Author's Notes

Guys! It was incredibly uplifting for me to read the reviews this morning. Thank you all very much. It's good to be back and I'm so grateful for your warm response, your patience and continued support :) You've put a massive smile on my face today.

I love writing from Madeline's point of view and it was fun to explore her reaction to seeing a new side of Adam. She still has a lot to learn about the Cartwrights' way of life. (Especially if she is to become a rancher's wife...? ;)

All right, brotherly chapter coming up now! I hope you all enjoy this and I'll get the next one up as soon as I can.

Thank you again.

Chapter 45

"Dadgummit . . . it's gonna be a real toad-strangler this, shortshanks."

At the words, Joe tipped his head back and squinted upward. Hoss was right. Since they'd ridden out in the morning, the day had grown rapidly dark and dreary. It would be impossible to tell what time it was by looking at the sky now because all remaining traces of sunlight had been buried in gloomy grey. Heavy clouds, the color of lead, swarmed overhead like some strange kind of invasion force sent from the heavens. Yeah, it was gonna rain all right. And they'd probably all end up soaked to the bone long before they made it home.

Joe glanced over at his big brother riding next to him. "Yea, I think you're right."

"I know I'm right, dadburnit." Hoss held onto his hat to keep it from toppling off as he eyed the menacing clouds with mistrust. "Shouldda brought our slickers along . . ."

"We should have," he agreed, "but the sky seemed clear enough when we left." Absently, he reached around to the back of his neck and tried to smooth down the hair starting to curl up under his hat. He hated rainy weather. His hair would be a right sight by the time they got home. "I don't think Pa planned on us being out this long either," he muttered sourly.

"That's for dang sure he didn't. Shouldda brought more food along too . . ."

Joe's arm froze, his hand going still on his neck. "You just finished your last biscuit barely half an hour ago. I even gave you one of mine."

He twisted his head and stared incredulously at Hoss.

"I know, but we're more'n two hours ride from the house and we ain't even started to head back yet." The big man shuddered. "It's plain disturbin' to think about what sorta condition I'll be in at that time . . ."

Shaking his head, Joe couldn't prevent a small smile from forming. "Boy, your appetite has doubled lately. Must be all those extra cakes Madeline's been making."

"I cain't hardly help that we got the best baker in the state livin' with us, now kin I?"

"I guess not."

Joe turned his attention back to the climbing path ahead. The trail they were currently on was rough and rocky and surrounded by trees and boulders on both sides. They'd ridden this way many times before and he knew that once they got over this next rise, they would soon hit more level ground. And thank God for that. All day, they'd been winding their way sideways, up or down along the slopes. It felt like his rear end was about to fall off. Shifting in the saddle, he urged Cochise on and directed his gaze down at the ground.

They'd been traveling through the high country for hours, following the trail of the missing cattle. The tracks that Harry had found near the north pasture showed the animals had headed up into the mountains—but not without help. Although the tracks were a few days old and in poor condition, the eagle-eyed foreman had spotted the hoof prints of two shod horses among the prints left behind by the cattle. If there had been any doubt in Joe's mind before, there was none now. It was definitely rustlers at work. Unfortunately, his hopes of finding the thieves were waning. The shifting terrain in this country made tracking a slow and arduous task. In many places, the thick brush and heavy pine forest had made the going tough and they could barely see more than a few feet ahead of themselves. In other areas, they'd encountered wide expanses of bare rock where the trail vanished completely. It was difficult and time-consuming to pick it up again. Twice now, they'd also lost the trail where the rustlers had crossed two creeks and ridden upstream in a deliberate attempt to throw any pursuers off-track. The slow progress was grating on Joe's nerves, and he felt his impatience mounting. He also hadn't quite let go of his annoyance with his father and Adam. The two had obviously known about the missing cattle and decided to keep it to themselves, which didn't sit well with him. It didn't sit well with him at all. If it had been up to him, they would have been out looking for those steers the very minute they'd disappeared.

He glanced upward, seeing the top of the incline looming. As they crested the top, Cochise emitted a loud snort and tossed his head. Joe reined up and tugged the collar of his green jacket a little higher as a harsh gust of wind swept him. Not for the first time today, he felt grateful for the fact he'd decided to wear an undershirt. It was much cooler and windier up here compared to lower down in the mountains. Despite the cold and the rough terrain, it was well worth the ride. The raw, untamed beauty of the high Sierras was enough to take a man's breath away. He gave Cochise a pat on the neck to settle the animal as Hoss drew up next to him.

"Little Branch Valley . . . that sight sure don't get old, does it?"

It sure didn't. Stretched out before them, at the foot of the rise, was a long valley they knew as Little Branch Valley—one of Joe's favorite places in this area. More a canyon than a valley, Little Branch Valley was nestled between towering, pine-covered mountain slopes on both sides. It had a twisting river running along the bottom, which was partially obscured by ribbons of delicate mist hanging over the water. In the unnatural darkness of the afternoon, the valley had an eerie stillness to it. It was hauntingly beautiful, but still, eerie.

Joe pulled his hat lower down his forehead and looked off to the right. About twenty yards away, their pa had dismounted and stood studying the ground. Next to him, Harry sat on his pony and even while mounted, the old foreman was barely a head higher than his boss. They were talking quietly, probably discussing possible places the rustlers might have gone. Despite being in his late sixties, the foreman handled himself as well atop a horse as any of the young cowhands employed at the ranch. He was a plump little man with shoulders permanently hunched up to his ears, and on his head sat the remains of the floppy-brimmed, mangled hat he'd worn ever since Joe could remember. Harry had been with them for almost as long as Hop Sing and he was one of the closest, most trusted friends of the family. Although he had a definite mean streak in him, which especially surfaced whenever they took on new hands, he'd always fulfilled his duties with unwavering loyalty and devotion to the Ponderosa. Joe had heard his pa say many times that Harry loved the land here like it was his own. There was no doubt it was true. Observing him now, it was clear the foreman was in his element. Sitting atop his horse, gazing out across the land—he looked kind of like an old bullfrog squatting contentedly on a rock, overlooking his pond . . .

Joe was torn from his thoughts when his pa moved to mount his horse again and gave a slight wave, indicating they were going down into the valley. He nodded back in confirmation, and he and Hoss followed. They descended the gentle slope covered in green foliage and saw numerous game trails along the way, running up and down from the top of the rise down into the valley. Once they reached the valley floor, the underbrush thinned, making the rustler's tracks easier to follow. They stuck to the right side of the bubbling river and kept the horses at a slow walk to let them cool down and relax after the long climb uphill.

After a few minutes' ride, Hoss grunted in frustration. "Once that rain start's comin' down, them tracks are gonna be clean washed away."

Joe turned to him and saw his eyes were directed towards the ground and his brow was puckered.

"Yea, I thought about it too," he replied, glancing up at the sky. "And I don't see how we're gonna have any hope of finding the rustlers without a trail to follow. There's about a hundred places they could be hiding out around here. Plenty of high meadows to choose from beyond the valley."

Jerking his chin down in a nod, Hoss grunted again. Suddenly, he shook his head. "I don't git it."

Joe faced him. "What don't you get?"

"Why they're headin' all the way up here in the first place. 'Specially with the cold weather commin' . . ." Pausing, he frowned as if in deep thought. "Now, if I was a rustler . . ." He lifted a large left hand, and using his right forefinger, he began ticking off points of his approach. "I wudda headed up into the mountains with the cattle a little ways to make it hard to track me." He ticked off a second finger. "Then I wudda warmed up my runnin' iron someplace real quiet-like up in the hills where no one would disturb me." He bumped a third finger. "Then I wudda cut east and found a place to loop back around . . . probably wudda gone through Three Snakes Canyon and headed back down into the foothills. And you'd all be left up here on a wild goose chase tryin' to find me."

He finished by making a wide swinging motion with his arm. There was a long pause between them. With a wry smile, Joe finally asked, "Something you wanna tell me, brother?"

Hoss looked over at him with a confused expression. Then he firmed his chin. "I'm talkin' hypothetical-like, dang it."

"Oh, sure."

Joe reined in his smile and sobered. Hoss sort of had a point.

"Maybe they're already on the run from the law and they've come up here to lay low for a while," he suggested.

Hoss's face scrunched up. "Cattle-rustling ain't exactly a good way of layin' low."

"Maybe they got greedy." Joe thought for a moment. "Pa said the steers have been disappearing from the north section over the last two weeks, so they've been stealing a few head at a time to avoid rousing suspicion. They might've taken some from other herds too. Maybe they've got a camp up here somewhere and they're sticking around because they plan to gather a bigger herd they can drive away and sell somewhere."

"Rustlers don't usually like to stay in one place for too long," Hoss pointed out. "If that's their plan, seems like a fool one to me."

"I didn't say they were smart. They're rustlers."

"I don't know," Hoss said in a wary tone. "Somethin' just don't feel right about this . . ."

With a troubled look on his face, he concentrated on the trail again. Joe didn't comment further. There was nothing more he could say. Understanding the rustlers wasn't really his priority. He just wanted to find them and bring them to justice. But one thing was certain—heavy rain would wash the tracks away. And when that happened, the odds of finding the rustlers would be slim to none. It would take skill and a whole lot of luck. And patience. Joe didn't do patience very well . . .

He shifted restlessly in the saddle. In an attempt to divert himself, he tried to relax and take in his surroundings.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, a lungful of crisp, mountain air. The thick scent of rain surrounded him, mingled with a trace of tangy pine. The smell of loneliness, he remembered. Adam had described that scent once, many years ago. Joe opened his eyes again and glanced at both sides of himself. Over on the west side of the river, the pine-decked mountain slopes soared, sheltering them from harsh winds. To his right, a wall of granite sheer cliff rose sharply, almost perpendicularly in some places. Riding through this valley always made him feel very small. In the distance ahead, more mountains rose up in a series of steep slopes—their snowy peaks hidden by the low-hanging cloud deck above. At this height, the dark-grey sky felt even more oppressive. Showers were imminent. He was already dreading having to ride home drenched. Although, he would much rather push through it and sleep in his own bed tonight than seek shelter in some distant line shack . . .

At least now, they were travelling on level ground and he was very grateful for that. Wincing a bit, he stood up in the stirrups and resettled himself in the saddle. While he loved the savage beauty of the wilderness up here, getting here hadn't exactly been a picnic today. The rugged trail upward had been harder on his rear end than usual. Tonight, he would no doubt be paying the price for being out of the saddle for a whole week. Heck, he was already paying it. The short ride to and from Hoss Heaven yesterday had been a breeze compared to this . . .

He reached around and rubbed his lower back to provide a small measure of relief.

As if reading his thoughts, Hoss said, "Thunder it, these high-country trails are flat-out torture!" He grimaced and shifted his weight to the sound of creaking saddle leather. "I won't hardly be able to sit down for supper."

Joe smiled at that. "I'll bet you five dollars, you'll find a way."

"That's one bet I ain't gonna take," he replied, and Joe was pleased to see him flash one of his gap-toothed grins.

"Meanwhile, older brother back there" —Hoss jerked a chunky thumb backward— "I ain't seen him move even a hair's breadth in that saddle. And he's been off a horse longer than you and me." He glanced back over his shoulder with a disgruntled look. "Seems it ain't just his head that's made out of granite . . ."

A burst of laughter bubbled up Joe's throat and spilled over. He couldn't help it. Up ahead, his pa turned in the saddle with a disapproving expression and Joe snatched a hand up and covered his mouth to stifle himself. His hilarity had barely died down when Hoss spoke again, still sounding irritated.

"You know what else ol' Adam's got? A face to match this here weather—that's what. Jist look at 'im." He jerked his big chin over his shoulder. "He looks like he's got his own little thundercloud hangin' right over his head."

Joe inhaled unsteadily to quash the last spasms of laughter and looked backward at their sibling riding about twenty feet behind them. Most of Adam's face was shadowed under the brim of his black hat but he did have sort of a thunder-cloud-look about him . . .

"You know how he is," Joe said, facing ahead again. "Adam's just being . . ." He shrugged. "Adam."

"He is at that."

The brothers fell quiet as they continued along the river. Thin wisps of mist clung to the scarce trees along the bank. There would be complete silence around them if not for the soothing sound of water flowing over rocks—a sound Joe had loved since he was a child.

"Did ya know Miss Madeline and the Doc are leavin' tomorrow?" Hoss suddenly asked.

The question made Joe face him in surprise. No, he hadn't known that.

"So, that's why he's being so moody, huh?" He rolled his eyes and corrected himself. "Or more moody than usual . . ."

Obvious frustration twisted his big brother's expression. "That'll be my guess."

"Well, she was gonna leave eventually. He knew that. We all did."

"Yeah, we sure did," Hoss replied, looking down. "I reckon he's just havin' a hard time with her goin'." His voice went soft as if he wasn't sure about saying the next bit. "You know how he seems to . . . feel better when she's around 'n all . . ."

Joe studied him from the side for five long seconds. "Don't you think it's about time he starts to feel better when she's not?"

He hadn't meant for his voice to sound so harsh. Or, at least, he told himself he hadn't. Hoss's head jerked up and their eyes met—wary blue against flashing green.

It was Hoss who looked away first. "I don't know, Joe . . ."

Sudden tension had clamped around his shoulders and Joe had to make a conscious effort to relax himself. He expelled a long breath and forced out a friendlier tone. "Look . . . he's still got us, right? I mean . . . we're the reason he came home in the first place. It was to be with us." He looked at his brother. "Right?"

Hoss hesitated before replying. "Yea . . . I reckon that's right."

"So . . ." Joe lowered his eyes and fought the urge to fidget with the reins in his hands. "We can help him feel better too, you know. You, me and Pa."

Mentally, he cursed himself for the uncertainty tingeing his own voice. He'd meant his statement to come out as firm assurance, bursting with confidence. Instead, it came out more as a wavering question that held a note of impending defeat in it. Hoss kept his face averted and this time, Joe didn't expect a response. He knew what his brother was thinking. What they were both thinking at that instant. They knew how unstable and depressed Adam had been since coming back from the war and how much his relationship with Madeline had helped him. They'd seen how bad off he'd been without her just over a week ago—desolate and drinking to excess, withdrawn from everyone, even them. And although they'd tried the best they could, they hadn't been able to make him feel better then . . .

Joe straightened his back and banished the painful memory. He peeked behind him to make sure his oldest brother wasn't in earshot, then gazed fixedly at Hoss.

"Listen, I know that being away from Madeline was hard on him and that whole thing with her looney husband set him back a bit, but before all that, he was doing pretty well." He infused his words with confidence to repair the previous damage and continued, "He was settling in more and more. And we did some fun stuff together, the three of us, didn't we?" he prompted. "Just like we used to before he went to war."

Again, Hoss wavered. Then he released a sigh. "Yeah, we did . . ." His mouth quirked the tiniest bit. "It was real nice goin' fishin' all of us together again . . ."

"Exactly!" Joe snapped his fingers with a bright smile. "See, we've just gotta help him get back to all that again and he'll start to feel better. And even though Madeline is leaving, he'll keep courting her and go and see her in town all the time. My guess is he'll marry her before the year is out and then he'll be settling down for good."

Hoss's face contorted in disbelief. "Have you been munchin' on loco weed or somethin'? There ain't a snowball's chance in hell that the Doc will let him marry her that soon. They're getting' married next spring at the earliest."

With a gleam in his eyes, Joe rested an elbow on his thigh and leaned in his big brother's direction. "You wanna bet . . .?"

Hoss lifted his chin. "Twenty dollars."

"It's a deal."

Their eyes locked, they shook hands on it. Joe leaned back in the saddle with a sly smile. "Anyway," he said, "we'll just have to put up with Adam being moody and brooding until he's . . . you know, back to being plain old, bossy and annoying Adam."

His mouth turned down in a grimace, Hoss risked another glimpse over his shoulder. "I guess . . ."

"Come on, lighten up, you big moose." Joe reached over to slap him on the back. "I tell you what, I'll go see what I can do about old cranky-pants back there," he said, pointing behind them.

"Ya best not call him that," Hoss cautioned. "He's liable to have thunderbolts comin' out his dang ears."

Joe grinned. "Now, I wouldn't mind seeing that."

With a confident wink, Joe tipped his hat, reined up and turned his mount around. Hoss rode on alone, shaking his head and mumbling to himself.

xXXx

Joe rode back along the river towards Adam at a light trot and Cochise, seeing Sport, halted and turned by himself, sidling up next to his stable-buddy. The big chestnut twisted his head and grunted what seemed to be a delighted greeting in horse. Old Sport was well-mannered deep down, at least when he wanted to be. That was more than could be said for his master. Adam sat motionless in the saddle, looking straight ahead, his face a dispassionate mask. He rode on as though Joe's sudden presence at his side was no more noteworthy than that of a fly. Joe knew better than to wait for his older brother to acknowledge him. He would be waiting until they were both old men. Which, in Adam's case, wouldn't be all that long . . . He chuckled inwardly at his little joke.

Aiming for a light tone, he glanced up at the grey sky and said, "Hoss reckons we're in for a toad-strangler."

Adam slanted a lazy, sideways look at him that lingered. Without uttering a sound, he returned his sight to the trail. Joe was very familiar with that look. It had been a big part of his childhood. It was the look he'd received whenever he would walk into Adam's room and older brother wanted to convey to him how unwelcome he was. It had about as much effect on him now as it had then.

"I heard the Doc and Madeline are leaving tomorrow."

He regarded his sibling expectantly. Adam's face remained blank and dispassionate, giving not the slightest indication as to how he felt about the matter.

"I guess you'll miss having her here . . ." Joe pressed.

Nothing.

"But not so much the Doc, huh?" he drove on, pushing past the first pricks of irritation. Sometimes his sibling needed a little pokin' and prodding.

Taking a long, exaggerated breath, Adam twisted towards him. "What do you want, Joe?"

Joe stared at him. Yep, sometimes older brother needed a little proddin'. Other times, he needed a good, hard kick up the—

"Just making conversation," Joe said with a strained smile, interrupting his own thoughts.

In stony silence, Adam turned away to survey the scenery. Joe's hand fisted tightly around the reins. And there it was, those sharp pricks of irritation became the first stirrings of anger. Oh, it never took long with Adam, did it . . .

Joe's eyes bore into him. No one on the face of the earth could get under his skin as effectively and with as apparent ease as his oldest brother. It was as if he'd studied the art of being annoying. He'd probably excelled at it too, just like he did at everything else in life. Biting the inside of his cheek, Joe managed to hold onto his temper, which was pretty impressive, for him.

"At least you can still visit her in town whenever you want," he mumbled.

He received a low hum in response. It wasn't much, but this was Adam, after all. He would take what he could get.

They rode in uncomfortable silence for a little bit. Well, to Joe it felt uncomfortable. If Adam felt the same way, he didn't let on. Joe looked over at him repeatedly, searching for any sign that he was warming up. But high on his list of irritating traits, Adam had the aggravating, albeit impressive ability to keep his expression completely unreadable. With his eyes hooded and a substantial growth of dark beard covering most of his face, it was pretty much impossible to discern any thought or feeling from the guy. There was higher chance of Hoss spontaneously taking flight.

When it became apparent that his brother was in fact bullheaded enough to ride on for the next hour without initiating conversation, Joe decided to take another stab at it.

"It's gonna be kind of strange not having her and Doc living with us anymore . . ." He hesitated and peered discreetly Adam's way. "I suppose you'll have some time on your hands when they leave . . ."

He got another hum, this time with an accompanying nod. And then—holy cow—words!

"Yeah, I guess so."

Joe felt a flash of hope inside, and carefully controlled it. He needed to keep this cool. "Well, then maybe you'll have more time to . . . do things." He gestured airily. "I mean, you know . . . we can do things."

Adam let out a disparaging snort. "Like what?"

Those two words hit Joe with all the force of a sledgehammer. They struck with ruthless precision, right in the middle of his chest. That derisive tone rang in his ears. Then came the pain, an ache spreading through his upper body, much more powerful than his flare of temper. Tightening his jaw, fighting to keep his unexpected reaction hidden, he clutched the reins in his hands so hard his knuckles turned white.

When he failed to answer, he sensed Adam's eyes fall on him. "What things?" he asked again.

Joe made the mistake of turning to him. Their gazes connected and the silent stare they shared seemed to last minutes. A strange look fell over Adam's face—a look Joe couldn't work out. His whole demeanor changed then. The scorn faded from his hazel eyes as something else took over, something peculiarly soft. He opened his mouth to speak, but Joe jerked his face away before he could and said, "Just forget it, Adam."

Desperate to get away all of a sudden, he drummed his heels in Cochise's sides and the horse took off.

"Joe, wait . . ."

He didn't. Trust Adam to make him feel like a stupid little kid. What was it about him anyway? How did he do that? Why did he have to be like that? The questions whirled around his mind as he spurred Cochise to a canter. He heard Sport coming up behind them and it wasn't long before Adam caught up.

"Joe," he called, but Joe ignored him. What was it with him? One minute the guy treated him like he was made out of thin air—the next he was chasing him through a valley.

Sensing his brother come up right next to him, Joe was about to urge Cochise to go faster when Adam reached over and grabbed hold of his reins like he owned them or something. "I said wait, damn it," he muttered and slowed both snorting horses to a stop. Fuming, Joe went along with it, only because he didn't want to confuse his mount more than necessary.

Adam blew out a lot of breath. "Now . . . what things did you mean?"

"Just leave it, Adam!" Joe snapped, shoving his hand away, violently. "It doesn't matter, all right? I know you don't remember anyway so there's no point in talking about it!"

Adam's hand stayed in the air after being shoved and Joe felt a surge of satisfaction at the confusion flickering over his features. In the following pause, an uncharacteristic bout of uncertainty fell over his usually self-assured brother.

"I . . . what did I forget?" he finally asked.

Joe chewed the inside of his cheek, debating whether to tell him or not. Unfortunately, the five-year-old kid still residing somewhere within him made the decision when he blurted out, "You were gonna teach me about sharpshooting, remember? We were supposed to start practicing that weekend after fixing the east fence-line, that's what you said. Then everything happened with Madeline and I know you had a hard time with all that and you had a lot of things on your mind and you forgot about our plans but—" He broke off, his heart pounding with anger and hurt, his stormy emotions twisting his voice to a higher pitch. "But we were supposed to do that together. You p—"

He caught himself just in time and swallowed the word promised. It still left a sour taste in his mouth as an old bitterness crept up in him at the thought of Adam and his promises. Already Joe regretted the outburst. He felt his ears begin to redden, especially when he noted Adam's meager reaction of merely raised brows. He bowed his head to escape it. Damn it all! He hated how this always happened with Adam! He somehow always managed to sound like a stupid child begging his brother to spend time with him.

The silence grew suffocating as he waited for Adam to say something. Of course, he didn't. Adam just dropped his gaze and glanced off to the right. In turn, Joe looked off to the left. They sat like that atop their impatient horses for a minute. Eventually, Adam cleared his throat.

"Well . . . do you still want me to teach you?" he asked in a deceptively casual voice, although for a second there, Joe thought he heard an undertone of something else. Something very unlike Adam.

He couldn't resist sliding him a furtive peek. Sure, he wanted Adam to teach him. But what he really wanted was for Adam to want to teach him. He just didn't know how to go about explaining that without sounding silly. He responded with what was supposed to be an indifferent shrug. It didn't feel nearly as smooth as older brother always managed to make it look.

"You're already better than average with a rifle," Adam said slowly. "You're still young. If you start practicing now you could be a great marksman . . ."

As good as you? Joe wanted to ask, but that sounded a little too childish in his own head.

"You really think so?" he asked quietly instead.

"Of course." Adam's answer came quickly, with certainty. "I've trained recruits who knew less than you do now . . ." He paused. "You have great potential, Joe . . ."

This was another thing Joe hated. He could tell himself over and over for years that he didn't need Adam for anything—that he didn't need his respect or approval. And still, his brother could swoop in with a simple sentence like the one he'd just said—four small words—and make Joe feel ten feet tall and like he could conquer the West.

You have great potential . . .

Hesitantly, Joe shifted his gaze to him and found him looking off into the distance, a shade of melancholy spread over his face. It was that expression Adam had whenever he was looking into the past. A past Joe had no part of and knew very little of. His heart clenched and he was overcome with the need to drag his big brother back to the present, back to him and back to their deal.

"All right, on one condition," he said sharply.

Adam faced him, blinking his eyes three times to clear them. "What's that?"

Despite the turmoil within him, Joe's tone was firm as he said, "I want my brother to teach me. Not Captain Cartwright."

That seemed to give Adam pause. Tilting his head to one side, he gave Joe a long, considering look. Joe tried not to squirm. Adam had that odd way of looking at someone that made a guy feel like he could see straight into their head. Or their heart. Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, his brother smiled, an almost puckish smile. An Adam-smile Joe hadn't seen since before the war.

"I'll try to remember that," he said.

Slowly, Joe's own mouth turned up. A sense of relief fell over him. He gave a faint nod. Adam scratched his neck with a forefinger, then pointed up the valley. "We better get moving before the others leave us behind and hunt down the rustlers by themselves."

"Right."

No doubt in agreement, Cochise and Sport snorted and stepped impatiently as if exasperated with their respective humans. Both at the same time, Joe and Adam heeled the horses and they took off at a canter. As they flew up the valley, Joe felt his heart lifting. Riding through the wilderness, chasing cattle-thieves alongside his oldest brother who was back where he belonged—the joy of it filled his chest like it might burst out.

Over the pounding of hooves, Adam called to him. "By the way, what was that bet you made with Hoss before?"

Keeping his eyes ahead, Joe smiled and called back, "I'll tell you when I win it."

xXXx