Carved into the boulder's interior, the corridor seemed to extend indefinitely and was so narrow it insisted voyagers travel single file. Following the trio of elders, his path sparsely lit by the oil lamp the elder leading them held high, Ben wondered if the midwife and Adam had continued to hold hands whilst traversing the pathway. The peculiarity of this thought was only matched by the fact that it had taken place. Interned by his uneasy surroundings, Ben was taken aback by the things he began to consider—all that he knew about his oldest son, and everything he realized he did not. Shaking his head, he forcibly silenced the noxious thought. He simply refused to think about anything that would provoke even the slightest hint of doubt regarding his son's actions, past, current, or otherwise.

The passageway became steep, then winding, before the incline abruptly decreased, forcing them to take slow, purposeful steps down a rigorous decline. There was a time when claustrophobia threatened to overwhelm Ben as he obediently followed the men who were leading him through an inadequately lit, ever confining colonnade which seemed to shrink a little more with each step he took. Some places were so tight, so difficult to negotiate, that he wondered if the corridor led anywhere at all. Maybe, perpetually shrinking, it led to the belly of the boulder and simply disappeared, trapping its itinerants in spaces too enclosing to escape. Despite his anxiety, the idea did not seem likely. Adam and the midwife had traveled the pathway first; it must have led them somewhere, because Ben and the trio had yet to come upon them—detained by the dwindling corridor or otherwise.

Just when Ben thought he could no longer endure the passageway, its narrowness yielded, giving way to an opening that was as wide as it was abrupt. The bright afternoon light filtered into the cavern, allowing him to properly see for the first time since he fell into the cave.

Moving away from the opening, the elders organized themselves in a tidy, horizontal line behind him, and Ben found himself the primary focus of their judicious eyes as they silently appraised him.

"You must enter the light," the middle elder said as he pointed at the opening. "And you must do so alone."

"You aren't going to lead me out there?" Ben asked.

"No."

"Do you intend to follow me?"

"We intend to wait," the middle elder said simply. "The things you will see, you must be alone when you see them. If you have questions about what you are to be shown, then you must find a way to answer them yourself."

Ben was not aimable to their shifting intentions. To be led all this way only to emerge from the boulder alone seemed like entrapment. He did not know what was outside of the opening; he had no way of knowing if exiting it was safe.

"I thought you intended to share this place's secrets with me," he said. "I seem to remember taking a sacred vow not to share them. Some secrets can be complicated to understand. If you are not there to explain their nuances, then how can you be sure I will comprehend what parts are meant to be protected?"

"You will leave this cave. You will see, and you will know. And when you finally understand, you will be allowed to return."

"To you?" Ben asked.

"To the path which your oldest son warned you to avoid," the middle elder said, his hand still held high as he pointed at the cavern's opening. "You must go."

The other two elders lifted their hands, extending instructional index fingers toward the sunlit opening. "You must go," they said in unison, the first and only words they would ever speak.

Taken aback by their sudden utterance, Ben began his odyssey to the outside. Emerging from the boulder's opening, he found his eyes had become a little too accustomed to the darkness of the cave. Blinded by sunlight, he lifted his hand, blocking the intrusive rays as he blinked rapidly, awaiting his eyes to adjust to their new surroundings. When he was finally able to see clearly, his mouth fell open and he took an impulsive step backward as he struggled to understand how he had come to be where he was. It was simply impossible that he could have fallen into a hidden opening of a boulder rigidly fixed in the town of Malice and then ended up here.

"What?" Ben asked breathlessly. "How?"

The thoroughfare of Virginia City Nevada was bustling with activity. Standing on the worn boards of the walkway lining one of the buildings, he rapidly turned and found the entrance to the boulder had disappeared, instead he was confronted with the slightly ajar door of the telegraph office.

"Hey, Adam, I have a telegraph for you," a voice trickled out from inside of the office. "I have one for your pa, too."

Rising above his confusion, Ben was overcome by a fleeting sense of hope. Opening the door, he strode inside looking in awe in between the two men within the office: his oldest son and Virginia City's telegraph clerk.

"Adam," Ben said as he approached his son.

The word, his insistent tone, and worried presence went unnoticed by Adam and the clerk. It was not as though he was being ignored. It was as though he could not be seen at all. He was there. But he was not there. He couldn't be because this was a moment that had taken place in the past. This was the day he and his sons had come to town and received the fateful telegraph from a place Adam had said he had never heard of.

"Man, Adam," the clerk said, leaning interestedly over his desk to gape at the telegraph in Adam's hands. "I didn't know you were courting a gal up in the Idaho Territory."

"Neither did I." Brows knitting beneath the dark brim of his hat, Adam was visibly perplexed as he seemed to carefully read and then re-examine the message from his previously unknown love interest.

"I don't know what kind of man she found to transmit something like that," the clerk said. "But I am quite sure that when Morse invented his fangled machine, he did not intend for it to be used for the sharing of such crass things. And I do know that if it would have been anyone other than me tasked with writing such forward, vulgar things down then that message would have gone unreceived, by you, at least."

Adam cast him a guarded glance. "Is that your way of saying you expect a tip?"

Smirking, the clerk nodded at the telegraph. "Looks like I ain't the only one," he said.

"Who's being crass now?" Adam scoffed, obviously annoyed by both the clerk's indiscretion and indelicate crudeness. He studied the telegraph again, his hazel eyes glistening with intrigue.

Ben stepped forward in the hopes of reading the message but Adam abruptly folded and shoved it into his pocket, effectively and unknowingly hiding its contents from his father's phantom view.

"I don't mean to speak ill of your girl," the clerk said.

"I don't have a girl," Adam corrected. "And I certainly would never take up with one who was as forward and salacious as this one seems to be."

"I don't know. It seems to me it's always the calm, calculated men who prefer their women to be a little forward and salacious, at least behind closed doors. Now, I understand you not admitting to being amiable to such a thing, but I don't see how the two of you could not know each other." The clerk lifted another piece of paper from the pile on his desk. "Because if you really didn't know her, then why would this message intended for your father follow the one she sent you?"

Adam eyed the paper warily. "What does that one say?"

"Don't worry, it's nothing like the one she wrote you. No, sir, this here is an order for cattle."

"Cattle?"

"That's right. Eighty head."

"Eighty head," Adam repeated flatly.

"That's right, requested from a place called Malice. That's an awfully strange name for a town, don't you think? Although, I don't think it's really a town, not with the way your message was written, not given the area of land it originated in. I have family in Idaho, and I never heard of a town with such a name. No, sir, those telegraphs, they would have had to originate from somewhere else." The clerk grinned. "You know, Adam, it seems to me that if you really don't know the gal who sent you that message, then maybe you oughta go formally introduce yourself."

"Why?"

"Because even if that town really doesn't exist, you still have a gal who's willing to employ your family to move eighty head of cattle just to meet you. How much is the Ponderosa charging for a single head these days? Seems to me, she's willing to pony up a small fortune just for the opportunity to see you and follow through on the promise she made to you in your message."

Adam did not reply to that, and to Ben, it was just as well. He already knew what would happen next; he no longer needed to remain a voyeur of a decidedly private conversation. He had no desire to wait around only to watch himself and Hoss enter the telegraph office or for their conversation about the odd request for cattle from the strangely named town to ensue. He did not need to watch the impending discussion unfold to know what had been said. He had already gleaned enough to know that Adam had been untruthful.

TBC