TWELVE

ooooooooooooo

It seemed his lot in life – at least as an older man – to hold back eager young ones. Trock was about his oldest son's age and just as sure of himself and of what he knew. And he couldn't really argue with him.

Lee was in danger.

Ben closed his eyes for a second, fighting fatigue. He had gotten very little sleep the night before between Trock's endless pacing , the moans of the young girl they had miraculously pulled from Malachi Tollivar's horse alive, and dealing with Joseph's pain. His son had been fevered when they found him and his temperature had soared during the wee hours of the morning. Fortunately by daybreak it had broken in a drenching sweat. They'd cleaned him up then, tended to the multiple wounds he had – a few of which were showing signs of infection – and then swaddled him as if he was a babe in arms. He'd prepared himself as he ate his breakfast for a fight. Hoss was going to take the girl to town to a doctor and it was his intention to go with Trock back to Lee's.

Sunders Haywood was his business.

It had taken Ben some time to remember Haywood and their business dealings, such as they were. He'd suspected that the man was crooked and that was how he'd beaten his bid for the land. He'd been angry at the time and had let Haywood know it, but he'd soon moved on and forgotten all about it. There was other land. There would be other deals.

That had been some...ten or fifteen years back. Joe had been a child, Hoss, a growing teen, and Adam just home from college. How in his black heart Sunders Haywood had come to focus on Joseph was nearly beyond him. The only link was the man standing at his side. Haywood had been fleeced and his son killed by Malachi Tollivar. Paul Throckmorton had been Malachi's partner at the time. Haywood was a powerful man and when Trock was released, he wanted to know why. The warden without realizing it, had aimed the crooked businessman directly at Joseph by telling him that Trock's early release had ridden on the back of his son's testimony. He might have even mentioned them being friends.

Haywood had taken both facts into account and decided he would have seek revenge on the pair of them.

Thanks to God and his son's dogged determination, Joseph was safe now. In the end, though he'd made a show of protesting, Adam had stayed behind with Joe. He could tell his eldest wanted to. Adam had come home to find Joe at death's door, watched him survive the bullet that had nearly killed him, and taken that as his cue to run once again. What had happened with Malachi and Haywood had tripped Adam up – made him stop and think. He had no doubt his eldest would go wandering again, perhaps for years, but when it came down to it, in the end he knew Adam would come home. His son knew now where his heart and happiness lay.

On the Ponderosa.

As Trock shifted uneasily again, Ben forced his attention back to the situation he found himself in. The night before, while Hoss cared for his ailing brother, Adam and Trock had led him back to where they had parted ways with Sunders Haywood. From there they had tracked the man back to Lee's place. On their way, they'd encountered two of Sunders men – Trent and Ed – but they had no fight left in them. They didn't care for the man themselves and when offered money and a chance to escape without prosecution, they took it.

That left Haywood with three men, Josh and Tempest and the unknown one who had remained with Lee all this time. They'd been watching the house and one of them was stationed outside. He was being careless and it wouldn't take much to bring him down. Odds were he had no more love for Haywood than the others. Josh and Tempest seemed to be of a different type. It was Trock's belief that Tempest was one of those men who enjoyed exercising power and seeing others bend to it. Josh, he thought, was the other man's right hand and though less evil would no doubt go along with whatever he said. So that meant Lee was at the mercy of three merciless men. Since there were only two of them they had debated what to do before settling on a plan. He would make a frontal assault which, hopefully, would allow Trock to enter from the back through the root cellar. The cellar had a lock and Trock had the key. He always carried it with him just in case.

In case of a moment like this one.

"I say we move now!" Trock glared at him. "I won't have Lee left alone in that house one more minute. She's –"

"A strong woman. I've known her longer than you have and Lee can hold her own."

The dark-haired man's frown softened into a smile. "I know she can. I've seen it." The smile faded just as quickly as it formed. "But I've also seen what unscrupulous men are willing to do when they want something."

Joseph had told them about what happened before – how the man named Gavin had turned on Trock and would have killed all three of them – Joe, Trock, and Lee – if, in His mercy, God had not chosen to intervene.

Ben glanced at the sky. The sun was cresting over a wave of green fir trees. Soon, it would be directly overhead.

"The man near the barn?"

Trock drew his weapon. "I'll take him out. When you see my signal, you head toward the house. I'll go around the back."

"No killing."

The former bank robber stared at him. "I know where your son gets it," he said enigmatically. Then he nodded his agreement. "No 'unnecessary' killing."

Ben nodded too. "Yes. Let's just hope it doesn't become 'necessary'. Bullets are blind. They don't care whom they strike."

His companion paled slightly. Trock nodded again, and then he began to run.

The rancher counted off the time he thought it would take the other man to get to the barn and then waited another two minutes. Just as he became concerned, Trock appeared beside the barn and gave him the signal they had agreed upon. This time Ben pulled his pocket watch out and looked at the hands. Eleven-thirty-one. They had agreed that it would take Trock approximately ten minutes to get to the back of the house, open the cellar lock, and move through the underground room and up the short stair to the mud room off the kitchen. The older man shifted so he was leaning against a tree and settled in.

It was going to be a long ten minutes.

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"Hoss?"

The big man pivoted on his heel and surprise registered on his beefy face. "For the love of Mike, what're you doin' on your feet, Little Joe?"

His brother shrugged – and then winced. "I'm okay. Where's Pa? And Adam."

"Adam's out takin' care of business. And you ain't okay, Little Joe. You're just about anythin' but okay!" he declared. He'd come back early morning to find the boy still sleepin'. Joe was whitewash pale everywhere, except where he was green about the gills. "You come here, boy." He went over to his brother and took him by the arm and led him to a boulder where he forced him to sit. "You sit down before you fall down."

"Did Pa go after...Ahab?"

Hoss' frown deepened. "Ahab's dead, Joe. Don't you remember?"

His kid brother ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Oh, yeah, I forgot."

"Pa went with Trock to make sure Miz Lee was okay." He paused. "Don't you worry about him none. He and Trock can deal with that Haywood man just fine."

He wasn't sure Joe had heard him. He was staring off into the distance, almost like he was trying to see all the way to Virginia City.

"Joe?"

His brother jumped. "Oh. Sorry, Hoss. I was thinkin' about Hadley."

Now why didn't that surprise him?

"What about her?"

"I guess I'm confused."

Weren't they all?

"About what?"

Joe's head dipped down, and when he lifted it, there were tears in those great big green eyes of his. "You promise you won't tell Pa?

He considered it. "I promise."

"Hadley's...different. She knows...things." Joe wallowed hard. Hoss, well, I..." Joe puffed out breath of air. "There was pleasure before the pain."

He'd seen his brother's injuries – and where some of them were located. The worst were in his groin area. They was the ones that was infected and were causin' the fever to linger.

That had to hurt.

"Joe, you's only human. You can't expect any different."

He smiled with chagrin. "You know, she's really pretty. Hadley. And she's...had a hard life. I can't really imagine bein' left alone in a city like San Francisco when you were just a kid. Still..."

Hoss went to sit beside his brother. ""Joe, a man – or woman – does what he has to, to survive. Ain't one of us wants to die, not really. All I can say is..." He shuddered a little at the sight in his mind's eye. That little gal – whatever she'd done to his brother – had paid for it. He'd taken her to Doc Martin's office, more dead than alive, and waited while the Doc examined her. The older man had come out of his back room shakin' his head. With the extent of her injuries, it weren't for certain she'd live. He hadn't told Joe that yet. "Well, I think Hadley'd be right happy you're alive, no matter what it cost her."

"She probably thinks I hate her," Joe said, shifting uncomfortably. "I'd hate to think she was gonna...die...thinkin' that."

So that was it. "You're wantin' me to take you into town to see her. Is that it?"

Joe chewed his lip. That was somethin' he'd done since he was a little kid when he was upset about soomthin'. Then he nodded.

"Well, you know what, little brother? For once you're in luck."

"I am?"

Hoss stood. He put his hands on his hips in imitation of their father, and broadened and deepened his voice. Then he lifted his arm and stuck out a finger and wagged it. "Young man, the minute your brother is able you and Adam are to put him in that wagon and take him to town to see Paul. Do you hear me? Don't take any guff from him. Just do it!"

Joe giggled. "Hey, you do that well."

"I've had a lot of practice," he replied. Hoss looked at his wreck of a brother. They'd tried to clean him up a little the night before, but Joe still had a gash on his shoulder that was oozin' blood. His hair was matted with he didn't want to guess what, so the curls were plastered to his cheeks and neck, and his usually tan skin was pale as a miner's. The circles under his little brother's eyes had circles, and Joe was still sportin' a fever though – thank the Man upstairs – it was a low one. "You think you can ride in the wagon to town? It's a fur piece."

"I can ride Cochise."

"No, you can't and won't." At his brother's defiant look, Hoss added with a smile, "Pa, had a 'young man' for you too. He told me to deliver it if you woke up and tried anythin'."

Joe laughed again. "Let me guess. 'Young man, don't you even think about sitting a horse. You are far too ill! You will sit in that wagon or you won't be able to sit for a week!"

Hoss joined in his laughter. He sobered quickly though and moved to place one of his broad hands on his brother' shoulder. He knew Joe would skin him if he could read his thoughts, but the boy was so young and, though he was tough as nails, vulnerable. He was a lot like his ma. The big man had been eleven when Marie passed, so he remembered her pretty well. Sometimes lookin' at Joe was like lookin' at her again. He guessed that was why they all was so dead set on protectin' him. Marie didn't get a chance to live her life.

They wanted Little Joe to have that chance.

"Now you tell me true, little brother, are you up to it?"

Joe didn't answer immediately. Then he said, "It's gonna hurt like hell, jostlin' in that wagon, but, yeah, I can take it. I really need to talk to Hadley, just in case...well, you know..."

He did.

"Okay, you just sit there while I get everythin' ready." Hoss started to move away and then he turned back. "You think you can eat somethin' before we go?"

He watched him consider it. "I don't know, Maybe some coffee if you got it."

He'd already won one battle without a fight, so the big man guessed he could skip their father's other finger-waggin' 'young man' order until later.

"Comin' right up, little brother. It ain't often you get pampered, so you just lap it up while you can."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright pocketed his watch and walked up to the front door of Lee Throckmorton's house. The ten minutes were up. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly and then lifted a hand and rapped on the door.

"Sunders. It's Ben Cartwright. I want to talk to you!"

He heard voices; one in particular, shouting profane words. A few seconds later the key turned in the lock and the door swung inward to reveal one very irate man.

"So, the mastermind at last!" Sunders proclaimed.

Ben ignored the comment. "May I come in? I'd like to talk."

The crooked businessman backed out of his way and said, in a tone that dripped disdain, "By all means."

With a nod of his head, acknowledging the half-hearted greeting, Ben stepped into Lee's home. She was there, sitting on the settee, wringing her hands and looking toward the door.

When she saw him, she sprang to her feet. "Ben!"

"Sit back down," Sunders ordered. Suddenly, there was a small snub-nosed gun in the man's hand. "Or I'll put a bullet into Cartwright right now."

Tom' wife dropped back into place. "Please, don't hurt him," she implored.

Ben surveyed the room as he moved in, taking everything in that he could. Sunders was by the door with a gun in his hand. Lee was on the settee. One of Haywood's goons was rattling around in the kitchen, getting a cup of coffee or some food, no doubt. The other was nowhere to be seen.

That one was the wild card.

"Take a seat, Ben. By the woman."

He moved to the chair next to the settee and sat down. With a glance at the man by the door, he asked her, "How are you, Lee?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Did you find Joe?"

"Yes. He's fine. He's with –"

"Enough chit-chat. Tempest!"

It took a second, but another man – one with his gun holster tied down on the left side – came quickly down the stairs. Ben recognized him as the one who had beaten him.

"Take the woman and lock her in one of the bedrooms," Haywood ordered.

As Lee protested, Ben stifled a sigh of relief. Good. She would be out of the way of danger should gunfire erupt.

"That shiner improves your look, old man," Tempest sneered as he pulled Lee to her feet. "What about him?"

"I'll take care of Cartwright," Sunders Haywood breathed. "Permanently."

"Ben? No!"

"Go ahead, Lee," he said, his eyes trained on that little gun. "I'll be fine." Ben watched with growing fury as Haywood's goon manhandled his late friend Tom's wife up the stairs. A few seconds later he heard the door slam and a key turned. He didn't relax until the man reappeared and headed down the stairs.

"Thank you for keeping Lee out of this," he said.

"It's not for me," Haywood sneered. "Tempest here fancies her. I told him he could have her after I killed her husband."

Haywood, of course, wanted Trock dead as much as he did him.

Ben knew better than to argue with the other man. It would be an exercise in futility. So instead he said, "Look, Sunders, I know there was bad blood between us years ago, but I moved on. I have over six hundred thousand acres of land. Do you really think I would have hired men to kill your son to retaliate for a loss decades old that holds very little meaning now?"

The man snorted. "Of course. I have grudges older than that oldest son of yours. "

"Then I feel sorry for you."

"Sorry? And why is that?" Haywood asked as he came to stand beside the settee.

"Hatred eats a man alive from the inside out. It takes away his zest for life, as well as his reason."

"I disagree. I believe it gives a man purpose."

"What purpose? To destroy another man – or men? Let it go, Haywood. In the end you will only destroy yourself, and how does that honor your son's memory? With your wife dead and no other children, you will take all remembrance of him with you to your grave."

"When I destroy you, Cartwright, Sawyer will be at peace!"

"No. Sawyer is at peace already. You are the one looking into the mouth of Hell."

Sunders glared hatred at him. "On your feet, Cartwright! Hands up. Now! We're going outside."

As he rose to his feet, Ben heard a noise in the kitchen. If you suspected nothing, it would have sounded like the man in there dropped a pan. He imagined otherwise. He believed it meant Trock had made his entry through the cellar door and taken the outlaw out.

At least, he prayed that was what had happened.

With a glance at Tempest, who had moved to the door to open it, Ben started to walk. He did so slowly, feigning fatigue.

"Get a move on it, Cartwright!" Haywood growled.

He was abreast him now and in a direct line with the window by the front door. As he glanced out it, Ben saw a black-clad figure move past, gun in hand. It was a split-second decision – one he hoped he wouldn't come to regret. Pretending to stumble, he fell against Haywood's gun arm and at the same instant shouted.

"Adam! By the door!"

His answer was a blast. The bullet split wood and Tempest went down. A second later the door was kicked in.

Sunders Haywood was a desperate man. He knew his game was up. Like a wild thing, he backed into the corner of the room, till clutching the gun.

"Pa?"

Ben held up a hand. "Keep him covered, Adam." He turned toward the kitchen. "Trock?"

When the black-haired man appeared, he nodded. "Lee's safe. She's upstairs in one of the rooms."

Trock nodded in acknowledgement and then bounded up the stairs to find his wife.

Ben turned to Adam who had his gun trained on Sunders as well. "Tempest?"

"He's dead." His son didn't add 'good riddance to bad rubbish', but he knew he was thinking it – because he was thinking it.

"And your brother?"

Adam knew which one he was asking about. "Joe's holding his own. I left him with Hoss to take to the doc."

Turning back to the business man, Ben hesitated, unsure of what to say. What drove the man – a love of his late son and a need to do right by him – was something he understood. Sawyer had been murdered, but the man who had murdered him was dead as well and there needed to be an end to it.

"I know you don't believe it, Sunders, but there was only one man who was responsible for your boy's death. That was Malachi Tollivar and he's dead. You can rest easy in that."

Haywood was staring at him. He seemed to be considering his words. The crooked businessman nodded his head and the gun began to lower. Then he said, low as a snake. "The only way I will rest in peace is if you are dead!"

And he pulled the trigger.

Even as the sound of Haywood's shot resounded off the walls of Lee's home, there was another shot. Ben heard Sunders gasp even as the projectile from the man's derringer tore through the fleshy part of his shoulder.

Adam moved past him to kneel at Haywood's side. He looked over his shoulder at him. "He's dead too," he pronounced. "Pa?"

"I'm...okay," he grunted. "It went clean through."

Adam rose to his feet and came over to him. He pulled his cloth shirt aside and winced at what he found.

"Looks like Doc Martin's going to be pretty busy today."

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Joe Cartwright was exhausted, but he'd refused to lay down even though Doc Martin insisted. The physician warned him that if he didn't get off his feet and rest – and let him tend to his injuries – he was going to be in bad shape. He'd put up a fight – thrown a bit of a fit, really – even though he knew Paul Martin's words were true.

Still, he couldn't leave Hadley until he knew she was going to make it.

He sat at her side, holding one of her hands and staring at it, struck by the similarity to the hand of the man who had just left that had rested on his shoulder. Oh, the Doc's hands were big and powerful, where Hadley's were small and dainty. But both of them used them for the same purpose – to bring pleasure...and pain. The physician didn't want to hurt anyone, but he did. He knew that well enough. But the pain was necessary to bring healing. You had to clean out a wound that was festering or the patient died.

Joe turned her hand over, examining it. It was just an ordinary hand. At least to look at it. But what she could do with it was anything but ordinary.

He'd started to remember just what she'd done.

Releasing her hand, Joe leaned back in the chair and covered his eyes with his hand. The memory of that...torture...yeah, he had to label it that...was as raw as some of the wounds on his body. He couldn't imagine how one human being could do that to another. Joe lowered his hand and looked at the girl where she lay, her fancy clothing stripped off, a sheet pulled up so close to her chin you might have thought the undertaker had been called. And yet, he couldn't hate her.

Hadley's life was a wound that had been festering for a long time.

"...Joe..."

She'd opened her eyes. He took that hand again and leaned in to lay his other one on her head. He gave her a shy smile. "Hey, you're awake."

She wet her lips with her tongue. Her dark eyes roamed the room. "Where...am I?"

"At the Doc's. My brother Hoss brought you here. Do you want some water?"

Her gaze shifted to him. "Why?"

Joe laughed, "'Cause you're thirsty?"

Her head moved slowly from side to side. "No. Why...are you..being kind to...me?"

He shrugged. "Maybe because you saved my life – twice."

"I..." She began and choked. Joe got that glass of water and lifted her up so she could drink and then placed it back on the stand by the table. She nodded her thanks and tried again. "I...hurt you. I'm...sorry."

He couldn't say it was nothing, because it wasn't. So instead he said, "I'm sure you didn't mean to."

"I...did." Her words made him freeze. "Then," she added, her voice weakening. "Had to." For a moment, it seemed she had fallen unconscious, but then Hadley's eyes flew open in fear. "Ahab!" she exclaimed and tried to get up. "Ahab, he'll...kill you!"

He caught her around the shoulders. "Hey, calm down. You'll bring the Doc in." His hand went to her cheek. "Hadley, look at me. Look!" When she did, he told her, "Ahab is dead. You're free."

"...dead?"

Her voice was so small it might have been a child's. "My brother Adam killed him. He's dead for sure this time,"

Hadley searched his face, as if she was not quite able to take in what he said. Then, she began to cry.

"Hey. Hey!" Joe glanced at the door and then – gingerly – slipped in behind her. "Don't cry. That ain't fair."

Her dark eyes flicked to his face and he was rewarded with a little smile. It faded quickly.

"How...how can you look at me?" she asked.

Joe wiped a tear from her battered cheek. "I can look at you because you're beautiful." At her look he went on, "Not on the outside, but inside. You wouldn't have risked your life to save mine if you weren't. Look, Hadley, life's dealt you some hard blows, but you've got a new chance now. My Pa will help you."

She was astonished. "Why?"

"Because you saved me, and...because that's who he is."

"What is this, young man? Paul just told me he'd ordered you to bed."

Joe knew that voice. He gulped as he looked toward the door. "I'm breakin' the rules again?" he answered with a slight smile.

Pa was moving slowly too, due to his shoulder wound, but Adam told him he'd be okay.

"You certainly are." His pa's dark eyes, so like the ones of the girl he held, went to Hadley. "And so are you, young lady. Doctor Martin orders rest for you as well. There will be time for talking later." Pa paused. "Joseph?"

He looked at Hadley. "Guess I got my marching orders." As he slipped out, he added, "You take care of yourself. I'll come back to see you as soon as I get released."

Ben Cartwright watched his son walk – slowly – out of Paul's back room and then turned his attention to the fragile young lady on the bed. From what he had been told, Hadley's life had been a quick march as well – from one horror to the next. He sat down beside her.

"How are you feeling, young lady?" he asked. "Hadley, isn't it? That's a pretty name."

"It's really Húdie," she said softly.

"Hudie? That's Chinese, isn't it?"

"My mother was...part Chinese. Pa wouldn't call me that, so...he called me 'Hadley'."

He was thinking. He'd heard Joseph use the word when they were in the garden with Hop Sing. "I'm sure your mother had a reason for naming you that. What does it mean?"

The girl grew strangely quiet. She turned her head and looked out the window. It was a bright sunny day with just an edge of winter chill to it. "My mother's mother told her a story," she said, her voice growing stronger, but ringing with an unspoken sorrow. "It was about a caterpillar. One day, the little caterpillar's mother had her look up to the sky. There was..." She drew a breath. "...a beautiful butterfly winging over their heads. 'One day, my child,' she said. 'That will be you." Hadley shifted so she could look at him. 'Oh, no!' the little caterpillar replied. 'I don't want to fly. I'm too frightened. I will fall and die!' 'Hush,' her mother told her, 'don't you know that you have to die to fly?'

Tear entered his eyes as Hadley fell silent. After a moment, Ben cleared his throat. "So your name means 'butterfly'?"

She had tears coursing down her cheeks too. She nodded.

Ben thought a moment. He took her hand and leaned in a bit. "Hadley – Hudie – look at me." When she did, he went on, "Like that little caterpillar, you've died to your old life. You're not quite a butterfly yet, but you are here – and you have us – so you are wrapped up safe in a cocoon where no one can hurt you until you can emerge as something brand new."

The tears were streaming now. "Why are you being so kind to me?" she pleaded. "You and your son? After what I did –"

"What you did is dead and buried with that little bug. It is what you choose to do from this day forward that I – and Joseph – will hold you responsible for. Do you understand?"

"Ben?"

He'd been expecting it. "All right, Paul," the rancher said as he stood. "I'm leaving,."

Hadley held onto his hand. "Mister Cartwright?"

He turned back. "Yes."

"My forest isn't dark anymore and, thanks to you, and your son, the butterfly's wings are beginning to heal."