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


PART 6

Adam gradually noticed that they weren't moving any more.  He felt something warm tossed over him – a blanket? –  then there were people talking and hands pulling at him.  He hung onto the saddle horn with desperate strength until he recognized one of the voices belonged to his brother Hoss.  He relaxed and let himself fall, knowing those log-strong arms would catch him.  He smiled slightly at the irony – he was the eldest, the one who was supposed to watch out for his younger brothers, yet they were the ones caring for him. 

"What's goin' on, Joe?" he heard Hoss ask.  "We got a bunch o' fellas in the house goin' on and on at Pa and Roy about someone named Stoddard who stole somethin' from them and killed some little gal back down in Markleeville.  Pa's about to have a fit 'cause that's where Adam went—"

" 's me," Adam coughed. He pulled the bandana down from his face to hang loosely around his neck and squinted up at his bigger brother.

"What in tarnation happened to you?" Hoss' eyes widened as he took in the bruises and bloody scrapes on Adam's face.  "An' whaddaya mean it was you?  You'd never kill no gal."

"He was shot," Joe answered grimly.  They'd made it to the porch by this time, Adam feeling a little steadier on his feet.  What Joe said next, though, stopped Hoss in his tracks.  "In the back."

"What!"

"Didn't kill her," Adam muttered.  "It was Jesse."

"Joe, what the heck is goin' on?"

Joe shook his head in frustration.  "Only Adam knows, and I haven't been able to get him to spit it out yet.  His name's Stoddard, though—"

"O' course it is!" Hoss interrupted.

Joe glared at him.  "—and we don't know him."

Adam wavered between them, unsteadily leaning toward the front door.  His father . . . the warmth of the big fireplace . . . it was a toss-up which he wanted more.  "Go inside?  Find Pa . . . cold . . ."

Joe parked himself square in front of his oldest brother.  "Tell me what to do, Adam.  Tell me what's going on."

"Pa's gotta prove I'm Stoddard . . . for the boy."

Hoss fairly sputtered.  "Them men inside, they got a wanted poster on Stoddard.  A thousand dollars.  You go in there sayin' that's who you are, an' they'll haul you back to Markleeville for hangin'—"

Adam spun toward his brother.  The world tilted crazily, and he grabbed at the front of Hoss' jacket, drawing himself up with panicked strength that he knew would cost him dearly later.  "Gotta do it.  Don't tell them you know me.  They'll kill you if they think you're in on this."

Hoss blew out a long sigh.  "In on what?" he asked, sounding as exasperated as Joe.  He backed off, though.  "All right, if that's the way you want it.  But you gotta tell us what this is all about."

Adam sagged in relief and had just started to say, "The line shack—" when the door crashed open and suddenly the porch was filled with men who grabbed at them, pulling and pushing.  They ripped Adam from his brothers' hands and dragged him inside.  He stumbled and almost fell as he passed through the doorway, but the men – he recognized Blake and Jesse at the forefront – hauled him to his feet.  Then he heard the most welcome sound in the world:  his father's bellow.  No contest now as to whether it was the fire or his father that was more welcome.

"Just what do you think you're doing?  Let go of him!"

Joe rushed into the room and to their father's side.  He grabbed at his arm and, in what Adam blearily recognized as an effort to fill him in under the guise of a very young man's babble, poured forth, "Pa, I found this man out on the road from Genoa – calls himself Stoddard – these men shot him in the back—"  That earned the strangers a deadly glare from Ben.  "I don't know what they want, but they can't take him with them all the way to Markleeville.  It'd kill him."

He pointed at Blake.  "That man, there; he came into the line shack where I was trying to fix Stoddard up, and he asked him all these questions, and when Stoddard couldn't tell him – he's too sick, Pa – when he couldn't tell him, he beat on him."

Ben's gaze shifted from anger to something Adam had rarely seen.  His father was not only furious and sick with fear for him – something Adam read easily by his expression and the way he stood with both feet planted solidly – but he looked at these men as if they weren't even human.  "Put him on the settee," he whispered in a voice that nevertheless carried through the large room.  "No one is taking an injured man from my house until we get the doctor out here and he says he's well enough to be moved."

Blake started sputtering.  "Cartwright, you don't know what he's done!"

Ben took a single step forward, fury radiating from him like the front edge of a howling Sierra blizzard.  His voice was pure steel and deadly quiet.  "I said that no one . . . no one . . . is going to remove Stoddard from my care.  Now put . . . him . . . down!"

The two cowboys who were all that kept Adam on his feet shuffled forward, almost against their will.  They were just about to ease him down when someone grabbed him from behind, hauling him towards the big hearth.  Something hit him in the lower back, and the pain nearly brought him to his knees.  Everything was a confused mess, and he had a sudden dizzy vision of himself lying in the middle of Joe's snowfield, the tendrils of crimson growing into a circle that expanded at an alarming rate.  He felt a sudden hot warmth inching down his back to his belt and realized he had very little time left.  Have to tell Pa . . . tell Joe . . . have to make sure they know enough to carry on without me . . . take care of the boy . . . .

When his vision finally cleared, he saw Joe and Hoss by the dining room table, his father and Blake over by the desk, and – yes, that was Roy, thank God – by the stairs.  Maybe he could pull this off after all.  His throat tightened, making it difficult to speak.  "All right," he rasped.  "I'll talk."

"You better believe you'll talk," came a voice by his ear, and he realized it was Jesse who held him, who had a gun jammed in his side.  "Where . . . is . . . it?"

He suddenly found the whole situation unaccountably humorous and began to laugh.  Jesse, Blake – they thought they could scare him.  He would tell them just exactly as much as he wanted his family to know.  The trick would be to say it in such a way that only the Cartwrights would understand.  What had he managed to tell Joe so far?  His gaze drifted over all the men on the room, carefully calculated to land on his youngest brother at just the right time.  "You think you have me cornered . . . you've got me in a . . . box." Joe's brows drew together at his stare.  He paused, then shifted his gaze to the men by the desk. "Mr. Cartwright." 

His father started, unused to hearing those words from that voice, but, bless him, going along.

Adam chose his words cautiously.  "Thank you, to you and your family for your care."

"Of course, son."  Easy words from an older man to a younger, a designation that would be misinterpreted by Blake and his men, but that he was grateful to hear one last time.

"Would you make sure that my heirs do what's right with my property?"

He could see the growing worry in his father's face, was sure Ben understood the meaning in what he said, what others would think referred to a stranger's personal effects that would need to be disposed of after trial and hanging.  No, he wouldn't last to make it to trial – Jesse would make sure of that – and probably not even to the end of the day.  The circle of dark red snow was growing, covering more and more of the field of white, encroaching on his vision again.

Jesse shook him, and the pain jarred him back to the present.  "Tell us where it is."

He smiled and let his gaze roam again.  "Like I said, Jesse.  You think I'm . . . boxed in."  This time he saw Joe's eyes widen.  Good.  He's figured it out . . . they'll take care of  the boy.   He wouldn't be around to see it, but he'd accomplished what he'd set out to do.  He could leave it in his family's hands.

"Stoddard!" Blake yelled.

He started to chuckle again, though it hurt desperately.  "C'mere, Blake.  I'll tell you exactly what you need to know."

Blake took a step toward him, then two.

"Closer."  He held the greedy rancher with his eyes, willed him closer.  It was getting harder to breathe; he was lightheaded from blood loss and victory.  Soon Blake was right next to him, and he twisted in Jesse's grasp so that he faced the two of them.  He could see Joe and Hoss in the distance behind them, ready for whatever he was setting up.  Joe took one step back, another, and then one to the side so he was hidden by Hoss and Hop Sing.  Yes, now was the time.  He almost didn't have enough air to say what he wanted, and his voice was thick, choked.  "What you need to know . . ."

They leaned in, almost on top of him in their anxious greed. 

". . . you think you can make me say.  But you can't."

The gun was jammed into his ribs again, and the room went as still as a winter night.  "I'll kill you," Jesse threatened.

He smiled with a feral satisfaction.  "You already have."  And he let the field of red take over, using his last bit of strength to make sure he fell forward, taking Blake and Jesse with him.  His world was gone before they all hit the floor together.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Hoss had just started to relax when the two cowboys followed Ben's instructions and helped Adam to the settee, but then the man named Jesse grabbed Adam and dragged him over to the hearth.  Adam went white and his knees seemed to go out from under him, and Hoss surged forward, but then he saw the gun pressed to his brother's back.  Jesse held Adam upright by the bandana that was now twisted around Adam's neck.  Adam coughed, choking, and Jesse eased up on his grip, just a bit.

Adam's voice was raspy, but Hoss could hear every word.  He recognized, even if others wouldn't, the warmth in his brother's eyes as his gaze touched him while he spoke.  There was a spark of humor, too; as if Adam knew he'd already won and was merely playing out the hand for his own entertainment. 

Joe must have realized something was going on, too, because he gradually stepped backwards.  Hoss moved slightly to the right and Hop Sing moved to the left to cover his younger brother's movements.  He didn't know what Joe had in mind, but he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready for his chance.

Adam drew Blake and Jesse to him, a spider weaving his web.  The two leaders of the posse drew closer to him, and in his excitement, Jesse tightened the bandana again.  Adam could hardly speak, but Hoss still didn't dare move – not while the gun was jammed in Adam's back.

When Jesse threatened to kill Adam, his brother just smiled.  It was a look that Hoss had never seen on his face before, but he knew what it meant.  Adam had won, though it might cost him his life.  It was a price his brother accepted.  Then he collapsed, taking Blake and Jesse with him, and the world disintegrated into chaos.  The red chair went over with the falling men, a gun went off, and he had a quick view of Roy ducking behind the blue chair as the bullet blasted a hole through it, just missing his head. 

Hoss thumped two of the posse members to the floor with a swipe of one arm, knocking a pistol toward the ceiling just before it fired.  He saw from the corner of his eye that his father had an arm around the neck of the third, and Roy knocked the chair out of his way as he surged forward to help Ben.  Adam's inert body still pinned Jesse and Blake, but they were already getting free. 

With everything that was in him, Hoss wanted to go to his brother, but he knew he had to give Joe as much time as possible to get away.  He grabbed the two posse members he'd just knocked down and rammed their heads together.  They fell, senseless, at his feet, and he moved on to Blake and Jesse.  His heartache fueled his anger, and as soon as they were in reach, he simply grabbed them by the collars of their coats and tossed them aside.  Tangled in dining room chairs and each other, they struggled to get up, but all of his attention was now on his older brother.

"Adam!" he cried, carefully rolling him face up.  His hand cupped his brother's waxen face, and his heart sank when Adam didn't respond.  He leaned down to press an ear against his chest, and it was while he was listening carefully that he suddenly thought of the consequences of what he would say next.  If Adam was dead, there would be no place those men could hide from his vengeance, but if he was alive, Blake would still insist on taking him to Markleeville, and they'd just be back where they'd started . . .

~ * ~ * ~ * ~
to be continued