THREE
Adam halted. He dismounted and led his mount into the only bit of shade for miles – a slim ribbon of shadow cast by a boulder thrust up from the desert floor like a fist. He knew the area and knew that Lark was indeed leading him toward the old Gable mine which, at one time, his pa had owned. It was one of those mines that had promised at first to be lucrative, but had soon petered out and been abandoned. There would be no one there but him, Lark, and the ghosts of the men whose lives it had claimed. There had been several cave-ins before it closed, and a half-dozen men had lost their lives in the last one. He and his father had been there. The mine's foreman had insisted they come and take a look at Gable to see if it could be made safe. A quick inspection had shown him any such effort would prove futile. They'd been discussing it when a loud sound had rumbled up out of the mine, followed by a rush of air and dust – and then the alarm sounded. When the dust cleared a group of them had gone down into the diggings, traveling as far as they could in search of survivors. The solid rock wall they met told them, if anyone was alive, they were trapped inside.
Trapped in a living tomb.
Removing his canteen from the saddle horn, Adam filled his hand with water and let Sport drink his fill. Then he poured a little more for himself – even sparing a few drops for his neck as his ran his hand along the inside of his collar, dislodging sweat and sand. As he capped the canteen, the black-haired man leaned back and looked at the sky. It was high noon in the desert.
The heat was proving as deadly an opponent as any gunslinger.
Squinting, Adam looked back the way he'd come and breathed a sigh of relief that there was no sign of his brothers on the horizon. He'd left the note for Hoss in plain sight – and in a place where they had done so before. He knew his brother was worried about him, but when it came down to it, he was a man and could look out for himself. Middle brother knew that. If Hoss believed that Little Joe was in danger, he was sure he would hightail it for home.
Well, almost sure.
Pretty sure.
Adam blew out a breath as he leaned his head back against the stone. The thing was, he had no idea what trouble Joe might be in. He'd been racking his brain all morning, trying to remember any encounters between Lark Miller and his little brother. There wasn't much and yet, when he thought about it, he'd realized that Lark had been, well, tailing Little Joe. It wasn't so much that they'd had any interaction as that Lark always seemed to be wherever Joe was. He had to admit it had bothered him when they came around the corner of the saloon and found Lark leaning over Joe. At first, only because the cowhand had beat them to it. If anyone was going to rescue their little brother from his first glass of beer, it should be them. But then, as Lark pushed past, there'd been...something. A twist to his lips. A look out of his eye. The language of his body.
He was pretty sure if they had arrived one minute later, Joe would have been gone.
And so, when Lark had mouthed those words – Curious? Follow me to Gable – he'd felt he had to. He was afraid to let the man go. Afraid, if he did, that somehow – at a time they least expected it – Lark would do something to Joe. Just what he wasn't sure. Kidnap him? Hold him for ransom?
Or maybe kill him.
Adam shuddered, both with fear and fatigue. Sport snorted and he patted his horse on the nose. "I know, boy. I won't do anyone any good if I fall out of the saddle."
As his mount pawed the ground, Adam lifted his sidearm from its holster and made sure it was loaded. Then he sat down in the shade and propped his back against the fist-shaped stone. He placed the pistol within easy reach and then lowered his hat over his eyes. And then, with a whispered prayer that all would turn out right, allowed his eyes to close and fell asleep.
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Hoss furrowed his brow, tryin' to remember what his pa had taught him about spider bites. There weren't too many predators in the desert wouldn't run the other way when they seen you. The only time most fought back was when they felt they was in danger. It was just their bad luck that Little Joe'd pitched his bed on a Black Widder's web. He'd only seen the bite one time before, but it was easy enough to recognize. Joe had a nice hole now where those little marks had been. It looked like a round circle of plum jelly. Joe's arm was on fire and he was startin' to feel hot. 'Course, it was hard to tell whether that was from the bite or from the intense heat risin' in a wave from the desert floor.
From what he knew, most times spider bites just made folks sick. The trouble was, they made some folks sicker than others. They was hardest on them what had other problems to begin with, but they was mighty hard on young'uns and people who had what the doc called a 'delicate constitution' too.
Like Mama.
He still remembered the day Mama came in the door, lettin' loose a long line of French, with Hop Sing followin' in her wake, yellin' in Chinese. Pa'd been sittin' in his chair, readin'. He put his paper down and walked over to them and caught Mama by the arm and asked her what was wrong. She told him she was fine and that made Hop Sing start yellin' again. It took Pa a couple of minutes to figure out that they'd been in the garden – Hop Sing workin' the herbs and Mama cuttin' flowers – when she'd cried out and swatted somethin' off her arm. She was tryin' to hide it, but Pa'd pushed her sleeve up and seen the bite. It weren't near as angry as what Joe had now, as he remembered, but it sure enough got mad as a wet rattler as the night went on. Mama's arm swoll up, and then her face, and then she started havin' trouble breathin'. When mornin' came, Pa sent for Doc Martin, afraid for her life. Seemed Mama was somethin' called 'sensitive' to that there spider's venom. He remembered standin' at the door with Adam, watchin' the Doc shake his head and hearin' him say that if things didn't get better, he'd have to open Mama's windpipe. Pa was sure upset. When the Doc went downstairs to get his tools out of his buggy, Hop Sing stepped into the room and said somethin' to Pa. He and Adam had watched their father think it through and then nod his head. Doc Martin wasn't too happy when Pa said he wanted to try Hop Sing's medicine first. It was somethin' the Chinese knew about, and danged if it didn't make the swellin' go down and sure enough, Mama could breathe.
Hoss looked down at his brother. Joe's eyelids were swollen. So was his face. His breath was comin' hard.
He sure wished he had Hop Sing with him now.
Just about the time that thought crossed his mind, Little Joe started and his eyes flew open. "Adam!" he called out.
The big man moved his hand to his brother's forehead. It was hot. "Adam's okay, punkin. You worry about yourself."
"No," Joe batted at his hand. "Have to...help...Adam..."
"Joe, you ain't in no fit shape to ride."
His little brother blinked. He ran his tongue over his lips and then asked, "Water?"
Hoss reached for the canteen. "Sure, little brother. You drink what you want. Only slow."
Joe nodded. His hands were shakin', but he managed to take hold of the canteen. After a sip, he lowered it to his lap and looked up.
"Hoss, what's...wrong with me?"
A sick kitten would have looked plumb robust next to his little brother right now.
"You remember gettin' shot in that dream of yours?"
Joe frowned. Then he nodded. "Yeah..."
Hoss reached out and gently lifted his brother's arm. He heard Joe gasp when he saw it. The hole full of jelly was larger. There were red streaks around it now, crawlin' up his arm. Tears ran from his brother's eyes as he asked, "What is it?"
"Spider bite, Joe. Probably a Black Widder. You must of pitched your blanket on her nest."
Joe swallowed hard. His words were pushed out of a swollen throat. "How come...how come I feel so bad? Pa said...spiders can't kill you."
He remembered Marie. How close it had been. "Most folks just get a little sick," he agreed.
Joe's green eyes were wide. "Most? Not all?"
Hoss avoided lookin' into them. He rose to his feet instead. "We need to get you home, little brother."
"No!"
He looked down at him. "Why not?"
"Adam." Joe was breathing rapidly. "Adam...needs us."
"Now, Joe, you cain't know that for sure –"
His brother's fingers feebly clawed at the leg of his pants. "I do. I...know for sure."
"How?"
Joe hesitated. "I just do," he said, his voice quiet as a discarded feather duster. "Why else...would he have ridden...off without us?"
The sun was beatin' down on his head, fryin' his brains. It was hard to think. It was plain as the nose on his face that Adam was ridin' into some kind of trouble, but he had to think of Joe.
Little Joe needed a doctor.
"Adam can take care of hisself," he said.
"Hoss..." He looked down. Joe was pale as Hop Sing's dough and about as limp as uncut noodles hangin' over a ladder-back chair. "I don't...I don't think I can...make it to the settlement."
The big man knelt. "Sure you can," he said as he reached out and took his brother by the arm.
"It's so...hot." Joe's swollen face lifted toward the sky. "Ain't the old...Gable mine closer? Maybe there'd be...supplies..."
He hadn't thought of that. There might just be somethin' left in the shacks that he could use to wash out the wound and bind it. Plus, he could get the boy out of the sun.
Still, it meant takin' Joe farther into the desert.
"It's closer than Eagle..Station, ain't...it?"
He nodded.
"And I bet...Adam's there."
Hoss frowned. "Now why would you think that, little brother? We don't have no way of knowin' where older brother went."
Joe was fadin'. His eyes were openin' and shuttin' quick-like, flutterin' like a butterfly in a hard wind. "I saw it...in...my dream..."
He sure was feather-light, that little brother of his. He barely felt it as Joe collapsed against him.
As the sun moved past its zenith and started its slide down the sky toward night, Hoss sat there, holding his ailing brother. He had a hard decision to make. They was about three miles away from the mine and a good eight out of Eagle Station. He could have Joe sheltered and maybe find somethin' to treat him with before dark if they made for Gable. They'd have to spend another night out in the open if they headed back to the settlement, and he wasn't sure Joe was gonna make it that far. Another plus for Gable was the fact that they might run into Adam and Adam would know what to do. Joe seemed sure older brother was there.
He wasn't sure about anythin' anymore.
Shifting, Hoss laid his little brother down and went to Joe's horse. He stood for a moment rubbin' Cadfan's velvety nose and then he pulled the saddle off his back. Next he removed the blanket. Then he filled his hat and let the horse drink his fill. After Cadfan was full, the big man capped the canteen, laid it aside, and then turned back and took the horse's head between his hands.
"Cadfan," he said softly, "I'm sendin' you for Pa. You got your belly full of water. You take it easy, but don't take too long gettin' there, cause Little Joe needs help. You know the way home. Don't you go takin' any chances, cause I'm countin' on you – Joe's countin' on you." As he paused, Hoss had a sudden thought. He remembered the paper he'd picked up in the desert. He could use it to write a note to Pa, tellin' him where they was and why they was there. As he removed it from his pocket, he turned it over. He could see words written in Adam's distinctive handwriting, but they had faded from sweat. Weren't nothin' legible anymore other than his name and little brother's. Walkin' over to Chubb, he scrounged in his saddlebag for a pencil and hastily scribbled a note to their father on the other side, tellin' him Joe was sick and he needed to come to Gable's with the Doc.
He guessed that meant he'd made his choice.
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Adam woke with a start and realized he had slept longer than he intended. The sun was close to the horizon and night was fast approaching. The slender ribbon of darkness he'd occupied earlier that day had become wider ocean, encompassing not only him but his mount. Rising stiffly, the black-haired man dusted off the seat of his pants and went to his horse. Once there, he opened his saddlebag and drew some jerky from it. As he chewed the leather-like meat, he added a bit of water from his canteen to soften it and engage his swallowing reflex, which allowed him to work it down his parched throat and into his belly. After repeating the procedure two more times, he went to relieve himself and then turned to Sport. Caring for his horse took a few minutes.
Then, he headed for the Gable mine.
As he rode, Adam once again went over what he could remember about Lark Miller. The man had come to them a few months back to work the spring cattle drive. He had a few references, but the truth was at that time Pa might not have even asked. They were five hands down and would have taken just about anyone so long as they could sit a horse and rope a steer. Lark was a tall man; near as tall as Hoss. Unlike middle brother, he was 'slender' tall – more like a pine than a cottonwood – and had hair and eyelashes the color of a pine tree's wood. The light eyelashes, coupled with the fact that his skin didn't tan but burned, had been rather startling the first time he saw him. Add to that a pair of cool blue eyes, pale as Banquo's ghost, and you had a most unusual, impossible-to-miss man.
That was how he had spotted him so easily in town.
Lark had done his job well during the cattle drive, which had led to him being hired on as a regular hand afterwards. He hadn't thought much about it at the time, but since Lark's talents seem to lay more with horses than timber or steers, he'd spent a lot of time around the yard and the corrals – both of which were places where Little Joe also spent a lot of time. So far as he knew Joe had never mentioned him, so Lark must not have done anything untoward. Adam's lips quirked with an affectionate smile.
At least nothing overt enough for his 'I'm man enough to handle it' fourteen-year-old brother to report.
Still, now that he considered it, it seemed that Lark had been...well...lingering around Joe. Maybe watching him. His mind turned over the last words he and the ranch hand had exchanged that day at the corral. 'Seems to me, boy, someone needs to teach you a thing or two. Who knows? Might just be me. I bet I could find a use for you.' Adam drew in a breath as he helped Sport avoid a low-lying and hard to see bed of cacti.
There was an encyclopedia of possibilities in those words.
He'd known cowhands before that were attracted to his baby brother. Joe was a handsome kid, just coming into manhood, who tended to be on sensitive side and was – to put it bluntly – pretty as a girl. The threat this posed was bad enough, but there were other ways in which boys such as Joe could be 'used'. He'd seen it in San Francisco and the other big cities he and Pa visited in order to do business. Kids no older than Joe, hanging on street corners, waiting for someone to come along and give them a few dollars for the 'service' they would provide. These kids saw no other way. It was a choice they made to survive. The sad thing was, the kids themselves pocketed very little of the money they sold themselves for. Most all of it went to the men who owned them.
Adam shuddered as he imagined Joe on one of those corners.
Puffing a breath out, Adam shook the image away. It was possible Lark was planning nothing more than a simple kidnap and ransom demand. Pa was wealthy and everyone knew it, and no one was more vulnerable to that kind of thing than Little Joe. But if kidnapping Joe was the motive, why warn him? Why bait him into following and riding out into the desert?
Adam pulled Sport up so abruptly the horse protested.
God! He was a fool.
Lark Miller wasn't at the Gable mine.
He was on his way to Little Joe.
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Less than an hour into their ride to the Gable mine, Hoss was doubtin' his choice. He was holdin' Little Joe in front of him and the boy was near dead weight. Every so often the kid would open his eyes and give him a weak smile and offer some word of support – right before them emerald-green of his eyes closed again and his head lolled back against his chest and he went out like a light on a stormy night. 'Course it made him happier when Joe went out. Otherwise little brother was shiverin' from head to toe and groanin' 'cause of the pain. The poor kid's eyelids was near swollen shut and his face looked like it used to, back when he had baby fat. There were tears streakin' those chubby cheeks.
At least he hadn't puked in a while.
As they rode on, the big man kept tellin' himself that people didn't die from spider bites. But then, into his ear would come Doc Martin's words from all those years ago. 'Ben,' he'd told his Pa, 'it's come and go. If the reaction Marie is having causes her windpipe to swell shut so much she can't breathe...'
Hoss shook the silent form in front of him as he leaned over and spoke into his brother's ear. 'You keep breathin', Little Joe. You hear me, boy! Breathe."
Joe shifted in his arms. His eyes opened again and he looked at him. There was a whole world of hurt and fear in them eyes. His brother's hand caught his where it rested on his chest. Dang it, if Joe didn't have tiny hands! Little Joe squeezed his fingers as he spoke, his voice thin as a reed.
"I'm...tryin', Hoss. Promise..."
Hoss felt about as helpless as a steer in quicksand.
He weren't normally one to play the 'what if' game, but that didn't stop the words knockin' around in his head. What if they hadn't gone to town? What if Joe hadn't had that beer or got sick? What if whatever thing that was so dang important hadn't called older brother into the desert, and what if he had a brain in his head and had not given in to Little Joe and followed?
What if a blond man hadn't ridden out of the shadows layin' close to a outcrop of rock and parked himself right in their path with his gun drawn?
Yeah, Hoss thought as he drew his ailin' brother closer to his massive chest and eyed the stranger.
What if?
