FOUR

Ben Cartwright's stentorian voice rang off the rafters of his ranch house great room. "Adam! Hoss! Little Joe? Jumping Jehoshaphat! Where is everyone?! Hop Sing?!"

The house was quiet – far too quiet for a home that held three rambunctious boys and one very vocal Asian cook. He'd arrived home only a moment before and had been looking forward to seeing his sons – especially Joseph. He'd bought the boy a fine new saddle for his tenth birthday and was eagerly anticipating his reaction.

Hands on hips and a scowl on his face, he tried again. "Adam?! Hoss?!"

"So sorry, Mistah Ben. Mistah Adam not home."

Ben turned to find Hop Sing exiting the kitchen wing. "Not home?" he demanded. "What do you mean 'not home'?" It was cold outside. The wind was cutting and heralded a storm. "Where is the boy?"

His cook looked like he'd had a hammer taken to his toe. "He go look for Little Joe."

The rancher tossed his hat on the peg by the door and began to draw off his coat. What had that boy done now? Hopefully nothing he would need to punish him for.

"And just where is Little Joe?"

The pained look turned to one of fear. "No one know."

"No one…." Ben drew in a breath. "I'm cold, Hop Sing, and hungry. I'm going to get a brandy. Come to the fire with me and tell me what this is all about."

The little man bowed. "Hop Sing go get Mistah Cartwright food first."

"It can wait. The brandy is enough for now." His tone softened as he eyed his friend. "Hop Sing, I need to know what's going on."

Five minutes later the rancher was on his feet and headed for the door.

"Mistah Cartwright not know where to look," Hops Sing said as he followed him. "Should wait for Mistah Adam."

"I'll start where Adam did, at the edge of the forest!" Ben proclaimed as he placed his hat on his head.

"If Little Joe there, Mistah Adam find him. Be home by now."

The rancher slowly exhaled. Hop Sing was right. He needed to get a handle on both his anger and his fear if he was going to help Adam and Joe. At least Hoss was out of danger. Word had arrived from his middle son that he'd run into Paul Martin and Paul had insisted the fifteen-year-old stay with him and his wife rather than traveling home in inclement weather.

"You say Dusty and Dan are already looking?" he asked as he reached for his gloves.

"Yes, Mistah Cartwright. Both take men. Go looking. Mister Dusty search Ponderosa in case boy thinks he in trouble and hides. Mistah Dan go to town to see if boy follow his brother."

Twenty miles. It was twenty miles to Virginia City through the frigid cold and pitch-black night.

Not even Joseph could be that foolish.

Ben forced a smile. "It sounds as if you have all the bases covered. I still think it's best to look for Adam. Most likely, when I find him, I'll find Little Joe." A blast of frosty air struck him as he opened the door. "I'm sure they're together. Knowing Adam, he probably found a cave for them to hole up in."

"Hop Sing ask ancestors to make it so."

The rancher turned toward his cook. He stared at the little man, suddenly struck by how easily he relegated the Asian man to the role of a woman. It was the men who 'did', while the women were left behind to wait and worry.

He'd have to remember to do something about that.

Ben walked over to his cook and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You do that. And while you're at it, add a prayer that Joseph wasn't willful in this. I don't want his birthday celebration marred by a necessary 'talking to'."

"Hop Sing know better," his friend said with a weary smile. "Mistah Ben find boy, he not spank him. Even if he bad."

He returned the smile as he lifted his hand. "You know me too well, old friend. Now, you keep the home fires burning, you hear? I plan on being back with those two rascals of mine sooner than later!"

The weather had deteriorated badly while he'd been inside. The wind was up and the cold rain had turned to ice. It beat a staccato rhythm on the brim of his hat as he rode his steady mount toward the tree-line. He could only pray that his boys had been wise enough to bundle up before leaving the house.

Upon reaching the trees, Ben tethered Buck and began to search for sign. It didn't take him long to find it. His eldest son's boots had left deep impressions in the icy fog that had settled on the land. Beside them the rancher thought he caught a glimpse of smaller feet, but that could have been wishful thinking. Adam's tracks led him into the forest and to a small clearing. There were more tracks there – ones that had the power to bring him to his knees. Adam had been here – along with an Indian and what appeared to be an impressive horse.

Ben knelt. He checked the ground for blood and sent up a quick 'thank you' when he found none.

There were, of course, very few Indians left on his land. Most had been killed or forced onto the reservations. The few who still roamed the Ponderosa made themselves scarce when white men were about. They were, for the most part, harmless, and so he let them be. Sadly – understandably – there were those who refused to accept the grim fate of their tribes. These men believed the land they had been forced off of was still theirs and set about making sure everyone knew it. For the most part they were renegades; angry, violent and usually young men who had little compassion and even less reverence for life. They saw it as their duty to kill anyone who was white, age and sex notwithstanding.

If Joseph had run into one of these men and been taken, and his brother had gone after him….

Ben closed his eyes and lowered his head as he whispered a second prayer – this time of petition – before setting off in the direction both his eldest son and the Indian had gone.

Adam ran a hand through the shock of hair that lay on his forehead, driving ice from both it and his eyes. He paused a moment to catch his breath, and then pushed on. He had to admit he was exhausted. The night was nearly over and he hadn't slept a wink. The image of his baby brother on the back of that horse had driven all thoughts of rest from his head. He wasn't sure, but he thought Joe's hands had been tied. He was pretty sure he was unconscious. That meant the man with the horse had taken him by force.

The man…or whatever he was.

He'd only seen the stranger for a second when he stepped into a shaft of moonlight. The funny thing was, he seemed to be covered from head to toe in fur. Just like one of Dusty's little people. Only he wasn't little. The Indian was six foot at least.

Little Joe wouldn't have stood a chance.

The young man stopped again, this time to pull the collar of his coat closer around his neck to stave off the biting wind. It was unfortunate the weather had turned. He'd been traveling at a good clip and had almost caught up to Joe and his abductor when his foot hit a patch of black ice on a boulder and he went down. When he woke up, they were nowhere to be seen. It was only when blood got in his eyes that he realized he must have hit his head in the fall and been out for some time.

Joe and the Indian could be anywhere.

The tracks were few and far between after that – a hoof-print here, the step of a moccasin boot there – all leading up into the high country. Of his brother there was no sign, but he had to believe Joe was still with the man. No one could be so cruel as to abandon a ten-year-old boy in this weather.

Could they?

Adam shivered, both with the fear of that and the cold. He'd grabbed his coat, hat and gloves as he left the house, but it was his work set and not his warm winter ones. He knew Joe had done the same. Neither of them had expected to be out long – or expected a storm to move in. He was more afraid for his brother than himself. Little Joe was strong as an ox – until something got hold of him. When it did, he had a devil of a time throwing it off. The kid had almost been carried off by pneumonia more than once. Pa said the reason baby brother was always shouting was to bolster his weakened lungs.

He would have given anything to hear Joe shout now.

The young man steeled him and then continued on, moving face-forward into the driving sleet. He was cold – really cold. His teeth were chattering and his head wound slowing him down. More than once he started to drift off and nearly slipped and fell. He was going to have to stop soon. He'd stuffed a couple of pieces of jerky in his pocket before he left the house, more for Joe than himself, but he was going to have to eat them. He needed sustenance, and rest, and….

The sound of a horse blowing drove that thought right out of his head.

Adam looked up and gasped. The appaloosa was just above him on a ridge. The Indian was there too, looking for all the world like a giant version of one of Dusty's wild little people.

Adam's heart plunged to his toes. The horse's back was empty.

Where was Joe?

Little Joe trembled from his curly head to his toes. It was cold – so cold he couldn't sleep. He opened his eyes and wondered what the heck was going on. What had happened to his fire? Had it gone out? Was there a window open?

A window.

That was it. He'd opened the window to get a better look at the ghost horse. He thought Adam had closed it, but that must have been a dream.

Or was the ghost horse the dream?

The little boy sighed and rolled over, intending to swing his feet over the side of the bed. Instead he smacked right into a wall. He pressed his fingers against it and was surprised when part of the wall crumbled. Joe blinked a couple of times, trying to chase sleep away, and tried again – with the same result. This time his nose came into contact with whatever the crumbly stuff was and he sneezed – and was startled by the echo.

He must be dreaming.

There was this way he felt when he work up from a nightmare. Adam called it 'disorientated', and said it was kind of like a feller losing his direction. Sometimes he didn't know where he was or, if he did, it felt unreal…like something out of a fairy tale. It always took him a while to figure it out. Adam taught him to count to twenty and then try again. Joe did that. He counted slowly at first and then real fast, and then wiggled his fingers as he touched the wall. The crumbly stuff fell again. It had a musty scent, kind of like the mushrooms in his basket, or Hop Sing's garden in the spring….

Earth. It was…earth.

Joe began to breathe more quickly. Had he fallen into a gully or ditch or something? Maybe he was in a cave. Maybe that was why it was dark and his nose was pressing up against a wall of dirt. He rolled onto his other side and reached out, only to find the same thing – a wall of dirt. Tentatively, he reached up – and found dirt. He wriggled to the side and felt underneath his britches.

More dirt.

Then he remembered.

He remembered that big old ghost horse looming over him. Behind it was a man covered in fur. Dusty said those Nuunu people were hairy and that they could change size when they wanted to, just like their horse could change color, so he was pretty sure it was one of them even though the man was six foot tall. The wild man said something he couldn't understand and then lifted a bony hand and pointed with his bony finger. Pa said horses were both smart and dumb. They had the hearts of lions, but could be scared by a pinecone dropping to the ground in front of them. They knew where to go when you told them, but had a mind of their own when they got there.

Not this one.

This one came right up to him and took the sleeve of his coat in its teeth.

"Amocualli Coneti," the fur man said.

He'd been right terrified and tried to get away, but the ghost horse wouldn't let go. The next thing he knew he was up on that horse and the man was leading it through the trees. He wanted to yell for help but he couldn't make a sound. The horse moved fast. The only way he could stay on its back was to cling to its braided mane. As they traveled, his eyes kept closing. He didn't remember bein' hit with one of those wolfberry thorns, but he must have been, 'cause he fell asleep right up on top of the back of that big ol' ghost horse.

And woke up here.

Maybe it was a rabbit warren like Dusty said. Joe didn't think it was.

He thought it was his coffin.

Ben had come upon his boy unawares. When he found his son, Adam was babbling incoherently about the cold and the night, a hairy Indian, and a ghost horse – and his baby brother. The young man had pressed his body into a crevice, most likely to shield himself from the wind and sleet. The only thing left exposed were his long legs and it was those that nearly tripped him. The boy was hurt. Dried blood covered the left side of Adam's face and trailed from a cut on his forehead down his neck to blend with the wine fabric of his shirt.

Little Joe was nowhere to be found.

It had taken him some time to work the story out of the young man and, when he did, it was almost too fantastic to believe.

"I'm telling you, Pa, it was just like Dusty and the other ranch hands said," his rational son sobbed. "One minute the Indian and the horse were there and the next they were gone! They vanished – and took Joe with them!"

He told him – of course – that from what he'd said the man and his mount were on the ridge above him. Simply stepping back would have made them seem to disappear.

Adam shot up at that and gripped the collar of his coat. "No, Pa!' he insisted. "I was looking right at them. They were there, and then they weren't!"

He'd checked him for fever. The boy was running a mild one, but not enough to induce hallucinations.

"I saw Little Joe, Pa. I saw him on that horse's back and then, he wasn't there. That wild man left him somewhere between the forest and here." Adam started to work his way to his feet. "We have to find him before it's too late!"

He'd caught the boy's shoulders in his hands and gently held him down. "That wound has to be seen to, son, before you do anything. You'll do Little Joe no good if you pass out along the way."

It had been all he could do to keep his tone even. He was frightened for Adam, and terrified for his youngest child. No matter who or what the young man thought he had seen, someone had taken Joseph. The choice he had to make now was whether to continue to follow the man's trail, or backtrack to the forest as his son insisted.

Adam's last words before he fell asleep echoed in Ben's head.

"He's buried Little Joe, Pa. That wild man has buried my brother somewhere. We have to find him before it's too late!"

"We'll look for Joseph come first light," he'd replied as he must. "There's no way to track him until it's light. You get some sleep, boy. Things will be clearer in the morning."

Ben sighed.

He could only pray 'clearer' meant better.

Adam turned back toward the camp he'd left behind. The sun was cresting the tops of the trees, but it would be an hour or more before its light struck his father who lay just outside the crevice he had taken refuge in. It had taken the older man hours, but finally Pa had given in to worry and exhaustion and fallen into a hard sleep. He'd pretended to do the same. He might have slept an hour or two, but worry for his little brother made the ground beneath him feel like it was peppered with nails. The young man snorted. He knew his pa thought he was crazy. That was okay because he thought he was crazy too! He knew what he had seen and that had been one of Dusty's little people grown big kidnapping his baby brother – and yet, he knew as well that he couldn't have seen it. As he lay there, waiting for Pa to doze off, he'd had time to think. He was pretty sure he'd figured it out. It couldn't have been one of the Nunnupi, but it could have been the Indian warrior, Moon Horse. He wondered now if maybe Dusty's tall tale of the Comanche little people had been based on the renegade Indian who roamed their lands. Cowboys on the whole were a superstitious lot and, after all, most myths had their basis in fact. The Indian was covered in furs. He could have donned them in anticipation of the storm. Natives were closer to nature than the white man and often knew what was coming. His horse was an appaloosa, the color of the moon. That could have been coincidence too.

Adam bit his lip as he turned back to the trees. None of that mattered. All that matteredwas that Little Joe wasn't with the Indian anymore. He had to admit he'd been a little out of his head when he insisted the Nunnupi were real and Joe had been buried alive by one of them. Still, he was certain the little boy had been kidnapped for some unknown reason and was being held captive. There was no telling what the old Indian might have done to him. If his brother was lying somewhere exposed, maybe with an injury….

He didn't need the cold to shudder.

The sun was climbing toward the west by the time Adam spied the tracks that had led him up the into the high country in the first place. Pa was sure the man was headed on into the hills. He'd thought so too at first, but changed his mind. He'd seen that horse and its bare back. Pa hadn't. He had to trust his instincts, and they told him his brother wasn't with Moon Horse anymore, but back in that damn forest where he'd first seen him. Strange as it seemed, leaving Joe there fit in with Dusty's tale of the Nunnupi taking naughty little boys and burying them for safe-keeping. Maybe the Indian believed he was one of the little people. Stranger things had happened. After all, the institutions back East were full of men who thought they were Napoleon, or even Jesus. Adam halted and turned back again. Pa would be awake by now. He was gonna skin him when he found out he'd disobeyed.

The young man's lips hardened into a thin, determined line.

That was, unless he found Little Joe.

To be continued….