TWO

oooooooooo

He knew it would have been right smart to travel through the night, but seein' as the full moon had decided to pull up its covers, at the moment there was just no way to do it. Finding tracks in the desert – where the wind shifted sand and sidewinders swept it like a broom – was near impossible enough without tryin' to do it in the dark. Joe was all for pressin' on, but he'd finally convinced him it was more likely they'd miss Adam as find him if they did. One second little brother had been all piss and vinegar – his hands forming fists and his chin jutting out like a butte – and the next he'd near dropped in place and fallen asleep, plain worn out by all of it. As he stirred the ashes of their small campfire and tossed a few sticks onto it, Hoss glanced at the sky, noting dawn was still an hour or two away. Catchin' sight of baby brother's bare shoulders, he put the stick down and reached over and pulled Joe's blanket up, tuckin' it under his chin to keep him from shiverin'. Though he'd lived all his days in this land, it never ceased to amaze him that the temperature in the desert could sky rocket to over one hundred durin' the day and still come close to freezin' at night. Somehow, it just didn't seem right. Pa'd told him once that the desert was like a fickle woman. She'd as soon slap as kiss you.

Or as soon kill as slap.

The big man rested his hand on his little brother's hip. He'd made Joe lay down right close to him so's he could keep watch. He didn't know what he was gonna do when the boy woke up and needed to do what was necessary.

Joe'd have a right fit if he insisted on goin' with him.

Suddenly uneasy, Hoss rose to his feet. Staying close, but moving a short ways away, he rested one booted foot on a flat boulder and looked off into the desert. It could be beautiful at night with blue dunes that cast deep purple shadows and a black sky above studded with white diamond-hard stars. The trouble lay in what those shadows masked – rattlers, scorpions, feral horses and the like, as well as predators.

Both four and two footed.

Digging his cold fingers deep into his pockets, Hoss considered again what Adam could have been thinkin' when he took off. He had to believe that older brother had done it without tellin' them 'cause he didn't want them along. And yet, at the same time, Adam had to know one or both of them would follow. He couldn't believe they'd just up and go back to the ranch and leave him alone to face whatever it was.

After all, they was brothers.

With a sigh, the big man turned so he was facing his little brother and sat down. As he did, the clouds parted just a bit and several beams of moonlight struck the area of scrub and gorse they had chosen for their camp. He'd been here before when he and big brother had made runs for their pa. It was why he'd picked it, knowing the scattered rocks offered about the best shelter for the next five miles. As the pale light walked the land, it passed over somethin' funny. He couldn't tell what it was, but it sure didn't look like a rock or a clump of gorse. With an eye to not wakin' his sleeping brother, Hoss rose and moved with a grace that belied his giant-like frame. You couldn't rightly tiptoe in a cowboy's boots, but he did his best, and managed to pass by the little squirt without him stirrin'. Kneeling, he reached out and touched what turned out to be a leather vest. It had a big rock weighing it down. Perplexed, he took it with him as he stood and was surprised to see a piece of paper flutter to the ground. Hoss stared at it for a moment before bending to retrieve it. Hastily, he opened it, but the moon chose just that moment to slip back under its covers and once again, the desert was plunged into near complete darkness.

There wouldn't be any readin' tonight.

As he stood there puzzlin' about whether or not the note and vest was connected to Adam, Little Joe shifted and moaned. Weren't more than ten heartbeats later the boy was shoutin' to wake the dead. Without thinking, he placed the note in his shirt pocket and hurried over to his brother. Little Joe was yellin' Adam's name and cryin' like he'd lost his best friend. Dropping to the sand beside him, the big man reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Joe! Little Joe! Wake up!" he ordered, his voice a sharp whisper. "You gotta stop yellin'. It ain't safe."

Combative. That's what Adam called the boy when he was wakin' up. Joe made a fist and struck out at him like his life depended on it. Hoss caught it in his fingers and held on tight.

"Little Joe! It's old Hoss," he said, placing his other hand on the boy's face. " Come on, punkin, wake up for me!"

Joe either didn't hear him or didn't believe him. His brother continued to struggle and shout. The big man hesitated to clamp a hand over the boy's mouth for fear he would fight harder, but he sure wasn't comfortable with the fact that Little Joe was lettin' just about every predator in the desert know right where they was.

"Nooooo," Joe wailed in that way men did when they was asleep, soundin' like one of them banshees wailin'. "Nooooo! Adam, no! I'm... don't let him shoot...no...Adam...

"No!"

Joe sat bolt upright, near scarin' the livin' daylights out of him. The boy was breathin' hard and them great big green eyes of his were wide open. Hoss wasn't sure if he was awake or not.

"Little Joe? You okay?"

For a moment Joe didn't respond. Then he turned his head and looked at him as if he had never seen him before. After drawin' another breath, the boy asked, his voice shaky, "H...Hoss?"

He cupped his brother's tear-streaked chin in his hand. "Yeah, punkin, it's me."

Joe's hand shot out and caught his shirt, twisting it tightly in his grip. "Oh, God, Hoss..."

"What is it, Joe? Tell me."

His brother swallowed hard as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings. "We're not in the settlement?" he asked, his voice robbed of strength.

"We left there. Don't you remember?"

Joe blinked. He drew a deep breath and nodded. "To follow Adam. Right." A shiver ran the length of his slight body. "Right. Did we...did we find him?"

Hoss ran a hand through his brother's sodden curls. "No, we ain't found him."

"But I thought..." Little Joe shuddered and then looked around. For a moment he was confused. Then he said, "I was dreaming."

"It sure weren't a nice one," Hoss admitted.

His brother's grin was shaky. "Sorry. Sorry if I scared you."

"You didn't scare me," he lied. "What was it you was dreamin' about?"

Little Joe's long lashes brushed against his wet cheeks. "I can't...remember much. There was a man. He was with Adam. He was gonna...hurt him. I tried to help him. Honest, Hoss, I did! But I couldn't. I couldn't get there fast enough! There was somethin' wrong with my legs. Somethin'..."

Joe was visibly shaking. Hoss circled his shoulders with one arm. "You just calm down, little brother. It was just a dream . There ain't nothin' to them." Hoss paused and then grinned. "It was probably just them beans you whipped up for supper."

His brother looked funny. "I do feel a little nauseous." While he watched, Joe reached up and touched his right arm near the elbow. "It's weird, you know?"

Hoss was frowning. "What's weird?"

"In my dream, that guy who was tryin' to hurt Adam shot me. Right here." He pressed the flesh with his fingers. "It hurts like he did."

"Let me see your arm."

Joe frowned at him but did as he was told. The trouble was, it was so goldarned dark the boy might as well of refused. He couldn't see anything.

"Maybe you hit it when you was thrashin' around."

Joe winced. "I was thrashing?"

"You ever seen your covers in the mornin'?"

His brother snorted. "Heck no. They're always on the floor and I'm on the bed."

"Buck naked half the time," Hoss grinned. "And pretty as a baby jaybird."

Joe's saddlebag didn't hurt much when it hit him in the chest.

Catching his blanket up off the ground, Joe rolled in it and turned the other way. "Yeah, well, it ain't easy bein' the only pretty Cartwright. So stop disturbin' my beauty rest. Okay?"

"It's hard work bein' handsome, ain't it?" the big man asked, hiding his smile.

"Mm..hmm. Told Pa...I'm the hardest...working...Cartwright..."

A minute later Little Joe's breathing evened out and he knew he was asleep. Hoss turned his face to the east and noted the light was rising. He knew he had to get an hour or so's sleep himself, so he picked up the other blanket they'd grabbed from the supply wagon and curled up in it.

Two minutes later he was snoring.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Several miles away, a bone-weary Adam Cartwright paused to take a sip of water from the canteen he had hastily filled before grabbing what supplies would fit in his saddlebag from their supply wagon and taking off. He knew it was foolish, heading into the desert alone and mostly unprepared.

Adam spit out a bit of the water and then ran the back of his sleeve over his lips.

No. Not foolish.

Stupid.

It was something his brother Joe would have done if not reined in by his older, wiser brothers. Little Joe wore not only his heart on his sleeve but just about every other emotion he felt, and there were times when he wondered if the kid had a brain. At fourteen Joe was, to put it plain and simple, a royal pain. As Adam capped the canteen and laced it back over his saddle horn, he grimaced, suddenly seeing himself at Joe's age – brash, angry, self-serving and self-centered. Marie stood before him. She was trembling – not with fear, but from his words. He'd been hateful to her those first few months. Truly hateful. With a snort, he placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted. Joe might have a mouth on him and every now and then use it to hurt one of them on purpose, but for the most part his brother's rage was directed inward where his own demons lay.

If anything ever happened to that 'royal pain' he didn't know what he would do.

Which was why he had ridden into the desert without making adequate preparations.

His lips pursed, Adam took up the reins and stared into the distance, calculating how much farther he had to go. He'd been a fool to ignore what he knew. Still, how seriously did you take an off-hand remark made when – weary and exhausted – you had just climbed down off of the back of a bronco you'd busted? Closing his eyes, he relived the scene yet again. There was Little Joe, sitting on the top rail of the fence, whooping and hollering his support for the rider. Hoss hadn't been there that day – he'd been busy elsewhere – and so it was one of the newer hands who stood closest to his brother. As he walked by, Joe leapt down from the rail to greet him and stumbled into the man, knocking him into the fence. The color rose in Joe's cheeks instantly as he stuttered an apology. At first, it seemed the hand accepted it readily enough. Adam could recall the man's gaze flicking to him and then back to Joe. Then he said –

'Seems to me, boy, someone needs to teach you a thing or two,' and then, with a grin, added – 'Who knows? It might just be me. I bet I could find a use for you.'

He loved words. Words had power. Unfortunately, they also had various shades of meaning.

Today, after speaking to Roy, he'd come to realize what Lark Miller's meant.

At first, he'd intended to go back and talk to Hoss – to get middle brother to make up some excuse to take Little Joe home. But then he'd spotted Miller seated on his black gelding near the supply wagon, almost like he was waiting for him. Lark's lips had curled in a sneer as he reached up to tip his hat. With a wink, the blond man mouthed five words.

'Curious? Follow me to Gable.'

Curious? No.

Scared to death? Positively.

He'd had no choice but to follow.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss glanced at the toe of his boot where it was dancin' a jig on the sand. He'd considered countin' the amount of times he'd been doin' that same dance since Little Joe had done been born, but decided to forget it.

Weren't enough fingers in all of the Nevada Territory, he supposed, to do it.

He and Joe was breakin' camp. The sun was crestin' on the horizon and they'd both done slept themselves out. Joe was already up and movin' by the time he'd opened his eyes. The boy was restless, but then that was nothin' new. Still, somehow his brother was – off. Seemed Little Joe couldn't keep his mind on one thing long enough to remember it needed finishin'. Joe'd kicked some dirt on the fire but didn't put it out. He'd thrown his saddle blanket over Cadfan's back, but left the saddle layin' on the sand. And now he was headin' down to the water hole with nothin' in his hands.

"Joe! Little Joe!" the big man shouted. "Where do you think you're goin' boy?"

At first it seemed his brother didn't hear him. Finally Joe halted, but didn't turn back. "What do you think I'm doin', you big ox? Gettin' water!"

Hoss stooped and picked up their canteens and held them out. "Without these?"

Joe pivoted on his heel. He wrinkled his nose, indicatin' he knew he'd been caught out, and then snarled, "I got hands. I can drink out of them!"

"Well, I ain't drinkin' out of your hands, little brother. I seen 'em last night and they're as dirty as a flop-earred hound. You come here and get these."

Sullenly, head down and shuffling his boots in the sand, baby brother made his way back to the camp. Without looking up, Joe grabbed the canteens and turned to go. Before he could, Hoss reached out and caught him by the shoulder.

"Boy, you look me in the eye."

Joe's muscles were tense. The boy felt kinda like a coiled spring, ready to pop. "Let me go," he snarled.

Now, he knew his little brother. There was a few things made him madder'n a rained on rooster. Wakin' up was one of them. Adam or him treatin' him like a kid was another. But there was another reason, one he was hopin' didn't fill the bill this time.

Joe was right surly when he was ailin'.

His big fingers plowed through his brother's shirt to his flesh. Hoss shook his head at what he found. The boy was skinny as a bed slat turned sideways.

He was also shakin'.

"Joe?"

His brother sighed and then looked up. Tears streamed down Joe's face, mixed with sand and sweat. He swallowed hard and then lifted a finger to wipe drool from his lip.

"Hoss...I don't feel so good."

The big man sucked in a sharp breath. The minister in Virginia City liked to talk about disasters of Biblical proportions. At that moment, he knew he was facin' one.

Little Joe just done admitted he was sick.

Hoss moved his hand to the boy's forehead and frowned when he didn't feel any heat radiating from him. Weren't no fever, so what...?

"What'd you do, Joe? How's come you're feelin' bad?"

His brother batted his hand away and snapped, "What do you think, I went out in the middle of the night and ate somethin' I shouldn't have? Or, maybe, drank some poisoned water on purpose!" His brother swallowed again, going' almost as green as he'd been after that beer. A sort of terror entered his eyes. "Hoss...?"

A second later they was both down on their knees and he was holdin' Joe while he retched up everthin' but his guts. By the time he was done, the boy was shiverin' from head to toe; clutchin' his stomach and moanin'.

If trouble didn't follow Little Joe like a hound dog on a fresh scent.

Hoss reached out and covered one of his brother's small hands with a big one of his own. "I'm sorry, Joe. I didn't know you was ailin' so. You got any idea what's goin' on?"

His brother bit his lip and shook his head.

"What's hurtin'?"

Little Joe drew in a breath. "...got cramps. They're...bad." He let the breath out in little puffs and then drew in another and held it. Turning his face into the sand, his brother wheezed, "Feels like I'm...gonna...die."

"Take it easy, Joe. You ain't gonna die." Hoss was using his tender voice. The one he reserved for frightened animals – and little boys. "Can you tell old Hoss where the cramps is?"

Joe swallowed – harder this time – and blinked, almost like rain was runnin' in his eyes. "Stomach," he gasped. "Back...chest."

Good Lord! That didn't leave much.

Flummoxed, Hoss shifted his hat back and let out a low whistle. "Listen here, Joe. I'm gonna get in back of you so's I can hold you. Is that all right?"

Joe was bitin' his lip so hard now it was bleedin', but he managed to nod.

Careful, like he was handlin' one of Marie's china geegaws, the big man lifted his little brother and slipped in underneath him. He rested Joe's back against his arm and cradled the boy's head to his chest. Little Joe moaned again and shuddered. Then he sighed.

"Th...thanks, Hoss. That...feels...good."

"You just rest, Joe, while's I think of somethin' to do."

One of Joe's hands found his shirt and gripped it. "Hoss...I want...Pa..."

He placed a hand on his brother's curls. "I know you do," he said kindly.

He did too.

"Do you think you can go back to sleep?"

Joe grunted. "When I close my..eyes...everything's goin' round."

Hoss chuckled softly. "I got hold of you, Joe. You ain't gonna fly off nowhere."

"...okay...I'll try..."

It took a few minutes, but finally his little brother's breathin' evened out, indicatin' Joe was asleep. This close he could hear the rattle in that breathin', almost like Joe'd got croup or pneumonia. For the life of him he couldn't think what could of caused it overnight. Little Joe might look like he didn't have enough wind to blow out a candle, but he was a tough kid. Maybe tougher than him or Adam. The boy's life had started with a fight and he'd been fightin' ever since in one way or another. As he sat there, Hoss ticked off the symptoms he could count. Joe was wheezin' and swallowin' hard like his throat was swelled. He'd lost his supper and admitted to cramps, not only in his stomach, but his back and chest as well. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought the boy'd been snake bit. But he did know better. Weren't nothin' like that had happened.

Weren't...

Suddenly he saw Joe, lookin' all pale and puny, holdin' onto his arm and saying, 'In my dream, that guy who was tryin' to hurt Adam shot me. Right here. It hurts like he did.'

Hoss dropped his hand to his brother's arm. He noticed the boy was tremblin' as he worked the blue fabric back to reveal first Little Joe's wrist and then his upper arm. Streaks of red, like marblin' in a cut of beef, ran along his brother's flesh, radiatin' out from two tiny little scratches no more than an eighth inch long, spaced about a quarter inch apart. The flesh around the marks was turnin' black.

Dyin'.

Hoss sucked air between his teeth and cursed.

Spider bite!