FIELDS OF WHITE
by BeckyS
© September 2002 – December 2003, as allowable

For Puchi, who writes a wonderful Adam though she loves Joe best, for Marian who is always my inspiration for Joe, and to all those who've thought that I would only write Adam stories! Special thanks to one-who-shall-remain-nameless for pestering me and other inspirations, including a great conversation in an airport bar.



PART 1

The tall sorrel blew hard, plumes of white breath clouding the air as he leaned into the turn. He'd just about raced his heart out, and his rider knew there weren't many more miles left in either of them.  This was the hardest part of the journey, too – headed up the last few hundred yards to Spooner Summit.  It was a long, hard climb from the Carson Valley to the crest of the Sierra Nevada even at a sane pace, but if they could make it to the other side, they'd practically be on Ponderosa land where they might possibly be safe.

Ahead of him, his brother's pinto skidded through a bend at the crest of the trail, kicking clods of white into the air that shone against the bright blue sky like sparkles floating in a music box globe.  Fortunately, yesterday's snow had been relatively light; a full-fledged December storm in the Sierra Nevada mountains was likely to leave multiple feet in its wake rather than the inches that now covered the slate-stone hills, and they wouldn't have had a chance.  As it was, they had to keep as far ahead of the five-man posse as they could since there was no possibility of hiding their trail.

He urged his horse faster with legs and voice and gloved hands, trying to encourage him.  If they could just make it over this ridge, the run down the other side could serve as enough of a rest that his horse might be able to make it to the ranch.  They headed up and into the same turn his brother had just taken, but the sorrel had run farther and his rider was heavier than the pinto's, and when his hooves lost purchase on the slippery trail, they went down hard in a flurry of legs, black dirt and white powder.  In the sudden silence, the disturbed snow floated back to earth, lightly dusting the motionless horse where it lay at the top of a long, steep slope.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The snow was heavier on this side of the pass, with wind-sculpted drifts rising almost as high as his horse's belly.  Joe Cartwright risked a glance over his shoulder, not really surprised that his oldest brother hadn't appeared yet.  Adam had raced into Joe's resting spot at noon, his horse lathered and wild, his fatigue-lined eyes and rough, black-stubbled chin telling an eloquent story of impending disaster.  Joe had ridden out to meet his brother and have what he hoped would be a casual, comfortable ride home with him, but now he scrambled to get his horse ready while Adam hunched over his saddle horn trying as hard as his horse to catch his breath.

"What—?" Joe had asked as he finished tightening his cinch.

Adam cut him off.  "Just get on your horse, boy, and ride!"

Having just had his sixteenth birthday, that 'boy' rankled, but deep down Joe trusted his brother implicitly so he leaped into his saddle and kicked Cochise into a gallop.  It wasn't the way to treat a good horse, to push him to his top speed without letting him warm his muscles first, but then Adam hadn't been treating Sport any better.  He knew well his brother's views on the humane treatment of their horses, so if Adam was running his favorite mount into the ground, there was sure to be a very good reason.

He glanced over his shoulder again, and his worry doubled when he still didn't see Adam.  In a split-second decision, he reined his horse around.  Cochise spun on his hind legs in a half-rear, and they bounded up the steep trail.  The horse skidded to a sudden halt near the top, nearly unseating his rider as they slid to a stop next to Adam's horse, which lay on the snowy path, sides heaving from exhaustion.

Joe leaped from the saddle and looked round the countryside for his brother.  "Adam!" he cried, near-panic making his heart jump.

He could just barely see the back of Adam's head where he lay a good forty yards down the hill off the north side of the trail, at the end of a long, deep track.  He'd slid through a drift and part way out the other side, and was almost completely covered with snow.  Making a quick decision, Joe grabbed his rifle and saddlebags off his horse and slapped him on the rump.  Startled and relieved of his rider's weight, the pinto bolted down the hill toward, Joe hoped, home.  He knelt briefly by Adam's horse and quickly determined that the animal was simply exhausted, not injured.  He grabbed his brother's hat, which had tumbled to a stop a few feet away, climbed over the horse's belly to the hillside, and gently, carefully, began pulling on the reins. 

He was taking an appalling chance and he knew it, but he saw no other way to quickly cover their tracks.  Sport slid slowly down the hill behind Joe, his hooves pushing against the ground just enough to keep his descent under control.  When they had almost reached the drift where his brother lay face-down, Joe let go of the reins and started tossing snow over the top of the drift onto his brother's body until he was completely, if lightly, covered.  He quickly buried his and Adam's saddlebags as well as their hats, then clucked at the horse and pulled up on the reins, encouraging him to stand.  As soon as Sport was on his feet, though shaking and shivering with legs splayed in exhaustion and head hanging limply toward the ground, Joe dove into the drift as well.  He pulled his legs up to his chest and lay stone-still; silent, waiting, praying.

It didn't take long.  He could feel the thudding of the horses' hooves through the earth before he heard them, but soon the thundering echoed in his ears.  'Why are they chasing Adam?  He wasn't supposed to have much cash with him on this leg of his trip. What went wrong?'

He hoped he'd have a chance to get the answer out of his brother.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The group of horses stopped at the top of the ridge, and he knew they were studying the scene, trying to figure out what had happened.  He hoped it looked like Sport had fallen, and that he'd returned to take his brother up on Cochise.  That there was only one set of bootprints should help, and he was counting on the instinctive dislike of horsemen everywhere of walking – and especially climbing – to deter them from actually coming down the hill.  He heard muffled words, the stamp of horses' feet, and a stream of foul words.   Then the jingle of spurs and bits, more stamping and shuffling, and they suddenly rode off in a flurry of pounding hooves.

He listened carefully without moving for several minutes more, and was rewarded when he heard a final curse, and a last horse raced down the trail.  He let out a breath and rested his forehead on his arm, going weak with relief.  He only allowed himself a moment, though, before climbing out of his hole.  Grateful as he was that his brother hadn't moved and given them away, he was equally worried.  He crouched on the down side of the hill to Adam's left and brushed the snow from his brother's face and hair.  "Adam," he called softly.

No reaction, not even the flicker of an eyelid.

"C'mon, Adam, talk to me." 

Still nothing.

Joe sank down onto his knees, his eyes filled with despair.  He pulled off a glove to feel for a pulse and was almost as relieved by the warmth of his brother's neck as he was by the slow steady throbbing of life. 

He turned Adam's head carefully to the other side and discovered the reason for his unconsciousness – there was a bloody and swollen abrasion that ran from his right temple into the hair above his ear.  He was lucky he hadn't lost an eye.

Joe climbed up to his hidey-hole and pulled out his snow-caked hat.  He slapped it on his leg a couple of times to shake off the snow and settled it on his head, then retrieved Adam's hat and their saddlebags.  As he traipsed through the drifts to his brother, he rummaged around in the pockets of his bags, his hand closing on an extra shirt he'd packed.  He used it and small handfuls of snow to wash the blood off Adam's face as well as he could, then tied his bandanna around Adam's forehead to try to keep the wound clean. He rolled his brother gently toward him onto his side, felt for broken ribs or other injuries and, finding none, rolled him the rest of the way onto his back.  He tucked his hat under Adam's head, not caring that it was getting crushed, and checked the rest of him.  This time he found what appeared to be a dislocated left shoulder. 

"If that and a bump on the head are the worst of it, you got off pretty light, big brother."

Maybe the snow had cushioned his fall.  He lifted the arm to see if it would move, but one knee hit an icy spot, and he went sprawling.  He instinctively hung onto Adam's wrist, and with a sickening snap that caught him by surprise, the shoulder slipped into place.  Appalled at himself for not letting go, not thinking things through, he suddenly realized how little he knew about taking care of injuries – he should have left the shoulder alone, even if he had managed to fix it by accident.

He caught his breath on a near-sob and swiped at his face with his arm.  He breathed deeply a few times to calm down, then picked up Adam's hat and examined it.  He was relieved to find it in good condition – Adam would need the warmth, once he got him up on his horse.  It was only then that Joe realized he'd made the decision to try for home.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It was hard getting Adam loaded up onto his horse.  Joe's feet kept slipping on the steep, snowy hill as he tried to raise his brother's inert body high enough to hoist him face-down over the saddle.  He hoped he was right, that Adam didn't have any busted ribs.  Sport was no problem; he had picked his head up a little, but was still too weary to step away from this awkward burden.  If Adam had been even slightly conscious, if Sport hadn't been nearly broken down from the long, hard run, Joe would have tried to mount behind his brother, but he knew he was going to have to walk.  He pulled Adam's bandanna from around his neck and tied it over his brother's nose and mouth to help keep them warm, then checked his gloves to make sure they were securely covering his hands. The now-ruined shirt served as a way to tie Adam's hat on, the arms tying under his chin.  A grin teased at Joe's mouth, but it would do – would keep Adam's ears and neck warm, too.  He was determined to get Adam home, not only in one piece, but without frostbite.

He slung the saddlebags over the animal's rump on top of his brother's, then paused a moment, curious as to whether whatever those men had wanted was in one of the pouches.  He decided he'd better get Adam home first; there would be plenty of time later to figure out what those men were after, once they were safe. 

He tossed snow over every bootprint he could find, then pushed and prodded Sport around the area where he'd walked.  Then he pulled his collar up high around his neck, settled his hat as far down as it would go, tucked his chin down into his coat, and led the horse through the drift and down the hill, carefully keeping the animal directly behind so the hoofprints would obscure his tracks. 

He studied the hills, getting his bearings and trying to decide on the best route, one that would get them out of sight of the trail as quickly as possible.  There was no telling when the men would come up with Cochise, and though he was sure his horse wouldn't let them catch him, they'd see the empty saddle and know they'd somehow been tricked.  He squinted against the dazzling white landscape and realized he'd have to take care against snow-blindness as well.

He took his thoughts back to the summer, mentally adding leaves to the trees and grass to the ground as he tried to decide on the best route.  "Yeah, the roundup.  Hoss rode over this way, and he told me that night about a path he found through these rocks."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Joe felt like he'd been walking through gullies and canyons for days.  There'd been no sign of pursuit, and he wondered if his tricks could have possibly worked. He'd tried everything his brothers had ever taught him, even climbing up behind Adam for a brief trek along the bed of a shimmering-cold stream.  He'd wanted badly to stay on the horse – his legs were warm for the first time in hours – but he couldn't afford to tire the animal.  He needed him to carry his brother.

Joe's gloved hands were stiff with cold, now, and when he could feel his feet they ached in their boots from the unaccustomed walking.  He'd begun to worry about his own nose getting frostbitten when he heard the first moan. 

"Adam?"  He stopped Sport and went to his brother's head, lifting it carefully to see if he was waking up.  He was rewarded with something that sounded like a pained sigh. In spite of his own discomfort, he grinned.  "That's it, brother. Wake up just a little more."

"Joe?" Adam tried to raise his head, and his left eyelid twitched halfway open.

"Just stay put.  Don't try to move or you'll slide right off your horse, and that won't feel too good.  I'll find us a good spot to settle for a while, get you warmed up."

"Yeah."  His eye closed again, and he relaxed into his brother's palm.

Not sure whether Adam was actually taking his advice or if he had just passed out again, Joe cast around in his memory for any nearby shelter.  He was pretty sure they'd crossed over onto Ponderosa land by now, even if just barely, so there should be a line shack somewhere close by.

"C'mon, think!" he muttered to himself.  "Which way? The house is north, but the line shack might be to the west.  Yeah, it is."  He sighed.  He hated to go the wrong direction, but when he looked out over the land, he realized the sun was setting. "Adam isn't gonna last a night in the open. All right, west it is."

He traipsed on through the gathering darkness, and even though he was cold and desperately worried about his brother, he couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of the land.  The fields of snow that lay before him were a pristine white, the very air seemed to turn golden, and the snow-capped mountains were touched with a delicate rose.  The sky was darkening to a pure, deep, velvety blue, the very color of the depths of Lake Tahoe.  A few evening stars began to twinkle on the horizon, resembling distant campfires. 

He thought of his father and his other brother, Hoss, home and warm in front of the huge hearth.  He wondered if they realized yet that the rest of the family was in trouble.  His sudden impulse to meet his oldest brother and ride back with him no longer looked like such a good idea.  When Ben had said that Adam might not be close enough to home for them to make it home that night, Joe had laughed and told him not to worry – they could take care of themselves.

Now, how he wished those words unsaid.  He could only hope Cochise had made it home.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~
to be continued