FOURTEEN

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"Just act like you belong."

Ben Cartwright nodded at his companion and then slouched in the saddle, effecting a weary and nonchalant air. It didn't take much to produce the 'weary' part. He was exhausted both from lack of sleep and rest, and worry for his sons.

Sons.

The familiar word seemed unfamiliar now – a part of another life and time. Hoss had been gone nearly two years and, while God in his grace had given him Jamie to rear, the boy was his son in name only.

Hoss, Adam, and Little Joe were his blood.

"You see anyone you know?" Damien Strait asked, his voice pitched low.

So far he had not, but it was only a matter of time. The cattle drive Tom Griswold organized was preparing to set out the day after Joseph was shot in the back. Nearly all the men in the area were there. He spoke to each and every one of them in an a attempt to figure out who had bushwhacked his boy. Ben chuckled as he nodded his head to a passing cowpoke. He had to admit he looked nothing like himself. When he asked Damien why he carried bootblack in his saddlebags, the sheriff had rolled his eyes and asked, 'Why do you think?', and then set about turning his hair from a snowy field to a coal yard. After it was blackened, Damien took a comb and parted it in the middle and slicked it back. Like an artist he'd retreated a few steps away to survey his work, and then moved forward again and proceeded to blacken his cheeks as well. The clothing he was wearing belonged to one of Damien's deputies. The feel of the homespun on his skin reminded him of his first years in the West. He seldom wore brown, but now he was attired in it from head to toe in a linen shirt and tow vest, a pair of loosely woven pants, and a large slouch hat. When he was done, Damien remarked that his own mother wouldn't have known him.

He was probably right!

The sheriff was masked as well. He looked like one of the men on the wanted posters in his Bridgeport office.

"Anyone I know? No," he replied. "Not yet."

"Just keep your head down and keep ridin'. I've got a couple of men in place and I mean to find them."

"Men? You mean other…?"

The sheriff shot him a look that said 'shut up.' "Yep. Men. We need to reconnoiter."

They passed dozens of rustlers. Some were moving cattle out, but even more were breaking camp. From the speed with which they moved, he doubted much of anything would be left by morning. There was a sense of anticipation, even of danger in the air. Men jumped as they rode past and reached for the weapons slung low on their hips. If wasn't hard to imagine why. An organization this large would have spies everywhere. No doubt someone had seen the sheriffs, or maybe even the marshal ride in. They could have caught wind of the movement of the ranchers. Ben drew a deep breath and let it out slowly as they continued to make their way through the scene of ordered chaos. When the law moved in, it wasn't going to be a raid. As Damien said, it was going to be war.

And somewhere, in the middle of it all, was one terrified young woman his son had come to love.

As if reading his mind, Damien said, "We'll find her. My men will know where to look."

It comforted him to know that Strait had lawmen planted among the rustlers. It only made sense and he should have thought of it before. It was their hope to find Julia tonight and get her out before – literally – all Hell broke loose. The fact that there were men that knew her location was a godsend.

"There's Luke Benton," Damien said as they drew near a group of five cowboys. "He's the one looks like a bull with blond hair."

He did indeed. Luke was short and broad, with a beefy face and a mass of corn-silk hair that pitched forward over his brow, nearly eclipsing his eyes. When he saw them, he bid goodbye to his companions and walked to their side.

"Hey there, Sinbad," Luke said with a nod. "Who's your friend?"

The sheriff snorted at his look. "Middle name. My mother read too much. This here is Mel. He's a stray I picked up on the way into the canyon."

Luke was assessing him. "Big strong fellow from the look of him." He held out a hand. "Howdy, Mel."

Damien nodded and they both dismounted. As the sheriff tethered their mounts, Ben stepped forward to take that hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Luke."

An elbow in his rib made him turn toward the sheriff. "You ain't a gentlemen rancher anymore, Mel. You want to try that again?"

Ben looked at the man blankly for a moment and then laughed. Shaking Luke's hand again, he said, "Howdy."

"Now that's a sight more friendly," the stout man replied with a grin.

Damien looked around before asking, "Where's Matt?"

"In the thick of it, where else?" the other man replied. "He's keepin' watch on the big man."

It was one of the things Ben wondered about – just who was behind all of this? Most likely there was a 'boss' of some nature. Even if the rustlers were led by committee, someone had to have the tie-breaking vote. Whoever it was had to have a strong personality.

And be ruthless.

"Who is the 'big man'?" he asked.

Damien stared at him a moment, as if thinking through his need to know. Then, instead of telling him, the lawman asked, "Who do you think it is?"

Ben considered what he knew. It seemed inconceivable to him since the man appeared to be a buffoon, but it was the only thing that made sense.

"Robert Truslow."

Luke let out a low whistle.

The rancher was still thinking. "What I don't get is why Amos Pettis would be working with or for him. From what I understand, his son died on Truslow's watch."

The sheriff looked around and then drew the two of them over to an abandoned campfire. He tested the coffee pot sitting on the coals and, finding it hot and nearly full, used it to pour three cups. With them in hand, they sat down and effected a casual air.

"It's my belief that, in the beginning, Truslow was a sheriff on the take," Damien began. "At that time the rustlin' was bein' done on a smaller scale. That's what your son ran across that almost got him killed." He took a sip. "Bob was in charge of Orv and Jim when they rode away from the Griswolds' ranch, but he didn't kill those boys."

Ben was surprised. "No?"

"No. They were killed by their own for bein' incompetent and nearly exposin' the organization. Bob was there. I don't imagine he put up any fuss, but he didn't pull the trigger."

"I still don't understand why the Pettis' boy's father would be involved."

Damien let out a sigh. "Ben, you've got a good relationship with your boys. You love them, more than your own life – more than anything money can buy. Sorry to say, that's rare. Orv and Amos knocked heads from the time that boy could lift his. He was a hellion. Amos loved him, but he didn't like him. It was the same with Jim Fenton and his pa."

"You mean, the money was more important than their boys' lives?" he asked incredulously.

The sheriff nodded. "And there's one more thing."

"What's that?"

Luke answered. "Every man here has taken a pledge of loyalty to the organization. If they break it, they're dead."

"Then why go after Joe?" he asked. "Why risk exposure? Amos Pettis and his men nearly killed him."

"Weak men act to satisfy their needs, Ben, you know that," Damien said as he tossed the remainder of his coffee on the fire and rose to his feet.

Seneca had said it best. 'All cruelty springs from weakness.'

The rancher closed his eyes for a moment, taking it all in, and then turned to the sheriff. "We need to know about Julia."

"The girl?" Luke asked. At his nod, he continued, "She's gone."

"Gone?!"

The stout man nodded. "Truslow was mad as a skinned rattler on a spit when he found out."

Ben looked at the dozens of men coming and going. "Did she escape on her own? It seems impossible."

Luke shrugged. "Ain't sure. One of the men was sent to fetch her and the shack was empty. Bob was gonna use her as a shield."

Of course. Robert Truslow was not just a rustler – he was a coward.

"Are there any other prisoners?" Damien asked.

"Not as I know of, though I can't make any promises."

The sheriff fell silent. Ben could see the wheels turning in his head. A moment later he took hold of his arm and said, "We need to get you out of here…."

"Ben," a voice finished for him. "Why don't you just say it?"

The rancher knew that voice – arrogant, snide, and embittered. He turned on his heel to face the stuff of his son's nightmares.

"Ben Cartwright," Robert Truslow said. "Imagine meeting you here."

ooooo

Adam knew it was useless, so he hadn't even tried to talk his brother out of coming with them.

Joe was on his feet and, again, insisted he was 'fine', though he knew better. He and Ed – along with Joe – had left Pat and her daughter behind with Ern to watch over them and ridden north-east, hoping to reach their destination before dawn. The dry and wasted countryside, with its hard-packed earth, made a good road, and the moon was high. It provided the light they needed to make certain they avoided chuck-holes and other hidden obstacles. Every so often he would glance at his brother just to make certain Joe wasn't going to pitch over, out the saddle, and end up under the hooves of Ed's horse.

No surprise, the Cartwright grit kept him glued there.

He'd seen Joe angry before, plenty of times. His brother was beyond angry now. It wasn't for himself. It was for Julia and her mother, and for the other ranchers these men were bleeding dry – and that made his rage even more dangerous. Pa had written to him a couple of years back about an incident that had happened. A skittish horse had thrown the older man over the edge of a cliff and Joe had to go for help. The men he found were worthless. They demanded money and then, when it came to it, refused to help. His brother had been so angry that he had charged three heavily armed men – unarmed – and had nearly been killed himself. If Marie had deeded one thing to her son, it was her fearlessness.

The fearlessness that put her on the back of a horse as reckless as she was the day she died.

"You can stop worrying. I'm not going to do anything stupid," a voice remarked.

He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he'd failed to notice Joe had pulled up alongside him. "Oh? Is that a promise?"

The broken one hung between them still.

"Look, Adam. I'm sorry I went off on my own. I didn't mean to. I saw those men and, once I knew what they were up to, I felt I had to – "

"Handle it alone? Be the white knight?"

Joe drew his horse abruptly to a halt. Ed was watching, or he would have run into him.

"You need to stop this," his little brother said.

"Stop what?"

"Being the 'big brother.' I'm not a snot-nosed kid anymore who needs his backside wiped." Joe sat tall in the saddle. "I'll admit, when you left, I didn't know what to do. You were a…constant…in my life. Like breathing. But you were the one who chose to cut that lifeline off. And you know what? I'm glad you did, because I had to grow up." Joe thrust his arms wide. "Look! I'm here! It's been over ten years and I haven't killed myself yet!"

"Joe," he began. "I don't mean to imply – "

"Yes, you do! In your eyes I'm still that seventeen-year-old boy playing with an épée instead of doing his work. I worked hard then and I work even harder now. There's no Hoss. There's no you. There's just me!" Joe paused. "Don't get me wrong. I love what I do. I don't want to do anything else. What I'm saying is…." He sucked in air and let it out slowly, to calm his anger. "What I'm saying is that I'd like a little respect."

Curious, that he would mention that particular incident.

"I was just thinking about that time with the épeé," Adam said with a wry smile. "I was wrong then and I'm wrong now. "

"You're…what?"

"Wrong."

That single word had the impact of a stampeding herd of cattle. Joe blanched and nearly fell from his horse.

"Are you okay?"

"Sorry." Joe's eyes lit with mischief. "I think I just felt the Earth move."

Adam glanced at Ed. The older man's lips were curled with amusement.

He could try to explain it to Joe and might later, if they came out of this alive. He'd been wrong to act as a second father and not a brother. His serious and sober nature had cost him dearly. His brother loved him, respected him – honored and obeyed him – but they had never been friends.

God grant him time to remedy that grave omission.

Adam held out his hand.

"What's this?" Joe asked, wary.

"A handshake between two men – two equal men."

His brother took his hand and shook it. "Thanks, Adam."

He nodded.

Without warning, a devilish light entered Joe's eyes. "Last one to the rustlers' camp is a rotten egg!" he declared. And then, with a whoop and a holler, his brother pressed his knees into his horse's side and sent it flying.

For a moment Adam didn't know what to do.

Then he did.

He sighed.

ooooo

Even as the words left Robert Truslow's mouth, Damien Strait shouted, "Now!" It was an odd thing to say and, for a moment it took Ben off-guard. Then he understood. Damien thrust sideways, knocking one of the rustlers to the ground, and then bolted into the camp where he quickly became lost in the milling, moving crowd – while Luke, overlooked for the moment, disappeared into the trees behind them. Ben thought about following one or the other, but the gun Truslow pointed at his belly caused him to raise his hands instead.

"They won't get far," the dirty sheriff said with a snort and a spit. "We got us fifty men to each one of you."

"Maybe there are more of us," Ben replied.

"Maybe. They'll be just as dead as you're gonna be if they try to move in. We got men in the hills, watchin'. No one's gonna get in here without us knowin' it."

"We did."

Robert Truslow was a surly, unattractive man; overweight and overbearing, with the cocky sort of arrogance that belonged to a younger man. Even his words had a swagger to them. His pale blue eyes were jammed into a porcine face. They narrowed as he replied.

"You didn't fool anybody, Cartwright. We let you in to see what you were up to."

That could be the case, he thought. But then Truslow, if anything, was a liar.

"We?"

Another man appeared behind the sheriff. He seemed vaguely familiar. He had a full head of thick, sandy hair and light blue eyes that were parted by a straight nose and underlined by a pair of thin cruel lips. He wasn't fifty but he was well past forty and might have been called 'handsome' – if not for that mouth and the look out of his eyes, which was as inflexible as any blacksmith's iron. Ben frowned as he stared at him. The sense of knowing him was strong, but the man's age seemed wrong somehow. He should be younger.

The newcomer stepped up to him and struck him hard across the face. "You owe me, Cartwright," he snarled. "You and that brat of yours."

Robert Truslow was laughing.

The other man, whom he now recognized as the father of Jim Fenton, pivoted sharply on his heel. "You find something funny, Bob? Why don't you share it?"

So Damien had been wrong. It wasn't Truslow who was the 'big' man. It was Fenton.

The sheriff sobered instantly. "Sorry, Thom. I thought –"

"Don't. Don't think. You ain't up to the challenge." Thomas Fenton turned back to him. "Now, Cartwright, you and I are gonna have us a talk."

"What makes you think I would tell you anything?" Ben replied. "I know Julia got away. You don't have my son, the sheriff here said as much. You have no leverage."

"Oh?" Fenton asked. "Steve! John!"

Two men appeared out of the darkness surrounding them. They dragged a third between them. Ben watched as they tossed an unconscious Damien Strait to the ground and took up positions on either side to guard him.

He could only pray that Luke had escaped.

ooooo

Joe Cartwright wasn't a fool, though he liked to play at being one with his older brothers. He was making a good pretense at another thing – feeling 'fine'. In truth his shoulder wound was throbbing and he felt sick. The curly-haired man reined his horse in a half-mile out from the canyon and dismounted, ground-tethering it before he headed for a nearby stump. He sat down to wait for Adam and Ed and nearly fell off as a wave of dizziness took him. Uneasy, he unbuttoned his shirt and reached inside. The heat radiating from the wound was hot as any desert rock.

Joe closed his eyes and drew a breath as he thought back. He could feel the touch of Julia's hands as she wound the linen strips around him. She and her mother had talked for some time, and then she'd come to his side, bandages in hand. He'd looked up at her and she'd looked down, but neither of them had said a thing. She knelt then at his side and worked quickly, removing his shirt and cleaning the wound, and then applying salve to it. Last of all, she reached around his back to tie the ends off.

It didn't happen. Instead, she started sobbing.

And told him how she thought he was dead.

He understood that. The last time they'd seen each other he'd been stripped down and tied like a dressed deer between two trees. Amos Pettis' man had taken great pleasure in contaminating his wound and it had grown as angry as him. By the time he was cut down, he'd been as close to death as he cared to be. That was when he'd seen Laura.

That was when she'd sent him back.

He'd held onto her; one hand on her shining hair and the other around her shoulder. As her slender body spasmed, wracked with sobs, he too began to cry. The tempest passed in a few minutes, leaving them both exhausted and bound together in a way that was hard to explain. He loved her, plain and simple. He wanted to ask her to marry him – almost did, in fact – but something stopped him. It wasn't the fact that he might shortly ride off to his death, though that gave him pause.

It was brother Adam's words.

'Does this have to do with Hoss?' older brother had asked him.

'I don't know what it has to do with. I want to take care of her. Is that so wrong?' he'd replied.

'No. There's nothing wrong with that, so long as you love her for who she is and not who you want her to be.'

Did he?

How could he be certain?

Joe flexed his shoulder and rose to his feet. The others should arrive shortly. He caught the first sound of their horses as he pulled his shirt to and began to button it. Then he froze.

The sound was coming from the wrong direction.

Joe rose and turned so quickly it left him woozy. He stumbled forward a step as he fumbled for his gun. Just as it came loose from the holster, a man tumbled out of the trees and fell to the ground.

He kept his weapon trained on him and called out, "You! There! Get up!"

The man lifted his head. He gave him a plaintive look before collapsing.

Joe approached him with caution, wary that it could be a trick. Upon his arrival, he toed the man's shoulder and waited. The action brought no response. At last, doing what he did best and throwing caution to the wind, the curly-haired man knelt at the stranger's side and slapped his cheek. It was only then he saw it, sticking out of the inner pocket of the man's vest.

A deputy's star.

"Strait," the man said as he stirred. "…got Strait."

Joe frowned. Was that a name?

"That your sheriff?" he asked.

The man nodded weakly. "Rustlers got…him. …right too."

The frown deepened. "Right too?"

Even as he heard the sound of his brother's approaching horse, the man's eyes went wide and then closed in pain. Joe hesitated and then gently flipped him over and discovered the red stain spreading across his side.

"Who is it, Joe?" Adam asked as he dropped to the ground beside him.

Joe shook his head. He shook the man again. "Can you tell us who you are?"

The stranger's eyes opened. They were glazed, but he was lucid. "I need…you to find…Cartwrights. Ben…Cartwright. Tell them…."

They looked at each other. "I'm Adam Cartwright," his brother said. "This is my brother, Joe. Ben Cartwright is our father."

"Cartwright?"

They nodded.

Just before his eyes closed for the last time, Luke Benton spoke once more.

"The rustlers…they got your pa."

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To be continued….

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