Chapter

Burying Ghosts

When the braves were gone Ben guided his son to his bed upstairs. Little Joe was waking as Hoss was collapsing. Ben ushered Joe out to let Hoss sleep. Hopsing was kind enough to care for Joe for the day as Ben felt too heavy to even move. He'd given Hopsing a handwritten note to give to Reagan, asking that he take it to town and give it to the doc. Then he positioned himself on the settee and slipped away into the darkness of dreamless slumber.

Hopsing after handing over the note as Ben had requested had busied himself and Little Joe. Both with shiners. Little Joe finding some amusement with the comparison and companionship. Hopsing just feeling so blessed the little one was back home.

It had yet to be explained to Hopsing what all had taken place out there. Joe couldn't provide many answers but that Hoss's friends had save him and given him a chance to escape. He told of how Hoss had found him in the forest. He told of the man finding them both and Hoss trading himself to save him just as the man wanted all along. Joe didn't know much else. He was taken to the jailhouse and there he would wait for hours for his pa and brother to return. When his brother did return he appeared worse for wear.

Ben missed lunch but gained enough strength back to join them for dinner. The air in the house was different. Somber. Hoss had missed both meals. Hopsing had accommodated for this by making some special soup and offering to take it to the sleeping boy. Ben took it up himself. Hoss wasn't sleeping though. He was crying. Laying in the large bed and soaking the sheets. Albeit silently. His sobs ceased at his father's presence. Ben walked in and placed the soup on the nightstand, then sat next to his son. With a gentle hand on his arm he asked.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Hoss answered with a shake of the head. Ben lowered his head and let it be.

He had come up again sometime later with Joe. By this time Hoss's eyes were dry but swollen. Ben had offered to take Hoss back down to his own bed. Understandably Hoss had refused, saying he didn't want to lay in the same bed his friend had died. Though Little Joe had slept through the whole ordeal of Hoss's friends and didn't know much of what they were talking about, he picked up on enough and decided that he wasn't going to sleep in that room by himself. Without opposition the three shared the bed.

~.~

The next morning Hoss still refused to get out of bed. Ben had let him stay as his body had taken much abuse and was still on the mends. About the time that Hopsing had finished clearing the remnants of lunch from the table, there was a knock. It was Roy at the door.

"It's good to see you. Won't you come in?" Roy removed his hat before stepping through the threshold.

"How's the boy?"

"He's sleeping."

"But how's he doing?" Ben furrowed his brow.

"He's struggling. I'm not sure if you've heard, but his friends died yesterday."

"I heard. Martin told me."

"He's been bed ridden since." Roy dropped his head and used his toe to play with some imaginary object on the floor.

"Come in Roy. Take a seat." He guided his friend to the settee. "Would you like some coffee?"

"I would Ben. Thanks." Ben called for Hopsing who got right to work.

"How's William's holding up?" Ben asked taking his seat on the Windsor.

"Truthfully, he's been touch and go for a bit now."

"How so? I didn't think his injuries were that serious."

"No, he's fine in that regard. He's been considering leaving though. Brown's and I have been talking to him. Trying to get him to stay."

"He's thinking about leaving?"

"Oh, not the town, just this line of work."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He's a good deputy."

"Was."

"So he is leaving?"

"After what he saw yesterday his decision had been cemented. Nothing Brown's or I could say could get him to change his mind. He turned in his badge an hour ago."

"What did he see?"

"Well, that's actually what I came out here to talk to you about."

"Oh yeah?"

"The mortician was preparing the bodies for burial and he came across something strange he thought I and the doc oughtta see."

"What was that?"

"Bruises Ben. Deep set."

"Kyle?" Roy nodded. Ben reflected, wondering over the actions of his son. Was Roy accusing him again? "But that doesn't make sense. The other kids in the class said Hoss never fought. Hoss never hit him back. Not until that day. He had to have gotten them from someplace else. The other kids at school."

"Now, Ben. I didn't come up here to put anymore blame on that boy. God knows he's been through enough. I'm here as a friend Ben, not a lawman. A friend who just needed to bend another friend's ear. I did some work. Went back. Talked with the other students and with Ms. Harper. They again confirmed your boy's story. Hoss never hit back." Ben sat back in his chair relieved and confident now in his theory. "Now Ben, before you say it." Roy waves his hand to stop his words. "I asked about the other kids. Aside from confirming that Hoss never hit back, they also confirmed that Kyle didn't start fights with any other kids and nobody started fights with him. I did a bit more work trying to figure out where these bruises might have come from."

"…and? Did you have any luck?"

"One of the students, Travis. I think he knew a lot more than he was telling me. Like he was holding something back, but he told me enough."

"What did he say?"

"He told me where to look." Ben asked with a tilt of the head. "The ranch hands, Ben. The men that worked for McCabe. He said they'd know something."

"Did they?" Roy gulped and lowered his head.

"Everybody knew of McCabe's temper. How quickly he'd flip on the drop of a dime." Ben was starting to get a clearer picture. "They said it were the same with them. That he'd lose their temper with them. A few times he'd even ventured out to strike one of 'em. They said that didn't happen too often though. Especially after one of them struck back. That man had been fired by the next day but they said McCabe was a lot more cautious with where he put his fist. Most commonly it was his son that took the brunt of his aggression. They said McCabe would get to fuming. You know about all kinds of weird things and go home and take his frustrations out on the boy. They said things went on in that house." Ben lowered his eyes in consternation.

"Why didn't they ever tell anyone?"

"They said, they knew he got knocked around but they claimed they didn't know how bad it really was for him." He breathed a heavy sigh. "and they said they didn't want to lose their jobs. Can you imagine that Ben? They were more concerned for their jobs than for this boy." Ben understood now, when Roy said he wanted to bend his ear. It was Roy who was struggling, looking for a familiar face to voice his troubles. "We all thought McCabe was harmless. He made threats but never made good on them."

"He was harmless to everyone but his son."

"And unfortunately Hoss."

"and Joe."

"He was a coward. He couldn't stand up against real men. So he vented his frustrations out on the defenseless."

Kyle had an instinctual love for his pa. He wanted nothing more than to have that love returned. It's a shame. Ben reflected. In his last moments his love and devotion led him to make a snap decision. The need to protect his pa, the very man who abused him, had cost him his life.

~.~

Roy had left hours ago and night was falling. Hopsing prepared the table for supper and Little Joe played with his doll on the living room floor. Ben could hear the riders approach. They weren't riding hard, just strolling but there were more than one which is why he supposed he picked up on them. He opened the door as they came up the porch. Three braves, young men, stood before him. Ben nodded courteously at the same time swallowing past the lump in his throat. He had no idea what their intentions were. He hadn't recognized any of them. All new faces to him. If they were here to take revenge for their fallen, he was in no way prepared to do battle. If they charged they would reach him before he could reach his pistol.

"Won't you come in?" He decided courteousness to be the more tactical route at least until he discovered their intentions but they refused this offer.

"No. Cartwright. Our stay won't be long." Little Joe had gotten up and was now coming over to him. He wanted to shoo his son to safety, but didn't know how without alerting and perhaps inadvertently offending the braves. That action could bring about negative results.

"How can I help you?"

"We have come to give message."

The braves had departed without incident. Ben watched them ride away before closing the door between them. Then went up to his room to talk to Hoss.

~.~

They had been treated like kings upon arriving onto the Paiute camp. A little girl stood behind her father, which so happened to be the venerable tribal leader, and gave Joe a shy smile. She offered the boy her age a white flower. Which he gladly accepted.

Their presence wasn't welcomed by everyone however. "This is a sacred ceremony." It was Young Wolf who admonished their existence as he charged forward into the group of his people. "Your presence here spoils the ground."

"My son just wants to pay his respects." He'd explained.

"You are not wanted here. Go away."

"I invited them." Chief Winnemucca spoke. After eyeing his father, Young Wolf tramped to Ben and stood inches from his face challenging him.

"Young Wolf." The chief cautioned.

Young Wolf heard his father but didn't stand down. He addressed Ben. He needed to say his peace. "That man killed my brothers. It was my right to take his life, but that right was taken from me. You took that right from me Cartwright. I was supposed to kill him. Not you. Me. It was my right."

"Young Wolf!" Winnemucca chided, silencing his son. With filial piety, Young Wolf stepped aside.

Hoss stood on one side of his pa, Joe on the other. The moments to follow were dreamlike, surreal. The ashy smoke filled his nostrils, the rhythmic beat filled his ears. The mournful dirge that accompanied the beats were the closest that music has ever sounded to real cries. Hoss stared on, in a daze as his friends' burn. Watched as their souls were carried skyward.

When the ceremony was over the Indians broke bread. Ben and his boys were invited to join in the feast. The women swooned over Hoss with many offerings, encouraging him to eat. The bruises on both of his boys had darkened in color. With Little Joe it was the one under his eye which had spread into his socket and down his cheek. Hoss, who had taken multiple blows with a pistol in hand had a considerably more colorful face. His bruises significantly more severe. Hoss was quiet. The most serious of his wounds kept inward but the women mothered over him. When they offered him all he could eat they dressed him with salve and herbs. Not a one of them spoke English, but they hadn't needed to. The language they spoke was a universal one. One of compassion. Their deep loss had not kept them from caring for the boy whose outward injuries reflected the battle he'd been in. Hoss managed soft and subtle smiles, more out of respect and appreciation for their kindness and more importantly their forgiveness. His son was hurting though and he could see every smile, no matter how small, took great effort. Joe on the other hand paying no mind to his own injury had got caught up in chasing the little girl who had offered him a flower around the open field. After respectfully getting some bites down himself, Cartwright watched his little one play. He smiled and reflected at the innocence of it. Joe was quick to bounce back on his feet. Hoss on the other hand would take some work.

"Do you remember this knife Mr. Cartwright?" Young Wolf came from behind breaking him from his reverence. Ben slid his eyes down at the question. Young Wolf now stood beside him playing with the blade in his hand.

"Yes. I gave it to you when you and Adam were young."

"It has been many uses, but not so great as the one that is to come." Ben pondered at his words. "Last night, while in sweat lodge, praying to Great Spirit, a vision came to me. You and I were at war. I with my people on one side. You with your people on the other. A great battle came between us and in that battle your son, Mr. Cartwright, was delivered onto me. This knife, was on his throat. I, was holding the knife. With this knife, I will have my revenge." These words resonated within him.

~.~

Sitting by the fire with his sleeping boy's in his embrace, Ben was haunted by his words. Young Wolf was pained with grief. His grief so immense it consumed him. The inability to exact justice with his own hand, made the pangs all the more worse. They were so fierce that they plagued his dreams. At least he hoped that's what it was. Stories have been told of the Indian's dreams. How sometimes they are so powerful they give the dreamer a chance to see the future. Young Wolf seemed pretty convinced that, that was what this was. Ben prayed to his own God to save his children. As long as Chief Winnemucca remained chief, Ben felt he would keep his boy in line. If that day ever came when Young Wolf would take over his rightful heir as chief, he prayed his grief would have subsided to a dull ache. If not, hell's fury would be upon he and the Cartwright household. Young Wolf would come and he would bring the whole Paiute nation with him.