SIX
ooooooooo
Roy Coffee was a patient man – like how he was patiently learnin' the ins and outs of law-keepin' before he decided whether or not he wanted to be a full time sheriff. He was a badge-wearin' deputy, but that was kind of like a man puttin' on a collar and callin' himself a preacher. He could take it off any time he wanted. Bein' sheriff meant makin' a commitment to a group of people and swearin' to protect them no matter what the cost. He was pretty sure that was what he wanted to do with his life.
He just wasn't one hundred percent, put your hand on the Bible sure yet.
Tonight was his night to walk what the folks in the settlement called 'streets', and so that was what he was doin', tippin' his hat as he went and makin' nice friendly talk with all the nice friendly people. While he was doin' that, he was keepin' his eye on the unfriendly types, notin' what they was doin' and who they was with. One pair he was keepin' watch on when he could was Bush Sears and Pratt Shade. They was two of Ben Cartwright's boys. He'd seen the Sears earlier when he'd been mindin' his own business, takin' the missus out for a soda at the mercantile. Ben's hand came into the settlement ridin' hellbent for leather and went straight to the hardware store. About a half hour later he came back out with a couple of boxes that he loaded in the wagon. Then he took off lickety-split. From the look of what he was carryin' the Cartwrights must be mendin' their fences.
Roy chuckled.
Ben sure had some fences to mend with that there city slicker what came to the settlement a year or so back. He'd seen Stephens today talkin' to Adam Cartwright. That was when the missus went to try on a new hat she'd seen in the window of the millinery and he'd stepped outside. He'd sort of moseyed over toward where they was standin' – careful to keep out of sight – and taken a listen. That Adam was a cool one. He could count on one hand the times when he'd seen Ben's oldest boy lose his temper.
Sebastian Stephens had managed to move that count to the second hand.
He couldn't catch all of it, but it sounded like they'd sparred earlier over a business deal and the way they felt about one another was spillin' over into their free time. The only thing he overheard that he thought was a mite suspicious, was when the Easterner started talking about how big the Ponderosa was and how easy it would be for someone to get lost on it. There weren't no reason for him to say such a thing, not with Ben and the boys goin' through what they was with Little Joe. He'd set his lawman's cap for Stephens at that time. If the truth were known, that was what he was doin' now. He was slowly and surely workin' his way along the muddy streets toward the city slicker's high-falutin' mansion that was set square in the middle of the mud-flat known as Gold Hill to see if he could, well, see anythin'.
Roy shook his head. If that there Easterner had his way, he'd soon own the 'Gold' in the name.
There weren't too many grand houses in the settlement. Most of the mines around that had been boom had already gone bust and the money just wasn't there. Everyone was hangin' on waitin' on that big strike and, in the meantime, gettin' into trouble on account of they was bored and had nothin' to do but drink and brawl. In time Gold Hill would either be a fine town or a ghost town. He and his wife would just have to wait and see. Since they didn't have any little ones, that was all right. It was different for a man like Ben Cartwright. He had three fine young sons. Hoss and Adam, well, they was almost men. It was the little one he worried about the most. It was like the Bible said, men were evil unless they chose to do good.
He'd hate to think of anythin' happenin' to that young'un.
Roy chuckled as he continued his even stride down the rain-soaked street. That Little Joe, he was a caution! There's be many a time, when he was a little tyke, that Ben brought the boy with him into the barber shop. Little Joe'd talk up a storm while he was waitin' for Frank to work his magic on his pa and brothers. When his Pa got tired of hearin' it, he'd send him outside with one of his older brothers and the boy would run circles around them. Smart as a whip, that one, with a mouth just about as sharp at times. 'Course, it weren't easy having those three big Cartwright men to live up to. It would have been hard for Little Joe even if he wasn't such a little squirt.
Yep. The Cartwrights – all of them – were men among men and he was proud to call them his friends.
Roy halted in front of the pie shop, just across from Sebastian Stephen's trophy house. The Easterner didn't know how to speak in a regular voice, he just had to shout and his house did the same. It was one of them fancy painted types with so many doo-dads and gewgaws dripping from the eaves it made a man dizzy to look at it.
Roy tipped his hat to a man and woman as they passed by, and then slipped into the shadows and headed for the other side of the street.
There was a light on in Stephen's parlor. That wasn't surprising considering the time of day, but it was turned down low, which indicated that the Easterner was either sittin' contemplatin' his toes or he wasn't wantin' to broadcast he was awake. It could be that Chinese maid of his – Lou Ling or somethin' – was working late. Sebastian Stephens was married but his wife lived in Boston, and that about said it for the marriage. Beth Riley over at the pie shop said Mrs. Stephens was the delicate type and didn't care to have her 'olefactory' senses assaulted by sweaty cowboys and miners covered in coal dust and such. She'd been out for the grand unveiling of the house and then gone back East. The local gossip said the man had been married before. No one seemed to know what had become of the first wife, but the daughter was dead.
The lawman looked left and right and then crossed the dimly lit space between the street and Stephen's yard. The businessman had paid to have one of them citified streetlights put up to keep his place safe since he thought the local constabulary was inept.
That bein' Robert and him.
Every evenin' some poor feller had to climb up a long ladder to light that street lamp and then come back at dawn to put it out. He supposed it made Stephens feel special to have it, like he was a cut above all the other yahoos in the settlement. It was a sorry thing when a man had to puff his chest out so far. It usually meant that, in time, he'd top over and have a fall.
Roy eyed the house. He could see two men moving around in the front room.
He wondered if that time was now.
oooooooooo
Adam Cartwright stared in disbelief at the wounded man lying on their stoop. He turned to shout for Hop Sing, but then he remembered Little Joe was asleep on the settee. The black-haired man inched forward and closed the door behind him, and then bent down and placed his hand on the ranch hand's chest. Adam blew out his relief. Wilson's chest was rising and falling. Quickly crossing to the kitchen door, he opened it and stepped inside – nearly scaring the life out of Hop Sing who let loose with a long string of Cantonese curses. Once he explained what had happened, the Asian man helped him drag the big man into the kitchen and maneuver him through the hall and into the first floor guest bedroom.
The whole time Little Joe slept away.
It took the pair of them to get Post-hole – whose real name was Jeb – onto the bed so Hop Sing could examine his wound. Fortunately, the bullet had missed anything vital. There were signs that Jeb had been beaten as well – a split lip, a bloody gash above his eyes; bruises forming on his chin and chest. The whole time they moved in silence, undressing the wounded man and cleaning him up, an unspoken question hung between them.
What had happened to Hoss?
When they'd finished, he dropped into a chair and lowered his head into his hands.
Hop Sing shook his shoulder a moment later. "You want Hop Sing should wake father?"
Pa.
God.
Adam wearily pushed himself up and out of the chair. "No. I'll go. It's my responsibility."
Hop Sing blocked his way. "Responsibility like holding egg," he said. "Grasp too tightly and it drips through fingers. Hold too loosely. It will drop and break."
Adam stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment. Then he smiled. "You are very wise, my friend."
"Learn from doing same," he said. "Hop Sing go get bandages. You go get father."
The black-haired man cast one last look at Jeb Wilson, willing him to regain consciousness . Then he headed for the stairs.
Adam hesitated outside his father's door, Hop Sing's words ringing in his ears. Middle brother was old enough to make his own choices, but these were special circumstances. He'd thought that, by making Hoss take Post-hole with him, the teenager would be safe. Obviously that had not been enough, which was a terrifying thought.
With a sigh, he rapped on the door.
His father must have had a sense that something was afoot because he was wearing his robe and slippers when he opened the door. Pa looked done in. Guilt layered upon guilt in the young man as he knew he was only going to add to that.
"Joseph?" his father asked, his tone wary.
"Joe's fine. He's asleep on the settee. It's…Hoss."
"Are he and Jeb late getting back?"
Adam winced. "Post-hole's here, Pa. Hoss…isn't."
He saw the light dawn in his father's eyes. "What?"
There was no easy way to put it. "Post-hole was attacked. He managed to make it back to the house. Hoss is…. Pa, he's missing."
The older man wavered a bit and had to reach out to steady himself against the door. "Is Wilson alive?"
"He's in the guest room. Hop Sing and I tended to him. He sent someone for the doctor."
His father was shedding his night clothes. "Has Jeb been able to say anything?"
"He's out cold." Adam felt nauseous. He had to swallow before continuing. "Pa, I…."
The older man had finished buttoning his shirt. "Later, son," Pa said as he reached for his vest. "We can deal with your choice later. Right now all that matters is finding your brother."
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to take Joseph back to his bed. We have to keep him unaware of this as long as we can. If he knows something has happened to Hoss, there will be no stopping him. He'll try to get out of bed and may hurt himself worse."
"Pa…Joe can't get out of bed."
"I know that!" Pa snapped. "Do you think I've for– " His father froze at his horrified look. Pa reached out and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck – and unusual gesture between them. "I'm sorry, Adam. This is not your fault. It is the fault of whoever is trying to hurt me through my boys."
"It's okay, Pa," he said with a shy smile.
"No. No, it's not. Taking my fear and anger out on you will do no good whatsoever." Pa didn't release him. He looked him in the eye. "Adam, listen to me. For no reason whatsoever are you to go anywhere alone."
"Pa, I can take care of myself."
"I imagine that's what Hoss told you. Am I right?" When he said nothing, his father released him and headed for the door. "Now, please, get your brother and take him up to his room. If Little Joe wakes, tell him I'll be up shortly. I'm going to check on Jeb."
oooooooooo
Careful to stick to the shadows, Roy walked the perimeter of Sebastian Stephen's house. All the windows had fancy silk shades, so he could only guess at what was happenin' inside. He thought there was more than one man with the city slicker. Not that that was a crime, but it was kind of late for a business meetin'. A little while back a shade had been pulled aside and someone had peered out, but he couldn't make out their features. Sebastian had himself a stable too and he'd taken a look in it. There were five horses in there, but that didn't mean much. The Easterner had bought him a number of high-steppin' fancy horses to pull his carriage around town. There was only one didn't fit. A black with no markings he could see. It was a powerful horse, bred for silence and speed.
Figurin' he'd seen just about all he was gonna see, Roy retreated to his post in front of the pie shop to keep watch until Stephens' lamp went out and he went to bed, or someone else came out.
It was fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later – just about the time he'd started to worry he was gonna nod off – that someone slipped out of the house through the side door and headed for the stable. The lawman couldn't see much, just that the man was dressed in dark clothes and had dark hair. Whoever it was, was already mounted when he left the stable. He headed for the center of the settlement at an easy lope and then kicked his heels and took off at a quick clip.
Heading straight for the Ponderosa.
oooooooooo
Ben Cartwright let out a sigh as he looked out of the guest room window and noted the rising light. When he'd chosen this land to build his ranch house on, he'd taken the view of the mountains and tall pine trees into consideration, but even more so, he'd chosen it with a desire to be free of people. He and Adam had traveled for so long amidst the noise and chaos of wagon trains – forced to coexist with dogmatic, desperate, and often sick and starving people – that he'd wanted nothing more than to be able to step out of his door in the morning and see no one as he took in a lungful of the crisp, clean mountain air. Ben shook his head. He couldn't count how many times, since the boys had begun to grow, that he'd regretted that choice. They were twenty miles out from the settlement. For Marie it had meant at least five hours in a carriage to and back from any social gathering. For his sons, it meant they were cut off from their friends. For supplies, it entailed endless trips over endless miles hauling goods – and always with the threat of highwaymen or other unscrupulous men lurking along the way. In the winter, they were cut off, not only from society, but from aid. Worst of all, when in need of a physician's care, it was almost a full day – seven or eight hours – before the doctor could arrive.
Ben ran a hand over his face and sighed. Eight hours.
His middle boy had been missing for eight hours.
Jeb Wilson had awakened twice during those long anxious hours. The first time, the older man had been incoherent. The second, he was better able to speak. Jeb explained in halting sentences that he and Hoss had been heading back when a shot came out of nowhere. It hit him and drove him out of the saddle. Hoss dismounted to help him and that was when they'd been attacked. There were five men, so they were badly outnumbered; all in black and wearing bandanas over their faces. Still, even wounded, Jeb had been sure he and Hoss could handle them. But the blood loss had caught up to him and he'd fallen where he stood, and when one of the men threatened to put a bullet through his head to finish him off, Hoss had surrendered.
Of course, he'd surrendered.
He was Hoss.
The men had tied the teenager's hands before him, blind-folded him, and ordered him to mount. Then, they disappeared into the night.
Post-hole Wilson, one of the strongest and best men he knew, had risen to his feet and walked the five miles back to the house to let them know.
Ben rose from his chair. Moving quietly, he exited the room and closed the door behind him. His tan coat was by the front door and he shinnied into it before stepping outside. The sun was just cresting above the mountain peaks, casting a golden glow across the land. Everything had grown silent in the face of such majesty. The rancher closed his eyes and drew in that breath of crisp, clean air. It did nothing to stem the rising terror in his heart, but it did remind him that this was what counted – life, home.
Family.
A moment later a buggy rolled into the yard. Ben stepped off the porch and went to meet his friend as he exited the vehicle.
"Thank you for coming, Paul. You must have ridden through the night to get here this early."
"Actually, I was on my way back from the Jenkins place when your man found me," the physician explained as he dusted off his coat and pants. "I caught a few hours sleep on their settee after I tended to their little girl. Ellie's got a fever. So I am wide awake and ready for whatever the Cartwrights have to throw at me," he finished with a wink.
"You don't know?"
"I assumed the call had to do with Little Joe's accident. Your man just said someone was in need of attention." Paul's look darkened. "No?"
Ben started for the house. "No. There's another patient. Jeb Wilson."
The physician's brows popped. "That mountain of a man? What happened to him?"
The weary rancher led the way to the guest bedroom and pushed open the door. Jeb was lying on the bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady, if rapid rhythm.
His tone was grim. "He's been shot."
"Shot?"
Ben nodded.
He and Paul were of long acquaintance. His friend sensed there was something else. As he walked to the bed and laid his bag on the table beside it, Paul asked, "Ben? What aren't you telling me?"
He looked once again to the window, noting the vast expanse beyond – a thousand acres and more of it that were his alone.
A thousand acres of emptiness.
"Hoss is missing."
oooooooooo
Hoss wrinkled his nose. He was in a dark place that smelled awful musty. Whoever had dumped him there hadn't removed his blindfold so, even if there was a smidgen of light somewheres, he couldn't see it. When he'd been on the horse, his hands had been tied in front of him. Now, they was tied behind his back and the rope was wrapped around some kind of a beam. The wood was rough and still had the bark on it, so he was guessin' he was in some kind of a cellar or maybe a mine. It weren't all that bad, though it was kind of cold and damp. The chill from the stone floor was seepin' through the fabric of his cotton work trousers and givin' him the shivers. All in all he'd been in worse places. The men what took him hadn't hurt him and, if it had just been him, he probably wouldn't have had too much to complain about.
But for what they done to Jeb, he wanted to kill them.
The big teen had no idea how long he'd been underground, though he could guess where he was. He'd paid attention as they rode and was pretty sure his kidnappers had been headin' toward Gold Hill. They rode about four hours. He and Jeb had been about two hours north of the house when they was ambushed, so addin' the two together, that put him about halfway between the ranch and the settlement. He'd listened as they rode and hadn't heard any farm animals squawkin' and mooin', or people talkin', so they hadn't passed any homesteads on the way. There weren't no dust in the air, so he didn't think they'd come close to the desert. So he was probably bein' held in one of the old shanty towns that had flared up and gone out fast as a candle in the wind. He and his brothers had explored an awful lot of them as kids. Him and Adam more than him and Little Joe. Hoss' lips curled with a smile when he thought of his baby brother, but then the smile faded. If Joe couldn't ever walk again, he wouldn't be able to…. Hoss pursed his lips and shook his head. If that was the case, he'd just have to put Joe on his horse and ride him out there and carry him through whatever mischief the little boy wanted to get into. Just 'cause Joe's legs didn't work no more, he wasn't gonna let his little brother miss out on nothin'. He loved him too much.
He sure hoped Joe was okay.
Hoss stifled a sigh as he straightened his back against the beam and lifted his head and listened.
Nothin'.
He didn't like the dark much, but he guessed – since he couldn't see that he was in the dark – it was okay. Maybe if he could get the blindfold off, well, the sun would just come bustin' through. Maybe – just maybe – there was other people bein' held with him and he wasn't alone. The big teen snorted as he rested his head on the rough surface of the beam. He knew better. He knew he would have been able to feel the sun through the fabric layered over his eyes, and he knew there weren't nobody there.
He was alone, in the dark, just like he'd been in those nightmares he'd had when he was a little runt about Joe's size.
There weren't nobody but him and Pa and Adam then. Mama hadn't come along yet. She was down in New Orleans married to some other man, livin' a miserable life and waitin' on Pa to rescue her. Pa was kind of careful about who they made friends with and what he and Adam did and where they went. They didn't have a lot of friends. If the truth were told, they had each other and that was about it. Adam would stay awake long into the night to tell him stories so he wouldn't be afraid. Pa said he thought that was part of why Adam started readin' books – he needed more stories. Older brother would go from wagon to wagon, beggin' for a book, and then read it until he had the stories memorized, and then he would tell them to him to put him to sleep. He did it to cover the sounds too. People livin' together a long time get on one another's last nerve. Even good people. Late at night, when they was tired, the people travelin' with them would start to bicker and fight. There were always babies cryin'. Their mamas cried as well when they had to lay them in the earth and leave them along the trail in an unmarked grave. On top of that there were the sounds of the night: wolves and coyotes; vultures circlin' over head.
But the worst sound of all was Pa cryin'.
The older man didn't do it often, and only when he thought they was both asleep. Pa would get down on his knees and beg the good Lord for mercy. He'd ask the Lord to watch over him and Adam, and to make sure both of them lived and thrived. Then Pa would stop and the tears would flow and he'd finish up by tellin' God that if He was gonna take someone else, it had better be him.
That had scared him more than anythin' else.
So when he found himself alone in the dark, it always got him thinkin'. He weren't afraid of mountain lions or bears or things that went bump in the night. He was afraid when he woke up he'd still be alone and everyone he loved would be gone.
"Keep 'em all safe," the big teen breathed. "You hear me, God? You keep my pa and brothers safe 'til I can be there to protect them."
"So you're awake," a voice said, startling him.
"Yeah, I'm awake. I been for a good while."
"You're a quiet one. That little brother of yours would have been kickin' and screamin' by now."
So whoever it was knew them.
"You better hope you never try to do nothin' to Little Joe," he growled. "I'll tear you in half."
A hand checked the ropes at the back of the beam and gave his foot a kick.
"Too late," they sneered.
"What do you mean?"
Someone sat down and scooted a chair forward. "Took me a long time to find that snake. Disgusting thing. I was more than happy to drop it on the kid's curly head."
Hoss sat up. Dadburnit! Adam had been right.
It was Pratt Shade.
"Why'd you want to go and hurt Little Joe?" he demanded. "He's just a kid."
"Boy. Girl. Man. Woman," the blond man replied. "What do I care so long as I get paid."
Hoss heard a match strike and smelled smoke.
"You get paid for hurtin' people?"
Pratt snorted. "Yeah. I get paid good."
Hoss drew in a breath. "Are you gonna hurt me like you hurt Joe and Jeb?"
"Jeb?"
His tone darkened. "The man you shot."
"Oh, him." The chair shifted again. "He got in the way. I was paid to nab you."
"And do what with me?"
"Don't know yet. Haven't been told. I'm just supposed to keep you here for now."
"You like hurtin' kids?"
There was a second of silence before Pratt replied. "You ain't a kid."
"I'm sixteen."
"No way."
"Yeah, I'm big for my age. I know it. But even if I ain't a kid, you hurt Little Joe. He's only ten."
The man rose. There was a touch of remorse in the Pratt's voice when he spoke. "My employer wanted to send a message."
"Joe cain't walk."
"What?"
"Little Joe. He hurt one of them verta things in his back. He cain't walk."
Pratt let out a sigh. "Sorry to hear that. That kid can be a real pain, but he's got spunk."
Hoss fought to control his temper. It wasn't going to do him any good to get a mad on – not 'til he was free at least.
"So, it's just gonna be you and me sittin' here, shootin' the breeze 'til someone gives you another order?" he asked.
The blond man took a few steps. "Nope."
"Nope?"
"Just you, kid. I gotta go tell the man who pays me you're awake."
Hoss' heart pounded as the man's footsteps receded, leaving him alone. So he wasn't in a cellar. Pratt would have reached the ladder by now. He must be in one of the old mines.
"Hey! You gonna leave me here alone?"
The big teen heard a 'click' and then a door opened in the distance.
"Nah," the distant voice said as the door slammed shut. "You got the rats for company."
A moment later everything was silent.
oooooooooo
Ben Cartwright opened the door and stepped onto the porch. His heart constricted when he saw Adam standing by the corral where Little Joe had been injured. His son was deep in thought. He took a step toward him but halted as one of the older wranglers who had been in the barn – a man known as 'Big Henry' since he was small and rangy – saw the boy and walked over to him. He knew it chafed on his oldest son to constantly have someone with him, but – so far – Adam had done it for him. He didn't know what he would do if all three of his boys were hurt or kidnapped! It was part of the reason he kept them so close. The dream of the young man he had been was to build his Ponderosa and become a cattle baron and timber king. So great had been his desire and – if he was honest – his ego, that he had scarcely considered the consequences to those he loved. His success made his sons targets for avaricious, unscrupulous men whose 'dream' was to live off of other people's hard-earned money.
"Mistah Ben not eat. Bring breakfast out to him," a soft voice said.
He turned to find Hop Sing standing near the porch table. There was a tray with sandwiches and a pot of coffee on it.
Before he could speak the Asian man pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and waved it in the air. "Mistah Ben not tell Hop Sing he not hungry. Doctor leave prescription. You eat!"
Paul had left a short time before to make his rounds. He was due back later to look in on Joseph who had still not awakened. He was beginning to worry that he had given the boy too much of his medication, but his old friend said to give it a few more hours. Joseph was, most likely, exhausted. He also added that the more the boy slept, the quicker he would heal.
Ben's lips curled with amusement. "Paul didn't actually write a prescription, did he?"
"Hop Sing frame it. Use it many times!"
"All right, old friend.," he laughed as he walked to the table. Ben looked at the tray and then back to his cook. "There are quite a few sandwiches here."
"Check paper. Have number one son's name on it too."
Indeed it did.
Ben raised a hand to catch his oldest son's attention, and called him over. He handed Adam the paper when he arrived and watched as what Paul had written registered on his young face.
"The doctor's always right, son," he said when he sensed Adam would demure.
The boy glanced at Hop Sing and then turned back to him. "Let me finish instructing Henry and then I'll join you. All right?"
"Certainly, son. I'll wait for you."
A few minutes later the two of them were seated at the outside table with napkins on their laps and full plates in front of them. Neither of them had an appetite, but they knew they had to eat. He was slowly nibbling the corner of a sandwich while Adam sat pulling his apart. The boy shoved the meat aside as if his stomach couldn't take it and took a bite of the bread. Then he looked at him.
"No," Ben said, his tone gentle.
His son's black brows peaked. "How do you know what I'm going to ask?"
"I know because I know you. I'm sorry, son, but you're not going after your brother. For one thing, it's too dangerous, and for the other, I need you here."
"But, Pa –"
"No, 'but, Pa'. The answer is no."
Adam slammed his hand down on the table's surface. "I'm not a child to be ordered around anymore!" he declared. "Pa, I'm twenty-two…."
"Yes, and that is a fine old age to boss a cattle drive, but not one to take off into a known danger." He shook his head. "You don't have the experience of men that I do, Adam."
"Don't I? Pa, I gained my experience on the trail west just like you did. I learned it wasn't safe to show your back or close your eyes for even two seconds. Stealing, taking – killing for gain was a way of life. There was no one you could trust because, friend or foe, when the food ran out they would kill you for what you had." His son's temper flared as he warmed to his subject. "By the time I was Joe's age, I had seen it all – birth, death, loss, plague, starvation. I lost friends – too many friends – and watched their mothers and fathers either shrivel up or wither away with the loss." His son stopped, his nostrils flaring. "Pa, I was a man by the time I was seven and I've been a man ever since. I am going to search for Hoss and there's nothing you can say that will stop me."
Ben was taken aback. He sat a moment, considering.
"I had no idea you had been left so – "
"Jaded?"
He shook his head. "Wounded, boy. Wounded."
Tears kissed his son's whiskey-brown eyes. "I had to learn to look out for my own, Pa. I need to do that now. I need to find Hoss." Adam paused. "Roy's formed a search party. Bush Sears was in the settlement picking up supplies. He came back to tell us. Henry and I are riding into Gold Hill to join it."
"You've made up your mind."
"I have."
Ben drew in a calming breath and let it out slowly. His tone was wistful.
"I wish I could go with you."
"I know you do, Pa," his son said as he pushed his plate away. "But you have to be here for Little Joe."
The rancher placed his napkin on the table and rose. "Yes, and I had better go check on that boy now. He'd going to sleep the day away."
Ben had no more headed for the door when it burst open. "Mistah Ben! Mistah Adam! Little Joe not in his bed!"
The two of them stood there with their mouths hanging open.
"You not hear Hop Sing? Number three son not in bed!"
No one could have called which of them made it up the stairs first.
It was dead heat.
Little Joe's door was standing wide open. So was his window. The linen curtains his wife had chosen nearly twelve years before blew into the boy's empty room. It felt foolish – and Adam beat him to it – but they even looked under the bed to make sure Joseph had not fallen and rolled there, or had regained the use of his legs and was hiding to surprise them.
Ben walked over to his son's bed and sat heavily on it. He looked at Adam and Hop Sing.
"How?"
Adam was looking out the window. "They had to take him out this way, Pa." The fear in his son's voice said what he didn't. Little Joe's injury was precarious – a fall, someone handling the boy wrong, and his fracture could turn into a break. His eldest turned back into the room, his rage barely contained. "I'm going to kill them!"
He tended to agree.
Ben's first impulse had been to climb out of the window and see if he could follow their trail. Instead, the older man sat on the bed thinking. There had to be a pattern – a clue as to what was happening. It all started when Little Joe ran away, and yes, he knew about the incident even though his sons had conspired to keep it from him. Henry told him that Little Joe was uncomfortable around Bush Sears and Pratt Shade. The pair seemed to consider the boy a nuisance. He'd had words with them, making certain it would not happen again, and then let it go. Then came Little Joe's accident. Pratt had been speaking with the boy before it happened, and later showed Hoss the snake that had spooked the horses. And Sears had returned today just before Joseph vanished.
"Pa?"
He held up a hand. He needed time.
Then there was Sebastian Stephens. Ben knew the man hated him and would do anything to make him forfeit the contracts he had won fair and square. Would the Easterner have the bullocks to kidnap his boys to accomplish this? Was he that petty a man? Could Stephens be in league with Bush and Pratt? Did the pair work for him?
"Pa!"
He looked at Adam. His son was holding out a folded piece of paper.
"What is that?"
"I just found it," he replied. "Tucked under Marie's portrait."
Ben glanced at the image of his beautiful wife and whispered his apologies for not caring for their young son as he'd promised before responding.
"Did you read it?
The boy was slightly green. He nodded.
"What does it say?"
Adam cleared his throat. "I have your children. You took mine, so now, I have taken yours. As a great man once said, revenge is a dish that must be eaten cold."
Ben swallowed hard. "Let me see it, Adam."
His son didn't move. He was staring at the lines written on the page. "It's not addressed to you, Pa."
"Not addressed to me?" Ben rose and took a step toward him. "Then…who?"
His eldest looked up and met his puzzled gaze.
"It's for Hop Sing."
oooooooooo