SIX

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Ben Cartwright placed the book he was holding on the fireside table and rose to his feet. As he did, there was a noise at the top of the stairs. He looked up to find Hoss coming down.

"Is your brother sleeping?" Ben asked.

Hoss nodded.

He didn't say anything. He just…nodded.

"Is everything all right?"

It had been two days since they'd brought Joseph home. The boy was getting better. It turned out his eyesight was fine, though Paul said the vision in Little Joe's injured eye would remain blurry until the optic nerve recovered. The bruises on his son's body had run the gamut from red to a deep purple and were beginning to fade. It was only a matter of time before they changed to yellow-green and disappeared all together. Still, as the outward signs of the beating disappeared, Joseph's inward bruising deepened. At first he was sullen and spoke little, and then Joseph's mercurial temper made an appearance – so much so that Hop Sing refused to take the boy's meals up, leaving that to Hoss.

Who held Joe's supper tray.

"I ain't sure, Pa. You know how Little Joe's been mad as a rattler on a spit."

Ben chuckled. An apt description.

"Yes…."

"I took his tray in and he didn't say a word. I opened his window curtains and stoked the fire 'cause the room was cold and he didn't yell at me to leave things alone." Hoss shook his head. "Since he wouldn't talk, I went and did a few things upstairs that needed doin'. When I came back…." His son indicated the tray in his hands. "Joe didn't eat nothin', Pa."

"Did he react badly when you told him he should have eaten something?"

"No, sir. He was sittin' up in the bed, starin', and he just kept sittin' there starin'." His son paused. "You don't think, well…. You don't think Joe still thinks he ought to have been able to take Regan on, do you? Like he's mad at himself for getting' beat up?"

He'd had that talk with his youngest son. Joseph seemed to accept the fact that he – as most other men – was no match for John C. Regan; a man who was not only bigger than Hoss, but a trained prize fighter as well. Still, there had been something – a look in the boy's eye, the way his lips tightened into a line –that told him the subject was not closed.

"What should I do with the food?" Hoss asked.

Ben let out a sigh. Hop Sing had already threatened to return to China – twice – if Joseph didn't alter his behavior and develop an appetite.

"How about we take it out on the porch and eat what we can between us?"

Hoss grinned. "Just what I was thinkin, Pa."

It was a glorious day. The night before had been chilly, but the risen sun had warmed the land, decrying the advent of winter. They were without jackets, but comfortable as they took their places at the porch table. Ben watched the men coming and going for a moment before turning to his son.

"How are you, Hoss?"

The big man looked startled. "Me, Pa? I'm fine."

Ben held his gaze for a moment. "Are you?"

The big man hemmed and hawed and then said. "I ain't hurtin' if that's what you mean."

"And here I thought you were the honest one," the rancher answered.

His son was startled, for an instant. Then he snorted. "Adam always says you're just like one of them mediums at the circus what can see things other folks don't see."

The rancher smiled but sobered quickly. Adam. It had been two days since he'd seen his eldest and he was concerned.

No. He was frightened.

"Pa?"

"What I mean is this – have you come to terms with what happened to your brother?"

Hoss stared hard at him before rising to his feet. He shoved his hands into his pocket, leaned against the porch post, and looked out toward town. "When I found him, I thought Regan had done killed Little Joe. I ain't never see'd a man so broken, and to know it was Regan what done it…." Hoss sucked in air. "I felt them fists, Pa. I was nearly done – would have been if it hadn't been for Adam tellin' me to give that good-for-nothing a hug." He hung his head. "I can't get the picture out of my head – Regan comin' out of the darkness, beatin' on Little Joe, and then leavin' him lyin' in that alley all alone."

None of them could get that picture out of their head.

It was the reason Adam was gone.

Hoss swung around to face him. "Have you 'come to terms' with it, Pa?"

Ah. Hoist by his own petard.

He thought a moment before he answered. "Your brother is alive. I thank God for that and…try not to think of anything else."

The big man looked up toward his brother's window. "You think Joe's gonna be okay?"

He hoped he would be.

His youngest son was complex, to put it mildly. He often thought he would gladly trade the wisdom of the old man he was for the energy of the young man he'd been, just so he could cope with him. Ben considered what his own reaction would have been; how he would have come through such a beating and what would have been the aftermath. He'd been young once and, though he'd never been as slight as Joseph, it had taken him some time to grow into his present height and bulk. He knew what it was to be intimidated. Once, as a young lieutenant, he'd been surrounded by a group of older, much larger, and very angry seamen. They hadn't beaten him, but they'd scared the living daylights out of him by threatening to throw him overboard. Everywhere corner he turned, he expected to find them waiting. He lost sleep. And weight. Each day he grew angrier at his own impotence. In time his captain caught wind of it and put an end to the rebellion, but it took young Lieutenant Cartwright months to 'come to terms' with what had happened and to overcome the fear that it would happen again.

"Your brother will be fine, in time," he said at last. "We just need to give Joseph time – and space – to work through it."

Hoss nodded toward the road to town. "What about my other brother? You heard anything from Adam, Pa?"

Ben frowned. He and his eldest son had engaged in a heated 'discussion' the night Adam informed him he was riding off in search of John C. Regan. Adam wasn't a small man, but Ben was all too aware of what Regan had done to Hoss – who was a good one hundred pounds and at least three inches taller than his older brother. He'd confronted his son as he saddled his horse, telling him that Joseph needed him at home and reminding him of how he had stopped him from taking on the prize fighter. He outweighed his eldest by a few pounds but, in truth, they were about the same size.

All Adam said was, "I made a promise, Pa, and I mean to keep it."

Then, he was gone.

Adam and Little Joe were a study in contrasts. The one energetic, talkative, excitable and rash. The other calm, cool, and calculated. The irony was, they were more alike than they thought. Both loved deeply. Both were fiercely independent.

And both, fiercely protective.

"No. I haven't heard anything from your brother."

Hoss nodded. "A man's gotta do what he's gotta do, I guess."

Hoss had wanted to go as well. His middle son was just as protective, but the argument that Joe needed him here carried more weight.

"Well, I better get about my chores, Pa. They ain't gonna do themselves," Hoss said as he stepped off the porch. "You gonna go up and see Little Joe?"

Ben rose to his feet with the breakfast tray in hand. "Here. If you don't want it, feed it to the pigs. Just so we take an empty tray back to Hop Sing."

The big man grinned. "Sure thing. I might even eat a bite myself as I work."

Ben was glad his son wanted it. He had no appetite. Two of his sons were in turmoil.

So, he was too.

oooooooooo

He'd spoken to Little Joe and it had not gone well.

The boy's anger had turned inward and he'd sunken into depression. His son's monosyllabic replies to his questions gave him little more than the assurance that he was not in too much pain and that he didn't need anything to sleep. He'd tried to draw him out, but Joseph steadfastly refused. In the end he'd turned down the light and kissed his son on the head like he had when he was a little boy and headed for the door. Joe asked one question, just as he reached it. Of course, it was the one he could not answer.

Where was Adam?

Hoss had gone to bed by the time he came down to the great room, worn out by doing his chores plus those of his two brothers. He'd leant a hand during the day, but had to return to the house to do paperwork and so the bulk of the heavy work had been left to the big man. It was after ten and he couldn't sleep, so he'd decided to pour himself a brandy. He was halfway through a new novel. He thought he'd see if he could concentrate enough on it to know what he was reading.

Somehow, he doubted it.

He'd just stopped the decanter and sat down when the front door opened and his eldest son blew in along with a cold wind. Adam doffed his heavy coat, hung his hat on the rack, and then proceeded to unbuckle his gun belt and lay it and the weapon on the credenza before turning into the room. The boy hesitated and then stepped into the light cast by the dying fire.

One side of his face was bruised. He limped as he crossed the room to his chair.

Ben swallowed a sip of brandy before speaking. "I take it you found Regan?"

Adam nodded slowly.

"Did you fight him?"

One side of the boy's mouth twitched. "Not exactly."

"But your face…your leg…."

"It's a long story." Adam's eyes went to the decanter. "I'd like a drink before I tell it."

Ben flushed. Here was his son, safe and sound. Adam had ridden hard to and from the Ponderosa and obviously been through something.

"Certainly. I should have thought of it," he said as he poured the drink and handed it over.

Adam sipped the liquor slowly, savoring it. When the glass was empty he put it on the table.

"He got away," he said at last.

"Regan?"

His son nodded. Adam drew a breath and leaned forward, dangling his hands between his knees. "I went to town first. I wanted to see if Robert and Roy knew anything." His son shook his head. "I can't believe we didn't set them on Regan that night."

"We were too concerned about your brother. I spoke to Robert the next day before we left, but I knew it was fruitless. Regan was already out of his jurisdiction."

"Robert sent word to the sheriffs in the surrounding towns, with a description. No one saw him or Adah."

"I don't know how Regan got out of town, but Adah took the coach. He probably met her at one of the way stations."

Adam nodded. "He did."

"How did you find out?"

"I went from station to station. Knowing Adah and her penchant for comfort," his son glanced at him, as if weighing his reaction, "I figured she would take the stage, so I followed it. I did a little asking – and a bit of greasing palms – and found they were headed for Short Creek and the port there."

The quickest way out of the territory would be by riverboat.

"So, you caught up to them there?"

His son pursed his lips. "I went straight to the sheriff and told him what John C. Regan had done to Little Joe. He didn't believe me."

Ben couldn't believe what he heard. "Didn't believe you?"

"It seems Regan had spent some time in the area. Did you know after retiring from prize fighting that he made his living by being a strong-arm man? That he hires himself out to businessmen for enforcement and protection?"

"Adah never mentioned it."

"Well, it's true." Adam scoffed. "The sheriff of Short Creek thinks very highly of him. Seems Regan helped him once to take down an illegal mining ring."

Ben's head was spinning. "So, what did you do?"

"Well, I left the sheriff's office post-haste, I can tell you, before he tossed me into a cell for defaming Regan." Adam let out a sigh. "I found out what hotel he and Adah were staying at and went to confront him. When I got to their room, Adah came to the door. Pa…."

"Yes?"

"Did you know he beat her?"

The rancher stiffened. He'd suspected it. Such treatment – and the acceptance of it – was part and parcel of the sorry soul Adah was.

He nodded.

Adam reached up. "Her eye was blacker than mine. She was pretty scared to see me, but finally told me Regan was in the next town at a saloon. So I went there."

"And?"

"He wasn't alone. Seems that, along with beating women and teenagers, Regan is mixed up in illegal gambling. His cronies weren't too happy when I came storming in."

"Son. Don't tell me you took them on by yourself?"

"I was enraged, Pa." His son's fingers knit together. "I was seeing red. I went for him and threw the first punch."

In his mind's eye, Ben could see John C. Regan in his battle with Hoss and remembered his fear that the prize fighter would hurt him badly.

"Did he strike you?"

Adam looked chagrined. He shook his head. "I went down under a pile of his men and woke up in a jail cell. By the time I was released, Adah and Regan were gone."

They sat in silence for some time before Ben spoke.

"God forgive me, I wish the man was dead. What he did…." Ben swallowed. "Your little brother may never be the same."

Adam was silent for a moment. Then he rose.

"I'll talk to him."

"It's late, Adam. Leave it until morning."

"It may be late, but Joe's awake. I saw his silhouette in the window."

"He's out of bed?" Ben rose as well. "That boy…!"

Adam had come to his side. His son rested a hand on his sleeve. "Little Joe feels he's lost all control, Pa. Getting out of bed isn't a rebellion, it's a necessity. He has to reclaim something of what he had."

Ben nodded…slowly.

"I'll let you know how it goes in the morning," Adam said as he headed for the stairs.

"Son?"

The boy turned back. "Yes, Pa?"

"Do me a favor?"

Adam shrugged. "Sure. What?"

"Tell that young scallywag to get back into bed when you leave."

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