TWO

oooooooooo

Ben halted just outside the barn door at the sound of Dan and his middle son laughing. It took him back. Dan Tollivar had been with him since he'd come out West. The older man had taught him much of what he knew about ranching and – if the truth were known – saved his life a couple of times in the bargain when his youthful arrogance had caused him to take chances that were anything but wise. At the time Dan had been in his mid-forties. Now, over thirty years later, his old friend was an old man.

Just as he would soon be.

Perhaps that was what gave him more tolerance. Maybe that was why he had been able to forgive Dan when he had warned him – no, promised him – that if anything happened to Joseph due to his irresponsible actions, he would take it out of his hide.

No, that wasn't it.

He had forgiven Dan because that was what Joe wanted him to do. His brilliant, bonny boy had lain in that bed, fighting for his life; those green eyes of his wide and pleading, begging him to promise that he would.

How could he have said 'no'?

Ben's gaze returned to the barn door. Inside shadows shifted as if his middle boy and his old friend were hard at work. Hoss was always the first to forgive, though this time it had been a choice and not a given. Hoss and Joseph were two halves of one whole and Dan's betrayal of both him and his brother had hurt the gentle giant. Still, once Hoss had made the decision, he stuck with it and didn't look back. Hoss treated Dan now like he had treated him before – as a beloved uncle.

The rancher frowned as he turned and looked toward the gate. He could still see his youngest sitting there in the wagon, waiting on Hoss to come and drive him into town. Joseph had been laughing and joking, but looked less than his usual self. His youngest was still hurting. The bullet wound in his side was – for all intents and purposes – healed, but the fever brought on by infection had left him weak. He'd hesitated to let him go to Lee's but then changed his mind, deciding a little motherly care would be good for the boy. As Joe and Hoss left, Dan Tollivar had walked from the corral to the barn. He'd been surprised at his reaction to the sight of the old wrangler smiling and waving goodbye to his youngest.

He'd been furious.

Ben sighed and ran a hand along the back of his neck. If he was honest, he'd have to admit that he was still incredibly angry about everything that had happened. For Joseph's sake, he had buried that anger deep, layering decency and understanding and clemency and pardon over it until it turned into forgiveness.

But he hadn't forgiven.

Not really.

The older man closed his eyes for a moment and drew in several long, calming breaths. Then he looked to the sky and to his God before laying a hand to latch and opening the barn door and stepping in.

"Hey there, Pa!" Hoss called cheerfully when he saw him. His son was using a pitchfork to toss hay into one of the stalls. "What're you doin' out here? Night's fallin' and it's gettin' so cold the cows are gonna give icicles soon."

He had noted the chill as he walked from the house. His thoughts had gone immediately to his youngest. There was a lot of barren land between Lee's and the Ponderosa. Still, Joseph should be at her house by now, or – if he wasn't for some unknown reason – secured in some way station for the night.

Dan Tollivar had stopped what he was doing and was staring at him.

He decided to cut to the chase.

"I wanted to talk to Dan."

Hoss looked at Dan and then back at him. He could see the wheels turning in his son's head. Hoss was curious, but too well-trained to question him.

"We're just about done, Ben," Dan said. "I could come up to the house in a few minutes."

He held out his hand and indicated the pitchfork. "No. This is fine. Hand me the fork, son. I'll finish up." When the boy hesitated, Ben added with a smile, "I definitely caught the scent of fresh baked cookies coming from the kitchen."

Hoss' brilliant blue eyes lit up. "Was they chocolate chip by any chance?"

The rancher chuckled. "That would be my guess."

His son handed the tool to him and then rubbed his hands together. "Hot diggity! And I won't even have to turn that little brother of mine upside-down and shake 'em out of his pockets to get one since he ain't home!"

Ben was facing his son, but watching Dan Tollivar. At the mention of Joe, a shadow darkened the older man's countenance. It was hard to tell what it meant. The look could have been anything from anger to shame.

"If you will, son, check in on Adam when you get inside. He went up to his room a little bit ago."

Hoss pursed his lips. "Why? Was he upset about somethin'?"

Again, his middle son was too well-trained to ask if they'd gotten into it.

"I'm not sure. Just see that he's all right." Again, Ben's gaze returned to his old friend. Dan had moved into the room adjacent to the stalls where they kept the horse liniments, extra saddles and such, and taken a seat at the table. "We can't afford any discord with the drive coming up."

"Sure thing, Pa, but you know older brother. Even if he's got somethin' caught in his craw, he'll think himself right out of it by mornin'."

"I hope you're right." As his son turned to leave, he called him back. "Hoss?"

"Yes, sir?"

Ben winked. "Save a few of those cookies for your old man?"

Hoss' bellowing laughter followed him all the way into the house.

His exit left him and Dan alone.

They hadn't spoken for a few days. It had been shortly after Joe was well enough to sit in a saddle that they'd gone out to watch Dan work, and since then time and tide had kept them apart. Even though Joseph had begged him to forgive the older man, he'd been startled by his son's willingness to act as if nothing had happened. Joe had laughed and egged Dan on as the older man worked with a nineteen-year-old greenhorn, teaching him the basics of roping that Joe himself had mastered by the age of ten.

Dan, of course, had taught him as well.

The old wrangler finished what he was doing and then, with a sigh and a shift of his shoulders, pivoted on his seat to face him. "We've known each other too long, Ben. You may as well come out with it," he said without preamble.

"Come out with what?" he asked.

Dan sighed as he nodded toward the table. "I know you didn't come out here to commend me on how well I mend harnesses."

Taking hold of a chair, the rancher turned it around and sat down. "No. No, I didn't."

"You're lettin' me go."

That caused him to pause. Were his feelings more apparent than he realized?

"Why would you think that?"

Dan shook his head. "I know that oldest boy of yours thinks you should."

"Adam? How would you...?" Ben frowned. "Were you listening earlier?"

The wrangler's head shook. "Didn't need to. I seen how he watches me. Like he don't trust me."

Ben drew a breath and let it out with the words. "Should he?"

For a moment anger flickered in his old friend's eyes. Quickly, Dan dropped his gaze. "I guess he don't have any reason to." When the older man looked up again, there were unspent tears in his eyes. "I did him – and you wrong, Ben."

"You did Joseph wrong," he said softly.

Dan had picked up a length of braided leather from the table. His fingers worked it as he spoke. "I did, and I'm sorry for it. I'm right sorry for it."

"Are you?"

The wrangler's eyes went wide. Ben sensed astonishment rather than anger. "How can you ask that, Ben? You know I am. I near got that boy killed!"

His fingers gripped the chair's arms as he fought for control. "Yes. Yes, you did."

A silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of the horses' evening conversation and the jingle of harnesses as a few of the men rode in from the range.

"I better go," the old wrangler said at last. "I tried it for Little Joe's sake, but it ain't gonna work."

Dan's words surprised him. "For Joe?"

"Ben, I love that boy. You know that. I just...well...I lost my mind. I can't explain it any other way." His old friend paused. When he spoke again, the raw emotion in Dan's voice surprised him. "You know I had a life before I met you."

He nodded. The older man had spoken little of his youthful days and he had honored his wish to keep the past to himself.

"I had a...boy, Ben. One a lot like Joe."

He sat up and leaned forward. This was new. "What happened to him?" he asked.

Dan hesitated. "Let's just say we...came to a parting of the ways. One day he up and decided he knew everythin' and I didn't know nothin' at all." The wrangler sighed as he looked toward the open door and the house beyond. "I ain't never felt so betrayed in all my days."

"And when Joseph...turned on you..."

Dan shook his head. "You and I know the boy did no such thing, but I gotta admit, that's how I saw it. Little Joe and Mal, well, there's a lot about them that's the same. Mal had his ma's hair. It was curly like Joe's 'cept it was golden as honey. He was a smart boy too."

Ben's lips twisted with an unexpected smile. "With a smart mouth?"

The old wrangler nodded his head. "Just like Little Joe. That boy's mouth ran a mile ahead of his brain."

When Dan fell silent again, he prodded gently, "What happened to him – to Mal? Do you know?"

"Ain't got no idea. He headed off and never looked back." His old friend paused. "The next winter his mother died and I took off too."

Ben leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his chin. Dan's words brought him some hope. Perhaps what Adam sensed as Dan's resentment of Joseph was nothing more than a deep regret. It was obvious his youngest reminded the wrangler of his own long lost son. No wonder he had taken such an interest in Little Joe when he'd been a boy! It could possibly also explain the anger and resentment Dan felt when Joe fired him – an anger and resentment that drove him to make what had to be the biggest mistake of his life.

A mistake that had almost cost Joe his life.

"You ain't forgiven me, have you?" Dan asked out of the blue.

The rancher hesitated and then decided to be honest. "No."

"Well," he said with a slap of his knees, "I'll pack up and be gone in the mornin' then."

"Dan, wait. Sit down." When he remained standing, Ben added, "Please."

The wrangler hesitated and then did as he asked.

"Dan...this is hard for me. I have taught my boys that in order to be forgiven, a man has to forgive. My son – Little Joe – it seems has learned that lesson better than I have. Joseph has forgiven you."

Dan nodded. "I know that."

"And he has asked me to do the same." Ben's smile was weary. "I am...trying."

"I know that too. Just like I know Hoss don't hold nothin' against me." Dan's lips thinned. "Adam is another story."

"Adam is protective of his little brother."

"And I nearly got him killed." The wrangler sighed. "Since Adam's back, it ain't gonna work, Ben. I might as well go."

He could see his old friend had made up his mind.

"I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up."

Dan looked toward the house again. "Nah. It's okay. I been thinkin' about it anyway. I appreciate your takin' me back on, Ben, and I enjoy workin' with the young'uns, but I been thinkin' maybe it's time I see if I can find my own."

"Your son, you mean? Do you have any idea where to look?"

"I got a few letters. Not from Malachi, but from my wife's sister. Seems the boy mentioned California when he was visitin' her."

"How long ago was that?"

The wrangler shook his head. "Bought as long as that youngest of yours has been walkin' the earth."

So the boy – no, he would be a man now – could be long dead. Ben eyed his old friend and saw in him a broken, defeated man. He couldn't consider him a threat.

And yet, Adam was seldom wrong.

"Why don't you wait until spring?" he suggested.

"What good would that do?"

"We need your experience to train the new men for the drive, for one thing, and you're not going to make much progress beginning a search just as the snow flies and winter hits the mountains."

Dan thought about it a moment. "Adam won't want me on the drive."

"Adam doesn't make the decisions around here. I do."

There was a flicker of something in his old friend's eyes – a remembrance, perhaps, of how he had put Joseph in charge and let his young son make the fateful decision to fire Dan; a decision that had put into play the events which ended in the old wrangler's disgrace and his youngest son's close call with death.

Or was it that he was seeing what Adam saw when Dan looked at Joe?

His old friend looked down and then raised his head and met his eyes. "I'll stay 'til spring. No longer."

Rising to his feet, Ben held out his hand. "You won't regret it," he said.

He only hoped he wouldn't either.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A knock on the door of his bedroom brought Adam Cartwright's head up. He'd been reading Henry Maudsley's 'The Physiology and Pathology of Mind'. Maudsley, a Yorkshireman, had spent his early years working in sanitariums and lunatic asylums and had recently become the co-editor of the English Journal of Mental Science. In his current book he advanced what was known as the 'degeneration theory'. Maudsley believed that inherited "taints" were exaggerated through succeeding generations. In other words, drunkenness in a man could lead to idiocy in his offspring by the fourth generation. He wasn't sure what he thought of the man's ideas, but found the idea of the psychology of the mind fascinating.

And a bit frightening.

Closing the book, he placed a hand on the cover and then said, "Come in."

The door opened to reveal his big, beefy brother. Hoss looked at the room and then at him, and then shook his head. "I gotta admit, I still ain't sure you're not a ghost," he said.

Adam chuckled. "I can assure you that I am quite substantial."

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"Of course not." He turned and placed the book on the side table. "Was there something in particular?"

Hoss took a seat. His brother paused and then said, "Pa's in the barn with Dan."

"Oh?"

Hoss dropped his hands between his knees and looked at him. "What do you think about it, Adam?"

"It?"

"Dan. Pa." Hoss sighed. "Little Joe."

It had been interesting home-coming, to put it mildly. In the time he'd been away his little brother had grown into a man – and into quite a competent and determined one. When he'd left, he'd assumed – foolishly, it seemed – that everything at the Ponderosa would remain the same. That whether he was gone a day, a week, a year, or a lifetime, Pa and Joe and Hoss would go on about the same routine, and that when he chose to return – if he ever did – he would slip right back into his old place.

The truth was, he wasn't sure he had a place anymore.

Adam pursed his lips. "I don't think Joe was too happy to see me."

"Now, Adam, don't you go sayin' that. You just...surprised him."

The man in black's words were soft. "Little Joe surprised me too."

He had arrived at the height of the crisis. He learned later from Hop Sing that Pa had been at Joe's side for nearly thirty-six hours straight, hoping for the best and fearing the worst, and had just been ordered out of the room by Paul Martin. After Pa greeted him, the older man had excused himself and gone to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee – obviously intending to ignore the doctor's orders that he get some rest. A moment later an exhausted and exasperated Paul Martin had appeared at the top of the stair. The doctor had greeted him as well and then told him point-blank that it was a good thing he'd chosen to come home when he did because, if things went on as they did, it was going to be just him and Hoss running the Ponderosa because Little Joe would be dead and his Pa was going to kill himself grieving.

Some things, it seemed, never changed.

"Adam, there weren't nothin' you could have done if you'd been here. We couldn't have guessed in a hundred years that Old Dan would – "

His hazel eyes pinned his brother. "You know I never felt the same about Dan as the rest of you."

Hoss leaned back. "Yeah, and I never understood why."

It was hard to explain. Perhaps because he saw the world in grays rather than in black and white like his father and brothers, he tended to mete out trust in inches rather than miles. Dan Tollivar had a secret. He was sure of it. And that secret had almost gotten his brother killed.

"I don't believe Dan's ever been honest with Pa," he said.

Hoss shook his head. "Pa's a good judge of character."

"When he's seeing clearly. He's never seen clearly where Dan is concerned."

Thinking back, he remembered the first time he'd met the older man. He might have been eight, but more likely, seven years old. Like most cowpokes Dan Tollivar had come and gone, working just about every spread in the area. On that particular day, Pa had loaded him into the wagon and headed to the settlement. His father was on the hunt for someone to handle the horses he'd just purchased. While Pa could do it, he admitted wrangling wasn't where his talents lay – that was in organization and empire building. Dan heard through the grapevine that Ben Cartwright was looking and came by to show him what he could do. Just like that, Pa took him on. The Ponderosa had been a very different place in those days. Pa was often gone and that left other men in control. It was when Pa took his trip to New Orleans, to seek out Jean De Marigny's widow, that he had seen the wrangler's true colors. There had been a hand – a young man, full of himself – who had challenged Dan's authority. He'd been in the house with Hoss and Hop Sing, but he'd heard the argument. Later, he'd watched as the young man – who was barely able to stand – limped out of the yard, taking his tack and bedding with him.

He'd never forget being awakened in the middle of the night by a sharp knocking on the door. Pulling on his robe, he had followed Hop Sing down the stairs and to the door and been just as surprised as their cook to find Sheriff Olin standing outside. Robert had come to tell them that he'd found their former hand lying by the edge of the road, not that far off their land.

Dead.

Of course, he had no proof that Dan had anything to do with the young man's demise. He'd tried to talk to his pa about it, but he was eleven years old at the time and Pa had told him in no uncertain terms that Dan was his friend and he expected him to respect that. He'd respected it all right.

But he'd never trusted Dan.

Hoss was staring at him. "So you think old Dan's been hidin' somethin' all these years? And maybe, well, maybe Little Joe firin' him...triggered it somehow?"

Adam glanced at the book he was holding. They knew so little about the mind. A man could appear to be sane, but harbor some dark secret deep within that would cause him snap. All it took was the right trigger. Maudsley had documented case after case.

Shifting back, he sighed. "I don't know what I'm thinking other than that it was a mistake to come home. Joe's threatened by me and Pa...well, it's like I'm the one who is twenty-five."

"You came home' cause you were afeared Little Joe was gonna die, didn't you? Not 'cause you wanted to."

Adam closed his eyes. As much as he and Joe disagreed – as different as they were – there was a tie of blood between them. He loved his little brother with a love as deep as the roots of the Ponderosa Pines that surrounded the house, and as towering as the mountains that shadowed them.

He just wasn't sure he could live with him.

Or in the shadow of his pa.

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Dan Tollivar walked slowly away from the Cartwright's barn; his head down and his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

He was a tormented man.

How could he tell Ben the real reason he'd gotten mixed up in that hair-brained scheme to kidnap Little Joe and hold him for ransom? Oh, he'd done a right good job of convincing the older man and everyone else that he wanted the money for himself – that he believed the Cartwrights owed him and he was gonna make them pay – especially Joe. He didn't mean none of it. That's why it took him so long to work up the courage to tell Ben what he was about when the rancher opened the door and greeted him like a member of the family. He loved that boy. There weren't no way in Hell he wanted him to come to harm, but he needed that money.

And then, when it came to it, he found he couldn't do it. When he'd seen Little Joe – a boy he'd cared for since he'd been born – layin' in a pool of his own blood, he just plain couldn't do it. If he took the money he had to leave the boy, and if he left the boy, the odds were Joe would have died.

He almost did die.

The old wrangler stopped beside the fence that corralled the horses – a spot he'd stood on many a day and for many a year. Gripping the top of one weather-worn post, he steadied himself. He had to leave. He just had to. He'd meant to go right after it happened, but then Joe had taken that turn for the worse. He'd tried again when he knew the boy would make it, but Little Joe'd asked to see him and begged him to stay – like it was somehow his fault that he was goin'.

It weren't Joe's.

It was Malachi's.

Dan closed his eyes and sighed. He could see it all unfolding again. His long lost son – a son he had given up for dead – showin' up late one night, catchin' him outside the bunkhouse. There were men after him, Mal said, men who were gonna kill him unless he came up with near ten thousand dollars. He'd thought about askin' Ben Cartwright for a loan – and knew he'd give it to him just like he said – but Ben was a good man and would have had nothin' to do with savin' a low life like what his son had become. Seems the boy had gambled away his good name and everythin' else he had, and the men he owed meant to take the debt out of his hide. He'd gone to town after that to see if he could scare up some money. When he couldn't, he'd picked up a bottle and gone back to his room at the hotel to drown his sorrows. That was when he met Temple and Sand. He turned them down at first, but then, it seemed like it could be a God-send. The older man blew out a sigh. He knew now he'd been green as a fresh hand who wouldn't savvy cow unless it was served up as stew. He wouldn't never have gone along with their scheme if he'd thought any harm would come to Ben's boy. Truth to tell, he had been a mitemad at Little Joe. He'd thought – just maybe – showin' the boy he wasn't quite the man he thought would teach him a thing or two. But then it all went wrong. The men he trusted turned out to be no better than his good-for-nothin' boy. They meant to kill Joe all along. That night, after he'd returned the boy and his pa's money, he went lookin' for Malachi to tell him that he'd failed and found his son's camp empty. There were signs of a struggle as well as smears of blood on the ground, and he figured the boy had finally reaped what he sowed. So, when Ben said all was forgiven and offered to take him back, he jumped at the chance. It had all been goin' well until Ben's oldest boy returned with those suspicious eyes of his.

Just about the same time Malachi rose from the dead.

Dan glanced around before reaching into his pocket and pulling a crumpled envelope out of it. His eyes went to the Platt City postmark before he turned it over and opened it. That was up near where Ben's youngest was headed. Malachi'd sent the letter a few days back, tellin' him he was alive. He'd found a place, Mal said, and was gonna hold up there until he brought him the money.

The money he didn't have.

The old wrangler scanned the written words on the paper again, tryin' to read between the lines. He'd been a wild one in his younger days too, before he met Ben Cartwright and decided he wanted to be a decent man. Malachi's ma had been a fancy woman. She'd birthed the boy and taken off less than two years later. He'd done his best to rear his son alone, but most of the time it meant leavin' that rearin' to others so's he could make money for them to live. He'd made some poor choices of who those 'others' were. The boy'd grown up wild and, unlike Ben's youngest who was of a like type – headstrong and reckless – Mal had no one to set his compass. While Ben's boy had his feet planted firmly on the ground, his own son had sown the wild wind and was reapin' the whirlwind.

He just hoped that wind didn't blow the Cartwrights down.

Folding the letter, Dan returned it to the envelope and placed it back in his pocket. He'd promised Ben he'd stay, but it had been a lie. He was leavin' tonight. He had to find Malachi and tell his son he'd get no help from him; that he'd had to make a choice and that choice had been that he wouldn't let Joseph Cartwright die for his sins.

No. He'd have to leave that to his son.