Chapter

Dark Hours

"What are you doing? Get up. Stop acting like a baby." The harsh voice roused him. He cracked open his eyes to see the boots first, standing at face level. Beyond the boots was a familiar sight. The house behind him stood like a monument against the emblazoned red and gold sky. He was back at home outside the river in front of their ranch. The sun was setting, imprinting the red and gold colors across his mind like a dream. His pain was all too real though. He grimaced as it flooded his senses.

"What do you mean, 'what am I doing?'" His response was filled with contempt. He followed the boots up till he was looking at the young man before him. "You beat me up." He stressed. "I'm telling!" The words came out defiantly through clenched teeth.

"Oh, stop being a baby. I've given you worse walloping's than that. Besides, I didn't even do this."

"What are you talking about? Of course you did."

"Danny, don't you remember how you got here?" His biggest brother asked. He fought hard for the memory.

"Three men." He finally said. His brother's face grew solemn. "That's right Danny and you're not supposed to be here, so you've got to get up." He pushed himself off the ground. The pain was unbearable. He clenched his eyes as he did, opening them again into a world of darkness.

~.~

His arms were unsteady, shaking beneath his own weight. He got his arms underneath him and pushed himself up. "Hey. Teddy. The boys waking up." The voice was right in front of him. These three men. He recalled. Only they weren't just three anymore. There were others. It all came back to him like a hammer. Suddenly he was acutely aware of where he was and how he got there. As he continued pushing himself off the floor he heard the pistol cock which stopped him midway, only for a moment though. He didn't have the strength to remain in that frozen position for very long and he surely didn't have it in him to lay back down. His ribs were on fire and they needed a break from the hard wood floor. They can kill me now if they'd like. He continued on until his back rested against the wall. His shirt was still missing. Peeling his arm away he saw the blood soaked bandage hiding the cut at his lower ribs. Bruises and dirt marred the rest of his torso. With just the moonlight shining through the window above him, it was hard to distinguish what was bruised and what was blood and dirt. He took a breath and a new pain shot through him. Though his wrist were tied he used one arm to press against his lower ribs. Somehow the soft pressure helped. Made it a tad easier to breathe.

The beating he got the night before was hardly warranted. He'd done everything they'd asked of him and against all things screaming in his head to run away at the first chance he got, had stayed put right where they wanted him. They justified it by telling him it was a message for his family, so they'd get the point to stop following them. He wasn't even sure the family was following or anybody for that matter. He'd seen not hide nor hair of anybody other than his captors, which grew in numbers since they left the house.

He thought of Little Joe and what he might have been doing right now. His stomach turned as his mind went to him. Did the family get a chance to move him away? Could he be moved? Was he feeling any better? From what he knew of the boy, he was a fighter with a fiery spirit. That he and Pete had in common. It was easy for him to throw a fist. That was about all they had in common though. Otherwise Pete was a lot like Adam. Responsible like, took on a lot of the chores and the running's of the ranch. Looked out for the lot of them. He guessed oldest ones were like that. Maybe not all. Chuck was the oldest in his family- he thought of the boy that used to pick on him at school- and he didn't turn out too well at all. Last he seen of him he was well on his way to a life of crime. Of course he didn't have a good pa like they had. A good pa that lied and cheated and stole. A good pa that got himself killed and Pete too. Even still he was a good pa. He may have had his faults but his crimes sure didn't merit what he got for them. Everything he did, he did for the family. Times were tough. He was struggling to keep them afloat. Plus he was having a difficult time getting over ma's death and Thomas's and Anna's too. They were all having a tough time of it. They were all just trying to do the best they could. Their pa was just trying to do the best he could and support the kids he had left. Then he went and got himself killed and Pete too. What good did that do? Leaving him and Simon by themselves. Pete was the oldest. It should have been him looking after Simon. If it were, Simon would probably still be alive. Instead Pete died trying to protect their pa. Two bloody messes left as present's for he and Simon to find after a carefree day at school. Their lifeless bodies both face down on the living room floor. Long guns between them. Pete's eyes open and fixed in a lifeless stare at their pa. The abhorrent images that he tries to forget but too often sneak up on him. As they were now. He didn't need those thoughts now. Not when he was here with these men. Not when their reality was so close to becoming his reality. He pushed it away. Trying to think of happier thoughts.

He thought of the comparison between the Cartwright boy's and his own family. How similar Adam and Pete were. Adam shared some of Simon's qualities too. Simon was a smart one. Always had his head in a book. Simon wasn't too good with getting his hands dirty though. Not like Adam. Adam can do both. Simon was single focused. Books. That was it. Just books. Out of the lot of them he could see Simon not sticking around to live the ranch life. He would have made something better of himself. Not sure what, but something intelligent like. Hoss, who did he remind him of? In terms of size, none of them. In terms of- he thought about what qualities the big one had- heart, kindness; well for sure Thomas. Little Thomas had the biggest heart of them all. A little cuddle bear. He was a restless one too. A lot like Little Joe. His stomach turned as he thought of Joe again. He got a bit of sour taste rising to the back of his throat. Why? He pushed the image of Joe away. He thought of Thomas. That sweet little boy. The boy you couldn't keep still. He like to be in motion. He remembers him running circles in the yard, arms outstretched like a bird in flight. Perhaps that was the trait of being the youngest. Of course he wasn't the youngest, youngest. There was still the baby. He wondered what his personality would have been like. Sweet or fiery or smart or… He pictured him all grown. Would he have been big and large like Hoss? Nobody could be big and large like Hoss. Nobody from their family at least. It's a good thing that man doesn't get too angry any more often than he does. The whole world would be in a whole heap of trouble otherwise.

Who was Annabel? She was nobody. He never knew anybody that was quite like Annabel. She was a girl all to her own. He's known ladies and he's known ruffians too. The ones who've never worn a dress in their life. Who has spent their lives with their hands to the plow. Who was Annabel? She was both. A fine mixture of ruffian and lady. She could give it to them just like the rest. Tumble and throw punches. She'd get her hands dirty in the field and when no work was to be done she'd be right with them climbing rocks and trees and skinning her knees and do all the other stuff the rest of them would do. It was in her last couple years she started dabbling with the idea of wearing dresses and putting her hair in ribbons. She was kind of wrapping her head around the idea of being a lady. Having men swoon over her but secretly knowing she could whoop their butt if she wanted to. He smiled at the thought. She was the only girl he knew that could transition from ruffian to lady three times a day and be flawless in both. Maybe he was just biased because she was his sister. Naw, that girl was tough. She had to be with all brothers.

Not all families were close like theirs. Old Ed had some kids of his own that he never talked about. That have grown and moved on and never looked back. Maybe that's why he was as grumpy as he was or maybe being grumpy made it so his kids didn't want to stick around. Then there were other families that are so tightly knit, if you find one you don't have to look too far before you spot another. The Cartwright's were like this. He pictured that if his family would have had a chance they would have grown up like them. But of course they weren't given the chance. They were cursed. He was cursed. A wild thought entered his head. That perhaps he's brought this curse upon the Cartwright's. Could that happen? He pictured Little Joe again under the protection of his brothers. He felt sick thinking of him. Why? He was worried for him. He knew that were true but that wasn't it. There was something else. Something about the mere thought of Joe he found repulsive. Of course that didn't make sense now. Why would Joe's name sicken him? For a reason he couldn't readily explain he got a sour feeling as he thought of him. Like he was angry at him. When two days ago he had nothing but fondness for he and his kin now he despised the name but why? It wasn't the boy's fault he was here. It was his own. He volunteered. He knew what he was getting himself into. He did it to protect him and his family. So why did the very name make him physically ill. As he sat ruminating, body screaming in pain remembering the beating he took last night and how close he came to spilling all. He looked down at the bandage again and thought about how dirty the name became as the knife cut into him. He shuttered at the thought. The guilt he felt as he thought back to the night prior. He closed his eyes and let the memories come.

~.~

Halfway between the ranch and Virginia City, they met up with the wagon that brought two more men. Brothers who seemed to be uncomfortable with what was being asked of them. They shared a house just on the other side of town. They were supposed to take him to it, only they were having second thoughts about having him invade their home. There was dissension within the ranks. The authority of the man in charge, he's since learned his name was Chapman, was being questioned. They were deciding his fate and their next move. When no amount of arguing was going to get them out of their end of the bargain, they then debated whether to go through the town or around it. They were reminded that it would be more difficult for a posse to follow the tracks of the horses and buggy if they were mixed among all the other tracks in town. If they rode around they'd be singling themselves out and the posse would follow the buggy right to the house. But if their tracks got muddled with the other ones in town and the posse were given other tracks to follow the posse would follow them instead. Chapman assured the brothers that the other men would do their part to draw the attention elsewhere. The others were directed to split off in different directions to throw off the trail and split the forces. They were supposed to meet back at the house which at this point acted as their hideaway. They were worried now, that once they got into town, their captive was going to make a noise and give them away. Admittedly it was something Danny gave serious consideration too. He couldn't be sure that he wouldn't. If these men were arrested than they would no longer be a threat to he or the Cartwright family. This would be the best case scenario. Daniel would be alone with the brothers. Only two that could be taken into custody. Two to contend with. He pondered how this would affect the scenario. Would it be better or worse to take them down a bit at a time? Easier maybe but riskier for the family if they caught on to the fact that their cohorts were taken down.

Something broke him from his thoughts. A single blow from out of nowhere, just out of his peripheral landing on his jaw and cheekbone. His knees buckled and his assaulter came to his front and grabbed his collar to keep him from toppling over. It was Chapman who grabbed him. It didn't seemed fare to receive this. He hadn't done anything wrong. At least he didn't think he had. It was as if Chapman could read his thoughts and now he was being punished for them. Chapman cocked his hand back again. It was apparent now that first blow wasn't going to be the end of it. Danny covered his head with his arms in anticipation. The blow found its way in anyways making contact with the open gap that exposed his left ear and temple. An instant headache. Finding it difficult to attack the head, Chapman threw his next punch in the ribs. Danny panicked and pulled away trying to get out of his hold. He pushed off of the ground and the man lost his grip. Danny stumbled backwards landing on his bottom side. He scurried back, but Chapman was right on top of him. He grabbed at the boy again. With no other recourse, nowhere to go; Danny balled into the fetal position.

That was when the real test happened. Bogs and the thinner one had joined in on the fun. The three of them struck him again and again, anything that was exposed; anything he couldn't protect. Mostly his right side, back, forearms and shins. He would do anything to get them to stop. He was ready to spill all and tell them it was all a ruse. Finally admit to them he wasn't the real Little Joe. Say anything, just to get them to stop. The words were on his tongue ready to spill out. He bit them back though at the thought that it would only make things worse for him if he did. Even as he was being beaten he had enough sense to know that springing something like that on them would only compound his problems. That if he told them, they would have had every reason in the world to beat him to death. They were still so close to the ranch and the night still so young this would have been for nothing.

Chapman maintained an authoritative and mild mannered temper throughout. Never once losing his cool. Bogs was mean and angry. The skinny one wild and unruly, throwing in random kicks and punches where he could squeeze in.

When it seemed just about too much the blows stopped coming. He remained stiffened on the ground afraid that if he tried to relax another would come in, but no more came. Why did this happen? This couldn't have been just about his thoughts to summon help. There was more behind this. As if answering the question the boss grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled him to his knees. "Grab him!" He commanded. Bogs answered the charge. Wrapping his arms around the boy into a bear hug, he locked the boy's arms against his own chest. The boys arms were bent at the elbows and his wrist, still bound, were at his collar. His chest was protected but his stomach was vulnerable. He'd be unable to ward off anymore blows to his stomach. No more blows came. Instead, something more terrifying than that. The thin man pulled a knife from his boot and handed it to Chapman. In panic, Danny began to squirm and buck. Trying vainly to wriggle from Bog's hold. Realizing his efforts were in vain he resorted to begging.

"Please stop. What are you going to do?"

"Hold him tight." Chapman ordered.

"This kid ain't going nowhere." He was right. Danny couldn't get loose.

Chapman bent down to the boy. Danny stopped struggling. "Please." He begged. "Don't do this."

"Sorry kid. This has to be done."

"Please." His voice broke.

Chapman drew the knife below Danny's right elbow. He bucked again to get away.

"Don't move." The knife cut into his shirt. Every time he bucked the cold steel touched his skin but withdrew, purposefully avoiding cutting into him. When he realized Chapman wasn't trying to cut him he stopped fighting and let him work, doing his best to remain as still as possible for fear of getting cut. Danny could hear the fabric tearing but couldn't see the knife at work. When a good size tear had been cut, and enough flesh had been exposed, Chapman stopped and looked at the boy. His pleading terrified eyes begging him not to do what he thought he was planning.

"This is going to hurt." Was Chapman's only consolation. Danny was fear struck when the knife went back down to the hole disappearing under his elbows.

"Please." He could hardly get out before he felt the cold steel at his skin. The pressure came first then the burn. Chapman dug in and slid the knife's edge across newly exposed skin. Danny bucked back in pain, going nowhere he screamed out, his shrill cry cutting through the still night. Bogs answered him by covering the boy's mouth with his fat hand, smothering his cry. Danny continued to buck and scream into his hand. "Hold him."

"I got him."

It seemed Chapman's intention was to just cut through the skin but at each buck he inadvertently stabbed into muscle. "Little Joe, the more you move, the more damage this will cause." Why did he call him that? The name was foreign to him now. His mind swam, overwhelmed with pain. It didn't make sense to him. He worked to recall the significance of the name and was instantly repulsed. He groaned. His stomach was nearly in his throat, as he remembered why it was they called him this. His body screamed in pain all because they thought he was someone else. Because he told them he was. This pain wasn't for him. It was for somebody else. Danny couldn't help but buck away at the blade. His response was involuntary. At every buck the knife cut into him, withdrew only to go right back in and cut a fraction more before being bucked away again. The knife moved slow and methodical creating a three inch slice from end to end. When he was satisfied with his work, Chapman cleaned the knife with Danny's shirt and handed it back to the skinny man. He took the shirt and bunched it up where the hole had been cut and pushed it against the wound. It simultaneously soaked up the fallen blood as well as acted as a coagulant aiding the wound to seal itself. He held it in place for several minutes. Even the pressure of his hand was painful. It was like Danny could feel every fold in the dirty shirt scraping against his fiery hot skin. Bogs continued to cover his mouth stifling all of his cries which have weakened pathetically. The brothers watched silently from his side. After several minutes Chapman pulled the shirt away to look at the damage he created. Blood continued to seep at a slow pace. "That'll work." He stood upright. "Give me his shirt."

Bogs and the skinny man tore the shirt from around his body and smothered his face wiping away the blood that seeped from his upper cheek just below his eye. "Get him in the wagon. You two." He said pointing to the brothers. "Get him back to the house and cleaned up. I'll make sure this gets delivered." It was a message? For all he knew, this family gave him up for dead, which means he got beaten and cut into just cause. Men with a lot of aggression stifled up and finally a poor sap to release it on. "Hold up." Chapman shouted out and the brothers stopped dragging him. He approached the broken boy and yanked his head back by his hair at put the knife's edge to his cheek. "Let that be a lesson what's coming if you ever try to cross us." The beating wasn't even about that, but the threat followed just the same. They dragged him exposed flesh and all to the waiting wagon. "Stay down and don't say a single word. Not one word. You hear?" He obeyed every order, letting the trail of tears fall from his eyes but not making a sound. It was dark enough so the men beside him couldn't see him cry. As long as he didn't pule, he wouldn't feel humiliated for his helplessness.

~.~

They rode straight through town, stopping at a cabin just on the other side. This was where he would rest for the day most of which he slept through, afraid to face his reality, and where he sits now, wide awake, at the foot of the master bed. In this one room house. Four of the five men were there. Bogs was missing. The younger brother sat in a Windsor chair directly in front of him keeping watch. His older brother laid on the settee in the corner across from them. The skinny one sat in an upholstered chair in the other corner, behind the door. Chapman took the bed. All but the young man keeping watch had fallen back to sleep.

Admittedly these men frightened him. The power they held. If he knew weeks ago that this was going to be how he would die, he would have soon rather perished in the back alleys of Virginia City. Wasting away tell he was no more than the dust on the earth. No bother to no one except the undertaker. Nosy old Morgan had to change all that. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to die like that. He was saved from that to help this family. He was no used to no one in life. At least he could be of use in his death. This was how he was supposed to die. But he couldn't just go off and expedite the process. He had to try to survive as long as he could. He wasn't trying to survive for himself. He would have given up by now, had this just been about him, but it wasn't; this was all for that little boy he had cradled in his arms. He was stricken with guilt as he recalled how close he came to spilling all. Furthermore, how close he came to despising the boy. It wasn't Joe's fault he was here and that boy didn't deserve this no more than he did. He'd have to remember that. He would have to be stronger than that if he was going to protect him. He would have to endure whatever they would throw at him. That boy and their nice family didn't deserve the pain his family had been through. The pain of losing a kin. Nobody deserves that kind of pain, but his family had suffered just the same and no hurt to this family was going to fix what was done to his own, but if he had the means to stop another family from hurting he was going to do all he could to keep that from happening. Even at the risk of his life. After all what more did he have to offer the world? Right now he had to live as long as he could, just to keep these men moving away from the family they tried to destroy. That was his purpose now and it would be up to God to decide when he was done with that. His family would be waiting for him when his job was done. He felt that now.

Thanks Peter. Hard-nosed Peter. Making sure he didn't repose for too long. You could have let me sleep a little while longer. He smiled nostalgically. As he leaned his head against the backboard and closed his eyes.