One…two…three…four…

"Adam!"

Five…six…seven…eight…

"ADAM!"

Nine…ten…

"ADAM! Time to come in, son! Adam!"

Adam paused, letting the rope swing twist around. Pa was calling…must be time for dinner…He let the rope swing sway.

"ADAM!" the voice repeated insistently. "Adam! Come home! It's time to come home!"

Adam moved to jump down from the knot at the bottom of the swing, but the rope became entangled in his arms in some way, restraining him. He swung dizzily, caught, struggling to free himself.

"Adam!" The voice sounded farther away now and Adam felt a surge of panic. Pa was leaving without him! He had to get free! He yanked desperately at his wrists where they were trapped by the rope, but it clung to him, almost like a living thing, preventing his escape. "Adam…" Pa's voice was faint and far away now and Adam's struggles became frantic. He had to get free…he couldn't let Pa go off and forget him…

"PA?" The sound of his own voice woke him with a start and he hung for a moment, confused and disoriented, swinging gently. A dream? But…he struggled to pry his eyes apart, had a quick glimpse of dark shapes wheeling by him at a rapid rate, closed them again hastily. No. That would only make him sick. He reached out with one foot to stop the swinging, but his toe barely brushed the ground - not nearly enough to stop and stabilize him. He hung as still as he could manage, trying to get his bearings. Where…? He didn't risk opening his eyes again, but he reached out with his other senses, aware of damp and musty smells and some other familiar aromas his groggy mind couldn't quite separate and place, a faint, pervasive chill in the air, a slight draught against his bare chest. That prickled at his mind, too. Why would his chest be…? Where was his shirt? He gradually became aware of the tickling of his sleeves on his arms, so his shirt must not be gone, just open. He swallowed. His throat was dry and raw. A peculiar numbness weighted him, but through it he could feel the burning in his arms and back and shoulders, overburdened too long bearing all his weight. He wiggled his fingers, trying to get a hand hold, felt something long and sharp between them and tried to grasp it to pull himself up and relieve some of the awful pressure on his wrists. His fingers slipped, wet and slick with sweat…or something else…and his weight jerked against the ropes again, sawing deeply into his wrists, causing him to cry out before he could stop himself. The pain was nauseating and he swallowed hard against it, trying to lubricate his dusty throat, trying not to vomit.

Be still. That seemed to be his only option. Be very still and try to figure out what the hell…he tried to forget about the pain in his wrists and arms for a moment and take inventory. His head felt slow and heavy, throbbing somewhere just below the level of consciousness, his cheek was stiff, as if bruised - but he couldn't make out any serious injuries. A lot of discomfort, an appalling feeling of helplessness…but he seemed more or less whole. So far. He tried to open his eyes again.

It was too dark to make out much - some indistinct shapes - and before he could let his eyes adjust he found he needed to close them against the dizziness again. What on earth was the matter with him? He had some distant memory, way at the back of his mind, of someone telling him he was sick…he sighed a little. That made some sense. He felt sick enough. But why would he be hanging…? WAS he hanging…? Or was this just another dream…?

Kidnapped. He opened his eyes in surprise at the memory, then had to close them quickly again. If he hadn't dreamed it, someone had said…Amelia. He let out a gasp of relief. Amelia Fairchild. That he remembered, a little bit - Amelia Fairchild - he had been with her - he had…passed out, he thought. Then…he wrinkled his forehead in concentration. He had woken up…here?

Kidnapping a Cartwright wouldn't be a new idea. For what? Ransom? But why would Amelia…? She had always seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for him, of course, but he thought he had taken care of that years ago. But wait - hadn't she said David…? He felt his heart beat a little faster. David Fairchild. Now, maybe that made a little bit of sense.

David Fairchild had worked for him for a while on the ranch. They had been a bad combination from the start. He had found David surly and lazy and bad tempered - countermanding his orders apparently just to show he could. He had also kept a bottle with him on the job, and while Adam had never actually seen him drunk, drinking on the job was contrary to Cartwright policy and he had finally made up his mind to fire him. He had informed Pa, since it had been his idea to hire him in the first place, and Ben had demurred.

"Son, I know he's not a perfect hand yet, but those children had a bit of a bad bringing up - Amos was not an ideal father and now I just want to see them have a chance. I know you have high standards for the men under you, but maybe sometimes you expect a little bit too much. I'll take him to work under me for a few days - see if we can't make this thing work out."

David had lasted an even shorter time under Ben - not even a complete day. When Adam came in for dinner that evening, Ben explained in some exasperation that he had had to let him go. "Some people just don't know what to do with a chance," he had remarked sternly. "I told him to collect his pay and be gone."

"Maybe your standards are just a little high?" Adam had murmured.

Ben had lowered his brows at him, then laughed unexpectedly. "Maybe they are. I just know I don't want that man on my ranch another day."

Adam had nodded, surprisingly relieved. There was something about David Fairchild that he hadn't liked, aside from his sloppy work habits - something unsettling he couldn't put his finger on. Since he couldn't describe it he didn't like to accuse him of it, but he had been glad to see the last of him. Or so he had thought.

He grimaced, automatically twisting his hands again, stopped abruptly and squeezed his eyes shut. God, that hurt. No more of that. He wished he had some idea of how much time had passed…hours? Minutes? Probably at the very least he was late meeting his father and Pa would be concerned…he smiled grimly. Not without some cause, as it happened. He felt another wave of dizziness and the edges of his world blackened. He had to stop this passing out…had to focus…to try, at least, to keep an idea in his head for more than a minute at a time…he felt a thin sliver of panic.

He couldn't be sure, though, what was real and what wasn't - he had some vague memories of being stroked, then of being hit, an odd juxtaposition of sensation that left him more disoriented than ever, and the blackness around him seemed to press in and overwhelm him.

Water. He could use some water…he thought Amelia had given him some earlier, but it didn't seem to quench his thirst - in some strange way, it left him more parched than ever. Consciousness was sliding away from him despite his best efforts when he heard a sudden banging over his head, and then a squeaking of boots on ladder rungs nearby, and he stiffened automatically. Was someone…? He tried to lift his head up, to look.

His vision jumped and blurred, but he could just make out a shadow in front of him. It stopped, studying him.

"Awake, huh?" He recognized David Fairchild's flat tones. "Well, that's good. 'Melia had some stuff she wanted to do in town. Thought you might like a little company."

Adam took a careful breath, but didn't even try to reply.

David smiled. "Funny, ain't it? How you used to be the boss and now I am? Life is pretty funny, don't you think?"

Adam cleared his throat. "What do you want?" he managed to croak.

He didn't even see the blow coming - just felt the sudden explosion in the left side of his head, a trickle of wetness from his left ear.

"Well, for starters…" Adam eyes seemed to be glued shut, but he could still tell that David was grinning. "For starters, I'd like you to realize who's boss here, friend. I didn't say you could talk." He wrapped his hand in Adam's collar, tugging him suddenly against his bonds. "Now did I?"

Adam didn't answer this time - he couldn't - the sudden movement against the raw skin of his wrists had loosened his last grip on consciousness and he slid over the edge, into blackness.