Author's Notes

Wow, reading all your wonderful and sweet reviews for the latest chapter left me feeling touched and SO happy. Thank you so very much everyone, for the continued support. This story means a great deal to me and some emotions are described and written straight from my own heart. It's such a gift to be able to share it with all of you and I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the turn it has taken with Adam's struggle and darker side coming out.

Here we go with the next bit—poor Adam, his family is coming to fetch him! Don't worry, the drama won't go on for much longer after this. Some action-packed chapters coming up soon.. As one reviewer said—We need the good guys to get back in charge of the situation!

Chapter 26

The three Cartwrights rode down C Street, scanning both sides of the road for any sign of their missing family member. It was busy on the streets now because farmers and other ranchers living outside of town typically came in at this time to run errands and buy supplies. Ben and his sons had naturally headed for the Bucket of Blood since that was the saloon Adam was most likely to go to and they were just rounding the corner of the street where they would be able to see the tavern when a voice shouted to them.

They halted their horses and saw Roy jump down from the boardwalk by the sheriff's office. He strode towards them and judging by his grim expression, he wasn't coming over to small talk.

With obvious reluctance, Ben addressed his sons. "I better see what he wants. You two just . . . find your brother."

"We'll find him, Pa," Joe assured him.

As Ben turned his horse back around to the approaching sheriff, Hoss and Joe continued along the street in the direction of the Bucket of Blood.

When the brothers arrived at the saloon, they were surprised to see a sign hanging by the entrance that said "temporarily closed". Hoss tried not to show it, but that gave him a very bad feeling. Sam only ever closed down the saloon when there had been some sort of brawl and the place needed to be cleaned up and repaired. When he felt his younger brother's perceptive eyes settle on him, he knew that Joe was feeling the same thing. They needed to find Adam.

The second most likely saloon they would find him in was the Silver Dollar and since it was also nearby, they went there next. When the building came into their view, they searched the hitching rails for Sport, but the chestnut wasn't there. They pulled up out front and Hoss shrugged in response to the questioning look Joe gave him.

"Might as well go in and check. Maybe he put Sport at the livery stable."

They dismounted, tied their horses to the post and climbed the steps to the boardwalk. Hoss pushed the batwing doors open and quickly saw that there were just a few customers in the saloon. It was one person in particular though, who immediately had his full attention. An audible sigh came from his right and Hoss looked sideways at Joe who'd also seen their brother. Joe took his hat off and the inner-ends of his eyebrows rose even as the rest of his face seemed to fall. They had both been hoping that there would be some reasonable and logical explanation for Adam's absence last night and for Paul's message. Now that they'd found their sibling half-slouched across the bar, there was no running from the truth.

With his sight locked on the object of their search, Hoss pushed out his chest and walked to the bar—Joe following behind him.

"Adam," he said calmly when he got to the counter, "we come to take ya home."

Adam didn't look up at them, but Hoss was pretty sure that their older brother had known it the minute they'd entered the saloon. Since they were kids, Adam had always been practically impossible to sneak up on. However, in his current state it might just be doable . . .

"All right. Let me just finish this," Adam said in a deep monotone.

A ripple of wrinkles appeared on Hoss' forehead as Adam lifted the half-full tankard of beer to his lips.

"What happened to your arm?" Joe suddenly asked and touched his shoulder, trying to turn him around a bit to get a better look.

Adam bounced his shoulder to remove Joe's hand. "It's nothing."

"It sure don't look like nothin'."

"Just leave it, okay?" Adam snapped and finally faced his siblings.

Instantly, Hoss' chest grew tight, painfully so. He'd known Adam his whole life and through all those years, he'd never seen his brother look the way he did now. Tangled hair, scruffy beard and red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes—filled with pain, with sadness.

Whatever Hoss' expression was at that moment, it clearly struck Adam in some way because the glint of annoyance in his eyes vanished. Instead, they became uncertain and flickered away, back to the beer between his hands.

"Sport down at the livery stable?" Hoss asked when he got his mouth functioning again.

"Yea." Adam's chin lowered. "I think so . . ."

Nodding, Hoss turned to their younger brother because difficult as it was for him to see Adam this way, he knew it must be even harder for Joe.

"Joe, you go on down to the livery stable and get ol' Sport. Me and Adam will be ready to go when ya come back."

Joe forced his gaze away from Adam, and Hoss patted his back. The youngest brother was either too confused or too worried, or maybe both, and he didn't argue.

"Yea, okay . . ."

With another look directed at Adam's back, Joe walked away from the bar, clutching his hat against his front, his steps slow and heavy.

Once Joe had left the saloon, Hoss faced Adam and waited for him to say something. It wasn't long before the expected question came.

"Is Pa with you?"

"Yea. He's . . . outside talkin' to Roy."

Adam released a chuckling snort. "Well . . . that's just perfect."

When it seemed like he was preparing to down his drink, Hoss decided to take a risk and asked, "Ya talk to Madeline yet . . .?"

"Don't ask me about Madeline right now, Hoss."

A pained look came over his face and he stared down at the counter-top. But Hoss couldn't take seeing him like that and he bent towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder even though Joe's had been shrugged away just minutes ago.

"Dadburnit, Adam . . . this ain't like you. It ain't like ya at all."

"No . . . no, it's not."

"Ya gotta stop this, brother. Pa and Little Joe are gettin' real worried, ya gotta start takin' care of yurself better."

"I'm sorry, Hoss," Adam suddenly said, his voice becoming thick and slightly slurred as his sight stayed trained on the bar-counter.

"Don't go bein' sorry." Hoss gave his shoulder an affectionate shake. "Just quit bein' so stubborn and let us help ya, all right?"

"I'm just so tired . . ."

"Yea, I reckon ya must be. So, let's get you on home so you can sleep." Hoss gently but firmly extracted the tankard from Adam's hand and his nose wrinkled. "A bath wouldn't do ya no harm neither . . ."

A little surprisingly, Adam's mouth curved ever so slightly at that and Hoss' heart flooded with warmth at the sight, so he went on, "Throw in a shave and maybe a hair cut and ya might start to look like Adam Cartwright a bit again."

The hinted smile grew close to his usual half-smile and Adam blinked and raised his head. "Yea, yea, okay . . ."

Grinning mildly, Hoss stepped away from the bar. "What do ya say we get outta this here stuffy room, we can sit outside in the fresh air instead?"

He didn't bother waiting for an answer, Hoss just took his wayward sibling's good arm and began maneuvering him to the batwing doors.

Adam had never been the heavy-drinking type and when he did drink, it was always hard to tell how drunk he actually was. But by the way he wobbled when they'd taken just a few steps, Hoss knew that he hadn't seen him this affected by liquor in a long time. But then the exhaustion and lack of sleep undoubtedly played in too and he didn't know if Adam had been given some sort of medicine by Paul for whatever had happened to his arm. The neat bandaging had undoubtedly been done by the doctor and Paul's message also made sense now.

As they got to the batwing doors, Adam seemed more stable and once they were outside, Hoss hoped that the light summer breeze in the air would clear his head. When he moved over to the boardwalk railing and surveyed the street, Hoss chose to give him some space, but stayed near.

It was typical of Adam—when he was troubled or sad, he needed room around him—space to think, just by himself. Hoss had always accepted and understood that about him, but there were certain things he just plain disagreed with. Like Adam's belief that he needed to handle difficult problems alone. Smart and educated as older brother was, he really had some harebrained ideas sometimes. It didn't come easily to him, asking for help, not even from his own family and that's where Hoss knew him better than anyone else, except for maybe their pa. With Adam, the key was always to know when to push and when to back off.

"Oh, great . . ."

Adam's dark mutter made Hoss go up beside him. A wince crossed his face when he saw what his sibling had. Their father and the sheriff were marching down the road—towards the saloon. Their pa was pulling Buck along behind him, looking a mixture of irritated and concerned. Roy was actually drilling Adam with a stare which Hoss thought was proving pretty effective even from that distance. The sheriff was also carrying Adam's gun-belt in one hand and his black Stetson in the other.

"I did wonder where my hat and gun had gone . . ." Adam mumbled.

"Ya lost your horse, your gun, yur hat, ya ended up at doc's and now Roy . . ." Hoss scratched his neck. "Doggonit, what happened last night, Adam?"

Adam firmed his jaw and spread his feet further apart to widen his stance. "I think you're about to get the whole story."

He held the sheriff's eyes as the older man came closer and Roy's nostrils were flaring wider and wider. Hoss could almost imagine little puffs of smoke coming out of the sheriff's reddening ears and he suddenly wasn't sure if he even wanted to be around for this confrontation. And it occurred to him, that taking up drinking before noon maybe wasn't such a bad idea after all.

xXXx

Almost ten minutes later, Hoss and Joe were outside the barbershop where Sport and Cochise stood tied to the hitching rail. Joe had taken a seat on the rail, his feet tapping restlessly on the ground and Hoss was leaning back against it with his hands supporting him. They were both watching the proceedings across the street where Adam, their Pa and Roy Coffee still stood outside the Silver Dollar.

Once Roy's initial tirade had come to a seething close, Hoss had decided that the other side of the street was a much safer and more peaceful place to be for the moment. And he'd needed a bit of peace and quiet to think through everything he'd heard.

After learning what had happened in town the previous night, he was stumped by the events and even more baffled by his older brother's uncharacteristic behavior. When Joe had come riding up the road with Sport tagging along, Hoss had waved him over and filled him in on everything. The thing they'd talked most about was the fight that Adam had gotten into with Fred Clayton and the fact that their sensible sibling had taken the first punch which—as Roy evidently saw it—had started the brawl involving over thirty cowboys. It was a new record in town, apparently.

"Sounds more like something I'd do . . ." Joe muttered, studying the scene on the other side of the road.

"Yup. Sure does," Hoss said, looking at the same sight.

"Well, I mean, obviously I'd have a reason for it . . . a good one."

"Sure ya would, shortshanks."

Across the street, Roy was still red-faced, occasionally pointing a finger at Adam or flinging one or both hands out to his sides as if he were giving some sort of odd directions. Every now and then, his voice would rise up again and Hoss and Joe—as well as any passing civilians—could catch certain parts of sentences like, "disturbin' the peace!" or "runnin' off on me!" and one in particular that kept coming up, "told ya to stay put!"

Ben was trying to act the peacekeeper and had one hand on Adam's shoulder and another on Roy's most of the time. It hadn't surprised either of the two younger brothers that although their father definitely disapproved of Adam's part in the roughhousing last night, he had more or less jumped to his defense in the discussion with Roy. After all, everyone knew what kind of man Fred Clayton was, and the sheriff did too for that matter. Besides, Ben Cartwright did not take kindly to someone drawing a knife on one of his sons.

Adam was, unsurprisingly, standing completely erect with an air of nonchalance about him as he listened to Roy. Actually, it didn't even look like he'd moved at all during the last ten minutes. He'd just managed to give his own version of the events, or at least of the parts he remembered, before Roy had cut him off again. Hoss knew just how tired Adam was though, and he feared that his brother would lose his temper if Roy didn't finish up this drawn-out scolding soon.

"Hey, Hoss, Joe" a voice suddenly said, "Say, what happened to Adam? That a bandage on his arm?"

Hoss and Joe saw Clem from the post office standing beside the hitching post next to them, also squinting over at the Silver Dollar. The brothers let out double-sighs.

"It's a long story, Clem. I'm sure you'll hear about it around town soon enough," Hoss said and noticed the envelopes the man was holding. "What ya got there?"

"Oh!" Clem's head shot back to them. "I spotted you sitting here when I stepped outside the office and I wanted to give you this mail here, a couple of messages for Adam." Clem tapped the papers against the palm of his other hand. "You know, he was coming in every day to check if I'd gotten any letters or wires from Washington D.C. Said he was expectin' a reply from some of his friends. And then he just stopped coming in to check at all!" With an exasperated noise, Clem shuffled the envelopes around. "Now I got this letter for him lying around and a telegram came in an hour ago for him, also from Washington."

"I reckon Adam just plain forgot, he's been a little preoccupied," Hoss said and stretched out a hand. "We'll give 'em to him, Clem."

Clem handed over the letter and telegram. "All right, well, say hello to him from me and to your pa too."

"We will, see ya around Clem," Joe said as the man gave a little wave and walked back towards the post office.

"I really hope there's some good news for him in there . . ." Joe nodded at the mail and pushed himself up from the hard rail, massaging the small of his back.

"Me too," Hoss said. "I reckon they must be about his friend that Henry fella. Adam was waitin' for some kinda confirmation that he'd come out here to visit . . ."

Meanwhile across the road, the extended discussion had finally come to an end. Ben was untying Buck's and Chub's reins while Adam waited and although Roy's appearance wasn't exactly happy, he definitely looked more composed. The three exchanged a few parting words before the sheriff went the other direction down the street and the two Cartwrights headed towards the barbershop. Ben kept close to his son as Adam walked listlessly with a slight stagger. It was probably a bit of a wonder that he was even still on his feet and Ben was more than ready to get him back to the Ponderosa. They could deal with everything that had happened when they got home. The father certainly had a few things to say about it all but he would bite his tongue for now.

They came over to Hoss and Joe, and he gave them a tiny head-shake, conveying that now wasn't the time for questions. It wasn't really necessary though because anyone could see how completely drained Adam was. A loud whinny from Sport caught everyone by surprise except for Adam and he walked straight past his brothers and over to his displeased horse.

"Sorry, boy . . ."

His family watched him intently, similar worried thoughts going through their minds but Adam just kept his attention on his mount. Finally, Ben spoke as normally as possible above the background-noise of neck-patting and dissatisfied horse-snorting. "Well, it looks like we're ready to head home." He noted the envelopes Hoss had. "Did you get the mail?"

"Uh, no Pa, Clem brought 'em." Hoss held the messages out towards his brother. "There's a letter here for ya and a telegram, Adam."

Some of the light seemed to come back to those dulled hazel pools and his drooping shoulders lifted a little when Adam moved back over to his brothers and father. He took the mail and glanced at the letter but frowned when he saw the telegram. The reason was obvious to the others because they also saw that the wire was marked "urgent" with red letters. Adam's dark eyebrows crept lower as he cautiously opened the envelope and pulled out the paper. He unfolded it and what followed was a moment he and his family would never forget. He took one look at the message—one, brief, fleeting look—then he sucked in a breath, tipped his face up to the sky and mumbled, "No . . . no . . ."

Turning his back to them, he walked a couple of shaky feet away, bringing one hand up to his temple under his hat while the other fell down, still clutching the telegram and letter.

"What is it?" Ben asked anxiously, dropping Buck's reins as he hastily strode towards Adam. Hoss and Joe stood dead-still, cold dread wrapping around them while their pa went to their brother. As soon as Ben put his hands on Adam's shoulders, he tried to pull away, but the father held fast.

"What's happened?"

Adam just shook his head, his palm pressing against his temple and Ben reached down to pry the papers from his son's fingers. He glanced at the telegram, much like Adam had just done and the first two words made his breath catch in his throat.

Adam Cartwright

The Ponderosa

Virginia City, Nevada

Henry dead (STOP) death by suicide (STOP) nothing anyone could have done (STOP) letter arriving for you soon (STOP) sorry, friend (STOP)

James Farrel

Fort Lesley J. McNair, Washington D.C.

Joe and Hoss saw their father stare at the message for a second, then his eyes squeezed shut. Unable to bear the tension of not knowing, Joe was about to go over there, but Hoss grabbed his arm.

"No, Joe. Give them a moment."

The expression on their pa's face was one of utter anguish and when he looked at Adam again, he simply stood there in silence beside his son—as if he didn't know what to say. The two younger brothers couldn't see Adam's face, but he was quiet, his back rising and falling in an even motion as he carefully kept rubbing the side of his head.

Ben leaned towards him and laid a hand on the nape of his neck.

"I'm so sorry, son . . ." he said softly.

Adam only gave an imperceptible nod. And there really wasn't anything else to say just then. For Ben, the most important thing was now getting his boy back home, so he gently turned Adam around and steered him back towards the hitching post.

"Joseph, get the horses ready."

Joe promptly went to untie Sport's and Cochise's reins while Ben wordlessly held out the letter and telegram to his middle son. Hoss almost didn't want to take the wire and he wavered before he did. When he'd read the first words, his head snapped back up in shock and he stared at his father. They shared a long, unblinking look and both saw the looming despair mirrored in each other's faces. The father turned to his eldest again, keeping an anchoring grip on Adam's nape and shoulder. But he wasn't sure if his son was taking any of it in.

When Joe came over with Sport, Ben let go of Adam so he could mount up. He did so without help despite his injured arm and he then sat still in the saddle, waiting. His eyes were inexpressive, his demeanor almost dull and it didn't seem like he was even really aware of what he was doing. The others mounted up and faced the buggy-filled street.

"Let's go home," Ben said quietly.

As they rode out of town, he remained just beside Adam while Hoss hung back with Joe to tell him the tragic news. Once the shock had settled, Joe's heart ached with sorrow and he too feared how this was going to affect their already depressed brother.

There was hardly any conversation between the four men the whole ride home. They rode slower than usual too, so it took longer, but they stayed close together.

Throughout the whole thing, Adam didn't shed a single tear. There was no chin-trembling, no rapid breathing, no shaking voice. He just sat in the saddle, the reins dangling in his slack hands. It was like the grief hadn't touched him on the outside yet, instead it was on the inside. Along with everything else.

Madeline stopped by the front door of her uncle's house and aimed a last look at the man sitting on the other side of the street. She'd just realized that he wasn't even bothering to hide in one of the alleys today. He was sat in the shade of the tin-roof covering above the boardwalk where he could be most comfortable watching the house. When he tipped his hat at her in a smug manner, she gave him a withering stare. Then she wheeled back around to the door, opened it and went inside. The door slammed shut with more force than she'd intended and she fell back against it, breathing deeply—her chest feeling as though it was about to burst open. A sudden sob of despair surged up her throat and it got out before she could stop it with the palm of her hand. Her uncle's voice called from his office.

"Madeline? Is that you?"

Lowering her hand down to her breast, she fought to bring her voice under control.

"Yes, Uncle Paul, it's only me."

She quickly locked the front door and went to the doorway of her uncle's office just as he came out into the hall. He took off his glasses and tilted his head sideways in question. "Did the front door bother you in some way?"

"No, I'm sorry, I lost my grip on the door handle and it just flew shut," she said and began untying the ribbon of her bonnet under her chin, her eyes directed downwards.

Paul crossed his arms. "You're home very late . . ."

"Yes, I'm afraid that the restaurant is—"

"Very busy at the moment. Yes, yes, so I've heard."

Madeline shifted uncertainly and found a way of avoiding her uncle's assessing gaze by glancing into the office instead.

"You have been working late too, I see . . ."

His desk was littered with papers, medical books and folders and in the middle of the chaos stood a big pot of coffee and his favorite cup. Paul also looked into the room and rested back against the door-frame, pressing two fingers against the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it's been one long day." His eyelids fluttered when he faced his niece again, bleary-eyed. "I only just sent my last patient home ten minutes ago and now I have hours of paperwork waiting."

"Oh . . ." Sympathy-creases formed on her forehead as she took in the faint pockets between his lower eyelids and the upper part of his cheeks. "I'll make you some fresh coffee while I get supper going then."

Doing her best to hide her own fatigue, she walked over to the hall stand by the doorway to the sitting room.

"Well. Aren't we even going to mention him anymore now?"

Madeline's hands froze on her bonnet. Tentatively, she lifted the hat and laid it down on the hall stand along with her purse. When she turned around again, there was a watery shine to her eyes and her voice held the barest quiver as she spoke.

" . . . How was he, uncle Paul?"

Paul cleared his throat and uncrossed his arms, walking over to her. "He wasn't too well, Madeline. And I think you know that."

"Did . . . did his family come here?"

Madeline felt her stomach clench with unease when he didn't answer her straight away and all sorts of possible reasons for his hesitance started whizzing around her mind. It made her feel dizzy and things only got worse when her uncle regarded her with concern. "No, but I sent a message out to them, I'm sure he's home now with them . . . are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, I'm—"

Her lashes swept down when he suddenly felt her brow with the back of his hand. The touch was soft and cool, comforting.

"You're a little warm . . ." He took her arm and before she knew it, she was escorted into the sitting room. When he brought her over to the settee, she started to protest.

"No, I must start supper, it's already late—"

"Madeline, you've had hardly any sleep, you've worked the entire day and you weren't even well to begin with."

With his help, she sank down in the soft cushions and vaguely wondered how she was ever going to stand up again. Now that she was sitting and resting after such a night and day, her legs were so numb it was as if they didn't even belong to her. The beckoning pillows behind her were just too tempting and she slowly leaned back against them. All the stress she'd been carrying around for days now had settled as a soreness that spread over every inch of her tired body. Before long, her head lolled slightly to the side. She couldn't remember ever being this exhausted in her life.

"Little Belle?"

" . . . Mmmh, yes?"

Her voice sounded like it was coming from some distant place and she was only half-aware that the soothing something going on at the top of her head was her uncle stroking her hair.

"Besides the fact that you're completely dead on your feet, do you have any symptoms I should know about?" Paul frowned. "I'm worried now, Madeline . . ."

His last words made her concentrate enough to give the needed reassurance.

"I have a headache and I feel a little weak, but it's just because I'm so tired, uncle . . ."

He pulled her closer to him and they sat on the settee together as quiet fell around them. Madeline felt herself drifting off when her uncle's voice tickled her ear.

"I'm going out to the Ponderosa tomorrow to see to Adam's arm."

Her eyes opened and she straightened up. "See to his arm? But you said he would be all right . . ."

"Mm-hmm, and I'm still confident he will be. If he takes proper care of it. And I've learned from experience that he needs to be told several times."

"Oh . . ."

She settled back down again, but her eyes stayed open.

"I just thought perhaps you'd like to come along with me . . .?" Paul asked with barely concealed hope in his tone.

This time, Madeline wavered before answering. "I can't . . ."

Her head lifted a little on her uncle's shoulder when he inhaled a long, deep breath.

"Madeline, I saw the look on your face while you sat with him last night," he said gently. "I know that you love him . . ."

"Yes, I love him . . . and that's why things must be this way." Her throat was closing up and she pushed her cheek against his shoulder. "Please, Uncle Paul . . ."

She was too tired to think, to talk, to do anything. In this state, she might just end up saying what she couldn't—what she desperately wanted to. But then maybe she should. Just say it out loud. Maybe it really was the only way out of this mess. One thing was certain, she couldn't go on like this for much longer. And what a relief it would be to tell . . .

Paul gave in for now and said nothing more, but she knew he wasn't going to let the matter go. The last thing she was aware of, just before sleep overcame her, was his loving touch as he stroked her hair.