SIXTEEN
ooooo
Joe was dead.
God. No.
Not…Joe.
Ben sucked in air like a drowning man. He still had one son left. One…alive who needed him. He had to remember that. The last glimpse he'd had of Adam, his son had been standing erect, calmly facing down death as he'd seen him do so many times before.
Ben choked. A sob escaped him.
Joe.
"I've failed you, my love," he managed to rasp out. "I've failed you and our boy."
He wasn't as weak as he'd pretended. He'd hoped to put the men in charge of him off-guard. Once he was confined to the shack he'd hammered against the door until his knuckles were raw, shouting – insisting – that the men who trapped him take him hostage instead of his oldest boy. The life of a hostage wasn't worth a plugged nickel. He knew it. Adam knew it. Offering to go with Truslow and the other rustlers was tantamount to suicide. They'd kill him the moment they were free. Ben straightened his tall frame, forcing himself upright and into action. Adam was out there. Adam needed him.
Just as he needed Adam, now more than ever.
"…Ben…."
The older man pivoted to look at his friend. He'd checked on Damien Strait the moment the door had shut behind him. The sheriff had been beaten savagely, but he was tough and was clinging to life. The only beating he'd seen that had been worse was when the self-proclaimed Champion of the World, John C. Regan, nearly killed his seventeen-year-old son.
Strait, it seemed, had the grit of a Cartwright.
Ben went to the bed and knelt beside the wounded man. "What is it, Damien?"
The sheriff gripped his wrist. "Men. My…men. Told them…." Damien drew a sharp breath and moaned. His ribs were broken among a multitude of other injuries. "I told them if too…many hours went by…to surround the place." He let out a small cry and frowned as if disappointed in himself. "They're out there…waiting."
That gave him some comfort, but the news frightened him as well.
"The rustlers have my son, Adam. They intend to take him with them."
Strait did his best to nod. "He's a…Cartwright. He'll make it." It seemed then that the sheriff noticed something in his eyes, or perhaps in the way he held himself. "Joe?" he asked.
He couldn't find the words. He shook his head.
Damien stared at him a moment before lowering his head back to the pillow. "Damn."
Ben rose and returned to the door. He could hear someone shouting. It sounded like Adam. Nearby a horse whinnied. Someone cursed.
And then, there was a shot.
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The bullet flew past his ear to strike the ground at his brother's feet. Adam held his breath as Joe halted. He was pale as paste and breathing hard.
Truslow waddled forward to meet him.
"I see the rumors of your death are greatly exaggerated, boy," the dirty sheriff growled. "I'm much obliged to you for showin' up. Now I can remedy that."
Joe's gaze shot to him, acknowledging the lie and the reason for it. Those green eyes reflected gratitude for a moment, and then sparked with indignation.
"You wanted…a hostage, you got one," Joe panted. "Let my Pa and brother go."
"So they can follow?"
"Adam will promise for both of them that they won't follow," Joe said. "And – unlike certain other people – a Cartwright never breaks a promise."
Truslow snorted. "You don't like me much, boy. Do you?"
Joe said nothing for several heartbeat. "You think I hate you," he answered at last. "I don't. I hate the things you've done, what you did to me; to Tom Griswold. How you hurt Julia and her ma. But you?" Joe scoffed. "I pity you. You are a miserable, worthless mass of flesh without a conscience that isn't fit to walk the earth."
Adam passed a hand over his eyes. Joe was going to get himself killed, here and now, if he wasn't careful.
The sheriff moved closer. It was a slow and steady progression, like a wolf going in for the kill. Once he was about six feet away from Joe he stopped. His lips curled in a sneer.
"Looks to me like I don't need to go anything, boy. You're about dead on your feet."
It was true. Joe was still standing and he had his gun in his hand, but he swayed and his hand shook. Sweat poured down his neck, soaking his tan shirt and the collar of his ruined green jacket. His cheeks were flushed with fever, but his face was pale as the underbelly of a rattler.
"Why don't you just shut up and take me with you," Joe snapped as he turned the gun and offered it grip first to Truslow. "If you're going to keep talking, I'd prefer you kill me now so I don't have to listen."
Robert Truslow took the gun and immediately pointed it at his brother. For a moment, it looked like he was going to pull the trigger. Then, instead – with an unexpected swiftness – he moved forward and struck Joe in the temple and drove him to his knees.
"Take him!" Truslow ordered. "Tie him face down over the saddle of one of the horses – and make it hurt!"
Joe offered no resistance as Thom and the other man pulled him to his feet. It was the second time in less than an hour that his brother had been struck in the head and it was showing. He couldn't put one foot in front of the other and did nothing to break free as the rustlers dragged him over to a nearby horse and threw him across the saddle.
"Okay, Adam Cartwright. I want your word – for you and your pa – that you won't follow. Seems it's good as gold." Truslow had a way of smiling that made you want to punch him. "Maybe better."
Adam's mind was racing. It was true. Honor was their lifeblood. Still, there had to be a way to leave a loophole through which he could fire a fatal shot.
"I need your word first that you'll let Joe go and not kill him."
The dirty sheriff glanced at the horse to which Joe was now bound. "That's an easy one. Odds are he's gonna die on his own," he said as he turned back. "You got my word."
"And you have my word that neither my father or I will follow – for four hours. That will give you time to get away and leave Joe somewhere along the trail."
"So, you makin' the rules now?" Truslow growled.
"My brother will be dead if we wait any longer," he stated flatly.
The sheriff thought about it. "Okay. But you gotta promise as well not to go to the law. You pack up your things and go home. If I hear – or Thom does – that you told the law, I know where to find you." He snorted. "You and your kid brother."
Adam nodded. Of course, he didn't need to tell the law. They were all around them.
It could still come to a bloodbath.
"I promise."
"Now ain't we just fine, comin' to a gentleman's agreement," the odious man scoffed. Truslow turned then and nodded to one of his men. "Go to the shack and bring out Ben Cartwright and the sheriff. We'll tie old Ben to his son here and take Strait with us."
"Why not leave the sheriff?" Adam asked.
One of Truslow's beady eyes shut. "You think I'm stupid. You think I don't know these hills are littered with lawmen. I was one of them once, boy. I know how they think."
Two hostages to fate. One his beloved brother, and the other a good man whose only sin was to try to take these bad men down.
God did indeed move in mysterious ways.
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Ben Cartwright let out a sigh. He'd intended to rush whoever was opening the door, but when he found himself face-to-face with half-a-dozen weapons, realized it was useless. Almost faster than the eye could follow, he assumed a disconsolate air, drooping his shoulders and stumbling back. It didn't take much to do it. He was clinging tightly to his faith, but was close to despair. His wives were dead. Hoss was dead. Joseph…. It seemed, like Job, God had taken nearly everything from him except his life.
And his last remaining son.
"Come on, Cartwright," one of the rustler's said as he took him roughly by the arm and began to haul him outside. Turning to a second man, he ordered, "You get Strait."
"You can't move Damien!" Ben protested. "You'll kill him!"
"Damned if I care," the first man said. "He put my brother in prison. For all I care Damien Strait can rot in Hell."
Ben's arms were drawn behind his back, bound, and he was shoved outside. He nearly stumbled and would have if the man who had tied him up hadn't caught him. The outlaw led him toward Adam, who was seated on the ground with a rifle pressed against his head. His son raised his eyes and met his gaze. A torrent of emotion ran through those whiskey-brown eyes – anger, regret, a touch of fear – and something else.
Shame?
"I'm sorry, Pa," Adam managed to say before the man holding the rifle struck him in the side of the head, silencing him.
Sorry? What did the boy have to be sorry for?
The man who gripped his arm shoved him to the ground and ordered him to sit back to back with Adam. He quickly bound his feet and then looped the rest of the rope around both their chests, securing them to one another. It appeared they were going to leave them alive, which came as a surprise to him. Perhaps that was what his son was 'sorry' about. Adam had made a deal with the outlaws to keep him alive.
Ben wondered what it was.
Robert Truslow's shadow covered them as the loathsome man leaned over to check the ropes. "Good and tight, just like I like 'em," he said. As he straightened up, the corpulent man added, "What about the other one?"
"He's set, Bob," the man who had bound him replied. "So's the sheriff. We're ready to move out."
It took a second. Adam who was groaning and listing to one side. He'd been so worried about him he almost missed it.
The 'other' one?
At that moment a horse drew into sight. There was a man tied across it's back; a young man, slight of build, with dusty, debris-strewn silver and sable curls.
Ben's heart skipped a beat.
Joe.
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Joe Cartwright came abruptly back to consciousness to the steady jog of a horse's hooves and a lot of pain. Not only was his shoulder aching, but his ribs were killing him. Every step brought them down with a jolt on the unforgiving leather saddle. He was finding it hard to breathe and his heart was hammering in his chest. Weakened as he was, he wasn't sure how long he could take it.
Still, he had to hang on, if only for his pa.
He'd caught a glance of the older man as he was led past the place where Pa and Adam were seated on the ground. Pa looked like Hell. He'd been beaten badly. Blood covered his face and shirt. And his eyes…. He'd seen that look only one time before. It was at the moment he awoke and Pa had to tell him that Hoss had died saving his life.
Joe sucked in tears and coughed, causing a snide voice to remark. "You was wrong. He ain't dead yet, Bob."
The horse jolted to a halt and a hand took hold of his hair and roughly hauled his head up. "Won't be long by the look of it," Robert Truslow crowed.
He didn't know how he did it, but he managed to spit in his face.
And paid for it. Truslow cursed and slammed his head into the saddle, leaving it and the world spinning.
"Where we gonna leave him, Bob?" the first man asked as they began to move again.
There was a low chuckle, the kind Satan made the day he thought he'd killed God's son.
"Somewhere deep and dark."
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Truslow had left them in the sun and without water. Ben swallowed over grit and coughed. He was sure it was the crooked lawman's hope that they would dry up and die before anyone found them. The short time it took for Clem and the others to come pouring over the rise seemed like hours. Clem brought a canteen with him. The sheriff handed it to Adam once he was free and then began to undo his bonds.
"Sorry about the delay, Ben. We had to make sure the rustlers were clear before we made a move. Truslow left a couple of gunners in the hills." Clem's mouth was a straight line of justice. "We took them out."
Ben nodded as his hands came free and accepted the canteen from hs son. After a sip of water, he asked, "Joe?"
The former deputy sighed. "I put a couple of men on the outlaws' trail. Told them to hold back until they had word from me." Clem's gaze went to Damien's men, who were fanning out across the empty camp. "I don't know how long they'll listen. They're awful worried about their sheriff."
"Could you tell if Joe was…alive?" he asked.
He shook his head. "Sorry, Ben. They got him tied across the saddle. Couldn't see his face and Joe was moving 'cause the horse was moving"
"Pa?"
Clem looked from one of them to the other. "I'll leave you two alone for a minute."
Ben spoke before his son could. "You have nothing to apologize for, Adam."
"I told you Joe was dead."
"Yes, and I understand why you did. You wanted Truslow to believe it, so I had to believe it too." Ben thanked God again under his breath that it had been a ruse. "What happened?"
"You'd no more than disappeared into the line shack when Joe came charging down the hill like the cavalry." Adam paused. "The little idiot."
"I take it you tried to stop him?"
Adam winced. "I wasn't too nice about it."
Ben clapped a hand on his son's shoulder before rising shakily to his feet. "We both know your brother. I doubt you could have stopped him, short of hog-tying him." Ben drew in a breath of the crisp cold air. "All that matters is that Joe is alive and we can go after him."
"Er, Pa…"
"Yes?"
"I gave my word we wouldn't, go after Joe that is, not for four hours." Adam glanced at the lawmen mopping up the rustlers' camp. "And that we wouldn't go to the law."
"Well, we didn't. The law came to us," he replied. "And as to not going after your brother, when I get to Heaven, I'll ask the Lord for His pardon for breaking a promise."
Adam grinned. "I'll be right there with you."
Clem walked back over to them. "We found a few men hiding. They don't seem to have any fight left in them. One of them told my deputy that the party that took Joe has about a dozen men in it. A few of those are scouting ahead, and more are bringing up the rear. Robert Truslow seems to be in charge. Thom Fenton's with him."
Ben noticed his son looked puzzled. "What is it, Adam?"
"I just realized…." Adam turned in a circle. "Where's Ed Flanders?"
Clem shrugged. "That's a good question. When Joe rushed down the hill, we were all looking at him. By the time we regrouped, Ed was gone."
To do what, Ben wondered – join with the rustlers, or seek revenge for his son?
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Julia dismounted and pulled her horse into the trees. She'd heard a sound and knew it was someone coming toward her. She'd ridden hard and fast through the night and into the early hours of the day, and figured she was a few miles outside of the box canyon. Her father had taken her there as a child, to show her its beauty. Taking the horse deeper into the trees, she tethered the roan and then returned to a place of safety from which she could watch the road. Whoever it was wasn't moving with any speed. When the first of the horses rounded the bend, she understood why. The poor thing was panting and its sleek black coat shone with sweat. Its rider had obviously pushed the animal almost beyond its limit.
She wondered why.
Her hand went to the gun she'd taken from Ern. It was still lodged firmly behind the waistline of her skirt. He and her ma were probably awake and on their way by now. She'd said prayers that one of their horses would throw a shoe, or that the wagon wheel would break – anything to slow them down and keep them safe. As the rest of the unknown party came into view, she removed the weapon and loaded it. Then she settled back, sure she was ready for whatever came her way.
Except she wasn't.
Julia's free hand flew to her lips when she saw a man slung like a sack of potatoes over the back of a horse and realized it was Joe. He hung limply, evidencing no sign of life. In front of the horse was a man with a rifle. Behind it was the man Long Pines trusted to keep the law, Sheriff Robert Truslow. Robert Truslow, who had tried to kill Joe twice and most likely killed her pa. Julia drew a breath as she raised her hand and took aim.
The bullet never left the chamber.
Because another hand had clamped over her mouth.
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By the time he was cut loose, Joe decided he'd rather be dead. The pain was more than he could bear. He felt the ground as he struck it, but then floated up until he was looking down at his body. He didn't know if it was a fever dream or if he'd been granted his wish and was on his way to Heaven until he saw her.
Then he was sure it was the latter.
Laura knelt beside him and gently cupped his cheek in her hand. "Hold on, Joe," she whispered in his ear. "Help is coming."
"Am I…dead?" he asked, not really caring what the answer was.
"No. But death is knocking. Don't open the door, Joe. You have so much to live for."
As he lay there, considering her words, Laura's slight form was eclipsed by a giant shadow. It was as if the sun had passed behind the mountains.
"It ain't your time, little brother. You gotta go back."
Tears filled his eyes at the sound of his brother's beloved voice. "Hoss?"
"Yeah, it's me. Now don't you be stubborn, Little Joe. You listen to old Hoss. He knows best."
'Little' Joe.
"But I want…." Joe gasped as pain stabbed him, proving he was still alive. "I want to be with you…with Laura." He breathed a sigh. "…with mama…."
"You will be, boy, but not now. We'll be waitin' for you on the other side of the veil and when you come, we'll have us one rip-roarin' party!"
Joe felt something touch his shoulder. He thought it was Laura's hand. "I…love you," he said as he met her soulful stare. "I always have."
"I know. But you love Julia too and you must return to her." Laura rose and stepped back, out of his field of vision. "Marry her, Joe. Have children. Be happy."
He felt it again, a touch on his shoulder.
A second later it was a stab of pain.
"He ain't dead," a voice proclaimed.
Joe's eyes shot open. The man who had tied him to the saddle was leaning over him and poking at his wound.
"Get him on his feet and bring him over here."
It took all that was in him, but Joe turned his head to find out where 'here' was. He recognized the edge of the cliff – and knew of the hundred foot drop beyond it.
Truslow snorted. "I promised that brother of his we'd leave him somewhere on the trail. I never said whether it would be at the top or the bottom."
Thom Fenton appeared above him. Jim's father leaned down and slapped him hard. "This is what you get, Cartwright, for killin' my boy."
Joe wanted to protest that he had nothing to do with Jim Fenton's death, but he knew it would do no good. He didn't kill Orv or Jim. They tried to kill him. But none of that mattered now.
He eyed the cliff again. Hoss and Laura might be angry with him, but he afraid he was gonna see them real soon.
Thom Fenton caught him by the collar and hauled him over to the edge. Joe could see the chasm beyond it looming, but he wasn't afraid. He knew there was a life after this one and, while he wasn't ready to die, not really, he was prepared.
"Stop right where you are!" a woman's voice cried out.
Joe turned his head and moaned, "Julia, no…."
"You are going to let Joe go!" she ordered as she stepped out of the trees, gun in hand. "Do it!"
Robert Truslow took a step toward her. "Now, now, little lady, you listen here – "
A bullet struck the ground at his feet. "You listen! I mean it, Bob. Let Joe go! My Pa taught me how to shoot and your fat belly is next."
"What we got here is a 'stand-off'. One little push and Joe Cartwright is a dead man. Thom will throw him over." Truslow sneered. "You can't shoot both of us."
Joe rolled his head over and looked at the remaining rustlers. The four men were shifting from foot to foot, ill at ease. Probably trying to decide whether to fight or fly. Julia was bravely facing them all down, but she had no hope of winning. His chest was tight; his head spinning. He wanted nothing more than to roll over the edge and enter oblivion – but he had to do something to help her. Without moving, he looked up at Thomas Fenton. The older man's attention was divided. He was holding onto him but his eyes were riveted on Julia and the gun she held.
It was now or never.
He pretended to lose consciousness and sagged in the outlaw's arms. The motion threw Fenton off-balance and he stumbled. Joe drove the heel of his boot into the other man's foot, and then reared up and took him under the chin with his head. As he did two shots rang out: Julia's, which took Sheriff Truslow in the belly before he could draw his weapon, and another one that came from behind her. That one dropped Thomas Fenton where he stood.
Joe smiled as he saw Ed Flanders step out of the trees.
Just before he tumbled over the edge.
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Ben Cartwright looked at his eldest son as several shots sounded. Then he took off running for all he was worth. They'd been traveling on horseback and been forced to stop when Adam's horse came up lame. Adam dropped the animal's leg and followed, quickly outpacing him. Behind them, Clem's men struggled to keep up.
The trees the rancher passed through were thick and cloying. Their branches tore at his shirt and snagged in his blackened hair, seeking to slow him down. As he pressed forward, desperate to get to his son, several men emerged from the trees to run past him, flying as if the Devil himself were on their tails. He let them go. They didn't matter. Nothing mattered but reaching his boy. There had been no more shots, but a woman was screaming. One word. Only one, and she cried it over and over again.
Joe
Joe!
JOE!
Ben emerged from the trees and halted, breathless, before a strange tableau. Julia Griswold knelt perilously close to the edge of a cliff. Ed Flanders stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder; anchoring her as she reached down. Beside the distraught woman lay his oldest son, stretched to his full length and, on Adam's other side, propped against a rock, was Damien Strait. The sheriff was unconscious, but alive. Terrified that Adam would slip over, Ben ran straight for his son and gripped his ankles. The rancher glanced at Julia, whose tear-streaked face told the tale and then, steeling himself, peered over the edge of the cliff.
Joe was there. He had hold of his brother's hand.
He looked like he was ready to let go.
"Son," the older man shouted in that 'Pa' voice that none of his boys could resist. "Joe! Look at me!"
It took several seconds, but his reckless and rebellious boy obeyed. The pain that filled his son's eyes took him aback.
"Joe. Your brother has you. Hold on, son. I have to get a rope."
"Sorry, Pa," Joe breathed. "I don't…know…if I…can…."
"Yes, you can! Joseph! You will!"
"So…tired. I'm…so tired…."
Those were the same words Joe had spoken two years before that had terrified him. He thought he had lost him then, especially when the boy asked if he would miss him.
"I know you're tired, son. You were tired before but you didn't give up. Remember?" He choked. "Joe…just hold on a few minutes longer."
Ben had to kick Robert Truslow's body out of the way to get to the horse that held the rope. He winced at the pleasure he took in the action.
"Hurry, Pa," Adam shouted. "He's slipping away."
Ben turned to grab the rope and halted. It was no longer on the horse but in Clem Foster's hand. The sheriff gave him a tight smile as he said, "I'm goin' down."
"No, Clem. It should be me."
Clem shook his head. "You're exhausted, Ben. Exhausted men make mistakes."
"Joe's lost consciousness, Pa! Hurry! I don't know how much longer I can hold on!"
Clem nodded and then, in less time than it took to say 'Jack Robinson', was gone. A minute later Virginia City's sheriff swung out and over the edge of the cliff.
Ed Flanders drew a protesting Julia back from the edge just as a pair of horses bearing the girl's mother and the trustworthy Ern arrived. Pat dismounted quickly and ran to her daughter. She held the young woman tightly as she burst into tears. Adam was up and on his feet. He had the loose end of the rope wrapped around his frame and was pulling for all he was worth. Ern ran over and lent what strength he had. Ben did the same.
In less than a minute, Joe was hauled up and over the cliff's edge.
And the battle began.
ooooo
To be continued
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