Author's Notes

Guys! Thank you so much for so many and such wonderful reviews :) It was incredibly encouraging for me to read your response and I'm going to really try to keep up the pace with updates.

I love writing the brotherly scenes as much as you seem to enjoy reading them, so here's another brotherly chapter coming your way. We're continuing the hunt for the rustlers. I hope you enjoy it and have a great start to the week.

Also, I know that most of you, dear readers, are from the US, and I just wanted to say that I was very sad to hear about what's been happening over the weekend. God bless and stay safe.

Chapter 46

They were about halfway through Little Branch valley when they lost the trail of the rustlers. It disappeared into the river and did not emerge on the opposite side. Joe grew frustrated again because he knew that every minute they wasted looking around for tracks, they weren't getting any closer to their quarry. They split up and rode in pairs upstream and downstream while searching both sides of the river. But after half an hour, they still hadn't found anything. The grass covering the bottom of the valley had given way to stretches of flat rock along both riverbanks and hoof prints were hard to spot, even with Harry's trained eyes. It would have been a big setback for them, had they not been so familiar with Little Branch Valley. Fortunately, they knew of a few gaps in the rock-face on the eastern side of the valley that led to trails climbing out of the canyon. They also knew that in order to get to the high meadows beyond Little Branch, the rustlers would have needed to take one of those trails. The slopes at the far end of the valley were too steep to drive cattle up.

Although they would probably have picked the tracks up again eventually if they scoured along the river long enough, Ben made the decision to take a gamble. If it paid off, it would save them time. So, they abandoned their tracking by the river and focused instead on the right side of the valley and the towering cliff-face. They looked for breaks and clefts in the grey rock and it wasn't long before Harry found the opening they'd named Boulder's Passage; a cleft in the rock-wall, partially obscured by a single large boulder. And sure enough, the rustler's tracks appeared just inside the passage. The path up-slope was narrow but gentle enough for cattle to climb. They rode up the incline and reached the rim of the valley. From there, the tracks took them through a section of scattered pine forest as they neared the area at the top of the range where the high meadows were. They crossed a mountain stream and stopped briefly to study the prints of a mountain lion there. After that, they stuck close together and kept an even sharper eye on their surroundings. The terrain became rockier, covered in sagebrush and with scattered junipers, firs and grey boulders all around. When they came to an area with flat shelving rock, Joe suspected they would run into trouble. He was proven right. They lost the trail and this time, they were unable to pick it up again. They circled around, retraced their steps and worked their way in and around the thick brush. Scrutinizing the hard ground, they kept returning to the last identifiable prints and went off in new directions several times. But the trail was gone.

xXXx

Joe ran a hand down his face. All the riding around back and forth was starting to tire him out. He saw his own weariness reflected in the other's faces as they sat atop their horses in a little circle around the last visible set of hoof prints.

Harry swore under his breath. "They musta crossed over the bare rock and headed up into one of them high meadows," he said in his usual gruff manner.

"But which one?" Hoss asked, massaging the back of his neck. "There's a whole lot of places they coulda gone."

The frustration they were all feeling was palpable as they became quiet, considering their options.

A thought struck Joe. "What about that meadow where we found a group of strays during roundup last year?" He looked at Hoss. "Remember that?"

Hoss's brow crinkled. "Yeah . . ." His face brightened and he gave a series of eager nods. "I sure do. It's about a quarter of a mile from here, I reckon." He pointed eastward. "It's over thataway, over the rise and through a portion of pine forest."

"Let's go and take a look there then," their pa said. "If we don't find anything, we'll start heading back. At least we've followed the trail this far." He gazed reproachfully up at the looming, dark-grey clouds above. "Let's hurry it up."

As Hoss turned his horse and led the way, Joe hoped their luck was about to change. Although he agreed with his father on calling off the search for the day, he didn't like the thought of riding home empty-handed. And he had an odd feeling they were getting close to finding something.

They climbed the small rise and entered the forest Hoss had mentioned and here, the trees stood thick and tall, the path winding between their large trunks. Joe rode at the back next to Adam and noticed he hadn't said anything in a long time. Quiet wasn't exactly unusual for his oldest sibling, but there was an odd sort of stillness about him. Curious, Joe began to watch him from the side. At first glance, Adam seemed at ease in the saddle as always, holding himself in that characteristic, casual manner he did whenever he was on a horse. His face was neutral as well, giving nothing away. But as Joe studied him more carefully, he noticed something off. Only someone who knew Adam extremely well—like his brother—would have caught onto it. There was an underlying tension emanating from him, betraying that air of competent calm. When Joe focused on his eyes, shadowed under the brim of his hat, he noted something brightly intense in them—like a watchful light. They were in almost constant movement, flickering over the woods around them. Joe felt the little hairs at the back of his neck stand up. He recognized Adam's vigilance—he'd seen that look in his eyes many times when they'd hunted dangerous predators. And still, although he recognized that his brother was on guard, Adam's bearing was slightly different to that of the brother Joe had gone hunting with years ago. It was hard to pinpoint what that difference was. As Joe considered it, a very strange notion came over him. Whatever it was that seemed different about the way Adam carried himself now, he must have picked it up during the war. It was as if he was a solider on guard now, not a cowboy. Joe pulled himself free of those distracting thoughts. Drawing his eyes away from Adam, he concentrated on the woods surrounding them again, more alert now than he had been so far.

After a few minutes' ride, they came across a trail that veered off to the left and went upward. An idea in mind, Joe reined up to get the attention of the others. "Adam and I could take the high trail, Pa" he said, motioning with a hand. "We'll be able to get a good view of the whole meadow from the ridge."

His father turned in the saddle with a somewhat distracted look. Once he'd processed the words, he nodded. "All right, we'll meet you there."

Joe felt a little spark of pride at his pa's accepting his suggestion. Adam didn't comment but dutifully followed as Joe took the lead and went up the trail. The path narrowed to a tunnel and it was so overgrown, they had to ride single file. As the slope steepened, they leaned forwards in their saddles while the horses cut through the brush. Puffs of steam-like breath burst from the horses' nostrils and floated whitely in the thin air. By the time the thick foliage opened up, both mounts were breathing heavily as they came out at the top of the ridge. Carefully, they moved to the edge where the ridge dropped away in a sheer cliff about eighty feet down and ended in the grassy meadow below them.

The meadow was cupped in an almost perfect half-circle of sheer rock walls and it was rimmed by a thin line of pines standing up against the base of the cliff-face. More woods, dense and dark, closed off the meadow to the east and north. The field was slightly slanting, with green grass that went nearly waist-high to a man on foot in some places. It had patches of wildflowers in blue and purple and a small stream winding through it that pooled into a small pond at the sloping end. It was an idyllic setting all right. And there wasn't a rustler or steer in sight. As disappointment set in, Joe slumped in the saddle. He knew it had been a long shot, but he'd hoped his idea would work. His hunch had been wrong. Now, he really felt the strain of the day catching up to him. He turned towards Adam, ready with a curse he would never have dared utter in their father's presence, but the words didn't get out. His older brother's reaction was far from what he'd expected. Adam's shoulders were straight and taut, and his brows were drawn low together. Slowly, he moved his hazel gaze from left to right across the meadow. Then his eyes slid up and traveled along the dark trees lining the lip of the ridge they were on. He cocked his head just slightly to one side, as if listening for something.

Joe felt his own shoulders tense and tighten, and quietly asked, "You see something?"

Adam's eyes flickered in his direction. His focused expression eased a bit. Then he turned away, gathered up his reins, and nudged Sport's sides. "Let's go."

Joe thinned his lips and rolled them inward as Adam moved straight past him. He didn't trust himself to speak calmly. This little truce with his older brother had lasted all of an hour and now, like a match igniting within him, his anger had flared to life all over again. He hated being kept in the dark. Being the youngest in the family, he'd always resented the way everybody had coddled him and kept him out of serious matters when he was a child. But he was a grown man now, for Christ's sake. Older brother clearly hadn't gotten that through his fool granite head yet. Joe glared daggers at his back, hoping he could feel it. But the thing with Adam was; if he didn't want to share his thoughts, he wasn't going to. Oh, no no—Adam only spoke when Adam was good and ready. Add that to his ever-growing list of exasperating characteristics . . .

Clamping down on his irritation for now, Joe nudged Cochise and followed his brother.

They skirted along the ridge and found a steep path descending into the meadow. They wound their way down, weaving through spiky bushes and game trails. Used to the terrain, the horses made it down without a slip. They rode along the edge of the meadow, looking out for the others, and spotted their pa, Hoss and Harry emerging from the trees to their right. Joe gave them a wave, signaling the area was clear and they headed out into the thick grass.

They all met up at the southern edge of the meadow and halted their horses.

"This was the place I was thinking of," Joe said to his father. He couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of his voice since it seemed the ride here had been fruitless.

"It's definitely a perfect spot to hide out," his pa replied absently as he gazed out across the grassy field.

"It is at that," Harry commented. "Good shelter, water and plenty of graze."

"And it ain't an easy place to find unless ya know this neck of the woods pretty well," Hoss added.

"Mmmh," Ben hummed in agreement. "Let's take a look around before we head home. Make sure we haven't missed anything . . ."

At that, Joe realized his father thought there might still be something to find in the area. He might have discounted the meadow as a point of interest a little too quickly. After all, even though the rustlers weren't here now, they might have been at some point, and here, their tracks would be easy to pick up. Joe cursed inwardly. His exhaustion was making him less attentive than he usually was. He should have thought of that himself. He ran a quick hand over his eyes, straightened his spine and focused on the meadow with renewed concentration.

The others rode ahead of him, and he fell in a few feet behind his brothers. They kept the horses at a slow walk as they made their way through the high grass, heading towards the center of the meadow. At the south end of the field, the grass went all the way to their stirrups and so, it was a challenge, seeing anything below the rich green blanket floating around them. But Joe tried all the same. The overwhelming greenness was just beginning to allow for glimpses of brown earth to peek through when he sensed Adam slow his pace ahead of him.

Joe glanced up sharply, in time to see his oldest brother draw rein, lean from the saddle and study the ground.

"Hoss," Adam said, voice low and soft.

Hoss had also halted his horse, and he now turned, saw where Adam was looking and dropped his own gaze to the ground.

"I'll be dadburned . . ." he mumbled.

Joe caught up to them as Hoss dismounted and bent down to examine something hidden in the grass. The big man straightened up, keeping his back to Joe. His neck stayed bent like he was staring down at something in his hand.

With his nerves jumping, Joe couldn't take the suspension any longer and asked, "What've you got Hoss?"

Wordlessly, Hoss turned around and held his hand out. In his palm lay the broken shaft of an arrow.

"Indians?" Joe blurted out in surprise. His eyes darted to Adam who, of course, sat completely stone-faced.

Evidently not sharing his surprise either, their pa—who'd appeared beside them as if by magic—only nodded grimly, his coffee-black eyes fixed on the arrow. "Mmm. I was beginning to think that."

Joe jolted towards him in exasperated astonishment. What was it with this family and some members' inability to communicate their thoughts? He was just summoning a few choice words to express his irritation when Harry called out.

"Over here, Boss!"

The foreman was crouching down by a stand of trees about thirty feet away. Joe's jaw clacked shut as he drew a calming breath. Hoss mounted up and they rode over to see what the old man had found. The grass beneath the trees had been broken and flattened; wildflowers lay smashed and pressed into the moist soil and there were scattered hoof prints everywhere, still plainly visible in the soft ground.

"Here's the prints from one of the shod horses," Harry said, running a crooked forefinger along the curve of a particularly deep set of C-shaped imprints. "But most of these prints are unshod . . ." He looked up from his crouched position and noted the arrow Hoss was holding. The foreman's weathered features tightened as he finished his sentence. "Unshod Indian ponies."

His words were followed by an uneasy pause. Joe felt a knot of tension forming in his gut and involuntarily, his fingers twitched around Cochise's reins. When the horse sidestepped nervously, he let go of the reins, wiped his palms on his thighs and picked them up again. Glancing over at his father, he felt that knot in his gut tighten. The serious lines that had settled into place across his pa's brow revealed his own inner tension.

"Let's see what else we can find," Ben said, breaking through the quiet.

Joe took notice of his choice of words. He knew his father wasn't the type of man to jump to conclusions. It didn't need to be said out loud, but it was obvious to everyone that they were now looking for one thing in particular.

The tracks of the missing cattle.

They spread out and rode in pairs, searching the area. The west side, where the meadow was walled in by the towering cliffs, was the most disturbed part of the field. That was where they discovered the remains of a campfire which had been covered with leaves and grass. There, they also found the first human tracks—moccasin prints. On closer examination they noted the prints were of many different sizes, some belonging to women and children. One set of moccasins even had soles, which was fairly unusual. Along the trees rimming the meadow by the cliff face, the ground had been turned up in places where the Indians seemed to have been digging for roots. There were also small mounds of brush tucked away among the trees. The mounds consisted mostly of broken saplings, branches and leaves, which Harry guessed had been used to build shelters. The Indians had covered their tracks well enough that it would have been difficult to spot any evidence of their presence without physically entering the meadow. The ridge that Joe and Adam had looked down from earlier was so high up that the meadow had appeared undisturbed to the naked eye.

Having combed the area by the cliffs, they moved their search onto the sloping section of the field. They rode along the twisting stream and halted by the pond. In this particular spot, they didn't even have to dismount and inspect the ground. Cattle tracks stood out glaringly in the rich-brown soil. The grass all around the pond had been cropped close, indicating the steers had grazed there. No one said a word as they looked down at the ground, letting it all sink in. After a minute, Harry lifted a hand and pointed silently at the opposite side of the pond. There was a trail leading away from the water, cutting straight through the high grass. It disappeared into the dense pine forest that closed off the meadow's east side.

They'd found the trail of the rustlers. But not quite the rustlers they'd thought they were hunting.

xXXx

Joe had mixed feelings about their findings. While he felt a measure of satisfaction that they'd picked up the trail again, the discovery that it was in fact Indians who'd stolen their cattle came with a whole new set of questions and problems. What were the Indians doing here? What tribe did they belong to? How long had they been roaming around the Ponderosa? Were they friendly or hostile? How would his Pa go about confronting them?

All the unknown was making his head spin. He stared down at the cattle tracks again.

Harry was the first to speak, putting an end to everyone's quiet contemplation. "This was their camp all right. Probably no more than a day since they left. Judgin' by the tracks, I'd say there's about fifteen to twenty of 'em."

"That's what I figger too," Hoss agreed. He shoved his hat off his head and scratched his scalp. "I wonder how long they've been here . . ."

Joe was wondering the same thing. He directed a look at his father. "What do you think, Pa? Paiute?"

"More likely Washoe," his Pa replied, rubbing his chin. "Those piles of brush we found reminded me of the brush shacks the Washoe make as a form of quick shelter. Besides, we know most of the Paiute tribes around here. I have to think they would've come to us if they needed food instead of just taking our cattle."

"Washoe," Hoss murmured as his eyebrows met in a frown. "I know of some Washoe people who've taken on jobs as ranch hands and servants in Virginia City, but I ain't heard of them folks living out here like this for some time. Not around these parts anyway."

A dark tone took over their pa's voice. "After the settlers claimed their lands and practically destroyed the Piñon Pine woodlands, there was no room for them to live within their traditional territory. I heard a few bands of suspected Washoe people had been seen near Pyramid Lake and the upper valleys of the Truckee and Carson, but that was a while ago."

Hoss shook his head sadly. "It don't seem right, does it? They lived here long before us. Seems to me they could've at least been given their own section of land in the territory where they could live in peace."

"What has happened to the Washoe isn't right, son," their father said quietly. His features became less severe and stern as his eyes clouded with regret. "Nor is it right what's happened to many other Native tribes in this country. And it's still happening now."

A heavy quiet descended on the group—a quiet weighed down by the severity of the statement. They all knew what was going on around them; clashes between whites and the tribes of the Far West were happening almost non-stop and everywhere. Conflicts were raging with the Sioux of the Northern Plains, the Apache in the Southwest and in their region, Nevada territory, the tensions between white settlers and the Snake Indians had been growing steadily. Everybody knew that the government's continued expansion policies would inevitably lead to more clashes and warfare. Joe remembered listening in on conversations between his father and Adam about the matter many years ago. They'd discussed the growing number of settlers coming to the Comstock and how white westward expansion would have disastrous consequences for Native tribes of the west. He'd only been a child at the time and hadn't fully understood the implications. Now, he understood it all too well.

He shook the recollection off and turned his mind back to the issue at hand. One thing in particular bothered him about the tracks they'd found.

"The horse tracks were mostly from unshod ponies," he said, looking at Harry. "Then what about the two shod horses?"

The old foreman considered it. "Could be stolen," he offered.

"They probably used the shod horses while taking the cattle to make us think the rustlers were white men," Ben commented, casting his eyes around the area.

"I'll bet that's exactly what they did." Hoss settled his hat back on his head. "Somethin' jist didn't seem right about all this. But I don't understand why—"

"Do you feel that?"

It was Adam who'd asked the soft-spoken question, cutting Hoss off mid-sentence. Joe jerked his gaze to him, as did everyone else. Adam's brow was stiff with concentration and there was a slight edge to his posture. Dark and watchful, his eyes were set straight towards the forest ahead. Already looking in the same direction, Ben narrowed his eyes in that way he did when he was assessing a situation.

He made a low, confirming noise in his throat and very quietly said, "They're watching us."

The chilling words left Joe with the sensation of icy fingers trailing up his spine. He followed their line of sight and became sharply aware of the dark woods ahead. A little voice was already chastising him for not being alert and focused when Adam had been, but he pushed it to the back of his awareness. Now, he let his sharpened senses take over. His heart beating faster, he strained his eyes to spot anything among the trees. He put all effort into listening. A dead quiet settled over the meadow. The horses, sensing their riders' unease, tossed their heads and shifted restlessly. Blood pulsed in Joe's temples as he kept staring ahead. Then, there it was—he caught a slight movement in the timber about seventy feet away. It was gone again in a flash, so quickly it would've made most people wonder if there had been anything at all. But Joe immediately knew that what he'd just seen was a man. A man darting among the trees. By pure reflex, his hand slid down to lightly touch the butt of his rifle peeking out of the saddle scabbard near his thigh. He sensed Hoss do the same next to him.

"Keep your hands off your guns," their father said in a soft tone. Hesitating briefly, Joe withdrew his hand and looked at his pa. With slow, deliberate movements, his father lifted his right leg over the saddle and dismounted. He passed his mount's reins to Hoss without taking his eyes off the woods. "Nobody makes a move," he ordered.

Joe felt himself tense up like a coiled spring when his pa started walking through the meadow—straight towards the woods. A cold, jittery sensation slithered through him. His instincts screamed to him that this was a bad idea. He quickly turned his head left and gazed intently at Adam, waiting for a sign from his oldest brother, any signal to take action. Adam's eyes were shiny and astute, tracking their father's every move fixedly, but he maintained that cool demeanor—that air of unwavering steadiness—making it clear that he had no intention of intervening. Joe didn't know whether to feel comforted or frustrated at his sibling's composure. Frankly, he was more inclined to frustrated. He turned his gaze back to their pa and despite the previous orders, he slipped his hand down to rest loosely on his thigh, just a few inches from his gun. He, for one, was not about to let their pa walk into an ambush without being ready to back him up.

Ben finally stopped about twenty feet away at a place where the grass went to his mid-thighs. He spread his legs wide, adopting a confident, yet non-threatening stance as he kept his hands in plain sight, hanging at his sides, open palms pointed out towards the forest.

"My name is Ben Cartwright," he called, loudly and clearly. "I am here to speak in peace!"

His deep voice rang out through the meadow with enough power to carry way beyond the first row of pines lining the forest. It sounded almost as if an echo hung in the air for a moment.

Only silence answered him back.

The wind soughed softly in the branches of the trees. It stirred the meadow grass, creating gentle, green waves around them. Anxious seconds went by, becoming a full minute. Then two minutes. Joe's whole body was vibrating tension. The sense of security he usually felt in this spot—in the saddle with his trusted mount beneath him—was gone. Right now, he felt exposed, out in the open. Vulnerable. He felt eyes all over him, from all directions, scrutinizing him. And yet, all he could see was trees. Dark, impenetrable forest. He shot a sidelong look to the left and, to his bewilderment and continued frustration, Adam sat impassively in the saddle, looking unruffled as ever. He seemed way too calm for a man who was basically a sitting target. Which was what they all were right now, sitting targets. Didn't the guy realize that? Joe felt his exasperation welling up again, momentarily overpowering his unease.

After a full five minutes, still nothing had happened. Although, there was no question that the Indians were out there, watching them.

Joe was relieved when his pa finally turned his back to the woods and began walking back. His body was rigid and ready for whatever action needed to be taken now. He waited expectantly as his pa came over and stopped next to his horse Buck.

"We're just wasting our time here," he said, taking the reins from Hoss. "If and when they speak to us, it'll be on their terms, not ours."

Astonished, Joe stared at him. His surprise doubled when he saw Hoss nod in mute acceptance. His widened eyes swept over their little group. "So what, we're just gonna ride on home and leave them up here with our cattle? After we've come this far?" His voice walked the line between irritation and incredulity. He didn't like the idea one bit and he wanted everyone to know it.

"Don't look like we got a choice," Harry said, the trail of reluctance in his tone revealing that he shared Joe's feeling. "One thing I learnt over the years is that ya cain't make an injun do somethin' he don't want to. Right now, they don't wanna talk to us." The foreman aimed a glance at the woods ahead and grimaced. "I don't like them watchin' us though. We're pretty easy pickins in the open like this."

"We have no reason to believe they're hostile," Ben said firmly. "The Washoe are known as mainly peaceable people."

Joe flared his nostrils. "And in the off chance that they aren't Washoe or that at least some of them are hostile—what's to stop them from sticking one of those"—he stabbed a finger at the arrow shaft tucked in Hoss's belt—"in our backs while we're riding home?"

His father's features fell in grave lines and everyone went quiet, staring at the arrow. Then, intruding on the ominous silence, Adam dropped a flat comment. "They won't do that."

All heads turned to him. His face remained drawn and dispassionate as he continued to gaze at the woods as if he hadn't been paying mind to the conversation at all. Sensing that an elaboration needed to be prompted, Joe inhaled deeply and asked, "And just how can you be so sure?"

Adam kept looking at the woods for five seconds longer before slowly swiveling Joe's way. With maddening calm, he replied, "If they wanted to attack us, they would've done it yesterday."

Another tense silence.

Trying not to lose his temper, Joe scrubbed a hand down his face. As if his oldest brother hadn't been agitating enough today—now he had to go and be all weird and cryptic.

Tilting his head sideways, Hoss regarded their sibling with an innocently puzzled look. "What do ya mean by that, Adam?"

Taking his good old time before replying, Adam looked casually out across the meadow with the expression of someone who was considering taking a stroll.

"Yesterday, when we were at Hoss Heaven. I had the feeling I was being watched by the river, but I didn't see anyone. It must've been them. Hoss Heaven isn't that far from here if you go down through Wildcat Canyon into the lower foothills. There's a shortcut—"

"What's your point?" Joe cut him off, rudely. His impatience and irritation were bubbling over, making his voice brusque and every word clipped. "I don't see why it would have been easier for them to attack us yesterday than it is right now."

In response to the interruption, Adam merely leveled him a bland look. "Think about it. We were in the open meadow with no cover, none of us were carrying guns and we had a woman with us. We made an easy target. If they intended to do harm, they would've done it then, not now while we're armed and on guard."

His reasonable tone made Joe grit his teeth.

Hoss had stood frowning at his feet while Adam spoke and now lifted his head. "I reckon that makes sense." His forehead puckered. "You got a point about us bein' armed and all. I sure hope they don't think we mean them harm."

"They must realize we're here because of the missing cattle," Adam said, growing thoughtful. "They've known we were here since Little Branch Valley. At least, I think they've been watching us since then . . ." Pausing, he suddenly inclined his head at their father. "You noticed it too," he stated more than asked.

Their pa didn't immediately reply but focused on the reins he held loosely in his hands. "I noticed something." He looked up at Adam from beneath his heavy, black brows. "I wasn't sure if it was a mountain lion or some other predator."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too at first."

Joe felt an explosive breath rise up his chest and pushed it out through pursed lips. He tilted his head back and found a dark piece of cloud above to focus on. If he looked at Adam right now, he might actually knock him off Sport and that would do no good. Not that the general idea was a bad one or unjustified, but he might land on his bad arm or his hard head and their pa was standing just a few feet away. But goddamn it—he'd been riding next to Adam since Little Branch and his brother had said nothing—not a damn word—about being watched! During the war, he'd probably reveled in the role of the brooding, stoic army captain who called the shots and kept his thoughts to himself, but now, riding alongside his family—his own brother—it was just plain infuriating that he didn't trust anyone enough to share his concerns. It was plain hurtful.

After a moment, Harry's voice broke through the string of profanities going off in Joe head.

"How do ya wanna handle this, Boss?" the foreman asked in a gruff, getting-down-to-business manner.

Joe looked to his pa who settled his hands on his hips, thinking. "I'm sure they took those steers because they needed them," he said. "We all saw the tracks; they have women and children with them. We won't punish them for that." He paused and touched a hand to his chin. "But we can't just let them keep stealing from our herds. Not if they're unwilling to even speak with us."

"If they ain't up for talkin', then how are we gonna stop 'em from takin' anymore cattle?" Hoss asked.

Again, their pa thought on it, working his mouth from side to side. "I told Hank and his crew to do a fresh count of the remaining herd and to move the steers to another pasture tomorrow. We'll have to do frequent head counts around the north section to make sure no more are disappearing." Sighing, he walked around to Buck's left flank and made to mount up. "That's about all we can do for now."

There was a creaking of leather as Adam leaned forward in a relaxed pose with his forearms crossed on the pommel of his saddle. "We could put out guards on the northern pastures."

Having just settled in the saddle, their pa turned in his direction. He regarded him with a long, fixed stare. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Adam looked serene as he began scratching Sport behind the ear which the horse seemed to greatly enjoy, judging by the way he twisted his head back and grunted in approval of his master's deed. As Joe contemplated it, he actually thought his older brother's suggestion had been a good one, although he was loathed to admit it. Still, he was about to speak in favor of the idea when Adam spoke again, apparently not finished with this whole cryptic thing he had going on.

"The Washoe don't have a reservation assigned to them yet," he said, focusing on that sweet spot behind Sport's right ear. "Their people have been known to resist attempts of relocation. There might be a special reason they've come up here and why they're avoiding us."

For once, Joe put his irritation aside and instead studied Adam intently. His brother was clearly getting at something important.

"You think they're hiding from something," their pa said slowly, his darkened eyes narrowing shrewdly on Adam. "Or someone. The army?"

Adam shrugged. "It's something that should be taken into consideration."

The army? Joe hadn't even gotten as far as to consider why the Indians were here. If the Natives were running from someone—if the army was involved—that would complicate the situation even further. The notion wasn't unlikely either; over the years, many Native tribes had become famous for their skill in evading the white man on the frontier, both troops and settlers. Quite a few times, Joe had heard stories of soldiers traveling great distances to escort Indian bands from certain areas, only to be dodged by the elusive braves.

He again faced his father, interested to hear his response. His pa was watching Adam intensely, an assessing look on his face. Then, a glimmer of decision flashed in his eyes.

"All right, I'll consider it." His gaze rested on Adam an instant longer before he turned to address their group at large. "Meanwhile, I'll talk to some of our Indian friends in town. They might have some idea about who our visitors are and how we should handle this."

"You've always been in good standin' with 'em," Harry said, nodding in approval. "Word gets around between Indians. They pass on who their friends are and who they can trust."

"Times are changing," Adam remarked to no one in particular.

Joe opened his mouth to speak, but his pa took the words right out of his mouth. "And what does that mean?"

Mimicking Hoss beside him, Joe glanced at their father in surprise. It seemed to have come out of nowhere, but there was no mistaking the edge in their father's tone, a razored note that demanded attention. His eyes seemed to be drilling into Adam now.

"Trust is wearing thin on both sides of this conflict" Adam said mildly, still stroking Sport. "Especially among the Indians. And rightfully so. After all that's been done to them over the years."

Something in Ben's eyes sharpened. His next words were slow and deliberate, carrying with them a gravity that matched his severe demeanor. "When we first came here all those years ago, I vowed that the people of this land, that any non-hostile Indian would have the friendship and support of the Ponderosa. Whatever else has happened in this territory, the reputation of the Ponderosa still stands strong. The Cartwright word can still be trusted."

While he spoke, his gaze never left Adam, not once. Joe looked to his older brother and saw that for the first time, Adam's hand had gone still on Sport's neck. His face stayed turned down, his eyes hidden from view by the brim of his hat.

"Like I said; times are changing," he replied, equally slowly. "Friendships and words might've been enough when we first came here but it's not anymore. The word of one good man is easily tainted by the injustices committed by a hundred other white men. More is needed out here now to secure peace and order. After Sand Creek—"

"YOU weren't here for Sand Creek, Adam," their pa interjected. Joe snapped his head back to their father and Hoss actually cringed under the whiplash of that tone. Their father's voice had raised with booming authority, and his now stern expression emphasized the aura of command he naturally carried about himself.

Adam lifted his head and their gazes clashed. He held his father's eyes, unflinchingly. There was no challenge in his dark depths, nor was there submission. It was just that, a steady, unyielding stare. Neither of the two men blinked. Everything went still inside Joe as he watched them, the level of tension rising. The air practically crackled with it. He vaguely noted the first drops of rain falling, striking his cold hands. A distant rumble of thunder sounded somewhere beyond the mountains. Finally, one side of Adam's mouth turned up just a fraction as he nodded at his father—a hard glint in his eyes.

"You're right. I wasn't."

His voice was flat and steady but tight as a bowstring.

Their intense stare lasted a few seconds more, until Adam turned away. Like a slate being wiped clean, all trace of emotion, meager as it had been, fell from his face as he unfeelingly surveyed the meadow surrounding them. The tight planes of their father's face eased, and Joe let out the breath he'd drawn in several seconds ago. He had no idea what the heck had just passed between Adam and their pa. His eyes leveled briefly with Hoss's and by that swift glance, he knew that Hoss was as perplexed and unnerved as he. He looked over at Harry and found the old man concentrating awkwardly on his own hands.

"Let's get on home," Ben said in a strange tone.

Joe's eyes shot to him, but he didn't catch his expression because his pa had already turned his horse and now headed back through the meadow the way they'd come. Without a word, Harry followed, staying a few feet behind him.

Joe turned to Adam who sat in the exact same position, staring out at the meadow. He then caught Hoss's eyes, and saw the concern lighting his blue gaze. The same concern he felt himself with each wave of apprehension that swept over him. Hoss looked briefly at Adam then back at Joe, and subtly inclined his head backward. Understanding his meaning, Joe turned Cochise and followed Hoss as they slowly headed back through the meadow, following their father. Joe remained tense in the saddle. He still felt them watching him—their presence in the woods behind him was as certain as the beat of his own heart. But they weren't the main reason for his unease. The sense of foreboding that had settled in the pit of his stomach had little to do with the Indians and everything to do with the strange interaction between his pa and Adam.

Raindrops, falling few and far still, were making dark dots on his green jacket and pants. Joe lifted his face and looked up at the sky. The somber grey expanse above was now broken up by smooth, charcoal swirls. The clouds hung low as if weighed down, as if they would drop their loads at any moment. Another rumble of thunder rolled somewhere over the mountains, closer this time.

They hadn't ridden very far when Joe looked over his shoulder and saw that Adam wasn't following them. He reined up. So did Hoss. In quiet, unspoken agreement, they waited for their brother. Just a few seconds later, Adam finally turned his horse around and rode towards them. He didn't comment or look at either of them as Joe settled on one side of him, and Hoss on the other. Saying nothing, the brothers rode away, leaving the dark forest and its mysterious occupants behind.