ELEVEN

ooooo

Julia shook her head as she looked at her reflection. She'd found an old tin pot in the corner and polished it as best she could so she could get a look at herself and then cringed at what she found. She'd cried herself to sleep grieving for Joe and risen feeling exhausted, but even more determined. During the night – maybe while she was sleeping – an idea had begun to form. There was no way she could take on the rustlers by herself. There had to be at least fifty of them coming and going. She'd considered starting a stampede, but that could have gotten her – and anyone else in the camp who was innocent – killed. Plus, it would have done nothing to return the stolen property to its rightful owners. So, in the end, she decided she had to get away and go for help, and there was only one way she could think of to do that.

She had to convince Dan Lobaugh that she wanted him.

The young woman shuddered. The touch of his rough hands was still very real on her arms. The bruises were just beginning to show. She'd have to be very careful. He would think nothing of using her and throwing her away. She could wind up dead.

Still, she had to do something.

Julia's gaze returned to the polished metal. She'd been provided with a bucket of water and a cloth, so she'd washed her face and used the fork she'd found inside the kettle to comb through her hair so it wasn't a tangled mess. A shred of cloth from the bed linens served as a tie to hold a portion of it back. Her ma had taught her how to pinch her cheeks to bring color into them. There was little she could do about her eyes. They were haunted and ringed with shadows. Still, she knew that Dan – though he was attracted to her – really cared little what she looked like. All that mattered was what he could get from her.

The trick was to get him to release her from the shack and take her somewhere more…comfortable.

She let out a sigh as she placed the kettle on the rough table by the low bed. Then she straightened her skirt and, with a glance toward the door, lifted it to do the same to her stockings. The light streaming in the crack between the door struck the small bit of metal showing at the top of the right one and so she shoved it down until it was covered. Along with the fork, she'd found a knife in the kettle. It was in her stocking now. If she had to, she'd use it.

Her ma had taught her how to do that as well.

Outside the door men were shouting. The rustlers were moving out with another herd of cattle. It amazed her. As soon as one herd left, another arrived. The stench of burned animal flesh was a constant. Julia wondered if any of her neighbors were outside the shack. She'd heard Robert Truslow speaking. If she blamed anyone, she guessed, she blamed him the most for what had happened to her pa and to Joe. A sheriff was supposed to uphold the law, not break it. The other men were desperados, villains – criminals.

Robert Truslow was a devil.

A sound at the door made Julia drop her skirts back into place. She sat on the edge of the bed and effected what she hoped was a provocative pose.

She didn't have much experience.

Dan Lobaugh stepped in and halted in his tracks. He looked her up and down before speaking. "Did milady get a good night's sleep?"

She nodded and then dropped her head.

Dan took the bait and walked over to the bed. He placed two fingers under her chin and forced her head up – none too gently.

"You been cryin' over that boy, I suppose."

Here it goes….

"No," she replied.

"Oh?"

"I felt bad for how I treated you. I realized you were trying to help me." Julia looked up and poured every ounce of feminine wiles she had into the look she gave him. "You said you'd let me escape if I was…nice to you."

He was staring at her, his beady eyes narrowed and a sneer on his lips. "Might have."

Julia sucked in her disgust and rose to her feet. "I want out of here," she said.

They were close; so close it was nothing for Dan to reach out and cup one of her breasts in his hand.

She managed not to flinch.

"You got the lock. I got the key. You willin' to put them together?" he asked, his tone lascivious.

Julia's jaw clenched. "I told you, I want out of here. I'll do whatever it takes."

He was walking around her now, assessing her like a horse he might buy. "You're a mite on the skinny side," he said. She felt his fingers in her hair. "I like this. Soft as silk." Dan rounded her. He looked her up and down again and then, to her disgust, lifted her skirt and placed his hand on her thigh.

A moment later she was pinned against the wall and he was kissing her.

She was saved by a second set of footsteps.

"For God's sake, Dan, get your gun back in the holster!" the man said as he entered. "We got us work to do!"

Her tormentor twisted to look at the other man. One hand was on her throat. The other dangled dangerously close to his revolver.

"Get out of here!" he ordered.

"Dan," she managed to squeak out. When he turned and looked at her, Julia didn't look away, even though she could see the invitation to death in his eyes. "Not…here. Somewhere. We need to go somewhere…where we can…." Her gaze went to the other man. "Where we can be alone."

The villain stared at her for a moment and then, slowly, nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Right."

After that he released her.

"Next check is suppertime, milady," Dan said as he took a step back. "I'll bring your grub and we can…talk more."

Julia nodded and then collapsed onto the bed as the two men left and the door was closed and locked. Involuntarily her hand went to the knife in her stocking, checking to make sure it was there. She'd never killed a man before.

But there was always a first time.

ooooo

Adam had gone to the stream to wash up. His concern for his younger brother had rendered his night a rocky one.

He looked and felt like hell.

It was funny being home. In some ways, it felt like it had been days – maybe weeks – since he'd left instead of years. The dynamics were all in place, protective slightly dominating father, reckless and needy little brother; stepping back into the older brother's shoes. It felt…comfortable in a way, and yet in other ways, it reinforced why he had run. He'd come to realize over the years that there was nothing wrong with his family. They were, in fact, amazing and remarkable men. The fault lay in him. He was wounded and he knew it. Just as Joe was wounded. Adam grinned. The two of them were more alike than either of them would ever admit. Joe's anger stemmed from the loss of his mother. His wanderlust had the same root. Something deep within drew him to the life Elizabeth Stoddard had known and been a part of; to a world of streets and shops, museums and books – to civilization, if that was a word you could apply to anything man had conceived. He'd gone to New England first, to reacquaint himself with those he had known at school, and then on to seek out what was left of his mother's family. They had welcomed him with open arms and he'd thought he'd found what he was looking for. He hadn't. He would never find it.

The woman who had given him life was dead.

And so he'd set off again seeking,searching – hoping to find whatever elusive thing it was that would fill the void Elizabeth's absence left in his soul. It was useless. No contract or job, no elegant home or exciting sea voyage was enough. He'd almost married – more than once – but something had stopped him. To give it a name, he would have called it 'fear'. In the night, in the dark, he admitted to it himself. He feared loving and losing a woman, but, even more, he feared that the woman he loved would grow great with child and his love would…kill her.

As his father's love had killed his mother.

Adam shook his head. He ran a hand over his face and then splashed water onto it to clear away such morbid thoughts. He was going to kill that little brother of his for keeping him up all night worrying.

A twig snapped, causing him to freeze in place. His hand moved to his hip.

Damn! He'd forgotten his gun.

"You get up nice and slow, mister," a man's voice said.

Adam raised his hands as he rose to his feet and turned around. He almost laughed. What confronted him was a young man who would have had to stand twice in the same place to cast a shadow.

He indicated the gun in his hand with a nod. "That's not the most amicable of ways to say good morning."

The young man frowned mightily.

Perhaps 'amicable' had been a poor choice.

"What are you doing out here?" the stranger asked.

"I might ask the same of you," Adam said. "I would think this bright and beautiful morning would occasion camaraderie and not mistrust."

"Gosh, darn it! You sure talk right funny."

He might have said the same thing.

Adam's shrug was not quite an apology. "I was educated in the East. I am a man of words but, also, I am a man of my word. Would it be all right if I lowered my arms, so long as I promise not to attack?" When the stranger nodded, he lowered them. While rolling one shoulder to return the circulation to it, he added, "I was unaware that a man's speech was enough to make him suspect."

"I don't know you, mister, so I don't trust you."

Ah, the way of the West.

"Well, then, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Adam Cartwright and I – "

The young man's eyes lit up. "Cartwright? Like, Ben Cartwright?"

He nodded. "Yes. He's my father."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" The stranger shook his head as he returned his gun to the holster. "I could've shot you, you know?"

Adam curbed his smile. "You didn't give me much of a chance."

"Guess I didn't." The stranger thrust out a gloved hand. "My name's Ern. I work for Miz Griswold. I've been trailin' her and your brother, Joe. Fact is, I been trailin' them since midday yesterday." Ern looked around. "Are they here?"

He remembered both his pa and Joe speaking of the Griswolds' earnest young ranch hand so appropriately name 'Ernest Goode.'

"Yes."

"They okay?" he asked.

"Joe's hurt. Pat is fine."

"I thought so," the young man said. "I saw the bloody rags in the bucket at the Russells' and found some evidence outside that someone'd been tied to a tree." He paused. "You find Julia yet?"

The way Ern said it, he could tell the young lady had charmed more than his brother. "No. We're following her trail. She was taken by the men who hurt Joe."

"Well, I'm here to help." The Griswold's hand looked slightly ill-at-ease. "If you want me, that is."

Adam took a step toward the him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We can use all the help we can get," he said. "Come on, I'll take you to Pat."

ooooo

Joe Cartwright was pacing. Usually, when he did, he moved like a cat on the prowl. Now, it was more like a snail on the crawl. His wound was weakening him. He knew it. But damn it, he didn't care! Big brother Adam had been the first one who'd taught him about mind over matter. Adam told him stories of men who'd been wounded in battle, who had nearly bled out, but who'd gotten up from their sick beds and gone out to save their brothers-in-arms. 'Never give up' were the words Pa used. Hoss had been the only one to add a word of caution. 'You gotta see to your own wounds first, little brother, before you can help someone else. A man whose leg is broke has gotta put a splint on it before he can stand.'

Well, he had a splint on it. Pat's poultice had taken the fire out of his wound.

He was going after Julia.

He just had to figure out how.

Much as he loved his brother and knew Adam cared about Julia – even though he hadn't met her – Adam was worried about him first and even more rightly so, about Pat. Older brother wasn't about to take any chances – or allow him to. At the pace they were going, by the time they got to wherever Julia was being held, it would all be over. He didn't know exactly what that meant, but the prospects weren't good. The men who had her were vicious brutes. That had been evidenced in their treatment of him. They were probably holding her as a hostage against her mother, but if they got tired of her, or ran out of patience, or decided to…abuse her, he doubted that would keep her safe. Someone had to find her and get her out of the rustlers' hands before whatever was going to go down went down.

And that someone was him.

Halting in place, Joe closed his eyes and assessed his condition. His fever was down. Thanks to Pat's expert ministrations, his wound was aching but no longer throbbing. The various cuts and bruises he'd received when he was strung up were healing. His head was clear. The only thing he lacked was strength. In the end he'd eaten every bit of the food the older woman had brought him. She was right. If he meant to help Julia, he needed to be strong both mentally and physically. Joe hated to admit it, but the only thing he wished he had was an ally; someone who would go along with him without arguing or laying down conditions – or trying to protect him.

Someone like….

"Joe, look who's here."

He turned to find a young man, lean as a grasshopper, with locks of stringy light brown hair dangling down to his shoulders, standing beside his brother.

A smile broke over his face as he recognized Ern.

There was a God.

ooooo

Bill Collins. Luther Kent. John Lane. Tom Slayden. Barney Fuller. Bill Steen.

Ben knew them all as well as he knew the differences they had; differences that had been set aside in a common cause. These ranchers, whether they be sheep or cattle men, meant to take down the organization that had been rustling their herds for the last five years. They'd known loss and hardship because of it. For men like Bill Collins, it meant their families had gone hungry. For Tom, who'd managed to rebuild nearly all his greed had cost him ten years before, and Barney Fuller whose business holdings were vast, they were little more than a sting in the side – and in their pride. Still, while the loss of a few hundred head of cattle might have meant little to their bank account, the fact that they had been stolen out from under their noses meant a lot. They intended to take these men down. He wanted to take them down too. There was only one thing stopping him.

His sons were on the front line.

At least, he thought they were. It was hard to know for certain, but so far Joe and Adam had failed to show. He could only imagine they had found and followed the trail of Julia's kidnappers and were already at the box canyon. If that was the case, his prayer was that Adam's good sense would win out over his brother's impulsiveness, and they would stay put and wait. The boys had to know help was on the way.

Of course, that had never stopped Joseph before.

He loved his youngest son. Since Hoss' death he and Joe had grown even closer, if that was possible. He'd learned long ago that it raised Marie's boy's hackles a bit to say he was like her, but he was. Even as an older and wiser man, Joseph still had the temperament of a dead broke horse. He was quick to anger and quicker to act, and both of those traits had led him into trouble more times than he could count. If Joseph could, he would head out after Julia alone. Ben ran a hand over his face. He hated to admit it, but he hoped his youngest was at less than his best.

At least that way he knew he was safe.

"Ben, get your head out of the clouds. We need an answer!" a gruff voice declared, followed by a puff of smoke. "Are you with us or against us?"

The rancher started and then looked at the sea of faces surrounding him, which included not only the men he had named but several dozen more who had accompanied them.

"You know I am, Barney. This can't continue. The Ponderosa has lost cattle as well."

"How'd you know, Ben? You notice an empty acre out of the thousand or so you own?" Luther Kent huffed. He and Luther had never come to terms since he'd offered Bill Collins and the other sheepherders a chance to homestead on his land.

Ben ignored him. "I just want us to proceed with caution. There are lives at stake, not only my sons but those of Julia and Pat Griswold as well."

Clem Foster was standing to his right. Damien and two other sheriffs were on his left, along with one of the federal marshals.

"We agree to a plan, or none of us go," the marshal said. His name was Saul Parker, and like his Biblical namesake, he was not a man to cross.

Barney tried to anyway.

"What're you gonna do, marshal? Shoot us if we take off without you?"

The marshal was tall like Damien, but where Bridgeport's sheriff was willowy as a tree, Saul Parker was solid as the Sierra Mountains. The marshal thought a moment before taking a step toward Barney. He unfastened the clasp on his holster as he did.

Looking the businessman in the eye, he said, "Yep."

Just…yep.

Barney took a step back.

"Look, marshal, we don't want Ben's boys hurt, or the women, but we have to do something!" This time it was Tom Slayden. Ben hoped he would be the voice of reason. Tom was a changed man. The time he'd spent in prison had made him a better one. "We're losing precious time. With everything that's happened, the rustlers could already know we're coming."

"Those rustlers aren't going anywhere," Clem remarked. "They've got themselves a million dollar operation and they aren't going to be able to dismantle it overnight."

"My concern," Bill Steen interjected, "is that they know we're coming and they're going to use Julia and maybe your boys and her ma against us. What do we do if that happens?"

"That's why we have to get them out first," Damien said, "and why Ben and I are askin' you to stand down for one day." Sheriff Strait looked at Clem, who nodded. "Clem here's goin' with Ben and myself and the marshal." He was leaving the other sheriffs behind, of course, to make certain the others did what they agreed to. "Hopefully we can get what hostages they've got out of there and then – mindin' the law, you understand – you men can do what you please."

"I'm going with you," Barney stated. "Someone needs to represent our interests." His former competitor looked him in the eye. "You're soft, Ben, and you know it. It takes a tough man to make tough choices."

Ben looked to Damien, who nodded, and then stepped up to Barney. "I'll admit I'm 'soft' when it comes to my sons. I will do anything to preserve their lives, as well as those of the Griswold women." He punched the other man's hundred dollar suit with two fingers. "If you push me, Barney…. If you do anything that will put their lives in jeopardy, I promise you, you will find out just how 'hard' soft can be."

Barney was chewing his cigar. He didn't say anything.

He just grinned.

"I'm coming too," Bill Collins said as he stood forward. "Someone needs to represent our interests."

"These rustlers aren't stealing sheep!" Barney growled.

"Who's to say?" Bill remarked. "Our sheep have gone missing."

"They're probably making mutton stew out of them to keep their ornery hides alive."

Ben held up his hands. "You'll have to talk to the marshal. The last word will be his."

"That's not quite right," Sheriff Strait said. "You take it to Saul. He's king of the hill here."

As the group of men moved away, grumbling and grousing, Ben turned to the lawman. "They're powerful men, Damien. They're not used to taking orders, they're used to giving them!"

The sheriff puffed out a sigh. "I know, and I'd like 'em by my side, but they're angry, Ben, and angry men make mistakes."

He'd been an angry man once upon a time. It was true.

"They may follow us."

Damien nodded. "I know, Ben, but they'll have to fight their way past my boys and that will slow them down. I'm hoping we have the girl in hand and know where your sons are before they find us."

"And if we haven't?" he asked. "What then?"

The long lean lawman met his concerned stare. Strait held it for a minute, and then he walked away.

Ben had his answer.

ooooo

To be continued….

ooooo