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


PART 4
 
"Is'bella . . ."

Joe dragged himself up from the darkness of exhausted sleep.  The cold light of a bleak winter morning greeted him.

"Is'bella, no . . ."

"Adam?" Stiff with cold, he raised himself onto his knees. With horror, he realized his brother was still tied down. He grabbed one of the blood-stained knives and swiftly cut through all the rawhide thongs, flipping the blanket up to get to the rope across Adam's back. He hesitated, though, to roll him over, afraid of what the movement might do to the wound.  It seemed to have stopped bleeding, and he wondered if he should try to change the bandage. It seemed to be stuck. Maybe he should wait to change it. It might be harder to get off later, but he just didn't think he could manage if the bleeding started up again.  With some difficulty, he worked a roll of bandages under Adam to tie the wadding in place over the wound, then he tucked Adam's shirttails back in his pants to help hold it.

He pulled the blanket up over Adam's back, smoothed it free of wrinkles.  He sighed deeply and looked around the room.  "What a mess," he muttered.  Well, that was something he knew how to take care of.  

He opened the door of the cabin to dump the bowls of reddened water and was shocked to find a raging snowstorm that obscured the wide field in front of the small cabin.  Cold air blew into the cabin, and Sport's ears pricked.  The horse looked at Joe and shook his head, his mane tossing wildly.  Joe couldn't help but grin.  "No, boy.  We're not going out in that.  Not yet, anyway!"

Quickly, he dumped the water and stepped back inside.  He refilled one of the bowls from the bucket and tried to wash his hands.  They wouldn't come completely clean, but at least he wouldn't leave red marks on everything he touched.  He slowly eased the ruined sections of slicker from under Adam's body, bundled them into a ball with the used bandages and threw the whole mess into the same corner the bullet had landed in last night.  He refilled the bowls and set them by the bed, then braved the outside again to get more snow in the buckets.  He scooted through the door again and set them by the fire.  The cabin was almost as cold as the outdoors, so he added a few more sticks of wood to build up the flames, and the room began to warm again. 

He returned to Adam's side and laid his hand against his forehead. Still feverish, still out cold.  The welt where Blake had hit him was even more livid.  Joe unscrewed the lid to one of Hop Sing's pots and gently smoothed the pungent ointment over the torn skin.

"Wish you'd wake up, tell me what's going on."  He smeared another gob over the bruise Adam had gotten on his slide down the hill.  "Why are those men chasing you?  Why are they calling you by your grandfather's name?  What do you have that Blake wants so bad?"  He closed up the tin and studied his brother. 

"Adam?" he called softly, but there was no response.  "C'mon, Adam, wake up!"

Frustrated, he rose and took a turn around the room.  He knew where his brother had been – they'd received a letter from someone Pa called an old family friend, asking for business advice.  Joe wasn't familiar with the name, but it had brought a smile to Adam's face so he wasn't surprised when their father suggested that he make a trip to find out the situation and see what, if anything, they could do to help.  It had been two weeks since Adam rode out, and three days ago they'd received a telegram saying he was almost finished and would be returning.

Had something gone wrong in the final stages of whatever he'd been doing?  Were the men who'd been chasing him involved somehow?

Thanks to the storm, they were safe for the moment.  Only a fool would brave this kind of weather, and though he knew those men had somehow been mistaken, he didn't take any of them for fools.  They would be settled in some nice warm hotel room in town, all set for a good, hot meal and then a talk with Roy Coffee.  Roy wouldn't head out to the ranch until the storm blew itself out, so that meant he'd have some time to try to . . . what?

Get Adam home?

Then what?

Blake and his posse, including the hot-tempered Jesse, would follow Roy and would try to take Adam back to wherever they came from.  He had faith that Roy would do his best to keep that from happening, but what if Adam had actually been involved in something – innocently, of course – that required him to go?  He didn't trust them to take care of him.

He looked across the room at his brother.  Adam wasn't going anywhere. Even from this distance, Joe could see his flushed face.  He crossed to his side and sat on the edge of the cot, soaked a rag in cool water and mopped at his brother's forehead.  The cloth heated so quickly that  Joe knew his troubles weren't over yet. 

Thirsty himself, he knew Adam needed water, too.  He'd have to shift him onto his back to get any into him, though.  He retrieved a blue tin cup from one of the shelves, dipped it into the bucket of water and set it on the floor near the cot.  Everything organized, he rolled his brother carefully onto his side, paused a moment to reassure himself, and then eased him over the rest of the way. 

"Adam, wake up," he called, squeezing his bare shoulder.

He heard a soft groan.

"That's it – time to get up."

"No," Adam breathed, the word almost lost in the howling of the wind outside.

Joe dampened the rag again and dabbed at Adam's face and neck.  "How can you be so hot when the cabin's so darn cold?"  Adam shivered, and Joe pulled the blanket up tighter around his neck.  "Burning up, but feeling like you'll never get warm.  A bad fever."  He wondered if any of the other little pots of medicine would help.  "First, though, get you a drink."

He slid an arm under his brother's shoulders, raising him just enough that he'd be able to drink, and shifted so he sat partly behind him. But even that slight movement must have hurt, because Adam groaned again.

"I have some water for you, Adam, but you have to wake up enough to drink it."

The long black eyelashes flickered.

"That's it, wake up. C'mon, Adam, you gotta wake up for me."  A thread of desperation strained his voice.

Adam blinked, frowned slightly, and said, "Joe?"

"You're awake!" Joe's heart lifted, and he heaved a sigh of relief.  Maybe now they could figure out what to do.  "Yeah, it's me, and I have some water for you.  Take it slow . . ."  He held the cup to Adam's dry lips and poured a few drops at a time into his mouth.  Adam swallowed, so he gave him a bit more.

"Where's Berto?"

"Who?" asked Joe.

" 's he all right?" he slurred.

"I don't know – tell me what's going on."

Adam looked around the room, not quite focusing on anything.  "The deed—"  He tried to sit up, but Joe held him in place against his chest easily.

"What deed?  Who's Berto?"  The name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't bring anyone's image to mind.  He shook his brother lightly.  "Adam, what's going on?"

"Gotta get Pa . . . get Pa to—"  He wrenched himself out of Joe's grasp, but the movement must have hurt because he raised a hand to his forehead and groaned.

Joe shifted around to face him, holding him up by one shoulder.  "Adam!" He tried to get his brother's attention.  "Adam, look at me."

Adam blinked and squinted, but Joe could see his eyes weren't tracking right.  "Joe?" he asked again.  "Where's Pa?  Need him . . ."  He frowned.  "Need him for something . . ." 

Joe's frustration boiled over.  "Daggonit, Adam, tell me what's going on!"

"Don't know where . . . where . . ."  His voice started to fade, and his eyelids drooped.  "Joe?  Where . . . ?"  He slumped suddenly.  Joe caught him in his arms and swore as he laid him gently back on the cot.

"How'm I supposed to figure out what to do when you won't tell me what happened?  You're always telling me to grow up, take on more responsibility and make decisions, but you gotta help me here.  What if I choose wrong and mess everything up?  Adam, tell me what to do!"

But his brother was once more still and silent. 

"Adam?" he whispered, anguished.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Cochise stumbled into the yard of the ranch house just as the storm began to break.  Finding the door to the barn closed, he whinnied loudly and pawed at the ground. 

"What're you doin' out here, fella?" asked Young Johnny.  The old man was in charge of the barn today, a rotation he didn't mind at all.  The Cartwrights had always been good to him, from the first day he rode up and asked for a job.  The ranch hands had sent him to a dark-haired, somber-eyed young man they called Mr. Adam, and he'd been the one to hire him, saying his father was ill.  The moment Young Johnny met Mr. Cartwright, he recognized the illness – a sickness of the heart – and bunkhouse gossip had filled in the gaps in the family's tragic history. It was a wonder they carried on at all, losing a third Mrs. Cartwright like that. 

He stroked the pinto's neck, noting that he wasn't hot – as if he'd been running – and lifted the tied-off reins over the horse's head to lead him into the barn.  He closed the door carefully behind him and led the horse to his stall, wondering what had happened to his rider.  Little Joe hadn't been much more than a baby when Young Johnny had first met him, and he knew Mr. Cartwright would be devastated if anything had happened to the boy.  To any of his boys, in fact.  He didn't take the time to unsaddle the horse, just made sure he had hay and a bit of water.  

The door to the barn opened and let in a blast of cold air. 

"Hoss, that you?" he called.

"Sure is," Hoss answered.  "Thought I heard a horse come in."

Young Johnny eased his way out of Cochise's stall.  He jerked his head in the horse's direction.  "Come walkin' up, nice as you please, askin' to be let in the door."  He answered what he knew would be the next questions.  "No sign o' Joe or Adam, nor Adam's horse neither."

Hoss grimaced.  "What kinda shape's he in?"

"Tired, but okay.  Didn't fall or nothin' I can tell.  Saddle ain't wet, bedroll's still tied on tight.  Messy, but tight."

"Messy?  Joe ain't as neat about his knots as Pa an' Adam, but I wouldn't call him messy."

"Well, these is about the worst knots I ever seen him tie.  Like he was in a right big hurry."

Hoss slid into the stall next to his brother's horse and shook his head at the hasty job Joe had made of tying his bedroll on the saddle.  "I see what you mean."  He undid the cinch and handed the saddle over to Young Johnny, then ran his hands over the hair on Cochise's back.  "He's dry now, but he sweated up a storm somewheres along the line."

"That ain't like Joe, neither.  He knows better than to run a horse into a sweat in this kind o' weather.  Somethin's real wrong."

Hoss nodded.  "You take care o' him for me?  I gotta go talk to Pa."

"Sure thing.  I'll brush him down good, walk him out a bit."  He looked at Hoss speculatively.  "You gonna be wantin' Buck and Chubb?"

"Storm's gonna get worse before it gets better, but once it starts to ease up a bit, you know Pa's gonna want to head on out."

"I'll get 'em grained up for you, then.  Brush 'em out.  They'll be ready when you want 'em."

Hoss slapped him on the shoulder.  "Thanks.  I'll let you know what we're gonna do."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Pa!  Hey, Pa!" Hoss called out as soon as he was in the house.  He pulled off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door.  "Pa!" he boomed again toward the stairs. 

Ben appeared on the top landing.  "What's all the shouting about?"

"Joe's horse come home without him."

"What?" Ben exclaimed and rattled down the stairs.

"Ain't no real sign o' trouble – Cochise is fine, didn't fall or nothin' – but he come in alone."

Ben headed for his coat.  "Well, what are you standing around for?  Get some supplies packed up."

"Pa, we cain't go out in this.  It's gettin' worse already, and it ain't gonna let up.  We'll never find him."

Ben paused with one arm in the sleeve of his coat. "Hoss, isn't there time to at least look around close?"

Against every bit of common sense, Hoss forced out a weak, "Sure, Pa."

A fierce gust of wind rattled the window panes and howled against the sturdy framework of the house.

"No," Ben said softly.  "No, we can't, can we?" 

Hoss hung his head sadly.  "I don't think so, Pa.  This is gonna be a good, solid blow for the next day or two.  We get caught out in it, and it'll be Joe tryin' to find us."

"He could be hurt—"

"I know that, an' it bothers me, too.  But I figger he's holed up somewheres.  He knows these mountains near as good as any of us.  'Sides, he most likely met up with Adam, an' they'll just wait out the weather in one of the south line shacks."

Ben sighed and slid his arm back out of the sleeve.  "I know you're right; it's just so hard to leave him out there."

"For me, too."  Hoss scrunched up his face in thought.  "Tell you what – why'nt you go ask Hop Sing to get us a good dinner ready while I start gettin' our supplies together in case the storm breaks sooner."  He knew it was the right answer when he saw his father's shoulders relax.

"All right, son.  Give Buck and Chubb a good meal, too.  They're going to need it."

"Young Johnny's already takin' care of it, Pa." He took his father's coat and hung it on its peg again.  Once Ben went around the corner to the kitchen, he leaned an arm on the door, buried his head against his forearm.  "Hang on, buddy," he whispered.  "Wherever you are, hang on." 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~
to be continued