is a remarkable man Joe."
"Yes he is." Joe agreed. " And if he's prepared to help you, then I guess I'll go along with it for his sake."
****
It was obvious to all the Cartwrights how difficult it was for Patrick that next week. He tried to carry on as normal but it was obvious that he was far from well. He found it difficult even to pick up a cup, his hands shook so much. Ben had quietly removed all alcoholic drink; even the bottles that Hop Sing used in cooking had gone.
Cochise was well on the way to recovery, the wound in her shoulder healing nicely. Joe missed riding her, having to use one of the Ponderosa's spare horses.
Coming home late one evening he spent a while with Cochise, just grooming and talking to the horse. Leaving the stable he was surprised to see Adam sitting on the veranda.
"Evening, Joe." He said as Joe walked across the yard towards him. "Been to see Ellen again?"
Joe grinned wryly. "Somehow I don't think I'll be seeing Ellen any more." He said, taking a seat across from his brother. "She wanted to get a little more serious than I did."
"Talking marriage was she?" Adam smiled. "She wasn't your idea of a perfect wife?"
Joe shrugged. "She was nice enough." He said. "But she wasn't special, you know what I mean?"
Adam nodded. "How's Cochise?" He asked, changing the subject.
"Fine, I'll be glad when I can ride her again though." Joe looked towards the stable. "There's no horse can match Cochise." He said proudly. " She's real special."
"Unlike Ellen you mean." Adam said. "Poor girl, second best to a horse."
"I didn't quite mean that." Joe protested, laughing. "What are you doing out here anyway Adam?"
"Oh, atmospheres a little strained in there tonight." Adam told him. "Patrick has really got the shakes, the man's sweating like a pig, it's taking all his willpower to stop himself going into town in search of a bottle. I just felt the need to get out in the fresh air for a while."
Joe grimaced. "Not doing too well is he?" He said, his voice slightly scornful.
"It's not an easy thing to do." Adam said standing up and stretching. "He's trying very hard though, if he gets through the next few days I think he just might make it."
Joe wasn't so sure of that. "He might do all right out here away from temptation." He said. "But what happens when he goes to town next? Sees a saloon, he can't hide out here for ever."
"I guess we'll find out soon enough." Adam yawned. "Now I'm off to bed."
****
Patrick had insisted on paying Ben for his hospitality by doing some work around the ranch, so his first trip to Virginia City was to pick up supplies for Hop Sing. The Cartwrights were relieved to see him return without incident.
As the weeks passed Patrick settled easily into ranch life, he was a good worker and never complained whatever task was asked of him, be it fence mending or cleaning stables. Evenings he spent with the family, playing chess with Ben, checkers with Hoss and generally entertaining them all with stories of his many voyages. Adam especially enjoyed hearing the tales and would spend hours in deep discussion about the different ways of life in other countries.
Even Joe found himself warming to the man as he saw how hard Patrick was working to make his new start.
****
"I was thinking it's time I was moving on." Ben looked up his friend's words; the two men were enjoying a quiet cup of coffee together, the three younger Cartwrights not yet returned from the days work.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like." Ben told him, "We've enjoyed having you here."
"You've all been very good to me, and I can't tell you how grateful I am." Patrick said sincerely. "But I need to stand on my own two feet, and I think I can do it now. So I was intending to leave at the end of the week."
Ben reached for the coffeepot, pouring himself a fresh cup. "I'll be sorry to see you go." He said. "And you're welcome back any time."
****
"Another drink Joe?" Mitch asked his friend. Joe was engrossed in the card game and merely nodded in agreement. He had been playing for nearly two hours and the cards were going his way tonight, he'd already made a tidy sum of money.
Mitch made his way across the crowded, smoky room to the bar, he'd been out of the game for some time now, though being a cautious gambler, he'd not incurred heavy losses.
"Looks like he's making a killing tonight." Hoss remarked as Mitch reached his side. Joe's brother had just arrived in the saloon and was leaning against the bar savouring his drink.
"Yup." Mitch ordered, then turned to Hoss. "Only three left in the game now." He said. "Joe's having all the luck tonight."
Picking up the drinks he made his way back to the table whilst Hoss ordered another beer for himself and one for Adam who was just finishing up some business with one of the Ponderosa's suppliers before joining his brother.
Ten minutes later Hoss was surprised to see Patrick Finnigan enter the bar alongside Adam, the man had ridden in with them to book a seat on the stage to San Francisco, but Hoss had thought he would have ridden back to the Ponderosa once he'd done so. It was the first time Finnigan had entered a saloon since the night he shot Cochise.
Asking for and receiving a sarsaparilla, and a strange look from the bartender, Finnigan turned to survey the saloon. "Think I'll stroll across and watch your brother's game." He said to Adam, catching sight of Joe.
Adam nodded, watched for a while as Finnigan joined the group of spectators now gathered around the table, then turned back to his drink.
****
Joe concentrated hard on the cards he held in his hand, he was aware that he had drunk too many beers and was finding it difficult to focus on the game. He was feeling that kind of hazy glow that comes with too much alcohol, an almost detached feeling. Not quite drunk, but slightly befuddled. Pushing away the full glass that Mitch placed beside him, he watched as one of his opponents threw in his cards in disgust.
"That's it for me." The man said, rising from his seat. "Looks like it's down to you two."
Studying his cards, Joe threw another $5 onto the pile of notes in the middle of the table.
His opponent considered his move for a long time, he was a big man, roughly dressed, a stranger in Virginia City.
Watching the two players Patrick was feeling slightly uneasy, he had noticed how, when the big man put down his cards, his right hand would stray to his gun, the man was tense, angry looking and, Finnigan guessed, was almost out of money.
As the two players laid their cards on the table and Joe won again, his opponent rose to his feet angrily.
"Better watch out, sonny." He said coldly. "Seems you're winning a lot today, people might think it was something more than luck."
Joe was on his feet instantly, his temper, always volatile and at the moment fuelled with alcohol, flaring. "Are you saying I cheated?" He demanded loudly.
"Take it how you like." The man replied, his hand, Patrick noted, ready on his gun.
Silence fell over the saloon as the customers became aware of the drama unfolding in their midst. Adam and Hoss turned from the bar and began to make their way towards their brother, intent on stopping any trouble.
Angry, Joe went for his gun, but slightly inebriated, fumbled the move, allowing his opponent to draw first. Patrick hit the big man's arm away just as he fired, the bullet nicking Joe's arm instead of hitting him full in the chest where the gun had been aimed.
"That's enough." Adam had his gun drawn now. "My brother's no cheat, Mister." He said evenly. "I suggest you leave now, the game's over."
Seeing himself well out numbered the man picked up his hat from the table then turned and walked away.
****
"Joseph." Ben exclaimed in alarm as he saw the bandage on Joe's arm. "What happened?"
"He's fine, Pa." Adam said, entering the house behind his brother. "Just slightly woozy, and that's from the beer not blood loss."
Ben watched as Joe walked, slightly unsteadily, to the couch and sat down. "Well?" He demanded of his youngest son. "Are you going to tell me what's been going on?"
"I'll tell you this much." Adam told him, coming across to stand beside his father. "If it wasn't for Patrick Finnigan, Joe might well not be alive right now."
Joe listened as Adam related the evening's incident to his father. As Ben heard the full story he turned to look at Joe,
"You were drunk?" Ben demanded.
"I just had a few too many, Pa." Joe said, trying to look as weak and ill as possible, hoping to stave off his father's lecture. "I was thinking about the cards, I didn't realise how much I'd drunk."
"You didn't realise." Ben's voice was deceptively quiet and Joe cringed, waiting for the outburst to come. "And you drew on this man?"
"Not exactly." Joe faltered. "I tried to, but I never actually got the gun out of the holster."
"You never got the gun out of the holster." Ben repeated, his voice rising now, anger taking hold. "Joseph you could have been killed. Of all the…"
Outside in the yard Hoss grinned as he heard his father's voice. He turned to Patrick. "Guess Pa's heard all about it." He said. "What do you say we give him a few minutes to calm down before we go in?"
Patrick nodded in agreement and the two men settled down on the veranda to wait for Ben's anger to subside.
****
"How is he?" Patrick asked, looking up as Ben came down the stairs from Joe's room
"Fine." Ben told him. "Though I imagine he'll have a pretty sore head to go with that sore arm tomorrow." Walking over to the hearth Ben stood with his back to the fire, facing his old friend. "I don't know how to thank you for what you did today, Patrick." He said earnestly. "If you hadn't been there Joe might well have been killed."
"I'm only glad I was of help." Patrick told him. "You know Ben." He continued. "Seeing you and your sons these past few weeks has made me think." He paused for a moment, gazing into the fire. "You have three wonderful boys." He went on. "And I think the four of you are closer than most fathers and sons, you're a very lucky man."
Ben left his place by the fire and went to sit beside his friend. "Yes, I am." He agreed. "I'm very proud of them all, even that young one up there." He smiled wryly, thinking of his youngest. "Under all his bravado and impetuousness, he's growing into a fine young man."
"You've made me think." Patrick sighed. "Perhaps I was wrong to leave my boys when I did. I've come to a decision, Ben." He continued. "I'm going home, to Ireland. I'll go and see my youngest son, then try and find my eldest. They may not want to know me, and I can't say I'd blame them, but I'm not going to know unless I try am I?"
"No." Ben agreed. "I think it's a fine idea, Patrick and I hope it all turns out well for you."
"Thank You, Ben." His friend smiled. "I've done many bad things in my life, many things of which I'm ashamed, perhaps it's time for me to start righting some wrongs."
****
"Have a good journey Patrick, and the best of luck." Ben shook his friend's hand warmly as they stood beside the San Francisco stage.
"Thank you Ben, for all you've done." Patrick told him. "And thank you, boys." He continued moving along to shake hands with Adam, Hoss and Joe. As he reached Joe something he saw over the young man's shoulder caused his eyes to widen in alarm, roughly he grabbed the youth and thrust him aside just as the sound of a shot echoed round the street.
Adam, Hoss and Ben whirled round, guns drawn. The man standing on the boardwalk was about to pull the trigger again when Ben's bullet cut him down.
Joe was kneeling beside Patrick, the older man obviously badly wounded.
"Get the doctor." Ben told Hoss tersely, crouching down at his friend's side. "It'll be all right Patrick." He assured him. "The doctor's on his way."
"I think it might be too late for that, Ben." Patrick gasped, his blue eyes dark with pain. "Is Joe all right?"
"I'm fine." Joe moved round to where the older man could see him better. "You saved my life." He told him.
"I saw him aiming his gun." Patrick said simply. "The man from the card game." He groaned sharply as pain suddenly washed over him.
"Don't talk." Ben urged. "Save your strength."
"It's all right, Ben." A semblance of a smile flickered on the weather- beaten face. "Perhaps some things are meant to be. I wasn't completely honest with you Ben," He said. "I knew all along you lived here and I came here to hide out, I killed a man in a bar in Boston. I was drunk of course." He gasped as the pain intensified but carried on resolutely. "It made me realise I had to get off the drink, and I did, didn't I?"
"Yes, Patrick you did." Ben told him softly as Patrick gave a last final gasp of pain, his body arching in agony, then lay still.
Gently Ben reached out and closed his old friend's eyes, then knelt for a while, head bowed in grief, glad of Joe's consoling hand on his arm.
****
It was some months later that Ben received the letter from Ireland.
'Dear Mr Cartwright.' He read. 'Thank you for informing me of the sad death of my father. I had often wondered about him and the kind of life he was leading. I bore no ill will towards him as I have had a good life here with my Aunt and Uncle, who have been as good as parents to me.
I am in touch with my older brother Liam, who is now a sailor like our father. I have written to him telling him of your letter and I am sure, like myself, he will be proud to know that our father died a hero. My only regret is that we never got to know each other.
Yours Sincerely
Rory Finnigan.
Looking up from his desk, Ben watched his own three sons for a moment, thinking of Patrick and the life he had led. Whatever Patrick had done, he had died saving Joe's life and for that Ben was profoundly thankful. He was only sorry that his old friend had not been able to make a life for himself and his sons when his wife died.
'You missed out on so much, Patrick." He thought to himself, listening to Joe's infectious laugh as he talked with his brothers. Adam's soft voice and Hoss' "Dadburnit, Joe." 'So very much.'
4.2.1.1 THE END
© Kathleen Pitts 1999