1xxxXXXxxx
Booker sank back to his haunches and Shelby involuntarily shifted away from the sheer bulk of his unexpected presence. This time, though, he didn't look at her, but across the dimly lit room at Jack Wolf.
"You say this boy is worth money?"
Jack shrugged. "Not dead, he wouldn't be."
Booker nodded solemnly. "Then, we better see that he stays alive. Ladies? You excuse us, please?" He nudged Shelby playfully with one hip and pushed her aside, then turned to Ruth. "Missus Ruth, if you would keep on makin' those bandages, we'll get him ready for you. You—" he indicated Jack with a nod "—you come on over here and help me out. Andy, heat a knife in that fire, the rest of you boys…" the grin again, a flash of white teeth "…do what you do best… just stand there."
Jack settled down across from the other man with only a quick, noncommittal glance at Shelby and a reassuring nod for Ruth. "What do you want me to do?"
"Help me straighten him out, then brace his shoulders. We need to drop those ribs back into place then cauterize that wound or he's gonna bleed to death, his pa's gonna be pissed, and we'll all be doomed to stay paupers. He's a good lookin' kid, oughta keep him around long enough to break a few hearts, I reckon."
Shelby begrudgingly edged out of the way; she didn't want any part of touching a burning knife to the raw wound scoring Adam's stomach, and she didn't really want to sit too close to the man calling himself Booker. Ruth, on the other hand, refused to budge. She locked both hands around one of Adam's icy hands and held on tight, massaging his icy fingers, willing her strength into him. She had seen too many children die in this heartless country—including her own two—she wasn't about to sit by and lose another, not if will alone could prevent it. She felt the supportive weight of Shelby's hands on her shoulders, the wordless pressure of understanding at her back.
Booker got to his feet, moved around Ruth and straightened Adam's legs, then moved his hips into line. Adam groaned and tried to twist away, but Jack's firm grip on his shoulders pinned him in place. With a squelchy snick, the ribs slid back together, another fresh well of blood soaking across his pallid skin.
Satisfied, Booker straddled Adam's hips and took the knife when it was offered, its blade glowing scarlet and gold, reflecting macabre shadows off his face. He looked the epitome of the mad surgeon in the second that he brandished the knife over his patient. The image vanished into a more horrible one when he laid the searing blade flat across Adam's ribcage.
Skin sizzled; a horrible sweet-sick odor of burning flesh washed over them all; Adam, still in the grip of unconsciousness, screamed and surged upward almost breaking their combined restraint. Relentless, Booker held the knife against the wound even as Adam bucked wildly beneath him.
Shelby abandoned her post behind Ruth and grabbed for Adam's flailing left hand, pinning it against her chest. His seeking fingers found hers and grabbed on in a grip that threatened to crush the delicate bones of her hand. Instinctively she found herself, hugging the hand to her chest and rocking back and forth, whispering, "Shhhh, hush, it's okay, it's okay, hush now."
But it wasn't okay and she knew it wasn't. It was going to be a long time before anything was okay. Jack's get rich-by-ransom scheme might have bought them some staying alive time, but Shelby wasn't at all sure that Adam had enough time to play around with Jack Wolf's brand of negotiation for hire.
It had to be only seconds, but it seemed like hours before Booker finally removed the now-cooled knife.
Adam, eyes squeezed tightly shut, still struggled weakly against Jack's hold on his shoulders, his breath rasping and shallow, his skin drenched with cold sweat, his lips moving soundlessly. Booker shoved the knife into his own belt, then ripped away the remnants of Adam's shirt and undershirt, tossing the ruined material aside.
"Now," he ordered tersely, and Jack lifted Adam into his arms, yanking what was left of the shirt off his shoulders and then propping him upright so Ruth could bind his ribs with the torn petticoats. Still fighting his own internal phantoms, Adam wasn't cooperative to their efforts at saving his life, and they were all gasping for air by the time he was bandaged and wrapped in extra blankets.
With an explosive exhale, Booker sat back on his heels and wiped bloody hands on his pants. "Now, Shelby, I'll take a glass of that whiskey, if you're of a mind."
Surprised to find her nerveless fingers still holding a death grip on Adam's now limp hand, Shelby agreed, "I think I'll join you."
"I think I will, too."
All eyes went briefly to Ruth, then Shelby laughed out loud. "By golly, Ruth, I think we all earned ourselves a belt or two."
xxxXXXxxx
Two shots of whiskey warming his belly and one of Shelby's cigars half smoked had gone far to mellow Booker's mood. Over surly protests, he'd sent one of his men out in the storm to check on their mounts and another to reconnoiter the home bound residents of Eagle Station, with particular care to the general store.
Ruth's assurance that her husband, Eli, slept like a rock with a propensity to snore hadn't immediately calmed Booker's concerns that there could, at any time, be a worried husband pounding his way through the swinging doors of the saloon. The later it got, however, the more convinced he was that they were going to have to wake the man up to notify him they wanted cash or they were going to make him a widower. At this rate, they might even have to provide coffee to get the point across.
He took one more, lazy draw off the cigar, cast another appreciative glance at Shelby who was staring thoughtfully into her shot glass, then turned to Wolf. "So, how do we go about this ransom thing? It bein' your idea an' all. I imagine you got it all figured out."
"It's pretty simple," Jack agreed. "I get word to Eli—Ruth's husband and Ben Cartwright that we have something they want and they have something we want, and we make the trade."
Booker smiled. "We?"
Jack shrugged. "My idea."
"And I need you for something? I got three idiots already. What makes you think I need one more?"
"Precisely because I am not an idiot. Who else you going to send? One of your men? They wouldn't know where to go, even if they were smart enough to know what to say." He ticked a 'one' off on his fingers. "Ruth?" A 'two.' "What are they going to do? Return her so they can pay you for her?" "Shelby?" A 'three.' She may not have family, but she is important to people around here, and in spite of her… modesty… she could fetch a few dollars herself. And since I don't think Adam's going anywhere for a while, that leaves…" He spread his gloved hands eloquently.
The chair creaked as Booker settled his weight back. "And what's in it for you?"
"I get out of here."
"You get out of here?"
"You think I'm stupid enough to deliver your message and come back inside to see if you turn anybody loose or start putting bullets in heads?"
A flash of lightning ushered one of Booker's men back inside. "Ain't nobody movin' nowhere," he answered shortly, heading unerringly for the fireplace by way of the whiskey bottle.
Booker returned his attention to Wolf. "And why should I believe that you won't walk out that door an' just head home for your own bed instead of a long ride on a bad night?"
It was Jack's turn to grin. "Guess you'll have to take my word as a gentleman."
"And I'm supposed to accept that?"
"Okay." Jack shifted in the chair and poured another two fingers of whiskey. "I own a business here. This is my town. Shelby… she's a competitor, but she's… an interestin' gal. Ruth is a good woman. There's no reason for her to die. And Adam… I like Adam. He's a smart boy. He's got a future. If he dies here, well, that would be a real waste. I give you my word I'll deliver your message and I'll do exactly that."
The second outlaw blew in on a flurry of rain, stamped his feet and said, "Ain't no lights, no movement over to the store. Like the lady said."
Booker considered both the information and the man sitting across from him, then nodded. "Okay, friend, you get a free pass. You tell them folks that it's gonna cost them five thousand each to get their people back. They bring the money here. The lady rides out of town with us and we turn her loose when we don't see no sign of bein' followed."
"Five thousand?" Jack said with a whistle. "That's a lot of money to get up that fast."
Another smile. "You tell that boy's pa that he ain't got time to dicker."
xxxXXXxxx
Wolf shoved his gloves over his brittle cold fingers, leather fingertips barely brushing the stitched leather of his empty holster. He felt every inch of its loss. He glanced pointedly at Booker's peacemaker but the other man only shrugged and suggested, "You might want to keep a low profile. All the way round safer that way. How long it take you to ride to his pa's ranch?"
"An hour, hour and a half. They got a Chinaman cook does good medical stuff. Heard tell he saved a mess of folks came down with cholera. Shelby could tell you about it while you wait."
Though he half cocked a smile at Shelby, Booker shook his head. "Nope. Don't think we need no Chinese cooks to join our little party. I can smell the venison from here and no Chink ever done justice to American deer. You leave the Chinaman home and just bring daddy."
Ruth Orowitz was by nature a sweet and polite woman. There was probably not a single citizen of Eagle Station who had ever heard her raise her voice in anger; so the outlaw known as Booker was in for a rare experience. Ruth slammed her now empty shot glass down onto the table top with force enough to rock the weathered wood. Raw whiskey, frustration and great concern suffused her face and put a knife edge of tension into her voice when she stated, "Jack Wolf, you WILL bring Hop Sing here and you--" a barely trembling finger stabbed at Booker's face "--you will allow him to tend to Adam. My husband and I helped that boy celebrate his twenty-first birthday just a few months ago and I am not going to attend his funeral in the same year."
One of the fire-hanging thugs stepped forward then--Shelby searched her mind for the name he'd been tagged with--Dolan--and tugged at Booker's shoulder. "We're wastin' time. This was s'posed to be a in an' out, take the money and hit out of town before the weather clears enough for these hayseeds to track us. What the hell you playin' at here? Some kinda barn social?"
Still unruffled, Booker merely considered him with half-lidded eyes. "That what you think we're doin' here, Dolan? Just cause there's pretty ladies and booze and young cowboys bleedin' out on the floor?" With a rueful smile, he shook his. "I am sorry, ladies, you just can't beat no politeness into some folk."
The playfulness vanished suddenly and a wintry bleakness set the tones of Booker's face into an icy grey cast. Now, here, thought Shelby, is the dangerous man who's always been there just under the surface.
"Let's get all this straight," Booker spoke in even, low tones. "Just so we all know the rules of this particular game. We come to get money. There ain't no money, but Mr. Wolf, here, he knows how to fix that and I like his idea." He leaned back further in the chair, the rain swollen wood creaking beneath the shift of his weight.
"That's what's important to me, now. The money. I don't care if it comes out of a till or if we buy it off the back of a sweet, shopowner's wife or through the blood of some rancher's kid. I don't care if one of them dies, beggin' your pardon, Missus Ruth, in the process as long as I get what I come for."
He took another drag of the cigar, long and lazy, drawing the smoke in and expelling it in a cloud that wreathed his grim features. "Some folks is expendable, that's just the way life is. Now, Mr. Wolf, you go get that rancher and that store man and you tell 'em what it costs to walk in here and take their loved ones away with them. You can bring your Chinaman cook if you feel the need." By this time he was ignoring his own henchmen and bestowing his somber gaze alternatingly on Jack, Shelby and Ruth.
"Facts is... Jack ain't worth much, Shelby, you, hon, is worth a little. Adam... well, the kid's not in real good shape, so he might not be worth much for long. Ruth, I see you as my high card. You're here, you're healthy, and you got a husband who loves you. Be glad. You're the safest person in the room."
Jack risked interrupting. "It would be best if I notified Eli first, Ruth's husband, that way he could start work on getting the money together while I make the ride out to Ben's."
"Works for me."
Jack paused, poised at the threshold, dark danger on one side of the swinging doors, dark night on the other... "I'll be back," he said.
There wasn't a person in the room who believed him.
xxxXXXxxx
"Ain't it ever gonna stop rainin'?"
"Isn't."
"Shut up, Hoss, you ain't Adam. I can say ain't."
"You don't shut up, yourself, Little Joe, and Pa's gonna come in here and tan your hide for stayin' awake all night."
Joe schooched over to the edge of his bottom bunk mattress and peered up at his older brother. "You ain't exactly snoring yourself, Hoss," he countered. He always wondered why Hoss had the top bunk and Adam had the lower one. If the bed broke, Adam falling onto his younger brother would cause a whole lot less damage than if...
"What's that?"
"Rain, Little Joe. Just like it's been rain the last thirty-seven times you asked."
"Sounded like a horse. Maybe Adam's back."
Hoss heaved in a deep sigh, then let the air out in an explosive whoosh. He hated it when his pa and his older brother butted heads. Trouble was, Pa demanded unquestioning respect and obedience, and Adam had enough temper and enough stubborn in him that it was inevitable they were going to clash. If he was honest about it, his real fear was that one day Adam really was going to step foot into a stirrup and when he rode away, he wasn't going to come back.
But not now, brother, he thought with the fervor of a prayer, not when we just lost Ma and Carlos and those wounds are still too raw and sore. Just cool off, let Pa give you the 'I'm disappointed in you' lecture and go back to being our Adam.
Joe's small, worried voice wouldn't let the subject drop, however. "You don't think he's really gone, do you, Hoss? I mean, he's just mad 'cause Pa don't treat him like he's thirty years old, right?"
"He ain't thirty years old, Little Joe," Hoss sighed, knowing he was being sucked into an inane argument, but too weary to fight it.
"Maybe not, but he sure seems to think so. Maybe he's gone off to jump on a ship and sail around the world like Pa did. Maybe he's gonna go to Mexico and try to make Isabella come back. Maybe--"
"Maybe if you don't shut up, I'm gonna go get Pa myself so he can MAKE you shut up, little brother."
The threat seemed to carry some weight as silence was all that came from the lower bunk for a few minutes, then, a plaintive, "You don't think nothin's happened to him, do you, Hoss? I mean, he's okay, ain't he?"
Hoss sighed again and gave up on any pretense of sleep. "Yeah, little brother, I think he's fine. Just mad at Pa. He'll come home in the morning."
"It's cold down here."
"I figured." Hoss tossed his blankets aside in invitation. "C'mon up here, it's warmer," and waited for the little body to scramble in beside him.
xxxXXXxxx
"Eli?"
Jack Wolf wasn't sure why he was whispering. The thunder had gained ground again and the lights and sounds show outside covered everything but the most obtrusive noises. Besides, as he shook Eli Orowitz's shoulder one more time, he had already decided that Ruth wasn't exaggerating when she said her husband could sleep through anything man- or God-made.
Unfortunately, the man was in for a rude awakening this night.
"Eli, wake up, I got a long ride ahead of me and I'll be lucky to make it without gettin' a case of the croup. Wake up!" The nudge at the shoulder became a hard shake, then an all out mauling until finally Eli snorted awake.
He came up off the pillow and a long barrel Winchester came with him. A little late, thought Jack, but he didn't bother pointing out the opposite.
"Get up, Eli, I don't have time for pleasantries and neither do you."
"Ruth?" Eli blinked sleepy eyes, only then noticing the still smooth right half of the bed. He brought his gaze back to Jack Wolf. "You are trespassing. My wife is not here. And you have one minute to explain both of these things."
Jack sighed, stood back up to his full height and crossed both arms over his chest. "Eli, how long it been since you got your hands on five thousand dollars?"
xxxXXXxxx
"Don't go..."
Shelby had to lean closer to hear the whispered words. The room was cold, even with the fire constantly stoked, and she saw Adam's breath fog his face in the dim light.
"What is it, Adam?" she asked softly, wiping one hand across his forehead. His skin was wet and clammy and he flinched away from her touch, the darkness of his hair only accentuating the pallor of his face.. "It's okay," she tried when he murmured something too low for her to hear. A cloth was pressed into her hand and she looked up to meet Ruth's worried dark eyes. "He's hot," Shelby complained.
"Yes," Ruth agreed, holding eye contact, "the fever has come on him quickly. He has lost a lot of blood and he is in shock. We must keep him warm, but this room... it is too big... the heat too ineffective."
"Ruth, maybe... you..." Shelby started to push up from her seat on the floor, but Ruth's fingers closed over her shoulder and patted her back into place. Before Shelby could protest again and try to abdicate her place to Ruth, Adam's fever-flushed face turned toward her and he squinted his eyes open. She wasn't sure he was seeing anything though; the blue eyes were glassy clear and vacant.
"Why?" he rasped through dry, cracked lips. "Why did you leave me... us? Why did you... leave... us?"
"What the Sam Hill you talkin' about, Adam? I ain't gone nowhere. I'm right here." She used the cloth this time to wipe his forehead free of dark beads of sweat. He blinked up at her and ran his tongue over his lips. She still wasn't sure who he was seeing as he blindly searched her face, only knew somehow that it wasn't her, and it wasn't even now. Adam was somewhere altogether different than lying in the dark in a cold, dank saloon with a storm raging without and danger hulking all around them inside.
"What did I do that was so bad?"
"Adam..."
"Shelby, he does not know..."
"Yeah, Ruth," she said more sharply than she had intended, "I'm gettin' the idea."
Sudden tears filled his eyes and spilled over dark lashes and Shelby caught him when he tried to push himself up to a sitting position, attempting to restrain him before more blood could seep through the already stained bandages across his ribs.
"My fault," he whispered through the tears, "It was my fault."
"Nothin's your fault, Adam," Shelby soothed, cradling his head against her shoulder. "You rest now. You have to rest."
"I killed my own mother and that's why... that's why you left, isn't it?"
Shelby nearly jerked away from him. "Ruth!" She was appalled at the tone of her own voice, the trickle of fear she heard in her words. "What's he talkin' about?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Shelby, the child has a fever. He doesn't know what he's saying."
With a rueful shake of her head, Shelby lapsed back into rocking Adam, brushing her free hand through his sweat-damp hair. She could feel the heat of his body through her shirt, the tremors that were shivering through him in spite of his own warmth. He felt very thin, very vulnerable and she wondered how she was going to face Ben Cartwright when she let his son die on the floor of her saloon.
xxxXXXxxx
His slicker had long since given up hope of keeping him dry.
Jack Wolf spurred his tired, soaked horse the last few hundred yards into the ranch house yard and then sank wearily to the ground. It had been a long, cold, wet ride through sheets of rain accompanied by only the staccato beat of thunder and the occasional flash of lightning to guide his way.
By the time he had reached the Ponderosa, Jack was cold clear through to the bone, hungry, exhausted and starting to resent, just a little, being relegated to the errand boy role in this small town drama. If he hadn't actually been worried that Adam was going to die, he would have cheerfully delegated someone else to ride out here and tell Ben the news, Big Dan or somebody. Who the hell did Booker think he was, Paul Revere?
He pounded on the locked door.
Ben couldn't have been in bed. He was fully dressed and had the door opened before Jack stopped his knocking. His face fell when he recognized his visitor, though. Probably expecting Adam and waiting up for the boy. Yeah, there was a pure light of anger in the back of Ben's eyes. He'd, indeed, been waiting up for an overdue son and not ready to accept excuses for that tardiness. He wished it had been that simple.
"Ben, it's Adam. He's in trouble," Jack started.
He was a bit surprised when the anger didn't shift out of Ben's eyes.
Before Jack could launch into an explanation, Ben said evenly, "I imagine he is in trouble if he's been hanging around with you all night, Jack." He took in a deep breath, obviously reining in his temper and his dislike for the soaked man standing unwelcome on his front porch. "Adam is an adult as he's so fond of reminding me lately. He can get himself out of his own trouble."
It would have felt incredibly good to slam the door in Jack Wolf's face, especially if he was skulking around trying to influence Adam again. But Ben figured he'd been pretty rude to the man already, so he closed it gently in his face, leaving him standing on the dark porch in the rain.
"Pa, he said Adam's in trouble!"
Ben spun around to find both his younger boys standing in the doorway watching him with open mouths. From the drawn set to their faces and the worried looks, they probably hadn't slept either, which only made him more angry with his oldest son.
Before he could say anything to them, the knocking repeated itself, this time much more demanding. He turned back and reached for the door again--this time with the start of a churning dread already at work in his belly.
Jack didn't wait for an invitation and stepped in from the rain as soon as the door swung open; he simply stepped forward and started to create a huge puddle on the hardwood floor.
"You and me, we got our differences, Ben, but this is not the time to air them."
"You said my son's in trouble."
"Your son's been shot, Ben," Jack said coldly--better to get the shock and anger out of the way. "And he wasn't doin' so good when I left."
That was one step beyond too much in this long, stress filled night.
Ben grabbed him by his drenched coat and slammed him against the nearest wall. He didn't hear either of his sons calling out to him and he barely noticed when Hoss started to pull him off the weakly struggling Jack Wolf.
It took a good solid head lock for Hoss to put an end to his father's determined attempt to strangle the other man, but he finally got Ben removed from his victim and shoved into a chair. He was puffing himself from the exertion and a little worried at the pale, gasping man still pinned to the wall by an invisible hand.
"I'm all right," Ben whispered to his son, "I'm sorry, Hoss. I'm so sorry." He never got an answer because he suddenly got a lap full of twelve-year-old.
"Pa, you all right? What about Adam? Has he really been shot? Do you think he's lyin'?"
"Whoa, son. Wait a second. Let me get some answers." He gently displaced Little Joe and got to his feet. "Jack, I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. Please, tell me what happened?"
Jack, still massaging his throat, still a little pale, stepped away from the wall as if suddenly released, and said, "How much money can you get together, Ben... or actually how much money can you 'pretend' to raise?"
xxxXXXxxx
It had taken so long to gather the small group of would-be rescuers, not to mention they had to do it all under cover of darkness. Eli felt he couldn't ask men with small children and that eliminated a lot. Most people lived outside town on the neighboring ranches. It would have to be up to Jack and Ben to gather help from those sources.
As it was, by the time their group of four was armed and assembled at the livery, nearly three hours had passed.
Most of the time had been spent convincing the bank president that he was interested in helping pay a ransom.
By the time Jason Adams was 'convinced' Eli and Big Dan Larsen, along with Track and McGregor, had been forced to brandish a few weapons and offer to ease his conscience by making it a robbery rather than a withdrawal.
Now it was down to the hard part... waiting in a darkened livery for Ben Cartwright and Hop Sing to get in from the Ponderosa. Conjecture was that Jack Wolf would consider his good deed done and drop himself off at this hotel and carry himself to a warm bed.
None of them were sure they blamed him.
None that was but Eli, who was having a hard time keeping himself planted in a chair and not crashing through the swinging doors of the saloon to rescue his wife.
Ruth Naomi Warrenstein had been thirteen years old when Eli Orowitz fell in love with her. Of course, he had been older... a mature fifteen. Those dark eyes that could see deep into his soul...
Now he faced the loss of the only woman he had ever loved. A victim of another man's greed and cruelty. A sentence of death on her head if they didn't do everything exactly right. And even that might not help. These men could very easily take the money and murder the three helpless people inside that saloon. They'd already shot down a boy... a boy that Jack Wolf said might not live through the night. Ben had lost three wives... surely no loving God would take his first born son also.
There was no 10,000 dollars. In the satchel at his feet was every penny he had ever saved all the way down to the last piece of change in the till.
There was every penny in Ben's account. Taken illegally as the apoplectic banker kept yelling at him, nearly jumping up and down in his longjohns and flannel hat.
If the world ever settled back to normal, Eli wasn't sure he could ever do business in that bank again without that image popping into his head. Eli had been shocked speechless with gratitude when John Track and Ian McGregor had pulled money from their own accounts, apologizing that they couldn't give more but they had to think of their own families.
Then Big Dan Larsen had strong-armed Adams into clearing out Frenchy Devereaux's account without so much as a scrap of authorization. Dan had then turned out his own pockets before the banker was finally persuaded to kick in a 'private citizen's loan.' But when Eli sat and counted out their haul, he tallied up a figure of $8,300. Almost two thousand short.
Eli leaned back in his chair and kicked a leg against the bag to reassure himself it was real.
Lightning split the sky, sounding too much like a gunshot, and Eli bolted to his feet.
"We must go now," he insisted reflexively, his voice an octave higher than usual with fear and frustration.
Daniel placed a huge hand gently on his shoulder and dropped him back into the chair.
"Now you know we got to wait, Eli. Ben and Jack oughta be here any minute now. We need their help. We don't do this right, we're just gonna get them all killed." For Big Dan that was practically a full speech.
Eli looked up at him, searching his features in the dark and tried to draw calm and strength from him. A few more minutes, he repeated to himself, just a few more minutes.
xxxXXXxxx
"Wrong, Pa, you're wrong."
"Shhh, Adam," Shelby tried to soothe him. He was only agitating himself and wasn't even conscious enough to realize it.
"Not goin' home," Adam insisted, still caught up in some internal argument.
Booker sauntered over to them and dropped to his haunches next to Shelby, again a little too close for comfort. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of moving away though.
"Well now," Booker mused aloud, "boy kills his ma, fights with his pa... don't seem much like one happy family."
"He did no such thing," Ruth snapped at him. "His mother died in childbirth. Sometimes children get confused. They think it is their fault somehow. Adam is a very sensitive boy. I have often seen him accept guilt when there should be none."
"If he and his pa don't get along, Wolf might be wrong about that ransom."
Shelby snorted at him. "Did you and your pa get along when you was his age?"
Booker grinned again and Shelby was once more caught by the power of his expression. It took her a moment, but she realized who that smile reminded her of... she glanced down at Adam. It was the same grin--that heart stopping, sudden flash of teeth and light, a dazzling smile that was gone so fast that she was never quite sure it had happened at all. But in Adam it was a beautifully innocent thing. Sure she could see the hurt there working its way into his features, but he was still so very young that it hadn't taken hold yet.
In Booker, it was all written there, scrawled right across his face like a roadmap of pain. And that briefly brilliant smile could do nothing to cover it up.
She lost the thought when he unexpectedly answered her question, "By the time I was thirteen I'd had enough of watchin' him beat my ma and more than enough of takin' his abuse myself. He was the first man I ever killed." The grin again, but this time it had no effect on her. "Before you go and feel all sorry for me--maybe you better know that I enjoyed the hell outta killin' him."
"Don't worry," she said, "I wasn't going to waste any pity on you."
xxxXXXxxx
"Hoss, get me my rifle and a box of ammunition."
"Mr. Cartwright?"
For a second, Ben was speechless. Did no one in this household ever sleep?
"Hop Sing, Adam's been--"
"Yes, shot. I hear. I will require time to gather what I will need to help him. Little time," he tried to reassure before he turned and headed for the kitchen.
"I'll go saddle the horses, Pa, while you an' Hoss get ready. That way we can get to town fast."
Ben rounded on his youngest son. "Little Joe, I 'do' want you to saddle your horse but you are NOT going to go anywhere near town."
"But, Pa--"
"Ahh!" A pointed finger punctuated the single word.
Hoss reentered the room, hastily dressed and pulling a slicker on over his clothes. He handed his father the rifle and ammunition.
Ben took the weapon and continued, "You and Hoss will ride to Margaret's. Hoss, I want you to get all the men and guns she can spare and get to town as fast as you can."
"You want your horse and Hop Sing's, Pa, or you want the wagon hitched up?"
"Horses will be faster in this storm," Jack spoke up, a little edge in his voice, underlining his discomfort at being a part of this. A long ride in a vicious storm was nowhere near as painful as watching a family trying to control fear for one of their own. He considered himself lucky he felt no such ties.
Ben nodded. "Horse. We can borrow a wagon to bring Adam home."
Hoss vanished into the rain and took off at a run toward the barn.
"Pa."
"Joseph," Ben snapped as he tugged his way into his own coat. Catching the impatient anger in his own voice, he dragged in a deep breath and turned to his youngest. "I want you to stay with Margaret. I know you want to help, Little Joe." He forestalled the inevitable protest with a raised hand. "But what you can do to help now is to let us know you are safe. That is what Adam needs you to do right now."
There were tears flooding in Joe's huge eyes, but he nodded. "Yes, Pa."
"Get your coat," Ben said gently and steered him back toward his room. "And hurry."
xxxXXXxxx
"I've got the doctor. We're comin' in," Jack called, pushing his way through the swinging doors
"No tricks, now, Jack," Booker said amiably, meeting Wolf at the swinging doors. "What the hell is this... you got a Chinaman doc in this town?" He swung an arm around Hop Sing's shoulders, dwarfing the slight man as he enveloped him in a virtual bear hug.
"Well, now, out here you take what you can get.. And what we have is a Chinaman doctor."
"Lemme see what's in the bag, Chinaman." Booker nodded toward the worn carpet bag that Hop Sing was clutching to his chest. Without waiting for a response, he pulled the bag out of Hop Sing's hands.
Rummaging through the bag, Booker screwed up his face at the odor wafting out of the bag. "What's this stuff?" He indicated a bunch of feathery green plant.
"Herbs," Hop Sing said, trying to keep his attention pinned on the big man who was pawing his way through his carefully gathered medicinal plants and roots. He was trying very hard not to focus on Adam, his patient, or the two women who remained crouched on the floor beside his too-still form. As far as he could tell from his periphery vision, Adam was, so far, the only casualty. Ruth and Shelby appeared unhurt though both were ashen and their body language spoke of tension, worry and more than a lingering shadow of fear. He hoped that he could help. It would be unthinkable to have to tell Ben Cartwright that his first-born child was dead. He could put up with a little bit of racial slurs. He'd been tolerating them all his life.
"Go," Booker said, with a tilt of his head.
Hop Sing didn't wait for another invitation; he headed across the room to the small group huddled beside the fire, where Shelby and Ruth were trying to keep Adam warm.
"Now, you..." Booker turned his attention to Jack.
"No, not me," Jack retorted with a spread of his hands. "You want the money? You have to let me go get it."
Booker's smile dropped a notch. "What makes you think I have any intention of letting you walk out of here again? You sure seem anxious to get back into that storm outside."
Jack shrugged. "Beats sitting here waiting for a bullet in the head. If you want the money, I have to go make arrangements."
Booker took a step toward Jack, menace crawling over his face, tension sparking through his huge body. "Now, why don't I believe that?" Booker let out a huff of air. "Okay, you go, you get the money, but you don't come back here unless you want that bullet. You send in the woman's husband or the kid's father," He held up his pistol and mimed pulling the trigger. "--but you stay the hell outta my sight."
"Bang," he said cheerfully, and was treated to Jack Wolf's back as he ducked back out in the rain. "Won't see him no more," he said to no one in particular.
xxxXXXxxx
"But, Hop Sing, he's got a fever," Shelby protested, voice hard edged from hours of anxiety and stress of being held hostage in her own home.
"No, not yet," Hop Sing reassured. "Infection take time to settle in. He is in pain. Fighting pain cause this."
In contrast to Shelby's angry voice, Ruth whispered, afraid to take away any hope, "Then, he's not so bad?"
Hop Sing spared her a glance, tiny pinpoints of red and yellow reflecting from the fire still popping in the grater, spiking in his black eyes like miniature flares. The desire to reassure her was great, but lying out of kindness only delayed the pain. "I see no infection yet," he said, skimming his slender hands across the blistered, penetrating scarlet of the ruined skin, a forming scar that would never forgive either the bullet wound ot the cauterizing knife blade, "but he breathes harshly."
Shelby's head jerked up. "There ain't no buts." She wanted no 'buts' in this diagnosis. She heard Booker shift position in his chair in response to her, but ignored him. He sat there sprawled across half the space of the room, fingers idly twirling an empty shot glass for the last hour. His three men entertained themselves with another bottle and a deck of cards. What had started out as a raucous game turned silent and surly. Not a good sign as the time stretched.
Hop Sing broke into Shelby's thoughts, "His father say he have pneumonia as child. Makes lungs weaker. This exposure bad. Too long. His breathing is not good."
Ruth squeaked a tiny, wordless protest, and put out a tentative hand, touching nothing and no one before drawing it back to her chest.
Shelby snorted. "You mean he's gonna survive bein' shot, but his lungs are gonna give out on him? Ain't that a kick in the--"
"I did not say he HAS pneumonia, only that I am concerned."
"So what do we do?" Shelby challenged.
"What we are doing," Hop Sing said gently, mashing green lumps into puree and forcing it all into Adam's mouth. They had a rhythm now... Ruth pinched Adam's nose shut so he had to open his mouth to breathe, Hop Sing pressed the goo in, and Shelby massaged his throat to force him to swallow.
Booker had his fill of the Florence Nightengale drama playing out before him. He let the back legs of his chair clatter to the floor, stretched up all the way from his toes and ambled over to the saloon doors. He angled himself so he was masked in shadow but could see a clear wedge of the street.
It was dark with a cold that worked its way into a man's bones. Rain poured in a stinging slant like floodgates had been opened. It was a mean night. A mean life. He could excuse the other murders and violence of his life but he wasn't looking forward to killing two women and a kid who hadn't even gotten a good start on life.
They'd been doing good for a few years now... hit a town small enough not to have regular law... but big enough to be pulling in some money. Every-damn-thing was getting civilized now, he mentally complained. Now folks in these hastily tossed together mining towns were forming councils, looking out for each other, very inconvenient for a man in his line of work.
"No, ma, don't... don't die..."
Booker turned to glance back over his shoulder. The two women and the Chinaman were trying to hold the kid still as he struggled against them.
"My fault... so sorry... my..."
With a rueful shake of his head, Booker turned back to the door and separated himself from it all. His ma had died in childbirth, but he'd never taken it so personal. Guess some folk just had over-active consciences. Thank God he wasn't one of 'em.
xxxXXXxxx
The livery was silent, smelled of leather and the ozone sharp taint of too much rain. Poor mortaring between weathered boards welcomed squealing gales of wind. A fireplace worked at dispelling some of the chill but it had been started late and wasn't up to the task. By the time the few men gathered there decided that it was pointless to try to conceal their activity, the cold had taken control.
Eli Orowitz was fraying at the edges; he'd been calm and rational about as long as he could keep his imagination at bay by forcing himself into activity. Now, though, there was nothing left to do but wait. Wait and wonder what was happening to Ruth. He was trying, and trying very hard, to maintain his composure if for nothing else than Ben Cartwright's sake. The man had a child in there that he didn't know if he was dead or alive, and that was one thing Eli could empathize with more than he wished. Only he knew his children were dead and for a split second resented Ben because he still had hope.
Finally, he walked over to Ben and placed a hand on his shoulder. Ben lifted weary eyes in silent gratitude.
Big Dan couldn't tolerate any more inaction. He jumped to his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor behind him, the noise all but muffled by the roar of wind and rain outside the livery. For just a moment, he had the fanciful image of standing in the middle of a waterfall, deaf from the noise, blind from the spray.
"Let's just give 'em the money and get our people back," he thundered.
Ben shook his head, when he looked up his eyes were red-rimmed and weary. "They'll take the money and kill the hostages, Daniel. You know that."
Daniel was startled when the hand that Ben scrubbed over his face had a slight tremor to it. "All right," he countered, "Let's give him part of the money and the rest when we have them back." For some reason, he found that he couldn't put names to the hostages, as if it would make the whole thing too real. What he wanted to do was march out into the rain and rip the saloon apart a board at a time and get their people out. Of course, all that would happen was they're dying before he had dismantled the first floor of the saloon.
"Ben, tell us what to do," McGregor demanded in a tired, hoarse voice. "We just gotta know what to do."
"Yeah," Track echoed the sentiment. "We want to get them outta there as much as you do, Ben, but we don't know how to do it without gettin' them all killed."
"That's the point, Track," Ben answered wearily, "neither do I. Other than wait a few more minutes to see if Jack can get the rest of the money out of the bank.
"That's just it, Ben," Track said, scratching at an invisibile itch on his forehead, "why'd Jack go and not you?"
Ben's lips narrowed. "Jack can be... more persuasive than I can."
Track settled back into his uncomfortable chair. "Well, I gotta give ya that."
"Besides," Ben said, "Hoss should be on his way back with Margaret Greene's men by now. Just a little longer." It had become a litany.
Big Dan shook his head. "Ben, that's a long ride for them two young boys in a storm on a pitch black night. Don't get your hopes up that they get Maggie's boys here soon enough."
"They've got motivation, Daniel. The best motivation."
xxxXXXxxx
"Hoss! I can't see nothin'!" Little Joe swiped a hand across his face, his hat doing nothing to prevent the icy rain from sweeping across his eyes. He coughed and shivered in his heavy coat, legs clamped so tight to the saddle he was getting cramps in his thighs.
His older brother shouted to be heard above the wind. "Stay close, Little Joe."
The darkness closed in, Hoss' image faded into black, and Joe caught a sudden glimpse of being totally and helplessly alone. With all that had happened in his short life, the good and the terrible, he had never been completely alone.
At the unbidden image of losing sight of his brother occurred to him, Joe kicked Paint hard
The mare lunged forward at the unaccustomed harsh treatment colliding solidly with Hoss' mount's hindquarters, hooves slipping in the mud, threatening her balance. Paint caught herself with a surge of muscle and broke into a gallop. Off guard, Joe fought to rein Paint into a controlled canter. His gloved hands clenched the reins so tightly his fingers hurt. Hoss was gonna yell at him for ramming his horse. It wasn't his fault, darn it. It was the rain, the darkness. It wasn't his fault.
Hoss didn't yell.
That only made it worse.
That meant it was bad. Very bad.
Adam was going to die, he thought, and they were going to be lost out here in the dark and the wet and the night. He hadn't cried since Ma had been killed.
In the rain, no one would notice if he cried now.
xxxXXXxxx
Jack Wolf hunched his head and pulled his collar up, dashing from the bank to the livery, slipping and sliding in the treacherous mud. If this downpour didn't stop soon, they were going to have to build a dam to keep Eagle Station from washing into Lake Tahoe.
And just when had he become so damned involved? This just wasn't like him. Self-preservation was more his style.
Clutching the bag of coveted money close to his body, he leaped onto the wooden boardwalk throwing himself into the relative warmth of the livery. Every man in the room was on his feet staring a single question at him.
"Got it.," he said tersely. "Now what?" He found Ben Cartwright's eyes out of the tense faces and breathlessly pointed out, "You know if we hand this over, we got three dead folks on our hands."
"That's why I take it inside," Ben said
Wolf dumped the wad of damp greenbacks into the bag.
"How'd you talk him into it?" McGregor demanded.
"Don't ask."
"Ben..." Eli stepped forward, one hand wrapping around Cartwright's upper arm. "Let me take it in. You'll be more valuable outside when they come out. I'm no good with a rifle."
Raw pain tore the truth out. "Eli," Ben said quietly, clasping the bag shut, "I have to see Adam. I have to know he's alive."
There was no answer to that. Eli released his grip and nodded, stepping back.
"Like I said," Jack interrupted, "what now? You're not just going in there and hand them a sack of money while they're holding three people hostage."
"That's exactly what I'm going to do."
"You're not serious."
"Daniel..." Ben finished with the bag, and glanced up. "You know the building better than anyone else here. What's the best way in?"
Larsen snapped his rifle shut. "The side door where Shelby puts the garbage after meals is the weakest. It's got a broken hinge. I can take it down with one kick."
"Yeah," Jack groused, "you're good at kicking doors in if I remember correctly."
That brought the big man's attention around to him. "You know that broken board over by the fireplace, Jack? The one you said almost broke your ankle when you stepped in it a few weeks ago?"
Leery, Wolf nodded.
"You're going under the porch from the East corner. The crawl space is big, plenty big enough to get through without making much noise, not that it'll matter much in this storm."
"I am?"
"Yep. Once you're under there, you'll see the light from the fire, that's where you said three of them was. All it's gonna take is one pull on those rotten boards and you come out from under like the devil rising from the bowels of the earth."
"I do?"
"You do. Track, McGregor, you go up the side stairs. You'll come in through Shelby's bedroom. You'll have clear shots at all of 'em from the upper floor. Eli, you're behind Ben on the front walk, off to the left. You come in when you hear all hell break loose." He pushed his hat low over his ears and clenched his rifle in his massive hand. "Jack, you mind it under the floor there. Snakes like it under there sometimes in this kinda weather."
"Snakes?" Jack shook his head, puffed out a breath and grabbed a handgun from behind the counter. "Don't even kid about snakes," he grunted, heading back into the storm.
Dan grinned, checked his rifle once more and followed. "Wasn't kiddin.'"
xxxXXXxxx
A shutter must have come loose, Margaret decided with a growl of groggy irritation, and from the sounds of things, Tess wasn't going to wake up enough to go fix the darn thing. Then she woke a little more and recognized that it wasn't a shutter at all but someone knocking hard and frantically on the front door. That and voices yelling her name.
Young voices. Full of fear.
Margaret slipped out of bed, grabbed a night coat and forgetting her slippers, she ran downstairs, nearly colliding into Tess who was on her way down too, her face pale.
"It's Hoss," Tess said as her mother swept by her.
"Yes, I know," Margaret replied, not slowing. Lightning lit the entire first floor of the house with a splitting crack that made her hesitate a second, thinking she'd been shot. She shook off the sensation and flung the door open. Thunder rolled in behind the lightning, obliterating anything the boys were trying to shout at her.
They looked like drenched mice, huddled next to each other, obviously exhausted, their faces so pale they almost glowed in the dark.
Margaret swept them inside out of the torrential rain, wrapping her arms around them both, oblivious to the fact that she was ruining her expensive house coat.
Ten minutes later, ten vaqueros, led by Margaret herself, were headed toward town at a full gallop, leaving an exhausted and protesting Joseph with Tess.
xxxXXXxxx
"Is..." Adam's eyes were unfocused, his gaze going somewhere over Ruth's shoulder. "Is it here?" He licked dry lips, tried to find her eyes, see her expression, but she was blurred as if she were an image on the surface of a pond.
He wondered what had happened to her face to make it all wavy like that.
"The book," he tried to explain, "Mrs. Orowitz, has it come? 'Tale of Two Cities'? Remember? I ordered it. Really wan' read..." His words slurred and his voice trailed off. He stirred again though he didn't open his eyes. "I wan' read it to L'il Joe. He should know the classics. Wish we had more..."
He lost the thought, his mind going blank on him. Sleep nearly claimed him when a monstrous clap of lightning and roll of thunder shook the building. He lunged up in Ruth's arms, but Shelby and Hop Sing were both there to help her hold him down. Fear caused him to struggle and pain sparked the fear. He fought them until he passed into unconsciousness.
Ruth, tears in her eyes, eased him out of her embrace and onto the floor again. She was angry. Furious with these men that they'd let a boy like Adam die on the floor of a saloon. No, no, she chided herself, he's not going to die. He'll be all right. He will. He's young and strong and Hop Sing is here to take care of him. She tucked the blanket around him, then placed a hand gently on the side of his face, gazing at him wonderingly. Would her son have looked like this, felt like this if he'd been allowed to live long enough to grow up?
"Be safe, Adam," she whispered and a single tear splashed down on her hand.
xxxXXXxxx
Damn it, it was dark and the echo of thunder and crackle and pop of lightning above them didn't help. Jack wasn't real pleased that Ben had assigned him the crawl space as he hunched his way over to the faint glow in the floor above, brushing spider webs away from his face.
Oh he knew why Ben had done it. It wasn't pride either. He was probably the best shot of the men gathered to try to save the people held captive in the room above and the one most likely to take down at least one of the outlaws. That part didn't bother him. The spider webs and the stumbling through pitch did bother him.
He kept his eye on the that tiny yellow glow of light that stared at him like a beacon in the blackness, guiding him toward where the three men supposedly stood.
Daniel was soaked to the skin, his beard a soggy weight on his lower face as he hugged the side of the building, creeping his way around the back to the door Shelby used to get rid of slop and trash. He wasn't so sure Ben was right in sending him alone to break in this way; certainly not that he was afraid, just that two could dodge separate directions, cause more confusion for the men inside. Of course Ben was right, more people meant more noise and this had to be quiet. It was almost funny to think of himself on a mission of stealth. He was more the type to barrel into a situation, roaring like a grizzly. Not tonight though.
The stakes were too high.
Ben hefted the bags and gave Eli one more encouraging look, wishing someone would do the same for him. Then he stepped out into the rain and started the long walk from the livery to the saloon.
Each step was agony. He fought with himself each step of the way, rain streaming in his face, soaking through his clothes. His heart wanted to hand the money over only after Adam was out of the saloon. It insisted with each beat in his chest. It demanded.
There were two other people there inside that saloon. Their lives were just as important.
Not as important as Adam's.
Another step closer, another doubt.
Lightning flashed a streak of gold across the ebony sky and illuminated the face of a man in agony. Ben's face.
xxxXXXxxx
