FIVE
It was dark as midnight under a skillet as Hoss would say.
He missed Hoss.
He even missed bossy old Adam.
He wanted his pa.
Joe sniffed in snot even as his tears watered the earth that had become his bed. It was kind of hard to breathe and he was getting sleepy. The little boy closed his eyes and then jerked and began to stamp his feet. He shook his head and started counting out loud – from one hundred backward. He had to do something. He wasn't about to go to sleep.
He knew if he did that he would never wake up and wherever he was would become his coffin.
Joe let out a little sigh. He'd kind of got past the idea that he was in a rabbit warren. If it was, it had to be an awful big one. That or the little people had made him little too so he would fit. Rabbit warrens were lined with fur and other soft things to make them warm and cozy. He wasn't warm or cozy. He was cold. Really cold. And there was nothing between him and the ground.
There was just…ground.
The little boy turned his face toward the wall and let the tears fall. If he was gonna die… Well, he felt real bad. He'd been angry with Adam just before he took off to look for the penny buns. Older brother was sitting at Pa's desk. He'd tried to tell him about his dream like he'd asked the night before, but big brother had no time to listen. He'd even flung a few chancy words at Adam to get him to pay attention, but all the young man had done was nod and say 'mm-hmm' and tell him to be a good boy and stay out of trouble. By the time he got outside he was proclaiming to the world that he wasn't a 'boy'; that he was all grown up and could take care of himself no matter what happened.
Little Joe sniffed. He didn't want to be grown up anymore. He didn't want to take care of himself. He wanted someone to find him.
"I'm sorry, Adam," he murmured. "I didn't mean it. Please come find me."
Adam crouched on the ground close to the point where he had entered the forest the night before. It was hard to see anything. Just after it passed its zenith, the sun slid under a blanket of clouds – and then pulled the blanket up over its head. It might as well have been dusk. The young man was sure his pa was on his heels by now, so he didn't have any time to waste, but he needed…direction. He'd backtracked Moon Horse's trail to this point but had no idea where to go from here. It seemed incredible to him that any man could kidnap a little boy and then abandon him, but it was pretty clear that was what had happened. Maybe the Indian was crazy like the ranch hands said. If he had lost his son, maybe he wanted the world to pay.
Or maybe he just wanted white men to pay.
Adam rose to his feet and brushed off the knees of his black pants. He stood, listening to the discourse of the branches and their leaves. If he knew their language, would their words lead him to Little Joe? He didn't know what to do. There were no more signs; no tracks to follow. Too much bracken had fallen overnight and been blown about by the wind.
At a loss, he closed his eyes and began to speak out loud. "God, I'm sorry I don't talk to you as much as I did when I was a kid. I do believe you're there. I guess you seemed…closer somehow out here than back East." Adam drew a breath before continuing. "My little brother is in this forest somewhere, I'm sure of it. Lost for sure. Buried…maybe. I have no idea where to look. I need your help." The young man's lips grew taut and then turned up in a self-deprecating grin. "I know there are more things than are dreamt of in my philosophy, but I'm having a hard time accepting the idea that there are little people in the woods, or ghost horses. In the end, it doesn't really matter what I believe. Little Joe is gone. The man who took him – whoever he is – may be out of his mind. Please, God, help me find my brother. Give me a sign."
Before he could open his eyes he heard it – a low blow, followed by a high-spirited neigh. Then, he saw him. Mua-puuku, the ghost horse, with his human companion by his side.
The word formed on his lips. 'How?'
He'd last seen Moon Horse and the stallion in the high country, headed in the opposite direction from where he was now. There had been no tracks leading back.
He couldn't be here.
Tossing logic aside, Adam took a step forward and shouted, "Where's my brother? What have you done with Little Joe?"
The hairy man stared at him, for hairy man he was. At this distance the young man could see it wasn't his clothes that were covered in fur as he'd thought, but his skin. He had a wild look about him, like men who've been lost as children and raised by wolves. The stranger gave no answer to his query, but lifted a hand and pointed. The appaloosa pounded the ground with his hooves and tossed his head in response before moving forward. There was little light in the forest – in fact, it was dark as the grave – but what light there was chose just that moment to break through the leafy canopy above his head to strike the horse's fiery eyes.
They were red as a demon's.
Adam held his ground and refused to yield.
His jaw tight, he faced the man down. "You don't scare me," he declared. "The only thing that scares me is knowing my brother is here, somewhere in this forest, frightened and alone!" Adam took a step forward. "Where is he? Tell me! Where is Little Joe?!"
The horse was close enough now he could feel the breath from its nostrils.
It was hot as Hades.
The man pointed again. "Amocualli Coneti," he said.
Comanche was a derivation of Aztec. He knew a few words. Most he'd learned from captives among the Apache. That first one meant 'bad'. It wasn't hard to guess the second.
"My little brother is not a bad boy! He's about the best boy ever. And even if Joe has been naughty at times, he's not yours to punish!" Looking into the stranger's eyes was like peering through a window into Hell. They blazed with unholy and unjustified pride. Adam had seen that look before, in the gaze of a dirty sheriff whose gun smoke had left an innocent man dead; in the eyes of a magistrate sentencing a young mother to a year in jail for stealing a loaf of bread to feed her starving children;
The only thing to do was throw himself on the mercy of the court.
"Look…." Adam swallowed over both rage and fear. "Take me if you want. Bury me! I've sinned and sinned willfully. I admit it! Little Joe is only ten-years-old. He's a child!" Tears streamed down his checks. His voice choked. "Please…just…. Please, give him back!"
The horse nudged him with its muzzle and struck the earth with its massive hooves.
The sound was hollow.
The young man's heart beat three times before two things happened, neither of which he was able to explain. First, Mua-puuku reared up and began to move back. At the same time, Moon Horsecame forward. There was a flash of light, brilliant as the sun striking the faceted surface of a diamond, and the two became one.
The second thing?
He passed out.
Ben Cartwright moved like a man possessed. He was furious with his eldest son and at the same time scared stiff that something had happened to both Adam and Little Joe. His oldest boy rarely disobeyed him and only when he felt he hadn't been heard or whatever he'd said had been unfairly disregarded. It troubled him that he'd let him down. Of course, it was possible Adam was out of his head and that scared him even more. With a head wound, the boy shouldn't have been on his feet, let alone traipsing through the wilderness in search of his little brother.
The rancher drew a breath of wintry air. It came out as a cloud.
Joseph.
"Dear God, boy," he breathed. "Where are you?"
He was on Buck's back at the moment, but the forest was drawing near. Soon he would be forced to dismount and continue on foot. His only hope was that Adam had left a clear trail for him to follow. The boy obviously wasn't thinking clearly.
How could he, if he believed in Dusty's tall tale?
The rancher tethered his horse to a low bush just outside of the wooded area. Everything that was in him urged him to make haste. Ben forced himself to keep an even pace for fear he would miss an important clue. The day had darkened as he rode. Storm clouds had overtaken the sky once again and he feared an early snow. Adam and Little Joe had been out in the cold for a day and a half. Dusty's Nunnupi and their ghost steed aside, both boys could have caught cold or worse from exposure. As the rancher entered and navigated through the tangled woods he regretted, and not for the first time, the fact that his middle son was not at his side. Hoss was his best tracker he knew, in spite of his tender years. If anyone could have found his brothers, it was –
The older man halted at a sound. What was it? A shout of fear?
No, a cry of horror.
Ben took off at a clip and raced through the trees. Their thorny branches, encased in ice, clawed at his face and struck his cheeks drawing blood. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but that voice. He knew it as well as his own. It was his eldest and he was clearly terrified. Worse than that, he was crying.
Adam was crying.
"Adam? Son, it's your pa! Where are you, boy?"
Adam cried out again, but not in answer to his call.
"Joe! God! No, Little Joe!"
The rancher halted, unsure of his path. "Adam! Talk to me. Adam?"
There was silence, and then.
"Pa?"
His love for his sons drove him to the spot. When he arrived, Ben was taken aback by what he found. Adam was seated on the ground, his long legs dangling into what appeared to be a yawning grave. Joseph was in his arms. The little boy was covered in dirt and was gray and still as the tomb. For a moment both words and action failed him. Then, he was on the move. A second later he dropped to the earth at his sons' side.
Adam lifted a tear-stained face and blinked as if unsure of what he saw.
"Pa? Is it…you?"
Ben touched his boy's head. "Yes, It's me. I'm here, son. Are you all right?"
It took a second before Adam nodded.
"And Little Joe? How is your brother?"
Adam broke. Sobs wracked him once more. "I don't know, Pa. I can't tell if he's breathing. Pa, I don't know!"
Ben glanced at the gaping hole and shuddered. Then he reached out for his baby. At first Adam resisted , but finally surrendered his brother. As he took Little Joe in his arms, the worried father whispered a quick prayer. Then he placed two fingers to the side of his child's neck.
The pulse of life was still there.
"Is he… Is Joe…?"
"He's alive, son. Your brother is alive." The older man frowned as he pushed a hank of muddy curls off his youngest boy's forehead. "How?" Ben breathed, his voice robbed of strength. "Why?"
Adam made no reply. Now that he no longer needed to be strong, his eldest had succumbed.
Ben looked up from his book at the sound of footsteps. He rose from the chair he occupied beside his son's bed and crossed over to the door and opened it. It didn't surprise him at all to find Hoss outside. With a glance behind, the older man closed the door and moved into the hall.
"Hey, Pa."
"Hey, yourself."
Hoss' crystal clear eyes were fixed on the door. "How are they doin'?" he asked.
They'd put Adam and Joseph together in his eldest's bed. Adam had become extremely agitated when he'd wakened and couldn't find his brother and Paul Martin thought it for the best. After all, both boys were being treated as a result of exposure to the cold. Adam was doing better than Little Joe. He'd developed a severe cold but now, several days after arriving home, seemed to be on the mend. Joseph was fighting pneumonia. Ben shook his head and let out a sigh. He'd tried his best to dismiss the idea that his youngest had actually been in that open grave.
The dirt the boy coughed up proved otherwise.
Paul had been outraged, of course. He was outraged. He was also frustrated in that he had nowhere to direct that rage. Adam admitted he had been out of his head when he found him, but he insisted he had been right in the first place – it had been one of the Nunnupi that had kidnapped his brother and buried him alive as punishment for being a 'naughty' boy.
Joseph's nightmares bore testament to their shared madness.
"Pa?"
He smiled. "Sorry, my mind was wandering Paul said your brothers are holding their own."
Hoss pursed his lips. "I talked to Hop Sing and he said Adam's some better. That his fever broke and he took some food. But, Pa, what about Little Joe?"
Ben looked at the only boy he had who was still on his feet. It was obvious, though, that Hoss had suffered nearly as much as his brothers. His middle son had lost weight. His clear blue eyes were haunted by the nightmare images his brothers' ravings had inspired.
"Joseph is still a very sick boy," he admitted, "but Paul thinks he'll recover just fine."
"Is that the truth, Pa? Is that really what Doc Martin said?"
Ben reached out and took the fifteen-year-old in his arms. He drew the boy close. "Really," he replied. "What your younger brother needs is rest…and love."
Hoss' gaze returned to the door as he released him. "Old Adam is givin' him that, ain't he? Last time I came in he was talkin' to Little Joe real low, and he ain't left his side once."
Adam, it seemed, was the only one who could calm his younger brother's fears when Joseph's fever was at its height.
"Pa?"
"Yes?"
"You think…" Hoss cleared his throat. "You really think it was that old Indian the men talk about what took Little Joe?"
It had to be. The only thing that made sense was that Moon Horse was real and that, angry still at the loss of his child so many years before, he had taken Little Joe in recompense and then decided to end Joseph's life in the most horrific way.
Anything else, well, it was beyond belief.
"You think maybe Moon Horse was acting out that story? You know, the one Dusty told us about the Comanche's little people and their ghost horse?"
"He might have been, son. Men who are distracted by grief can be driven to almost anything."
"Adam says he was one of them little people. He says he saw that there Moon Horse and his appaloosa become one."
Ben frowned. "I know what your brother said, and I know he believes that's what he saw, but it's simply not possible, Hoss. There are no shape-shifting tricksters or ghost horses who haunt the land seeking to mete out punishment to naughty little boys." The older man sighed. "Only madmen who believe there are."
Hoss twisted his lips and gave out a sigh. "I guess you're right, Pa. But Adam, well, he won't listen to none of that. He gets right angry if you try to tell him otherwise."
"Let your brother be, Hoss. He's hurting now. In time, he'll come to see the truth."
Adam Cartwright lay in his bed listening to his little brother breathe. Over the last hour each breath had come a little easier, and the last time he'd felt Little Joe's forehead, his fever had been down. Still, Joe tossed and turned. He shouted sometimes and struck out with his hand. The young man made sure he was always there to catch it. He didn't want the boy to think he was alone. The harrowing events of the last week still haunted his baby brother.
As they haunted him.
As a rational man he knew what he saw was not possible, and yet he had seen it. He'd explored all the possibilities and the only explanation that he could come up with – that didn't fly in the face of reason –was that, somehow, he'd been drugged. Maybe during the time he was out. It was after he woke up that he'd started ranting about the Nunnupi and their ghost horse. The tale Dusty spun that night at the camp would have lodged in his subconscious, refreshed and reinvigorated by the retelling. Due to the concussion he suffered, it would have been easy to confuse a deranged Indian man in furs and his tall appaloosa horse with the merciless Nunnupi and their ghost mount Mua-puuku.
Still, one thing troubled him. Why had Moon Horse placed his brother in a coffin made of earth if he wasn't one of the Comanche's little people? It was beyond inhuman. The only answer, of course, was that Moon Horse himself believed he was one of the wild people and thought his horse to be Mua-puuku; that he believed they were one.
Just like he'd seen them become.
Adam raised his head off the pillow and listened. He'd heard Pa and Hoss talking outside the door. It was quiet now, so he guessed they were gone. The young man reached over and touched his little brother again, just to make sure he was real, and then tossed the covers back and gingerly sat up. He waited until the stars had cleared to put his feet on the floor, and then pulled on his robe before heading for the window. It was quiet outside. Quiet and still and terribly beautiful. The storm that struck shortly after they reached home had been a doozey. It had raged for two days and left everything coated with a thick layer of ice. The young man shivered as he watched the moonlight spark and dance across the fence rails. It put him in mind of their camp in the woods and everything that had followed. Idly he wondered if he would ever know what had been true and what a fever-dream.
As Adam turned back into the room, he heard a sound. One that had the power to strike terror in his heart – a low blow, followed by a triumphant neigh. The young man's eyes narrowed as he pivoted on his heel and looked out, seeking its source. At first he saw nothing. Then, a shadow shifted and took the shape of a tall man seated on a horse whose fiery eyes were red as a demon's.
A moment later, the yard was empty.
Adam stood where he was for several rapid beats of his heart, contemplating what he had seen, and then returned to his bed, crawled under the covers, and drew his little brother's sleeping form into his arms.
And didn't let go until spring.
The End