THREE
It was November third and Little Joe Cartwright was happy. Their Pa said he'd be gone four or five days and today was number five! He didn't like it when his pa was gone. He couldn't explain it, but he was just sure when Pa was out of his sight that something bad was gonna happen to him – like his horse was gonna throw him, or bad men would try to rob him, or he'd get sick or…die. Everybody told him it didn't matter whether he was looking or not, that if God wanted somethin' to happen then it was gonna happen. Everybody being Hoss and Adam. He didn't tell Hop Sing about being afraid 'cause he knew Hop Sing would tell his pa and he didn't want his pa to know because it would keep him from doing what he had to do.
Still, he didn't like his pa being out of his sight.
"Hey, Little Joe! How's it goin'?"
Joe grinned as he released his hold on the corral fence and turned to look at his brother. "Hey, Hoss. It's goin' just fine!"
"You watchin' the horses?" his brother asked as he came alongside him.
"Sure am. That big black one Adam brought in the other day is a beauty." He'd been afraid of big black horses once upon a time on account of the fact that one of them had killed his mama. He wasn't afraid anymore. Adam told him how mama had loved big black horses and that she wouldn't want him to be afraid – so he wasn't.
Of black horses, that was.
"He sure is." Hoss frowned. "You stay away from him, you hear? He'd too big for you. Don't go doin' anythin' you shouldn't."
"I'll be good." Joe scowled and then after a pause, added, "You know, it just ain't fair."
"What ain't fair?"
He threw his hands in the air. "You don't have to be good. You're too big for them Nunnu people to haul away." Joe's lips quirked as he continued. "I bet if those little people tried to carry you off, they'd all fall down and die of pros-peration."
Hoss glared at him and then let out a big old burst of air worthy of a cow with colic. Joe tried, but couldn't avoid the bear hug that followed. His brother lifted him in the air, squeezed him hard, and then put him down. After that he stood there staring at him.
"What are you looking at?" he asked at last.
Middle brother sighed. "That tall tale Ol' Dusty's told has still got you scared, don't it?"
Joe crossed his arms over his blue shirt. "I ain't scared of nothin'!"
His brother eyed the black stallion who was rearing in the air and pounding the packed earth with his hooves.
"Little Joe, you listen to me, boy. There's some things worth bein' scared of. It just ain't a bunch of funny little people and their spooky ol' ghost horse."
"You sure looked scared when Dusty was talking."
Hoss started to say something, but then thought better of it. "You, know, Little Joe, I gotta be honest. I sure was scared. That old Dusty spins a yarn better than a widder at a wheel." Middle brother let out a sigh. "I guess I got caught up in it on account of it being All Hallows Eve and all."
"Yeah, me too."
His brother reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. "But we know it ain't real, right?"
Joe nodded. "Right."
Hoss stared at him a moment longer before lifting his hand – which he promptly used to rifle his curls. "Well, that's it, then! Now, I gotta get goin'. I got me some work to do to get that old wagon out back of the barn rollin' again. What're you up to today?"
The little boy grinned. "Hop Sing wants me to go hunting for penny buns."
"Um, mm! Mushrooms for supper. You done made my day, little brother." Hoss poked a finger into his chest. "You just make sure you find enough for everyone – and then find some more so's you all can have a few too!"
Hoss was the biggest man Joe knew, and he just knew his big brother had to have the biggest stomach anyone had ever had, on account of he had the biggest heart.
"You can count on me, Hoss!"
"And little brother…."
"I know," he said with a sigh. "Be careful."
Joe had to make his way past Adam, who was in the house working on the books, and Hop Sing – on account of he had to get the baskets from the Asian man – as well as Dusty and Dan Tollivar, before he could get on his way. All of them said the same thing that Hoss said using different words – 'Watch yourself, Little Joe. Don't take any chances, boy! You be good, son."
Lands sake alive! By the time he got out of the yard he was so full of words he just knew he wouldn't have any room left for the penny buns!
It took about an hour to walk the distance between the house and the end of the pasture and reach the tree-line. They had trees everywhere since his pa had bought a hundred square acres or so of timberland to add to all the other land they owned where their cattle grazed. Pa was gonna raise trees now too and then sell them off to the railroad when it came through. Pa was like that. He was always looking ahead just like Adam. Hoss was more like him, though he was better at thinkin' things through before doing them.
Pa said he was no bigger than a minute and he liked to live in one just like his mama.
Joe let out a sigh as he swung the pair of baskets he carried in his hands. He sure missed her. Sometimes it seemed like it was only yesterday he'd turned five. He was twice as old now and thinking about his mama made him twice as sad. He guessed that was because he was older and understood more about grown-up things. When he was little, he was sure she was coming back. Pa told him mama died and went to Heaven, but he thought it was just for a visit. He'd sit up in bed waiting and, when she didn't show, tell himself she was busy doing something important – like telling Jesus how to arrange the furniture just like she used to do with Pa. That was, until the days of waiting turned into months, and then the months turned into years and he realized she was never coming back.
That was when he understood what 'dead' meant.
That word scared him. It haunted him just as sure as that old ghost horse did his dreams. He was sure somebody – everybody he loved was going to die; that when they went away, they would never come back. It didn't matter that he'd watched his pa come and go a million times, or that Adam had left for four whole years and returned. He was sure every day Adam was gone that he was dead. After all, grown-ups lied to little kids. Someone else could have been sendin' those letters. Yep, he was positive Pa was telling him Adam was okay when he wasn't. Joe stopped to swipe a finger under his nose. He supposed, during those four years, that he had let Adam go just like he'd had to let go of his mama. Maybe that was the reason he'd had a hard time believing that the tall man who'd stepped off that stage around a year back was actually his long lost and beloved brother.
It hurt to think of getting close to Adam again – just in case he left again.
The corner of Joe's lips turned up. Older brother better watch out. He'd been a naughty boy when he chose to go to college back East and leave him. Maybe Dusty's little people and their ghost horse were gonna carry him away.
Joe scowled.
Best not to think about that.
"Come on, Joe," the little boy said out-loud as he eyed the shadowy trees before him. "You need to do what big brother says and screw your courage to whatever the heck a 'sticking point' is, and get in there and find those mushrooms!"
Thinking of Adam and the funny things he said made Joe laugh, and so it was with a light heart that the little boy stepped into the trees. He whistled as he went from place to place filling his baskets with mushrooms. In fact, he was so intent on his mission – finding enough penny buns to fill up Hoss – that he failed to note the time. Joe only became aware of the sun setting as its coppery beams swept sideways through the openings between the trees, casting black and red bars on the ground. It was November now, so the sun was goin' to bed early, which meant it was probably four or five in the afternoon. Hop Sing would skin him alive if he didn't get the mushrooms home in time to fix them for supper! Little Joe shivered, his fear of the mythical little people and their ghost horse paling in the light of that sure and certain threat. A second later he headed for the pasture.
Only to stop when he heard a sound.
The sun was low on the horizon. Its light was near blood-red now and seemed to set the forest on fire. Mesmerized, Joe took a step toward it – only to reel back as the mighty appaloosa he had seen from his bedroom window appeared on a ridge above him. The little boy stared at it, mouth agape, as it began to descend. Then, he saw there was something behind it.
Someone behind it.
The man's face was the color of moonstruck snow. The hair that surrounded it, wild and tangled as the brush at his feet. The sun's dying rays made it hard to see, but Joe was sure the stranger wasn't wearing clothes, but was instead covered from head to toe with fur. Terror gripped the little boy and rooted him to the spot as the stranger moved past the horse and came to stand at his side.
Dusty almost got it right. The Nunnu and their ghost horse were real.
But 'little people' didn't exactly begin to describe them….
"Mistah Adam?"
The young man tossed his pencil to the desk top and leaned back. He'd had his head buried in books all day. In fact, if there was a book in his father's study that wasn't on the desk, it was probably laying on the floor near his feet. His pa was an amazing businessman, but when it came to numbers…. The young man grimaced.
Pa needed some time with his math professor.
"Mistah Adam?!"
He was so buried, in fact, that it took two times before Hop Sing's voice penetrated the six feet of fatigue over his head – strident as it was.
"Er, sorry. What is it?"
"Mistah Adam see Little Joe?"
The young man glanced at the empty great room before realizing Hop Sing was asking if he knew where his brother was. When had he last seen Joe? "No, I haven't seen Joe in a while. I think he was going…." He thought a moment. "Mushroom hunting?"
Hop Sing glanced at the window. "Boy have head in clouds. Mushrooms go to sleep before he find them."
Adam followed their cook's gaze. The sun was definitely setting.
"Joe's not back yet?"
"Boy come home, cook him instead of mushrooms! No boy. No mushrooms!"
"No boy?" Adam rose from his father's chair. A quick trip to the door and a look outside caused the rising panic to reach his throat. "Little Joe's not…home?"
Hop Sing rolled his eyes. "You sure college not make head thick?"
There were times.
"Good Lord! Joe should have been home hours ago. I assumed…." Adam stopped. He knew what assuming did! "I guess I thought he was with Hoss."
"Mister Hoss go to town, get parts, fix wagon."
"Why didn't you come to me before this?" the young man asked as he reached for his coat.
The Asian man was indignant. "Hop Sing not nursemaid. Boy not tied to apron strings. You want supper, he need cook! No time keep watch Little Joe."
Adam held up a hand. "All right. Sorry." The Asian man was right, Little Joe wasn't Hop Sing's responsibility when Pa was gone.
He was his.
"Okay. I'll go look for him. Knowing Joe, he forgot to watch the time. I bet he's on his way home now." Adam was halfway out the door before he had a thought. Turning back, he asked, "Do you know just where he went looking?"
"Back pasture, at edge of trees."
"Thanks, Hop Sing. I'll find Little Joe and be back faster than a cat with his tail on fire."
Their cook shook his head as he walked away. "No hurry," he muttered. "No fix penny buns tonight!"
Both night and the temperature fell as the young man traveled the mile between the house and the tree-line that bordered the pasture. The moon was up. It was just past full and its distended face cast an eerie light over the land. As before, the ground he walked was transformed into a path of diamonds and the softly sussurating trees shone like silver. It had grown cold enough he could see his breath and it rose like a mist, at times obscuring his view. Another hour and it would be dangerously so.
What in the world was Little Joe thinking?
Adam halted in his tracks. He hesitated, and then and gave himself a good pinch. When he yelped, he counted it as a good sign that he was awake.
He'd brought a lantern just in case. Upon entering the forest he opened the shutter, adding its hellish glow to the fairy-land he wandered. It was doubtful he'd be able to spot any of his little brother's tracks, but he wasn't going to let that stop him trying. He was counting on the fact that Joe had no reason to be cautious. He hoped at least a few of his brother's boot prints would be obvious.
That hope was realized when he came to a small clearing.
All too well realized.
Adam sucked in both air and fear as he knelt. His brother's foot-prints were there, first, wandering from place to place, and then backing up. The baskets Joe carried lay on the ground; their precious contents spilled out and crushed underfoot. These signs were worrisome, but they paled in comparison to the other one that lay within reach of the lantern's beams.
The tracks of a horse and a man.
The young man took in several breaths to still his pounding heart. He needed to think this through. The tracks didn't have to mean trouble. A neighbor might have come across Little Joe alone, in the dark, and offered to take him home. Adam glanced at the signs again. That worked, except the tracks led in the wrong direction, away from the Ponderosa. Of course, their neighbor might have thought it too late and taken Joe to their home instead, counting on a bit of fun when they showed up with him in the morning to their father's chagrin and relief. There was only one problem with both those theories. Whoever had taken Little Joe wasn't wearing a white man's boots.
They looked more like swamp moccasins.
Adam reached out to brace himself against a tree. His mind was reeling. What would an Indian be doing here, on the Ponderosa – and why would they take Joe? It was almost easier to believe it had been Dusty's little people who had done the deed. If it was an Indian, did they mean to help Joe? Or had they taken him in place of one of their own? Or….
Adam went pale as the moon.
He'd always dismissed it as a rumor, or maybe even myth. When he was a boy he'd heard stories from the ranch hands about a lone warrior who wandered their land. No one had talked to him. No one could come near. When they tried, it was said the Indian up and vanished in a puff of smoke. He was usually seen around sunset, as if he was drawn to the time of night when the veil between the real and spirit worlds was at its thinnest. Dusty, whose superstitious nature was legend, said he'd caught a glimpse of the ghost warrior once-upon-a-time. He said the man was neither old nor young, and that he rode a dappled horse, pale as the moon. The men told him the Indian had lost a son to the white man in a raid, and that he'd remained behind after death seeking to take revenge on those men by stealing their sons.
Moon Horse, that was what the ranch hands called him.
Of course, he didn't for one minute believe the man was a ghost. Still, on the nearly 600 acres of land his father now owned, it would be easy for a native to live and go unnoticed. Since they'd come to the Ponderosa, there'd been a half-dozen boys lost in the forest who had never been found. He'd put it down to the savage nature of the West. But was it? Adam pushed off the tree and ran a trembling hand along the back of his neck before returning his gaze to the tracks. Could that be this Indian?
Could Moon Horse had been driven to murder by grief?
The young man picked the lantern up with one hand and palmed the baskets his little brother had dropped with the other. The baskets were the one tangible link he had to Little Joe. Adam turned toward the house, thinking he should go back and recruit some of the hands. But no. If he did, he would lose the trail. Besides, when he failed to turn up for supper Hop Sing would send out a search party to look for both of them.
Wouldn't he?
To be continued….