FOUR
It was a good thing the moon was high and the clouds of the evening before had failed to reappear. The night had fallen, but he couldn't stop. Of course, traveling at night saved a man the baking heat of the day, but it put at risk both his life and his faithful horse's. There were so many pitfalls that the darkness might conceal and, on top of that, it was cold as a card sharp's smile. Adam shifted in the saddle and drew his jacket closer about his throat to stave off the chill of the desert night. Thank goodness he'd tied it to his saddle that morning! Jolted by the thought, he suddenly reined Sport in. His mount turned and looked at him and then blew air through his nose as if to say 'about time!'. The black-haired man patted his friend's neck as he allowed himself a moment of panic. In his mind's eyes he could see his brothers' laughing at him that morning, calling him an 'old worry-wart' for taking a jacket along on a blistering hot day.
Neither Hoss or Joe had a jacket.
Making a kissing noise, he started Sport moving again, much to his mount's displeasure. He had to remember, Hoss was with Little Joe. The two of them would be home by now. There was no way middle brother would bring that little scamp farther into the desert after reading his note. It was far too dangerous and, on top of that, Hoss would know Pa would kill them both if anything happened to Joe.
Adam pursed his lips and blew air out of his nose in imitation of his mount. Who was he kidding? This was Joe he was talking about. His little brother could charm the skin off a snake. Hoss would be putty in his hands.
But would Joe have wanted to follow?
As Sport hesitated and then picked his way around an unseen object embedded in the sand, Adam considered the question. The answer hinged on one thing – whether or not his youngest brother perceived he was in danger. Little Joe might be exasperating and annoying, even infuriating at times, but there was one thing he was even more.
Loyal.
Casting his mind back, Adam thought about what he could have done differently – and realized there was nothing. If he had let Lark Miller get away, the man could have come back at any time. There was no way they could keep a watch on Little Joe twenty-four hours a day – even if he would have let them – and he was sure the blond man's intentions where his brother was concerned were far from noble. There was just something about the image of Lark in town, mouthing those words, that set his hackles up. His little brother was tough. He was Ben Cartwright's son, after all. If Lark tried something, Joe would take him on. Sadly, there was no way baby brother could win. He and Hoss had been horsing around just the other day and they'd hung Joe up like a steer to see what he weighed. The kid barely topped eighty pounds.
Little Joe was their Achilles heel and everyone in these parts knew it.
Lark Miller knew it.
Kneeing Sport, Adam urged his weary mount to move faster. The chestnut gelding blew out his frustration and shook his head, but picked the pace up just a bit. They were about halfway between the settlement and the point where he had turned back. It was probably around three in the morning. Pa was most likely still up and pacing in front of the fire, beside himself with worry. Or, maybe not. Maybe Pa had gone to bed. After all, his father counted on the fact that he was with Hoss and Little Joe. Pa knew he wouldn't let anything happen to either of them.
Right.
Unexpectedly, Sport shied and took a few steps back, nearly throwing him off balance. After calming the animal, Adam narrowed his eyes and took in their surroundings, looking for anything out of place. It took a minute with the light as vague as a silver mist at morning, but then he saw it.
"Damn!" he exclaimed as he sucked air in-between his teeth.
It was a body.
Warily, careful not to spook his horse, Adam reined the animal in and dismounted. With his heart pounding as fast as the hooves of a stampeded herd, he crossed the short distance to the downed man and knelt by his side. The moon's light was eclipsed for a moment, casting the man's face into shadow. He was a big man. Very big.
And terribly familiar.
Adam drew in a breath and held it as he placed his hand on Hoss' back and waited. The breath came out with a prayer of thanks when he felt his brother's chest rise and fall. Hoss was alive.
But where was Little Joe?
Adam rose and turned in a frantic circle, his eyes searching for Joe's slender form similarly laid out on the sand. As he did, Hoss groaned. The black-haired man turned back to find the big man using his elbow to lever himself up into a seated position. Middle brother's hand reached up toward the back of his head. Hoss moaned again and then, realized he wasn't alone. His fingers began to claw the sand. Probably looking for his gun.
Or Joe.
"Hoss," he said simply. "It's me. Adam."
He watched his brother tense and then the big man's shoulders slumped. "Adam?" he said, his voice a whisper on the sand. "Adam, a man... He...took Little Joe."
He.
Slightly light-headed, Adam dropped to his knees beside the wounded man. Even in the moonlight he could see the dark streak running from Hoss' forehead, down onto his shirt. The moonlight painted the trail it left black, but he knew it was crimson red.
"How bad are you hurt?"
Hoss grunted. "I ain't hurt and I don't need no lookin' after. You get out of here and get after Little Joe. I'll come...soon as I can."
Adam looked around. There were no horses in sight other than his own. "On foot?"
The look Hoss gave him told him he would walk to Hell and back to find their missing brother. "He done took the horse too." Hoss attempted to stand up, but fell back to the sand winded. "Look, Adam, I ain't important. Little Joe is. You gotta find him and find him fast! He's...sick."
Adam frowned. God. No.
Not something else.
"What's wrong?" He rephrased it. "What happened to Joe? Besides this man, I mean?"
Hoss seemed to shudder. "He was spider bit, Adam. Maybe a Black Widder. It's bad."
Adam's hand went involuntarily to his throat. "Like Marie?"
Middle brother nodded. "Maybe worse. His eyes is near swollen shut. I ain't sure if he can even see." The big man's eyes sought his and held his gaze. "Adam, he was havin' a lot of trouble breathin'."
"And Lark still took him?" He was aghast.
Hoss scowled. "Lark Miller?" He thought a moment. "So that's who it was. I only see'd him for a second. I could tell he was big and blond, but didn't see nothin' else before he hit me."
Adam reached out to check the head wound. "Pistol?" he asked, grimacing.
"Yeah, but I'm all right. Look Adam, you gotta go! I heard Lark tell Joe they was headin' for the Gable mine."
Adam rocked back on his heels. The Gable mine – again. What was it with that place?
Reaching up, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It just didn't make sense. "Hoss, if that's where Miller was headed, I should have seen him. I just came from that direction." He paused and then, had to ask, "Why did you disregard the note I left?"
For a moment middle brother looks nonplused. Then his eyes lit with understanding and he sighed. "Joe got bit just after I found it. By the time I remembered and got to readin' it, it was sweat-soaked and thereweren't nothin' to read. What'd it say?"
Adam rose to his feet and looked in the direction Lark Miller had taken their baby brother. There was something going on here he didn't understand – a lot going on he didn't understand. Unfortunately, the only way he was going to find out what he needed to know was to leave Hoss alone...at night...in the desert...and go after Little Joe.
"Don't you worry none about me," his brother said, knowing him too well. "Little Joe needs you." Hoss rose shakily to his feet. He refused a hand to help him. After a moment's hesitation, he added in a voice quiet as the night. "He could be dyin', Adam."
As a fist of fear closed around his heart, the black-haired man asked, "Did Miller actually take off in the direction of the mine?"
Hoss nodded. "I come around for a minute and saw him ridin' that way for I went out."
And there was the rub. Had Lark let Hoss see where he was going so they would follow, or so they would be misdirected? From what Hoss said about Joe's condition, every minute counted.
What if he made the wrong choice?
"You know what Pa would do," Hoss said quietly.
Yes, he did. His father would pray and then take action. He was a believer, but his faith was, well, more pragmatic than Pa's. In his life he'd watched his father offer up prayers and seen them both answered and denied. To him it seemed God did what He wanted to do no matter what a man might desire.
He was God, after all.
A heartbeat later, he nodded. "Faith and works," he said gently, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You stay here and pray while I take action." A little smile made his mouth quirk. "That way we'll have all fronts covered."
"I cain't stay put, Adam. You know that. Little Joe..."
"Yes, you can and you will! I don't want to have to worry about two brothers." His tight smile broadened just a bit before dying. "Keeping up with Little Joe is more than enough." Adam took a step toward his mount and then turned back, curious. "What happened to the horses?"
Hoss shrugged. "I sent Cadfan home and Lark Miller took Chubby."
So their father would know something was wrong. He might even be coming to their rescue right now.
Maybe Hoss had already been praying.
Moving to Sport, the black-haired man reached into his saddlebag and removed some food, one of several small bags, and a roll of bandages. As he handed the supplies to his brother, he said, "Here. Set your camp up again. Joe is going to need looking after when I bring him back."
Hoss' face was filled with wonder as he opened the bag and sniffed its contents. "How'd you come by some of Hop Sing's herbs?"
"Just being an old 'worry-wart." At Hoss' contrite look, he added, "I've learned to always carry some with me for treating infection and in case of snake bite." He grinned. "After all, I usually have Little Joe with me."
The two brothers shared an apprehensive laugh.
"You go now, Adam. I'll be fine. You go find Little Joe." Hoss blinked back tears. "If anythin' happens to that little ornery cuss..."
He squeezed his brother's massive shoulder. "I will. And you see to that cut." He nodded toward his head. "It's still bleeding."
"Sure enough, Adam."
The black-haired man went to his horse and mounted. From the saddle, he looked down. "And Hoss?
"Yeah?"
"You'd better include me in those prayers too. I have a gut feeling I'm going to need all the help I can get."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
When Joe woke, he expected it to be on a bed of sand with Hoss bending over him. Instead, after a moment's disorientation, he realized he was inside a building. There was no light other than what fell through one small curtained window above where he lay, and it did little to illuminate anything. Still, from the supplies and tools laying around, it looked like he was in a line shack or some other such place. He lay there for a moment trying to remember what had happened. When he couldn't – Joe being Joe – he decided he would just get up and find out. He'd managed to raise up on one elbow before an intense wave of pain slammed him back down onto the thin mattress. He tried not to, but he let out a groan.
A second later he heard the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor.
"You just lay right where you are, boy. You ain't goin' nowhere. Leastwise, not until that uppity big brother of yours gets here."
Joe licked his lips and then realized they felt funny. His face felt funny too. Numb, like someone had punched it. In fact his whole body felt like it had been pummeled.
Had he been in a fight?
Without warning, the man who had spoken grabbed his head and roughly forced his mouth open. "Bright as a berry patch," he said as he let go and Joe's teeth snapped shut. The man gripped his wrist next – hard. "Heart's hammerin'." As he released him, he said – almost as if it was Joe's fault – "Now don't you go dyin' on me 'fore I can kill you."
What?
Joe blinked and pried his eyes open. They were swollen too and crusted. "Why..?" He coughed, swallowed over what felt like a mountain, and tried again. "Why...do you want to ...kill me?"
The man patted his head. Almost like Hoss did. "Ain't nothin' to do with you, son. You're just a means to an end."
Little Joe closed his puffed up eyes and leaned back, worn out. Well, physically worn out. He still had energy for thinkin'. He had to do something to get away. He wasn't sure if the man meant Hoss or Adam, but either way he was not going to just lay there and be bait in a trap for either of his brothers. The minute the man moved away, he was gonna...
"Don't you go gettin' no fancy notions. I know you, boy. You ain't to be trusted. Lightnin' hangs fire next to you." The fingers brushed his wrist and it was only then that Joe realized he was tied to the bed frame – both his hands and feet.
Instantly angry, he began to struggle. "You let...me go!"
The man's grip intensified, his fingers pressing into his flesh and bruising it. "You tell that to that high-and-mighty brother of yours!" he hissed. "You tell him why you're dyin'. 'Cause he wouldn't let go all them years ago, on account of he thought he was God!"
Joe quieted before the man's rage and with the sudden knowledge of who it was that held him.
Lark Miller.
He'd noticed in the last month or so since Miller had been hired that everywhere Adam went, Lark was there too. He'd catch the hand watchin' his older brother, chewin' on a piece of straw; those cold blue eyes of his narrowed and his mouth a thin line. The pale blond man made him feel uncomfortable. But even more than that, he'd sensed something about him. Lark Miller hated his oldest brother. He'd wanted to go to Pa about it, but he knew Pa wouldn't listen. Neither would Hoss or Adam. After all, he was just a kid.
What did he know?
Joe drew in a breath and heard it rattle in his chest. Gathering what strength he had, he put it into a question. "What'd Adam...ever do to you?"
Lark was moving through the room. He stopped and then a second later, there was a scratching noise. A moment later a pale light began to fill the room. The man caught the lamp he'd lit up from a table and came to stand over him. In the lamp's glow, Miller's face leered like a demon's – savage, sick, and twisted with hate.
"It ain't what he did, kid. It's what the almighty Adam Cartwright didn't do." For a moment something flickered in the blond man's eyes – past the evil that claimed them.
It might have been pity.
Joe's gaze went to Lark's other hand. In it was a metal can with a spout. A thick, clear liquid dripped from it. He knew the smell.
It was oil.
Lark sneered. "I remember me, back then, the hands called Adam Cartwright your 'Pa', since your own was a yellow-bellied coward what had run away from home and kin. Well, boy, the sins of the father done caught up with you."
And with that, Lark turned and walked out of the shack, trailing the thick clear liquid across the floor behind him.
